#tis yearning hour yet again

[circusofthelastdays]

mage hand & graded papers

warnings: MDNI, NSFW, post epilogue, afab fem reader, inappropriate use of mage hand, gale uses mage hand to get you off while grading papers.

You traipse into Gale's study, a thin robe adorning your body, loosely tied. Hair falls over your shoulders, the strong scent of your lavender soap wafting through the house. A bath would help, was the assumption in your mind. Maybe some relaxation would quell the ravenous need for your husbands touch, you thought.

Yet here you stand, the aching feeling of arousal pulsing in your core as you lean against the doorway to his study. You eye him from behind, debating on whether or not you would bother him. It's clear that he's busy- he's been working for hours. You stand there watching him, hunched over his desk, reading glasses on and quill in hand. Papers are scattered across his desk, ones you can only assume are his students.

Even the sight of him like this has your current arousal ever growing, and your face heating up. "Gale, are you almost done?" you ask him, knowing that if he turns around to face you it'll be clear why you want to know.

"No where near, I still have about twenty papers to grade." He answers you, not even bothering to look away from the paper he is marking up with red ink.

Your lips curl into a frown, "oh, that's fine- I'll just uhm... I'll go cook dinner or something I suppose."

You step back from the doorway, not wanting to disturb his work any further. Still, you can't help but stand there and observe him a bit longer with a yearning look.

Gale turns from his desk when he hears the defeat in your voice, pulling his reading glasses down the bridge of his nose to get a good look at you. He sees the flush on your face, your half tied robe, and the way you try to subtly squeeze your thighs together while standing there.

"Come here, my love." He says, directing you with a pointed finger to come to his side.

Without hesitation, you go to his side, expecting that you'll be getting what you so desperately crave. Gale, however, has other ideas. He gently grasps your arm, and pulls you down onto his lap.

"Sit here with me, for just a bit?" he says, placing a chaste kiss on the back of your neck after. He picks up his quill again, dipping it in red ink, and looks back down at the papers he is grading, paying no mind to you fidgeting on his lap.

So you do as he asks, despite how much you desire to do more, to have him touch you in anyway. And oh, what you would give to have him take you against his desk... you can't help but squirm in his lap at the thought of it. You sit there silently for awhile, watching him grade papers and listening to nothing but his breathing and the scratching of his quill against paper. He places more chaste kisses on your neck and shoulder every so often, effectively worsening your arousal, and you know damn well he's doing this on purpose.

At least twenty minutes have passed before you hear him utter anything, but you can't quite catch what is was. "Hmm? What was that?" you ask, trying to get Gale to repeat what he said.

"Oh nothing, dear," he says, with a cheeky smirk on his face that you cannot see. "just mumbling about these papers."

A moment passes, and then you feel a light brush against your leg. However, you think you must be imagining things. Both of Gale's hands are hard at work above the desk. You feel it again, more apparent this time as it trails up your thigh, and pulls at your robe.

You quickly look down, and realize what's happening. A shimmering, blue, and sheer hand is the culprit. The incantation for mage hand, that must've been what Gale uttered.

"Gale?" you speak his name in a questioning tone, facing heating up at the implications of this situation, "what are you doing?"

"Isn't this what you wanted, my love?" He says, controlling the hand to pull open your robe so your body is on display for him, proceeding to trail the sheer hand over your breasts, and down to your hips.

The hand ghosts over your wet cunt, collecting some slick- a shiver runs down your spine, and your head falls back onto Gale's shoulder. "You're a fucking tease."

"Am I?" he replies, this time making the hand touch you with more purpose. It glides over your folds, before hooking two fingers inside whilst simultaneously circling your clit with its translucent thumb. "I'm just giving you what you crave."

"You know damn well this isn't what I had in mind..." you start to complain, but the hand speeds up, expertly touching you exactly how you like it. Your lips part, a slew of needy whimpers and whining spilling out of you, as your poised nature comes crumbling down.

"Hush, now. I'm still working." Gale chides, in a tone that is clearly meant to taunt you further. However, he himself makes no move to touch you, he only adjusts the reading glasses on his face and goes back to grading the papers on his desk. Yet, the translucent hand continues its ministrations, so his concentration is not entirely on his work, no matter how much he pretends it is.

You try to be quiet, really, you do. Though the situation at hand makes it incapable to do so, especially since the mage hand seems to double down on it's efforts the more you squirm and choke down moans in attempt to be quiet. He's messing with you, threatening your resolve and challenging your ability to follow instructions.

Gale's left hand strays away from his work, and wraps around your waist to keep you from moving around, "Stop squirming, dear. You're distracting me."

It cannot be helped though, you're too far gone. Pleasure is building in your core as the mage hand doesn't seem to let up, merely moments away from tumbling over the edge. You're practically panting with need, the occasional moan of your lover's name included in the lewd sounds that fill the room. You can't tell what's more sinful, the sound of your wetness or the muffled sounds of ecstasy that slip off your tongue.

Gale chuckles quietly at your muted whimpers and feeble attempts to stay quiet for him- he dares to hush you for a second time. "Shh, you're okay..." He says, but there's something about the way he says it, his tone sensual, and with a sloppy kiss placed against your neck. It has you positively reeling.

The cord tightening within your stomach finally snaps, and the pleasure becomes overwhelming. Gale's name falls off your lips like a chant, like it's the only word you can remember. The translucent hand continues its onslaught, working you through the waves of your orgasm, Gale holding you still on his lap until your body is spent. He groans at the sight of you, unable to ignore his own arousal now.

The mage hand finally dissipates out of existence, and you think you're done, as you lean back onto your husband's chest.

"ah, ah-" he chastises you, before hastily pushing the papers to the side of his desk, as well as the ink that spills across them. The spilled ink is a problem for later, he could not care less. "I'm not done with you just yet..."

He hoists you onto his desk, and spreads your legs, trailing gentle kisses up your thighs. A needy growl escapes him as he licks a stripe across your soaked cunt, before his lips continue the path up your body to their rightful destination.

"Work can wait," Gale's lips connect with yours, with desperation and heat, passion coursing through him. As he pulls away, he grabs hold of your chin, and gently coaxes you to make eye contact, "I need you more."

check out my masterlist for more like this!

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Special Episode III

Calm After the Storm

An Illustrated Collaboration with @zestys-stuff

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's creator @zestys-stuff.

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19)

Warnings: nsfw, smut, fluff, profanity, age gap, rut cycle, heat cycle, extreme knotting, marking, scenting, territorial/possessive behaviour, breeding kink, p in v, mating/bonding, multiple climaxes, creampie, belly bulge, actual breeding, let me know if I forgot anything?

Word Count: 6.3k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Happy halloween guys! I know I literally fell off the face of the earth and I will make another post to address that. But I know I haven’t participated for @pandoraslxna ‘s kinktober event (I’m so sorry bby) but if I could only participate for one of the days it would be today for sure. So I definitely wanted to get this out before midnight. It’s not purely a/b/o but honestly entails all the aspects of it. I think we can all definitely tell who’s the alpha and omega here (Ralak is alpha material hands down, ofc). I hope you guys enjoy this one, and I apologize for such a wait <3 Also I feel like I’m a bit rusty, so apologies for any typos, errors, or just plain suckish writing.

ALSO a big happy birthday to my babe @neteyamsoare <3 love you and hope it was a good one!!

Synopsis: Your heat starts to subside, but Ralak’s rut is only getting stronger. What could possibly go wrong?

<- Previous -> Next

——

Only an hour has passed before you feel your not-so-gentle giant stirring behind you, waking you from your sleep. You’d both been on your sides for too long now and everywhere seems to ache. You whine when you feel his hips shift against you, tugging at the immense pressure between your hips. The bulge protruding from your lower abdomen has barely gone down and you feel almost as full as you did when he initially emptied his load inside you.

Silken strands of his hair fall onto your prickled skin as he props himself up on his elbow from behind you, perching his chin on your throbbing shoulder. He inhales deeply – longingly. His hot breath gently blows against your neck just as you feel his arm snake under your leg and yank it back in one rough tug.

“Ralak.” His name falls from your lips through a nearly inaudible croak. “‘m so full.” You barely mumble out, rolling your head to the side. Yet, the flame within you is without a doubt reigniting with a vengeance.

And he can sense it.

Simply by the way you push back into him, making that bulge in your belly protrude a little more. His large hand resting on your stomach can indubitably feel it. And the smile that it puts on his face is almost baleful, bearing his lengthy canines that yearn to sink deep into you once more. “Sorry, tìyawn [love].”

He just can’t help it.

No matter how hard he tried. The desire—no, the need—to fuck into you and claim you as his time and time again is… irrepressible. In this moment, nothing else felt better than your little, used cunt hugging his cock so tightly that it almost hurts. He yearns to fill you over and over. Again and again until your womb is overflowing with his seed. The mere thought has his balls pulling tight to his body, firming up by the second all just to flood your womb again.

“Muntxate [wife].” Ralak growls into your neck, sliding his hand down to your inner thigh. “I will try to be–” He groans slowly, his pointer finger now burrowing itself between your tied pelvises, “–flrr [gentle].”

The final accented word comes out roughly, and if it weren’t for his finger slipping past his knot and into your cunt, you would’ve probably heard it clearly. You yelp out when he traces his finger around his knot, stretching your already taut skin, attempting to work a little space to allow his bulge to slip out.

It's all consuming and you’re simply too overwhelmed with his size that you fail to realise how your body is synced with his and bearing down to push him out. All whilst he’s struggling to fight the snap of hips to avoid hurting you. But the tugging is nothing like you’ve felt before adn you can finally understand why he was so insistent in the first place.

ut there was no getting out of this now, not that you even wanted to.

“It–it’s…” You brace yourself by grabbing onto his forearm, “...t-too big.”

“Ngaytxoa [sorry]” He huffs out his fourth apology, losing himself once again as his hips finally jerk back out of his control.

Pop.

His knot slips out of you with such force that the squelch it makes is as loud as your whimper. It’s so wet and slippery that his cock follows behind his knot, sliding out of you effortlessly. He’s more than half-hard yet so heavy and hung it rests close to your knee. Then you feel it. His cum dribbling down your thigh, still warm and sticky as if he just filled you up seconds ago.

It’s such a conflicting feeling — a mixture of relief and pent up frustration. Your heat is still in full bloom, despite it being so quenched until you’re almost nauseated. It’s as if you were two pieces perfectly linked together, allowing nature to run its course with no second thought. He grunts when he feels the crisp night air against his groin, his cock now springing up to its full length in just a few seconds.

He, too, feels some sort of feverish way now. Itching to be back inside your warmth, enveloped by your gummy, slimy walls. He opts to pepper wet kisses along your neck, and then up to your jaw, lingering there as he tries to distract himself from the ache to shove it back inside you.

Until it becomes too much.

“Tanhì.” He moans into your ear, heavy lidded eyes struggling to stay open as his tongue trails the skin on the back of your neck. “Need you.” It’s his way of begging for permission. Permission to slam his cock back inside you and hammer into you until the annoying itch deep in his core goes away again. You were the only one to make it go away. To stop the hurt. “Please.” He whines out a plea of desperation, now gritting his teeth from the way his stomach is tensing. “Now.”

But that last plea wasn’t much of a question, no. It was more of a demand. A way of saying, ‘give it to me, or I’ll take you on my own terms’.

“Fuck.” You mumble under your breath, sliding your free hand down your side to hook it under your leg. You pull it back and reposition your hips to give him access to your cunt. “P-Put it in, ‘Lak.”

Ralak’s hips begin to stutter — the leaking, mushroomy tip of his cock now repeatedly prodding between your puffed up folds. His breath turns raggedy as he tries to guide himself back inside you handsfree. Your slick is overflowing, making it even more difficult for him to align himself with your entrance. The frustration brewing within him bubbles over when his cockhead glides past your swollen clit instead of sinking in your cunt. So he pulls back in one swift move and —

Thrust.

Your body jolts from how quickly he slams every inch of his cock inside you, forcing you split-open. Ralak huffs a shaky sigh of relief, his breathing growing a little steadier now that he’s deep inside his mate. Meanwhile, your mouth hangs agape yet no sound falls from your lips. Your eyes well up with tears and your ears lay flat against your skull. Your body is in complete submission to the beast dominating it and there’s nothing else you can do but give in to the pleasure.

“Your scent.” He whispers open-mouthed, tips of his canines grazing the nape of your neck. “It is driving me crazy.” You release the breath that you didn’t even realise you were holding. You didn’t even know what to say. Not like you could really say much right now anyways. You’re too lost in the fog of your own heat. For once, Ralak is doing most of the talking. “It makes me…” He snaps his hips back, only leaving half of his length inside you. “...lose myself completely.”

A deep roll of his hips.

A lewd moan dripping off your lips. 

“How do you do that?” He huffs, pressing his teeth against your neck. You don’t answer yet again. You just can’t find the words. Not right now. Not when he’s so deep inside you. “Hm?” A deep growl vibrates up his throat, his teeth just barely piercing the first layer of your silken skin.

“I—” You’re cut off by your own squeal when you feel the sting of his bite. Your breath catches in your throat and he immediately unlatches, lapping at the nicked skin to soothe it. “Sorry.” He whispers breathlessly, planting a quick kiss on each of your marks. “Sorry. Sorry.” A few more apologies flow from his mouth, as if he were drunk off of too much fermented fruit. Somewhat lucid but still so spaced. “I cannot —ngh— help myself.”

Thrust.

“‘M sorry.”

He knows he went a little too deep just now. But you feel so fucking good around his cock.

Chomp.

Another mark. Right on the bend of your shoulder, next to your first.

“Ngaytxoa [I’m sorry]”

A small cry from your quivering lips.

“S-Stop. No more apologies. I am yours to do what you p-please with.” You finally get out in one, weary breath.

Ralak’s languid, deep thrusts are laced with desperation. And with each stroke they become harsher and harsher. Faster and faster. Now he’s got your full permission he lets go once more, falling into the thick fog of his rut.

Within seconds his cock is pumping in and out of you, his half-deflated knot continuously prodding and poking at your entrance. The tip of his cock drags against your walls, putting an immense pressure right on your sweet spot. Yet still, sounds barely fall from your flushed lips. You’re too out of it. Too focused on the raw sensations rippling through you all at once. His overwhelming pheromones. His marking. His relentless pounding.

Rather, hot tears well over your eyes and stream down your face.

He can’t stop slamming himself inside you. He doesn’t want it to stop. It’s absolute rapture and he’s unapologetically drowning in it.

“Tanhì. Tanhì.” He groans needily. “y/n.”

He only says your name when he’s serious about something.

And hearing it drip from his tongue onto the nape of your neck has your hairs standing high and your clit throbbing.

“Eywa. Yes, ‘lak? T-Tell me what you need.” You blubber out, tightening your grip on his forearm.

“Haa — spread yourself.” He demands, prompting you to tuck your leg back as far as you can. His pace quickens, hips striking you with a sinful vengeance. But no matter how hard he fucks you, or how deep he buries himself inside you — its just not enough. He needs to be closer. To be deeper. To really be inside you. To knot you.

“More.” He grunts, slowing his thrusts into rocking, grinding himself inside your slippery, tight cunt.

You go to tug at your leg and meet nothing but resistance. “I-I’m trying.” You can feel it now. Perhaps it’s the bond or maybe it’s the way his knot is working you open but he’s growing more and more frustrated by the thrust.

“Mmmh. Wider.”

“I can’t. I can’t.” You’re quick to answer, feeling nothing but pressure from the way he’s trying to shove more of himself inside you.

“Agh.” He growls in frustration, pulling out of you and grabbing you by the ankle to flip you onto your back.

Ralak situates himself between your legs without hesitation and pushes them so far back your knees graze against the tips of your ears. You can barely breathe in this position and are having a hard time seeing anything else but his raging cock at your entrance. You can feel the burn in your thighs from how far back he’s shoving your knees but that sting is masked by the pleasure of him plunging himself back into your pussy.

The moan that rips from your lips is obscene and like no other. The crown of his cock is drilling itself directly into your sweet spot, causing it to swell with unadulterated pleasure. And each time he pulls out just to sink it back inside you he winds you in the process – making you sputter out absolute nonsense. Even he knows you're close, despite being in the thick of his rut.

But frankly, he doesn't care.

All he’s concerned about is satisfying his own urges.

“Not enough.” He grits through his teeth as his eyes shift to an even deeper shade of mauve. “‘ts not enough.” He pants, voice laced with something of worry. Panic that this feeling won’t go away. It makes you panic too, wondering if you’re doing enough for him. If he’s going to take even more from you. If you can manage it.

“You’re okay. Do what you need.” You try to reassure him, grasping your feet and holding them back–opening yourself up even more. But fuck, that only made things worst for you.

And by worst, you mean better. It feels like you’ll burst any second now, especially with how much pressure is on your bladder. “Fu-ck me. God, fuck–ahaa-fuck me.”

His brows bunch together as he peers down at you, beads of sweat rolling off his face to drip onto your chest. His jaw is so tense it looks as if it may fracture. He’s grunting with every push and huffing with every pull.

“Right there! Fuck. I’m close. I’m so fucking close. I-I need you to cum i-inside me. Oh—please ‘lak. Please!” Your cries are choked and muffled, breaths short and raggedy. The heat pooling in your core is unbearable. It needs out. Now.

Ralak swallows. Hard. Through his own haze he can see that you’re in need too. He shuffles closer to you, tucking his feet under him to assume a squatting position. Now he’s all but on top of you, folding you into a merciless mating press. This one shift in position has you coming undone on his cock, coating it in your thick slick as you sob from the white hot pleasure. The force of your climax has you pushing him out and only has him drilling himself further inside you. If it’s not for the way your pussy walls tighten around him surely his knot would have popped inside you by now.

He’s still fucking into you, right through your orgasm and towards his.

“Say what you need.” He panics through a tightened jaw, grinding himself inside you – pushing his knot against the resistance.

You know what he’s actually asking from you. To say something. Anything to tip him over the edge. To rid him of this maddening itch.

“Breed me.” You whisper, locking eyes with him. You watch as his pupils blow into thin rings and then constrict into nothing but dots. You try to swallow what spit you could, attempting to clear your throat. “Breed me. Please.”

“Then take it.” He lets loose a sinister growl, putting all his weight into his final push. For the first time, you feel his knot pop inside you, veiny and as thick as can be. You let out a high-pitched whimper, and feel your teeth begin to chatter. That doesn’t make him ease up, though. He continues to grind himself inside you until you feel the familiar, warm sensation of his sticky seed spraying inside you – filling your womb to the brim. His cock throbs wildly, in perfect synchrony with his own heartbeat, and soon yours too as the bond equilibrates your souls once more.

Strangely, you thought you’d be sore and overstimulated by now, but your body has never felt better. You’re full and content and more than satiated. Ralak heaves a sigh — one of pure relief. It’s glued to his face. All panic washes away and he’s feeling more at peace the longer he remains inside you. He’s rigid, firmly holding his position on top of you — ensuring he empties every single drop inside you. Yet, his heavy lidded eyes begin to close.

“I can’t breathe.” You mumble, snapping him out of his tranquil trance. His eyes meet yours and the corner of his mouth pulls into a little smirk. He exhales a breathy chuckle and carefully manoeuvres you both into a more comfortable position. He settles himself on his back and supports your body whilst positioning you on top of him.

“Better?” Ralak husks, drawing circles into your back with the tip of his finger.

You take a deep breath, filling your lungs to full capacity and then slowly release it. “Much.”

“Nga yawne lu oer [I love you]” His accented words slur together as he dozes off.

“Nga yawne lu oer, Ralak [I love you].”

——

Ralak woke repeatedly throughout the night for his fill. If it wasn’t him, it was you. Waking up in a clammy state, shaking and nuzzling into his chest from your heat. You honestly thought that the more time passed — the more rounds you went — the more he would calm down.

But, you thought wrong.

He’d start by leaving tender kisses wherever he could, whispering he’d do his best to be as gentle as he can be. Then, he’d slip a finger inside you, stretching you out in attempts to pull his knot out without hurting you. But it would always sting, even just a little bit. After that he’d beg. Pleading with you to let him back in, and apologize right after plunging inside you regardless of your answer—which was always yes.

At this point your own foggy haze would take over. Perhaps it was your body’s way of coping with the overstimulation, but you pined for every single second of it. Sometimes it would last for a few minutes. Where he’d be quick to fold you in two and growl in the shell of your ear, ‘you’re mine, haah — fuck, take me’. 

Sometimes it was closer to an hour. Where you’d both be so tired you’d take breaks, lazily taking turns fucking each other, telling him to ‘put it back in’ whenever he’d slip out. But one thing remained the same every time. You’d sob when you’d cum and then beg him to breed you. And he would, without a doubt, breed you.

Mercilessly.

And with each breeding, he’d lose himself a little deeper. Knotting you over and over. Marking you repeatedly until your body’s littered with bites. Until you were so fucked out you’d lost the feeling in your legs. Until your throat was so dry you could barely speak. Until you needed a break.

——

“Wait.” You crawl towards the bedside table with wobbly knees. “Just need some water, Lak.”

Ralak pounces on you, knocking you onto your stomach and pressing himself against you. You extend an arm out, fingers splayed out and shaking from you trying to reach the cup of water Ka’ani left there more than a day ago. Ralak grabs your hips and hoists you up onto your knees and elbows, and mounts you from behind.

“Water. Water, Lak.” You beg with a hoarse cry, only for him to line the crown of his cock up with your sopping cunt. He growls next to your ear as he stretches over you and reaches for the cup of water, filling his cheeks and putting it back down within a couple seconds. With a quick grip of your jaw, he turns your head and meets his lips with yours.

Before you can process what’s going on you’re gulping down water as fast as you can. And when he pulls away, you’re yet again met with the hazy eyes of his rut. That’s when it dawns on you that whilst your heat is coming to an end, his rut is only getting stronger.

Rather than looking away, he locks his gaze onto you, just so he can watch your face screw as he slams his cock inside of you in one, hard thrust. It works a sudden, breathy moan from your mouth, eyebrows pinching together from the stretch. He holds his position, basking in the warmth and tightness of your cunt as his breath goes shaky.

“Wait.” You mumble weakly, shoving a hand behind you to push against his lower stomach. “Please.”

For the first time, you were telling him to stop.

His jawbone flutters as his eyes search yours. Restraint plasters to his face, and the only audible thing is his heavy breathing. He nods. Just once. A firm and intentional nod. He swallows the residual water left in his mouth and tenderly pulls out of you. You hear the thud of his footsteps quiet down as he nears the marui door, and then the splash of the water when he dives into the rough sea.

It’s pouring outside.

Storming, actually. Thundering and lightning. Yet he feels this is the only way he’d be able to resist the urge to storm back in and fuck you. But the instinct to protect his mate, even if it’s from himself, is more than enough to give him the willpower to walk away.

You take this moment to just breathe, turning your head to face the plush bed beneath you as you gather your thoughts. Did he just show that much restraint? Enough to walk away from a female na’vi during her heat cycle… all whilst in the height of his own rut cycle?

“Lekye’ung [insane]” You mutter, using your trembling hand to grab and bring the cup to your lips. They, too, are sore and chapped. Having gone so many hours without any food or water, you knock it back, shaking the cup to get out every drop. Finished already? You think to yourself, looking inside the cup with hazed vision, confirming it’s indeed empty.

After setting it back down onto the table, you slump back into the bedhead, relaxing your body. You’re sore. Actually, sore is an understatement. Every single muscle and fiber in your body burns—and that isn’t entirely due to your heat either now that it’s finally subsiding. Perhaps you should be taking this time to have a look at your… condition, but you’re finding it harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

So you give in, sinking further and further into the bed as you doze off.

—

A few hours go by and Ralak returns with a net of fish thrown over his shoulder and a bucket of fresh water perched on his hip. He carefully sets down the bucket and rests the net next to the fire pit. He’s cautious not to wake you, nor come too close to you. Ralak ignites the fire and fans the flame. As quietly as possible, he prepares and cooks the fish, setting them aside to wrap in the leaves of a spartan tree.

Since coming to Awa’atltu, one of your biggest adjustments—despite the obvious—has been your change in diet. Fish weren’t uncommon back home, but they certainly weren’t the main source of food. You prefer the other foods here, your favourite being what you call ‘inland boar’, which is an animal that resembles what your father calls a ‘pig’ from his star.

But not even that, (boar) could smell better than this (fish).

The aroma alone rouses you from your sleep.

Your eyes open to a dark room and a glowing fire pit. The fire is out but the wood remains hot, shifting among different shades of orange and red. Ralak sits beside it, with his back leaning against the support beam of the pod. His arms are crossed over his chest and his knees are slightly bent. It’s hard to see more than just his silhouette with the lack of moonlight.

“That smells good.” You rasp. Ralak’s eyes fly open to reveal a familiar shade of deep blue. Like the sea. They glow and flicker before you, examining you now that you’re sitting up out of bed.

Crack.

A bolt of lightning strikes in the distance, illuminating the room. For a moment, you were able to see every single bike mark, scratch and bruise you’ve given him. It also reveals that he’s shaking. Trembling from being wet and cold, or possibly from the strain he was putting himself through from just being in the same room as you.

Ralak moves quickly, shuffling to his feet and going right for the leaf that holds a few sloppily rolled fish. He brings it to you, setting it slowly on your lap, being overly cautious not to touch you. Grabbing your cup on the table, he dunks it in the bucket and sets it beside you.

“Eat.” He whispers, backing away to sit next to the pit. You watch as he slides down the beam and into a sitting position, and then glance down at your food. Saliva pools in your mouth from the aroma wafting up your nose.

You’re hungry.

“Thank you.” You say quietly, hastily stuffing an entire roll into your mouth.

You moan as you chew, nodding your head from how good it tastes. It’s hard to swallow, given that you bit off more than you could chew—literally—but when it finally goesdown you feel your stomach grumble for more. Ralak watches you intently. A wince screwing his face with every swallow he witnesses. And when you finish, you chug down your water and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

Another crack of lightning strikes, and then a low, lengthy rumble of thunder follows.

“That was… one of the best you’ve made, lak.” You say with a wobbly smile, slowly getting on your feet to wash your hands. The bucket is nearby your mate, who is still fixed in position. Although he remains unmoving, his eyes follow your every move. You shake your hands to dry them and shuffle over to Ralak and sit next to him.

“so… how do you feel?” You ask quietly, raising your hand to check if he’s feverish. He turns his head before your hand can make contact with his skin and his gaze locks onto the charred wood in the fire pit. 

“Fine.” Ralak mutters.

Eyebrows pinching in confusion, you tilt your head to try and look him in the eye. Your brows relax when you come to the realisation that he’s already taken care of himself. And only Eywa knows how many times.

“You know, you didn’t have to do that. I would have—”

“Ma’ muntxate [my wife]”He croaks, swiftly turning his head to look directly into your eyes. “Oeru txoa livu [please forgive me].”

“Txoa? [forgive?] What for, ma’ muntxatan? [husband]”

“I have… neglected you.” He’s struggling to speak. You can hear it in the strain of his voice.

Regardless, none of his words are really making any sense to you right now. How has he been neglectful? Despite the circumstances, it’s obvious he’s been trying his hardest to be good to you. Somehow, even conjuring up the strength to pull out of you and walk away.

“Ralak. You have not. Please, I—”

“Look at yourself.” He snaps, taking a quick glance at your body before dropping his head in his hands.

Crack.

Conveniently, another strike of lightning and boom of thunder, revealing exactly what he’s talking about. For a few seconds, you’re met with the sight of your battered body—scabbed and bruised. You lift your head, staring at his shameful demeanour. But the more you stare, the more you see your own reflection.

“And have you looked at yourself?” Your words bounce as you shuffle closer to him. “I bet you can’t even feel all that damage I’ve done to you.” You coo, using your thumb to gently graze past an easy six-inch scratch mark on his bicep. “I haven’t been so gentle with you either.”

Ralak shakes his head, allowing it to sink further into his hands. “You were starved.” He mumbles into the palms of his hands.

You sigh, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin in the dip between them. Your eyes wander over to the fire pit, catching sight of the outline of a few fish rolls.

Has he really punished himself by not eating?

“Have you eaten?” You ask, resting a gentle hand on his back.

“No need.”

“You should, you know. Don’t want you starving on me, lak.” You say lightheartedly, allowing your hand to slide up his spine and to the base of his skull.

He lets loose a quiet groan, fighting the twitch of his ears. Your fingers smooth over the base of his kuru, playing with the braid encasing that covers it. “If you do that—”

“Do what?” You whisper coyly, quickly running your hand down the length of his kuru.

His spine immediately straightens, his head lifting from his hands. The tips of your fingers gently make their way to his tendrils, carefully teasing them as they try to wrap around your digits. He sucks in a sharp breath and closes his eyes, allowing a shiver to run through him. It feels like your fingers were inside his skull, tickling his brain in the best way possible. 

Reaching for your kuru with your free hand, you bring it up and over your shoulder. You lean into Ralak, your lips only inches away from his. You pull away your fingers to grip and pull his queue forth. The loss of contact has him sitting up straight, opening his eyes to look at you.

“I will not let you suffer alone.” You whisper, lessening the distance between the two of you, tilting your head to the side ever so slightly. He stills himself, even limiting his own breath so as not to make any sudden moves. “Okay?”

You wait for just a moment. For him to say something. To move away. But he remains stock-still, waiting for you to initiate this. You smile, your top teeth briefly rubbing against this lower lip, and lock your lips with his. He exhales through his nose, coming to life from your kiss and returning it full force. You take this as a good sign. A sign that you’ve broken through that wall once again, and bring your kurus together — making tsaheylu [the bond].

Both your eyes fly open, blown pupils staring into one another as your spirits unify. You both pull back, shoulders and chests heaving from your quick, unsteady breaths. You feel all that he feels – the frustration, the panic, the tension. It’s all fading, now finally nearing the end. He feels your subsiding heat, your soreness, your overpowering urge to care for him.

Before another second could pass, your lips crash into each other again—tongues intertwining as they explore one another’s mouth. Using his hand to support your upper back, he slowly lowers you onto the woven floor, parting your legs with his free hand. He situates himself between them, pressing his crotch firmly against yours. He’s warm, just like the toasty fire pit next to you.

I will try to be gentle. Ralak thinks to you, just like he’s been promising to be night after night.

I know you will. You smile, moving your kisses down his jawline as he slides his hands between your sticky pelvises.

——

It hasn’t even been two full weeks since the synchronous heat that had you and your mate locked away in your marui pod for a little over two days. Your back and thighs–and honestly everywhere else– still ache but outside of that, you feel like a brand new person. You weren’t able to confidently say that Ralak feels the same way, however.

Of course, he was adamant on limiting intimacy until you were ‘healed and recovered’. But, he had a bounce in his step. As if he were physically lighter. As if the weight of six years of pent up sexual frustration and self neglect melted off his back when you satiated the ‘insatiable’.

The constant aftercare was almost sickening. Even after most of your marks had faded he remained adamant on treating them with your own omaticayan herbs from back home. He praised them at every use, thanking your people for making such exceptional ’umtsa [medicine].

But as you entered the second week, after tons of reassurance, things dissipated and went back to normal. Ralak went back to his usual routine—fishing, hunting, responding to a few calls to Tonowari and your father. Ralak, without a doubt, made a vow to you and himself not to initiate anything until you were more than healed. But nonetheless clung to you in the nights.

He even, in fact, added a new step into your usual nighttime regimen. As usual, it began with the snuggles and tucking you under his arm just right, providing you with enough warmth to endure the cool night air. Then, he would release the perfect amount of pheromones to get you drowsy enough for bed.

But recently, he’s spent the past seven nights delaying the nightly routine until he’s had his fill of your scent. He’d lay himself down on your chest, nuzzling his face into your bosom and just breathe. You allowed it, thinking it was his own newfound way to wind down for bed.

Yet, the real reason was much different.

——

Right on the two week mark, Tsireya had roped you in with helping her with some of her Tsakrem duties. You were always happy to help her though, as it meant getting away from the marui pod for a little even if it meant being poked and prodded at.

And it certainly didn’t take long for that to happen.

Tsireya lets out a frustrated sigh and plops the medicinal pouch she’s weaving in her lap.  “I can no longer ignore it, y/n. You smell different.”

You lift your head, tearing your focus from your task of weaving and look at her with a puzzled expression on your face. You bring the end of your tail to your nose and sniff, but smell… nothing. “Like what?” Her brows lower and her eyes glisten with concern. She purses her lips and unsheathes the lengthy pin from its casing and grabs your hand. “Here we go.” You mutter to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as you anticipate the sting.

Prick.

“Sss—ah! You need to be careful with how deep you go with that, you know. You could really—” The tsahik in training puts the wooden stick to her tongue and stares at you wide eyed, mouth agape. It’s as if she wants to speak but the words are lodged in her throat. “What? What is it?”

“You—perhaps I am wrong.” She stutters, quickly sheathing the tool back into its casing. “You should see my mother, y/n.”

“What? Why? Just tell me.” The words come out in a haste, and your voice is laced with panic. Do you have some sort of disease of the sea? Is there a cure? 

“You — you are with child.” Her lips tremble as she says the words in an uncertain tone of voice.

“What?” You stare at her dumbfounded, a little caught off guard by her choice of words.

“Pregnant. You’re pregnant. But I am likely mistaken. I am only in training. Which is why I said you should see my moth—”

“Oh. No. You’re… you’re probably right, Tsireya.” You swallow the spit pooling in your cheeks, avoiding eye contact.

“H-How? I mean. I know how. But how? Surely Ralak knows not to do such a thing during your heat. He can control himself. R-Right?”

“Right. If I were the only one… in heat.” You say the last few words under your breath, fixing your shawl before picking back up your task.

“What do you mean?” Tsireya leans in with a tilted head, looking a little closer at your covered shoulder. “Did you help him with his rut?” Tsireya asks bluntly. “He’s been unmated for six years, y/n. Did you reall—”

“I am his mate. Of course I did.” You nearly snap, baffled by the tone she’s having with you.

“H-How did that even work?” Tsireya shakes her head, slowly raising her hand towards you.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You finally lift your head to shoot her a puzzled, yet offended stare. “It worked like it would for any other Na’vi.”

“Y/n…” Tsireya quickly grabs your shawl, pulling it off your shoulder to reveal a large, deep and scabbed up bite mark. It looks almost infected because of the strange omaticayan herbal concoction smeared over it. “You should have just let him ease you into it. Look at you, you’re all bruised and—”

“Tsireya.” You interject, “thank you for the concern, but—” you aggressively pull up your shawl, “I feel just fine. Besides, being in heat was the best way to ‘ease me into it’…He was as gentle as he could be.” You mutter, twiddling with the twine as you think back to the way he tried to handle you with care.

“By the looks of it, he was anything but gentle with you.” Tsireya seethes, angry that the man she grew up looking at like a brother would do something like this to you.

You wince at her words. They’re like a knife to the heart.

A long, awkward silence fills the space between you and Tsireya. She reflects on everything she’s said, realising that perhaps she was a little more harsh than needed. She softens her gaze, “I’m sorry. I should not have said that. I just hate seeing you hurt.”

“I get it. I know you’re just looking out for me. It’s alright, ‘reya.”

You exchange lighthearted smiles.

“You are definitely pregnant then. After six years, he must have really filled you—”

“Tsireya!” You laugh, giving her shoulder a light shove.

Tsireya’s grin morphs into a more serious expression. “See mother to make sure. Okay?”

Your smile also fades into something softer as you nod your head in agreement. “Okay.”

[multch]

Accident.

No outbreak! Joel Miller x Reader [18+] CW: Unspecified age gap \ touching \ suggestive content\ afab Reader

After a wardrobe malfunction at the beach, Mr Miller decides he’s gotten too close- enough is enough- but he couldn't have anticipated the constant teasing that would follow suit..

Sand, sun and some eye-candy, Nothing could be better than this!

Finally coming back home felt fantastic after months away at college. Not only would you get to crash on the much larger bed of your old room but you would also be around for the elaborate summer holidays your parents would take.

Your family was enthusiastic.. To say the least. They were always ecstatic when it came to organizing what annual ‘event’ they would host. You hoped it would be just a simple trip with you and your siblings like last year- maybe someplace where you wouldn’t have to suffer the sweltering heat waves that summer kept offering- Like England or Newzeland!

Unfortunately, your parents had something else in mind:

The beach.

With people you hardly know.

With THE Joel Miller practically babysitting you while they organize it.

Fuck.

Joel Miller has been a friend of both of your parents for a few years now. Having first met him as a helping hand while officially moving out of your parents’ house, he’s proven himself exceptionally helpful. You almost feel bad- You know your dad always makes sure he’s paid for his work, however; you felt like you, personally, had never thanked him properly.

Heck- You’d be happy to thank him quite thoroughly if you know what I mean… 

You could never shake the thoughts you've had since you two first locked eyes. A simple gesture sparking many moons of passionate yearning. Thinking about his muscular arms, his sculpted face and the dark tone of his restless voice. Perhaps even the sounds it would make if your hands wandered achingly slow down his solid chest and towards his big, hard, throbbing…

You wish! Your little crush on him was absolutely trampled on 2 years ago by the sly comment you heard him tell your parents one night. Apparently he had started dating again- probably found someone already, afterall, it has been 2 years..

Still… you couldn’t help but wonder if a beach party could be your chance- maybe not to do.. anything… but you could at least muster up the courage to ask him if he's taken or not.

Right?

You felt butterflies in your stomach, swearing this was a make or break decision.

It took hours of pacing and rapid texting-the night before- but finally you had picked out the perfect bikini for tonight.

It was baby-blue in a gingham print. The bikini itself tied together on both hips and one in-between your breasts- joining in a dainty little bow you had spent ages worrying if it didn't look “effortless enough.” It was cute enough to be semi casual while being mature enough that your relatives wouldn't keep acting like you were an actual child.

You couldn’t help but second guess yourself… Was the effort really worth it? It's just a small get together after all, why would you need to impress anyone?… 

Would you actually impress him?

Could you ever impress him?

*

In the blink of an eye, you gasped at the sudden grasp around your tits. Those hands were large and powerful. They were panicked- almost hesitant however he didn’t seem too keen on letting go. As the wave finished toppling over you two, Joel swiftly pulled you around to face him.

The sight was mouth watering.

Flushed bright red, Joel was quick to glare into your eyes- His were brimming with concern yet crystal clear with honesty and the determination to protect your honor. His hair was wet and sat tousled over his eyes. You couldn’t help but gaze at his bitten lip as he concentrated so deeply between the valley of your breasts- almost as if he was staring directly into your heart. 

It thumped as if it were about to explode.

It might have taken you a few moments to realize but before you could react, Joel was already bent down and trying to re-tie the center string of your bikini top. Being so far out- the waves were ruthless. They crashed over the two of you like an avalanche.

It felt near impossible to keep your balance with Joel tugging you towards him- all the while, the moving sea pulling you-two away from shore.

Instinctively, your hands steadied yourself on Joel’s shoulders. A pink blush spread throughout your face as you began to realize how truly naked you were.

His tanned, bare shoulders were strong and toned from years of strenuous work in the blistering sun. Your exposed stomach fluttering with a flight of butterflies. The memory of his careful touch against a place so sensitive…

His motoring hands slowly came to a stop. As soon as he went to stand up, you quickly dropped your arms. Not knowing where to place them, your hands checked the tight bows around your hips. Luckily, it seemed like your bikini bottoms were secure; however, your top was another story.

The look you gave him was less than impressed…

“Shut up.” He growled without hesitance.

Oh.

It was painfully obvious he was embarrassed.

Cute, you thought.

You shot him back a sly smirk

For a man who spent so long hovering over your bust, his ability to tie the knot was sheepish. Joel had fixed a simple double knot, causing the remaining rope to dangle over your naval.

Letting out a quick sigh, you decided you had enough of the ocean for today. His eyes widened as he felt your brisk grasp on his arm- dragging him back to shore to the best of your ability.

*

Staring at your phone was useless. The mere thought of today's “incident” was enough to keep you running in circles. You sigh as you fall further into the plush cushions that lined the small sofa. Like many family functions, You've sought refuge in the same old fashioned living room. It was a cramped room tucked far within the back end of the house cluttered with old furniture. Fortunately, the abandoned room was silent compared to outside’s blaring ruckus. It was yours.

… at least, it was.

There in the door frame stood a familiar sight;

“Hey… can I speak to you,” Joel sighed, “about earlier today… I'm sorry for-”

“Groping me?” You snarked.

“God, give me a break would ‘ya,” His brows furrowed as his face slowly turned a light shade of pink, “It was either I did that or else you would’ve flashed everyone!”

For a moment, you get lost within the passionate emotion of his southern drawl. He’s so flustered; it almost seems as if he’s annoyed by you too. Maybe you were too calm? Maybe he was too embarrassed. Regardless, His outrage humored you more than you would like to admit- forcing a chuckle to erupt from within you.

“What? You think this is funny?” He spat- rolling his eyes.

"A little…”

…

The room sat still in deafening silence until…. “BAAHAHAHHAAHAAHAHA- oh my god, ok so maybe a lot,” you giggled, “I'm so sorry but really I don’t see why you care so much?”

Joel was practically fuming. Hot pink- he was humiliated “Get a grip!, damn you little-”

“Did you just tell me to get a grip? I would but it seems you’ve grabbed enough things today for the two of us-”

Before you had the chance to laugh, your eyes widened at the sight of the one and only Joel Miller rushing towards you with a salty smile and a couch pillow hurling towards you.

HWACK! You squealed at the sudden collision. Despite being a pillow, when punted hard enough at a victim, it proves itself as an effective weapon.

“GOT ‘YA!” He gasped- now standing over you. As you opened your eyes, they locked with his. 

Your mouth sat smug, readying yourself for a moment to strike back. His eyes! it was for a brief moment yet you were lucky enough to catch them darting down to your lips. 

Ha!

Your tactic: the element of surprise. When his gaze returned, it took all your power to summon the courage to muster out the question plastered across your heart for so long.

It was now or never, you assured.

“Jo- Mr Miller,” you stated, “this is so awkward but… I was wondering if you were in a relationship?”

“What's it to you?” He chuckled, shifting to rest his palm on the armrest beside you.

“I… um..” you tightened your grip on the pillow.

The look in his eyes was enough to tell you.

Fuck.

“Ah… shit.., look ‘sweetpea, y'know your daddy and I are buddies…” he tried telling you but he knew he couldn't steer you away.

“And? So what, I'm an adult,” You barked, “C'mon Joel- I really like you!”

The truth came bubbling out, you didn't expect to actually tell him. Not tonight. Not ever. Happily watching from the sidelines was a hobby- you imagined him in your future. Confessing to him; however, was never foreseen. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

With your vision glossing over, this wave of dread was suffocating. Before you could excuse yourself, you felt his familiar grasp on your hand. Unlike before, his touch wasn't hesitant. Instead, his grip was determined, driven yet caring.

He grazed his thumb side to side across the back of your hand. His fingers kissing yours with each rough callous and soft intention.

The surprised action made your eyes widen, you raised your head up high only to see the sight of Joel Miller looking back at you like how one looks at a puppy- as if his heart had melted.

A bright pink flush and bitten lips, it was clear he had something to say stuck on the tip of his tongue. 

“Y/N.” 

“Joel.”

He bent down and held the side of your face. Dark and hazy, his eyes glazed over with ambition. “You're so pretty, y'know that?” He kissed onto your lips.

With that said, you stretched your arms up and placed them on his broad shoulders, merging your mouth with his. He nipped at your bottom lip, asking for entry. You gave in, allowing him access to explore each and every crevice with his tongue. 

Was it mere minutes or years you had been kissing for? You couldn't tell. Regardless, at some point you had to pry yourself apart in order to grant yourself a moment to breathe. Your lips felt so tender and bruised- God, how you missed his touch.

He fell to sit beside you, the old couch creaking as he sat down. “Do you normally make out with men twice your age?” He teased.

“Oh, Shut up!” you said before chucking the pillow at his chest with a loud thud.

[talesofesther]

something worth losing

Neve Gallus x Rook

Summary: Neve didn't ask for much. She didn't ask for attention or for people to stick with her. Yet one taste from Rook got her yearning to bend her own rules and ask, anyway.

A/N: I love them so much. They're gonna be the death of me, I swear. Another little moment between my two babies, this time with a little more personal touch regarding my Rook. <3

Masterlist

"Venhedis", Neve hissed through her teeth, instinctively scrunching her brow when the sharp pain bit at her skin and regretting it soon after, as the motion only worsened her predicament.

Neve had snuck into the dining room of the Lighthouse, where she knew a small mirror lay forgotten on the counter beside the stove. She could have gone to Bellara's room, no shortage of mirrors there, but Neve knew the elf was working on her archive and she didn't want to bring unnecessary worry.

Because, Neve was trying to take off the stitches closing the wound on her forehead.

They needed to come off, Neve decided this morning. The wound she had gotten when she followed Rook to the heart of Solas' ritual was almost healed, even the black and blues around her eye were barely visible anymore, so she figured the stitches could go too.

A mistake, maybe. The small mirror Neve used as her guide wasn't much help, as her fingers accidentally tugged and twisted the small stitches in ways they weren't supposed to go. Her skin around the healing scar started to turn a bit red, still quite sensitive and now hurting because of Neve's less-than-gentle ministrations.

The mage huffed, sitting back on her stool and dropping her hands to her lap. A soft crackle coming from the ever-burning fire of the hearth caught Neve's attention, it bathed the dining room in warm tones of yellow and orange, reflecting against pans and porcelain plates.

It was still a bit of a mystery to her; why she had so promptly and willingly followed Rook into a dangerous ritual upon knowing the woman for no longer than a couple hours back then. Neve spoke of delivering a job well done, and while that was true, she had a feeling she'd have done the same regardless.

Neve picked at her nails, pointer finger to thumb, scraping the teal color—another thing that bothered her since then, she was usually better at keeping it neat.

Rook had a dangerous pull to her, something alluring. It beckoned Neve closer like a lighthouse did to lost ships drifting through tempestuous seas.

Neve pushed the feeling away and stored it in her heart's 'best ignored' drawer. Or she tried to.

The heavy dining room doors were pushed open, disrupting the silence, and in walked the subject of her troubles.

Rook had a whole apple held in her mouth, as the doors closed behind her again, she brought a hand up to hold the fruit, taking a bite out of it. The corner of her eyes scrunched with a smile when she spotted Neve sitting by the corner.

"Skipping dinner, Rook?" Neve teased in lieu of a greeting, a smirk to her lips.

Rook raised a finger as she swallowed, walking up to Neve. "Actually, I was just about to start making dinner." She left her apple on the counter beside Neve and leaned her hip against it. Her hair was damp, half of it haphazardly tied back. Her clothes were casual, even more so than usual; a blue shirt with a few buttons undone, sleeves a little too long almost covering her hands.

Neve hummed. The image of Rook like that—soft and ever so casual under the warm light of the fire, with an easy smile and pinkish cheeks from a recent hot bath—got Neve's heart stumbling in ways it shouldn't. She forced her eyes away. "Then I might be the one to skip dinner today."

"Hey," Rook grumbled in the same beat, crossing her arms over her chest as a stubborn child would, "I'm a decent cook."

"By whose standards?" Neve raised a brow, there was a playful edge to her voice, "I'm not sure the undead count as a valid opinion."

Rook rolled her eyes, but wasn't able to fight the grin stretching her lips. "Alright, it's not like I had that many options to practice with back in the Necropolis. But,"—her eyes lit up rather pridefully—"Lucanis has been introducing me to some Trevisan culinary, and says I'm a natural."

Neve chuckled, a quiet little thing as she averted her gaze back to her lap, where she fidgeted with the small scissors she'd been using to try and fail to cut her stitches earlier. For some reason, the thought of Rook spending time with Lucanis, alone, caused a bitter and heavy twist to Neve's chest. The smile on her lips faltered and faded, and she was glad her loose hair shielded her from Rook's attentive eyes.

Neve felt more than saw the way Rook walked around her, stepping closer, near the stove and the forgotten mirror lying beside it.

"What are you up to, anyway?" Rook asked, picking up the small mirror for a moment and putting it down again—always so antsy. She added, softer; "Hiding from the wisps?"

With a clearing of her throat, Neve schooled her expression back to something nonchalant and raised her gaze. "No, I…" She gestured to the stitches and scar on her forehead with a careless shrug, "I was trying to get these off." A humorless laugh. "Not much luck though."

Rook followed the motion, instinctively taking half a step closer to Neve; and with the detective still sitting on the tall stool, Rook was almost standing between her legs.

Neve gulped at the sudden proximity, feeling a little trapped, a little too hot. Her heart picked up pace and beat loudly in her ears.

"Oh," Rook whispered. She raised a hand before her brain could catch up with her actions, and Neve held her breath when the warmth of Rook's skin was just shy of touching her.

But Rook reeled herself in before it, blinking a couple of times. She lowered her hand and took a step back again, shifting on her feet. The air became something heavy between the two women, almost electrical.

"I could help, if you'd like." There was a timidness to Rook's voice that hadn't been there before, a deeper pink blush beneath the crooked scar across her cheek.

It was a peculiar thing, that scar, starting from behind Rook's chocolate-colored hair and ending just past her lower lip. When Neve caught herself stealing a glance at the end of it, she reasoned it was just curiosity at how such a mark came to be. There were others too, sometimes when Rook had a button or two of her blouse undone—like now, despite Neve trying not to think too deeply on it—bigger and harsher scars could be spotted, seemingly the same on each side of her chest and going lower on her stomach until it disappeared.

And Neve stared at Rook, eyebrows softly furrowing, as if she was a mystery for the detective to solve. A daunting case bound to end in disaster; she had always been a sucker for those.

Neve had taken small notes about each member of their team—a habit that came with the territory and she couldn't shake. Rook's was the one containing the most lines, and a small inquiry about the origin of her scars was among them.

Maybe someday she'd solve it.

Perhaps a little too late, Neve realized she still hadn't answered. Rook looked at her patiently though. Neve shook her head, feeling her cheeks warm up. "It's alright, you don't have to."

An unreadable expression clouded Rook's gaze then; as if taken back to a memory. "It's my fault you got that scar in the first place," Rook's voice became too gentle for Neve's liking. It was dangerous, when Rook spoke to her as if Neve was worth caring for.

Just as quickly, Rook's easy smile came back. "The least I can do is help you take care of it now."

A beat or two passed as Neve weighed her options. Rook offered a tempting bargain, and it was ever so difficult to tell her no.

Just like when Neve's smile gets a little too loose each time Rook makes those terrible puns and jokes, and she can't help but laugh anyway, because it's Rook who said them.

"Alright," Neve shrugged, trying to make light of a situation that had already caused her blood to pump faster and her mouth to go dry, "Suit yourself."

Wordlessly, Rook wiggled her fingers, asking for the scissors Neve still held. She placed it upon her hand and Rook stepped closer.

This time, Neve allowed her to stand between her legs. She was engulfed in the warmth of Rook's presence, hyperaware of a proximity that was foreign territory for both of them. Her hands closed into fists, and teal nails carved half-moons on her palms.

The moment had a sort of intimacy to it that it shouldn't have. Rook reached for Neve, but her hand lingered by the detective's cheek, just shy of touching. "May I?"

The consideration for her feelings made Neve's stomach flutter with butterflies. For the first time, she didn't trust her voice, not when Rook was standing so close, being so gentle. Neve simply nodded.

Only then did Rook's fingers finally found Neve. She brushed dark strands of hair aside, bringing them behind Neve's ear with a type of tenderness Neve had forgotten the feeling of—Rook didn't have to, she did anyway. She then took hold of Neve's jaw, holding her steady in place while she moved to ever so carefully cut through the stitches and pull them loose.

Neve's eyes dropped close against her better judgment, she couldn't fight the way she leaned into Rook's touch either. Neve hardly felt when the stitches were removed, focusing instead on the shape and warmth of Rook's hand against her skin—how Rook absentmindedly moved her thumb back and forth by the corner of her mouth, in a soothing motion, taking Neve's mind off any slight pain she might feel.

It didn't mean anything, couldn't mean anything; Neve insisted on telling herself. Rook was only helping her, nothing more.

It was done. But still, Rook refused to move away. Her hand lingered, holding onto Neve, and for some reason, Neve let her.

The touch moved up. Rook's fingers traced the outlines of the new scar etched onto Neve's forehead. She kept going until she reached the arch of Neve's eyebrow and then the crinkle at the corner of her eye. Exploring, mapping, keeping. As if Rook wanted to carve the shape of Neve's features into her memory.

Neve shuddered under the gesture, as if stars were dancing across her skin. Her throat closed up and held her breath hostage until her lungs ached and then some. Oh, this was dangerous. The tender look in Rook's eyes spelled trouble, the care she held Neve with would be her undoing.

There was a soft furrow on Rook's brows, like caught in a trance, not fully aware of what she was doing or how it caused Neve's heart to seek a new home outside her ribcage.

"Rook…" It bordered on being a whimper, all breathless and teary and desperate. And Neve almost grimaced at the sound of her own voice. Pleading, though she wasn't sure what for.

In the same breath, Rook let go of her, perhaps quicker than Neve would've liked her to. A soft gasp of surprise fell past Rook's lips, her eyes somewhat apologetic.

But that's what Neve wanted, wasn't it? Safety, distance?

Neve tried to tell herself 'yes'. It was a lie.

Neve didn't ask for much. She didn't ask for attention or for people to stick with her. Yet one taste from Rook got her yearning to bend her own rules and ask, anyway.

Rook cleared her throat, gaze shifting between countertops and porcelain plates, nowhere near Neve. Her fingers tapped the side of her thigh in an unsteady rhythm, Neve caught it with a glance.

The silence was loud, thick with unsaid words and actions that spoke better than such. The detective was rarely out of words or a good quip, but right now, her tongue was tied. All she could hear was the thundering of her own heart.

Ever so slowly, Rook raised her gaze. Their eyes met then, and Neve knew she should have looked away, but didn’t. Questions hung, stretched out in the space between them.

What is this? What are we doing?

Do you feel it too?

None knew the answers.

"All done." Rook was the first to speak, a touch of hesitance to her words and the way she fidgeted with her hands.

Neve felt her skin prickle. She clenched and unclenched her hands, slick with perspiration. A beat passed, and she stood up from her stool, smoothing out her pants in an attempt to dry her hands. "Thanks… Rook."

Before Neve did something she would certainly regret, she gave Rook a tight-lipped smile and turned to walk away.

Neve was halfway to the doors when Rook asked, all hopeful and chipper; "See you at dinner?"

Neve had read it once, maybe it was on one of Bellara's serials. A tale of a warrior and his maiden, who were always forced apart; yet each time they said goodbye and had to walk away from each other, they would look back over their shoulders, until they couldn't see the other anymore; looking back to the one they hoped to return to.

Neve stopped in her steps with one last click of her prosthetic on the stone floor.

How dangerous it would be, to have something worth coming back to. To have something worth losing.

For several beats, the only sound was the crackling of the fireplace.

Neve looked back and over her shoulder, her chest tightening when she caught the way Rook's lips stretched in a gentle smile.

"I wouldn't miss it."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

"Something worth losing" means a person, thing, or idea that is so valuable to you that even if you were to lose it, the potential pain of that loss would still be justified because of how much it means to you; essentially, it signifies something precious enough that the risk of losing it is worth taking.

Neve's taglist is open, let me know if you'd like to be added. Or you can follow @talesofesther-library and turn notifications on to know when I’ve posted a new story/chapter.

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Tears to Shed

This is based on Tears to Shed from the Corpse Bride. Where Alastor accidentally marries the reader. The only problem is Alastor doesn't want to marry anyone. TW: Angst, Hurt, Sorrow, Illusions to Suicide but you can't die in hell unless it's angelic steel; Alastor is well Alastor, Mimzy is Alastors partner in this. <I am open to writing a part 2 if yall like this> @willowaudreykeyes helped me edit!

The day Alastor slipped the ring onto your finger seemed to shake the whole world with the weight of fated lovers. He was a striking figure, with caramel skin glinting beneath the sun, eyes alight, and a vigorous appetite for power and immortality. But beneath the surface, a shadow lingered: his heart was not free but tied to Mimzy, that star of the city, resplendent with the possibilities of influence and status among humans.

But in that very moment, as your eyes caught the gleam of the ring, you could almost think he chose you. You were, after all, wearing his ring, and he had said those vows with such passion as if some unseen force bound your destinies. 

But then time unraveled, and the truth trickled in like a cold, silent mist: Alastor wanted neither you nor Mimzy. He wanted to be free and live a life unencumbered by chains called commitment. He wanted power and to be feared above all others in his realm.

You had been heartbroken, perched up on the roof of a falling building in Hell, looking out at the fire spreading to the horizon. Never a fan of red and black, you'd always enjoyed blue and silver. The licks of flames danced like lost souls, taunting your self-worth.

You did, indeed, feel the gravity of your life in that moment-the corpse bride, once a loving beauty, now a demon cloaked by yearning and solitude: Alastor had brought one spark of hope into your heart only to cast it down into the dark. The pain of betrayal and the weight of your new existence as a demon were crushing you, threatening to consume the last remnants of your humanity.

You remembered that cold, starless night when he slid the ring onto your finger. For the beat of a moment, you were complete, while today, you are the broken pieces of what you once were: a beautiful woman full of life and a longing to be loved. But now, the truth stared you in the face: he was trapped, and you were the specter haunting his every step, it would appear.

You'd found Alastor begging for Mimzy's help only hours before. The scene had played like an echo in your mind, a foreign sound that twisted your insides. You'd seen it in his eyes, heard it in the shake of his voice. Beneath the bluster of a power-hungry fool, he was just a man desperate to be free of the tethers of a promise he had never wanted to make. And you, you were the one who had been used as a pawn in their twisted game of power and love.

As the reality fell in your heart like ashes, your friends emerged from the shadows: Nero, the imp, and Arianna, the succubus. Their loyalty to you puts a soothing wave over your spirit of fire and ice. They pressed themselves against your sides, the heat from their bodies contrasting with the chill of your skin and the despair that began to wrap around you as time passed.

They stared at the scene before you, knowing this was their doing. Had they not encouraged you to keep Alastor in your life, to guide and mentor you in a fantasy of mortals and demons in love, you wouldn't be like this on the brink of unleashing your powers on all of Hell once again, just as you had on the day you had died.

"What does that wispy little brat have that you don't have double?" Nero's voice was soft yet managed to cut through the fog in your brain. The gentle touch of his hand to yours was akin to a lifeline for a moment.

Arianna leaned in, her eyes aglow with wild affection. "She can't hold a candle to the beauty of your smile!" she said, in words that were an attempt at stitching the pieces of your heart together.

"Yeah, how about a pulse?" You snorted, the venom of bitterness thick in your voice as you stared at the fiery scene below your chosen hideout. You just felt like an antique compared with the sweet Mimzy.

"Overrated by a mile!" Nero chipped in, his voice light yet grave, as he sat by your side with a mutual understanding of the pain you are experiencing.

"Overfed!" Arianna cut in with a snort, her tail flicking in outrage.

"Overblown!" Nero exclaimed, with echoes of laughter resounding around the darkening space. Then he turned to Arianna, who nodded with full vigor. For a moment, their eyes shone with playfulness as they looked at you, hope alighting in their pupils.

"If he only knew the you that we know," they chorused in unison, gripping your hands tight. Their faces held pride with a touch of pain, but they held steady on one thing: their unity in support of you.

Arianna played with the ring on your left hand, smirking with mischief and love. "And the little silly creature isn't wearing his ring!"

Nero playfully elbowed you. "And she doesn't play piano!"

"Or dance or sing! No, she doesn't compare!" they chortled, their voices rising like some haunting melody.

But the shadows of doubt clung to you like a second skin. "But she still breathes air," you muttered; the weight of your reality fell again.

"Who cares?" they chorused, still enthusiastic, though you knew they were growing tired of your self-doubt.

"Unimportant!" Nero insisted, scrambling onto your shoulder, his small frame reassuring.

“Overblown!" Arianna echoed with whimsical reassurance, wrapping her tail gently around your arm.

"If only he could see how special you can be. If only he knew you that we know," they said in one accord, a mantra to which you were no longer sure you believed.

You stood, peeling yourself gently from the tangle of friends. Your undead eyes threatened to spill over with tears as you swayed on the precipice of despair, humming a mournful tune. Closer to the edge of the building you sat atop, the seductive allure of the fall whispered promises of nothing, for you could not die here.

"If I touch a burning candle, I can feel no pain. If you cut me with a knife, it's still the same." You flourish the blade hidden in your garter, the cold steel calling to your mind your immortality. The use of it on Alastor flashed across your mind a spark of the most dangerous kind. You chase the thought away, turning back to your lament. The struggle between your desire for revenge and your lingering love for Alastor was tearing you apart, threatening to push you over the edge of sanity.

"And I know her heart is beating, and I know that I am dead. Yet the pain here that I feel, please try and tell me it's not real." You turned your gaze to your friends, their faces dimly lit by the firey light of hell, then fell back from the rooftop, landing softly within a coffin overflowing with blue and silver roses, the delicate petals wrapping you in a sorrow growing only larger by the minute.

"And yet, it would seem I still have a tear to shed." Your eyes, no longer shining bright, now blazed with the bitter salt of lost love, lost on the one with whom you had believed you shared. Yet time was a thief and saved little space for sorrow. Nero and Arianna were already down to your level, their eyes afire with determination in jarring contrast with the despair flooding your heart.

Nero was first to huddle beside you, his face lined with concern and encouragement. "The only redeeming feature of that little creature is that she's alive!"

Arianna joined him, her cheeks flushed from the hurried descent. "Yeah, it's overrated!" she chimed in, light in tone but weighted with the depth of unsaid meaning.

Nero nodded vigorously, nudging you gently as he gestured to the world beyond. "Yeah, even overblown!"

Arianna smirked, crossing her arms in a very defiant pose, even going so far as to tilt her chin upward in some kind of dare for you to say otherwise. "Everybody knows that’s just a temporary state, which is cured very quickly when we meet our fate!"

Nero's grin widened as he helped you sit up, your surroundings—a darkened alleyway—looming on like some sort of forgotten lover's heart. "Who cares?

Arianna wrapped her arm around your waist, the touch grounding and warm. "Unimportant!" she insisted, dismissing the weight of your sorrow with a wave of her hand.

Nero tugged your good hand with newly formed determination, pulling you toward the busy streets, back into the folds of society. "Overrated!"

Arianna toyed with your hair before flashing a mischievous wink over the mask of worried tension she knew was building the more they danced around your feelings. "Overblown!"

The pair sparkled brightly as they laughed-a stark difference amidst the cowering crowds shrinking away from you, the infamous Corpse Bride, the dainty specter who wielded more souls than damn near Lucifer himself.

"If only he could see how special you could be, if only he knew you, that we know!" Their words of encouragement merely cut through your heart like daggers.

You merely shook your head, a deepening frown as the shadows danced in your eyes, before pulling away and meandering to drift across the streets. A melancholy tune tumbled from your lips as those who'd dare to follow quickly began to wither into roses of silver and blue, scattered remnants of what once was. As you approached the next street, your lament started again, an echoing whisper.

"If I touch a burning candle, I can feel no pain; in the ice or in the sun, it's all the same." You breezed by a café with candles on its tables casting their golden light into the night air, and without even batting an eyelash, you blew them out, embracing the darkness like an old friend.

Your eyes closed, knowing, sans sight, that you were the most significant threat this Hellscape had ever known. Your heart clutched, and your sorrow blossomed into a dark storm that sent those who knew your power scurrying back into the shadows, fear etched upon their faces.

"Yet I feel my heart is aching; though it doesn't beat, it's breaking, and the pain here that I feel, please, try and tell me it's not real." As your eyes fluttered open, the street transformed before you: what once was vibrant red and black now lay cloaked in shades of blue and silver- your wailing, weaving a tapestry of despair, draped over the once bustling scenery.

"I know that I'm dead, yet it seems that I still have some tears to shed." Your voice was barely heard, and there was a broken murmur as you made your way to your house. The chill of the stone outside was like the weight of your grief. Climbing the stairs with sluggish motions, you sat at your piano bench and stared onto the keys, the swell of your sorrow deep.

Nero and Arianna watched you, their faces heavy with what was not said, too much pain entering them as it had the rest of hell when you started your lament. They knew all too well that you only called upon your full banshee powers when the weight of despair bore too much, even that they could not fix it.

You laid your fingers against the keys, and the weight of silence fell. You pressed a key, and the note sang out to resound as one deep ache in your soul, for Alastor would go back to the world of the living, leave you for another, and leave you a shadow.

The sob, so fragile yet mighty, ripped itself free from your lips and unleashed a storm into the very pits of hell. Your wail pierced the night, a chorus of anguish, seeing as you were Y/N, the Corpse Bride, or better yet, a banshee of ill fate, rivaling the voice of Lilith herself.

The roses that danced around your abode shook with solemn trembles at the harmonization of keys to a requiem of lost love. And you, still lost between the planes of life and death, celebrated being the Harbinger of Sorrow.

[crusty-chronicles]

Hiei and Kurama Seeing Their S/O at the Dark Tournament

Synopsis: Hiei and Kurama see their demon s/o after being separated from them.

Kurama 🦊

He had come a few hours early to scout out matches. To see what exactly he and his friends would be up against. It looked to be a standard team with fairly predictable attacks. One on one battles for the best of three. Currently the two opposing teams were tied.

He thought nothing of it until they each brought out their last fighter. One of them looked eerily familiar. A face he remembered staring at oh so lovingly.

One of which belonged to his previous life's memories. He remembers the feeling of your skin on his. Your eyes that always seemed to hold affection when gazing at him. Your smile. The sound of your voice greeting him first thing in the morning and being the last to bid him goodnight.

It wasn't until he heard your name being called that his suspicions were confirmed. He was nervous to see you face to face tomorrow. He knew he didn't have to fight you, but he didn't want anybody else to jump at the chance.

You were his. 

His one and only when he was Yoko. And now that the opportunity had presented itself, he wouldn't settle for anybody less in this lifetime either. 

You've changed from when he last saw you. You're stronger. Your eyes are colder. Your attacks cutthroat, ending the match within seconds.

You've never looked more desirable.

When he finally meets you in the ring, he can't stop himself from admiring each and every little detail on your face. He's struggling not to approach you with familiarity. With warmth.

You're his enemy here. He has to beat you. He just can't risk letting you win and putting his team at a disadvantage. But a part of him yearns for your recognition. For you to drop hostilities and just talk.

He knows he's different now. He's human. It would be impossible to recognize him without proof. Without knowing the way he fights. The way he talks. The very way he presents himself. Although he's sure all that's changed too.

Koto announces the fight to begin, yet both of you stand still. There's hope, he tells himself. And as you continue to face off, he can see it. The way your expression shifts ever so subtly. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

“I thought you were dead.” You accused.

There's hurt in your voice, as if you'd been betrayed. And in a way, you were. You thought your lover had been dead all this time. He doesn't know what he would've done if the roles were reversed. 

Seeing you hunted down and unable to reach you. Thinking humans had murdered you right in front of him. Only to then see you prospering some years later. All that time grieving you when you were perfectly fine.

He would've been upset too. 

He doesn't know what to say to you. Where to begin his explanation. Trying to find any words of comfort that might give him an indication of your feelings. If you'd still want him after all these years.

“I almost was.” He said at last. You only looked at him expectantly. Urging him to finish what he had to say.

“I was able to transfer my soul into an unborn child last second. I was biding my time to get stronger. To retain most of my previous powers. But..” But something changed.

He became accustomed to his human life. He stayed for his mother. Would you think any less of him for that? For choosing the very species that almost ended his life?

“So you've been in hiding this entire time and never thought to tell me?” You asked, though he could tell it wasn't really a question.

You didn't care that he stayed with humans. You were more hurt he didn't inform you what was happening. Letting you think he was dead. It makes him feel relieved.

“I had no means of finding you. But now that you are here in front of me, I do not plan on letting you slip away again.” 

He'd make you his again. He sees the way your expression softens completely at his declaration. How he misses the way you used to look at him. 

“Even if I've found another?” Your tone is teasing. A good sign.

But the thought of you being here with someone else makes his blood boil. It has him drowning in a feeling of possessiveness.

“He would have to kill me for your hand.” 

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

Hiei ⚔️

Hiei thinks it's some cruel twist of fate to see you here. On the opposite team no less. He wanted you scrubbed from his mind. He wanted to forget you, yet here you stood in front of him.

Truly some higher being is messing with him. First it was his sister looking for him, and now it was you. His beloved mate that had left him when he was plotting to steal the three sacred items. You'd warned him not to.

Begged him not to.

And you were right. You were always right. But he'd been spiteful back then. Consumed with his own greed for power. For a short time, he resented you for leaving.

However, he was not the same pitiful creature he'd once been. 

He was smarter. Stronger. And he'd prove it to you. This was still a match, after all. Regardless of the past you shared, he'd beat you. Feelings had no place in the battlefield.

The fight had officially begun. He lunged forward, sword drawn and making precise slashes. 

You dodged his attack with ease, skittering back a few feet. Spirit energy charging up in your palm. That was new. You were in front of him in an instant. And just when he thought you'd send a blast to his stomach, it completely vanished.

“You've become soft.” You noted. Your face just a few inches from his.

He jumped back as if he'd been burned. It'd been a while since he heard your voice. He should've taken the opportunity to strike you down. Instead he glared, your comment irritating him.

“I assure you I'm not weak.” He disagreed.

“That's not what I meant and you know it.” You let out a tired sigh and gestured behind him.

“You have friends now. A warmer look in your eye…It suits you.” 

There's no denying your words have an effect on him. Embarrassment creeping up his spine. He doesn't like the way you regard him. The affection you still hold for him.

“Our interests align is all. I still plan on taking over the human world. Something you were too coward to do.” His tone would have sounded cruel to anyone but you.

But you knew Hiei. Even after all this time, he hadn't changed when it came to expressing himself. You took great pleasure in making him squirm. A teasing smile on your face when you spoke.

“And how did that pan out for you the first time?”

You can see his face redden ever so slightly. A rebuttal on the tip of his tongue before you continue on. Your expression becoming more somber.

“I only left because my love wasn't enough. You wanted more. Things I couldn't give you.”

Power.

Your confession something he'd already considered being the cause of your absence. Now that it had been confirmed, he can only kick himself for his past mistakes. 

You had been enough. Taking care of his wounds after a fight, your touch soothing his Jagan when he first used it, joining his pursuit to find Yukina, your affections when it was just the two of you….All of it had been enough.

He's yearning before he knows it. Wanting you by his side once more. To reclaim the mate he'd lost to hubris. It makes his guard drop down significantly. 

“But you're different now. You have people to help steer you in the right direction.” You added.

“Those fools could never compare to you.”

He can see another teasing smirk brewing beneath the surface. He instantly regrets trying to comfort you.

“Is that so? They sure do make you happier than me. I don't think I've ever seen you smile this much before.” 

He wishes you'd stop talking. It only makes him long for what you two used to be. It makes him think there's still a chance to rectify things. But you were far better off without him.

“How did you even get roped into this?” He tries to change the subject.

If someone was forcing you to do this, he'd put an end to their life. He'd make them pay for coercing you. 

Your answer was simple and right to the point.

“Money. Sadly I need to make a living in order to survive.”

He frowned at that. He was both your protector and provider when you were together. To know that you must've been struggling horribly enough to take such drastic measures…

It was decided. 

He'd court you, if only you'd let him.

“If you agreed to be mine once more, you would never want for anything. I'll keep you safe.” He offered.

“Such a romantic~ I think my heart is fluttering. But if I best you in combat, then what use will you be to me?” You cooed.

If you were stronger than him, then what would you need a protector for? The implications only rile him up. His own prideful grin making its way to his face.

“I intend to win. And I expect you not to hold back.”

You take a few steps towards him. Your face inches from his. He makes no move to back down. The feeling of your lips brushing against his in an attempt to fluster him, it makes him want.

“Maybe I want you to beat me.” You whispered.

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

An: These were supposed to be drabbles 🧍‍♀️

anyways- Bon apatite

[katyawriteswhump]

Please (don't) stop—steddie holiday drabbles/whumpcember day 6

For @steddieholidaydrabbles day 6 prompt, ‘chill,’ and @whumpcember day 6 prompt, “Please stop.”

WC: 963. Rating: T CW: None. Tags: exes to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, post-Vecna/general canon injuries and healing, Eddie lives, happy ending. Summary: Steve and Eddie got together, post-Vecna, then promptly fell apart. Much like Eddie’s old van is falling apart, though at least Steve figures he can fix that…

��️❄️❄️❄️❄️

“Please stop!”

Eddie waved madly at the approaching vehicle, holding little hope of rescue. Who’d stop for a dude with a banged-up old van, shivering his long-haired-freak head off? The blinding headlights dipped, and… Christ-on-a-bike, they were stopping? Maybe charity wasn’t totally extinct in post-Vecna earthquake-stricken Hawkins.

Then he recognised the BMW. And the guy climbing out.

“Steve?”

“Hey, Munson.” Not ‘Eddie,’ then. Not anymore. “You okay?”

“Peachy. Van’s a bust, tho’.”

The casual switch of Steve’s attention—from Eddie to the van—felt chill as the son-of-a-bitch wind. Both sliced through Eddie’s bandages to his still-healing scars and heart.

Jesus, he should get over Harrington. Like, yesterday.

When Eddie was in hospital, he and Steve had shared ‘moments’—heck, Steve had been admitted too, his bat-bites also taking ages to heal. They’d talked for hours, laughed themselves stupid, gotten so fucking close. They’d made out as recklessly as if they’d never saved Hawkins, and it was still apocalypse-o’clock.

Didn’t change the facts. Steve loved Nancy Wheeler. Eddie’s memories of his heart-on-sleeve yearnings for her—before they’d embarked on their do-or-die showdown—proved indelible. Steve wanted her back, and after she and Jonathan split recently…

…Eddie couldn’t think about that now. Couldn’t have gone fucking worse, really.

Steve frowned at the van, doubtless regretting stopping. “What’s the problem?”

“Uuuuh, the exhaust dropped off?”

“Okay. Easy fix. Got tools in the car.”

“Woah, really?”

Steve’s attention reverted to Eddie in a death-glare. “When our town tumbles down around our ears, even a fuckwit like me can learn crap.”

“Dude, not what I meant! Only surprised you carried the kit. Anyone as metal as you with a Molotov cocktail is a guru of practicality in my book.”

Steve shrugged. And surely Eddie imagined that familiar tinge of yearning in Steve’s faint smile, directed not at Nancy, but at him.

“Shouldn’t take long,” said Steve. “Get in my car before you freeze your balls off.”

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Working by torchlight beneath the van, Steve tightened bolts and temporarily re-attached the exhaust with steel cable-ties.

Eddie’s van was fixed. Steve was… unexpectedly pissed about it.

If he’d had to drive Eddie home, they might’ve had to talk about stuff.  Like, why—after they’d kissed and everything—did Eddie start cheerleading Nance again as Steve’s one-true-love? Then throw himself at Argyll, who’d been confused-as-fuck. His annoyance pitched Steve’s near-constant post-concussion-headache from niggling to stabbing. Lying on icy asphalt, inhaling fumes, didn’t help. Dammit, he was getting lightheaded… heavy-headed? Whatever.

“Steve? Okay down there?”

“Jesus!” A familiar worry seized Steve. “You’re barely out of the hospital! What didn’t you grasp about staying warm in my car?”

Steve slid out and rose slowly, one hand on the van. The dizziness hit like a commuter train. He dropped the spanner and crumpled.

“Shit!” Eddie yelped, catching him.

Steve clutched Eddie’s jacket, his chin jamming Eddie’s shoulder. As the blobs cleared from his vision, he found his footing, and worry slammed anew. Eddie was still healing. Yet here he was supporting Steve, reassuringly solid. Steve suddenly recalled the last time he was held like this. Robin hugged him, of course… but held like this?

It’d been Eddie—in the hospital, when they’d cried for Chrissy, clung to hope for Max. Eddie’s hugs had been necessarily gentle. Somehow powerful, too.

Now Eddie rubbed his back, pressed his cheek to Steve’s hair, whispering, “I gotcha, Stevie.” Steve’s heart began throbbing against his ribs, much like his brain pounded against his skull.

Eddie helped him into the van’s passenger seat. Steve kinda cringed, like always when people looked after him. Especially Eddie, who’d been through way worse. That said, only Robin knew more than Eddie about Steve’s constant pain and… Fuck it. Settling into the seat, his tears pressed hotly. He turned to dry-choke down some pain meds—like they ever fucking worked!—before Eddie climbed in behind the wheel.

“Okay, Harrington. I’m gonna drive you home, providing this pile-o’-shit starts. Wouldn’t dream of driving your BMW.”

“Wouldn’t care.” Eddie reached for the ignition. Steve reached out too, stopping him: “I’m sorry.”

He’d not seen Eddie’s eyes this wide and scared since before they’d faced down Vecna. “What for?”

“I suck at finding the right words, but… I’m over Nance. Was never gonna work. What the heck was going on between you and Argyll?”

“A big fat nothing.” Eddie’s shoulders slumped wearily, doe-eyes literally impaling Steve’s soul. “I guess I wanted you to… ‘follow your heart,’ that poppy kinda crap, after everything.”

Steve squeezed Eddie’s fingers, clutching his lifeline. “Eddie, that’s exactly what I was trying to do.”

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Follow your heart? You mean… to me?

Eddie couldn’t immediately process Steve’s words.

He focussed on Steve’s face—slightly pinched, gray, somehow still so earnest—found himself squeezing Steve’s fingers back, wishing he could ease his pain. They’d shared so much, while healing together. Too much, maybe? As they bordered on crushing each other’s fingers, Eddie’s dumb heart finally ripped open:

“I’m sorry too. I missed you too fucking much, these past weeks. But look, you’re goddamn frozen, we better—”

“You’re colder, moron.”

In a flash, they held each other tight. Steve buried his face in Eddie’s less-injured shoulder, his breath warming Eddie’s scarred neck. Heat that seemed to yell, “Spin on it!” to the whole bullshit world suddenly blossomed between them. Eddie was so stupidly grateful.

When Steve lifted his head, he looked as hilariously hopeful as Eddie felt. His gaze flitted to Eddie’s mouth, and Eddie leaned in for the kiss. Steve inhaled sharply… forbiddingly? Eddie jerked back, super-quick.

“Please stop?” Eddie articulated the question he feared the most.

“Don’t you dare.” Steve’s smile was like summer sunshine. “I just… can’t believe, after everything, this is real.”

They gently enfolded each other—the gearshift jammed between them—and spent the rest of the night kissing all their chills away.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

tags: @wheneverfeasible 💚 My stranger things fic on AO3

[rin-vana]

⠀⠀⠀⠀───◌┈┈─── ♡ 𝇄 𝇃 𝐑𝐄𝐉𝐔𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄 ┋ 𝐅𝐓. 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄

⎯⎯ ( 𝙋𝘼𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎 ) : Blade x Reader

⎯⎯ ( 𝙎𝙔𝙉𝙊𝙋𝙎𝙄𝙎 ) : Blade needs relief from his racing mind, and it's in between your legs that he decides how to relieve himself after his duties.

⎯⎯ ( 𝘾.𝙒. ) : Lots and lots of oral, Blade is a munch fr, implied multiple rounds, watersports (squirting), mentions of bondage bec readers hands are tied, implied established relationship, as always black reader

⎯⎯ ( 𝙒.𝘾. ) : 1,003, a drabble

⎯⎯ ( 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀𝙎 ) : This is for a friend after I promise I'd write this and here it is. I'm tryna get more consistent with posting I promise <3

”𝑆𝐼𝑇 𝑆𝑇𝐼𝐿𝐿. '𝑆𝐴𝐼𝐷 𝐼'𝑀 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝐷𝑂𝑁𝐸.”

What has it been, hours? Blade continuously lapping in between your legs, his bandaged hands keeping you in place.

A numb feeling crept where his hands gripped your thighs, knowing that without his support they’d fall limp. You don’t know what has him so worked up like this, but it’s the least of your problems when you feel a harsh sting hit your side.

”Blade— oh my God, please.” You pleaded yet they fell deaf on his ears, his tongue working wonders on your engorged clit and you flinched every time he would do so much as flick it slowly. Not to mention his fingers, two of them plunging in and out of you, curled just the right way that had your brain turning foggy.

He wouldn’t even let you touch him, having your wrist bound and pinned above your head. He knew how to get you weak in the knees whenever he needed, whether it’d be a whisper in your ear about something mundane, or his habit of brushing hair past your shoulders to let his hands graze the skin on your neck.

Blade wants what he wants in that very moment, and very little hinders him. So your useless begs and pleas did go in one ear and out the other.

You were writhing so much that the navy blue haired male knew you were close, detaching his mouth from the swollen bud with a pornographic pop. His fingers continued applying pressure until you coated them in your milky essence, eliciting a satisfied hum from Blade that hardly looked at you, but at your fluttering and spasming pussy instead. ”Good, you can do one more for me, right?”

You only let out a mewl, words being stuck in your throat because Blade hardly gave you time to respond. The choice wasn’t yours to make. He was going to get what he wanted regardless if you were a crying mess or not.

This time his mouth replaced his fingers entirely, lips suckling ever so harsh to push you over the edge again. Your back had long since been arched off the soft duvet he had you on, with Blade on his knees. Your body was buzzing all over, vision blurred from the amount of fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

His hands were more-so gripping onto the edge of the bed, sheets becoming wrinkled under his touch, so you slowly pulled yourself back for any form of break, to get away from his warm mouth. But Blade was quick to pull you back to him, his lithe hands squeezing the underside of your thighs until they wrapped around your legs as a whole. ”I thought..,” he started, chest heaving from being breathless, ”..I said to sit still. You like making me feel good, don't you?”

”Yes-! Yes I do.. But—”

He promptly cut you off. ”Then you’d listen and let me indulge.” It was useless to fight against him when he so easily overpowered you in terms of strength. Your body was already shuddering and weakened from the amount of times he was able to make you cum from his fingers and mouth alone.

Not once did his grip falter, spreading your legs apart so he could get a better look at how he left you. Your slightly agape hole fluttered around nothing, and Blade reveled in the sight. It was practically crying for him, gushing your addictive flavor because of how badly you yearned for him to stuff you full.

Nothing compared to this, not even Kafka’s voice repeating like a mantra in his head. Your body was the temple he wanted to protect, to worship, to give his time towards. He wanted to watch you fall apart and be the reason for it, yet put you back together in the quiet of night.

You crumbled for him, voice whining about it “being too much” or you’re “getting close!” Blade wanted to see every bit of it. His tongue licked from your clenching hole up to your clit so slowly it felt like torture, closing his lips on your bundle of nerves as he looked up to your tear-stained face. He’s painted the expression in his mind countless times, but each was better than the last.

His groans and pace pick up and so does your movement, your upper body failing to keep still because all you want to do is close your legs, but Blade keeps you wide open. You’re close again, you don’t really want me to stop. It’s obvious by how loud you’re getting, a sheen building up all over your skin.

”Blade… Blade Blade Blade– stop.” You repeat his name over and over, but all it does is push him further. He’s groaning nonstop, sending so many pulsations throughout your lower body that it gets harder to hold back.

Your hands struggle further against your restraints, nails digging into the palm of your hands. If only he would answer you, but he clearly has a goal to reach.

One hand retracts from your thighs to give your clit more attention, two bandaged fingers giving it just the right amount of pressure. Blade’s tongue dips into your hole again, warm and wet and so good. All it takes is a few more rolls of his fingers and your spewing all over his face. Clear liquid squirts from one hole and another your cum that Blade damn near moans at.

From his nose down, Blade’s face is covered in you. Most of your cum dripped from his swollen lips, but he finally pulled away from your spent and sore hole. Your movements ceased and once he finally let go of your thighs, they fell limp onto the bed. He rose from his knees, undoing the belt around his waist and letting his coat fall from his shoulders.

You looked at him with tired eyes, clearly in a stupor as he loomed over you. ”I already told you, I’m not done.”

[fantasticbean]

The Nymph and The Sea III.

Authors note: Hello againnn, it’s been a while since I’ve posted but Monday Night Raw inspired me again :)) this isn’t edited so forgive the spelling errors :p

Warnings: Smut, Oral (Fem receiving), Stalking, Bad words… I think that’s about it. This is my first time writing smut so I’m sorry if it’s horrible, I’m working on it.

Word count: not that much

Enjoyy!

Pairing: Roman Reigns x OC (Maleina)

……

Maleina's days were spent in a hazy blur as she tirelessly worked on guiding the human journey of love along the coast of Corinth, slowly making her way up the province. The fast pace of the days quickly caught up to her, and she arrived at Poseidon's lair feeling utterly exhausted. She had not seen the Sea God since her arrival in his domain, and Naomi often reminded her that Poseidon was a deeply reclusive deity, his short temper further hindering his ability to connect with other gods. Maleina opted to do her best to avoid being a burden in his realm, hiding away in the comfort of her room or focusing intently on her tasks. Still, something weighed heavily on the nymph's mind. It was the girl she had been trying so hard to pair with her best friend since her first day back at work. It was as if the mortal refused to acknowledge her feelings towards him. Any arrows Maleina sent her way seemed to miss their mark, causing the nymph to grow increasingly frustrated. Was her power not as it once was?

The encroaching thoughts corrupted Maleina's mind, like a battle of swords. With a troubled expression, the nymph made her way towards Poseidon's lair, her steps heavy with the weight of her concerns.

As she drew closer, late at night, low sighs and grunts reached her ears. Confused, Maleina decided to take a different route along the many dimly lit hallways of the god's domain, the noises growing louder as she approached. Soon, she realized the enormous room must belong to Poseidon himself, its grandeur almost resembling a palace with its many piers and ornate decor. But something caught the nymph's eye, stopping her in her tracks. There, before her, was the mighty Sea God himself, bare in all his naked glory. Maleina's gaze was transfixed, dripping down Poseidon's physique like honey, her purple eyes distracted by his arms as they wrapped around an unknown woman, equally unclothed. The two were entangled in a passionate, almost rough embrace, as if the god was letting go of his frustrations. Poseidon's brow was furrowed in concentration, his chest heaving rapidly, though he did not moan loudly like his companion, who was growing increasingly vocal. The scene before Maleina was almost like a painting, impeccable in its carnal beauty.

Then, something echoed within the nymph - an idea, a solution. Perhaps love was not complete without the carnal desire, the touch, the lust, the yearning of it all. Maybe this was the missing piece in her work.

Maleina had become so consumed by the emotional entanglement that she had once been preoccupied with, that she had forgotten what truly makes humans so raw and unique - their ability to express themselves through physical contact. With light steps, she disappeared into her room, a rush of mixed emotions coursing through her. Little did she know, her racing heartbeat was all that Poseidon had heard as she approached his door.

Hours later, deep into the night, Maleina rose from her bath, preparing to rest. But suddenly, the door burst open, revealing Poseidon, his expression grave.

"Can't you knock?" Maleina exclaimed, surprised, hastily tying her robe around herself, just barely covering her nakedness.

"Funny you should say that," Poseidon replied, his tone sterile, yet his words utterly ironic. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

Maleina swallowed sharply, pretending not to know what he was referring to. "I possess no knowledge of what you speak of," she said, cocking her head to the side.

Poseidon strode closer, his torso bare, his hair lazily tied, as if he had risen from sleep mere moments ago. But Maleina knew this was not the case. "Oh, Maleina," he said, his powerful brown eyes boring into hers, making her feel vulnerable. "You may have been in isolation half a century ago, but you're not dumb."

He leaned in, his grip on her chin firm but not painful. "I don't like people spying on me," he growled, his gaze briefly drifting to her heaving chest. Maleina tried to compose herself, to make up an excuse, but Poseidon was quick to interrupt. "Do not lie to me," he hissed, "not when I can smell your scent or hear your heartbeat."

He asserted his dominance, his words a harsh reminder that nothing went unnoticed in his domain, not even a single breath. Maleina swallowed her fear and murmured, "You should close the door, then."

Poseidon's brow furrowed, and for a moment, Maleina feared she had made a grave mistake. "Seems like you might want to crawl back to the hellhole I pulled you out of, since you're not making any progress," he sneered.

Maleina pursed her lips, the sour taste of Poseidon's true nature hitting her. He was no different from any other god - arrogant and distasteful, created with a conceited personality, ready to look down upon those who did not meet their standards. It was the harsh reality that all nymphs and mortals had to suffer, to succumb and obey without question.

"Maybe you should," she said, unable to meet his gaze, turning her back and making her way to the bed. The sound of the door shutting was the only thing that broke the silence that embraced her.

As the sun rose, Maleina was already out and about on the streets of Corinth, searching for her prey. Helios was likely in a foul mood, the heat at its peak, the sun bright and scorching in the early morning.

Maleina's thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice over her shoulder. "Hunting?" Jey appeared beside her, a smile on his face as always.

Ever since Maleina had started living in Poseidon's domain, Jey and his brother Jimmy, the respected guardians and deities of the sea, had often chatted with her in the hallways during mealtimes. They seemed to consider her a "lonely" soul in need of companionship after her years of isolation. Maleina sometimes sought out Naomi, the nymph of the waters and mother of all mermaids, to come and collect the two, as they often bothered her like mischievous mortal siblings.

Maleina raised a brow as Jey sat down beside her on the tree branch, where she had been watching a young woman going about her daily tasks with her mother. "Who sent you?" she asked.

"Nobody," Jey replied, but the nymph looked at him expectantly, not believing his lie. "Alright, alright – Naomi sent me. She saw you looking sadder than usual, and I, being the nice, handsome, and charismatic son of a–"

"Okay, that's enough," Maleina interrupted, no longer interested in the conversation.

Jey laughed, observing her features. "They really did a number on you, huh?" he said.

Maleina inhaled deeply, licking her lips. While she was grateful for Jey's company at times, she knew that he, like her, understood the struggles of being a divine creation of the gods. Deep down, they both yearned for a way out of this life.

"I'm afraid that's the price I pay for yearning a normal life," Maleina said.

"You know, being a mortal isn't that great either," Jey replied, echoing a refutation she had heard many times before. "The sickness and death is imminent for them."

"Maybe it's not the mortality what I want," Maleina said, playing with the string of her bow, her emotions clouding her mind once again.

"Then what do you want?" Jey asked, his attention focused on the sad expression Maleina had carried since arriving at the sea.

Jey remembered Maleina before the disaster, when she had been the eternal beauty, carrying a sense of grace and adventure that only her creator, Aphrodite, could master. Yet, Maleina didn't feel as superficial as her sisters. The domain of love was Dionysios' main competitor when it came to celebrations and a good time, ablaze with life and dancing until the sun rose.

"Why do we need to play this role?" Maleina questioned, staring into Jey's dark eyes as he listened. "Why do we pretend to like each other for the sake of the gods?"

"I don't pretend to like you," Jey was quick to answer. "Maleina, we were created to restore a balance to the world that mortals can't withstand on their own."

Maleina sighed and nodded in agreement to Jey's words. "Perhaps returning has been messing up with my head..."

Jey cocked his head to the side, "You're getting used to things, it takes time. Almost a century has passed since, I cannot blame you for your foul feelings– I'm not like him anyways."

There was no need to mention his name to know he was referring to Poseidon.

Maleina fixed her posture as best she could in their little space. "Did he mention anything?"

"No, he never does. But that lady he was with– Lana, she was very vocal about it." An inexplicable twitch crossed Maleina's brow at the mention of this strange woman.

"I didn't mean to– she was, as you said, vocal," Maleina said, defending her place. Jey laughed wholeheartedly, agreeing with her.

"I know," he said, leaning back and flexing his arms under his weight. "He doesn't talk about his 'adventures', but as surprising as this sounds, he doesn't gloat about it – unlike his brothers. Poseidon doesn't waste his time mingling with others much, not after her."

"Her?" Maleina couldn't help her surprise, suddenly intrigued. All these years, she had never imagined Poseidon in an emotional entanglement with another, as it seemed out of character of him.

Jey seemed tense when he realized he spoke about her. It was forbidden. Her name was reserved for the God only to whisper.

“Yeah but that was a long time ago. There’s no need to bring up the past, we do not want to manifest misfortune upon us.” Pain was the only thing she could sense in his tone.

Maleina stared a second too long before nodding, dropping the subject before the man got too uncomfortable, it was like the bare memory of her would bring Hades from the shadows.

“So, what’s the new strategy for today?” He asked averting his gaze from her to the woman that washed the linen in the river.

“Sex.”

That’s all he needed to know to tag along.

“So what’s the plan?” The man asked once Maleina approached her target. The unique unmagical girl that had tormented her mind ever since she was released to perform her duty.

There she sat, outside a festive gather that was happening by the river. It was where most of the young people gathered to alleviate their days and chat amongst themselves. Her hair nicely braided along with a smile on her face as the boy talked the most; Maleina knew what the girl was thinking as she stared gazingly at him, almost as she once did many years ago: love.

Maleina saw the cup in her hand, wine– perfect. If anything goes wrong she would blame it on the wine, it was worth a shot at this point, Poseidon would leave her alone if she succeeded tonight, so the nymph was determined. Taking her chance as the pair of friends moved their conversation by the woods to appreciate the moonlight, Maleina knew there was no other way.

“You gonna shoot or what?” Jey whispered as they saw from behind the shadows. They, as entities of the gods, were invisible for the mortals.

“Just a moment,” Maleina took the arrow, placing the pointy tip towards her lips before murmuring, “επιθυμία.” and with a last breath, the arrow hit the target just below her shoulder.

Maleina gripped her bow, expectantly, her patience running thin. “Do it.”

Jey shifted beside her sharing Maleina’s sentiment; for a moment he thought she had failed but then the girl lifted her arms and caressed the boy’s cheek before succumbing to her desire. Her kiss is corresponded with the same desperation, and the sweet smell of love surrounded them. Jey observed, as if the world came to a stop, he watched two unknown people submerge themselves in something so pure it made his heart pound fast against his chest. It was then, when Jey understood why Maleina’s job was so important in this frail world. It was cruel, bringing something so beautiful and take no part of it yourself, oh what a cruel thing that was.

Maleina's work was done, and she wasted no time in leaving the scene. "We should get out of here, my deed is done," she said simply, a strange feeling stirring in her chest.

They walked down the beach, the calm waves lapping at the shore. "You did well, I'll make sure he knows that," Jey said, placing a comforting hand on Maleina's shoulder before diverting his steps.

Maleina gave him a nod, her eyes intrigued by the conflicted expression on his face. As the breeze picked up, the scent of lust filled her senses, and she realized it had affected Jey as well. She laughed quietly, pointing out the obvious bulge in his clothes. "Go now, I understand. I used too much tonight, it might be running through your veins. If you resist it can get worse."

"Thank you, sis. You have given me more trouble than I can manage," Jey said, his mind lingering on the woman he had just witnessed. "I'll see you later," he added, walking back towards the town.

Maleina watched him go, the strange feeling in her chest persisting. She knew the power of her craft, the ability to manipulate the desires of others, but tonight, something felt different. As she gazed out at the calm sea, she couldn't help but wonder if it had affected her too.

Maleina decided a bath might help change her strange mood. As she made her way to her temporary home, the hallways remained quiet, and she avoided any contact with the Sea God. Arriving at her lair, Maleina discarded her clothes and gasped as she sank into the warm, steaming water. The heat seemed to make her throbbing center pulse even worse, but she resolved to resist the temptation.

Suddenly, Poseidon's voice resonated through the walls. "Someone told me you finally made progress." Maleina gasped and craned her neck to see the Sea God leaning against the wall, his expression firm and his arms crossed over his chest.

Thankfully, Maleina's nakedness was covered as she lay on her back in the big thermae, the only visible part being the back of her head. She tensed, unsure of how to respond to Poseidon's unexpected presence and the implication that she had made progress in some endeavor.

Maleina turned her head, trying to ignore Poseidon's piercing gaze. "I see you don't respect people's privacy," she nagged.

Poseidon chuckled in response, his deep voice sending a shiver down Maleina's spine. She could sense him inhaling her sweet scent, a scent that had been driving him mad for days, leading him to seek out other women in the night, imagining Maleina's naked body as he took them.

"I learned from the best," he taunted, his voice dripping with a dangerous edge that made Maleina's legs tremble.

Maleina sighed, her brain feeling fuzzy and wavering. She could hear his heavy breathing, and for a moment, she felt a sense of pride in the power she held over him. But it was a backhanded gift, one that affected her as well.

"I apologize for interrupting your... whatever that was," Maleina said, her words laced with a hint of sarcasm. Poseidon's brow twitched, and she could see the offense in his eyes, though he bit his cheek to hold his tongue.

"'Whatever that was'..." he mocked, his gaze burning with intensity as his scent continued to overwhelm Maleina's senses. "You speak as if you've seen better."

Maleina blinked slowly, the conversation doing little to alleviate her lustful thoughts. Of course, she had seen people engaging in all manner of intimate acts - men and women, men and men, women on women, in every position and creative way imaginable. But never had she witnessed the kind of passionate, desperate coupling that Poseidon seemed to crave. It was a secret she would never admit to him.

Maleina's eyes narrowed as she fixed Poseidon with a pointed stare. "I am Aphrodite's creation, if you forget," she replied, her tone laced with an obvious superiority that nearly made Poseidon crumble at her feet.

"I'm the very reason you enjoy sex," she continued, her voice dripping with confidence. "I was created by it. Passionately, if you recall."

Poseidon was indeed very much present when Maleina was first brought into existence, awed by every moment as she was meticulously molded under the shining moonlight and bathed in the sweetest wine he had ever tasted. But he was not the one to indulge in her divine beauty - Aphrodite was far too possessive of her perfect creation to allow anyone else a taste. Maleina was the forbidden fruit that everyone desired to take a bite of, and the aftertaste was a devious, uncontrollable desire that once experienced, could never be forgotten.

"I remember..." Poseidon's voice was laced with a sharp edge, as if he were trying to provoke a reaction from Maleina. "I remember that misfortunate day very clearly."

She hummed, her beating heart echoing inside her chest. Maleina was starting to lose her composure with every passing moment while he stood still, jaw clenched.

“Well, if you find my presence so repulsive you might as well take your leave.” She gritted her teeth, unable to stand his attitude, or his arms… his arms.

Poseidon opened his mouth, ready to demand the respect he felt he deserved, but then a familiar, sweet scent struck him - a scent he recognized as Maleina's, one that had lingered about her since the day she was first created. In that moment, he realized she was not battling with him, but rather, with herself and her own growing neediness.

"Maleina," Poseidon spoke, his voice soft, as he watched the nymph gasp, her eyes beginning to water. She was rapidly losing control, and Maleina was clearly desperate not to let Poseidon witness her embarrassment in the presence of a god.

"Maleina, look at me," Poseidon urged, his tone gentle.

Gripping the edge of the surface she was leaning against, Maleina pleaded, "Please, leave."

Poseidon hesitated, out of respect for the clearly distressed nymph, but her voice was so frail, like a delicate flower. And Poseidon, ever the admirer of nature's beauty, found himself captivated by Maleina's vulnerability, like a flower blossoming undone before his very eyes. He struggled internally, torn between honoring her request and indulging his own curiosity to witness her unraveling.

In a blink of an eye the God was beside her, and Maleina let out a shriek of surprise at the man at her side. Poseidon couldn’t help himself as her eyes were turning a pinkish shade with desperation clinging to her tears. Grabbing her waist she was pulled from the water and laid on the floor while his torso remained in the thermae hiding his hard-on. A few seconds of silence passed, as if letting her decide whether to reject this or give him permission to dig in.

“Please.” Was all he heard before separating her legs and digging his mouth to her center.

Maleina couldn’t help the gasp of relief as he licked her entirely. Grabbing his hair, gracefully opening her legs even more welcoming his tongue. It was like he was made for this, to stay between her legs to bring nothing but pleasure, and he was more eager to make her collapse entirely.

“Fuck” He said at her taste before indulging himself to lick across her clit in different patterns, causing her to squirm in response. Maleina arched her back, as she felt him kissing and sucking in all the right places; she could swear she was seeing stars. “That’s it, scream for me, don’t hold back.”

Holding her hips, Poseidon made sure she was stuck to his face until he wasn’t able to breath properly. Introducing his finger, Maleina threw her head back moaning his name like a siren. She was addictive, enough to make Poseidon’s head spin, he wanted her to remember this, it is not everyday you devour a creation like her. Two fingers in had her swinging her hips against his nose, her hand gripping the one on her hip while the other was tangled in his hair. In and out with a flow that rocked her orgasm close like waves. He sucked on her clit as she drove her hips endlessly and his fingers never stopped working their magic. It was a torment of him to make her feel this good, knowing how addictive it can be for her and for him. Poseidon grunted in pleasure, her taste just as he expected, divine, heavenly. He was eating her like he hasn’t been fed in days and Maleina wasn’t complaining.

“Oh yes” Was all she could muster under the haze of Poseidon’s power. Now she understands how that woman felt, the intensity of it all was clouding her senses. She felt everything, it was too much.

Breathing heavily, she felt the desperation slowly dissipate, Poseidon kissing her hip bone as his hands ran down her waist to her thigh, almost in a devouring manner, trying to imprint her to his mind. Maleina opened her eyes meeting his, she got up sitting up to his height in the thermae where she was exactly face to face with him. His beard shining with her essence, closing the space between them, she decided to kiss him. Her hand on his neck and the other down his arm, wanting to feel his body against hers. He corresponded quickly, dancing his tongue in her mouth. It was delicious, how his lips moved against hers, his devotion made her head spin.

Just as Maleina caressed her hands down his torso to return the favor, his hands stopped her abruptly, parting his lips from hers. The nymph opened her violet eyes, noticing the hesitation.

“What’s wrong?” Maleina questioned her lips not far from his.

Poseidon’s brows furrowed as his grip tightened. “I can’t do this.” Were his final words before separating from her entirely before making way towards the stairs and disappearing from her room, leaving a distraught Maleina behind.

[zer0brainc3lls]

My compass: Chapter 1

masterlist

Story summary: Thomas has finally made it to the right arm, but to his shock and dismay Teresa has revealed their location to Wicked. in the crossfire Newt gets kidnapped by Wicked. will Thomas be able to save him and figure out their complicated relationship? or will Newt never return and will Thomas be left yearning for his "best friend" to return?

Chapter summary: Newt gets a bit of spotlight, Thomas being a gay confused mess, Minho being shocked and Thomas's idiocy and helping him out! (also Thomas and Minho acting like brothers because their friendship is so so important to me) DISCLAIMER: THERE IS A PROLOGUE BEFORE THIS. GO TO THE BOTTOM FOR A LINK

TW LIST: mentions of torture, detail about the results of said torture, implications of depression, canon typical violence. (if i missed any let me know)

Genre: canon divergence (what if Newt was taken instead of Minho?), Friends to Lovers, Angst

Word count: 4.4k

Newt remembers when he first was taken, how it felt as if his soul buzzed along with his nerves as he dropped to the floor when he was hit with that stun gun. The moment he felt uncaring hands grab the sleeves of his jacket he knew, in that moment, he was dead. Even if his heart kept beating and he could still feel the sweat that beat down his forehead he was dead, he is dead in every sense of the word. His life ended the moment he saw Thomas's blurry figure disappear behind the berg doors, his only connection to him and everyone he has ever cared about remaining in a white piece of cloth tied around his wrist. 

Newt remembers putting up a fight. Thrashing and fighting against the soldiers when he could finally feel his legs again, he put up a fight when the soldiers dragged him from the berg and back to the wicked facility he, Thomas and his friends had escaped not even a week prior. The despair that made his bones feel heavy returning like an old friend, enemy? How the days slowly began to blur, hours and days feeling like a montage of a fucked up version of groundhog day. 

Newt slowly but surely became dehumanized. Everyone around him referring to him as “subject” “immune” or “A5” if he got lucky. The last time Newt felt human was when Thomas's hand brushed against his shoulder, the final act of kindness from another, from him, before he was forced to his knees and in a way, never rose back to his feet. 

Shackles that were once cold around Newts wrists have now adapted to his body heat, once a painful but nonetheless a relief from the heat of the stuffy train that reeks of BO now just another solemn reminder he's nothing but a farm animal to his captives. The train rocks in a way Newt would imagine a mother would rock a child to sleep, but Wicked took away any opportunity to even be able to grasp what that would feel like, so this rocking train taking him to yet another palace of blood taking and shocks from tasers might be the closest thing he’ll ever get to that. The journey provides temporary relief from barking soldiers and whimpering children. 

Newt almost didn't pick up on the sound against the rattling of the train, or maybe he didn't believe it. But the sound of a car roaring next to the train was unmistakable, undeniable. Especially when his head wasn't the only to turn, clarifying he hadn't finally lost his marbles. He goes to touch the white cloth that now is used as a bandana, but the shackles stop him. He stopped wearing the cloth around his wrist long ago when he realized cloth and shackles, handcuffs, rope or whatever Wicked wants to restrain him with, don't usually mix well. Plus any hair in his eyes is never good, distracts him. No distraction these days besides the ones his mind takes him to is ever good.

As if on cue his mind pulls him away from the train car and to a memory he has visited many times before. 

“Hey Newt what did you get on the supply run?” Tommy asks, swinging his pack into his lap as he sits next to Newt up against the wall of an old rickety building. The other gladers all spread around the broken room.

“Give me your jacket.” Newt says, extending his hand out. Thomas raises a brow but hands Newt his jacket without hesitation, his pale but strong arms coming into view. “I didn't find much today..” - Newt begins, placing Tommy’s jacket in his lap before placing his pack on top of it. - “just y’know water bottles and such” - Newt waves a hand near his head gesturing as he speaks, pulling out two water bottles. One slightly squashed and covered in sand, only about half of the water left. The other was much cleaner, and filled to the top. 

Thomas’s eyes follow Newt's hands, if anyone else was looking at his hands like that he would be quite surprised. But this subconscious gesture has been the norm since he arrived up in the box, What's with him and bloody hands? “Buttt i managed to find this ripped up dress!” - Newt pulls out a white dress covered in small red flowers, the top completely mangled to bits but the long skirt seems strong enough. 

“What, you gonna make me wear it?” Thomas asks, chuckling. His mostly white teeth glimmering in the harsh sun, years of pampering from Wicked showing. Despite this his smile is no less enchanting.

“Slim it you!” - Newt says with a smile, whacking Tommy in the arm. - “and no I'm not! Your jacket has no pockets. You notice that smartass?” Newt places his pack beside him, gesturing for Thomas to look at his own jacket while Newt rummages around in his bag for a sewing kit he also found. 

“So? I have pants! And what does that have to do with-”

“Shhhh! I'm not done!” Tommy closed his mouth with his hands fiddling in his lap, a habit Newt had picked up on despite only knowing him for about a week. His large brown eyes filled with a curiosity, a curiosity Newt admired. 

“I'm gonna sew you a secret pocket, like some bloody super spy or something. Since you’ve always got something up your sleeves may as well have stuff in your jacket!” Newt realized at that moment that maybe Tommy didn't want Newt messing with his jacket as his eyes went wide, his chocolatey gaze locked on his lean fingers. “Unless you don't want-” 

“You can sew?” The question comes as a little bit of a shock to Newt as most gladers can at least fix holes in clothes with little to no problems, Thomas wasn't in the glade long enough to pick up the skill Newt guesses. 

“Well when you aren't running around fighting grievers sewing is a useful skill in the glade Tommy!” 

Thomas hums quietly as if in a trance, Newt uses his machete to cut a long piece of cloth off, throwing the rest of the mangled useless dress to the side. Cutting a small piece from the strip of fabric he now has and gets to sewing, despite the fact Tommy could be off doing anything else, he instead, leans against Newt's arm and watches as Newt sews on the jacket pocket. Once Newt finishes he ties the rest of the fabric to his wrist. 

“since you're a klutz you’ll probably tear it wont ya tommy?” Newt says softly, turning to face Thomas who was already looking at him. 

“NEWT?!” 

Huh? That's not-

“NEWT!!!!” Newt is pulled from his daydream, was he? No one has called him by his real name since.. His eyes flick to the sound of banging against the train car which he now notice’s has come to a stop. “NEWT ARE YOU IN THERE?!” his voice shouts, desperation and impatience in his tone. Thomas tone. 

“TOMMY?!” He shrieks, it can't be- no way. He looks crazy responding to what is most likely a hallucination but he doesn't care, Thomas should be in the safe haven but he holds onto desperate hope. Newt notices as other kids look at each other and begin to shout and thrash around, it's real. Tommy has come for him. 

“NEWT I'M COMING TO GET YOU ALRIGHT?! JUST HANG IN THERE!! KEEP SHOUTING!!!” A shaky breath escapes his chapped bleeding lips, his eyes widen with real raw emotion except anger since he was taken. Relief. Pure relief at the sound of his voice, tears that aren't of pain flood his eyes and a smile that shows his teeth to anyone who turns to face him. After a moment's daze he takes a deep breath and proceeds to scream his guts out, in between unintelligible screams he would shout out Tommys name. And every so often, he would hear Thomas shouting. 

“MINHO C’MON GET HIM OUT OF THERE!!” of course Minho had tagged along, his smiles grew wider at the thought.

All of Thomas’s shouts and yells were of the same sort, insisting they had to hurry or words of encouragement to others or Newt himself. Newt heard shouts of other children, the sounds of bullets chinking against metal or the sounds of shackles clashing together, especially his own. But none of that matters except the sound of Tommy's voice, his system went into overdrive with positive emotion and through screams he caught himself laughing. Actually laughing. 

-

About an hour later he was still in shackles, no emotion in his body as he sat on his knees against sandy ground. Would he ever feel again? Will Thomas come back? Why Newt did not consider that a possibility before, he’ll never know because of course Tommy would come for him. That stupid reckless shank and his “no one left behind” complex despite the danger or recklessness of a rescue, he will always follow suit. 

Despite the emptiness in his chest, tears fall down into the sandy ground, a wet puddle below him. The shackles on his wrist somehow grew heavier when he realized Thomas got a different train car. The metal digs into his skin, his skin red and raw as it has been many times before in the past.. Oh god when was he taken? 

“Oh no, they're not going anywhere.” Janson's voice makes his stomach drop, the emptiness leaving his bones replaced with rage. Newt looks up at the Ratman with bloodshot eyes and shaky hands.

“Tommy didn't get what he really wanted, did he?” The Ratman taunts, the anger in Newt’s bones makes it to his throat and eventually drips on his tongue. 

“Don't call him that.” He spat, he braced his body for the inevitable. He scrunches his eyes closed as the Ratman raises a hand..

-

The journey from the train tracks back to the right arm's new base may have been the longest period of time in Thomas's life, his back pressed against the top metal of the train car, listening to the loud buzz of the berg above, willing it silently to go faster. The hot sun burning into his skin had no effect on him anymore, not that anything so small could have any effect on him at this moment. Or ever again, because Newt was alive. He was ok. 

Newt’s voice ringing in his ears, hearing his thick accent call him tommy made his heart swell with a feeling he could only describe as floating. Minho lay next to him, a smile beaming as bright as the sun. was Minho floating to? He must be, Newt has that effect after all. Thomas’s hands lay on his stomach, his thumb nail digging into the others cuticles in impatience. Newt would probably scold him for his bleeding fingers and Thomas can't help but sigh at the thought.

“Can you believe Thomas? We did it. We actually saved him!” Minho exclaims, his head rolling against the metal to face him. Thomas turned his head to look at him, Minho's face slightly red and peeling with sunburn. 

“It's so weird.. He's right there!” Thomas says breathlessly, as if, if he spoke too loudly Newt would disappear from the train car. 

“No more late nights for you then!” Minho jokes, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Or sunburns for you!” Thomas bites back, flicking Minho's cheek. Minho hisses and puts his palm on Thomas’s face, shoving him away. Thomas shrieks and props himself up on his elbows to stabilize himself as if he would fall off the metal train car, despite Minho's shove being nothing but light. 

“Dude i could’ve fallen off!!” Thomas whines, shooting Minho a dirty look. 

“Wa wa cry about it ya big baby!” Minho says obliviously, propping himself up on his elbows to look at Thomas. Thomas smirks and Minho's face drops slightly.

“I see Brenda’s having an effect-”

“Slim it or I'll actually push you off!”

-

The moment the metal train car begins to lower Thomas and Minho are sat next to the ladder watching the ground coming closer agonizingly slow. They both came to an agreement that Minho would slide down the ladder, go get the saw to open the door and Thomas gets to walk into the train car first. The moment the ground and train car come into contact Minho has thrown himself down the ladder and doesn't even use his feet, and instead uses his hands to lower himself, bending his knees as he drops to the ground and breaking off into a run towards the nearest building for the saw. 

Thomas put his foot on the first rail of the ladder, then the second one and just jumped mirrored Minho out of impatience, bending his knees as he fell. By the time he ran to the entrance of the train car Minho was already back, using the saw against the metal door. Causing a loud whirring sound to scrap against Thomas’s brain, the longing in his chest unbearable as the seconds ticked by. After what seemed to be the longest 5 seconds of his life the door swung open and Thomas practically fell inside, 

Thomas sucked in a quick breath of shock at the sight of the immunes. 

Thomas knows who Wicked are and what they do to immunes but seeing it right in front of him made his nerves fire up in rage, the teens and children on the train car practically skin and bone, the life sucked out of them. Their skin was pale and sickly as if the sun had never grazed their skin, most adoring dark eye bags and some bloodshot eyes. Thomas slowly walked down the aisle of chairs and about three rows down sat Aris and Sonya, them being in such a brittle state shocked him despite the fact all the immunes looked to be on their last legs. 

“Hey! Hey, you guys ok?” he asks, keeping his voice as low as he can. His hand on Aris’s shoulder, Aris simply just nods while Sonya mumbles 

“Yeah we're fine.”

Thomas’s eyes land on Aris’s face, one of his eyes sporting a deep dark ring of purple. 

“Jesus..” His words escape his lips in a breath as he continues to walk between trembling kids, his eyes scanning for long golden hair. His eyes landed on hands searching for anyone with white cloth tied to their wrists. Would Newt have the cloth anymore? Or would’ve Wicked taken away their final connection? Well he supposes it doesn't matter too much anymore since he's here. 

���

Thomas gets to the end of the train car and turns around, his eyes flicking across the crowd once more as if somehow he would've missed the blonde. His eyes locked with Minho, His eyes somehow darkened a shade once he saw the realization on Thomas's face. 

“He's not here..” His words come out as a shaky exhale, somewhere in the back of his mind he thought Minho might scold him for being stupid and point out where Newt was. His childish wish was not granted as Minho’s head dropped slightly to the ground, avoiding Thomas's gaze. 

-

Thomas had to go alone. Thomas dawned upon this realization the moment Vince rejected his plan, the small sliver in rationality Thomas has left understands why Vince wont charge with him against Wicked guns ablaze. But a large part of him doesn't care. Vince? No vince? He's going. Fuck Thomas would walk to the last city if thats what he had to do. Admittedly Thomas doesn't have much of a plan but he can figure that out along the way he supposes, he just has to get Newt back. No matter the cost. 

His mind swirls in thought as he lays in his hammock, hands on his stomach. The sounds of soft whispers and the occasional giggle forcing his legs to stay put. Even if anyone is suspicious of him he’ll be long gone by morning, he considered bringing Minho. He really did but the mission is dangerous, he can't ask Minho to put his life on the line to rescue someone who's only gone because of his inability to recognize when someone clearly cannot be trusted. How did he not see it? How did he not know from the moment Teresa suggested to go back she would pull something? If he just spoke up and said something maybe his- 

…

Thomas decides at that moment he hates the word friend. He has many people who he would consider a friend, Vince, Harriet, Frypan, Brenda, Aris, Sonya and even Minho despite the fact he's more of a brother than a friend. But for Newt that's not enough to describe the way he cares about him. They certainly are nowhere near close to brothers but something entirely different, that mere thought alone makes his stomach twist with nausea. Thomas cares about Newt in a way he cant and wont care about anyone else, his comforting words affect him in a way no one else ever has, the way his chest swelled at the sound of his voice in a way he doesnt think a simple word could describe. He’d kick down the doors of Wicked headquarters just to see him. 

His brain flicks away from the thought of golden hair once he realizes the room has fallen quiet, he very, to his dismay, slowly pulls himself up and out of his hammock, quietly swinging his bag onto his back and creeping out of the room as to not wake anyone. 

His feet carry him mindlessly down hallways and through doors, the thought of lean arms and a thick accent making the journey not as guilt ridden he thought it would be. His eyes scan the floor as he walks outside to the trucks, the concrete silent against his soft feet. He looks up to the truck and his eyes pull open, the sight almost making him stumble back.

Instead of a lonely truck in the darkness of night he sees a very, very angry Minho leaning up against it, a lamp switched on making his scowl that much harder to ignore. Thomas thinks that even if he was turned around he would feel the hard gaze and know who it belongs to.

“Thomas.” 

“Minho.”

“Don't give me that! Acting as if I'm the one not supposed to be out here!” He uses his foot to kick himself off the car, marching forward to stand in front of Thomas, arms crossed. 

“How DARE you-”  Minho goes to poke Thomas in the chest before Thomas swiftly wacks his hand away. 

“You couldn't ask you to do this Minho!”

“Oh really? Why is that? Enlighten me!”

“We both know why!!” Thomas protests, feeling small under Minho's eyes, does Minho blame him like how he blames himself?

“No really I don't. And honestly Thomas? Im really fucking offended. I get you.. Care about Newt but I care about him too!” wait what? What is he talking about? Thomas’s mind spins in confusion at the implications of Minho’s tone, before he gets the chance to process what the hell Minho is spitting at him Minho sighs and regains his composure, placing his hands on Thomas’s shoulders, bringing him back to the weight of his bag and the harshness that no longer stabs him in Minho’s eyes. Minho’s gaze turns from harsh to kind, inviting..? No. more.. insisting on Thomas to speak. 

“We both know it's my fault he's even gone in the first place. I couldn't ask you to-” 

“What.” Minho says with an anger Thomas has never heard before.

“Basically join me in a- what?”

“What are you talking about.” 

“Y’know.. If I had not trusted.. her.. Newt wouldn't be..” Thomas waves his hand, refusing to actually voice the fact Newt is not present. 

“Are you dumb?” 

“What?!” 

“Thomas.” Minho’s eyes turn very serious, his voice steady. “If you ever say that again I will slap you so hard across the face you will see into your next life. You got that?” Thomas’s bites on his tongue, swallowing any protest along with it knowing Minho would absolutely follow through on his words. 

The darkness in Minho’s eyes dissipates once Thomas gives him a slow nod, patting him on the shoulder and shooting him a smile. 

-

Eventually, Thomas, Minho and Fry were all on the road, Thomas taking the front seat while Fry drives and Minho sleeps in the back, body draped across the seats in a way Thomas is sure wouldn’t have been legal centuries ago. Eventually Minho will swap out with Frypan since Thomas's driving abilities are.. Not the best. 

Thomas shut his eyes a while ago attempting to get some shut eye, listening to the quiet purr of the engine and the darkness of the truck making his eyes heavy, to his annoyance his brain won't allow him to sleep no matter how hard he tries. His mind buzzing with confusion.

“I get you.. Care about Newt-” the silence between the words and how he said it made him want to shake the boy awake and demand to know what the hell he was talking about, because what else could his tone be implying? And if Thomas's assumptions were right, what made Minho think that? Sure the blonde captivated him but is that not just the effect he has? It's not like he had a clear example of the line between friendship and.. What Minho was saying. So how the hell was he supposed to tell what he felt?! Couldn't this all be chalked up to just missing Newt?!

Thomas felt his body tilt to the side as Fry pulled off to the side of the road. He heard Minho grumble and presumably stretch his arms above his head to crack his shoulders as he always does, the car comes to a slow stop and two car doors swing open and close almost in sync, seat belts buckle and the car turns back onto the road but with Minho behind the wheel. Minutes pass agonizingly slow as they have done for this whole car ride till eventually Fry’s light snoring joining the loud truck's engine. 

“What did you mean earlier?” The question flew out of Thomas’s mouth before he got the chance to stop himself. He opens his eyes and turns to face Minho whose very confused face is forward on the dark road. “The.. care thing.” Thomas elaborates, gesturing with his hands nervously. Minho’s face twists deeper into confusion. “I mean you care about him the same way i do-”

“EW DUDE WHAT.” 

“What do you mean what?!”

“...”

“What?”

“Do you not.. know-? Nevermind. Nevermind!” 

“Do not ‘nevermind’ me! Tell me!!” Thomas argues back, annoyance flaring up at Minho’s secrecy. 

“Thomas.. I wouldn't judge you-”

“Judge me for what?!”

Minho clearly resists the urge to clench his eyes shut due to the fact he's behind the wheel, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. Despite them being close in age as the months went on Minho slowly became like an older brother to Thomas, based on the fact Minho certainly treats him like a younger sibling. The car fills with an uncomfortable silence, occasionally interrupted by Fry’s snoring. Minho seemed like the one bearing most of the discomfort, Minho took a deep breath before repositioning his hands to place one hand on top of the steering wheel and the other gesturing up and down Thomas's body.

“Y’know.. the whole Newt thing you got going on!” Thomas keeps his lips sealed, forcing Minho to elaborate.

“God- do i really need to have this conversation with you?!” Minho says his thoughts aloud, as if Thomas was calling the sky purple, he brings his index finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose rubbing it in clear annoyance. 

“Ok i'll say this in a way your oblivious brain can understand.”

“Owch.”

Minho pays no mind to Thomas's comment and continues “how do you see me?” 

“A brother.” Thomas says with hesitation.

“Feeling’s mutual. How do you see.. Frypan?”

“A friend.” Thomas answers bluntly. 

“Ok.. how do you see Newt?”

“Ok well- the thing is- i care about him and- hes.. just-” 

Thomas gestures with his hands wildly, his eyes flicking to Minho whose lips are pressed into a tight line, repressing a smile and he tries not to laugh. “This isn't funny!” Thomas whines and Minho cracks, bursting out into laughter earning a punch to the back of his seat from Frypan. Minho spends a solid minute laughing at Thomas’s ignorance, Thomas shooting daggers at him as he laughs. Minho gains his composure before saying

“I just-” - Minho sucks in a breath in between giggles - “can't believe it took you this long to realize! I mean.. C'mon that's just sad.”

Now that Thomas is thinking about it.. He definitely thinks about Newt in a different light. But can Minho blame him? Newt is just.. Newt! He's got golden hair that glows under the sun and his face and limbs are sunkissed in a way no one else could match, his personality is charismatic and so effortlessly charming but he's still so caring and filled to the brim with kindness, his words sew themselves together so well and give him some type of courage no one else could gift him, his hands are lean yet so strong-

Thomas stops his train of thought and groans, his head hitting the head rest as he covers his face with his hands. “Minhoooo what do i doooo” Thomas leans forward with his head still in his hands, his elbows digging into his legs. Minho's hand pats his back sympathetically, Thomas can almost feel the pitying smile on his face. 

Minho reassured him that everything would be fine, that they would focus on getting Newt back and the rest could be figured out later. The conversation did not last much longer than that before Thomas insisted he wanted to fall back asleep, when really he just wanted to think in peace. Now that Minho helped him connect the dots it made a lot of sense really, how Thomas didn't notice months ago was beyond him. He didn't just miss Newt, he wanted to feel his presence in its entirety. He missed seeing the way the corners of his eyes would crease when he smiled, he longed for his comforting words, the way his hand would light ablaze when he insisted on helping Newt through the scorch because of his leg, and how the burn of their hands touching wasn't painful but exciting. Newt’s touch, his words, his presence made him hope and wonder about a future he refuses to live without the mop of blonde hair standing beside him to witness. 

What would he do to ensure that future?

He guesses he’ll find out.

PREVIOUS - NEXT

Authors note: this is NOT my best writing and i kinda hate this but whatever, if you guys enjoy it thats all that matters lol!! i can assure you the next chapters WILL be better. i just wanted to focus on where the cloth came from, Thomas's feelings and Thomas and Minho's relationship because that will come into play in future chapters.

my ao3: n0th0ughtz

Tag list!! (wow we got a list now?!): @moonysgoldenstar @ermdotorg @loloisloco @weepinglavenders @icantdoitwithabroken-heart @promisesbutnevertokeep @ssseashell if you want to be added to the tag list you can ask me however, reblog, comment I don’t mind :)

[ofallthingsnasty]

Ah, but being a party girl... Getting to your late 20s/early 30s, feeling that shift within you; knowing that hey, this can't go on forever... Starting something light with Crocodile, maybe aiming for a little fun in the spring, just someone proper to take you out for dinners and to warm your bed - testing the waters, so to speak. You want to settle down soon, just not right now, just want to see how it is as an item. He's handsome, has a certain air to him and a lot of money to spend - so why not?

tw.minors dni, a little dark twist at the end bc it's crocodile 🤭

Of course, you butter him up. He's right at that age where his type of man gets a little wistful, would like to have a wife, a house, maybe a kid if it's in the cards, still? Twenty-some years of 50 hour weeks will do that to you, will show you that your body doesn't just bounce back like so when you step over a certain threshold. Well, he wants someone to put a ring on; you want some fun - so, selfish as you are, you play along. Humor him. Hang off his arm and entertain those silly thoughts of his - a vacation together, moving in with him after the summer's done (because well, why not smile and nod when you'll be long gone by then), pointedly ignoring the way he keeps burying you in expensive gifts. You should feel bad, the guilt should probably eat you alive, because as the weeks pass you can tell that he's really, really smitten with you while you're secretly texting some other guy your age when you return home from yet another chic Italian restaurant-

It's such a sad thing, really. He'll make some other woman stupid happy, especially if she's been yearning for a rich husband; he's the perfect example of the broody, grumbly type who mumbles on and on about her expensive taste but would rather die than NOT to buy her exactly what she wants. There is a certain appeal to him (or else you wouldn't have spent this much time with him) and he'll be just fine after licking wounds once you're gone, you're sure of it. It's definitely nice to have someone around who is serious about you - after years and years of boyfriends (emphasis on boy) who were only good for long nights of drinking and summer vacations, you feel spoiled and terribly grown to have a handsome man downright worship you, to plan a future with you after such little time. He's committed and doesn't play around. Yes, you think, you could get used to this, but you still need a few more years of being free before you'll let yourself be tied down - because as much as it is flattering, it can also be a little scary. The thought of you in a white gown and a matching ring on your finger in just a year is making you antsy; and with how fast he's moving he might just want to opt for a December wedding.

So you do what you do best: smile, kiss him goodbye after yet another lovely date and- ghost him. You avoid his neighborhood for a few weeks, go private on all your socials, block his number, duck away whenever you see that telltale black shock of hair that is dragging smoke behind it, act like he never existed. And it works, as it always does.

At least that's what you think. Because the one night you finally dare to venture out again ends abruptly and with you waking up in an unfamiliar room. You can barely lift your hand to rub your tired eyes because suddenly there is a weight on it and a familiar face is staring you down solemly from the bedside, that all too familiar smell of cigars all around you. Turns out, leaders of crime syndicates who operate behind the innocent fronts of bussinesmen don't like to be deceived and made a fool of, especially by naive little playgirls who think they're smarter than the rest of the world and when they weren't even able to glean that there was more to the person they chose to goad. And spoiled brats like you need to learn not to toy with other people's hearts and egos, both of which are dangerously fragile. You reeled him in with promises of marriage and love and that's exactly what you'll give him now, just without all the luxury that you could have had if you hadn't been dishonest from the start.

Time to grow up, princess.

[ladyelissarose]

Y’all I wrote something…

‘Karma’

Miguel O’Hara x fem-dom Spider-Woman rival

Warnings: it’s NSFW. Smut is implied and done but not as deeply written as other times- but it’s good! Smut/fluff type? Lyrics from Taylor Swift’s ‘Karma’ are in the writing and are not mine of course.

I recommend listening to ‘Karma’ by Taylor Swift while reading this.

You're talking shit for the hell of it

Addicted to betrayal, but you're relevant

You're terrified to look down

'Cause if you dare, you'll see the glare

Of everyone you burned just to get there

It's coming back around...

In slow, confident steps you roamed around the low lit room, dressed in white, lacy lingerie. Hair bouncy and gleaming off the moonlight that escape the window, skin looking tempting to touch at its glittery appearance, your tits showing off your hard nipples at the sight of a defeated god in front of you. No one would’ve known you were the devil in disguise this whole time.

Words of truth slipped off your tongue like honey and yet they affected like poison. They dripped through the ears of Miguel O’Hara, who laid spread out on your bed, tied up at your mercy. Every inch of his Adonis sculpted body was all yours to touch and see, manipulate and play with until his tears satisfied your yearning desire to see him crumble. He was a mess at this point, hair tousled and covered in sweat, yet it made you jealous on how he looked hotter and still good.

Spider-boy, king of thieves

Weave your little webs of opacity

My pennies made your crown

Trick me once, trick me twice

Don't you know that cash ain't the only price?

It's coming back around

Who would’ve thought that the sternest and most untouchable man who led an elite Task-Force of Spider-Men would be the victim to your dominance? No one could get through his thick skull and skin, and yet.. he melted at the sight of you- you didn’t have to touch him.. only be seen and heard and he was done for.

He had had his chance of playing and toying you too for a long while, leaving you in tears and desperate for more, empty and calling for him, and everytime he promised you could do the same.. unless you caught him. Miguel believed you didn’t have the stealth to catch him, or the right strategy to get him in your hand, without you saying a word.

But it didn’t take long after he left you hanging off the edge of euphoria once again, that you had your webbed trapped weaved out just for him to get tangled in. And you wore a smile in red while it was woven carefully, you knew it was going to work.. it was as if you saw the future in your hands... it was for certain you won.

'Cause karma is my boyfriend

Karma is a god

Karma is the breeze in my hair on the weekend

Karma's a relaxing thought

Aren't you envious that for you it's not?

Sweet like honey, karma is a cat

Purring in my lap 'cause it loves me

Flexing like a goddamn acrobat

Me and karma vibe like that

And why did you know?

Because karma was your boyfriend... it was your god. But as you got closer and better at it.. You became Karma.. you are now the god. With pride you wore the crown and held the sculpture in your hands, having the power to let him wait or cum at your, all merciful command.

Now you have rested yourself onto his thick thigh, letting the slick that has soaked through your panties at the sound of Miguel’s whimpering, cover it completely well. Dangerously slow you let your hand trail up and down his thick length, thumb teasing his precum around it, while you sped up your movements on riding his thigh, your high-pitched moans were the evidence of how pleasurable it felt.

Eyes dark, full of lust and control rested on his that were tearing up and lit up like a warm nightlight. His once sultry voice called out to you now strained, after spending hours crying and begging for release. You’ve already ridden, stroked, sucked, kissed and deep throated that cock of his, but you haven’t let him come yet. You couldn’t.. not when he hasn’t begged enough for it.

Miguel’s abs were tight and felt like steel under your hand that rested on him to keep you steady. His cock was burning up while it was still painfully hard. In desperation to flip you around and make you pay, he pulled at the restraints, doing his best to break free for revenge.. but his weakness was you, he’ll never break through them unless it was through surrender.

'Cause karma is my boyfriend

Karma is a god

Karma is the breeze in my hair on the weekend

Karma's a relaxing thought

Aren't you envious that for you it's not?

Sweet like honey, karma is a cat

Purring in my lap 'cause it loves me

Flexing like a goddamn acrobat

Me and karma vibe like that

For the fourth time you cry out and gush on his leg, riding out your ride of ecstasy as you feel the tingles of pleasure course through your veins. White caught your vision as your head was tossed back. You could feel your pussy throb at the sensitivity you’re already beginning to feel as your high subsided. The sound of your heart in your ears soon tuned out and Miguel’s pleas to you could be heard.

‘P-Por favor hermosa- me- me rindo!! N-Nunca te dejaré así otra vez.. l-lo entiendo ahora! I’m begging you!’ (please beautiful.. I’ll never leave you like that again.. I get it now)

You took a deep breath and sighed out in relief and satisfaction, first at your release on his damned thighs.. and second at the sound of his voice which has mocked and bossed you before, now whine out in surrender, begging for his release after watching you get yours on HIS body- well.. your body now ;)

Maybe it was because you were thirsty.. hungry, for something different this time, like his thick, white cum dripping from your pussy to your thighs.. or the heavenly burn it’s leaves like tequila as it trickles down your throat.. it’s salty taste resting on your pink tongue... maybe that’s why.. why you had to toss the crown of karma to the ground, and bend your knees at the only satisfaction only Miguel O’Hara could give. So on his length you situated yourself, and with seduction you speak,

‘Then give it to me papi... but swear first you’ll make me scream and come EVERY godamn time after this!-‘

‘I fucking swear!! I’ll ruin you for every man and woman... no one will compare to me, and what I’ll do to you- Ahh mami!! COÑO-‘

‘Come for me Miguel.. please let this pussy drip and cum- oh God!!’

Breathing like you ran a marathon, wasted like if you drank and partied all night.. after Miguel finally tore through your webs and railed into you until he made you see stars 2 times. Leaving you with a sore pussy and trembling legs, cum dripping out of your pussy and the remaining of it smeared on your lips like lipgloss. His sweet, desperate moans were all that replayed in your head, your name slipping out of his lips in cries at his release was your favorite sound now.

Miguel has certainly given you the fuck of the history. His whimpers have turned into deep breaths and almost incoherent words trying to comfort you, he was definitely out of breath too. And so were you at this point, 100%.

He certainly did keep up to his promise, and any doubt of him leaving you alone afterwards.. were all out the window when he cradled you close to his chest after carefully and softly cleaning you up. His voice back to its sultry and deep tone, sounding like a wave of love as he whispered promises against your hair, while he caresses your skin gently yet firmly, leaving his genuine touch of love engraved on you.

Now since then Miguel’s kisses adorn you always and satisfaction on you was written with his cum seeping out of you or its salty taste hanging off your tongue down your chin. What was once left cold and untouched on you is now left burning and marked by him, everything and everyone now knew he was yours alone. You thought you were the only one who knew you.. but that was scratched off once he bought you with his promising pleasure and love.

Oh and on top of that... the crown of Karma sat next to you every time he railed and pounded your pussy, reminding him what you were capable of if he every pulled that stunt again. And thankfully he never did, he’d only fuck you till you passed out or he fell wasted on top of you.. either way, you both never played games again, maybe tease.. but you’d eye the one that dared to test those waters, like a warning.. cause if he went low, you went lower.. or vice versa.

[darlingofvalyria]

Your love is pure, beautiful and true. His is mandatory, optional and a duty. Yet you stay, because that is the tragedy of giving your heart to someone whose own is already in another's. A locked stepped stalemate where none truly get what they want.

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 598 ] | King!Aegon Targaryen II x Wife!Reader | part of elle's versions.

contains— angst. emphasis on the angst, hurt/no comfort, bits of smut ; lowercase intentional + arranged marriage, mention of former targcest (marriage to helaena), dance of the dragons canon happened, mentions of major character deaths - nsfw(ish): hints of marital obligation (trying for heirs) but no full sex scene - no betas.

a/n— comment, reblog, & like at will, huns! if i hurt you, pls know it was intentional mwahahaha

you had no allusions to what you were supposed to be, to do, as the king's new wife. the simplicities are bare, even a simpleton would understand.

you are a marriage borne from the ashes of the tragedy. you are the symbol of hope and peace. your marriage is the fodder, an heir its cannon.

you had no allusions, even your mother had spared you for the pretty lies. "war has torn this country in one ways to two," she murmurs, brushing her spindly fingers over your hair, preparing you, in more ways than one, to marry a king. in a few hours, you step out of these borrowed chambers to soon become a wife. "and with it, his family. wagging tongues can say the king never truly loved the queen, but they were blood sister and brother. there is care there. he had lost her through grief and rage, with it, his sons. his heir. you are a duty he must fulfil, like so many others. do not fall yourself into illusions, lest you hurt yourself."

you are a duty, you remind yourself as you stay precisely still, ram-rod straight spine as you fight every bone in your body to flinch as your husband, no, your king, orders the beheading of a lord, a black supporter until the very end.

you are a duty, you remind yourself as you pull your knees to your chest, shuddering under the weight of your loneliness. another night without your husband, without doing your duty as it is a difficult thing for him, to be with you. to have you. to be in this marriage. his whores, his paramours— they are a reprieve from the grief that still hangs, from the guilt, the anger, and from the betrayal of your own existence (to his wife? his sister? his dead children?).

you are a duty, you remind yourself, as the alcohol inside of him spills into you, his scent, his seed; as he clutches you close, loves you, fucks you,

you are a duty, you remind yourself harshly, sobs and anger silent inside your heart, as he kisses your head, his own mind already busy with his duties, unraveling from your warmth, from the love that has blossomed from your bossom and yearning for him— as he murmurs,

"have a great day with mother, hel."

and he pauses, back to you, the realisation spilling down his spine slower than yours; his, like thick molasses. yours, like ice directed to your veins. you are blowing fjords in the winters of winterfell. he is bubbling, molten fire gargling inside a dragon's stomach.

he pauses, the silence stretches.

"my apologies, my queen," he says, voice still and calm.

"'tis alright, my king," you say back, because that is your duty. you are wife to a king, not the owner of his heart. whether that died with the woman who flung herself off a tower, in the spilled blood of his sons, or in the arms of his paramours— it doesn't matter.

yours is his, sadly. you wonder if he knows. you wonder if he cares.

it doesn't matter either way. you smile despite him not seeing. despite him leaving. the realm exists, there are duties and there is a throne. your body has concave within itself, your chin to your knee, your breath a stagger through the emptiness of tears.

you are a duty he has finished off a list for the day.

you will come up again tomorrow until a maestre confirms the existence of a babe in your stomach, as all duties do.

[mildcharacterenjoyer]

In His Heart

Or Shadow finally understands what it truly means to keep someone in your heart.

(It's whump!) Emotional whump

It's like almost 1 and I've been rewriting this thing for six hours. I'll do word counts and reworks tomorrow.

Some triggers are like mentions of death and sickness. Also big emotional rollercoaster. Enjoy!

~~~~~

Loss. Everyone went through it. That much Shadow knew. But he wasn't just anyone. He was the ultimate lifeform, a being designed to withstand the end of the universe's existence and possibly beyond. Which meant anyone he might meet, would cease to be while he lived on.

How could he possibly expect to enjoy his life when all he could think about was the losses he had yet to experience? Or the losses he already had? First Maria, his sister, taken from him before they could fulfill their promises to one another on the planet looming below. Professor Gerald, his creator, rotted in a cell crafted by the very same people he served today.

G.U.N. 'A former agent of GUN.' He would curse the name as he did the Black Arms that flowed within him. Why was he here? If only they knew the pain they had caused him. Of course he had to go and lose his memory only to wind up serving the very same corporation that provided him with his first taste of loss.

His hate ran deep, but in truth his sorrow is what flowed into his core. The anger, just a cover up to encapsulate his true emotions from emerging. Maria had always told Shadow that "he had a good heart." What good is a heart corrupted by sorrow and rage yearning for nothing but revenge for this overwhelming loneliness he experienced?

Shadow could fall deeper into his despair and anguish if he wanted. How quick he could be to throw his old self to the wayside and be reborn as the visceral hatred he harbored, but he would only become that which he had already destroyed. The battle for his blackened heart begins again. A continuous war for control over the ultimate lifeform's very existence. Black Doom had nearly claimed his victory over Shadow's mind each time the hedgehog would focus solely on his pain and suffering. It was the memories tied to Maria that kept him fighting the wretched fool from dragging him into a pit of his own darkness.

He could hear her now, playing and singing to her heart's content. Her voice had calmed him. What would she say if she could see him like this? So full of spite and anger. Would she too be angry? No. He knew her too well. She would cry.

"Shadow! No! Please! This isn't you! You're not like this. Please stop it. I can't bear to see you like this! I want you to be happy Shadow. Shadow! SHADOW!"

All at once, the storm that raged within him ceased. There hung an uneasy balance between his thoughts and feelings as they attempted to locate the source of the sudden peace. Within the stillness, something flickered as it fell into the recesses of his corrupted heart. The surrounding blackness explodes violently, cracking and melting as it had done so many times prior. The storm swirled angrily above as the sorrow began to flood into every fiber of his being. It fought to contain its hold on Shadow's heart, plugging each bubbling spring with its black tendrils. The flicker flashed mightily from within, shattering what remained of Black Doom's hold and his dying anger.

Waves of sorrow erupted from within Shadow's heart crashing against themselves and everything they touched. He missed her. He missed her more than his anger towards G.U.N. He missed her more than his hatred towards Black Doom. He missed her more than his confidence in himself, the ultimate lifeform.

She was everything to him. Now all that were left were memories of a shadow that no longer existed, and a girl that was robbed of her childhood; killed, before her sickness had a chance to claim her life.

He grieved. He would bottle everything up he had ever felt until he could no longer take it and he would spill. Time after time again Shadow would push himself through this self-destructive angstfest. Would it ever stop? How could this unhealthy cycle be any different from the next?

He had always ignored that flicker in his heart that had sparked his sorrow and quelled his anger. The one that softened his heart and gave him a small sense of the Shadow he used to be. He had been afraid of what he would see had he turned his attention to it. The fatigue of his latest emotional rollercoaster gave way to his curiosity.

He took the plunge into his sorrow, swimming through all the emotions he hid behind so much anger. Ironic, how exhaustion kept him going past some of his most somber of feelings. As he reached for his heart, the flicker began to brighten, responding to his approach. He pushed forward, noticing the sorrow around him beginning to fade as the light fully enveloped him.

The first thing he experienced was warmth. It was not something he expected to feel. The closest he could remember encountering this was during one Christmas with Gerald and Maria. The memory suddenly appeared before him, springing to life in all the ways he recalled it. Maria singing carols, Professor Gerald teaching them how to make Christmas cookies, and Shadow opening up his first Christmas gift from Maria: A pair of skates.

The memory dissolved and was replaced with the box of skates. Panic rose within Shadow. He could run. He could escape, close his heart up, and never have to look at these memories again. He hesitated. But, when was the last time he was happy? Had it been 50 years ago? It was...nice...but there was no Maria. "But she is here." Shadow's own voice boomed. "And so am I."

Maria appeared. "You found me. I missed you so much Shadow. I was so worried you had lost your way." It was a memory from when they were playing hide and seek on the Ark, but Shadow took a bit longer to find her.

"Remember Shadow," The calm and collected voice of Professor Gerald rang throughout the hedgehog's heart and mind. "Anger is a tool. You must not let it control you. Keep what is close to you in your heart so that you might always know what you are living for."

"Shadow." Maria called out again from another memory. "Do you want to know why I keep you in my heart? It's so that I will always have you with me when we are apart. You also help me when I'm scared of the monsters under the bed or if I had a nightmare. The thought of you helps me chase so many bad thoughts away." Maria then hugs the younger Shadow in the memory. The flicker was back and in strong effect. "Oh Shadow. I hope that one day you have lots of people in your heart to help you with your bad thoughts."

-----

"I want my friends in my heart." Shadow exhaled breathlessly. He had showed up to Rouge's place not 30 seconds ago looking like he hadn't slept in weeks.

"W-what?" Rouge stuttered. Omega also sat up slightly perplexed. They studied Shadow, noticing just how exhausted and beat up he looked. "Are you alright?"

"I'm tired of hurting alone. This isn't what Maria would have wanted. And...it's not what I want either." Omega and Rouge shared a very concerned look.

"WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH SHADOW?" Omega asked.

"It's still me." Shadow explained flatly. "I keep losing this same emotional battle I've been putting myself through even if I win. I...don't want to do this by myself anymore."

Shadow turns around to see Rouge and Omega staring at him intently for what he was about to say next.

"You both were right there beside me for so many years and I let my anger and hate get in the way of the true friendship I could have had with you two. Will you let me back into your lives again, even after I've been so distant?"

Expressions of overjoy and relief spread across her face. "Yes!!" Rouge exclaimed!

"TEAM DARK REFORMED!" Omega proclaimed.

Shadow allowed himself a small tired smile as he was drawn into the group hug, enjoying the embrace of the teammates he once thought he lost.

"And for the record," Rouge continued, squeezing him tighter. "You were already in my heart."

"HE WAS IN MY HEART FIRST."

"Can it you!" The banter continued on in the background as Shadow allowed himself to slip into unconsciousness, knowing he was in good hands. Somewhere in his heart, he knew he was telling Maria all the fun adventures Team Dark went on. He could feel that flicker of warmth burn bright within him. He just knew Maria would be proud of him.

And she was.

~~~~~

[minispidey]

The Duke and The Wildflower.

Leto Atreides x f!reader

Miniseries Masterlist.

II. Dancing with Our Hands Tied.

3.2k words

Summary: Leto and you start your secret love affair. After a meeting, your father notices the way you looked at Leto. You started to question your feelings towards Leto.

Warnings: not beta read, some wrong grammar, garden seggs, timeskip, oral on table f!receiving, almost caught, smut, a lil angst at the end.

Leto felt the ghost of your touch that night. Your father arranged a room for him to stay in your home. He's never felt so comfortable in a planet he's never been in, and his mind was clouded by thoughts of you.

Your whimpers as he thrusted into you a few hours earlier in the library, the way you felt around his cock. He wanted you.

He left the guests' quarters and walked through the dark and empty halls, spotting you in your nightgown as you knocked on the walls to open the secret garden.

"My Lady."

His voice startles you, making you face him and backing away against the entrance of the secret garden but tripping down and sitting on the grass.

"Your grace, you frightened me." you breathed out, holding your chest.

"My apologies." Leto helps you up, entering the garden as well before it shuts close. The moon illuminates the sunroof of the garden, showing your beauty in a different light.

"What are you doing up late?"

"I could ask you the same thing, my lady."

"Well... I couldn't sleep." You said, walking towards the large tree in the middle of the garden, your bare feet touched the grass despite your previous insistence to avoid the grass "How about you, your grace?"

"I can't stop thinking about you..." he whispers.

You exhaled "It... It mustn't happen again. It was... just a pleasurable escapade. I still despise you, yet I force myself to tolerate you."

"Is that how you truly feel?"

"Yes."

"Yet you tighten your cunt around me when I first thrusted into you."

"Your grace-" your eyes widened at his boldness.

"Leto." he says "Call me Leto."

"Your grace, it is inappropriate-"

"Call me Leto." he repeated.

You took a deep breath in before letting out a sigh of defeat "Leto."

The way you said his name made him melt, his tense shoulders relaxing. He looked at you with desire and you looked back at him with your chin up and serious focused eye contact.

"Please... say it again..."

"Leto."

He slowly made his way to you. His hand was cupped and hovered your face but doesn't make contact with your skin.

He didn't have his gloves on. He didn't want to touch you that way.

But you two had sex, so he might as well, right?

"Can I... Can I touch you?"

Did he ask for permission to touch you? A Duke? Permission? It was indeed a scandalous, but they were alone

"You may."

His rough palm rested on the side of your face, his thumb caressing your cheekbone. Your skin was so soft, it made him weak.

"Can I kiss you...?"

"Leto, it was just..."

"Please." Leto leaned in and whispered softly in her ear "I need your lips." he murmured, sliding his hand up your nightgown, feeling your thigh through the silk fabric.

"You've driven me mad." he breathed, his voice a low croon as his lips hovered over hers once more "Please... let me kiss you..."

As if hypnotized by the way his eyes stared at yours, you nodded.

Leto continues to explore your body with a heady mix of reverence and hunger, his touch igniting a fire within you. His hands glide over your skin, caressing and teasing, his fingertips leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake.

He breaks the kiss, his dark eyes burning with desire as he gazes down at you "I want this." he breathed, his voice barely a whisper "I want you."

Lowering his head, Leto starts to lavish attention upon your neck, trailing a line of kisses along the sensitive skin. His lips move with purpose, alternating between gentle nips and lingering caresses, each touch leaving you yearning for more. Your hand rested on the nape of his neck, pushing him towards you "Leto..." you moaned.

His hand slides down your body, hiking up your silk nightgown and finding its way to the apex of your thighs. With skilled fingers, he begins to explore the depths of your desire, eliciting moans of pleasure from your lips. Leto continued to nip on your neck, leaving marks.

Leto rubs your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you squirm against him. His fingers move in slow, deliberate circles, teasing and coaxing pleasure from your sensitive bud.

"Feels good, huh?" he murmurs seductively, his voice low and husky. "Have you ever been pleasured this way before?" he asks, his fingers never ceasing their gentle movements.

"No..." you breathed out "Never. I-It feels too good..." his fingers continue their persistent movements, driving you closer to the edge. He can feel the tension building within you, the telltale signs of your impending release. And as his own desire grows, he's determined to make sure you reach your peak before he allows himself to. Your stomach twists, reaching your high, moaning out loud.

"You're beautiful...." he placed a kiss on your breast before licking his fingers. He removes his pants, taking out his hardened cock and positioning himself at your entrance, his gaze locked with yours, seeking permission for the final act of surrender, for your pleasure "Leto..." you say as an answer. It was a yes.

Leto's lips curl into a devilish smirk as he hears your breathless admission. He hooks one of your legs around his waist "I can't forget the way you felt around me..." he whispers "Your warmth... your voice..."

With a controlled yet powerful movement, Leto enters you slowly, filling you completely. His eyes roll back, feeling you once again. The air is thick with the sounds of your shared pleasure, the symphony of moans and gasps filling the secluded garden.

"Leto... oh my..." you breathed out, arching your back. Your head rested against the tree, hitting it with each thrust Leto delivers. He noticed it and placed a hand on the back of your head and he continued thrusting into your warm cavern "More..."

His grip on your hips tighten, his fingers digging into your flesh as he increases the force of his thrusts.

Leto thrusted into you with a raw, unrestrained power, his movements becoming more forceful and demanding. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, mingling with the symphony of your moans and gasps. He pushed you more against the tree with each powerful thrust.

Finally, with a shuddering release, you both succumb to the overwhelming pleasure that courses through your bodies. Breathing heavily, Leto held you close, his body pressed against yours as you both catch your breath. You still had your leg hooked around him, pressing your forehead against his.

"Your grace... you've gone mad..." you whispered, looking into his eyes.

"Indeed. And I would prefer to stay this way." Leto kisses you again with overwhelming passion. He's addicted to your taste.

He pulls away before laying your body down on the grass, and resting your head on the tree trunk. Leto lies down next to you, staring at you lovingly.

"I've never wanted someone so badly until I met you..."

"How charming."

"I've read books of greek gods and goddesses— Aphrodite to be exact..."

"What about her? Let me guess, you think that she created me?"

"Not at all." he shook his head "In fact, the description of her beauty pales in comparison to you."

Your gaze softens, looking at him "I fear you have angered the goddess with your compliment."

Leto let out a small laugh "If I had angered Aphrodite, I certainly didn't mean to. It's truly her fault for blessing you with such beauty."

The two looked at each other in silence. Your voice shuddered "You... You have rendered me speechless, your grace." you turned your head away from him but his finger rested under your chin, turning you back to face him.

"Are you flustered?"

"Yes." you replied with no hesitation.

Leto only smiled and pressed a kiss on your temple "Allow me to court you..."

"You have already had sex with me. Why would you want to court me?"

"Because I want you..."

You let out a sigh "You can't."

"Why?"

"My father will not allow it. Imagine the scandal."

"I see..." Leto's eyes shifted down to your lips and back to your eyes again "But... if given the chance, would you let me court you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I refuse."

You got up, straightening your nightgown before walking over to the fountain, taking water to splash your face.

Leto watches as the water drips down to your chest, making him gulp. He walks towards you, pressing his chest against your back "Please..."

"Leto..." you looked at him "We mustn't..."

"But we could." he rests his nose on your scalp, smelling your intoxicating fragrance "Allow me to love every inch of you."

You slightly smiled, looking at him "Here's uh, a peace offering." you handed him a small potted flower nearby "Father said it stood out from the garden too much and it's greedy when it comes to the sun. It just needs an inch of water a week, so I hope it's not a bother when you take it back to your planet."

Leto looked at the ivory flower. It had a strong smell, very zesty. It smelled like...

"It smells like you." he says, looking at you.

Your eyes lit up "It does?"

"Yes."

"What a coincidence."

You walked back to the tree, noticing wildflowers started growing on the grass. You started to pick them out one by one.

"Poor flowers. Lives cut short."

"In my father's garden, everything must be in order. That means absolutely no flower must stand out."

Leto only stared at you. Because in his opinion, you were that flower.

Months passed since your love affair started. For every meeting with your father, he'd stay the night and make love to you in secret. The garden and the library were your safe haven as he helped you reach the heights of pleasure.

"I heard you have concubines... you're unmarried."

"Yes. Political reasons."

"Keep telling yourself that..." you were cut off as he pressed his lips against yours.

Each interaction when your father is around consisted of longing stares and impatience. As you sat in the meeting room, your father hasn't arrived and Leto stared at you. It was just the two of you.

"My lady."

"Your grace."

You two greeted each other.

You wore your usual chiffon attire, your hair was decorated with small flowers from the garden. Silence filled the room. Leto continued to stare at you, but now with a familiar look on his face. You shook your head.

"My world."

"Leto." you sighed, clearly flustered by the endearment. He started calling you that more often during your previous private meetings.

A soft smile graces his lips as he moves closer, his hands gently caressing your face.

Leto guides you to lie back on the table, his hands roaming your body with a gentle yet possessive intent. His lips find yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue teasingly exploring your mouth.

As the kiss deepens, his hands roam lower, tracing the contours of your body, igniting sparks of pleasure with each touch. He breaks away from the kiss, resting his face in the crook of your neck.

"You're too beautiful." he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. You shift a bit on the table, hiking your dress up "We must be hurry... father could enter any time soon."

Leto's fingers glide over your skin, his touch leaving a trail of tingling sensations. He takes his time, savoring every moment, his mouth finding its way to your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses. His fingers stopped on your clit, rubbing it in circles, making you moan softly.

His voice is a low, seductive rumble as he murmurs "Be patient, my world... I assure you he won't know a thing."

Leto's control remains steadfast, his hands and lips working in perfect harmony to bring you pleasure. He takes his time, exploring your body with a mix of gentle caresses and more demanding touches, his voice filled with praise and dirty talk.

"I won't rush. Your pleasure takes time." he murmurs "This arouses you, doesn't it? Going painfully slow..."

You suddenly hear footsteps approaching the meeting room. You snapped back up and Leto fixes himself, making himself presentable.

Some of the flowers from your hair fell, but you gathered them in your hand and took your place near the end.

Your father enters the room, smiling "I apologize for my tardiness. My garden needed some care." he laughed, taking his seat "Leto, my friend. I wish to not waste your time anymore."

Oh no.

"But we cannot continue with the trade. Our winery would have limited stocks after taking a thousand. We only make so little a year. Our vineyard has gotten smaller. We've recently planted new seeds yet we do not have enough workers to care for everything."

"I hope you could reconsider-"

"I cannot." your father cuts him off "The vineyard is what made us... decent for a minor house. Without it, major houses won't acknowledge the Alaak house." he chuckles.

"If we circle around a thousand of your wine, your house would be much known.

"And if it did, where will I get the wine to sell?"

Leto fell silent. His eyes flickered towards you from across the table, but you only looked at your father as he talked.

"I understand..."

"It was a good run while it lasted, Duke Atreides. I apologize for your constant visits and revisions of the trade."

Your father noticed a small flower stuck on Leto's beard, but ignored it. Leto stood up from his seat, doing a small bow "It is alright. Good day, Duke Alaak."

Then he faces you "My lady."

Your father noticed the way you looked at Leto. Your eyes were soft, pitiful. Then he noticed the flowers on your head... was the same as the one on Leto's beard.

Your father wasn't as stupid as he shows himself to be. But surely, he wasn't angry and stood silent.

Leto leaves the meeting room, walking off into the hallway in defeat while you and your father stayed seated.

"Beauty. Is there something you wish to tell me?" he says your nickname as he looked at you. Maybe you would tell him yourself what's with you and Leto.

"Father..."

"Daughter."

"Alright." you let out a groan "It may not be the best idea, but I do think it's a fair trade. He's offered us materials, alliance, and more. Though I do agree a thousand is too much, perhaps half could work."

Oh. So it wasn't that.

"Brains, we can't afford so much loss from our stocks. The Atreides house is indeed powerful yet they won't fool me."

"Father, it's not just about their materials. This is about our exposure as the Alaak house. Imagine if we grew. The vineyard would be cared for."

Your father let out a long childish groan "Alright then... it's going to be your vineyard anyways."

As the celebration commenced, your father walked towards Leto with one of the bottles of wine "You know, my daughter was the one to convince me. Not you. So, take it as you will." clearly as you were as prideful as your father.

Leto chuckled, extremely surprised "She did? That's very kind of the lady to do."

"I trust my daughter's judgement. She sees the truth in everyone." he hands him the wine "Besides, it's rare for her to like someone. I don't know where she got that from. Probably her mother."

"I heard her mother tried to kill you."

"When we first met, yes. She definitely got her personality from her mother. My daughter is a perfect mix of me and her mother, she knows what she wants and what she's worth. I'm not letting her settle for any less."

Leto's eyes made it's way to you. Watching how your dress flows as you walk across the room, instructing staff. You were aware of his gaze, but the burning desire in your heart let him be.

"I have another proposal."

"What is it?"

"I prefer it we talk about it in private." Leto says. Your father nodded before slipping out and into the meeting room.

You were curious what they were talking about, but you kept quiet and grabbed yourself a glass of wine.

"Dearest," your father held your hand "You've been unmarried for years. I'm getting older. Your beauty is indeed like a flower, but flowers don't last."

"Father, please. I know."

"I can't let you die without experiencing the beauty of love. The same thing me and your mother had." he smiles at you "I care for you, Beauty. I wish nothing but your happiness and power."

"Father. Where exactly are you going with this?" You looked at him, skeptical.

"Brains, I hope you understand that I'm doing this out of a feeling. I think you may be in love with Duke Atreides."

You pull your hand away from his grasp, eyes widening "That is non sense. Why would I be in love with that-" your eyes shake, you couldn't find a reason "Never mind that. What do you mean I may be in love with him?"

"I see the way you look at him. The same way your mother used to look at me." your father smiled "It isn't a gut feeling anymore. I know you're in love with him."

"Father." You started tearing up "I can't be."

"Why not?"

"Because I..." you tried to find a reason. You knew there wasn't one. You knew you loved him "He doesn't wish to be married. Political reasoning."

"Dearest, he asked to buy half of our vineyard to help with the process of our wine."

"Oh how surprising..." you mumbled.

"I agreed upon one condition." your father let out a sigh "Only if he marries you."

"You did what? Father-"

"Beauty, you know I want nothing else but the best future for you. Being in love with Duke Atreides, marrying him and being in a Major House will guarantee you a better future than I could ever offer you. The vineyard is indeed keeping us rich, but it might not last to ensure you a life of luxury."

"I do not need a life of luxury. I could live here until the day that I die. I do not want to be parted from you, father."

"You did inherit my arrogance." he chuckles "But for sake of you, and the children you bare for the continuation of the Alaak family, please marry him." he took both of your hands and kissed them "Brains, I want nothing but the best. But you are better than any diamond or gold that I own, you are a wildflower... you don't deserve what I could only give you."

In a garden where all potted flowers have a picture perfect role, only one thing truly stood out: The wildflowers.

"Though..." he sighed "I can't force you. It's just what I thought was best... goodnight, dearest." your father kissed your forehead before leaving your quarters. You looked out the window, thinking about your feelings.

Did you love Leto? Not including the secret sessions in the library or the garden...

Did you?

[irlplasticlamb]

as someone who lives alone: i won't lie, it can be lonely. it can be hard, especially when it comes to money. it's difficult sometimes, to wake up alone and to go to bed alone. but i have to remind myself that i can fill the silence with my friends' laughter, i can fill it with singing, by playing my most favorite album on repeat as many times as i want. i can cook what i want when i want. my pets never want to leave me alone, and occasionally it gets a little annoying even though i'd be lost without them, but it's lovely to know that they're that excited to see me regardless of seeing me every day. minus the confines of my job, i can go to sleep when i want and wake up when i want and don't have to worry about interrupting someone else's sleeping schedule. i decorate my place how i want, whether it is with art of my favorite characters or my favorite books, it is solely my own choice for my own comfort and my own joy. i can let the dishes build up a little in the sink and wait a day to fold the laundry. i can cry for however long i need to. i can come home after a terrible day at work and have the silence be a blessing rather than a curse. mostly, i can allow myself to realize these feelings for what they are and feel them, even when i don't want to. and i remind myself that this is not forever, it is just for right now, and i am building a life for myself that is my own, not tied around someone else's while i am still learning & growing. my heart aches - for it all, yes, but mainly because this is something i have built for myself. i remind myself that it is precious, that it is mine.

hi hello! i just wanted to thank you (from the very bottom of my heart) for this wonderful heartfelt message! you’re so kind to spend so much time writing a message to silly stranger on the internet and i appreciate it so much :)

you actually described everything i LOVE about living on my own — my silly little problem is that after i moved back to poland i’ve been living with my parents and had to postpone moving out so many times because renting an apartment here if you’re a single person is SO hard (rent for studio flats is fucking ridiculous and even finding a place that’s somewhat liveable and isn’t trying to rip you off is miraculous)

i’m lucky that some of my lovely friends live a short bus trip away but most of them moved out years ago and it’s three hours by train to see them (why haven’t we invented teleportation yet fuck ai image generators make me a teleportation machine). i currently live in a small polish village and after living in cities for the past five years Vic Yearns For Cafes

also being a lesbian in rural poland sucks because it’s nearly impossible to meet someone and Vic Also Yearns For A Kiss hahah

so anyways long story short i wanted to thank you again for taking time out of your day to message me and i love y’all a lot and i’m sending all the best vibes and shit :) ❗️❗️❗️