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princessaxoxo · 7 months

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Dad's Best Friend

August Walker x reader

Summary: August is your dad's best friend, and the two of you share a special afternoon.

Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, unprotected sex (p in v), cussing, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, pet names (princess, my girl, baby, good girl), Age Gap

Wordcount: 1.8k+

A/N: Reader is in her mid 20s and august is in his 40s.

You attended your father's 46th birthday celebration; this year, he went above and beyond. Instead of hosting the celebration at his home as he usually did, he chose to rent a banquet hall. The reason? You did not know.

Nonetheless, the décor and the extravagantly dressed attendees were stunning. Ladies, including you in the most exquisite dresses, and men dressed in their best suits

As you moved around the room, you introduced yourself to everyone and thanked them on your father's behalf.

That is when you noticed him, August. You did not think he might be here, but he definitely would be given that your father and him have been close friends for a long time.

In the past, even with other people around, you did not dare to approach him. You were not as nervous anymore because you were older and had more life experience.

"Hey August, remember me?" you said as you entered his field of vision. "No, I am sorry; I don't," he said after giving you a quick glance. "Alexander's daughter, I know I do not look the same," you said with a smile as you looked at him. August's eyes nearly bulged out of his head in shock at what he was seeing.

Although he thought you were attractive the last time he saw you, he decided not to pursue you because you were the daughter of his close friend.

"Oh yes, I apologize. How are you doing?"

Compared to the earlier conversations you had that same night, this one between the two of you seemed to flow naturally.

August began to perceive you differently; you were not the same apprehensive college student he first met three years ago. That is what frightened him, because he did not care about the consequences of what he wanted to do to you and with you.

He eyed your movements more than he should’ve. Whether or not you noticed was irrelevant to him. How you occasionally licked your lips following each wine sip

He needed to leave your presence because of the unholy thoughts that started to run through his mind. "Please excuse me; I have to use the restroom." He smiled at you with his lips pursed.

You were upset in some ways and dreaded the conversation's end. However, you also departed to spend the rest of the evening with your parents.

When the cake was brought out for your father, everyone gathered. August put his arm around your father and shouted, "Happy birthday!" clearly drunk.

When your father went to blow out the candles, August looked at you with a lustful glare that made you squeeze your thighs together.

He noticed that, and it made his ego soar knowing he was making you feel that way.

You arrived at your parent's house the following morning. "Hello?" As there was nobody in sight when you went to look around, you made the decision to sit and wait for them.

After 30 minutes, you heard the door open. "Mom? Dad?” you called out.

"Unfortunately, no, I came by to say goodbye to your father," August said as he appeared.

“Oh, my parents' are out. I’m not sure when they’ll be back.” You looked to the couch and said, “If you like, you could sit and wait with me.”

He didn’t second-guess his choice.

He took a seat and began to man spread.

On a chair your parents had in the living room, you sat across from him.

Until he spoke, the two of you sat in quiet comfort. “If I have not already said so, you looked stunning last night.”

“Thank you; what I wore last night wasn’t my first choice, nor was the dress my favorite.” August stayed quiet for a moment, taking you in. He rubbed his jaw. "Well, still, you looked stunning. I'm sure you look stunning in anything you wear"

What he said shocked you, you hadn't expected to hear that from him.

You eyed him just as he did with you, and you realized that you hadn't seen someone look so good with a beard; you wanted to know how it would feel against your pussy while giving you head.

You were 99% sure it would feel like heaven.

Acting on instinct, you walked over to the couch and climbed onto his lap. He leaned his head back to look up at you with a smirk. “And what are you doing, princess?” You grabbed his jaw and kissed him. His lips were soft, moving elegantly against yours.

You felt his hardened cock underneath his slacks, and you started to rub yourself against his cock.

He grabbed the back of your neck, turning the soft kiss into a harsh one.

Holding onto you tightly, he turned you on your back. He started to kiss down your neck, your chest rising and falling at a rapid pace.

"Let's get your shirt off." He threw your shirt off and started kissing between your breasts. You leaned up for a moment to unclasp your bra. As soon as it was off, he grabbed each one, kissing and sucking your nipples and moaning around them.

"Fuck, you have the most perfect tits."

Moans were filling up the silence in the house.

You helped him undo your pants, and he smacked your thighs for you to open them wider.

"You're drenched for me already, princess." He moved your panties over and slid two of his fingers between your folds before removing them and tasting you.

He held a smirk on his face as he lowered himself. He ripped your panties, and you felt his breath over your bare pussy. "Please August"

"Tell me what you want, princess, and I'll give it to you."

You looked at him with pleading eyes and said, "Please lick my pussy; I need it."

He opened up your folds with his fingers and started sucking on your clit, he removed his mouth, and you whined. You leaned up to look at him; he spat down on your pussy and started to rub your clit. "Oh, shit" you moaned loudly.

You watched as he relentlessly sucked and licked your pussy repeatedly.

His eyes rolled to the back of his head. Your pussy tasted so sweet. "Does my girl want my fingers?" You couldn't get your words out; you nodded quickly.

"Give me your words."

"Yes, I want your fingers."

He plunged his fingers into you, and he watched as you threw your head back.

You could feel yourself on the verge of an orgasm. "I- I'm going to come." You held on to his hair as you grinded your pussy on his face.

Your moans became louder, and your thighs started to shake. He held a tight grip on them. Your eyes were shut tightly, and you saw spots behind them as you came on his face.

You were right; his beard felt fantastic against your pussy.

You watched him take off his shirt and then his slacks. He pulled out his enlarged cock, which was bigger than you anticipated.

"Open your mouth." You did as told; he looked at you, then his cock. "You know what to do, baby."

You kissed his head and then licked around his tip before fully taking his cock into your mouth. You began to hallow your cheeks as he pushed his cock down your throat. "God, baby, your mouth is a talent."

Tears started to brim in your eyes. "My girl looks gorgeous with my cock down her throat. Shit, I'm going to fucking cum." He spurted down your throat, and you proudly swallowed his load.

"I need to feel your pussy around my cock; I can't wait a moment longer."

He tapped his cock on your pussy, and moved between your folds. Your wetness spread over him before he delved into you. Your mouth parted with a moan. "Oh god, August."

"That's right, baby. Taking my dick so well. You're such a good girl for me."

He slowly built up a pace that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head. "Your pussy belongs to me now, do you understand?" He grunted out, "I've been thinking of this since last night, wondering how you feel around my cock."

He gave your face a little slap and grabbed your jaw. "Answer me."

"Yes, my pussy belongs to you."

Both of your moans were mixing together with the sound of slapping skin, and he was in awe at how your tits were bouncing up and down. He leaned down and licked around one of your nipples while pinching the other one.

He moved his lips upward and began to massage his tongue with yours. You moaned into the intense kiss you were sharing.

He grabbed one of your legs, lifting it onto his shoulder, kissing the side of your ankle, and holding onto your hips. This position allowed him to reach deeper. "August, baby, I'm going to come."

"Yeah, going to come all over my cock? Just like a good girl, I know you are."

He pulled you closer to him and increased his pace; your nails were scratching on his back. His grunts were sounds of pleasure and pain.

"Look at me; I want to see your pretty face while you come all over, my cock princess."

Your brows furrowed, and you felt that familiar feeling in your stomach while your thighs began to shake.

"Oh, oh yes."

August was close to your face, your lips brushing against one another.

"I'm going to fill up your sweet pussy; make you full of me, baby."

"Yes, please"

He kissed you hard before he moaned out, filling you with his cum. August thrusted inside you a few more times to get every drop of him into you.

August removed his cock, and at the same time, you heard a car pulling into the driveway.

"Shit!"

In a hurry, you and August got dressed.

Your parents walked through the door. "y/n, where are you, sweetie?"

"I'm in the living room." You smiled at her once you saw her. She looked over at August, not expecting to see him. "August, what are you doing here?" He responded kindly to her, "I was coming to say goodbye to my best man, of course."

Your mother told him where your father was, and afterward, she walked to you. "Are you okay? you're flustered."

"Yes, of course I'm okay. Just excited to spend my last night with both you and Dad."

Your mother, being the sweetest person on the planet, of course, believed your lie.

"y/n come say bye to August."

You walked to him, standing in front of the door. "It was so nice seeing you again. It was a pleasure." The smile you held was genuine.

"No, trust me, the pleasure was all mine." August brought you in for a hug and whispered in your ear.

"You will keep my cum in you for the rest of the day. If you don't, I will find out. I'll be seeing you love." He gave you a kiss on your cheek before bidding your parents goodbye for the last time.

#henry cavill #first post #henry cavill smut #smutty #henry cavill x reader #august walker #august #august walker x reader #august walker smut #august walker x you #august walker fanfiction #henry cavill characters #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction

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skxllz · 2 months

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I have luci brainrot :)

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“ are you seeing anyone? ”

a shriek ripped from the blonde's throat as the rubber duck in his grasp, that he was working on, went flying above his head. lucifer panicked, trying to catch it as it soared back into his vicinity, fumbling between his fingertips — but alas, it bounced off of his desk and landed on the floor with a weak honk!

blinking in shock, he whirled around, only to see you leaning against the doorframe to his office with a hand pressed to your mouth to stop the laughter that bubbled in your throat, from spilling forth. “ huh — wha- I- did- ” lucifer straightened his back, smoothing out the bottom half of his suit with a clearing of his throat. “ w-what was that, you were asking? ”

oh, he heard the question loud and clear; he just thought it was his imagination.

pushing yourself off of the oakwood frame, you lazily sauntered over to the king, only to take a seat on the edge of the nearby table he had piled with many versions of his favorite creation. even after moving into charlie's hotel, he still hasn't let up on crafting the little ducks he's so fond of.

after crossing one leg over the other, you tilt your head at him, “ I said, are you seeing anyone, your majesty? ”

as lucifer blinked, his pupils shrinking in astonishment, a blush appeared on his pale face, decorating his complexion to perfection. it was rather cute to see him so flustered from such an easy going question. as old as he was, you figured something like that wouldn't bother him — but alas, he's only ever loved one woman; and although he doesn't lack experience, it's been quite sometime since he's been asked out.

“ i- um.. you can drop the horrifics, y/n, ” he started off, glancing away from you, rubbing at his nape while bashfulness crossed his features. “ and, as of right now, I am not, no. ”

this intrigued you. your brows rose, lips forming a small circle, “ oh? ”

but you weren't the only one interested. lucifer has had his eyes on you since meeting you —which, of course, was when he met charlie's other friends; you just so happened to be closest to her, other than her girlfriend— and now wanted, out of pure curiosity and maybe slight hope, to know why you were questioning him on the matter.

his red irises darted to land on your figure, only to see you staring straight at him, seemingly in thought. even so, if it was unintentional, it left the elder to feel a fluttering in his stomach. “ why did you want to know? ” lucifer found himself speaking up, though nervously. his eyes were shifting, and his lips were twitching at the ends, lifting into a coy grin.

sure, he was the king of hell, he had no reason to be nervous — but pretty women as intimidating as you left him to feel helpless.

“ hm? ” you shook yourself out of your thought process, only to hum and look away; a small smile stretching onto your lips. “ oh, no reason... I just wanted to know if I had a chance with the king himself. ”

wait, what-

lucifer's mouth dropped open from your bold statement. did you really just say that so casually? I mean, shit, most people in hell were known for being so straight forward, but- you were his daughter's friend for hell's sake! he never thought you of all demons would take a stab at him.

and yet, the amount of confidence you radiated from that statement alone left him to salivate. he had to thickly swallow to contain himself.

you noticed the effect, of course, causing you to turn your head away and smirk, just for a moment. who knew the king could be so adorable?

“ well, ” you sighed, sliding off of the desk, pressing your hands down to the soft fabric of your skirt to fix it — damned thing. “ I'll be off; wouldn't want to keep you too long, your majesty. ”

the blonde blinked out of the small trance he was in. he wasn't sure why, but his body worked before his brain even could — and he was moving forward, reaching out to you, as you turned to leave. “ wait- ”

you paused, looking over your shoulder to the shorter male. “ yes? ”

“ uh- ”

‘ gosh, spit it out lucifer! ’

he gathered the courage; taking a deep breath, puffing out his chest, whirring back his shoulders- he looked pathetically cute. “ willyougoonadatewithme?! ”

.. what did he say? did he- just ask you on a date?

you were staring at him now, semi-shocked by the sudden question. it's no secret that, even though lilith has been gone for seven years, that lucifer was still not over her. for that reason, you figured it'd take time to wriggle your way into his hands, let alone his heart. so yes, the fact that he asked you on a date was like hearing adam himself announce an apology.

well, maybe not that rare, but still.

when the blonde started nervously laughing, you figured quite some time must've passed and you were now just staring him down like some creep. “ well, uh- is that- is that a no? ”

the way he looked dejected and frowned upon saying ‘ no ’ could've broke your heart to pieces — if it weren't for the fact that you knew you could make him smile again, it probably would have. “ no, lucifer- I mean, yes, but- ”

fuck, why are you stumbling over your words?

inhaling deeply, you turn towards him to appropriately answer; a smile curling onto your lips sweetly. “ what I'm trying to say, is I'd love to go on a date with you. ”

that made his face light up again. his dull eyes shined brighter than any star, and you swear he could beat even the cutest of puppies when it came to adorable-ness. “ really?! oh, thank eros! ”

“ ... the greek god-? ”

“ nevermind that! ” lucifer inhaled happily, taking a gentle hold of your hand. he lifted it to his mouth, bending forward, only to place a savoring push of his lips to the curve of your knuckles.

as he gazed up at you through his eyelashes, he cheekily grinned, causing your heart to arise in a flutter. “ I just... thank you for allowing me to take you out, darling. it's truly an honor. ”

grinning back at the king, you use your free hand to caress the tips of your digits over the rim of his hat. “ no, lucifer, the honor is truly mine. ”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel x reader

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definitelynotshouting · 5 months

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MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE FINALE OF SECRET LIFE!!!!!

so i sped-wrote this as soon as i learned who the winner was this morning, tried to post it twice, tumblr mobile deleted it BOTH TIMES... but i will not be silenced ive finally gone to desktop /silly

this will go up on my rough draft pseud soon, but until then please enjoy the results of me being EXTREMELY unwell about the secret life finale. WOOOOOO WE ARE POPPING THE BIGGEST OF BOTTLES TODAY FR!!!!!!!!!!!

Grian barricades himself at the top of the highest tower of Tango's citadel the moment he wakes up. It's a calculated move, admittedly. There are a precious few places one might still find him if he truly wants to hide, but the Deep Frost Citadel isn't one of them— and with the second Decked Out coming to a ceremonious close, foot traffic here is perilously low. Dawn is a swift-approaching knife on the horizon, and Grian soars above it all, face numb with chill wind, wings brazen and feathers strewn across an empty sky.

He doesn't want to be near when Scar wakes. And he doesn't want to be found just yet, either. Oh, Scar will track him down. Of that, he has no doubt— but for now, Grian takes solace in the snow crunching underfoot as he locks himself inside this barren tower.

It's dark here, which suits Grian just fine. He doesn't bother lighting a lantern; instead, he huddles right on the floor, letting the ice seep through him. From here, he can just make out the sky as it lightens, bringing with it the dawn of a new victor. Nausea boils in his throat. With that victory comes a price, and Scar— And Grian— Well. Grian hasn't treated him very well throughout the games, now, has he?

He curls in on himself even further, feathers brushing along the length of his chilled arms. Each hair stands at attention, in some vain effort to pull warmth from the surrounding freeze— when he scrubs a hand along his arm, his fingers shake, and the gooseflesh remains stark and raised against his skin.

There was a sand-drenched point when the concept of warmth was all he could register— scorching wind scraping the cut on his cheek, the scarlet splatter of blood across split knuckles. And like the steady drain of life from a corpse, that warmth has drawn away, poison from a putrid wound— it leaves him compacting this cold, this loneliness, to mold it into four high walls around his heart; a fitting tribute to every grain of trust he's rightfully lost. Grian huffs the barest traces of a bitter laugh as his breath mists in the air. A better man would meet Scar at his base, extend his support, no matter how icily it might be met.

But Grian is selfish, and a coward, and will always be a coward— and so instead he sits, marrow freezing, with only the thin garrotte of paltry sunlight wrapping itself around his tender throat to keep him company.

And there he stays, motionless, for long enough that the chill makes a home in him— the glistening, pale yolk of the sun warns him of the passing time, a watery heat that counts down the seconds to minutes to hours until Scar finds him. Grian curls his wings around himself, a pitiful embrace, and waits.

Two hours later, the whistle of rocket-propelled elytra warn him of incoming company. Grian doesn't bother fleeing; he knows Scar, and Scar knows him, and with this last, missing puzzle piece finally slotting into place between them, he's under no illusions that staying hidden for long is feasible. Grian's eyes skitter to a crack on the far wall as clumsy footsteps scatter the snow outside, scrabbling for balance before the muted click of a cane joins them. Footsteps; another, louder click— the door's latch gives way, and a brief, blinding wave of light crashes over Grian's face, obscuring everything but the outline of a painfully familiar silhouette.

Grian has to look away. The door shuts, and for a small moment, neither of them so much as breathe.

Then Scar's sighs— one great, resigned gust. "Grian...."

He says nothing else. He doesn't have to. Grian draws his legs up to his chest in response anyway, heart a frozen pump bleeding ice into his very veins. What can he say? An apology? They're past apologies, now— if Scar wanted to disavow him forever, take the crumpled remains of their friendship and throw it at his feet, he'd be right to do so.

But Scar doesn't shout; neither does he leave. Instead, his cane taps forward, boots sliding into Grian's line of vision— and, with a grunt of effort, Scar eases himself down, until he's sitting at a safe diagonal from Grian's hunched form.

Neither of them say anything for a while.

Eventually, Grian licks his lips. They're chapped from cold, thin and ready to split. "Hi, Scar," he says softly. It comes out weak, thready— a barely-there declaration. Whatever Scar wants here... he can take it. It's the very least Grian can do at this point.

From the corner of his eye, he watches Scar settle, shifting his weight before he lands on something approximating comfort. He takes his time with it, blind— or uncaring— to the erratic snarl of Grian's pulse. His voice is just as quiet when he responds. "So... that's it, then, huh."

Grian glances over properly before he can stop himself, stomach churning; Scar's gaze has slipped to the cutout acting as a window, middle-distant and lost. Locked on something only he can see. Then Scar shakes himself, an abrupt jerk of his head and shoulders, and that glassy look turns to pin Grian directly to the wall behind him instead. "Just like that?"

Grian's fingers tighten around his knees. "Just like that," he agrees, hollow.

Scar mulls that over for a moment. His sigh is a wisp of white in front of them, crystallizing in the glacial atmosphere. "Jeez," he says finally, scrubbing one hand through the tangled bird's nest of his hair. He must have flown across half the server as soon as he... remembered, Grian realizes with a visceral pang. "I didn't... that's a lot of memories to just, um, gain back on a dime, huh?"

Grian darts a sidelong glance at him. Shifts his wings until their primaries lower, sweeping the ground around his feet like a feathered cat's cradle. "I wouldn't know," he says, a quirk of black humor dancing around the edges of his mouth. He swallows. "Since. Well...."

He trails off. Imagines, briefly, that he is a black hole— a quasar. A neutron star. Something so tight and compact it can string him out, erase him; a ball of grief and misery dense enough that it contains its own event horizon.

Scar hums a little shakily into the blooming silence. "Yeah. I guess that would complicate things, wouldn't it." A pause. "Does it always feel—?"

Grian shrugs. "Don’t know that either, Scar."

"Oh." Scar's still looking at him, the searchlight of his gaze burning pockmarks into Grian's skin. "Cool, okay... so...." He hesitates, teeth worrying his lower lip, before finally forging on: "So what now?"

Grian sucks in his own shuddery breath. "Whatever you want, Scar," he says, blank and dull. Every inch of him frozen stiff, awaiting the tipped scales of Scar’s judgement. "There's no going back, after this." The quicksilver flash of a grimace tugs his lips back to reveal sharp, white teeth. "Welcome to the club, I guess."

"It sure is a warm welcome," Scar says weakly. "Got— uh, got your complimentary balloons, and— and um, a whole gift basket of... of...."

He trails off too, the fragile ley lines of his humor peeling off, cracking at the seams. Impossibly, Grian curls around himself tighter.

An apology is nothing but wasted air now, but it dredges from his throat anyway. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Scar. I—" He breaks off, jaw tight. "I'm... I'm not sure what else to say, honestly. I never thought...."

I never thought you'd win. It's a cruel phrase that haunts the air between them, hanging like a smoky pall across their shoulders.

Scar says nothing against it; he only watches.

An uneasy prickle crawls up Grian's spine. "You don't—" He stops himself before he can finish that thought. "Are you— Scar, why are you here?"

"'Cause Pearl's not talking to me yet," Scar says quietly, prompt. "And— and because I remembered. Us."

Grian's throat closes around the word. "Us," he echoes, a rough rasp that ricochets against the deepslate walls surrounding them. The word tears through his ears, distorting with each pass. "Look, alright— I-I don't know if you got the memo, exactly, but— I'm not—"

He breaks off again, lungs jarring, hitching in his chest. Hot prickles sear behind his eyes, but nothing drops— he’s too tired for crying. "I've hurt you a lot, Scar," Grian says at last, lips numb around the words. "I'm not sure if there's much of an 'us' left, at this point."

"I know," Scar says. His eyes reflect the snow-glitter outside.

"And— I wouldn't blame you, if you left right now."

"I know," Scar says again, softer.

"I—” Grian stares at him, helpless. "Okay, then why are you here, Scar?" He gestures between them, an aimless motion that somehow encompasses the breadth of everything that's rotted at their foundations. "If you know all that, then what—?"

Scar regards him with enviable poise. His throat bobs as he speaks. "Maybe, I just— now that I remember— maybe I just want your company, Grian. Is that really so bad?"

Grian stares at him, at a loss. "I don't understand," he says finally, and it comes out plaintive even to his own ears. "I thought you'd be— angry. After everything I've done, after all that's happened.... What's your play here, Scar? If you want to yell at me, be my guest. I think by now I've more than earned it."

But Scar doesn't take the bait. Instead, he shuffles closer— just by an inch. A careful, cautious inch. "Y'know," he says, apropos of nothing, "and correct me if I'm wrong, here— but I seem to remember something about you wanting an alliance before all of... that crazy stuff happened. Is that right?"

Something in Grian's chest spasms. Whatever expression it spreads across his face must spur Scar on, because he scoots closer again, just enough to bring their calves together. The brief shock of warmth explodes through Grian's skin, worming its way underneath the subcutaneous tissue to flood his veins and gnaw at the lingering ice.

After a moment, Scar's lips tilt up— a subtle, fragile smile. "Is it too late to cash in on that?" he asks.

Grian's mind goes blank, white and buzzing, the thin hiss of a creeper drifting through it like smoke. Unfiltered shock threads through his voice. "You want t— what?"

Scar's smile tempers further around its edges, stretching into something softer, knowing. Rounded out. With solemn motions, he reaches into the pocket of his utterly ridiculous safety vest, and delicately pulls something out.

It's a sunflower.

In the frigid gloom of Tango's citadel, Grian gapes, the brilliant yellow petals incongruous with this grim, grit, darkened room. When he looks up, Scar's eyes are overbright, painfully earnest— brimming with a desperate urgency that tucks itself away in the depths of his pupils.

"Can we try again?" Scar says, soft as the new-fallen snow beyond this isolated cell of misery. "Start over? I— I kind of hurt you too, you know. And— for the record, being without you sucks. I don't—" He falters. "I know it's gonna be all weird, y’know, between us… but I don't want to do that anymore. I just... want you here, Grian. That's all. I just want you to stick around."

Grian sucks in a sharp, daggered breath. "You're joking," he breathes, but his heart leaps, tumbling from his throat and onto the floor for Scar to stomp at his leisure. "You're actually— this isn't funny."

"Hey, do you see me laughing?” Scar presses forward once more, a calculated attack, but still slow enough for Grian to track each move, to stop him if he cared enough to. Gently, Scar unwinds one of Grian's hands from his knees, cupping it between his own and brushing the lightest of kisses against his knuckles before turning over Grian’s palm and pressing the flower into it. Grian's fingers curl around it of their own accord, silky petals burning against his fingers.

"So." Scar smiles, tremulous, eyes suspiciously red-rimmed. "Can we still be friends?"

And Grian has always been a raw creature, a tangled wreck of his own selfish greed— he’s craved the honeyed umber of Scar's love since he first cradled it, tentatively, in his palms all that time ago. In the depths of his heart, there will always be that sandstone cliff, the crack of his bones against hard-packed sand, and wings too clipped to fly freely. There will always be that calloused fist around his heart, and beyond his own scrabbling fear, there will always, always be that fervent need to bring Scar close even as he pushes him away.

And where before, Scar had been playing blind, a game with no true rules… now, his eyes trap Grian against the wall, clear as glass— diamond sharp and just as steady. From a winning game, there is no turning back. There’s nothing left to lose here, except this porcelain trust, this shred of hope Scar offers him once more in the form of a flower.

Even after everything, all the memories flooding back— Scar is still here, holding Grian’s heart, and offering up his own in return.

Grian slowly presses it to his chest with trembling, vulnerable motions. "You're sure you want this."

"I'm sure I want you," Scar says, unwavering.

Grian breathes in. Breathes out. Inhale and exhale, both a heavy drag in his lungs. Already, the sun is beginning to strengthen, casting thick rays through the window and splaying them across Grian’s lap. The advent of gilded noon weaves around them, perfuming the air with light and heat.

"Okay," Grian says at last, and it drops from his lips with the weight of a confession; a relinquishment; a solemn vow. "Okay."

This time, when Scar reaches for his hand again, Grian meets him halfway, and the tangle of their fingers nets the sunflower in a promise neatly between them.

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imtryingbuck · 7 months

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Divorce Always Comes With A Price.

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky confesses to having an affair and wants a divorce

Word count: 1023

Warnings: Angst. That’s all.

A/N: there’s going to be a second part.

Masterlist

Part 2

The skies start to turn dark even with the sun shining brightly, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was forewarning for what’s to come.

Taking a deep breath, you look up at the sky to see the birds flying freely with no care in the world. Looking around there’s two paramedics sitting in the van waiting for another call to come through, seeing two young new parents with their bundle of joy waiting for a car to pull up. You smile. Then your pushed to the side. A man in a suit on his phone talking rather loudly about how long he had to wait to be seen. You still smile. That’s when your phone goes off and you see the notification that your Uber has arrived.

Marty your driver talks about his wife and three children with so much passion and love you just simply can’t wipe the smile off your face. When it’s time to depart you tip him twice the charge and wish him all the best. Walking into the lobby of the huge building, smiling at everyone you come across. With the news that the doctors told you, you just can’t stop appreciating everything and everyone. Stepping out of the elevator your heart soars seeing your family gathered around.

Bucky shoots straight to his feet and before you can say anything he hands you a folder.

Not looking at you he speaks in a voice you can only describe as detached “I want a divorce I need you to sign these. I’ve been having an affair for the past 4 months and I love her”.

The smile you’ve been wearing drops along with your heart. The air is cut off. The room is spinning. Your world has ended. Trying so hard not to strutter which fails as you ask “y-y-um you l-lo-ve her?”

This man who’ve been your husband for the past two years boyfriend of three, the man who promised to spend the rest of his life with you, is same man that can’t even look you in the eyes as he breaks your heart in to smithereens. He nods. With your his families eyes on you, you do the same. With a shaky hand you take the pen out of James’s outstretched one. With a stuttering breath you sign your name.

You dare yourself to take one last look at his handsome face before you fall backwards and walk out, no one utters a single word. It feels like time stands still as you wait for the elevator doors to open.

It’s only once you’re outside you realise there’s tears pouring out of your eyes. How long they have been falling is unknown to you. You have no idea how long you’ve been standing still like a statue in front of the building doors. It’s only when you hear the mighty rumble up above you take notice of the rain, its only then you take a step forward then the next and the next. You don’t even realise you’ve walked all the way back to your home drenched head to toe and shivering but you barely flinch.

How you’ve done it is lost on you but you’ve packed all your things up. This isn’t your home, it’s Bucky’s he brought it. Your best friends at the door helping you get everything out, he brings you into a tight hug whispering ‘everything going to be ok’ it’s not. And you’re the only one who knows it.

It’s been a month since that day, and it’ll be the first time today that you’ll be seeing him again. Staying with Matt for the past four weeks has been okay, you just wish you could wake up from this nightmare and be at home with your husband. Not your husband idiot, he’s with someone else now. He’s divorcing you to be with her. He loves her not you. Idiot. Wishing the voices in your head would leave you just like your husband did.

He still looks the same, still smells the same. Still not looking in your direction which you’re grateful for, if he did you’d break down in a fit of tears.

“—I don’t want anything in the divorce, he can keep the house the money, everything. I will have no use for that stuff” you speak in a soft way. And with that it’s done. You’re no longer Y/N Barnes, you’re no longer married to James Buchanan Barnes. You take your leave as fast as you possibly can. You can’t bear to spend another minute around him. As you begin to walk down the corridor with Matt and Foggy on either side of you, you seem them. The people that were your family sitting there on the benches waiting for your now ex-husband, they all bore sad expressions but it’s not them you pay attention to no it’s the brunette-haired woman you’ve never seen before. She’s gorgeous. You take a wild guess and assume she’s the woman Bucky had an affair with. Your heart breaks. But you can see why he loves her. Your feet start to slow down on their own accord Matt notices so ever so gently he grabs your hand and gives a small smile.

Getting back to the apartment where you’ve been staying with Matt you finally let the floodgates open and you make no effort at all to make them stop. Matt stands there not knowing what to say or do, nothing he can say will make this pain go away. So he does the same thing he’s done for the past month, he holds you, he holds you so tightly hating the universe for doing this to such a beautiful, incredible loving person. Hating James for causing you grief, hating the other woman even though he doesn’t know her, hating the all mighty avengers for not doing anything for you. Hating how even with the pain and turmoil you’ve been feeling this past month you can’t find it in yourself to hate the person who’s done this to you. He continues to hold you long after you pass out.

~ banners credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

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arctrooper69 · 15 days

Text

Mine

Here's my piece for the wonderful @isaidonyourknees for the @cloneficgiftexchange! So sorry it's a day and a half late! 😂😅

Warnings: Suggestive spice (nothing explicit), unwanted advances, jealousy, angst

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

"Leave me alone, Crosshair." The order meant to be snappish slipped out instead with a tired sigh.

"No," came the reply.

You sighed again as you felt him shift and sit down a few feet away. No more words were exchanged - the silence felt both peaceful, yet suffocating.

"Why are you up here pouting?" He finally spoke.

You glanced at him sharply. "I'm not pouting!"

"Yes you are."

"No. I'm not!"

He huffed dryly. "Sure looks like it to me."

"Hunter benched me!"

Crosshair shifted and sighed, "It's for your own good."

You scoffed, "And how would you know what's good for me?"

"You're exhausted. You're off your game."

"I'm fine. I feel fine."

He sighed again and you could practically feel him rolling his eyes. "That constant tapping of your foot and the way you're shaking tells me you're trying to run on stims and caf."

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. "And how would you know?"

He was silent. "Because I've done the same thing."

"So that makes you think you're better than me?"

"No."

You crossed your arms, turning away from him. “I’m still not pouting.”

“Sure.”

You glared at him out of the corner of your eye. “Just go away.” This time the words did deliver the sharp edge you’d wanted before, but now you weren’t sure it was exactly what you wanted.

You didn’t know what you wanted.

“Fine, came the equally snappish response. Crosshair stood and headed back down the wooded trail. A sudden disappointment threatened to overtake you and a heat burned in the back of your throat as you tried to swallow it back.

“Crosshair wait…” you called out, turning to face him as he paused and turned back.

“What?”

“I…” You stopped. No. Crosshair had better things to do than to deal with emotions that you yourself couldn’t even decipher. “Nevermind.”

For a second he paused, almost as if waiting for you to once again change your mind. He shook his head and turned around once again, disappearing into the woods, leaving you on your own.

Fine. It’s fine. You’d asked for privacy and that’s exactly what he gave you. Yet, it felt lonely nonetheless.

Crosshair was confusing to say the least. One moment it felt like he was trying to make an emotional connection, and the next he acted like he wanted nothing to do with you.

The roar of engines echoed through the trees from the base of the hill as the Marauder soared into the sky and disappeared into the atmosphere.

***

It seemed like forever ago that you'd met the surly sniper on a job. It was forever ago. So much had changed since a heated exchange of angry words led to a moment of heedless passion. One night. A romance ignited by the very intensity that divided you. The same fingers that rested pompously on the trigger of a rifle soon pulled through tangled hair and moved with purpose against your warmth. Tongues once sharp and taunting, now slotted through parted lips with desperate pleas for more.

And then it was over. Back to the cold realities of war. No words were spoken, only awkward avoidances and inverted eyes.

Talk to me, you'd wanted to say. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need.

Perhaps that's all it was to him. Maybe you'd given him everything he wanted in that moment. Maybe that's all you were to him - a distraction - a soldier's relief from the stress of a never ending war.

You'd wanted to say something but the words wouldn't come. Then the galaxy changed and as the Republic fell, so did your hopes.

And now after so long, he was back.

***

It was nearing dusk before you finally pushed yourself from the ground and headed back down the path.

Fueled by a growing sense of hunger and the need to be around others, you found yourself walking towards the local cantina.

The music blared from somewhere above, pumping a bass that rattled your bones.

Despite the club-like atmosphere the lighting was dim, illuminating the same bar scene that haunted almost every planet in the galaxy.

The air was thick with the scent of spice and the sound of raucous laughter. You sat at the bar, nursing a drink. Despite the bustle, it still felt lonely.

“Hey there, sweetheart.”

Fingers ran across your back as you spun around to face the unfamiliar voice.

A large nikto smiled drunkenly over at you as he leaned against the bar.

“You look lonely. You here alone?”

His breath reeked of alcohol. “You're real pretty,” he slurred, reaching out to grab your arm.

You jerked away, shooting him a glare. "Back off," you growled, voice barely audible over the din of the crowd.

The nikto persisted, his grip tightening. "Come on, don't be like that.”

“Dude,” you rolled your eyes, “leave me alone.”

He sighed, seemingly annoyed at your refusal.

“A pretty girl like you shouldn't be alone in a place like this. Let me at least walk you home, baby.”

“Don't call me that,” You spat, wrenching your arm from his grip.

His jaw stiffened as he stood up straighter.

“You should be more grateful that I'm even giving you the time of day, bitch!”

Now it was your turn to stand. The nikto grabbed your arm again. Your fingers curling into a fist, ready to strike the stupid smirk from his drunken face.

"She's not yours to touch."

A familiar voice growled from behind as the nikto’s hand was wrenched from your arm with a cry of pain.

Crosshair.

What was he doing back already? You turned to face him standing behind you, expression dark and dangerous. His hand rested on the blaster at his hip, ready to draw at a moment's notice.

The nikto's eyes narrowed. “And who do you think you are, asshole?”

Crosshair glowered, taking a menacing step forward. “I'm the guy who's going to put an extra hole in you if you don't leave immediately.”

The nikto paused, unsure if he was bluffing or not.

Crosshair clicked the safety off, loosening the blaster from its holster.

"I'm not gonna ask you again," he said, voice low and threatening.

The nikto had enough. “Geez, okay fine! I'm leaving!”

Without another word, he turned and fled, disappearing into the crowd.

You stood silently watching as Crosshair stepped forward, his practiced eyes scanning every inch of you.

“Are you alright?” He asked, “Did he hurt you?”

You let out a shaky breath, “No,” you murmured, “I'm fine.” A smile flitted across your face as you looked up.

Honey brown eyes stared sharp, pierced with concern and something else.

Jealousy?

“Good.” He replied. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something more but couldn't find the courage to do so.

But this time something rose within your own chest, warm and encouraging.

“Crosshair?” The words came timidly despite their bold intent.

He looked sharply, “What?”

“What did you mean by that? ‘She's not yours to touch’?” You asked. His hand, still on your arm, gripped a bit tighter, pulling you close. Something flashed in his eyes. It wasn't the hardness you'd come to expect from him.

“It means you're mine. You've always been mine.”

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

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archgabrielangel · 7 months

Text

uhhh rating the first and last lines of riordanverse series (yes all of these get above 5s 💀)

-The Lighting Thief

"Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood."

iconic. what's a halfblood? there's suspense. why percy??? tell me?? 10/10

-The Last Olympian

"For once, I didnt look back."

such a great ending, he's moving on and thinks he's gonna have peace for once. so naive. 9/10

-The Red Pyramid

"Look, we don’t have time for long introductions. I need to tell this story quickly, or we’re all going to die."

huh??? whatsgoingon???? even more suspense 10/10

-The Serpents Shadow

"Brooklyn House is open for buisness."

mediocre considering the other 2 books ended with the sentence just mixed around but I still like it;) 8/10

-The Lost Hero

"Even before he got electrocuted, Jason was having a rotten day."

not giving us much to work with. like ok?? also who even are u?? 6/10

-The Blood of Olympus

"The bronze dragon spread his wings and they soared into the unknown."

AJHSJSJS. need i say more? 10/10

-The Sword of Summer

"Yeah, I know."

hes so relatable. 100/10

-The Ship of the Dead

"But in the meantime, as Loki once said, we can choose to alter the details. That's how we take control of our destiny."

ho o o oly shit. 9/10

-The Hidden Oracle

"My name is Apollo. I used to be a god."

wow way to give it all away. but great segue since we all (kinda) knew what happened to him in BoO. 8/10

-The Tower of Nero

"Call on me. I will be there for you."

ohmygohsohmygoshohmygosh. this sentence is like a warm blanket being wrapped around your shoulders. it's like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day. I may have cried??? you'll never know. 1000/10 I totally did cry

(btw this is edited since I didn't spell thief right the first time😭)

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #the kane chronicles #magnus chase and the gods of asgard #trials of apollo #pjo #hoo #toa #tkc #mcga #also these are like #all from memory so I probably got some wrong💀

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ronearoundblindly · 2 months

Text

Hideout (3.1)

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!Reader

Sensitive Boy, part I (see previous or series)

Summary: Steve surprises you with help at the perfect time.

Warnings for light smut (I have to split this chapter or it's just suddenly twice as long as the last, but really there's just massage and an implied orgasm in this half. You know me: too many feels and too much development...) MINORS DNI. This series is 18+ only. If you are underage or simply enjoy lighter content, there is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this post is not for you! WC 3.2k

With so much on your mind, scaring the crap out of you is not difficult, so his strong hands hold you upright.

“Don’t do that,” you shriek, barely glancing at Steve’s face. You startled so suddenly your housekeeping cart is left rolling away at a snail’s pace.

“Sorry, I—“ long arms abandon you and reach to stop the bin “—it said on your website you were closed for renovations, and…”

You look him up and down. You were sure after he left two months ago that you’d never see him again. You’d gone too far. You’d pushed him too hard. He wasn’t ready.

Steve adjusts the strap over his shoulder. “I thought maybe I could help out…if you want?”

The last guests checked out a half-hour ago, and you readied to spend the whole week meticulously refreshing each room with your parents. The list of what needs done, however, doesn’t only include the motel. There’s a bunch you all had let slide up at the house. Help would…be extremely helpful actually.

Steve pulls a paper bag out of his knapsack. “Or I brought you some lunch if you just want a break or something.”

“It’s okay,” you rush out. “More than okay. Thank you, yes. We’d love—I’d love that.”

No one else can know it’s him-him there though. You’ll have to think of a way to keep your parents and St-‘Grant’ as far apart as possible, and how long you can manage that is…questionable.

If Steve’s not worried though, you’re okay.

Turns out, keeping your family up at the house is easy. Your mom shouts down the phone with relief that she can tackle the fridge, and you hear your dad mumble something about ‘the garage in daylight.’ You can enjoy a sandwich in the office with Steve in peace, explaining what all needs done before the electricians show up Friday afternoon.

The closure hasn’t been planned for a long time—not even before Steve and ‘Tom’s’ last visit—hence why you just painted Room 8, 5, 2, and 1 since March, but doing all those is how you and your parents really noticed that the light fixtures from the ‘90s were not only dated but very worn and that the same color layered over and over again for twenty years was, well, getting old.

Warmer months are better for the work. Pipes won’t freeze while you air out paint fumes, etc. The week after the gigantic, city festivities of Independence Day is notoriously dead. Since there were no reservations this stretch as of April, the family jumped at the chance to fix it all in one big, daunting go.

Saying you’d looked forward to this is a wild overstatement. You’ll be glad when it’s finished, and that’s the bulk of your excitement.

With his assistance though? Hope soars.

Steve will help you take down the sconces, the hanging lamps, and the panels above the vanities, then you both can—

“Where’s the paint?”

He’s very intense with the gameplan. Three guesses why.

“Dad’s gonna pick it up today. Probably. I’ll text him.” You whip out your cell again. “We didn’t think we’d get that far by evening.”

Steve nods.

“We also need to move all the furniture away from the walls and drape plastic to protect the carpet. Oh, and put tape along the trim and doorframes, ya know.”

Steve nods again. He wads up the wrapping from his sandwich and casually asks, “are all the doors open?”

You only just get your finger in the air to point at the desk.

“Master key is—“

But Steve is observant and has clocked everything about his surroundings each time he’s stayed, apparently. He stretches over to the wall beyond the counter, snatches the (correct) unmarked key, and heads out the door.

The service bell rings gently to emphasize the conversation is over.

All furniture in every room is pulled away by the time you finish sanitizing the one guest room he interrupted.

He asks where you keep the ladder, not that he’ll need it, but you will for reaching some of the lights.

You don’t know whether to be in awe of or exhausted by his efficiency.

He’s rigid and militant—go figure—until these few moments he suddenly can’t be.

As you toss plastic over the last bed to move, Steve yanks that sucker across the floor so fast, you roll off. His eyes are saucers as he apologizes, but you get the giggles and pick yourself up.

His fingers can’t separate thin layers of the plastic at one point, and he throws a minor fit until three rip apart together. Steve frowns at you and grumbles that he’s only ever used cloth for this before. It seems to take everything in his power not to say “back in my day,” but you can read between the lines.

Years of crusted paint makes the removal of some fixtures tricky.

Steve rips out one stripped screw with needle nose pliers, squeaks in alarm at the hole left behind, and then quietly asks if you have patch paste.

You call your dad before he’s left to buy paint. He adds spackling to the list.

The closest Steve comes to telling you anything specifically about himself is when you struggle with a stuck bolt.

“Just a little trick I learned when I was—“ Steve wraps his big hand around yours to pull the wrench instead of push from the other direction “—smaller.” He huffs out a laugh, adding, “when I couldn’t, ya know, ‘put my weight into it’ because a feather could’a knocked me over.”

As you relish the simple contact of his fingers, you smile, too.

“Hmm. I heard you got into back alley scrapes.”

“If you heard that I won any of those, you were lied to.” He patiently waits for you to finish removing the bolt before he pries the aged metal and glass away from the old paint it’s stuck in. Steve sighs dramatically.

“Shoddy education these days…”

“I…” You tap his bicep with the claws of the wrench. “I can’t argue with that. We hear only what they tell us about…heroes.”

You should have known he’d shut down at that word, but it’s the truth. Even with him right in front of you, the only things you know about Steve Rogers are from books, newspapers, and the internet. At face value—looking directly into the face of this man—all of what you’ve been told is hogwash. It’s insufficient. It barely covers 1% of who this man is.

He teaches you tricks of the weak man’s trade because it helped him once, too. Today, he’s friendly. Not that he was unfriendly before, but Steve is so reserved he never reference the past, in general, i.e. that there was a past existence of like the planet much less him.

It’s the number one rule of Fight Club: you don’t talk about Fight Club.

If there was ever a real fight club, it’s the Avengers.

You have no official rules for what this is between you. You don’t have to to know that is the most important one. You do not talk about Fight Club. Steve isn’t afraid of silence, that much is clear, but he isn’t a fan. He tries—he is trying—to connect and relate. He can’t be a man of the people, however, if he can’t talk to the people.

It’s important: connection. You know with every fiber of your being that Steve deserves it, but even with unlimited, super-human strength, he cannot get himself out from between this rock and that hard place.

You do not talk about Fight Club, especially when you’ve been kicked out of Fight Club.

Today, though, he’s a little different, a little softer. Perhaps it’s knowing there are no other people in the building, perhaps he is truly more comfortable with you, but either way, Steve is not flat or off-putting.

His organized persona, his focus on the work, his indirect interactions and practical touch; they all fit here while he has a project. It’s the closest he can be to his old self, maybe even his real self, without mentioning the past—the fighting past—at all.

“You’re really good company,” you tell Steve, “even when you make holes in the walls.”

He tilts his head down and blushes. He shrugs as he takes the sconce out to the dumpster. Although he didn’t say it, you hope this is okay.

Either way, you relish it. The help. The touch. The silence. All of it.

You relish Steve.

Your dad brings by the paint, spackling, and a surprise of pizza for dinner while Steve is taping the baseboards in a corner. You introduce ‘Grant’ from afar and haul the cans and boxes from the car to the room, cataloguing all you two have finished to this point and what you’ll do before stopping for the night.

Dad is impressed. He’d suspected the three of you—you, he, and Mom, that is—might settle for slapping some paint up around where the electrician would install the new lights. No one planned on getting this far in one evening.

He won’t stand in the way of progress, so your dad simply calls out, “bit of an artist, are ya?”

Steve looks up, confident with only the side table lamps plugged in, he can barely be seen. “Just want to be useful,” he mutters.

You wink at your dad as he heads back to the still-running car. “Grant is a jack of all trades.”

You’re sure to thank him for the food and let him know all the motel stuff is completely covered for tomorrow, too. You’ll work as late as you can and start as early as possible.

Dad says your friend has gone ‘above and beyond.’ You agree wholeheartedly.

‘Grant’ would more aptly be described as a machine.

All the furniture moved, all the lights taken down, all bordering taped, and now all blemishes in the walls smoothed, your impromptu contractor finally calls it quits when he’s forced to watch stuff dry.

You’ve kept the air conditioning going in one room.

Steve tentatively asks if he should walk you up to the house, but you counter with “it’s not any less dangerous for an average guy alone to return” and a cheeky smirk. Besides, it is very late. You let Captain OCD keep going; you tapped out a while ago.

He puts his hands on his hips, arms akimbo, thinking of a comeback that never manifests. After giving up, Steve takes his tiny bag into the bathroom and brushes his teeth.

You can faintly hear it over the murmur of the TV.

You aren’t really watching. It’s background noise to your general exhaustion.

With only a side lamp and the screen as light, Steve’s bare feet crumple over the discarded plastic sheet on the floor. He falls into one side of the bed, fully-clothed and (finally) tired.

Though productive, the day has been a distant one, working in different rooms for most of it and tiptoeing around real conversation. You want him to feel appreciated, not pressured, so you ask if he’d like the TV on for a while or would rather quiet.

Steve just grunts with his eyes closed.

Gently, you place a hand on his chest to steady you, leaning to kiss his bearded cheek.

“Thank you, Steve,” you say softly. “Good night.”

He hums when you say his name, and before you can lift your hand away, he captures it under his, holding you in place.

His eyes aren’t open. He can’t see you smile wider.

“Okay.” You tuck yourself into his chest as he raises his other arm out of the way. “Okay.”

Your ear sits in the dip beneath his collarbone, listening to his steady heart, his thumb sweeping back and forth over you knuckles.

He smushes you closer to his side. You toss your leg over his.

You forget to turn off the TV.

He’s sanding the spackled spots by the time you wake, so you rub across his back and dismiss yourself to get breakfast up at the house.

Steve makes no effort to go with, which is fine. You assumed as much.

Your dad calls Grant a ‘magician’ over the pop of oil in the skillet and insists you give your friend whatever he needs to keep working so fast. You are only half-joking when you admit the key is staying out of his way.

Bonus: the exchange reinforces your parents simply leaving the two of you alone down the hill, and you proudly tell Steve that when delivering him an enormous plate of scrambled eggs.

He jumps right back into planning-mode and orders you to roll the first coat of paint onto large areas. He’ll follow, completing the edges and corners.

It’s such a domestic thing to do. There is no one in danger, there are no bodies piling up if he makes a wrong move, and he can go faster or take his sweet time. Steve breaks when he wants or needs to. He sits outside and listens to the birds in the sunshine. No one is around to question him, not even you. You are only there to encourage.

You realize he was looking for a project. He’s used to—and likes—being busy, getting his hands dirty, producing results.

It’s a long, messy day where he becomes more serene in spirit the more intensely he works. You reward him with gentle sweeps of your hand down his arms, pats on his shoulders, and brushes at the small of his back.

Despite the almost constant movement, the day is over before you know it, earlier than yesterday, but it’s too hot to go on.

All the windows stay open to air out the fumes.

Though it won’t stop you from sweating, you both shower off as many splatters and flecks of paint as you can. You insist he goes first so there’s plenty of hot water.

He’s sitting on the bed, shirtless, checking his phone when you come out of the bathroom, but he immediately squirrel the device away in his small bag. Not much to carry around. Not much to leave behind. Steve can’t leave a trace of himself anywhere.

Hunched over and fatigued, he flashes a polite smile your way and blinks heavily.

He deserves the world.

You grab the small bottle of lotion from the countertop and playfully jump onto the bed behind him.

“How about a massage, yeah? You much be aching.”

Honestly, you don’t mean for it to sound sexual, but the phrase comes out downright dirty, making Steve awkwardly chuckle.

“You don’t have to,” he placates.

“Nonsense, I want to. It’ll make the air feel cooler.” That’s as good of an excuse as any. Who cares when the rippled expanse of his back flexes wildly in your touch?

His breathes are audible from the beginning.

You dig at his traps, his leg bouncing as he tries to relax. You use your thumbs, the flats of your hands, and your knuckles.

He shoves his fist in his mouth when he starts to moan, covering the move with a cough, but muffling the noise is abandoned in favor of clasping over his lap. He’s intent on hiding his hardness this time. There’s nothing you can say to truly lessen the sting of needing more. You can’t simply tell him he’s allowed to desire this; you have to ignore his misplaced shame.

But you can take pity on him.

“If you lie flat—“ you step off the bed to give him privacy “—I’ll have more leverage.”

You hear him crawl and adjust on the sheets. “Unlike the torque on a wrench,” you add, just to show you’ve been listening to him.

More lotion is needed for the surface area.

You turn up the TV, feining interest in the late night show so any noise he makes is not as obvious. What the speakers can’t cover, however, is Steve’s involuntary thrusts when you rub the heels of you palms up and down the sides of his spine. If you prop up on your knees, he has more range of motion and doesn’t obviously rock you while mindlessly humping the bed.

His sweats are slung low on his hips, two darts of muscle prominent above his ass.

They are irresistible, the perfect grooves to target and roll into, and he immediately mewls long and deep into the mattress, fingers curling and relaxing while his body seizes.

He hasn’t even finished coming, you think, before he taps at your leg and races to the bathroom.

You hope you didn’t push too far. You hope he’d tell you to stop if he needs more space, more time. Mostly, you hope he knows you’d give him every conceivable pleasure, just because he is him.

The water runs a long time, continuous splashing in the sink, and then nothing.

He didn’t bring much because he doesn’t have much. Your heart sinks, realizing you’ve made him soil one of only two pairs of pants he has here.

He cracks open the door, muttering, but you can’t make out the words.

You turn the volume back down. “What?”

“It pretty hot.” He clears his throat. “Would you mind if I sleep…without…?”

“Naked?” you squeak before composing yourself. “That’s fine. Whatever’s comfortable.”

You shuffle up the bed to click off the lamps. This man isn’t the type to strut around in the nude—yet, anyway—so in the faint and ever-shifting glow of the screen across the room very little can be seen.

‘Little,’ however, can’t describe anything that is visible about the man emerging from the bathroom.

You have to make a point not to stare, but no skit or commercial on the channel promises the same level of entertainment.

Steve slides himself beneath the sheet, sitting near the headboard.

You hold up the remote. “On or off?”

“Off,” he says, “please.”

You’ve certainly done enough for one day. You won’t push your luck, so you hit the power button, toss it on table, and snuggle into your half of the bed, facing away.

“If it’s too hot for any covers, that’s okay, too.”

A rustling interrupts the rhythmic whir of crickets in the night until you feel a warm hand lightly mold to your waist.

This should be encouraged. This should be rewarded.

“Hey, Stevie,” you whisper, waiting for his hum, “happy belated birthday.”

At most you expect a grip of notice, but instead, the big hand snakes across you and hauls you into his chest, his long legs bending to match the crook of yours, his nose and forehead tucked against your occipital.

“We did okay today,” Steve mumbles into your shirt.

You walk your hand over your stomach to find his, lacing the fingers together. “Yes. Yes, we did.”

Steve got to be useful today. He had a partner today. He will tomorrow and the day after, for as long as he stays, for as long as you’re alive. Nothing can change that.

Maybe he can’t talk about Fight Club, but he connects with you anyway.

A/N: Whoopsy. Didn't want to make y'all wait for a 6k+ chapter, so here's the first half! I am DEEP in the feels of this one. So, so many notes have been taken. The brainrot is real, and I fucking love it!!!!

[Next: Sensitive Boy, part II]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @spectre-posts @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @im-a-slut-for-fluff @fangirl-swagg @georgeweaslysgirl @austynparksandpizza @claireelizabeth85 @jamneuromain @rach2602 @royalwritersoftheuniverses @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @trudy-shams @saranghaey @awkwardgiraffe726 @marvelmenwhore @happinessinthebeing @before-we-get-started @sjsmith56 @esposadomd @cjand10 @yearningforsappho @mrsevans90

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florencemtrash · 5 months

Text

Flame, Shadow, Beast : Beast II

Azriel x Reader x Eris

Summary: Years after Eris frees you from his father’s prison, you’ve managed to find a new love, new friends, and build a life for yourself in Autumn. But when a certain Shadowsinger stumbles upon your home, dragging in painful memories of betrayal and longing, you’ll have to face the things you left in the past and make choices about the future you want.

Warnings: Angst and allusions to torture and death.

Flame, Shadow, Beast: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

You sat on Eris’s bed, your gorgeous dress crumbled beside you with the crown resting on top of the heap. It silently mocked you as you wrapped his robe closer around your body, burying your face in his scent. You shut your eyes and looked away from the door where Bryaxis was currently pacing on the other side.

Eris, Halvor, and Aurelia had been gone for two hours. Locked away in his official chambers discussing the matter of your bond with Azriel.

“My Lady-”

“Don’t call me that, Myrah.” The blademaiden had similarly tossed aside her glittering gown of silk and metal, choosing instead thin armor of bronze and soft leather. It was better suited for her slick style of fighting. She didn’t say anything as she climbed onto the sheets behind you and began to brush the tangles out of your damp hair.

“He won’t send you away.” She finally said after your hair had been brushed, oiled, and braided.

The bond fluttered as if in disappointment. You shoved it deeper, willing it to disappear entirely.

“He may not have a choice.”

Autumn couldn’t risk another war. Prythian couldn’t risk another war. But if Azriel dared to invoke the Blood Duel, no matter the outcome more blood would be shed.

No, he wouldn’t do that. You thought to yourself. Would he?

You’d heard of males doing worse things for less and Azriel was no male to be trifled with. And… He was in pain.

As much as you tried to ignore it, and as much as he tried to shield you from it, Azriel was hurting. You felt muted waves of it through the bond like washes of tide against the shoreline.

If only you hadn’t chosen tonight to wear the crown or the dress or to subtly declare yourself the future Lady of Autumn. If only you’d had them leave sooner or… maybe this had all been a mistake. Maybe all the time you’d spent in Autumn had been a mistake, even if you were happy. Maybe…

You looked around the room. The bedposts soared into the sky, disappearing into a ceiling that had been painted to look like the forest canopy. Colors of the sunset swirled down like wind. The roaring fire spread its molten heat across the warm wood furniture. Everyone spoke of the cruel beauty of the Forest House, its opulence and the disloyalty it housed within amber-encrusted walls. But you had only ever felt safe here. You’d fallen in love with all its old-fashioned peculiarities and the tales that had written themselves into the wood without anyone ever knowing.

There in the corner was a dresser with burned handprints crawling up the sides- courtesy of Eris sneaking into the room to visit his mother after he’d just learned to walk. There above the vanity were two magnificent elk horns, altered to look like wings in flight. Lucien had found them shed by the river when Eris had first taken him hunting. Little trinkets you’d bought for him littered the room alongside the additions Myrah, Halvor, and Aurelia had gifted him over the years. Your own belongings filled the spaces previously left cold and empty, just like you spent most nights filling the empty spaces in his bed.

You set your jaw.

“Myrah,” She looked at you with wide eyes, “I think it’s time I got dressed.”

“Eris specifically said not to let you out of his room. It could be dangerous.” Myrah said with a half-concealed smirk, walking beside you as you made your way towards Eris’s office.

The Forest House was impenetrable… but a Shadowsinger could get into places others couldn’t. You felt the bond within you, daring to follow the string to wherever Azriel lay on the other side. The smallest tug and Azriel was stirring. You pulled away almost immediately. He wasn’t anywhere near the Forest House.

“He also said you were to be my blademaiden. Remind me of what that entails.” You said, refusing to slow down.

“To protect you with my life. To follow your orders… To care for you as my best friend.”

You blinked and shot her a look. “The last part isn’t in your oath.”

She shrugged, “It’s not in my oath as a blademaiden… doesn’t mean I don’t have personal oaths I adhere to.”

You squeezed her hand and she squeezed back harder.

Whatever conversations had been going on when you burst through the door died immediately. Halvor and Samson - third in command and Autumn’s spymaster - bowed when you entered, looking like a storm on a mission to render the room to splinters. Aurelia dipped her head, eyes shifting between Eris and you with a hint of sadness. It shaved away at your confidence.

“I need to speak with Eris. May we have the room?” You said, phrasing it more as a command and less of a question.

Halvor nodded, making his way out with Samson and Myrah in tow. Aurelia lingered behind, squeezing Eris’s shoulder before waltzing out.

“What have you been discussing?” You said once the door had shut and you felt Eris’s magic wall up the sound in the room.

“I think you already know.” Eris said, standing up behind his desk and rubbing away the pressure building behind his eyes. He still wore his clothes from dinner and although he’d taken off his crown, a greater weight seemed to have fallen onto his shoulders.

Eris swallowed. He had a letter crumpled up in his hand, half-written and blotted with ink spills. It began to smolder and burn.

“We weren’t sure-I wasn’t sure…” his voice trailed off, “I wasn’t sure if you’d already made up your mind.”

“About?” “About going to him. About being with him.” The words sounded strangled, like they were beasts that had fought against being spoken out loud. “He is your mate.”

“I don’t care.”

Eris closed his eyes, “Y/n, I’m not-” “I said I don’t care.”

He refused to look into your eyes, hands splaying out on the table as he fought back the fear in his chest. He didn’t want you to go. He’d given more of himself to you than he’d ever dared to before, and you had protected that trust with a fierceness he’d never seen. But this was something wholly out of his control. Something that had been dictated by the Mother. Who was he to stand between you and your mate? “What if… If you choose me, what if you come to regret it? What if I can’t give you what a mating bond can?” He said softly, as if he’d already given up on the hope that you’d stay. It lit a fire in your soul.

“I don’t care what the powers-that-be say about us.” You said, storming around the desk, “I don’t care if some force decided I am his equal or that we would make strong children together.”

The bond was a sacred thing, more precious than anything land, gold, or blood could buy. But it was no guarantee of happiness. No guarantee of love. You would know, because you’d already found your happiness and love elsewhere.

You rushed forward, taking Eris’s face in your hands and feeling immediate relief when he didn’t move away. He leaned into your touch, turning his head to kiss the palms of your hands with reverence.

“I choose you, Eris. This hasn’t changed anything. Not for me.” You said with conviction.

“It hasn’t changed anything for me either.” Eris sighed in relief and touched his forehead against yours, your breaths mixing sweetly in the space between you two.

“I would choose you.” He whispered fiercely, “Every. Single. Time. I would go to war for you, my love. Come hell or high water.”

“I know,” You smiled, gently kissing on the lips and sighing when his warm hands traveled up the skin of your back, holding you to him, “I would do the same for you. But let us hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Eris showed you the letter, the corners singed and flaking, and you smoothed it out on the mahogany table. Rhysand had been quick to request another meeting. Tension and worry were scratched into the curves of his flowery handwriting as he explained the situation in diplomatic terms:

He was sorry for not attending the dinner. The Inner Circle had been unaware of the mating bond until it was too late. Azriel would behave himself and only come if called. The decision was yours. Whatever you chose, they wanted to continue being Autumn’s allies for the good of Prythian and to have you in their lives as friends, not enemies. It was delicate. Hopeful. A letter from someone who wanted peace as much as you did. Peace for his family. Peace for his son.

The letter placed you in a position where you could wait for the tidal wave to settle. But just like the last time, this was not an issue you could ignore forever. An ax would always linger over your head, swaying dangerously close to your neck until you spoke with Azriel. So although you didn’t agree to another visit with the Inner Circle, you did allow Azriel to come to Autumn again.

You stood by the border, whispers of frost bitten wind snaking through the white gaps in the trees and reaching for your ankles.

Samson and twelve of his best males and females stood behind you, archers at the ready and swordsmen with their hands gripping their hilts. They were more for Eris’s comfort than your own, and you would have your privacy when it mattered most.

Azriel emerged from the blizzard beyond like an ink stain on porcelain paper, bleeding into existence with his shadows swarming around him. He hadn’t been sleeping - you could tell from the faint bruises beneath his eyes. Somehow the imperfection made him more handsome, more mysterious. But you hadn’t had eyes for him in a long time.

“Come on.” You said, tilting your head towards the river that rushed and danced in the distance. You walked in silence, Azriel trailing behind like the shadow that he was and matching your shorter footsteps. He didn’t want to alarm you by overtaking you. Still, it was even more unnerving to know he was behind you without hearing or seeing him. You could only feel that bond tying you together, pulling you towards the male who walked ten paces behind.

You glanced back and he stopped, teeth clenching tightly as he looked at you. You were beautiful, shining in the burning forest like a flame. You’d always been beautiful and he had known this, but he hadn’t fully recognized it until it was far, far too late.

“Will you be slinking behind me the whole time like a kicked dog or will you walk beside me?” There was a biting humor in your voice that eased the tension in his shoulders. He walked beside you until you finally led him to the river. Any concerns that he might take this opportunity to survey the Autumn Court disappeared. He had his eyes on you the entire time like you were the only thing left in the world.

You sat down on the slick rock, dipping your bare feet into one of the clear streams that branched off from the river beyond, tumbling over boulders and stones with crisp clarity. Azriel took the cue to lower to the ground as well, his knee barely brushing against yours as he settled his magnificent wings on the cool stone.

“I’m sorry about Elain.” You said after a while of staring at the water.

Azriel winced.

Maybe it was the wrong thing to say. It was no secret that five years after the Autumn Court war ended, Elain had quietly moved to the Sun Palace and mated Lucien. You’d met her briefly when he’d visited Eris, and as much as you wished you could resent her, she’d been lovely and kind, and kept good on her promise not to say anything about you to her family. You understood why Azriel had loved her… why he’d chosen her.

“I didn’t… I didn’t continue things with her after you were gone.” He said, choosing his words with care. His voice was rougher than usual, the sound rumbling out from his chest like the rolling of thunder. “It never felt right… I never felt right. I suppose I understand why now.”

He looked at you hopefully, hazel eyes wide and uncertain as he gently sent his thoughts down the bond. You shivered, feeling echoes of his love and longing for you along with the shame and guilt that accompanied it.

He hated himself for the decisions he’d made. He had thought that Elain was meant for him - three sisters for three brothers. It seemed so simple, so obvious. So with each year that the mating bond hadn’t fallen into place, dark voices had whispered in his mind that he wasn’t truly a member of his family. Always an outsider. Always alone. It was why he’d traded you for Elain. A choice born out of a desperate desire to be loved and accepted. It was the worst mistake he had made in his life.

“Azriel. I can’t.” You said, shaking your head and breaking eye contact.

“Can’t, or won’t.” He hadn’t touched you yet, but you saw his scarred hands flex out of the corner of his eyes, inching ever closer to where yours rested in your lap.

“Both.”

You thought back to the first days you’d spent in the caves: Your wounds fresh and bleeding, the itching and pulsing of your burned flesh somehow getting worse as they healed, the desperation that came from existing in complete and total darkness. The only sounds you’d heard being the crunch and moans of the other poor souls that Beron sent down.

It still hurt to think about and you didn’t believe it would ever go away.

“I learned something the day you left me.”

“Y/n. Please-” He whispered, begging. His hands reached out for yours, and you let him.

You smiled sadly, tracing the scars that marred his hands. All the terrible past things that still clung to him. Things he could never forget.

“Please.” He didn’t even know what he was begging for. He knew he didn’t deserve your forgiveness. He didn’t deserve the right to call you his mate. But… he could hope.

You traced over the scars once more, then let go of his hands.

“I learned I was never part of your family. Not truly. I was the one you were willing to sacrifice, not the one you’d burn down the world for.”

Azriel swallowed thickly, pulling back on the shadows that had escaped his control and had begun to curl around your arms and your legs.

He shook his head, “That’s not true. You have always been a part of this family. You will always be a part of this family.”

You stayed silent.

“Is there… is there any chance at all for me to fix this?” Azriel asked. His hands now rested in between his knees, clasped so tightly together the pale skin of his scars blended into nothing. “To convince you to come back.”

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

He closed his eyes and deflated. A tear streaked down his cheek, dripping onto his lap.

“I won’t leave him, Azriel. I won’t. Not for anyone. Not even for you.” “I know.” He whispered.

“I don’t… I don’t hate you. I never did. And I’m glad that Elain is alright. It probably was the right decision to make. I don’t know if Beron would have let Elain live. Not even as his prisoner.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say that just to spare my feelings or to try and make things better.”

“That’s not why I’m saying it.”

Azriel stood up, furiously wiping away his tears and burying the feelings deep. He buried the bond even deeper and for the first time since the bond had snapped into place for you, you felt silence.

You looked at him sadly. He hadn’t changed since the last time you saw him. He still loved deeply and hurt deeply too.

You stood by his side, watched the river wind its way through the woods.

“It’s a beautiful place.” Azriel said softly, “I can see why you love it. And I… I understand why you love him. I do. I just wish it was me.” He swallowed thickly.

“You’ll find someone else, Azriel. I know you will.” You said, offering him a small, sad smile.

He didn’t return it. Just looked at you for as long as he could, drinking in the sight of you.

The next time he saw you he’d be calling you High Lady of Autumn. You’d be bound to this place and its magic, and he would never see you like this again. Gone were the days when you’d collapse on his office couch, chatting his ear off to help him forget the terrible things he’d done, or the days where you’d perch by the window in silence just to remind him he wasn’t alone. Gone were the nights where he’d gather you in his arms and shoot off into the sky to count the stars and find peace. He wanted those days back. He would have done anything to get those days back.

“No. I won’t.” Azriel said quietly and then said nothing more.

You took the cue and led him through the woods, tracing a path between the trees no one from outside the Autumn Court would be able to recognize.

Samson bowed when you reached him, signaling his warriors to fall back. You would have your privacy.

When Azriel stepped over the threshold back into the Winter Court, you felt the magic in the air change, sealing the Shadowsinger out of your home. He pressed his hand against it, momentary panic freezing his lungs as he saw that you remained on the other side.

You breathed in deeply, steeling yourself for the words you were about to speak.

“Azriel, I will say this once, and only once. If you so much as lay a finger on Eris or my home, I will never forgive you. I won’t hesitate to protect what’s mine.”

“I know.” He said. The small smile he gave was full of heartache. He wished he’d done so many things differently, then maybe he would have been so lucky to hear you threaten someone to protect him. It was a terrible fate to be on this side of things.

“If… if anything happens - anything at all - know that I will always be here to help you. Promise me that you know.” “I know.” You said sadly. “I hope you find someone, Az. I really do. But that person will not be me.”

He nodded.

You didn’t look away, not as he held up both hands and pressed his forehead against the barrier. It was his own silent way of saying goodbye. Then, just as he had appeared, his shadows swallowed him whole, carrying him away to the Night Court where you hoped he would find a life that would make him forget all about this pain.

“Goodbye, Az.” You whispered.

But he was already gone.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

Might write some Azriel x Reader oneshots to make myself feel better after wrecking my own heart.

Sorry for this chapter, everyone. But Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate. Lol.

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @nightless @mmb-09 @thesnugglingduck @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @logankemaek @the-sweet-psycho @a-frog-with-a-laptop @flameandshadowx @applerubyy @esposadomd @imma-too-many-fandoms @bubybubsters @kalulakunundrum @chasing-autumns-chill @brujitafantomatico @emptyporsche @cat-or-kitten @sourapplex @saltedcoffeescotch @djdjdhdheh

#eris x reader #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #High Lord Eris #High Lady Reader #azriel x reader #azriel x mate reader #azriel x you #eris x you #eris x reader x azriel #azriel x reader x eris #acotar #acotar fanfiction #autumn court #acotar autumn court #the inner circle #inner circle #inner circle x reader #azriel shadowsinger

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pinkandblueblurbs · 1 year

Text

baked

daryl dixon x fem!reader. marijuana, high sex, penetrative sex, lazy sex, giggly sex, light d/s dynamics, praise, unsafe sex, unprotected sex, creampie, sex with feelings

word count: 1.6k

“Mm… this feels so nice.” You grin at him dopily as the high starts to kick in. He lets out an amused huff.

“Yeah, I bet.”

“Don’t you feel somethin?”

“I feel somethin’, sure. But I ain’t where you are, sunshine.”

He can see it in your eyes how gone you are. Your pupils are blown even wider than they are when he fucks you, your lids are permanently at half mast. Not to mention the pauses you take— there’s a couple of full beats before you process his words and let out a giggle in response.

“Dunno what you mean by that, I’m riiight here.” You drawl, sitting up from where you’d slumped into the back of the sofa and crawling over to Daryl. It’s slow and lazy, the way you move yourself onto his lap, and he watches patiently with his hands hovering until you’re settled and they can come to rest on your hips. Your own hands reach out to cup his face.

“Y’so pretty,” you say admiringly, trailing your eyes over his features. His cheeks warm under your palms.

“Shuddup.” He grunts. You smile, leaning down to kiss him. He kisses you back, like he always does, but slows it down for you, letting you melt into it as it consumes your foggy brain.

“Daryl,” you gasp out into his mouth when you pull back ever so slightly, your hand gripping onto his and leading it from your hip to your breast. He indulges you, groping at the flesh there and making your eyes flutter shut. The soft breathy sigh you let out makes his cock stir in his pants. “I want more.”

“Y’sure about that?” His voice has lowered with arousal, but the eyes that meet yours are sharp. “Yer pretty baked, kid.”

Your head bobbles in a clumsy nod, fingers curling around his other hand to tug it down to the apex of your thighs. Despite the fog that’s settled in your brain you’ve never been more sure of anything. “Please.”

Daryl’s breath hitches. The weed’s made you shameless, and it’s the hottest damn thing he’s ever seen.

“Yeah, alright.” His fingers are rubbing over your clothed pussy, making you moan already, and his other hand abandons your breast to support your back so he can shift your bodies and lay you down on the sofa with him above you.

He unzips the fly of your pants and you shimmy your hips to help him pull them off, giggling with the movement. The ends of Daryl’s lips just barely quirk into a smile. Your underwear come off next.

“You gonna let me eat this pretty pussy?” He rasps once he has you bare from the waist down. There’s another pause where Daryl can see the gears in your head turning, and he’s a bit surprised when a small pout settles on your lips and you shake your head.

“Want you inside me.” You reach up to tangle your fingers in his hair, guiding him closer, “‘n I want your mouth up here.”

“Yeah?” He cups your face, calloused thumb tracing the pillow of your lower lip. His cock twitches when your lips fall open, inviting the digit to slip past.

“Mhm,” you hum as he strokes his thumb over your tongue. He can’t stand the way you’re looking up at him— eyes dazed and flooded black, lashes kissing your cheeks with every slow blink, your mouth slack with his thumb resting inside. You look like a fucking wet dream.

“Can’t say no to that.” He slides his thumb out and when he leans down his tongue quickly replaces it.

He unzips his own fly now, clumsily working his way out his pants without breaking away from your kiss. That has you giggling into his mouth again— you feel so light that the laughter comes easily, rising out of you like bubbles. Daryl smiles against your lips. Part of you wishes you could see it, but feeling it is almost better.

“Yer so fuckin’ cute,” he breathes out. Your heart soars.

“Love you so much,” you respond in a whisper, grasping the sides of his head, fingers threading through his hair. “Please fuck me, Daryl. Need it now, please—“

“I know, I know.” He reaches down to position his cock at your pussy, the tip of it catching on your entrance and sliding inside. You choke on a gasp as he thrusts in, slow and steady, until he’s fully seated, the head pressed against your g-spot.

It’s overwhelming, even more than usual. You squeeze your eyes shut and the rest of the world fades into the background. All you can feel is his cock inside you, the locks of his hair between your fingers, the presence of his body above you.

“I got you,” he soothes, staring down at your face, knowing how intense the sensations must be with you like this. “That feel good?”

“So good,” it’s so quiet he barely catches it. You think that you should probably say more, but you aren’t sure what. You want everything and you want nothing— you want him to move, to fuck you into the couch cushions, and you want him to stay just like this forever with his cock nestled deep inside you.

Another desperate “please,” is what you settle on.

Somehow, miraculously, Daryl knows what you need. You feel his lips on yours, familiar and reassuring. It’s a grounding kiss, brings you back to yourself just enough, leaves you feeling just the right amount of floaty. His tongue joins yours inside your mouth and it sends a rush of arousal through you.

Then he rolls his hips slightly, and you let out the prettiest breath of a moan he’s ever heard. He repeats the movement right away, starting up a slow pace, desperate to hear you make it again— and he’s immediately rewarded when you do. He’d fuck you for hours just to listen to that sound.

“Tha’s it,” He rasps against the shell of your ear. Your hands move down from his hair, seeking the warmth of skin, and you whimper when you’re met with the feeling of cotton against your fingertips. You scramble for contact, slipping your hands up under the hem of his shirt so you can press your palms against the firm, balmy muscle of his chest. Your face morphs into a dopey grin, sweet gasps of “uh–uh” leaving your lips with every thrust of his hips.

“Y’like that? That feel good?” Daryl presses hot kisses to your neck after murmuring the words, making you shiver in pleasure.

“Yes, Daryl.” You breathe out, fingers curling around the sides of his abdomen, gripping on tight and digging crescent moons into his skin. “Please don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sunshine.” The hand not supporting himself moves to grope at your breast, roughly kneading at the soft skin, and you moan when his thumb rubs across your nipple–bolts of electricity zip to the very tips of your toes. “Wanna make you feel real good. Make you cum f’me.”

You whimper, squirming, gazing up at him with bleary eyes. He lets out a breathless chuckle at the vacant look of them, though internally affection squeezes at his heart.

“Can you do that, pup? Can you cum for me?” He encourages. Calloused fingertips trail down your body until they’re between your thighs and can rub precise circles over your clit. You let out a moan, squeezing your eyes closed at the intense feeling.

“Yes! Daryl, please.” He keeps going, rubbing your clit with his fingers and pounding into you with his cock, watching your body arch below him as your pleasure mounts.

“Daryl, Daryl, Daryl–” His name becomes a chant, the only word you can fathom, and the needy, reverent way you say it has him groaning into your neck. He never thought he’d hear someone say his name like that.

“Tha’sa girl,” His low voice reverberates through you. “Cum for me, c’mon now.”

Your body lights up like a firecracker. An intense, tingling pleasure that you’ve never experienced takes over you. It’s overwhelming sensation, blinding white ecstasy that knocks the air from your lungs and makes you tighten like a vice around Daryl’s cock– and then, right when it’s about to be too much, it’s numb relief, leaving you floating in soft bliss.

Daryl grunts as he spills into you, the rhythmic clenching of your orgasm sending him over the edge. The warmth of his release further lulls you as you come down from your peak. You let out a content hum.

“Y’alright?” Daryl’s voice is hoarse, rough with sex. You smile, peeling your droopy eyes open to look at him as he pants above you.

“That was unreal,” you murmur, rubbing your hands up and down his balmy sides, still reveling in the feel of his skin. “I see why people get addicted to this stuff.”

“Sex, or weed?” He quips in his usual deadpan, making you giggle.

You pull him down for a quick kiss before replying with a shrug. “Both, I guess. But only if it’s sex with you.”

“Ain’t you sweet.” He sounds sarcastic, like he’s teasing, but you know he means it deep down by the way he tenderly rubs his thumb over your lower lip and looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

He works an arm under you so he can roll you both over, letting you settle atop him, his softening cock still inside you. You let your eyes fall closed, head still pleasantly fuzzy. You hum as peace washes over you.

“Don’t wanna get cleaned up.” You murmur. Daryl lets out a satisfied huff and folds an arm behind his head. His other hand moves up and down your back in an absentminded soothing motion that has you melting into him.

“Me neither.” He watches you for a moment, so relaxed atop his chest. He closes his own eyes. “We’ll stay like this awhile.”

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon/reader #twd #daryl twd #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead smut #norman reedus

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waterlilydrops · 26 days

Text

When He Becomes a Hero

It’s a bonus part of THIS :)

pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Summary: At the moment when Charles was about to be crowned world champion, he felt fear. He hated that his own fear might stop him from becoming a true hero.

word count: 2k

warning: fluff, imagine of Ferrari builds a champ car in 2026, mention of fear of failure, public proposing, Lewis feat.

notes: inspiration of this comes from an anon :) thanks a lot! Advices and thoughts are always welcomed.

“No doubt! Absolute control and absolute superiority! With every lap, Charles Leclerc has exemplified the essence of a true champion, pushing the limits of both human and machine to deliver unparalleled performances on the track. As he stands atop the podium, the world celebrates the rise of a true racing legend!”

“In a stunning display of skill and resilience, Charles Leclerc has clinched the World Drivers’ Championship for Ferrari, his unwavering dedication to the Scuderia Ferrari team has reignited the spirit of Maranello, inspiring fans around the globe with his unwavering commitment to excellence.”

“Also, thanks to Hamilton for his defenses and active performance throughout the race! He proved to the world that he is still among the contenders for the WDC. In motorsports, there’s no such thing as a prime age; as long as he still wants to win, this is his prime time!”

Everyone loves Ferrari because it’s full of topics and controversies.

Everyone loves Charles Leclerc. Because of his exquisite driving skills and unwavering determination, his face kissed by the gods, his dramatic experiences on the track, his fiery battles with Lewis, and his love life filled with pink bubbles.

As the showdown between Ferrari and Red Bull in Abu Dhabi, to decide the WDC and WCC is akin to a collision between Mars and Earth. And beyond the collision, as rumored, Charles will propose after the race, adding a melodramatic romance and a fairytale ending reminiscent of prince and princess.

The media is thrilled. It’s a surefire guarantee for attention.

The FIA is happy — soaring broadcast fees, investments bidding multiplied, and tickets that are worth their weight in gold.

They have no reason to be dissatisfied, to say it’s not perfect, or to express any inevitable regrets.

As Charles approached the main straight, gazing at the chequered flag looming almost within reach, took a few deep breaths, everything seemed so familiar to him, yet suddenly he was overcome by a strange sensation.

It’s not his first time been in the Yas Marina Circuit, not the first time saw the tumultuous mix of love and hate from the fans.

As long as he wins.

The air above Yas Marina will boil with excitement for him. Ferrari will win their long-awaited WDC and WCC titles, and he will be forever remembered as a key figure in Prancing horse‘s history. He may even unquestionably earn a Laureus Award.

No one can take it away from him, no one can say he’s undeserving. All the rumors and gossip will temporarily disappear—until his next failure.

It’s been many years since he was felt this way — uneasy, overwhelmed with thoughts, unable to clear his mind and grasp what he's truly thinking before the race.

The moment he entered the turn 21, he knew he’s made a mistake. He desperately tried to compensate, but suddenly realized that it's not the timing of his braking that was wrong, but the inner doubt he felt at that moment.

In that critical moment, he hesitated for a fraction of a second, maybe just 0.01 seconds, but it was after that 0.01 seconds that he crossed the finish line first, ending the race.

Maybe, even if he hadn’t won today, no one would blame him. He’s had 24 races this year, almost never leaving the podium. He's exceptionally talented, just really exhausted. But there’s no excuse. He’s Charles Leclerc, and winning is his only option.

The whole world will never know his moment of weakness, error, and confusion. The world still believes he’s like a hero incarnate, calm and unmovable, only seeking victory. Only he knew how anxious and fearful he felt when the pressure suddenly struck him in that moment.

After climbing out of the car, he stood by its side, letting the Ferrari fans roar his name and celebrate his uniqueness, letting the Red Bull fans silently stare and curse him for ruining another fairy tale, letting his colleagues sprint over, overwhelming him with cheers, piling on top of each other like human pyramids, celebrating by slapping each other’s backs or some part of their bodies. He seemed oblivious to it all, as if for a moment he was isolated from the world.

All he can felt is his own apprehension and disappointment.

“Is Charles okay?” You, after the initial excitement faded, suddenly sensed an unknown hint of something, giving rise to a certain doubt. “Xavi, Charles—”

Xavi couldn’t hear what she was saying at all. His cheeks were flushed with excitement, and he laughed heartily, high-fiving or shaking hands with everyone who reached out to him, sharing the joy or silently relishing in their envy, hatred, insincerity, and forced smiles.

Perhaps it was out of unwillingness to be left behind, or maybe just hoping to add to his glory, John Elkann deliberately put down someone who came to shake hands with him and bypassed Xavi, walking up to Pascale with a smile and said, “Ma’am, Signing your son may be one of Ferrari’s most wisest decision of the century.”

Pascale has experienced many sincere or insincere congratulations, praises, and flatteries from others, but even after a hundred times, the hundred and first time still made her feel uncomfortable and embarrassed. She still didn’t know how to respond. Before, she could only smile and said how great Charles was, but now she could look back at you.

Your lips moved slightly, but in the end, you temporarily suppressed your worries about Charles and smiled at Elkann, said, “Perhaps not making him an enemy of Ferrari was the wisest decision you’ve made in this century.”

The people in the garage paused for a moment, then burst into loud laughter.

At this moment, no one wanted to know if Charles had really lost his aura for a moment just now. All they needed is icing on the cake, to know that they had a hero on the field who could lead Ferrari.

And Charles is this hero, only he can play this role. Hero don't make mistakes, don’t hesitate, and never make mistakes or come close to making mistakes. They only move forward relentlessly.

At least for this second, he couldn't be a mortal.

No one noticed any difference in Charles from usual — this isn't to say they don’t care about him, but rather that although they noticed, they simply thought he was too tired to be as active as usual.

Faced such a high-level race, enduring 120 minutes of constant attack from Red Bull, if Charles returns to the garage too exhausted to say a word, too tired to even muster a smile, that would be completely acceptable.

Heroes are always treated with favor, heroes always have privileges.

Charles appeared somewhat weary as he walked out, but perhaps it was because he saw the Emir and his heir who hadn't left yet.

He leaned against the door for a moment, lips moving without saying anything, seeming ready to turn back to the driver’s room.

Some things can only be said to the closest people, let alone in front of the Emir.

Moreover, Charles was already hesitant about whether to let you know his thoughts. He approached with a strange courage, but any small obstacle — even just being touched—could immediately dispel all his impulses.

He glanced at you, who was talking to the Emir, suddenly feeling that perhaps he shouldn't tell you either.

You love stories of heroes, everyone knows that. Lewis is your hero, maybe now he is too.

The Emir noticed someone coming out behind him, glanced back, perhaps not expecting Charles to look so dispirited. But like everyone else, once he thought about the kind of battle it had been, he almost naturally let it go. He smiled at Charles and said nothing.

“Charlie,” you caught up with him a step after the Emir left, gently pulling him aside. You looked at him carefully for a moment before softly asking, “Why aren’t you happy?”

Charles hesitated for a moment, not saying anything.

You didn’t press him, just watched him.

A minute passed, feeling like a century, before Charles finally lowered his head and whispered, “I never said I wasn’t happy.”

You seemed to have something to say, but after thinking for a moment, you just squeezed Charles’s hand. “It’s okay as long as you’re happy, but if you’re not, you can tell me.”

Arthur called you loudly from the other side of the garage, wanting you to confirm something.

Seeing that Charles didn’t seem inclined to talk, you thought it would be better to go check on Arthur — but before you could take a step, Charles grabbed your hand.

“How did you know I’m not happy?” His voice remained low, with a hint of confusion. “Was it that obvious?”

But after asking that question, he denied himself. It couldn't be. He hadn't said a word, and no one else had noticed anything, so if you sensed it, it must be because you just knew.

This realization made Charles feel his heart swell for a moment.

“Yeah,” you sent your sibling to deal with Arthur, “When you came out of the car and stood there, I just knew you weren't happy — but I didn't know why.”

Charles suddenly felt both aggrieved and happy. He wanted to ask you why you didn’t know why he wasn’t happy, but he almost couldn’t resist the impulse to praise your understanding of him. In the end, amidst all the conflicting emotions, he just hugged you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

After a while, he said, “If I'm scared, will you still treat me like this?”

You froze for a moment, taking a long time to realize what it meant for him to be scared.

Charles Leclerc, at the moment of crossing the finish line, at the moment of almost perfectly embodying the hero image, was scared.

He was filled with fear that he couldn't be a true hero, and perhaps also fear that when you looked at him, it would be with an incredibly disappointed gaze.

“I’m scared too,” You said the word, but you voice was steady. “The thing I fear most in this world is seeing you unhappy, torturing yourself over a tiny mistake or someone else’s mistake. You may be a hero to others, but you need to know, you’re the love of my life, Charles. If I haven’t said it before, I’m telling you now, you are the love of my life. Legends are for others to see. I just want you to be happy and well. Do you understand what I mean?”

Charles held her for a moment, then suddenly bounded back to the driver’s room, calling out Lewis and Arthur's names loudly.

And then the door to the room was angrily kicked shut by Arthur, followed by louder noises emanating from it.

Five minutes later, when Xavi knocked on the door to call them out for celebration, they behaved as if everything was normal.

You didn’t notice that, contrary to his usual behavior, Arthur ended up at the back of the celebrating crowd. When you reached the garage exit, you habitually stopped, subconsciously intending to say a few more words to your interns. But completely caught off guard, Arthur pushed you out from behind.

A helicopter hovered above the Yas Marina Circuit, its cabin door open, showering what seemed like an endless waterfall of rose petals, as if to engulf the whole world.

Charles stood in the center of the rose storm, next to Lewis, who was smiling and holding a velvet box. And Charles opened the box, knelt down on one knee.

Inside was a teardrop-shaped green diamond ring. “Two years ago, I convinced you to give me a ring, and now it’s time for me to give you a gift other than today’s victory. You said you love my eyes the most. I’m willing to have my eyes shaped into your favorite shape and wear them on your hand, but I didn’t do that because I want to keep them to live with you. And I don’t want your fingers to be empty, so as a substitute, I found this. Now there are probably millions of people watching us. You love me so much, so you won’t refuse me and make me sad, right?”

You stood there dumbfounded, until Lewis turned to you. “Put on your ring and get your fiancé out of here! I need to get my trophy!”

#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #f1 fanfic

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 1 month

Text

Name Your Price — Amren x Reader (Starfall Week)

Hiiii! Here’s my little piece for @starfallweek 2024. I hope you all like it 💕my beautiful soulmate @greeneyedivy helped me name it 💅🏻

I used the prompt “character A finally makes a move on character B”. I’ve never written for Amren before so this was quite fun!

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 3.9k

“You’re sure you don’t want me to fly you back up?”

Cassian cocks an eyebrow at you, the steadiness of his hold dissipating as he tugs his arms from around you. Though your feet are on solid ground, it takes a moment for your equilibrium to right itself. Being in the skies is something you haven’t yet become accustomed to, despite three of your closest friends sporting wings. And being flown on Starfall is an experience entirely of its own.

“You’ll miss the best part,” Cass complains, peering up at the dark canopy above you. The sky is beginning to stir as the stars ready themselves for their journeys. It won’t be long before they’re soaring and crossing.

And tempting as it is to stay and watch the sight that never lessens in its magnificence, you feel…different this year. Like there’s somewhere else you ought to be. Someone else you ought to be with.

“I’m sure,” you dip your chin. “You go, Cass. Enjoy it.”

But he doesn’t move. He studies you head to toe, studies every shred of effort you put into your appearance — hair and makeup perfected, a stunning outfit hugging your body. You feel beautiful, no doubt — and yet you’re leaving after a mere hour of drinking on the balcony with your friends.

“You know she’s just going to be holed up in her apartment with the curtains drawn,” Cass says. “She hates Starfall.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Who?”

“You know who.”

Amren.

Is it little bit humiliating that you’re so damn transparent? Perhaps. But Cass is one of your closest companions — you can hardly expect him to believe that you’re simply leaving to return to your own home and switch your stunning dress for your pyjamas.

You shrug a shoulder. “I just want to check on her, is all.”

“Hmm,” your friend’s lips twitch. “I’m sure.”

With a roll of your eyes, you swat his ludicrously huge arm. “Go back to the party,” but you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you — for flying me.”

“Good luck with the tiny little rain cloud. She’ll be even crankier tonight than usual.”

With a lopsided smirk and a fond — and annoying — mussing of your hair, he launches back into the sky and heads back to the House of Wind. You stare after him, wondering if you’re making the right choice.

Because when Amren says she wants to be left alone, she means it. But…you don’t know. Things have been changing. Things have been…different.

This is your third Starfall, since your move to the Night Court after the war. A native of the Day Court, it had surprised you to find yourself so at home in a place of starlight, so opposite to what you’d always known. But as one of Helion Spell-Cleaver’s nearest and dearest, you’d worked closely with Rhysand and his Inner Circle during those fraught times of battle and bloodshed — and bonded with them far more than you’d ever expected yourself to. Become an honorary member of their unit, so to speak.

And when Rhysand had courteously invited you for a visit to Velaris after the war was over, you’d known from the second your feet had touched the cobbled streets — this was where you were supposed to be.

Three years later, with a home here, a job as a Night courtier…it was hard to imagine you’d ever been anywhere else.

And perhaps the most notable and unexpected connection you’d forged was the one you had with the with the tiny creature whose barbed, edged words were — you’d learned — a sign of affection.

You did not understand Amren one bit. She was a mystery you couldn’t puzzle out, a being that was sometimes so harsh, it was hard to believe she had any warmth in her at all. But Rhysand giving the two of you a subject he’d needed you to research together had brought you closer, over the recent months. Had shredded through that trepidation you’d once felt around her and shifted it into something…different. Something exciting.

You find that try as you might, you can’t stay away.

And that’s how you find yourself strolling those cobbled streets of Velaris, dressed up to the nines and stars beginning to burst above you. You could be spectating the brilliant sight with your friends, but something tugs you towards the other side of the city. To the loft apartment with the sloping windows and the strange, intriguing female who dwells within

Indeed, as you approach, you find those windows to be blacked out. Blocking out the sight of what is occurring in the skies. You almost smile, but now you’re nervous and second-guessing yourself a little. You could turn away, go home — in all likelihood, Amren won’t want to see you.

But tonight feels different. Tonight feels like a reckoning.

So you swallow your nerves and decide you’re doing this.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You knock once, and a voice that is both nightmare and fantasy calls out, “Go away!”

Not unusual for Amren. She tells guests to go away, even when she’s invited them.

So you brace a hand against the door and call back, “It’s me.”

There’s a beat. And then small footsteps are padding closer. There are the sounds of bolts being undone, locks clicking. Whatever it is Amren feels she needs keep out is little more than a distant thought as she yanks the door open just a tad and eyes you suspiciously through the gap. Her steely gaze takes in your dress, hair, makeup. She lifts her chin.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

You shrug. Feel a little pathetic as you answer, “I thought I’d come see what you’re up to.”

“Why.”

“Perhaps I find your company to be just slightly more scintillating than Cassian’s.”

At that, there’s the briefest twitch of her lips. She masks it expertly. “A dead rat has more to offer in the way of company than that boy.”

You snort, rubbing at your arms. Goosebumps are pebbling your skin. The air is too brisk to comfortably be stood in for too long.

Amren studies you again, and too quickly for you to register, she’s widening the gap in the door and yanking you in by the front of your dress. She slams the door shut and gets to work refastening the bolts, sliding across the chains, securing every lock. It’s all you can do to stand and watch.

And then she turns to face you with a neutral expression — one that says that if you find anything peculiar about her behaviour, shut the fuck up. You know she won’t tell you what’s got her so on edge, so you don’t bother asking.

Instead, you turn, still rubbing at your chilled skin, and study the general disarray of her huge, open-plan studio apartment. Her bed is unmade, her trinkets and baubles scattered across various surfaces. And on the numerous overlapping rugs that cover the floor, a gathering of books, some stacked in a pile, others tossed aside, a few open on certain pages. It would seem she is spending the night going over your recent research.

“Perhaps a drink?” you ply, angling away from the mess.

She quirks a dark eyebrow. “Tell me, what is it about you and the others barging into my home and making demands of me?”

“I believe it’s customary to offer your guests refreshments.”

“I believe I didn’t ask for guests in the first place.”

Her words, to anyone outside your circle, would sound so sharp, so harsh. But you know Amren, now. That last sentence vaguely translates another meaning: I wasn’t expecting guests, but thank you for coming. Of course I’ll get you a drink.

Not that she’d ever say that in a million fucking years.

She saunters past you, towards the kitchen area. As she goes, she closes the open books and throws them onto the stacks. Picks up empty glasses.

“Don’t clean up on my account,” you say, knowing full well that she isn’t.

“I’m not,” she confirms. “I don’t want your clumsy feet treading on anything,” she places the empty glasses in the sink and turns to you. “What do you want to drink? There’s wine, wine, or wine.”

“I’ll have the wine, then.”

With the barest incline of her head, she turns her back to you. While she’s occupied, you take a moment to study the covered windows, everything that blocks out what’s occurring outside. Even the skylights are covered, and your lips twitch at the thought of her wrestling her way up there to fasten drapes over them.

It’s all so methodical, so thought out. And though you know she’d probably never tell you, you can’t help wanting to break down that barrier and know the more vulnerable side to her that is so unsettled by this holiday.

A glass is placed in your hand, and you clear your throat, ripping your gaze away from the skylight — but not fast enough for Amren not to notice.

“It unsettles me,” she says drily, surprising you.

You try your hardest not to blink at the offered snippet of information. “What does?”

“Starfall. What it is. What it signifies.” Taking a slow sip of her wine, she sits on the rug. You follow suit. “Those stars, beings, whatever you want to call them…they are on a journey. Going from one place to another. Perhaps from one world to another. That was once me.”

“…and that unsettles you…”

“Perhaps I know one of them, from many, many years ago. Perhaps they are an associate of a time and a world long-forgotten. A past friend or foe or—”

“A lover?” you supply. You’re not sure you mean to say it.

But Amren’s grey eyes slide to you, and one side of her mouth lifts into a wicked grin, bearing sharp white teeth. “Does that surprise you?”

“Yes. No. I suppose I know nothing of your personal relationships. Of what you like.”

“I like what I like, and I hate what I don’t like.”

You stare at her, thoroughly annoyed and thoroughly entertained. Speaking with Amren is so often trickery and riddles. No matter how much you may feel like you’re getting somewhere, she always leads you on a merry dance that circles you back to the first step.

“And what of you?” she asks, surprising you.

Your eyes snag on the way her razor-sharp black hair moves as she angles her head. The ends tickle the column of her long, creamy neck, adorned with a jewelled necklace. For one moment, for some reason, the sight makes your head empty.

But you shake yourself out of the bizarre reaction and ask, “What of me?”

“What do you like?” Amren asks.

You almost snort as you take a long sip of your wine. Amren is simply not somebody who asks questions about other people very often. And the topic of your love life seems like one that would be trivial and pointless to her.

“Are you asking because you want to know?” you smile. “Or to be polite?”

Another flash of those brilliant teeth. “Have you ever known me to be polite?”

“I suppose not, no.”

“So tell me, girl, what takes your fancy?”

Draining your glass, you set it aside and lounge back, bracing yourself on your hands. And perhaps the wine is already commanding your mind and blurring lines — because it tells you to glance down at the full lips in front of you, painted with red that’s deepened by the dark nectar she sips at.

You do.

Amren watches. The air seems to shift.

“Pour me another glass,” your voice comes out huskier than you intend, “and I’ll tell you.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“Lions?”

Rare, for Amren to sound like anything besides being perpetually bored. An hour or so later — and too many glasses later — the two of you are sprawled back on the rug, staring at the ceiling.

“Helion keeps lions?” she turns her head to quirk an eyebrow at you.

“Yes,” you answer with a laugh in your voice. “Very real, very fucking huge lions.”

“I rather thought that Pegasuses were his thing.”

“They are. But his lions are a prided jewel of his — and a court secret that I absolutely should not be sharing with you.”

Her petite, lithe body rolls onto its side. She crooks her arm at the elbow and rests her chin there, staring at you through glazed, grey eyes.

It takes only a beat of eye contact for you both to break into laughter.

This is…unusual. And nice. Though the two of you have undoubtedly been growing closer, Amren always has a glass wall up that allows you to peer through but not penetrate. Tonight is the first night that you feel that…that you might be on the other side of that wall. That she might be letting her guard down for you.

You like it. A lot.

The laughter thinning out, she stares at you. It’s a little strange to see those sharp, angled features not appear harsh and ready to slice at anyone. She appears…open. Almost normal.

“Lions,” she repeats, in something like wonderment. “And they just roam about his private estate? Are they tame?”

“He has sprawls of private land on which they can roam freely,” you tell her. “That land is guarded very well, from anyone he doesn’t wish to share the sight with. The lions are very tame. There’s a rumour — though I never got Helion to confirm it — that they once walked on two legs and spoke our language. That thousands of years ago, a curse bound them to their feline form that even Helion’s vast libraries hold no answer to cracking. And since they weren’t able to break the curse, he and his predecessors set to ensure that they would, at least, always be safe and accommodated and able to live comfortably as they are. If it’s true, they seem perfectly happy in their lion bodies.”

“So Helion allowed you access to them? What are they like?”

You smile — at the images that the question conjures up, and the fact that you hold Amren’s interest enough for her to ask it at all. It makes you feel…proud, somehow. Like the cat that got the cream.

“Amazing,” you rest your arms behind your head, taking yourself back to that private land on which you spent so much time — just you and the lions. “They’re just…regal. The males have huge, brilliant manes. The females are so lithe and elegant. The cubs are painfully adorable. There are families of them. Sometimes, they fight. Often, they play. They love to snooze in the sun and frolic in the long grass. The youngsters love splashing each other in the lake. If they recognise you as someone they can trust, you can comfortably sit with them and stroke their fur. They especially like you if you bring them food.”

There’s such a long pause as Amren takes in your words that after a short while, your eyes slide to her, half expecting to find her asleep. But she simply stares at you. Quiet. Assessing.

“I think I would like to see lions,” she says after a moment. To her, it seems to be a huge confession. Something not easy to admit.

You study the perfect lines of her face. That face that appears in your thoughts when you’re trying to sleep, think about absolutely anything but her. You’re not sure you like how drawn you are to her. She’s so unreachable that it only makes you reach harder. So difficult to work out that sometimes, you question if she delights in your company at all.

It is, after all, you who always seeks her out. Since you began your research together, it’s been you who has found excuses to see her.

You who barged your way into her home tonight, while stars collided above you.

And you who might do something unwise if you stay any longer.

You clear your throat, breaking eye contact. Your head feels as though it’s filled with cotton as you sit up and announce, “Perhaps I should go.”

Amren pauses. “Why?”

“I didn’t mean to take up your entire evening.”

“You could stay,” she also sits up, tucking her legs beneath her. “You never did tell me what it is you like.”

You take a moment to just…breathe. You’re not used to Amren being so…warm. It’s dangerous. Exciting. You don’t know if it’s safe.

Slowly, you turn on the floor to face her. “I’m not sure you’d appreciate the answer.”

A dark eyebrow arches. She likes doing that. “Tell it to me anyway.”

Should you? Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing. Maybe you’ll tell her that thoughts of her keep you awake, not in the forms of nightmares but in the allure of fantasies. Maybe then she’ll cease all work she does with you, and distance herself from you, and you can rid yourself of these feelings—

“You are what I like,” you speak quickly, flushing hot. “Who I like. I was thankful when Rhysand tasked us to work together, because I was already drawn to you. It seems I can’t stay away—”

A flash of dark hair, the potent scent of perfume and wine, are the only warnings you get before Amren is in your face, her perfect mouth sliding over yours. Wine is the overpowering taste of the kiss, but there are hints of other things behind it — sweet vanilla and something floral.

It takes you by surprise, no doubt. But you push the shock away and sink into the rightness of it. Your shoulders slump, body loosening. You slide a hand up to tentatively cup Amren’s cheek, and you kiss her back.

What starts out slow and explorative quickly builds into something that steals the very air from your lungs. Your bodies seem to move in perfect synchronisation, finding the right positions from which the kiss can deepen and grow. Amren kneels between your legs, and a sharp tooth gives the slightest, twinging bite to your lower lip — one that makes you gasp.

The act is deliberate. She slides her tongue into your mouth, folding it around yours. Your tastes mingle until you’re not sure which is yours and which is hers, and that simply will not do. You want her on your tongue. The flavour of her skin and that scent of hers that is quickly growing stronger, thicker, shifting into something else that you would commit sins to taste.

Your fingers sink into Amren’s hair, and she makes a low noise that could be a warning or a plea. The strands, despite always looking sharp enough to slice through rock, are silken, soft. You fist them in your palm and tilt her head back to kiss her deeper.

But she pulls away, her heavy breaths landing on your lips. Her eyes meet yours, and it’s the first time you see her looking anything besides…steeled. Composed.

She looks flustered. Like pulling away from your mouth was the last thing she wanted to do.

“I don’t know what this means,” she blurts.

The admission makes you pause. You agree, “Neither do I.”

“No—not just this. What you do to me. I don’t know what any of this means,” she narrows her eyes at you, almost accusatory. “Emotions like these have always felt pointless to me, but you…”

“…but me?”

“You…” the word is leaden on her tongue. “You are different.”

Her gaze slides to your mouth again, and you can tell that her comfort is in articulating her feelings with actions, not words.

And that is just fine by you.

Like she reads the encouragement straight from your thoughts, a breathy word escapes her. “Yes.”

And then she’s fastening her lips on yours again and stamping out every shred of confusion. No matter what either of you are unable to say, the dance of your mouths can speak it all. For now, no more than that is necessary.

Amren kisses you, and you kiss her. It’s deep, desperate, yearning. It’s bigger than anything and everything. The stars that race through the sky pale in comparison.

This is the real beauty of this night. The real thing you had hoped for. It could end no better way.

You kiss until your mouths are bruised and tender. Until the taste of wine is gone, and there’s nothing but the two of you on your tongues. For all you know, the rest of the world outside this apartment could have disappeared. You’re not sure you care.

You’re the one to pull away this time, but you don’t move far. You part your lips to gulp down breaths and press your forehead to Amren’s. Your voice is a rasp as you joke, “You better not be kissing me just so I’ll show you the lions.”

She laughs — actually laughs. It’s a short, brusque chortle, but it makes you glow with pride.

But she quickly sobers. Her face is serious once more, her eyes drinking you in.

“I’m kissing you, girl,” she says, “because I think about you too much. Because the very first time I laid eyes on you, it scared me — what I might do to look at you forever.”

You try to mask your surprise. You hadn’t realised—

“It was me who suggested to Rhysand that you and I should work together,” she admits. She pulls back a little, as if urging you to read the honesty on her face. “It felt pathetic and foolish, but I did it to be close to you. I can’t stop myself wanting to be close to you.”

Exactly the same feelings you had tortured yourself with all this time. To think that Amren had agonised over it just as you had is comforting, somehow.

You reach out a hand, pinching a strand of her soft hair between your fingers. She watches the action closely.

“Don’t stop yourself wanting it,” you say, not at all sure that it isn’t a plea. “Don’t stop yourself, when I want it, too.”

“…I’m not used to being…unsure of things.”

“Embrace it,” you offer a smile. “Have fun with it.” With me.

She stares at you, brooding and calculating. You wait for her to decide that this is too out of the realms of familiarity. She won’t allow herself to be so vulnerable.

But then she moves her hand to yours — the one still touching her hair. Slowly, tentatively, she laces your fingers together. She stares down at your joined hands as though the sight is alien, fascinating.

“Stay,” she eventually says, glancing up at you. There’s an undertone in her voice, an inference.

“…the entire night?” you hedge. You try to keep the hopefulness out of your tone.

Her red lips lift into a smirk, grey eyes glimmering. “On one condition.”

“Name your price.”

Your heart picks up as she leans in again. Her hair tickles your cheek, and she watches closely as your skin flushes at the proximity. Her lips hover against yours.

But instead of kissing you, she whispers four words that land straight on your waiting mouth.

“Show me the lions.”

#starfall week #starfall week 2024 #starfall #amren #amren acotar #amren x reader #amren fic #acotar #acotar series #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fandom #acotar x reader #acotar writing #acotar fanfic #acotar headcanon #acotar fic #prompt

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workbyrui · 2 months

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About to finish Kicho's dramatic route and I must say...

⚠️⚠️⚠️spoilers and route screenshots ahead⚠️⚠️⚠️

My heart cried hard for Mitsuhide because he's the love rival in the route.😭😭😭

This right here confirmed my suspicions that he was the love rival and my heart both soared and sank (like, how is that even possible?!?) as I read this.

We all know he holds his principles above all else. But to put protecting me (us) in the same category as his principles?!? Boy, that said A LOT.😭

And then he went ahead and said this? I had to stop reading because I wanted to tell him it wasn't true. Every time he was in the scene, I had to pause and remind myself I was there for Kicho.😅

"So, I may have been pushed towards your cousin (it's his route, i had no choice!😮‍💨), but you have always been on my mind and in my heart.🥺"

And then THIS??! THIS!

I don't even have enough words in me to describe everything I felt in this scene. He says all these... then in the same breath tells me to be happy with Kicho?? No. Just... no. I caaaaaaaaan't. I just caaaaaaan't.😭😭😭💔💔💔

So. Yeah. Art featuring Mitsu×Rui is the result of reading another man's route...😅

(this will be such an abrupt ending to my post coz I'm absolutely exhausted now since i woke up early and missed all my naps to work on this.😅)

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #fan art #my art #ikemen #rui's art #ikesen mitsuhide #ikemen sausage #ikesen kichou #mitsu × rui #spoiler

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lxvebun · 3 months

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Safehouse

synopsis: the only signs of life in Simon's apartment happen to all be things related to you.

content: Simon "Ghost" Riley x gender neutral reader. Fluff +slight hurt/comfort. Pushing my Soft simon agenda. Use of nicknames Love and Doll. Around 500 words. Eng is not my first language so i'm sorry for any mistakes♡ not completely proofread let me know if there are any annoying mistakes♡

There are traces of you lingering all over Simon's place. Little sparks of warmth in an otherwise dull and cold apartment. Like the dried roses hanging above his bed. A striking contrast of withered red on a pale white wall. It's the only piece of decoration he has. You gave him a small bouquet on your first date. Although a bit shy and hesitant because would a guy like him even like roses? Flowers in general? He never cared for them before but his heart skips a beat now every time he sees them, be it in nature or the ones above his bed that act as a nontraditional dreamcatcher. Because "they make me dream of you, love" He confessed

Or the stupidly soft and fluffy throw blanket you conveniently "forgot" at his place. The one that's decorated with doodle forms of ghosts and hearts. It's neatly folded next to his pillow and if you catch him cuddling up to it in his sleep, "you're just hallucinating. Go back to bed, doll."

You never asked for it back and any attempts to give it to you resulted in you forgetting it again at his place. Partly because it's just a very fitting blanket and the thought of him using it makes your heart soar but mostly because you've slept under Simon's normal sheets and they are thin, do a horrible job at keeping out the cold and you're pretty sure holes are starting to appear at the seams.

You know his apartment looks the way it does because he doesn't want to get too used to comfort. He doesn't want to dull the edge his job has left him with only to have to sharpen it again once he leaves. So he doesn't admit that his skin is cold, or that the couch is falling apart and that the windows need replacing because he'll leave again in a few months if not sooner anyway. Where there won't be things as thick warm sheets or comfortable living space.

This survival instinct of his is not strong enough to keep him from staying over at your place any chance he gets tho. And although he keeps saying, for reasons you now know, that he doesn't need much, you can see the weight on his shoulders melt off the moment he steps foot into your home. Your home with warm, low lighting and flickering candles carrying the scent of vanilla. Your home with dark oak bookcases stretching out against the walls holding stories from fantasy to non-fiction and the occasional little trinket.

Your home that's utterly and completely you from the color of paint on your walls, the ridiculously large ceramic mugs in the cupboard, to the plants you keep in your windowsill and the scent of your candles. It's you. It's safe.

It's safe enough for him to lower his guard. It's still there of course, it's been so engraved into his very being you're not sure it will ever leave, but it significantly decreased in the way he's not quieting his breaths to tune in to the footsteps in the corridor or the way he's not constantly trying to feel the outline of his concealed weapons through his clothes.

You're glad you can bring him a sense of safety and warmth, all you ever want is for him to be happy. But you do admit you would love to find more traces of him lingering in your home. Even just the thought of seeing his shoes next to yours at your front door everyday makes warmth bloom in your chest.

Perhaps tonight you can finally ask him to move in with you.♡

Thank you for reading, Angel♡

More Simon fics

#simon riley x reader #cod x reader #cod mw2 x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x gender neutral reader #cod fluff #simon riley fluff #ghost fluff #simon riley x gn reader #mw2 x reader

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shieldedreams · 1 year

Text

i’ll always find (see) you (n.s)

summary ⇾ after a training gone sour, lo’ak knows who to find in order to keep his brother in check. details ⇾ 2,299 words / neteyam sully x na’vi!reader / 🌸 comfort fluff / established relationship / gn!reader notes ⇾ i know i’ve been m.i.a lately but... i’ve been inspired to write for avatar so... here it is! ✨

the flora and fauna that surrounds you is what makes you think this–the mixes of pink, blue and green–must be heaven on earth. the fireflies that float about, sounds of kiri’s fascination as she occasionally lures one or two butterflies over your wandering eyes; the two of you laying side by side on the grass, staring ahead at the cocooning trees.

until a branch snapping cues the two of you to be on alert. you sit up, leaning partially to shield kiri as your hands fetch the dagger slotted by your ankle; kiri baring her fangs with a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it out of instinct.

the both of you visibly relax when–”couldn’t you just announce your presence like any normal being?” you scoff a laugh, putting your dagger away as kiri sighs, shaking her head, hand slipping from your shoulder, “lo’ak, where’s neteyam?”

“i’m here to ask y/n that.”

based on how lo’ak’s eyes lower to the ground, hands behind his back, it makes your heart clench at the implication. he’s gone... again. you glance to kiri, who nods, a silent and understanding of go, it’s okay. i’ll see you later. rising to your feet, you align your gazes with lo’ak, the younger boy offering you a small smile.

“you okay?”

he chuckles, nodding with gratitude; familiar to your warmth and care, “i’m not the one you should be checking up on,” he shakes his head, “not this time, at least.”

“again?” you warm up your ankles and shake your wrists, prepping your body for the way you’d need to climb because–”we can see everything from up here...” your voice comes out in a mere whisper, yet only one can hear you. neteyam circles his arm around your waist, leaning in close as he presses his forehead to the side of your face, “and yet, all i see is you.”–where you’re about to go is a place only you and neteyam know.

somewhere only we know–how foolish. how childish. how... safe and happy you two were at a location that provided you privacy to be whoever you wanted to be. there, you are only known as yourself and neteyam was only known to be neteyam. no labels. no warrior. nothing. just you and him. him and you. together.

“training didn’t go well today, that’s all i can say,” lo’ak mumbles under his breath. before he can get another coherent sentence out, he’s left breathless when you take off past the trees and soon he notices you’re climbing and swinging on the branches.

“be back by dinner!” kiri calls out, well-aware it would reach you despite it looking otherwise.

neteyam feels the wind brushing against his skin; calm, tranquil, the coos of the birds soaring above and the low murmurs of leaves clashing below. normally, his senses would be heightened at the sound of branches creaking but this... here–his safe place–is no ordinary place.

it’s one of the highest points that grants him the view of his home; his people. sometimes... once in a while, that gets suffocating. being the eldest, being the one who’s supposed to fit in the role-model mould... it got suffocating, overwhelming.

one day, you brought him here. past the groans and moaning of how much higher?! he’s grateful this became the place he frequented when things got hard to process; when it got hard to breathe. you were here with him, hand-in-hand, his head on your shoulder, arms hugging your waist; his safe place, his person.

here, he was not neteyam te suli tsyeyk’itan; he was just neteyam... and yours.

“you know,” your voice echoes into his ears, then his eyes are blessed with the sight of you climbing up the last branch to reach the one he’s sitting on, “if i knew this would be the place we’d come often, i would’ve chosen somewhere easier to access...”

“you’re such a baby,” he scoffs a laugh, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, a quiet sniff entering your ears–he’s not crying.

“you’re the one to talk,” you quip back, just as you take your seat next to him. that gets him to quiet down and you’re half-regretting what you’ve said. “sorry... too soon?” you try to make up for it but he only shakes his head, moving to lean against you with a soft not soon enough...

his body grows towards you automatically. like you’re the source of light and he’s the receiver. taking in as much as he possibly can; for when things get heavy, for when things get dark. all he has to think about is his family and what’s at stake; you, you, you–all of you. his eyes flutter shut and he puts his arms around you, scooting you closer until one of your legs nearly go over his due to how close he’s pulling you.

you sigh and allow him to bury himself in your embrace. his face soon meeting your neck, arms tightening around your frame, tail lightly caressing your lower back out of habit. it reminds him that this is what home feels like; what home was meant to be. past the fighting and defending one’s honour, he was meant to be your lover.

you place a hand on his thigh, now noticing the marks of scratches that are on his skin. it doesn’t make him flinch when your fingers brush over it, but what makes him shudder is the way you turn your body so you can cocoon him in. one arm slithering around his shoulders, pulling him in and he inhales deeply against your pulse; your scent.

“you wanna talk about it?” you pry gently, lips to his temple.

initially, he shakes his head.

but a couple of gentle strokes to the back of his head, he relents. details of how strict his father was, the pressure to please and succeed, the role of the oldest sibling weighs heavy on his shoulders and... well... he may or may not have raised his voice back in retaliation for the first time in months. it was normal, even if he thinks otherwise. for every insecurity or dark thought he has, you’ve always combatted with the opposite he longs to be true (it is, he just stubbornly refuses to admit now).

“what if i’ll never live up to him?” good, you’re not supposed to be a copy of your father. you’re meant to be your own person.

“what if i can’t protect them?” as much as you feel responsible to protect everyone else, you should protect yourself first. that’s what your parents would want before you help others.

“what if i’m a failure?” now you’re just talking a load of nonsense.

then, it always, always end with: “thank you,” he lifts his head up, eyes closed as he leans his forehead against yours. his eyes gently open, the moment seemingly soft, serene, pure but you–”for nearly breaking a muscle climbing up to find you? i think i should start claiming a price to this.”

“you dense baboon,” he hisses. the tone of his voice only makes you laugh. giddily, knowing very well by the sound of his voice, it seems like you’ve breathed life back into his lungs.

“i mean, if you call me a dense baboon, what about you? you’re the one who–and i quote–will never love another–dense baboon.”

he gives up with a sigh, eyes fluttering back shut that it makes you give in. after all, he did have a bad day. might as well let him win.

“ah, okay, okay,” you coo, easing the hand that was once on his thigh, then crawling up on his neck, now reaching his cheek where you cup it tenderly. it beckons him to open his eyes, briefly, before it instinctively closes when he feels your breath over his lips; then, the fleeting moment of your kiss that makes his body tense and relax at the same time.

“just one?” he murmurs, a hand of his now meeting the nape of your neck to keep you there as he leans against you.

“how bad of a day did you have?”

“might need a few more to forget about it,”

“you do know this ends with me dragging you back to your father, right?”

“...then give me all the kisses now.”

maybe it was thirty minutes, maybe an hour, but all neteyam knows is that he’s calm and at ease as he walks along the path back home with you; his hand in yours, step by step mimicking one another. neteyam succumbed to your wishes of heading back, an hour or two before dinner would take place.

neteyam’s lost in the moment, merely following your hand dragging him like a compass.

it’s not until he nearly loses his footing by staring at you instead of where he’s walking. he tightens his hold on your hand, a soft gasp leaving his lips as you tug him up. it happens so fast; so sudden. his other hand now meets your waist for stability as you come face to face with him–so close he can count the lashes lining your eyes, the smile that twirls up on your lips.

“if you wanted another kiss, all you had to do was ask,”

he scoffs with the roll of his eyes but his hands, his body betrays him. it always does. always weak when it comes to you.

you let go of his hand to circle them behind his neck as he lures you towards him. one hand securing you by the hip, the other reaching up to pillow against your cheek as he lightly noses along yours.

“thank you,” he says, in a mere whisper.

“you said that earlier,” you try to joke, only to get ignored when he gazes into your eyes, making whatever thought you had in your mind fade away; replaced with just the one looking back at you. you lean into his touch as his thumb brushes the under of your eye and as cheesy as it sounds, you feel your heart swelling at such tender moment you two were sharing.

“for seeing me,” his voice blends with the gust of wind that envelopes the pair of you. his words, so seemingly simple but it held much more than that. for coming to me whenever you know something is wrong. for loving me; thank you for loving me.

“i’ll always see you,” i’ll always find you; love you.

he cracks a smile, “even when i’m way up too high in the trees?”

“especially then.”

((“i’m sorry, sir,” neteyam has his head lowered, “for how i acted, for the way i behaved. i will do better.”

he swallows, hands locked behind his back as he waits for a response. half-anticipating for a reprimanding, half-afraid of what’s to come. he peeks up at the lack of response, now noticing the soft look in his father’s eyes.

“good,” is all jake says, then motioning him away with the movement of his chin pointing to the side, “dismissed.”

neteyam swallows, as you gape; having stood by his side since the second you’ve dragged him back. neteyam glances to you, then back to his father who remains unmoving.

“d-dad–”

“dismissed,” jake repeats himself, now looking to you with a small nod. you’re able to give a smile, understanding jake’s intentions. he may look stern and he certainly in hell is strict, but he loves his family and it shows. you can see it in the way jake strives to protect those he loves and that comes with a price of being too harsh sometimes. it’s the mutual understanding you have that got jake to warm up just a bit to you (compared to how neytiri awed over the way she noticed her son adoring you).

it was your cue to bow in respect before you wrap your fingers on one of the wrists behind neteyam’s back to tug him away. he doesn’t object, already stumbling to follow you but just as he glances over his shoulder, he could’ve sworn he saw his father crack a smile before he turned his back.

”if i knew getting him to date someone would get him to return quicker, i’d thrown him off the edge earlier,” jake comments, snorting at his own remark as he tidies up the equipment. he lets out a soft augh when he feels a nudge to his head, knowing very well of who it might–”you promised you’d go easier on him.”

“i am!” he sighs, looking up to neytiri who has her hands on her hips, raising a brow, “i’ll... have a chat with him, down by the river later.”

she somehow raises her brow higher and he extends his arm out, pointing right at–”you sure we won’t fall?” neteyam squints his eyes at you, watching as you effortlessly hook your knees over the branch, dangling your body upside down with a grin, “do not tell me that the great warrior neteyam, son of jake sully is afraid?”

neteyam scoffs a laugh and threatens to bite your ankle when he grips onto it, only to yelp when you nudge him forward and he has to rely on his reflexes to follow your lead. when he’s securely hanging next to you, he’s able to smile widely at you, finding your hand on the branch between your bodies. it makes you laugh this time, tail lining up the side of his body as he swirls his along your legs. it was playful, childish... it was happiness.

neytiri’s eyes soften at the sight, a smile crawling to her face. she directs her gaze back to jake, who has this shit-eating-grin on his face.

“get to him before dark. i want a nice, peaceful dinner as a family tonight.”

“roger that.”))

#neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam sully #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam scenarios #neteyam fanfics #avatar #avatar scenarios #avatar the way of water #i got a bunch of drafts.....#mostly shang chi and eggsy unwin #which i'll probbaly brush up to post them up #not sure when though #but avatar though.......#:")

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