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marysoncrost · 13 days

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𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞

Apollo(Blood Of Zeus)/Reader

NSWF!

First part!

Unexpectedly and unpleasantly, she found herself the owner of a body she didn't desire. Entering into harsh situations with even harsher outcomes, she ends up in a place where she's found by a man.

He was in search of another nymph with whom he desired to indulge, as his current life, while passionate and lively, brought him no pleasure at all. Therefore, stumbling upon a small and strange creature in the body of a young woman caught his attention, appealing to his tastes a bit too strongly.

Pressing her palm against the wet pomegranate peel, she moved her hand to clean it of dirt. Concentrating all her attention on cleaning the pomegranates in the lake, she tried to ignore the reflection of the young woman before her. Although she could say that the woman in front of her was similar in appearance, she didn't really think so, and looking at someone else's face that you found yourself in was simply unpleasant.

She didn't know how it happened; all the sleepless nights spent in contemplation didn't help, causing apathy for her lost life. What scared her most was that the old memories didn't become clearer; on the contrary, everything in her memory seemed more and more blurry.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she set the pomegranate into the shallow water, into a basket she had woven herself, to pick up a new fruit. Starting to carefully wash it, she repeated her actions once again. For a moment, she was stopped by the sound of splashing water, realizing that she was no longer alone in the lake. Maybe this would have alarmed her before, but now she just ignored it. Despite the hot sun rays strongly heating her back, the gaze of the one behind her was so intense that it burned. The cool lake water didn't help her cool down, but pride didn't allow her to lift her head and look back.

—Phos.— pronounced a gentle male voice. It might have evoked some emotions if not for the fact that she did not understand a single word. This was his nickname for her, given from the first days they met. Although she didn't know the meaning of these words, she just accepted them as given, since she didn't know the name of the woman whose body her mind inhabited. She didn't intend to reveal her name; maybe it was for the best - he didn't need to know the name of the one who would soon leave.

The movement of the other in the water became louder as he approached her, and the small waves he created while walking lightly hit her back. Approaching her, it seemed she didn't care - not a single muscle twitched when he stood at his full height behind her, casting his shadow over her body. Finishing with the second pomegranate, she intentionally acted slower to observe the behavior of the reflection of the big man behind her, ready to throw the fruit in his face if he dared to touch her. She didn't know exactly how much time she had spent here - maybe more than a few days, a couple of weeks, or even months - but it was enough to study the inhuman man she had to come to terms with bitterly.

—So lately, you've been showing a bit of resistance towards me and accepting more of my gifts. I'm not lying, this pleases me.— the voice calmly pronounced, squatting behind next to her, but maintaining a small distance between them so as not to force her to get up and leave. Her face wore a neutral expression, especially when he spoke words in a language she wasn't destined to understand. It seemed foolish to her that he was trying to talk to her, knowing that for her it was just a usual combination of sounds.

Calmly sitting in the water, one cleans the fruits while the other attentively watches as she rinses the dirt off with her hands and then returns the fruit to the basket. Feeling a breath toward her face, reflexively she turned her head towards where the man had approached a little closer to her. His eyes carefully watched her facial expression, as if studying every detail, wrinkle, and scar. It was one of the things she noticed he liked to do, causing her discomfort as she always responded to his gaze by looking into the eyes with a golden iris. Perhaps she would have been flattered by such attention from a visually appealing man if the body belonged to her, but now everything showed that he liked the appearance of someone she wasn't.

—Apollo.— she pronounced the name of the god with a heavy breath, trying to fend him off and let him know not to come too close. Watching as the large figure of Apollo didn't move, seeing how he placed his palm on his chin to hold his head in place while his knee pressed into the water. The light ends of his hair became wet as they fell into the water, and the white fabric wrapped around his hips was already transparent, not hiding the darkened skin beneath that was deliberately covered. The first time she had witnessed this, feelings of awkwardness and shame lingered with her for a few days, but only recently had she been trying to show her indifference. Especially when her light-colored clothes were also in less-than-perfect condition due to the water.

Turning her head towards her reflection, she grabbed a new fruit, but her ears attentively listened as a pleasant smirk escaped his lips.

—So paradoxical, it makes you until now the interested human pursuit that I have..— she won't lie to herself - it sounds very beautiful from his lips, but his nature spoils the whole picture. He justifies all the stories she studied in her teenage years, instead of lessons at school, but knowing his ''loving" side strains her. Before she ended up here, she briefly became fascinated with Greek mythology a few years ago, when she was very young. She studied the stories of the Greek gods to conclude that they are quite vicious with dirty deeds. This is just one of the reasons why she is so unhappy that he is too often nearby for her taste, but she is forced to endure it.

As soon as she finished washing the fruits, she reached for the basket to grab it, but the big hand was faster. Raising an eyebrow, she momentarily lifted her head to see the self-satisfied smile of the god, she just stood up and walked towards the shore, ignoring the cheerful sounds of the god. Feeling the sand under her feet, she stood up and looked around, feeling a big body bump into her, but knowing that he was doing it intentionally. Even though a slight irritation, it didn't make her stop admiring the amazing nature around her. The trees and plants make this place magical.

The only thing that bothers her is the absence of wildlife. There isn't a single soul, birds don't sing, animals don't run, insects don't eat plants, and fish don't swim in the lake. All this makes her wonder how she managed to get here if ordinary creatures can't. A big palm rested on her shoulder, and a male voice became slightly concerned, but not enough to say that he was worried about her. She moved away from him, shaking her shoulder to sit on the ground and lean her back against the tree.

After looking up at the sky, she expected the basket to fall at her feet, and she was not wrong. Bringing her knees closer to herself, she leaned over to pick up an orange from the basket. Taking the fruit in both hands, she drove two large fingers inside to tear the peel. Juice streamed down her palms, leaving a sticky trail, but it didn't stop her from continuing to read, paying no attention to it. Tossing the peeled skin onto the grass, she separated one segment and reached out, expecting someone to quickly take it. However, after a few seconds, she looked up and silently asked what had happened, seeing a blank expression on her face. Her body tensed as she realized her clothes were sticking to her body because of water, and she sitting on the dirty ground, which only exacerbated her position is from the realization that she will then need to wash her clothes again after this.

—Well, so be it.— she muttered quietly, even if he didn't understand a word. Although it sounded a bit unusual due to the strong accent she had never had before. Slowly lowering her hand to her face, but felt a segment of orange burst from her hand, to which she surrendered, continuing to tear it apart. Hearing the sound of a strike against a tree, she noticed a large golden bow that was behind Apollo's back. Quickly returning to the orange, she put one segment in her mouth, crushing it with her teeth and feeling the sweet-sour juice spreading on her tongue. Trying to enjoy the taste, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the tree until memories of the first day of her stay here began to haunt her again. Frowning with a displeased, she still didn't open her eyes, immersing herself in painful memories.

Everything happened too quickly, so much so that she still couldn't fully comprehend what she had just done. In an instant, it was as if she woke up from a massive headache, opening her eyes to find herself in an unfamiliar place, with a heavy body lying above her. Understanding the man's motives immediately, she began to resist, but he proved stronger.

A surprise was evident on his face, quickly replaced by a sinister smile as his rough hands grabbed her by the waist and pulled her closer to him. The rough skin on his hands was calloused, scratching her delicate skin through the thin fabric, and an unpleasant feeling twisted in her stomach. The man muttered something, but she didn't understand a word, which made her ponder about another possible language. His dialect and speech style were completely strange and new, and the only thing confirming his bad intentions was his actions and tone.

She tried to push his hands away, but it elicited nothing but grumbling. She attempted to scream but couldn't, so she twisted her head to see anything that could help in the situation. Next to her head, she saw a rock with fresh bloodstains and immediately, using all her strength, reached for it. The man pushed the fabric aside to free himself and pressed against her abdomen.

In one moment, her eyes caught a nauseating sight, and then, with force, she struck the man's head with the rock. When he released her, she immediately kicked his body away with her feet and, rising to her knees, struck him again with the rock, this time with both hands, before he could recover. The man's head fell onto her lower leg, and she quickly grabbed it with thin fingers, pushing the weight away from her. As she did so, she quickly inspected the man's position that caused her harm and saw an open crack in the skull, through which something began to seep along with crimson fluid.

She couldn't hold it back; stomach acid erupted from her mouth and nose, burning her throat and nostrils, splashing onto the man's head and her knees. Her eyes caught how the nausea mixed with the man's blood, seeping into the crack in his skull, triggering a fresh wave of vomiting. She had to exert all her strength to distract herself and move away from the body lying in front of her to stand up, though it was difficult for her. So she reached for support, stretching her arms.

Her fingers grabbed onto the bark of a tree she managed to find, slowly rising to her feet. Surveying her surroundings more fully now, she noticed the long figures of trees nearby and realized she was next to a forest, as there was an open expanse before her where distant lights of houses flickered. Squinting in the darkness, she realized that the houses looked unconventional and most likely not part of a small village. With only the moon and stars as her source of illumination, she couldn't see much detail, so she lowered her head and inspected her body.

Realizing that the cold night air cut through, as she was practically naked except for dirty fabric because of the dirt from the ground and blood on top, which was so thin that it was see-through.

Feeling the hot liquid scorching her delicate cheek, she let out an unfamiliar whimper and collapsed into hysteria. She didn't recognize her voice, which left her puzzled as liquid snot began to trickle from her nostrils, running down her lips to her chin. Burying her face into the tree, pressing her forehead against the hard and uneven bark so tightly that she feared indentations would appear. At this moment, she didn't care; she tried to recall how she could have ended up here, but nothing came to mind. It seemed her memories were absent, only a small part of someone and something from her life remained, but it couldn't explain how she ended up here with a stranger and in a strange setting.

However, distant sounds halted her despair, forcing her to turn her head towards the village. A small figure screamed aggressively, holding something emitting fire in its hands, but she couldn't say exactly what it was, as panic began to overwhelm her. Especially when more of the same figures appeared beside it, their screams sounding not friendly, making her realize her predicament. As the lights began to move towards her direction, she quickly tore herself away from the tree, casting one last glance at the man she had killed with a stone before sprinting straight into the depths of the forest.

With swift steps, without looking back, she ran as fast as she could, without stopping for a second. Her breath became heavy due to her blocked nose, and now, due to the running, she began to breathe more intensively through her mouth, causing the cold air she inhaled to feel like knives in her lungs.

Fear and adrenaline overcame any pain that was there; her vision was blurred from the excessive moisture in her eyes. Hot tears burned her delicate cheek skin, mixing with snot as they landed on her swollen lips, leaving a salty taste on her tongue. Stepping quickly barefoot on dry, sharp grass, she stepped on small stones and twigs, each time causing more pain to run further. Despite the unpleasant stickiness and moisture on her face, she couldn't wipe the blood flowing from her forehead, not when her hands were covered in someone else's blood.

Her ears caught distant rough voices, men's voices, which made her body tremble. The only goal now was to run wherever her eyes could see to save herself, even when her muscles painfully pricked and her knees refused to move straight. She grabbed onto a tree, forcing herself forward until she reached the cliff. Her eyes spotted a river ahead, which didn't seem too deep to offer even a little safety, but the sounds of approaching footsteps strained her body every second. Realizing how close her fate was, she was torn between the unknown and swift death.

Deciding not to wait for the best in the future, the people in the forest were chasing her not out of good intentions. Although she didn't understand the words shouted by the people, she was sure there was aggression in them, especially when she possibly killed one of the residents. This person could have been respectful, possibly with a family, and in their eyes, she could have been seen as a killer who replaced and killed. After all, when she used a stone to strike, it was already covered in blood, and the intense pain in her head and blood on her scalp were likely evidence that before this strange situation, she had fought with a rapist.

Perhaps that's why no one reacted to her screams, especially since the screams of that man elicited a quick response. Fearing the terrible fate that might await her if she stayed, she moved towards the edge with trembling knees. But her body seemed not to listen to her, ignoring her, but when she turned her head towards the source of the cracking branches, she saw the approach of lights. There was an expression of pure fear on her face, her eyes wide open and her lips tightly pressed together. An unpleasant churning sensation arose in her stomach, and she grabbed it, pressing her hands against it and staining the fabric with blood even more.

She quickly returned to the edge of the cliff, where the wind was making the waves mercilessly crash, and then turned back to the approaching crowd of people through the forest. Closing her eyes and pressing her eyelids tightly together, she took a small step back towards the cliff; on the next step, she felt the absence of ground, which made her muscles tense.

The sound of a snap made her quickly open her eyes and look down, and in a second, she felt a sharp pain in her ankle. A long, thin wooden arrow under her feet almost pierced her leg, cutting through skin and muscle, instantly drawing blood. The pain reflexively made her step back, causing her to fall from the cliff, not realizing until she felt the air rushing past her body. A loud cry of desperation erupted from her throat as she instinctively tried to grasp onto something with her hands, but it was all in vain, especially when her back hit the water swiftly.

She immediately closed her mouth, feeling the water entering her ears and nostrils. With her hands reaching for the light, moving them to avoid drowning, the water painfully stung her eyes. She thought things couldn't get any worse, but fate today continued to unpleasantly surprise her, plunging her into madness. She wanted to live, so ignoring the pain from the wounds on her scalp and ankle, she tried to swim, even when she felt there was nothing left to breathe.

She managed to lift her head out of the freshwater, already feeling the waves pushing her harder, but her ability to see was hindered by the water constantly hitting her face, and it was difficult to hear because of the water slamming her ears. Now she was in the hands of nature, hoping for mercy for the pain she had endured. But the sharp blow to her already painful wound showed that no one was going to show mercy, and the great fatigue didn't help her cope with the situation.

Despite her weakness, she weakly continued to fight the water, the waves hindering her vision and breathing. Her hand grabbed onto a large branch behind her, which further intensified her headache, but realizing that in this situation she had no one to trust except the lifeless object. Extending her arms forward and pressing them to her chest, she helplessly hit her cheek against the rough and prickly surface of the branch, but due to fatigue and significant blood loss, she was more concerned about how tiredness overwhelmed her, and her eyes began to betrayingly close.

Trying to cough and spit out the water, she felt her strength leaving her, and she wanted to cling to the branch. Quiet groans accompanied the closing of her eyelids, and her mind began to shut down, and the only thing she hoped for was that she would wake up later.

A gentle hand lay on her cheek, stroking the sensitive skin with its thumb. But the touch was so light and careful that it seemed unreal. Through closed eyelids, she saw a bright light but couldn't open her eyes to see who was touching her. The gentle voice was so quiet, it sounded like a whisper trying to soothe her, yet there was a hint of guilt in it.

—Get up, they're waiting for you…— She frowned, as the strange but gentle voice felt familiar, yet even in her foggy memories, she couldn't recall this person. Reaching out to grab the wrist of the one holding her cheeks to ask a few questions, she found nothing when her hand reached the face. The touch remained ghostly on her skin. Hearing a light shuffle, she felt irritation, even opening her lips to complain, but nothing came out. Placing her hands on her chest, she decided to surrender, simply allowing everything to unfold.

—I know this may be… unpleasant for you,— the voice said with each word sounding increasingly sorrowful, yet it made her realize that the words were understood. Whatever was said made her recall events leading up to this moment. Unaware of herself, her face easily yielded to the gentle touches.

—I would love to stay with you for just a second longer, but someone already demands your attention…— Words spoken caused her to clench her teeth, her thin fingers gripping the sheets. This greatly alarmed her, even though she didn't fully grasp the meaning. However, the sadness in the voice caused pain in her rapidly beating heart. There was something important in that voice, making her worry, but also feel embarrassed about not being able to see what was before her, likely responsible for the terrible situation.

—I'm very sorry, but I have to ask something of you…— A sour expression appeared on her face, feeling her lips press together, eliciting a slight chuckle from her interlocutor. But there was nothing joyful in the light laughter, and the following words only confirmed it.

—Please, make it so we never meet again.—

This is my first fanfiction in two years, as well as my first fanfiction in this format and with this word count. Despite my efforts, I can't vouch for the quality, as I'm sure I've made a few mistakes unnoticed by myself.

Also, I'll mention that I planned for Apollo to speak in Ancient Greek, as the main character shouldn't understand him. However, I realized it would be cumbersome and boring for you.

#blood of zeus #apollo #x reader #apollo x reader #author is tired #new fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #god of sun #fluff stuff #blood of zeus x reader

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obessedwithfictionalmen · 2 months

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Co-Stars pt.15

Callum Turner X Actress! Reader

Summary: Y/n is invited of cooking with Flo and gets a little drunk.

Warning: Kinda cringe (I'm sorry)/ alcohol/ Swearing/ use of Y/n/

Word count: 790 words

Florence Pugh invited her on her cooking show. She was excited to go with her, she loved to cook, and she was friends with Flo. She brought Callum with her, and Callum brought Austin. When she arrived, she hugged Florence and took the apron that she gave her. It was a white one with pomegranate all over it. ‘’I’m so excited!’’ she squeals. Y/n chuckles and kiss Callum before Florence goes live.

‘’It’s cooking with Flo, bitches!’’ she puts the knife in the cutting board. ‘’And Y/n is here!’’ Flo exclaims, hugging her again. ‘’Hey everyone! How’s everyone doing?’’ they look in the chat for the answers and then, they look at each other before laughing for no reason. ‘’Guys, today we’re going to do chicken Cajun alfredo, or whatever the order is. But for the drink, I made Y/n’s favorite, a rum n’ coke!’’ she gives her the glass and they tap their glass together before starting to pace around the kitchen to get the ingredients. ‘’By the way, if you hear people talking behind, it’s my husband and my husband’s husband’’ Y/n laughs. Austin, Callum and Florence burst out laughing, Y/n is proud of her joke, as she joins the group laughing.

‘’So now the chicken is seasoned – ‘’ Y/n impulsive thought took control as she slapped the chicken, like she would slap someone’s ass. ‘’- Mate, what the fuck’’ Florence’s smoker laugh took over her laugh, which made Y/n laugh even more. ‘’How many drinks did they have?’’ Austin asked, chuckling. ‘’I don’t know’’ Callum laughed. Y/n was out of breath from laughing so much. ‘’Okay, where were we?’’ she laughed again. Florence took a sip of her drink before looking at her friend. ‘’We have to cook the chicken’’ she explained. ‘’Oh, we should put music!’’ Y/n suggested. Florence nodded before she hit shuffle on her playlist, the first song that came to their ear was Vente Pa’ Ca by Ricky Martin ft Maluma. ‘’I love that song!’’ Y/n exclaimed as she took Florence hands to dance. ‘’The chicken is going to burn, love’’ Callum warned. As Y/n lip synced, Florence quickly took care of the piece of meat.

The pasta was almost done, so was the chicken, Florence and Y/n had about 3 drinks, Austin and Callum’s cheeks were hurting from laughing so much; Y/n was unhinged. Every thought that went through her head, she shared it. ‘’I think I would’ve been burned alive if I lived in Salem when the trial happened, because I have great tits and an opinion.’’ She said, touching the side of her tits, laughing. ‘’I’m hot, they want to make me hotter’’ she giggled. Florence face palmed as she stirred the pastas. ‘’I think you had enough to drink’’ Callum laughed. Y/n nods in agreeing with him. ‘’We’re going to take a little bit of pasta water before dumping it. That’s the secret, pasta water!’’ Y/n exclaims as she takes a scoop of the pasta water. ‘’Someone in the chat said that Callum and Austin are the parents and we’re the children’’ Florence laughs.

‘’Ok! It’s done! Look at how pretty it is!’’ Y/n says as she shows the plate to the camera. ‘’Austin, Callum, come and taste!’’ Florence says. The boys come behind the girls, Callum puts his hands on Y/n’s waist, making her giggle. ‘’That smells amazing!’’ Austin comments. ‘’Yeah, it does!’’ Callum adds. As they take a bite of the food, Y/n and Florence looks at each other. ‘’It’s so fucking good!’’ Y/n exclaims. Florence nods and chuckles. ‘’Babe, you need to come on the show more often’’ Florence says. ‘’I’ll gladly come back’’ Y/n smiles. Austin and Callum take a bite at the food and smile. ‘’That is Gordon Ramsey level’’ Austin exclaims. ‘’It’s really good, oh my! I love it’’ he smiles.

‘’Okay guys, so that was cooking with Flo and Y/n, bitches! See you next time!’’ Florence says as she stops her live. ‘’That was really fun! Thank you so much for the invite’’ Y/n hugs Flo. ‘’You’re welcome here any time. Maybe with less drinks’’ She laughs. Callum agrees as he puts his arm around Y/n’s waist. ‘’Ouh! Next time we can cook shrimp tacos!’’ Y/n proposed. Florence nods as she says goodbye to Austin.

The aftermath of the video on the internet is good. People are saying that Drunk Y/n is unhinged, the fact that Y/n called Austin her husband’s husband is funny, Florence needs to invite Y/n again, Callum’s love contact is physical touch and many more stuff. Y/n was a little bit embarrassed about things she said, but overall she had a really great time, and she wanted to do it again…

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner imagine #austin butler #florence pugh #actress!reader

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matchingbatbites · 1 year

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Part 1

Steve visits Eddie often. He loves being around the other man, loves how kind Eddie is, how funny he is for someone who rules the dead. He seems to love making Steve laugh and is always cracking jokes that send the goddess into giggles.

Honestly, Steve spends more time than he should in the Underworld, but Eddie has so many duties to tend to, it makes more sense for Steve to come to him than the other way around.

It’s nearly a year since he met Eddie that his joy is brought to an end. Steve is summoned to Olympus, is told that his visits are sending the world into chaos.

He didn’t know that traveling to the Underworld would cut the human world off from his magic, that the plants that bloomed with his presence would die off when the connection is severed.

Zeus bans him from visiting Hades, and Steve ignores the smug look on Ares’ face, the pitying looks from Hera and Aphrodite. Not all of the gods are here to witness his humiliation, but there are enough to make him flush with shame, to have him leaving as soon as he's able to.

Aphrodite catches him before he gets too far, her hair and robes both immaculate even as tears stream down her face. “Ares told them where you were going. I tried to stop him, but he’s… bitter. Jealous.”

She takes his hand, holds it between her own. “I can tell that your feelings are true, and that Hades feels the same for you. I wish I could help you, Persephone. You both deserve happiness.”

And like a stroke of lightning, Steve knows what must be done.

He thanks her and leaves Olympus, finds the nearest gate and descends into the Underworld. Cerberus is given three loving pets as Steve passes by, heading to the garden behind Eddie’s home.

The plants have been thriving thanks to Steve’s frequent visits, the flowers are in full bloom and the plants that can fruit are full and heavy with produce. He plucks a pomegranate from its branch, and stares at it as he remembers.

The goddess had found Eddie eating one on his third or fourth visit, and the older had stopped him when he’d gone to grab a few of the seeds for himself.

“You can’t eat anything grown in this realm. You’ll be stuck here if you do.”

Eddie had looked almost sad as he’d said it, and Steve had tipped his head to the side.

“Are you saying you don’t want me around?”

“No! I mean, I would-” Eddie stopped himself, took a breath. “You don’t belong down here. This place is far too dark, too bleak. It doesn’t deserve you.”

And Steve could read between the lines, could hear what Eddie wasn’t saying. He had ignored it at the time, let Eddie be right, but now? Now Steve knows that Eddie is the only one who deserves him.

Call him selfish, but no one has ever treated Steve the way Eddie does, has cared for him so, and he wants nothing more than to spend the rest of his days in the Underworld, side by side with the man he loves.

He tears open the pomegranate as a voice comes from the house.

“Steve? I didn’t realize you were here.”

Steve turns to face him, and Eddie’s eyes drop to Steve’s hands, dripping with red as he holds the fruit in his hands. His face pales and his eyes jump back to Steve’s.

“What are you doing?” he asks, taking a cautious step forward.

“Do you love me?” Steve asks in return. Just seeing Eddie has firmed his decision, and he stands, unwavering as he watches the other man pause at the question.

“I do. More than anything.” Eddie seems nervous, but his voice is steady, and Steve knows he's telling the truth.

“If I asked it, would you let me stay? Let me stand by your side for the rest of time itself?”

Eddie steps closer, now in arms reach. “I would. I would not turn you away, even if it meant my life.”

Steve’s eyes don’t waver from Eddie’s as he scrapes a handful of seeds from the fruit and shoves them in his mouth.

The juice is tart at first, but is followed by a delicious sweetness, something that reminds Steve of Eddie himself, and as he swallows, Steve can feel the shift within him.

Hands grab his face and the fruit falls to the ground as Steve grabs Eddie in return, both meeting in a desperate kiss. Magic flows between them, invisible threads tying them together in a bond so concrete, even the Fates themselves could not cut them.

They pull back after a moment, and Steve’s eyes drop to the red smear across Eddie’s mouth, something that is surely mirrored across his own.

“My wonderful little goddess,” Eddie mutters, awestruck as he places another kiss to Steve’s lips, more tender than the last.

“You're stuck with me now,” the goddess responds, sending them both into giggles, and yeah. It feels good to be selfish.

(Later, Steve will cut a deal with the rest of the gods. He will come back for half a year at a time and tend to his duties, leaving his beloved twin Demeter in charge while he’s gone, in exchange for Zeus’ blessing to have children. Zeus will have no choice but to agree.)

Tagging @stardustonpages because they respectfully asked for more <3

#Im not specifying other gods but i did have characters in mind while writing them #The only thing ill confirm is that Robin is Demeter #Dustin is Zagreus and Max is Melinoe #I’m not joking when I say I think they grow them in the garden in the Underworld #They just grow two babies like plants and they’re fucking cherished #They come into the world screaming and covered in dirt #and Hades and Persephone experience love at first sight all over again but different #hades and persephone au #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie #stranger things #joey writes #listen i know i posted the first part yesterday #but yall #the muses have me tight in their grip #ficlet

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two-white-butterflies · 10 months

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post mortem | part four

Description: Six thieves gather hostages and lock themselves in the Royal Mint of Spain - a criminal mastermind by the alias of the Dragon manipulates the police to buy them enough time to print money. (money heist au)

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader, Aegon Targaryen x Reader, and Aemond Targaryen x Reader.

Rating: Mature 18+

series masterlist | part three

(TOLEDO, FIVE MONTHS BEFORE D-DAY)

Flashing lights and the smell of hard liquor. This place was basically heaven. "Don't wander too far, we'll be home before midnight." Daemon reminded while grabbing a glass of tequila and gobbling it down. You found it hard to believe that he'd restrain himself until midnight. "Get up, get on up. Stay on the scene, like a sex machine." you could hear the music pump through the crowd.

"How old are you?" you ask Helaena, seeing that the men already hauled ass to wildest parts of the party. "Eighteen," she replied with a short tone. Her voice was light - too tiny to convince you that she was anything beyond a teenager. "It's your first time drinking?" you chuckled while pouring yourself a shot of vodka. "Not really." she shook her head and another chuckle escapes your mouth.

Not the answer that you were anticipating.

"Why don't we find some boys to fuck around with." Mysaria cooed, sitting beside you with some lame ass cocktail. "I could've made you a cocktail back home." you raised an eyebrow, she rolled her eyes. "You couldn't have made this, Volantis. This is pomegranate - it feels like Persephone and Hades are 69-ning in my mouth." she exaggerated while taking another sip.

She gently taps Helaena's shoulders.

"See that guy right over there?" she leaned to whisper. The eighteen year old turns to look at the other direction. "He's kinda..." you comment seeing a wisp of yellow-blonde hair. "I think he's bottle blonde." you snort - and they both follow after you - laughing.

"But he's not awful on the eyes." Mysaria whispered back, checking him out. "It concerns me how you find that young man hot." you smirk and she groans. "I wouldn't mind being a cougar for that hot thing." she mumbled while finishing her drink.

"You should talk to him, Mereen." you encouraged, almost pushing Helaena to her feet. The girl nods her head, straightening her jacket. "Alright, but if I get into trouble. You have to help me." she made you promise. "Yeah, yeah whatever." Mysaria pushed her forward - motioning at the blonde boy.

Aegon could feel his bulge press against another woman's behind. The music was doing something to him - it was pure sexual bliss. He missed doing this - he missed partying everyday. He was almost about to press his hands somewhere private, but he sees something in his periphery. "You're a fucking asshole!" he could hear a voice yell.

"Holy fuck," the girl who was grinding on him giggled. He turns to look at the commotion - and to his surprise. It's fucking Helaena. "Oh shit," he mumbled, quickly hitting clarity. "Can you give me a second? It was nice uh...dancing with you." he gently pushed the girl away.

He takes a step backwards, seeing the boy attempt to touch his sister. "Cunt." he muttered to himself - before lifting his fist and hitting the boy square on the face. The music stopped, everyone turned to look at them.

"Bro, you didn't tell me that you brought your father with you." the boy managed to insult while holding his bleeding nose. "You're a fucking asshole, Joffrey." she cursed while staring at his bleeding form. "The fuck did he do?" Aemond made his way and Helaena groaned. "He tried to touch my butt - which would be fine if he wasn't a bloody fascist." she crossed her arms.

Aemond's eye widened.

"It's not alright to let someone touch your butt. He's a fucking asshole." he corrected, seeing a few men stand up around him. "Who are those people?" Aegon inquired, still massaging his fists. "His erm...entourage - he's part of the mafia." Helaena adjusted her glasses and Aegon slightly paled.

He searched for Uncle Daemon in the crowd - he was smoking tobacco with a glass of whiskey - talking to some older peeps. "Rhyos!" he yelled and Daemon's ears perked. Eyes also searching the crowd for the one calling his name. "I cannot have one day of peace in his family..." he groaned while rising to his feet.

"What's going on?" you inquired, barely holding on the exposed part of the car. "The fucking mafia is shooting at us, that's what's going on." Harwin replied bluntly while covering part of Rhaenyra's head. You could barely make out the silver bullets that were firing in your direction - but one thing was clear, this red car was the target.

"You're a fucking idiot." Daemon scolded - glaring at his nephews.

"A fucking idiot."

"You're a fucking idiot!" you yelled while putting pressure on Aemond's wound. He was bleeding - profusely. When the Professor commanded them to shoot at the police, he forgot to remind them that they would be shooting back. "You shouldn't have shot back, Norvos." Daemon scolded while lowering the first aid kit beside Aemond. "The Professor told us to shoot at them." Aegon defended.

"He specifically asked you not to hurt them." Daemon reminded, cleansing his hands and reaching for a tool that would help remove the bullet. "They fucking hurt us first, Devil knows what could happen to Lorath." he gritted his teeth, anger pulsing.

Daemon glared at the boy, hands reaching for the bullet. "Calm your tits, he'll be fine." Daemon replied with the same intonation. "But you're not sure of that, aren't you?" Aegon's voice turned cold.

"If anything happens to him again, I'll never forgive you." he added, turning his head in your direction. "Did you know how my brother lost his eye?" he stared at you - chuckling bitterly.

(Barrow-In-Furness, England. 20 YEARS BEFORE D-DAY)

There were things in the Targaryen family that couldn't be spoken about. One of it was their legacy - the kingdom that used to theirs. Daemon couldn't understand how - three hundred years ago, they were running the largest empire in the world - and now, they could barely make ends meet.

"Viserys, I can't take care of your children. I have a job." Daemon argued, infant Helaena was in his right arm - barely grabbing unto her uncle. "McDonalds is not a job. And I can't afford a babysitter right now. Alicent just left me and Rhaenyra is starting her career." Viserys reasoned, half of his body already out of the door.

"Viserys I don't know anything about kids!" Daemon yelled, seeing his brother enter his car and drive away from his little shack. "What a fucking asshole." he cursed, seeing Viserys' red car fade out of view. "Uncle Daemon," Aegon rubbed his eyes sleepily.

Daemon handed him his sister.

"Take care of her, I'm going to bed."

Daemon coughed - feeling smoke invade his lungs. Aren't his nephews a little too young for chain-smoking? "Aegon, what are you doing?" he started off in a kind tone. He felt guilty for being mean with the little boy - he was just too angry that day.

He exited his room, seeing grey smoke in his hallways. He could hear Helaena crying in the background. "Oh no," he sees his kitchen half swallowed with flames. He was royally fucked. "Helaena, come here darling." he carried the little girl in his arms. "Aegon, Aemond!" he screamed for the boys.

Panicked.

He leaned down under the sofa where Aegon was hiding. "Come here," he pulled the boy's feet - the adrenaline giving him enough power to carry a plump 7-year old boy. "Where's Aemond?" he inquired, adjusting the kids in his arms.

He could hear the firetrucks outside - only beginning to make their way through. "Fuck," he cursed to himself. Seeing the scene unravel in front of him. Aemond was covered with debris. A part of the roof came tumbling down because of the fire.

"I trusted you with my kids, Daemon." Viserys wiped the tears away from his eyes. The heart rate monitor was enough to send him crying. "How did the fire even start?" he clenched his fists. "Some dudes who were living in my basement forgot to put out a candle." Daemon stared at the floor, unable to understand the situation.

Aemond has lost his left eye. He was in a medically induced coma.

"I always supported you in everything that you did. You wanted to be a stock-broker? I paid for your education. You worked in the army. I supported you through all of that, but not this. You've gone too far." Viserys blamed his brother - Daemon could do nothing but accept the accusations.

He should've been better. He should've paid attention.

"Don't blame him, Viserys. He couldn't have anticipated this. Daemon loves the kids like his own." Aemma pacified, playing with the ruby rings on her finger. "If he loved them, Aemond wouldn't be in this situation." Viserys corrected.

"He'll be fine, right?" Rhaenyra turned to look at her mother. "Me and Uncle Jason will shoulder all the expenses. He'll have the best care." Aemma comforted, wrapping her arms around Rhaenyra's shoulders.

(OUTSIDE THE ROYAL MINT OF SPAIN. INVESTIGATOR'S HEADQUARTERS.)

"Did you run a quick check on the boy's face?" Corlys leaned into the intern's desk. "Yes," the boy answered nervously. "Aegon Targaryen. Son of Alicent Cole, the politician." the boy's eyes narrowed.

Corlys grabbed his folder.

"Where are you going?" Daenerys inquired and he smiled in return.

"I'll be paying the congresswoman a quick visit."

next chapter>>

@fan-goddess @marvelescvpe @theshatteredideal @acollectionofcells1 @mxacegrey @bellstwd @nyctophilic0vitnir @icarusgloom @pearlstiare @themotherofblood @immyowndefender @ammo23

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #house of the dragon #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen imagine #aemond x reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader

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toxxicwrites · 8 months

Text

But Why? Kurapika x (spider) reader

Kurapika x spider reader

He saw you for the first time in the bookshop. An old store that caught his attention due to the sheer amount of nen pouring out of it his eyes caught you. Sensing a presence you looked up from your book, a threatening aura radiating off you as a warning only to find an empty street staring back at you.

That was close. Kurapika thought. The nen radiating off you left him shaking and curious as to the enigma in the bookshop. After several weeks of making detours past the bookshop, Kurapika finally entered the store after convincing himself of a good reason too. After all, he couldn’t have any distractions, not in his revenge. He needed a specific book, ‘The Magical Properties of the Ruby Eyes (A comprehensive guide)’

A bell jingled as the door opened and you looked up, surprised to have a visitor. Peaking out from behind a bookshelf you saw your mysterious visitor. A young man with a girlish face and medium-length blonde hair. So this is the mystery man up close. You recognized his presence from the prior weeks, his nen held a certain bloodthirst to it that grabbed your attention. The young man observed the shelves leisurely, acting casual but obviously looking around for you.

Kurapika almost left the store when he heard you.

“Can I help you?”

A voice like an angel snapped his attention back.

With teasing big eyes you stared at him, curiousity echoed in the slight raise of your brow.

“Yes, uh,” he cleared his throat, “I was wondering if you had this title amongst your collection, it's ‘The Magical Properties of the Ruby Eyes (A comprehensive guide)’.”

His voice was soft you noticed, barely above a whisper. You scrunched your brow for a minute, thinking.

“I should have it…” You began walking away, “Follow me.”

Like a puppy, he followed closely behind, getting a whiff of your pomegranate-scented perfume. You sifted through the shelves for a minute, mumbling to yourself.

“Ah! Here it is.” You said, handing the copy to the young man. His finger trembled slightly as he grabbed the book. You noticed, eyes trailing down and back up to him.

“You interested in the kurta clan?” You casually asked.

His jaw clenched, but he quickly shook it off, face turning into a passive mask once again.

“A bit,” he admitted, “I heard about the genocide… And I wanted to know why, why someone would do that.” A hidden grief seeped out in his last words. Your stomach dropped at the mention. Images of burning houses flashed through your head, paired with the sickening squelch of their eyes pulled out of their sockets while they still thrashed and screamed. You could still hear their screams, even now.

Kurapika noticed your pause, watching closely yet your mask didn’t break.

“It’s terrible,” You said, “Truly terrible.”

You took a hot shower that night. As if it would burn off all your sins. The killing always made you sick, it was the worst part of the job. You were good at it though, really good. The water ran hotter. But what were you supposed to do? When the man came, bringing his world of books and magic he brought you food, shelter, and family. All you had to do was use your nen, stopping the hearts of your enemies in an instant with a single flick of your wrist. No wonder you had attracted the ‘wrong’ crowd as a starving orphan in Meteor City like so many others. You turned the faucet, letting the steamy water come to a splashing halt. You wrapped your hair in a towel, slowly gathering from the nape of your neck, revealing the spider tattoo that sat there a number four engraved in empty space.

You hummed as you made your way through the dark Yorknew city alleys, dragging a cart by your side. The young man had disappeared for the last week, he had been coming for up to a month before he disappeared again, seemingly returning to wherever he came from. Kurapika was his name.

Your thoughts were still disturbed by him through, his sad grey eyes that seemed to pull you in when you talked like a hypnotizing spell you knew would only bring you to destruction. Perhaps he had realized that too. That something was truly wrong with you, something dark and twisted that upon its reveal would destroy everything. You shook your head, no thoughts of him tonight, Tonight you would see your family. Chrollo called an emergency meeting one to which you were invited. Why though you had no idea. You were unlike the other members living a life separate from the group unless called upon directly by Chrollo a man who became like an older brother to you. Comforting you on your first kill, when you fell to your knees sobbing and gasping for air while the other members stared, confused at your ‘weak’ reaction. When they saw you fighting, however, any sense of weakness flew out the window. Therefore, you lived mostly in solitude separate from the others in daily missions but apart from them nonetheless all of you shared a familial bond forged by blood and fire.

The second you stepped in you knew something was wrong. A heavy coat of grief cast upon the group. Chrollo made his way toward you, his head downturned and defeated.

“Uvogin.. Is dead.”

You held the tears in.

“Oh.”

You stumbled back to your bookshop that night, drunk with grief you fumbled with the keys. They fell to the concrete steps with a clatter and you fell with them. Sitting on the steps you crumbled, crying for a dear friend you had lost.

“Y/n…”

He had barely made it to the bookshop his mind buzzing with the events of hours prior, the promise of revenge still seeping through his bones, stumbling through the cobbled streets drunk on power he came across her. Crumpled across the steps like a broken statue. All he wanted to do was pick you back up again, hold you, and forget about everything that matter but you.

His voice sounded like an angel. Through tear-ridden lashes you looked up, your lips parted taking him in in all his broken glory. The blue moonlight lit up his figure, presenting himself as your savior amidst the devastation you felt.

“Kurapika… I need you.”

Answering your pleas with selfish desire he brought you up closing the space between you with a kiss, soft like his voice. A tear fell from your eye, trailing down your lips he licked it feeling the salt on his tongue. He needed you.

You met his gray eyes, a hint of red in them now, and your heartbeat. You needed him.

You were his escape and he was yours. With each other you both could pretend, pretend you didn’t notice each other's power, didn’t notice how he left late at night only to return later with red in his eyes and smelling of iron metal. And he didn’t notice either when your troupe meetings ran later and more often, the threat of the chain user a constant fear.

It was midday when he stopped by the bookshop. He was overly distraught today you could sense it. The anger vibrated off his nen like an angry wasp. Upon seeing you in the sunlit corner reading the buzzing quieted. You raised your gaze from the book and smiled at him. He approached you from behind, kneeling down behind the chair as he put his nose in the crook of your neck, breathing your scent in as you leaned back into his warm touch. You hummed softly and he closed his eyes trailing pale fingers across your neck.

Lost in the warmth you didn’t notice when he stopped. His grip on your neck tightened.

“Kurapika?”

How? How could you do this? How could you be one of them? He stared in disbelief at the spider tattoo across the nape of your neck. He had been so stupid, so naive to believe in someone. It felt as if he was drowning in air, a cold dagger wrenched through his heart and twisting deeper and deeper as he remembered all fo you. Your smell, hair, eyes, smile, and the way your laugh sounded like church bells to his worshipping ears. He could have stayed in your bliss together. The fantasy shattered upon the spider's reveal.

“Kurapika?” Your voice shook this time, something had changed. His nen presence muted before now suffocated you in its rageful presence filling you with pure terror as you trembled under his fingers.

“Kurapika, let go.”

The sound of rustling chains perked up your ears, and Kurapika’s grip let go. Before you could turn around you were tied up. The chains jutting out from behind and wrapping your arms and legs bringing you to your knees. Your heart broke and a gasping sob escaped you.

“It’s you,” You whispered, “You’re the chain user.”

Your body trembled as you heard him take a breath, still behind you.

“And you’re a spider,” he said, his voice quiet yet filled with heavy grief that weighed down his words, as if he still didn’t believe them himself. The tears dripped freely now and your shoulders slumped.

“Is this it then?”

Kurapika swallowed hard, not answering your broken question, he feared that if he did he would break as well, more than he already had. The chains had taken their hold now, there was no ending other than death now.

You swallowed hard, taking his silence as the answer you already knew.

“Can you look at me?” You shuddered, speaking definitely, “Will you watch me die? As I watched your clansmen die, would you do me the same honor?”

In a flash, he stood in front of you. Eyes glowing red with rage and pain.

You looked through his ruby-red eyes, admiring the strength they held in your last moments. You spoke your last words.

“I’m sorry.”

He clenched his fist and the chains finished the job, stopping your heart in a single beat. He left everything of you behind in that shop, abandoning everything he had felt for the cold true beat of revenge. There was nothing left but its war cry and the remaining spiders that stood in his way.

They were both just kids, thrown into a world too cruel, they paid the price.

#anime #kurapika #kurapika x reader #kurapika kurta #kurapika hxh #hxh x reader #hxh x y/n #kurapika x y/n #angst #hxh angst #hxh oneshot #kurapika angst #character death #major character death #dark kurapika #dark hxh #phantom troupe #chrollo lucilfer #hxh chrollo

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charmercharm3r · 2 years

Text

Soul by Heart

LMH

Masterlist

wc: 8.5k

Synopsis: The rain brought him back to you, but for how long?

warnings: smut, demon!minho, excplicit sexual content, mention of a past character death, use of a vibrator, mirror kink?can't remember the name for the life of me, vouyeurism themes?, a bit of aftercare, made myself cry with this one tbh it's real angsty

Part 1: Heart by Heart

Part 2: Soul by Heart

Part 3: Body by Heart

It rained so often, it seemed. The skies were always dark, always cloudy and cold and the air was always wet. Maybe it was just because you looked forward to the rain that it seemed as though the sun never shone anymore. Or maybe it was because you were hopeful that the rain would bring about something much more important to you than the sun. The storms that shaded over the city was the only thing keeping you going, hoping he’d hear you again.

You did as he asked, even followed the exact same routine as you did that night. Whenever the smell of wet pavement flooded your senses you went on a walk to the psychic’s place, sat with your thoughts and wishes of a lifetime with him, then headed home. There were few select times where you’d whip out the same vibrator in hopes to feel something other than the lack of his presence, still unable to satisfy yourself the way he had. Rinse and repeat. And yet, it had been almost two years with absolute radio silence. The smell of petrichor had to have been seeping from your pores at this point, perhaps it was time to move on.

But there was something latching you to the idea that maybe, just maybe, he’d appear in your bedroom again. Just maybe, he’d be sitting on your bed waiting for you to come home. Just maybe, he’d wrap his arms around your waist as you looked at your two reflections in that damned mirror you’d first seen him through. All that you thought of when you stood before that stupid chunk of glass was him, mind so obviously and painfully plagued with only him. Then again– all they are, are maybe’s.

Minho had every intention of returning to you. There were no if’s, and’s, or but’s about it. He was going to come back every night, fully prepared to sit through a human’s tragic and short lifespan because he was just that selfish. He so badly wished he had the chance to meet you in another lifetime– preferably any of his lives before this one seeing as he fucked up any chance at ever getting another after this body had run it’s course.

He’d slipped from your grasp reluctantly after your initial encounter, returning to– his own personal– Hell. Just as easily as he’d found you, he lost you. When he apparated back into his home down under, a guest that he’d hoped to never see again was in his living room. Chan, another devil that was Minho’s reason for having to live the life of a demon.

“How many times have I told you, you can’t travel into the human world,” Chan immediately pressed before Minho could take a step further into his home.

He rolled his eyes, pushing past the other demon and proceeding into the kitchen. Chan followed tight on his tail, “you’re already on probation. Wandering into the other realms is going to get you killed.”

“You say that like it hasn’t been what I’ve been asking for since half way through the Spanish inquisition.” Minho opened the fridge, pulling out two bottles of pomegranate juice for the two of them. Handing the other demon the drink, he continued. “How does probation work if I’m already in Hell?”

Chan took a sip of the liquid, “People were asking where you were.”

The drink no longer looked appetizing to Minho, one thing clouding his mind that he knew the older devil would have knowledge on. But the fear of opening another can of worms kept his mouth shut. “People as in your other brothers?”

“They just want the best for you.”

“The best for me would’ve been putting me out of my misery centuries ago. We can’t all be pleasers.”

The other demon looked down at his feet, guilt that always lingered in the back of his mind suddenly rushing forward. “I’ll keep apologizing until my very last breath. But at some point, you’re going to have to accept what is.”

Reincarnation was something Minho always believed in, even as a human. When he became a demon, it only confirmed that reincarnation was a blessing in disguise. When one life was over, you were given another chance to make good, hopefully please whoever was upstairs and allow you to enter eternal haven. Minho never got another chance, Chan made sure of that.

At his ripe age of twenty four, well on his way to being royal advisor to the king. Minho met Chan on a night where the storm was particularly bad and it was his job to make sure that the clumsy prince had all of his preparations for the following day completed. He went out into the storm to cross the palace grounds to get to the prince’s chambers, only to find that he wasn’t there. Minho searched everywhere for him, eventually finding him tucked away in the garden gazebo to shield himself from the rainfall. On their way back, the bridge that connected the garden to the palace had become shallowly flooded, cutting off their only pathway. He suggested the clumsy prince ride on his back to keep his feet from getting wet, to which the prince agreed.

Minho will curse Chan, he will curse Lucifer, but he will damn that prince for going that stupid garden.

The prince slipped from Minho’s grasp, his reflexes just barely fast enough to catch the boy before he hit the puddled ground. The weight of the boy and the slippery ground, combined with the rain that blurred his vision, Minho fell and hit his head on the cobblestone bridge. Still, the prince was safe and sound, returning to his chambers to change into dry clothes and leaving Minho in the rain to bleed. That was when he made his wish, summoning Chan to his side and creating the monster Minho sees every time he finds his reflection.

“I forgave and forgot a long time ago. You’re just so easy to mess with.” Minho winked at the older in hopes to deter the conversation from their long, tragic past. It’s a topic that was and always will be sore.

The unresolved– probably will never be resolved– tension between the two quickly dissipated, reminding Minho of the burning in his chest. Ironic for a demon living in Hell to feel such a thing. His brain reminded him of your lips, soft and plush against his, your smell and how cool to the touch your skin was compared to his. There was no going around this, not when Chan could read every look formed on his face.

Minho kept his head down, trying to think of a way to tell his “brother” what he’d come across. Reincarnation at its finest, his beliefs never failing him. With reincarnation comes soulmates, beings finding each other in any and all lifetimes. For a human, finding your soulmate would come in different forms be it friendships, lovers— as long as feelings were mutual and there was understanding there was no limit to how soulmates could be reincarnated. But being immortal meant that Minho’s soulmate went unloved, unseen, unheard for hundreds of years because he was frozen in time. That was something that Chan had to explain to him as a newborn demon, something all Hellbound sentients had to live with knowing.

Except this time, he heard you.

Eyes to the floor, Minho whispered, “I found her.”

The room was eerily silent, Chan’s breathing stuttering as he pieced together the information. As Minho looked up to face him, concern and worry plastered his friend’s face. “You can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“I know what you’re thinking. I’ve lived with you being a thorn in my ass for too long to not know,” Chan slumped against the kitchen counter. “You’re not condemning her.”

Minho panicked, hoping that Chan would see the desperation and longing behind his lonely eyes. “If I don’t, she’ll be stuck going through life after life without me. I’m not leaving her when we could have everything.”

The tension arose again, thicker this time as the older devil took a step to close the space between them. “You wouldn’t be giving her anything except centuries of hellfire. Accept what is.”

The thought of having to let you go cycle after cycle loveless and alone made tears prick at Minho’s eyes. You were so close, practically at his fingertips and he could just barely reach you. “You said it yourself, I’m on probation with the big man in red. I have one more slip up, her ties are severed and she’ll have no one. So fuck me for wanting to make sure that I get every second with her I can.”

“You know you can’t change her yourself,” Chan’s voice lowered, warning.

“She still has two more wishes.”

Silence fell upon the older again. “Actually, Minho… that’s why I’m here,” Chan’s face deflated to a sad frown. “Those wishes weren’t yours to grant. You’ve been put on lock down,” he set the bottle down on the counter behind him, walking towards the exit without another glance at the silver haired demon.

“I’m what?!” Minho followed him, anger taking over his previously saddened mood. “For how long?”

Chan reached out for the doorknob, pausing before he opened it. “However long the big man wants to keep you on house arrest. There’s only so much I can do to help you.” With that, he left, leaving Minho stuck in his own home with no way out.

By personal Hell, Lucifer really meant it. What felt like two years to you was twenty for Minho, stuck pacing in front of the window and looking out at the same brick wall that was just as punishing as it sounds. Having to stare at red concrete every day for two decades would usually have someone downward spiraling. However, that was just a hiccup to him, a punishment that was child’s play in Minho’s book. He counted down the minutes until his lockdown was over, watching the time on the clock tick by second by second. He knew he was free when the doorknob to his front door stopped etching second degree burns into his palm every time he tried to open it. The first storm he could claim, he ran to you.

It was the first time you didn’t return home after your walk, opting to bring an umbrella with you to sit in the rain in front of the psychic’s place. The sun went to sleep while your mind was fully awake, trying to figure out where it all went wrong. Was it really just a dream? Was he just a dream?

Your umbrella was extra domed, clear plastic coming further down so that water didn’t fly over the edges and wet your face. But with how heavy the rain was again, it made seeing through the plastic difficult and blurry. The streets were mostly empty save for the few cars that would pass by the bench you sat on, probably driving home to their families and loved ones.

I wish I could see you again.

Puddles gathered in the gutter of the street and rushed downstream, catching the light of the lonely lampposts that lined the sidewalks. It was getting colder but you sort of liked it, about ready to tuck your knees to your chest when another car drove by. Looking up just briefly, through the running water on the plastic umbrella you could see a figure across the street, just standing and watching you. Your first instinct was to ignore it, get up and walk to the nearest crowded area. Maybe if they didn’t see your face, they’d leave you alone.

But then the figure crossed the street, strides long and powerful from what you could make out. Slowly, you tipped the umbrella up to clearly see the person’s feet, higher and their legs became visible. The way they walked seemed so familiar. They came to the lane partition and stopped, feet stuttering the nearer they came.

The streets were completely empty, what man in their right mind would stop in the middle while a storm raged around them?

You lifted the umbrella completely, ready to call out to them so that they’d get out of harm’s way. As soon as you opened your mouth, all the words ceased to form. Black trench coat, soaked to the bone, Minho struggled to pick his feet up to meet you. You almost choked seeing him in the flesh, dropping the umbrella entirely.

A broken smile slid across his lips, that much you could see. The rain soaked his silvery hair, sticking it to his forehead and causing his glittery skin to sparkle even more than you’d remembered it. Water dripped into your eyes, making you rub them and clear your vision just as another car drove between the two of you. When you could finally see clearly, he was gone. No Minho. No smile. No embodiment of happiness itself.

Stupidity was all you’d felt after coming to the realization that your eyes deceived you once again. Of course he wasn’t really there because he wasn’t real in the first place. All you knew of him and his fire-hot body warmth, his inhumane beauty and voice that could end wars, it was a fever dream.

Burning pain seared in your chest as you finally let yourself breathe, still standing in the cold and worsening rain. This was your wakeup call. This was the sign you needed to come to terms with the fact that like all men, he lied. He wasn’t coming back.

Breath quickening with no intent of slowing down, you picked the umbrella up again and closed it, having no need for it now that you were soaked to the core. You looked back to where you’d seen him standing, letting the last of hope you’d held on to for so long seep from your soul for good. There was no point in waiting for the sunshine when it never shone in the first place.

Your usual walk home felt lighter somehow now that you’d accepted what is, no matter how badly it hurt. You couldn’t feel anything except for the twisting of your heart in your chest, the same one he claimed to know so well. If he could see you now, you were sure he’d be able to see it purple and blue and so beaten.

Minho flashed to the first place he could hear you, loud and echoing in his brain and still sounding so beautiful– I wish I could see you again. When he’d apparated onto the sidewalk in the pouring rain, he was confused. Why was he here and not at your home? He stood for a moment, looking around to see you across the street and sat at the first place he’d ever heard your voice. He took maybe three steps forward before he stopped himself, watching you stand and meet his eyes through the heavy bullets of water. When he saw your face, sad, slightly sunken, but nevertheless the same breathtaking human he’d fallen in love with for the nth time, he froze. Guilt and regret were his best friends, the angel and devil on his shoulders that whispered in his ear and told him to run again– this time away from you.

He doesn’t know why he did, why he left you in the middle of a storm with no protection, but he needed to collect himself. He had twenty years to plan what he’d say to you and explain, but clearly he needed more time than that.

Finding himself at your apartment again, hidden in your mirror, he sat in the reflection of your bedroom. It was a weird limbo that only he could enter, not even Chan could find him there. Everything about the mirror space was backwards and somewhat off-putting, but it was a place of solace that Minho found himself using when he needed to think. Your bedroom was just the place that comforted him the most, at ease and alone. Though, the mirror space of your home was colder, it didn’t smell like you and Minho hated it. He gave himself a few more minutes to figure out what he would say when you came back before stepping out of the reflection and into your actual bedroom.

He was engulfed in warmth, your homey smell of burnt sugar and firewood, a smell he never thought he’d miss so dearly. Standing in the middle of the room, he looked around aimlessly. A smile drifted across his lips at the memories that came with being here. It was only one night, but that one night came with millions of emotions that he couldn’t put into words. There were jackets piled on your desk chair, closet open and messy because of how indecisive you were in the mornings. He chuckled at the thought of being able to watch you attempt to dress yourself because you were late for work.

His eyes fell onto your unmade bed, flash flood of emotions washing over his entire being as he remembered the way your hair contrasted with the white sheets. Minho couldn’t stop himself from walking over to it and kneeling beside the mattress. Taking the edge of the comforter, he spread it lazily over the bed and straightened it out before pressing his nose into your pillow, taking in what scent was left from your sleepless nights. His chest tightened upon hearing the front door unlocking.

Minho didn’t know what to do. Does he stay? Does he go out to greet you? Would you even want to see him? The impossibly broken look you had before he chickened out and ran was enough to show him that you weren’t ready to see him again– or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, he hid, sliding quietly back into the mirror just seconds before you entered your bedroom.

Another perk of his powers, you could only see him if he wanted you to and right now, he wasn’t sure. So he watched you from his spot in the mirror space, watched you drop your soggy coat outside your door frame and work yourself into a pacing, breathless mess. Your cheeks were stained red from the rain and wind, tears that wanted to fall stayed put behind your waterline. A shaking hand pushed your wet hair back, stringing and tangling together even more. It hurt him so much to see you like this, all because of him. You stopped pacing after a few more steps and found yourself in front of the mirror again.

From your perspective, it was just you. But on Minho’s end, he stood behind you, looking over your shoulder as your lips quivered. He didn’t want you to see him just yet. Your hand came up to your mouth, fingertips red from the cold. In a lame attempt to silence your oncoming sobs, you cupped over your mouth and closed your eyes, letting the tears break. That was Minho’s last straw, he let you see him if you’d just opened your eyes. But you didn’t, falling to your knees and hiding your face in your palms. Minho almost didn’t catch you as your knees hit the ground, softer than it would’ve if he didn’t grab your waist. Your body was incredibly cold, even more than it was when you were at a normal body temperature, so you didn’t feel his hands finally on you.

You just cried, and cried, and cried. Minho kneeled down and pressed his chest to your back, resting his head on your shoulder as he let his arms wrap around your torso in hopes you’d be able to feel him. You couldn’t speak full sentences, he only caught bits and pieces of “miss you’s,” and “can’t breathe without you’s,” and it broke him entirely.

He let himself apparate back into your dimension, his own eyes beginning to sting as your sobs didn’t cease. The only hope he had was that you’d feel his soaring body heat against you, but it didn’t work. You’d thought it was just another ghost of him, another trick your mind played because you were grieving the loss of someone you never truly knew, but it was someone you could feel was meant to be in your life.

Minho pulled his head back and steadied himself with one hand on your hip, the other coming around to the side of your neck to brush your wet hair away. Gently, he grazed his fingertips across your cheek to scoop your chin from your own hands. He made you lift your head, to which you thought it was finally your brain flipping an inevitable switch. But you still didn’t open your eyes. From behind you, Minho held your head up, feeling you put all your weight into his hands.

“Look at me,” he whispered, voice breaking as he blinked away his own tears. You only whimpered, refusing to give in to your imagination. Even through your shut eyelids, tears trailed down your cheek and down his arm. It was laughable, the parallels between now and the first time he’d felt your tears on his skin. “Please, look at me,” he pleaded again, slightly louder.

You shook your head, no. “You’re not real.” Minho wanted to snap at your stubbornness, how were you still so unrelenting in a time like this? But he needed to convince you, needed you to see.

“I’m as real as you are. Look at me.” Even if it was your brain fucking with you, you couldn’t stop yourself from slowly opening your eyes. Through the blurriness, through the hot tears, the faded silver hair behind you was unmistakable. The hand under your chin trailed down to your neck, softly wrapping around it to keep your head up. Blinking the tears away, you saw him, glittering and clear as day.

But you still couldn’t believe it. Breath hitching in your throat, you reached your hand out to the mirror, resting over where his heart pressed to the back of your shoulder. A gutting feeling tumbled in your stomach, still so convinced he was a figment of your imagination despite the searing heat on your back that is him.

Minho let go of the gentle handle on your neck, copying you to place his hand over yours on the mirror. “I’m here,” he found your eyes in the reflection, searching for something– anything that would show he wasn’t lying.

“You’re here?” It took everything in you to tear your eyes from his and look down at his hand, perfectly manicured and soft against your skin. Both pairs of your eyes gazed at where your hands conjoined. Minho pushed your fingers apart, intertwining them and flipping it so your palm was facing up. Slowly as not to startle you, he closed his eyes and brought your palm to his lips.

Your eyes fluttered and blinked rapidly, dry from being glued open out of fear that if you looked away, he’d be gone.

But as his arm looped tighter around your waist and pulled you closer, as his lips kissed the inside of your palm and guided it to the side of his head, as your fingers could feel his hair beneath them, as he nuzzled his face into the side of your neck and inhaled, that inevitable switch clicked into place.

Your body trembled into him, falling back and pulling his head as close to your body as you could. With your free hand, you found his arm that wrapped your torso and held onto it for dear life. “You’re here,” you said more for yourself than him.

“I’m here,” he repeated, also for you more than him.

It took you a few more moments to work up the strength to turn on your knees and face him, pushing him away lightly and holding him by the shoulders. Needing to feel him in every way possible, you moved to straddle him as he held himself up on his knees. Minho kept his eyes closed until your hands slid up to caress his cheeks, opening to see you staring at him. Again, the position was laughable. The first thing he said was, “the last time I had you like this was the first time I’d felt something worth living for.”

Through the tears, you replied, “the last time I had you like this, you were balls deep in me.” It was an insensitive thing to say in such a heartfelt moment, but you couldn’t help it. Minho broke into a smile, a stupid, loving, silly smile that made you smile as well, kissing his cheek and pulling him into a bone crushing embrace. You stayed like this, both of you still drenched from the rain, you perched on his lap and kept his torso locked between your ankles. He took in a deep breath, smelling the petrichor mixed with your usual rosy scent. Reaching behind your back to pull your hair over your shoulder, he pressed his lips to your neck and gently bit. The sudden feeling made a quiet moan escape from you, the sound ripping a much louder, almost growl-like groan from Minho.

He stood up almost immediately after, his demon strength allowing him to grip the bottoms of your thighs and lift you effortlessly to lay you onto the bed, not letting you go for a second. The only time he broke away from you was to finally kiss your lips. Everything they described in movies, in books, it felt real with him. The sparks flew, the birds sang, the world imploded as your lips moved together in sync. Lifetimes of finding one another, loving each other presented itself in the kiss. Lifetimes of heartache, pining, loss, and misery were worth the final moments where your souls met again and fell into each other so easily. Lifetimes with you were all he’d ever wanted, all he’d ever want for as long as he lived.

It felt like hours where he just savored your lips, tongues gently wrestling in an unbeatable match with no winner. He didn’t need to breathe, but you still did, pulling away reluctantly to fill your lungs with air. Minho kept his hands on you at all times, thumbs running over your swollen lips or on your waist or in your hair. The only time he let you go was to remove his and your clothes by ripping the wet materials in half and tossing them across the room. It made you laugh, “hope you don’t mind,” he cooed before using the underside of your knees to haul you up into the middle of the bed.

“I prefer you without them anyways,” your breathless response almost had him keeling over in adoration. He had you on your back, legs bent around his hips as he kneeled over you tallely.

Minho took a moment to graze his eyes over you, letting both of his hands follow as he started at your cheeks and down your chest. “Still so beautiful,” he murmured as he made his way over your belly, spreading to caress your love handles and hike your hips closer to where his aching cock bounced against his stomach. “Could just look at you forever.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks at the compliment, taking hold of his hands to pull him into you again. He made you shy, “don’t.”

Small kisses he littered across your chest as if they were stamps of approval, a kind of seal that signified every ounce of his love for you. “My fragile little human,” he smirked into your skin, “are you embarrassed?” His lips made their way over your neck, your cheeks, your lips, down the center of your chest and over the tops of your breasts.

As he took one nipple into his mouth, you breathed out, “yes.” Your eyes rolled back at the feeling of his tongue swirling around the bud, teeth nipping lightly at it and making you moan out. He let the skin go with a pop.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, master.” He chuckled at the immediate response, laugh suddenly becoming dark. You were no longer cold, his fever temperature skin on yours making you slightly overheat in the best way possible. His command made the arousal shoot through you, probably leaking onto the bed.

Unhooking your legs from him, Minho planted them on the sides of his body before leaning over you again. The hand that lingered over your hips came to your lips, thumb pushing its way into your mouth. Looking into your eyes, he asked, “what do you want, doll?” He didn’t expect you to answer verbally, not that you could’ve with your mouth full. Sitting back, Minho watched as your lips closed around his thumb, sucking and tongue swirling over the digit while your free hand searched for his. Upon finding it, you guided him towards your neck again. He was gentle with his handle on you, but his cock twitched when you tightened your hand over his because you wanted him to be rough.

Minho was being lazy, he knew that. He knew that he wasn’t moving fast enough for your liking but he couldn’t help it. Every part of him wanted to worship you, make you shiver every time he touched you because that was exactly what you did to him. But he also knew you were impatient and bratty when you didn’t get what you wanted. So he removed his thumb from your mouth, a string of saliva following it as he replaced it with his index and ring fingers. He pushed the digits into you roughly, almost making you gag as he thrusted them in and out, letting them drag against your tongue. The grip he had around your neck tightened ever so slightly as he held you down, sitting up taller on his knees.

This is what you liked, feeling small under him, feeling like nothing but a toy to be used when in reality, you held all the power. Despite him being powerful beyond what your human brain could imagine– physically and magically– you had Minho in a metaphorical chokehold only because he possessed information that he couldn’t bear to tell you. Not yet, anyways. There were a few moments during your first night together where he could see all the fantasies you’d ever dreamed of, immediately engraving them into his brain so he could store them for later.

Now it was later, and he had no idea what you were thinking.

Minho was snapped from his thoughts when he felt your hips lifting from the bed in search for friction, anything to soothe the burning ache. It made Minho have to hold you down tighter by the neck. He tugged his spit-covered fingers from your mouth and gave you a slap, spreading your saliva over your skin. The skin-on-skin contact was loud, drawing a whimper from you. “Where’s that stupid toy you use when I’m not here?” He asked like it was something to be embarrassed about, and it was. Your cheeks flushed even more as you cocked your head towards the bedside table, looking down at the bottom drawer. Shoving his fingers into your mouth once more and making you gag, he pushed away from you and stood to grab the vibrator from your nightstand.

You sat up, legs dangling over the edge of the bed as you watched him click the toy on and play with the different settings. You couldn’t help but clench your legs together at the idea of him using it on you again. But Minho didn’t move from his spot at the head of the bed, only turning to face you as he finally chose a setting he liked.

With his eyes boring into yours, he ran the tip of the toy down his chest, briefly running it over his nipples as his free hand tugged lazily at his cock. “I don’t get the appeal of this thing,” he said as he trailed it lower, stopping at the base of his length. He caught you staring at the tip of his cock, angry and red and waiting to be touched. “My eyes are up here, doll.” You snapped your head up to meet his gaze, squeezing your legs tighter together.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded. Slowly, almost too slow even for him, Minho pressed the toy into his cock, dragging it up and down. The sensation made his lips part slightly, chest and stomach contracting in a labored breathing. You wanted so badly to touch him, to be the one holding the toy and making him shudder. You also wondered what he’d do if you misbehaved again, he probably wouldn’t let you come at all if you did. So you suppressed the urge to shove him into the bed, pushing your legs together as hard as you could.

He wanted you to watch him, keep your eyes locked together during such an intimate moment. You don’t know what it was he gained from this, from torturing you after being apart for so long when he claimed to want nothing more than you. So you bit your lip, maintaining your silence as he laid the vibrator along the entire length of his cock, avoiding the tip in hopes of putting off his release.

For Minho, it was still about power. With his devil magic out of commission, he tested his willpower. There was no doubt in his mind that you were his soulmate, his forever. But there was also something about being able to give yourself to a person without them having to so much as touch, and he wanted to test it. With just your eyes on him, see how long he could put off giving himself to you. But for you, he was a weak, weak shell of a man. Minho faltered and let the vibrator slip to touch the tip of his cock, a strained moan falling from his lips. With your bottom lip still tucked between your teeth, your head dropped slightly so that you looked at him through your lashes. And he was done for.

He clicked the vibrator off and tossed it onto the bed, quickly walking over to you and grabbing the back of your head. One hand lazily pumping his length, the other in your hair, he gathered saliva in his mouth and let it drip onto his cock. Without having to tell you what to do, you guided yourself to sink your mouth onto him, his spit mixing with yours. He didn’t need much to tip over the edge, just the warmth of your mouth and your tongue swirling then pressing into his slit and he spilled into you, followed by the deepest groan he’d ever let out. Even as he jerked into your mouth, you didn’t break eye contact, only making him contract more and prolong his orgasm.

“Be good and swallow.” You didn’t need to be told twice. Like the menace you are, you kept his cock in your mouth as you swallowed what you could, suctioning him in even after his high was over and making him whine at the overstimulation.

Minho let go of the handle on your hair, memorizing how lovely you looked with his cock in your mouth. With the same hand, he caressed your cheek, pushing you away gently to release him. It was a sweet moment, him crouching so that now he looked up at you. Your hands brought him up by his neck for a warm kiss. He could taste himself on your tongue, so proud that you could take him so well. Minho had to remind himself to tell you that later. But as the need for your own release began to make you antsier, you squirmed, still sat on the bed.

He brought his hand down from your face to wrap his fingers around your neck again, standing as he simultaneously cut off your airway. You were pulled up to stand with him, being forced away from the bed slightly so he could sit behind you. Minho made himself comfortable, spreading his legs so that you could settle between them, facing the mirror with his hand still around your throat. He peered over your shoulder, looking at your bodies in the reflection of the glass. Oh, how unholy the sight was– his other hand slipping between your legs and forcing them open.

He wanted to get you closer to the mirror to see how gorgeous you looked, so easily persuaded to be used for his liking. But for comfort reasons, he was okay with the distance. Minho used the handle on your neck to expose it to him as he finally got your legs into the position he wanted. Using his own, he hooked his legs over yours to hold you open, cock that was still hard pressing into your back. “Keep them open.”

You smiled, “yes, master.” Minho smirked back into the nook of your neck, reaching blindly for the vibrator and laying it at his side. Tightening his grip around your windpipe, he gently kissed your shoulder blade and slid his fingers over your cunt, finding it incredibly wet and warm. You shivered under his touch, getting used to the foreign feeling of someone besides you.

Leaning back, you relaxed into him and angled your hips so that he’d have easier access. Your eyes closed as he ran his fingertips through your folds, collecting your arousal and spreading it to make a mess. Just as you’d started to get into the feeling, Minho pulled away, bringing his fingers to his lips. “Tastes so good, doll,” he whispered in your ear. “Wanna try?”

When you didn’t respond, he suddenly squeezed your neck harder, making you moan out. Without waiting for your answer he swiped up more of your essence, letting go of your throat and squeezing your cheeks harshly to pry your mouth open. Compared to the way he’d gotten you to open your mouth, the way he put his fingers into you again was incredibly soft, letting you set the pace at which your tongue circled the digits again. You hummed, enjoying the taste of yourself a little too much.

"So filthy." He pulled his fingers out, pushing your head to the side so he could kiss you from over your shoulder sloppily, his tongue trailing over the side of your cheek before letting your face go. He dropped that same hand to the shoulder his chin rested over and reached for the vibrator. Holding it up in front of your stomach, you watched his expressions through the mirror, taunting and teasing.

Minho clicked the toy on again, “are you going to let me play with you, little doll?” He tracked the tip of the toy against your stomach, drawing shapes into your skin as the vibrations made your brain fuzzy. “Answer me, or I’ll leave you like this.”

“Yes! Please, please play with me, master,” you called out a little bit too loud, but still, it made him grin wickedly.

“Needy little human, aren’t you?” Minho teased the vibrator over your mound, not wanting to give it to you just yet.

“Your needy little human,” your voice was airy, light headed as he bit into the skin of your shoulder.

He bit and sucked marks into your shoulder before lowering the toy and pressing it hard into your clit, making your back arch into him. The stimulation was so much, making you wriggle in his grasp. It was almost too much that you almost clamped your legs closed, however he was prepared and forced them back open with his own. Holding you tight to his chest, Minho clicked the vibrator to a level higher, sending the shocks to shoot through your body and making you shake. His eyes never left your reflections in the mirror, “look at yourself, doll. Look how desperate you are, hm? Couldn’t even cum without me, could you?”

It was difficult to open your eyes, your arms gripping tightly onto the tops of his thighs as your eyes met in the reflection again. “N– no, master.” He smirked as your body continued to writhe in pleasure, pushing his cock into his stomach so much so that he let out a stifled moan.

“What do I get in return if I let you cum?” He asked, louder to drown out the sound of the vibrator and wet sounds.

Through your moans and ragged breathing, you said the only thing you could think of, “all of me.”

“I thought I already had all of you, little doll. What else?”

He lifted the vibrator to just toy with the tip of your clit, all the more sensitive now that it was swollen and used. The sensation had you throw your head back against his shoulder, using every ounce of your strength to keep your eyes open.

“F– forever,” the words barely escaped your lips before he shoved the toy against you again.

The answer was enough for him, “cum.” Your legs fought against his to close, losing shamefully as your high took over your body and leaving you a shaking and whimpering mess. Minho locked your back to his chest as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, your mind clouded by the white light that ripped through you.

Your chest heaved, still spasming from the aftershocks as Minho unhooked his legs from you and tossed the vibrator aside again. He shuffled back on the bed and guided your body down to lay once more. He was still painfully hard, too in love with you and your body that he needed more.

Though, your limbs were limp, tired from the overwhelming orgasm since it had been so long without a satisfying one. But now that he was here, now that you’d finally had him in your reach again, you managed to find the strength to roll onto your stomach and hang your ass in the air, exposing your soiled core for him. Minho stood from the bed and walked around it to accommodate your exhaustion. He massaged the skin of your ass for a moment before raising one hand up and sending it back down, smack echoing through the room.

Your body jolted forward, whining incoherently as he slapped your ass again. You were already worn out, pliable and easy to please, so this was just for his amusement. He enjoyed the way you cried out his name, how you shook with every stinging clap he left on your skin. The pain was numbing out. With your head in the sheets, you could turn enough to see how red he left your ass through the mirror once more. Minho noticed where your attention had gone, rubbing soothingly into the skin as he looked over his shoulder at your compromising position.

He smiled, just as wicked but still somehow still so soft. “So dirty, my doll. You like watching yourself in the mirror?” You nodded brainlessly, “you like seeing how good I treat you? How fucked out you are?” You kept nodding, humming affirmingly as he continued to rub the raw skin of your butt.

Minho looked back down at you, tilting his head the cat-like way he unconsciously did. “Tired, little doll? I won’t be mad if you say so,” he gave you an out. But his thick cock prodded against your sensitive cunt, making goosebumps raise along your skin.

“N– no! Not tired,” you wiggled your ass a little, looking for the feeling of him against you.

“Tell me what you want,” he hiked one leg up to stabilize next to you, aligning himself at your center.

He was taking his time, torturing you further. But you’d have enough of his taunting. “Did you forget what I wanted after only two years, baby?”

Minho knew his powers didn’t work on you, but you still always managed to surprise him. It was humbling, really. So when you pushed back and let him slip inside you, it caught him off guard, a stuttered moan falling from his lips. You didn’t stop, fucking yourself onto him out of pure need to feel him.

He let you use him, let you get whatever ounce of control you thought you had over him out of your system. And when you started to lose momentum, he grabbed your hips and pushed himself up to almost stand on the bed, hammering into you from behind. Your eyes rolled back, arching your ass higher as the feeling of him pounding into you took over your senses. Skin on skin continued to fill the room, your lewd moans bouncing off the walls and driving Minho almost feral.

To keep himself from finishing, he slowed and pushed your body forward to lay flat on your stomach. Spreading your legs while still sheathed inside of you to settle between them, he lifted your hips and slammed you back down. It was his raw strength that kept your lower body suspended in the air, you didn’t even question it until you clenched hard around his cock. He twitched, using a hand to slap your ass once again. “Fuck– still so tight for me.”

“Just for you– only you,” your brain could only repeat back what he was telling you.

Minho dropped you onto his lap, guiding your hips with his hands in a grinding motion. In between his slow thrusts, he grunted, “twenty years.” You didn’t quite understand him, but reached back for his hand on your hip anyway to interlock your fingers. Dropping one leg to the bed and keeping the other draped over his thigh, Minho leaned over and held his weight with the hand that held yours, pressing it into the mattress. “Twenty years without you.”

It was an odd moment to be bringing up his absence, but you didn’t care as long as he was always this close to you. He shifted to straddle your limp leg and hold the other higher, closer to his hip as he kept languidly pushing in and out of your still soaking cunt.

“Waited lifetimes for you,” he whispered, not an ounce of malice in his tone as he leaned over to kiss your cheek. You hummed out again, walls fluttering against him as he rocked into you.

A moment that was once lustful and needy became sensual, taking his time to just savor the way you felt. Minho doesn’t know what caused him to lose all inhibitions when he was around you. Maybe it was because he knew you were his soulmate, and because you had no clue and still wanted eternity with him that made him fall head over heels, deeper into you. He wanted to love you, savor you, he would burn Hell to the ground for you if you asked.

“What do you wish for? I’ll make it happen.” The question was also out of the blue, but he wanted to give you the world.

You didn’t hesitate to answer, “to be with you forever,” you cooed back. Minho dropped his forehead against your back, finding the spot where your heart beat in your body. Against every one of his instincts, he kissed your skin, following it by biting and sucking the skin hard in hopes it would leave a mark. To his pleasure, it did, blossoming a deep red almost immediately.

The sting from his teeth made you clench around him again, “my doll’s so good for me.”

Being able to come without any other stimulation wasn’t something you could generally do, but the confession of eternity, the love that you could feel radiating off of him, you shuddered as he rutted impossibly deep and trapped his cock snuggly inside you. Your eyes screwed shut again, head thrown back as you rode through the unplanned orgasm.

The strength at which you pulsed around him pulled his own high through Minho’s body. He buried his head into your hair and gripped your hand to ground himself, despite feeling as though he was floating. Hips stuttering into you, a thick and heavy load seeped from around his cock that plugged your quivering hole, leaking onto the bed.

Both of your breathings were uneven as Minho dropped his body weight on top of you, the handle on your leg ceasing and moving to rub gently into your waist. He didn’t let go of your hand as he rubbed his forehead into your back. His entire body felt like it was light as air, any little touch and sensation feeling amplified. It was relaxing, feeling him nuzzle his head into you as you finally caught your breath. Your eyes began to close, so at ease with him.

“Please be here when I wake up,” you muttered, sleep threatening to take over. Minho’s eyes shot open, wanting to take advantage of the time he had with you. So he pulled out and flipped you onto your back despite your pleas to let you sleep.

“Let me get you cleaned up, my love.” Through your tired lids, you looked up at him and lazily smiled. If only you could see the hearts in his eyes.

Minho stood and took your arm with him, pulling you to sit up. Bridal style, he carried you into the bathroom and placed you on the open toilet. This was the first time someone had treated you this way, so softly as though you’d break. This was the first time someone had cared enough to think about what comes after sex, and Minho had it down perfectly. He instructed you to pee, grabbed water from the fridge, started the shower and let it get warm before helping you inside. You were confused and whimpered when he didn’t step in the shower with you, “I’m just getting another towel. I’m not going anywhere.”

Perhaps the first time he’d left really did a number on you. Every second he was away, you worried that he’d never come back. Your body was tense until he returned with another towel for himself, just as he said he would. Holding the shower door open for him, you also held out your hand for him to take. Minho smiled fondly, taking your hand and joining you in the steamy oasis. The water hit against his back as he cupped your face with both of his hands. Another tilt of his head, he whispered, “forever?”

Your hands gently rested on his hips, pulling him closer. Nodding, you responded, “lifetimes.”

He leaned down to kiss you again, eyes closing just as your lips were about to meet. But they never did. The shower water suddenly beat down onto your face where he once shielded you. Opening your eyes, he was gone. Right from under your fingertips, disappeared. As if he was never there.

Just as you were about to break into tears again, an unexplainable pain wrenched your chest, making you keel over and struggle to breathe. You fell to your knees, water feeling as though it pounded harder against your skin. It felt impossible to keep yourself up, tumbling into the shower wall when everything went black.

Minho thought that Hell couldn’t get any worse, but he was wrong. Fuck, was he wrong. Still butt ass naked, he looked around when he didn’t feel you anymore. He was back in his home in Hell, alone.

Confused, angry, he looked around his living room, turning completely to see three other beings standing in his home.

“Hello, brother. Still telling every human you fuck that they're your soulmate?”

A/N: part 2!!!!! if anyone has any questions about the storyline or quote unquote “lore” shoot me an ask and i’ll be happy to explain :) tbh 8.5k is absolutely unacceptable and yet I still wanna make a part 3 just to tie up some loose ends...but we'll see If that actually happens lol

Post-ly song rec!! For my emo-turned-kpoppies out there, "Petrichor" by Cassyette scratches all the right parts of my brain and seems so fitting for this mini fic.

Feedback is always appreciated!! Lots of love :3

-momo < 3

#stray kids fanfic #lee know smut #lee minho smut #lee know angst #lee minho angst #lee know x reader #lee know x y/n #lee know x you #stray kids smut #stray kids angst #stray kids scenarios #skz smut #skz angst #skz scenarios

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volterran-wine · 1 year

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ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ @itskelaufeyson: “Hey, hc and one shots are open again.and I hope you’ve relaxed on your break. I promised that I would request something happy with time so here is it;Felix had an eye for a beautiful girl back when he was human. He was turned and over time forgot about her. Than on a mission he runs into her again, and feels the pull. They obvious understand each other with being from the same century and having been waiting on a mate all there life.You can make it as cute as you want, this time I don’t want you to suffer ☺️ as always love you work and this little corner you created on this website.”

Greetings friend, I feel I owe it to you to to finally reply to this request; after all it has been some time. Fun fact; in Felix’s official backstory... there is a young woman he very much loved... more on that in an upcoming fanfic.

!𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒! Some angst, because it is me.

𝐀𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

— 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗

Felix never enjoyed letting his thoughts linger on the past, for nothing could be found there except bloodshed, shame and a broken heart he would carry into eternity itself. He had put down his gladiatorial sword, and in turn put on a cloak deep as night in order to repay a debt tenfold.

However, there would always be shrouded memories, a sense of longing that would tug at heartstrings he had no use for. His fellow guards would notice, though Felix was gentle and kind towards them; the joy never quite reached his eyes. That was the life he chose, and those around him could do nothing more but shoulder his burdens if they were fortunate enough to get close. They would always break under the pressure.

Two hundred years would pass before he would understand the sorrowful sentation in his heart. Time had not been kind on him, nor her. It was but a whisp of a memory, a face he had once held dear - that much he knew. Corin had been with him that day, shouting that they had to move faster across the fields of wheat in order to find shelter during the day. On the horizon stood another of their kind however, and for the first time in a century Felix felt fear.

The second his eyes met hers an unbearbale pain took root in his chest, the gentle tugs at his heartstrings now felt like an unbearable pull. As if the woman on the horizon would stop at nothing until his heart was in her hands, crystallised and coated in sweet venom.

As the world fell away around him Felix marched forward, Corin’s shouts of exasperation did not reach his ears: for his focus had shifted entirely. The woman began her approach, although it was slower and more weary once she saw the cloaks they bore proudly across their shoulders.

The memories did not all return, but now seeing her up close brought to mind the most beautiful laugh he had ever heard, pomegranates cracked open and shared, the merry tunes played on the lute as he watched her dance until the break of day. Memories of a promise he never thought he could fulfil also came to mind, and Felix smiled.

It all brought him back to the brief conversation they had shared before he was thrown to the pits, as venom pooled into his eyes he could not contain the chortled laugh that escaped him. With trembling hands he reached out to grasp one of hers for the first time in what felt like an eternity. He would miss her warmth, but he soon found it again in eyes that burned bright as the fires of home.

“Felix...” “I found it.” “What did you find?” “Elysium.”

#Felix Volturi #Felix Volturi Headcanon #Twilight #Twilight Renaissance #Do not mind me I am just weeping gently in my office

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francesminos-tt · 4 months

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Victorian era, Daeron is engaged to Lady Baratheon, thus ensuring a strong alliance for his family, but on his return to Kings Lading, he finally meets his nephew Joffrey, a knight so interesting and handsome that he makes Daeron question everything... angst, Interlized homophobia, denying feelings... pls 🥹🫶

I’m not sure if this is angst enough for you, but it’s the best I can do. Enjoy.

Daeron regretted returning to King’s Landing by ship the moment the ship left Old Town Harbor. The weather was unforgiving this time of the year, strong gust sweeping across the sea, with occasional rain, or even hail. Daeron couldn't sleep in his cold chamber, with howling wind and loud noises of rain drops pouring on the deck. The captain kept the ship carefully near the coast, sailing south first and then traced the shoreline of Dorne. However, the ship still almost got wrecked when sailing through the Stepstones in a storm. Daeron was struck by the severest seasickness of his life. He kept vomiting and vomiting, unable to even hold down a glass of wine. He was about to vomit his guts out when the ship finally sailed past the treacherous water of the Stepstones. Three days later, the ship sailed into the Blackwater Bay.

King’s Landing was a strange place for Daeron. He had left the capital at the young age of four, so his memory of the city was unreliable, to say the least. He was more used to the sunny days of Old Town, when the golden sun met the white wall of the Citadel and the black marble of the Starry Sept. Old Town smelled of flowery delicacy, melons, moonbloom, nightshade, peaches and pomegranates. The long summer days were stiflingly hot, but when the night fell, the city came alive with markets, taverns and pleasure houses open well into the night. Old Town was a place where knowledge met religion, where tradition met foreign values, where restriction met decadence. One could find the holiest place as well as the most extravagant pleasure houses in the Southern part of the realm. Daeron was brought up in such a place of conflict. That was why he considered himself a man with strong beliefs in the Seven, but also a sinner of the most unspeakable crime.

Daeron could tell King’s Landing was different before he even set foot on its soil. For start, the smell was different. No flowery delicacy, only the pungent mix of fish, iron, foreign spices and human filth. He could see the Red Keep in the distance, its red walls half veiled by a thick fog, like an ominous eye of the evil. The harbor was even busier than that of Old Town. Workers were unloading the cargo from the trading ships, merchants rushing to the harbor office to get their paperwork gone, oyster girls sliding skillfully in the crowd with their salty snacks, and armed soldiers patrolling the area. This place was bustling with life.

Daeron gathered his suitcase and walked carefully down the deck. He tried his best to make himself presentable, but the result was not so satisfactory. Days of seasickness and sleep deprivation left him exhausted and weak, his skin so dull and his cheeks so sunken that he looked more like a skeleton than a man. He stink, too. Daeron wondered who would be so unlucky to welcome him back to King’s Landing.

Probably some servant. Or maybe Hel, if she insisted. Daeron’s sister was always the most adventurous one among his siblings, though she didn't look the part.

“Excuse me, sir, are you Daeron Targaryen by any chance?” A young man stopped him on his way to the harbor office.

“Yes.” Daeron replied, “And you are?”

“Uncle!” The young man laughed and gave Daeron a big hug before the blonde could realize what was happening, “It’s been so long since we last met! So nice to see you again!”

Daeron was taken aback by the young man’s sudden intimacy. For a second, he worried that the fishy smell on his clothes might disgust the young man. Then his attention was drawn to the word uncle. Was this young man one of his nephews? He was too old to be Jaehaerys or Maelor, obviously, so who did that leave? Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey. Which one could he be?

“I am terribly sorry,” Daeron found his voice again after a long while, but he was still too shocked to hug the man back, “forgive me not for not recognizing you. It seems my memory isn’t as good as I think it is.”

The young man laughed and took half a step back. His arms were still loosely wrapped around Daeron’s torso, their face so close that Daeron could make out the small freckles adorning the man’s cheek. The man was slightly shorter than Daeron, with dark fluffy curls and darker eyes. Unlike Daeron, who was dressed in a formal suit even after a long journey at sea, the young man was wearing only a shirt and matching pants, with the top buttons undone to expose his beautiful collar bone and sun-kissed skin. Daeron’s eyes landed on the man’s lips, rosy and soft like the freshest petals, now curling up into a bright smile.

“No need to apologize, uncle. I won't blame you for not recognizing me. The last time we met, I was still a toddler.” The man chuckled, “Welcome back, uncle Daeron. I am Joffrey.”

Daeron barely reacted to the name because he was too caught up by how close Joffrey was. He could feel the heat from his dark-haired nephew, smell the faint cologne from Joffrey’s neck, and see the small beads of sweat hanging on Joffrey’s smooth forehead. Daeron went stiff all of a sudden, his palms began to sweat and his breathing quickened by nervousness. Joffrey was too close, too close for Daeron to remain sane.

“Uncle?” Joffrey tilted his head and called Daeron’s name again, “Uncle Daeron?”

“Oh! Sorry.” Daeron lowered his gaze immediately and struggled out of Joffrey’s arms, as if burned by the brunette’s skin, “Thank you for seeing me here, nephew. Forgive my rudeness. The sea journey must have messed up my head.”

“No problem.” Joffrey’s smile resumed, “I volunteered to pick you up, since I work at the harbor office, you know.”

Daeron wanted to ask what Joffrey’s job was, because he didn't believe the brunette’s outfit was appropriate for any job, let alone an office one. But he kept his mouth shut eventually. Maybe things were different here in King’s Landing.

“Besides,” Joffrey spoke, reaching out wrap his arm around Daeron’s shoulder again, “I am curious about you, uncle Daeron. I wonder what kind of a man you have become.”

Not as honorable as you might expect, Daeron thought. He let himself be led to the office to process his paperwork, while keeping his eyes on Joffrey’s snatched waist and cute butt.

“When will your betrothed join us, my dear?” Lady Alicent asked after Daeron had followed her into her private parlor for tea.

“Ellyn will stay with her family for the holiday, mother.” Daeron replied, his voice perfectly flat.

“She can join us for the holiday. I am sure King’s Landing has more to offer than Storm’s End.” Alicent said, stirring her tea after putting one scoop of sugar in it. She sat elegantly in her chair, back straight and shoulder squared, as if she was having tea with the royalty rather than her own son. Daeron couldn’t remember a time when his mother broke her perfect posture. No, Lady Alicent was the epitome of self-discipline.

“Her family is at Storm’s End, mother.” Daeron reminded her as gently as possible. Lady Alicent was a proper woman, but sometimes she just lacked the ability to empathize with others.

“I don’t see any sense for her to stay at that gloomy place any longer, since the wedding will take place in spring.” Alicent took a small bite of the jam filled sponge cake and then her tea, “Perhaps you should send her a letter and ask her to come here. I can't wait to meet my daughter-in-law.”

Daeron’s betrothal with Ellyn Baratheon was made solely by his mother. It was somewhat of a compensation for the failed betrothal of Daeron’s brother Aemond and Ellyn’s sister Floris. Lord Baratheon was furious when Aemond broke the marriage pact, but fortunately, Lady Alicent was able to persuade the old lord that their family still had the chance to form an alliance by the marriage of her youngest son and his lordship’s youngest daughter. Daeron only found out about his betrothal by a letter from the capital. He hadn't even met Ellyn Baratheon yet, only exchanged letters with the young lady. Daeron still felt detached to the matter, as if his mother was talking about someone else. He had to detach himself, or the fate would be too cruel to accept.

He always knew he would marry for the benefit of the family. His own feelings did not matter. Daeron had to spend the rest of his life with Ellyn Baratheon, whether he loved her or not.

No. Daeron was sure he would not love her, not in a romantic way, at least. He was incapable of loving a woman. His interest and affection always ended up on the same sex. He liked the angular features of men, the hard feeling of muscle under his hand, the musky breath, the smell of cologne and sweat, the beautiful body sculptured by the God.

Daeron couldn’t help but think of his nephew. Joffrey. Wild, handsome, and so full of life. Joffrey had occupied his dream ever since their meeting at the harbor. Daeron couldn’t stop thinking about how Joffrey’s smile seemed to brighten up the day, how warm Joffrey’s arm felt around his shoulder, and how beautiful Joffrey was.

Seven. He had sinned for having inappropriate thoughts about his nephew.

“Daeron? Are you listening, my dear?” Alicent’s voice snapped Daeron out of his train of thoughts.

“I am sorry, mother.” Daeron smiled awkwardly, “What were you saying?”

“I said, you should send a letter to invite your betrothed to King’s Landing.” Alicent put down her cup and leaned in to take Daeron’s hand into hers, “Are you okay, dear? You seem a little out of it today.”

“Thank you, mother. I am fine.” Daeron squeezed her hand gently, “Just tired.”

“Perhaps you should retire to your room early. I will tell the servants to prepare something for your sleep.” Alicent suggested, reaching her free hand for the bell.

Daeron nodded. He didn’t think some random concoction would help calm his mind, but he was desperate to be alone right now. He would agree to anything if it meant he could get away from his mother. He loved his mother, and he was sure she loved him back, to an acceptable extent at least, but sometimes her attitude was just suffocating. Lady Alicent would go extreme length to make sure all her children live a proper life, which meant accomplish things at appropriate age. Start studying no later than six, get involved in holy practices from eight, secure a proper marriage pact at eighteen, and marry before twenty. Such were the general rules of the society, and Lady Alicent believed an honorable member of the society needed to follow these rules.

Daeron went to the Sept frequently even though he never really understood the core of the Seven. He didn't object when his mother informed him in the letter that she had arranged a desirable marriage pact for him. Daeron guessed it was a show of love from his mother that she ever bothered to send a letter to him. All Daeron did was writing back to tell her that he trusted her wise judgment and thank her for the trouble.

It never mattered what Daeron wanted. He had lived his whole life like a puppet, doing everything his mother considered proper and beneficial to their family, so why stop now?

“Get some rest, my son.” Alicent planted a soft kiss on Daeron’s forehead before resuming her upright position, “Hopefully I will see you tomorrow morning at breakfast.”

“I will. Thank you, mother.” Daeron said, a strained smile on his face. He didn't know if his mother sensed his melancholy, but even if she did, she wouldn't ask about it anyway.

Daeron went straight back to his room located on the other wing of the mansion. The Red Keep was a magcificent place, having more than a dozen of bedrooms, a large ballroom, three lounges, two libraries, and numerous rooms for various entertainment purposes. There was a large kitchen on the ground floor, with spaces for servants and helpers. The Targaryen family had estates in other parts of the realm too, such as the Dragonstone mansion that Daeron’s half-sister and her family currently resided.

Not Joffrey though. Joffrey lived in Red Keep, in one of the guestrooms, since his work required him to stay in the capital. Lady Alicent begrudgingly invited the young man to live under her roof, because, again, it was considered a properly thing for a step grandmother to do.

Daeron was thinking about Joffrey’s bright smile when he bumped into the brunette right in front of his own room.

“Nephew?” Daeron gasped, his light violet eyes widened in surprise, “What are you doing outside my room?”

“Waiting for you, of course.” Joffrey flashed a smile, as bright as how Daeron remembered it, “You disappeared after dinner. I reckon I’d better wait here so I don’t miss you.”

“Do you need to discuss anything with me? Is it important?” Daeron took a step back, trying to stay a safe distance away from the brunette. Joffrey was like a house on fire; Daeron would be engulfed in flame if he stayed too close.

“I do have something I want to ask you.” Joffrey said, eyeing the closed door, “But it is best to discuss in private. Why don’t you ask me in, uncle?”

Daeron bit his lower lip and stayed silent for a long while. He was torn. On one hand, he was thrilled to invite Joffrey into his room, but on the other hand, he was scared to let others invade in his private space. Daeron had always been a private person. He had to, because he had so much to hide. He had to stay behind closed door, because he couldn't afford to expose his dirtiest secret to anyone. He risked losing everything.

Joffrey leaned against the wall and waited patiently for Daeron to give his answer. He still had a faint smile on his face, but his dark eyes contained something Daeron could not decipher. Was it guilt? What was Joffrey guilty of?

“We don't have all night, uncle.” Joffrey reminded him in a whisper.

A maid appeared around the corner with a tray in her hands, interrupting the heavy silence.

“Oh! Good evening, Sirs.” She bowed her head at two young gentlemen, “Lady Alicent sent me to bring you the sleep drop, Lord Daeron.”

“Right.” Daeron murmured under his breath, taking the tray from her, “You can go. I will take it from here.”

“But sir-”

“I said go.” Daeron’s voice came out harsher than he intended, “Please, I can take care of myself.”

The maid curtseyed and fled the scene. Even she could feel the tension between the two young lords, so instinct told her to leave before she witnessed anything she shouldn’t.

“Have trouble sleeping, uncle?” Joffrey asked after making sure the maid had already gone, “Perhaps I should go. Sorry to bother you.”

“NO!” Daeron balanced the tray on his left forearm and used his right hand to grab Joffrey’s shoulder, “Don't go. Don't you have things to discuss with me? Come inside.”

Joffrey half turned and lifted his eyes to observe Daeron closely. Joffrey’s eyes were like a bottomless pool of pure darkness, so glassy and so beautiful that Daeron could see his own reflection on them. Daeron didn't know what Joffrey was looking for, but apparently the brunette found the result he needed.

“Okay.” Joffrey whispered, blinking, “If you insist.”

“I do.” Daeron confirmed. For some reason, he had never been more confident of his decisions like he was now. He had no idea what would happen next, but he was damn sure if he let Joffrey go now, he would regret for the rest of his life.

Daeron’s bedroom was a comfortable suite with a four-post bed and a study desk. The hearth was burning quietly, providing much needed warmth. There were a pair of armchairs and a small table in front of the fire. Daeron put the tray down on the table before gesturing Joffrey to take a seat in one of the armchairs.

“What is that you want to discuss?” Daeron asked after sitting down on the oppose chair.

“How do you find King’s Landing so far, uncle?” Joffrey asked, turning his head from the hearth to look at Daeron, his face painted a lovely yellow by the fire.

“Pleasant. I am glad to be back.” Daeron replied before he could really understand the question. He had practiced the answer in his mind for so many times in case someone asked him about it.

“Honestly, I don't believe you, uncle.” Joffrey said, “If it’s truly the case, you won't need sleep drops to help you rest. So I am going to ask you again. How do you find King’s Landing?”

Daeron’s heart skipped a beat. No one had ever seen through his practiced lie before, not in his face, anyway. How could Joffrey expose his lie to his face so easily?

“…Tolerable.” Daeron answered with a helpless sigh. He hadn’t really thought about his feelings towards the city he was supposed to call home, so tolerable was the best he could come up with right now.

“I won't blame you. According to my knowledge, King’s Landing is quite different from anywhere else in the realm. I feel like an outsider when I am visiting Dragonstone, too, you know. Like, everything is quieter there.” Joffrey shrugged, “The sky is clearer and people are, let’s say, more content with their lives.”

“But you like it more here.” Daeron said.

“Yes.” Joffrey nodded, never one to hide his thoughts, “Hard to believe, isn't it? King’s Landing is like a melting pot of all sorts of people having their own agendas. I am used to reaching for my pocket whenever someone bumps into me on the street. Besides, the city smells like shit too.”

Daeron chuckled. What Joffrey had just described was absolutely true. He was intrigued by how eloquent Joffrey could be, and the way the brunette vividly described the city genuinely impressed him. Joffrey Velaryon was truly an interesting character. His very presence was the reason why the capital was tolerable to Daeron. If not for Joffrey, King’s Landing would just be a filthy place drowned by shit and industrial waste.

“Again, despite all the things you say, you like King’s Landing.” Daeron pointed out, finally relaxing in his chair. He had grown the habit of staying upright like his mother all the time, to keep the family’s honor, but here, in the privacy of his room and with Joffrey, Daeron slowly let his guard down. It was impossible not to be influenced by Joffrey’s easygoing demeanor.

“I do. I find the people interesting. All the different values, ambitions, desires, and culture. Just fascinating.” Joffrey rested his chin in his hand, “I have learned a lot here, but there is so much more to explore still. Currently, my biggest interest is you, uncle.”

Daeron almost choked on his own spit. No, he told himself, Joffrey didn't mean it like that. His nephew was probably curious about his sudden return to the capital. Nothing more. Stop acting like an awkward boy.

“I am afraid you will be disappointed, nephew. I am a simple man, you see. I don't have much to interest you.” Daeron said, clasping his hands together to stop them from fidgeting.

“I understand that you are coming back to get married.” Joffrey spoke, his voice almost drowned out by the crackling fire, “Lady Ellyn from House Baratheon, right? I have met her in a ball once. Pretty lady, the most agreeable among her sisters, I would say.”

“I haven’t met her yet.” Daeron admitted. He probably shouldn't reveal this to Joffrey, but somehow, Joffrey had the ability to dig the honest side out from people.

“Oh,” Joffrey said, a bit surprised, “I see.”

“My mother arranged the marriage for me. Lord Baratheon is a longtime business partner of the family, so marrying will strengthen the bond between our house and House Baratheon.” Daeron said, clasping his hands so hard that his knuckles turned white.

“How can you know your feelings for Lady Ellyn if you haven't met her yet?” Joffrey asked, genuinely confused, “What if you don't like her? What if she doesn't like you? How are you supposed to spend the rest of your lives together if you don't having feelings for each other?”

“Marriage isn't about feelings.” Daeron said, more like a reminder to himself than to Joffrey.

“Fuck that.” Joffrey hissed, “Who makes you believe in such nonsense? Feelings are the foundation of a happy marriage.”

“Is that why you haven't been betrothed yet?” Daeron blurted out before he could stop himself, “Haven’t found anyone you like?”

Joffrey pursed his lips together and went silent. Daeron’s question might sound a bit intruding, but it was not an offensive one. Why did Joffrey choose to stay silent now?

“Joffrey?” Daeron called the brunette’s name, “It’s okay if you don't want to answer. I am sorry. I didn't mean to pry.”

“There is someone I like.” Joffrey interrupted Daeron’s babbling, “But that person is not marriage material.”

“Why? You never know unless you try. Is the lady of low birth?”

Joffrey laughed, before whispering eventually.

“There is no lady to begin with.”

“What do you mean? You did say you have feelings for someone.” Daeron frowned, not quite sure where this conversation was going, “How come there is no lady...”

Daeron trailed off, as realization struck him like lightening. Could it be? But how? What was the odds of Joffrey sharing the same sinful thoughts with him?

“I’ve never liked women, not in a romantic way.” Joffrey spoke, his voice low but firm, “My feelings are always towards the same sex.”

“Stop it,” Daeron hissed, looking down, his voice trembling, “stop it, Joffrey.”

Daeron saw a pair of boots stopping before him, as Joffrey had gotten up from the armchair and walked to Daeron’s side. Joffrey stood so close that their knees almost touched.

“Why?” Joffrey’s voice came from above, “I am just being honest. Honesty is a virtue, uncle.”

Now Daeron could smell Joffrey’s cologne, and the faint trace of brandy.

“You are drunk, nephew. You are not thinking straight.” Daeron said, trying his best to keep his voice flat, “I will let your words slip this time.”

“I can't be more sober than I am now.” Joffrey put his hands on Daeron’s shoulder and pushed gently, forcing the blonde to lean on the chair as he straddled his uncle, “I like men. I’ve always liked men, and I like you.”

“You don't know what you are talking about.” Daeron murmured, but he didn't push Joffrey away. He couldn't. He was paralyzed by the brunette’s closeness.

“You are interested in me as well, aren’t you?” Joffrey grabbed Daeron’s hand and led it to his own chest, “You couldn’t stop checking me out as soon as we met at the harbor.”

Joffrey’s skin was scorching hot against Daeron’s own, and Daeron could feel the other man’s racing heart against his palm.

“You can feel me if you like.” Joffrey whispered, guiding Daeron’s hand down from his chest to his stomach, then further down to his navel, his lower abdomen, and finally his groin.

Daeron shivered as his hand touched something hard and twitching over Joffrey’s pants. He had never touched another man’s cock before, but he could tell Joffrey was already well aroused from the wetness of the fabric. Daeron swallowed, too fascinated to pull his hand back.

“Admit it, uncle,” Joffrey began to grind on Daeron’s lap, “you want me. Stop lying to yourself.”

“I am getting married,” Daeron managed lamely, “I can't-”

“Then push me away.” Joffrey wrapped his arms around Daeron’s neck to balance himself as he kept grinding, “Push me away and say you don't want me. I will never bother you again.”

Daeron should push him away. He really should, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. The Seven always taught him to be tough in face of temptation, but Daeron was weak. Years of attending sept did nothing to help him now, as he was easily led astray by this beautiful young man, who happened to be his nephew.

This was so wrong. Wrong in every level.

“Stop lying to yourself, uncle.” Joffrey whispered in Daeron’s ear before taking the blonde’s earlobe between his teeth and nibbled gently.

Daeron squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He was the one who couldn't think straight now. He had always been standing on the edge of the abyss, and Joffrey was the push he needed to throw himself off the cliff.

“Call my name.” Daeron said, burying his face into Joffrey’s neck and bit down hard.

“Daeron.”

Daeron’s whole body sang at Joffrey’s words. He didn't know what ecstasy was, but this was close enough.

#house of the dragon #hotd #joffron #my asks #joffrey velaryon #daeron x joffrey #daeron the daring #light angst

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captain-mj · 1 year

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Am I allowed to ask for more zombie Roach for horror night? I love that little dude lol

Of course! This takes place some time after the previous two installments. They finally find out!

Roach hadn't eaten in a while. Well... he had eaten what Ghost tried to get him to eat. The problem is he could never quite keep any of it down.

He knew what he wanted. That night... Roach kept waiting for the guilt to hit him. After missions, he sometimes felt guilt, but there was nothing. Missing posters were put up for the line cook. No one seemed to care about the waitress. That got to him a little. But he couldn't take that night back.

And now, he was hungry again. Starving actually. He wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into Ghost. Or Soap. Sometimes they'd sit with him and he'd lean on them, pretending to be cold. Really he was enjoying how good they both smelled. Still... meaty and human. Just bigger. More. It made him so, so hungry. He wanted to see what they'd taste like.

Just a small bite wouldn't hurt right?

"Roach." Ghost snapped out. His Manchester accent sounded so thick. Growling. "You okay?"

Roach nodded.

"First mission in a while. Excited?"

Roach shrugged. Work was.... Work. It would be fun, he was sure. Ghost and Soap would both be there. But he was starving. He had been sneaky about the food. If they knew he still hadn't been able to eat, they'd keep him home.

And Roach could not handle being home anymore. Absolutely fucking not.

But missions never go well when you need them to.

The bullet went straight through Roach's body. It must've been a big gun because the bullet took out most of his chest. A gaping wound in his body. He could probably fit his hand through it if he tried.

Ghost was sniping. Roach could hear him trying to talk to him. He could also hear Soap screaming into the radio. Half way across the field. Too far away to catch Roach when he fell.

But he wasn't falling. He just stood there, staring at the man.

The shooter froze. His hand was still on the gun. He could shoot him again. Why wasn't he? Do it. Do it. Do it.

Roach stepped closer and it seemed to ignite fear. He dropped his weapon.

"I'm sorry." His hands went into the air.

"Please.

What are you?"

Roach pulled his mask down and attacked him. His teeth sank into his neck, blood gushing into his mouth. Mean and sinew tore under his teeth. It tasted perfect. Satisfying the hunger he had been dealing with for so long. He was so... so hungry.

The man gurgled, blood filling his mouth from where Roach's teeth must've punctured something. Roach pulled off the man's gear and started eating. He broke up perfectly. Like well cooked bread. Or maybe like a pomegranate. He kept hitting him. Over and over. Weak little punches that faded to barely there pats.

Ghost stared through the scope, watching Roach, his Roach, eat someone alive. The shooter never stopped struggling. He hit at Roach and Roach just... kept eating.

"Johnny. Stay where you are."

"Why? What's going on?"

"Don't move. Keep your distance from Roach."

"If he's hurt, I can help him."

"It's not him you need to help." Ghost said softly. Roach managed to rip out something. Possibly his liver based on the location. He started to eat it and then pushed his face into the hole he had made in the man's chest.

Ghost stared for a long while, ignoring Soap's more and more frantic questions. He didn't know how to explain.

"Simon. Answer me. Please." The desperation in his tone is what brought him out of it.

Ghost took a deep breath. "Roach is eating someone."

"Now is not the time for those kinds of jokes."

"I'm not joking. I'm watching him eat someone."

"They dead?"

"They're dead now." Ghost watched.

Roach sat up, blood covered. He started walking towards where Soap was.

Ghost took a deep breath and made a call. "Soap. Get to high ground. Now."

He watched Soap through the scope as he jumped up and got on top of a vehicle. Roach walked through the area, a shakiness in his gait that wasn't there before.

He reached up and grabbed the radio. "Roach. Sitrep."

Roach pressed the button on his radio to give the all good signal. He kept walking. Soap stayed quiet as he passed his vehicle.

Some poor bastard didn't get the memo. Roach ran at him. He slammed him down and started to smash him into the ground.

Soap had to fight not to throw up as Roach ripped him in half. He started to chew on him. Savoring them. Roach held them up like they were a juice box, drinking the blood that ran down.

Soap watched him, feeling so, so sick. He watched Roach shove more and more meat into his mouth.

"Oh god..."

Roach looked straight at Soap. Blood still dripping down. His eyes blinked at him. So dark. So wet.

Soap shivered, waiting for Roach to leap at him.

Roach grinned at him. It was almost childish. Full of teeth.

Then he kept eating.

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kiatheinsomniac · 2 years

Note

YOU ADDED STARDEW VALLEY LET'S GOOOOO!!! Oh that's exciting!!!!

I wanna request a one shot where the farmer has been in Pelican Town for a while now and Elliot is the one who moves in! He goes to introduce himself to the farmer, maybe request some materials he needs for the cabin after Robin recommend he goes ask? IDK I JUST WANT TO SEE HOW YOU WRITE ELLIOTT

notes: my first SDV fic!! Elliott has really captured my heart in this game. As much as I also Abi, Sebastian, Olivia (SDVE) and Sophia (SDVE), Elliott is just my farmer's soulmate sorry not sorry.

pairing: Elliott x Reader

word count: 0.9k

☾ ⋆ﾟ MASTERLIST / RULES / TAGLIST FORM

Pomegranate jam

Elliott paused in front of the gate to read the sign: ‘Welcome to Sundew Farm!’ It said, burned into the wood in an elegant but easily legible script. He was new to Pelican Town and his cabin on the beach, charming as it was, was in need of a few repairs by the local carpenter Robin. Her conditions for making such repairs were a certain price and some supplies. Being new, Elliott was in need of some help in gathering the wood that Robin demanded and she had pointed him towards this farm for the assistance of the local farmer who was known to take up small tasks for small prices in town. She liked to keep busy, Robin had told him.

He pushed open the gate, politely closing it behind him before he wandered into the farm. There were vegetable patches and flower gardens spread around with sprinklers in them, a comfortable looking home, a small pond by the entrance and what looked to be a larger one just a bit south. There were chickens in a pen around a coop and a barn beside it where animals grazed in a separate pen as well as a greenhouse whose glass walls caught the sunlight. He could also see a patch of land dedicated to hay by a windmill. It would seem that you truly did like to keep busy.

“Hello?!” He called, looking around at the accomplished farm but finding it devoid of a farmer. He made his way towards the house, wondering if you would even be there, before the door flew open and you were standing there in a pair of overalls and well-worn boots, some flur smeared on the upper sleeve of your shirt.

“Oh, hello.” You greeted him in a friendly manner, “You must be that new guy Robin mentioned! How can I help?”

“Yes, I’m Elliott, pleased to meet you.” He gave a bow of his head and reached his hand out. You went to shake that hand but, instead, he gently took your hand in his and raised it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles with a charming smile. Your eyes widened in pleasant surprise for a moment. Not only did this man dress like he had just walked out of an Austen novel, he seemed to act as such too.

“I’m Y/n.” You exchanged your name.

“It was Robin who sent me here, actually. She said that you would be able to gather some wood for me. I need it to give to her so that she can fix up my cabin.” Your face seemed to light up at this.

“Oh! Of course I can! You know, I just put some bread rolls out to cool so we can go now. If you’d like to get to know the town a little better, you can come with me and get a look around Cindersap Forest.” You suggested, stepping outside of your house and locking the door behind you with a set of keys.

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” He smiled and you went over to your shed to collect your axe before putting yourself on the path that headed down south. As you went, you pointed out Leah’s house and Marnie’s ranch to him as well as the Wizard’s Tower.

While you chopped down trees into wood, you asked Elliott to tell you about why he chose Pelican Town. He was an aspiring writer and wanted to get out of the city. He loved the sea and the beach and said that there was something about the sound of the waves lapping against the shore that just brought him the peace he needed to work on his book. You told him all about your cluttered bookshelf at home and how you’d love to beta read for him some time or discuss some ideas with him should he ever hit a bout of writer’s block.

Hours passed like minutes and soon the two of you were heading back to the farm with all the wood necessary to give to Robin for the repairs to the cabin and then some. Elliott paid you at your front door and you invited him in for some tea. Everyone knew everyone in Pelican Town and you wanted him to feel welcome, wanted him to feel like he had at least one friend already and he wasn’t alone in this new place.

You put the kettle on to make some tea, letting Elliott choose which blend you would have from the ones that you had either bought from Pierre, been given by Caroline or made yourself. He ended up going for the English Breakfast that you had bought from Pierre’s. You got to slicing the bread rolls in half and spreading some butter onto them before opening the fridge to find a suitable jam.

“Hey, which jam would you like? I made them all myself. There’s apricot, blackberry, pomegranate-”

“Pomegranate would be wonderful!” He interjected eagerly, “It’s my favourite fruit.” That put a smile on your face as you set it down on the table along with the tea.

“Well aren’t you lucky? I have a pomegranate tree in the greenhouse. I’ll have to remember to bring you one when I stop by to see Robin’s work on your cabin if you’d allow me.” You tucked your chair into the table as you reached for your tea cup while Elliott spread some jam onto his bread.

“Oh, I’d love for you to drop by some time.” He smiled and it warmed your heart a little to know that this stranger was already becoming a friend and you had done your part to make sure that he felt welcome in town. Perhaps this could be the beginning of a very beautiful friendship.

☾ ⋆ﾟ Buy me a coffee? ✧⋆.・゜Want to be tagged?

#stardew valley fandom #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley #stardew elliott #sdv fanfic #sdv #sdv elliot x reader #sdv elliott

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brokenjere · 2 years

Text

seventeen going under (j.f) (ch. 13)

seventeen going under (j.f)

synopsis: yn gets a little too drunk off of pomegranate margaritas and another love confession

a/n: hey guys! the taglist is still active so if you wanna be added to it lmk! send me your feedback and lmk what you think of the new chap!

catch up here

The beach would always be my favorite part of the Fourth. The cake was always good, the fireworks were always loud, and the decorations were always extravagant but the beach, the beach was where us kids could just be kids. There was no parental guidance telling us not to run too close to the pool and there was no one to tell us we couldn't eat three cupcakes in a row or a whole bag of chips. When we were younger, we smuggled snacks down and ate them until our stomachs hurt and then went back to the party and pretended we were all okay. Now, instead of snacks, we smuggled alcohol. But the sentiment was all the same.

We dragged all the inflatable pool floaties and lawn chairs down to the Fisher’s stretch of the beach and the boys made tables out of the corn-hole cardboard boxes. Eventually, once everyone settled in, Belly barreled down the sand in her bare feet carrying the pitcher of margarita mix we all made in the kitchen.

“The Belly special!” She clamored, filling her own cup first. I think she must have had some on her way down because she was stumbling in the sand and squinting like she was focusing too hard on her pour.

“The Belly special?” Jeremiah questioned, leaning forward to grab some cups. “We all made that.” Belly giggled and filled up his raised plastic cup. He passed it to me and I thanked him as he held up a second cup, the one for him, and Belly filled that one, too.

Jeremiah and I sat on the lawn chairs while Steven and Shayla sat across from us on an inflatable couch that wasn’t fully inflated. I don’t even remember where that thing came from, just that it was found in my garage a few years ago and we’ve used it ever since. Shayla made her own drinks in the backyard, mojitos I think. She and Steven took turns drinking it, his face twisting in disgust at the sourness.

Gigi and Nicole sat in other pool floaties, lower to the ground than the rest of us but they eagerly grabbed at the glasses of margaritas. We were all ready to drink the day away, exactly what the Fourth was for. Getting drunk and playing corn-hole.

Jeremiah leaned over in his seat, his curls brushing my cheek. He whispered in my ear. He was so close, that I felt his breath against my earlobes. “You made these a little strong.” I chuckled and shook my head at him.

“I did not!” Honestly, I hadn’t tried any yet so I didn’t really know. I did pour more than I intended, though, just to spite Conrad. His comment still ate at me inside. Everything he said to me ate at my insides, like little parasitic worms that weaseled their way inside of your body and were a force to get out. I wanted to pick each one out, one at a time, and squish them between my fingertips. I wanted to wash it all away under a stream of water.

“Taste it,” he whispered. I brought the cup to my mouth and took a sip. It was strong, he was right, but I pretended not to notice and shrugged. He chuckled lightly. “Liar,” he accused.

I scoffed and pushed his shoulder away from me, making him fall back into the chair. I was going to open my mouth to say something else, but then Conrad’s voice stretches the length of the beach.

“Look who I found!” He was pulling Cam by his wrist toward the group. Belly lit up, running to Cam with open arms. She was such a lightweight and barely had one drink yet she was acting like she drank the entire pitcher. Cam wrapped his arms around her, spun her around, and set her back down on her feet. He kissed her and it made Conrad look away. Look at me.

I don’t look at him back. I averted my eyes down to the drink in my lap and pretend not to notice when Jeremiah launched himself out of the chair. “Let’s get corn-hole going! Guys first!” I heard the squeak of the barely inflated couch as Steven got up and then, when I’m sure he is pre-occupied, I looked. He had a smile on his face now as he surrounded himself with the boys. He was pointing at the boards, instructing Jeremiah where to settle them in the sand. He caught the bean bags that Steven tossed in his direction and he seemed brand new, revived. Our last conversation seemingly had left his mind.

Jeremiah left the group to flick on the radio. It blarred loudly but, at the beach, it didn't matter. He set his drink down on the makeshift table in the middle of the circle of makeshift chairs and I had to down my drink because he was striding toward me, big footsteps landing him in front of me with no effort. He extended his hand toward me without saying a word. “No,” I told him, shaking my head. The music was all wrong. It was loud and obnoxious and something I would never dance to in a million years but when he stuck out his bottom lip, my heart fluttered.

“Please?” He fluttered his eyelashes, tilted his head like a little puppy, and with his palms facing upward, he grabbed at the air like a little kid wanting more cookies. “Dance with me?”

How could I say no? I set my empty cup down in the sand and put my hands in his. How his fingers gripped around mine felt almost like second nature. Like my hands were created to be held in his. He drew me out of the chair and spun me around. “We need to get our practice in if I’m going to be escorting you to the ball,” he said as he pulled me into his chest. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders instinctively and his arms surrounded my waist and we swayed together as if a slow song was playing and not some rapper no one had heard of besides Jeremiah.

“Can’t believe you told Nicole you were taking me,” I said, shaking my head. It wasn't even something we had discussed in detail. Almost like he was making a rash decision that he would later regret. I could almost see him, a few days from me, telling me he can't take me. I would have to find another date. He's sorry. I could also see him in a perfectly tailored tux, smiling down on me like the sun and the moon and all the stars in the sky. “I didn’t even get a chance to properly ask you.”

“You never needed to ask. I was always going to take you.” I can’t help but play with the curls on the back of his head.

“What happened to you saying it was stupid? And to forget about you taking me?” I remembered the conversation so distinctly. His laughter, his incessant teasing. He wasn’t going to take me. He didn’t want to, at least. That much, I know, is true.

“Come on, I had to give you shit. You thought I was going to let another guy take you? Conrad?” At the sound of his name I froze. I halted all movement and I think he noticed, but he kept moving back and forth, forcing us to get back into a rhythm. “What? Don’t want Nicole’s sloppy seconds?” He laughed. Like this was all a joke and to Jere, maybe it was. It likely was.

“No, I never wanted to go with Conrad.” Jeremiah grinned at this and if it was possible, he pulled me in closer to him. I bet he would pull me inside of his skin so that our skeletons scratched against each other as we danced, creating a spark of fire that would ignite our entire souls. That’s how much I thought Jeremiah Fisher loved me. That’s how much I loved him back. “But, you’re in luck,” I said. He gave me a sideward glance. “Dance rehearsals start tomorrow morning.”

A groan escaped his lips and he leaned his head back as if he were in distress but I used my hands to cup his cheeks and straighten his head toward me. His nose brushed against mine and I grip his curls so tightly I could swear there was a moan that fled his mouth.

“Yo, Jere, get over here,” Steven shouted from the corn-hole setup. Jeremiah visibly rolled his eyes before turning around to look at the boys. I leaned into him, looking over his shoulders. We stopped dancing but his hands didn’t leave my hips. They sat there like a gentle fire of a reminder that my clothes are still there. Barricading his skin against mine.

He looked back at me and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Duty calls,” he laughed quietly but it wasn’t real. “Hang out with the girls, okay?” I nodded and he went off down the beach, grabbing his drink on the way. I went back to my own cup and filled it with the pitcher of margarita mix. I sat back down in my lawn chair and watched the girls gossip. Belly danced around us with her cup in hand, waving around in the air like a white flag.

“Yn,” Shayla said my name, causing me to look up from my lap at her. She was smiling, big and sincere, “wanna play truth or dare?”

“I always pick truth,” I told her. Jeremiah always picked truth, actually. I always got mad at him for always picking truth but you know how when you’re friends with someone for so long that you pick up on all their quirks and mannerisms? This one was one of Jeremiah’s that manifested when he wasn’t around. Almost like the unnerving positivity that seeps its way into my veins when I miss him too much.

“That’s fine, Gigi always picks dare.” Shayla wiggled her eyebrows at Gigi, who got deep, dark, red. I didn’t really know much about these girls, frankly. I knew the superficial things: Gigi was blonde and ravishing, Shayla was wealthy and flawless and Steven was downright smitten with her, and of course that Nicole was smitten with Conrad. I didn’t know much else. Not enough to decide if I liked them much at all.

“Okay Gigi, then truth or dare?” Nicole questioned. She sat forward in her seat and tapped her plastic cup with her manicured nails. The stark white was a jarring contrast to her dark skin. The whites in her eyes looked whiter, the brown in her irises were more chocolatey than anything and she was stunning. Really stunning. It was hard to notice at first, between all the jealousy, resentment, and distaste that I initially had for her.

“Dare,” Gigi said, rolling her eyes.

“We dare you to skinny dip in the ocean. Right now.” Nicole skimmed around the group, judging reactions to see if her dare was a suitable one. She cared what people thought. Noted.

Gigi examined the ocean, probably wondering how cold it was. It was a nice day out, the sun was shining but it wasn't excruciatingly hot. The ocean probably felt nice right now. But Gigi hesitated. Gigi, who was always outgoing and luminous and eager, hesitated. “You don’t have to do that,” Shayla told her. They made eye contact and while they secretly had a conversation, I looked at Belly. She was too involved in her own margarita and dancing that she didn’t even know what was going on. I reached out for her and she reacted to my fingers brushing her wrist.

She smiled and came over to my chair, falling into my lap. “Are you drunk yet?” She asked, swirling her margarita around in her cup. I shook my head but grabbed her cup. She was drunk. I finished it off. “Hey!”

I pushed her off of me and finished my own glass before refilling both of ours. When I looked back at the group, Gigi was standing up and taking off her jewelry. “Is she actually doing that?” I asked, looking over at Shayla. She let out a laugh through her nose and shrugged. Nicole's dare clearly not sitting well with Shayla. I guess she was.

“What is she doing?” Belly wondered out loud, drinking her new drink way too fast. I knew I shouldn’t have poured her another one but instead of stopping her, I joined her. She had the right idea. She watched Gigi curiously until Nicole answered her question.

“Skinny dipping,” Nicole sounded too proud and it made me wonder if this dare was for fun or revenge. Were these girls even friends?

“I wanna go!” Belly said excitedly, putting down her drink and kicking off her shoes. I had to grab her arm, stopping her from removing any more of her clothing which resulted in her pouting out her bottom lip like a little kid, and then I was reminded of how young she really was. Sometimes, I forgot.

“No, sit down,” I scolded. She did what I asked and went back to sipping on her drink. We all watched as Gigi sunk further and further into the ocean until she was fully submerged in the water, only her bare shoulders exposed. She held up her arms as if she was the victor of the game and then, everyone lost interest. Just like that.

“Yn, truth or dare?” Shayla asked, turning her attention to me.

“Truth,” I said.

“What’s going on with you and Jeremiah?” Shayla looked at me expectantly. I glanced around the circle of girls. Nicole had her bright eyes, Belly had her huge smile, and Shayla had her expectant glance. “I saw you two dancing. Steven talks about you two all the time.”

“Oh yeah, what does he say?” I inquired, tilting my head to the side.

“It’s not my truth,” Shayla said coyly.

“There’s nothing going on,” I lied.

“Oh, he’s madly in love with her,” Belly sang, way too loudly. All the boys looked over at us and I hid my face with my glass until they looked away. I caught Jeremiah’s eyes at the last second and he smiled and waved and then I wasn’t embarrassed anymore. What would I have to be embarrassed for? If he was the one in the love with me, I’d never have to complain about anything ever again.

“You can talk about it, Gigi is still in the water,” Nicole said, nodding toward Gigi. She was on her way out but still too far away to hear. “Besides, her crush on Jeremiah would never be reciprocated.”

I knew this, of course, but I nodded like it was new information. “I don’t know what’s going on between me and Jeremiah. It’s yet to be determined,” I said as I looked past the girls and at him. He was holding his drink in one hand, a beanbag in the other. He was on the same team as Cam and they tossed the bags back and forth, laughing and talking words I could not hear. He looked perfect, in the light like that. Perfect.

“How was it, G?” Nicole asked as Gigi trekked back up to the group.

“Cold,” she pouted, sitting back in her seat. Her clothes were wet from ocean water and the ends of her hair were still damp, dripping onto the front of her shirt. “Who’s turn is it?”

“Belly’s,” Shayla said, smiling. “Truth or dare?” I didn’t hear what she replied with because I downed the rest of my drink, getting up to fill it for the third time. My head felt dizzy, the beach around me twirling like I was on a merry-go-round. I gripped the back of the chair to steady myself, not really feeling the effects of the drink when I was sitting. It was a strong drink, I’ll admit. I could taste all the tequila in it, more so than the pomegranate juice and lemons. Instead of joining the girls again, I stumbled over to Jeremiah.

When he saw me, he reached out his hand to me and laughed, “whoa, you okay there?” His hand grabbed my elbow, steadying me in more ways than one, and I nodded. “Told you it was a strong drink.”

“Yeah, yeah, you were right.” I put my free hand on his bicep, feeling his warm skin from under his shirt. It was a nice button-down, one I could easily slip my fingers under and feel the pulse of his heart. I bet his was racing right now, just like mine.

“I know I was. I always am,” he whispered. Cam elbowed Jeremiah from next to him, getting his attention. It was his turn to throw the bean bag. I held on to him to keep myself afloat, even though he was no longer gripping onto me. The second the bag left his hand, he was on my body again. “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” I said, nodding to try and convince myself of that. I felt nauseous. The standing and the walking made me feel unwell like at any moment I could tip over and fall into the ocean, never to be seen again.

“Let me take you back home, okay?” He offered. His hand touched my cheek and then the back of my head before settling on the small of my back. As if he had to touch every part of me to make sure I was real. Standing. Alive.

I nodded. I didn’t even notice him telling everyone where he was going or putting our drinks down. I just felt him guide my body up the beach. I stumbled one too many times and eventually, he picked me up bridal style. I laughed and lazily wrapped my arms around his neck. “Is this what it’ll be like on our wedding day?” I questioned, slurring my words a little bit. Jeremiah looked straight ahead, too afraid to look at me, but he was smiling.

“Our wedding day, huh?” I nodded. “You mean the you being too drunk part? Because I’d like to think you’d remember our wedding night.” I blushed at his words and buried my head in his neck. It was sticky with early July sweat but he smelled like Jeremiah. There was no doubting that.

“I mean the you carrying me part. Through the doorway of our little Boston apartment,” I told him. He chuckled and I felt his heart racing fast under his shirt. “I’ll remember our wedding night. I promise.”

“Why are you talking about it like it’s a sure-fire thing?” He looked down at me then and I raised my head to be closer to him. To smell the skin on his face. His lips were so close to mine.

“Because it is,” I whispered. “It was always meant to be.” I swear to God I felt his heart stop. I think maybe mine stopped, too. Why the fuck did I just say that? I don’t know. I meant it, though. And when we reached the treeline, where the path was paved from the sandy shore to the Fisher’s patio, when the tree branches shaded us from the sun and protected us from the outside world, I placed my lips to the corner of his mouth.

He set me back down on my feet and cupped my cheeks but he didn’t kiss me like I wanted him to. He searched my face but it was all a blur. His eyes blended in with his nose and his lips. “I can’t do this right now, okay? You need some sleep.” Do this right now. Kiss me, he means. He couldn’t kiss me.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and guided me toward the backyard. The parents were still outside, but it was less noisy than it was before with all the kids down at the beach. “I’m just going to take her home, okay?” Jeremiah said to my mom.

I saw her walking toward us and I waved at her like nothing was happening. I had been drunk before, obviously. She has seen me drunk before and never really cared as long as I was safe but for some reason, she looked kind of mad.

“Is she okay?” Mom asked Jeremiah, not me.

“I’m fine,” I told her. She put her hand up to stop me from talking and I cower backward.

“Jeremiah, please make sure she gets home. How did she get this drunk? I didn't even know you guys were drinking.” I looked over at the other adults. Dad is watching but Susannah seemed too angry at Adam to notice and Laurel was nowhere to be found so I think we were in the clear. Jeremiah wasn’t drunk, anyway.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m gonna put her to bed. We had some drinks at the beach, I’m sorry.” Mom nodded at him, squeezing his bicep before turning away. I saw her give my dad an update, reassuring him I was okay and then Jeremiah is taking me through our secret path, and then I’m in my own backyard.

Up in my bedroom, he put me down on the bed and I curled up on my side. I grasped for his hand and he let me take it. “Lay with me,” I requested. He does what I asked and squeezed himself between my body and the edge of the bed, pushing his arm under me. “Thanks for taking care of me,” I whispered.

“I will always take care of you,” he told me. I didn’t have to look at him to know he was looking down at me. I can feel his lips as he kissed the top of my head.

His chest moved up and down as he breathed and I felt my eyelids get heavy. I felt sleep trying to take me over but I didn’t want to succumb to it. I wanted to stay away and feel his body under me and I wanted to savor every moment of it. How could I have been okay all this time without this? Without loving him unapologetically?

I propped myself up on my elbow to look at him. He’s supported up by my pillows and looking down at me with his blue eyes that I could look into forever. “I love you, Jeremiah Fisher.”

“I know,” he said like he had heard it a million times. And he had. Platonically. I didn’t mean it that way now. He kissed my forehead and smoothed back my head and then shuffled me back into a sleeping position. “Go to sleep, okay? I’ll be here until you do.” Instead of arguing with him, I do what he said and let sleep take over my mind.

It’s dark outside when I wake up. My head was pounding and I felt like I had slept for at least the entire night but when I looked at the clock, it was only 9pm. I’m alone in bed, Jeremiah must have left after I fell asleep to join the party again and I don’t blame him. Instead of taking a shower, I change into my bathing suit and head downstairs for a swim.

The Fisher’s lights are off in the backyard, the party to an obvious close but I flicked our lights on get inside of the heated pool and let it engulf me like a warm blanket. The stars are bright above my head and the cricket chirps were loud and alert.

“She’s risen from the dead,” I heard from behind me in between the splashes of water. I spun around and Jeremiah dropped to the ground, his feet going into the water. I swam to him, finding a space between his legs. “How did you sleep?”

“Good,” I said. “Head hurts.”

“I bet, you were pretty drunk.” He was right but I remembered it all. His arms wrap lazily around my neck and at this end of the pool, I can stand comfortably.

“Did I miss the fireworks?” I asked him. The tips of his fingers grazed the skin on my back like he was spelling little words aimlessly against it.

“Yes,” he said and I frowned. “But I saved you one.” Against my wishes, he stood up and extended his hand toward me. I take it and he lifted me out of the pool with more ease than I thought was possible. He grabbed the towel I had set out on one of the lounge chairs and he wrapped it around my shoulders, pulling me to his chest and stroking my arms up and down to warm me. I was already warm, but I loved the feeling of it so I didn’t stop it.

“Is it a good one?” I asked, tilting my head to the side. He looked at me like I had asked the silliest question in the world and I laughed. Of course, Jeremiah saved a good one. I had never, in all my life, been disappointed by Jeremiah Fisher. When we were six, and I had lost my first tooth, my mom put money under my pillow like most parents do. I was so excited to show Jeremiah and Conrad the fresh, crisp single that I slept on but when Conrad frowned, I lost my excitement. I didn’t know why he was so upset with my single, I could have bought us all sorts of candy at the corner store later. Conrad told me, “the tooth fairy isn’t even real” and then I went home and cried to my mom. A few months later, when I lost my next tooth, I woke up to my room covered in balloons and a five-dollar bill under my pillow. Six-year-old Jeremiah was standing in the doorway, a grin on his face, and Susannah hiding behind the corner. He had planned a tooth fairy extravaganza. He had brought the magic back.

He took my hand and walked me down the beach, toward the wooden pier that extended off of the beach. It was right between our two houses, but I think really it belonged to Susannah. It was decorated as much. Fairy lights dangling from the roof, patio chairs and benches with overpriced pillows on them, and end tables with coasters so you did not dare to create ring stains. I was wrapped in the towel still when I sat down, my butt wet against the wooden bench.

Jeremiah grabbed the firework he had saved for me. “It’s the really big kind, from last year, remember? The one that explodes into a huge palm tree?” His smile was radiating with excitement and I nodded because I did remember. He loved those ones. Adam picked them out for the boys and Jeremiah, always loving his dad, loved the fireworks too.

“Did Adam stay for the fireworks?” I asked. Jeremiah froze with his hands on the firework. He was leaning against the railing, his hands hanging over the ocean and the firework in between his fingers. If he loosened his grip any more, it might fall through and splash into the water. “Shit Jere, I’m sorry,” I whispered. He started to shake his head but I got up off the bench and walked over to him, putting my hand on his shoulder. It was like I pressed a release button. Release the floods.

His body shook as he cried and he pounded his palm against the wooden banister and I didn’t know what to do except take the firework from him, set it down, and wrap his hands in mine. “Hey, hey,” I cooed, trying to calm him down. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” He snapped. Not at me, but at the world. “Why doesn’t he care anymore?” His voice was softer, sadder, more broken. My heart shattered and I felt the words lump in the bottom of my throat but I couldn’t speak them. I just wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him to my body. He held on to me like I was a life vest. The only thing keeping him from going under.

He only cried for a few moments, slowly getting his breathing back to normal as the tears dried up in his eyes and on his cheeks. When he pulled away, it was only slightly. He rested his forehead against mine and kept his eyes closed. I wanted to know what he was seeing on the inside of his eyelids. Was he seeing us? Together? Was the seeing red? His dad? “Did you mean it?” He asked quietly. Almost too quietly but I heard him, nevertheless. “When you told me you loved me?”

I put my palms to his cheeks and brushed my nose against his. His eyes stayed closed and I wanted to close mine, to picture us alone together somewhere else. Somewhere where we could really, truly be together without all the drama and lies and secrets. Somewhere where I didn’t have to lie to him. “I never would have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

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