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gutsby · 3 months

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If You Like Piña Coladas

Pairing: Neighbor!Joel x Reader

Summary: You secretly make Joel a profile on Hinge. Then he shows you exactly why he doesn’t need one.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (f!receiving). Foodplay (i.e., Joel fucks you with a fruit popsicle). Girthy, unspecified age gap. Mentions of blood.

Note: Loosely inspired by ‘Escape (The Piña Colada Song)’ by Rupert Holmes…minus the part about mutual infidelity LOL

Word count: 8.0k

Joel Miller had been on his own for too long.

The least you could get him was a date. Or even just laid.

Likes: Long walks on the beach

Actually…he hadn’t seen a coastline in ten years, at least. You backspaced slowly and then lowered Joel’s phone.

What did that old grump like to do, anyway?

In all the years you’d been living next door to Mr. Miller, you hadn’t seen him take pleasure in much of anything besides mowing his lawn, rolling his eyes, and screaming like a fiend alongside your dad at whatever game was on.

Likes: College football. Quality time with friends :-)

Nope. Corny as fuck. Backbackbackback.

You wiggled your thumbs over the keyboard in muted concentration. You knew you didn’t have much longer. Joel was currently engrossed in one of the three things he loved most—mowing long, careful rows through his backyard—and you were supposed to be watching the season finale of the Mandalorian while he did. That had been the pretext of your visit, anyway. It’d been a little over an hour since he’d stepped outside and a little under thirty since you’d let your curiosity get the better of you and seized his phone, so you figured he’d be back soon.

You had to think of something witty, and do it quick.

Feeling inspiration strike a second later, you typed:

Likes: Piña Coladas. Getting caught in the rain. Making love at midnight in the dunes on the cape.

Perfect. Easy. Everybody loved that song in the ‘70s.

Having thus put the finishing touch on Joel’s profile, you leaned back and let out a contented sigh. You scrolled. Flicked through photo after photo of your very own hand-picked selection and smiled, feeling proud.

You’d started him off strong and suave with a picture from Tommy’s wedding, wearing a tux that fit him well. Then a cool, casual snap of him at a brewery. A photo taken out on the lake, life jacket snug and showing off a sliver of his broad, bare chest. Then a picture of him at your graduation—you made sure to crop yourself out—followed by a candid shot of him playing dress-up with his niece. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that all the yet-unknown, lovely folks of Hinge would eat this shit up.

You set the radius to 100 miles. Beefed up the age range and gender preferences to include virtually every living soul over 30, tweaked a few more prompts to be cooler, then scrolled through his newly-minted profile. Again.

Oh, and— shit, wait.

Quickly, you toggled to the phone’s settings and disabled all notifications for Hinge. Then you grabbed the app and wrestled it somewhere deep within all the utilities ones that no one ever used. This had to stay hidden for now.

And, just as you stretched your thumb to make a couple last changes to his page, the back door thundered open.

Joel stumbled in, half-hunched. Rubbing his face with a towel and treading slow, heavy steps through the living room. With your heart about to burst from your throat and your impulses blown to shit, you panicked and crammed his phone in your shorts—like, in them.

Joel’s phone was just then settling above the groove of your ass when the man collapsed on the loveseat across the room. Instinctively, you drew your legs to your chest as Joel groaned and pulled the towel away from his face.

“The beast is at it again,” he declared, expression grim.

Before you could ask who ‘beast’ might be, he clarified:

“Marlene’s shit-for-brains labradoodle won’t quit diggin’ holes under my fence. Whole thing’s gonna fall if he—”

You didn’t mean to be rude, but you had to tune out the rest of what he said; your butt squirmed against the sofa as your neighbor’s phone traveled perilously down and took partial lodging between your cheeks. Then stuck.

There was no way you were getting caught like this. One stray phone call or text and you would have the world’s most jarring ringtone buzzing straight up your ass. And a very uncomfortable conversation with Joel, to be sure.

So, while he droned on about the chaos being wrought by the paws of old Sparky, you nodded to the window.

“Aw shit, Mr. Miller…did he just…dig up another?” You feigned surprise as you stared over Joel’s shoulder at a hole that didn’t even exist. Then, when he’d jumped to his feet and growled ‘No fuuuuuckin’ shot’ as he made his way over to the window, you acted fast and pulled the phone out of your ass and stuck the old, cracked thing on top of the coffee table where it’d been last and stood.

Before he could see—or say—anything else, you seized your own phone and made a swift beeline for the door.

Shouting over your shoulder, probably sounding like a fucking lunatic but not particularly caring either way:

“DAD’SCALLINGMEGOTTAGOMISTERMILLERBYE.”

And you left. You had no desire to explain your baseless, bullshit observation or why his phone was currently covered in a thin sheen of sweat from your butt.

You’d never seen so many roses in your life.

Joel Miller could legitimately give the whole Bachelor franchise a run for its money with all the goddamn virtual flowers he’d been getting from his Hinge admirers.

It’d been a week before you’d finally gotten the chance to abduct his phone again and check his ‘likes’ for yourself. Honestly, you hadn’t been expecting much—Joel was hot, but more so in a niche-ish sort of DILF-sexy way. You figured he’d be more of an acquired taste, really.

Once you’d scrolled through just over a hundred different messages, you realized at once how wrong you were.

‘GNAWING at the bars of my enclosure.’

‘Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry, I mean, Daddy?’

‘Need you in a way that is concerning to feminism.’

‘Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.’

And that was truly just the tip of the iceberg when it came to all the wild, chaotic, and horny messages Joel had received over the last week. You couldn’t believe it.

You got to firing off responses as fast as you could. Sitting cross-legged on the back porch while your dad, Joel, Tommy, and a dozen other neighbors were busy grilling burgers and soaking up as much sun as possible.

The only other person who hadn’t joined them was Tess.

She peered over your shoulder and fought back a laugh.

“That man is a fuckin’ menace to society, I swear.”

“No, we’re a menace to society. All about team effort,” you corrected her as you typed up a lightning-quick ‘Hey ;-)’ to each message, fingers moving fast.

“He doesn’t even know you’re doing this!”

“He will soon enough,” you mumbled. Grinning. Then, “Mission’s not over until that old man gets his dick wet.”

You’d probably made it through seventy or so replies and got to go back-and-forth with a couple hot prospects by the time you heard footsteps trailing up the steps—heavy ones that you instantly recognized as Joel’s. Without another word, you exited the app, turned the phone off, and chucked it to Tess, who placed it discreetly onto the porch railing where Joel had left it.

That phone really should have had a passcode on it.

Two weeks later, it did.

You saw it as soon as you’d slid your thumb up the screen in the comfort of Joel’s living room—over at his place pretending to be watching your Star Wars spin-off again—and you felt your heart jump up in your throat.

Your passcode is required to enable Face ID.

Since when the fuck did your neighbor have a passcode? Or even know how to make Face ID a thing? Or use it?

These questions and a dozen more were thrumming through your skull when you heard the screech of the back door once again. This time, instead of taking his sweet time on his yard work, Joel had only been gone five minutes. You swallowed a scream and did that dumb, reflexive thing you had before: shoved his phone in your shorts and thrust yourself back into the couch.

Practically shaking when Joel stepped into the room.

Of course, he wasn’t sweaty. His shirt wasn’t smudged with flecks of dirt or swaths of green from the grass outdoors, nor were his Wranglers the slightest bit muddied. He was perfectly clean in a plain white tee, jeans, and boots. You couldn’t help but notice how tight the short sleeves of his shirt hugged his biceps, and then you realized it was because his arms were crossed.

Joel regarded you with a look as long and as careful as the rows he was supposed to be mowing out in the middle of his backyard right now, and he let out a breath.

“Guess what,” he said.

“What?” you squeaked.

Your eyes widened without meaning to, and when Joel plopped down on the sofa beside you, you felt a shiver pulse through your body. Joel stretched his big, wide, denim-clad legs out as he leaned back, and you had to force yourself not to jump when his knee struck yours.

“I’ve gotta brush up on my Gen Z lingo,” he announced.

Wh— okay? What the fuck?

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, and feeling the slightest twinge of relief at this declaration, Joel started to tug something out of his pocket. It took you several seconds to see it, then a couple more just to work out what it was, then Joel was squeezing it. Flipping it open.

An old Motorola Razr? When did he get that?

“See, I, uh— met a girl last week,” Joel resumed, plainly careless in the way he fingered the thing in his grip.

Your chest tightened. Had he really?

“She’s a little on the…younger side. You might know her.”

Oh shit. Was Joel banging one of your friends?

You swallowed hard and nodded for him to continue. You pretended not to notice when he flipped the phone open and left it that way—starting to thumb through the keys to do something on it. You fought the urge to take a look.

To distract yourself, you watched his face instead. It was lax.

“She said somethin’ kinda funny last night, and I—” Joel paused to let out a breath of a laugh, and you nearly broke down to steal a glance at what he was looking at.

Narrowly, you resisted. And it was a lucky thing, too—the next thing you knew, Joel’s gaze was fixed right on you.

“Y’know what she said to me?” he asked.

“What?”

Joel blinked. You probably should’ve heard the click of a little button on the phone he was holding, but you didn’t.

You did feel the vibration of another phone under your ass a second later, though. That one was unmistakable.

That one was Joel’s.

Out of one more stupid, senseless instinct, you coughed. Loud. Like the momentary scratch in your throat might reasonably mask the sound and sensation of a small hunk of metal buzzing between your butt and the couch.

It didn’t, of course. You sat and stared at Joel as it rang.

Slowly, he brought the Razr to his ear. At one corner of his mouth, you could discern the first inklings of a smirk.

“Wanna answer that?” he hummed, nodding to your rear.

Fuuuuuuuuuck.

You weren’t sure how you even had the strength to do it, but you reached back and plucked his phone out of your shorts. With your gaze still stuck to his, you answered it. Put it to your own ear out of habit—and a little bit of fear.

“Hello?” you said, stupidly.

“Hey.”

The second you heard Joel’s voice rumble out beside you on the couch and across the line, your heart dropped. Ironclad confirmation of all you didn’t want to believe.

You squeezed his phone even tighter and sincerely hoped the man couldn’t hear the wild, erratic beat of your heart as it throbbed and thudded in your chest. The noise was almost too loud for you to hear anything else, too fast-paced and frantic to discern another word until:

“Can you tell me what a ‘Hinge DILF’ is, darlin’?”

You rose to your feet, scarcely even realizing it.

You had to get off of that couch, had to get away from him and come clean, as calmly as you possibly could. The phone fell out of your grasp just as he ended the call.

“Shit— Mr. Miller— I-I-I-I can explain.”

Swiftly, suddenly, Joel recovered his phone from the floor. He set the other device aside and propped his feet on the coffee table, lounging a little more comfortably now that he could scroll the phone at his leisure. Before he did, though, he made a point to wipe the screen.

“Nothin’ I love more than ass sweat on my phone.”

Your cheeks heated to a thousand degrees.

You wished the ground below your feet would open up and swallow you whole. It was like you were floating somewhere over your own body, unable to move or speak. From this vantage point, and still paralyzed with fear, you could see Joel opening Hinge on his phone.

“Crazy how long the stuff sticks,” he mused aloud, starting to peruse his likes, “When you got up and high-tailed it outta my place that first day, I thought I must’ve been seein’ things—what with how wet my phone was.”

You would’ve closed your eyes in utter resignation if you’d had the strength. Joel had known this entire time.

The old man continued to scroll, cavalier as ever.

“I figured ya might’ve been havin’ some…personal time of your own on my phone—maybe your old man blocked PornHub on the home WiFi or somethin’—but then I kept diggin’ around…” As Joel spoke, his actions seemed to mirror his words, and he was really scoping out the app. Combing through profiles and roses and streams of old messages that you had sent, then shrugged to himself.

“…and all I found added up to jackshit,” he concluded.

This time, you managed to meet his gaze when he looked back up, but really, you hardly saw him at all.

Joel was smiling.

“I did see a text, though.”

He waved his phone, where a few messages were visible, though not legible, to you. You didn’t try to read them.

“‘Welcome to Hinge! Reply ‘C’ to confirm your phone number and get started,’” Joel rattled the first one off.

Of course you’d forgotten to delete the fucking text.

“And I know my memory’s all but gone to shit, but I didn’t remember ever replying ‘C’ myself, so then—”

“It was a joke,” you choked out, cutting him off.

Joel cocked a brow. He leaned even further back in his seat and crossed his feet. You were already vomiting words before he could attempt to get one out himself.

“N-Not a funny joke,” you clarified, voice shaking, “Fuckin’ stupid as shit, I just wanted to see— y’know— me and Tess were talkin’ ‘bout how hard it must be…in your…in your fifties— it’s just hard finding somebody.”

Joel didn’t know what you were trying to say, and his face showed it. You didn’t know what you were saying.

“So you think my sex life is a joke?” Mr. Miller quipped.

“NO!”

You hadn’t meant to say it so loudly. You quieted down:

“No. I didn’t…no. I just wanted to see who would…”

“…wanna fuck me?” he finished, blunt as ever.

If your face had been hot before, surely it was about to burst into flames right now. You didn’t get like this—not around Joel Miller, not around anybody—but here you were, chest constricting with humiliation and shame, wishing you were anywhere in the world but the place you were, and Mr. Miller was smiling, he was still smiling, and it was all you could do to just stand there and…stare.

And wince when tears started to prick at your waterline.

As if this day couldn’t get any more mortifying, you were actually crying in front of your neighbor, nose stinging and beginning to leak. Stupid, stuttered gasps leaving your lungs like you’d just learned to breathe yesterday, vision blurring the man in front of you and then dimming, momentarily, as you brought your hands up to your eyes and tried to shield this wretched display from his view.

You paced a couple hasty, blind steps away. You pressed the heels of your palms so hard into your sockets that stars started to dance behind your lids and a pain began to stab your brain. You continued to sob. It was just then dawning on you that you’d have to make a run for it now and never set foot near this man’s property again. You’d have to lock yourself away, never get to go to a barbecue again, probably face a restraining order from Joel and—

“FUCK!” you shrieked.

With all the grace of a giraffe on roller skates, you tumbled over Joel’s end table and took a nosedive into the floor. Your hands had no choice but to fly out in front of you in an effort to break your fall, and of course, they had to land on a lone, stray beer bottle on the ground.

One lovely little container of Corona Extra went splintering under the weight of your whole body, and briefly, before the thing exploded beneath your palm, you swore you could’ve heard a tiny, self-righteous voice:

‘¡La Vida Más Fina!’

Fuck you, Corona.

You’d never been more embarrassed in your life. Even if the bottle had managed to roll far enough to nick just the edge of your hand, slicing a minuscule strip of skin beneath your thumb, you still wanted to cry even harder. You looked pathetic, crumpled up beside this man’s couch with your wrist pinched between your fingers and your tears paving two steady streams down your cheeks. Hedged in by a field of shattered glass, you cast a look around yourself and whimpered. Then cursed. And cried.

You heard the shards around you crackle and snap even more when a pair of boots stepped in and crushed them.

Joel made easy work of your deadweight frame—your body hanging limply in his grip as he hoisted you up to your feet. Your vision was still as bleary as it had ever been, nose running and stinging and still struggling to take in breaths, but Mr. Miller’s hold was steady. He guided you into the kitchen and straight over to the sink.

Water ran. Wounds stung. A couple more sobs clawed out of your throat while Joel held your hand under the faucet, dabbed a paper towel across your hand to dry it off, then disappeared, momentarily, to retrieve what you assumed would be a first aid kit from the other room.

Instead, Mr. Miller returned with a fifth of Maker’s Mark. You eyed the bottle of whiskey in his hand and grimaced.

“N-Nuh-uh,” you blubbered, emphatic, “No way, man.”

“Uh, yes way, man,” Joel mimicked your voice, nose scrunching for dramatic effect as he elevated the pitch, “Like, you totally need this antiseptic so you don’t die.”

“I don’t s-sound like that!”

“I don’t so-o-und like that!”

Of course your neighbor couldn’t be assed to show an ounce of compassion to another person for more than two minutes. He drew closer with the whiskey. When he grabbed your wrist, you huffed and shook your head.

“That’s gonna hurt. I don’t want it.”

“Oh, cry me a fuckin’ river.”

Though as soon as he’d said it, the man winced a little. Maybe that had been a bit too harsh. You sniffled hard.

“Fuck you, Miller— I-I was doin’ you a favor!” you spat.

Tears and snot becoming the fuel for part of your newfound indignation, you shot Joel a look and scowled. You wrenched your hand out of his grip and made a point to rebuff the bottle of liquor as you moved back, shaking your head again. Mr. Miller stood there and watched you.

“Only time you ever leave this fuckin’ house is when you’re hangin’ out with my dad or your brother, you haven’t got shit else to do around here but mow that fuckass lawn and jerk off— I was tryin’ to help you out! Get you laid like any normal guy would like, but no, no— you’ve gotta go and be the world’s biggest ASSHOLE about it, just like you are with everything else. I’m sorry.”

Deep down, you were and weren’t remorseful at all.

You were sorry you’d gotten caught, ate shit over a side table and got your palm fucked up by a bottle of beer.

You weren’t as sorry that Joel seemed to be regarding you as a joke now—something to tease and poke fun at. Trying to pour his makeshift disinfectant over your cut and force you to obey his orders because you were just too dumb to figure it out yourself, then mock your voice.

Then watch you with tightly knit brows, eyes scanning your face with a skepticism that was almost palpable.

Condescending old fuck.

“What? Ain’t got nothin’ to say to that?” you seethed. Emotions running high—and humiliation momentarily usurped by anger—you stared him down and dared him to speak. You didn’t care what he thought of you now.

If it had been in your interest to care, you probably would’ve looked a little harder at what the man’s body language was communicating to you in the meantime. What his mouth was evidently loath to say, his hands and feet hardly displayed the same reticence: he set the bottle aside and stepped closer to you. He stared back.

It wasn’t until he’d approached near enough, had closed the space between your body and his with barely more than an inch or two to spare, and glowered down at you, face frozen with a frown, that your brain got the hint that he might not be the type to chicken out. Or back down.

He reached behind you and opened a cabinet.

“A favor,” Joel echoed, and you could tell he was trying his hardest not to replicate your intonation as he said it.

He’d just marginally checked his douchebag predilection, was closing the cabinet door beside your head and was starting to rock back on his heels, when a little cylindrical glass swung low in your line of vision. Joel held the tumbler loosely, then lifted it and pointed with his pinky.

“You,” he said, accusing, “fuckin’ suck at those—favors.”

Your stomach clenched at the sight of a slight, impish smile just then starting to frame the sides of his mouth. The featherlight grip he kept fastened on the glass, the ease of his stance, even the jab of that stupid, rough finger, still pointing at you, all bordered on nauseating. You fixed him with a pitiless look as he leaned in again.

And when his knuckles brushed your side, you tried not to flinch. You arrested his gaze without a word and let the smug, sun-tanned, sweet-as-shit-pie son of a bitch have his fill ogling you back and closing in on the bottle.

“What? Having half the tri-county population on Hinge ready to suck you off isn’t really your style?” you jeered.

Joel popped the cap and poured his drink. He shrugged.

“They ain’t you.”

As casual as if he’d just told you the weather forecast for the week ahead, his favorite place to eat, or the mundane specs on a construction project he’d been saddled with for months. Nothing of note. Nothing unknown. Just a routine admission of truth that sent your head reeling.

“You wh— w— well that’s—” you stammered, equal parts astonishment and exasperation as he continued to feed you steady, unrelenting doses of that look: “GROSS!”

You were standing stock-still, forced to watch that blip of a grin morph into a full smirk, slowly. He had to be joking.

“You are…fucked in the head, Miller. That’s not funny.”

Now you were the one pointing. Joel was drinking.

“—and I’d never in a million years even think—”

The side of your palm began to throb. It bled.

Blood was trickling down your wrist, roaring like thunder in your skull as your heart thudded away, impatient.

Impatient.

Impatient, impatient, impleeeeeeeeease fuck me, Joel, PLEASE!

Your libido a filthy, rotten traitor to all the rest of your better sense, you continued to stand there and suffocate on words like something akin to acid reflux in the throat. Your thighs snapped together, your back collapsed with equal force against the rigid set of cabinets behind it, and slowly, almost excruciating this time, you felt the pulse between your legs give way to a bout of warmth.

That cockhungry slut governing your bodily functions was actually getting wet for this asshole, and you were powerless to the effects of her wily, DILF-lusting ways.

“Gross,” you uttered out loud, again, reflexively—face overlaid with a look of horror as the heat began to pool.

And, as though the man had been endowed with the gift of infrared vision, or else just an external thermostat to gauge how hot you’d gotten between your two sweating legs, Joel brightened. His gaze flirted down to that soft, unseasonably tepid spot with a knowing look and then—

“Gross,” he parroted back. The smile behind his eyes said he wasn’t disgusted at all, just teasing some more.

When he pinched your wrist to get back to the business of blotting out blood with a paper towel, he kept that smug look painted across his creased, ancient face.

“‘S’that why ya made a Hinge for me? ‘Cause I’m gross?” Mr. Miller applied pressure to the still-bleeding cut, then directed your other hand to hold the paper towel in place.

You shook your head.

“No,” you started, trying not to wince before he turned. Again, the man ambled out of the kitchen, only to come back momentarily—finally—with a long-awaited bandaid.

“I mean…yeah, you’re a perv, but that’s beside the point.”

Joel exhaled a little harder through his nose. He pressed the underside of your palm again, ensuring the bloodflow had stopped, then swapped the napkin for the bandage. The adhesive might’ve been in place for two seconds before he was retreating again; this time, to the fridge.

“Then what was the point?”

Joel yanked one door open. You glanced over your shoulder to the one that led out to the back porch.

The longer you stayed, the harder it would be to go.

Go.

GO!

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly.

From where you were standing, you weren’t sure why you’d decided to make Joel the profile in the first place. Your curiosity, for one thing, had been one hell of a persuasive motivator to getting you scrolling on Joel’s behalf, but why did you care one way or another if your neighbor was drowning in pussy or enduring Sahara desert-levels of dick deprivation at his big age? It sure as fuck wasn’t your business to care, and nothing about Joel Miller had ever intrigued you consistently enough to venture an inquiry about his personal life before, so…

“Why?”

Joel was looming overhead again, the force of his presence like a fist through your chest. In an effort to steady your breaths, you turned your gaze away from his.

“I should go.” You couldn’t have dodged his last question more clumsily, or pathetically, if you’d tried, “It’s…late.”

Outside, the midday sun was still high in the sky, and there was nowhere in the world you had to be, Joel knew.

“Okay,” he said at length.

Then he leaned in closer and held something out.

“At least take one for the road, alright?”

And he was smiling, almost kind.

You looked down and—shit.

There it was, clear as day: a creamy piña colada popsicle.

The sneaky, conceited motherfucker had remembered what you’d written in his dating profile. You winced.

You accepted the cocktail popsicle without a word.

‘Thanks’ or ‘You’re a fucking pig, Miller’ likely would’ve sufficed for a farewell on any account, but by then, you were far too shell-shocked—and frankly, incredulous—of everything that had just transpired over the course of the last thirty minutes. You didn’t thank Mr. Miller, nor insult him by likening him to swine or any other thing; you left.

Your feet carried you fast out of his house.

Down the steps of his back porch, across pristine, power-washed concrete, past seemingly endless beds of hibiscus blossoms, marigolds, cape plumbago, and those god-awful periwinkle plants—who the fuck enjoyed gardening in a heatwave, anyway?—you practically sprinted away in a fugue state until the toes of your shoes hit the edge of your lawn, then you stopped.

“FUCK!”

You’d forgotten your phone.

It felt as though your body were turning in slow motion, and for a second, you seriously considered abandoning the device altogether and begging your dad for another. Then you set your sights on the wide, uninviting exterior of the back of your neighbor’s house, the place you’d just been hauling ass to escape, and almost rolled your eyes.

Joel was leaning back against the frame of his open back door, arms crossed, expression smug as he watched you.

It was extraordinarily difficult to throw a half-decent punch at a man while wielding a popsicle in your hand.

“Give it back!” you barked.

“Give what back?” Joel grinned, easily side-stepping what struck him as neither a punch nor a slap—in fact, the hit never struck him at all. He laughed as it missed.

“You know what.”

Of course, you’d gone back. Of course, Joel had tried to play dumb and pretend like you’d never left your phone behind at all. And of course, he hadn’t budged until you’d threatened to shove your left foot so far up his ass his dentist would be picking toes out of his teeth for weeks.

‘Violent little thing, ain’t ya?’ Joel had replied, chuckling.

Then, when he’d attempted to brush you aside with a patronizing wave of his hand and an admonition to run on back to daddy and quit buggin’ me, all bets were off. You’d aimed right for center mass and nearly dropped your frozen treat with how hard you’d shoved his chest.

That was how the conversation had started.

That was how the so-called ‘altercation’ had come to be—Joel easily swatting you off and indulging you no further than to chuckle and laugh and taunt you like an older brother who was faced with a sibling half his size—and all the while, your injured hand was throbbing again. White, sticky rivers of melted popsicle now trickled down your wrist instead of blood, and you were just as pissed.

“Listen—” Joel began, catching a fist meant for his face.

“Gimme my fuckin’ phone, Miller!”

“—you—”

“Can go to hell.”

“—owe me.”

“Owe you?!”

You stopped. Your weak, one-handed assault was halted just long enough to peer into Joel’s eyes, and the gaze that met yours was solid. Sincere as you’d ever seen it and blinking slow as the chocolate browns of his irises moved lower over you. Whether they were drinking you in, sizing you up, or merely plotting your demise by calculated turns, you could have been no more certain, or prepared to hear, what came out of his mouth next:

“Wanted to do me a favor, didn’t ya? C’mere.”

And the next thing you knew—or felt—was one thick finger hooking into your belt loops. One swift tug in his direction, another light push toward the old wood railing to your side, and then more fingers crowding in, crawling over, seizing the coarse denim material and pulling hard like the thing was the single most annoying impediment.

“Take these off,” Joel grunted.

You were too stunned to move. Even breathing felt like a chore, every last sense elevated to impossible heights, it wasn’t surprising at all when Joel just went and did it all himself. In a blink, your shorts were yanked down and then dropped to your ankles, your legs guided backward in shuffled steps, and then, nearly tripping in the fabric at your feet, you fell back, ass smacking the flat railing. You winced at the warm, knotty texture of the cedar beneath you and, out of habit, shot the old man a look.

Joel cocked a brow in response, likely already knowing what that glare from you was intended to convey, and instead of giving voice to any words himself, just sank.

Lower and lower and lower, until his knees were the only things holding him upright on the floor before you and his hands were pressing—melting—into your thighs.

Audibly, his kneecaps cracked.

You couldn’t help but giggle.

While Mr. Miller’s mouth moved dangerously close to a place you should’ve been appalled to see him go, all you felt capable of doing in that absurd moment, it seemed, was laugh. You gripped the thick white column beside you, scooted back slightly until you were in a comfier seated position, then snagged your lower lip between your teeth to contain the sound, but it was of no use.

Joel was both drooling and scowling between your legs.

“That funny, huh?” he managed in a low, ragged breath, “Sound’a some crackin’ joints on a man as old as me?”

“Yeah,” you said. Smug, for once.

Admittedly, any other normal person in your position would’ve been concerned with about a million different, more pressing issues—namely, your neighbor and dad’s best friend sticking his face between your legs—but really, after all the frivolity, commotion, and fucking insane behavior the two of you that day, it was like your brain had logged off and left the body to its own devices.

You didn’t mind that for right now.

When Joel’s tongue grazed the space between the cusp of your panties and inner thigh, you really didn’t mind.

Fuck it. If this was the favor he’d wanted after all, so be it.

As if reconsidering the foray of his mouth for the time being, Joel tilted back a little: just far enough to get his hands on your underwear and start tearing those down your hips too. One short, hot puff of air from his lips was a bliss unto itself, and your knees instinctively kicked up. With the thin white fabric barely halfway down one calf, you hooked your ankle over Joel’s shoulder and cursed.

“My daddy’s gonna kill you for this, Mr. Miller.”

And, for what felt like the thousandth time, Joel smiled.

Bigger this time, as if to show he didn’t really care at all what the man next door was liable to say or do about his present endeavor as long as he got to stay. You let him.

He pressed a kiss to your slick, puffy lips and hummed.

“Fine by me.”

Without another word the tip of the man’s tongue glided up the length of your slit and curled in, drawing your arousal between his lips in a hungry sort of kiss, and then sank even deeper. Going nose-deep in just one go, the old man looked positively obscene burying his face so far inside; his features alone a cruel, unseemly sort of fixture between legs as smooth and supple and warm as yours—how did a man so many years your senior get to be so lucky?—and somewhere further, in the darkest recesses of your mind, the sight sparked desire. A hunger, really.

Seeing that silver, stubbled chin getting drenched in your wetness, the weathered lines of his face growing even deeper with each new movement of his tongue, the strain in his neck with muscles that were firm and taut and so visibly aged with decades and decades of life—

You adored it.

A man Joel’s age never looked more out of place and still somehow perfectly fit for the space between your thighs.

You lowered the hand that was cradling your popsicle, braced your weight against the railing with the other, and then pressed on either side of his skull with your legs, quiet moans tumbling one after the next off your tongue.

“‘S’all for me?” Joel breathed, licking and suckling kisses along your clit, “This sweet, needy pussy’s all mine?”

“All yours.”

You scarcely recognized the sound of your own voice. Your legs were shaking. Though you loved to see him make you come undone, piece-by-piece, you also couldn’t bring yourself to stare a second longer, stimulation too great and his tongue too good.

If he kept going at a rate like this, you’d have no choice but to cum, and you didn’t want to be done just yet. Or ever. You refocused your gaze to look down and tell him as much, when your mouth fell open around a gasp, rather than words, and the weight in your hand fell away.

Swiftly, Joel took the popsicle in his own grasp and slid it down to the vicinity of his lips and tongue, now grinning.

The thing was half-melted by now, having sufficiently soaked half your forearm and leaving a vague, sugary aroma in its wake, but it was still intact. Still unlicked—unlike you—and still perfectly cool and light and long. The off-white hue was almost taunting in the way it winked and caught rays of the sunlight shining behind you, and as the man slid it even lower, you jumped back.

“Joel,” you hissed.

“What?” he hummed.

“That’s not—” You blinked, swallowing a moan.

“Not what?”

One warm, callused hand pressed the tip of the frozen thing to your bundle of nerves—the first contact it had had since Joel’s tongue—and you let out a low whine.

Even after all that time in the sun, the popsicle seared your soft, wet, aching parts with a biting cold you’d never thought possible. It sent waves of a strange, trembling pleasure coursing through your lower half and left your head with no choice but to moan. And fist Joel’s hair in a vice-like grip when he angled the wooden stick lower.

Suddenly, the white, sticky head slipped from your clit to the rim of your yet-untouched entrance, and that made your muscles leap to attention once again. You cursed.

“Not what, honey?” Joel pressed, with affection—and as he did, sank the tip of the popsicle deeper inside you.

“Th— that’s not—” You were shaking your head, racking your brain for any trace of the English language and failing miserably, “Not��doesn’t…g-go there, fuck.”

Joel sank the pretty, dribbling popsicle another inch inside your pussy and sucked a whistle through his teeth. If your senses weren’t as raw and utterly shot as they were, you likely would’ve seen the expression on his face transform from one of pleasure and amusement to awe, eyes darkening at the sight of your hole opening wider.

“That’s it, baby, take it,” he cooed, voice low.

Another couple soft utterances of ‘Joel,’ and your legs only parted wider. Free to grip his hair, the railing, the column beside you, or just the insides of your own palm as the icy sensation sank inwards and into your body, you whimpered. Your hips, instinctively, bucked toward the source, and you heard Joel’s groan join your sounds.

He withdrew his new toy just far enough to make you mewl for him again, then drove it deeper. With the friction of that, a stream of white went trickling out.

Joel couldn’t help himself; he flattened his tongue against the stream and licked you clean from the spot where he’d split you open to the cusp of your clit. He circled that place over and over, worked the object in his hand even further inside and back out again, then, getting a taste of your arousal with the white, wet, sticky-sweet juices starting to mix together, he moaned.

It was a guttural sound, something just shy of the ‘feral’ demarcation but at least ten steps ahead of desperate. You relished the gruff, throaty sound reverberating from his lips to your cunt, the way your walls fluttered around it and for him, and were just about to throw your head back and grind your hips even harder when it stopped.

Joel stopped. He started to get up.

Quickly for him, but slow as molasses from your point of view, the man straightened from his place on the hard wooden floor and expelled a breath. His chest heaved, and his torso twisted to one side, momentarily, to get the strain out of his back as best he could. From where you sat, the spattering of grey in his beard seemed to glisten even brighter with the sheen of your arousal now sticking in it. He wiped his chin and reached in between your legs.

“Got any favors left in ya, sweet pea?” he smirked.

Fortunately for you, it didn’t sound like a question at all, and didn’t appear to be intended that way, as the next second had Joel pulling the largely-spent popsicle out of your slick and straight into your mouth. He didn’t inquire whether he could push it down on your tongue and make you taste your own cunt on the thin wooden stick, but the smile on your lips assured him that was fine by you.

Nor did he ask for your permission to flip you around, bend you over his porch railing, and take your hips in his hands. You were still sucking down the last traces of sugar and citrus and a vaguely tangy taste when you felt the head of something else prod your soft, wet folds.

Much bigger—and warmer—than the thing that had breached you before, Joel nudged at your hole with the tip of his cock, coated the head of it in light, gentle circles, and sucked in a breath. He didn’t have to ask, and you didn’t need to answer; he just parted your walls with the force of one steadying thrust, and the pulse of that sharp, dizzying pleasure was back in an instant.

Shared this time, and manifesting in sounds from you and Joel alike: you gritting the stick between your teeth and managing muffled cries of his name and whatever expletives you could scream, Joel with ragged breaths.

For a man who ostensibly hadn’t fucked since the Clinton administration, he was off to a pretty good start.

Joel gripped your hip even tighter and started to saw his cock in and out of your dripping, pliant hole, his other fist finding purchase in your hair for more leverage. His thrusts were shallow enough at first to get you used to the new stretch, and you could feel him making space in a way no man’s girth ever had before. You couldn’t see his face, but you imagined it had come to settle into a mix of guilt, rigid composure, and pussydrunk pleasure.

“Good girl,” Joel murmured behind you. Then, groaning, “Good fuckin’ girl, keep squeezin’ my cock just like that.”

You felt a slap on the ass and the speed of his thrusts pick up in turn. Your mouth fell open in a moan, and the stick on your tongue almost slipped out of place when, shortly, Joel leaned over your body and pulled you back. He snagged the popsicle stick between his teeth just in time to get your back flush with his front—in perfect position to get fucked against the nearest column.

Breaths coming out in short, ragged grunts in your ear, Joel teased the side of your face with the stick, then nudged it back in your mouth. You sucked it softly.

“One more favor, baby?” he panted against your cheek.

You nodded, not knowing what it was but that you wanted to be the one giving it. Joel pulsed inside you.

With every stab of his cock, every string of your wet, messy, combined arousals making the most profane noises imaginable between your body and his, you were squeezing him tighter and teetering on release. Joel’s hand snaked down between your legs, and just as the head of his cock nudged against that spot, you keened.

“Any favor?” Joel groaned and nipped at your earlobe.

The heft of his stomach and chest made for a warm, sturdy place to start rocking your hips, greying peach fuzz at the base of his belly a small comfort as you writhed against his body and whined that you’d do anything, anything he wanted, as long as he let you cum.

Joel’s middle finger found your clit, and you nearly screamed at the welt of pleasure coming to a head. Again, the popsicle stick tumbled out, but neither one of you could be bothered to try and keep it in this time.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

The man behind you didn’t even attempt to conceal his grin as he leaned closer, hugging your body to his while he circled your clit and fucked you harder, lips straying every now and then to press a kiss on your shoulder. He plunged his cock deeper and was met with a squeezing, leaking mess trickling down his length and onto his balls, growing louder with each new wet slap against your ass. The old man was a tease, but he couldn’t hold on forever.

“Wanna fill you up,” Joel groaned.

“Cum inside?” you murmured.

You were barely able to tilt your chin to him, but when you did, he held it—made you look him in the eyes and, for once, give your unequivocal permission to do it then.

And you did.

You were startled to find Joel’s lips crashing against yours in the next second, mouth overwhelmed with the remains of your own taste, his tongue, and a series of relentless, hammering thrusts. It was only a matter of moments, then, before your resolve gave way and his followed suit, and the waves of pleasure between you both manifested in ropes of sticky, hot cum painting your walls. Joel held you closer, as though needing to feel his seed as he fucked you through it, groaning when he felt it start to move with each sharp, stuttered thrust.

You panted in his mouth coming down. You kissed him back. You almost couldn’t believe the sensation between your legs, soon to come dripping out and undoubtedly bound to make a mess all over the floor of Joel’s porch.

Equally unbelievable was the fact that you’d just fucked your neighbor in broad daylight, outside, with Marlene’s house directly to your left and your own on the right.

You stared out at the sprawling expanse in front of you—Joel’s impeccably kempt yard, one of the reasons why you were standing where you were just then—and, as you’d found yourself before, you felt the urge to laugh.

Not on account of Joel’s old, ailing knees, this time.

Clearly, the man still trying to catch his breath behind you suspected that that might’ve been the case, though, because you felt him shift his weight and grunt, lightly.

“What’s so funny? My knees crack when I cum, too?”

You could feel the smallest of scowls start to take shape, muted momentarily with kisses that he pressed on your cheek, and others, still more teasing, down your neck.

You let him, unfazed and still giggling. Then pointing.

It seemed Joel was loath to detach his lips from your neck—or his cock from the place he’d just stuffed full—but when you lifted your finger to indicate a direction toward the side of his backyard, his senses perked up.

There, along the white picket fence between his yard and Marlene’s, was the furry, merciless, lawn-destroying labradoodle that had been plaguing Joel’s life for years.

The man was out of you in an instant. He yanked his jeans up even quicker, tucking his dick back, clumsily, into its place in a fit of rage, then cupping his hands:

“WILL YOU FUCK THE HELL OFF, SPARKY?!”

#REMEMBER - JUST BECAUSE JOEL PUTS A POPSICLE IN YOUR P*SSY DOES NOT MEAN YOU SHOULD DO THE SAME IRL!!!! I’M SO SERIOUS #PLEASE PROTECT YOUR PH AND DON’T PUT SWEETS DOWN THERE LMAOAKSK #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us fic #the last of us #tlou

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luminnara · 7 months

Text

Unheavenly Creatures | Feyd Rautha/reader (NSFW 18+)

Summary: Feyd Rautha has taken a liking to you, a handmaiden accompanying your mistress on a diplomatic visit to Giedi Prime. He decides it's time to add another darling to his collection.

Warnings: knife stuff, blood stuff, mentions of murder, sex, a lil cannibalism, sex sex sex, dubcon-ish tones? lots of biting, it's feyd rautha it's not gonna be all sunshine, but he is also not as terrible as canon entirely so idk

Word count: 6k

Check out my feyd rautha playlist!

Tags: @austinswhitewolf @aeilani @maneater17 @serrendiipty

The Harkonnen palace was a cold place, not in the sense that the air was crisp and you could see your own breath, but rather that the austerity of its halls and monochromatic decor felt positively frigid. As if even the buildings weren’t meant to harbor life on this toxic, forsaken rock anymore. Everything you had seen of Giedi Prime so far had felt the same—stark, brutal, inhospitable. A barren wasteland with blinding white skies and dark acid rain.

And yet, House Harkonnen seemed to thrive beneath the black sun, growing numerous and powerful and rich. Before arriving, you had heard horror stories, rumors of what Baron Vladimir and his nephews were like, none of them pretty. When you had been informed you’d been chosen to accompany your own House’s leaders on a diplomatic trip to the Harkonnen homeworld, you’d considered pretending to be sick to get out of it. Faking your own death had seemed like a valid option at that point.

But with little choice of your own, you were forced to follow along as a handmaiden, and from the moment you set foot on Giedi Prime, you were determined to keep your head down and hope that the meetings went smoothly so that you could return to your own planet as quickly as possible. As you walked dutifully behind your Lady, hands folded and eyes trained on your feet, you couldn’t help but wrinkle your nose at the putrid, chemical air, unaware of the dark eyes watching you.

“My nephew, na-Baron Feyd Rautha,” Baron Harkonnen rasped, his voice like dry gravel. His words had you glancing up to finally look at what the Harkonnens considered royalty, and what was supposed to be a quick peek turned into a curious stare. The Baron himself was a large man, and he was levitating, wearing a long black robe that touched the ground even while he was so high above it. Tubes connected him to what you could only assume was some sort of breathing apparatus, a dark, spherical thing floating behind him. Standing behind him to his right was a much younger man, dressed in black and staring directly at you.

You felt a chill fly up your spine.

Feyd Rautha tore his eyes away from you and inclined his head in acknowledgement, looking to your Lord and Lady as formal pleasantries were exchanged. You kept your eyes down once more as you finally moved indoors, where the air was fresh and stale at the same time, and the walls were imposing and cold.

You followed along as your Lady was given the grand tour, a journey that ended at the guest wing. You were shown to your room and all but locked inside, left alone to inspect your temporary lodgings. If the rest of the palace was bleak, this was entirely featureless—a single boring bed sat in the center, a small table off to the side. There were no windows, not a shred of natural light despite how high the ceiling was. How anyone could willingly design such a place was beyond you, and you counted yourself lucky to only have to endure it for a short time.

Dinner was served that evening, hosted by the Baron and his nephew. You were permitted to join, dressed in a plain white gown as you sat in silence, doing your best to disappear. You could feel Feyd Rautha’s eyes upon you as you ate and tried to ignore him, cutting into what must have been meat and realizing it was rare at best, perhaps an organ from some large beast. Nonetheless you ate it, finding it adequate and perhaps even tasty, eating in the calm and measured manner expected of you back home.

Suddenly, Feyd barked a laugh. “A pet at the dinner table?”

You glanced up at him and found yourself fascinated once more. His pale skin, nearly white, was completely smooth; you had yet to see a Harkonnen with hair, though you did not know whether they removed it or simply never had it in the first place. His blue eyes were so dark they appeared black in contrast, and as he grinned at you, all you saw were black teeth, and it was somehow beautiful in that brutal, gruesome way of Giedi Prime.

“Do your pets always dine with you?” He rasped, his tone mocking.

“Na-Baron, she is not a pet,” your Lady said sternly, and you felt safe knowing that she would defend you. You were loyal to your House for a reason, after all; you knew your leaders would bring you home safe and sound. “She is my attendant.”

“You must forgive my dear nephew,” the Baron said. “Your customs are not ours.”

You expected a rebuttal, but none came, and Feyd Rautha’s eyes remained glued to you as you ate.

-0-

The negotiations seemed to stretch on.

After dinner, you had helped your Lady retire for the night and then returned to your chamber, laying in bed as you stared at the distant ceiling. All the stories you had heard of the Harkonnens swirled in your mind, and you thought of their recent extermination of House Atreides and shuddered. Your House was desperate to stay in their good graces, you knew, and who could blame them? No one wanted to end up slaughtered like the Atreides.

You told yourself that you were safe. Even if the Harkonnens had lured your Lord and Lady to Giedi Prime under false pretenses, you were only a servant; there was no reason to kill you as well. Aside from Feyd Rautha’s comments at dinner and the stark discomfort of the palace, nothing had happened to make you believe you were a target, and though you knew it was borderline blasphemous, you took some solace in the knowledge that it was more worth their while to kill your masters than you.

When you finally relaxed enough to close your eyes, however, sleep came surprisingly easily, and your dreams were simple and comfortable.

In the morning, you prepared the Lady for the day, and then she and the Lord entered their meeting with the Baron, leaving you alone. There was nothing to do but wander the guest wing, though that only occupied you for a short time as there was absolutely nothing to look at. Nothing in the way of art decorated the walls, and the architecture was so smooth and so plain you quickly grew bored of it. You doubted you would be permitted to participate in anything that even semi-resembled entertainment, and as minutes stretched into hours, you realized your feet had taken you out of the guest wing and into a corridor you had no memory of.

You turned in a circle, seeing nothing and no one familiar, and made the decision to continue on. Surely someone would have informed you of any off-limits areas upon your arrival, and with absolutely no guards in sight, it couldn’t be that bad for you to wander this area as well.

Your steps echoed around you, breaking the oppressive silence of the hall. The architecture was bafflingly different compared to that of your home, where wood and warm stone blended together to create buildings that felt welcoming. On Giedi Prime, everything was harsh and inhospitable—including the people and their homes.

Though your interactions with the Harkonnens had been brief thus far, you could confidently say that they weren’t winning any popularity contests, except perhaps amongst themselves. Nearly everything you’d ever heard about them was bad, and so far, you mostly found them strange; the Baron was fearsome in the way a sick, desperate animal was, with those eyes that followed people as if he were wondering what it would be like to crush their necks in his hands just because he could.

His nephew, on the other hand, was fearsome in the way a predator was. His movements were smooth and confident at dinner the night before, his eyes calculating as if counting how many moves it would take him to press a knife into your gut. You had heard of Feyd Rautha, the pretty boy of Giedi Prime, but you had never seen him before yesterday, and quite frankly, you had expected something else…but then again, what had you even expected at all? The na-Baron was surely cruel just as his uncle was, but he seemed…different.

The clang of metal followed by the sound of a muffled thud startled you out of your thoughts of Feyd, and with a start, you realized you were standing outside a closed door. It was the first noise you’d heard that wasn’t your own all day, and your heart pounded as you quickly stepped back. Perhaps you should run, lest you be caught outside the guest wing. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter at all, as no one has explicitly ordered you to remain in your chamber. And, above all else, perhaps you were curious about what lay on the other side of the door, and you took a step forward again.

It was only a heartbeat later that it opened, revealing Feyd Rautha.

“Well, well,” he said, voice rough, “what do we have here?”

He was dressed in all black, in what you assumed were casual clothes for the Harkonnen royalty.

“Apologies, Feyd Rautha,” you said quickly. “I was passing by and heard a sound.”

You could feel his eyes raking over you as he listened. Then, a smirk crept across his lips, and he help up a bloody dagger.

He did so slowly, and you knew it to be an attempt at intimidation. He wanted you scared. He wanted to shock and disgust the outsider who came from another great house, who had surely never encountered anything like him before.

But you were tougher than that. You may have been a handmaiden for a spoiled aristocrat, but on your planet, hunting was common. You’d had your fair share of field dressing game, and you weren’t one to shy away from a knife.

You eyed the dark blood dripping from the blade, then focused on his face once more. “I apologize if I have caused an interruption.”

“Not at all,” he said, brow twitching as he tilted his head slightly. “Though you are to address me as na-Baron. Only my darlings may use my name.”

“Of course, na-Baron. My apologies.”

“Why are you not in the guest wing, little pet?”

“I have nothing to do, na-Baron.” You shrugged.

This time, he grinned, baring black teeth. If he expected you to cringe away, he would be surprised to find that you seemed almost unimpressed with the display. “So you walk freely, as though you own this palace. I could kill you for the insolence.”

You looked at him boredly.

“I could gut you.” He took a step towards you. “Stick this knife into you. Right. Here.”

He was standing before you, the tip of the blade poking your belly, still grinning. At your lack of reaction, however, the grin faded slightly, nearly faltering.

“Not there,” you replied, a bit amused by his lack of skill.

“What?”

“If you aim to gut me, that’s a terrible place to start.” You wrapped a hand around his and moved the knife over slightly. “This is better.”

He watched your face. “You’re a Bene Gesserit witch.”

“No,” your lip quirked in a small smile. “No, I’m experienced in the ways of hunting and traditional field dressing. Our House is known for them.”

“You’re a hunter? A weak, little thing like you?” He pressed the blade against your dress and laughed.

You considered stepping back, away from the na-Baron and his knife, but you recognized the growing fervor in his eyes. He wanted to hunt, to pursue, to drive the blade forward until he could feel your blood on his skin. Feyd was like a hunting hound, eager to follow the scent of his prey, easily triggered by the chase. So you stood still, studying his pale, smooth face.

“The Lord and Lady enjoy hunting on the estate.” You finally answered. “I often assist in dressing the game after.”

“But have you killed?”

“My uncle took me hunting when I was young. I learned much about the ways of nature and the hunt.”

“You speak so formally,” he taunted, leaning in.

“I do, na-Baron,” you replied curtly. “I do not wish to offend.”

With a sick smirk, he leaned into you even further, lips brushing your ear. “Have you killed a human?”

You watched him from the corner of your eye, and he watched you.

“Na-Baron, I fear I’m lost. I’ll return to the guest wing promptly if you’ll point me in the right direction—“

“Don’t change the subject, pet.” He drew back. “Lying to me is unwise.”

You swallowed hard. “Why do you wish to know?”

“You’ve caught my eye, little one,” he withdrew the blade, leaving the smallest stain on your dress. “And you’ve already told me all I need to know.”

You felt a chill, the back of your neck tingling as you watched him raise the bloody knife and lick it clean. Feyd Rautha was dangerous. More dangerous than you knew.

“Return to the guest wing,” he rasped. “I must attend to my darlings. They grow lonely without me.”

You stared, perplexed, as he strode away, an uneasy feeling washing over you as you turned and hurried back the way you had come. The sooner you could leave Giedi Prime and its unnerving House, the better.

-0-

“What?”

“Hush.” Your mistress scolded you, but you barely heard her.

Your head was too busy spinning.

“You are to remain here,” your Lord repeated. “In the employ of the na-Baron Feyd Rautha.”

Your heart dropped in a sickening way.

“You’ve been so very good to me,” the Lady said. “You’ll serve House Harkonnen very well, I am certain of it.”

“But I-I—I’m…” you paused, trying to catch your breath and quell the panic tightening your chest. “I’m loyal to our House, milady. And I want to return home, to the palace, and serve you.”

“Baron Harkonnen was insistent,” your Lord said flippantly. “It seems Feyd Rautha approached him sometime after our meeting yesterday, and this morning as we finalized the agreements, it was decided you’d be included in the negotiations. Imagine that, a fresh alliance with House Harkonnen and a fine sum for a handmaiden!”

“You…sold me?” You asked, your voice sounding incredibly small.

“Now, I’m sure you’re nervous, but really, these Harkonnens are nothing to worry about. Those nasty rumors back home are simply that, and I’m sure you’ll be well taken care of. Now, we must depart at once, and you are to be shown to the na-Baron’s chambers.”

“Ta ta, dear one!”

And just like that, your entire world was shattered.

As you followed a Harkonnen servant through the corridors, you kept your head down. You felt furious and lost, anger twisting in your gut. So much for loyalty—never before had you been made to feel so easily replaced, and yet they had given you away so willingly you could hardly believe it. Whatever negotiations had been made, whatever new deals struck, you had been deemed unimportant enough to your House to simply be left in the care of a dangerous man, and now you felt your very life was suddenly in grave danger.

“We have arrived, milady,” your guide said timidly, hunching her shoulders and clasping her hands tightly as you turned to look at her.

“Thank you,” you replied, brow furrowed slightly in confusion. “Am I to…enter?”

“Yes, milady,” she seemed to bite the words, not angrily, but in an effort to get them out quickly.

“Is Feyd Rautha inside?”

“Yes.” Came the whispered affirmative.

The bald woman was nearly trembling, and you felt as though perhaps you should be, as well. Feyd Rautha had been intimidating every time you interacted with him, and now that he had made the baffling decision to demand you remain on his planet, you were beginning to think you ought to fear him.

But he was only a man, you reminded yourself as you faced the door. Not a god. Not some supernatural being. The na-Baron was flesh and blood.

With a deep breath, you opened the door.

“You enter unannounced?” A familiar voice rasped.

Feyd Rautha was indeed inside what appeared to be living quarters, and the room seemed lavish by Harkonnen standards. A large bed with black sheets sat against the far wall, before which was a simple sitting area featuring oddly shaped sofas, all black as well. A mirror was mounted on the wall near the bed, and you chose not to wonder about its placement. You spied two doors on either side of the room, and in its center, stood the na-Baron.

“I was told to come here,” you said, voice tinged with irritation.

“And so you have,” he smirked, twirling a dagger in his hand as he approached you. "Obedient."

When he reached you, invading your space and nearly brushing against your chest with his, he caught the way your nostrils flared angrily and grinned. His black teeth, previously so fascinating, brought only annoyance now, much like the rest of him.

“May I ask what exactly is going on, na-Baron?”

“Oh, I simply couldn’t let you leave,” you felt his blade as the flat of it pressed up against your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “I had to have you, pet.”

“I am not a pet,” you spat, unable to contain yourself any longer. “And I demand to know exactly why I’ve been sold as one.”

The knife was pulled away as Feyd circled you. In the mirror near the bed, you could see him looking you up and down, appraising you freely now that the two of you were hidden from the rest of the galaxy.

“Your masters gave you away easily,” he said, stopping behind you. “They did not realize your true potential.”

“My potential?” You hissed, head jerking to the side to watch him from the corner of your eye. “And what might that be, na-Baron?”

In a blink, he had leaned in, rough hands suddenly gripping your sides as he brought his lips to your ear. “Call me Feyd.”

His too-hot breath on your neck and the tone of his voice caused your anger to stutter. “I-I thought only your darlings called you by your name?”

“Oh, it’s a clever pet,” he taunted, nipping your earlobe sharply. When he saw that you stayed still and didn’t flinch, he seemed pleased. “What do you know of my darlings?”

“N-nothing, I don’t even know what that means,” you answered truthfully.

“My darlings,” he began, a hand moving up to brush through your hair, short in the style of your position—former position—within your—former—house. “Are the most beautiful creatures. They are very special to me.”

You were in danger.

You knew it.

“I want you.” He said simply, pressing his lips to the back of your neck, and you knew he meant in every way. “Give yourself freely.”

“Why me?” You asked, mustering your courage to speak above a whisper.

He chuckled at that, running his tongue up your spine to the base of your skull. “You are just right, the perfect addition. You are unafraid. You have a taste for meat. And you have killed.”

You were silent for a moment, jaw squared. “I never told you that.”

His hands were creeping over your hips now, across the front of your dress. When he spoke, his voice was low and heady. “Who was it?”

Another long pause came as you wrestled with yourself, your tongue feeling too big for your mouth as you finally tried to speak.

“My father.”

As Feyd Rautha let out a guttural groan at your admittance, you stared at yourself in the mirror, and nearly didn’t recognize the person you saw.

“You and I are alike, pet,” his hands squeezed at you harshly while his nose pressed into your hair. “I killed my mother.”

A part of you felt sick at the suggestion that you were anything like the monster that was Feyd Rautha Harkonnen. Another part of you felt a strange comfort in the knowledge that you weren’t the only one in the room who had committed parricide.

“I haven’t shared that in a long time,” you admitted.

“Did he fight it?”

You could feel his arousal as he pushed his hips against you, the sensation bringing an unexpected fire to your core.

“Yes.”

“Did he deserve it?”

You stared at yourself in the mirror and saw an unexpected harshness in your eyes, the polite handmaiden now completely absent, replaced by what you had feared you truly were ever since the day of your father’s death; a killer.

“Yes.”

But if you had feared that you were bad for it, that you deserved punishment, Feyd Rautha seemed determined to prove otherwise. He turned you in his arms, never letting go, and brought his lips to yours in a greedy kiss.

“I need you now,” he breathed, almost sounding vulnerable for a moment.

“Take me,” you said against his lips, determined not to stop and think about what exactly you were doing.

If you were going to be kept and tortured by a Harkonnen prince, you may as well enjoy your last moments, right?

Feyd Rautha guided you to his bed in a way that was somehow both smooth and rough, gentle and demanding. He didn’t want to break you, but he wanted to see how far he could bend you before you snapped. He wanted to test you.

Your dress was quickly thrown to the wayside, torn by his dagger, his clothing following suit. As you lay on your back, fully bared to him, he crept over you, eyes taking over your body as he continued his earlier appraisal.

“So strange,” he muttered as he brushed his fingers over the soft hair between your legs.

“Are you…truly hairless?” You asked, eyeing his smooth groin. “You don’t…remove it?”

“Hair is…barbaric.”

You could have laughed at the irony of him of all people calling you a barbarian.

“I do not hate it on you,” he decided after careful consideration. “Perhaps you will keep this, for now.”

You had the odd feeling that you should feel grateful for the honor.

“It will set you apart from my other darlings,” his body moved over yours, eclipsing you as his hand reached between your legs.

He stroked you there, rubbing in a way that wasn’t gentle, wasn’t harsh, and wasn’t patient, all at once. When his lips captured yours once more, your mind spun—but it was a decidedly more pleasant spin than that short while ago when your entire world came crashing down. Feyd Rautha, while somewhat terrifying, was exhilarating, and as his fingers plunged inside of you and his kisses turned into demanding bites, you thought that perhaps this wasn’t so bad.

“That’s it,” he breathed, voice husky. “I want to hear you.”

Your whines and moans filled the heavy air. Feyd Rautha sought to conquer you, you realized; as you came, it wasn’t so much a favor to you as it was an ego boost for him. Either way, you benefited, and as he sheathed himself within you and his hips began rocking back and forth, you were glad for the warm up.

“F-Feyd,” you panted, nails digging into his back as you wrapped yourself around him.

He answered you with a low moan, face hidden in your neck. The na-Baron was merciless, driving into you over and over…but the heat that bloomed inside of you, that feeling that stemmed from your belly and ran all the way to your fingertips…was exhilarating.

He leaned back, one hand gripping your hip harshly, no doubt leaving bruises. The other found your throat and his fingers wrapped around it, squeezing, reminding you who he was. The heir to the Harkonnen throne. The pride of Giedi Prime.

Feyd Rautha.

Your face tingled as he held you, eyes seeking out his. The blue was nearly black, his pupils huge, like a big cat hunting in the dark. He was watching you, frenzied, feral in his ministrations, as if you were his prey and he had finally caught you. Just as your vision began to tunnel he let go and you gasped, gulping in air as he suddenly pulled out of you and rolled onto his back, manhandling you easily as you sank down onto him once more.

His hands were like a vice, pulling your hips down as he pushed up into you, still fucking you mercilessly even in this new position. You would never have expected this from him; you felt too powerful on top of him, too in control of someone who gave you every reason to assume that he wanted to be. That he would be the one weighing down on you, that he would forever and always be hovering over you as he made harsh demands. He was, truly, not as harsh as expected...not that you had ever, for a second, expected to be there with him.

He watched your tits bouncing above him, so much flesh laid bare for him to enjoy, and he soon pulled you down. When you expected him to return to your swollen lips, however, he instead moved his mouth to your chest, greedily sucking and biting your soft skin. He sank his teeth into you, reveling in your sharp gasp, answering it with a beastly groan that was so low and so loud you half imagined it must have shook the walls. The sound had your stomach twisting delightfully, your head fuzzy as Feyd Rautha pulled you closer, closer, closer, until you hardly knew where you ended and where he began. Half-formed thoughts swam in your head, none of them coherent, all of them about him as you desperately clawed at the arms that held you so tightly. He had wanted you, and now he had you, completely, all of you, in every sense of the word.

In that moment, you didn't hate it, or him, or that place; you wanted more. You wanted more of him. As your orgasm mounted, breaths coming in gasps, eyes glued to the pale man below you, you felt happy. Later, you would try to reason with yourself, tell yourself that it was simply chemicals in your brain that brought this on, but in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to do this over and over and over again with him.

"Yes," he rasped, voice muffled by your breasts. You felt the wet heat of his tongue in your cleavage, followed by the sharp bite of his teeth as he pulled you down onto himself. "Take it."

"Feyd," you gasped, eyes squeezed shut as your fingernails dug into his scalp. "Feyd!"

It came out as a half-scream as you felt the sting of his teeth, and it was enough to push you over the edge, plunging down into the abyss that was Feyd Rautha's love. His breath stuttered as his hips drove up against you, a growl sounding from deep within his chest as he came inside of you.

You felt his heart pounding as he held you, a sheen of sweat covering his smooth, pale body. You slumped over him, arms falling onto his shoulders limply. You thought you heard him laugh lightly.

"Good," he said, more to himself than to you.

He moved you easily, rolling you off of him and onto the bed as he pulled himself out. You felt slick and thoroughly used, not in a bad way, but in the way you imagined lovemaking should feel. You had never expected to feel such passion from Feyd Rautha, of all people. From a Harkonnen.

"Come." he stood and slipped his arms under you, scooping you up. Your arms immediately hooked around his neck, and as he carried you to one of the adjoining rooms, you wondered at how natural it felt to be with him now.

The door opened to reveal a steamy, dark bathing room, a large basin filled with dark liquid positioned in the floor. Feyd Rautha sank down into it and as you leaned your head against his shoulder, you heaved a sigh. The liquid was thicker than water but thinner than mud, like nothing you had ever felt before, and it was warm, soothing your bitemarks and sore muscles.

"What is this?" you managed to ask after several minutes of silence.

"Hmph." Feyd Rautha laughed, his whole body moving with the sound. "Oil and blood."

He paused, waiting for your reaction.

"...Ah." you said, wrinkling your nose for a moment as you looked down at the bubbling goo. "...It's nice."

His lips spread into a wide grin. "You don't find it disgusting, my darling?"

"It feels too nice to be disgusting right now."

Feyd Rautha moved a large hand to the side of your head and held you against him, pressing a kiss to your temple in a way that was almost tender. "Rest now. You will need it."

Too tired to ask why, you simply nodded, sinking into him as the blood bath steamed around you. If this was to be your fate now, you didn't mind it; and if he killed you tomorrow, at least your final day had turned out somewhat enjoyable.

-0-

"Do you like it?'

The question was simple, only four words, and yet it was never one you had expected to hear Feyd Rautha ask.

You had been living in his chambers for a week, sleeping next to him, eating with him, wearing what he chose and accompanying him wherever he went. You saw more of the Harkonnen palace--the training room was a frequent haunt, and you realized that it was the room you had wandered to on the day of your first conversation with him. You saw more of Feyd Rautha, as well, and you noticed how quickly he often decided to kill those around him.

But not you.

Never you.

He had yet to do anything worse than bite or scratch, occasionally bending your limbs too far when he tested your physical capabilities in his bed but always letting you go just before any real injury occurred. You often felt the smooth metal of his blades, but they never cut deep; he mentioned once that perhaps he would mark you with one soon, leave a scar that only he would ever be allowed to see, but he had yet to enact that fantasy. You weren't sure if that was good or bad.

Now, you stood before him, wearing a simple black dress that clung to your body and shone as if it were always wet, and your head felt too cold.

"I...don't hate it," you decided as you looked at your reflection.

"Good." he ran a hand over your smooth scalp.

"Will it grow back?"

"At first." he said in his accent that was growing more and more familiar to hear. "Eventually it will stop."

"And the rest...?"

He smirked, turning you to face him. "I told you, that will set you apart from my other darlings."

At the mention of their collective name, a hiss sounded from across the room.

You twisted your head to the side, spying the two women you had been introduced to three days earlier. One--who you had learned had been Feyd's the longest--sported a thick black line down her forehead today, but they were otherwise identical. They watched you curiously, bald heads tilted as they looked at you with big, black eyes. Their dresses were similar to yours, and as you glanced back at the mirror, you realized how you really didn't recognize yourself anymore.

Your teeth had been stained black already, your hair and eyebrows shaved and then the skin treated with something that the servants had explained would keep the hair away. You had already undergone one strange Harkonnen beauty treatment in what you had come to learn was a medical spa, and it was the only one that had frightened you--a strange machine had bared down upon you and done something to your eyes, injecting something that changed them and yet didn't change them, causing them to become big and black like Feyd's other darlings. You actually thought your eyesight was better now, somehow.

You matched them now, you realized, like a member of a set. Feyd Rautha's third concubine.

It was an upgrade from your last job, you supposed.

"It suits you." he pressed his lips to the base of your neck. "My darling."

"Thank you, Feyd," you said, growing more and more used to calling him by his name with every time you said it.

You felt him smirk against your skin. He was no doubt very pleased with himself, having managed to completely transform a murderous handmaiden into a sinister harpy in the course of only one week. Granted, Giedi Prime's days were significantly longer than on your home planet, but it was still a commendable haste.

"Come." he rasped in that gravelly voice you were beginning to love. "All of us. It is time for the arena."

He set off towards the door and you waited for the others before falling in behind them, moving as if the three of you had always belonged together.

"Will there be food?" one of them asked in a harsh, hissing voice.

"Yes," Feyd said gleefully.

"Hearts and lungs?" the other asked hopefully.

"Only the best for my darlings."

"Human?" she demanded clarification.

Feyd looked back over his shoulder, his eyes finding you even though he knew you had not asked the question. "Of course."

You stared back at him, swallowing hard. Human?

He grinned, and the others looked at each other excitedly. They both glanced to you and you gave the best black-toothed grin you could, not wanting to give any of them any reason to be displeased with you. Not after you had done so well all week.

Feyd Rautha led the way to the arena you had learned he loved to fight captured Atreides soldiers in, and after a short preparation (during which he killed at least two servants), a guard led him away while you and the others were taken up to a viewing room.

When you stepped inside you saw that a feast had already been laid out, platters of rare meat covering a short buffet table. As sunlight--or a lack thereof? Giedi Prime's sun continued to baffle you--light the room in that strange, black and white, infrared way, you stared at the food. You recognized it. Despite its human origins, you had no reason to be disgusted by it--because you had already eaten it, on that very first night, when Feyd Rautha had watched you cutting into your meal and commented on your presence at the dinner table.

As the others approached, picking out their favorites--lungs for one, a heart for the other--a grin found its way onto your face. Yes. Perhaps this was exactly where you belonged.

The crowd outside erupted in a roar of cheers as Feyd stalked into the sandy arena, and as you settled in next to the others to watch, you smiled to yourself. There was nowhere else you'd rather be in that moment than on Giedi Prime, eagerly awaiting the moment you could return to Feyd Rautha's chambers and celebrate his victory.

PART TWO

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #unheavenly creatures

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crestapex · 9 months

Note

“Simon!! I made some fo-“

Simon:

I just saw this piece of art by @temeyes. And just like the infamous Grug once said, “I have an idea!” Like, you don’t even know how quick I was to write this.💀 (I’d also like to imagine this as the aftermath after of my other post regarding big boy Simon.) (It also gets slightly, like the smallest amount ever, suggestive towards the end.)

Summary; SFW/SS—(0.9K Words): Simon is quick to disappear after a big dinner, so you set out on the search for him. Seriously, you live in a one story apartment, so how do you even manage to lose a man his size?

You cross your arms, humming to yourself as you steadily tap your foot on the living room’s hardwood flooring. Your eyes continue to scan everything, from the couch to behind the couch, again and again. You could’ve sworn Simon was right here, in this very flat, all but a few minutes ago—though it feels like you’ve been searching for that man for hours. It’s not like you heard the front door open and close, and it’s not like you heard the back door leading to the balcony open and close either. So where in the bloody hell could he be?

You huff in frustration, your arms dropping to your sides. And so you’re back on the move, trudging off down the narrow hallway. Maybe you should check in the office? Or maybe he would magically appear in the bedroom, probably having decided to nap the rest of the afternoon away? Or maybe you should try calling his name?… Wait, didn’t you already do all that?…

Ugh. And all you wanted to do was curl up on the couch and watch a movie with him. Perhaps spend the rest of the night indulging in some sweets you had just waiting to be eaten. Yet, here you are, searching for this beast of a man. Like a needle in a haystack, strangely enough. And true to the whole ‘Ghost’ persona, you supposed.

You brought your fingers up to the bridge of your nose as you passed the kitchen for the second time in a row. You closed your eyes, only for a split second to take a deep breath in. “Okay, Simon. Riley. Where the hell are you-”

Thud!

And another breath—well, gasp would be more like it—out as your foot proceeded to collide with something so firm, yet so soft.

Your hands went up quicker than the speed of light, one firmly planting itself on the wall and the other grasping for dear life onto the doorway. The doorway of the bathroom you would soon learn. The one fucking place you forgot to check.

But the sounds of hard thudding from your hands being slammed against the thick walls was also accompanied by a fairly familiar sound. The sound of a low growl, a grunt and some deep, incomprehensible mumbles. You would’ve assumed you accidentally hit a bear if you weren’t familiar with those sounds, honestly. Well, he may not be a bear, but he was nearly the size of one. So, close enough?

“Jesus Christ, Simon!” You shouted, moving your head downwards to finally come face to face with your ghostly lover. You steadied your stance, lifting your hands up and off the wall. You could only watch as he slightly curled up from the rather heavy hit he just took to his poor gut, but just for a second. Whoops. “…Seriously? This is where you’ve been?”

Simon groaned, obviously not being too happy with his little snooze being so aggressively interrupted. “Bloody hell, love. Are ‘ya tryin’ to mess up another rib?” Despite his obvious annoyance, you couldn’t help but be a little amused, especially with seeing him in such a vulnerable state.

There the beastly man lies, his shirt up to his chest, leaving just the very lower half of his pecks exposed. His large body planted firmly on the bathroom tiles, with any skin and flesh below the lower half of his stomach jutting out from the bathroom doorway. The vast majority of his belly rested firmly on the tiles, most definitely relishing in the refreshing coolness emitting from the bathroom floor. His muscular arms stay splayed out above his shoulders and head, his chin resting lazily on his tattooed forearm. And his eyes firmly held shut. Wow, what an absolute sight to behold.

Okay, so maybe you couldn’t help but feel slightly bad. Even though he was the one in the way and almost messed you up.

“Well, I’m sorry to interrupt your hibernation, but I just had a question for you.” You crossed your arms and raised a brow, a smile beginning to form on your face. You couldn’t help but snort and snicker, “You look like a walrus, by the way,” you threw in, still taking in the sight of a truly comfortable Simon in his natural habitat.

“Hm?” He hummed, moving his head to the side to rest on his forearm. Opening one eye just enough to where he could see you. Your eyes crinkled at the sight, as no matter how relaxed he looked, there would always be a hint of that signature Simon Riley grumpiness permanently etched on his brows.

You put your hands on your hips, continuing to look down at your beloved, “Anyways, I was just going to ask if you wanted to move to somewhere more comfortable, like the couch, and watch a movie with me.” You began to kneel down to his level, resting an arm on your thigh and bringing the other to rest on the side of Simon’s tummy, giving him a few light pats, “There’s also dessert waiting if you think you can fit anything else in there.” You just couldn’t stop yourself from lightly chuckling as you began to soothingly run your nails down his side.

A deep, chesty rumble was soon emitted from Simon in response, the sound of pure satisfaction you’ve come to learn. You watched with a raised brow as he began to leisurely flip himself over and onto his back. He then brought his arms down from above his head, one hand moving to rest on his chest and the other placing itself firmly on your thigh.

“Mm’. Dessert, yeah?… Is it you?” He lowly chuckled, licking the very edge of his lips as his eyes narrowed with anticipation. His large hand beginning to gently caress the area. Cheeky bastard.

#call of duty #cod x reader #fluff #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost mw3 #ghost x reader #my posts #my asks #my writing

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bloodiedrogue · 1 year

Text

WHERE'S YOUR PATIENCE? (7)

SUMMARY: You and Astarion finally have the conversation. Among other things.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,912

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, teasing, little bit of hand stuff, vaginal sex, CONSENT IS SEXY, mentions of past sexual/physical trauma, potential spoilers for acts 1/2.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Say thank you to the 2 bottles of Corona and the tequila shot I took to loosen up my brain enough to write this smut. I couldn't have done it without them. (And also my bardic inspiration @imgoingtofreakoutnow)

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

The weeks following feel like an uphill battle —a never-ending course of constant information and action all tied into one long work month. Without warning, you find yourself overwhelmingly annoyed with the pace of it all. Not to mention the unwavering guilt, knowing that if you’re not fighting hordes of Absolute cultists or doing research on how to rip the Illithid out of your head, your time is essentially wasted.

Or at least, that’s what it feels like.

Considering the severity of everything, even when you’re resting from a long day's work, you always find your mind wandering. Picking apart texts from old books you’ve found during infiltration missions. Oftentimes late at night when Astarion’s come back from feeding, you spend a lot of your time together relaying said thoughts. Using the late-night silence to fuel the drive that’s been missing throughout the day.

By the time you get to the Inn within the Shadowlands, you’re surprised he’s not sick of you for it. Nowadays, just the mere thought of your own voice makes you want to rip off your ears, and although you know it’s crucial that you discuss things like this, you know there are other things that are important too.

Like your shared confession. And your promise to talk of the past when you were both ready.

Since that night you haven’t asked him about it. With everything happening so quick, it’s been pushed to the back of your mind —lost amongst the clutter of thoughts that you’re often forced to leave behind. Deep down, you imagine he’s somewhat in the same boat but still, there’s even more guilt that surfaces. Filling both sides of the spectrum like an overflowing glass of water —so much so that by the time you’re gifted a proper night’s rest in an actual bed you’re already too tired to care.

As soon as you enter the Inn after your journey through the cursed shadows of the forest you head straight to the bar, barely batting an eye at the barkeep who looks you up and down, horrified by the state of your dress.

“Whiskey, please.”

“And… whatever else you got back there that doesn’t taste of fermentation.”

You turn to see Astarion already standing beside you, moving his hand to the small of your back to usher you into one of the stools. Immediately, you oblige with a sigh, blinking back sleep as you rest your bloodied elbows on the countertop, earning yourself a look of annoyance that Astarion squashes with an unfriendly scowl, showcasing his canine teeth.

If you weren’t so exhausted you probably would’ve laughed at such a sight, but considering you are, you instead let out a soft hum and down your whiskey when it’s placed in front of you, signalling for another.

“I see you’ve already decided how you’re going to spend your night off.”

Nodding your head, you barely register his words, slumping your damp forehead down against the counter with a groan. “How the fuck are we even alive?”

It’s a fair question when you take into account all that you’ve been through. All the puzzles and battles and endless expectations to now save all of Baldur’s Gate just to get these damned Illithids out of your head.

At this rate, you and everyone else should’ve been dead ages ago. Either murdered and looted for your tadpoles and their powers or already turned into tentacle-faced beasts. Not sitting next to Astarion, covered in blood, sweat and tears, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to keep going. How you’re meant to keep this unrealistic momentum of burnout over and over and—

He runs his palm along the base of your spine, drawing his fingers up and down as he takes a sip of his drink. “Hells if I know, darling.”

Feeling a bit delirious, you laugh and raise your head to look between him and the new drink in front of you. “We should’ve been dead by now.”

“You? Perhaps. Me?” He pauses to dig his digits into your aching neck, making your head fall forward again in delight. “Well, I have far too much to do after all of this is over.”

“Yeah, like what?”

When he doesn’t answer right away you remember the conversation. That moment by the fire where you kissed and confessed and told each other you’d talk about it. Immediately it fills you with anxiety, clouding your features with a worried brow and frowning lips as you crane your neck to the side.

When you look at him you notice he’s not really there. His eyes sit in their normal position, staring back but there’s nothing. Not a thought or feeling; just two empty voids surrounded by bloodied dissociation.

It pulls at your heartstrings far too much —makes you let out a breath and raise your frame to slip off the stool and move to hug him. Despite the lack of attention, he manages to follow suit as it happens, wrapping his arms around your neck as you burrow into his chest, once again sighing, wondering if you should apologize and offer your ear or merely forget the exchange entirely.

Before you can even think to do either he’s standing up, keeping his hold as he grabs your other whiskey and proceeds to drink it down, barely batting an eye.

Raising your brow at him, you feel his fingers dig into your neck again, rubbing rough circles that have you resting your forehead against his chest, trying to form any semblance of a thought.

It makes him laugh and raise his hand to your hair, running his fingers through the roots. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

You’re already off and climbing the stairs before you’re able to answer. Pushing through the pain that radiates through your calves with every step. Leaning against him with tired eyes that eventually open up when the door creaks open in front you of.

Somehow you managed to earn yourself a private room. One that’s actually clean with a real bed and a tub —all of which almost have you in tears.

“Nice of them to give us some privacy, hm?” Astarion smirks down at you as he speaks, watching as you roll your eyes and finally pull yourself away, reaching for the clasps of your leather vest. Like the rest of you, it’s coated in a thick layer of dirt and blood. All of it dried and coming off in disgusting clumps that have you scrunching up your face. Brushing off the top few clasps, you try not to focus on the way it feels against your fingers. How it collects under your nails as you narrow your eyes, struggling to get the damned thing off.

It makes him scoff and pull you back in, pushing your hands aside to undo the first clasp. “I feel as though I recall a time where you claimed to be patient?”

As he moves down to the next one you shake your head and look away. “Emotionally, yes. Physically I—“

“I’d say you’re far more patient in that regard, actually.”

For a second you’re not sure what he means but then it hits you. He means sex. Physical intimacy. A line of which you hadn’t yet crossed due to several things. The main being your lack of conversation —your lack of focus to a promise you both said you wouldn't break.

Obviously, the lack of time hasn’t helped either, but as you stand there, watching his fingers pull apart your top layer, you find yourself visibly frustrated. Angry at yourself for not taking the time to offer the piece of yourself you desperately want.

After that night it was always your intention to go first. To tell him all about your past in order to open the floodgates. You figured if you were brave enough to do it —to be the one to bite the bullet— maybe he’d inevitably follow.

But then life got in the way and now nearly five weeks later it suddenly feels like you’re stuck in this limbo. One where you’re dancing on the edge, teetering with bated breath. Wondering if maybe the time is right.

As his hands move further and further you find yourself fighting your imagination. Brushing off the feelings that start to surface as you stare down at his hands, watching their delicate ministrations.

It’s apparent then that he's no stranger to the art of undress. As his fingers twist and turn to work the clasps apart, you have to stop yourself from giving in to temptation, knowing that it’s wrong. Remembering the promise you made.

Moving your hand to stop him, you clear your throat and watch his eyes. Noticing the way they filter through the air to eventually focus on you, blinking as if he wasn’t there to begin with.

“Can we talk now? Maybe?”

His hands sit against your leathers, gripping the metal with tightened fingers that still somehow manage to pale from their hold despite his complexion. “Course.”

Running your fingers along his knuckles, you slowly wrap your fists around them, bringing them up toward your mouth to place soft kisses despite the mess of battle that lingers. Then you drag him further into the room, placing him on the edge of the bed.

“Do you know who Beshaba is?” you ask, plain and simple, unsure how else to start the conversation of your past as you sit beside him.

“The deity?”

You nod, slowly, letting your gaze anxiously fall to your lap. “I grew up in one of her churches after my parents died. Learned everything I know about the world from a priestess named Hessa.”

As you try your best to further collect your thoughts, Astarion leans in, narrowing his eyes at the way your hands start to shake against your thigh.

“Is she the one in your dream?” he asks.

Without hesitation, you nod. “They thrive on infliction,” you explain after, watching him frown. Taking in the way his demeanour changes without warning to become something you’re not quite sure you've seen before. “Their doctrine revolves around fear. If you don’t participate you’re expected to endure only pain and misfortune.”

You remember growing up underneath all these women, listening to their cautionary tales of Beshaba’s terror. It instilled fear in you from the get-go —taught you that the only way to endure the horrors of this life was to devote yourself to her. To offer everything you could in exchange for peace, so you did. Unwaveringly so.

“As a child, I grew up listening to these women scare everyone for the sake of their goddess.” You pause to swallow, feeling the memories of Hessa’s knife each time you later disobeyed, slice across your skin. “Then, as an adult, I followed the cycle.”

“Willingly?”

You shrug your shoulders. “At first.”

You remember as soon as you were old enough you were sent out to recruit. To trick the minds of all the simple folk, weaving fabricated tales of disasters that were carried out by Beshaba’s hand. It was difficult to do. Seeing all those ruined minds come crawling to you for salvation —begging for forgiveness in the form of eternal loyalty.

Thankfully though, it grew old pretty quickly. The formula of travelling Faerûn, following the endless calamity and blaming it on the lack of faith was enough to pull you out of the fog. As each day passed, it became increasingly hard to pretend your faith was still intact, so you formulated a plan.

“When we arrived in Baldur’s Gate I tried to leave. In the middle of the night I abandoned my sisters —tried to run and never look back but…”

There’s a moment where your mouth just closes, trailing from the memories of your story; straying solely to the image of Hessa. To her hands and face each time she broke you apart and put you back together.

Without even trying you can feel her next to you, whispering her teachings in your ear —touching your scars with calloused hands. Her voice still has that icy hold on you even when you’re far away, keeping you still as she forces you down to kneel on the stone floor and await your punishment.

A punishment you’ll always feel you deserve. Even now that you’ve well and truly denounced the faith. Deep down you still feel the guilt of your exit. The pain of having to carry the trauma of an existence you never had the choice of living. To this day, it still eats away through the scars that line your stomach. Boring lines of betrayal across your skin.

The last thing you want to do is cry, but as the reminder of such abuse continues to penetrate your mind you find the tears falling anyway. Collecting at the edges of your eyes so quickly that you’re forced to close them in order to reset your vision.

As you do you feel Astarion wrapping himself completely around you. Pulling you into his chest with heavy hands that feel nothing like hers. Reminding you that you’re safe. That you’re here with him and nobody else.

“Is this wretched woman still stationed in Baldur’s?”

You feel his fingers on your chin, pulling your face up so that he can see you when you nod, holding back tears.

“Good. Then our destinations align.”

His voice sounds different. Instead of the usual softness or flirtation, it’s spoken through clenched teeth that strain against his throat, somehow feeling almost like a threat. An unspoken but well-articulated phrase of warning that has you sniffing and wiping your eyes. “What do you mean?”

At first, you figure he’s talking about the Illithid. The urgent need to get to Baldur’s Gate before time runs out. But then you’re ripped back to reality —to the moments where he’s briefly mentioned his desire to return home. To finish whatever business he has after this timely journey is over.

“The person who sent the hunter—“

He practically spits out his name. Cazador Szarr. A man you’re unfortunately well aware of given his reputation.

After arriving in Baldur’s Gate it was common knowledge to avoid him and his property. As awful as your church was about promoting the misfortunes of others, they made it very clear not to get involved. According to them, he was an unholy man —one that could never fully be understood due to the obvious seclusion of his person.

To this day, you've always wondered what lies behind those doors of his. What sinister things he was up to throughout the years.

However, when you look at Astarion —when you see the way his rage suddenly seems to know no bounds, you know it’s bad. Worse than bad considering Astarion hardly ever gets angry. Sure, annoyance and frustration often come out but anger —real anger— never does.

“When you told me that you wished I didn’t know what it felt like, I didn’t realize how similar our experiences were.” His fingers rub rough circles into your flesh, distracting his mind as he lets out a breath and continues. “I didn’t know the level of your pain.”

“I didn’t tell you.”

“I know.”

His voice cracks. Your heart breaks. Then, both of you sit in another wave of silence, letting the words previously spoken sit at your feet as you stare at one another, trying to gauge what happens next.

You don’t anticipate his hands moving to his armour. Nor do you retain any sense of restraint when you reach to follow them, both of you working to pry it off before he pulls his tunic over his head.

Despite being on the road together for so long you’ve never seen him bare like this. So open and willing to prove to you that he's here. With you, here’s here and ready to share whatever you think you need.

Embarrassingly, it makes you want to cry all over again, reaching for his face. Feeling that familiar coolness beneath your touch as he turns to rest both hands on your hips again.

“It’s been so long since I’ve willingly wanted this.”

“This?” You look at him confused.

“To be intimate.” His fingers tighten around your flesh, digging into the plush ever so slightly. “To share the act of sex with another rather than exploit it.”

There’s a small smile that creeps through then. An inkling of hope for the vampire’s happiness as you inch in closer, placing the softest kiss you can muster to his cheek. “But you’re nervous?”

“Terribly,” he admits with a heavy breath. “In the span of 200 years I’ve bed countless men and women —all of them willing. All of them happy to have enjoyed my body only to end up at death’s door.”

It’s a lot to take in —the admittance of his faults. As soon as the first detail is uttered it’s as if the floodgates open and he’s telling you everything. From the moment he was turned and forced to crawl from his grave to the years that followed luring person after person into the Szarr home for a master so cruel you immediately wish to kill him.

“I spent so long under that bastard’s thumb that… I don’t even know who I am anymore. How I’m meant to be now that I’ve attained even the slightest bit of freedom.”

You understand how he feels. Perhaps the levels are different but deep within there’s always been this nagging feeling of how you’re supposed to live your life. How you feel as though you should be travelling the world in search of a new purpose rather than once again fulfilling someone else’s.

But then you remember what’s at stake. And how even someone else’s fate can affect your livelihood. Then it’s as if the cycle repeats itself, constantly reminding you that if you don’t participate then that’s the end. Your freedom is null just as Astarion’s, leaving you to wonder what’s the point of it all.

“I think people like you and I are just meant to live.” Your hands move up to touch his hair. Carefully, you grip his curls between your fingers, pressing the pads into his skull as you run them down, hearing him sigh. “To enjoy what little time we have.”

“Little?” He raises his brow with a smirk. “Darling, I’m immortal.”

“True but you could still become a Mind-flayer like the rest of us.”

“Fair point.”

He seems calmer now. The usual persona of his overbearing personality coming through, making you grin.

Instead of tightly wound he’s relaxed under your hold, practically melting against your touch as he lowers himself to rest on your shoulder. As he does, you end up catching a glimpse of his back, fully seeing Cazador’s work in the form of rough, red etchings that coat his entire spine.

You have to force yourself not to ask about them until he’s ready, tightening the hold you have around his head as you riddle his face in kisses, letting your lips linger against his temple as you close your eyes.

“They’re not as bad as they look,” he says then, somehow reading your mind.

As painful as it is to admit, you know he’s right. Compared to other scars you’ve seen his look undeniably perfect. The way they paint the image of what looks to be some sort of sigil against his pale flesh. Despite the violence endured to create such a piece, it’s obvious that there was care put in too. A meticulous hand working away with the precision of someone borderline obsessed.

If it wasn’t the result of abuse you could even call it beautiful. But since it’s not, you only continue to hold him, gripping his face for dear life, wondering what kind of pain he had to suffer to earn such a massive reminder of his ownership.

“Do you know what it is?”

He lifts his head, looking at you like he’s seeking the answer himself. “A brand I’m guessing. Not that I can tell. Unlike you I can’t use a mirror. Nor can I very well reach to trace the damned thing myself.”

Your fingers twitch at his words, feeling the temptation to touch them grow as you remember your own scars. In terms of appearance, they’re much more rigid. Three jagged lines that cover the middle of your stomach, making sure you remember. Ensuring your mind that every day you live on this earth —every new moment spent thinking that you’re worthy of whatever this is between you— that you’ll never be normal.

The moment they dug that first knife into your gut you were marked for life. Branded just like him.

Swallowing hard you force yourself to slip away from his grasp, watching the confusion that erupts before the understanding starts as you shakily discard your leather layer and throw your tunic over your head.

It takes everything in you not to put it back on when you see the look on Astarion’s face. How it studies you with knitted brows and a clenched jaw that makes you want to hold him again.

“Mine are just… lines. They don’t mean anything.” As you motion to the thick slashes that have been carved over countless times you catch his gaze twitching upward, taking in the exhaustion.

“She did this?”

After you nod you feel his hand move forward, ever so gently grazing the top of the centre line with curiosity. “How many times?”

“I don’t remember.”

“But you remember how it felt?”

You press your lips together, breathing through your nose. Sucking in the Inn’s dusty air before blowing it out as you nod, forcing back the memory. Pushing through the pain as your tadpole squirms, asking to let him in.

Like all the other feelings you’ve shared as of late, it’s been so long since you’ve felt his presence like this. Even with the Illithid’s constant use outside of each other, when he calls out to you it’s completely different. The movement behind your eye doesn’t feel like an annoyance. It feels like a call. A tingle of hope that has you answering before you can even question what it is he might want.

When you answer there’s a warmth that hits your skin. Enveloping you completely, you feel the aching of the heat carry through your extremities, cascading down in anxious pools that have you breathing rather hard. Closing your eyes, you see the image of Astarion’s hands in front of you. Slowly he wiggles his fingers and turns his palms, taking in the fact that he’s safely under the sun, despite what he is.

You realize then that this is the first memory he has of freedom. Of a life where he truly believes the tether’s been severed. All the thoughts inside his mind are full of nerves. Building anxieties of the past and the future being interrupted by a present he never thought was possible.

It’s a memory that stirs you to move. To guide his hands to your waist as you crawl into his lap and grab his chin.

Touching his skin you feel that same warmth flow through to your core. Letting it take over all the thoughts of scarring and owners and the lives you’ve both lived to get to this point, it takes away your breath. Pulls from you the needs of anything but him.

In this moment, none of it matters anymore. Every experience is nothing more than a dimming shadow compared to the sensation of his breath wafting over your face as you angle your head down to look at him.

“Do you want this?”

His tongue darts out to line his lips. His hunger growing at the sight of you —at the feeling of you moulded to him like melting wax just cool enough to touch. “Yes.”

“So it’s okay if I—“

There’s a hand in your hair before you can finish, forcing you down to his mouth. It’s rough at first but quickly softens once he’s got you where he wants you. Firmly set atop his thighs and in his grasp. Allowing him enough access to reach up and touch the edge of your neck, his thumb lingering towards the centre to press a soft touch —reminding you that you have to breathe. That the usage of your lungs is no longer second nature but something you actively have to think about through the open-mouthed kisses that work to take it all away.

Your head dizzies at the feeling. All at once your vision blurs while your hands begin to roam, stretching over skin and bone, eventually hitting raised scars that make you kiss him even harder, knowing it’s what he needs. What he deserves after countless years of loveless encounters. After touches, empty of anything resembling the adoration you wish to offer him.

While laying waste to his bruising lips, you clumsily slide down his lap so that you’re standing on the ground, tucked between his open legs and bending forward.

Confused, you feel his face twist against your own, prompting you to pull away and lower yourself further, letting your knees gently come in contact with the floor.

“I was enjoying you where you were,” he muses then, cocking his head to focus on the way your hands begin to slide up over his knees, resting on each outer thigh.

“And now you’ll enjoy me over here.” You smirk.

“Cheeky pup.”

“The cheekiest.”

After that, you shuffle closer and reach for his belt, keeping eye contact every step of the way to make sure you aren’t stepping over any boundaries.

The last thing you’d want is to make him feel uncomfortable —to feel used in all the ways he used to experience. So you combat all that by checking in; offering him subtle glances every time you take the next step.

You can tell immediately that he’s appreciative. Whenever he nods there’s a faint smile that sits across his lips, offering you approval as your fingers knock against the metal clasp of his belt, shakily moving to open it up.

At some point he ends up doing it himself, leaning forward to kiss your forehead and laugh at the nerves that render your fingers useless. Nerves that only spread when you stare up at his face while his hands busily move the strap aside.

After tossing his belt aside he doesn’t let you go further. Instead, he drags you further between his legs, leaning down to cup your cheeks and kiss you all over again.

It’s distracting, to say the least. The feeling of his lips moving in tandem with your own as he reaches around to rid you of your bra with two quick swipes, leaving you just as bare as him.

It sends a shiver down your spine that makes him smirk, his upper lip quirking against yours before he gently bites down making you groan.

“Can’t let you be the only one with a view,” he mutters against you, making you awkwardly laugh as you watch his gaze lower to your naked chest. “Can I, pet?”

“No, I suppose not.”

Your voice sounds anything but confident as his hands continue their descent, matching your previous desires when they linger at your belt, waiting for you to give him the okay.

When you do he makes quick work, unclasping the belt with skillful hands before lightly smacking your ass, signalling you to stand before he carefully slides the rest of it down, thumbing the edges of your legs.

You have to force yourself not to cry out right then and there, feeling overwhelmed by the soft touch of his fingers. How they barely graze the outer parts of your already parting thighs, stopping at your knees when he looks up at you with a smirk.

“You seem nervous, darling.”

Rolling your eyes, you shove an open palm to his chest, pushing him back against the bed with a scoff. One that makes him laugh and watch as you kick off the remainder of the fabric, trying to appear brave. Something that proves to be harder than you anticipate when he swiftly follows suit, giving you a show of your own in the form of freshly exposed skin you’ve only ever imagined in the deepest corners of your mind.

In almost an instant, the fabric slips away, revealing more of him than you possibly could’ve expected, making your mind wander as the building arousal between your thighs twitches with desire. Telling you that you need this.

You open your mouth to ask for more only to be yanked upon his lap causing a yelp to fall from your lips that makes you both laugh.

“You really are a marvel, aren’t you?”

With a smile, his eyes scan your naked frame. Up and down and back, they linger at every part as if he’s studying you for future use. Taking mental notes with each passing freckle or scar that lines the length of bare skin. “I mean truly, look at you.”

As he speaks, one hand runs along your neck —over your shoulder and down your arm until it’s resting at your thigh, gripping you tight. “I’m not sure what God out there decided to make you but remind me to give them my utmost thanks after this is over.”

When he leans in you have to force yourself not to nervously laugh at his praise, once again feeling his lips find refuge on your own, driving you to take things further. Encouraging you to make him feel as good as he deserves.

This time though, instead of asking for approval with a glance you do so with a touch, reaching down to grip the end of his length with gentle hands that make him moan. Ever so quietly, the second you hear it you immediately strengthen your hold, using your free hand to grip his shoulder as you work him slowly, noticing him push. Feeling the subtle arc of his hips buck against your hand, wanting more.

For a moment you think about doing it. Letting your hand tighten further while you pick up the pace. It’d be easy. Nothing more than a simple readjustment but something mischievous stops you from doing it.

Remembering that night at the grove —the one where he relentlessly teased just to get a rise out of you— you find yourself smirking and pulling away, gripping his shoulder even tighter to keep him in place.

Almost immediately, he knows exactly what you’re doing. He can feel it in the way you languidly pull at his cock, barely holding on with each stroke.

“You think you’re clever, do you?”

You quirk your brow and bite your lip, massaging the apex of his shoulder. “I have to be if I’m going to be hanging around you.”

Furthering his torment, you then tighten your grip for a couple more pumps before returning to your previous pace, eliciting a hiss of disapproval that has him gripping both your hips and maneuvering you to sit against his right thigh.

“Oh really?”

Pushing up into your core, Astarion shifts you back and forth with his hands, making your breath catch inside your throat once you realize what you’ve done. How you’ve instantly set yourself up for a failure you know he’ll only revel in winning.

Considering he’s more than capable of making you fluster solely with words, you should’ve expected this —saw it coming from a mile away.

Continuing your ministrations as lazily as possible, he barely registers them as he glides your folds against his leg. Holding you down, he manages to apply the perfect amount of pressure to build the tension, making you press your lips tightly together, forcing back any sound that might be deemed a loss.

Even though it’s anything but a competition. A detail that’s reminded once he maneuvers one of his hands to cup your sex, rubbing rough circles into your clit.

It makes you lose all semblance of thought, forgetting the hold you have on his cock as you shakily reach for his other shoulder, steadying yourself against him.

“Doesn’t it feel nice when you give in?”

Despite the context, there’s surprisingly no snark to his words. No sarcasm or bite —just genuine thought. A question so true to its word that all you can do is pant through the building pleasure and nod; letting him raise you off his leg and station himself at your entrance.

It fills your mind to the brim with needs and wants you never thought you’d feel again. Having been subjected to abuse and then forced upon a journey you’re still not sure you’re ready for, the thought of attachments like this never once crossed your mind.

Even after everything you’d been through, you never thought Astarion was capable of such tenderness —of loving care and safekeeping. Of gentle touches that run across your aching skin as he looks at you and you at him, both of you deciding it’s okay.

As soon as it’s given, he’s sliding into you. Painfully slow, he uses the approval to grant you access to your shared pleasure, pushing through the tightness just as you open your mouth.

“Feel alright?”

Your fingers press against his neck as they slide up to cup his chin so you can pull your foreheads together. “More than alright.”

Through an unsteady breath, he laughs and guides you further down, allowing you both to savour the sensation for a moment before pulling back out again.

As soon as he’s missing you’re already longing for more. Desperate for the fill of his cock, prompting a whine to escape; earning yourself a tut.

“Remember patience?”

You do. More than anything in this moment you remember your claim and how foolish it was to think he wouldn’t forget it.

“I recall you saying—"

“Astarion, please.”

You’re not sure if it’s the anguish in your voice or the squirming of your hips that does it, but almost instantly he’s giving in. Once again offering you exactly what you need in the form of a push and pull so viscerally satisfying you’re left slumped against his chest, keeping hold of his neck. Forcing his hand to grip the back of your head to see the way he ruts inside of you.

It’s a sight that’s almost too much. One that makes you moan and close your eyes, allowing him to move your face to his. At which point you’re on the precipice of ruin. Both body and mind becoming a mess of everything and nothing, forcing your breath to falter.

You can tell Astarion’s in the same boat, struggling to maintain his starting pace the longer you mindlessly grind against him, unable to contribute much of anything else.

Together, the two of you try to move in unison, pushing and pushing —inhaling and exhaling. Anything you can do to share the burden of the building pleasure that grows and grows until—

When it hits, it feels better than you imagined. Deep within there’s a blooming that unfolds, petal by petal, opening to reveal unholy tremors that make you release a heavy plume of air through your closed lips.

Gripping you close, you can feel Astarion follow quickly behind, twitching inside before he inevitably spills out, making both of you groan and fall back onto the bed in a fit of nervous laughter before he cheekily suggests you make use of the tub.

TAGLIST: @poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo@jjfchk@idiotsatan@bluestuesday@bloopthebat@art-by-greenie@heneralmoon@sukunababe@dreamingaboutyousworld@ranfithegood@haniscrying@liadamerondjarin@the-lake-is-calling@marina-and-the-memes@rookieoftheyear@zraloci-cpr@kaetmo@snickerdoodle-daydream@wowowwild@d1anna@raswiet@conniesbbymama@venus-wrts@demonicthorns@kihten@deadglamsheep@sanscas@spammypasta@leighsartworks216@rose-gold-blue@p1ssmagg0t@hellish-writes@ghostinvenus@otayz@sexysquatch@sleepyeclair@colorful-anxieties@alina-exe@ilana-the-lasagna@lillifer@girlwiththepapatattoo@y2cade@acelin-ginsberg@pinkuranium@catrad0rable@scarletrosesposts@qwnamidala@itsrosebabe@bunnyperi@queenofcarrotflowers-s@tatumadams20@spkyxszn@chlort@f3v3rs@awkwardwookie@joy-the-reader@warm-milk-with-honey-blog@vertigocrime@iyis@wildpiper@pebblethestone@tillywasneverhere@bex-03@kaetmo@revemiya@staticspouse@itzagothamcitysiren@djarinsmixtape@when-the-night-came@epicy0n@bababahannah@sleepyred1703@lotus-99@lofcompass@r4d10h34d5@vampninjaz@itsmekalou@offbrandhand@yikes-buddy@konenichi

(If you'd like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form. Also, if your name isn't on here and it should be I couldn't tag you so message me and I'll try again next time!)

#where's your patience?#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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lostinwildflowers · 2 months

Note

Birch I would absolutely cry to see prompt number 29 "Don't you dare wake them up." with none other than Mr Levi Ackerman 🙏

(I hope I did this right 😭😭）

Depletion

Levi Ackerman x Reader

Summary: The mission was supposed to be easy. Ride in, scout for a new camp set up, ride out. Except you weren't making it out.

Word Count: 0.67K

Warnings: slight angst due to injury

A/N: DUCKY I AM SO SORRY IT'S TAKEN ME FOREVER TO GET TO THIS. I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT EVEN THO IT'S BEEN FOREVER! -Birch<3

29. "Don't you dare wake her up." (I changed this to she/her pronouns!)

Searing, hot pain ripped through your arm as you stared up into what you could only describe as your worst nightmare. The titan, only 7 meters tall, had appeared out of thin air.

You'd be so focused on surveying the clearing for a camp set-up that you hadn't heard the beast lumber up on you. A scream rips from your throat, raw and unfiltered as the titan pinches your arm harder, lifting you higher into the sky.

Your squad was nowhere to be seen, likely out of earshot and focused on their own tasks. Feebly, you kick your legs forward and then backward, trying to get momentum and get the titan to release you.

Your blades had fallen just mere moments before, leaving you weaponless against the beast. Another cry of "help" leaves your lips, but with blood roaring in your ears, you can't hear the sound of another scout whizzing toward you.

The hot breath of the titan and the burning grasp on your arm is the only thing you can think about until you feel cool air rushing around you. Your mouth falls open in a silent cry as the pressure releases from your arm, but the pain intensifies tenfold.

Panic sets in as you free fall, just another second and you'll be splattered on the ground. But just then, a hard body collides with yours, swooping in underneath your body.

You can make out the sounds of the air getting pushed out of the scout's lungs as their feet skid across the grass and dirt, their arms wrapped around your body as they cradle you.

Another cry falls from your lips as your arm gets crunched underneath you and the scout, who rolls and tumbles to a stop. It takes you a moment to gather your bearings, eyes blurry with tears from pain or wind, you don't know.

A hand appears in front of your fuzzy vision, and you go to move your arm but hiss when you feel pain. Instead, you blink a few times to clear your sight and you are met with the hardened yet concerned face of Levi Ackerman.

No matter how many times you blink, the edges of your vision get blurry and darker. Before you know it, your hearing gets quiet and everything fades into darkness.

---

Thump, thump, thump.

Damn, my head hurts, you think to yourself as you hear hushed voices and feet scraping across the floor. I must still be alive, somehow.

The thought isn't too reassuring when a dull ache resonates in your arm. A soft grunt escapes you as your face pulls into a scowl, eyes still clamped shut.

"Watch what you're doing, idiot," the snarl came quietly from across the room, "Don't you dare wake her up." It takes you a moment, but you will your eyes to open, and you're once again met with the concerned eyes of Levi.

"Hey," you manage to croak out, voice scratchy and hoarse from sleep. Levi frowns at whoever is across the room and grumbles, "Look what you did, moron."

He turns his attention back to you, and the annoyance flips back into concern, his silver gaze softening when he locks eyes with you. "Hey," he whispers back to you, shifting in his seat to reach up and grab the hand from your uninjured arm.

"You gave me quite the scare back there," he murmurs quietly, his eyes flicking down to your intertwined hands. You muster up the strength to squeeze his hand and manage, "But I'm still here, thanks to you."

Levi nods once, a distant look in his eye before he states, "That beast did a number to your arm, but the doctors worked quick. You should still have full function once it heals."

You mouth a silent "thank you" to him as your eyes begin to flutter closed, exhaustion creeping back up on you. "Get some rest, I'll be here when you wake up", he responds, and those are the final words you hear before slipping back into sleep.

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x y/n #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi x you #levi x y/n #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x you #levi attack on titan #attack on titan x y/n #shingeki no kyojin x you #shingeki no kyojin x reader #shingeki no kyoujin levi #shingeki no kyoujin

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kitkatscabinet · 2 years

Text

As you wish

Aemond Targaryen x reader

Summary: You and Aemond have been by each other's side since childhood. He'd drop everything for you, bending to your whims with an 'as you wish.'

The five times Aemond says 'as you wish' + the one time you do.

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: I couldn't not do it. There’s no mature content don’t know why this got slapped with a label :(

One.

"Aemond!" your gleeful shout of his name pulled the boy from the book he had previously been enraptured in. Looking up towards the source of the call he couldn't stop a small smile from forming. You were running towards him, skirts hitched up in your hands and a grin lighting your visage.

Aemond felt his stomach flutter at the sight of the smile you had reserved for him, at the sheer glee you were exuding just for him.

"Aemond, you must come quickly," you said, panting slightly from your run and hauling him to his feet with surprising strength. The prince could do nothing but stumble after you, a slave to your whims.

"Where are we going in such a rush?" he asked while continuing to let you pull him along.

"We're hiding from septa Cerelle. I'm supposed to be attending lessons but I'd much rather spend time with you." Aemond's breath caught slightly at how easy the admission had come.

"You'll help me hide won't you" you questioned, smiling sheepishly in his direction, and Aemond's mouth was moving before his mind could properly register.

"As you wish." The blinding smile and quick hug he received in return left him feeling oddly floaty for days after.

Two.

Upon returning from lady Laena's funeral Aemond had refused to see you. The queen had gently taken you aside to explain the dreadful events that had taken place on Driftmark. Naturally, you had been appalled, but not for Aemond's supposed ruined looks, but for the wild injustice that had befallen your best friend.

You had instantly marched yourself back to his chambers, banging against the door and yelling to be let in. You had stayed planted in place for what felt like days before the door finally cracked open. Causing you to let out an undignified shriek as you tipped backwards, having sat to lean against the wood earlier.

Looking up you were disconcerted to see that Aemond had already turned and fled, hiding his face from your view. Pushing yourself to your feet you quickly closed and barred the doors behind you.

Your heart shattered even further as you finally looked at your friend. Aemond had always been a quiet presence but was nonetheless proud, posture tall and refined. Yet now, hunched over in a chair by the fire you saw none of what made Aemond himself. He seemed so small, vulnerable even as he resolutely stared away from you.

"Oh Aemond" you gasped, feet swiftly moving to kneel in front of him as you grasped at his hands. Forcing yourself not to react to the bandage that was still wrapped around his head. Still, you gained no reaction and fuelled with spiteful anger on his behalf you spoke again.

"I'll beat him up" you promised nothing but sincerity in your tone. Though you hadn't mentioned a name, it was clear who you meant. That finally elicited a slight upwards quirk of his lips. Nothing like the reaction it should have.

Queen Alicent had told you of the large beast her son had claimed, fear clear in her being and in that moment you saw no other option.

"Will you take me to meet Vhagar?" For the first time since you'd entered his chambers, Aemond looked up to meet your gaze. And seeing no apprehension in your smile he shakily exhaled.

"As you wish."

Three.

Aemond hated grand events. Feasts and balls were overcrowded and far too loud, and people expected him to dance. There were few things he despised more. He was acutely aware of the fearful and disgusted stares that would pass over lady's faces as they saw his.

As a second son, he had no great need to socialise or search for a betrothal. Both actions he had zero interest in. As such these sorts of events presented no enjoyment for him

You on the other hand, for reasons he simply couldn't fathom, adored such events. Relished in the opportunity to drink and dance whilst parading the newest gown his mother had graciously gifted you. You were an ethereal vision in the dark emerald satin, and though he couldn't remove his gaze from your form, neither could many other lords. Lords that practically tripped over each other in order to win some of your time. Forcing him to watch as other men placed their hands on you, another reason for him to hate these events.

His outrage was steadily growing as he threw a frosty look at the lord that had monopolised your attention for the last three dances. He was some minor lord from the vale, hardly worthy of your attention. Yet you had seemed to genuinely enjoy his presence, going so far as to laugh at something the man had whispered by leaning far closer than appropriate in your ear.

Aemond is spared from wetting his hands with blood and the lord his life by the song ending, and you parting from him. So focused on making sure the lord was indeed walking away from you he had barely noticed your approach. Only when the familiar scent of your preferred oils caused his head to spin did he see your dazzling smile. The real thing. Not the painfully and politely plastered thing you offered your many insufferable suitors. The one you had also offered lord deserved to die.

He could not however be angry at you, and the frost in his gaze immediately warmed into something reserved only for three people in existence as he greeted you.

"Dance with me?" you asked, briefly surprising him. You knew how much Aemond hated to dance, to be at the centre of attention and as such never asked him. Yet even so he finds himself taking your arms and leading you towards the dance floor barely a second later.

"As you wish."

You danced with no one but him for the rest of the evening. Leaving Aemond forced to admit to himself that dancing wasn't all that bad.

Four.

He'd heard it from one of the guards casually conversing in the hall. Aemond couldn't recall a time he had been as frantic as now, running through the keep and snarling at anyone that moved out of his way too slowly.

You had been attacked during one of your usual trips visiting the smallfolk. Aemond could not say he was fond of said trips, even if your kindness and generosity only endeared you further to him. You had always assured him you were completely safe, under the watchful eye of both the kings guard (courtesy of himself and his mother) and the city watch. Yet someone had still managed to get far too close, and once Aemond found out who had allowed such a thing heads would roll. But for now, you needed him.

One look at his menacing glare was all he needed to get the guards to your chambers to step aside before he was throwing the doors open. Chest heaving from the fast pace of his run his feet only stopped long enough to identify your location within the room.

Both his mother and sister were by your side, whispering soothing words to your obviously shaken form. Helaena was simply holding your hands, as one of her ladies in waiting the two of you had grown close, whilst his mother rubbed your back.

The relief he had felt for a few seconds quickly morphed back into fury as he took in your still-shaking form. At his arrival, Helaena stood, and after levelling him with a knowing stare announced her leave. Although more hesitant than her daughter, his mother followed suit, but not before glaring at him to 'fix this.'

Hands scrunched in the fabric of your skirts you didn't address his arrival, not even when he gently sank onto the mattress next to you. Slowly, to gain your permission, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest when you didn't deny him.

Aemond wanted to scream, to yell until he was red in face, to hunt down and slaughter the men that had come so close to taking you from him. He did none of those things, however, forcing himself to remain calm and gentle for your sake.

As if his arrival was the final catalyst, you instantly burst into tears. Shaky hands fisted into doublet as you shuddered against his chest. Aemond could do nothing but pull you closer, moving one hand up to stroke your hair as he tucked you into him as best he could. His sheer helplessness in the face of your terror distressed him so greatly that he became aware of his own shaking.

Even when you had cried yourself into exhaustion he couldn't bring himself to let go.

"Please... stay" you whispered hoarsely, looking up at him desperately.

"As you wish" he whispered back just as gently, before kissing your hairline in an uncharacteristic show of vulnerability.

Five.

It hadn't been the first time you had gone to Aemond for consolation, tears in your eyes that only he could remedy. It was beginning to feel as if it could be the last, however.

The queen had come to you, gloom dampening her visage as she informed you of the betrothal your father had recently arranged. You had been horrified, at the match and had begged for her interference. Unfortunately, she had already tried, but your father was a stubborn man and had already made up his mind.

You had devolved into a fit of rage, throwing a vase at the nearest wall as you screamed. Which of course, had sent the queen into a quick exit as she called for her son.

Your anger had faded into resignation, and by the time Aemond arrived, you were two cups deep and slumped in a chair staring listlessly into the hearth.

In a mirror of your actions so many years prior, he silently crossed the space, coming to kneel in front of you as he fully witnessed your melancholy.

"Aemond. I don't wish to marry him" you needlessly confessed, pausing briefly before adding "or any of the other lords my parents would foist me upon."

Your confession hung heavily in the air and you watched as Aemond's face hardened with resolve.

"As you wish." He elaborated no further, giving your hands a reassuring squeeze before he stalked out of your chambers with purpose. Leaving you to blink at his retreating form in stunned and confused silence.

When he returned the next morning, a smug smile adorning his face and the promise you wouldn't have to marry any you wouldn't choose you could do nothing but launch yourself into his arms. Heart hammering in his chest at the feel of his satisfied chuckle and enveloping warmth.

One.

Despite the fact that you hadn't wished to marry some lord twice your age, you couldn't help but feel despondent at your unmarried status. Many of the lords and ladies your age were already wed, babes in their belly and children underfoot.

You thought you hid it well, but you had yet to realise that there was almost nothing Aemond didn't notice about you. He noticed the longing in your gaze when you stared after the few happy matches that paraded the keep. His stomach twisting at the thought of you happy and in love with another.

"Aemond!" the scolding tone of your voice pulls him from his thoughts. Blinking, he looked down to where you lay in the grass, pout on your face as you caught him looking elsewhere, and presumably not focusing on you.

"Are you even listening to me?" you whined in a way that from anyone else he would have found annoying, but from you it was incredibly cute.

Your nose was scrunched up and he couldn't help the amused huff that escaped him when you smacked his thigh.

"Aemond." you drew out his name, "Did you hear a word I said?"

"Something about how dashingly handsome I am?" he joked, leaving you to gape up at him in astonishment.

"Not even close" you objected with a scowl before a mischievous look replaced it and you rolled closer to him, "though if you wish for me to sing your praises all you had to was ask."

Aemond could do nothing but stare, mouth suddenly as dry as Dorne. While your tone had been teasing, there had been something in your gaze that indicated you spoke nothing but the truth. His tongue was led, eye darting between your enchanting eyes and perfect lips.

Evidently, he had been staring at your visage for too long, your face crinkling in concern "Aemond? Are you alri-"

"Marry me" he blurted breathlessly, not an ounce of jest in his being. He watched with mortified anticipation as your face lost its smile and your eyes widened in shock.

Yet as what seemed like an age passed and you offered no answer he felt embarrassment like no other burn in his chest. Just before he can make a hasty retreat in order to lick at his newly acquired wounds, your hands snaked out lightning fast and claimed his.

"As you wish" you replied confidently, taking delight at the look of wonder on his face. It was your turn to be breathless as he closed what little distance remained between you. Pulling you into the first of many time-stopping kisses.

TAGLIST: @etherily @psychwardsiren @mihrimahsultan03 @bbyaemond @krispold @hyperfixated-freak @eudximoniakr @deadstarkblacksoul @weepingwitchofthewest @kaitieskidmore1 @eli1fict @rainerax @dsl1999 @uno7 @shine101 @xinyourdreamsx @targeryenmoony @thelittleswanao3 @thenovelcarnival @yourlittlehoe @chattylurker

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #hotd x reader #aemond targaryen fic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon x reader

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stomach-bugg09 · 2 years

Text

sully siblings x sister!reader

summary: [y/n] is back at it again, bringing her siblings entertainment... except this time, she has a little bit more planned.

([I/N] means Ikran's name)

You'll Have to Catch Me First

[Y/N] held the beautiful face of her ikran in her hands. Her fingers felt along the scales, the texture bringing a sense of familiarity and happiness, almost like it was a reminder that this creature — this beast — was so much more than she appeared.

“Okay, [I/N], you remember the drill,” she began, her voice hushed as the two pressed their foreheads together. [Y/N] could only snort as she felt a vibration rumble through her ikran’s body, a deep hum that reminded her, ‘Yes. We have been over it a solid eight-hundred times.’

“Alright, alright,” [Y/N] huffed in mock annoyance. “Whatever you do, though, please do not let me freefall to my death. That is extremely embarrassing.”

But, before [I/N] could respond in her signature exasperated manner, a rustle of leaves made both creatures look up. [Y/N] stared at the shaking leaves of the large tree that they were sitting underneath.

In preparation for what she had been initially planning for, [Y/N] rose from her squatting position, her stance wide and ready to run as soon as she caught a glimpse of her siblings’ familiar faces.

The leaves rustled some more, this time with voices attached to the movements.

“Who decided Lo’ak was in charge?” A familiar deep voice asked, his tone exhausted if not from walking, then from the constant talking from his younger siblings.

“Uh, I am not in charge. Tuk is!”

Tuk’s giggle emerged from behind the leafy entrance, happiness omitting from the soft yet rapid pads of her small feet.

“Even better.” [Y/N] could hear Kiri comment, already imagining the roll of her eyes.

With that, [Y/N]’s four siblings cleared the leaves from their path, allowing themselves entrance into the sunlit section of the forest that [Y/N] had claimed.

“Ah hah!” Tuk declared, raising her index finger in an accusation before she turned around to catch the eyes of her older siblings. After receiving the prideful glances that she initially searched for, Tuk turned back to look at [Y/N]. “We are here to… we are here to… to… Lo’ak what am I supposed to say?”

The older boy chuckled, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“Oh! Yeah.” Tuk nodded, almost as if affirming her message before relaying it. “We are here to arrest you!”

[Y/N] gasped, her hand pressed to her chest in order to entertain the fantasies of her younger sister. “Arrest? Me?” Tuk nodded, her smile smug. “Oh, dear. Well, I am afraid, Officer Tuk…” she paused, taking a breath to lengthen the silly moment. “I am afraid that you’ll have to catch me first!”

With that, [Y/N] spun on her heel, smiling to herself as she noticed that [I/N] had already flown away. She began with silly, stumbling steps, almost as if she was trying to remember how her legs worked. Luckily enough, she was a quick learner.

It didn’t take long for her to begin lengthening her legs, quickening her steps and her pace. [Y/N] was fortunate enough to catch her siblings off-guard, allowing her extra time to run as Neteyam threw Tuk on his shoulders before they could start pursuing their sister.

Part of this scene, [Y/N] running with a smile stuck on her lips, was absolutely and utterly beautiful. The scenery was gorgeous, as it was all over Pandora, but there always seemed to be a new-found appreciation for it when all [Y/N] could feel was the dirt beneath her toes, the leaves brushing her arms, the breeze blowing back her hair, and the sunlight beaming down on her face. She loved every moment of it.

She laughed joyously as she ran, the sounds of her entertained siblings gracing her ears as they yelled out playful insults and comments as if they could slow her down with words. [Y/N] jumped over roots, ran through a stream, ducked under branches, and didn’t fall once (that’s a new record!)

Well, that is, until she reached the cliff. Of course, that had been her goal since the very beginning. Reach the cliff. As her feet left the softness of mulch and dirt, she began to track muddy footprints on the rough surface of the rocky edge. Once she felt the change in texture, the change in give, she began to calculate. How many steps until the end?

One.

She felt the presence of her siblings catch up to her, their huffs of breath and screams of excitement becoming louder by the second.

Two.

She swore she could see her parents, Neytiri and Jake, in the camp across the way. She did not miss the combined look of curiosity, concern, and possible anger start to make its way onto their faces as they watched her run closer and closer to the edge.

Three.

She wasn’t gonna make it. She needed to make her strides longer, legs stretch even farther than they had been before.

Four.

Oh, shit. What if she didn’t make it? Or worse, what if everything didn’t actually work out?

Five.

Well, it’s too late now. Here comes the moment of truth!

[Y/N] felt her legs launch her off of the rocky cliff into a free-fall. She pressed her eyelids together, her mouth closed, and fists tight. It felt like a billion years and like two seconds all at the same time, all until she felt her body jolt against the surface of [I/N].

Like a habitual response, [Y/N] grabbed her queue and made the bond, distributing and balancing her weight across her body as she stood up on her feet, stuck in a crouched position.

[Y/N] couldn’t help but let out a howl of joy. It worked! It actually worked! And she got to show her parents her capabilities — unfortunately, she was well aware that it would come with future punishment for being reckless, but at least she knew there would be a small amount of pride hidden beneath their stares.

The girl laughed madly, stuck in an adrenaline high of the moment as she soared up, turning right past the cliff where her sibling stood, stuck in awe.

“How ‘bout that,” she teased pridefully, a smile etched on her lips. But, of course, as siblings tend to do, the moment is ruined quicker than it started.

Tuk huffed, her arms crossed in front of her chest. “That’s cheating.”

Heyyy!!! Okay, so this is my first time writing + publishing on tumblr, and to say that I am a tad confused and nervous would be an understatement. It's not at all my best work, given it was written in forty-five minutes, but it was fun and I had to do something else with my life night rather than do homework or study for midterms.

I'm honestly not entirely sure how this whole thing works, but I would love to keep writing for the fun of it. I don't know how requests work (like at all), but I seriously appreciate them as inspiration to keep me writing.

But, anyway, all that is to say: thank you for reading!! I hope you stick around (and I hope I keep writing on here!!)

#avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #sully!reader #sully family x y/n #sully family x reader #neteyam x sister!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #neteyam sully #loak sully #sully siblings x reader #avatar 2 x reader #kiri sully #tuk sully #tuktirey

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humblequestvinyl · 1 year

Text

dial drunk

DIAL DRUNK, FISHER BROTHERS X SISTER!READER!

APART OF THE ‘WE’LL ALL BE HERE FOREVER’ SERIES,

SUMMARY: after susannah fisher’s favorite holiday, and the fisher siblings throwing one last house party, y/n fisher dials drunk the one person she thinks could save the house.

inspired by dial drunk by noah kahan

◀ ⏸ ▶

lowercase is intentional! wc: 2.4k

warnings: heavy drinking, cursing, a breakdown, fighting & s2 ep 6 spoilers (kinda!)

a/n: i’ve been OBSESSED with 5sos lately but omg 1989tv soon??? also THE SCENE WITH BELLY AND SUSANNAH?? killed me absolutely! anyway possibly taking a quick break with this series and hopping on another on the way series quickly! <333

THE HANGOVER Y/N WOKE UP WITH THE NEXT MORNING WAS WORSE THAN SHE EXPECTED.

and definitely not where she expected to wake up.

seeing her bedroom surrounding her, with a collage of pictures, and taylor swift vinyls hanging from the wall wasn’t what she expected, but yet, here she was.

she also didn’t expect to hear yelling coming from downstairs.

so as the h/c slipped on a sweatshirt, she slowly made her way down the hall, hearing her brothers arguing– actually yelling at someone, and to say the least, she was surprised. jeremiah never yelled, and when he did he was absolutely pissed.

“you never even cared enough to come here in the summertime! this is mom’s place and the only thing we’ve got left of her!”y/n heard conrad yell as she finally made it to the entryway of the kitchen, seeing her brothers with their backs to her, but her e/c eyes met matching ones.

“what is he doing here?”y/n questioned, and her brothers heads snapped towards her, and they could see anger flash through her eyes before she locked it down, keeping a blank face.

“the bigger question is what are the three of you doing here?”their father, adam questioned as y/n pushed towards the front of her brothers, staring her father directly in the face, “you three aren’t supposed to be here and you know that!”

“and?”y/n shrugged, grabbing a bottle of water from the cabinet knowing she needed it, “it took you over a week to realize the three of us were here, and one minor was left unattended. i don’t really think us being here is that big of a deal.”

“it really is.”adam told her sternly, and she threw her hands up in the air, fed up with her father, “why! please enlighten me on why it is that big of a deal that we are here!”

“we’re here every single summer and i don’t see why us keeping that-”y/n’s rant was cut off by conrad, with a solemn look on his face knowing the news he was about to break was going to kill his baby sister.

“y/n he’s selling the house.”

y/n’s face dropped as she looked dead into her fathers eyes, knowing deep down her eldest brother was right, but she refused to believe it.

“tell me he’s kidding.”she begged, knowing that if they lost this house, the final nail in the coffin to her childhood would be gone, “tell me this is some type of sick fucking joke!”

“it’s not.”adam pressed his lips into a fine line, seeing his youngest’s face drop but no emotion escaped from his except for anger, “you three need to leave by the end of this week. all of your belongings out of the house and back to boston.”

y/n stood there for a few moments, before glancing over at conrad and jeremiah who both shook their heads, telling her there wasn’t anything they’d be able to do.

after a few moments, the h/c girl turned back to her father, with a stone cold face knowing if she didn’t her anger would take over, “no.”

“no?”adam questioned, seeing what susannah always called ‘his mini me’ staring right back at him, “i am your father y/n, i am the one in charge here-”

“mom left me a trust. i want to use it.”she reminded him, and adam shook his head, “it is my trust, it is under my name-”

“you don’t have access to it until you’re 21.”conrad spoke up, causing y/n to snap her head towards him, “beast we’ve tried everything.”

the two stared at each other, before adam grabbed his things, and walked through them towards the front door, “you three have until friday!”

y/n watched as the photos that hung of her mother and laurel shake as her father slammed the front door, and it wasn’t long before his car had left the driveway leaving the fisher siblings alone once again.

“there has to be something else we can do.”y/n broke the silence as she started to pace the kitchen, “there has to be fucking something!”

“there’s nothing else that we can do n/n.”jeremiah spoke up, with worry filling him knowing his baby sister was about to snap, “we’ve tried absolutely everything.”

“there has to be something else!”she yelled, leaving her brothers standing there in shock, before she pushed past them, grabbing her phone and wallet, leaving the house.

as they always said, like father, like daughter.

—-

IT WAS HOURS BEFORE Y/N HAD RETURNED BACK TO THE SUMMER HOUSE.

doing everything she could to brainstorm to try and get the house to stay in their possession, and not go to some random family who wouldn’t make the same memories that they had.

when she finally returned back to the house with another coffee in her hand, she noticed a different car in the driveway that hadn’t been there when she left. walking into the house, she heard a laughter coming from the kitchen, just like how it should’ve been.

“i’m telling you as soon as y/n get’s back we’re planning this out.”jeremiah chuckled right as y/n peaked her head into the kitchen, and a small smile spread across her face seeing some of her favorite people.

“what the hell are you two doing here?”y/n questioned as belly conklin tackled the girl into a hug, and she saw steven chuckling in the background.

“one last summer blowout at beck’s house.”conrad told her, causing a bigger smile to spread across her face knowing they were about to have the time of their lives, “tomorrow night around 8.”

“when do we start decorating?”y/n questioned with a shimmer of joy in her eyes, something the fisher boys hadn’t seen in almost two months.

“we go shopping tomorrow, but for tonight we’re just going to enjoy everything.”steven explained, before giving the girl a wide smile,

“now come here, i still haven’t gotten a hug yet!”

—-

IT WAS OVER TWENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER THAT BOTH BELLY AND Y/N SAT IN Y/N’S ROOM GETTING READY FOR THE PARTY,

both in retro outfits, and belly sat in front of the h/c girl, putting purple eyeshadow on her to match the shirt she was wearing.

“so how are things with you and emerson?”belly brought up as she went to grab another color, and y/n shrugged, not really knowing how to answer that question, “its going.”

“i hadn’t talked to her since the funeral, and then two nights ago she was at the same party i was at, and i was drunk.”y/n explained as belly finished up the girls eye makeup, and went to grab lipstick, “and the next morning i woke up to find out that my dad was selling the house.”

“try and talk to her tonight.”belly told the girl as she painted her lips a dark red, “she loves you a lot y/n and she knows that you didn’t push her away for shits and giggles.”

“if i’m not so drunk by the time we can talk then yeah, i’ll talk to her.”y/n mumbled as belly gave the girl a soft smile knowing that she never meant to push away the one girl she loved the most.

quickly standing up, belly helped the sixteen year old up, and wrapped her in a tight side hug as they started to exit her room and go downstairs, “c’mon, we’ve got some partying to do.”

as soon as the two made it to the bottom of the stairs, they strapped on the roller blades they had found in the garage, and started to skate around the house while karma by taylor swift was blasting through the speakers cam cameron had found.

it was a few hours before y/n had actually found emerson, and when she did, she was drunk. a bottle of vodka in her hand, and a wide smile on her face as soon as she spotted the brunette standing at the kitchen island talking with her older brothers.

“emmy!”the e/c girl exclaimed, causing emerson to have a small smile on her face as she saw y/n skating towards her, “where have you been?”

“right here sweet girl.”emerson chuckled as she wrapped an arm around the girls waist, making sure she didn’t lose balance and fall, “didn’t know you could skate n/n.”

“when i was little i wanted to be a figure skater.”y/n grinned, before letting out a gasp and turning towards conrad who was standing right beside emerson, “do you still have the polaroid camera?”

conrad nodded, before y/n turned towards emerson with the biggest grin on her face, “emmy we’ve gotta take one.”

“and so we do my girl.”emerson nodded, before conrad stepped in front of the two and y/n wrapped her arms around emerson’s neck.

a flash lit up the dark room before the photo printed, and conrad had handed it to his little sister as she waited for it to develop before she went off to somewhere else, presumably to change the music considering it had changed to some type of country song she hated.

“that’s so cute!”the fisher girl exclaimed as soon as it developed, before she turned to emerson, “can you hold this?”

emerson nodded, before gently taking the polaroid she knew the girl would cherish, and y/n grinned, pressing a quick kiss to the brunettes cheek, “thank you!”

and with that she skated off, finding belly and the two skated towards the room where cam cameron was DJing, requesting the song be changed.

hours had passed since emerson had last seen y/n, and she quickly found the girl standing in the ocean, with the bottle of vodka almost gone.

“whatcha doing out here?”emerson questioned as she joined the girl, standing right next to her and y/n took another swig of the vodka.

“too suffocating.”

the girls stood in silence for a few moments before y/n felt a tear slip down her face, and she took another sip from the almost empty bottle in her hands, “my dads selling the house.”

“i know.”

y/n let the bottle slip through her hands and crash into the ocean as she turned to look at emerson with her mouth slightly open, “you what-”

“i’ve known for awhile sunshine.”emerson told the girl softly, and anger spread across the h/c girl’s face.

“you fucking what!”she yelled as she stumbled back, and emerson quickly grabbed the girl before picking her up bridal style, carrying her out of the water.

“emerson scott let me fucking go!”y/n yelled, but emerson didn’t listen until they were a good distance away from the water, gently putting the girl on her feet, “emerson what the fuck!”

“y/n you’re drunk.”emerson told the girl, trying to stay calm knowing that the girl she loved was about to explode.

“you knew and you didn’t tell me?”y/n shouted as she stumbled back a bit, “you saw the for sale sign and didn’t have the common courtesy to call me?”

“you know how much this house means to my brothers, the conklin’s and i, and yet you didn’t call any-!”y/n was cut off by emerson shaking her head, “i called conrad.”

“oh so you can call conrad but you can’t bother to call the girl who you claim to love the most!”y/n threw her hands up in the air as she had tears involuntarily slipping down her face, “i can’t fucking believe you wouldn’t call me about this!”

“y/n when i called conrad to tell him and i bought up the fact that i was going to call you next, he told me not to.”she explained and y/n gave her a look with glossy e/c eyes, causing the brunette to realize that she was too far gone to realize what she was saying.

“fucking forget it!”y/n yelled as she stormed towards the house where some shitty morgan wallen song was playing, and ran up the stairs, tripping on the last one before she was able to make it into her room.

a sob broke from the girls lips as she locked her door, before lying down on her bed and flipping to her contacts to call the only person who could help them. it rang four times before it went to voicemail, causing a sob to rip through the girl knowing that nothing was fine.

“this is laurel parks, please leave a message and i’ll get back to you as soon as i can.”laurel’s voice spoke through the phone, before a beep rang through the phone, and the girl sobbed.

“laurel,”y/n sobbed, gripping the roots of her hair, “we need you.”

“dad’s selling the summer house to someone and won’t even hear conrad, jeremiah and i out on it and–” another loud sob broke through the girl, not feeling heartbreak this bad since her mom had died, “he can’t sell the house! we need to keep this house.”

“and i want my mom back.”y/n continued to cry, letting everything she had been feeling the last two months go, “conrads going to miss his exams and i fought with emerson and everything is wrong!”

“laurel please.”y/n begged as she felt her eyes getting heavier from the crying and the alcohol, “please just come and fix it.”

with that, the voicemail ended, and the girl slowly drifted off to sleep with tears streaming down her face like there was no tomorrow, and her phone slowly slipping out of her hand, onto the bed.

little did the fisher girl know, she had just dialed drunk the only person who would be able to save the summer house.

#conrad fisher imagine #tsitp angst #the summer i turned pretty angst #belly conklin #conrad fisher #conrad fisher x reader #jeremiah fisher x sister!reader #jeremiah fisher angst #jeremiah fisher fluff #conrad fisher angst #tsitp spoilers #jeremiah fisher imagine #jeremiah fisher x reader #conrad fisher x you #we'll all be here forever series

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a-spes · 1 year

Text

R I S E O F T H E D A R K N E S S - One shot.

Word count - 2k.

Tags & Warnings - Natasha Romanoff x Reader, mentions of death, blood and past suicide attempt, angst.

Summary - Your family is cursed but you thought you were better, that you could keep the Beast away so you told no one about it. It turns out you can't.

— — — — —

Suddenly, the world is spinning. You let go the knife, both of your hands grabbing your head in an attempt to reduce the pain, nails scratching your face, a scream stuck in your throat.

It is here.

You stumble a few steps back, trying to keep control over your body, wondering how long you’ll be able to last. You are trying to concentrate on your breath and to keep your mind focus on what you are doing but none of the rules you strictly applied those past years are not working anymore.

It is back and, this time, it is mad.

In your fight against this invisible force, you became completely oblivious of your surrounding, not even noticing when you are bumping into the walls, barely hearing the bowl that broke.

"What’s happening, honey?" a voice said, giving you something to hold on.

You blink and, suddenly, the world is not pitch black anymore, it is green. It takes the heart-warming colour of her eyes as you met them. The feeling of comfort doesn’t stop the one of surprise, why is the redhead here? She is not supposed to. You didn’t even hear the woman before her voice raised.

The team left this morning for an important mission and they were supposed to be back late. After a quick glance at the clock, you realize that it is late, ten p.m. A second, it was the morning, the next it was the night, and you didn’t even noticed the time that has passed but you can see how the cookies you baked are dry now.

It stole your day.

There were days when mother was like that, being insane. Those are the memories you kept for yourself for years, being ashamed of what was happening in your home, not quite understanding it, until now.

She would act weird, as if she was completely disconnected of the world. She would forget about everything and lose track of time. One day, she woke you up in the middle of the night, not caring about your cries as she was dragging you on the stairs. “Stop finding an excuse, you need to go to school. You don’t want to end up as stupid as your father, do you?” she said as you were trying to explain to her it was Midnight. She didn’t listen, and you spent the night on the street. The next day, she would have forgotten about it.

You don’t have many memories from her before because you were too young and oblivious about how precious those moments were. One day, you woke up and she was gone.

Not dead, but gone.

She still had the appearance of your mom, but it wasn’t the same anymore. Her embrace wasn’t comforting, her words were cold, she was barely paying attention to you and just like that you knew. The day she talked to you about had eventually come.

You are loosing against It.

Your mom died a few weeks after those events, and you know you won’t last any longer than she did. You thought you could be stronger than she was but you were just desperate, craving for some hope.

“I- thought you were supposed to be home late?” you asked back, but your wife doesn’t let it slide so easily.

She makes a step forward, you make one back, the sadness in her eyes breaking your heart but you don’t want to risk her safety. You may have regained the control of your body and thoughts but you can still feel It presence.

“You are lying,” she said. It is not a question, it is a statement.

A part of you wants to tell her all the story but you can’t, the words are stuck in you throat. You want to seek comfort in her arms, but you don’t want her to pay the price for your failures.

Everything was just a big mistake.

You are trying to think quickly about an excuse but you can’t find something that could explain what she just saw; you were throwing things and writhing in pain and it is not something you usually do. You can feel that she is angry, and you don’t want to make things worse, knowing how your wife can be when it comes at people she cares about.

“Do you want one?” you asked, talking about the cookies you made this morning. You completely ignored what she just said, trying to change the subject.

If you are terrified about the shadow growing in you, it is not because you don’t want to die. You always knew the grim reaper would come for you sooner than for the rest of the humanity, you accepted that idea a long time ago.

No, if you are scared of something, it is that you could hurt the people you love, that you could make them suffer. You don’t want any of them to know a similar situation to yours so you made it your secret. The only person knowing was your mother, but she took it in her grave.

You thought you could be stronger than the Beast, you thought you had more time but living with the Avengers may be the best thing that happened in your life, it is also rude some days. The negative thoughts and feelings made It stronger, day by day, until It slowly started to take the control of your mind.

Once, you tried to end it. It was before you joined the Avengers, when you were at your lowest and thought you weren’t strong enough to fight it.

But the Beast didn't allow it.

It never allowed it, always finding a way to prevent you from killing yourself. It doesn’t want to looe the human body it is living in too soon, not before its time to rise and live fully came. The only solution is someone else to do it, something you always refused to do.

The memories of your mother’s death playing in your nightmares every night. Even after so many years, you could still perfectly see the inanimate body and the blood, you could still feel the fear and sadness of that night, your hand shaking as if you were still holding the gun that killed her.

After she had died, you hated her for a lot of reasons and you started blaming everything wrong in your life on her because you didn't understand yet.

Why having a child if it means you won't see them growing?

Why having a child if it means they will be cursed too?

You also hated yourself a lot. It was a long journey to make peace with what happened, and you are not even there yet. Sometimes, you wonder if you made the right choice, what if? You spent nights exploring alternative universes where things happened differently but you know it will never be your reality because you can’t change the past.

“Love,” she sighed. She is so close now that you can feel her hands on your hips and her breath on your neck as she rests her head on your shoulder. You wish this moment lasts forever. “You know you can talk to me, right?” she added, not falling for your distraction.

But you eventually met the redhead and understood your mom. Suddenly, everything you thought you would never know was right in front of you, love and dreams.The house on the campaign, the marriage, the family, the cats,... you knew it was selfish, but for a few years, you forgot about the curse. It was barely here anyway, It presence being so little that you thought to think that maybe it was gone and it wasn't as deep as you thought it was.

But history is repeating itself.

The last year had been a descent into hell. You thought you had more time to spend with your wife, but It decided its hour of glory had come and you don’t know for how long you will be able to keep It away, neither you want to discover what would happen if it eventually comes into this world.

It happened, once, would tell your mother. It is a terrible story, the only one she would tell you before going to bed, it gave you nightmares. It is the story of a person that thought they were better than everyone else. The story of a person that refused the death to embrace the Beast, thinking they could control it.

They couldn’t.

No one can stop the Beast. Once its rise accomplished, it is like a shadow. Impossible to catch but lethal for anyone who crosses its path.

As a kid, you would promise her that you would do everything you could to save her, not wanting your mom to know the same fate as your ancestor. You fulfilled this promise, just not the way you thought you would, death being the only solution against the Beast.

Kill It before it is too late.

Your mom always knew, but you are not as wise as she was. You are greedy, you have hopes and you acted stupid and selfish. Even what happened to your mom, even after all those years hating that woman, you thought you were better than the world, that you will be stronger, leaving no chance to It. Days after days, you ignored the pain, the absences, even the marks that sometimes appeared on your body, blaming it on your job as an excuse.

“It is here,” you whispered, the last thing you saw being Natasha’s confused expression, you don’t even hear her as she asked you who you are talking about.

She is going to learn quickly.

When you regain consciousness, you are pinned on the ground by the redhead. She knows you are back because something changed in your eyes. She is bleeding. It is the first thing you notice, not even caring about your pain. Her grip loosens a bit, if it doesn’t allow you to get up, you can glance around. The common room is devastated, broken glasses on the floor and overturned furnitures. This vision brings tears into your eyes.

It is the result of your mistakes, of your selfishness.

Maybe you are not the one who did that, your mind not even remembering what happened but you are responsible for that. If you told them earlier, not fearing they would reject you, maybe you could have found a solution. If you didn’t fall for a fantasy of a family, you wouldn’t have put the one you love in such a dangerous situation.

When you look at her, you see how she seems to hesitate, shared between the part of her that loves you and the logical one.

“Do it,” you command her in a quiet voice, it is almost a begging, “before it is too late,” all your muscles suddenly contract, It is not far and you don’t know if you’ll come back this time.

“Do what?” she asked back but you know she understood, you can read it in her eyes, the pain. She is about to add something but you already know what words are going to come out of her mouth.

“There is nothing you can do,” you said, “it is the curse.”

Her eyes widened at those words because she immediately knew what you were talking about. You told her this story a lot of time but never said a word about you being the cursed one. You were so scared she would leave you if she knew that you kept it for yourself. She probably thought it was one of your weird obsessions for creepy legends. You talked a lot about it, at night, making theories and plans, you were serious but, for her, it was nothing more than a fun talk. She never believed in that kind of stories until today.

“I love you,” you managed to whisper before darkness envelops you again, and you are sure you heard her whispering it back, it brings you a bit of peace.

If only you told them earlier, if you only you hadn’t been so selfish.

#natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #reader insert #angst #angst no comfort #mcu fanfiction #mcu au

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euphoricfilter · 2 years

Note

Jungkook and "I can't stop thinking about you." with the tiniest bit of angst with a fluffy ending. Thank you!!

rose tinted glasses:

pairing: idol! jungkook x f. reader

genre: fluff || angst || friends to lovers

summary: jungkook’s a patient man, and he’ll wait as long as you need to find him again.

word count: 1.1k

tags/ warnings: arguably mild angst, bad friends, maybe best bf kook, intended lowercase

notes: drabble game is closed <3 just a quick drabble that i will not overthink the quality of. it's an easy read one may argue.

drabble masterlist || my main masterlist

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

if you’d been the one looking at jungkook through rose tinted glass this whole time, then you wonder how the world views him.

personified perfection, the epitome of what a star should be. because in the world’s eyes, he lacked flaws.

there’s some sort of hidden rule the universe sets, that any input from family should mean something; it should mean everything. blood relations should always be held above everything else in life. they’re your family, of course they want what’s best for you.

it leaves you to wonder when the opinions of close friends had been held to the same standard. how you’d let yourself be swept up in their views of jungkook.

an acclaimed awful relationship, toxic, you should escape while you still can. crawl out of jungkook’s claws and save yourself before it’s too late.

you wonder when advice had become clear jealousy, lies they’d feed you over and over again until you’d been second guessing yourself. second guessing jungkook, when he’d truly tried his best to make your relationship work with so many outside factors interfering.

cameras acting as beady little eyes, scrutinizing him for things only human. digging into private affairs and overstepping inhumane boundaries.

jungkook was far from perfect, you knew that, they knew that— just not in the way they’d told you.

there had been nothing inherently wrong with what you had with jungkook. sure, you came from two completely different worlds, your job a lot less flashy, and arguably less successful than your (ex)boyfriend, but jungkook didn’t care.

because you liked him for him and that was really all he could ask you for. not when you sacrificed so much just to be with him.

nda forms, no public dates, weeks where he’d be abroad, too busy to call but too lonely not to leave you a heartfelt text about how much he missed you.

jungkook wasn’t selfish. you knew that. you’d always known that.

he hadn’t caged you. hadn’t locked the doors and fed the key to a beast where you couldn’t leave. fame hadn’t turned him into a monster— still very much human with human emotions and desires.

it’s a shame you’d let the pressure of those who were supposed to care about you ruin something so special.

the universe has funny ways of telling us things. just like how, if you and jungkook weren’t meant to be together, why was he all you saw. because your life would never be void of jungkook no matter how hard you tried to avoid him.

he was at a strange point in his career, every corner you turned, there he was. billboards, advertisements, his songs playing on the radio as you shop, coffee accompanied by the sweet melody of his voice. riding a steady wave of success with no clear end in sight.

you hadn’t called him for weeks, and he’d stopped leaving you messages on voicemail. perhaps he stopped caring. you wouldn’t blame him, could never blame him— probably swept up with a mountain of work, probably exhausted.

it takes you a month to realize that your misery was because of him. you’d been the one to end things, pressure of everyone finally getting to you. really you’d do anything to make the calls stop, the mean jabs over dinner or passive aggressive texts from friends.

lie after lie rotting your mind until you couldn’t take it anymore and you ran away from your problems.

maybe it was the silence of the evening. the way your friends had distanced themselves once you’d told them you’d stopped talking to jungkook; he was out of your life like they’d suggested. bitter betrayal squeezing your heart when you realize that isn’t what they wanted, because you were no use to them anymore if you had nothing to do with jungkook.

you’d been friends before lovers, their assumption being you’d just go back to being friends.

maybe it was the sticky solitude that had you roaming the streets gone midnight. in search of comfort, the only person you knew still had your back— who will always have your back no matter how big of a bitch you are.

you tug the sleeves of your hoodie further over your hands, tips of your fingers numb as you dial his apartment number.

you know he’s awake, hope slowly fizzling out the longer the door rings.

he doesn’t say anything, simply opening the door to the building. elevator taking an eternity to get to the lobby, even longer in taking you to the right floor.

jungkook’s stood at his door when you step out into the hallway, hair a little frizzy in the way it gets after he’s showered.

“hey” he says, and you stay rooted in your spot.

“i can’t stop thinking about you” you blurt, his figure nothing more than a blur as tears glaze your eyes.

“i can’t stop thinking about you either, my love”

“i’m so sorry” you shake your head as jungkook steps out of his apartment.

“don’t apologize, it must have been hard for you” he hums, tucking your hair behind your ear as you wipe your cheeks with the backs of your hands.

“don’t do this” you hiccup.

“don’t do what?” he smiles, hands falling onto your hips, gentle as he tugs you closer to his body.

“you’re too nice, you can’t be like this after what happened”

“nothing happened” jungkook shakes his head, taking a step backwards, pulling you along with him until you’re both in the warm of his apartment.

“i said some really mean things”

“that you didn’t mean”

your shoulders deflate, muscles warming under his hands like taffy.

“i know what was happening with your friends, your parents weren’t much help either. i’m not blaming you for something that was out of both our control”

“i shouldn’t have listened to them” you kick your shoes off.

“no, you shouldn’t have. but it’s not something we can change now”

bam peeks over the back of the couch, clumsy as he scuttles over to the two of you, “and what about us?”

“what about us?” jungkook kneels down, always one to spoil his dog with kisses, “why can’t we just go back to the way we were?”

you blink down at jungkook, “i’d really like that”

“i love you” he grins, “if you ever run away again, i’ll always wait for you at home. i’ll always be waiting”

“i won’t run again” you tell him, you’d made that mistake once, “i love you too much to do that again”

“i just put fresh sheets on the bed, if you wanna stay over?”

it’s strange, how even after a month apart, words that you never meant shouted in a fit of rage, and the distance of a city apart— jungkook will always feel like home.

the world viewed jungkook as perfect. and he wasn’t. not in the way everyone else saw him.

and even if jungkook were to be the beast, a villain of your love story, nothing could ever stop you from wandering back home into his arms. even if it meant the world was against you.

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #bts fic #jungkook #bts x reader #drabble game

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cherry-pop-elf · 5 months

Text

Hoof Race

Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Can be read as platonic

I’m going through ALOT because of a dickwad of a piano teacher. So imma just project and vent here. I love piano, but I don’t love the piano teacher. My own personal Umbridge. Bleck. So it’s gonna be sloppily written, projective, just. I’m going through a lot right now. A lot a lot.

Summary: Your first detention with Umbridge. Needless to say, very traumatizing. At least you have a pair of red heads to comfort you. Along with formed an escape plan to get you out of there. With some help

Warnings: Umbridge, scars, blood, depression, anxiety, stress, crying, trauma, Umbridge being Umbridge. Physical Violence against Reader from Umbridge, Humanism(Racism against other species) Surprise Guest Appearance for the Book Lovers from one of our favorite Divination Teachers

“Where is our little lab rat?” Fred huffed, as he was looking around for you. With George trailing behind. Looking in all the directions that Fred wasn’t looking. You had promised to meet them at Hagrid’s to test out a new product to help with calming animals. Something that was more so a Comission’s for Hagrid than anything else. Would be a nice little treat. Tea, fang, and laughter. Just one problem. Where are you?

“Should have never given Harry that map.” George would grumble, as he was getting worried now. Where were you? You aren’t one to break a promise. Especially to miss out on hanging with Hagrid. Who wants to purposely avoid a cozy evening with him? Especially since the twins had hoards of candy to share. If you missed a treat like that, it has to be beyond your control.

“Checked the dorm, checked Myrtle, checked the Requirement’s, checked the green house-“ The twins would finish each others sentences, as they walked. Trying so hard to think of where you could be. That’s when they stopped infront of the Defense Room Doors. They were open, but the office door was closed. They slowly looked to each other, before bolting inside.

“But Miss Umbridge, it hurts-!” They heard you shout, now that they were pressing their ears to the door. “It’s not suppose to feel good, darling. I should have expected such idiocy from someone who found it wise to speak out of turn-“ Umbridge would huff, as her heels could be heard pacing. A mixture of sharp clicks, and your hiccups.

“Mr. Firenze is not a THING-!” You snapped, only for a sharp smack to echo in the room. Made the twins wince, as you hiccuped again. “That beast is indeed that. Why defend that vile creature, when it even identifies itself as a beast-? Hm? Shouldn’t expect much from an idiotic child like yourself.” She lectured on.

“What do we do?” George whispered to Fred. What could they do? She was still a professor after all. Regardless, they had to do something. Anything. SOMETHING. They had to think fast, before you got even more hurt. Or worse. Expelled.

“Twins-?” A voice called itself, making the duo look over. The familiar blonde hair, and clips of hoof steps, made it clear who it was. Their newest teacher, given Umbridge very literally fired their old one. What a god send, as the twins were able to hatch a plan.

“Please please-“ They made praying hand gestures, as they pointed at her door. Making dramatic movements to try and convey they needed a distraction. Not wanting to get detention next. Never thought detention could be worse than anything Snape could offer.

The echo of another slap was what made the ever calm teacher connect the dots. Oh how he dispised such treatment. It was inhuman. That’s saying something from a man who used to live with trantulas the size of buildings. He would quickly motion for the red heads to quickly go hide under the stairs, before he cleared his throat.

“Mistress Umbridge? I need to speak with you about a matter at hand-!” He called, with a hoof stomp for added volume. The duo was quick to run under the stairs, and narrowly miss her gaze. An ever-plastered fake smile was on her lips, as she would walk down the stairs. A twitch to her eye was given, as she was now forced to speak to the centaur.

"Yes, Firenze? Whatever could you need at this late hour?" She asked, while the twins were quick to rush into the classroom. Left quite a sight. There you were, with bloody hands. To bloody to even make out what scars she had to make your write this time. Along with a firm bruise on your cheek, from her had no less. They were enraged, to put it lightly. This was the last time she would ever do this. That was their promise.

They were quick to your side, as you wrapped your arms around them. Your savior. "She just kept insulting him, and it wasn't right. He's a good teacher-" You would sniffle, as George would use his wand to try and clean your hands. He sneered at the words on your skin. Busy with tending to your immediate wounds, as Fred tried to calm you down and explain the plan.

"WAIT WAIT-I UH-I AM JUST A CENATUR! A WITCH LIKE YOURSELF KNOWS MORE THE I!" Firenze shouted, making the twins realize their time was running out. "Just be quiet, and follow our lead-" Fred just said, and you listened. Typical behavior, after all. They were always scheming, and you were happy to get into any mess they offered.

"Well....You are just a centaur. You aren't modern, or cultured, such as myself. I suppose i can remind you how we properly function here." Umbridge would smugly say, as Firenze tried so hard to not roll his eyes. Was worth it, as he was able to watch you be escorted back under the stairs. That firey red hair hidden away. Just in time, because even his calm soul can only take so much.

"Oh dear, Mar's is infront of Saturn. You know what that means, I better return to my classroom-!” She had no idea what that meant, no one did since it was a big lie. Least it sounded good enough to make her scoff. Feeling as though she wasted her time with him. Regardless, she gave a friendly smile. Now walking back towards her office.

The second her back was turned, the blonde stallion quickly motioned for the three of you to hurry to him. Fred and George basically carried you, as they did. Needing to work fast. Was just yanked around like a doll, but there was no choice. The moment Umbridge had gasped, noticing you were gone, you three were on his back.

“Where did-“ But it was faded, as you three were not having a horse ride of your life. Escaping her, this night. Quite the adrenaline rush. Riding the back of your teacher, as he tried to not trip down the stairs. Least you had Fred and George to comfort you. Holding on to the straps on their teachers body, for his supplies, and comforting you.

“Well clean you up, and make sure that this is the last time she ever hurts anyone.” Fred said, with a firm nod. You never thought the twins could look so angry before. Was scary, but also a morbid reassurance. Given Umbridge’s gaslighting was getting to you. Thinking you were a burden, failure, worthless, just horrible. Didn’t even noticed you were starting to cry. It was all too much. The boys would hold you close, and just hold.

“Dreadful woman. Dreadful dreadful just oh so dreadful-“ Firenze would keep on muttering, as he tried to not break an ankle on those ever moving stairs. Full of much spite as anyone else. Suppose that meant the twins had someone on their side, at least.

“You are gonna crash with us tonight.” Fred said to you, as Firenze took that as advice on where to go. Now heading to the Gryffindor common room. “Think of it as a big sleep over. Chilling in the common room’s living space.” George echoed. Childish, but there is joy in childhood. Had you smile in approval.

“Here, allow me to offer some assistance.” Firenze then spoke, as he rummaged in his bag. Still trotting along, as it was just a hallway roam now.

“This should help with your healing and recovery. Sometimes spells can not solve all problems.” And a small bag was offered to you three. Most likely a herbal of some kind. The kind textures were very reassuring. A reminder you weren’t crazy. That she was in the wrong. Not you. Still, made you tremble in fear.

“Gonna be ok. She’s not gonna hurt you anymore.” Fred reassured, with a kiss to your head. Followed by George hugging you tightly. Just helping ground you, as the centaur finally stopped at the painting. She didn’t even ask for the password. As if she wanted to delay much needed rest.

“Rest, if you can. When you join me for our class, tomorrow, you are permitted to not join. You may just relax, and star gaze. That often times relaxes myself.” Firenze offered, as he laid down at the open wall. Allowing you three to get off. He understood you were a victim, and offered sanctuary where he could.

“Thanks…” You sniffled, as to not be rude. He knows, he knows. He gave you a pat on your head, and a smile, before taking his escort away. Leaving you three with your thoughts. The twins mostly thought of how to make whatever happens to Umbridge look like an accident, while you were still shaking from the ordeal. Murder plots can be for another time. You were first.

Escorted to the common room couch, you were as pampered as you could be. Hands properly wrapped, the herbal deal brewed, helping clean up the blood stains, using their latest invention to help clean up your bruise. Just doing what they could, as you sniffled and hiccuped.

Once done, you were soon lying against Fred. With George semi on top of you. As if some kind of pressure therapy. A means to make sure no one could touch you, or sneak up on you. Was nice. What was nicer was the random fellow classmates who walked around. May it to get something to drink, unable to sleep, what have you.

They took notice of you, could quickly grasp it was Umbridge, and let you have your comfort. May it be making sure you three had a blanket, staying extra quiet to not disturb you, or asking if you needed anything. Just some humanity against the darkness.

The comfort of the twins, the easing calm of the tea, and the sound of the ever lit fireplace. It helped you come back to earth again. Just what you needed. Reassurance that you were the victim. Not the other way around. Just deep breaths of fire, cinnamon, and gun powder.

You’ll be ok. You’ll be ok, and the twins promised.

As if they ever would break a promise.

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