#the folds are drawn and shaded so well | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

revasserium · 1 year ago

Note

can i have one were zoro realises she does things bc of truama (like doesnt speak much etc)

hold me (still)

opla!zoro; 6,680 words; slow!!!!burn, fem!reader, ex-assassin!reader, straw hat!reader, general tragic backstory/trauma, fluff, hurt/comfort, bit of angst, emotionally constipated zoro, communication? what's that?, nami playing therapist bc she's the only one with 1 iota of emotional intelligence

summary: sometimes, stillness is a virtue, and others -- a tragedy. or, in which the straw hats pick up a new member and zoro is equally intrigued and weirded out by you.

a/n: well. you guys asked for slow burn and... the burn is so slow u gotta squint to see the smoke yall. but trust. the burn does get there! pls be patient!! and i tried to combine 2 dif reqs in this one fic :)

You are of the quiet sort. Just a shadow dancing in the periphery of their vision, and when they first met you, you’d told them it was your superpower, a soft, still smile slipping across your lips. Luffy had bought into it immediately, and the invitation was out his mouth before anyone could stop him.

“Come with us!”

“Oh…” your lips pressed into a thin line of consideration.

Zoro’s fingers itched towards his swords because something about you makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. But something else — something uncomfortable and strange, something very much like curiosity — seizes his chest and twists his stomach. Strange, he thinks, too strange.

“C’mon! It’ll be fun!”

And then, you’d smiled wider, and nodded, and that had been that.

It’s been three months since then, and you are still of the quiet sort, though it had receded a bit with time. What with Sanji’s gentle flirting and Usopp’s not-so-gentle stories and Nami’s bright, dry-humored companionship, you’d begun to “open up a bit”, so Luffy observed.

Zoro, for his part, has kept his distance. Because sometimes he still catches you at the bow of the ship, staring out across the midnight waters, still as a stone-carved statue. Still as a wooden beam — stiller, even.

“What’s with that?” he asks one day, strolling up to Nami as she traces a fine line over a new map she’s working on.

“Hm?” is her very eloquent response.

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth and casts his eyes about the ship, finding them drawn to the shape of you, up at the bow again, reading in the shade of the tangerine trees. Nothing moves except for the wind as it whisps through your hair and the slow scanning of your eyes as it skates across the page.

“New girl,” Zoro says, crossing his arms as Nami finally looks up at him and then off towards you.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Zoro lets out a puff of breath, unfolding his arms to glare at Nami. He finds her grinning a lopsided grin as she clicks shut her compass and puts down her pen. She leans a hip on the barrel she’d been drawing on and folds her own arms.

“Oh, you like her.”

“I’m weirded out by her. ‘S not the same thing,” Zoro snaps, but when he tries to leave, Nami blocks him with an arm and pins him with a sharp, leveling look.

“No, no, no — we’re gonna work this through.”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“Uh-uh, you still owe me after that round of drinks the other night — remember when you bet you could drink more than me?”

Zoro narrows his eyes, “I did drink more than you.”

Nami’s grin is gleeful, “No, you didn’t. You had to be dragged back to your room after clogging up the toilet. Or do I need to show you the evidence —”

“Alright — fuck, fine. But really? This is what you’re gonna waste your favor on? You could’ve asked me to —” Zoro gestures around vaguely, “clean the bilge or something.”

Nami shrugs, looking almost too pleased, “Nope! This is what I wanna use my favor for. And, really, you think a bit of bilge water is gonna gross me out? C’mon.”

Zoro heaves a sigh and leans back against the main mast, closing his eyes.

“Fine then. Go.”

Nami sits back on the edge of the barrel.

“No, you go. Admit that you like the new girl.”

“I don’t.” He doesn’t open his eyes.

“I’ve seen you staring at her. We’ve all seen you staring at her.”

“What, that a crime now?”

Nami fights the urge to roll her eyes, “No, but I’ve never seen you try so hard to avoid someone before.”

Zoro lets out a bark of laughter, hard and mirthless, “Yeah, so that must mean I like her.”

Nami cocks her head, “It means you feel something towards her. And I’d suggest you figure it out.”

“And how’d you propose I do that?”

Nami once again waves in your direction, “Go. Talk. To her.”

Zoro lets out another breath, eyes scanning across the ship, anywhere but towards where you’re still sitting and reading, finger flipping a page in a perfect, smooth, singular motion.

And Zoro’s not blind. Blunt though he may be at times and careless as he is about most material things, he can still appreciate beauty when he sees it. And you — there’s no denying that you’re beautiful. Your strange stillness aside, when you do move, it’s with a dancer’s lissome grace, fluid lines, not a single movement wasted. When you smile, it seems to light you up from the inside, and your words, though soft, carries the well-worn weight of river stones, glittering beneath the clear, spring stream of your voice.

There’s a sharpness in your eyes, a straightness to your spine, a way of carrying yourself as if you’re afraid that one wrong move might shatter you and the entire world around you.

Sometimes when he sees you, he wonders at the hands that had sculpted you this way. He wonders at your life before they’d picked you up in Loguetown, when you’d oh-so-silently slipped up the execution platform and helped Luffy down, all the while staying free of Smoker’s watchful gaze.

The few times he’s seen you fight, he can’t help wondering if you’ve eaten some kind of devil fruit as well. No human could be so fast as that. Or be so quiet. But then again, he’d fought Kuro, and they’d seen stranger things. Still, he marvels at the way you flicker in and out of sight, slipping around the edges of battle like a dark, haunting thing, and men would drop like flies beneath your quick, quiet hands. With nary a sound or shout before their eyes roll back and their breathing is no more.

On the instances when Sanji had asked about your past, your eyes had gone misty and dark, unfocused. You’d gone still, freezing for so long that Usopp would cough just to fill the silence. And then slowly, ever so slowly, you’d turn back towards them with a small, sad smile and say:

“There’s… not much to talk about. I grew up somewhere far away, where if you didn’t keep quiet and still, bad things would happen to you. And then when those bad things happened, if you weren’t quick — the quickest of all, you’d die.”

Bad things, huh? Zoro thinks as he makes his way towards you, a hand resting on the hilt of his swords. He comes to a stop next to you and leans against one of the white planters, casually peering over your shoulder at the book in your hands.

For a long moment, neither of you move. Then, Zoro clears his throat and forces himself to speak.

“Is it good?”

It takes you a second, but eventually, you turn towards him.

“The book? Yeah, I suppose.”

“Not exactly a glowing review.”

You laugh, a soft, breathy little thing as you look back down at the page.

“It's about a girl who falls into an enchanted sleep, and a prince who wakes her up with a kiss.”

“Must’ve been one hell of a kiss.”

“Yes, and one hell of a prince.”

Zoro finds himself chuckling, his shoulders loosening as he takes another breath.

“And then what?” he asks.

“And then… he asks her to marry him.”

You run your fingers along the page, smoothing your palm over the ink and parchment. Zoro watches you, wondering, always wondering.

“What’s she say?” and it’s then that he notices his own voice, hushed and low, barely a whisper.

You look back up at him and smile a smile a sphynx would have been proud of.

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten there yet.”

Zoro takes a breath, and the breath tastes distinctly different than all the breaths he’d taken before it. As if the world takes the breath with him, and some fundamental truth had shifted on the exhale.

The moment breaks, as moments are wont to do, when Sanji calls out for lunch and Zoro jerks out of his almost-reverie. You slowly close your book and rise to your feet, turning back to smile at him.

“C’mon, it’s lunchtime.”

Zoro nods and follows you into the kitchen, where Luffy and Usopp are already digging in, and Nami is pouring herself a drink. She spots the pair of you and catches Zoro’s eyes. A grin ticks at the edge of her lips but before she can say anything, you’re accosted by Sanji sweeping into a deep, flourishing bow, and ushering you towards the table, where he’d set your place in a manner fit for a princess.

“Where’s my setup?” Zoro asks as he drops into the seat next to you, cocking an eyebrow. Sanji shoots him an unimpressed look.

“I’m surprised you can use a fork and knife, moss-head. Just be grateful and eat up.”

Zoro scoffs but digs in nonetheless.

When next they dock, it’s on a rare, peaceful island — an island of light and books and learning, where the air smells of salt and ink and drying parchment, of unwritten words and untold stories. But it smells of a stillness too, and Zoro knows without having to ask that you’d like it here.

And you do.

He’s never seen you smile so much, never seen you so vibrant and full of life. You chat and laugh and read with a voracious hunger, and he finds himself drawn to this new, warm, moving side of you. He finds himself, more often than not, by your side, even when neither of you speak. And he basks in the comfort of the quiet that permeates the air when it’s just the two of you — him hanging in the hammock on deck, you reading by his side.

But now, there’s the soft tapping of your foot, the shuffle of pages when you flip forward to see what’s coming next, and of course the ever-present shush of the ocean as it washes against the Merry’s side.

The Log Pose needs two weeks to properly calibrate to the next island, so they’ve got time to kill.

On the fifth night, over dinner and drinks, Luffy asks the question that everyone’s been thinking since the day they’d all met you —

“So. Why’re you so still all the time? Not that it’s weird or anything — well, actually — it kind of is, but it doesn’t bother me. I’m just asking cause I'm curious!”

You look up from your half-finished wine but Zoro feels it happening, like the hush of a fan blade slicing through air, the gasp before a porcelain vase tips over and shatters. You stop. You stare. You’re frozen in every sense of the word. And he’s known you for long enough to know that you only go still as a reflex, only reach for it as a shield. Against what? He doesn’t quite know.

“It’s… something of a long story,” you say, your voice low and hoarse.

Luffy grins, smacking his lips as he sucks the meat off a chicken leg, “We’ve got tons of time! Right?” he looks around as if for validation, but everyone’s eyes are caught on you and your unnatural stillness.

Zoro shifts slightly in the seat next to you, opening his stance and turning towards you.

“Could do with a good story.”

Your eyes flash in his direction and he offers you the barest hint of a smile.

You relax, ever so slightly, drifting back in your seat, your glass cupped in the palms of your hands. And then, you begin to speak, your voice smooth and lilting, your words washing over them like the faint lull of the tides.

“When I was three, my father sold me for a barrel of beer.”

A dull clack echoes around the room and everyone turns to see Sanji hurriedly righting the thick stein he’s knocked over. Thankfully, it’d been empty.

“Sorry — I just — what?” he sounds furious but Usopp lays a hand across his arm and shakes his head.

You take a deep breath and continue, your voice oddly emotionless as you say, “The man who bought me took me to an island. It was… a dark place. A quiet place. I only learned its name after I escaped — an island called Elysium.”

Nami gasps before clapping her hands over her mouth.

“I’ve just — I’ve heard of that place before, but I thought… I thought it was just a made-up place.”

Luffy swallows hard, frowning, “What’s it like?”

Nami’s eyes flicker between you and Luffy, “Supposedly… it’s the home island for… for the most feared group of assassins in all the seas combined.”

Usopp’s eyebrows jerk up, “The most feared?”

A faint smile seeps across your lips like blood.

“Yes. The Shadows that Live.”

Everyone turns to look at you. Luffy picks up another drumstick.

“Whoa… cool name!”

Zoro hums, “I’ve heard of them before — but mostly, it was just an old wive’s tale about… shadow assassins who hunt in the dark. Mercenaries for hire. But… no one’s ever seen one before.”

“Because… once you see one, you’ll never live to tell the tale,” you say, your eyes now downcast and fixed on the glass in your hands.

“Then…” Usopp’s voice is soft, “What about… you?”

“I… I ran away.”

Silence greets you. But after a moment, Luffy spits out a bit of bone and uses it to pick at the space between his teeth, his eyes round.

“Wow! You must be pretty good to run away from an island full of shadow assassins!”

You almost laugh, his boundless trust hitting you like a punch to the stomach.

“So…” Sanji lets out a puff of silvery smoke, “the staying still thing… that’s just part of your training, yeah?”

You nod, “Something like that.”

Someday, you think, you’ll tell them about the hellscape that was Elysium island, of the long echoing halls, dark and still and silent. Of the mechanical beasts that hunted by sound and movement alone. Someday, you’ll let them know about the poisoned pomegranate seeds that they feed all the “recruits” to keep them hazy, of how you’d kept six of them suspended in your mouth and spat them all out when you’d finally made it far enough from the island to allow yourself to breathe.

“And… are these shadow assassins gonna come after us?” Nami asks, her voice careful and light.

You purse your lips, “I… I don’t know.”

Nami sighs, but a moment later, she moves to refill her drink with a slight shrug, “Well, just one more enemy to add to our growing list. Soon, we’re gonna have to post a sign-up sheet.”

At this, everyone laughs, and the tension snaps like a wounded spring.

Luffy burps loudly, patting his stomach, “I’m not worried — I mean, if you were able to run away from them once, that means you’re stronger than them, right?”

You pause, your hand hovering over the wine bottle. Zoro gently reaches over and refills your glass for you. You shift back into movement, casting him a small smile and taking a sip. The wine is cool and tangy as it hits the back of your throat. You breathe, and the world keeps spinning.

“I… I’m not sure — I’ve never fought… any of… them… before.”

“Guess we’ll find out if they try to come for you then — but you’ve got us now!” Luffy says, reaching for an apple and chomping into it, “ — Sho… you duon gotta wourry —” he licks his lips as he takes another huge bite before tossing the core towards the waste bin, “We’ve got your back!”

Nami makes a disgusted face, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, ugh.”

Sanji chuckles, tapping out his cigarette, “Yeah Luffy, mind your manners.” But his voice is full of laughter and you find yourself relaxing into the sway of the night, the swing of conversation. Beside you, Zoro refills his own glass and leans over to clink it against yours.

You turn, but he only raises his glass before taking a sip.

You mirror his movement, cradling the cup to your chest when you finish.

Later, he finds you by the tangerine trees, ghosting your fingers over their lush green leaves, dark enough to look black in the evening light.

“Hey.”

You turn, “Hi.”

Zoro sighs and looks out over the darkened waves, the moonlight refracted into a million shattered bits of sky.

“Luffy’s right, y’know.”

“What about?” you ask, joining him by the railings. The night air is cool and crisp. Behind you both, the island oozes with lamplight and laughter. Even from here, you can hear the joy, the peace that permeates the air here. It wouldn’t be a bad thing, you think, to stay here forever.

“If they come for you,” Zoro says, “we’ll have your back.”

You let out a small chuckle, looking down at your hands, “I know.”

“So,” he turns towards you, his earrings glinting in beneath the scimitar moon, “you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

You lick your lips, and instinctively, you reach for the stillness. All the days and weeks and months with the people around you have softened you, and for that, you know you should be thankful. Still, old habits die hard, and you have to clench your fists and dig your nails into your own palms to keep from freezing completely.

You take a shivering breath and force it out again.

“Fear’s a hard habit to break.”

At this, Zoro grunts, though it sounds something like consent. The moment stretches, long and soft and taffy-sweet.

He turns back towards the sea, “Yeah,” he says, and then —

“But we can take it slow.”

You swallow hard, passed the broken shards of forgotten words lodged in your throat (you find that they all somehow taste like thank you), and you nod. Warmth tickles your cheeks and you wonder why he’s said we instead of you — and later, lying in your bed at night, staring at the moon-slatted ceiling, you wonder if he was really talking about fear or if it was something else entirely.

You don’t get a lick of sleep that night.

The next few days pass in a light, repetitive blur. You and Zoro are sent on a few short shopping trips in the city, and you’re glad for something to do that involves movement. Shocking how quickly the body adapts once the weight it’d been holding on to is lifted.

You are still quiet, and he, the same; but the silence has shifted around you, and whereas before it’d been solid and steady, it’s now thrumming and charged with some unspoken energy.

Neither of you are blind to it; nor, it seems, is the rest of the crew.

Sanji’s taken to openly teasing Zoro about being with you all the time, complaining loudly that he can’t get a word in edgewise because Zoro refuses to leave you alone. Nami keeps on trying to drag you out for “girl's day” shopping trips, hinting at all the cute clothes you could get and how “green really suits your skin tone, y’know?”

Luffy and Usopp for their part, both just grin whenever they see you together — Luffy stoked at the fact that you seem more happy and talkative, Usopp gleeful at the way Zoro always seems so much softer when he’s next to you.

You’ve taken to watching him when he trains, sitting in the shade of the tangerine trees, a cold drink in your hand as Zoro runs through his katas. You content yourself with watching him flow through the movements, one and then another, and then another after that. He contents himself with your presence, knowing that you’re here, feeling your eyes as they skate down the length of his back or the width of his shoulders.

It’s a peaceful sort of companionship, even if it is living on borrowed time.

When you all wave the little island goodbye, it’s with heavy hearts and tearful smiles. It had treated you well, and you think you’d miss it. But adventure is as adventure does — it calls, beckoning to those with wandering hearts to listen.

The first week back at sea is a strange one, full of a ringing nostalgia. As if you’re simultaneously coming home and leaving one at the same time. Everyone is a bit quiet, except for Luffy, of course, who literally bounces off the freshly waxed planks, humming to himself as he sits on top of the great ram’s figurehead.

“Is he ever still?” you ask one day, sometime in the second week.

To which Zoro makes a sound between a scoff and a laugh, “You’ve been here a while. What’d you think?”

You sigh softly and tear your eyes away from the bright, shivering ball of energy that is your captain towards the far horizon. A sliver of uncertainty twines through you and your breath slows. Zoro glances at you, now long since attuned to your subtle shifts in movement and stillness. He narrows his eyes.

“What is it?”

You shake yourself back into the moment, forcing a smile.

“Nothing. I think…” your words fade as the feeling twists in you again, knife-sharp and stinging. You clear your throat and reach up to brush away a strand of hair. Skin grazes skin as Zoro’s hand meets yours in the same gesture and you both freeze — hands held up, his finger caught against the bend of your cheekbone, your fingers curling over his.

Time slows, slackens around the pair of you, and the moment stays, suspended in space — garnet dark and perfect.

Neither of you dare to breathe. It’s then that you realize how close Zoro is — close enough for you to see the entire ocean reflected in his eyes: big and dark and so endless it nearly unmoors you. Close enough for you to feel the warmth of his skin; his body, emanating heat. You’d often wondered, in the long hours of watching him train, at the glistening copper of his skin and the light-kissed quality, if the sun himself favored Zoro as well.

Like this, it’s easy to believe that beneath his skin, there pulsed something like sunlight.

“Look! It’s an island! It’s an island!”

And just like that, the moment shatters. Time slips back into motion and you pull away from each other, breathless, with warm cheeks and thundering hearts, feeling somehow lightning-touched and static-ridden.

You take half a step back, reaching up to press a hand to your mouth as if to stop something from tumbling through. But what? You can’t really say.

Zoro tips back as well, whipping around to help Usopp and Sanji with the sails as Luffy continues to holler, waving his hat. On the horizon, you see it looming — the silhouette of an island. You lower your palm from your lips to your heart and wonder what kind of island it will be.

Deserted — seems to be the answer when you all make landfall. The island is quiet, but the occasional chirp and cricket staves off your nerves as you all wander cautiously about the beach, squinting into the dense forest that seems to encompass the whole of the island.

“Looks like a good place to camp for the night!” Luffy says, grinning as he plops down on the sand.

Sanji nods, dusting off his hands, “We’ll need some wood for a fire, but I reckon I can whip up some grilled fish from the fresh catch.”

You wrap your arms around yourself and look around, glancing back at the darkening horizon.

“Something the matter?” Zoro’s voice is soft as he helps you carry some of the camping supplies from the ship.

“No… yes… I —” you look up at him, pursing your lips, “I don’t know. I’ve just… this island is…”

Zoro looks around, his dark eyes scanning the thick swath of forest just beyond the beach, “Too quiet?”

You let out a tiny laugh, “Yeah, something like that.”

He nods, “Don’t worry, I’m — we’re here.”

And he leaves it at that, hoisting a stack of wood over his shoulders and going to help Nami with the fire. You watch him with a smile, wondering what on earth you’d done to deserve this level of caring, this magnitude of kindness. Soon, dinner is had and drinks are shared and laughter is spilled like so many silver coins over the white sand beach. The lull of the evening takes over you all, and before long, Luffy and Usopp are slumped over each other, snoring loudly.

You stare into the depths of the fire and try to tamp down the growing dread festering inside your bones. All those years of holding still, of breathing and listening and feeling — you shake yourself — no, not all stillness is a bad thing. Not all silences are made the same.

“You’re doing it again,” Zoro’s voice almost makes you jump. Instead, you turn, finding him next to you as he nurses a half-drunk bottle of wine in his hands. He doesn’t look at you, but there’s a loose grin hinged across his lips.

“Sorry,” you say, ducking your head, feeling a now familiar heat creep into your cheeks that has nothing to do with the dwindling bonfire.

“Don’t be,” Zoro takes another drink, “But I told you… you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“I know… and I’ve said before —”

“Fear’s a hard habit to break,” Zoro echoes back at you, finally glancing over and catching your eye.

You breathe out, looking down at your own hands, “Yeah… but I’m trying.”

You both fall silent, and for a while, the only sounds are the crackle of the dying flames, the shush of the ocean waves, and the occasional snores from the rest of your crew. It’s late — later than you realized.

“Do you… want me to grab a book for you?”

You smile, “No, I don’t think it’s bright enough.”

“I could restoke the fire.”

“No, it’s — it’s okay.”

“Alright.”

A bird coos the distance.

“Why don’t you tell me a story?” you ask, turning to look at Zoro proper, shifting till your body is facing him.

In the faint light, you can see the edge of his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“You’re asking the wrong guy — you should wait till the Great Captain Usopp’s awake.”

“Yeah, but I want to hear one from you.”

Zoro sighs, his eyes fixed on the last of the flickering flames. He takes another swig of wine before he starts to speak, his voice low and a bit stilted, but he pushes on. He tells you about his childhood, the village he’d trained in, the doujou in the middle of the wood, his friend who he’d never beat — not even once.

He tells you about he early mornings and the late nights, and how the world had seemed large enough to conquer.

“… And then… there came a morning when she didn’t show up… and sensei came and told me that there’d been an accident.”

His voice almost breaks then, and your eyes catch on the shining white hilt of the Wadou Ichimonji — his thumb pressing against the guard, running along it’s hard metal edge.

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

Zoro shrugs, “Don’t be.”

You nod, “Still.”

Zoro slates you a lopsided smirk, “So. Now you know my tragic backstory too.”

You laugh, leaning back to cast your eyes up towards the sky, “And you know mine — it’s almost like we’re friends or something.”

Zoro lets out a long breath, “Yeah… or something.”

There’s a tightness to his voice that makes your skin tingle and it takes everything you have not to look over at him, to try and see if he’s looking at you, watching you the way you’d imagined him to be. You fancy you can feel his gaze on your face, but you close your eyes instead.

You let yourself fall into the warm haze of sleep, and for a while you drift there, your mind sifting through shards of memories and slivers of sound, casting them against the backs of your eyelids as you slowly slide into the darkness of dreams.

You wake up to a gasping stillness — the silence pressing in on your eardrums like thumbs, the darkness around you so complete it’s almost a solid thing. You freeze, your breath hissing to a halt inside you. Then distantly, ever so distantly, you hear the sounds of battle — metal clashing against metal, the hard thud of boots against flesh. You shake your head and reach up to clap your hands over your ears and only then do your senses return to you, snapping back as if you’d been abruptly shunted back into your earthly body.

“Gum Gum — Pistol!”

“Seize her!”

You whip into movement, fast as a flash, dashing away, hoping against hope that it would draw your attackers far enough from your crewmates.

“No one… ever… leaves us…”

The voice is serpentine and susurrus, sinking into your skin like sharpened teeth, but before it can reach you, it’s cut short by a bright flash of silver.

You gasp, whirling around, reaching for the nearest pulse, instinct taking over as you sink your fingers into muscle and flesh. The rush of blood thrumming beneath your fingertips comes too easy, even as a familiar scent accosts you. A moment later, your hands are being pinned above you, and thick, rough bark is digging into your wrists as Zoro stands before you, a sword in one hand, the other holding you still.

His eyes are a little wild and a lot worried. There’s a ring of red rawness around his neck, thin trickles of blood trailing along his jugular, disappearing into the wide scoop neck of his shirt.

“Hey, look at me.”

You nearly whimper, struggling against him, fear still coursing through you like a drug but Zoro is strong enough to keep you held. Behind him, you can see the rest of the crew fending off several shadowy figures, Usopp waving a torch, screaming at the top of his lungs, Luffy whooping as he whacks another figure with his fist.

“Z-Zoro?”

“Yeah, it’s me — eyes up here.”

You swallow in a breath, and then another, and you feel the bright thrum of urgency leave you as your body slowly falls slack. And then you’re slipping, and he’s looping an arm around you to keep you upright.

“Th-they’re here — they —”

“They’re gone — we got rid of them — hey.”

Zoro takes you by the shoulders and gives you a gentle shake. Finally, your eyes catch on his and your gaze holds. You see yourself reflected in them, stark and terrified, but alive — somehow alive.

“They’re gone,” he says, his voice soft and low by your ear, his arm still wrapped around your middle. Shivers wrack your body as you bury your face in his shoulder. He smells of steel and skin and the metallic tang of blood. It’s then that you remember — the wounds on the sides of his neck. The marks in the shape of your hands —

You jerk back and feel a sticky wetness against your cheek.

“Zoro, I hurt you!”

At this, he scoffs, pulling back far enough to flash you a look.

“This is nothing. C’mon.”

He offers you a hand, and after a second you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. Wordlessly, he presses his palm to the small of your back, his arm extended to keep you steady as you both make your way back towards camp.

“Phew! That was a workout!” Luffy is saying just as you both reach the outskirts of the now-darkened bonfire. Sanji is pulling out a cigarette, striking a match, and first lighting the end before tossing it into the remains of the firewood, fanning it up into a slow flame.

Nami and Usopp both look a bit shaken, but none worse for the wear.

They all pivot to look at you.

You go still against Zoro’s side, uncertainty flooding through you. Faintly, you feel Zoro’s fingers as they press into the bend of your waist, solid and steady.

Then, Usopp coughs, “C’mon y’all — the Shadows that Live? Psh! More like — the Shadows that Fled, am I right? Yeah? Didya see the way I sent ‘em runnin’ with my brand new fire-powered explosion rounds?”

Nami chuckles and Sanji follows suit, shaking his head and letting out a thin wisp of smoke. Luffy’s grins at you, pumping a fist in the air, clapping his right shoulder.

“See? Told you we’d have your back! We are your crew, after all!”

Weakness seeps into your limbs as you nod, hot pin-pricks of tears itching at your lower lashes. You lower your head and rub at your eyes before looking back up again with a smile. Sanji grimaces as he looks over Zoro.

“Got something on your neck, mate.”

Zoro glares but you glance over and feel your stomach twist with guilt.

“Sorry… I can clean that up for you. They’re not deep but they do need to be bandaged up.”

Zoro wipes down his sword before sheathing it and motioning towards the ship. Behind you, you can hear Nami yawning and saying something about catching up on some more sleep and Sanji reassuring her about having the last watch anyway.

The kitchen is still dark, but the dusty dawn sweeps against the far horizon and neither of you bother to turn the lights on. You carefully set the first aid kit on the kitchen counter and collect the supplies as Zoro leans back against the edge and folds his arms. You work in near silence, reaching up to first wipe the thin threads of drying blood before tending to the tiny, crescent-shaped puncture wounds.

You press an alcohol-soaked cotton ball against one of them and feel Zoro wince.

“Sorry.”

“I’m fine.”

You bite your lips, “If this had been a bit deeper or a few inches over —”

“But it wasn’t. So it’s fine.”

You don’t look up at him but you can feel his eyes on you. Your movements are fluid and sure; you’d clearly done this before.

“Hey, look at me.”

You freeze, eyes slowly gliding up the planes and divots of his neck, slipping up the line of his jaw, so sharp it might’ve been turned on a diamond cutter’s lathe. Your breath hitches as you finally meet his eyes, and there’s a dark, knowing glint behind them that makes your stomach flip.

“I’m fine.”

And for the second time in a handful of hours, you’re caught by the realization of your closeness — only a breath of space between you. There’s a crimp at the corner of his mouth that looks dangerously like a smile and then you’re tipping forward, a thumb reaching up to trace the line of his bottom lip once —

The movement acts like a trigger, and suddenly, he is leaning in and the breath of space disappears.

For all your life of stillness, you thought you’d learned to appreciate the depths and widths of movement. But nothing could’ve prepared you for this — for the push and pull of lips on lips, for the force and friction of skin against skin. For the gasp and hiss, for the breath and kiss.

For the feeling of his large palm as it settles along the swallow’s-nest bend of your neck, the way his thumb runs along your jaw like tracing the guard of his beloved sword, tilting your mouth towards him. For the way your heart might flutter like a tiny, caged bird, or the way you might feel his heart thumping like a fist from his chest to yours.

For the way his voice rolls over your name like a ship at sea; for the way it would shake your body from your bones and leave you more liquid than solid in his arms. For how you never used to think your story would be a love story, but then you realize that every story is a love story if caught in the right moment, in the right light.

And here, breaking apart from Zoro, with a thick, stolen streak of lemon-yellow sunlight leaking in from the kitchen window — that’s exactly what it feels like.

“Oh,” is all you have the strength to say.

Zoro, in all his solid brilliance and quiet audacity, laughs.

You taste the smile on your own lips before you realize you’re smiling. But when you try to bury your face in his neck, he winces slightly as you brush his still-fresh wounds.

“Crap, I forgot about these.”

Zoro chuckles as you hurry to press a few small bandages to the wounds.

“It’s okay. So did I.”

You finish dressing his wounds in silence, though this silence is markedly different from every other silence that had ever existed between you. There’s ease and tension, both, and when you’re finally finished, Zoro takes both your hands in his.

“So…” you say, unsure suddenly of where to look.

Zoro’s laugh is just as soft, just as uncertain.

“So.”

You try to look out the window, but by now, the dawning sun is so bright that it temporarily blinds you and you jerk back. Zoro smiles, reaching up to run his thumbs along your closed eyelids before dropping them to hook around your wrists again.

“Do you… wanna talk about it?” he asks, quiet as always.

You purse your lips and let your lashes flutter open. You find him watching you. Heat crests up your shoulders and into your cheeks, and suddenly, the exhaustion of the night before saps at your limbs. You sigh.

“Right now? Not really.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, sounding as relieved as you feel.

You bite your lips and cast your gaze shyly across his face, your bird-wing heartbeat still flapping in your chest. You fight the urge to go still, to reach for that shield that has always protected you before. Faintly, you feel Zoro’s thumbs tracing circles along the insides of your wrists.

“Can I ask for something else, though?”

“What is it?”

You reach up a finger, nudging one of his golden earrings. You don’t miss the way he shivers, or the way his breath quickens in his chest.

“Kiss me again.”

Zoro grins, tugging you towards him, leaning into the curve of your palm as he does.

And does.

And does again.

reqs are: temporarily closed

but feedback is much loved and appreciated!!!

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letsplaythermalnuclearwar · 10 days ago

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LOOK! AT! THE! COOL! ART!

~ i probably shouldn't brag, but dag, i amaze and astonish~

Gus, as commissioned for @mymanyfandomramblings for her band AU

the others in the series:

Hunter | Willow | Luz

#(I find it mildly hilarious how 'close' Gus is to the 'camera' compared to the others)#anyway HIS HAIR. HELLO HAS EVERYONE SEEN THE HAIR HELLO. ITS SO CURLY AND VISIBLY TEXTURED. EVERYONE PLEASE ACKNOWLEDGE THE HAIR #YOU CAN SEE THE FUZZ AROUND THE HAIR. I CAN SEE THE INDIVIDUAL LOCKS BUT THEY DON'T FEEL SEPERATE AND DISCONNECTED. THE FADE IN ON THE SIDE #(there's probably an actual term for what I'm referring to there but I don't know it so I'm not using it sorry)#well done on the hands. seriously those are some really well drawn hands??? impressive #the dvds are also so good. you got the rainbow sheen so well. I am once again impressed by the books #I am very impressed by the banner. something about the shape makes me happy. also the cloth folds on the clothes are fantastic thank you fo #those. love the pins on the banner #they're adorable. the instruments in the background are really REALLY well drawn. best drawn trumpet award goes to goatkatniss.#love the diamonds <3 they're so small here and there's so many. its like stars. also his earring is amazing and I love it thank you #I'm not over the instruments. they're so good. look at that saxophone. amazing #for some reason I really like his teeth. can't give you an explanation on that sorry #the shading around and just under his eyes is really good #the hair #love the little spaceship its so cute. and the Hamilton shirt. I've said this before but he would be the biggest fan of human musicals #art #fanart #toh #the owl house

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bunny-jpeg · 4 months ago

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⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ leave my brother alone, mister wolff - toto. w ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

maybe you were a saint in disguise. if toto wolff wanted a piece of a verstappen, then you'd happily give yourself over. seduce the older man into not pestering your brother anymore. the age gap would be an jaw drop, but you hoped that mister wolff liked the taste of such sweet flesh. give up your virginity as a form of currency. and while you thought that the task would be hard. toto wolff was more than happy to sink his cock into your pretty folds. your pussy took him so well, and what started as an agreement soon became a frequent affair.

toto liked when you dressed more innocent, soft pastels looked nice against your skin tone. softer shades of make up made you look almost doe-like. he liked when you struggled to take him both in your pussy and your throat, made him get an ego boost when something so small and fragile tried to take him to the root. he had watched your sputter and cough when trying to deep throat him, your pussy grow tender for days after he laid waste to your cunt. letting his pearly cum ooze out of you as a reminder that you were verstappen in last name, but you had enough of wolff dna in you as well. toto liked you in delicate things, to rely on him. maybe it was the possessive old man in him talking, but he liked when you needed help. those large hands on your thighs as he rolled up your stockings, knowing full well that he'd be ripping them off at the end of the day. he liked how you fit in his arms, his words hung in your mind like stars. he liked that he kept you dumb at times, fucking you to the point where words meant nothing and all hat mattered was the wash of pleasure. he knew what he was doing, fucking you next to unconsciousness. hard for verstappen's little sister to get out from under his thumb if she couldn't stand on her own two legs. but this was all in the name of diverting toto's attention, you didn't realize that being the focus of a man like him could be almost terrifying.

it didn't help that you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame. the flickering heat and the danger of being ensnared by him left a throb between your legs. by the time monaco came around, you couldn't even get yourself off anymore. you were left overstimulated but with no relief. no toy was like toto, and you sulked all the way to the monaco grand prix to let toto fuck you after hours in red bull's garage. letting him claim you over top of your brother's car. his dirty words in your ear, how dare you let yourself get into this situation. what would you family think? you were supposed to be a proper woman, not a dirty slut. and you could only respond with pathetic little moans. even if it was true, you were at least toto's slut. his big hands on your back as you knee facing the wall, you should've known better then to get too friendly. you wouldn't want your dear max to find out what you've been up to. toto told you that your brother spoke highly of you, little did he know. little did he know that the expensive things you now owned were paid for by a much older man.

he promised you everything. he'd leave your brother alone, let the driver make his own decisions. toto groped at your breasts, bruising the tender skin. his promises got more depraved as your time together grew, he was gonna fill that sweet belly of yours. telling you that he's getting older and it was high time the head principal of mercedes had a few kids. and you'd take such good care of them, right? those promises made you a little afraid, you hadn't finished your program in school. but there was little to be done when you were pressed under his large frame. your hands held behind your back while his bare cock got very familiar with your cunt. you kept meaning to go to the nearest store to get emergency contraception, but before you could sneak out of his bedroom, you were often greeted with another round which shoved all the cum into the farthest part of your pussy. it was a worrying anxiety you tried to ignore, but it would catch up eventually.

it took an entire season but toto wolff was sated, the beast in him could rest. while it wasn't a contract with the three time world champion, he had something a little better. winning was great, but having something sweet to indulge in after every race was something different. while in recent months you hadn't bee accompanying him, he had many photos and videos to keep himself busy in the days apart. because in his home in monaco, there was a cute little verstappen with a slight roundness to her middle. he knew you'd be rubbing your back in irritation over how your son thought it was okay to kick at your ribs. he couldn't tell you the exact date that he got you pregnant, but he had an idea. regardless he was proud of how you carried his child. toto once loudly made a joke within ear shot of max that you were most likely more austrian than dutch by that point, which made the driver's ears burn. he didn't need to hear about his sister like that. but if toto had his way, your brother would be well aware about how the older man takes care of you.

while your little seduction trick failed as toto was coming up with a new contract to propose to max. you found comfort in being toto's sweet little wife now that you were going to have a son over the off-season. <3

a/n: *looks with disrespect*

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misswynters · 7 months ago

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Off Screen Story

Ewan Mitchell x fem!reader

[a/n: feeding my own agenda lol

[note | pls don’t just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

The sun set on the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the set of House of the Dragon. Filming had wrapped up for the day, and the cast and crew were beginning to disperse. Ewan Mitchell, who played the brooding and intense Aemond Targaryen, walked off the set with a sense of satisfaction. He was eager to catch up with his co-star and longtime girlfriend, who played his on-screen wife, Lady ___ Velaryon.

"Hey," Ewan called out as he spotted you by the catering table, pouring yourself a cup of tea. You turned, a bright smile lighting up your face as you saw him.

"Hey yourself," you replied, setting the teapot down. "How was your day?"

Ewan shrugged, a playful grin on his lips. "Same old. Aemond broods, Aemond schemes, Aemond rides a dragon. You know the drill."

You laughed, the sound like music to his ears. "Well, you do it so well. I think you were born to play this role."

"And you were born to play Lady Velaryon," he retorted, stepping closer and wrapping an arm around your waist. "I mean, who else could pull off being both fierce and elegant?"

You leaned into his embrace, feeling the familiar warmth and comfort that only Ewan could provide. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Mitchell."

He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "I aim to please."

The two of you found a quiet corner on set, away from the bustling crew, and sat down on a pair of folding chairs. You sipped your tea while Ewan stretched out his long legs, looking relaxed and content.

"Do you remember our first scene together on The Last Kingdom with Phia and all them?" you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Ewan's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Of course. How could I forget? You nearly knocked me out with that wooden sword."

You blushed at the memory. "Hey, that was an accident! I was just really into the character."

"And I was really into dodging your swings," he teased, earning a playful swat on the arm from you.

"But seriously," you continued, your tone softening, "I think that's when I knew I liked you. You didn't get mad or frustrated. You just laughed it off and helped me get it right."

Ewan's expression turned tender, his gaze locking with yours. "Well, I think I knew I liked you from the moment I saw you. You were so passionate, so dedicated. It was hard not to be drawn to you."

You smiled, feeling a rush of affection for the man beside you. "We've come a long way since then, haven't we?" He nodded, his thumb brushing gently over the back of your hand. "Yeah, we have. And now here we are, playing husband and wife. Life has a funny way of working out."

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the sun dip below the horizon. The sky turned a deep shade of purple, stars beginning to twinkle overhead. It was moments like these that reminded you how lucky you were to have found each other, both on and off-screen.

"I was thinking," Ewan said suddenly, breaking the silence. "Maybe we should do something special this weekend. Just the two of us."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? What do you have in mind?"

He shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. "How about a little getaway? We could rent a cabin in the countryside, away from all the chaos. Just relax, enjoy each other's company."

The idea sounded perfect, and you felt a surge of excitement at the thought. "That sounds amazing, Ewan. I could definitely use a break."

"Great," he said, leaning in to kiss you softly. "I'll make the arrangements. We'll leave Friday evening."

You kissed him back, feeling a sense of contentment settle over you. "I can't wait."

Friday evening arrived faster than expected. Ewan had managed to keep the details of the trip a secret, only telling you to pack for a weekend away. You trusted him completely, knowing that whatever he had planned would be perfect.

As you drove through the countryside, the city fading into the distance, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. Ewan had chosen a scenic route, the landscape dotted with rolling hills and quaint villages. The cabin he had rented was nestled in a secluded spot, surrounded by lush trees and a sparkling lake.

"This is beautiful," you breathed as you stepped out of the car, taking in the serene surroundings.

Ewan grinned, looking pleased with himself. "I thought you might like it."

The cabin was cozy and charming, with a rustic yet modern feel. Ewan carried your bags inside, setting them down in the master bedroom. You followed, taking in the warm, inviting decor.

"Thank you for this," you said, wrapping your arms around him from behind. "It's exactly what I needed."

He turned in your embrace, his arms encircling your waist. "Anything for you."

The two of you spent the evening relaxing by the fireplace, talking and laughing as you reminisced about your time on The Last Kingdom and the early days of your relationship. It was easy to forget about the pressures of filming and the outside world when you were with Ewan. He had a way of making you feel cherished and loved, no matter what.

As the night wore on, you found yourself curled up in his arms, feeling utterly content. The fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the room. You tilted your head up to look at him, your heart swelling with love.

"Do you ever think about the future?" you asked softly.

Ewan's expression grew thoughtful as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. "All the time. Especially when it comes to us."

You smiled, feeling a sense of warmth spread through you. "What do you see?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes locking with yours. "I see us, happy and together. I see more getaways but always with each other. I see a life filled with love and laughter."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to his words, feeling a profound sense of connection and understanding. "I see the same thing. I can't imagine my life without you." He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips.

The weekend passed in a blissful blur of lazy mornings, long walks, and intimate moments. You felt closer to Ewan than ever before, the bond between you growing stronger with each passing day. It was a reminder of why you had fallen in love with him in the first place, and why you knew you would always choose him, time and time again.

As you drove back to the city on Sunday evening, you felt a sense of calm and contentment settle over you. The weekend had been exactly what you needed, a chance to reconnect and recharge. You knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, as a team.

Ewan reached over and took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Thank you for this weekend. It was perfect."

You squeezed his hand back, smiling at him. "No, thank you. For everything."

He grinned, his eyes twinkling with affection. "I love you."

"I love you too," you replied, feeling the truth of those words resonate deep within you.

A few days later, you and Ewan were scheduled for a joint interview to promote House of the Dragon. The two of you arrived at the studio, hands intertwined, your chemistry palpable. The interviewer, a seasoned journalist named Claire, greeted you warmly.

"Welcome, Ewan, and ___. It's great to have you here," Claire said, smiling brightly as she motioned for you to sit down.

"Thank you for having us," you replied, settling into the plush chair beside Ewan. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go.

The cameras rolled, and Claire began with the usual questions about the show, your characters, and the experience of working on such a high-profile project. You and Ewan answered with ease, your natural camaraderie shining through.

"There's been a lot of buzz about the chemistry between your characters on the show," Claire noted, leaning forward. "Do you think that has anything to do with your real-life relationship?"

You exchanged a quick glance with Ewan, both of you smiling. "I think it definitely helps," Ewan said, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "We have a deep connection off-screen, and that translates into our performances."

You nodded in agreement. "It's easier to convey those intense emotions when you genuinely care about the person you're acting with. Plus, we trust each other completely, which makes taking risks in our scenes a lot easier."

Claire's eyes twinkled with interest. "Can you share any fun or memorable moments from the set?"

You laughed, recalling a particular incident. "Well, there was this one time during a battle scene where Ewan got so into character that he accidentally knocked over a prop tree. It was hilarious because he just stood there, looking so apologetic while everyone else was trying to stay in character."

Ewan chuckled, shaking his head. "I swear, that tree came out of nowhere."

The interview continued, with Claire asking more personal questions about your relationship. "How do you balance your professional and personal lives, especially when working together on such demanding projects?"

"It's all about communication and support," you explained. "We make sure to set aside time for ourselves, away from the set, to just relax and be a normal couple. And we always have each other's backs, no matter what."

Ewan nodded, his hand finding yours once more. "Exactly. It's not always easy, but it's worth it. We're each other's biggest fans and strongest support system."

Claire smiled, clearly charmed by your dynamic. "It's wonderful to see such a strong bond between you two. Lastly, what can fans expect from your characters in the upcoming episodes?"

You shared a knowing look with Ewan before answering. "Without giving too much away, I can say that there are some intense and emotional scenes coming up. Our characters face a lot of challenges, but they also have moments of deep connection and understanding. It's going to be a rollercoaster ride."

Ewan nodded in agreement. "Definitely. There are some twists and turns that will surprise everyone. It's been an incredible journey, and we're excited for fans to see what's next."

As the interview wrapped up, Claire thanked you both for your time. "It's been a pleasure talking with you. Your chemistry is truly off the charts, both on and off-screen."

"Thank you," you said, feeling a warm flush of happiness. "It's been great chatting with you too."

Ewan leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. "We'll see you at the premiere," he added with a grin.

As you left the studio hand in hand, you felt a sense of fulfillment. The interview had gone perfectly, showcasing not only your professional work but also the deep bond you shared. With Ewan by your side, both in your career and your personal life, you knew you could face anything that came your way.

taglist: @benjicotblckwood

#house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd season 2 #house targaryen #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchel x reader

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mistyshane30 · 11 days ago

Text

You Were Never Mine to Lose (Chapter 7)

Synopsis: A yacht party and a horseback riding trip put you and Agatha in closer proximity than you can handle. The teasing, the fleeting touches, the way she looks at you—it’s messing with your head. Is she just being Agatha, or is there something more?

Word count: 3.4K

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol consumption, Subtle angst, Lingering tension, Unresolved emotions

You wake up feeling fine, stretching lazily before reaching for your phone. It's around 8 AM, and a new message from Jen lights up the group chat.

Jen: Private yacht party at 10 AM, ladies! Get ready to live like queens today ✨🍾✨

A flood of excited responses follows, filled with emojis and exclamation marks. Everyone seems thrilled, but despite the distraction, your mind is still occupied with Agatha. Something about last night, about the way she left things, lingers like a splinter you can't quite pull out.

Shaking the thought away, you push yourself out of bed and move through your morning routine. A quick shower, skincare, light makeup. You pick out a high-waisted wide-leg pant and bralette combo, paired with pink leather sandals, black shades, and a tote bag stuffed with essentials—your bikini, sunscreen, phone, charger, wallet. Everything you’ll need.

By the time you arrive at the yacht, the sun is high, reflecting off the pristine white of the vessel. It's a superyacht—luxurious but not obnoxiously oversized. Classic Jen, always going all out.

Stepping aboard, you're greeted by the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. The group is gathered around the pool, already in their swimwear, drinks in hand, lost in easy conversation. They wave you over, and just as you're about to join them, your eyes find her.

Agatha.

She’s lounging on a patio chaise, champagne flute poised between her fingers, dark sunglasses obscuring her eyes. But you know she’s watching. When she finally catches your lingering gaze, her lips twitch into a smirk. You look away first.

“Well, don’t you look like you own the damn yacht,” Agatha muses, lifting her glass in mock admiration. “Did you forget this was a party?”

You roll your eyes but smirk back. “I brought a bikini, didn’t I?”

“Oh, what a relief,” she teases, tilting her head. “Would’ve been a shame if you spent the whole day in CEO mode.”

Another round of banter flickers between you, sharp and familiar. But instead of indulging further, you shake your head, slip away, and head inside to change.

When you reemerge, you feel the sun’s heat against your bare skin, the air thick with salt and summer. The group is still at the pool, but your eyes are drawn elsewhere—to the saloon bar, where Agatha stands, pouring herself another glass of champagne.

Something about the way she carries herself, so unbothered, so effortlessly poised, compels you to walk over. She notices before you even reach her, glancing up over the rim of her glass.

“Well, well.” She lets her gaze sweep over you. “Now that’s more fitting.”

You don’t acknowledge the way your skin warms at her approval. Instead, you fold your arms and nod toward the bar. “Any whiskey?”

Agatha hums, scanning the bottles before plucking one from the shelf. “Sticking to your usual,” she muses, pouring a generous measure into a glass before handing it to you.

For a while, it’s just the two of you, drinks in hand, the distant chatter from the deck fading into the background. Conversation drifts, winding through neutral topics before landing on politics.

She speaks, and you try to focus—but it’s not just what she’s saying. It’s the way she says it. The cadence of her voice, the way her hands move as she emphasizes a point, the sharp wit woven through her words. And those damn blue eyes.

You lose track of the conversation completely, too busy memorizing the shape of her mouth as she speaks. When she pauses expectantly, you nod, feigning interest.

Just like the night that changed everything—for you, at least.

Seventeen years ago, a karaoke night with the group, your usual Friday tradition. Drinks flowed, laughter filled the air, and each of you took turns at the mic. Then, it was Agatha’s turn.

She chose Always Be My Baby by Mariah Carey.

She had sung in front of you all before, but that night felt different. You couldn't explain why, but as she sang, everything slowed down. The way she moved, the way her voice curled around each note, the way she stood—it was as if she was the only person in the room.

You snapped out of it when the song ended, confused and shaken. What the hell just happened?

But as the night continued, you found yourself watching her more closely—the way she sipped her drink, the way she laughed, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. Something had shifted, and you couldn't ignore it.

Later, you told Wanda about it. She was the only one who knew. You told yourself it was nothing, that it would pass. But it didn’t.

Instead, it only got worse.

You watched Agatha fall into relationships, then marriage. You became the godmother to her two children. And still, your feelings never faded.

You learned to live with it, to bury it. But standing here, with her right in front of you, all those old emotions claw their way back to the surface.

And it feels just like that night all over again.

You snapped back to reality when Agatha asked you something—but you had no idea what. You were too busy watching her, caught in the way she moved, the way her voice wrapped around her words. Without thinking, you blurted out a quick, “Yes.”

Agatha gave you a look, clearly unconvinced, but she only shrugged it off. Silence stretched between you, charged and unspoken. Your eyes locked for a moment longer.

Then Wanda arrived, snapping you both out of whatever that was. Agatha straightened, her posture shifting back into something composed, unreadable.

“What are you two doing here?” Wanda asked, glancing between you.

“She needed help finding the whiskey,” Agatha replied smoothly, taking a slow sip from her champagne glass.

You nodded, grateful for the easy excuse.

Agatha didn’t linger. She excused herself, making her way back toward the pool, slipping effortlessly back into the crowd. As soon as she was out of earshot, Wanda nudged your shoulder hard.

“What the hell was that?” she whispered, eyes narrowed.

“What?” You feigned ignorance, knowing full well what she was referring to.

“Don’t play coy with me.” She studied you, then smirked. “You look flustered.”

You scoffed. “I’m fine.”

Wanda crossed her arms. “Look, I just don’t want you getting in too deep again.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “You don’t need to worry.”

“I always worry.” But she let it go, grabbing the bottle of champagne and motioning for you to follow her back to the pool.

As you stepped outside, your gaze drifted toward Agatha. She was in the pool, laughing with Jen, Alice, and Lilia. For a moment, you watched, lingering on the way she tossed her wet hair back, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled.

Shaking yourself out of it, you dropped onto a patio chaise lounge, closing your eyes to relax.

Moments later, cold water splashed over you.

You gasped, eyes snapping open, only to be met with Agatha’s mischievous grin. Laughter echoed around the deck as the others watched, clearly enjoying your reaction.

“Really?” you deadpanned, wiping water from your face.

Wanda called out from the pool, grinning. “We’re playing Chicken Fight. You in?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Pass.”

Agatha smirked. “Afraid of losing?”

Your eyes narrowed. “I just don’t feel like it.”

“Oh, come on,” Agatha drawled. “Didn’t take you for a coward.”

That did it.

You sat up, rolling your shoulders. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

The teams were set. Wanda crouched in the water, letting you climb onto her shoulders, while Agatha sat perched atop Jen’s. The tension was thick, both teams sizing each other up.

The game began, and it was intense. Laughter and splashing filled the air as you and Agatha grappled, trying to shove each other off. For a moment, you thought you had the upper hand—you gripped Agatha’s arm, pulling her down inch by inch.

But then she twisted free, and before you could react, she lunged.

Her hands found your shoulders, and with one strong push, you lost your balance. A yelp left your lips before you plunged backward into the water, dragging Wanda down with you.

When you surfaced, sputtering, Agatha was grinning triumphantly. “Better luck next time, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, splashing water toward her, but she dodged, laughing. The game continued, with Lilia and Alice taking on Agatha and Jen next, the group caught up in the excitement. Teasing, laughter, and playful shoves filled the air as round after round played out.

Eventually, the energy simmered down. The games stopped, and everyone floated lazily in the pool, the conversation shifting to lighthearted chitchat.

As the sun began to set, one by one, everyone climbed out of the pool, heading inside to prepare for dinner.

Later that night, after the laughter and the drinks had settled, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the feeling in your chest. The way Agatha looked at you. The way her voice lingered in your head. The way your skin still tingled where she had touched you.

Tomorrow, you and the others would return to your own villas, with horseback riding planned for the afternoon. Another day, another chance to keep up the act. To pretend nothing had changed.

The next morning, you woke up to the gentle sway of the yacht, sunlight filtering through the curtains. The distant hum of conversation and clinking utensils reached your ears, pulling you from sleep. You stretched, took a moment to gather yourself, then made your way to the dining area.

The group was already there, eating breakfast and chatting. You took a seat beside Wanda, who offered you a knowing glance before turning her attention back to the conversation.

“We’re all set for horseback riding this afternoon,” Jen announced, stirring her coffee. “The instructors will be there, but it should be pretty easygoing.”

Lilia smirked and turned to you. “Though, Y/N might not even need lessons. You probably already know how to ride a horse, right? You’re rich—don’t rich people all own horses?”

Alice laughed, jumping in. “Oh, right! Maybe you even do equestrian competitions in secret.”

“Oh my god,” Wanda groaned, rolling her eyes. “Next thing you know, they’ll say Y/N casually rides a horse to work.”

Lilia gasped dramatically. “Do you? Be honest.”

Jen grinned. “Bet she has one of those fancy riding outfits and everything.”

The teasing spread quickly, the others joining in with playful jabs about you being some kind of expert rider. The only one who remained silent was Agatha—who sat across from you, smirking into her coffee cup.

You scoffed, pretending to be offended. “Not all rich people own horses or know how to ride, you know.”

Agatha leaned forward slightly, her voice smooth, teasing. “So that means you don’t know how to ride?”

You met her gaze, catching the glint of amusement in her eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

“Oh?” Her smirk deepened. “You’re getting defensive.”

“I’m making a point,” you corrected, raising a brow. “For the record, yes, I do know how to ride. And yes, I own a stable. But that’s not the point!"

The table erupted in laughter, and Agatha leaned in slightly, lowering her voice just enough so only you could hear. "So you do know how to ride. Good to know."

A warmth crept up your neck, but you focused on your plate, pretending her words hadn’t sent a slow, deliberate shiver down your spine. Before you could formulate a response, Alice’s voice cut through the moment.

“See! Knew it!” she gasped, pointing at you triumphantly.

Lilia leaned back, grinning. “I bet Y/N has a horse named something dramatic like ‘Midnight Storm’ or ‘Celestial Thunder.’”

You shook your head, laughing. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Wanda nudged you. “I’m just excited to see you in action later. Show us peasants how it’s done.”

The table erupted in laughter, and even you couldn’t help but chuckle. The lighthearted energy carried through breakfast, filled with teasing and banter. But through it all, you could feel it—Agatha’s gaze flickering toward you, lingering just a little too long.

And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t ignore it.

After breakfast, each of you returned to your own villas. You stepped into the bathroom first, taking a refreshing shower before going through your usual morning routine. Deciding to stretch a little, you unrolled your yoga mat and went through a few basic poses—not too intense, just enough to feel awake.

After that, you settled at your desk, opening your laptop to check work emails. Nothing urgent. Satisfied, you shut it down and flopped onto the bed, scrolling through social media, watching random videos, and letting time pass.

When the afternoon rolled around, your phone buzzed with a message in the group chat.

Jen: Be at the main entrance by 2 PM.

You stretched, set your phone aside, and got up to prepare. After a quick lunch, you went to your luggage, picking out an outfit for horseback riding—something comfortable yet stylish. You settled on a fitted maroon polo shirt, black high-waisted skinny jeans, and Dior sneakers. Grabbing your tote bag with the essentials, you gave yourself one last glance in the mirror before heading out, ready for whatever the afternoon had in store.

You made your way to the main entrance, where the others were already gathered near a waiting van. Your gaze flickered toward Agatha for a brief second before you climbed inside with the rest of the group. Of course, she ended up beside you again.

The ride took about thirty minutes, and you busied yourself with your phone, scrolling aimlessly to pass the time. The occasional chatter filled the van, but you mostly kept to yourself.

When the van finally stopped, you looked up to see the sign: Malibu Riders. The group stepped out, greeted by one of the facilitators who welcomed you warmly and led you toward the stables. They gave you a quick tour, explaining the facility, before guiding you to the horses you’d be riding.

You grabbed the necessary gear, swapping out your Dior sneakers for riding boots and securing a helmet. Once everyone was suited up, the facilitators led the horses outside, preparing them for you to mount.

At the field, the instructor demonstrated how to properly get on a horse. You mounted yours with ease, while a few of the others struggled but managed to get settled after some effort. The only one still struggling was Agatha. After watching her attempt a few times, you sighed, got off your horse, and walked over to her.

“Here, let me help,” you offered, steadying the horse as she tried again.

Agatha huffed but accepted the assistance. With your guidance, she finally managed to get on, giving you a smug look once she was settled.

“Happy now?” she teased.

You just rolled your eyes and got back onto your horse.

The lesson went on—not that you needed it. You were already skilled at horseback riding, though you played along, nodding as the facilitator went through the basics. Once the official lesson wrapped up, the group was free to ride around and put their skills to the test.

Jen called out to everyone, waving her phone. “Alright, let’s get a quick picture while we’re all still on the horses!”

One of the facilitators took the phone and snapped a few photos of the group, capturing the moment before you all rode off to enjoy the rest of the afternoon.

After the group split up, you guided your horse across the open field, enjoying the steady rhythm of its movements. The afternoon breeze brushed against your skin as you took in the quiet beauty of the landscape. After a while, you noticed Agatha riding alone and decided to head her way.

“You know, horses can sleep standing up,” you said out of nowhere.

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

You nodded. “Yeah. They have a special locking system in their legs so they don’t fall over.”

She smirked. “You really know a lot about horses.”

You chuckled. “Learned to ride when I was nine. My mom taught me.”

That caught her attention. “Your mom?”

You nodded, a small smile forming as you recalled the memories. “Yeah. She loved riding. We had a stable back home, and she wanted me to know how to ride properly. She always said there’s something freeing about it.”

Agatha listened intently, her blue eyes locked onto you, but there was something more in the way she was looking at you—something unreadable.

She sighed, glancing ahead at the open field. “Freedom. That’s an interesting way to put it.”

You tilted your head. “You don’t think so?”

A small, almost wistful smile tugged at her lips. “I wouldn’t know. I never had the luxury of just... riding away from everything.”

You studied her for a moment. “You ever wish you could?”

She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “Sometimes. But responsibilities don’t just disappear because you want them to.”

Something in her tone made your chest tighten. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I get that.”

Agatha looked at you then, really looked at you, as if seeing past everything you let people perceive. The silence stretched between you, comfortable yet heavy, like an unspoken understanding passing between two people who knew what it was like to carry more than they let on.

Eventually, the horseback riding session came to an end, and it was time to dismount. Most of the group managed to get off their horses without much trouble—including you—but Agatha, once again, struggled.

You sighed with amusement and walked over. “Here, I got you.”

She hesitated but then accepted your help. Holding her hands, you guided her as she jumped down, though she nearly tripped in the process. Instinctively, your hands found her waist, steadying her before she could fall.

For a brief second, neither of you moved. Agatha looked up at you, her breath hitching just slightly before she cleared her throat.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

“It’s nothing,” you replied, quickly letting go.

She stepped back, adjusting her posture before leading her horse away. Your gaze lingered on her retreating figure for a moment before you shook your head and followed suit, taking your horse back to the stable and returning the riding gear.

With the session officially over, the group left the ranch and piled back into the van. You slid into your seat, put on your earbuds, and stared out the window, watching the scenery blur past as you made your way back to the resort.

After arriving back at the resort, you head straight to your villa, shutting the door behind you with a quiet sigh. The day had been long, but it wasn’t the horseback riding that left you drained—it was her. The way Agatha had been looking at you, the way she spoke, how her presence lingered even after she walked away. It was starting to feel like too much, and yet, not enough.

You loosen your shirt, moving straight to the minibar. You don’t hesitate as you pour yourself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling under the dim villa lights. You take a slow sip, letting it burn its way down, hoping it will dull whatever this is—this thing that Agatha is doing to you, whether she realizes it or not.

You lean against the counter, exhaling through your nose. Is she giving you mixed signals, or are you just seeing something that isn’t there? Maybe you’ve been alone for too long. Maybe the past has made you foolish enough to hope. Or maybe—just maybe—she feels it too, but she won’t let herself go there.

Frustrated, you grab your phone and turn on the speaker, scrolling through your playlist until your finger hovers over a song. You press play, and Adele’s voice fills the room.

Should I give up, or should I just keep chasing pavements…

You close your eyes and let the music wash over you, sinking onto the couch, whiskey glass resting on your thigh. The song plays on repeat as you drink, each sip doing little to blur the thoughts racing through your mind. You don’t even realize how much time has passed—only that the glass is empty, and the weight in your chest hasn’t lifted.

At some point, exhaustion takes over, and you let yourself sink further into the cushions. The night moves on without you, but Agatha stays—etched into your thoughts, just like she always does.

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#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha x reader #agatha x you #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness smut #YouWereNeverMinetoLose

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gatorbites-imagines · 2 months ago

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Friedrich getting 'infected' by proximity and becoming obsessed with dhampir reader?

Friedrich Harding x Dhampir male reader

Ficlet

I can’t deny I felt myself drawn to Friedrich, and it’s not just cuz its Aaron Taylor-Johnson playing him. The scene in the mausoleum… was something. This takes place somewhere after anna and the daughters die, but before Friedrich, well, you know. Tried to really go with the handsome mysterious vampire vibe here.

Hope this meets the “intro to obsession” vibe I was going for. I had a lot of fun writing this, would honestly love to write a part 2, if y’all are interested…

Nosfertatu 2024 spoilers ig

The plague was ransacking Wisborg, people dying by the dozen, bodies littering the streets faster than they could be moved away. Rats ran around, running about peoples feet, some even climbing up pedestrians legs if they could.

But Friedrich could not find it in himself to care. After his sweet Anna was gone, his beautiful daughters too, taken by this plague, for he still did not believe that it was some demon that took them. That was simply the ramblings of a woman who should have been locked away a long time ago. The alcohol on his tongue was sour like his thoughts. He truly should have convinced Thomas of turning his eyes onto another woman all that time ago.

Friedrich was not at his estate. He knew that would be the first place Thomas would find him, along with the two doctors who only played into the delusion. He simply couldn’t stand being in their presence right now, not after burying his beloved Anna and their daughters.

His eyes were bloodshot, throat raw from all his sobbing and weeping. He had not even changed out of the clothing he had worn to their funeral. The keeper of the bar he had found, had left the bottle with him after he had pair, deciding to return to the safety of their home, and not be stuck here with Friedrich.

The door of the establishment opened with a creak, cold air seeming to flood the room. What few candles stood about flickered before snuffing out, the room suddenly so cold that Friedrich’s breath was making vapors as a horrible cold sank into his bones.

The moment Friedrich turned his head, still so heavy and weary, the room seemed to warm up again, the candles flickering back on, the flame stronger and brighter than before. A man stood in the door, tall and broad in a way that spoke of good lineage, of a healthy diet, someone rich enough to eat enough to grow tall.

The clothing was similar, but not what was popular in Germany, but rather what you would see the upper class of the kingdom of Great Britain would wear. Most of it, at least. Down the middle of his coat, was stitching’s and details that felt like it was from somewhere else. It made Friedrich think of the few traders he had met from Romania.

What was most peculiar, was the mans eyewear. They looked like Windsor glasses, but the glass was tinted red. Not a dull weak red that most craftsmen could achieve, but a red so vibrant that the shades almost seemed to glow in the mans shadow. Last but not least, was the cane the man was holding. Polished and dark, with a pommel shaped like that seemed to be a bat of all things.

A feeling started filling the room as the men stepped closer to the mourning widow, the door slamming shut behind the mysterious man as if the wind itself as pulled it, his polished shoes and heels clicking across the flooring as he neared.

His walk was graceful, as if his feet were not touching the ground as he moved, like the weight of the world was not holding him down like everyone else. The world so heavy that Friedrich wanted it to swallow him whole.

A shiver that felt both molten and freezing ran down Friedrichs spine, as this graceful man sat down beside him on another stool at the door, the ship merchant finding himself almost bewitched as the unknown man pulled off his skintight leather gloves. It felt almost promiscuous, the way the gloves slowly pulled off his fingers and folded up so neatly on the bar top.

“You would not mind if I joined you for a drink, would you, Herr?” he finally spoke, his voice purred and accented, like a big fancily dressed feline, perhaps like one of those lions Friedrich had heard of. The voice was accented, something British mixed with Romanian. Seemingly out of nowhere, a crystal glass was in front of him, the mans eyes hidden behind the tinted glass of his special eyewear, but Friedrich felt like a mouse before a cat, like he was seeing someone greater than himself.

“N… not at all” he finally mustered out, voice gasped and breathless, like something besides his heavy grief was weighing on his lungs. The bottle of whatever alcohol Friedrich had bought in his blind grief felt heavy in his clammy hands as he pulled the stopper, turning it to pour it into the mans glass.

Friedrich could not wrench his eyes from the tall mans face, he felt almost bewitched. It felt like when he would look at Anna, but… more. Anna was always his beloved beautiful wife, who made him feel like an animal at times with how much he yearned her. But with her, he was the wolf, the hunter, and her his fluffy rabbit.

But now, he felt meek, sensitive, the hairs on his skin standing on end. Friedrich felt spit pool in his mouth as his sudden companion lifted the now filled glass, slowly bringing it to his plush lips, the bop of his throat as he swallowed making sweat gather on the merchant’s brow.

The beating of his heart was loud in his ears, Friedrichs hands twitching on the bar top in a need to wipe them on his trousers, but under this man’s attention he felt stuck as if he was submerged in stone or ice. His smile was… so beautiful. Dizzying, like alcohol and tobacco, like the medicines that made your world spin and colors dance before your ears.

Some of the man’s teeth were sharp, sharper than any Friedrich had ever seen, but his attention was stuck on the way his tongue flicked across his bottom lip to catch any stray drops of alcohol.

“You seemed burdened by a great weight, my friend” he purred, placing the now empty glass down, just to reach upper and take Friedrichs chin between his pointer and thumb. A loud shaky exhale left Friedrich, his Adams apple bouncing as he swallowed, his insides burning at such a small touch.

“I… I lost my wife… my daughters. To this plague” he gasped, the words wrenching from his chest like his daughters wrenching the favorite doll from each other’s hands. Why did he say that? spill such a painful fact to a complete stranger.

“You have my deepest condolences” his accented voice cooed, like one would coo at a small pitiful animal. Yet, Friedrich did not feel put down by the tone of voice, instead his very heart seemed to pump twice as fast as something like euphoria flooded his veins. The very attention of this man had Friedrich feeling more alive than any other moment of his life.

“It saddens me that my father’s obsession should take such important beings from you. I will find a way to repay you, anything you may want. You simply come find me, when you know what that is” his almost erotic voice rolled, his face drawing closer and closer to Friedrichs.

He knew he should pull away, claim disgust and horror of a man, and a strange at that, drawing so close, just after his wife had been put away in the mausoleum. But Friedrichs blood rushed, both to his face and downwards, his lips parting in a soft hungry gasp as his eyelids drooped.

The mans lips were cold, but not as cold as a corpses. Cold, like when you just got in from the pouring rain and you were soaked to the bone. His tongue tasted metallic, salty almost, mixed with the minty flavor of pastils. The kind a man would use to fix his breath.

It should have disgusted Friedrich, yet he found himself arching into it with a needy hungry whimper, a noise his sweet Anna never had drawn from him. The merchant wanted to grasp onto this man, to devour his tongue and mouth in ways he never dared with Anna, to climb upon him and be taken in ways he had only heard shamefully spoken of by others.

Pure ecstasy, what must be a taste of heaven, enough for Friedrich to fear he would spill in his trousers like a fool. Addicting, more than any drug. But just as he was about to indulge himself, the man pulled away, his grin wider and more akin to the demon paintings of the churches.

His teeth were painted red, his tongue flicking across his sharp fangs. His tongue seemed sharper and longer than the average person, but Friedrich felt nothing but want. In his hazy state, Friedrich did not even see him leave. One moment he was there, the next, gone, the door of the establishment wide open and the candles put out.

Rats ran by the door, yet none entered, as if there was a barrier in the way. It was only now that Friedrich felt the ache of his tongue, his hand clumsily reaching up and brushing against it, drawing away only to see them coated in blood. His mouth tasted like blood, his handkerchief soaked in it when he pressed it against his mouth.

His tongue hurt, did it start bleeding on accident when you two coiled yours like a pair of mating snakes? The throbbing of his tongue was almost as addictive as the throbbing between his legs, a wild feeling in his mind and body.

Friedrich stumbled to his feet, neglecting to pick up his hat as he stumbled out of the establishment, leaving his bottle behind as he tripped towards his home. With all the death around them, no one had time to pay attention to the befuddled man whose mouth and chin was soaked in blood, and nobody had time to pay attention to how the rats seemed to go right around him like a parting sea.

He must get home. He had too… he had to find that man again, he had to find you.

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qwimblenorrisstan · 8 months ago

Text

Candles and Cuddles | Azriel x Reader

Summary: You take Azriel to get a personal wax mold of your hands intertwined, and after overcoming insecurity, settle into each other’s warm embrace.

Word Count: ~ 1.3k

Warnings: Mentions of past injuries, scars, insecurities, fluff, nothing bad.

A/N: Really liked writing this, hope you enjoy it <3

Requests are open!

You had originally gotten the idea when you’d seen all sorts of cute pictures of couples getting wax molds and melts of them holding hands in a heart shape or fingers interlocked. It was, in your opinion, positively adorable, and so you decided to drag your mate along with you for this particular adventure.

“What, pray tell, are we looking for?”

Azriel’s deep voice, calm and gleaming with curiosity, spoke softly. His head was tilted slightly to the side as you walked excitedly down the bustling streets of Velaris, your soft hand holding his larger, scarred one and pulling him gently along.

The children played in the streets, vendors calling out their prices as some roamed the streets with baskets of fresh products or supplies to try or test, hopefully, to lure in some customers. It was a warm evening, a cool breeze blowing through that lifted the autumn leaves to stir around your feet, only to settle in piles before being further blown away, or gathered into piles as the children jumped into them.

“It’s a surprise, Az, you’ll know when we get there!”

You said, being drawn into the direction of one street corner by the warm light coming from the building, only to find exactly what you were looking for with a quiet sound of triumph.

A small smile graced Azriel’s face as he peered down at you curiously, studying your happy smile and the twinkle in your eyes, one that spoke of joy, and an innocence he would gladly protect with his life.

“You’re going to love this, it’s so cute.”

You said, eagerly entering the store hand in hand with him. He ducked to avoid the top of the doorframe, wings folding in tightly to not disrupt anything inside of the small business. His shadows curiously observed and watched, taking in information on the surroundings on instinct.

There was a small desk at the front with a woman who he assumed was running the main operation, and to the left of it in another open room were pots full of different colored melted max, with a few other people already dipping a dry white base into it to make their own custom candle. It looked..intriguing, he would admit. He was ashamed that he’d never come to see all these small thriving businesses in Velaris.

“Come on!”

You said, bursting at the seams with excitement as you paid the woman up front and eagerly pulled him along to the wax room. He’d been so caught up in thinking he’d missed your entire conversation with the other female. Oops.

He patiently followed along, until you were both standing in front of a blue wax pot, a deep, rich blue like the siphons he had. Blue was a nice color. Maybe even his favorite.

“See? We dip our hands in together, and it makes a wax outline we can keep.”

You explained, beaming up at him. He returned the smile, a warm one spreading across his lips as he intertwined his hand with yours.

“I understand, love.”

He replied, waiting for you to begin moving first before submerging both of their hands in the melted wax, letting it sit a bit before pulling it out and dipping it again, and that went on for a few more layers until both of your hands were covered in a thick layer of blue dried wax, about the consistency of a babybell cheese wrapper.

A worker came over and helped you both get the wax off of your hands, leaving the mold of your hands together before the worker spoke up. It was a male with short brown hair and ghoulish skin, and distinctly Fae eyes in a shade of chocolate brown. Maybe a mix between a ghoul and Fae? The shadows seemed to think so as well.

“We could use the wax mold to make a quick concrete markup?”

He offered, at which you eagerly nodded.

“I’d love that, how long would it take?”

You asked, at which the worker simply waved a hand.

“Not long, only like, five minutes. We got a new concrete mix, the stuff works like magic! I wouldn’t be surprised if there isn’t some sort of enchantment on it…”

The worker went on, before seeming to realize he was rambling and giving a little chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’ll have it ready for you in five, just take a seat somewhere.”

He said, gesturing to some of the seats in the small business area, before walking off to the back room with you and Azriel’s wax mold in hand. You both went and sat down next to each other, and he tried to pull you on his lap. You gave him a look. He only smirked.

“What? Shouldn’t we save space for any other potential weary customers?”

He asked with a playful tone, still smirking, at which you laughed and shook your head in fond exasperation, finally sighing and sliding onto his lap.

A few minutes later, the worker returned, the wax mold gone, but with concrete of you and Azriel’s hands intertwined together. He smiled and gave it to you, and after paying a bit extra for the stone structure.

After walking back home, and a short flight, you triumphantly set the stone structure on your favorite bookshelf in a space with good visibility.

“Don’t you love it?”

You asked Azriel with a happy grin, leaning back into him. He nodded, but when you glanced back at him, you saw a hint of worry and hesitation in his gaze. You turned to face him, wondering what was wrong. Had you done something to upset him? Had the wax made his sensitive, scarred hands start aching?

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

You asked, one hand sliding up to his cheek to move his face so he was looking down at you. He hesitated before speaking. That was odd. He never hesitated much, if ever.

“You don’t think my hand looks a bit…out of place? With all the..scarring against your smooth skin?”

His now tentative and quiet voice asked, eyes studying the structure with a meticulous gaze, picking apart every minor detailing of his winding burn scars the wax mold had picked up, and the contrast of it against your smooth, soft skin. You pulled his gaze back to yours, taking his hands in yours.

“No. Not at all. Your hands are perfect just the way they are, and they look perfect in mine, and they belong there. If you ever start talking about them like that again, I’m revoking hand privileges for a week.”

He raised a brow because of the last statement but seemed a bit comforted by your statement, going to pull his hands away, but you wouldn’t let him, instead going to kiss every inch of his scarred hands until he was a blushing mess, his shadows looking more purple than usual as they crossed and danced around you in an embrace.

“Alright, love.”

He murmured, a small smile gracing his lips as he began gently pulling you towards the bed, a sign that he wanted to go to bed. You laughed softly, relenting as you pulled your bra off from under your loose shirt, tossing it onto the floor as you crawled into bed.

Azriel shimmied out of his leathers and crawled into bed wearing only his boxers, settling under the blankets before wrapping his arms and wings around you in a cocooning embrace, his head in the hollow of your neck, deeply inhaling your scent as he allowed himself to relax.

“Goodnight, Azzie, love you.”

You murmured, already sleepy. He smiled against your skin, shadows dancing before gently settling around you and him, before closing his eyes and replying.

“Goodnight, love.”

#azriel x reader #acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #acotar fluff #acotar x reader #azriel #azriel acotar #writers on tumblr #azriel fluff #azriel comfort #acotar comfort #comfort #fluff #established relationship

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luveline · 1 year ago

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hey! sorry if you’ve done this already, please ignore. pls could i request hotch with reader who’s recovering from a (major) surgery? thank you 🫶

“Is it hideous?”

“Yes,” Hotch says, though he doesn’t look at the bandage nor the wound. “You’ll be marred forever, likely.” His hand cups your cheek, and his thumb draws teeny lines across the apple of it. “Unsightly.”

You laugh into yourself and let your eyes close under the pleasure of his small touch. The hospital room is quiet, private even, though that’s soon to change. You’ve been informed of another visitor who will need to share your room in an hour. Visiting hours will be over shortly afterwards.

“Are they sure I can’t come home?” you ask.

“They need to do so much,” he says unhappily.

“I don’t want to be alone when it gets worse again.”

Hotch speaks softly. “It might not get worse again. But if the pain is too much, I’ll stay. They won’t be able to force me out.”

“You’ll abuse your power.”

“Only for you,” he says sincerely. His kiss says as much, so gentle and slow to your chapped lips. It’s as chaste as they come but you’d needed it. Your shoulders relax as he sits up again. “I know you feel off kilter, you’re going to, because this isn’t a small thing to recover from, but I’m not going anywhere you can’t reach me if you need me.” He tucks your blanket back over your chest, but he’s sitting on it, and it doesn’t have much give. “Will this be enough? I’ll bring the nurses a fleece tonight after I’ve gone to give to you. This isn’t going to be warm enough.”

“I feel too hot.”

He feels along your forehead softly. “You feel perfectly normal. Don’t worry.”

Your chance of infection is high. Surgical infection especially. You won’t know you’re sick until your vitals tank, and then it gets dangerous.

Hotch frowns at you. He, as always, how tiresome, looks handsome. His hair has grown unkempt to his standards but perfect to yours, dark strands falling down over his forehead. His eyes are darker, shadowed by the lack of light, shades down and the privacy curtain still drawn. You can’t tell his pupil from the iris, not where his gaze is pointed.

“Don’t forget,” he says. “Drinks in the drawer so you can reach them. Your chapstick is in with your glasses. There are face wipes if you start to feel the need for them–”

“I won’t forget.”

His hand smooths down to your neck. “The chocolate is in the top drawer too.” His fingertips draw lazy circles into your neck, brushing against the rumpled neck of your pyjama top with every revolution. “Your phone is charged, and there’s a charging bank–”

“In the top drawer,” you finish for him. “Thank you, Aaron, I promise I know.”

He folds when you call him by his first name. His frown falls away, his eyes softer and lighter as he lifts his head to the frail shaft of light coming in through the curtain. He’d take your breath away if you weren’t feeling as shockingly frail as you are.

“You’re doing so well.” He clasps your shoulder. “A few more days and you’ll be home. We’ll both be feeling better, and Jack will fall to pieces in sympathy and keep you company in bed all day.”

“What about you?”

“Me too, obviously,” he says quietly. “Move over, honey. I’ll start now.”

You shuffle over one centimetre at a time and he doesn’t rush you. Eventually, there’s room for the two of you to squeeze in shoulder to shoulder, where he takes your arm into a careful hold and hugs it to his chest, his lips to your cheek.

“You okay?” he asks. “Out of ten.”

“Five. And a half.” He kisses your eyebrow. “Seven,” you correct.

He kisses you again, but you’re feeling shitty from the surgery and seven is as high as you can go.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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anantaru · 2 years ago

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hi hello so imagine how good lyney is with his fingers, being a magician n all 🤤

cw. fingering, fem! reader

the dark shades of your fondling, craving bodies were sticking together, prettily drawn out within shadows inside the small backstage area, the dim room crowded with utensils and boxes.

and a drizzle of light suddenly pours into the humidity, right beside your frames, uncovering a glimpse of what was happening right now, golden, glowing slivers of light striping across your bare skin.

lyney's slender hands slide over your trembling body, taking your sinful reactions hostage, turning them exactly into his favor and how he wanted them to be. first, there's your naked thighs, parted and glistening with your slick, legs properly wrapped around his narrow hips.

meanwhile, a cold haze of air begins to fall on top of you, a shiver running through your core when he hooks his skilled fingers on top of your wet folds, holding his breath and rubbing the slick on your clit while drawing his pointer finger forward, swiftly enough into the tightness of your hole.

you see, he knows how it's done, how to have your heaves and whines become shallow against his lips— in contrast, his smooth mouth was pulled up into a euphoric smirk, the precious sight alone making your toes curl inwards when he sends the first out of many following jolts of pleasure straight to your spine, crushing his fingers inside.

it doesn't take seconds and you're breathless already, desperately attempting to close your legs if it weren't for his hips keeping them apart, a subtle outline of his erected cock evolving on his tight pants.

it's immediate and precise when he fucks his fingers inside, lets you suckle them in while your pussy twists around them, another well established jolt and his digits go deeper, sharp knuckles pulling on your walls with your liquids sticking up his hand, oozing down his wrist until fully coated.

you hold yourself onto him, and you know he's about to tease the living hell out of you, sneakily trailing his fingertips up the wetness of your cunt, curving his fingers inside— once, twice, bumping at your sweet spots, the most desirable places that had you chant his name alongside praises. and yes, it's evident, you feel like a hot mess, fucked out and fatigued, while you sense how your slick comes out of you, trapping his fingers inside, aiding him in rushing himself in faster and better, until your hips were fucking back into him and meeting his rhythm half way.

"darling?" he suddenly asks, imitating innocence, his hands going still for a bit, and by now— three of his fingers were concealed by your walls.

fuck, this bloody smirk of his, ever so wonderful, ever so rich, "you're too loud, you know."

a strong gulp, one that was taking lead of your body makes you realize the situation you found yourself in as a flash of aimless embarrassment fires through your veins and limbs, almost blood-curdling, turning your pulse quicker when you realize that lyney's performance wasn't over yet ..

.. visitors were still excitedly waiting and cheering for him to return and finish his magic tricks.

#genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #lyney x reader #lyney smut

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mahowaga · 8 days ago

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STATIC | N.K.

SUMMARY: nanami kento hates the cold.

PAIRING: nanami kento x gn!reader GENRE: fluff and some slight angst (reader is a sorcerer, and nanami isn't a sorcerer in this au, hope that helps!) NOW PLAYING: static by luke chiang, joe bae WC: 2.8k

Nanami Kento hates the cold.

He hates winter. He hates the constant chill, sneaking up the legs of his trousers and the sleeves of his shirt, wrapping its arms around his chest, freezing him to the core. He hates the way his breath fogs in the night wind, how his fingers and toes turn numb, unresponsive to his demands, and the way you always seem to catch a cold after claiming you ‘can handle it’ and proceeding to go outside without proper winter gear.

He prefers the warmth of a crackling fireplace, a thermostat turned up, a blanket draped over him, a cup of tea with steam curling up and diffusing into the air, and a worn sweater snug against his frame.

But most of all, he prefers you. You curled up against his side, one hand running through your hair while you hold the other, tracing his veins distractedly. It’s often silent, but he likes it that way. The silence carries with it every word unsaid - things that do not need to be spoken aloud, things that are traced into the very fibers of your hearts, things that speak of devotion and restfulness - a silence that is not heavy with complications and resentment.

Right now, he doesn’t have you in his arms, and it feels like something has been violently ripped away from him. An unwelcome cold spot, devastatingly blue in color, pressing into him, bleeding into him.

It’s not that you are miles away - there isn’t a tragedy of missed phone calls, heartbreaking time differences and lingering frustration towards each other. No, you are here. You are in the apartment, but you might as well be lifetimes away from him.

He knows it isn’t your fault. It’s bound to happen in your line of work. He’s seen it before in others, even in himself, but never you.

Never you.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. Every single cell in his body screams for you.

He has to make it right, and so he stands up, folding the blanket neatly and setting it down on the cushions of the couch.

Kento knocks on the door to the bedroom despite it being slightly ajar, the dim glow of the bedside lamp casting a gloomy shadow over everything the light touches - including you.

You are lying on the bed you share with him, a wool blanket tossed over your body haphazardly, like an afterthought. You are on your side, facing him, palms pressed together beneath your cheek. You haven’t moved in hours but you aren’t asleep. He knows this for a fact.

For a moment he simply stands there in the doorway, observing you, listening to your breaths - slow, controlled, steady, but also too empty, too absent.

He can’t stand it.

“Hey,” he says softly. He steps towards you quietly, afraid to startle you.

He gets down on one knee at the edge of the bed, bracing his forearms on the mattress to balance himself.

You look so lost when you open your eyes. It kills him to see you, his love, his one and only, like this.

He reaches out and strokes your head. Gentle. Always gentle. Especially now.

Your eyes close for a moment, basking in his presence, in his touch - how reverent, how loving. Kento will always touch you like this. There is not a bone in his body that would ever agree to hurting you. It fills him with utter relief whenever you remind him, in small actions like this, how much trust you have in him to be vulnerable around him. God forbid he ever does anything to break your certainty.

“You’re rotting,” he murmurs, still stroking your head.

No response. His heart twists.

He glances at the window, the curtains slightly drawn apart, revealing the bright snowflakes dancing against the pane, dusted an amber shade with the streetlight outside. When he looks back at you, he exhales quietly, hating the way you are withdrawing into yourself, drowning in something he can’t see, something you won’t tell him, but something he knows will consume your entire being if he doesn’t do something.

So he makes a decision.

He pulls the blanket off of you without hesitation.

You groan, shifting slightly, curling into yourself even more. “Kento-”

“Come on, get up,” he says. Simple. Effective, even.

You crack an eye open, lazy, and frown. “No.”

One thing he knows well about you is that you will never pass up an opportunity to be stubborn. It’s one of the things that somehow drew him to you - how you never gave in to something at first glance, how you always fought and bled for the things you wanted.

Still, he has a plan in mind, and he needs you up and out of bed.

He reaches for your hand and tugs. “Come on.”

You whine, but you don’t fight. He feels your fingers curl around his, and his heart beats faster.

“What are you doing?” you ask when he pulls you to sit up. Your hair is messy, eyes half-lidded, lips in a pout, but you’ve never looked more beautiful to him than now.

He doesn’t say anything, focused on his task - making you smile, making you forget, making you remember that, despite everything, he is there. He will always be there.

“Put your coat on,” he says, handing it to you.

You stare at him for a moment before taking it, your movements slow, slurred, lagging. It’s like he can see the cogs turning inside that overworked head of yours. “It’s the middle of the night.”

Actually, it’s 11:55 PM.

But he doesn’t correct you.

“I know,” he says.

“It’s cold.”

“I know.”

“Then why-”

He turns his head toward the window. “It’s snowing.”

While you’re distracted by the flurry of white outside, he takes the coat from your hands and helps you into it. You end up standing up for it, and he makes sure you don’t sit back down. That would be counterproductive.

Your eyes are still glued to the snow fluttering past the window. He knows you love snow. He knows you haven’t seen it in ages - it rarely snows here. He knows that you once told him you would drop everything, go outside, and run around in the snow if it ever snowed again. He remembers how bright your smile had been, all those years ago, shining, brilliant - a true manifestation of your sheer delight.

He loves it when you smile. He’ll do anything to make sure you get to smile as often as possible.

That’s what he wants now. Maybe he can’t ease your mind, rid your worries completely, but he can be the balm you apply to make it better, to numb the pain, to feel relief.

For the first time that night, since you came home from that mission, he sees something else in your gaze. Something that isn’t emptiness. It’s enough for him to keep going.

He slides your boots in front of you and waits for you to slip into them, your hands bracing on his shoulders while he ties them for you.

When you step outside with him, your hand warm in his, the wind brushes past you, the chill biting your cheeks and nose, crisp against your skin. With it comes the snowflakes, finding sanctuary in your hair and then melting when they kiss the warmth of your body.

Kento’s looking at you, his gaze careful, but there is a softness there. He’s gauging your reaction. He wants this to work so badly, he wants to see his love, even if it’s just for a second.

He sees the same expression on your face as before, when he’d told you it was snowing. It’s not emptiness, not absence, but something quiet, introspective, distant, as if you are recalling a memory.

Whether it’s a dream or a nightmare that you’re reminiscing, he can’t tell.

You reach out, raising your hand to the sky, catching a flake of snow in your hand, watching it intently as it fades to a minute pool of water in your palm. He catches the slight shiver when you turn to him, and alarms blare in his head.

“...It’s colder than I thought,” you mutter.

He scoffs, fighting a smile. He removes the scarf from around his neck and wraps it around you, fussing about, making sure you are nice and snug, shielded from the sharp-toothed bite of winter. “That’s how it works, my love.”

You shoot him a glare, but your heart isn’t in it. He can tell because of the way the corners of your lips twitch ever so slightly. You turn back to the snowfall.

“I forgot what it felt like,” you admit, holding your hands out to catch more snowflakes.

Kento stands there, a foot away, hands in his coat pockets, watching you turn in circles, palms up, collecting ice like it's something so, so precious. Something to treasure.

What’s precious to him is seeing how you slowly thaw, seeing you come out of your head to experience the snow for the first time that night.

You turn to him again, and really look at him. He’s standing close, his eyes steady, focused on you and only you, his blond hair tousled, as if he’s run his hands through it one too many times, a faint dusting of snow already caught in the strands. His breathing is slow, measured, grounding in a way that makes your heart beat less erratically and more in tandem with his.

Something aches in his chest as he holds your gaze.

You sigh, your breath visible in the air. “You always do this.”

Kento frowns, tilting his head. “Do what?”

Your hands are on the collar of his coat, straightening it, making sure his neck is fully covered. “Pull me out of my head,” you murmur.

He lets you fuss with him, just as he did earlier, and for a moment neither of you say anything. It’s silent, but it’s the type of silence he likes. Nothing more, nothing less. It just is.

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his skin cool against yours, a smile gracing his lips, so soft, so sincere, so earnest.

The snow falls around the both of you, the city making no noise, the snow keeping mum, the only sounds being your breaths, misting in the chilly air.

Then, after a while, he says, “You’re not that hard to read.”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “You say that,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself, “but no one else seems to get it.”

He wants to reach for you, pull you so close that there’s not a single one of his atoms that isn’t in contact with any of yours, but he decides against it. He doesn’t want to smother you.

Instead, he says, “That’s because no one else looks.”

And it’s true. You can sometimes be a hard person to understand, but that has never been a problem for him. Maybe it’s because he has been hopelessly devoted to you from the moment he met you, or maybe he’s just an astute observer, but you’re probably the easiest book he’s ever read in his entire life. It just comes easily to him. It’s incomparable to anything else.

Your breath hitches, and he sees you grip the sleeves of your coat tightly.

Kento can’t wait anymore. He wants to touch you.

He leans in close, his hands finding your cheeks, and presses a kiss to your forehead, warmth blooming between the two of you despite the sub-zero temperature you find yourselves in.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. His hands drop to your waist, holding you like you’ll slip away, fly away like the snowflakes, if he lets go. Your hands find his coat, and for a moment, the two of you just look at each other.

He sees love in your eyes. Gratitude. Vulnerability. Trust. He knows all this - you always look at him like this.

What he is not ready to see, but should have expected, is the smidgen of distress in your eyes. Pain. The look of someone haunted by something.

That’s not supposed to be there. It unnerves him to no end.

But he also notices the way you seem to be breathing again, less tense and more at ease than earlier.

You pull away before he can ask, before he can say anything, and take a couple of steps before you bend down and lie down on the ground, flat on your back.

The ice cradles you like a bed of feathers, the softness a stark contrast to the angry cold seeping into your bones.

You lay there, eyes open to the sky.

The streetlight makes the snowflakes glow. It gives each one a bronze halo as they flutter down and land on you.

Kento simply watches. He stands over you now, his hands tucked away into his pockets.

“You’re going to freeze,” he says, almost amused.

You hum. “Maybe.”

He sighs. “You’ll get sick.”

“You always say that.”

He crouches beside you now, and you turn your head. “Because it’s true.”

You grin, cheeky, and then it falls silent between the two of you. You reach out again, palm raised to the night sky, the snow gathering in your hand. Your fingers curl when you bring your hand back down, frowning as you watch the flakes melt with the heat of your body.

It’s quiet.

Then-

“The last time I was in the snow,” you say softly, “I bled out.”

Kento stills.

Your focus remains on the sky, the dark expanse of a muted gray continuously raining ice.

Kento doesn’t say anything. He waits for you to explain. That doesn’t mean his heart is twisting violently in his chest. The mere visual that you are painting is enough to make him want to destroy something. Someone. Whatever hurt you.

“It was last year,” you continue, quieter than before. “That mission with the Grade 3 sorcerers. The one that went south too quickly for me to control.” You exhale slowly. “All I remember is that I got them out safely before I was on the ground. The snow was red. Everything was red.”

Kento’s jaw tenses. He knows about the mission. He knows, because he’d been the one to nurse you back to health. But you’d never told him all the details, especially that it had been snowing, and he’d never asked because he’d believed you’d tell him when you were ready.

“It was cold,” you admit. “But I didn’t feel it. I was just…numb.” Your hands ball into fists and then release. “All I remember was looking up at the sky, like now, and thinking, ‘This is the last thing I’m ever going to see’.”

He can picture it as clear as day - you, in the snow, alone, bleeding out, turning everything crimson. It makes something heavy settle in his chest, refusing to vacate.

He forces himself to stay calm.

“But you didn’t die,” he says, keeping his voice even.

You turn your head and meet his eyes. “No,” you agree. “I didn’t.”

It’s silent for a moment, the both of you holding each other’s gaze.

You huff a quiet laugh and look back at the sky. “Anyways, I don’t think I ever let myself enjoy the snow after that.”

Kento studies you for a moment before he shifts from where he is crouched. Without a word, he lies down beside you, folding his arms loosely over his stomach.

You glance at him, amused. “What are you doing?”

“Lying in the snow,” he replies. Simple.

You frown. “You hate the cold. Snow, especially.”

He shrugs. “So?”

You stare at him for a few seconds, before huffing, “You’re ridiculous.”

He smiles, but doesn’t respond. Instead, he lies in silence, the snow soft beneath him, watching the snowflakes fall from the sky, landing gently, with no grand announcement, no noise, around the both of you. The sounds of the city are distant, almost non-existent. Far away.

Then, ever so softly-

“...You’re not bleeding this time,” he murmurs, almost as if to convince himself.

Your breath hitches. You don’t say anything for a while. Then you turn to him, your eyes searching, probing for something. He doesn’t meet your gaze, keeping his focus on the night sky above, trying to see what you love so much about the dancing snowflakes.

But you understand what he is trying to say.

Your fingers brush against his as you reach over. He doesn’t move away, but links his pinky with yours.

“No,” you whisper, still looking at him, at the way the snow is accumulating in his hair, at the way the snow is melting on his face, at the way he’s holding onto your finger like it’s a lifeline. “I’m not.”

He lets out a breath when you turn back to the night sky, his heart unclenching. He’ll make sure you fall in love with the snow once again, because-

Nanami Kento hates the cold - but he loves you more.

NOTE: hello! thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! i am completely obsessed with nanami if you can't tell. i wrote this one on a whim. sometimes you just need him to save you from rotting in bed and thinking too much, yk? (please say yes) @gojofile, this one's for you. think of it as a late birthday gift, because i am nothing if perpetually late. (art by Neconi_oO on X)

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento angst #nanami x you #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #nanami angst

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johnwickb1tsch · 24 days ago

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lessons in anatomy II

a yandere art professor Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... ->chapter map

II.

-It takes about three classes for you to finally relax around Professor Wick. You still feel his eyes upon you when you pose, but he does not make you feel uncomfortable. In fact…he is painfully proper with you. As he should be, of course, but sometimes, late at night when you are kept awake by your thoughts of him…you wish he would be just a tad forward. It's unseemly, what you would let that sweet man get away with. Therein lies the conundrum, you suppose. If he made a pass at you…he wouldn't be so sweet.

-One day you are making your rounds during the break, when you happen to notice Professor Wick was drawing at his desk along with the students. You were in a reclining pose, feigning sleep. The way he drew you…you know better than to think you could possibly look so alluring in real life, but there is something in the varied weight of his lines, the soft shading. Somehow he configured the shadows of the background to suggest wings folded over your supine nude form.

You've never really liked your body. Well…who does like themselves, truly? But modeling in the classroom, seeing your flesh turned into art, has helped you find a confidence, or at least an acceptance, you didn't have before. Wick’s rendition goes beyond all that, though. You can't let this go to your head. It’s too much. “I hope…you don't mind.”

Again, he's crept up on you without a sound, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

Clutching your heart, you look back at him.

“No…I…it’s beautiful.”

You don't know where you get the courage to meet his high-polished onyx gaze, but you feel something inside you implode…then melt.

“You're beautiful, y/n.”

You have no idea that this is the first time he's drawn anyone besides his wife, since she passed.

You stand like this in agonizing stasis, close, but not touching, for you don't know how long. You're not sure what might have happened, given enough time, but some of the students return to class, and the moment is broken. You don’t know if you're disappointed, or relieved.

-You don't know why it's taken you this long, but you finally look up “John Wick+artist”. What you find takes your breath away. Yes, he's a skilled draughtsman. And a painter. And sometimes he combines all these things with bookbinding.

He's incredible.

His paintings are dark, with a touch of fantasy, evoking grisly folktales and the old masters in his play of light and shadows. He uses perspective and foreshortening to explore the human body in exciting new ways. He made his name with a series of ethereal ballet dancers in precarious situations. Later, he only painted his wife, Helen. She was a photographer, and in a snap of them with cheeks pressed together they seem impossibly happy. You see that she succumbed to a terminal illness two years ago.

The art world has not heard from John Wick since.

You do not know this man, really, but you cry for him all the same.

-You have no idea, how you move him. It's not just that he's seeing you naked on a regular basis, though that does not help. It's the flash of your eyes across the room, your smile and your laughter as you joke around with the students while they draw you as God made you. There is a light in you that he cannot turn away from, perhaps because he has lived in darkness for so long. He craves you– and he knows he shouldn't. He traces your form with charcoal on paper, and he tells himself that that will have to do.

He looks you up too.

He finds your little miniature paintings on your social media, your digital portfolio for all to see. You make tiny eclectic diorama scenes you cook up with a 5/0 brush, sometimes you add moving parts and teeny dolls with teenier twee companions. Polly Pocket never had a pet opossum…poor girl. Your diminutive pieces hint at a longing for the enchantment of childhood lost, and maybe a cozy home that feels whole, if not strange to an outsider’s eye.

He notices you have not created anything you feel like sharing lately. He wonders if you are ok. The answer amongst the creatively inclined is usually not. But if you are not happy…you hide it well.

He senses there is a well of strength in you that he wishes he could drown himself in.

TBC...

___

->chapter map pinterest board/ photo credits

#ahhhhhhh you guys thank u this is so much fun i love u!!!!!🖤🖤#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves #professor wick AU #yandere john wick

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eldritchpotato · 3 months ago

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Bovine Mixup

Working on a farm has never been easy, doubly so with the recent disappearances of a few cows. When you attempt to get to the bottom of this mystery it’s you who ends up taken next. You’re not a cow but such things can be fixed.

Part 1, Part 2.

Content Warning: alien abduction & experimentation, hucow transformation, GN reader, brainwashing, lactation & milking, pregnancy, and intelligence reduction.

It was so bright, that was the first thing you realized as consciousness swirled back to do. You felt utterly disoriented and confused. The last thing you remembered was angrily marching out to the barn to investigate the ruckus the cows were making in the middle of the night and then… that light…

You tried to move but couldn't. You weren't even on a surface either. Squinting through the bright light you realized you were touching nothing… you were floating. What the fuck.

The light swiveled away and you blinked rapidly to try to adjust. The room was… and… the… it was a little overwhelming. You found yourself floating in some kind of beam of light, suspended in the air. The room was somehow mechanical and organic, strange greys and fresh tones. You didn't even know what you were looking at.

But what really drew your attention was the figure in a lab coat bumbling about with various machinery. It was… well it was a fucking alien.

The purplish floating tentacled thing had a glowing angler lure dangling out from the neck hole. It wasn't even humanoid enough to wear a lab coat, somehow having just draped the garment over itself. It let out a wet trilling sound, its flaps wobbling as it used coiled tendrils emerging from the arm holes of the lab coat to press a few buttons in the wall.

“Greetings bos taurus, your fluids are required. Do not be alarmed, Dr. Homan is the best human bovine doctor, there will be no probing.”

The mechanical voice continued but you were distracted by “Dr. Homan” floating over to investigate you. A large crooked claw poked you in the chest and its folds vibrated. It floated away to twist more dials. It was clearly machinery but how it worked you had no idea.

You were a little more focused on the whole getting kidnapped by aliens thing. Though…

“This is clearly a misunderstanding,” you croaked. You were a human, not a cow. Dr. Homan hardly seemed to care.

“Specimen does not match. Identifying species… human.”

Dr. Homan let out a warbling humm and busily interacted with the machinery.

That was good right, they realized their mistake. Surly they would just send you back to earth.

“Synthesizing mutagen. Probes will be required, prepare yourself subject”

Oh that didn't sound good. But try as you might there was nothing to strain against, you remained suspended mid air and could barely move a muscle.

A panel in the wall squelched open like the opening of a sphincter and Dr. Homan retrieved some kind of device. It looked similar to a needle that you started to squirm. The liquid that sloshed about was an utterly impossible shade of green that was reserved solely for cartoon radiation.

Dr. Homan floated closer and raised up the syringe. You couldn't turn away but you could wince back slightly. Dr. Homan paused and clicked a few more buttons.

“Calculating resistance reduction methods.”

That also sounded extremely bad. You could wiggle your fingers ever so slightly, and you were pretty sure you were getting closer and closer to the edge of this weird anti gravity beam thing. Just a little longer and maybe you could get free.

“Optimized method identified. Executing.”

Fuck. Lights lip up your vision again as whatever strange projector lit back up. This time however it wasn’t just a bring light. A koledscoping pattern flashed across your vision disorienting you. You felt like you were falling into it, dizzy and confused.

The more you blinked to combat this onslaught the more your eyes were drawn to shapes and colours. The movements were hypnotic, overwhelming. So distracted were you that you hardly felt Dr. Homan slid the needles into your neck and injected you with the liquid.

You kept spiraling down further and further, deeper and deeper. Whatever resistance you had could not be mounted whole your brain was occupied trying to keep up with the onslaught.

Your neck stung, but then the shapes dropped again and you only had the capacity to focus on one or the other. The serum coursing through your blood went forgotten.

Passively you noticed your clothes had been removed at some point. You weren’t even floating anymore. Wasn’t there something you were supposed to be doing.

Oh right, the colours. You kept watching the colours.

You didn’t put up any resistance as metal segmented tentacles wrapped around you. Obediently you opened your mouth to let one slip inside. Since you had already let one in you might as well let them all in.

At some point you found all your holes filled, the arousal surprising you as your body pulsed with heat. The tentacles probed deeper, and you greedily welcomed them even if you were too busy watching the spirals to encourage them any further.

You could figure that out later. For now, you just had to see where this spiral was going.

#alien smut #transformation #huc0w #hypnok1nk #brainwashing #gn reader #lactating kink #preggo kink #bimboification #alien x human #monster fucker #monster fudger #exophelia #eldritch tales #alien x reader #huc0w fantasy #smut

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swanscript · 6 months ago

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in which you're aegon's legally-wedded and never-bedded wife - who cares so little for him that even he's noticed.

It is the hour of the bat, deep into the velvety night, and you'd had it all planned out. Your sheets are fresh. You've bathed in lavender scented water, and spent half the day drying your hair carefully by the fireside so it won't become ruffled. You've just slipped on a rose-coloured robe of the finest Dornish silk, and wriggled delightedly into bed when it happens.

The door to your bedchambers explodes open, and Aegon staggers in, roaring a drunken sea shanty.

Oh, how you hate men.

"So hey, the bonny sailors go

To Sothoryos with a rising 'ho'!"

"Aegon," you start, pushing yourself up on your pillows with the air of someone explaining something to a very stupid child. "It's late. I'm tired."

Aegon stops dead when he sees you, sitting prettily in his bed with your arms folded in bemusement. You don't think he expected to see you here. You often sleep in a different room, and when sharing his bedchambers you make it a point to keep him firmly on the other side of the mattress.

Aegon and you both know the castle staff whispers rumours of your strange and sex-less relationship. You don't care.

Aegon might, but you've decided not to care about him either. He's aware of your cold indifference - which is why he's so surprised to see you here.

"....well," he says, swaying where he stands. "If it isn't...my frigid lady-wife. Here to ice me out again?"

You don't rise to the bait. "I'm here to sleep. You're welcome to do the same."

"Oh, I'm welcome, am I? Welcome in my own bed?" Aegon hiccoughs, slowly undoing the clasps on his velvet jerkin. He lets it thud to the floor (you can bet a hundred gold dragons he'll trip over it first thing tomorrow) and begins to traipse your way. "Am I permitted to finally lay a finger on my lawful wife, or will she only let me hold her hand for appearance's sake at banquets?"

Hackles rising, you bite back at once. "Am I permitted to have a husband who doesn't fuck a different whore every night? Who doesn't reek of of alcohol? Am I permitted to not be abandoned each day for taverns and brothels? Am I permitted to sleep or must I take your leave for that too, lord-husband?"

If Aegon were sober, he might have a scalding remark in response. But the ale has filled his mind with mush, and all he can do is scowl and sulk. It doesn't please you to see him so miserable. Your heart isn't in the fight either.

Your husband thuds onto the bed with a heavy sigh, narrowly missing squashing you.

"...help me with the clasp then, if nothing else," he mutters, pointing at his bejeweled belt buckle.

Sighing, you concede, reaching forward and undoing the cool metal. It clicks apart under your deft hand, and you steal a glance up at your supposed husband.

Months of marriage, and the times when you've ever really looked at him are few and far in between. After a disasterous bedding ceremony and so many days of neglect, the two of you have learnt to not acknowledge each other's presence. As a result, Aegon's face never fails to stand out as unique to you.

Soft cloud of wispy silver hair. Eyes of pale amethyst. The classic Targaryen look - striking colour palette, ghostly shades of old Valayria. The hint of feminine features from his mother softens him. He looks lost now, his pouty mouth softly sagging with defeat. A little verbal joust with you has leeched all the revelry out of him. Right, now, soundly beaten as he is, Aegon is difficult to despise.

You tug the belt out of its loops and he mutters his slurred gratitudes.

"Can you do the rest on your own?"

He grunts in affirmative. You retreat back to your side. Both of you feel the invisible wall being drawn up between once more.

You know, when you really think about it, you suppose Aegon is a handsome man. When he's not drunk. Or bothering you just before you sleep with sappy, obnoxious questions.

"Do you love me?"

You stop in the middle of adjusting your coverlet. "What?"

Aegon is looking at you with not a hint of a joke in his eyes. He repeats the impossible possibility. "Do you love me?"

In daylight, you would have sneered at his question and swept off in a swirl of silk skirts to resume your royal day. Now, with moonshine softening the need for sharp exteriors, you decide to humour his question. No one is around to use your words against you, at least. You feel your guard lift an inch.

"Love you?" you ponder, leaning back against your richly embroidered pillows. "...I think I would be...distressed, if you died. But love you- I don't even like you." You glance his way, contemplating. "Yet."

Aegon looks at you with doubtful lilac eyes. "So there's hope?"

"Don't be too optimistic."

His face, already miserable with the weight of alcohol and fractured familial relationships, turns slightly more sour. You're not foolish. Aegon's agonies don't have much to do with you. His mother, hell-bent on making him king, and his brother, hell-bent on undermining and embarrassing him at every opportunity are his chief worries. You've never seeked to hurt him politically. But you've always remained distant, watching him carefully like a narrow-eyed cat and hissing if he gets too close. There's only so much your pride can allow after being man-handled into a strategic marriage so roughly.

But right now, weak and addled as he is, you can afford some kindness.

"Don't look so down, Aegon," you say softly. "Perhaps I'm Dorne. Eternally un-won by Targaryens."

The gentleness works - Aegon unticks like a clam and lets words come pouring out.

"I keep thinking... really feeling as though you would prefer my brother Aemond over me. Or that he would like you, at the very least. And that grasping bastard, Jacaerys." A flash of anger splits Aegon's face. "I see how he moons over you across the dinner table. Like he'd like you lay you out on his dinner plate and take bites out your skin. Take what's mine. My wife, by law if not by her own will. Mine. My skin. My soft, soft skin. I should kill him. Cunt."

Weak, you think, watching his messy torrent of emotions. Your father would have flayed you living for such risky honesty in a world so tightly controlled by reputation. Always say less than necessary. Never trust anyone, ever.

As it is, you carefully file this new information away in your head. Aemond desiring you in a marriage seems in line with his ambitious nature - your family's legendary wealth would serve him well. You doubt he cares for you as a person.

And Jacaerys.... you've seen him ogling at you a couple of times when you're really dressed to the nines, but you doubt it's anything worth thinking about. Men have always watched you in that hungry way. You have genetics to thank for that, nothing more. It doesn't aid you, ultimately.

Aegon is still muttering away darkly. "I should kill him. Cut off his riding chains so he goes screaming into the sea the next time he mounts his dragon. I think that'll fix him-"

"Don't think," you interrupt, rolling your eyes. "You're not particularly excellent at it, from what I've heard. I heard you thought Sir Arryk was a particularly buxom woman from behind."

Aegon sniffs. "An engraved band in his hair. What was he prettying up for, the flagstones in the corridors? I don't fancy a preening peacock guarding me."

"See, Aegon, you're lying again. And it's unneeded and strange. You were only drunk and made a wine-swayed misjudgement," you say wearily. "And you don't think he's a peacock. You think you're a peacock. You've been matching your socks with your shoes since the day I knew you."

Aegon laughs, soft and bitter.

"If you know me so well, why do you pretend your dislike is only from distance? ...you hate me because you know me. You've always...always hated me."

In sulking speech, Aegon has slowly tipped in your direction, his head inches from yours. He's too drunk and too non-commital to rearrange himself. You allow his hair to touch your silk sleeve. Pink fabric, his ash white hair fanning across it.

Then, without even really thinking or caring, you sigh and pull him onto your chest to hold him there like a babe.

"I've already said, I don't hate you."

Aegon is too drunk to jab or pull back. He lays there. You run fingers through his hair, smoothening the scattered strands into place, sorting his thoughts into neat furrows. Sleepy tears spread a wet spot onto your robe. You allow it, even through fuzzled bafflement at such weakness. What does he want, to suck on your teat? He's older than you, yet you're centuries harder. Aegon - too soft a boy for his over-reaching mother - falls asleep in barely sated turmoil, on your chest like a barely grown child.

You allow it.

#game of thrones #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd season 2 #aegon ii targaryen #aegon the second #tom glynn carney #hotd one shot #aegon targaryen x reader

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cakesunflower · 2 days ago

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lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 21

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

A/N: helloooo i have returned from my month long vacation and i wish i was still away but alas back to the real world. thanks for your patience while waiting for the update!

Rafe had the right idea about going to the beach. Instead of bringing beach chairs, she and Rafe spread out a sizable beach towel under an umbrella, where she prepares to lay a little out of the shade to feel the warmth of the sun on her skin. She can hear the sounds of other beachgoers over the waves crashing on the shore, the cry of the occasional seagull above.

Still standing, Isla unbuttons her denim shorts and as she shimmies them down her legs, she catches Rafe’s gaze where he’s already sitting on the chair in his trunks. His blue eyes track her actions and Isla’s stomach flutters, the corners of her mouths tugging upwards because she notes the way his spine straightens and gaze lingers on the triangular piece of fabric that makes up her bikini bottom.

He sits with his legs drawn up and arms resting on his knees, fingers lightly gripping the temple of his sunglasses as he watches her. “You’re staring,” Isla quips with a smile as she grips the hem of her crocheted crop top and lifts it over her head to reveal her dark blue bikini top, fixing the two necklaces she’s layered.

“Of course I’m staring,” Rafe scoffs, unashamed, and it only makes Isla’s smile widen, cheeks flushing.

“Alright, well—” She crouches and digs out the bottle of sunscreen and holds it out to him with an arch of an eyebrow. “How about you stop staring and start spreading?”

Rafe laughs as he takes the bottle from her. “Yes, ma’am.”

She moves with a grin, laying down on her stomach and reaching behind her to undo the knot of her bikini top, only to feel Rafe’s hand gently bat hers away. “I got it,” he murmurs.

Isla hums in thanks and folds her arms under her head, resting her right cheek against the top as she feels Rafe’s fingers deftly untie the knot. They have brought beach chairs that sit towards the edge of the large blanket under the umbrella, but lying down is easier. Even as she lays on her stomach, she feels the butterflies fluttering around inside when she feels the contrasting combination of Rafe’s warm hands and the chill of the sunscreen cream as he spreads it evenly on her back.

Isla rolls her bottom lip into her mouth, teeth grazing it as she feels his familiar touch on her bare skin and Isla has to stop herself from letting any sound escape as he soothingly rubs up and down her back. From the breadth of her shoulders, down her back towards where her bikini starts. When she feels his hands along her thighs, teasing the swell of her ass, Isla has to bite back the sound threatening to escape as electricity crackles in her veins.

“You’re teasing me,” she says, her voice a little breathless as she slides her gaze to look at him from where her cheek is resting against her arm.

Rafe is smirking above her, kneeling on the towel. The sight of him is mouth watering, his broad chest and muscular arms bare for her viewing; coupled with his hands on her body, she regrets them being in public because what she wants to do with him goes beyond the borders of public decency. “You’re the one in the bikini, sweetheart,” he responds coolly. “And you asked me to put my hands on you.”

Isla huffs despite the tickling in her stomach. “Semantics,” she murmurs as he squeezes out more sunscreen before working on the backs of her legs.

His movements and touch are slow and sensual, purposeful to make that fluttering in her stomach intensify. If she were to clench her thighs in response to the way his hands slide over the globes of her ass, Rafe would know just how deep of an effect he has on her—as if there were any question about it.

Oh, this was a bad idea. She should have known that asking Rafe to spread sunscreen on her was asking for trouble—to make her want things that they can’t do out in public. Isla does her best to focus on the sounds around them; children’s laughter, waves rushing to the shore. . . Anything to distract herself from Rafe’s fingers tickling the sensitive spot on the back of her knees.

He’s finished all too soon, even if it felt like it lasted forever, and Isla lets out a long sigh as she pushes herself up and glances at him over her shoulder. Her heart stutters at the smirk dancing on the corners of his mouth, his tongue rolling over his bottom lip before he tugs it under his top teeth. The smugness on his face tells Isla he knew exactly what he was doing as she sits up with a huff.

“You’re such trouble,” she mutters, crawling over until she’s kneeling in front of his seated figure, arms sliding around his neck as she grins. Even with their positions, he’s still got a couple of inches on her.

His smirk melts into a heart stopping grin as he looks down at her, showing his own dimples. His hands rest lightly on her hips, wiggling his eyebrows. “You want me to do your front?”

Isla narrows her eyes. “No,” she says firmly, prompting a short laugh to be pulled from Rafe. She snatches the sunscreen tube out of his hand and points at him with it. “Trouble,” she emphasizes.

His laughter rings out, the sound making a smile curve to her lips as she efficiently lathers sunscreen on her front. There’s a nice, cool breeze that’s ever present drifting from the water, salt tinging the air as Isla’s gaze wanders. Unsurprisingly, there are plenty of people at the beach—though most are teenagers and kids who are off from school.

She sees groups of friends around their spots, their laughter ringing out, and Isla ignores the longing pang that hits her in the middle of her chest as she chews on the inside of her cheek. It’s only been a couple of days, but the disconnect between her and her friends leaves part of Isla feeling hollow, as though nothing can fill the void that her Pogues normally fill. She tries to fill that hollowness with hope that things between them will soon turn back to normal, but missing her friends, no matter the state of their relationship now, is inevitable.

“Do you want a drink?” Rafe’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts, dragging her gaze away from the group of friends to her boyfriend.

He’s opening the top of the cooler and Isla admires the shift of his muscles on his back with every minute movement. She pushes the ache away, wanting to enjoy this time with him. He took the day off to be with her, she knows, and Isla appreciates him all the more for it. Rafe Cameron is a sweetheart, and it’s not a side he lets others see often—if ever. But Isla is damn glad that he shows it to her.

“Sure. You got any soda in there?” It’s too early for beer, even if part of her wants it.

Ice rattles in the cooler as Rafe reaches in, Isla openly admiring the shift of his muscles at his back, until he turns and hands her the cold can of Coke. She settles on one of the chairs, Rafe right next to her as she takes a long sip of the drink, sighing in relief after she swallows.

“You gonna surf?” Rafe asks as he settles in his chair, a can of Dr. Pepper in hand.

“Ehh,” Isla sounds, squinting out at the water ahead of them. The waves today don’t seem too inspiring, so surfing doesn’t look too likely today. “Maybe not.” She shoots him a teasing grin. “Unless you wanna join me.”

Rafe snorts out a laugh, shooting her a look. “Yeah, you and I both know that ain’t happening, baby.”

Her smile widens with a laugh, head tilting back against the chair as her gaze drifts up to the inside of the umbrella above them. “Fine. No surfing, but you are gonna join me in the water.” Her tone doesn’t leave any room for argument.

His answering smile is boyish. “Yes, ma’am.”

When he turns his head to look out at the water, Isla’s gaze lingers on his profile, admiring the strong line of his jaw, his straight nose, eyes hidden by his sunglasses. He looks so at ease, a hint of a smile tilting at his mouth, and Isla’s chest swells as he stretches his legs out, digging his feet in the sand.

Just looking at him relaxes Isla’s muscles, melting back into her chair as she reaches over and places her hand on his strong forearm. “Hey.”

Rafe turns his head to her. “Hmm?”

She leans her head back against the chair, smiling at him softly as she rubs her thumb on his arm. “Thank you.”

He arches an eyebrow as he lifts his sunglasses, resting them on top of his head so his blue eyes can meet her green. “What for?”

Isla shrugs, her smile a little shy but grateful. “You could’ve gone to work today but instead you decided on having a beach day with me.” She isn’t blind to the concern that had etched in his features when she showed up at his place last night. She felt it in the way he looked at her and how he had held her throughout the night, his arms effortlessly a safe space she hadn’t wanted to leave.

She had cried and vented a little and all throughout it, Rafe listened, he held her, and he looked a little bit like he was two seconds away from confronting Kie and the rest of Isla’s friends. Isla is familiar with his anger and has seen him be fueled by it, but instead he stayed by her side and comforted her because he knew that’s exactly what she needed from him, not to play a knight in shining armor. And now here they are, with Rafe not pushing and instead giving her a sense of peace, silently letting her know he’s there for her, whatever she needs. She knows it by his actions, the way he looks at her, and the softness of his gaze makes her heart ache in the sweetest way.

“Isla.” The sound of her name in his deep voice makes her skin prickle with goosebumps as Rafe faces her, those blue eyes piercing as she meets his stare. He places his hand on top of hers that is resting on his arm. “I’d pick you over anything and anyone, any day.”

Her chest tightens at his sweet words, especially when he raises her hand and brushes a kiss along her knuckles, the touch whisper soft yet no less electrifying. She sees no lie in his eyes, doesn’t hear it in his words, and the honesty of it all fills her with a rush of excitement wrapped warmly in contentment.

They spend the next little while enjoying the warmth, feeling the gentle spray of the ocean water when it gets carried on the breeze. Eventually, Isla finds herself getting to her feet, raising an eyebrow down at a still seated Rafe as he looks up at her through his sunglasses. “Gonna join me?” she asks, holding her hand out to him and wiggling her fingers.

Rafe huffs out a laugh but doesn’t argue with her, Isla’s smile widening when he grabs her hand and lets her pull him up, their fingers interlocked as they head towards the water. The sand is warm between Isla’s toes, the soft grains hardening as they reach the shoreline where the water begins to rush up to their feet—

Until Rafe takes her by surprise and a shriek escapes Isla before she can help it when he suddenly scoops her up, an arm around the back of her knees and the other under her back and he breaks out in a run towards the water. “Rafe!” she screams through a laugh, her arms automatically hooking around his neck as he holds her firmly, not once pausing in his fast stride.

The sound of her scream is drowned out by the waves they crash into, Rafe’s grip on her tight until their bodies are halfway submerged, Isla squeezing her eyes and mouth shut as water rushes over her. It’s chilling against her warm skin as they resurface, still tangled up in each other with Rafe’s hands on her hips and Isla’s arms around his neck as they sputter out laughs.

“Uncalled for!” she exclaims through giggles, wiping at her face as she tastes the salt on her lips.

Rafe gives her a slow grin, his fingers brushing along her thighs before he tightens his grip and wraps her legs around his hips under the water, keeping them afloat. “You looked like you could cool down,” he quips, his hands cupping her ass and sending shocks of electricity through her, even under water.

“Thanks so much,” Isla responds sarcastically through a smile, one of her hands raising to run her fingers through his hair, slicking the wet hair back and away from his forehead. The water continuously laps around them, Rafe keeping them afloat, and the softened look in his eyes makes her heart skip a beat or two. Her throat locks up briefly before she says, “I hope you know that I don’t have any regrets. I’m not happy about how my friends found out about us, but I’m glad they know.”

Rafe looks at her inquisitively, blue eyes searching green. “Even with how things are between you guys right now?”

Isla nods, smiling a bit; a little sad, but still edging towards happy simply because she’s here with him. “Yes,” she answers truthfully, not missing the relief that flashes across his eyes. She doesn’t blame him for it. “It’ll all work out,” she reiterates for both of them.

Maybe it will come true if she says it enough.

Rafe’s expression softens, the glow of the sun making him squint a bit at her, his sunglasses forgotten where they were sitting. She doesn’t shy away from his gaze and instead holds it steadily, readily, as her fingers play with the wet hair at the back of his neck and her smile grows slightly.

And it’s as though her smile triggers something in him because he’s instantly closing the gap and Isla’s eyes slip shut when his lips meet hers in a sweet but sea-salty kiss that has her heart tripping over itself, as per usual. Isla’s legs around Rafe’s hips tighten as she inhales sharply, lips opening under his to let his tongue slip in. She loves the feel of him against her, holding him close, just as she feels and hears Rafe groan quietly.

“I’m fucking obsessed with you, you know that?” he mutters into their kiss, his teeth grazing along her bottom lip. “Never knew I could want someone as much as I want you, all the damn time.”

His words, husky but weighed with honesty, have Isla’s pulse skittering, a soft moan caught in her throat mid-kiss because he just has that kind of effect on her. She can’t form a coherent thought, not with the way he kisses her like he wants to devour her—and she’ll happily let him. To have someone like Rafe be obsessed with her? It tickles her ego almost as much as it does her heart.

“Rafe. . .” If he keeps saying things like that, she’s going to so easily fall in—

Everything comes to a halt when she’s suddenly yanked under water, allowing her a millisecond to gasp before she’s submerged and hears the muffled sound of her name being yelled before someone else is being pulled under—probably Rafe. Heart racing in mild panic, Isla squeezes her eyes and mouth shut while kicking her legs, effectively getting rid of whatever had grabbed her ankle, and swims to the surface as she tries to will her racing pulse to calm down. What the hell was that?

When she breaks through the surface, she hears riotous laughter before seeing who it belongs to, gasping for breath as she wipes her face before blinking her eyes open. Annoyance floods her veins when she catches sight of Topper and Kelce, the two of them high fiving as they laugh, feeling Rafe’s presence next to her.

His hand finds her waist under water as he asks, “Are you okay?”

Isla looks at him, clocking the blonde hair that flattens wetly on his forehead, hiding the crease that forms to accompany the concern in his gaze—concern edged with his own annoyance. She likes that his first instinct is to check on her, and despite her irritation with the two guys laughing as though they pulled off the world’s funniest prank, she nods and offers Rafe a slight smile.

“I’m okay,” she confirms, kicking her legs to stay afloat.

Rafe’s blue eyes seem to give her a once over before he purses his lips and nods, turning to the other two guys. “The fuck is your problem?” he demands, his voice hardening with a sharp edge that Isla is glad she’s not at the receiving end of. Especially when it immediately seems to falter Topper and Kelce’s laughter, though that stupid, smug look remains on Topper’s face. “You think that shit was funny?”

Topper shrugs, glancing at Kelce. “Made me laugh,” he responds, making Isla roll her eyes. He’s so fucking childish. “Though I gotta say, man,” he continues, running his fingers through his wet blonde hair. “Nothing’s a funnier joke than you sleeping with a Pogue.”

Instead of staying quiet like he should, Kelce pipes in, “Guess you and your sister have the same type.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Isla mutters under her breath, treading close enough to the shore that she feels the sand brushing against her toes. “Will you ever grow up?”

She swims towards the shore and walks out of the water, shaking her head in annoyance as she walks towards where her and Rafe’s things are. God, what the hell is their problem? They saw her and Rafe enjoying a moment to themselves and they just had to interrupt and ruin it? Rafe had told her he’s been putting distance between himself and Topper, but it seems as though Topper didn’t get the message.

Reaching their spot, Isla grabs her towel and starts drying herself off, and it’s not long until she hears Rafe behind her. “I’m sorry about them.”

“You don’t need to apologize for them,” Isla replies as she turns to face him, only to catch sight of the guys past Rafe. Another annoyed huff escapes her as she bends at the waist to dry her legs. “Why the hell are they walking over here?”

Rafe instantly turns around and Isla sees the way he straightens, the muscles in his back tensing. He shifts ever so slightly, as if he’s shielding Isla from Topper and Kelce’s view as they approach. Isla drops her towel and grabs her denim shorts, sliding them on as she watches them warily, teeth pressing together as she wonders, not for the first time, why Topper can’t just fuck off.

“We were talking, man,” Topper calls out with his arms stretched out as he looks directly at Rafe. “It’s pretty rude to walk away in the middle of conversation.”

“I got nothing to say to you,” Rafe replies, his skin glistening with water under the bright sun. “I told you the other day, didn’t I? I’m done with your shit, Top. So—” Rafe waves his fingers in a shoo motion that almost makes Isla laugh. She smothers it though when she sees Topper’s features harden. “This conversation is useless.”

Kelce purses his lips while Topper slackens his jaw, his tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek as he slides his gaze over to Isla, who definitely doesn’t hide behind Rafe. She fully sees the contempt in Topper’s gaze, the disgusted curl of his lip, and the animosity is almost enough to knock the air out of her lungs.

“Wow,” Topper scoffs, looking back at Rafe, who has a few inches on Topper but he doesn’t appear intimidated. Idiot. Eyes narrowing and a contemptuous smirk making its way onto his face, Topper says to Rafe, “She’s got you so wrapped around her finger, huh, that you just dropped your best friends because of her?”

Isla presses her tongue to the back of her bottom teeth from saying anything. She can see the tension cording Rafe’s muscles, and she doesn’t want to push things. Not when she can just tell, from his body language, how pissed off he’s getting. And Isla notes that Kelce can see, too, because his dark eyes keep darting between Rafe and Topper, bracing himself as if to step in and keep things from escalating. At least he’s got some sense.

“Careful, Top.” Rafe’s voice is a low warning. “You made it easy with all of the stupid shit you’ve said and done to her and my sister.”

Despite the tension tightening the air, pride swells in Isla’s chest at Rafe’s words. It’s a little conflicting, because she never wants to be a reason for Rafe losing his friends, just like she knows the feeling is mutual for him despite the fact that he doesn’t get along with my friends. But, at the same time, Topper has been relentless in trying to get back Sarah and instigating things with the rest of them. If Rafe realized how shitty Topper’s behavior is and decided to cut him off, Isla can’t blame him for it. She doesn’t want to take the blame, either. It’s all on Topper, isn’t it?

“Oh, come on, man,” Topper scoffs with a roll of his eyes, unconvinced at Rafe’s change of heart. As if the concept of being a decent human being and leaving people alone is so foreign to him. He gestures towards Isla. “This fucking Pogue’s got you so pussy whipped that—”

He never gets to finish his sentence, which no doubt would have been insulting to Isla and her relationship with Rafe. Instead, the next sound out of Topper is a pained groan that follows the thud of knuckles colliding with bone, and Isla’s heart jumps to her throat in surprise as Topper tumbles down with a muted thud onto the sand on his back, a hand cradling his jaw as his expression scrunches up in pain.

“Shit,” Kelce mutters, looking as though he’s not sure if he should check on Topper or not interfere at all.

Meanwhile, Isla is staring wide eyed at Rafe; not scared, but surprised that he threw the punch in the first place. But Rafe doesn’t look at her. Instead, he’s standing over Topper, his right hand still curled into a fist, and Isla can see the fury darkening his face as he glares down at Topper, Rafe’s blue eyes so icy Isla can almost feel the chill of them.

If other beachgoers have noticed what’s going on, Isla doesn’t pay them any mind. Her concerned gaze is on Rafe—worried that Topper might get to his feet and throw a punch of his own. And while Isla knows Rafe can handle himself, she doesn’t want him to have to get into a fight. She doesn’t want any unnecessary harm coming his way.

“I told you to be careful,” Rafe says, his voice so lethally calm that it threatens to send shivers down Isla’s spine. His frozen glare doesn’t leave Topper, who stares up at Rafe in a combination of shock and anger. But Rafe is larger than life, towering over Topper; if he wanted, Isla’s sure he could crush Topper under his foot. Rafe doesn’t crouch to Topper’s level, just stays standing over him, muscles rigid. “Don’t look at her. Don’t talk about her. Don’t even think about her. I hear you running your mouth about Isla or Sarah or any of them, and I won’t pull back the next punch.”

Is it wrong to be turned on by his threat? It probably was but, God, Isla doesn’t care. She stands behind him, bottom lip curling into her mouth slightly with a quickening pulse as Topper slowly rises to his feet, sand sticking to his skin as he lowers his hand from his jaw that will probably have a bruise coloring it by tonight.

“You’ve totally lost it, man,” Topper scoffs out a laugh, staring at Rafe as if he’s never seen him before. But Isla can only see him.

Kelce is by Topper’s side. “Top, come on, man,” he says, clasping Topper’s shoulder as if to yank him back.

But Topper’s not listening, his incredulous gaze fixed on Rafe. “You’re gonna turn your back on your friends for a relationship that has no future?” He scoffs again, smirking as if he knows better than Rafe. “You think she’s going to pick you over her friends? I almost feel sorry for you. She may live on our side of the island, but she’s a Pogue,” he spits out and Isla almost flinches. Almost. Instead, she just stands by Rafe’s side, glaring at Topper and hating every word that comes out of his mouth. “They all stick together. You’ll see that soon enough.”

Isla’s heard enough. “Fuck off, Topper,” she says tightly with a lift of her chin, unwavering under his scowl. “Before Rafe gives you a black eye to match.”

Rafe’s jaw clenches, dipping his chin in threat. “You heard her.”

Kelce gives Topper a tug, who gives them one last sardonic smirk. “See you around,” he says before turning and walking off.

Isla loosens a breath as she moves around to stand in front of Rafe, who is glaring after Topper. She sees the muscle in his jaw jumping continuously, the sharp features of his face tightened in aggravation. “Hey,” Isla says softly, instantly getting his attention as he turns his head to look down at her. The anger in his eyes is still present, but it seems to soften slightly as she offers him a gentle smile. “Are you okay?” she asks while reaching for his right hand, her fingers carefully circling his wrist.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he mumbles as Isla lifts his hand to observe it. His knuckles are already reddening as Isla gently brushes a thumb over them. Her chest twists at the idea of him feeling any kind of pain—physical or otherwise—as her throat works. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” she answers, and it’s almost the whole truth. Isla considers hiding the rest from him, but decides against it ultimately, her gaze still on his bruising knuckles. “I hate that this is how our day together turned out.” A breathless, hollow laugh escapes her. “It’s like we’re getting hit on all fronts. My friends and now yours.”

“Topper isn’t my friend. Not anymore.” Rafe’s stern words have Isla’s head lifting, catching sight of the look on his face; determined, firm, unyielding. “I should’ve stopped hanging around him the second he started acting crazy after Sarah dumped him.” He lets out a sigh, his other hand coming to rest on the side of her neck, his thumb stroking her cheek. “I’m sorry he said all of that shit. It was uncalled for and screwed up.”

Isla presses her lips together, nodding even as her throat dries. You think she’s going to pick you over her friends? I almost feel sorry for you. Topper’s words ring out in Isla’s head, eyebrows furrowing as she wishes the redness on Rafe’s knuckles would disappear. There isn’t any truth to what Topper said because at the end of the day, Isla doesn’t want to make any kind of choice. She wants Rafe and her friends, and it shouldn’t be a fucking choice in the first place.

Her stomach tightens in anxiousness that she can’t seem to ignore. Her skin prickles and it’s not because of the sand sticking to her in places. Isla can feel Rafe’s gaze on her, expectant, and the words tumble out of her. “You don’t believe him, do you? That I’d. . . Choose my friends over you?”

Even saying the words make her chest clench uncomfortably. The mere idea of losing him makes her heart hollow out and leave a bitter taste in the back of her mouth. And it’s the same kind of feeling she gets at the idea of losing her friends, too. She wants them all. She doesn’t care if that sounds selfish or, worse, unrealistic.

“Baby.” His softened voice saying that one word has Isla’s head lifting to meet his gaze once more, his thumb stroking her cheek once more as he gives her a fond half smile that makes her pulse skitter. She’s sure he can feel it against his palm on her neck. “I think you would’ve made that choice by now if you were ever going to. But it’s not a choice I want you to have to make in the first place.”

The earnestness in his voice makes the breath catch in Isla’s throat. He’s too good for her and she wishes so desperately her friends could see that. She wants them to know this side of Rafe; the soft, sweet side that puts her needs above everything else. And Isla doesn’t want him to ever doubt her and her feelings for him. She has fallen into him slowly but deeply, as obsessed with him as he is with her. The idea of losing him isn’t something she’s willing to even entertain.

Isla sighs, head tilting to the side as she gives him a smile only for him. “You’re a good man, Rafe.”

She means it deeply. The flare in his eyes tells her he knows it, too.

He kisses her in thanks.

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