#think of your monster and how it did the same to you

[pyrodolls]

imagine all the yandere monsters in your village obsessed with you, the only human

naturally, you are seen as the monarch of the village. the only thing every creature can agree on, is that they love and respect you. even though you're not really interested in any of them.

THE WEREWOLF is the most aggressive of the creatures within the village. he’s the one that everyone fears. he isn’t the strongest, but he’s the one that never backs down from a fight. he’s the one that would shed anyone’s blood in your name without hesitation. he’s the one that doesn’t even try to hide the disgusted look in his eyes that flashes every time you lend someone else your kindness and attention. he always fantasizes about ripping them to shreds and carrying you away to safety.

he's boastful, and loud. he constantly challenges others to fights-- especially in front of you. he thinks you'll be impressed by his strength, and the more he shows off and wins fights, he'll also win your heart. he'd rip some poor nymph to shreds and hold the heart up to you, hoping you'll be proud of him and spare at least a glance his way. maybe even say he did a good job or perhaps tell him that he's oh so strong and courageous.

if only you treated him as more than a lapdog. if only you looked at him with the same adoration that he looks at you with. he’ll glare at everyone but you. he’ll ignore and growl at everyone he sees, because they're not you.

his infatuation with you is more than a respect for your royalty. deep down, he yearns to be by your side. he doesn’t need the power that you have, just as long as he’s the one with you. as long as he’s the only one that can stay with you and protect you from harm. he’ll stand at your guard for hours if you requested him to do so. he’ll happily accept your request with a rare sway to his tail.

he needs to be your guard. he needs to make sure you’re safe at all times or else he will deem himself worthless. with his sharp teeth, long claws and piercing stare, almost anyone would be frightened by the giant, aggressive werewolf at your side.

but no matter how rough and tough he acts; he’ll always crumble the second your hand raises up to his head to scratch or pat him on the head.

THE HARPY is the one that lusts after you the most. she's raunchy, easygoing, and mischievous. plus, of all the creatures, the harpy is the bluntest. she’ll gleefully and casually mention to you all of her wicked fantasies. every morning, she flies around trying to find you, and once she does, she goes on and on about the things she’s imagined you two doing. the other creatures are far more ashamed of their urges, thinking that they’re dirtying your image as their monarch. but the harpy? she doesn’t give a flying fuck if you’re the ruler or a peasant. she’s imagined your body in thousands of ways, none of them have to do with your status.

even though you have always rejected her advances, she’s always going to keep trying. she’s convinced that you’re just shy and in denial of your feelings. she’s convinced that you’re destined to be hers. she started doing outlandish things to catch your attention and get you out of your shell. she started physically touching you more, such as kissing your cheek and laying on your lap. she thinks you're in love with her, no matter how many times you blatantly tell her that you're not interested.

she revels in the other creatures’ jealousy and hatred of her. she knows the others only think of her as a dirty harlot, ruining the valiant image of their ruler. but she couldn't care less about what others think. she barely even cares what you think. she knows what she wants, and nobody will stop her from getting it. not even you.

THE FAIRY is the most envious of them all. fairies are known for being small and weak. he knew you weren't going to like him. that's why he desperately tried to get your approval the moment he met you. he always leaves you small gifts and watches from afar as you collect them, hoping that it'll be something that you enjoy. he knows that pixies are generally the ones that leave small gifts, but he had to find some way to gain your favor. he's only 6 inches tall and could easily be stomped on by the other creatures. so that means he isn't strong, or incredibly intelligent, or immortal. he has nothing going for him compared to the others, so all he can do is be as kind as possible to you.

deep down, he's aware that he doesn't stand a chance. but he keeps trying. he knows he loves you more than any of the other creatures can say. he would be kind to you. he would follow your every command. he would do whatever you want him to do. he just wants you. it doesn't matter how you treat him or what you do to him. sure, if you hurt him, he won't be very happy about it, but he'll still be grateful that you even looked his way and gave him a chance.

he's usually very friendly and giving towards others, and especially to you, but behind closed doors, he's cruel towards those that you show love and affection to. he knows it's wrong. he knows you would probably be mad at him for his behavior. but he can't help it. everyone else is so much bigger and stronger than he is. deep down, he knows they could protect and take care of you better than he can. so, his inferiority complex shifts into anger that he takes out onto them. and if they happen to snitch on him, he'll just start fake crying. you'd comfort him and tell him everything's okay, because you trust him! he's the one that is so small, gentle, and always gifts you, so he'd never do anything wrong...

THE VAMPIRE has a strategy to winning you over. she's one of the eldest, most intelligent and calculated creatures in the village. over the course of the couple thousand years that she's been alive, she never had any romantic interest in anyone until she met you. you changed something in her. she's always been very formal, and polite, but you awoke something new in her. something... possessive and perhaps even controlling. after meeting you, she suddenly had the urge to take care of you. as she unfortunately cannot be in the sun, so she watches you from afar. follows you from a distance, making sure you are safe. she's ready to step in as soon as she needs to, in order to protect you.

she's more likely to take a friendlier, respectful approach compared to others. unlike the vulgar harpy, or the overly submissive fairy, she's more formal and respects your authority as their leader. every night, she walks around your house and if you happen to come out, she pretends she was "on her way home" and says that it "would be a lovely time to go for a walk" and you assume she was telling the truth.

the best part about having a plan such as hers, is that the other creatures have no idea that she's interested in you. they go to her for advice and try to ask for her help in courting you. they trust her, not knowing she'll ruin them once she knows their plans in wooing you. and they'll never know that it was her, because she's the beautiful older woman in the village that has never caused any problems! everyone loves her. and soon, you will too.

she's patient. everyone else is in such a rush to make you theirs immediately, but she knows you're worth waiting for. she knows that in the end, she'll come out on top, and you'll be hers. all she must do is wait.

THE ELF is one of the shyest. she's looked down upon in the village for being too timid and messy. with frizzy hair, pointy ears, and a dreadful fashion sense, she stays in her dingy little shack in the woods, crafting weapons and houseware to sell to the villagers. every month, she begrudgingly makes her visit to the village's market to display and sell her things, then go straight back home. she dreads seeing others, feeling safe only in the solitude of the quiet woods.

she always knew of a human monarch ruling over the land, but she didn't bother investigating for herself. she wanted to just make and sell her goods, then lurk in the outskirts of the village in peace. but one day, you just happened to be at her usual selling place.

she dropped all her items in a few baskets, standing by ready to give them away. that's when you approached, offering a generous sum of money to purchase items that were rumored to "be of high quality" from the other villagers. the second she saw you, her heart almost stopped. she knew the monarch was supposed to be beautiful, but she wasn't aware you were going to look that good. she quickly and awkwardly wrapped the items in leaves, handing them to you and feeling her heart skip a beat when your fingers brushed against hers. she thanked you, bowing her head so you wouldn't see how red her pale skin became. you simply walked away without saying anything else.

she replayed that moment over and over again in her head on her journey back home. should she have said something else? should she have refused your money or given you more items? should she have wrapped your items in something fancier than random leaves she picked from the forest? god, you probably think she's a loser now. you probably dislike her just as much as everyone else does. she maybe even offended you, because she didn't recognize you at first.

she spent that whole night rethinking her entire life choices. and the night after that. and the night after that. and that whole week. and the next week. then the next. until it was time to sell her things again. this time, she would be prepared for your arrival.

she spent that month lurking around the village, overhearing the things people said about you. she never knew there was so much competition to win your heart! she'd definitely have to study your interests to win you over.

every day, she peeked into your castle and carefully inspected your bedroom. she studied your clothes, hair, accessories, decorations, and more. she took note of it all, storing it in her memory to use later in order to impress you and show that she would be the best candidate for your affections.

when the day came for her to publicly return to the village, she made sure her hair was nicely put together, instead of the usual frizzy look. she made sure her clothes weren't so tattered and dirty, and she was wearing your favorite color. she made sure her goods were clean and wrapped nicely in cloth that she sewed herself, based on the designs on your castle's carpet.

she waited and waited. the usual customers came by, surprised that she seemed more put together-- but she didn't spare them a single glance. she was just looking for you. where were you? did you not like her goods? or maybe her initial thoughts were correct: her first impression was so terrible that you hate her, and you'll never see her again.

it was late at night, way past her curfew. she was packing her things ready to return home and cry herself to sleep after you didn't show up. until she finally spotted you in the distance, walking next to the vampire lady.

she felt her face go red in embarrassment. what was she even thinking? of course you're into someone else. she spent an entire month obsessing over you to the point where she mended her appearance to impress you and maybe get you to spend more time with her. but it was all for naught, wasn't it?

but maybe... she can keep trying. she put in so much effort. she tried so hard to EARN your approval, instead of trying to seduce you like that old ass vampire. she's never felt this way for anyone before. she hates everyone else. she hates talking to people, spending time with people. they've never liked her anyway. but you didn't hate her. you just purchased her goods with an incredible amount of money and never insulted her or raised a single finger on her. she'll never forget that. she'll always be grateful for that. in return, she'll make herself better for you. she'll change, and you'll be nice to her again... maybe even love her just as much as she loves you... right?

THE MERMAN is one of the cutest, yet the most codependent and manipulative of them all. he's just a defenseless merman; he can't go on land! you'll have to visit him every day and talk to him, or else he'll go mad. you can't leave him alone for a single day, because he has no other friends. that would be so rude of you.

every day, he sits and waits for you, posing prettily on the biggest rock on the beach. if anyone were to flirt or try to talk to him, he'd usually roll his eyes and swim away. he has a bit of a reputation for being the most handsome creature out of everyone else in the village. but no matter how many villagers attempt to charm him, none of them have ever caught his eye. in fact, they often leave the beach crying in despair after he rejects them with no remorse or kindness. he'll insult them and bluntly tell them he would never be interested in them.

because you're the only one he wants.

he sees your riches. your beauty. your power and intelligence. he's attracted to all of it. he fantasizes every day about being with you. he knows that you're human and you can't be with him all day, but he can't bare being away from you for so long! he's tried multiple times to crawl on land, but he just can't do it without fainting and being carried back to the sea by one of his fellow merfolk.

he begs you to spend as much time as you can with him. he is overjoyed the moment he sees you walking towards his spot at the beach. he starts squealing and splashing around, doing a few tricks to impress you. he immediately starts bombarding you with questions, asking how you are and what you're doing later, subtly wrapping his tail around your arm so you can't walk away. he talks to you nonstop, trying to make you stay. he knows you are royalty, and you have your duties, but they can't be more important than him.

every time you even hint at leaving, he starts getting emotional. what do you mean you're leaving soon? don't you know what you mean to him? you know you're his only connection to the outside world and the land. you're one of his only friends. you can't just leave him. don't you know how much he cares about you? don't you know how many people he's rejected for you? don't you know how many hours he spent combing through his hair with a fork he found lying washed up on the sand? don't you know how many hours he spent trying to polish his scales, making them shinier to catch your eye? he tried so hard to look all pretty for you, and now you're just going to leave?

wait, you'll come back tomorrow? oh, okay. well, why didn't you just say that sooner? just don't keep him waiting too long. even though you're leaving, he'll stay lying on his rock, staring at your castle with a longing look in his teary eyes, waiting for your return.

[thranduel]

if byler isn't endgame...

what was the point of making will in love with mike?

why was will used as a plot device to force mike and el back together and "fix" their relationship issues? (the writers literally took his OWN feelings for mike and his OWN painting for mike that was supposed to be something special between them only and made it all about... el? this is genuinely one of the most cruel, ridiculous and unnecessary writing decisions i've ever seen if it doesn't result in will getting the person he loves)

why did they clearly highlight the contrast between byler and m*leven's relationships all season? how mike makes el feel like a monster for being different vs how he does NOT make will feel like a mistake for being different? how mike and el had the biggest fight after mike apologised vs how mike and will made up and ended up closer than before after mike apologised? how mike and el don't have healthy communication and struggle to understand each other vs how mike and will always have genuine heart-to-heart conversations, understand each other so well and sometimes don't even have to say any words? how mike feels insecure in his relationship with el and has his trauma/feelings invalidated vs how will manages to always make him feel special, confident and gives him strength when he's struggling and needs help?

why are there so many parallels and similarities between will and el as individual characters AND also their relationships with mike?

why is mike's relationship with will different from all his other platonic friends? (and don't just say "because will is in love with him", because in some scenes, MIKE is the one who initiates things and goes out of his way for will. which reminds me, you know how everyone says mike does so many romantic things for el? like not giving up on her when she's missing, taking care of her, being protective over her, etc.? he actually did all of those things for will first)

why did mike vent to will about his fight with el (the fight he claims they "can't come back from") without directly saying what the fight was about? all he said was "maybe i should've said something... and if i would've said that thing, then maybe she'd want me there with her." so... you're venting to your friend and you can't even specify that your big fight was about not being able to say "i love you"? why was it kept so secretive if you truly love her and it's no big deal? you've said you love her in front of a group of people before anyways, even when will was there, so why can't you even say the words to him while venting?

why did mike vent to will (again) and say that if he would've explained himself to el, maybe she would've taken him with her? will says he thinks it's scary to open up like that, to say how you really feel, but shouldn't mike and el already know how they both feel about each other at this point? el heard mike say he loved her in season 3, and at the end of the same season, she said "i love you too" before kissing him. they have kissed a lot, sent letters to each other and do lovey dovey things, which should make their feelings quite clear?????

and what was the point of this line from will?

"because... what if... what if they don't like the truth?"

we're supposed to be talking about el here. sure, will was subtly speaking about himself, and we know that as the audience. but mike doesn't. this conversation is about el, so mike still thinks will is talking about her. why on earth would he NOD after will says the part about how she might not like the truth? mike knows that "the truth" she WANTS to hear is "i love you", so why wouldn't she like the truth? why did mike nod at what will said and why did he agree with him? what is actually even happening in this scene??????????????

why did they make all the canon couples stand together in the final shot of season 4, with mike and will standing together too?

what was the point of ANY of this if they weren't planning on making byler endgame?!?!?!?!?!

[starcurtain]

I wish Hoyo would carry their own ideas through sometimes...

I know everyone is really focused on Mydei's current predicament and misery, but I can't stop thinking about his past and how insane the first half of his life would have been, if you take the plot seriously.

Spoilers for Mydei's leaked character stories(!!) and voice lines, but:

Just... imagine if Hoyo treated this backstory with actual weight for a second.

Mydei was thrown into the sea as an infant. He was young enough to have no memories of life on land--or even life with other human beings at all. He would have no one to teach him to walk, to speak, to function like a human being... He would essentially be an entirely feral creature, probably not even able to recognize a connection between himself and the idea of living on land.

Even after coming ashore at last, if this plot were treated realistically, learning to adapt to a human life would have taken time--he would have to learn the entire concept of language, let alone how to speak, read, and write... Fire, warmth, trusting others enough to allow them into one's vicinity--totally foreign concepts to him. He would have to learn how to walk upright after literally spending his entire life previously floating weightless in the sea.

We know from the leaked story that he rescued sailors lost at sea, indicating that his inherent nature is gentle:

But if he was able to save fisherman from the sea, why did it take him nine years to save himself? Why not just go with the fishermen and escape the sea earlier?

Because, applying logic again, a child with no exposure to other humans might not even recognize them as his own kind. He may react the same way a wild animal would to humans--with curiosity, but also with caution. Are they prey? Are they predators? Why do they look so similar but drown when they fall in the water, while he always, always, always returns? What are those noises they're making at him?

Given Tribbie's animation, it seems to me that it was Tribbie's star in the sky that finally coaxed Mydei from the water--but even if she had given a letter to him, he could never have read it back then.

Think of how disorienting it would be to go from a life of complete and abject loneliness, where you are the only one of your own kind, where every moment of your life is kill-or-be-killed, a constant battle of predation in the depths, to a life where suddenly you're among flocks of people, people who teach you to communicate with more than your claws and teeth, who tell you that you're not only one of them, you're the best of them, who expect you to lead them when you can barely even conceive of yourself as a human being at all...

And it's just right back into another war. It's nothing but the sea all over again, fighting fighting fighting fighting--

Then you finally find refuge, finally find a place that promises you a moment's rest... but the people who claim to be offering you sanctuary call you a savage, a beast, and treat you like you never got civilized in the first place. They won't let you call their city home. They won't accept you, no matter how hard you try to be human... Why have left the sea at all if no one will ever see you as anything other than a monster?

To still be kind after a life of cruelty. To still be gentle. To still be willing to give even more of yourself after clawing back from loss after loss after loss... To know even more pain and suffering are coming and to simply accept this as your lot in life, to have nothing to look forward to and to still be able to tell someone else not to let bitterness be all he knows...

What an agonizing tragedy. What an incredible character. Mydei, the man that you are!!!

[aidensolas]

DAY BY DAY - A Roblox Forsaken Fic

You’ve always been someone who preferred the quiet over the chaos. The world, with its noise, expectations, and fast pace, often felt overwhelming. You worked your job, went through the motions, but deep down, there was always a sense of something missing—like you were moving through life without truly living it. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but you knew you didn’t have a clear sense of purpose. Everything felt like a blur, and you were simply following the path set in front of you. You never truly knew what you wanted, what you wanted to achieve, everything felt so mundane, so empty, so lifeless. The people around you felt faceless and distorted and the surroundings you've once seen felt like a distant memory you can't quite remember.

Everything changed once you got home though, everything you've built upon, everything you know even if through a routine of nothing you still find peace in because of your house... no your home was your sanctuary. The moment you walked through that door, everything slowed down. The world outside was still loud, still demanding, but inside, you had control. You’d change into something comfortable, make a quick meal, and then, with a deep breath of relief, you’d sink into the familiar rhythm of your routine. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. You’d hold your mouse, settle into your seat, and for a few hours, the world faded away. You didn’t need to think about work, about relationships, about expectations. You could simply be yourself, lost in the worlds of the games you loved. You were always a player of games where a survivor would run and fight against a killer no matter if it would be in Roblox or standout games like dead by daylight, they gave you the sense of escape as if you're one of the survivors escaping from the killer called reality. You found it fun, refreshing, and even liberating to be able to not think about things you never wanted to think about.

In those moments, you weren’t defined by your job or by how people saw you. You could be anyone, anywhere, doing anything. Whether it was exploring vast open landscapes, solving intricate puzzles, or escaping fierce monsters, you found a sense of freedom you didn’t feel in the real world. You didn’t need to be anything more than a player—an observer, a wanderer—and it was enough for such things to truly give a person happiness they deserve.

Though one day something catches your eyes it seems to be a new hit game in Roblox called "Forsaken" though its premise didn't catch you immediately you decided to try it out. Now it's normal to be bad in games you try for the first time but your experience in these other types of games though different in essence same in gameplay you found your ground quickly. You quickly grew accustomed to the gameplay even earning yourself some favorite characters, your personal favorite being Two Time despite his selfish passive ability being more focused on himself you found it nice to not think about your teammates once in a while and just sit back and enjoy playing the game you love. Seconds turn into minutes which turn into hours and into days and so on and so forth, you kept playing after work you would always settle down and play some forsaken before your daily routine would catch up to bite you in the ass again. Everything would come to change in one faithful day where the angels would come to laugh down upon your own misfortune.

It was just another normal day where you did your daily routine of waking up, eating, going to work, and coming home but something felt off.... Something felt different from all the other days as you sat down once more on your chair to play forsaken. You decided to use someone different today as you've saved enough money to buy the "You" skin for Noob as you were curious how'd you look with a yellow and blue blocky perspective as you deemed it silly. Dropping into a match with 1x1x1x1x as the killer you're quickly surprised at your expectations of a yellow and blue avatar to replace your base one seems to be unchanged. "Weird..." you voiced aloud thinking it might be a bug but that wasn't even the weirdest part of this encounter, your avatar seemed to have a blurred texture on it which makes it hard to depict its face, another thing is that the UI where the survivors and their hp would be displayed is gone as well.

You shrugged and paid no heed to it as some bugs won't deter you from having fun as your life was already boring to begin with. The match went on as normal you finding gens and doing them as well as gathering items you find along the way. Your eyes seem to lock into a silhouette of a character their red pizza hat reminding you of who they are. You promptly moved your character towards Elliot as you noticed he was doing a gen as your character went to help, Elliot stood up and said in the chatbox "Hey.. You look new around here, What's your name? " Amused at the attempt of a roleplay you quickly tried typing your alias the name you commonly use when introducing yourself online only to subtly realize you can't chat in Roblox as well. Maybe insulting those kids in Daybreak for blowing that many generators wasn't a good idea... You focus on the game once more to see Elliot's in-game face looking awfully awkward? 'They added more expressions now how cute' you thought as you went back to finishing the gen as he stood still and watched but in moments or so continued to finish the gen together. As you both finished the gen in silence the chatbox above Elliot once more pops up saying "##########" Great. Tags. You couldn't really focus much on Elliot as a green sword hits the side of his blocky stomach. He looked pained as you quickly realized that the killer is quickly approaching holding both of his daemonshank in his hands you tried to drink your slateskin potion to take a hit for Elliot but nothing would happen, after spamming for a second or so you decided the next best course of action...

Leaving Elliot to fend for himself as you ran away from the scene. "This game is a bit buggy today maybe I'll play tomorrow." You said out loud again as you tried to quit to no avail, you tried resetting your computer, but it wouldn't close. What is happening? Why is nothing working today? You could faintly hear the Last Man standing theme as you could see Infront of your character the killer 1x1x1x1 is nearing you let it be as if you died the match would be over and the bugs would stop happening surely? As your character died you felt a pain you haven't felt in a long time grasping to where your heart should be as black spots began to surround your vision. You thought 'this is the end' you were never really given peace and happiness you deserved. You never got to realize your ambitions as each moment breathing felt excruciatingly painful. As you lost your consciousness you could finally see your computer turning off but not before doing so you could see a close up of your character alive again smiling and waving at you.

"Welcome to hell."

Soooo here's my attempt of trying to write a story. It's my first time doing something like this so if the way I write is subpar I do apologize for doing so just think of this as me practicing writing. I don't know how Tumblr works as much as the other person, but I'll probably update near per week or so as my life is busy. If you liked, it stay tuned for more, I guess. Have a nice day!

[bluetimeombre]

༶• ┈♛ Baby blue

You and Bucky are finally ready for the rest of your lives, you just never thought it wouldn’t work out. Fem reader

tw, inablity to have children, throwing up, angst, pain, pushing away

༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ ༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ ༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ ༶•┈┈

Bucky knows pain.

He knows loss.

He knows pulling away because he has done it all before.

He knows the feeling of cold creeping up a spine, of skin crawling in shivers from trepidation of fear. He understands being locked in your own mind, hiding in a corner and pulling at hair. He knows it all like it is his second home because it is. For years it was his first home.

And then you happened and he found a new home.

Bucky Barnes didn't think he was a man of love, or even capable of the feeling after what he'd done. What he'd been made to do. You had changed that. You had single-handily stitched back together his soul and dedicated peices of your own heart to his.

You'd saved him from Winter and it hurt that he didn't know how to do the same to you.

You had never struggled. You had fought with him, as team, as a duo you'd done everything. You were an un-movable force who would stare down aliens and android's and yes- wizards.

You were the eye of the storm who only ever relented for Bucky.

You had been there when he was mindless and killing in the name of nothing. You had fought for his mind and freedom and fought for a love you knew he deserved before he knew it himself.

So why- why- couldn't Bucky figure out how to save you.

It killed him. It tore apart the soul and heart you'd cared for. How did he not know what was eating at you and why didn't he not know how to stop it.

He thought about it as he stared at your back, glowing in the sun. You'd knowingly or un-knowingly retreated to the furthest part of the bed, hanging on the edge and hugging in yourself, the covers pulled under your chin.

It should have been his body warming yours, his kisses on your skin not the sun's from the window. But at every touch you tensed and left, or smiled pitifully at him.

Bucky thought that maybe you'd finally seen the monster he was. But it couldn't have been, he couldn't think of that. Because if you didn't see the good in him, then clearly it wasn't there.

Bucky rested a while, knowing he was supposed to meet Sam for a run any minute. You always liked to be awake when he went, temping him with seductive promises and lingering kisses to keep him in bed.

Now, it seemed you didn't want him there.

But Bucky was your man. He was yours. And he'd be damned if he didn't try every day, every minute to get you back.

The bed dipped in his weight as he pulled the cover back and slowly brought you into his chest. There it was. The tense of your shoulders and the breath you sucked in. He tried to will it out of existence as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

"Good morning," he whispered, resting his chin where he'd placed his kiss.

"Morning," your voice was thick with sleep but every morning you woke as if you hadn't rested. The circles under your eyes haunted him and the paleness of your skin scared him. He thought you were ill at first. He waited one week. Then he waited another and he was still waiting.

If it took years. He would wait.

You turn your head an inch. "Shouldn't you be running with Sam?"

He smiled, brushing your hair aside so he could nestle his head in the crook of your neck. "Are you trying to get rid of me, doll?" he asked. He hoped you said no.

"Of course not," you said, voice quiet. Your eyes were still closed.

Bucky got as close to you ask he could, entwining with his legs with yours. "You know, I can blow the guy off. I'd love nothing more. We could stay in bed, not move, all day."

For a moment he thought you might agree, might curl into his body and relax. You were silent, as if in contemplation.

"You should go," you said. "Besides I have to get up, I've got mission reports due."

He sighed. "I can help you later, if you like."

"No, it's ok," finally you lie back, looking up to Bucky as he gazes down at you. Recently he'd been trying to take in every detail of your face, keeping track of every freckle or mole or scar. In case, just in case, you walk away and all he's left with his memories. He wants to remember it all.

You cup his cheek and smile but it's nothing like the light you used to give off. Your thumb runs over his stubble and he leans into your touch. He'd missed it, so much. He hadn't been shaving recently because he knew you liked his stumble and he just wanted you to go back to liking him.

"Ok," he said, watching you.

There's a fleeting second where your eyes hurt, where it seems like your whole body hurts as he watches you. He tugs your shirt up, splaying his hand over your skin just to feel but you're pushing out of his touch and out of bed before he can feel your skin.

You excuse yourself and Bucky lets himself deflate onto your side of the bed, holding your pillow and breathing in your smell. You were so, so close. And just out of reach at the same time.

༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ ༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ ༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ ༶•┈┈

You did your mission reports slowly, painstakingly slow. You dotted every I and crossed every T. You even did mission reports that you'd been backed on for months. All too put off going home. A home with four bed rooms.

One was yours and Bucky's, a room usually full of passion and laughter, now it seemed like light didn't even get in there.

One was a spare room, a guests that typically meant it was Sam's. It was a pull out couch but he insisted the couch was better to sleep on. It had one of those blankets you had to curl up under to keep warm because that's how you liked it and if that's how you liked it, Bucky was not going out of his way to get any different.

One was an office and the other... well, you guessed it would never be used for anything more.

The sun had been shining when you'd got to work, now it was only just setting.

Your paperwork was all done and for a while- somewhere between minutes and hours- you sat in your chair, chewed down your pencil and watched the sun.

You did it a lot sometimes, usually on missions. It had never looked different but now, everything did.

There was a knock on your door and an agent walked in. "There's a mission in a week, shadow operation, anywhere from a weekend to a week, you want in?"

The good thing about having been in this line of business your whole life, you got first dibs. "Gimme me."

Sha handed you the file and lingered.

You glance up at her. "Anything else?"

"Are you- well it's just, you never usually coop yourself up in here. Are you alright?" she asked.

You smiled, the act paining your cheeks. "I'm good."

"Alright, just wanted to see."

Finally, when you were alone you rested your head in your hands. Hunched over. You were good, or you would be as soon as you came to terms with everything. That soon, you would lose everything and be more alone than ever.

Just as you were about to flick through the file, look into the details of your mission there came another knock at the door.

"Hey you," Bucky stood there, dressed nice and holding a bunch of flowers. Tulips, your favourite.

He took an invite in and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, clearing your throat.

Bucky was the love of your life. His touch was as familiar as the feel of sun on you or water crashing against you or the feel of air filling your lungs. He was your breath of fresh air.

All his presence brought you now was pain.

"You've been here all day honey, I've come to take you home." He curled his hand against the back of your neck and looked at you with so much love you thought you might suffocate in it.

What a way to go.

Bucky wasn't taking no for an answer, wasn't letting you stay in the office one second more. He gave you the flowers and took the file, frowning down at it before taking your bag and leading you down to the car.

༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ ༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ ༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ ༶•┈┈

Bucky was good at pretending. He didn't like to but he would. He could pretend it didn't break his heart when he found you in your office, hiding, instead of at home. He could pretend the idea of you leaving on a mission for a week in this temperament didn't scare and upset him.

But when you were in your shared bed, shaking, withering and begging in pain, he wouldn't pretend.

He was no stranger to nightmares. They were almost his constant companion before you. Eventually, they stopped hunting on him.

Now, they were after you.

Bucky knelt next to you, holding your arms and coaxing you awake. "C'mon baby, wake up! Wake up!"

But you were in the depths of pain. Your tears were running down your cheeks and his own made his watch on you blurry. He didn't want to hold you down, or bruise you. He just wanted you to wake.

Bucky ran his flesh hand over your cheek, tapping it as lightly as possible and stopping your head from thrashing. "It's me, it's just me, wake up, please, please, please."

He rested his head on yours, willing every power and defence to you.

Finally you woke with a short scream, pushing and scratching at Bucky.

"Hey, hey, it's me, angel, it's just me! It's Bucky! It's me- it's me," frantically he held you, tried to sooth you, calm you, hold you, anything you would allow.

"No, no, no-" abruptly you pushed out his hold and scrambled over to the bathroom.

Bucky had never seen you in such a state. Had never known a nightmare to plague you so. Quickly, he got up after you, finding you in time as you throw your guts up in the toilet.

You were hunched over and shivering.

His heart fucking shattered.

Bucky pulled a blanket from the bed and dropped next to you, hanging the blanket over your shoulders before gently brushing your hair back, holding it with his flesh hand and rubbing his metal one over your back. He soothed you, whispering words that it would be 'ok, you're ok, i've got you.'

He needed you to have him. Needed you to tell him what was happening because he wasn't just afraid for you anymore. He was terrified. The sort that twisted his guts and pulled it into tight knots.

It took a few minutes for you to compose yourself but once you'd managed to stop throwing up, Bucky flushed the toilet and tightened the blanket over you.

You fell back, pale.

"Y/n, I don't like this, we should get you checked out," said Bucky. He intended to be firm.

"No," you rested back on the bathtub, leaning your head back to the ceiling, tears leaking from the corner of your eyes.

"Honey, please-"

"I'll be fine, I just, I need a minute."

Bucky rested across from you. "Ok, Ok, take all the time you need."

"Alone," you said. You still wouldn't look at him.

That was almost the last straw. You asking to be alone. You shouldn't be alone, not alone and in pain. "Y/n-"

"I just need a minute alone, please Bucky!"

There was nothing, nothing in the world, in any world that Bucky wouldn't do for you. If you wanted a minute alone, he'd grant you it. He took your cheeks gently before pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I'll be outside for you. Come out when you're ready."

Bucky had a feeling you would never be ready. Whatever this was, it wasn't going to heel easily. And it might just break him.

That night, Bucky kept his promise and he waited. He stayed outside the bathroom door a minute, then five. After ten he pushed it open only a little to check on you.

You'd tucked yourself under the blanket, made yourself as small as possible and feel asleep.

Bucky rested on the doorframe, looking at the one he loved and needed and wished he could take your pain. He didn't know what it was, but it couldn't be worse than seeing you hurt.

༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ ༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ ༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ ༶•┈┈

You'd woken in bed, not knowing how you'd got there. Your body ached from however long you'd been asleep on the cold, tiled floor of the bathroom.

When your eyes had opened, the city outside and waking up, you first greeted Bucky who was firmly on his side of the bed, curled up similar to you and asleep. Yet even in sleep, his arm reached for you.

It laid there like a third presence, like something different reaching out for you.

Something you couldn't face.

So, you did something you never thought you'd do. Voluntarily go for a run.

You'd slipped into gear easily and slipped out the apartment quickly and almost immediately started at a sprint. Your heels kicked up, your lungs burned but you ran and ran around the block, and then the next and then some more.

You did it without music. You did it with a burn in your lungs and an ache in your legs. It was as if you were trying to out-run the sun rise, like trying to keep the next day at bay.

It was only when the sun had made it's place in the sky and when you knew Sam would be coming by for a run soon that you jogged back to yours and Bucky's place. The climb up the stairs had been torturous from the run and you'd taken your time not through choice but through regret of having such a long run.

By the time you'd got to your front door you had to pause just to catch your breath and to get yourself ready to live another day with Bucky knowing soon he'd be gone.

There was a shuffling of steps on the other side, pacing.

When you opened the door you hadn't expected Bucky to be there, in his sleeping pants and wild, messy hair looking terrified out of his wits. He was pacing up and down the front room, hands in his hair and pulling.

He stopped when he noticed you back. A cry choaked out his throat. "Oh my god."

"Bucky, what-"

His arms were around your shoulders, pulling you in, holding you in, trying to make you one person and leading you further in. He was mumbling, you couldn't hear it. All you could focus on was the frantic and messy beats of his heart, racing.

"Bucky, I'm sweaty."

He pulled back and tilted his head. His hands stayed holding your forearms. "Where the hell have you been?"

"What? What, I was-"

"You were where, huh?" he demanded, voice wavering. "Where the hell do you go in the morning while i'm still sleeping! Without a note, without your phone!"

"I went for a run."

"Why?" he snapped. "Why would you go out without your phone? After last night, my god- Y/N, I was worried sick!"

You shrug. "I wasn't thinking!"

"No, you weren't!" he yelled, letting you go.

You gulped. He didn't shout at you, ever. Not when you'd been reckless on a mission or were in a terrible mood and probably deserved it. Like now. You hadn't thought about Bucky, you'd only thought about yourself.

Bucky sighed, his whole body slumping. He took a careful step over to you, this time his embrace slow and time-taking. He need to feel it, needed to feel you. "Please tell me what this is all about," he said, resting his head on yours.

You try to shrug under his weight. "I just wanted a run."

"Not the run, y/n. Everything," his chest shook, his heart never calming. "Please, talk to me, I can't see you in this much pain and not say anything."

He'd noticed. He'd seen. Of course he had, he was in love with you for the time being.

You moved from his hold, his arms falling pathetically at his side. "I think I need to shower."

"Angel, please," Bucky was following you, hot on your heels. "This- this is killing me. It must be killing you, whatever it is."

"It's nothing."

He scoffed. "It's not nothing if you're not talking to me. It's something!" he jumped in front of your, blocking your way into the bathroom. "It's something, please, talk to me. Please don't do this alone."

God how you wanted to give in. How you wanted to crumble and fall into his arms. But that wasn't you. You didn't give up or give in and if you gave into this pain, into the hollowed out hole in your heart you would never pick it up again, not when Bucky wouldn't be around.

So, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes and led Bucky's arms down. "I just want to shower and rest. Please."

You'd said please. You'd looked so tired that you knew Bucky would have handed you the world if you'd only said the world.

He may have sighed, may have been close to tears himself but he let you go past.

You made the shower hot and let your tears fall with them.

And so the day passed in relative silence. In the two of you- souls usually so entwined it was like they spoke to themselves- stepped around each other the whole day. Or you stepped away from Bucky every time he approached. It was one of the other.

The evening came and there was dread for another day of breaking yours and Bucky's heart but also relief that you could sleep and sleep.

Bucky had cooked dinner for you both. He'd made an effort at making your favourite and lit the candles. He'd put the flowers he'd brought you in a vase that sat between you as you'd neglected them. He made small talk. You obliged him. It was so foreign for the both of you.

Even when he'd been a mindless killing machine you'd had better conversations.

"There's a um, a mission I'm going on soon," she said after pushing your pasta around on the plate.

Bucky raised his brows at you.

"It'll only be a week or so," you shrug.

Bucky laughed. "No." His fork clattered on the side.

You looked up at him. "What?"

Bucky shrugged. "No. You can pretend you're fine all you like but if you think I am letting you in the line of danger when we're like this? No, not happening."

"Bucky-"

"Not until we've sorted whatever this is out!"

You push away your plate, push away yourself from the table and from the conversation. "There's nothing to sort out-"

"No... no! Don't do this!" Bucky practically chased you around the table, knowing your next move was to run. To hide. "I don't undertand."

He sounded so lost, so helpless that you had to hold yourself onto the kitchen counter. Had to use it like support.

Bucky slid in next to you, making his face known. "Please, my love, I am begging you to talk to me. To tell me what I have done."

You were silent, shaking your head.

"Angel, i'll do whatever it takes, anything, you just have to tell me and I can make it better, please," Bucky took your face in his trembling hands and kissed your cheek, kissed away your tears. "Just tell me."

You gasped a sob. "I can't."

You find strength some how to move from his grip and the counters support, heading for the door. Quickly, Bucky was in front of you, blocking your way.

"What do I have to do?" he begged. He tried to cradle you again even as you moved away. "Please, I'll-i'll do anything. I'll-i'll go back to therapy. I'll give up this congressman thing, I'll stop running, I'll go vegetarian, I don't know just-" Bucky couldn't take it. He held onto you as he slowly slid to his knees, holding onto your hips and resting his head on your stomach. "I'll do anything."

"It's not you." You gulp. "It's me."

Bucky looked up to you. No, it wasn't. It couldn't be. Not you. You who were perfect and beautiful and smart and stubborn and kind and patient and he who was so, so, so in love with you. No, nothing could be wrong with you.

You take his wrists in your hand, guiding him to his feet and then leading him to the sofa where you sit yourselves down.

"Honey, you're really starting to scare me now."

You'd yet to school yourself into the realisation. Yet to understand fully what had happened to you. But every part of you belonged to him. He had every right to know.

You just hadn't thought it would come so soon.

"Remember," you began, gulping down. You held your knees, because you needed to hold something. "Remember when HYDRA took me and they-they experimented on me? Tried to replicate my DNA?"

How could Bucky forget? It was the worst time of his life when he lost you and couldn't find you for a month. A whole month spent thinking the worst. Since finding you, he hasn't let you go.

His jaw grit, eyes turned dark. He took a minute to look away from you and compose yourself. That was over two years ago. My god, has you been going through this for two years and he'd only just noticed?

There was no easy way to say it. You had to rip the bandage off.

"Bucky, I can't give you children." It came out in a sob.

You hid yourself in your body, curling into yourself and shrouding.

Bucky froze.

Yes, you'd spoken about having kids one day. Bucky, for so long, had never thought he'd never be ready for kids. That he'd only just deserved you. You, like always, had changed everything and suddenly he wanted it all with you. He wanted the white wedding where all your friends would watch you swear your lives to each other. He wanted the garden, the picket fence, the big yard. He wanted you and he wanted a family.

But more than anything he wanted you.

He couldn't understand.

"What?"

"I went to Dr. Cho after we spoke about it because... because I had a feeling it was too good to be true," you whispered, still hiding yourself. He didn't even try to touch you. "Whatever they did to me. Whatever HYDRA did to me, I can't ever have children."

There was anger. A fury so bright it turned everything around him red, except you. HYDRA had touched you, had caused this pain and he wished for once they were still around so he could tear every single one of them apart with the hands they helped create.

Then, all he saw was you.

"That's- that's devastating-"

You shot to your feet but Bucky grabbed your wrists.

"But it's ok," he said, looking up to you.

You shook your head. "No."

"Y/n-"

"You don't love me Bucky."

"Hey!" Bucky snapped, for the first time he snapped at you. His grip became firm. "I love you. This-this doesn't change anything."

"Yes it does!" you argue.

"It doesn't," Bucky said, getting to his feet and holding your hands. "Honey, I am sorry. I am so sorry this is happening but I love you. Kids or not, how could that ever change that fact?"

"Because I can't give you what you want!"

"I want you! Always, completely!" said Bucky. "Kids or no kids. House or no house. World or no world. The universe- it can burn to ashes but I will still love you! This doesn't- this doesn't change that."

You bite down on your lip and wipe at your eyes. You were waiting for the but... but, i'll have to leave you, but I want something more.

Bucky slides his hands through your hair, pushing it back and framing your face. "Is this what's been eating at you?"

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Angel, why wouldn't you say anything?"

"Because, I-" your voice broke and you had to work to hold yourself together. You wouldn't look weak when he leaves you. "Because you want a life. A normal enough life and now I can't give you that and I thought... I think..." you couldn't even bring yourself to say the words that had been doing nothing but haunting you.

Bucky tensed. It was his turn to turn cold all over and shiver. "You think I would leave you?"

When he says it out loud he makes it sound ridiculous. Like just those words were disgusting to him.

"Yeah," you admitted.

Bucky let you go. He let you go to run his hands through his hair as he did. "I would never. No. I could never." Bucky didn't have enough words, didn't know enough languages to speak to you in to tell you how he would never leave you. He took a step closer and held onto you, tilting your chin up. "Can I please kiss you, baby?"

You smile through tears. "I would like that."

He smiled with you, through his own crying and kissed you. He wanted to pour all that love he held and more into the kiss but didn't want to scare you. His lips were soft, yours were cracked but you were so perfect. He breathed against you, pulling you in closer.

He tested the waters with a tongue against your lips and you smiled but pulled away.

"Bucky you don't have to do this," you said, holding his hands.

"No, I quite like doing this," he leant in for another.

You slipped your fingers over his lips. "You don't have to stay after this."

Bucky smirked and peppered a kiss on your fingers. "I'm staying, whether you like it or not. Just try to get rid of me." His arms fell around your waist. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you had to do this alone, but i'm here and you can talk to me. You can scream, cry. Find a spell to resurrect some HYDRA agents so we can kill them all again. But i'm not leaving, no matter what."

It was all you had wanted to hear and yet it sounded too good to be real.

"But what about kids?"

"Right now, I want you. I want you happy before I want anything else. When we're ready to think about options, we'll think," said Bucky, holding you close. "When you're ready and only then, will we talk about it. Until then, I'm more than happy and I am the luckiest guy in the world to be in love with you."

You smiled. You let the tears flow. You let yourself fall into him and hold him and he held you back, clutching your shirt and holding onto you.

Bucky pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. "You're still not going on that mission, though."

[deceit-and-knowledge]

Ooc: AS REQUESTED SMILK DIARY 😏

smilk writes about pv (you WILL NOT let him live it down)

Yes it's long he's a yapper

Dear secret diary

Hey it's me again. I need to get these stupid feelings off my chest. I can't let anyone know what's going on inside my head, I hate that.

We all know I decided to well. Lie to pure vanilla cookie about why I showed up on his doorstep like some sap. I told him I wanted revenge but then he when on some speech about friendship and for me to be his friend. Again.. I made him think he actually got to me and I accepted it, little does he know that was already my intention! I came there because I accepted that stupid request.

I felt so hurt and betrayed intially, then guilty because he offered me friendship despite every thing I did to him and his friends and he still wanted to be my friend. He understands me more than any cookie would ever understand. He's experienced the same pains and struggles I've been through.

While I'll never tell him to his face that I accept it and I'm glad he understands me, I'm sure deep down he knows. He's apparently pretty well at reading me. Did us briefly sharing a souljam make him able to know my exact thoughts?

That thought scares me, I hide many secrets that if any cookie found them out I would want to crawl into a hole and die. If that's even possible of me.

One secret in particular, how I feel about him. Would stroke that pathetic thief's ego so stupidly. He stole something of importance and that isn't my souljam but my heart. I hate the fluttery feeling and my damn heart being a nuisance. I feel weak in the knees and it's not because I struggle to stand. I despise this disgusting feeling I don't even know why I experience it. Those stupid urges I get around his hands or his face. I can't even look at him sometimes, I feel so pathetic.

I hate him so much, his stupid hair, his pathetic eyes. He's grotesque. A cretin. But I can't help but stare, he's always so happy. He's my complete opposite and yet we're so alike. He has this dumb kind attitude towards me calling me "his dear friend" like I'm dark cacao cookie or hollyberry cookie like I mean something to him.

He doesn't even care that I seemingly came here for vengeance as if he saw right through my plan. How much does he know. Does he know how I feel about him. This stupid stupid cookie with blonde hair and an attitude on this world and it's cookies that sickens me to my core.

Why did it have to be him to receive my souljam, someone so damn happy all the time, treating me like I'm a friend not foe, despite everything I've done. After everything. He still cares? He still shows compassion to me of all cookies like I deserve it? I don't. I know I don't. I'm a monster not an idiot. I hate to admit it but I'm very aware my actions are wrong and I am misguided I just don't care. Anything beats the feeling of wallowing and regret. I hate myself but he makes me feel the opposite and I don't get it.

And I hate how warm I've been lately. It's only early spring it's not even hot yet. Truthless recluse was walking around in a hoodie and jeans, he's clearly cold. Pure vanilla cookie had a brown sweater on too. It's not warm here so why do I feel so? Is this some curse he inflicted upon me as revenge?

I hate it. I hate it, so much why he is such a horrible cookie. Stupid pathetic pure vanilla cookie. I hope he dies. I'm sick of telling him I'll tear his head off.

I wish he'd shut up with his stupid kind words. I hate that I broke down crying in front of him or laid on his lap. I hate that time I felt this stupid urge to offer him daises and did. Is this a spell? Or a potion he snuck into my food? I knew trusting him to feed me when he hardly feeds himself was a terrible idea but these consequences suck.

Why do you care so much? I hurt you, I tried to kill you and your friends, I tried pushing you to your limits the very edge of your sanity, I tried to break you, break your souljam and your trick hurt, your offer hurt me but I did worse. You're an idiot. A pathetic whiny whelp but I can't help but feel like a fool around you.

I'll never tell him this but it's better to get this off my chest before someone or he makes me slip up. I already did with that truth serum but I didn't specify the kind I meant even if he tried, it's like he knew or is under the same curse? Is he waiting for me to mess up? Is this a long con? Get me vulnerable, make me scared and mock me for expressing my feelings? I already hate it. I already hate him. Does he actually care.

As I write this I am now questioning why I feel sad. What's wrong me, I'm the great shadow milk cookie, master of deceit not some lowly sap? Who am I. I'm disgusting. He's disgusting too. Especially if this is a long con plan of vengeance. I can't even bring myself to harm him because I actually like his stupid friendship. I'm no longer alone and it feels good. I wish black sapphire cookie and candy apple cookie were here and we could be one big happy found family as they say. I do want a family again. But sage is a loser and truthless recluse despises my mere existence. So it'll have to be smaller than dreamed.

Oh. And I suppose you'll want to know a bad dream I had. I was dreaming about dying or something. I don't know something I'm insecure about but you'll never know that.

Well! It's been nice diary, but I have to go. It's dinner time now and pure vanilla cookie made me meat jellies. He's been making those alot for me, I know my teeth are sharp but I like variety. Not that I'll tell him that. I'm picky. Some jellies just suck to eat and make me feel sick if I try. So I wouldn't chance it and then have to act like some bratty child because he made me food I physically can't eat. That's embarassing. It's been good but ta-ta diary.

[slvtfornegan]

“That another way of yours to thank me?”

Warnings: smut, a small fight, swearing, (s10 Negan)

Notes: idk how i feel about this one, it’s kinda rushed, i js wanted to post something. Also i wanted to write Negan more sub but I’ll leave that for another time.

—

The night air was cool against your skin, carrying the scent of damp earth and the faint, lingering smoke from someone’s late-night fire. The ground beneath your feet was uneven, soft from the earlier rain, and the distant hoot of an owl echoed in the trees just beyond Alexandria’s walls. Most of the town was asleep by now, save for a few guards on patrol. You should’ve been in your house too, enjoying some peace and quiet—but Jesse had made that impossible.

You kept your back against the wooden side of a tool shed, listening.

Footsteps. Slow, deliberate.

Damn it.

You had been avoiding him all day. Jesse had taken an interest in you a while ago, and no matter how many times you brushed him off, he just didn’t get it. He followed you around like a lost puppy, flashing that same eager smile, acting like the world hadn’t gone to complete shit. It was exhausting. Annoying.

And tonight? It was flat-out creepy.

He’d seen you leave the main street, and like clockwork, he’d started following you. Again.

You weren’t scared of him—just frustrated, irritated that you even had to hide in the first place. If he’d been some asshole trying to hurt you, that would’ve been simple. But Jesse wasn’t a threat. He was just persistent. Too damn persistent.

You shifted your weight, preparing to move toward the alley that ran behind the houses, when you stepped back—right into something solid.

Someone.

A firm hand caught your shoulder, keeping you from stumbling. Your heart jumped into your throat as you turned sharply, ready to shove whoever it was.

Then you saw him.

Negan.

Even in the dim light, you could see the familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth his eyebrows raised up in his forehead.

A familiar chuckle rumbled against you.

“Shit. Didn’t know I was in the fuckin’ way.”

It had been months since he was let out of that cell, and people still treated him like a caged animal, watching, waiting for him to snap. But you had never really been part of that crowd. Yeah, you knew what he’d done. Hell, everyone did. But he wasn’t just that guy anymore. And you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him, not entirely. There were a glances, a few teasing comments, sometimes a wink from the distance, thrown in your direction that made you smile.

You took a step back, clearing your throat. “Sorry. I didn’t see you.”

“No shit,” he said, raising a brow. “Damn near knocked me on my ass.” His eyes flicked over your shoulder. “You look like you saw a ghost, or somethin’ worse.”

You hesitated, then exhaled through your nose, deciding it wasn’t worth hiding. “Jesse.”

Negan let out a low hum, tilting his head. “The kid with the stupid haircut?”

Despite yourself, a small amused snort escaped.

Negan grinned. “Figured. He’s been sniffin’ around you like a damn bloodhound.”

You groaned, crossing your arms. “Tell me about it.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The distant murmur of crickets filled the silence, and the flickering streetlights cast long shadows across the road.

Negan studied you, eyes sharp despite the lazy grin still lingering on his face. You knew what he was thinking—why the hell were you standing here, talking to him?

You weren’t sure how to answer that.

There were a lot of things about Negan that should’ve made you stay away. The past. The things he’d done. The lives he had taken.

And yet...

He wasn’t all bad.

People liked to paint him as a monster, as if that was all he’d ever been, but you had seen the cracks in that image. The way he’d helped Judith. The way he had stayed, even when he could have run. The way he looked at you now—not as someone beneath him, but as someone worth listening to.

And you’d be damned if you didn’t catch yourself checking him out more than once. He was older than you, yet he looked good. Too damn good you’d say.

But you’d never make a move though. You were too much of a pussy. You were scared about what people would think if they saw you making hearts eyes at Negan. People in Alexandria weren’t the ones to forget easily.

You sighed shaking the thought away. “He won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. It’s pissing me the fuck off.” You saw his expression shift into something more serious. He understood.

You crossed your arms. “If I have to tell him one more time, I swear—”

“There you are.”

The sound of Jesse’s voice made your stomach twist. You turned just in time to see him step out from between two houses, his silhouette cutting against the dim glow of a porchlight. His eyes flicked to Negan, his lips twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or amused.

“What’s this?” Jesse asked, stepping closer. “Didn’t know you and him were friends.”

You exhaled through your nose and stepped forward. “Jesse, go home.”

Jesse’s smile didn’t budge. If anything, it got wider, but there was something mean curling at the edges now. “Come on, don’t be like that,” he said, like he was the victim here. “I just wanted to talk. You’ve been dodging me all day.”

“For a reason.” You folded your arms, feeling your patience run out. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

Jesse’s smile thinned. His eyes flickered to Negan, and something in them darkened, like he was sizing up a threat. Which was stupid. Negan wasn’t even doing anything—yet. Just watching carefully.

“You got a problem, old man?” Jesse finally said, turning his full attention on him and moved closer.

Negan lifted a brow, tilting his head slightly. “Old man? Shit, kid, you got a death wish?”

Negan gave him a slow, deliberate once-over. “In the matter of fact i do have a fucking problem. Y’know, I don’t usually waste my time on little pricks with Napoleon complexes, but you’re really pushin’ it. The lady said no, so why don’t you skedaddle?”

Fuck he really didn’t want to cause trouble, he just got out of that freaking cell, but this asshole was asking for it. And to be truthful, Jesse wasn’t the only one sniffing around Y/n. Thought he’d never made a move. He didn’t want to cross that thin line because it could’ve burned him.

Jesse scoffed, puffing out his chest like he actually had something to prove. “Yeah? You’re gonna do something about it?”

“I just might.” Negan drawled lowly

This situation was getting ridiculous. That wouldn’t bring to nothing good, might even get Negan in trouble after.

“You two done measuring who’s balls are bigger? Jesse just go.”

“No no,” he waved his hand in the air dramatically “If gramps wanna prove a point here, let him do it.”

Negan let out a low chuckle shaking his head.

You blinked and It happened.

Negan swung first.

The punch cracked across Jesse’s jaw, snapping his head to the side. He staggered, but he recovered quick, launching himself at Negan with a snarl. The two of them collided hard, boots scraping against the dirt as they grappled. Jesse was younger, maybe even faster, but that didn’t stop Negan anyway.

“No stop it!” You yelled

But none of them morons listened. You watched as he twisted, using Jesse’s own momentum against him, slamming him into the side of the tool shed with a heavy thud. Jesse grunted, throwing a punch that clipped Negan’s jaw his head jerking to the side.

The men were caught in a fight of fists and kicks trying to knock each other on the ground.

You groaned. “Are you two actually serious right now?”

You had to end this before it attracted people’s attention.

You grabbed at Jesse’s shirt pulling him away from Negan and pushed him away, making Jesse stumble a few feet back.

“Stop!” You shoved Negan’s chest, not hard, just enough to make him step back. Negan ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek, tasting the blood on his tongue, a smug look on his face as he looked over Jesse. You stayed at Negan’s side also breathing heavily. “I’m telling you one more time to leave, before I personally will kick your ass.” You hissed

Jesse wiped at his mouth, breathing hard. His eyes burned with anger, but there was something else too—humiliation. He’d lost, and he knew it.

“You really chose to hang around with him?” Jesse spat, glaring between the two of you.

He clenched his fists, jaw tightening like he wanted to say something, but he thought better of it. With one last sharp glare at you, he turned and stalked off, disappearing into the night.

You let out a slow breath, tension draining from your shoulders. “Fucking finally.”

Negan let out a low grunt, rubbing his jaw where Jesse’s punch had landed. “Little shit’s got a mean right hook. Weak as hell, but gotta give him credit for effort.”

You shot him a look. “Oh, yeah? You want me to call him back so you two can go another round?”

Negan smirked. “Nah, sweetheart. ‘Less you’re offerin’ to nurse me back to health.” His brows waggled playfully. “Got a soft touch, do ya?”

You rolled your eyes, but truth be told, he did look like he needed something for that bruised cheek. You sighed. “Come on. Let’s get you some ice before your face swells up.”

Negan blinked, then let out a short laugh. “You serious?”

“Yeah.” You turned, leading the way toward your house. “You helped me out. Least I can do.”

“Well, shit,” he muttered under his breath, following you. “Didn’t expect a goddamn reward.”

You made your way through the quiet streets of Alexandria, the houses standing still and silent under the dim glow of streetlights. Most people were asleep by now, save for the occasional guard patrolling the walls. The air smelled of damp wood and earth, a reminder of the earlier rain. Your footsteps were soft against the dirt path, and Negan walked just behind you, his presence oddly steady.

Your house was on the smaller side, tucked away near the edge of the community. When you stepped up onto the porch and unlocked the door, Negan let out a low whistle. “Nice place.”

You flicked on a lantern, casting a warm glow over the space. It wasn’t much, but it was cozy—worn wooden floors, a couch, with a coffee table, a big book shelf. A few personal touches here and there. It wasn’t one of the biggest houses in Alexandria, but you lived alone so it was enough for you.

He plopped down onto the couch with a satisfied groan, stretching his legs out.

You wrapped some ice in a cloth, shaking your head as you walked back to the living room. Negan was sprawled out on your couch like he owned the damn place, one arm draped over the back, his long legs stretched out. He had that cocky smirk on his lips.

Asshole. He was definitely been staring at your ass.

You sat next to him, tilting his chin with your free hand and pressing the ice pack to his cheek without warning.

“Shit—” he hissed through his teeth. “Be gentle woman, i’m wounded.” He pouted softly in a joking manner and you rolled your eyes.

Carefully, you adjusted the ice, holding it steady against his bruised cheek. You hadn’t even realized how gentle you were being with him—how your fingers weren’t just holding the ice, but brushing lightly against his skin, how you weren’t pulling away even though you probably should’ve.

Your eyes trailed his features from up close. Fuck why did he have to look this good? Those dark eyes, the gray stubble that covered his chiseled jaw and the greying hair. The dimple lines under his beard complimenting his face.

Negan noticed.

His smirk faded slightly, his gaze darkening as it flickered between your eyes and your mouth.

You noticed that. Trying to ignore the heat increasing in your body from his intense gaze you broke the silence “thank you though… it was idiotic, but at least i got rid of Jesse for a while.” You murmured.

“You don’t have to thank me doll. Didn’t know I was gettin’ a reward, though. Gotta say… I like this part.” His voice dipped lower, rich with something you didn’t want to put a name to.

You swallowed, but didn’t pull away.

His smirk deepened, but his expression wasn’t just cocky—it was searching, reading between the lines. He always did that, looking at people like he could see right through them. And right now? He was seeing through you.

“You’re real fuckin’ soft for me, huh?” he murmured, tilting his head just slightly.

What were you supposed to say? Your eyes found his and for a moment you froze.

Negan’s smirk disappeared entirely, his lips parting slightly. He didn’t pull away—didn’t tease, didn’t throw out another crude joke. He just sat there, waiting, letting you make the choice.

And hell, you made it.

Your lips met his, slow at first—uncertain. But Negan? He wasn’t the uncertain type.

A low sound rumbled from his chest, and suddenly his hand was at the back of your neck, pulling you in like he’d been waiting for this just as much as you had. His lips moved against yours, rough but deliberate, like he wanted to take his time.

And you? You melted into it, the ice in your hands long forgotten and dropped on the floor, your hands moving to cup his face.

He pulled away after a moment looking at you through hooded eyes “That another way of yours to thank me?” His tone was huskier than usual .

“Can you just shut the hell up for a moment?” You asked breathlessly

He smirked “ yes ma’am.” He murmured before his lips claimed yours again.

Your fingers curled into his navy blue shirt, pulling him closer without even realizing it. The heat of his body was solid against yours, his scruff scratching your skin making a pleasant tingly feeling, as his lips moved against yours, slow but sure, deepening the kiss just enough to make your stomach flip.

You leaned in, your hand moved to his hair, and the other one slid down his body. Negan made a low noise in his throat, and the hand on your neck slid down to your waist, fingers pressing against your hip dragging you onto his lap.

You obliged, straddling him, the room feeling with your soft sighs and the most delicious wet nosies of your lips moving against each others.

You could feel him reacting to your touch, his erection pressing against your ass and you couldn’t help but grind against him trying to cause at least some friction.

The motion made him whimper in your mouth, as he broke the kiss to look at your face, his pupils blown with lust, his brows furrowed, all panting and wanting, aching with need.

The look on his face made you moan, a low breathless sound. And the sound made him twitch under you. Your lips nipped gently at his neck, kissing up his throat, making his head fall back with a low groan escaping from his lips.

His hands rested on your thighs gripping harder than before as he spoke his voice low and rough “You’re making it real hard to behave myself here, doll..” in a swift motion he was on top of you, his lips attached to your your skin, as you both tried to get rid of your clothes.

He was more eager than he intended, but years being locked up and now having such a pretty thing underneath him, acting so needy for him, was driving him mad.

Your shirt was now on the floor so was his. Swiftly he undid the zipper of your jeans and pulled them aside leaving you only in your underwear. He ran his hands ran up you legs, feeling the smoothness of your skin. His touch gentle making goosebumps raise all over your body.

“Fuck look at you…” he breathed out, taking you in, laid down beneath him “so fucking beautiful..”

You had a moment to admire him too, his tattoo covered skin, chest arms, the slim yet muscular body, the v line with a happy trail that leaded right in his boxers, before he dipped his head down his lips attaching to your neck again, his beard scraping your soft skin.

His hands moved up your inner thighs, his touch making you tremble slightly under him, your hips bucking up involuntarily. He pushed your panties aside His eyes gazed over the curves of your form, your glistening cunt ready for him. his fingers finding your slick folds and he moaned lowly at the wetness between your legs.

“So wet f’me.” his fingers traced along the delicate skin of your pussy, collecting the slick on his thick, your back arching your hips pushing up to press against his calloused fingers- then bringing them up to his mouth to taste your arousal with a satisfied hum.

“Negan…” you panted “don’t tease.”

“Patience is a fucking virtue.” He teased before with one hand he reached down in his boxers freeing his hard cock, the tip pressing against your entrance making both of you moan.

“Yeah and you’re so fucking vice. Just fuck me already!” You hissed nudging your heel against his ass. But you knew he wanted to tease you more. He chuckled lowly but let out a low curse as you grabbed his shoulders and switched the position, pushing him down onto the couch, making him grunt in surprise his back hitting the cushions.

“Bossy are we?” He teased.

Slowly, you began to sink down onto him, your slick folds parting around his thick shaft. You gasped softly at the stretch, your inner walls clenching and fluttering around his length.

“Fuck..” he sighed as he heard the sweet sounds of your voice, his hips moving in a steady peace giving you time to adjust.

You followed that rhythm, gradually increasing your pace but never bouncing up and down on him. You wanted him to relish in each movement as you rode him, wanted to hear his pleasure.

As if Negan doesn’t feel cocky enough, the mere sight of you riding him makes him even more emboldened. Bringing eyes veiled with lust back to you, he reached around to grasp your ass, guiding your movements. “That’s it baby, you feel so fucking good.” He praised “fuck you’ll be the death of me, at least I’ll enjoy every second of it.”

He watched as your breasts bounced with each thrust. Your mouth agape, your eyes half-linded and skin flushed. It was a sight worth to die for.

But the peace you set was driving him mad, he wanted more.

He sat up, switching the position once more, before he slammed back into you. As your walls enveloped him completely, his head buried in the crook of your neck.

Those sounds coming out of your mouth didn’t seem to belong to you. You whimpered and moaned with every thrust. He filled you perfectly, fucked you perfectly. He was rough but not too rough for your taste, looking at you with adoration, hunger and possession combined.

His low hoarse voice in your ear, saying how good you were for him, how perfect and beautiful and all kind of praises between low grunts and pants feeling how his words affected you as you clenched around him.

“Cmon baby, let go for me.” He panted, his lips nipping at your skin moving down to your breast sucking on it, and feeling you arch.

“Yes—God!” Was the only thing you could gasp out. Your head fell back, his name slipping past your lips as he fucked you through your orgasm, his own release following immediately after his hips coming to a stop as he filled her up.

He looked down at you a lazy smile stretched on his lips, and let out a content sigh as he pulled out. He stole a small kiss from you and gave your bare ass a slight pinch making you whimper in his mouth before, he slumped down on the couch next to you careful not crash you. His arm snuck around your waist pulling you against him

“Well that was fucking amazing.” He grinned lazily, turning to look at you as you rested your head on his chest, your fingers tracing his skin.

The quiet of the room was now broken only by the soft hum of your breathing. It was surreal—this whole situation felt like it shouldn’t be happening.

You rested your head on his chest, the rhythm of his breath calm, slow. His hand rested gently on your waist, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.

“You alright?” He murmured looking down at you.

“Mhmm..” you hummed once more, rolling on top of him with a smile you hand tracing his tattooed chest.

Negan chuckled, his chest vibrating beneath you. “Shit, if this is what I get for throwin’ one punch, I might have to start pickin’ more fights.”

You swatted at his side, rolling your eyes. “Don’t push your luck.”

Negan grinned, tilting his head slightly as he studied you. “Yeah? And here I thought you were startin’ to like havin’ me around. Or it was just it then? A pity fuck?” He joked arching a brow.

You let out a huff. “No.”

“Then it means you like me?” His grin stretched wider chasing your lips but you pulled away and threw him a half annoyed half amused glare but didn’t reply anything.

You stood up from the couch making him sigh dramatically, as he watched you move across the room, his eyes trailing your body and admired your bare ass from his laid position. He bit his lip at the view you were giving him.

You stopped in the doorway looking over your shoulder seeing how his gaze traveled your body hungrily, and you smirked.

“I’m gonna take a shower. Wanna join?” You threw him a sly look.

Shit, you were gonna be the death of him.

Negan’s eyes glinted with amusement, a wicked grin creeping up on his face. “Hell, I’m not one to turn down an invitation like that.”

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Love and Other Curses - Part Two

Pairing: Dragon!Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: E (18+ only, explicit smut)

Word Count: 10k

Part 2 Summary: You've discovered the Prince’s secret identity, and finally understand the reason why he revoked his proposal of marriage. But as the two of you continue to fall for each other, can you convince Marcus that not only will you marry him just as he is, but also that your love is the key to breaking an ancient curse on an entire kingdom?

Warnings: Extreme cheese and flowery language; shape-shifting Marcus Pike; curses; implied virgin reader; arranged-ish marriage; yearning and self-loathing that will break your little heart; non-human genitalia; human-dragon hybrids; kissing, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, extreme size difference of genitalia; PiV sex, oral sex (m reciving), a bit of monster!cock worship because HE DESERVES IT. Let me know if I missed something.

A/N: There are two epilogues on this baby because I didn't want it to end. Moodboard with the assistance of @pedropascalsx who worked her magic and made Dragon!Marcus come to life in all his dark green and iridescent glory <3 Sorry for the delay on this! I was at a conference for most of this week. Was hoping I'd have some free time to post it, but as you can see... I did not :) ENJOY!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part One

You wake up with Marcus’s name on your lips, the image of his naked body seared in your memory. 

You don’t know what came over you last night. You pushed him too hard, demanding answers that he was hardly ready to give you, and you’re sure that the aftereffects would be felt for days–the prince holding you at arm's length, closing himself off to you in the same way he’s closed himself off from the world for so many years. Would he even be there for dinner tonight? 

Your stomach churns with unease, so rather than take your usual breakfast, you dress and go outside to walk through your favorite garden to clear your head. It’s quieter than usual this morning; the birds seem unusually timid. You look to the horizon, wondering if the weather is going to turn, when you see the reason for their quiet: the glint of dark, iridescent green poking up from behind a tall hedge. You sigh, your lips pulling into a crooked smile despite your heavy mood. Perhaps it’s a good sign that he can’t seem to stay away from you, even when he’s hurting. Your pace quickens.

“I’m beginning to see a pattern to your behavior, dear dragon,” you say gently as you come around the hedge to find your beloved beast lying on the grass, looking as forlorn as a dragon can. His golden eyes stare at you questioningly.

“Yes, I’ve figured it out,” you continue as you sink down to your knees beside his large head. “Whenever you’re feeling too vulnerable to face me as a man, you take this form instead.”

Dragon-Marcus doesn’t bother protesting, but you can tell by the worry in his eyes that you’re correct. 

“That’s why you didn’t come for me yourself after you sent me that letter,” you add, the realization dawning on you as you speak. “You were too scared: What if I didn’t show? What if I found you to be objectionable as a man? What if—”

The beast closes his eyes in shame and tries to turn his head away from you. 

“No, stop,” you whisper, tears welling up in your eyes as he turns away. You decide not to let him, scooting along on your knees until you’re in front of him again. “I didn’t think any of those things, you silly creature.”

You reach up to run your hand up and down the bridge of the dragon’s snout, soothing him. In his animal form, it’s so much easier to understand his pain. Animals express their emotions so much more readily than humans, you think to yourself. Despite his enormous size–and the fact that you know that he can turn back into a man if he wanted–this moment reminds you of times growing up when you’d calmed a feral cat, or befriended a mistreated dog… and it makes you realize just how similar humans are to other creatures. Or, perhaps, how much more like humans animals are than people realize. 

Dragon-Marcus moves again, but instead of turning away, he lays his massive head on your lap. He doesn’t put much of his weight on you–you think even his head might crush you–but rather gently rests it there, a show of affection… and trust. 

In turn, you lean forward and press your upper body against him, laying your head just above one of his large golden eyes. “Silly beast,” you say again, sniffling a little as you do, “I think I might love you no matter what form you take.”

The dragon makes a soft rumble of surprise, a question if you’ve ever heard one. His head lifts again, moving until both of his eyes are looking right at you. 

“Is that so strange?” you ask softly. Before you can think better of it, you lean forward, pressing your lips to the top of his snout. His scales are warm and smooth against them, and your eyes flutter closed as you imagine Marcus as a man, his large hands holding your face in place as he kisses you back. 

That night, Marcus’s gold waistcoat matches the gold embroidery on your midnight blue gown. When you open the door at his cautious knock, you can’t help but reach out and touch the fabric, placing your palm on his chest with your heart in your throat. You want to throw your arms around him, but suddenly, you find that you’re also too scared to act when he’s a man–tall and muscular and hot-blooded–and looking at you as though you were an oasis after he’d been wandering in the desert for weeks.

“How do you do that?” you laugh softly, your voice only wavering a little as you trace your finger over the gold material.

The prince’s smile is warm and teasing. “You have to allow me some secrets.”

He holds out his arm for you, but you hesitate, hating the chasm that seems as though it’s growing between you. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, staring up at him with sorrowful eyes. “Last night… I was rude–”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, his expression full of pain. “Don’t apologize. I should be the one apologizing. I–I frightened you.” “No you didn’t,” you counter softly. 

“Regardless,” Marcus says, “I shouldn’t have said the things I said.”

“I feel much the same,” you tell him. “Perhaps we could start over?”

The prince smiles, slowly and hesitantly. “Y-Yes,” he whispers with gratitude. “Yes, let's start over.”

You carefully slip your fingers into the crook of his arm before he can even offer it, wanting to feel the comforting warmth of his skin beneath yours. Neither of you speak as you walk to dinner, and even after the awkward exchange, the silence still feels comfortable and companionable. 

As usual, the palace cooks offer a veritable feast, the table laden with far too much food for only two people. Several servers lay down their trays and back away quickly as the butler fills your glasses with wine.

“Thank you.” You smile politely at the butler. As usual, he doesn't answer you or return your smile. He nods curtly and exits again without turning around.

“I don't think your servants like me all that much,” you comment with a sad sigh.

“It isn't you. They fear me,” Marcus explains.

A peal of laughter escapes you before you can stop yourself and the prince’s eyebrows raise in surprise at your mirth. 

“But–” you sputter out, still giggling, “–you're the kindest and gentlest person I've ever met.”

Marcus’s eyes suddenly turn melancholy. “It is a well-known fact in this kingdom that those with my… affliction…” he drops his gaze to his plate, poking at his potatoes with his fork. “Well, let’s just say that it's only a matter of time before we lose our humanity.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “I traveled with you for nine days as a dragon, and you were just as gentle then as you are now.”

“It won’t always be that way,” he says bitterly. “Sooner or later, the beast takes over. Throughout history, everyone has always succumbed to the monster.”

“And so they fear you,” you exhale softly, thinking to yourself. “And they leave you alone.”

“I told you,” Marcus murmurs. “It’s a lonely life.”

“Any person would lose their humanity in solitude,” you say, sitting up straighter in your chair, looking wide-eyed at the prince. “Perhaps the madness isn’t caused by what you think it is. Perhaps it’s… self-fulfilling: everyone has either isolated themselves, or pushed others away due to their fear, and they become the beast because there’s nothing left to be human for.”

“You don’t know that.”

“What if the ancient text you found was right all along? Love is the answer, not because of magic, but because love is found in other people!” You smile triumphantly; you’ve never been more certain of anything in your life. 

“You’re forgetting one thing,” Marcus says sadly. 

“What?”

“It’s too late for me.”

“You still have your humanity,” you argue indignantly. 

“The transformation has already begun,” he points out, his voice dark and haunted. “I was too late.”

You swallow thickly as you think about what he showed you the night before. It was shocking, yes, and intimidating… but something about it fascinated you, and you’ve thought of little else but finding a way to see it again. 

“Perhaps it will reverse in time,” you concede, although you find yourself wishing that weren’t true.

“That’s not how it works.”

“Even still,” you continue, refusing to believe that the thoughtful and good-hearted man before you could ever turn into a monster, “a physical transformation does not necessarily mean a mental one.”

“I… appreciate your persistence, I truly do,” Marcus sighs, his shoulders slumped in resignation, “but even if you are correct, I cannot, in good conscience, bind you to a man who can’t even give you a wedding night.”

There’s a finality to his tone that tells you to drop the subject. Any further coaxing would likely shut him down again altogether, and you couldn’t bear to see the pain in his eyes last night when he ordered you away as though his heart would break. 

“I want to play a game,” you announce cheerfully, hoping to bring him out of his hopelessness. “The study with the fireplace, I noticed it had a chess board in it.”

Marcus brightens. “You know how to play?”

You press your lips together guiltily. “I don’t. My family never had one. But…” you bite your lip, looking up at him shyly, “perhaps you could teach me?”

“Should I call you by another name while you’re like this?” 

You’re walking through the garden again with the dragon–who is also Marcus, the prince, but it feels rather odd to call this beast ‘Marcus.’ 

Rather than answer, he noses one of the flowering bushes.

“This one?”

Huff.

You smile and clip one of the blooms, adding it to the growing collection in your basket. You’d wanted a bouquet in your room, you told the beast when you saw him wandering the palace grounds this morning, and that he should help you choose it. And so here you are, strolling together, picking flowers for your bedside table. 

“I could call you… Greenie,” you tease as you select a peach-colored rose and add it to the pile. 

The dragon snorts in amused indignation, strongly enough that a little spark bursts through the air and lands on a patch of grass, starting a small fire. You raise your eyes in surprise as you quickly extinguish the ember with the bottom of your shoe. 

“Can… can you breathe fire?” you ask him, stunned at this talent he’s hidden from you. 

Huff. 

“Wait–when we were attacked by wolves that horrible night… why didn’t you do that before they jumped on you and hurt you?”

The dragon turns and faces you head-on, giving you a serious, solemn stare. 

“What?”

Still giving you that earnest look, he nudges your shoulder with his snout.

“Oh,” you exhale as comprehension dawns. “Because of me. I can imagine the fires could easily get out of hand. You didn’t want to risk burning me.”

The beast nods and gently nudges you again, and your heart bursts with affection.

“Sweet, gentle creature,” you whisper, kissing the bridge of his nose. “You’re five times the size of the largest horse, and yet I imagine you could hold one of these flowers between your massive teeth and not damage a single petal. How could I ever believe that you’d hurt me–as beast or man?”

The dragon closes his eyes as you lean into each other for a quiet moment before pulling away and looking at you once more with those deep, brown-and-gold orbs.

“You have the prettiest eyes,” you tell him, tenderly tracing the scar underneath. “I think that’s why I always knew. The moment you approached me in the garden, I felt as though I’d known you for an age.”

You begin walking again, your attention caught by something that looks similar to purple wisteria growing near the little fish pond you’re so fond of. 

“I want to be married out here,” you whisper as you carefully clip a sprig of purple. “I-I mean, if we married. If… if you wanted to–” you stammer. 

The dragon suddenly spreads its wings and launches into the sky, the blast of air sending your basket tumbling to the ground, its contents spilling out over the cobblestone. “Hey!” you cry in frustration as you watch him streak rapidly across the sky and around the castle, out of sight. “You… you irritating man!”

Forgetting your bouquet, you stalk angrily across the grounds. You’re going to find him, this infuriating prince who flees whenever you seem to get closer. You’re going to find him and give him a piece of your mind.

You throw open the castle door and shriek in surprise as Marcus is there, wide-eyed with surprise himself, his hand still held aloft as if to push the door open. 

“You!” you cry, uselessly shoving at his chest. “You have no right to–”

The prince surges forward, takes your face in his hands, and kisses you deeply. You make one final noise of protest before you melt, meeting his desperation with equal measure. He kisses you like he no longer needs air, like his entire world depends on your lips on his. He kisses you like he loves you. And you kiss him back. 

“Where–” he gasps breathlessly between more hungry kisses. “Where are–” kiss “–the flowers?”

Rather than answer, you kiss him again, and Marcus hums in contentment. The deep sound vibrates throughout your body, too, and you gasp softly, trying to catch your breath. When you open his mouth to him, though, he tilts his head and deepens the kiss instead. At the touch of his tongue sliding gently against yours, your knees wobble as you whimper into his mouth. Marcus’s strong arm wraps around you and holds you steady, and for the first time you can feel the whole of his body pressing against you. 

His chest his broad, his stomach soft, and all of him impossibly warm. And further down–oh, you can feel him, thick and long and rock hard against your stomach. Your knees threaten to buckle further, so you cling to his shoulders for dear life as he licks further into your mouth. 

“Oh, Marcus,” you murmur as he slides his lips over to your cheek, nipping gently at your jawline. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps roughly. “I wanted to wait–I wanted—until after dinner, but you said–you said those things about–about marrying me in the garden, and–”

“Of course I–” you begin, but he cuts you off. 

“No, wait–I have…” he reluctantly releases you to reach into his pocket. “I didn’t want to wait one more moment. Just… please, if you’ll still have me.” He produces a large, deep green emerald, and his eyes are wild and searching as he takes both of your hands in his free hand and holds the ring up to show you. “I wanted to give you this the moment I first saw you sitting in the garden, but I promised myself I’d try to let you go, after–after what happened.”

“It will be okay,” you whisper, your lips trembling with emotion as you smile tearfully. “We’ll figure it out together. You don’t have to let me go.”

“I don’t think I can,” Marcus admits solemnly. “I want you by my side always, my lifelong companion. I asked this in a letter to you once, but I want to ask you again, face to face–now that we truly know each other. Dearest… will you marry me?”

You let out a happy sob as you nod furiously. “Of course I will.”

Marcus chokes out a little laugh of his own as he gently slides the emerald onto your left hand. “Dearest,” he whispers, palming your cheek after he finishes with his task, “you’re trembling. Are you—you’re not—”

“I’m not scared,” you promise. “You could never scare me.”

“Foolish,” he murmurs, but he lowers his head to meet you again in a gentle kiss. 

“When will it be?” you ask over dinner. Rather than sit in the formal dining hall, the two of you are seated on the floor next to the roaring fireplace in your favorite sitting room. The bouquet you picked this morning sits on the low table between two soft chairs, the two of you having gone back to collect the fallen flowers after Marcus’s hasty retreat from the garden.

“When will what be?” the prince asks, looking over at you tenderly. 

“The wedding, of course.”

“Oh,” he chuckles softly. “Whenever you want.”

“Tomorrow?” you suggest, only half-joking.

Marcus blinks, his lips parting in surprise. “Oh–well, I had hoped to at least make some preparations around the castle,” he says with a small, worried frown. “And we’ll need someone to officiate…” he presses his lips together, thinking. “One week from today?” he asks hopefully. 

You smile widely. “One week from today,” you agree. 

He gently taps his glass against yours, and you both drink to seal the promise. 

Hours later, after dinner has long-since been finished, the two of you remain by the fire, lying entwined on the soft rug. You lazily watch the embers pop and hiss, the flames warming your face as Marcus’s body warms your back. His fingers trail up and down your bare shoulder, and you shiver despite the heat. 

You turn in his arms, facing your intended. “I don’t want to wait a week,” you admit in a hushed voice. 

He presses his lips to your forehead in response, and then pulls back, looking at you, his dark eyes glinting in the firelight.

“Marcus,” you whisper. 

“I know,” he soothes, tracing your jawline with one finger. “I know.”

Your lips meet again, even more passionately than before. Every time you kiss, you both seem to grow bolder and more impatient, until your fingers are clutching desperately at his collar and Marcus’s hand is sliding dangerously down to grasp your hipbone. You press ever closer, seeking the soft strength of his body and the hard, thick ridge between you that he doesn’t bother to hide. Something deep inside of you aches, an emptiness so profound that you know can only be filled by him and you tremble with want, with the desire to feel whole again.

Somehow, in this desperate scramble of bodies, you find yourself on your back, with Marcus pressing down on top of you, his legs on either side of you as he kisses down your throat and to your collarbone, stopped only by the hem of your dress. 

You squirm helplessly, your hand trying to reach the buttons in the back and crying out in frustration when you can’t get purchase on them. 

“Shh, let me,” Marcus whispers. “Turn over for me, dearest.”

You twist in his arms, coming to rest on your stomach as your prince gently unfastens one button at a time, kissing each inch of newly revealed skin until he reaches the small of your back. Slowly, you turn back around, holding his gaze with your heart in your throat as you start to drag the front of the dress down.

“You don’t have to–” Marcus murmurs, even as he hungrily rakes his eyes over your form.

“It’s only fair,” you tease softly, giving him a shaky, nervous smile. 

The prince flushes deeply and looks away in embarrassment. You sit up, reaching for his jaw and turning his face back toward you as you remove the dress, and then the slip underneath, leaving you bare to him. 

Marcus’s fingers are trembling as he traces the swell of one breast, his dark amber eyes watching the path of his hand on your body. You reach for him, pulling uselessly at the buttons of his shirt until he gets the hint and rips it off himself, leaving him bare-chested. He lowers you back down to the rug, then, and you gasp at the feel of skin on skin. His lips are everywhere–kissing your lips, your neck, down to your breasts, before gently taking one nipple in his mouth and chuckling softly as your back rises off of the floor with a sharp gasp. 

“Please,” you whimper over and over, “Please.” 

Your fingers reach for the straining tip of his huge erection, and he hisses as you make contact. He grasps your hand, bringing it to his mouth instead to kiss each fingertip in turn as he shakes his head. “Not tonight–not that. You’re not ready.”

“Marcus–” you whine squirming your hips against the solid bulge.

“One week,” he promises. “Not until our wedding night.” He kisses your lips softly again. “I want you to be ready,” he whispers against your mouth. “You’re not ready yet–but I can change that.”

His dark eyes are full of promise when he instructs, “Lay back.” 

Your chest heaves lightly with anticipation as you comply, but you trust your intended completely and utterly. He holds your gaze as he slides down your body, until his lips are inches from the soft thatch of hair at your center. 

“Do you trust me?” he asks softly, and you nod immediately. 

Satisfied, Marcus gently spreads your legs apart with one hand until you’re on display before him. His breath shakes as he looks at you in awe, his lip trembling with want before he lowers his head and buries himself between your thighs.

You cry out immediately at the feeling of his lips on your core. It’s too intimate, too overwhelming, and you’re so worked up that each lick of his tongue sends sparks up and down your entire body. You gasp and squirm and tremble, and Marcus has to hold you steady with one hand as he seems to bury himself even deeper–his nose rubbing against the little bud at your apex and his tongue flicking back and forth inside of you. You can’t control your body, the noises you’re making–nothing matters except for this, except for Marcus’s mouth on you, in you, causing the ache building inside you to grow, until–

“Oh!” 

Something breaks inside of you, you’re sure of it. Your core clenches around Marcus’s tongue over and over again as waves of pleasure hit you. Just when the sensation is too much, he finally pulls back, and you collapse back onto the rug, panting with exertion. 

“Again,” he rasps, his lips glossy and eyes bright with hunger. “Please.”

All you can do is nod, and Marcus lowers his head again.

The feeling of his mouth on you is just as delicious as the last time, but this time, he slips one finger deep inside you, and you arch off of the rug with a broken cry of his name. 

“I know,” he whispers, soothing you. “I know it’s a lot. Can you take another?”

You’re desperate for it. The emptiness still aches inside of you, and you want him to make it go away. 

“Please,” you whimper. 

The second finger is harder, and you whine softly as he enters you again. Marcus laps gently at the little bundle of nerves, and the wave of pleasure it produces helps to ease his way inside. Slowly, slowly, he begins to move them in and out, never taking his mouth off of you as he slides against your walls. It’s even better than before, it’s incandescent–you’ve never felt anything like this–and then his fingers curl upward, seeming to hit something deep within you that has you shaking and crying out as you fall apart in his arms once more. 

You think you might sleep. All you know is, when you open your eyes again an eternity later, Marcus is still holding you tightly, pressing kiss after kiss on your forehead and whispering soft praises against your skin. 

“It’s late,” he murmurs when he feels you stir. “We should go to bed.”

“Don’t,” you murmur, clutching at him. “Don’t go.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” he promises. “But we can’t sleep here on the stone floor.”

Marcus sits up and lifts you effortlessly into his arms. You immediately tuck your head into his shoulder and he stands, carrying you–still naked, but you can’t find it in you to care–to his quarters and laying you on his bed before draping the warm blankets over you and climbing in beside you. You curl into him, seeking his warmth, before falling asleep once again.

You never want to spend a single night alone again–and it doesn’t seem like the prince would allow it, even if you did. He seems to have an insatiable hunger to be near you–taking your hand in his when you walk in the garden, kissing your shoulder when you read by the fire, tangling your legs together when you eat your meals, and of course, the way he takes you apart with fingers and tongue every single night. 

Every time, he gives you more–two fingers, then three, then four–and you take it all greedily. You know what he’s doing; you remember the size of him as he stood before you that fateful night: his entire length must be the width of his whole hand, perhaps even thicker at the base. He’s preparing you–so patiently, so lovingly–but the notion of taking all of him on your wedding night frightens you as much as it excites you. 

The castle becomes busier over the next several days, as preparations are made for your upcoming nuptials. Flowers are placed everywhere, musicians are hired, and the best baker in all the kingdom is summoned for your cake. 

“Will there be many people?” you ask as you walk through the newly flower-lined halls. 

Marcus frowns, shaking his head. “I told you, the entire kingdom fears me.”

Pain stabs through your heart at his words. You’re going to fix this. You must. “Then what is all the fuss for?”

The prince cocks his head in confusion as he smiles at you. “Why, it’s for you.”

Your mouth drops open. “Just me?”

He chuckles and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Of course. I thought you knew.”

“You needn’t go through all of this trouble just for me,” you say, amused. 

Marcus palms your cheek and traces his thumb back and forth across your cheekbone as he looks at you thoughtfully. “I want to,” he says simply.

On the night before your wedding, Marcus is quiet, his mood more subdued. Since your official engagement, he’s been incandescent–smiling more, laughing and joking playfully, even twirling you around to no music at all. You wonder if it had only been a distraction, if he’s still secretly terrified of the monster he’s so certain he’ll become.

“Are you all right?” you ask quietly over dinner, placing your hand over his and looking at him worryingly. 

“I–I must ask a favor,” he replies, not meeting your eyes. 

“Anything.”

“This has been the most wonderful week of my life, spending every minute by your side,” he begins, looking nervous. 

You beam. “I’m so glad–”

“But I–” he swallows, troubled.

“Go on,” you prompt him gently.

“I must tell you that I… become restless, if I don’t… transform. It feels a little as though there’s a muscle that won’t stretch, or a pang of hunger that won’t be sated, if I don’t… feel the wind on my face, just for a short time. It won’t take long,” Marcus assures you.

“You’re seeking my permission?” you ask, confused as to why he would feel as though he had to ask. 

“It pains me to leave you alone in my–in our bed,” he says regretfully. “But I–I need… In order to be completely present, completely human… I need this tonight.”

You lean forward, taking his face in both of your hands, soothing him. “You don’t have to ask,” you tell him patiently. “I love you exactly as you are, scales and all.”

Marcus stares at you in utter reverence. “The day I first laid eyes on you… I never would have imagined in my wildest dreams…” he murmurs, full of wonderment.

“I think it was the magic,” you say confidently. “It brought you to me.”

“That, or your stubbornness,” he teases, playfully chucking you under your chin. 

“What will you do?” you ask. “Tonight, I mean. Where will you go?”

Marcus shrugs. “Probably just fly around for a little while, shake the cobwebs off. Maybe–” he flushes, ducking his head bashfully, “–find a deer, or something. I wasn't kidding about the hunger.”

“Promise you'll take me with you, one day,” you whisper. You close your eyes, remembering how sunsets look from high in the air, how exhilarating it was when he would swoop towards the ground. 

Marcus is quiet for a few moments, watching you. Then, suddenly, his lips curl into a mischievous, boyish grin as he extends his hand. “Come with me.”

“What?”

“Let's go,” he says, the gold flecks in his eyes seeming to sparkle. “Now. Tonight.”

As comprehension dawns, your smile spreads to match his. Giddily, you grab his hand, and the two of you rush from the hall and out into the twilight.

“Don't look.”

“Why not?”

“Just… don't, okay?” Marcus wheedles. “Turn around.”

You sigh in mock exasperation and obey. “Why can't I see?”

“It's not exactly pretty, shape-shifting,” he says from behind you. “And besides… I typically undress, so I don't rip any clothes to shreds.”

“You're naked as a dragon?” you squeak. 

“Dragons don't wear clothes,” Marcus says defensively, and you dissolve into giggles until you hear the sound of giant footsteps behind you. 

You grin instinctively at the sight of the dragon. In the low light of dusk, his scales are a deep, smoky green, and the light of the full moon causes his wings to shimmer with muted purples and blues. He shakes his massive head back and forth much like a dog shaking itself dry after a swim, and, as his wings stretch out to their full length, he lets out a deep sigh. 

You're standing near a mostly-empty shed near the castle stables. Mostly empty, because Marcus’s discarded clothes are now there, and the large leather saddle that you first sat upon during your journey takes up the majority of the small building. An attendant appears, seemingly out of nowhere, to assist in buckling the straps around the creature’s massive belly. 

You give dragon-Marcus a quick hug around his snout before gleefully hopping into the saddle and securing yourself tight. 

You've come a long way from your first time. Rather than cling to the saddle for dear life, squeeze your eyes shut, and pray for the ordeal to end, you watch in anticipation as the dragon’s wings spread wide, then shriek in delight as they begin to beat loudly and you take to the skies. 

The moon and stars seem almost reachable up here. Keeping one hand holding tight to the leather, you give into temptation and raise the other, stretching out your fingers and pretending to catch the clouds themselves. You can tell that Marcus is going faster than he used to with you by the way the moisture is drawn from your eyes and across your cheeks. His wings still and stiffen as he glides and swoops through the night air, and you can't stop smiling as your stomach seems to rise and fall with each change in altitude. 

Finally, after what must have been many miles traveled but only an hour or so in the air, he gracefully touches down in a lush meadow near a tall outcrop of rocky cliffs and lowers down to let you off. A loud, rushing noise disturbs the quiet night and at first, you think it's the wind blowing violently through the trees, but you realize quickly that the leaves are completely still. 

You look around, confused, searching for the source of the noise, but the moon is behind a small cloud, and it's too dark to see anything. You give Marcus a questioning glance, and he jerks his head toward the cliffs. As you walk closer to inspect them, the moon breaks free and moonlight gleams down on the two of you, making Marcus’s wings erupt with brilliance, illuminating the meadow, and revealing the tall, narrow waterfall that cascades into a small lagoon at the foot of the cliffs. 

You shoot a tear-filled smile over at dragon-Marcus. You know he chose this destination with you in mind without having to ask. He shuffles forward and opens his gigantic jaws wide to catch the falling water, and you laugh as it splashes everywhere, falling into his eyes and sends little droplets onto your dress. You reach your hand out as you carefully step closer, reaching as far as you can without falling into the water, until you can finally catch some of the cascade in your palm. 

You bend down, wiggling your fingers in the little lagoon, and find that it's still slightly warm from the late spring sun. A wild, silly idea flashes through your mind, and the moment you make eye contact with the dragon, you can tell from the sudden narrowing of his eyes that he has an inkling of what you're about to do. He gently shakes his head back and forth, but you're already rising to your feet and stepping backward, your hands coming to the back of your dress to undo the buttons. 

Marcus growls low in warning, but you only laugh as you make quick work of your dress and underclothing, and, stark nude in the moonlight, you jump into the water with a triumphant whoop. 

Your cheer turns into a yelp when the water turns out to be much colder than you expected. 

Trying not to shiver, you look back at the shore. If a dragon could look unimpressed, Marcus certainly does now. 

“Come in!” you call out. “The water is fine!”

The dragon snorts, and turns away–but you discover quickly that this was intended to be a feint. Before you can react, to swim away or cover your face, he jumps.

One may as well have thrown a small house into the little pool. The wave is so colossal that you're surprised there's any water left. It soaks you completely from head to toe, and the sudden rush of cold sends a shockwave through your body.

“You… beast!” you shove at his belly uselessly. 

Marcus whuffs and shakes his head, clearly laughing at you, and you can't help but join in, although your lip is beginning to tremble. Still, you aren't going to let the cold deter you from your goal: you stride forward toward the waterfall until it's pounding down on your head. You raise your arms up overhead and tip your head back, taking full advantage of the shower. 

With your eyes closed, you don't see the dragon move to block the water until it ceases thundering down on you. Looking up, you laugh again as you see Marcus trying to crowd unsuccessfully underneath the same waterfall.

You lose track of how long the two of you play in the water. You alternate between swimming back and forth and ducking in and out of the waterfall until your fingers are pruned and you're boneless with exhaustion. 

When you finally get out of the water, you're shaking uncontrollably. 

“I'm-m an i-imbec-cile,” you manage to stammer out. “W-Way too c-cold.”

You're sure Marcus would agree if he could, but rather than give you a derisive snort, he hums deep in his throat, a little noise of concern as he curls one wing around you.

You whimper pitifully and press against the warm, soft scales of his belly as his wing shields you from the chilly air. 

“Forgot how… w-warm you are,” you murmur, closing your eyes in contentment. You'll dress in a minute and you'll fly back to the castle, just as soon as you stop shivering…

You don't remember falling asleep.

When you open your eyes again, the bright sun is forcing its way in through the gap between Marcus’s wing and his body. You gasp, sitting up in alarm. 

“Marcus. Marcus! The wedding!” You probably should have thought before startling a great winged beast curled up next to you, but thankfully he only jerks slightly upon waking, a confused, sleepy rumble vibrating your body.

You both jump up and stare at each other in sheer panic before you start laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. You grab your dress and pull it on, but while you can manage to undo the buttons on the back yourself, fastening them back up is another thing entirely. You give up with a frustrated cry and decide to leave the thing loose. You don't bother with shoes, as your feet are still muddy from the late-night swim. Barefoot, and with your dress hanging open, you jump on the dragon's back and fasten yourself in before laughing, “Go! Go!”

You shoot into the sky with a surprised scream of terror. 

“Too fast! Too fast!” you yelp, but Marcus's only response is a loud roar. You hang on for dear life as you rocket through the sky back to the castle, alternating between screaming in terror and laughing until your lungs ache. 

In no time at all, the castle is approaching rapidly. Marcus touches down–less gracefully than usual–near the front gate, directly in front of the disapproving eyes of your maidservant, Annette. 

You stumble off of his back with muddy feet and your dress hanging open in the back. One look back at dragon-Marcus has you dissolving into peals of laughter once more, and you slump forward onto his snout for one last giggling kiss on the tip of his nose before he takes to the skies again–presumably to get ready for the wedding that you both might still be late for.

You scurry down the halls after Annette–still giggling under your breath and smiling from ear to ear as though it were the best day of your life. And, you suppose, it is… so far. You have a feeling that the best days with your husband-to-be are still ahead of you.

Annette, however, looks as though she's preparing for a funeral rather than a wedding.

He's a good man,” you insist as she scrubs the evidence of last night's adventure off of your body in the bathtub. “The curse isn't what you think it is.”

“You are still a stranger in these lands,” Annette says. “You don't understand what you are dealing with.”

“I understand my husband,” you say confidently. “And I believe in his humanity, and in mine. The entire kingdom can turn away, but I never will.”

“I will give the prince credit,” Annette says with a small, affectionate smile in your direction. “If he was to choose the one woman who could break his curse through sheer force of will, he chose correctly.”

“Then believe me when I tell you this,” you say with a soft smile. “There is no amount of curse that could dull our love for each other, and that's why we will always prevail.”

“The longer I know you,” your maidservant says as you towel off, “the more I know that to be true.”

Your heart begins to pound as you're helped into the ornate white gown that has held a place of honor in your closet even before you arrived at the castle. Annette fastens the necklace you had chosen from the castle vault earlier this week: a sparkling cascade of emeralds that match your ring–and the beautiful deep-green hue of Marcus's dragon form–perfectly. The way in which the jewels glitter on your neck give off the illusion of scales themselves, and you smile at the subtle homage to the first form in which you met–and loved–your intended. 

It feels like fate, like this moment was written in the stars at the beginning of time. And now, as the lace veil is placed over your head, you're ready. 

Your garden is even more decadent than usual. Flower petals cover the stone pathways, with more gently cascading from the trees above as you walk slowly through the hedges toward the prince. He's waiting for you under an archway laden with wisteria, and you smile as you notice that, due to the man's height, some of the blossoms are disturbing his hair. 

Your gazes are locked on each other as you slowly approach. Marcus’s eyes are bright with emotion, his lips parted in awe at the sight of his bride. 

You long to launch yourself into his arms as soon as you come to stand next to him, but you force yourself to stand still and dignified as the officiant gently winds a braided gold cord around your joined hands.

Marcus’s voice breaks only a little as you recite the ancient vows:

I promise to be your grounding strength, like the earth beneath us. I vow to bring joy, like the gentle breeze that lifts your spirit. I will be your warmth, like the fire that keeps us safe, and I promise to flow with you, like water, through all the changes of our lives. With these cords, I bind myself to you, in love and respect, in all seasons.

The music swells and more petals cascade down upon the two of you as you share your first kiss as a married couple. 

“Thank you,” Marcus whispers against your lips. “Oh, dearest, thank you.”

Night falls, and yet the two of you still dance slowly together in the garden, kissing and laughing and talking together. You've celebrated, you've feasted, and now all that remains is the rest of your lives, forever entwined.

And, of course, your wedding night. As darkness falls, your kisses grow fuller with promise, until you finally whisper, “Take me to bed, Marcus.”

There's a fire already blazing in the fireplace in Marcus’s quarters. You stand patiently facing the bed as the prince carefully unfastens every tiny button at the back of your wedding dress, unlaces your corset, and slides off your undergarments. He takes your hand as you step forward, away from the pile of discarded clothing. Only the emerald necklace remains, the jewels sparking in the firelight and looking all the more like dragon scales.

You reach back to find the clasp at the base of your neck, but Marcus stops you with an awe-filled smile. 

“Leave it on,” he requests quietly. 

His eyes are dark with lust as he lays you down on the bed you now share. “I want you to promise me,” he rasps huskily, “that you'll tell me if it hurts. If it's too much.”

“Love, it won't hu–”

“Promise.” 

You palm his cheek gently. “I promise.”

You stare up at your husband in wonder and anticipation as he unbuttons his own shirt, casts it aside, and then reaches for the fastenings on his trousers with shaking fingers.

The fear is on full display in his beautiful dark amber eyes as he lets the fabric fall, revealing himself to you once more. 

Your breath catches as the sight before you. Moving slowly, so as not to scare him, you reach up, tracing the soft, barely-there swell of his belly, following the very human trail of dark hair down, down, until your fingers brush against the very not-human scales at the base of his manhood. 

Marcus stiffens and sucks in a breath at the first touch of your fingers. His eyes close and his eyebrows knit together as though he were in pain. 

“It's okay,” you whisper, trying to soothe him. “Love, it's okay.”

You grow bolder, curving your hand around his girth–although he's far too thick to grip entirely–and slowly run your palm up the iridescent scales, from the base of him to the very tip. When you reach it, Marcus’s head tips back and he moans softly. 

The scales are soft and vulnerable, like the ones on his belly in dragon form. You’re thankful for that; you were a little nervous that they’d be rigid and sharp, but they're smooth and yielding, and the ones right on his tip are almost velvety in texture. You smile and bring up your other hand to stroke him as well. With both of your hands involved, you're finally able to wrap around his entire girth. The sound that escapes Marcus as a result is a deep, broken thing, almost as if the action pains him.

“Oh love,” he whispers, his voice rough and breaking. “Oh, love…”

“Is this all right?” you ask nervously.

“Yes. Yes,” he groans. “I'm sorry, I just–I didn't ever think that this–that anyone would want to–”

“I know,” you whisper, reassuring him. “It's okay.”

You continue your gentle exploration of your husband, touching the ridges and bumps curiously, trying to imagine how it will feel inside of you. You don't stop until Marcus is panting, his eyes closed in ecstasy or frustration, you can't tell which. Finally, when you press one fingertip against the little slit at the tip, he breaks.

“Please, dearest,” he chuckles breathlessly. “Oh, love, have some pity.”

You giggle softly, smiling up at the man you love. You meet his deep, emotion-filled eyes, and the mood between you sobers. 

“Marcus,” you say quietly, “make love to me.”

He nods solemnly, lovingly. Reaching over to his bedside table, he procures a little vial and holds it up to show you. 

“I took the liberty of getting this from the apothecary,” Marcus says. “It's a kind of oil, but safe for–for inside.” He reaches down and traces your cheekbone with his thumb. “It should help it to not hurt,” he explains. Softer, he adds, “I don't want it to hurt.”

“You could never hurt me,” you say with absolute certainty. 

Marcus stares at you, his expression full of awe. He surges down to kiss you desperately, over and over, your bare skin sliding deliciously against each other. He crawls down your body and laps at you hungrily. He adds one finger, then another, and another, until his whole hand is buried inside you and you're rising off the bed as you come undone. 

Your chest is still heaving softly with exertion as Marcus is moving up, up, up your body, kissing a path all the way until he reaches your lips, and you shiver in delight at the realization that you can taste yourself on his tongue. 

You watch in awe and trepidation as Marcus shakes some of the contents of the vial into his palm and rubs it over his manhood until it's shiny and wet with slick. He applies a little more to you, indulgently rubbing the slippery fluid over your folds and slightly inside. 

“Promise again,” he demands roughly, even as he hovers over you, his thick length lining up with your core. “Promise you'll tell me if I'm hurting you.”

You take his face in your hands and kiss him sweetly. “Yes,” you promise. “Yes, Marcus.”

His tip notches at your entrance, and your eyes meet as he finally, finally begins to slide home. 

He's prepared you so diligently and thoroughly, but you both know that he's still just a little bit larger than four of his fingers. The slight increase in size overwhelms your senses, and you gasp and whine at the intrusion. Two instincts battle inside you: the desire to squirm away and the need to be filled even more–but you find that you can do nothing except whimper softly for your husband. 

“Breathe,” Marcus reminds you, his eyes sweeping over you, cataloging every reaction to make sure he isn't giving you too much. 

You nod and force yourself to do as he asks, and although your breaths are shaky and labored, the slow inhales and exhales allow you to relax enough for him to keep going, pushing forward bit by bit, stretching you open, filling you utterly and completely.

Once he gets a little ways in, it becomes ever so slightly easier to take, and you tip your head back and moan in ecstasy as the pressure inside of you builds to a crescendo. 

“So pretty like this,” Marcus murmurs. “So perfect, so lovely. You shouldn't be giving me this, and yet you are, oh Gods–” he groans as you squeeze him tightly.

Suddenly, it feels as though there's no more of you that you can give him. With a soft cry of discomfort, you touch his shoulder. “That's–I can't. Not anymore…”

Marcus nods. You can still see the shimmering green of his base; you think he's only around halfway buried inside you, and at the realization, you look at him in panic.

“It’s all right,” he says quickly. “I won't go any further.” His breath shakes as he presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, and he begins to slowly rock his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his impossibly-large manhood back and forth against your walls. 

The sound you make, you think, is unhuman. You don’t even know if it’s a wail of pleasure, or of pain as Marcus takes you. All you know is that the sensation is so immense, so profound, that you’ll be forever altered after this. You cling to your husband, your fingers scrambling to find purchase at his neck and shoulders as you search for anything to anchor you. 

Marcus seems to be deeply affected as well; he drops down, burying his head in the crook of your neck as he whimpers deeply with every gentle thrust. Putting his weight on one elbow, his other hand snakes down between your bodies and rubs small circles around your little bundle of nerves. 

It takes longer than usual for the tension to build inside of you than it does with Marcus’s tongue and fingers. The pressure inside of you is simply too consuming, too distracting, but your husband is a patient man, and he methodically takes you higher and higher–and when you finally fall, the waves of pleasure are far more intense as a reward. Your muscles relax, and your core seems to open for him even further, and he takes advantage–seeming to know instinctively that you can take just a few inches more.

“I—I’m not going to last,” Marcus gasps. “It’s too good–been too long, I–mmph–” 

“That’s probably–ah!–preferable,” you manage to answer.

Both of you giggle breathlessly. Marcus raises his head to gaze into your eyes, and he’s still smiling when his hips begin to stutter and lose their rhythm. He cries out into the room as he suddenly stills, and you let out a moan of your own when you feel unnatural warmth blooming inside of you as his spend buries itself deep. 

You slump boneless with a violent shudder when Marcus carefully and slowly withdraws, leaving you feeling empty and vulnerable. You aren’t sure if it’s the sudden void he seems to have left behind that aches, or if you’re just now reacting to the fullness from before, but the sensation overwhelms you, and tears spring to your eyes. 

He notices immediately and springs to action, pulling you against him so fervently that his grip distracts you from your aching core. 

“I have you,” Marcus repeats over and over, peppering kisses on every inch of skin that he can reach. “I have you, dearest, I’m right here.”

You hold him back, just as tightly. “I love you,” you whisper. “I love you.”

Late morning sun streams in through the windows when you next open your eyes. The fire has died sometime in the night, leaving only glowing, golden-red embers, and the room is both too bright and too warm. It’s perfect. You sigh as you stretch your arms overhead indulgently, causing your husband to stir from sleep as well. 

“Good morning.” Your voice is thick with sleep, and so is his reply. 

“Good morning.” 

You hum in appreciation as he leans forward to give you a gentle kiss before sitting up in bed. The covers fall to his hips, exposing the iridescent tip of his manhood, and he sighs. 

“I was rather hoping to wake up this morning and discover this had all been fixed while I slept,” he grumbles.

“Supposing you were fixed, only the things you’ve always claimed to be broken are, in fact, misguided.”

You gently draw the covers back further and admire how he glints in the sunlight. His shaft isn’t as rigid now, but the length and girth of him is still considerable. 

“Could I kiss you there,” you muse thoughtfully, “as you have kissed me on many occasions now?”

“K-Kiss–” Marcus sputters, seemingly unable to speak further.

“You put your mouth on me, and I fall apart,” you say with a sly smile. “Would it be the same for you?”

Your husband falls back on the pillows, pressing his hands into his eyes as he groans. “She’s going to kill me,” he deadpans, speaking to the ceiling rather than to you. “I brought her here, married her, and now she’s going to kill me.”

You giggle at his antics. “Then am I to assume that it would feel just as good?” you tease playfully. You lower your head and give in to the temptation to see what those soft, velvety scales would feel like against your lips. 

“Mmph!” Marcus shudders violently at the touch of your mouth, but it only serves to encourage you. You give him kiss after gentle kiss, letting your lips drag indulgently against the smooth, shimmering scales. You move down, exploring the way they become more rigid as you approach the base, breathing in his scent deeply with every inhale. Emboldened, your tongue darts out to lick a long line back up again, all the way back to the tip, and your husband nearly arches off the bed with a broken moan of your name.

You want to catalogue every inch of his length, every noise he makes as you move your mouth along the ridges and veins of his shaft, up and down, up and down, until he’s throbbing and achingly hard. 

“How can I…” you pause, furrowing your brow as you try to find the words for what you want to ask. “Last night, when you let go at the end–how do I—?” you trail off, looking up at Marcus hopefully.

He stares back as though he can’t believe what you’re asking him. “Oh. Oh. Oh dearest, you don’t need to–it would take… You’d have to put your–your whole mouth on me, and it wouldn’t fit, it wouldn’t work, it–”

You silence his rambling by doing just that. You have to open your mouth so wide that the edges of your lips pull uncomfortably, and you can only fit the soft head of his shaft within you, but the animalistic sound that escapes him as you swallow even the littlest bit of his manhood is well worth the effort. 

You work at relaxing your jaw and throat as you take him just the tiniest bit deeper, and then, thinking of how he moved within you the night before, begin gently working him up and down with your mouth. You can feel your eyes watering, your nose running, and everything mixes together with your saliva to run down the rest of his shaft that you can’t even come close to reaching. 

Marcus’s own hand wraps around himself, and he begins to move up and down, matching the rhythm of your mouth. He pants and gasps loudly as you gain confidence and speed, until finally–

“Love, stop!” he cries, and you lift your head in surprise just in time for him to spill his seed over his own bare chest instead. Your mouth hangs open as you watch him throbbing rhythmically, emptying himself until there’s nothing left.

“S-Sorry,” he chuckles bashfully. “I didn’t want to–Well, it’s a lot, and I didn’t want to hurt you or cause you to choke.”

Slowly, you begin to laugh as well, until the two of you are grinning like the two enamored idiots that you are. 

“What should,” he doubles over with giggles, “should we do for the rest of the day, dearest wife?”

You almost can’t answer through your own laughter, but eventually you manage, saying, “I think breakfast is in order… but after that, I think we can come up with a few more ideas.”

Epilogue

Deep in the Obrage Mountains in the far northern reaches of the kingdom of Azethia, sits a small highland village.

Situated in the shadow of the range’s highest peak, Wyverncroft Mountain, the citizens of the village are quite accustomed to seeing large, winged silhouettes against the clouds on a clear day, but dragons are solitary creatures, and rarely come close to the town itself.

Imagine their surprise, then, when one morning after a great storm had come and gone, blanketing the village in deep snow, one of the beasts touches down on the outskirts, its landing muted by the blizzard. 

What shocks them even further, however, is the young woman who disembarks from a large leather saddle on the creature’s back and approaches the townsfolk, who have all come to gawk at the sight. 

“Excuse me,” she calls out brightly. “Would anyone be able to trade for some bread and cheese, possibly some wine? Our provisions were lost during last night’s storm, and we need some sustenance before we begin our journey back home.”

No one answers.

“We have plenty of coin,” she continues hopefully. “Just no bread.” 

Finally, the baker steps forward. “I have bread,” he begins suspiciously. “But pray tell me: what is a young maiden doing on the back of a colossal beast in the wilding peaks? There are no other settlements for many leagues…”

“Oh, we’re on our honeymoon,” the maiden laughs. “I come from very far away, where there are no mountains to speak of, and I wanted to see their splendor for myself.”

“Your… honeymoon,” the baker repeats. He looks left and right, but there is no husband to speak of. 

The townspeople stare at the newcomers. The girl–and the beast–stare back. The only sound that can be heard is the rustle of branches as a flying squirrel hops deftly from one tree to another, and–

SNAP! 

Everyone jumps as the dragon suddenly darts its head upward to capture the little animal in its strong jaws. It bites down only once, and then swallows its catch whole.

Several of the villagers gasp in fear, and the maiden gasps too–before punching the great creature squarely on its foreleg, just below the shoulder. 

“Rude!” she hisses. “Can you not wait five minutes? You can have yourself an entire herd of deer for all I care, but not before I get my breakfast.” She turns back to the baker with a wide smile. “I’m deeply sorry,” she says sweetly. “We’ve been holed up on the peak for two days waiting for the storm to pass, and we’re both famished and a little short on manners.” She shoots one last glance at the beast behind her, and it whuffs in annoyance, flapping its wings impatiently. 

The villagers hastily give her bread, cheese, and wine as requested, plus a little pouch of dried berries from their summer stores, as the girl had given them far more gold than the meager offering of food was worth. 

She thanks them generously, and the dragon seems to bow its head deeply with gratitude itself. Then, she climbs back into the saddle and the two strangers rise back into the sky, heading south. The villagers watch them until they’re out of sight.

Epilogue 2

When Prince Marcus, as you predicted, does not make any additional transformations into a fearsome dragon, you make it your life’s work to travel the kingdom of Azethia–made faster by flying through the sky with your husband–to spread your message of love and acceptance, rather than fear and shunning, of the kingdom’s afflicted. 

When it becomes clear that the prince will remain of sound mind and human body, you are eventually crowned king and queen at a crowded and boisterous coronation that brings revelers from far and wide, even from outside of the kingdom. Of the foreigners that come, your family, of course, are your most beloved and esteemed guests. And, to your overjoyed gratitude, they elect to stay in the castle with you–and none too soon, because, if your suspicions are correct, you will need all hands on deck for the part of your life that comes next.

The twins, Sophia and Elias, come into their powers at around three years of age, and it takes the combined effort of you and Marcus, your family, and all the castle’s servants to contain the little toddlers that can shape-shift and sprout wings whenever they so choose. 

Rather than being raised in fear of their abilities, Sophia and Elias are celebrated and encouraged (for the most part, except for when they accidentally set fire to various rooms in the castle). You can see, in every year that passes, how Marcus begins to heal–growing into a confident and benevolent king with a razor-sharp wit and boyish smile reserved for those who know him best. 

The twins grow and mature until they are sent away to a university in neighboring Oloslokar, and Marcus’s hair is silver at the temples and his beautiful, amber-brown eyes are surrounded with laugh-lines. (“Both are entirely the fault of my wife and children,” he likes to say with the deepest of affection.)

You grow older, too; your body softens and changes shape after bearing the twins (and enjoying the exquisite meals from the palace chef), becoming–as Sophia used to say when she was smaller–‘Well-suited for warm hugs.’ And those you give generously–to those who come to ask favors of the now-beloved royal family, and to your family, and your children, but most often to your husband (no matter what form he happens to be in). 

When the castle becomes too quiet again, the two of you take to the skies, travelling to every corner of the world that you can manage to reach. 

Your favorite place, however, remains to be a small, unassuming green meadow next to a cliff, where a little waterfall cascades into a lagoon that’s never quite warm enough for a swim.

And yet, somehow, the two of you still manage. 

fin

[lucysarah-c]

Mounting Spring Ch. 12 SPOILERS.

No. I'm not paying anyone's therapy after last chapter 🙄 BUT what I CAN do it sharing a fun scene of next chapter lmao 😅

—

As soon as the realization hit her, it became undeniable—unstoppable. Her chest tightened, her hands trembled. The broken gate had been sealed by Eren’s titan form, and the formation was now being lifted to the top of the walls, preparing to descend on the other side. The very same elevators that had brought them up would now take them down into the unknown.

For the first time in her life, she was seeing beyond the walls.

Fear struck hard.

‘Don’t look down,’ she told herself.

But, of course, she did.

Her breath hitched as she took in the staggering drop from the top of the wall to the endless stretch of grass below. The sheer height made her stomach twist.

And speaking of colossal things—her mind, in a cruel act of betrayal, reminded her of all the horrifying stories she’d grown up with. The monsters beyond the walls. The titans. Every worst-case scenario she’d ever been taught came rushing to the forefront of her thoughts.

Instinct took over. In a blind scramble for safety, she backed into the elevator shaft, clutching her cat against her chest like a lifeline and gripping the column beside her as if it were the only thing keeping her from plummeting into the abyss.

Armin, always perceptive, noticed immediately and approached with concern.

“Y/N… are you okay? You look a little pale.”

“I just need some fresh air,” she said quickly. But her wide eyes, clenched teeth, and bone-white knuckles gripping the metal told a different story.

Like ducklings following their leader, the rest of the squad trailed after Armin, equally curious and confused.

“Fresh air?” Jean muttered, frowning. “On top of the walls?”

You could practically hear the collective thought process: There’s no place with more air than fifty meters above the ground, standing on the last wall of Paradis.

Mikasa knelt beside her, eyes scanning her carefully. “Are you dizzy? Is your blood pressure dropping?” she asked, noting how Y/N was slowly sinking to the ground.

Between ragged breaths, Y/N choked out, “I can’t go out there… I’m not going out there.”

Sasha’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. “Oh! You’re scared! But there’s nothing to worry about! We’ve been in Levi’s squad for a while now!”

Connie nodded enthusiastically. “The Special Operations Squad! Nobody better than us!”

Y/N looked up at them, still unconvinced. Armin added, “We’ve been serving under Captain Levi for nearly two years. You’re safe with us.”

She hesitated, frowning. Something about that number didn’t sit right. “Two years?” she repeated, voice barely above a whisper. “What happened to the last squad?”

The air shifted.

The six teenagers exchanged glances.

“Uh…”

“Ehm…”

Mikasa, deciding it was time to intervene, stepped forward, smoothly pushing Armin aside as if shielding Y/N from whatever dumb thing he might accidentally say next.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” she assured her with quiet confidence. “Captain Levi and I are the strongest. If anything happens, I’ll protect you.”

It was meant to be reassuring. But it had the exact opposite effect.

Y/N’s eyes widened in alarm. “So… there’s a chance something will happen?!”

“Captain…”

Levi turned, still mid-discussion over last-minute battle plans when Mikasa’s voice interrupted.

“What?” He frowned, hands on his hips. Whatever it was, it had better be important.

Mikasa hesitated, glancing toward the elevator. “We think you should check on Y/N.”

“I’M NOT GOING.”

Y/N clung to the elevator’s frame like her life depended on it, legs locked, refusing to step foot outside.

Levi stood beside her, arms crossed, “I told you, you need to come with us,” he repeated, voice low and firm.

“NO.” She shook her head wildly, gripping the metal tighter. “I don’t want to die!”

Levi exhaled sharply, trying to keep his patience. “I already told you, there are no more titans. I wouldn’t take you out if there were.”

“How do you know?! Have you even looked outside?! IT’S HUGE OUT THERE!”

Levi stared at her, deadpan.

He had spent more time outside the walls than inside them. And yet here she was, explaining it to him.

His pride crumbled. His instincts as an alpha did, too. Only adding to the recent events.

His inner alpha bristled slightly at the scent of her fear. It stung his pride—not just as a soldier, but as a mate. Alphas were supposed to be a source of security, a symbol of strength. Omegas chose alphas based on their ability to protect them and their offspring. Normally, his reputation alone was enough to reassure anyone, let alone his own wife.

Yet here she was, outright terrified, and his presence wasn’t helping at all. But right now, standing beside his mate, all he could smell was her fear.

It was a blow to his pride.

“Y/N,” he said, this time more firmly. “I wouldn’t take you if it wasn’t safe.” His tone was measured, steady. If she was his, then she needed to trust him. “Don’t you trust me?”

Without hesitation—without even thinking—she blurted out:

“NO.”

Silence.

Dead. Absolute silence.

Hange, who had wandered over to investigate, let out a wheezing laugh so intense they had to clutch their stomach.

Levi, meanwhile, just stared.

A sharp "Tch—" escaped him as he scratched the back of his head, trying to mask the sting. Ouch.

Hange, still gasping for breath, spread their arms dramatically. “Ah, no worries, my dear! Your fear is simply due to the unknown! That’s perfectly natural! But have no fear—I’ll teach you everything about titans, and I will keep you safe!”

As if spring had just arrived and they were a pair of rutting bucks trying to prove themselves, both alphas now stood in front of her. There was an unspoken challenge in the air. Two alphas—Hange and Levi—instinctively competing to reassure the terrified omega. A display of dominance in its most ridiculous form.

Y/N blinked. Then, in the flattest, most unimpressed tone imaginable, she deadpanned:

“How are you gonna keep me safe? You can’t even spot titans—you’re missing an eye.”

Hange’s proud smile froze. Their face fell into an expression of sheer offense and heartbreak.

Levi choked on a laugh. He tried to hide it—tried so damn hard—but his shoulders shook, and a muffled snort escaped before he could stop it.

“Don’t laugh, you asshole,” Hange hissed at him, glaring.

The three alphas—Levi, Hange, and Mikasa—stood together, momentarily humbled. If this were the animal kingdom, they had just been denied their mating rights.

[pinkykats-place]

One Piece x Reader

Tumblr Recommendations

Disclaimers!

None of the stories below are mine.

Mostly female reader inserts.

Some contain mature content.

Gif not mine.

Note: if you read and enjoy any of these stories - please like, leave a comment and/or reblog original post!

Pair

Zoro x afab!Reader

𝓢UMMARY: zoro thinks of what could be the best present to show how much you mean to him

Sleeptalking

Zoro x reader

Summary: zoro having really really really wet dreams with y/n

Bows & Swords

Zoro x feminine!Reader

I wish you would

Zoro x reader

Zoro knows you're his--all his--and gets the most perverse thrill from flaunting it in front of Sanji.

Nurse

Zoro x fem!Reader

synopsis: a mysterious man crash lands on your gloomy island, and you patch him up... unaware of his odd relationship with your father.

oiran

Zoro x reader

synopsis: while luffy and the others are off saving sanji, zoro is assigned the role of a ronin, and told to keep a low profile as he roams the land of wano... but he risks revealing himself and the entire crew when he discovers you're a nearby oiran, and in need of his rescue.

Giving Zoro a hand when he’s injured

stein

Zoro x reader

synopsis: while you're laughing at the stories told to you by some rando at the bar, zoro can't help but be affected by the green-eyed monster. nami and robin try to quell his worries... but things take a turn for the worst when the man puts his hands on you.

Smut

Franky x reader

Put the goggles on

Shipwright Paulie x reader

Summary: Two idiots who don't dare to make the move.

Absalom x female reader

absalom general relationship headcanons

Strawhats x former slave!Reader

Request: Can I ask for something with reader, who was formerly a slave, being a part of the Strawhat crew and their kindness just baffle her.

Summary: How your boyfriend would react if they saw you on deck, wearing a skimpy skirt with no underwear.

guidance

ft. monkey d. luffy, roronoa zoro, vinsmoke sanji

Smut

Going Down On You

ft. Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid

Calling them daddy

ft. Roronoa Zoro, Shanks, Smoker

It's getting hot in here...

Straw-Hats x afab!Reader

Summary: After a nice meal, you start to feel weird. Did you eat something funny? It turns out everyone is feeling the same, and there's only one thing to do about it.

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥!

summary: how the straw hat pirates treat you, a free use member of the crew

pairing: straw hat crew x afab!reader, appropriate characters only ofc!

A plushie substitute

F! reader x Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Ace, Law

Otkuhotgirl’s Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

[mysteryfawn]

hauhaauh,, i freaking adore your layout so so much <:-),, maybe perhaps -- a chance x reader oneshot where the reader's quite .. overworked / stressed with some stuff and chance tries to cheer buddy up.. "just try your luck!" and the "im unlucky as ill ever be" :brokem_heart: chance makes em ill........../pos

BWAHHH thank you smsm!!! it means a lot, I tried to make this a bit emotional!!! I hope you enjoy it <3 (chance... sighs dreamily /silly) --- RED = Chance

Muffled speaking came from the TV, which slightly lit up the dark living room… The sounds of slight snoring echoed throughout the cabin, the owner of such sounds was one specific gambler, one sleeping on his partner’s couch.

Chance was originally going to surprise you by gifting you some cake and flowers, for absolutely no reason (He shot Mafioso 3 times in a row). Anywho, he ended up collapsing on your couch after waiting until 8 PM, it wasn’t his plan to doze off, but the long wait beckoned him to take a nap.

His eyes shot up due to a loud sound of a door being closed shut harshly, scaring him a tiny bit, but ultimately, he knew who had finally arrived home. Lifting his body, Chance turned off the television, swept off the imaginary dust from his clothes, and adjusted his hair slightly, his face changing to the iconic smirk he always wears.

“Took you long enough!” The gambler started, chuckling before quickly shutting up upon looking at your disheveled and tired figure… ‘Oh dear, it was one of those days, wasn’t it?’ thought the white-haired man, sighing softly.

Walking up to you, Chance helped you take off your bags, shoes and coat, guiding you to the dinner table to sit down and eat the red-velvet cake he baked. “How are you?” The gambler started simple, trying to not overwhelm you with questions.

You stayed silent for a bit, coldly staring at the cake, trying to collect your thoughts. Chance cut a slice for you, setting it on a tiny plate with a fork for you to enjoy… Taking tiny bites of it, your mood slightly upgraded, allowing you to respond to your lover’s question.

“Fine… Just-” You couldn’t complete the sentence, your voice low from exhaustion and hesitation, and your objective set on sleeping for an eternity, but that wasn’t something your consoling boyfriend would let happen.

“Speak to me, dove… What’s wrong?” Chance asked, offering a sweet smile. “Well, the rest of the survivors have been keen on making sure I know they don’t care about me, and the stupid killers are always killing me off first because APPARENTLY!-” You took a breath, attempting to calm down, “apparently… I’m the easiest to kill.” You trailed off, speaking your mind angrily, talking about how you always try your hardest but nothing is ever enough.

After you finished with your rant, Chance kept quiet, looking at your eyes that were struggling to contain your tears. “Y’know… When I first got here, they did the same with me, it took a pretty long while for them to even accept me as another survivor!-”

“I’ve been here for a year already.” You interrupted, quietly but strictly.

“Look, darling, they’re assholes… We’re all going insane in this place, but at least you got me and I got you!” Chance paused, putting a hand on your shoulder. “You can’t please everyone, and you don’t have to either… And for the killers, I can teach you how to wield a flintlock!” The gambler inched closer to you, his chair touching yours.

“Ya gotta try your luck, and who knows, maybe if you shoot enough monsters and save enough people, they’re gonna respect you!” Chance smirked, giving you a side hug as he already started daydreaming about you shooting Mafioso.

“I’m as unlucky as I’ll ever be, Chance…” You muttered, sighing deeply in defeat, thinking about how many times his gun will explode in your face instead of working properly. The gambler stayed quiet for a bit, but quickly got up from his seat, offering a hand for you.

As you held his hand, he brought you towards your couch, falling on it and dragging you down with him, gaining a squeal of surprise from you. Holding you close to his chest, he planted a small kiss on your forehead.

“Dove, you’re not that unlucky, you got me, remember?” Chance chuckled, cuddling with you as you giggled lightly… He was right, and he knew it, you knew it. You lifted yourself to his face, kissing his lips softly, before closing your eyes as you set your face into his neck comfortably, dozing off with him.

[sirxaibs]

ू(ʚ̴̶̷́ .̠ ʚ̴̶̷̥̀ ू) Like Real People Do

Astarion Ancunín X Reader

Synopsis- how do you both really understand each other. Why can’t you love like real people do

“I know very little about this man, but as a devoted lover of Hozier, this song made me think of him….. Oh, did you see me complaining the other day about all Astarion fics being the same? Shut up and read the story. I know you all will still read it, you desperate whores.”

ू(ʚ̴̶̷́ .̠ ʚ̴̶̷̥̀ ू) The night was cool, the stars burning quietly above as the two of you sat a little away from the camp. The others were asleep, but you knew Astarion wouldn’t be resting at least not yet. He never truly let himself rest, even when his body was still.

The firelight flickered across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the way his red eyes seemed almost golden in the dim glow. But there was something dark lingering in them tonight, something unspoken that had been clawing at him for days.

“I had a thought, dear,” he murmured, his voice soft but carrying an edge of something wary, almost sharp. “However scary.”

You turned to him, sensing the shift in his mood. “Tell me.”

His fingers twitched where they rested on his knee, as if he were debating whether to reach for you or not. He didn’t. Instead, he exhaled, gaze fixed on the fire.

“About that night,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “The bugs and the dirt. Why were you digging?” His eyes flicked to yours, searching, unsure. “What did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth?”

You swallowed, understanding what he meant what he was truly asking.

You had found him, once. Broken, lost, a ghost of a man forced into survival. You both after the ship were so lost. You had reached for him without hesitation, pulled him from the dark, and given him something he still didn’t fully understand. But what had you sacrificed to do so?

You sighed, your fingers curling in the fabric of your sleeve. “Maybe… maybe I buried the part of me that thought I could walk this world alone.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s a poetic way of saying you were already broken.”

You frowned at that. “I never said I was broken.”

“No?” His head tilted slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Then why? Why care for me, of all people?” He let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “I’m not some tragic hero in a story. I am selfish. I am cruel when it suits me. And I was. am. a man made into a monster. You should have left me in that grave.”

His voice cracked on the last word. He hadn’t meant for it to, but it did.

You reached for him then, slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wanted to. He didn’t. Your fingers found his, cool and trembling, and you held them tight.

“I care for you,” you said, voice steady, “because I see you.”

His breath hitched.

“You are not just what he made you,” you continued. “Not to me.”

Astarion turned his face away, as if your words were something sharp he couldn’t bear to touch. His throat bobbed, his fingers tightening around yours.

“You make me feel real,” he whispered, as if confessing a sin. “And I hate it.”

You exhaled a quiet laugh, squeezing his hand. “That’s alright.”

He turned back to you then, something vulnerable and raw in his eyes. “You’re alright with loving a man who doesn’t know how to love himself?”

You smiled, shifting closer until your foreheads nearly touched. “I think that’s why I love you, Astarion. Because I want to show you how.”

His breath shuddered against your skin. For the first time in centuries, he let himself believe.

Astarion was quiet for a long time. The fire crackled between you, but his fingers remained tangled with yours, his grip just tight enough to keep him tethered to the moment. You could feel it the weight of everything he wasn’t saying, the ghosts of centuries clinging to him like a second skin.

He had told you pieces of his past, but never all of it. And you had never asked. You watched the way his jaw tensed, how his shoulders curled inward as if bracing for something inevitable.

“I will not ask you where you came from,” you murmured.

His head turned slightly, red eyes flickering toward yours in quiet surprise.

“I will not ask you,” you repeated, voice gentle but firm. “Neither should you.”

He exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Something in him loosened, something old and afraid.

“You don’t want to know?” His voice was almost cautious, as if the question itself was foreign to him.

You shook your head. “I want to know you. Not the things you were forced to do. Not the chains that bound you. Just you.”

Astarion swallowed hard. He had spent so long believing he was only what had been done to him, that there was nothing else nothing worth salvaging. But here you were, sitting beside him, holding his hand as if he were someone worth touching.

As if he were someone worth loving.

Slowly, his free hand lifted, brushing over your knuckles. A hesitant, unfamiliar gesture. His eyes studied the way your fingers curled into his, as if trying to understand why you weren’t pulling away.

“I don’t know who that is,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know who I am without, without him.”

You squeezed his hand, grounding him. “Then let’s not look back. Let’s just be here. Now.”

Astarion let out a soft, shaky laugh, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, there was something lighter in them something fragile but real.

“Here. Now.” He tested the words, as if rolling them over in his mind. Slowly, carefully, he let his head rest against your shoulder.

For the first time, Astarion let himself exist without expectation, without past or future. Just here. Just now. with you.

The fire had burned low, glowing embers casting long shadows across the ground. Astarion still leaned against your shoulder, unmoving, his fingers still curled around yours. He felt real like this warm, tangible, not just some fleeting ghost of a man lost to time.

And yet, something lingered in his eyes when he finally looked at you. Something raw.

“I knew that look, dear,” he murmured, voice hushed in the stillness of the night. His red eyes searched yours, sharp and knowing. “Eyes always seeking.”

You parted your lips to respond, but his fingers cold, careful lifted to trace along your jaw, silencing you.

“There was someone once, wasn’t there?” His voice was softer now, almost gentle. “Someone you buried long ago.”

Your breath hitched.

He tilted his head, his eyes flickering over your face, studying every shift in your expression. “So I will not ask you why you were creeping,” he murmured. “In some sad way, I already know.”

Your throat tightened. Because he was right.

Maybe you had found him in the dirt, broken and lost, because some part of you had been buried there too. Maybe you had seen your own ruin in the ghost of a man clawing his way out of the earth.

But none of that mattered now.

Not when Astarion was here. Not when his hand slid from your jaw to your cheek, his touch trembling but sure. Not when his breath mingled with yours, and his eyes softened in a way you had never seen before.

“Honey,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “Just put your sweet lips on my lips.”

His lips barely brushed yours hesitant, uncertain. A question more than a kiss.

And you answered.

You pressed forward, slow and deliberate, your fingers tangling in his curls as you pulled him closer. Astarion inhaled sharply against your mouth, his other hand gripping your waist as if anchoring himself to the moment. He kissed you like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to, like he was still waiting for the moment you would realize he wasn’t worth this kind of tenderness.

But you didn’t pull away. Instead, you kissed him like you had all the time in the world. Like he was someone worth keeping.

quiet and still, save for the soft crackle of dying embers and the distant rustle of leaves in the wind. The world felt small in this moment just you, Astarion, and the fragile space between you.

His fingers lingered against your cheek, cool as marble, trembling ever so slightly, as if he still wasn’t certain you were real. As if he wasn’t certain he was real.

You watched the way his expression shifted, the war within him written across every furrow of his brow, every flicker of doubt in his crimson eyes. There was a time when he might have masked it all behind a teasing smirk or a well-placed quip, a time when he would have used charm as a shield. But here, now, he let himself be bare before you. No pretenses. No games. Just the truth of him, laid out in the fragile press of his lips to yours.

And gods, how fragile he was beneath it all. How much he had been taught to believe he was unworthy of this, of you.

His forehead stayed pressed against yours, his breath shallow. He didn’t speak for a long time, only let his fingers trace idle patterns over the back of your hand. Then, so softly it was almost lost to the night, he whispered, “I’ve never had this before.”

You swallowed, your grip on him tightening. “Had what?”

His gaze flickered up to meet yours, something raw gleaming beneath the firelight. “something that meant something.”

You felt your heart twist at that, at the quiet pain woven into his words. The idea that a touch so simple, so human, could feel foreign to him. That intimacy had always been a transaction, never a gift.

Astarion let out a breath, shaking his head. “I spent centuries pretending I had control. That I was the one taking, the one winning. But I wasn’t, was I? I was just…” He trailed off, his fingers curling into his palms. “I was nothing. I felt like nothing.”

You cupped his face then, guiding his gaze back to yours, refusing to let him slip into the past. “You are not nothing, Astarion.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “And yet, I still don’t know how to be something.”

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” you murmured.

His lips parted, as if to argue, but whatever words he meant to say withered before they could form. Instead, he just… looked at you. Like he was seeing something new, something terrifyingly unfamiliar. A possibility he had never let himself hope for.

He exhaled a small, shaking laugh, leaning into your touch. “Gods, listen to me. You kiss me once and suddenly I’m a blubbering mess.”

You smiled, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone. “I don’t mind.”

He huffed, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Only something softer. Something aching.

Astarion shifted, his body relaxing against yours, his head once again resting on your shoulder. This time, though, it was different. He wasn’t just leaning on you. He was allowing himself to be held.

The fire dwindled further, shadows stretching long and deep. But you stayed like that, with your fingers tangled in his, with the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath against your skin.

For the first time in centuries, Astarion let himself be vulnerable without fear.

For the first time in centuries, he let himself stay.

:0

[lord-squiggletits]

Y'know I kind of feel like when Megatron killed Tarn and said 'I want you to spend your final moments thinking of this: that everything you've done has been for nothing' he was kind of self-projecting onto Tarn? Mainly because at Megatron's statue, M and T had a conversation where Tarn explicitly asked if all the Decepticons in service to Megatron died for nothing, if HE did everything he did for nothing. (And I think M even gave an answer along the lines of 'idk I think we basically did'). And then after Megatron killed the DJD and Rodimus teleported in to rescue him, there was that silent moment where Megatron just stared at Rodimus not moving at all before he finally took his hand at the last moment.

It honestly feels to me like for a while, Megatron fully intended to murder-suicide himself. Murder the DJD, his monsters and his creation, and then take himself out alongside them, because he is also a monster. Because he also feels that everything he's ever done has been for nothing.

Goddamn it's no wonder I liked that scene so much LMAO, as someone who thinks villain Megatron > Autobot Megatron, literally one of his key traits is that Megatron basically took his pain/trauma/worldview and used it to lash out at the universe and try to subjugate it to his vision. So the fact that he took his own pain and brutally murdered the DJD while telling them the very same thing that puts him through so much agony is so very deliciously ironic. And a return, however brief, to the Megatron characterization that I know and love.

[kira-the-whump-enthusiast]

sorry this took me a while to get to!!

Historical or Futuristic

Defff prefer historical stuff. Idk I’m not really into sci-fi? Usually I write/read semi-modern or fantasy stuff. I have a soft spot for dystopian settings tho :D

Opening or Closing Chapter

I’m gonna be honest here, I have never written an ending chapter. And I don’t know how to! I’m bad at finishing things! It’s much easier for me to begin. And not even at the beginning. I just write something from the middle of a silly plot in my head and post it and just be like “here’s 3 sentences of explanation, have fun” and that’s my idea of an opening chapter woohoo.

Light and Fluffy or Dark and Gritty

Seriously, mad respect to the people who can write fluff. I can’t. I am anti fluff. All characters need to be in situations. Dark and gritty stuff is great but I think my tastes lie a bit in between. It can’t be all dark and gritty. Gotta be a little light stuff in there. Something to hope for. Otherwise I get depressed. 

Animal Companion or Found Family

I have a cat. I do not have a lowkey kinda shit family forcing me to rely on friends for all my family needs. I think my OCs usually end up with nice friend groups rather than like found family stuff specifically. Also one of my OCs has a time kitty who can control time. I think that’s really cool.

Horror or Romance

Look. Cocaine Bear vs Hallmark movies. I know which I’d rather watch. Obviously cocaine bear is not peak horror lmao but girl I am literally so tired of the romance genre and it’s 6 million cishet white man and cishet white girl fall in love Twilight-ass bullshit 😭 Also I’m aromantic. Romance isn’t cool unless it’s dysfunctional and toxic as fuck but not in like the heterosexual way in the queer way. If you get what I mean. Or they eat each other. Idk man. Horror is better. Honestly I think whump could count as a form of horror itself--some of the most horrifying stories I’ve read have been other people’s whump pieces. Horror is fucked up and owns it and I like that. I could go on but let’s leave it there.

Hard Magic System or Soft Magic System

Look I am so bad at making consistent rules. I just get a silly idea and I’m like “yeah I’ll make that work.” I could never make a comprehensive system for all this unless I bullshitted it. It feels like inventing math.

Stand Alone or Series

Literally can’t consistently write a series for the life of me. The devil grants me my writing skills and he gifts me motivation at completely random times for completely random ideas. The shit I post? That’s up to Satan, baby. Also I’m bad at making series so everything ends up being stand alone anyways just in case I never write the next one. I love love love reading series tho. Shoutout to writers who can do that I love you all very much.

One Project at a Time or Always Juggling 2+ 

Just look at my masterlist. My WIPs folder has like 10 projects in there. Never, ever have I been able to do one project at a time. Too many silly ideas in this accursed brain.

One Award Winner or One Bestseller 

I’d get embarrassed if so many people read my book,,, also I feel like winning an award is easier to brag about. Actually no if I do become a published author, I would ideally like to have a small but dedicated fanbase that makes a fuck ton of video essays and dissertations about my book. Also they have to be at least 10 years late.

Fantasy or Sci-Fi 

I like the silly things you can do in fantasy. Like immortality and curses and stuff. Idk how to explain it man. Also fantasy outfits are cooler sorry.

Character Description or Setting Description 

I am so bad at settings. Theyre all kinda vague in my head. Characters I’m better at. Also cuz I usually get a visual reference for them so it’s easier to describe them.

First Draft or Final Draft 

If I can get to it, that is.

---

tagging uhhhh anyone who wants to jump in cuz I am become Tired and I cannot do a thought rn. have fun guys :D

This or That Tag

Thanks @verkja for the tag!

Historical or Futuristic

Hm…I prefer to write in a setting that’s loosely based on irl historically-inspired timelines. It serves as a sort of backdrop I can manipulate into an entirely different setting— which works great for writing fantasy. But if I’m reading, I love a futuristic setting.

Opening or Closing Chapter

Okay I love both but an opening chapter sets the stage— it can have so much tension and I love it when a story hits the ground running.

Light and Fluffy or Dark and Gritty

Dark and gritty! Serious undertones and desperate characters and the snap of a lighter in the background? Yes please.

Animal Companion or Found Family

Well, I’ve never written a character with an Animal Companion before, so we’re going with Found Family.

Horror or Romance

Eh, neither. Romance stories really aren’t something I enjoy and Horror may be slightly better, but if I had a choice, I wouldn’t read horror either.

Hard Magic System or Soft Magic System

I like the creative license a soft magic system gives me. I have tried to write a hard magic system but I often box myself in with rules that contradict themselves…so soft magic system it is.

Stand Alone or Series

Cannot for the life of me write a stand alone. The stories always drag on way past the ending I had planned so I usually try to write in trilogies or in interconnected stories.

One Project at a Time or Always Juggling 2+

Oh lord, I wish I wasn’t juggling so many. But my brain refuses to just work on one WIP— always bringing in different ideas, like the jerk it is.

One Award Winner or One Bestseller

If I was ever traditionally published, then I’d have to go with the award winner. I feel like it would be more satisfying, but idk.

Fantasy or Sci-Fi

Fantasy. Yes. That’s all >:D

Character Description or Setting Description

I struggle more with setting description than with describing my characters. I guess I’m worried I’ll bore my readers by over describing the scenery, and so by default writing setting also bores me.

First Draft or Final Draft

Ha it would be great if I could finish either. But yeah, final draft— I can’t think of anything I want more than holding a completed manuscript in my hands.

tagging: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast, @another-whump-sideblog, @whump-queen, @whither-wander-whump— if you want to, no pressure!

[icewindandboringhorror]

just a few little bits from the past few days

[em-b-sides]

I think about that tiktok trend where you like paint your partners eye color on your nails or make a bracelet or something with the color a lot actually