#He Comes Like a Thunderstorm
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He Comes Like a Thunderstorm
korlaena @korlaena
Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Original Muggle Character(s)
Additional Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Fuckbuddies, Creature Fic, Incubus Draco Malfoy, Dragonologist Harry Potter, Hate Sex, Rough Sex, Casual Sex, Manhandling, Dirty Talk, Choking, Spanking, Overstimulation, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Dom Harry Potter, Switching, Lots of Sex, Past Sexual Assault, past sexual dysfunction, Mentions of Past Abuse From Dursleys and Lucius, Smoking, Drinking, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Jealousy , Accidental Bonding, Misunderstandings, Panic Attack, False Accusations, Angst with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020
Published: 2021-12-01 Completed: 2021-11-30
Words: 140,147
Summary:
Draco is doing his best to balance the life he wants to live and the life he’s forced to live. He’s nearing the tail-end of a long, post-war probation when Harry Potter crashes back into his life with all the grace of a charging Erumpent, breaking through his carefully constructed rules and routine. Caught up in a whirlwind of sex and lust, Potter unwittingly shows Draco that his life as an Incubus doesn’t have to be as lonely and unfulfilling as he thought, but how long can it last?
(੭ˊ͈ ꒵ˋ͈)੭*⁺˚. * ･ ｡ﾟ☆
Excerpt:
The moment was weighty with meaning. There was an uncharacteristically skittish look in Draco’s eyes as the song played softly between them, reciting the last few months of Harry’s life in verse as if it had been written about him.
It had to have meaning, yet Harry filled with nerves as each bar of music rolled on. After months of denying and pushing down his feelings while trying not to read into anything Draco did, it was a terrifying bridge to cross.
The curve of Draco’s neck caught his eye. His jugular was visibly pulsing with the same rapid, nervous beat drumming in Harry’s. It settled his swimming stomach to see evidence that he felt the lyrics as sharply as Harry.
Harry gathered his courage and pulled them closer, leaning forward and dropping his eyes to Draco’s lips. He stopped well before they would touch, looking to Draco’s shadowed eyes with a question.
A trail of magic followed Draco’s hand as it slid up Harry’s arm, landing behind his shoulder. Draco pulled Harry closer as he leaned the rest of the way in. The warm light from the fireplace below threw his face into soft shadows, and the air was charged with anticipation.
Draco’s warm breath ghosted over his lips, and his nose softly bumped Harry’s. Within a second that stretched on like an eternity, they breathed in that same electric excitement buzzing in the air between them. Then Draco’s warm lips pressed to Harry’s.
His body flashed hot and cold. His heart felt like it was gearing up to jump out of his chest, and perhaps his fluttering stomach would fly off with it. He shut his eyes tight against the physical and emotional whirlwind happening inside him.
The kiss was like none other. Harry didn’t know how to classify it. He thought he’d felt the heights of pleasure with Draco, but he was wrong. They’d done nearly everything else they wanted with each other, checking off kinks and curiosities like marking off points of interest on a map during a road trip.
A single press of Draco’s soft lips to his, a curl of his hair tickling Harry’s temple, and their feet tangled together had his heart swelling and breaking through all his carefully erected barriers. Affection burst out like a caged animal feeling the sun on its skin for the first time.
A quiet whine rose up his throat, unintentional and unstoppable as his body shivered with surges of magic and his head swam with hope.
“Harry,” Draco breathed against his lips, soft and trembling with need. In it Harry heard everything he’d been unwilling to hear.
Harry pulled him closer and pressed another kiss to his lips, then another and another. Draco rolled half on top of him, his hands moving like he couldn’t decide which part of Harry he wanted to hold onto—clinging to his shoulders, squeezing his waist, gripping his hair, then finally holding his face in both hands so he could keep him in place as he laid kiss upon kiss on him.
Harry slipped his arms around him and hugged around his waist, squeezing their bodies together. Fingers dug into hot flesh and magic flared under his skin, hot and cold and right.
Draco pushed his tongue into Harry’s mouth, and he couldn’t have held back his moan if he wanted to. Draco moaned back as their tongues twisted together and lips opened and closed against each other, sucking and biting and tasting each other in the one way they’d never permitted themselves before.
Harry rolled fully onto his back, pulling Draco the rest of the way on top of him, filling his senses entirely with Draco. He was everywhere—the weight on his body, the magic under his skin, the sweet scent in his nose, and the taste on his lips. Harry felt drunk on him.
They kissed, and they kissed, then they kissed some more.
₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎♡
#He Comes Like a Thunderstorm#korlaena#Drarry#Drarry fic rec#Fic rec#hp fic rec#draco Malfoy#Harry potter#Drarry fanfiction#Harry potter fanfiction#Fandom Trumps Hate 2020#hp#drarry squad#Drarry fanfic#hp fanfic#Carey's bookmark Fic recs#Carey's personal Bookmarks
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case closed everyone, there will never be a better draco alias
He Comes Like a Thunderstorm by @korlaena
#drarry#drarry fic#drarry quotes#korlaena#he comes like a thunderstorm#cheeky title. he does *come* like a thunderstorm several time throughout
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Don't wanna be annoying but I'm imagining how it would be for reader now that you mentioned about scaramouche and dotore.. Childe and foul legacy will probably be a whole lot more protective of reader I'm sure
Like, after a harbinger meeting is finished, reader is probably just waiting for Childe outside but before he can go to them, scaramouche out of nowhere just drags them away (into the shadow realm jk) and Childe follows in a hurry and once he reaches him, reader has a sad yet serious scowl on their face while scaramouche is angry and he basically just stops a possible fist fight from happening he walks away with reader but then he starts to see disturbing similarities between the reader and scaramouche, the porcelain like skin, how they don't seem to feel cold, and once he even saw during a meeting how scaramouche scowled as thunder fell somewhere unknown.
Also just a sidenote, I have this idea both reader and scaramouche are basically magnets to thunder so make to keep your angsty puppet and happi puppet inside, because they will get zapped by lightning and you will have a revaluation that your friend and your angry coworker are very much NOT human in the god damn slightest.
don't worry you're not being annoying at all!! i'm enjoying puppet reader AU a lot hehe <33
Childe desperately wants to keep you safe from the other Harbingers- he can see the horrible, scathing glares Scaramouche throws you, the smirk on Dottore's face whenever he passes you in the halls, the curious gleam in Sandrone's eyes as she looks your way- they all make Foul Legacy hiss inside Childe's mind, the Eleventh Harbinger gritting his teeth. so he steers you away from them, pulling your fragile body closer to his in an attempt to keep you safe. yet somehow you and Scaramouche end up alone in the same room still, and when Childe finally finds you, Foul Legacy screaming in his head, you seem troubled. you mumble something about Scaramouche being "the same as you", and his heart breaks at the tears in your eyes, Legacy quickly taking over to offer you familiar warmth and comfort
the difference between you and Scaramouche is that Foul Legacy is already aware that you're a puppet and Childe knows that you're not entirely human, but they adore you all the same. Scaramouche- your sibling, in an odd way- had told you that you, like him, will end up alone once the ones you love discover your true nature... but that doesn't happen, and Foul Legacy's soft, reassuring presence tells you all you need to know. your happiness returns, stronger than ever, perfectly content at Childe's side. true, you're not human, but then again, neither is Foul Legacy. you can be oddities together!! the absence of a "real heart" in your chest is instead filled with an ocean of stars, in the shape of a moth and a marionette dancing in a twilight field for eternity
also i think it'd be really funny if Scaramouche hates thunderstorms while you love them and will run towards the lightning like "wheeee!!!"
#genshin impact#childe#tartaglia#foul legacy#foul legacy childe#genshin tartagalia#genshin childe#genshin tartaglia#chit chat#darling mutuals#you'd honestly get along with the shogun puppet. see her as an older sister#you're also the type to run around during thunderstorms and come back sopping wet like ':D'#childe frets so much because he's worried you'll get sick even though you can't really#don't forget to give your local happi puppet a soft blanket to keep them happy and warm!!#short scenario#other's stuff#puppet au
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...
#its sort of funny. i think my medication is working pretty well. i feel stable in a way i never really have before#is it the dopamine stablizer or is it my ion channels? whos to say. it doesn't matter. but it also doesnt change some things#the ways i think and react negativly to change. but it makes it easier to deal with. i still experience this strange dispaire on the#weekends or anytime im not working. i think the oddest thing is thst i dont think ive ever been this consistenly sad#not in a depressed sort of way. just a passing thoughts make me tear up sort of way. it doesnt feel out of control. it just feels like a#prelude to grief i guess. bc my mum is still in the hospital and its so hard to kno what that means from halfway across the country#my sisters are both home right now. they both live within 3hrs of where we grew up. one sister lives in the city my mom goes to for#treatment. so they have the opportunity to see her more than me. i dunno if they do tho. we dont really talk. i dont kno if they're as sad#as i am. if im overreacting bc i cant physically see what's happening. what the feeling is in the room. not that she would probably complain#shes the suffer in silence type. my dad keeps texting us pics of our shitty lil sunroom that hes redoing#to make my mum a lil sanctuary. he must be sad too. its his wife. hes staying with her in the hospital rn. i dunno its so weird#when i talk to my counselor she assumes i find out info thru calls or talk to my sisters abt it and i gotta b like nah we dont really talk#i get my info thru text. i havent talked to my parents on the phone in like a month. i dunno we just dont talk. so i dont kno how to reach#out and be like yo so whats up? shoulf i plan on coming home this summer for a bit?? like???#this is the disadvantage of leaving thr place where you grew up. probably when i finish my phd i should move closer to home#somewhere in the Appalachian mountains maybe. somewere in the eastern deciduous forrest. somewhere with thunderstorms.#but thats years from now. who knows what ill b doing. for now im just sad and tired and i dont quite kno what to do in the short or long#term bc im feeling the weight of my mental limitations rather intensely. but maybe im just being self limiting#whatever. i dont have a dead mum yet. shes not even on hospice care. things are just uncertain and dont look so hot#i just dont see how it can get better from here when chemo gave her secondary blood cancer and shes still full of tumors#i dont think im being that dramatic. it just objectively seems not great for survival#unrelated
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love to log onto tumblr and immediately see neopagan revivalist polytheists defend their religion by spouting a whole load of nonsense about the ancient world when a simpler defense is Right There if they actually knew anything about Ancient Greece
#‘Why worship Zeus?’ like if you’re gonna defend worshipping Zeus you can point to his attributes as King; as All-Father; as Storm-Bringer#as the patron and upholder of hospitality and divine justice#And say that as king he was seen as having leeway and sometimes having understandably uncontrollable temper and desires#Like the thunderstorms do#And the myths where he raped random women weren’t seen as necessarily wrong because he was kind of taking them for a bride#With the power and passion of a god#There’s definitely a dichotomy in ancient sources where those who were sworn virgins it was seen as Awful to try to rape them#Whereas if you’re making them a bride that’s basically normal#Zeus As King contained many aspects and that was part of the worship#As well as—I will give this person credit—a lot of the myths were tales that exemplify the gods’ personalities but not taken as Literal#However. All of that is different from ‘well Zeus didn’t ACTUALLY do any of those bad things. And anyway in Ancient Greece women were seen#as objects for men’s pleasure and not people so the misogynistic men who wrote those Zeus rape myths were just writing their sick fantasies#Like Come The Fuck On#rape tw#rape cw
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The thing about Glen is that, despite her offhand manner, she loves me. I know she's only a cat. But it's still love; animals, people. It's unconditional and it's both the easiest and the hardest thing in the world.
Sometimes, after counselling sessions, I desperately wanted to buy vodka, take it home and drink it down, but in the end I never did. I couldn't, for lots of reasons, one of which was that, if I wasn't fit to, then who would feed Glen? She isn't able to take care of herself. She needs me.
It isn't annoying, her need - it isn't a burden. It's a privilege. I'm responsible. I chose to put myself in a situation where I'm responsible. Wanting to look after her, a small, dependent, vulnerable creature, it's innate, and I don't even have to think about it. It's like breathing.
For some people."
Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, Gail Honeyman
#quotes#books#eleanor oliphant is completely fine#this expresses so well how I feel about#my cat#sure I sometimes have to restructure my days#and can't travel as much/as easily as before#but he comes to greet me every time I walk in the door#and he squeaks a little when he stretches and chitters at me at the same time#and he knows our routines#and I know how he likes to be touched#and he lets me nuzzle his neck and breathe in his scent#and when I'm scared of thunderstorms he's not#he makes my life so much better
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This world is so beautiful and alive and I am so beautiful and alive. Tonight is poetry to me. Tonight I am in love with myself and I am Living. Sometimes living means spinning like a pinwheel and splashing through puddles barefoot at midnight in the middle of a thunderstorm because your dad saw you were awake and asked if you wanted to go stand in the rain. To me living is moments like those. So tonight I am Full. Full of love and joy and life. And tomorrow I will wake up tired. My tea will have been drunk, so I'll make myself some more. There will be things to do and maybe I'll be able to do them. But tonight, I am okay. Tonight, it is all okay.
#pigeon's late night thoughts#oh wow I'm posting an original thing for once#it was raining tonight and my dad saw that i was up so he asked if i wanted to go stand with him in the rain#obviously i did so we went out into a thunderstorm at midnight and my mom eventually joined us#i spun around and stimmed freely and my dad just laughed with joy#i got my mom to come out into the rain from out car port for a second and spun her around#moments like these don't happen very often with us#they did more often when i was younger#but tonight was so special to me and i am okay tonight#i think that's just a beautiful thing
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I'm at work but my boss is not lmao
#im just. sitting here. waiting out the thunderstorm#but like. my dad's got the day off and apparently my boss does too???? which isn't supposed to happen lmao#so yeah I'm just. alone#either he's not coming in or he's REALLY late#but yeah it's very rainy and I don't have my jacket bc I didn't think it was supposed to rain :/
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Whoever decided to ring her doorbell in the middle of a midnight thunderstorm was either a serial killer or a poor soul stuck out in the rain. Either way, she still felt sorry enough for whatever poor bastard was stuck outside and decided to open the door, but her expression dropped into annoyance when she saw the man leaning against the doorframe.
“Hey,” he murmurs, gazing at her. “Long time no see.” She starts to close the door and he sticks his foot in it. “Wait, please, don’t close me out.”
“Like you did to me,” she retorts, opening the door. “What do you want, Simon?”
He glances back towards the rainy street and hefts his rucksack higher on his shoulder. “To stay the night.”
“Seriously?”
“Please?” He begs and she pauses—Simon Riley wasn’t a man who begged often.
She gazes at him a moment longer before sighing and opening the door. “Clothes and shoes off at the door. Mask too. You’re soaking wet.”
“What gave you that ‘int? The rainstorm?”
Turning, she shoots him a glare. “I’m letting you stay the night despite you breaking my heart. I’d be a little less sarcastic.”
“Sorry,” he mutters, starting to strip his clothes as he shuts the door behind him. He hands her his clothes, standing in his boxers, then cups the front of himself and asks. “You wouldn’t happen to have any of my clothes shoved in the back of your closet…would you?”
“Bottom drawer in the chest of drawers.”
“You kept my clothes? Aw, you still car—” he falls silent when she glares at him. “Going now.”
As she disappears into the laundry room, she calls out, “What did you do, walk here from the base? You know Birmingham has cabbies, right?”
“I’m not wasting money to drive twenty minutes when I can walk within an hour.”
“You know you’ll get sick from this.”
“Wive’s tale. Can’t get sick from the rain.”
“Smart-ass,” she retorts, shoving his clothes in the dryer.
He comes around the corner, leaning against the doorway with a hand towel thrown over his shoulder, short blonde hair sticking up in all directions, evident he’d dried off with it.
“That is a decorative towel, not for use.” She glares at him. “You know that too.”
“You moved the other towels.”
“Oh, for god’s sake,” she mutters, then looks at him, eyes trailing down to where the sweatpants hung low on his hips. “Put a fucking shirt on, floozy.”
“I couldn’t find one,” he replies with a small smirk. “You must’ve used ‘em for fuel for the fireplace.”
She stands up straight and walks up to him. “Why are you here, Simon?” Her voice is quiet, calm, waiting.
He looks down at his feet, shifts his weight and murmurs, “Missed you.”
“You left me.”
“I know.”
“You start going to therapy yet?” She asks and he purses his lips.
“SAS doesn’t exactly offer therapy, y’know that, right? Not exactly ‘ow we operate.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “You know I asked that friend of yours, what was his name? Soap? He said that the SAS offers routine psychiatric care and therapy. He also happened to mention you conveniently manage to get out of it every single time.”
Simon lets out a grunt and pinches his brow. “Soap can’t mind ‘is own fuckin’ business.”
“He’s your friend. And he was also drunk.” She waves a hand. “Regardless, you haven’t done the one thing I told you that you would have to do if you wanted to come back—no, when you came crawling back.”
“I don’t need therapy. I just want a second chance.” He shifts to his full height, looks at her with a pleading look. “Things were good between us, love. You know they were.”
“Sure, when you weren’t shutting down when you were hurting emotionally or running off to God knows where when you had a mission and didn’t leave me a notice.”
Simon sighs. “I was protectin’ you. I didn’t wanna drag you into all the shit I ‘ave to deal with on a daily. I didn’t want you to have to put up with…all of…”
She gives him a hard look. “Simon Riley, what part of me gave you the notion that I ever need to be protected or sheltered from what you do?”
He swallows thickly and gazes into her eyes. “Love…you’re too pure for me. What I do…you don’t need to know the horrors I’ve committed. You’re…you’re too beautiful for such things.”
“You mean how you kill people with no emotion? How you’ve taken lives with your bare hands? How you shove so much of yourself down into the black hole until there’s no humanity left but ‘Ghost’, the hollow killer?”
Simon stares at her, throat bobbing as he replies, “I can’t drag you to hell with me, it would kill me, love. What if—”
“Do you know the moment I knew I was in love with you?” She interrupts and he falls silent. “I was sick that one day a year ago, bad sick. And you told me not to go into work, but I didn’t listen and when I came home early, I could barely walk straight.” She places a hand on her hip. “And you helped me into the bathroom. Ran a bath in the dark, lit a few candles and you bathed me. Washed my hair. Took care of me. You were so gentle and so loving. Like a priest tasked with cleaning his alter, you cleansed me and made me feel safe.”
He shifts uncomfortably but his body language is anything but repulsed; it’s soft. “You started cryin’ when I was washin’ your hair. Thought I got soap in your eyes. But you said you just felt so loved.” He smiles then. “You were like a kitten really. Could barely lift your head. So tired and weak.”
“Mhm. And then you tucked me into bed and crawled beneath the covers with me. Laid up beside me, never once acted sexual. Just…caring.” She looks at him. “Do you remember what I said to you before I went to sleep?”
“No,” he mutters but he looks up at the ceiling and she knows he’s lying, it’s his tell-tale sign.
She gives him the benefit of the doubt and closes the distance between them, lays her hands on his chest, and says, “I said, ‘This is the real man beneath all that coldness. The real Simon. The one I knew I loved more than anything. No matter what.’”
Simon shudders beneath her touch, feels weak in his knees like he might drop to his and worship at her feet, beg for forgiveness like a sinner in confession. His chest aches, tightening as the words tear violently at his chest, a reminder that he left one of the only good things to ever come into his life, all because he was too afraid to let the walls come down, too afraid to be vulnerable, too afraid to risk being hurt—because if she hurt him, he’d never come back from it. In the end, he’d felt like a fool trying to protect a damsel who never needed saving in the first place; and he was left with the realization that she’d been protecting him the entire time.
“I know what you do, Simon. I know it’s hard, even if you don’t think it is. I know that no matter how you push your humanity down into that hole that it’s still there. I know killing someone takes something from you every time but, Simon, I’m not your enemy. I love you.” Her eyes are calm, but her voice is firm. “And I will not stand on the outside of the lines under some guise of protection. You either be upfront and honest with me about everything or you leave, and you don’t come back.”
Simon knows she’s asking him to choose now, and he feels that creeping anxiety rise in his throat like bile until he manages, “Can…can we talk about everything in the morning?”
She sighs and pulls her hands away. “Yeah, I guess so. Sheets and blankets are in the hall closet. You know where the couch is.”
“You’re not going to let me sleep in the bed?” He sounds incredibly offended.
“Couch, Riley.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, but he can’t help but smile when she sets the bedding out on the couch for him. “Goodnight, love,” he murmurs as she passes, and her shoulders tense and she waves a hand.
“Goodnight, Simon.”
He sits on the couch for a few moments, watches the rain splatter against the window, the clock ticking on the wall, before he pulls out his phone and simply types, “I love you,” and sends it.
It’s quiet for a solid ten seconds before he hears, “You absolute bastard!” From the bedroom followed by, “Get in here!”
Simon gives a victory dance as he clears his throat and attempts to look innocent as he steps into her bedroom; she glowers and points to the other side. “You’re on that side.”
“You can make me,” he retorts and crawls into the middle of the bed, groaning when all the bones in his body snap and pop.
She rolls her eyes and goes back to her book, but after a moment, she shifts against the headboard, getting comfortable again. Simon lifts his head, watches her, then he moves and lays his head in her lap, his arms wrapped around her hips under the pillows behind her. Her eyes rise to the wall in front of her and she stares unamusedly at it before she switches the book into her other hand and rests her right hand at the back of his neck, gently thumbing the juncture of his spine and skull. He groans beneath her touch, shifts himself so that she has control over moving him, body going slack when she scratches her nails into his scalp.
“You’re like a cat,” she mutters, feeling his lips turn up against her thigh.
“Meow,” he mimics, and she snorts, feeling him move until his head is pressed into her stomach, face turned so she can see the right profile.
He watches until she puts the book down on her nightstand and turns into him; they gaze at each other, and his eyes gently shut when she cups his face, thumbs brushing over his features.
“You know I’m giving you another chance, don’t you?”
Simon swallows the lump in his throat and nods. “…yeah.”
“But we’ve gotta change. Or else we’ll end up back where we were before we broke up.”
“I know.” He opens his eyes and looks at her. “I’ve missed you, love.”
“I’ve missed you too,” she murmurs, bending down to press her lips to his forehead. “Doesn’t feel the same without you haunting my apartment.”
His lips turn up in a smile as she pulls back and lays on the pillows; Simon rises and crawls up her body, his nose brushing hers as he whispers, “I’ll do better for you. I’ll change. I swear it.”
“Yeah?”
His gaze turns solemn in a way she’s never seen before as he replies, “On their grave, I will.”
She smiles softly at him, pulls him down so his face is tucked in her neck, and replies, “Get some sleep.”
“I love you,” he mutters against her warm skin, arms tucked safely around her, body weight comfortably on her. “I love you more than the world.”
“I love you,” she says back, reaching up to turn off the lamp on the nightstand.
#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader imagines#simon ghost riley x reader imagine#simon ghost riley imagines#simon ghost riley imagine#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x reader imagines#simon riley x reader imagine#simon riley imagines#simon riley imagine#simon riley#ghost x reader#ghost x reader imagines#ghost x reader imagine#ghost imagines#ghost imagine#ghost#cod imagines#cod imagine#cod#call of duty imagines#call of duty imagine#call of duty
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࿐ husband neuvillette headcanons (f!reader) ࿐
neuvillette, the most respected man in the nation of hydro, more than their archon focalors. he commands respect wherever he goes, his aura still polite, ever so approachable. however, the power of his position cowers people. they are often rendered scared to approach him, some of them literally profusely sweating around his nimble aura.
you, were his wife now, his significant other. someone he cherished more than life itself & someone who made you feel safe, heard, protected. it was said that he was the most sought out bachelor in fontaine before he left his heart for you one day. “break it or keep it. it isn’t mine anymore.” is what he said, when he proposed you. oh the words ring into your ear like the finest melodies till date.
the steambird/ the media was eager to cover everything about the wedding; but to their surprise— neuvillette took you outside fontaine. the city of freedom — monstadt is where you two tied the knot in the presence of a certain, melodious and a high alcohol simp bard.
truth be told, once you were married. there were people who forced false allegations on you. how you manipulated the chief justice into falling in love with you. how you are fake and you act in accordance to his liking to be loved by him. some people even tried to forge false cases against you. all of which— deeply entertained furina. thankfully, neuvillette was never someone to pay attention to any of these things. at one time, he himself fought for you in a false trial. you couldn’t be more thankful.
rains— the legend of hydro dragon weeping causing the rains was famous throughout the country of fontaine. one day, when neuvillette came home a little early, looking distressed, you noticed a harsh, unforgiving thunderstorm drenching the country. you walked towards the terrace, looking up and gently, soothingly whispering. “oh- hydro dragon. please don’t cry.” the rain… lessened. it was as if the intensity had been lessened.
it wasn’t more time until neuvillette confessed to you about him being a hydro dragon. ever since then, whenever there had been rains in fontaine, you make sure to find your beloved husband and hug him tightly, kiss his forehead and tell him everything will be alright. it breaks you apart seeing him like this after all.
sometimes when he comes back home, he always brings your favorite flowers, maybe your favorite desserts, along with a beaming smile only you have seen. people who are aquainted to you often ask if neuvillette being the chief justice and being the most powerful man in fontaine makes your married life difficult. truth is.. it could never. they just haven’t had any access to the good that your beloved dragon holds.
things do get riff-raffy when furina acts a little too childish around him. he pays no attention to her self-centered, self-absorbed behavior but it pinches you how she bothers him for every little thing. once, there was a celebratory banquet held for the same and your displeased face told neuvillette in that very instant — how you’d like the archon to ‘behave’ around your husband. he has been extra careful ever since. <3
your husband might look stern, but he is a soft man. you have witnessed this first hand with how respectfully and tenderly he treats you. on the bad days of your period, the chief justice is nothing but a doting husband for his wifey. you can always be snuggled up to him and cry, or just spend time.
he is a HUGE cuddle bug. would love to destress off work by wrapping his big arms around you and peppering your face with tender kisses. he smells amazing too! always making you feel warm and fuzzy inside.
#neuvillette#genshin impact#genshin x reader#genshin fluff#genshin comfort#neuvillette x reader#neuvillete fluff#neuvillete genshin#neuvillette x reader fluff#genshin impact fluff
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Notice me! | Azriel X Freader
summary; Azriel courting an oblivious reader.
a/n; Heyy! Just a little fic of being courted by Azriel. And you not being very aware of it. Hope you enjoy!
content/trigger warnings; knife, food, meat?, cussing, kissing, no use y/n, hint towards lust feeling, Azriel pining, Armen being sassy, FEM reader (if you’d like me to make a another post with male reader, message me!) she/her pronouns for reader, thunderstorm mention and I think that’s it. If I missed something, feel free to message me on it! 💝
word count: 3.1k. |. Part two
A plate clattered against the table causing your attention to turn to the man in front of you.
You met his gaze as he waited for you to try his new dish, his eyes seeming to shine as the sun hit his eyes. You swear he always seemed to be effortlessly beautiful. It was angering in some ways, you had even seen him wake up looking like a god. No. Better than a god. It didn’t matter if you spent an hour in the mirror, swiping various products of different expenses on your face; the result would be the same. The same boring face you saw everyday.
A wonderful smell wafted from the plate, causing your empty stomach to growl loud enough to shake the mountains. The shadowsinger smirked, pushing the plate of food closer to you with a gentleness most men didn’t have. Your face flushed with embarrassment, your hands instinctively coming to paw at your stomach, hoping it would stop. Your eyes wandered down to the plate where a meal sat.
“I haven’t made this before. I wanted you to be the first to try it.” He spoke with every ounce of grace and elegance a god would have. His hands grasped the seat across from you, pulling it out and taking a seat. His wings shifted until finding a comfortable position in the chair. You nodded in response, picking the fork up before taking in the rather- gracious portion of food he had made for you.
A ribeye steak bigger than your hand sat on the plate. Seasoning of different kinds were smothered on it, and the smell of butter consumed your senses. Your mouth watered in response. Beside it were two sides. Your favorites.
Armen smirked from where she sat beside you, watching as you lifted the steak knife and fork. You were so oblivious. She had been watching for the last few years as Azriel desperately chased after you, and you never seemed to even notice. It was amusing. He has spent hours staring at you, and you never realized. And if she pointed it out, you just assumed you had something on your face. She knew he was growing restless. Not tired of you, but tired of your complete oblivion. These days he seemed ready to scream from the top of the roof that he loved you.
Azriel’s scarred hand clutched at your wrist. He gently took the knife and fork away from you, before grabbing your plate and proceeding to cut your steak into bite sized pieces. Armen snickered from where she sat, resulting in a glare from Azriel.
“Oh- Azriel I can do that-“ You started.
“I know you can.” He responded. He didn’t give back your plate until your steak was cut into bite sized pieces for you. He watched you place the first bite of steak into your mouth.
Your eyes rolled back and you let out a hum of approval, chewing the food. The flavor was delicious, and it was quite easily the best steak you had ever tasted in your life. It wasn’t too buttery. Or too seasoned. It was just right. The meat was tender.
Azriel’s wings rustled at your hum. His face shined with pure male pride. His eyes never left you once while you chewed and swallowed. He stood, taking the steak knife that was no longer needed into the kitchen.
Armen followed after him. He sat the knife in the sink, letting the house do its magic before turning his attention to Armen.
“You’re like a love sick puppy.”
“My love life isn’t your business.” Azriel responded, his face tight. His words were low, ensuring you couldn’t hear.
“Hm. All I’m saying is your ‘courting’ isn’t going to work.” Armen said, picking at her nail leisurely. She was like a cat. Her piercing eyes watched as Azriel’s eyes narrowed at her with a scowl. Before he could comment more, Armen spoke again.
“She’s oblivious. It doesn’t matter if you fix her food, or leave her favorite pastries everywhere so she finds them, she won’t get the hint. Literally. I’m getting seasonal allergies from the amount of flowers you’ve left for her everywhere in this house.Seriously, this place is covered in flowers. Either start professing love or drop this little crush.” She growled out, walking out of the kitchen.
Azriel stayed silent before whispering,“It’s not little.”
“Yeah, don’t let me forget to grab a few early starfall gifts.” Mor said. You groaned loudly, rubbing your temples. Even the idea of her gifts made you want to cry. Her starfall gift for you these past few years have been a collection of ridiculously fuzzy socks. Every.Year.
Of course you were grateful, but everyone knew Mor’s gifts weren’t particularly good. You now had a drawer filled with fuzzy and odd colored socks.
Velaris was bustling today. Fae of all kids roamed the streets, some tending to their shops. Kids ran through the streets playing games. Everyone was out enjoying the sunny day. You and Mor decided to go shopping to pick up a few items. Your eyes wandered back down to your list, a few more candles, a book or two, and some lotion.
“Starfall gifts? I don’t think you need to shop this early for them-“
“Nonsense! It’s never too early to do gift shopping!” Mor said, cutting you off. You sighed and shook your head knowing it was hopeless to argue with her.
After a few trips to some stores, you both ended up getting lunch at Rita’s. You ordered a milkshake- apparently a new creation of a cold drink? None less, whatever they were, everyone had been going crazy over them in Velaris. And of course you also got your favorite meal. Mor ordered practically half the menu, content to eat her heart out. You didn’t blame her- food was good.
As your plates were sat down by the waitress, Mor eyed your food with a questioning look. Your eyebrows raised in confusion. “What? You’re looking at my food weird.”
“Oh. Well I’m just surprised to see you ordering a meal here. You know Azriel is gonna harp if you don’t eat his food.” Mor responded, shoveling food into her mouth as if she’d starve.
“Huh?” You countered.
Mor finished her food before rolling her eyes. She sighed deeply as if you had troubled her. “You know..” she said, waving her hands as if that would solve your confusion. When you raised your eyebrows with a puzzled face, she put her fork down.
“You know- when you eat something someone else cooked or you’re not hungry, and he’s cooked you a meal. And you refuse it- he gets all huffy and puffy! Like a broody motherhen.” She continued.
“He doesn’t even fix me food that often-“ you argued.
“Oh please! Breakfast, lunch, and dinner! Full course meal on the table for you. If only someone loved me that much.” Mor said, picking her fork back up. “Those meals weren’t from the house hun. All I’m saying is maybe you should pay more attention.”
For the rest of the meal, you both sat in silence as you pondered over her words.
Cassian laughed as you entered from the hallway. His eyes shined with amusement as you waddled to the counter with your shopping bags.
The sound was enough to draw a curious Azriel to the room. He immediately grabbed all your bags despite your complaints, setting them on the table. He nodded at you in response when you thanked him.
“I thought you were only shopping for a few things.” Cassian stated. He stood casually leaned against the table with a drink in his left hand. Azriel stood to your left, his wings expanded. His eyes were keen and watchful. You doubted he ever missed a single detail. His skin glistened with sweat, a musky bourbon scent coming from him. Cassian’s skin was sweaty too, evidence of them training together earlier in the day.
“Well, the candle store had a buy two get five for free deal. So I bought four and got ten for free! Cauldron I love Velaris!” You squealed, and Azriel smirked knowingly. He had taken note of your recent obsession with buying candles. Cassian shook his head.
Cassian's face lit up with surprise as you handed him two candles. “So I got one for everyone else. This one smells like leather and the other vanilla. I figured you’d like it Cas.” You continued. He nodded in thanks. You turned to Azriel.
“I got you this candle because I know you love blueberries. And this one is supposed to smell like rainy days and lightning. And this one is books and bourbon!”
Azriel’s eyes never looked down to the candles you had shoved in his arms. His eyes stayed on your face as you happily ranted about the candles. When you finished and looked back up to his face, he had a soft look. It was one you don’t think you’ve seen him use before. His eyes were soft and looked like pools of honey, and his smile was gentle.
You watched as he sat down the candles on the table and turned back to you. “They’re perfect.” He responded. He was so memorizing. You just knew whoever he ended up with would be content. You struggled taking your eyes from him.Cassian growled playfully.
“Hey! Unfair! He got three candles! I only got-“
Cassian was cut off by Mor smacking him on the back of the head as she trotted to the kitchen. She had a lot of leftovers to put away. Azriel gave him a quick glare, silencing him.
You noticed he was wearing all his leathers, and siphons. His shadows whirled leisurely around his shoulders and wings. Azriel watched as your eyes creased in confusion. He sighed. He couldn’t help but feel a shimmer of hope at the fact you had gotten him more candles than Cassian.
“Rhysand sent me on a mission, I’ll be gone for a few days most likely. I’m going to spy on the human queens and make sure all is well there.” He admitted. He watched as your face fell. You quickly smiled again and nodded. His heart thumped like a hammer in his chest. Did you care? Would you miss him like he always missed you? He wondered if you couldn’t sleep like he couldn’t when he was away from you.
“Oh. I see. Be safe.” You responded, nodding slowly. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the feeling in your chest. You had never felt it before. You wondered why all of a sudden you felt this way about him leaving.
His eyes softened even more. “I leave in an hour or two.” He whispered, head tilting to catch your eyes once more. Cassian had disappeared from the room all of a sudden, him and Mor talking loudly about dumb things in the kitchen. Leaving you and Azriel alone. “Let me cook you dinner before I leave.”
His eyebrows furrowed this time as you shook your head no. His smile dropped. He looked like a kicked puppy almost-
“I ate lunch with Mor.” You explained. Your explanation didn’t seem to comfort him as he shook his head in response.
“That was lunch. It’s time for dinner.” Azriel said firmly.
Your mind went back to Mor’s words. Pay more attention…what did she mean? What was there to pay attention to? Azriel cooked for everyone- right..? Your mind raced over your memories, trying to think of a single time you had seen Azriel set a plate down for one of the others.
“Alright then, fix me dinner Azriel.” You responded. Azriel smiled, pleased. His right wing flared, draping over your back. “Follow me.” He said, leading the way into the kitchen. His wing was warm against your back, as it guided you beside him. It was much larger than you were, towering over your head. As you entered the kitchen, Cassian and Mor immediately scampered out shouting something about extra training.
You watched Azriel move around the kitchen in a graceful dance of grabbing pans and pots. He kept his wings tucked in, to keep them from banging against counters and tables. His hair was messy from training, or like he had ran his hands through it more then once. But it never failed to frame his face. You watched as a few shadows dart around, grabbing various spices and ingredients for whatever new dish he’d make tonight. He set a pan down on the stove before turning to you.
His scarred hands gently grasped your hips, lifting you up effortlessly. He sat you on an empty space on the counter. He huffed a laugh at your squeak of shock. He patted one of your thighs gently before leaving your side and returning to his pan.
Your face flushed with embarrassment. He had lifted you as if you weighed nothing, showcasing his obvious strength. Everytime he touched you with his beautiful hands, it felt like everything stopped. As if the world had slowed to let you enjoy the moment. Your hands wrapped around your stomach, wondering what this weird feeling that had overcome you meant.
He moved swiftly, chopping ingredients and throwing things in various pots and pans. You quickly realized by smell alone he was making your comfort food. You remembered the night a storm had rolled in. Usually thunder and lightning didn’t scare you- but this was different. The booms and flashes were intense, shaking the ground and keeping you from sleep. You had stumbled to the house library in an attempt to distract yourself. But you only found Azriel instead. He had scented your obvious distress and took action immediately. He helped you settle on the couch with cushions and blankets before asking what a comfort food was. A good 15 minutes later he returned with a plate.
You don’t remember much pass that, you just remember becoming tired and sleepily. You remember feeling warm all of a sudden and then you woke up in your bed that morning.
“It’s almost done.” Azriel spoke, bringing you back from your memories. His eyes were distant as if he too was remembering that same night.
You smiled and thanked him as he handed you your bowl and a spoon. He made himself a bowl too. He took your bowl from his hands and sat it down, before grabbing you and setting you back on the floor. His hands stayed on your hips until he was sure you were balanced. He guided you to the sitting room with a fire.
Azriel didn’t eat until you took your first bite, ensuring you liked it. And of course, you did. It was warm, and comforting, like a hug in your mouth. It soothed your soul in ways nothing else could, the flavors easing your body from any previous aches. Azriel had never made a bad meal before. You both ate in silence together, with the comforting crackle of the fire and warming food. But as the time passed, you knew it came time for him to leave.
Your bowls sat on the coffee table. Both finished. The house made them disappear, taking care of them on its own. You were always amazed by its magic.
Your head snapped to Azriel as he stood. He sighed, looking at the clock on the wall. His eyebrows were furrowed and he almost looked like he wanted to chain himself to the wall before even considering leaving. He turned to your sitting form. His shadows seemed to move more quickly and sharper around his shoulders.
“It’s time for me to leave.” He whispered. He watched as you nodded solemnly. You smiled, but he knew it didn’t reach your eyes.
“Thank you for the meal.”
You watched as Cassian hugged Azriel in goodbye, and Mor nod as her own way of saying goodbye. Azriel had taken his candles to his room earlier, before joining everyone in the hallway. When one left for more then a day, you all said proper goodbyes.
Azriel turned to you, walking swiftly. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his big biceps practically squeezing the life out of you. He practically had to hold himself back from purring when your arms wrapped around his neck in return. Everything darkened as his wings cocooned you. His wings blocked out the noises of the others, leaving just you and him. His head found solace in your neck. His scent overwhelmed your senses in a good way. Before you had time to question Azriel being touchy, Cassian yelled,
“Ok! Ok! We get it, Azriel. Let go of her before you suffocate her.”
Azriel lifted his head, and his wings dropped. His eyes stayed latched on yours. A few seconds passed before he tore his eyes away and scowled at Cassian. His teeth bared in silent warning. Cassian backed down and turned to have conversation with the others. Azriel released you from his grip.
“I’ll be back soon. Don’t starve. And I left some flowers on your nightstand. I hope you don’t mind.” He whispered to you, fiddling with his hands like a nervous school boy. Your eyes lit up and you smiled gently.
“Thank you Azriel. Goodbye.” You whispered back in response. His smile turned upside down.
“I told you, call me Az. Or whatever you want- just not my full name. We’re closer than that.” He said in a growl like tone. He watched as you nodded your head.
It was time for him to leave now. He sighed deeply. The others had gone silent watching the scene with interest. But he didn’t seem to care.
He leaned down to your height, his hands grasping at your chin. He turned your head before leaving a gentle but firm kiss on the side of your cheek. “Sleep well tonight.” He whispered before pulling away. You stood in shock at the door to the balcony, as he said his last goodbyes. He waved in an almost shy way at you before taking flight.
You stood still, flabbergasted at what had happened. Slowly your hand rose to your cheek.
Realization dawned on you- he hadn’t ever fixed food for anyone else other than you.
a/n; hope you enjoyed, let me know if you want part two! 🌙
#azriel x you#azriel fanfic#azriel x reader#azriel shadowsinger#azriel#acotar fanfiction#acotar fic#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#azriel acotar#acotar 5#acosf#imagine#azriel x reader angst#x reader#female reader#fem reader#reader insert
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prompt: ghost and you are the only survivors of a military plane crash. you spend weeks alone in the wild together. (ns/fw)
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In the years you’ve worked as a flight attendant, you’ve never experienced a plane crash before. It’s exactly like what you would’ve expected.
Clear skies rapidly turn grey outside the tiny windows to your left and right; you notice it almost instantly because it casts a pall over the interior of the aircraft. It makes the small group of men that you’ve been travelling with sit up a bit straighter in their seats, only a few of them looking genuinely concerned. Military men often do; it’s in their nature to worry and fret. You feel it like a twinge in your gut, like something telling you that you don’t usually fly through dark clouds.
The soft ding of the seatbelt sign comes on a handful of seconds later. The turbulence only a few moments after that.
Pilots are trained to avoid cumulonimbus clouds like they’re a harbinger of death (and they are). Even large airliners avoid crossing the path of a cumulonimbus. Your pilot should’ve known to divert and fly around the cloud, avoiding the possibility of flying through a thunderstorm altogether. The pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom for everyone to fasten their seatbelts and you notice distantly that his voice seems frazzled.
Your hands grip the seat as you strap in. This is exactly the kind of scenario you’ve prepared extensively for, but in the face of it, your stomach tosses and turns. Practice can only hope to ape reality; it often falls short.
From across the aisle, you lock eyes with the lieutenant in the skull mask that politely refused a beverage ten minutes ago. The plane jostles you violently in your seat as it passes through a rough patch of turbulence. Even the lieutenant, twice your size and rooted into his seat, his hands clamped around the arm rests, grunts when he’s rocked side to side.
There’s a loud pop outside the aircraft and the plane teeters dangerously to one side. The bags in the overheads bash against the doors, the plastic squeaking under their weight.
Someone screams. The other attendant sitting across from you is already shouting, “Brace! Brace! Brace!” The mantra bursts from his chest along with spittle and the singular, quivering note of fear. There’s not much more you can do but follow his lead, dropping your head to your knees and wrapping your arms around your legs.
Your stomach drops when the plane descends far too suddenly. You would’ve been pulled back against the wall if your arms weren’t wrapped around your legs. You have enough time to peek up briefly to see all of the other men assuming the same position, some with their heads pressed against the seat in front of them before the aircraft nosedives and there’s a sharp whistle in your ear and the lights flicker ominously in the cabin and something tears and tears and tears and—
Then it’s dark.
Your grip must have loosened because the world disintegrates after you hit your head. There’s only a faint buzz and something ice cold, something that grips you from the inside and slithers over your skin. The aftermath of a crash is so quiet for the devastation it brings.
The big one in the scary mask is the one who drags you from the wreckage, lifting you into his arms when you’re still too dazed to do more than whimper pathetically. Fear and pain and adrenaline have crumpled you up into a little ball.
“Keep your eyes open,” he says, and maybe it’s a shout. His voice is so loud. When you open them, you nearly close your eyes instinctively when you see the gaping hole in the plane where it’s been torn apart.
“Where are—” it hurts to speak, but you have no choice, “—the others…”
He doesn’t respond. That makes it worse. You slip your arms around his neck so he can hike you closer up his chest. Slung over his shoulder is a black duffle bag that he must have pulled from the overhead, or what’s left of them. When your head turns on a swivel, you startle at the sight of the other attendant still strapped in his seat, his neck snapped back at an odd angle.
You turn your head away.
“My leg hurts really bad,” you sob, fingers clutched in the sweat-matted fabric of your saviour’s shirt.
He palms the back of your head and tips you just enough for you to meet his eyes. Something dark shutters over his face for a split second. If your eyes weren’t filled with tears, you might’ve noticed it. It passes fast though, too quick for you to register it in these conditions.
“‘Gonna be okay, sweetheart,” he says, gentler this time, rough-sounding like he’s not used to using that tone. “Gonna get us out of here and then I’ll check your leg. Just hang on to me.”
It’s hard to catalogue every moment because you drift in and out of consciousness. You feel the man shift you in his arms whenever he clambers down the side of the mountain your plane must have flown into. There’s debris from the wreckage scattered around the rocks, the other half of the plane not too far away. When your eyes blink open briefly, you see how decimated the other half is.
There aren’t any other survivors. Only bodies. He doesn’t stop for them.
Far off from the wreckage, he sets you down onto the soft earth and rifles around in the bag he took. There’s a first aid kit with supplies that he uses to wrap your ankle, which is swollen and tender. The adrenaline crash is nearly more violent than the plane crash you just survived. It wracks through your body as the lieutenant strips your shoes and socks, gently manipulating your foot in his big hands. You notice he’s also lost the mask.
Ochre yellow and green plains spread outward from the mountains. You remember from the flight maps on board that you were somewhere over Mongolia, but the exact mountain range eludes you. This could be the Khangai or the Sayan or the Altai, but you have no way of knowing.
“Is there a…a phone in the bag? How’s anyone gonna know we’re out here?” You sound helpless, smaller than you’ve ever sounded.
He shakes his head. The tight ball of tension in the middle of your chest grows tighter. The thought that you’re stranded in the mountains in Mongolia, thousands of miles away from home and no way to get help is almost enough to send you into a panic attack.
A hand cups under your chin to tilt your head up. His face up close is exquisite and haunting—weathered in the way that career military men often are, burn marks and old scars littered across the delicate skin, lips perpetually chapped, and a nose that looks like it’s been broken way more than once. You can’t look away.
“Someone’ll be looking for us,” he says. It’s reassuring only because he says it like it’s a certain thing. “Don’t know if you saw who was on that flight roster. A lot of important men were supposed to arrive in Germany at twenty-one-hundred hours.”
You nod, tears still dribbling down your cheeks even when he swipes his thumb across to rub them away. He’s not wrong. There was a colonel on your flight after all. Dead now, hot corpse still steaming in the wreckage half a kilometre away, but he would’ve been important enough to warrant an immediate rescue.
You go still under his touch. “You weren’t on the flight list.”
He shakes his head. “Never am.”
“But you were with them?” You remember someone on the flight addressing him by his rank. It was early on in the service, when you were still strapping down bags and doing cross-check, making sure everything was in place. But you remember, even then, seeing that there were more bodies on the plane than names on the list; you’d brought it up to the captain, but he’d brushed off your concerns. Maybe he knew the reason behind the lieutenant’s name being held off the passenger list.
It’s all moot now anyway.
“Can’t bring a ghost on a flight,” he says darkly, like it’s a joke. Like you’re in on it together. “Can’t put it on the roster at least. S’bad luck after all.”
It’s a monstrous joke at a time like this. Your life feels cracked in half and the scarred brute of a man that pulled you from the wreckage makes jokes like it happens to him every other day. When the sky splits later that night and pours out a lake’s worth of rain, it feels appropriate. You huddle with the lieutenant at the base of a densely branched tree and shake.
Five weeks in the mountains go by slowly.
The shelter he builds is haphazard but meticulous, composed of various materials that Ghost scavenges from the plane wreck. A door becomes a makeshift roof. He makes you sit and wait as he collects dozens and dozens of branches, chopped down from the surrounding trees and fashioned into a lean-to. Padded with moss and leaves.
“I can help with getting the leaves,” you protest when he catches you hobbling around and carries you back to the nest of blankets and tarps that he’d pulled from the plane. He goes back every so often to see what remains and what can be used. It’s the only time other than when he hunts that Ghost leaves you alone for even a second, preferring to be within arm’s length of you the rest of the time.
“You can help by sitting your ass down,” Ghost grunts without even looking up at you.
You frown, fingers digging in the dirt by your feet. It’s a silly complaint but there’s never anything to do but wait.
In the early morning hours, Ghost goes off and hunts for you, when the world is still quiet and the animals are still asleep. They’re sluggish when dawn still hasn’t peeled its pink belly off the surface of the world. Ghost comes back with a deer slung over his shoulders one week, his knife still protruding from its neck, and your stomach only twists a little bit. Not used to seeing where your meat comes from.
There’s not much choice when you’re on your own in the elements. Every day, you expect to see a helo appear over the horizon, and you end each night crestfallen when it doesn’t.
It’s not like you haven’t completed basic training, a prerequisite to applying as a military flight attendant, but admittedly it’s been several years and basic never taught you to hunt for your food. You did other things that seemed, at the time, inconsequential to your career path, like learning to rappel and how to wait an hour for your NCO to show up for PT in the morning.
Even if your ankle hadn’t been badly sprained, you wouldn’t be much help. Ghost’s remarkably self-sufficient. It makes you question whether he’s done this before—whether he’s gotten stranded in the woods for weeks on end and had to learn to live hand-to-mouth.
“Have you…where’d you learn all of this?” you ask him in the dead of night, when the wind is a shrill hiss through the trees and you cower close to him in your sleeping bag (also salvaged from the wreck, though his has a tear down the side of it).
Ghost is quiet for a moment. “All over the place. Been doing this for years, love; had to learn.”
“Anything ever like this?”
Even with the absence of his mask, it gets so dark at night that you can’t see his face. You can hear the wry smile that plays on his lips in his voice though. “I’ve had worse days.”
There’s a story there that you see like a fish darting under the water. Too quick for you to catch with your bare hands.
You wake up with your cheek pressed against his pillowy chest most days. It’s embarrassing at first, but you learn to let it melt off you when you meet Ghost’s eyes and there’s nothing there but piercing blue. They root you in place most of the time but they never tell you to move.
It takes a while before your ankle starts noticeably healing. In the intervening weeks, Ghost almost dotes on you, in a rough, untested sort of way. Like he doesn’t have much experiencing tending to another person besides himself for weeks on end. As the weeks drag on, it morphs into something unrecognizable, like a wounded animal healing wrong.
It starts when Ghost insists on sharing sleeping bags. It’ll be easier for him to pull you close if something tries to drag you off in the night (and doesn’t that thought put you on the brink of a panic attack until he shushes and soothes you). It escalates when you make the mistake of tending to the meat hanging over the fire while he fiddles with the little radio he’d dragged back from the plane, and the look he gives you when you tell him that supper is ready borders on reverent.
It gets even worse when he has you both strip your clothes off on a particularly cold and rainy night, wrapped around each other for warmth.
“Sweetheart, you’re shaking,” you hear him rumble, big hand drawing a line down your back. You do tremble at that. “C’mon, get closer. Gonna warm you up.”
You wake up in the middle of the night when your ankle is starting to feel solid enough that you think you can manage to go off on your own to relieve yourself instead of waking Ghost up again. That’s the plan anyway. Before you’ve even managed to crawl all of six feet away from your sleeping bag, a rough hand pins you by your shoulder to the ground and the heavy, over two-hundred pound body of your companion drapes itself over you.
“Where the fuck do you think yer going?” Ghost snarls.
For the first time in a week, there’s a moment of genuine fear. It’s like realizing for a split second that the animal you’ve let creep up behind you is a lot more dangerous than you thought it was.
“I have to pee,” you whisper-hiss, heart still skittering in your chest.
He’s silent behind you while he mulls that thought over; you think maybe he’s still half-asleep, his body acting on instinct before his brain’s ready to take over. The tension only releases you when he finally picks himself up off you, but it’s immediately made worse when he insists on accompanying you into the woods.
He doesn’t even turn around while you pull your underwear down and squat. Ghost’s eyes are bright in the dark, trained on you like it’s the thing that gives him purpose.
Things change in the woods. There are people who are only one bad thing away from reverting to their neolithic mind; as the weeks go on, you see the way his eyes change when they fall on you, no longer detached but gluttonous.
There’s a brown bear that slouches past your camp one day, sniffing around only because it’s curious, and Ghost all but completely obstructs your vision with how he shoves you behind him. He puffs up big when the bear gets too close, keeping you hidden until it snorts and ambles off, not interested in the pair of you.
Do animals act like this? He curls you around him in sleep, legs tangled together. When you soak in the lake under the glare of the sun, he slips into the water and comes up behind you until his hands close around your waist and he tugs you closer to the edge, away from the deeper parts. It’s testament to how long you’ve been out on your own that you’re no longer unaccustomed to the feel of his hands on your bare flesh.
His lips on your bare shoulder are a little less commonplace, but you only shiver and stare out at the mountains.
Then one day, you look up into the sky away from the sun and there it is, a black dot on the horizon at first. You scream for Ghost, who’s skinning a fish on a damp log near you and start waving your arms wildly in the air, unbridled joy streaming out of you. He’s quick to pull his mask on when the chopper lands a few hundred yards away and two similarly dressed soldiers spill out.
You ignore the stiffness in his body as he sits beside you in the chopper, pinning you against the side. Ignore the way he answers for you when the men start asking questions.
What does it mean to come back worse?
“Wha’s that, love?”
“Trauma bonding,” you repeat, swallowing nervously. It’s months later, but the weeks on the mountain and the forest still haunt you. The real world seems flimsier now that you’re back in it, less real somehow. Here, no one hunts for their food. “The therapist said that we trauma bonded. And—and that’s why you won’t—”
Here’s where the words can’t seem to come out on their own.
He sleeps in your bed these days—can’t stand to be more than a room away from you at any given time. Follows you into the bathroom when you need to clean up at the end of the day, crowding you into your too-small shower. The you from a month ago wouldn’t have been able to imagine inviting a six-foot-four soldier into your apartment, but—and here’s where your brain scrambles a bit to catch up—you didn’t invite him in.
He lifts a brow. The mask comes off in your apartment, so you’re able to see the way his lips slip into something unimpressed. “Why I won’t what?”
You swallow. “You know. Leave.”
“Do you want me to leave, love?”
That’s the crux of it. The heart of it. You really don’t. In the dark sometimes, if the wind rustles outside your window just right, shrill like those weeks in the forest and out on the open plains, your heart pounds in your chest until it grows so tight that you think it’ll just stop.
“No,” you whisper in response to his question.
Most nights, you wake up drenched in sweat, still half in a dream where you turn your head and the other flight attendant is staring back at you with wide, empty eyes. Blood dribbling down from his head. Where a plane is ripped in half, grey metal strewn across a mountain and the valley below is a dark pit where you go to die.
Then you roll over in your bed and Ghost is there, already awake and cupping a wide hand over your cheek, laying kiss after kiss across your face. Murmuring that it’ll be alright, that you’re safe. That he’s got you.
His breath is hot on your skin.
You let him roll you over and spread your legs when he says those things. Let him be a bit filthy after being so kind to you in the woods.
He spits on your pussy and rubs it in with a coarse thumb, chuckling when you yelp all breathlessly and squirm away. Sometimes when you fuck, he gets rough with you and slaps it, but he’s always tender with you after a nightmare, content to sooth you with his mouth on your pussy until you’re close to hyperventilating.
“S’alright, sweetheart,” Ghost breathes, spearing you on his turgid length, barrel chest heaving when he finally crams it all in. Always a bit too big for you to take without crying. “I got you, I’ve got you. Not gonna let anything happen to you.”
It’s a new development, but it feels older than time. You could’ve let it happen in the woods and you might have, if no one had ever come.
“Look at me, sweet girl,” he tuts when you turn your head to the side, holding your face in one hand until you have no choice but to stare at the bulk of him straining over you. He has shoulders like mountains that roll when he pushes into you. “Didn’t I say I’d take care of you?”
You don’t want to acknowledge what this is: that you found something in the woods and it followed you home.
#cod mw2#ceil writing#cod x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#cod simon riley#simon riley x you#ghost/reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost cod
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Just wanted to say I have been internet-less for a while now, due to damage from a thunderstorm, and it's not clear when the problem will be fixed! Hopefully by Monday but that's also what they said last week. At first I was able to find some 3G here by sitting perilously on the very edge of that one specific window on the 1st floor of the barn >
—but this no longer works for some reason. That's too bad because while I waited 5min for websites to load like it's 2001 I could watch the llamas bounce about and the chickens scour the pasture for insects, it was like having a real life Windows screensaver. But this week was very windy so I assume the elusive airborne internet in this corner of my barn has floated away elsewhere.
My next solution was climbing up to the plateau through the woods with my laptop under my arm to go sit in a pasture that's famous (to me and 1 neighbour) for having inexplicably good cell reception. It's funny because I sat nowhere near the road but Pandolf kept patrolling all over to check for enemies while I checked for emails so people driving by kept stopping their car and crossing the pasture to come say hi like, "I recognised your dog from afar!" I've had better luck keeping in touch with people I know via this great new social network called DogRun than via modern means of communication.
The guy who owns the pasture also came to say hi and when I told him what I was doing here, he looked at his phone and went like, wow, there /is/ great reception here, better than at my farm, I could come check my email here too. So this cow pasture is poised to become a trendy new coworking space.
But then I had to make a video call and that exceeded the capacities of even the great 3G Pasture, so I had to drive several km to sit under a tree a few hundred metres away from a village so I can leech their amazing urban 4G.
This is probably how a mediaeval peasant would make a Zoom call, once a week riding their donkey across the countryside to go sit in a field near the ramparts of the nearest fortified village and enjoy their feudal lord-sponsored high-speed connection.
#crawling along#just go to the library! you might say#i can no longer go to the library because i had to take a side in a Complex Rural Vendetta#until the dispute is resolved i have to get internet from cow pastures and that's just how it is
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Oooooo elec man as a f/o is pretty cool =o do you have a mega man s/I for that one? Did you give them any cool powers 🤔
The OG guy that made me start self-shipping, even if I didn’t know what that was at the time
Ironically, I don't have a S/I for him? He has been particularly difficult for me for some reason. I do have a couple of other characters for other Robot Masters (M.agic Man and P.haraoh Man) but. Nothing for Elec. The poor guy 😔 One day I'll get a good idea for him
#i answered the question#thunderstorm warning ⚡️🎸#i think the problem is like. he's so classic and i wanna do something to match. or at least come close#m.ega m.an robot designs in general are really hard for me for some reason#baby's second-ish fixation and i can't even draw it well 😔😔😔
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ALASTOR TENDING TO LICKING YOUR WOUNDS ft!Alastor
✧ After an accidental paper cut, Alastor loses control momentarily and licks up your blood. 0.9wc
Imagine you and Alastor are staying up late one night, trying to decorate the hotel as a celebration for surviving the recent extermination.
All of this was your idea, Alastor simply tagging along as he was intrigued by how you were planning to decorate the hotel with mere ribbons and colored paper in a single night. The new renovations have expanded the hotel extensively, almost doubling its size—intriguing him on how your little passionate project could even be possible when done alone. If you were successful, Alastor could be content by the way Charlie's face would light up in the morning. If you failed, Alastor could soak up your disappointment! It was a win-win for him.
You furrowed your brows, hunched over a coffee table in the hotel reception, kneeling on the floor as Alastor sat reading not too far from you. You were focused on delicately carving the page before you, fingers delicately wrapped around a sharp paper-knife.
Outside, the rain was pouring. You never were a fan of thunderstorms, the booming sounds from outside snapping you out of your deep concentration every couple of minutes—some of the blaring clashes pairing with a bright flicker of light that made you flinch. Alastor found you amusing, being so passionate in something no one had asked you for, in something that would be unnecessary and also unnecessarily difficult for you to be done alone. The fact that you were pulling an all-nighter for this endeavor was even more entertaining, as you'd become all cranky once the next afternoon would come.
You let out a harsh sigh, your chest falling so far it seems as though you deflated. You regained your composure, holding your two hands close together as you pressed the page down into the table below—holding it in place as you carved a particularly intricate piece in the page when a shockingly loud crash thundered from outside. You flinched much too harshly this time, your wrist slipping and the paper-knife nicking the side of your index finger. You hiss, dropping the bloodied paper knife onto the table as it stained the pure white page below.
Alastor swore the air became heavier.
He didn't know what had so severely caught his instincts, but his wide eyes immediately darted to you before he could even process the situation—eyes locked onto the deep red trickling down your index. You hadn't even begun to notice him yet, hadn't noticed the way the air in the reception hall seemed to shift at the scent of your blood, how the light momentarily flickered.
You had such a sweet aroma.
An aroma that threatened Alastor's sanity.
Alastor's breath hitched sharply, snapping the book closed by the spine as he laid it as gently as he could upon the side table by his seat. Before he could even process it, your wrist was gripped into the palm of his hand—held firmly as you looked up to him.
The blood from your index trailed down the appendage, dipping down to the joint of your thumb as you looked up to him—startled by how quickly he had moved without you even noticing.
"Ala—"
"It would be wise to be more careful with that knife of yours, my Dear." He brought your wrist closer, his eyes locked on your hand. "Your clumsiness has put me in quite a difficult position." You looked at him intently, still sitting on the ground while Alastor was bent at the waist, holding your wrist up to meet his lips—when his tongue gently ran up the side of your palm before cleaning the blood smoothly. The moment he had your taste on his tongue, he felt his sanity slip away.
This wasn't like his usual respectful self, but he was unable to concentrate. Your flesh was euphoric. The kind he'd savor for weeks, the kind he wouldn't even need to cook or prepare beforehand. Fresh off the bone sort kind of sweet, a sickeningly addictive taste paired with a perfectly prominent metallic tang that had him wanting more.
Although, he was much too fond of you to rip you apart.
And so, Alastor vouched for slipping your finger into his mouth. His long tongue wrapped around the digit, a sting from his saliva sinking into the wound had you wince—your face looked beautiful in pain.
Alastor knew you trusted him, explaining why you hadn't pulled away. Instead, looking at him with a shocked and confused expression—ignoring your pain in his favor, just like the kind little soul you are.
Alastor pulled away, plucking a handkerchief from his pocket to clean your hand completely.
"My apologies, mon cher. I hope you didn't mind my little midnight snack." Alastor smiled to you, clearing his throat in an attempt to regain his lost composure. Although, he couldn't hide the lack of light in his eyes, and he couldn't suppress the wretched thoughts that clouded his head. He wanted to sink his teeth into your neck, to hear your pilant sounds of pain as he carved his bite into your flesh. He wouldn't tear into you, no. Simply mark you, border on the edge of savouring you in his mind completely and staying the gentleman he was raised to be.
In his own strange way, Alastor cared for you.
He wanted to wrap you into his embrace, overwhelm you as you'd tried to shrink away with nowhere to escape from him. He wanted to engrave your taste deep into his memory, to dig into your arms as he'd hold you scarily still.
For now, the only desire he could fulfill now laid upon his desk. A thin tendril of his shadows had swiped both the blood-soiled page and paper knife from the coffee table behind you and delivered it to his bedroom.
Alastor was no sentimental man, but he'd treasure a memory of your flesh to the grave.
You're watching...
© Peached TVs 2024
#alastor#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel#radio demon#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor imagine#alastor the radio demon#hazbin#alastor x reader#alastor x you#alastor x y/n#hazbin hotel headcanons#hazbin hotel fic#hazbin hotel fanfiction#alastor fic#alastor fanfic#alastor fanfiction#alastor headcanons#hazbin hotel x reader
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𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘
Pairing: Eddie x F!Reader
Summary: Wayne didn't trust you, until one night.
Warnings: angst, fluff, nightmares
Wayne Munson just wanted to protect his boy. And that's why he was so reluctant towards you.
It wasn't that he didn't like you, it was that he didn't trust you: after all the years Eddie had spent almost alone in school, you came in the picture. You, saying you cared about him, saying you were interested in the music he listened to and the books he read, saying you loved him.
It all seemed too perfect and Wayne just knew there was something wrong.
Not because he was a bad person, Wayne absolutely wasn't, but because he was afraid you were playing with Eddie's feelings. He was afraid that one day you'd laugh in his face and tell him there was no way a girl like you could ever love someone like him. An outcast. A cult-leader. A freak.
The worst part was that Eddie, on the other hand, was really in love with you. He could see it by the way he talked about you when you weren't around, by his loving gaze when you visited him at the trailer, by the smile that appeared on his lips whenever he mentioned you in a conversation.
Wayne was afraid Eddie would suffer when you left him.
Because he knew you would. It was just a matter of time.
After what had happened in the upside down, after Eddie had almost died (because yes, he knew the whole truth even if he had a hard time believing it at first) he often woke up due to nightmares.
Often he heard the bed creak as if Eddie was tossing and turning in pain, sometimes he heard him talking but never understood what exactly he was saying. He was probably calling your name, the name of girl he was in love with, poor naive boy.
Once, he opened the door to his room slightly, slowly and asked if everything was all right, watching the figure curled up on the bed, his legs drawn up to his chest in a defensive position.
Even in the dark he could clearly see that Eddie was shaking.
It was pretty obvious that no, he wasn't all right. He was far from it.
Eddie told him to go away, that he was fine. Wayne pressed for a while but Eddie didn't seem to want to talk to him. Finally he closed the door and went back to his room, hoping that giving him the space he wanted would help.
He wasn't sure if it had really helped him when he started hearing muffled sobs coming from his room.
He really didn't know what to do. Eddie should have talked to someone about it, vented in some way but he didn't seem to want to do it with him.
He didn't seem to want to talk about it even with you, his "girlfriend". Wayne had expected this too: You wouldn't be there for his boy when he needed it.
After that night, Eddie had locked the door to his room, so even if Wayne wanted to go inside to check, he couldn't.
One night though, Wayne woke up to a noise coming from the room next to his, from Eddie's room.
He sighed running a hand over his face, tired, knowing he was going to have another sleepless night and that Eddie would too.
Thar time though, he heard the door to Eddie's bedroom open and the sound of bare feet making their way down the hallway where the phone was hanging on the wall.
What the hell was he doing?
Wayne got out of bed and headed for the door to his room but, when he was about to open it, he heard Eddie's voice on the other side of the door and stopped.
He knew eavesdropping was wrong, but that didn't stop him.
"Hey, sweetheart."
Wayne realized Eddie called you. At two in the morning.
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." Eddie whispered, almost as that was all the voice he could get out at the moment.
"Yeah, don't worry. I just... I think I just wanted to hear your voice. I'm sorry, I'm sure I woke you up. Yeah, I told you I'm fine." Eddie muttered, if his words were to sound convincing, he was failing miserably.
He sounded like a kid scared by a thunderstorm, in moments like that Wayne wished Eddie's mom was still there with him, some things really would've been easier.
“No, that's stupid, I shouldn't even have called, you probably just want to sleep and not worry about my dumb problems. It's just…I'm tired, Y/N. I'm so tired and the nightmares won't stop and I… I don't know what to do. Every time, every night I'm there again and there are the bats and the lightning and- and It's hard to sleep without you. I'm scared Y/N. I'm scared they'll never stop, that I'll never be okay." Eddie sniffed.
Was he crying?
"But it's okay. I mean, yeah, I- don't worry and-" he probably stopped to hear what you were saying.
Were you telling him to go fuck himself for calling in the middle of the night? Were you trying to console him? Wayne couldn't know but either way, he didn't trust you. He had never done that.
"No. You don't have to. No, Y/N, no please, really, I-" Eddie stammered before silence fell on the other side of the door.
You hung up the phone. You hung up the phone on Eddie's face when he needed someone to listen to him and when he trusted you enough to call you and talk about how he was feeling.
Wayne knew it would end like this. You never loved Eddie like you said you did, you didn't even care about him or you wouldn't have hung up the phone. Maybe it was a joke all along, "make the freak your boyfriend, make him fall in love and trust you and then leave him when he needs it most and break his heart."
He knew how mean teenagers could be, they always managed to hit where it hurt the most. And, of course that's what you did with Eddie, you played with his heart that had already been broken too many times for someone so young.
He heard Eddie pacing nervously down the short hallway a couple of times, and just as Wayne was about to walk out of the room despite having no idea what to say, he heard the trailer door open and close.
Eddie went out. And Wayne wasn't going to let him spend the night in the cold or whatever that boy was up to.
The older Munson finally came out of his room and made his way to the door Eddie had disappeared through.
He opened it slightly and looked out, finding himself faced with the most unexpected scene he had imagined.
There you were, your car parked in front of the trailer, the door still open, and you were striding towards Eddie.
The sky was dark and moonless, only a few stars were visible, a nearby street lamp allowed the man to see what was happening.
Wayne leaned against the door frame, watching the scene a few feet away from him.
As soon as you reached Eddie you wrapped your arms around his neck and pushed him towards you, he immediately wrapped his arms around your body in a hug Wayne wondered if it could actually break any bones.
Eddie held on to you as if his life depended on it, squeezing the fabric of your shirt with his hands and closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief as he hugged you, as if having you there in that moment solved all his problems, as if Eddie was okay again just because of your presence.
"I'm here. It's okay, I got you." You said holding him, your voice soft and sincere.
That was the moment Wayne realized he was completely wrong about you, all along.
"You didn't have to come." Eddie whispered, not letting you go.
"But I wanted to." You responded by stepping away from him slightly, cupping his face with your hands and running your thumbs on his cheeks.
"I swear, you are something else." Eddie said with a slight smile. "Thank you for coming, really."
And Wayne, seeing you looking at Eddie as if he was the most precious thing in the world, wondered what had been on his mind every time he doubted your sincerity, every time he thought you didn't really care about Eddie.
You went there in the middle of the night because you knew he needed it, and he didn't even ask you. That was all it took to know that you were a good person. That you were there for his boy.
"I love you." He murmured before bringing his lips to yours in a light but affectionate kiss. Wayne had to look down, feeling he was slipping into a too intimate a moment.
"I love you too." You responded leaning your forehead against his. "And I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you, you know that."
"Do you- think you can stay the night? I understand if you can't- if you don't want to- I mean-"
"Eddie, I've come to stay. I wouldn't leave even if you begged me, right now." You reassured him.
He nodded, leaving a kiss on top of your head. "I love you so much."
You smiled grabbing his hand with yours, intertwining your fingers ready to reenter the trailer.
Your eyes met Wayne's still in the doorway.
Eddie's hand squeezed yours tighter as you reached for him.
"She's spending the night here whether you like it or not." Eddie announced to his uncle.
Wayne looked between you and Eddie, then back to you as you started to talk.
"I'm sorry I showed up here in the middle of the night but I can't leave now, I-"
"I'm sorry I didn't trust you." He finally admitted.
A surprised expression came onto your face.
"I was wrong about you, I was wrong from the start." He said leading you into the trailer.
Eddie smiled at his uncle's words.
"It's okay, I understand where all your resilience came from. Really, don't worry about it." You answered with conviction.
Wayne patted your shoulder. "You are a good kid, thank you for being here."
You smiled again. "You don't have to thank me. None of you have to."
Eddie put his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him, up against his Metallica shirt he used to sleep in.
"We're going to sleep, uncle Wayne." Eddie said before heading to his room, dragging you with him.
You turned one last time to Wayne before disappearing behind Eddie's bedroom door. "Good night."
The man's gaze softened even more. "Goodnight kids."
Eddie was in good hands now, he always had been even when Wayne didn't know it.
You were always there, even when Wayne didn't know it. You were family.
Tags: @jacklesdeanvessel @morning-sky7
#eddie munson x reader#eddie x reader#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson angst#eddie munson x y/n#eddie x y/n#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#wayne munson#eddie munson hurt/comfort
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