#even Amber's and she doesn't even work here

[rhysintherain]

I know this episode is framed as a custody battle for Wilson, but "the polycule is fighting and demands their boss mediate their schedule" is much funnier so that's how I've decided to watch it.

#house md #'if you all agreed on the diagnosis you wouldn't wake me up in the middle of the night' #says man talking on the phone in a noisy bar where he's trying to get his boyfriend drunk before sending him home to his girlfriend #see also 'youre solomon now. you can cut him in half if you really want' #there is no straight excuse for how much house knows about Wilson's sex life #also i would bet money wilson gets off on these two bickering #house likes a good fight and so does amber #the only person not enjoying this is cuddy #'keep your foreplay out if my office' is going on everyone's next performance review #even Amber's and she doesn't even work here

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (4)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: Angst, descriptions of pain

a/n: Thank you again for reading this series, I really love writing it :) More to come! I really really appreciate feedback, as always ♡

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ☆ Part 3 ✶ Part 5 ☁

Series Masterlist

~~

“It’s going to feel like a push,” Rhys explained, his fingers intertwined between his knees. “And then you’ll know I’m in your mind. It shouldn’t hurt—maybe just a pinch and then a pressure.” 

You nodded, clutching the arms of your chair with white-knuckled fingers. 

“He’s in my mind all the time. Uninvited, might I add. Doesn’t hurt, it’s just annoying,” Mor added. 

Turning your head in her direction, eyes downcast toward the floor, you nodded to her, too. 

The faelights gave the room a warm amber hue. It was the day after you met Rhys—or rather, became reacquainted with him—and the day he was going to look for your memories. Mor sat beside you, the blue dress she wore shimmering beneath the glow of the room, and Azriel stood guard by the door. What he was guarding you from, you had no idea, but the act seemed to comfort him. 

“Was Cassian busy?” you asked, and then immediately regretted it. 

It wasn’t Cassian’s job to be here. He was a grown man with a position in this court. He was busy, obviously. You also barely knew him. 

What a stupid question.

Rhys breathed through a smile, anyway. “He’s up at the camps today. But I’ll let him know you asked for him. He’ll love that.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—” 

“He’ll love it. I was being genuine,” Rhys comforted, interrupting the anxiousness rising in your tone. “Should we get started?”

You took a deep breath meant to rid the feeling of nausea overtaking you. It didn’t work. 

“Yes,” you replied, easing your trembling fingers into your lap. “Yes, I’m ready.” 

Rhys kicked up from the table he was leaning against, spinning a chair around in front of you. He sat, and the instant his knees bent to make the descent, Azriel was out from his hiding place in the dark. He loomed over the High Lord, shadows agitated, wings tucked in tight. To his credit, Rhys only gave the new, menacing presence a quick glance. 

“Should I keep my eyes open? Or do we have to touch or—” 

“Just relax,” Rhys offered. “With everything going on, your mind should be wide open. This will be simple and fast. I promise.” 

A promise from a High Lord—from your family, you reminded yourself. This was going to be fine. You doubled up on tonics this morning, so the pain in your head was minimal and you were safe here.

This was going to be fine. 

You hadn't even noticed the rapid pace of your breath until Azriel’s shadows came to wind around your shoulders, the quick uptick of the darkness more telling than anything else. The small wisps traveled up and down with the rhythm of your breath until it began to even out, and then they curled around your cheeks as if to caress you. When they made the occasional pass by your ears, it felt as if you were being told secrets—as if you were important enough to know something no one else did. 

Yes, this was going to be fine. 

Rhys cleared his throat. 

The first step into your mind was jarring, the sensation making you physically jump. Rhys seemed to raise a hand up at the entry—to knock on something or open it up—but he passed through a permeable wall instead. He passed through with ease. 

The High Lord made a low, surprised sound that echoed in the room. 

“What?” Azriel gruffly asked. 

Rhys paused. “Well, nothing, I just—I just expected some of her magic to have remained where it was. For some of it to be protecting her mind.” 

“Magic?” you whispered. 

Azriel’s eyes snapped to you as if on instinct—as if the sound of your voice was simply something he always followed—but his expression did not match the sentiment. He looked haunted, a shadow cast over the grim line of his mouth. 

“I have magic?” 

Your whisper was cut off by a sharp intake of air. Rhys had moved on from the outskirts of your mind, each step deeper a clicking echo in the stark chamber. He went in directions that felt practiced, like he’d been here before but everything had been rearranged, removed. 

You watched as the High Lord ran a rough hand over his mouth, his brows furrowed in concentration. 

Mor placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

Azriel watched the man within your mind, a preternatural stillness stiffening his limbs.

“It’s like you’ve been wiped.” Rhys shook his head. “But that doesn’t make any sense. You still know language, you know how to—to be fae. But everything else is…” 

Within your mind, you felt a darkness roll from Rhys. He was sending something out, inspecting the area. The pain began then, but you weren’t going to tell them. You weren’t going to break and ruin something else. 

The darkness invaded small crevices in your mind, sleuthing and slinking in areas you hadn’t been aware of yourself. More pressure built up behind your skull. 

You could still manage it. 

The air was knocked from your lungs, but you could still manage it. 

“Rhysand,” Azriel warned. Blue began to overpower the orange glow of the room. 

“I think I’m almost somewhere,” the High Lord replied. 

“She’s—” 

“Keep going,” you gritted out. “It just feels odd,” you lied. “I’m okay, keep going.” 

Azriel shook his head, face twisting in an expression of grief that almost had you taking back your words. He abandoned his observation of Rhys and approached your chair, kneeling down next to you, the bone of his knee harshly pressing against the floor. 

He nodded, something resolute in his eyes. “Okay. Okay, whatever you want.” 

From beside you, you heard Mor’s pained sigh, felt her turn to look away.

You tore your eyes from the piousness before you, but Azriel did not budge. His elbow came to rest on the flat surface of his thigh, his fingers extending out to touch the wooden leg of your chair. 

“Please, keep going.” 

Rhys nodded. The darkness in your mind expanded. It flowed like a cloud rolling out before a storm, reaching every corner of unsearched territory. There was nothing it couldn’t reach, and good, let it fill you up. Let it consume your mind because it was no use to you in this state. Azriel was kneeling before you, desperate and scared, and you couldn’t understand why, so let the darkness become you. 

If it led to understanding, to your life, you would withstand this pain. 

The first scream that left you ripped through the air like a strike, unsettling any gentleness that had resided in the small office. Rhys had found something; his darkness had collided with a wall—the only wall, only structure, in your mind—and he had gone to investigate. With the simple press of his hand against the sturdy cobalt, a blinding pain found a home in your skull. 

Azriel jolted, the fingers that had gripped your chair flying to cover your knee. 

You screamed again. And again. 

“Stop! Enough, Rhysand. Get out of her head,” Azriel ordered, but he sounded as if he were underwater. He raised his voice above your screams but he sounded so far away. 

You collapsed forward, hands coming up to cradle your head. There was a touch at your back, maybe another along your hair—you couldn’t tell. The pain was too great. 

“There’s a wall. Something foreign. The energy isn’t hers,” Rhys called. He sounded distant as well. 

The world grew light. 

“I don’t care,” Azriel gritted out. “We can try again later. She’s going to pass out and last time—” 

“Keep… going,” you panted, fighting past the pain to insert yourself into the conversation.

This was your decision, your mind. Your life that was torn away. 

“Y/n, please. You don’t understand,” Azriel begged, shifting forward and gripping your wrists in his scarred hands. “This isn’t good for you. This isn’t—please.” 

Sweat beaded at your brow. Rhys’s presence hadn’t left your mind. “I have… to know. Have to try.” 

“Rhys, maybe we shouldn’t—” Mor began in a soft, hesitant voice. 

“Go.” With a simple word from you, Rhys bypassed all else. 

Pain exploded at the first talon scratching down the slope of the foreign wall. You surpassed screams, your voice breaking at the peak of the most violent one. At some point, the hands on your head were replaced by larger ones, and you found the texture of them to be a grounding point. Something about the feeling was familiar, like your skin was used to the patterns, the raised edges and the divots along fingers. They traced soothing shapes along your cheeks, dried tears you didn’t realize were cascading down your face. 

And then Rhys stood abruptly, his chair rocking back and forth with his departure. The pain dulled, leaving you with heavy breaths and a lingering ache you weren’t sure would ever go away. 

“You’re okay, angel. You’re okay.” 

Breathing in was difficult. The world felt off its axis. 

Pale-faced and blinking, Rhys breathed out, “We need to go to Helion.” 

You gathered the strength to look up further. 

Azriel’s expression crumbled, his beautiful face only inches from yours and filled with such dread that when you succumbed to the lightness creeping into your vision, you feared the descent. 

~~

Your loss of consciousness was brief, which was, apparently, very unexpected. 

Your once stiff chair was no longer beneath you, and where you expected to be folded up into an uncomfortable shape and cold, you were instead held against a warm, vibrating presence. 

No, not vibrating, that wasn’t right. Just speaking—you were being held by someone and they were speaking. 

“—back there. Rhys, it’s not a good idea. If you said it was the same energy from before, we can’t—I can’t—” 

“He is gone, Az. You know that. Bringing her there would only serve to help her. You know Helion would go to lengths…” 

Your comprehension faded in and out, matching the swells of pain in your head. You were reluctant to open your eyes and welcome the assault of light and sensation that would surely greet you when you did. 

There was a soft lull in the conversation, although you couldn’t decipher where it had left off. You felt a light pressure along your face and welcomed the relief and comfort that came with it. Some of the ache dissipated along the path of the touch. 

“Her screams,” you heard Azriel stress, and it felt as if his words were spoken against your skin. “They were so reminiscent of that night. All of this is.” 

“I know, brother,” Rhys replied. 

“I don’t know if I can do this. If I can survive this.”

A sniff. Something wet along your jaw. The chest you were pressed against seemed to tremble. 

“You have to. She’ll need you when she comes out on the other side of this.” 

“I know,” Azriel whispered, words weaker but somehow even closer. “I know.” 

Disregarding all of your senses that argued against it, you cracked your eyes open. The lights were still low, but even that fact didn’t stop the burning behind your eyes from amplifying. A repercussion from Rhysand’s investigation, surely. 

Whoever was left in the room gave you time to adjust, no one speaking or moving or expecting anything from you other than breath. You felt the hold on you loosen, but not withdraw. 

Part of you, a deep, intrinsic part, knew it was Azriel. His voice and his scent and the feel of his body seemed to be things you could recognize even when nothing else made sense. So, you knew it was him holding you from the moment your mind began to catch up with the environment. 

And still, seeing him so close, feeling him against you—it was a shock to your already overwhelmed system. 

You groaned, face scrunching as you tried to gather your bearings. Azriel’s legs shifted, and your body moved along with them. The motion served as a catalyst in your effort to sit up. 

“Hey, hold on,” Azriel cautioned. Hearing his voice so soft—so careful—had you blinking, trying to parse out what was real and what was still hazy.

“Did…did we figure out what was wrong?” you asked, groggy. “Did you find anything?” 

You turned your head with sharp momentum, regretting the act as soon as you did it. But you didn’t have time for pain—for fear. Rhys looked back at you with a sympathetic smile, both of you ignoring the sound of protest from Azriel at your movement. 

His hand moved to rest along the back of your neck as Rhys spoke, keeping your head in one place. Keeping it supported and still. 

You didn’t have the energy to shake it off. 

Did you want to? 

“I found something. Not as much as I’d have liked, but it’s something to go off of. We’ll… have to go to Day. There’s more information there. I’ve sent Mor to sort out the logistics.” 

A glance around the room confirmed that the blonde was no longer there. It must have been a quick decision to send her away. As quick as Azriel tugging you out of your chair and holding you on the floor. 

Rhys didn’t seem uncomfortable by the display, but of course he wouldn’t—not if his goal was to drive two enemies back into friendship. 

If you were ever even friends to begin with.

The trajectory of your thoughts made you grimace in Azriel’s arms, and even though your entire body protested it, you shifted away from him, hands coming down to the floor to support your weight. A soft grunt left you.

Why did a search through your mind leave you so weak? 

“My lo—y/n, stop,” Azriel fumbled over his words, reaching out for you. 

But with confusion and pain marring your state of mind—causing your usually perfectly practiced, patient replies to skew—you only struggled more and pushed farther away. There were too many unknowns, too many questions, too many feelings surrounding this man who looked at you as if you were never-ending but pushed you away as if you were finite. 

You couldn’t take it. 

And maybe this is how you—the real you, the one with her memories—would react, anyway. Everyone always seemed to expect a strong will and unyielding tenacity, their disappointment at your meekness glaringly obvious. 

Maybe you were supposed to fight against these secrets and this pain. 

“I’ve got it,” you grunted out, pushing closer to the desk, closer to the rift you didn’t understand between you and Azriel. 

You wanted Mor back. 

She made more sense. 

Looking up from your struggle, you caught Azriel and Rhysand in the midst of a staring match, their expressions firm and drawn. With what you now understood about Rhys and his powers, you were sure they were communicating somehow. 

When Rhys spoke next, your hypothesis was only confirmed. “Az is going to take you back to your room,” he said, eyes never leaving the shadowsinger. “He’s going to help you pack.” 

When the High Lord left, the door clicking shut with finality, tension blanketed the room. The worst part of it all was your lack of context. Something big was happening, something immeasurable, and you had no upper hand—not even a foot on the ground. 

You looked down at your palms and then back up at Azriel. He had yet to move from his position kneeling before you, hands still outstretched in some fruitless reach, elbows bent and tense against his sides.

You wanted Mor back. 

She seemed to love you—to want you here.

“I can get back to my room on my own,” you offered, and even though the words were barely a whisper, they were resounding in the silent room. 

Azriel licked his lips and looked down. When his hands fell to his sides, you took that as compliance, as acceptance. On shaking arms, you attempted to lift yourself up. 

“I haven’t been doing this right.” Your unsuccessful attempt abruptly ceased. Azriel continued. “I barely got it right the first time. This time… this time I—” 

“It’s okay, Azriel. I understand, I think.” 

Hazel eyes met yours, the collection of colors confused beneath furrowed brows. 

You so badly wanted to soothe away all of the unease within them, to brush your thumb along his brow even though you were sure he wouldn’t want to do the same—not without his family present to witness it. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

You wanted to sigh, but too much air might’ve made you pass out again. Instead, you bit the inside of your cheek, twisting your lips as you considered the best way to phrase the thoughts that had been plaguing you. 

“No one will tell me about you—about who we were to each other before I lost everything. I thought maybe it was because you were going to tell me, but then you wanted nothing to do with me and I understood a little better. I understood that maybe we weren’t friends before all of this. And that’s okay, I know that we lived lives that I can’t remember. 

“But then… sometimes you do things that don’t make sense to me. You say things that don’t add up with what I’ve come to terms with and I think… I think my mind and my body get confused. It’s strange,” you admitted, using what little strength you still coveted to push yourself back against Rhys’s desk. “But I think I understand now. And I’m sorry if I make it weird. I think that even if my mind understands who you are to me, there are other parts that don’t quite catch up.” 

“And who am I to you?” Azriel asked, voice raw. 

You looked up from your fingers to meet his gaze again, greedily relishing in the calm they provided you. It was always calm there. “I don’t know. But I know I don’t have the honor of meaning anything to you. Maybe we didn’t get along, or maybe we just never meshed. But I can tell you struggle with this new role—whatever it is the Inner Circle has asked you to do with me. I can tell this isn’t natural for you, spending time with me, trying to be my friend.” 

Azriel fell further back on his ankles, his wings unfurling from their tight coil to drape along the floor in a defeated posture. It looked wrong; you’d been around these men and their wings and they never dragged. 

Azriel’s mouth parted slightly, his jaw off-centered. His gaze left you in favor of staring at the floor, and you surmised that you caught him. You figured him out. This pawn he had become—you had freed him from the game. 

But then sighed and he said, “No,” and the word was whispered with so much sadness that none of this felt like a game anymore. Not that it was fun; this had never been fun.

“No,” he repeated. “Y/n, spending time with you—being around you—it’s as natural as breathing for me.” He looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head. “Gods, I’ve done this so wrong.” 

“Azriel, it’s—” 

“Even just hearing you say my name. After so many days without it, I could sit and just listen to you talk and I would be content.” 

Your fingers felt numb. 

Azriel stopped staring at the ceiling. 

“We have always meshed,” he said. “I was being selfish—avoiding you when I shouldn’t have. The truth, y/n, is that we are close. Very close. Rhysand, Mor, Cassian—they don’t have to ask me to forge some… bond with you because that has already been 300 years in the making.” 

“But at lunch and every time I—” 

“It’s hard and I have been a coward,” Azirel interrupted, shifting forward until his knees brushed against yours on the ground. “This has been inexplicably harder for you and I have been a coward and there is no part of me that wants to be away from you.” 

It somehow felt as if your life was turning upside down again because you had made conclusions and assumptions and none of them were right. You had come to terms with the fact that you felt safest with a man who wanted nothing to do with you and had mourned the loss already. It had been strange to mourn something you had only just gained, but it had felt even stranger to lose Azriel. 

It hadn’t felt right.

“So we’re friends?” you tentatively asked, feeling the wooden corner of the desk dig into your spine. 

Azriel swallowed. “Yes.” 

“And you… like being my friend?” 

“Very much.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Azriel laughed, the sound so startlingly joyous you felt it swelling in your own chest. It filled you up, consumed you, and you wished for a long moment that you hadn’t been so willing to allow Rhys’s darkness into the crevices of your mind. This feeling belonged there. Only this. 

“I am positive,” he assured, a smile lingering on his face. “Being your friend has been my crowning achievement for the last three centuries.” 

“That doesn’t seem like much of an achievement,” you replied, the snark in your tone surprising you. 

It seemed to surprise Azriel as well, his brows shooting to his hairline. “Fortunately, you are not the authority on my achievements, especially since you don’t remember them and can’t recall how amazing it is to be your friend.” 

He kept tripping over that word—friend. 

You decided to ignore it, too pleased by the way you made Azriel laugh and smile and not look at you the way he had been for the past several days. 

And something was glowing in your chest, something that seemed to replace the near-constant ache you had grown so accustomed to. 

Later, you would ask more questions. Later, you would ask Azriel about Day Court and the reason why he silently panicked every time you ran your hand along your temple to ease the pressure there. 

But for now, you smiled at the shadowsinger, and he smiled back.

Part 5 ☁

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel angst #acotar fic #azriel #azriel imagine #if it all fell

[ladyrijus]

Skyward Sword Zelda is such a tragic figure in my opinion. Just put yourself in her shoes and imagine this.

It's the best day of your life. Your dearest friend, dork that he is, has finally become a knight. It's what every kid on Skyloft works towards and he finally did it. You're so proud of him. When you fly together, you muster up the courage to tell him you love him.

You never get the chance.

Instead you're whisked away into a world you believed was left behind, and saved by a woman who declares that she is your guardian, chosen by you. You have never met her before. You didn't even know there were people like you who lived down here, in the Surface.

"You must purify yourself if you are to transcend time and hold the seal," the mysterious woman with the painted tear remarks as she shepherds you through strange destinations unlike anything your books have ever taught you, "it was your will." No matter how many times she tells you this, in every iteration the language could allow, it doesn't make sense. Why would a goddess need to turn human? What could you do, that she could not?

Where does divinity and humanity diverge?

Connection.

A goddess is revered by her people who pray, in spite of her silence, for her benevolence and guidance. She is their unwavering stone, a higher power to rely on. But a girl? A girl is loved. She is someone tangible, a figure who people will see, and know, and care about, and fight for.

And that's when it clicks. Your friend isn't really your friend at all, but a hero, a pawn, who was intended to be used against an enemy of yours you no longer recognize.

You're using him. You've been using him all this time. It's sickening.

With each prayer, with each goddess damned spring you rush to, you are faced with your own marbled reflection, a testament to the fact your humanity is only a pretense, carefully timed to ensnare your friend into a hero's fate.

He doesn't seem to understand that though. He keeps running after you like the fool he is, hoping to save Zelda, his precious Zelda, that you no longer are. The smile you wear becomes harder to hold. You were Hylia first, and that is all you will ever be.

You play into the charade anyways. After all, Zelda was the reason why he went through his trials. To tell him now that she was gone would mean to destroy everything you had worked for. So you tell him everything he wants to hear: that you're your father's daughter, that you're his friend, that you're his Zelda.

And when you close your eyes, smiling from within the amber and ignoring the dull thuds of his fist against its surface, you wonder if you look anything like the statue you and your love had stood upon on the best day of your life.

"Maybe all of this is a dream," you wonder while drifting in between millennia. Time passes like the waterfalls in Skyloft, rapid, yet everlasting. Maybe you'd wake up in your bed in the Academy again. Your love would have been sleeping in (again) and everything would be how it used to be. You could be Zelda once more. And most importantly, Hylia would be nothing beyond a giant statue for you to ignore for the rest of your days.

... There's something to be said about how you fall again once you wake up.

"What kind of goddess am I," you think crudely, "to sever my own wings?"

But this time, your love is there to catch you. And he does. In that moment you pray, in your own name, he doesn't let you go.

#i was in my feels tonight what can i say #skyward sword #legend of zelda #zelink #egregious lack of groose and for that i apologize #loz #tloz #the legend of zelda #zelda #link #hylia #impa

[nohoney]

us series! reader has gotten a little lazy at riding, so keigo and touya decide to fix that (*/ω＼)

“You’re spoiling her, you know?” Touya points out one day as he and Keigo grocery shop together, “She’s getting all princess-y ‘cause of you.”

Amber eyes gloss over the selection of bread in the aisle, looking for a particular brioche that he’s been craving for the last week. The bread is found and placed into the cart, Keigo walking ahead for the next thing on the list they need to get. “I don’t know what you mean. I think we’ve been waiting hand and foot for her this entire time.”

It’s not really unusual for you to be used to the princess treatment, not really needing to get up if you need or want something for yourself.

“That’s not what I meant.” Touya sighs as he pushes the cart and lets the blond decide what’s needed for their purchases. “She’s not riding dick like she used to. It’s because when she’s on top of you, you’re doing all the work from the bottom. I’ve noticed it the last three times.”

“Okay, and? What does how we fuck have to do with how you fuck?” Keigo glances back at Touya briefly as he continues to walk towards the next aisle, “If she’s getting lazy with you, you know what to do with her.”

Opting to fuck around, the cart gets pushed into Keigo’s backside and the metal is noisy from the impact.

“You need to do it, you’re the one making her lazy when she’s on top.”

“It should occur to you that I fuck her the way I do is because I enjoy it. I like putting in the work.” Keigo points out, dropping the subject and flipping off Touya for being a menace with the cart. He really doesn't think anything of what was brought up and continues on normally.

But the point comes up in his mind the next time Keigo has sex with you. How he ended up just fucking you from the bottom, keeping your body pressed down to him and thrusting up into your pussy that he just can’t get enough of. And there’s no fight from you to try to take control of riding him. You used to sometimes at least attempt to be the one to take reigns and he’d entertain it before fucking you the way he wants.

He cums in you, your body relaxing against his and it’s like you melted. Keigo moves you like a rag doll, rolling you over to lie back on the bed so that he can fetch a towel and clean himself up. “So good Keigo… so good…” you mutter, leaning back into the pillows and reaching for your phone to start scrolling on your social media.

Not even a thank you for the dicking down you just got—Touya was right.

You are getting spoiled.

Keigo is a bit more gracious when he’s proven to be in the wrong. He goes to Touya says the magic words, “You were right, she doesn’t put in the work anymore.”

Blue eyes are full of mirth when Keigo comes with the admission, already knowing exactly what they’re going to do so that you learn a little lesson. Not that he doesn’t like spoiling you but even you are expected to put in a little bit of effort here and there. And if you’re not gonna do it willingly—

They’re just gonna make you.

“Get on Kei’s dick baby, wanna see you with him.” Touya mutters against your lips, letting you taste your own pussy after he had eaten you out. You’re eager for more kisses from him, almost too lost in the affection before he spanks your ass and directs to the blond laying back on the bed.

Crawling over to Keigo, you hold his cock as you slowly slip it in you. You let out a small gasp, the stretch of him entering you is always pleasant and when he’s fully sheathed inside, you get a dreamy smile on your face. You start to lean down to him, having gotten used to Keigo hugging you back when you move in that motion and you expect him to put in the work of fucking you that he’s been doing the last few times.

So you’re surprised when you’re pushed back by Keigo and surprised again when Touya grabs a fistful of your hair and cranes your neck back. You whimper, being unable to speak a word from the position your first boyfriend has got you in. Only little sounds are the best you can muster as you wonder what’s in store for you.

“Ride him, you’re putting in the work today.” Touya tells you, releasing your hair and spanks your ass hard that makes you yelp. It wasn’t a playful smack either—it was meant to hurt you a little.

Keigo is usually nice when Touya is mean. A comforting hand smooths over the area you were struck, his touch is soft and his gaze is soft too when you look down at him. His hand lifts and strikes you in the same spot Touya did with just as much strength.

“Agh! Hurts!” You whimper and you look down expecting to get a bit of mercy from the blond, but he’s shaking his head and tutting at you.

“You heard him baby, ride me. You can do it, yeah?” Keigo’s voice is sweet, gentle, but the hand smoothing over the spot you were hit has you a little tense. “Yeah baby bird?”

They’re being mean to you together.

You hadn’t even realized how lazy you had been lately when it comes to being on top. Keigo was having fun being the one to do it all for you whenever he had you like this so you had gotten used to it. So you think that acting a little pitiful will earn you some kindness, maybe even make the boys feel bad.

Touya doesn’t have it with you, making you assume the position as he tells you firmly, “Ride him.”

With your hands placed on either side of Keigo’s head, you clench your hands and groan unhappily. You know better than to argue back though. So you move your hips, fucking Keigo’s cock into you for the first time in a while. It feels good, it does feel good, but you don’t have the stamina that you used to.

“Tired, ‘m tired!” you whine, “Please Kei, please just do it for me?”

Touya wasted no time in spanking you again, harder than he did last time. Keigo delivers one too that’s just as mean.

“I said ride him, that was barely even five minutes.” Touya admonishes you, “C’mon brat.”

“I can’t!” you whine petulantly and pout back at Touya.

“You don’t ride him, I’m gonna lift you off his cock and you’re not gonna get fucked by either of us until you actually put in some effort.”

The threat actually makes you mildly panic, looking down at Keigo to see if they actually mean it. They wouldn’t do that, right? They’re not just gonna hold out on you all because of this, right? Right?

Keigo thrusts up once, reaching one hand up to cup your jaw in his hand. He holds you gently but firmly, his voice reflecting the tender way he touches you, “Ride me, you can do it.”

You hesitate, a noncommittal sound hummed out.

This time Keigo is the first to hit your ass and then he gestures to Touya. “Alright, take her off me. She doesn’t want to.”

You feel Touya’s hands go underneath your armpits as if you to lift you up, but you shake him off and hastily speak out, “No! No, I’ll ride Keigo! I’m sorry, I will!” So you assume the position again, moving your hips in the motion that you know how to do but no longer have the stamina for. And what’s worse is that they’re not praising you—they’re still bullying you!

“You’re such a brat, fucking ungrateful. Keigo does all the work for you all the time and that’s the best you can give him?” Touya sneers at you.

“It hasn’t even been that long and you’re that tired already? Everything I do for you and you can’t at least give me half the effort. Lazy little slut.” Keigo sighs in disappointment.

Tears prick at your eyes, sniffling a little but you know better than to stop. Even the grinding you’re doing is at least something but it’s just not enough. You want Keigo to hold you down and use you. You want him to do what he does best and just fuck you until you’re stupid.

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry!” You whine. So you muster up what little energy you have and do your best to ride Keigo until he cums. It doesn’t matter if you do at this point. What’s important is focusing everything on him. He’s good to you, so so good to you and he deserves to sit back and relax while you show him that you’re willing to meet him halfway.

Your thighs burns as you bounce up and down on Keigo’s cock, your breath is shaky and you want to collapse. But you can’t stop until he’s happy, not until he decides that you’ve done a good enough job. No asking for help from Touya either—you know that this was his idea to do this to you.

“You want Keigo to cum in you, doll?” Touya turns your head to look at him, “Think you deserve it?”

You have to be careful with your words. If you eagerly agree, they could still bully you for being desperate and still only thinking of yourself.

“Whatever Keigo wants. I want to do what he wants.” you manage to speak out and hope it was the right thing to say.

Keigo seems to be satisfied with your words. “Then make me cum.”

It disappoints you a little that he won’t take over but you should know better because Touya is here as well. Maybe if it was just the two of you, Keigo wouldn’t have been as influenced to be as mean. But still you love them and a small part of you loves when they are mean. It can be frustrating when you’re ganged up on but you also know what kind of treatment you’ll get afterwards.

This will be worth it.

You ride Keigo as hard as you can, concentrating with all the effort you have left to focus on him. Touya’s at least kind enough to play with your clit, giving you a little something in return for saying and doing the right thing.

Keigo’s eyebrows start to knit together and you recognize the expression he makes, noticing how he grabs at your hips and his body starts to flex. His muscles and his chest, they get more defined as his body tenses underneath you. So with the last shreds of strength you have left, you fuck Keigo until his eyes start to roll back and he’s gasping for breath.

Then you remember how exhilarating it is to be on top and to watch him unfold beneath you. Even when you know he’s finished cumming inside you, now all of a sudden you just can’t stop. Keigo is the one babbling as you overstimulate him, nonsensical words that can barely be strung together to form a sentence.

“Good girl.”

Touya is the one to lift you off Keigo, immediately setting you onto the bed and pushing your legs open. You and Keigo are catching your breath together, whimpering when Touya shoves two fingers into your pussy. The pads of his fingers stroke inside you and your body writhes a little, but you know to not try to push Touya away.

He likes this.

He’s obsessed with you having Keigo’s cum in you.

“Good girl,” he repeats after he withdraws his fingers and licks them clean, “what do you say?”

“Thank you for teaching me a lesson.” You whisper and you’re relieved when you’re rewarded with a forehead kiss. This is the best part of your boys being mean to you—they’ll be so nice afterwards. They coddle and adore you, shoving their tongues into your mouth for sloppy kisses before doting on you.

Keigo holds you in his arms, muttering little praises along the crown of your hairline.

Touya massages your legs and thighs, his hands comforting and relaxing. But he doesn’t let you forget the lesson he put on you today, “Next time when either of us say that you need to put in some work, what do you?”

“I’ll listen,” you answer, “I won’t complain.”

“Good.”

#hawks x reader #dabi x reader #takami keigo x reader #todoroki touya x reader #us series

[fanaticsnail]

Remember Me

Hello Shanks fans!

This work was requested by @aishabbbb, which I linked back to here for the full description of the prompt. This is my third (technically fourth because my thoughts ran away with me!) requested work that I've completed.

I'm not currently taking requests, but if you do want to see my writing style depict a specific idea, I will honestly most likely hyper-fixate on it until the idea consumes me if you do ask me nice enough. I do appreciate a good prompt! And seriously, who doesn't love an amnesia trope!

Word Count: 6,636

My Masterlist is here!

Echoes of gruff laughter lingered in the air as tankards of ale clanged against one another. It had been a while since the Red-Hair Pirates had made port and as they viewed a rowdy port full of lively music, contagious laughter and bursting at the seams with a variety of pleasurable company; they could not resist.

This port had been known for some time to be a lawless town, accepting of any journeymen as they resupplied their vessels, sailors selling their wares and even the odd Marine here or there had graced the town with their presence. The World Government paid no mind to the comings or goings, knowing should the port be shut down; their supply of rum would slowly dwindle away.

The Captain of the Red-Hair Pirates sat upon a stool at the rear of the room as he stared into the bottom of his tankard, watching the amber liquid slosh from side to side. He withdrew into himself; his former joy and carefree attitude no longer present on his features this night.

A woman with a painted face sauntered over towards the captain, swaying her hips as she overemphasized her intentions.

“Care for some company, sweetheart?” she asked him in a sultry tone as she took his hand in hers that still clasped the tankard. He made eye contact and smiled from the corner of his mouth before withdrawing the hand from her grip and drew his drinking vessel to his mouth.

“Not today, love,” he said, taking a drink from his tankard, “but I can point you in the direction of someone who would be more than happy to share your time.”

She smiled as Shanks gestured to his senior officer, who had a black bandana featuring a white jolly roger insignia atop his lengthy blonde hair. His expression was one of a displeasing grimace, black glasses concealing more of his irritation behind them.

“See if you can bring a smile to his face, would you?” he laughed slightly as she nodded as she made her way to her next target.

Plonking two fresh pints down on the table before him, Benn Beckman sighed as he sat on a stool facing his Captain; taking one of the pints and gesturing for Shanks to do the same.

“You turned her away?” Beckman questioned his Captain, “I thought you’d enjoy a pretty blonde giving you attention this time.”

“I’m not as open today as I have been any other day to the company of a painted lady,” Shanks laughed in response raising his pint and clanging it against his First-Mate’s, “or any other man or woman you’ve since such sent my way. You know this.”

“Oh,” Beckman uttered, eyes widening before looking down at the table, “I didn’t realise it was today. Sorry Cap’n.”

“Don’t apologise, Beckman,” he smiled at him before drinking from the tankard. He moaned slightly as the cool, bubbling liquid hit his lips and he tasted the bitter flavour of the hoppy amber ale.

“How long has it been since-?” Beckman began, halting his words in search for the more appropriate way of phrasing it.

“How long has it been since my bride was claimed at sea?” Shanks offered to complete his First-Mate’s sentence. Beckman nodded in response, gesturing with his pint for Shanks to offer his answer.

Shanks sighed and leant back in his stool, his back thumping against the small railing at the back.

“This day marks ten years,” he added with a sad smile. A silence fell between them as they reminisced the day the Captain of the Red-Hair Pirate’s wife was lost to him.

After a brief pause, they commenced their drinking as they surveyed the movements of the patrons and crew interacting with one another.

Beckman raised his tankard to his lips and begin to gulp with gusto at the frothing liquid. He trailed his eyes throughout the bar as he did so; looking to Limejuice as he grit his teeth tightly at the blonde woman’s incessant and unrelenting flirtation was thrust upon him.

He continued his assessment of the room before his attention was caught by a group of sailors laughing amongst each other, a woman throwing her had back at the joke uttered by one among them. Benn Beckman spluttered into his tankard, coughing as the amber ale entered into his wind pipe and corrupted his lungs with it. He continued to draw in his breaths while maintaining visual contact on the situation unfolding before him.

“Benn,” Shanks addressed his choking crewman, “you alright?”

The First-Mate continued coughing and spluttering, managing to relieve his lungs of the bitter substance and gasping in a long breath. His pigment all but fled from his face as he continued staring blankly at the bar in horror.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Shanks laughed, placing his tankard down on the table before clapping a hand against the upper arm of Beckman’s shoulder.

“I-I think I have,” Beckman stuttered slightly before bringing his attention to his captain, “look to the bar and tell me if you can see her too, Captain.”

Shanks furrowed his brows in confusion, laughing lightly at the confession of his crewman before turning and immediately having the playful expression pulled from his lips.

“You see her?” Beckman asked him in a voice just above a whisper.

The Captain wordlessly rose to his feet, almost toppling the stool over in the process as he made his way to approach the woman. His bride, his queen. His whole world was carelessly and unaware of his presence as the melodical laugh fell from her lips; a sound Shanks never thought he would once again experience.

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

You tapped the chest of the older sailor in front of you as you continued to laugh at his joke.

“Harold,” you gasped, wiping a tear from your eye, “and that’s the reason you only have three toes on your left foot?”

“Honest to goodness, lass,” he continued to rumble laughter, his eyes twinkling with utter mischievousness, “the bloody crab nearly carved the whole lot off, if not for my quick thinking!”

He imitated the pinching movements of a crab’s claw and crooked his head to make himself look as crab-like as he could, prompting another roar of laughter to erupt between the sailors and yourself.

“Alright, I’ll get you that drink then,” you teetered your laughter and turned to address the bartender you had come to know, “Mary, give us a couple schooners of ale- the pale stuff if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Right you are, my love,” she acknowledged your order and began pouring the foamed liquid into two smaller cups.

It had been ten years since you found yourself lying upon the shore with no recollection of who or what you were before your arrival. Thankfully enough, your body was strong. You knew how to hold your own when it came to unwarranted and unreciprocated attention, often brawling with men to assert yourself among them.

As you needed a job to afford food, you managed to bully Captain Harold of the Angelfish Shepherds Fishing Crew and would accompany them out to sea, bringing in several catches a day and selling their many items throughout town. It was only when the sun would disappear behind the horizon, you would come home to the tavern: "Mary’s Resting Track" and make yourself comfortable with your crew at the bar; drinking well into the night.

Just as Mary had finished pouring from the keg, you felt an arm placed upon your left shoulder, prompting you to turn to face it's source.

“My bride,” a tall, red-headed man gasped in a voice above a whisper as he drew you in to place his lips against yours. You squealed at the tender impact, a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth at the sudden softness and passion you felt from the unknown man. You pushed on his chest slightly before creasing your brows in confusion.

“Steady on, Sailor. Save it for your wife,” you laughed at him, collecting the two schooners from the bar and placing one into the hands of Captain Harold, “or at least buy me a drink first!”

You laughed, prompting your crew to do the same as they raised their glasses and took a drink. You rose yours to your lips and drank from it, keeping playful eye contact with the sailor before you.

He was handsome, his red hair immediately drawing you in. He had a black cloak shrouding his left arm from view and a three-point claw mark over his left eye. His face held a shocked, sobering expression on it as if he was staring at something extra-terrestrial in make.

“Y-You,” he stuttered out, “Y-You’re.”

The words caught in his throat as he again reached his right hand up to attempt to secure a fallen strand of your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. You swatted his hand away from completing the action.

“No,” you said firmly, playfulness leaving your face as your eyebrows collected themselves with a frown, “no one touches my hair. It’s out of bounds to even those who know me, and know me; you do not.”

You swiped his arm away fully away from your face while keeping a warning, reprimanding look on your features. He continued to stare at you, his eyes swelling slightly as they fluttered between your own; pleading with you and searching within them for a small shroud of recognition.

“She’s saving it for her beloved,” your crewman mocked you in a high-pitched tone, bringing humour once again to the room. You laughed at his jest, prompting you to turn away from the red head to scold his imitation.

“I don’t sound like that,” you laughed at him, prompting your crewman to again mock you by wobbling his head from side to side and scrunching up his face.

You turned back around to see the man again gazing with a fierce intensity born deeply into your eyes and managed this time to tuck a strand of your hair behind your left ear with his right hand. At this, you brought your own hand firmly up and struck the side of his face, all humour once again leaving you.

At the crisp strike, chaos erupted at the bar. A crew of pirates drew their pistols, pointing it towards you; while your crew of sailors pulled their own from their belt and aimed it at them in response. You kept your eyes completely fixed on the red-haired pirate as his face continued to hold a yearning expression.

“She gave you a warning, Sailor,” your Captain spat at him, “I don’t care how much ale you consumed, you respect the wishes of a lady.”

This seemed to shatter whatever illusion was held on the redhead in front of you as he looked to the assortment of pirates behind him. He held up his hands in defence of himself, taking a step back from his proximity near you and nodding his head in a deep bow.

“Easy, lads,” he smiled, “put them away. We don’t bring out our guns at one little slap.”

The crew focussed their attention on you as you shook your head and creased your brows at his address. He again turned to you, and bowed his head slightly deeper as an apology.

“You’ll have to excuse me, miss,” he uttered, “I didn’t mean to cross your boundary. It was reactionary, and for that I offer my most sincere apologies.”

Your gaze softened at his words as you gently used your pointer finger to raise his chin to look at you once more.

“Apology accepted on the condition of buying me and my friends a round of drinks,” you scrunched your nose with a small wink. He laughed at your remark, shaking his head and smiling once more.

“I would have to agree, miss. Definitely the next one on me,” he continued to gaze into your eyes as you withdrew your finger from his chin and tapped his nose with it playfully.

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

You didn’t remember him. That must be the only reason you didn’t hoist yourself into his single arm and cling yourself against him. Why you didn’t lean into the kiss and allow him to lace his hand into your hair and relieve your face from it shrouding your vision. The act so intimately solidifying your relationship in the early days, holding onto it as you spoke your wedding vows.

No-one was to ever touch your hair apart from yourself and your beloved were the words you spoke while dressed in your white, lace dress aboard the Red Force; Beckman performing the ceremony all those years ago.

You were married in your youth, relationship blossoming from friendship to something more on the Oro Jackson under the watchful gaze of Gol D. Roger. The subtle glances turned into subtle touches, turning into kisses stolen from within the hidden halls of the Oro Jackson as you would press each other against the walls and roam your hands along your bodies.

He was obsessed with your hair, and with each caress, each embrace, he would find himself absent-mindedly playing with it. You vowed alongside your commitment in matrimony that only he and he alone would be allowed to tuck your hair behind your ear in adoration; and you be the only one permitted to place a kiss atop the crown of his head.

Shanks had to contain himself as his soul screamed within the chasms of his chest to embrace you, to hold you against him and cry out in joy at your return. He didn’t touch another woman in the ten long years it had been since your last departure; the notion turning to ash in his mouth at the mere suggestion. It had only been until recently that Beckman prompted him to seek out someone to relieve his tension, but he felt it would’ve been an insult to the beautiful memories you shared with one another.

You were even in the process of early conversations on what starting a family would look like aboard the Red Force with his assortment of rowdy crew.

You would bicker at having the ship make birth permanently at a port, returning every two weeks to the solid shore as Shanks refused to halt his travels. He wanted you and the children aboard, rearing them alongside his crew; an idea you immediately shot down as you understood infants waking and crying at every interval and the disruption would not be fair to bring to the crew.

Shanks remembered Beckman adding to that conversation with: “We’re already getting sleepless nights from the sounds echoing the halls originating at your quarters!”

He chuckled at the memory before he remembered the fear on your face as the storm threw you overboard in your attempt to raise the sheet from the topmast and secure it in place. The black sky and torrential winds making it impossible to see your form as you struggled against the waves. He didn’t see what happened, only noticing your departure once they successfully made it through the storm and into the central eye of it.

The roar-like scream rumbling throughout the chest of the Red-Haired Captain still reverberating within the ears and memories of the entire crew as they recollect it every year. The pain shared amongst them as their captain bore his grief openly; drowning in rum every night before Beckman pulled him out of his rut with the reprimand: “this is not what she would have wanted.”

It mattered not what happened to him from that point. The pain of loosing you was far greater than any earthly injury could bring forth. He didn’t even bat an eye as his arm was claimed by a great Sea-Beast; consuming his flesh within it’s belly. He was more upset by the fact his golden wedding band perished at its disappearance.

And here you were, not a scratch upon you; laughing as if you had not a care in the world.

You had no memory. That was the only explanation Shanks had as he gazed lovingly at you, drinking your free ale at his expense.

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

You shook your head at a comment made by one of your crewmen as they suggested to hold a drinking competition between the red-haired pirate’s crew and your own.

“I don’t think I have enough booze in the house for that,” Mary laughed from behind the bar.

You smiled at her comment, turning back around to see the far off look in the red-head’s eyes.

“You know,” you nudged him with your shoulder, bringing his attention back towards you, “for someone that leads in lips first, you’re awfully quiet.”

He chuckled at your comment, expression softening but with a hidden depth you couldn’t quite understand.

“I’m not usually like this,” he scrunched his nose up with a smile.

“Rough time at sea, then?” you asked him, gesturing to Mary with two fingers to indicate your intentions of purchasing the next round for you and the red-head.

“Not particularly, its just-,” his words trailed off, prompting you to gaze your eyes; flittering them between his own two deep brown orbs before he took a deep breath and looked forward at his crew interacting with your own.

“You gestured for the good stuff, right?” she asked, placing two short, round glasses down on the counter; spiced rum swishing in the base as she did so.

“That I did, love,” you replied, placing down your berry on the counter and taking the glasses from it. You went to place the glass into the red-head Captain’s hands, noticing it was already occupied with a half-drunk tankard of ale.

“You keen on a rum?” you asked him, bringing his gaze up. He gasped out a quick hum, raising the tankard and downing the remainder of his ale with haste and placing the empty vessel atop the bar. He rose his hand to accept your offer and his fingers brushed against your own as he claimed the drink from your hand.

He looked down to your collar bone and noticed a single gold ring hung from a piece of fine leather around it. He furrowed his brows at it as to inspect it from his great distance.

“The gold band around your neck,” he gestured down to your left hand, “are you married?”

“Not to my knowledge, Sailor,” you laughed at him, “I was found with it.”

You sipped at the rum and creased your brows as the heavy alcohol entered your system.

“I apologise for slapping you,” you uttered, “I, uh. I made a promise, you see. I don’t really know what about or to whom, truthfully.”

He hummed at your comment, fixing his eyes on your face as you spoke. He trailed his eyes over your body, looking at you with an expression completely unreadable. Somewhere between: bewildered, surprised, great sorrow, relief, curiosity and apprehension.

“I don’t actually have a lot of that – knowledge, I mean,” you reiterated with a smile, “For the better part of ten years, I’ve been building back what I think I used to be like. I have no idea, though. I could’ve been some prissy young lass with a string of twelve children; or some standoffish, uptight cow-.”

“-You were never like that,” the red-head interrupted you, prompting you to snap your gaze up to meet with his.

“Do you know me, Sailor?” you asked him, your brows creasing together.

“Shanks,” he corrected you, “my name is Shanks.”

“Alright, Shanks,” you corrected yourself, “Do you know me?”

He sighed, drinking a small amount of liquid from his glass and looking to the rowdy crowd as their boisterous laughter echoed throughout the walls.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m going to need two things,” he said, downing the remainder of alcohol from his glass in one quick swell, “another drink, preferably a bottle this time.”

You laughed at him, before asking; “and the other thing?”

“Privacy,” he uttered with a small hint of sadness. You expressed concern within your eyes before patting him on the back and rubbing small circles in comfort to him.

You weren’t sure why you brought your hand up to comfort him, it seemed almost reactionary. A natural instinct of familiarity; organic.

“Alright, Shanks,” you began, making eye contact with Mary once more, “I’ll buy you a bottle under one condition.”

“And what might that be?” he chuckled warmly.

“That you give me a small glint of information before we proceed to the beach,” Mary placed the bottle on the counter and you placed down more berry in response, “I need to know if you are threatening me with a good time, or if you plan on executing me to reclaim some debt.”

“Were we enemies?” you asked him, bearing your gaze at the wall behind the bar.

“Sometimes,” Shanks shrugged his shoulders, prompting you to snap your gaze back to his. He erupted a full belly laugh from his diaphragm at your reaction. He let out a deep sigh before he suggested; “let’s make to the beach and I’ll fill you in.”

Mary smiled, looking between the two of you before the beckoning of Captain Harold and several bottles of the cheapest rum called her from her place before you.

You nodded, neglecting to collect glassware while you grasped the neck of the bottle; not once removing your eyes from the red-head next to you.

You made your way down towards the beach, walking in step with Captain Shanks, as the crew bid him goodnight. You noticed several members of his crew gawked at you as if they had seen a phantom or something of the make.

Once gazing into the open sea, the Captain plonked himself unceremoniously on the sand, legs spread wide as he sat with his knees bent upwards. You smiled at him before crouching down to sit beside him, uncorking the fresh rum bottle in your hands and offering it to him. He smiled as he took it from your grasp and brought it to his lips.

You trailed your eyes over his form, trying to conjure a whisp of memory from the recesses of your mind. After having no image return to you, you rose up your voice.

“So-,” you began, only to be cut off my Shanks.

“You were – are,” he started to relay, laughing at the fact he spoke over you. You nodded to him to continue.

He paused, sighing before again voicing what he was attempting to confess to you.

“It’s been ten years to the day since I lost you,” he sighed, looking down to the sand near his knees, “and not a day went by that my thoughts were not drawn to you.”

You looked at him, puzzled at what he was telling you.

“Your gold band,” he gestured with his hand towards your neck grasping the bottle, keeping his eyes fixed on the sand below him, “was gifted to us by our former Captain we served under: Gol D. Roger. He had a lot of love for you and I.”

“The King of the Pirates?” you asked him, eyes wide before adding, “and us. What do you mean, us?”

He sighed again, this time bringing his head to slouch back as he gazed at the dark and cloudless sky above you.

“I can’t tell you what happened right now. It’s-,” he paused between the words, prompting you to inch forward and look at his face. He turned his face away from you as you attempted to gaze into his eyes; “-it’s too painful today.”

You frowned and instead reached down to the hand placed upon his hand, and swiftly reclaimed the rum bottle from within his grip. He turned his head towards you at this and trailed his eyes up to yours as you placed the lip of the bottle and downed two large gulps of the liquid. You squeezed your eyes as the strong alcohol burned its way down your throat and into the pit of your belly.

He laughed at your actions, finally the forlorn expression eclipsed by glee.

“You haven’t changed,” he uttered, reaching his hand up to your hair before recoiling it back again. You watched him do this, as processing the boundary you expressed earlier still lingered within his thoughts. Instead of reaching your hair with his hand, he fell his grasp to your hands as they held the rum bottle.

“Is there truly nothing you remember of me?” He asked you, looking down to where his single hand rested upon your own. You furrow your brows and search your mind through closed eyes, willing yourself to remember any aspect about him. You hissed out a growl in frustration as you found no recollection.

“I want to,” you whispered to him, “you seem a decent kind of man, if not a little forward with the kiss and all.”

He chuckled at your comment, his laughter building to a rumble. His shoulders began to quake lightly as his laughter died and morphed into soft sobs. He attempted to conceal them from you by raising his hand up from where it rested atop his knee and turned to face away from you. You were overwhelmed slightly by this man becoming wrecked with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, bringing yourself to rest on your knees as you pulled yourself closer to him.

You opened your arms and shimmied your legs forward, hoisting them over his bent knees and found a comfortable spot on the sand to rest between them. Your arms circled his shoulders as you felt his right arm wrap beneath your waist and hook up your spine. He held his face flush with your stomach and squeezed his hand to grasp at your body as if you were to slip away at any moment. You felt his shoulders begin to relax into your embrace while inhaling your scent. You looked down the top of his head before absentmindedly bringing your lips down to place a chaste kiss against his hair. He flinched slightly at this impact, tension building in his shoulders before he slumped them forward.

You heard him sigh into your diaphragm as you did so, bringing his face away from its hidden position against you and resting his chin atop your chest to bring his sights to look up at you. For some reason, this man as he held you in an intimate proximity did not have you thrusting him away from your with excessive force as you did with so many others.

You unwrapped your left hand from around his shoulders and set it against his cheek. His youthful smile returning as you caressed him. You warmly smiled in response, feeling the gruff of his stubble against the palm of your hand before he turned his head and placed a brief kiss atop your inner hand.

“I am willing to dedicate the rest of my life to getting you to fall in love with me once again,” he whispered against your hand before turning his head to meet your gaze, “this I swear.”

Your eyes widened at the comment with a small smile toying at your mouth.

“I gather my undying devotion is overwhelming for you,” he chuckled, prompting you to move your hand away from his face and place both hands atop his shoulders.

“It is, to be perfectly candid with you,” you giggled at him, smoothing your arms over his shoulders and tracing circles against them with your thumbs, “I have tried everything to bring a small fragment of the person I once was to the forefront of my being.”

He trailed his hand from its place at the small of your back and rested it atop your left hip, grasping it firmly within his palm and kneading the flesh beneath it.

You brought your attention to the gold ring on your leather necklace as you held onto his shoulder, narrowing your eyes at the metal slightly; pleading within your own mind to bring forth any memory of the man cradling himself against you.

“To put myself in your hideous sandals,” you uttered, prompting him to quirk his head slightly to the side, “you found me, and it’s almost as if you did so only to lose me again.”

“Aye, it is,” he nodded, looking down again and meeting his eyes with the flesh of your forearm. He ghosted his lips over your left arm, dragging it higher within the crook of your elbow. Your hair follicles stood on edge under his ministrations, as he continued to not kiss your skin; but rather feel the way your body tasted below his lips.

“And you looked lovely in my highly practical sandals, last time you wore them,” he smirked his lips against your flesh before placing a kiss against it. He trailed kisses varying in intensity back down your forearm and against your wrist, prompting your breath to hitch in your throat.

That comment was it. After a variety of interpersonal and intimate words shared regarding your prior relationship with the man beneath you; it was the ugly sandals that brought a flitter of memory to grace behind your eyes. Any other comment; the hand in your hair from earlier, the wedding ring gifted by Gol D. Roger before he was executed, anything else; it was the ugly sandals he found in the run of the mill town that he purchased and, much to your horror, wore in public.

You remember taking them from his room and fleeing above deck with them in an attempt to throw them overboard to rid yourself of their ugliness forever, only to have your waist caught by your husband as he twirled you around to face the deck again with playful reprimand in the process of doing so.

At the request of your husband, you placed them on your feet and experienced the absolute comfort they bore you; almost shrieking in disgust at yourself for relishing in the feeling; as he belly-laughed at you.

“We’ll get you some at the next port” you heard his voice within your mind, “then we can be matching.”

You remembered him wiggling his eyebrows, prompting you to place your closed fist against his chest and tap him slightly.

“We can even get tiny little ones for when you relent and let me put a child in you,” you remembered his tone, causing a blush to rise presently to your cheeks.

“Something the matter, love?” Shanks' voice brought you from your singular memory and back into the present moment you were sharing so intimately with your husband.

No other memory sprang forward, only a few whispers of certain smells: sea water, spiced rum and stagnant drinking water with the natural smell men aboard a boat. You circled your arms around his shoulders and again pressed him against yourself, smothering his face against your sternum between your breasts. Your mouth fell slack as you pressed your face into his hair and inhaled the aroma of the fragrance he favoured to utilise in his red locks: sandalwood and ginger prominent with his natural scent lingering beneath it.

You began to feel a rough flurry of taps from the man beneath you as he indicated for you to release him. His laughter was unrestrained as his eyes twinkled with mischievousness.

“As happy as I am to once again have my face pressed between your breasts,” he heaved his laughter, “I do require air to sustain me.”

He brought his eyes to meet yours as you stared your eyes on the crashing waves of the beach as the tide began to come in further. Your eyes remained wide as you continued to will a semblance of recollection to come to you.

Once you offered no rebuttal at his comment, he again reached his hand up towards your hair only to halt it once more.

“What is it?” he asked you, now placing his right hand atop your left arm, holding it lovingly.

“I-,” you began, the words now halting between your lips. You brought your eyes down to look down and you continued to flitter them between each of his own.

“I-,” you again said, leaning in closer to him; prompting him to have a sense of seriousness overcome his features, “-will never own a pair of those ugly sandals.”

Immediately his seriousness fell away and his face split into a wide grin as his laughter rumbled within his chest one more.

“Yes, you always hated them. I think they’re wonderful,” he gasped while stifling his laughter. You continued to hold his shoulders as his laughter teetered off into a dull rumble.

“I tried to throw them overboard,” you uttered almost inaudibly, “and you threatened me with buying more of them.”

“You remember,” he gasped out a breathy sigh, “you remember me.”

He brought his torso up further to bring your foreheads to rest against each other. He nuzzled your nose slightly at the impact and squeezed his eyes shut with delight. He began to lean in to graze your lips with his, only to be halted by your gentle touch to bring him back.

“I don’t remember anything else aside from your disgusting sandals,” you whispered, closing your eyes before reopening them again and looking at him half-lidded, “and the way you looked at me when you suggested we begin trying for a child.”

A small gasp left his lips as a single tear fell from his right eye. Immediately he pulled your head against his further, seeking out your lips with his own. He moved his hand from its place at your hip to snake around your waist and hold you firmly against his lap. You felt him moan against your lips as you reciprocated his enthusiasm by lacing your fingers into his hair and tugging lightly at the new growth at the back of his neck.

As your proximity was so flush against one another, you had no choice but to press your full weight against him as he laid with his back against the sand; his hair sprawling out atop the course surface. He expertly maneuvered his right leg beneath yours without breaking the kiss, gasping into it as he darted his tongue out to meet with your own.

A soft whimper flung itself from your lips as he relentlessly attacked your mouth with his own; flittering deep and hungry kisses while trying to taste as much of you as he could with his tongue. You unlaced your fingers from his hair and raked them down his shoulders to his chest, massaging the hard muscle beneath them as you continued in your exploration. He gently rose his hand from its place around your waist and drew itself beneath your shirt and groaned when he felt your tender flesh beneath the material.

Placing your right hand below his cloak, you raked your fingers further along his ribcage and drew them up towards his left arm – halting your movement as you found none residing there.

You squealed into his mouth, feeling him smirk against your lips. You attempted to break from the kiss, only to feel his hand climb higher beneath your blouse and lie flat against your spine between your shoulder blades and continue passionately exploring your lips.

“Shanks,” you murmured a warning reprimand against his lips. He smiled while maintaining his lips against your own, feeling the soft pearls of his teeth as they made contact with your mouth. He continued to chase your lips each time you attempted to flee from his embrace.

You brought your hands up to ball the material of his white shirt within your fists and held him further against yourself, prompting him to let down his guard as he whimpered into your lips at your sudden domination. As soon as you felt him relinquish a small spectrum of control, you pushed hard on his collar bones and pried him from your lips. He first groaned in frustration before his body was wracked with uncontrollable laughter. He collapsed against the ground, prompting you to roll your body from above him to onto your own back in the sand as his laughter became contagious.

And as earlier, the heaving of your shoulders in fits of laughter evolved into heavy sobs from the both of you as you mourned the time lost between you.

“My bride,” Shanks called from beside you as he placed his right hand upon his eyes in an attempt to control his emotions.

“Yes, my groom,” you said as more of a whimper than an address.

He rolled over onto his side and hovered his face above yours, as the tears freely fell down the faces of the two of you; the moonlight cascading over your lover’s hair. Hesitantly, he reached his right hand up to your hair and slowly brought some loose strands from your face and wove it behind your ear. He sighed in relief as he watched you close your eyes and lean into his touch, taking your quivering lip between your teeth as you did so.

“You are as beautiful as the day I lost you,” he whispered with a slight hitch of his voice. You reopened your eyes to watch him smiling through his sorrow. You returned his expression and caressed his chest and ghosting your fingertips over his left shoulder.

“And you are one arm less than I remember,” you beamed a wide smile and giggled a little at your prod. He joined you in your laughter and pressed a chaste kiss against your hair before rising to his feet and offering you his right hand to hoist you up to meet him. You took his hand and allowed him to hoist you to your feet, before he dipped his shoulder down to make contact with your waist and lifted you over his right shoulder. He secured you in place with a crisp slap upon your left ass-cheek as he effortlessly crouched down to retrieve the forgotten, half-drunk rum bottle. He rose again to his feet and began to walk with you over his shoulder, using his teeth to uncork the rum bottle and spitting it against the sand.

“Is this quite necessary?” you asked him, mock annoyance in your tone.

He laughed and took a long swig from the rum bottle and gasped in joy as the liquid burnt its way down his throat.

“Not only is it necessary,” he called to you over his left shoulder, “it is also compulsory.” You laughed at him as he almost jigged back towards the tavern, him joining you in your laughter upon arriving at its steps and flinging open the door with his feet.

The arrival of the two of you had cheers erupting and reverberating from every corner and crevasse of the wooden building. Tankards were thrust into the air, foam sloshing carelessly from the top and onto the floor; much to the many protestations of Mary.

Shanks placed you on the floor after setting aside the bottle of rum atop a cylindrical raised bar table.

“Alright lads,” he addressed the room, “let me reintroduce you to my wife!”

He extended his right hand out for you to place your left hand within. As soon as you did so, he effortlessly spun you into him, your left arm laced over your front as he cradled you against himself.

You looked up to his face, your neck laying against his shoulder as he brought his lips down to meet your own for the first time publicly in a decade. Applause, shouts of glee and delight, more sloshing of ale and verbal reprimands from the tavern keeper echoed the hall as you smiled against the lips of your beloved. Your husband, and his bride.

#one piece #opla #x reader #shanks opla #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #shanks #one piece live action #opla fic #amnesia trope #my playlist broke me #angst #angst with a happy ending

[nev3rfound]

out of sight : m.h

everyone at HQ is looking for you, and all signs lead to Miguel, yet for some reason, he won't explain where it is you're hiding. 913 words.

masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop

(requests are open, slowly working through them:))

Keeping his gaze fixated on the monitors in front of him, Miguel sighs at the sound of the door opening and slamming shut.

"Hey bossman," Hobie yells, waving his arm in the air whilst Miguel's back remains turned. "charmin' as always, any way you seen Y/n about?" He continues despite the silence that ensues from the platform. "She said she'd be 'ere today, but not seen her."

"She's not here." Miguel simply answers, Lyla appears in front of him lowering her heart-shaped glasses, only to roll her eyes. Feeling Hobie's presence still lingering below, Miguel forces himself to look over his shoulder. "Something else you need?" He coldly questions, only to see Hobie shake his head and salute before exiting the room, the door slamming once more causing Miguel to shudder.

Lyla tuts to herself, crossing her arms over her chest. "You know, words going to get around, Miguel." Lyla sings, glancing upward before returning to see Miguel's expression remaining stoic. "Hobie isn't going to be the only visitor you know."

"It's none of their business." Miguel states. "It's best they don't know."

Humming in response, Lyla's smile only grows at the hint of concern crossing Miguel's face. "Sure." She shrugs, disappearing from his view whilst he returns to work.

Oblivious to the goings on, Peter strolls into Miguel's office with Mayday in his arms who continues to babble in his embrace. "I know, but I'm sure the big guy knows, Mayday." Peter explains quietly, hoping to see you perched on the platform with Miguel. Yet, you're nowhere to be seen in the room.

"Looks like you've got another visitor." Lyla chimes in.

Miguel groans internally, turning around as the platform slower lowers to reveal the sight of Peter B Parker and Mayday, who is hanging upside down in Peter's arms.

"What do you want?" Miguel doesn't bother to disguise his annoyance, even as Mayday reaches out for him.

Pulling her back, Peter averts his focus from Miguel's scowl. "Oh you know, Mayday was hoping to see Y/n. Overdue a game of hide and seek." Peter chuckles, only to be met with silence in response. "You seen her around?"

"She's not here, Peter." Miguel states, walking back to his platform and returning his attention to work.

Not quite convinced, Peter lifts his head up past the platform, noticing a stream of light to the left of the platform. "Well, worth a try." He calls out, tuning his ears to try and hear something, anything. And then he hears it. "I'll see you around, Miguel!"

Walking out of the office, Peter smiles to himself, only to be interrupted by Hobie and Gwen. "Well, where is she?" Gwen asks with a huff.

Hobie shakes his head with a half smile. "He ain't sayin." Hobie remarks, throwing his arm over Gwen's shoulders. "Come on, Gwen, best we leave 'em to it, yeah."

Back inside Miguel's office, he remains in front of the screens of amber, watching the various worlds until he hears the sound of movement to his left.

Checking the surrounding areas of the room, and the cameras around HQ, Miguel steps away from the screens to the small door on his left. "Hola, mi amor." Miguel whispers, cracking the door ajar to reveal you curled up in a twin bed, an eye mask covering your eyes and mouth ajar, snoring lightly. "Y/n?" He gently rubs your exposed shin, only to be met with a kick and a groan of you waking up.

"Miggy?" You mumble, lifting the eyemask up only to squint immediately at the angelic glow forming around Miguel. "'M still dreaming, aren't I?" Yawning through your question, Miguel shuffles into the room to sit on the edge of the bed.

"How's your head?" Miguel keeps his voice low, helping you sit upright before passing you some more water.

Taking a long sip, you sigh as the glass leaves your lips. "Never had any complaints." You joke, resulting in Miguel rolling his eyes whilst you chuckle to yourself. "It's a bit better, think the worst of the migraine is over."

"Tu quieres quedar, la monada?" Quick to slump against Miguel's lap, you hum in response, muttering something under your breath. "Que?"

"Heard you talking to the others." The mumble is more coherent this time, and Miguel nods. "Thank you, I'll make it up to Mayday tomorrow."

"Only when you're ready." Miguel strokes your hair from your face, removing the face mask hanging from your forehead. "Go back to sleep, okay? I'll check on you in a bit." He leans down, kissing your temple before helping you back to lying down.

As Miguel rises to leave, your hand shoots out to grab his. "Can you stay for a bit? Just 'til I nod off again?" Your pout was almost irresistible, something you knew and often used to get your way when it came to the big boss, much to his own dismay.

"I'll keep my eye out, boss." Lyla comments, appearing beside you, and smirking at you with a knowing nod.

"Fine." Miguel admits defeat, lifting his arms up for you to bury your face into his chest. "Ten minutes, Lyla, si?"

Checking her watch, Lyla nods before disappearing once more, and Miguel can't help but allow his eyes to close, just for a minute.

"Ugh, they're so cute." Lyla takes a photo, knowing somewhere in Miguel's heart, he'll love having this moment immortalized for all to see (well, maybe just you.)

t a g l i s t (thank you for the support!) link in my bio and at the top of this piece to add yourself☺️(if your user isn’t tagged, it’s because nothing comes up sorry!)@bissstuff @psychicforest@lourightm@mywinterwolf@justsomedreaming @stanlux17 @smokeandnailz @supermoonchildbroski @xrosegoldwolfx@courtneychicken@marvelsangels@supraveng@tommy-lee-81@smilexcaptainx@fandom-princess-forevermore@sarge-barnes-sir@pleasantlysecretdream @decaffeinated-fangirl @howdyherron @kirby-boo @florencxs@eldahae @handmesomecoffee @hi-my-name-is-riley @dev1lbella @thanossexual @alissaginger @sambucky8@notbrooklynsblog@nikkixostan @cosmiccaptian @adoreyou976@sarcasticallywitty15@multi-fandom-princess07@16boyfriends-and-me@courtneychicken @mackevanstan80 @torchwoodoctor@pleasantlysecretdream@yougottalovefandoms@magicalxdaydream@soccer-100000 @tenaciousperfectionunkown

@talksoprettyjjx @btsonthedaily @jessyballet@katiaw2@buckyswildflower@lucrea@weenersoldierr@katiaw2@lucrea@amelia-song-pond@bluelakeee@dottirose@emilytheukuleleplayer@5-seconds-of-mendes @rudystilinski @bookfrog242@wild-rose-35@fleurlovesbucky@iiclarixa@soldierstucky@twinerd14@lieswithoutfairytales@ateliefloresdaprimavera@teenwonder@weenersoldierr@nobody-will@ilikemypolarbear@rottenstyx@original-in-itself@sebby-staan@bbl32@lyoongx @iilwjbb @siriuslyslytherin@chazubagi @youngmarveltastypersona @iamninaannaisreading@marry-me-calum-hood@original-in-itself@clownerlyluv

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#hope you enjoyed #miguel o’hara #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara imagines #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara oneshot #miguel ohara imagine #miguel ohara imagines #miguel ohara oneshot #miguel ohara x you #miguel o'hara fanfic #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #marvel oneshot

[familyvideostevie]

watching you with wonder

joel miller x reader joel claims to have heard something interesting. too bad he keeps insisting he needs more information before he can tell you | 5.4k a/n: same universe as come care about me but not necessary to read that one first! joel is soft, this is my version of him where he and ellie heal and he gets to have a life etc etc etc | domesticity, post-part i jackson au, joel is a flirt and a gossip but good thing you are too, a fair amount of kissing, fluff, softness, peace and all that good stuff. part 3 here! series masterlist here.

It's been a long day. The supply run you'd been dreading went off without a hitch but you were out of the gate at sun-up and in the saddle for most of the morning and afternoon. Your legs are sore, your back is sore,  and you're dirty from a day outside the walls.

You haven't seen Joel since this morning. Not unusual, not by any means. Most days you're both doing something in town, occasionally one of you out on patrol. You're partial to the plant work and Joel likes to chop wood or check out houses that need upgrades with Tommy. But after a day like today you want nothing more than to go home and complain about how much you miss cars while Joel works the knots out of your shoulders. 

But tonight is Festival Night. Nothing big, just a dance at the barn that serves as the community center with music and drinks and food. And Joel, despite his insistence that he's Jackson's resident grump, will be there, because Tommy will have asked him to go and he doesn't like disappointing his brother. And, though he'll never admit it even to you, he enjoys community events. He gets to see the people he loves having a nice time and feeling safe. 

So you head from the stables to the main hall, not bothering to stop at home. Jackson seems to be lit up extra special, the air a little lighter due to the laughter and music brightening the night. The noise becomes almost overwhelming when you open the door and slide inside, dropping your pack against the wall. It's much warmer in here and you unbutton your coat as you make your way through the crowd, waving to people as you go. 

Joel is here somewhere but you don't try too hard to spot him. You know he'll find you. Someone calls your name and you pivot on your heel to find Ellie waving at you from a...poker table?

"Wanna join?" she asks once you walk over. Next to her is Tommy, who looks significantly less excited than she does. "I'm teaching Tommy how to play poker. Oh, sorry, I'm fucking smoking Tommy at poker."

"I know how to play, you little shit," Tommy growls. "Who taught you? This isn't poker, this is a fuckin' massacre." 

Ellie cackles and tips her chair back so she's balancing on the back legs.

"I'll pass this round," you tell her. "Looks like you've got him handled."

"You just want to find Joel." She looks at you in that uncanny way of hers like she knows all of your secrets. But this is one you have no problem admitting.

You smile at her. "Seen him?"

"Now that you're here I'm sure he'll slink out of whatever corner he stuck himself in," Tommy grumbles. "Girl, you sure you ain't countin' cards?"

You leave them to it and wander over to the bar. Astrid pours you a glass of something amber. You take a sip and let the burn warm your throat, your stomach. The music behind you picks up and there's laughter and you turn to see people pairing up and flocking to the floor. 

You close your eyes to enjoy the sounds that mean peace, safety, home. It never gets old and you never quite get used to it. You inhale deep and -- ah, yes. There it is. A smile spreads across your face as you breathe in wood glue, gunpowder, the soap you make at home. Your heart beats a little faster, even after all this time.

"Hi," you say, opening your eyes. Joel stands in front of you, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a glass similar to your own. His hair curls at his collar, edges still a little wet from the shower he must have taken before coming here. His shirt is rolled to his elbows, his jacket clearly discarded somewhere. Your gaze trails up his chorded forearms, his watch securely in place as always. This is what you've called his "nice" shirt, a deep green that makes the grey of his beard all the more striking and brings out his eyes. 

Eyes that settle on you in a way that sends heat up your spine.

"Howdy," he says. "You just get here?"

"Like you weren't watching the door for me," you tease. He shrugs and reaches for you, his free hand curling around your hip to tug you close for just a few moments. Joel presses his lips to your cheek lightly, his beard scratching your skin as he pulls away and settles at your side, arm resting on the bar behind you. 

"Well, I ain't seen you all day," he reminds you. As if you could forget. Every second you're not looking at him you sort of wish you were. There aren't many good things left in your life -- all of them are in this town, now -- and you tend to hold on to the ones you still have with both hands. Joel, despite the fact that he'd argue with you over it, is your good thing. Your best thing.  

"Miss me?" 

"Dumb question," he mutters. 

His fingers brush against the back of your bicep, warm through your jacket. "How was the run?"

"Easy. Long." You take a sip of your drink. It's still warming but doesn't measure up to the solid warmth of the man beside you. "I came straight here."

"That would explain why you smell like shit," he drawls. You smack his chest. He doesn't so much as flinch.

"Rude."

Joel watches the crowd and you watch him. That's how it usually goes with you two. You figure he's watching for threats, for any sign of something going wrong. It's a habit most folks here find hard to break. He's watching Ellie, who has left the poker table behind, twirl some of the children around with Dina, he's watching Tommy try to teach a few drunk guys how to square dance like he does every Festival. Joel curls his hand around your shoulder and you lean back into the touch. 

On a night like tonight when joy is more contagious than the fungus spreading through the rotting world, Joel loosens up a little. It's a good look on him and it only ever means good things for you -- he laughs more, he touches you more. But most importantly you know he lets life in. He lets that knot you know is in his chest, the one made of fear and loss and survival and all of the horrible fucked up things he's seen and done, he lets it loosen even just a bit. He lets himself feel the good things, too. How much the people in this town respect him, care about him. How much they appreciate him. How much they love him, how much you love him.

You look at him in the soft light of the barn. There's a tug to his mouth that you know.

He looks smug. It's a nice look on him, a relaxed one. He looks too handsome for his own good. And though you love him, love how he's enjoying the night, like hell you're going to let him stand there and get away with whatever he's cooking up.

"Joel Miller, why are you looking so pleased with yourself?"

"No reason," he says. He takes another sip of his drink, side-eyeing you over the rim. This man. 

You tap the heel of your boot against his. "Don't make me beg."

His eyes flash but he turns into your space, the solid shape of him curling around you as well as his arm. In another world, in another life, he could be a handsome man picking you up at a bar. 

"I heard somethin'," he says, voice low. "Somethin'...interestin'."

"Really?" You look around the barn as if the object of his gossip will materialize in front of you. "Tell me."

He leans back and you have to stop yourself from following. "Don't think so."

"Joel."

This man can be such a shit when he wants to be. 

He holds the hand carrying his glass up in surrender, the brown liquor sloshing close to the rim. "Hey now, don't go shootin' the messenger."

"I can't because he won't tell me the message."

"S'not anything worth tellin' just yet," he drawls. "I need a little more intel. Y'know, make it worth your while."

You sigh, hamming it up a bit by thunking your forehead to his collar. Joel huffs a laugh and fully drapes his arm across your shoulders, warm and solid. 

It's all fun but you know there's a note of truth to it. Joel can lie better than most people but he doesn't lie to you. "Fine. You get away with it for now."

The song changes to something old and slow, something you recognize but don't quite remember the name of.

"Only if you dance with me," you say. You swallow the last of your drink and push off the bar, sliding out from under his arm. You hold your hand out to him and wiggling your fingers. "It's only fair."

He sighs like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. And he is, sometimes. But right now his cheeks are a little flushed from the drink and your flirting and you want to see how far you can take it.

"Unless I smell too much like shit," you goad. You don't actually think he'll go for it. Joel doesn't dance. It feels like the kind of good time, the kind of joy that is forever stuck in the past, left behind twenty odd years ago. Honestly, you think he'll just drag you home and have his way with you in your warm bed. 

But he manages to surprise you.

Joel throws back his drink and grabs your hand. His thumb strokes your skin.

"S'pose it is," he says. "You don't smell that bad."

A delighted laugh spills from you. He leads you to the already-crowded dance floor, pulling you close with a hand on your back. You rest your arm on his broad shoulder and hook your thumb in his collar. 

"Not so bad, is it?" you say. Your faces are so close you're practically cheek to cheek. You feel his breath on the shell of your ear, his beard a little prickly against your cheek. 

"Could be worse." You and Joel gently sway and you toy with the ends of his hair. Over his shoulder you can see Dina and Ellie dancing, arms wrapped around each other tight. You close your eyes and match your breaths to Joel's. 

"We should do this more often," you say. "Bet they'd let you play guitar at the next festival if you wanted."

Joel hums. 

"Don't forget you have to deliver the firewood to the school tomorrow." He presses his hand to your back and pulls you even closer. "Are you listening to me?"

"Mhm."

"Joel --" Your eyes fly open and you try to pull away to goad him but he holds you steadily against him.

"Hush," he says, fingers squeezing yours. "I'm enjoyin' the moment."

You allow it.

___

The gossip Joel mentioned is in the back of your mind but you know he'll tell you when he's satisfied with his information gathering or whatever the fuck he's up to. Sure, it's silly, maybe even pointless but you like to think of it as a display of the trust you have in each other. You trust Joel with your life and you've put that into practice, watched him bloody his knuckles for the ones he loves. You also trust him with your heart, your body, your mind. There's no part of you that his hands haven't touched, haven't loved in the jagged, intense way of his. 

Plus you enjoy seeing him pleased with himself, which you know he will be once he has the whole story to tell you. It's not a mood you see on him often.

You finally have a free night and Ellie asks you to come over to try out a new video game Jesse found for her on patrol. Joel waves you off when you offer to stay in with him instead.

"Means I'll get some peace and quiet to finish my book," he grumbles, handing you your coat even though you're walking across the yard. He's already peeled off his boots and looks half-awake in the dim light of your entryway, glasses tucked into the collar of his sweater.

"More like you're going to sit in bed and fall asleep reading without me talking to keep you awake."

He sends you off with an eye roll and a soft kiss which you turn into two more, just because. Maybe a few years ago he'd sit in the chair downstairs and wait for you to come home. He does like to play his guitar on the porch when it's not too cold, keep an eye on things. But you'll be with Ellie just out back and it's been a long week. It's no small point of pride that, with the help of your reassurance and persistent care and his own conviction, Joel allows himself to relax a little. "Have fun."

You do. Ellie and Joel have a history that is complex and tender, so much so that sometimes it's too much for both of them. After it seemed like she was open to it, you've tried to make sure you and her have a relationship all your own. She's smart and funny and fiercely loyal to the people she cares about. You feel lucky to be one of them.

But she still annihilates your ass when it comes to video games. 

"You know," she says, cracking her knuckles after yet another defeat. "It's embarrassing as shit how you literally lived in a time where you could play these like, whenever you wanted. And yet it's me, who was born after the world ended, who keeps winning."

You make sure to look unamused. "Whatever." You stand, stretching out your spine with your arms above your head and yawn. "It's teenage luck." You have no idea how this girl stays up so late all the time. 

"I guess I'm just good at everything."

"Oh, you sure about that?" She hands you your coat and tugs on the strings of her sweatshirt. "I've seen you in a kitchen. You might want to rethink that one."

"Psh," she says, waving you off. "Who needs to cook, anyway?"

You slide into your boots and shake your head. "I'm actually shocked Dina puts up with you." 

"Hey, fuck you!" she cries, though she's hiding a smile. "No insulting me in my own home. It's Joel's fault, anyway. He can't cook either."

You snort. "Don't I know it." She grins at you fully, the one you call her shark-tooth smile, and you grin back. "Thanks for this, kiddo. I had fun." 

"Yeah, maybe one day you'll win." You tug her in for a quick hug which she allows before squirming away. "Alright, alright. Go make sure he didn't burn down the house without you, or something."

It's late, late enough that you feel yourself getting more tired with each step back to the porch. Joel left the back door unlocked for you. You latch the deadbolt behind you and peel off your outer layers in the dark. A quick glance in the kitchen tells you Joel put your stuff from dinner away and is probably in bed. He's left out your mugs, ready for the morning, and the list he's been making of things you need to do around the house before it snows. You love to see the pieces of your life on display like this -- signs that this is a home.

You don't bother being quiet when you climb up the stairs because you know he'll be pissed if you don't wake him to let him know you're home. The bedroom light is on but when you actually go in you see he's in bed with his book in his lap, glasses sliding down his nose. His eyes are closed and his bare chest rises slowly.

He's probably only half-asleep, probably heard you come in and decided it was safe enough to shut his eyes until you say something. So you get ready for bed quickly, tugging on soft clothes and brushing your teeth before creeping over to his side of the bed and perching on the edge of it, resting your hand on his thigh under the covers.

"Joel," you say softly. "Joel, are you asleep?"

"Yes," he grumbles. His eyes flutter open, the piercing grey a little clouded with tiredness. He reaches for his glasses and pulls them from his face a bit clumsily. "You okay? You n'Ellie have fun?"

"We did. She's so good at video games it's a little scary." You pluck the frames from his hand and fold them, setting them on his bedside table with his book. He grunts and pushes himself up a little more in bed, his leg pressing against your tailbone through the blankets. It's a real show of your restraint that you don't run your hands over the golden and hairy expanse of his chest, the broad line of his shoulders. Instead you reach for his face and he lets you, eyes crinkling at the corners as he tries and fails to hide his amusement as you trail your fingers through his hair. Just being here with him makes you a little sleepy, your body catching up with your mind at how you always feel safest when he's in the room with you. "S'cold, though. I think we might need to put some more insulation in the shed for her."

"Alright," he says. Joel wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls your palm to his cheek but quickly flinches away. "Christ," he mutters. "Your hands are cold." He encases both of your hands in his and rubs slowly, throughly. 

"Let me get in bed, then." You make no effort to move. 

Joel blows on your fingers and, in a move that's tender even for him, presses his lips to their tips. "I ain't holdin' you here."

"Sarcasm," you say. "And Ellie claims you're not funny." Joel scoffs and you laugh, rising from his side of the bed and making your way around to yours. Joel flicks back the covers and you slide in, facing him. 

"Light off?" he asks. You nod. He shuffles around to flip the switch and then settles into his side with a groan. It's dark but you know his face with your eyes closed, let alone in the moonlight of your bedroom. The gash on the bridge of his nose, the scruff of his greying beard, the nicks along his cheeks and temples. The age spots, the wrinkles, the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, these days more from smiles and laughter than stress and worry. Or so you like to think. 

"Got any gossip for me yet?" 

Joel huffs. "Not quite."

"Jooooooel," you whine, scooting closer. You hook a leg over his and slide your hand over his stomach, fingers catching on the hair above the waistband of his sleep pants. He makes a noise deep in his throat but otherwise allows it. 

"I ain't givin' you half-assed information," he says. "It'll be worth the wait."

With Joel, it always is. You consider dragging it out a little more but you're cold and tired and he's so warm and you barely saw him at all today. "Alright," you say. You pull yourself even closer under the covers, dragging your nose over the hollow of his throat, his beard a delicious scratch on your skin. Your hand curls around his hip and he reaches for you on instinct, warm, callused palms sliding under your sleep shirt to press into your bare skin.

He huffs a tired laugh, chest rumbling with amusement. "What're you up to?"

"You're warm," you say into his skin.

"And you're handsy."

You trail your lips up to his and press them to the corner of his mouth. "You love it."

"Guess I do," Joel says. He catches you in a lazy, slow kiss, tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you part them. He licks into your mouth like he's got all the time in the world and you let him. His nose presses against yours and you sigh even further into the embrace, pressing as close as you can, as if you could crawl into him and stay there forever. Any cold lingering in your bones is dispelled by Joel's touch, by the thigh he wedges between your legs. This could turn into something more, and you love when it does, but tonight it's just about being close. His hand trails up your side to cup your face as the kisses get lazier, sleepier. You're slotting his bottom lip between yours when he pulls back and --

Yawns in your face. 

He looks a little surprised and then frowns. You laugh and smooth the crease between his brows before kissing him once more.

"Jesus, Joel," you say. "Bedtime."

"Was sleepin' fine before you got here," he grumbles, but  in the same breath he wraps his arm around you and tugs you with him as he turns onto his back so your head lays on his chest. You match your breaths to his. He presses a kiss to your hair.

___

Two nights later you wake to an empty bed. 

You sleepily trail your hand through the sheets and find they still carry Joel's warmth. He must have gotten up a few minutes ago. You force your eyes to open but don't see a light in the bathroom, find no shadow in your eyesight. You can hear his voice in your head saying go back to sleep, s'nothin' but you know better than to listen to him when it comes to this. It's not like you'll be able to until you know he's okay, anyway. 

So you wrap the blanket from the foot of your bed around yourself and shuffle through the house and down the stairs. 

"Joel?" you call quietly. 

"Kitchen," he replies, a warm grumble in the still of the night. You didn't even look at the clock when you got out of bed but it must be late. 

He sits in the dark at your small kitchen table, eyes fixed on Ellie's garage out back. He's put a shirt on. Of course. Nightmare. This is where he always sits after he has one. His hands are wrapped around his mug. Based on the smell it's chamomile tea -- the only time he'll drink it instead of coffee is on nights like tonight. He had no idea it even grew in the greenhouses here until you presented him with a jar of it for Ellie back when you were still tiptoeing around whatever was between you. Those days are long gone.

"You okay?" You keep your voice hushed. It's rare these days that he'll want to be alone. You're the only one who gets to see him like this other than Ellie. It took a while but now Joel lets you comfort him, he lets you hold him together when he needs it. 

He tears his eyes from the window to meet yours, chin tipped up as he gets a good look at you in the dark. 

"M'alright." You take a few more steps into the kitchen and he frowns. "You cold?" He reaches for you with one hand, beckoning you close. You step into his space and he wraps one arm around you, leans his head against your soft stomach. You untangle from the blanket slightly to run your fingers through his hair. The touch is as grounding for him as it is for you.

"What can I do?" you ask him, ignoring his question. 

You can feel the warmth of his palm through the blanket and your sleep shirt. "This is just fine. Just need a minute." 

"You wanna take that minute on the couch?" He grunts his assent and you step back to allow him to get up. He leaves his mug on the table but catches your hand to pull you with him.

Joel sighs when he settles into the worn cushions, knees spread wide and head tipped back as be breathes. He doesn't look any more tired than usual but you can tell he's still holding onto whatever sent him down here. 

You press into his side, legs curled underneath you. His arm settles heavily on across your shoulders and you rest a palm on his knee. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" He turns his head to face you and his nostrils flare as he frowns.

"Nothin' new," he sighs. "A pretty old one, actually. Haven't had it in a while. 'Bout stuff from when we were on the road."

If he wants to say more he will. You don't know what it's like for him to worry about Ellie -- you only know how youworry. Once the sun rises he'll probably trudge over and knock on her door, ask if she wants to go for a ride. She'll complain about being woken up but she'll agree because she knows him, too. She'll see the tension at the edges of his eyes, in the set of his shoulders. There have been nights when you come downstairs to find her sleeping on the couch, too, just because she wanted to be sure he was okay.

You lean your head on his shoulder and breathe with him. He picks up your hand and rubs his thumb across the back of it slowly, as if he doesn't even know he's doing it.

Sleep is a near thing when Joel eventually clears his throat. "I got that gossip for you." His chest rumbles and you perk up, pulling back to look at him. His eyes have a bit more spark, a bit less of the far-away look he had when you came down the stairs. 

"Oh, do you now? Finally?"

"You're just impatient," he says. "Hadn't heard directly from either of 'em so I wasn't sure. But I tracked it down and got it from the source."

"You sound like a detective from one of those old shows. Got it from the source," you say, pitching your voice low and imitating his drawl. 

He manages to look unimpressed. "I don't have to tell you."

"Joel."

"Alright, alright. Well, it's about Wendy and Fred."

You sit up. "The couple that met on your group patrol?" It's something you and Ellie tease him about -- his accidental tendency to play matchmaker. Sometimes he leads group patrols for new folks or younger community members who are now old enough to join the roster. You think he probably enjoys scaring the shit out of them a little but he's also good at it, teaches them well and makes sure they're safe. Around the time you met you'd heard about a couple who met on a patrol and hit it off. It's happened a few more times with Joel's groups but Wendy and Fred are the only ones who have stayed together. 

"Mhm. Word is they're gettin' married."

You gasp. This is very far from what you expected him to tell you. A lot of the gossip you and Joel share is about people breaking up or sleeping together or moving out of Jackson. Sometimes it's petty theft or in-fighting at the council. But this? This is downright romantic.

"Married?" It's not uncommon these days but most people don't bother. But most importantly it means one thing -- there's going to be a party. "We haven't had a wedding in...forever," you say wistfully.

"Been a few years, yeah," Joel agrees. "Folks'll be excited."

"How did you find out?" 

He shifts on the couch a little and you take control of your clasped hands, holding one of his in both of yours as you trace the lines on his palm, the veins that go up his arm while he talks. 

"Heard from one of the guys at the festival that Fred was lookin' for a ring. Wanted to get the word out to some supply runs but without her knowin'. But I wasn't sure, since I hadn't seen him in a while. Then I saw Wendy at the pantry few days ago and she looked real happy. I didn't pry but asked her how things were and she was chipper as hell."

"And that wasn't enough to tell me?"

He squeezes your shoulder. 

"Yesterday Fred cornered me when I was headin' home and told me flat out. Thanked me for some fuckin' reason and said Wendy agreed to marry him. Kid looked like he was gonna throw up, he was so excited."

Joel's voice is warm. "You are such a romantic when you want to be," you tell him.

He smirks. "Heard that before."

"It'll be nice to have a celebration. If we're invited, you're dancing with me again."

"We better fuckin' be invited," he grumbles. "I introduced them."

"So you admit to being a matchmaker?"

He huffs. "Nah," he says, a little softer. "Dumb luck. S'how you get good things these days."

You shift under his arm a little bit. "Maybe," you reply. "I think we've earned a few of those things."

Joel drags a hand down his face. It's a motion that usually means he's chewing on what to say next. You spare him.

"This --" you gesture between the two of you "--and all of this --" you wave your hand at the room, the house "-- is more than I knew I could want. You, this house, that feisty, wonderful girl out back. This whole town. Waking up every morning and not dreading another day on this hellish planet. I didn't know this existed anymore, Joel, let alone that it was possible for me. And I think we've earned it."

He's quiet for a few breaths. "C'mere," he says softly. You don't know exactly what he means but he pulls you into his lap so you're straddling him, his arm firm around your hips. It could be a heated position, often is, but here it's just to be close. You catch yourself on his shoulders and drag your hands up to his cheeks. You hold his face in your hands, thumbs stroking the soft, forever-bruised skin under his eyes.

"You sure got a way with words," he says thickly, gaze heavy. "Don't know what I did to deserve this but I ain't gonna question it."

You wrap your arms around him and properly embrace him. He presses his palms to your back and hooks his chin over your shoulder. Your breathing syncs up and you swear your heartbeats do, too. Your whole body, your whole being tuned itself to Joel a long time ago. You'd do everything you've done twice over to get here. 

As if he hears the desperate devotion of your thoughts, Joel pulls back so he can lean up for a kiss. It's more intense than you expected it to be, like he's trying to tell you something with the press of his mouth. You know what he's trying to tell you -- you always do. Joel is better at showing you how he feels than telling you. 

He suckles your lower lip and you tug on the hair at the nape of his neck. He makes a noise low in his throat and you swallow it. You could touch him forever and never get enough. The firm planes of his back, the knot of tension always present in his shoulders. The scratch of his beard, the press of his nose against yours. You want to stitch yourself to him so that you never have to let go.

"S'your turn," Joel grumbles against your lips, pulling back to catch his breath.

Your brain is a little fuzzy. "Hm?"

"For somethin' juicy." 

It's a funny word coming from his mouth and it makes you laugh. His arms tighten around you and he drags his nose down your neck and breathes deep. You can get some gossip for him. You'd do much worse without being asked. Sometimes you think there are no limits to what you'd do for this man. It's a big thought, a dangerous thought, one that's suited to the world you live in now. You don't mind it.

"I'll get you something good, Joel Miller. I promise."

"I know you will," he says. "I trust you."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #the last of us fanfiction

[moonstruckme]

Hi hi hi! Can i please ask for a remus fic where reader is very like scared of hosputals in general.

In in the way she'd be with needles or meds nah, she can still go but kind of goes on autopilot when she does?

I had to suffer for three months when i was just 8 in the hospital back to back so everytime anything related to admission or long visits just kind of scares me and brings it back.

Doesn't have to be dr! Remus but you can do whichever you'd prefer love❤️

Hi lovely! Thank you for requesting <3

cw: hospital, reader has pneumonia, mention of needles, also I used temperatures in fahrenheit but for ref 102F is ~38.9C

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 984 words

“We won’t be long,” Remus assures you, hand between your shoulder blades as you walk through the parking lot. “I promise, love, as soon as we get your fever to come down, I’ll take you straight back home.” 

You manage a hum. You’re trying to avoid talking, wary of another coughing fit. Or a crying jag. You hate this. You hate being here, it makes you want to crawl out of your skin. But though Remus tries to hide it, you can tell he’s really worried about the turn your flu has taken. Your fever had been coming down, but then it skyrocketed, an ache blossoming in your chest that was exacerbated by deep, painful coughs. So you’d let him negotiate you into a short visit to his work. To mollify him. Still, your anxiety makes the air around you staticky and tense. 

“Hey,” Remus says, stopping you just outside the door. He sets his hands on your shoulders, leveling you with a serious look. “I’m going to stay with you, alright? Nothing bad is going to happen to you, and I’m going to hold your hand the whole time.” His eyebrows dip up in the middle, concern mingled with compassion. “Try to relax, sweetheart.” 

You do your best to seem it, giving him a wan smile and reaching up to squeeze his wrist. 

“Okay,” you manage. 

He smiles back, taking your hand to lead you inside. 

The automatic doors open, and despite your boyfriend’s comforting words, your thoughts go all scribbly. 

Remus takes you over to the front desk to check you in. He must know the nurse sitting behind it, because his expression is friendly and his tone familiar, but you can’t focus enough on the words to make out what they’re talking about. You try not to cough too loudly. Remus’ hand comes up anyway, rubbing your back absentmindedly. 

Soon, he’s leading you out of the waiting room. You hear him speak, but you’re not sure if it’s to you. You don’t try to keep track of the hallways, letting his hand on the small of your back guide you to a small, private room. He sits you down on the bed, taking your hands. You try to focus on him. The soft, worried look in his amber eyes. The faint smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose. The calluses on his hands, rubbing gently against yours. 

“You with me?” he asks quietly. 

You blink. “Yeah.” 

Some tension around his eyes relaxes. “Good,” he says, sweeping his thumbs back and forth over the backs of your palms. “You doing okay, love?” 

“Mhm.” 

“I asked you that a few times, you know.” He gives you a small smile like he’s teasing, but you can hear the concern in his tone. “I think you checked out for a little bit there.” 

“Sorry,” you mumble, trying to breathe shallowly to avoid coughing. “I really don’t like it here.” 

Remus’ mouth purses, his eyes going sad. “I know. You know I wouldn’t ask you to come if I didn’t think it was important, right?” 

You don’t get a chance to answer. The coughing wins. You take a tissue out of your pocket, pressing it over your mouth as your eyes water. Remus grimaces, rubbing between your shoulder blades. He keeps going even when the fit ebbs and you fold the tissue, tossing it into a bin beside the bed. 

“That’s what I mean, lovely,” he says, gently but not without a bit of told-you-so. “That doesn’t sound like the flu, that sounds like pneumonia. Do you want me to fill you in on what’s going to happen while we’re here?” 

You nod, touching your forefinger to your bottom lashes to clear away the tears hanging there. 

“In a minute or two, a nurse is going to come in and give you an IV of antibiotics.” His tone has apology embedded in it, anticipative of your reluctance. You can practically feel the sympathy pouring through his palm on your back. “I’ve already put in a request for an x-ray, so when they’re ready for us we’ll go back, just to confirm it’s pneumonia and not a chest infection. Then, all we have to do is wait for the antibiotics to do their work.” He frowns. “I don’t think you need oxygen, but—”

“No thank you,” you say hastily. 

Remus presses his lips together and nods. “Alright, only if it comes to it,” he capitulates. “Once we get your fever down, we’ll pick up some oral antibiotics and go home.” 

“Down to 102.” 

He gives you an odd sort of look, and then the corner of his lips twitch. “Are you trying to negotiate with me? We said 101.” 

“101.8,” you bargain.

“You can’t change the terms of the agreement after we’ve left home.”

“102.2.” 

“Oi, that’s not how it works,” he laughs, incredulous. “It’s 101, love.” 

“102.5.” 

“This is how I know the fever’s gotten to you. You seem to have forgotten who has the car keys.” 

“102.6.” You start coughing, pressing the back of your hand to your mouth to muffle the wretched sound. 

“Okay, okay.” He rolls his eyes, rubbing your back a bit more firmly. “101.5. Final offer.” 

“Deal,” you wheeze. 

“Alright, stop torturing yourself, sweetheart,” he says with a good heaping of fondness. His hand is steadfast between your shoulder blades. “Just take it easy.” 

You’re prepared to try, but then the nurse comes in. 

“Hello?” she says. She has a warm voice. It’s a shame the sound sets your heart racing regardless. “Are we ready?” 

Remus’ touch migrates over to your shoulder, pressing you against his side in a quick, comforting half-hug. 

“Hi,” he says, turning to her with a kind smile. “Yeah, we’re all set.” 

He takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He keeps ahold of it until you go home.

#remus lupin #doctor!remus lupin #remus lupin au #doctor!remus x reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x self insert #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin hurt/comfort #remus lupin angst #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin scenario #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin oneshot #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #hp marauders

[maverickbabes]

Come Here

Come Here

Aged!up!Neteyam Sully x female!navi!reader!

Neteyam and Reader are both 18

Warnings: no warnings just a bunch of cuteness

Summary: Neteyam visits Y/n while she's working in the healers hut, distracting her and wanting to hold her. Y/n attempts to ignore him but can't help wanting to be in his arms. Neteyam is a cute boy 😍

"Neteyam would you stop?" Y/n asks, chuckling as she wiggles her way out of Neteyam's arm. "Hmm no" He says putting his finger up to his chin making a thinking face then reaches out to grab his mate once more.

Y/n dodges him, smirking at herself as she bent down and put the fresh towels on the shelf next to the bowls. "Babyyyy" Neteyam whines as he walks over to y/n and places his hands on her shoulders, giving her a gentle massage. "Mm that feels good ma 'teyam" She hums closing her eyes and leaning into his touch.

"I missed you today baby" He murmurs as he gets on his knees behind his mate, still massaging her stiff shoulders. Y/n tilts her head down, braids falling over her face as she let's out a small moan. "I got to get back to work babe" y/n says and she gets up from the ground and made her way across the hut.

Neteyam tsks at her as he grabbed the herbs and gauze wraps from her hands, setting them back on the counter. "Come here" He said and y/n opens her mouth to protest but he shakes his head. "No protesting baby girl, get over here" He tells her as he grabbed and engulfed her into his arms.

She doesn't even argue as she let's out a sigh while wrapping her arms around her mate. "I missed you too 'teyam" She mumbles into his toned chest and he squeezes her while inhaling her scent.

"Want to leave early?" Neteyam suggests and y/n pulls away from the hug, looking up at him with her big amber eyes as she pouts. "I can't babe, I got to get back to work" She says as she put her head on his chest in which he let out a chuckle.

"Babe your killing me here. There's nothing for you to do, you got everything done" He yells her waving his arms around the hut to prove his point. "No I have to get that organized" Y/n protests as she points to the table and Neteyam shakes his head before grabbing y/n's face.

He leans down and gives y/n a kiss on the forehead, then the nose, then both of her cheeks and finally her lips. "You can do that tomorrow. Let's go to our hut and just hold each other, I missed you" He explains as his hands run up and down her arms.

Giving in, y/n closes her eyes and let's out a sigh as she nodded her head. "Lead the way dork" She says and he smirks as he does a motion as if he won the championship. "Let's go ma y/n" He says as he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her against him while they walk out of the healers hut and towards their own.

Y/n smirks as she moves out of his embrace and moves in front of him as she walks backwards while he walks forwards. "Race you to the hut?" She challenged as she raised her eyebrow. "Oh your so on!" He said excited and their laughs filled the air as she takes off towards their hut with him. following

#neteyam imagine #avatar neteyam #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam suli #neteyam suli x reader #avatar fanfiction #avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar imagine #neteyam fluff #neteyam comfort #reader x neteyam #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x omaticaya!reader

[bel1ewrites]

Booth Five (Sam Carpenter x Reader)

A/n: Here's another one, love you guys.

WC: Idfk

Warnings: smut, top!Sam, bossyish!reader, slightly public sex, thigh riding, more thigh riding, Sam in fancy work clothes

NUMEROUS visits to her favorite place after a long, hard day of work had forced Sam's ears to grow accustomed to the deafening thunder of sensual music that pumped through the hazy club.

Ever since the very first week of her new life in the the city, Sam had made sure to become somewhat of a regular at The Vanity. She made sure to commit each and every worker to memory, even went out of her way to tip a little extra every visit. It was just who she was. She loved to pay attention, and she loved to be aware.

She did not, however, love to be confused.

From her spot on a cracked leather couch, she sits with a drink in her hand, the top few buttons of her shirt undone, and she watches you move. The colored lights run over your body like waves on a shore, black lace the only thing stopping you from being fully exposed. It's euphoric, the way you move. It's familiar and free, icy hot. Sam takes a pull of her drink.

------

"You've got a private booking, honey," your boss calls as you fuss with your hair in the vanity mirror. She's a firecracker of a woman, short and curvy. The voice of a smoker mixed with the tone of a caretaker. "Booth five."

It hadn't taken you long to understand the inner workings of your place of employment. Annoyingly, nothing was ever straightforward, and booth five was not an exception to this rule.

You'd learned that an hour with one of the dancers in booth five had to cost more than your rent; which, albeit, didn't say much. It was the coldest spot in the whole club, nothing but dark red walls and a single black couch, and you couldn't really tell if it was the air vents or the dark aura that made you shiver when you passed it.

This is the first time anyone has requested for you to be in there.

"Um," your voice is steady as you turn around, smoothing a hand over non existent fabric out of nervous habit, "Is it cool if Amber takes this one?"

A beat passes.

"The patron requested for it to be you." If she notices the way your heart drops, she doesn't mention it. Only smiles crookedly and nods, effectively dismissing you from the comfort of being alone.

The beat of your heart doubles that of the music as you walk out of the room, a little unsure and a little irratic. Your heels feel too tall, your chest too tight.

Dancing was different. Dancing didn't bring forth any unwanted social interaction. Sure, there was the occasional creep, but they never really bothered you much when you could tune them out with thoughts of being beneath your covers with hot Chinese food and your cat curled up on your lap.

This was intimate. This was private and there was really no practical way of getting out of it.

You're sure you're going to pass out when you reach the outside of the booth, nothing but a thin curtain separating you from the unknown man waiting inside. Is he married? Is he demanding? Does he expect anything more than a lap dance from you?

A job is a job, you remind yourself, breathing deeply once, twice before stepping inside.

The air is charged. Static pulses around you. So its a woman. There's a woman a few feet in front of you.

She sits there, back against the couch and legs spread like she owns the place, shirt slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. She's tall and dark and has the look of someone who's grown accustomed to getting what she wants one way or another. Her eyes drop down your figure, lingering at certain parts unabashedly. They run over every inch of you slowly, methodically. She wets her lips.

"Hello." She speaks. Her voice is fire and ice. It's raspy and smooth, dark and calculated and so insanely perfect that it makes your ears ring a little.

It's your turn to say something, anything, really. You really do try to greet her, even open your mouth for a second before promptly shutting it again.

"It's reasonable to expect a greeting after one says hello, is it not?" Her brow raises. It seems that all it takes for you to gain your composure is a little confrontation.

You close the still open door and take a step forward, trapping a palpable tension in the room along with the sound of muffled music.

"Sorry about that, I just wasn't expecting... this." Amusement flashes in her eyes. "You weren't expecting a woman?" She questions, patting the space beside her and signaling for you to sit.

There's room for her to scoot over and create a comfortable amount of space between your bodies, but that doesn't seem like something she wants.

Your body moves without your mind's consent, "no, I wasnt," you answer, taking your seat.

She hums, the scent of her cologne wafting over you like a drug. "Disappointed?" she asks, bottom lip puffed out in a teasing pout.

The couch is cold beneath you, but that doesn't stop the fire from rushing to your cheeks. Nervously, you run a hand through your hair and smile, trying not to let her undeniable smoothness get in the way of yours.

"Oh, hardly," you let out a raspy huff of laughter and you can't help the way your eyes flit to her mouth.

A smirk tugs at her lips, pout dropping entirely. "Well aren't you fiery."

"Why did you ask for me?" you pry, gaze hooded.

"Why wouldn't I?" She questions, tone serious and eyes on yours. The air feels thick around you.

She truly is a beautiful woman, silky black hair and dark eyes surrounded by thick lashes. The muscles in her arms pull at the fabric surrounding them. You suddenly feel underdressed.

"Amber normally takes this booth," you offer truthfully.

Amber was a favorite amongst the club. She was all dark smiles and sinful moves. You appreciated her for her wit and ability to seem completely calm at all times; a skill you wish you had.

Her hand drops to the bare flesh of your upper thigh. "I didn't ask for Amber, did I?"

Sam had interacted with the girl numerous times. She'd been working here since that first night and was undoubtedly beautiful, but she didn't feel drawn to Amber like she did you. Her body didn't light up when she saw her like it did with you. You were different.

"What's your name?" you pry.

The heat of her gaze along with that of her palm on your thigh sends jolts down your spine. You can see the muscles in her jaw move as she grits her teeth, swallowing hard.

"Sam."

"Why did you ask for me?" you ask again, eyes on her dark and blown pupils. Your own gaze is hooded, lashes low as you look up at her.

She smiles wolfishly, teeth flashing. "Can't a girl want to get to know someone?"

"Well," you look down at her mouth, "I guess when you put it that way."

The air around you seemed to grow thick, tension lacing through it. Her aura was intoxicating, the way it consumed you so quickly, made you want to give her everything.

She hums, tightening her grip on your thigh, "For such a pretty girl you sure do ask a lot of questions," the words fall from her lips, tone low and dripping with want.

"Yeah?" You smile.

"Yes." She shoots back.

"Really?"

She ignores you, looking at you so intensely you almost think you did something wrong.

"Can I kiss you?"

You nod, maybe a little too eagerly but you can't help it. When she kisses you it's softer than you expect it to be, like she's testing the waters. Her hand runs up your thighs, teases its way to your hip and squeezes the flesh there. It makes your head spin and your heart race, heat settling in your lower stomach.

Teeth graze your bottom lip as she pulls back a little. "Come here," The woman breathes into your mouth. She guides you onto her lap, smiling and leaning further into the couch. You have to arch forward to kiss her again, something that isn't an accident on her part.

Hands grip at your waist, your hips, your ass. She's deepening the kiss like it's pushing life into her and she can't get enough. it's a needy, panting scene as her lips and tongue slide over yours.

She kisses you like you've never been kissed, skill and need intertwining into a moment that makes you dizzy. She's all soft lips and rough teeth, nipping and sucking and soothing.

The musky scent of her cologne messes with your head and you can't stop your hips from moving, seeking pressure to tame the heat inside of you.

She trails her lips down to your neck, hand pulling at your hair to tilt your head back. "That's it, baby," Sam coos, teeth scraping under your jaw, "use my leg." She shifts the two of you before you can do anything, moving you to straddle her thigh. Her lips latch onto a sensitive spot on your neck as she pushes her leg up and into you.

"Fuck," you gasp out, gripping her shoulders and arching further into her. The position gives her mouth easy access to your chest.

The fabric of your lace bra is easy for her to move to the side, baring your hardened nipple to her.

"You're so pretty," She groans beneath you, pressing her tongue to the sensitive bud.

Pleasure shoots through you and you suppress a moan at the feeling of her skilled mouth against you. She's pulling at your hips, guiding their movements as you rock into her. It's hard to remember where you are, how any of your coworkers can walk in if they want to. All you can think about is how muscular her leg is through her pants as it presses into your clit in just the right way, how strong her hands are as they grasp at your body like it's her lifeline.

It's almost embarrassing, how worked up this stranger has you. She's touching you like she knows your body, and you can feel your wetness soaking through your fabric. Truth be told, you'd been wet since she first spoke, voice smokey and addicting.

She sucks your tit into her mouth, tongue lashing at your nipple and you have to push her away before you get loud. She protests as you send her back to leaning against the couch, but ultimately keeps quiet when you bury your head in her neck to muffle your moans.

"That's it, just like that pretty girl," She whispers in your ear while you grind against her, leg rubbing your clit just right each time. "You sound so pretty."

Needy whines and sighs escape your throat, lips pressed to her neck while she pushes her thigh harder into you. She hums at the feeling, sound deep and rasped.

You would be disappointed in yourself for being so close this fast, and over the clothes no less, but you can't feel anything other than the pressure in your lower stomach building and building.

"It's so good," you admit breathily into her neck, nails digging into her upper back through the button up. You can feel the firm muscles there, and you can't help but picture them rippling as she fucks you.

"What's so good?" she asks like she already knows the answer.

Her voice sends you spiraling further, the almost taunting tone laced in her words. "The way you touch me."

She laughs lowly, "Oh? You close?" Her head turns as she presses a kiss to your cheek, you pull your head out of her neck and look her in the eyes.

"Use your hand," you order, grabbing her right wrist and dragging it towards where you want it.

The look that washes over her almost pushes you over the edge, the way she listens to your command and presses her fingertips to your clit.

The texture of the fabric rubbing against you feels overwhelmingly good, tension building in your body. You watch her with your eyes half open and your lips parted, watch as she drinks you in with her eyes.

Everything about her is skilled, the way she moves her hand in hard circles and pushes into you. Her free hand wraps around your neck gently and pushes you back a bit so that she can see more of you, your free nipple and the blush spreading across your chest. The action combined with the slight pressure on your neck makes your eyes roll back, a curse falling from your lips.

"Faster. Fuck, Sam," you tilt your head back and move with her hand, "I'm so close."

She listens so good, movements speeding up just how you asked. It feels so good, the warmth spreading throughout your body and coiling in your stomach. You're panting needily, orgasm rushing towards you, its presence overbearing.

"So bossy," She teases.

A slew of words grace your lips, body falling forward to mask the volume of your moans in the crook of her neck. She moves with precision, never once slowing down or faltering.

"Come on, baby," She urges, "cum on my hand."

It only takes a few more movements before you're doing just that, body tensing up and shuddering above her. The orgasm hits you like a bullet train and drags itself out, lasting longer than any other you'd ever had.

The feeling of her arm around your back, fingers still moving on your clit to guide you through makes it last longer. Her voice is in your head, grounding you as she whispers.

Her hand is gone from your clit and her neck is sweaty from the combined body heat by the time you pull back, shaking slightly. The reality of the situation doesn't hit you, just lingers in the back of your mind as you look at her.

"Hi," you say, hair sticking to your forehead slightly.

"Hi," She smiles sweetly back. "Sorry about the hickeys, I got a little carried away."

Your nipple hurts a little from the intensity with which she sucked at it, and you know your neck is riddled with marks.

"It's okay," you smile back, "but you'll have to be the one to let my boss know where they came from."

Her smile turns sheepish, though you can tell she doesn't regret leaving them. "Only if I can see you again," her arms tighten around your waist, lips brushing yours.

"Deal."

#sam carpenter #wlw #lesbian #melissa barrera #samantha carpenter x reader #scream #screamxi #sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter x female reader

[the-froschamethyst4]

Please, Father

𖤐Pairing: Priest! Ghost x Nun! F! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: smut, NSFW, priest kink, language, mention of smoking and drinking, more use of Simon than Ghost, P in V, age gap, praise kink, fingering, eating out, masturbation, blowjob,

𖤐Summary: When Ghost gets wind of a 'disrespectful' nun, he puts her in her place

————

————

Ghost walks through the big church, humming a soft tune that he just randomly came up with. He makes it to the alter seeing two nuns 'praying' but really they were gossiping.

"I caught her smoking," one says.

"Smoking! Father Simon, will hate that, she better get her act together!" they were whispering back and forth with each other but Simon could hear them plane as day.

"I know, Mother Faith caught her with alcohol once in the bathroom after church the other day."

"What a skank-"

"That's a bit disrespectful, Sister Grace and Sister Amber," Simon interrupts their conversation.

"We are so sorry, Father," they bow their heads to him.

"All is forgiven, but please no gossiping within the church."

"Yes, Father," they say as they prayed again.

"And could I ask...who this Sister is you two are talking about?" He asked.

"The new Sister, Father." Sister Grace says.

"Sister Y/n." Sister Amber says.

Y/n was a new Nun in the Church. She was brought to the church to learn about her families 'history' but newsflash there was no history, her family just sought her to be disrespectful and needs to be taught a lesson.

She was the middle child out of her siblings and her parents thought she was running with the wrong crowd and sent her overseas to this church to become a nun.

But that was far from the truth. Y/n wasn't disrespectful at all, she was innocent and people just painted her to be a bad child, being a Nun was easy work for her, but being here made her start smoking and drinking.

Speaking of Y/n. She sits in the courtyard leaning on the stone wall looking over the people walking passed the church.

"You will get us in trouble if they see you smoking, Sister Y/n," Y/n had the cigarette between her lips as she turns to Mother Lucia. She took Y/n under her wing and understood Y/n's struggles.

"So, what...people already think I'm a bad Nun...it doesn't matter," she says, putting her cigarette out.

"Why not go to the confession booth?" Mother Lucia asked.

"It doesn't work...I feel like no one listens to me...not even Father Simon," she says as she walks with Lucia.

"Father Simon always listens." Lucia says.

"If so why has nothing I've confessed about change?"

"You have to change them yourself, Y/n."

"What a waste of time," she rolls her eyes.

"I understand you feel like no one is listening to you, but trust me, Father Simon will help you."

"If I give it another try, will you leave me alone about it?"

"I will," Mother Lucia smiles at her.

"Fine, I'll do it later today."

"Good. Come on, let's go pray." Y/n hates praying, she doesn't know what she is praying for.

----------

Father Simon fixed his suit and heads to the confession booth. Sitting on the other side, he hears the door on the other side open and then hears a voice.

"Father, I must confess," he listens and pays attention to the voice, it's one he's heard before. "I don't think I've sinned, but I am...confused..."

"How so?" He finally speaks.

"People don't understand me, they don't understand what I've been through in my life and I'm called a 'disrespectful' nun...I'm not disrespectful at all."

Simon knew who he was talking to now. He slight turns his head and sees the side of Y/n's face, she looked sad, she looks down at her fingers, playing with them unaware that Father Simon was looking at her.

He gets up and closes the door. Y/n hears the door shut and she turns not seeing his outline in the booth next to her.

"What a waste of time," she says, then her door opens, she is face-to-face with Father Simon.

"Come with me, Sister Y/n," he says, putting his hand out but then realizing what he was doing took his hand back. "Please, come with me," he says.

Father Simon and Sister Y/n walk through the church the other Nuns see Y/n with him. They started to gossip about how she might get kicked out.

Simon opens his office door letting Y/n in, he shuts the door and locks it without Y/n knowing.

"Please have a seat," he says, letting her sit on his black leather chair in front of his desk. Simon leans on his desk looking at Y/n.

"Father Simon, am I in trouble for my confession?" She asked, looking up at him.

"No, never, it's a confession booth for a reason, Sister Y/n...a little birdie told me...you were smoking?"

"I-I'm sorry, Father Simon...I'm...I started it 3 weeks after I've arrived here, I also have been drinking."

"And you confessed about being confused...not that you are smoking and drinking on church grounds."

"I'm sorry, Father," she bows her head and hot tears filled her eyes, Simon wasn't trying to intimidate her and wasn't going to bash her or was going to kick her out. "Please, Father...forgive me," tears landed on her hands.

Simon places his finger under her chin making her look up at him, he sees her red eyes from crying.

"Sister Y/n, please don't cry, you did nothing wrong, Mother Lucia had told me some of your hardships and what you've been through," Simon tells her.

"Please, don't kick me out, Father," she pleads.

"I would never kick out a lovely lady like you," he says. "Please...tell me what you want, Sister Y/n?" He asks.

"I...I don't know what I want..."

"I think you do...Y/n when's the last time you've touched yourself?"

"F-Father Simon, I don't think that's appropriate to ask-"

"Let's not start that, tell me."

"Since I've arrived here..." she says, looking down.

"So 8 months ago?" Simon questions.

"Yes, Father."

"Aww~ so sad," he let's go of her chin and leans on his desk. "Lift your skirt and start touching yourself," he says.

"W-What?"

"You heard me, Y/n...lift your skirt and start touching yourself," he repeats.

"U-Umm~"

"Do you need help?" He asks. He walks back to her dropping to his knees, he picks her legs up placing them on his shoulders. She let's out a soft gasp and he lifts her skirt up exposing a light pink lacy panties.

"Do you always wear little underwear?"

"I-It's all I have, Father," she says.

"They're pretty," he says, licking his lips. Simon moves his hand up her thighs and then gently drag down her clothed clit.

"Mmm," She moans.

"You're already wet?"

"I-I can't help it," she moans.

"I understand," he helps her just a bit by rubbing her wet folds, he takes a hold of her hand and brings it down to her clit making her stick her fingers inside of her.

"Keep going," he demands watching her finger herself, getting a close view of her touching herself, soft moans left her mouth, she covers her mouth muffling her moans but Simon moves her hand wanting to hear her soft moans.

As she starts picking up the pace with her fingers inside of her, she starts arching her back and cum leak from her lower half, Simon looks up at her and then leaned forward using his tongue licking up her cum.

She pulls her fingers out from her lower half his tongue touched her fingers, he moves back and spits on her clit and shoved his middle and ring finger inside of her.

He starts moving his fingers quickly in and out of her, she head goes back, her hands on his shoulders. She let's out a few soft moans and then he attached his lips to her clit, licking her bud and then shoving his tongue inside of her.

"AH-AH!"

"Shh~ lovely, don't be too loud now."

"I-I'm sorry," she says.

Simon moves his tongue and pulled his fingers out, he licks his fingers. He picks Y/n up setting her on his desk, he pushes her skirt up and then pulls her panties off her lower half.

She moans feeling the cold hit her clit, she sees him unbuckling his pants, and he pulls his dick out.

"Father Simon, is this...okay?" She asked.

"It'll be just fine, it is my church anyways."

"Have you done this with...others?"

"Never...only you, lovely," he says. He placed his hand on his desk trapping Y/n between them. He aligns himself up at her entrance and slowly pushes himself in.

She tossed her head back, moaning out his name.

"You are such a good girl...taking me so well..." he smirks.

"S-Simon," she moans.

"What do you want, lovely?" He asks her.

"Faster...pl-please," she moans. He does what she wants, he picks up the pace watching her bounce, listening to her moans, and watching her hands rest on his hips.

"You look so fucking gorgeous," he groans.

"Simon!" She moans.

"Who cares," he says, thrusting faster. She let's out a moan as his tip hit her spot.

He starts to become sloppy with his thrusts, he ends up coming along with Y/n. She collapse on his desk as he watches her catch her breath.

"You did so well," he says, cupping her face and kissing her.

----------

A Few Days Later

Simon sits in the confession booth listening to a new Nun confess, she was telling him about how she 'accidently' smoked and was caught by Mother Lucia.

As he 'listened' he was more focused on his sweet Nun giving him head in the other room. Simon was talking as Y/n's tongue swirled around his tip.

She moves her mouth off his dick and starts licking up his base, her tongue laid flat against his tip as cum leaked from him. She smiles taking in his cum and swallowing his cum.

As Simon was done with the confession, he grabs Y/n's jaw.

"Your turn, what is your confession?"

"I confess for falling for a Priest," she smirks before taking his dick back into her mouth.

#cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #fandom #fanfic #call of duty #mw2 #cod #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #priest kink #hot priest #father son and holy spirit

[starrycassi]

Ballister's been through this many times. Ambrosius comes into his room, hysterical, to announce him of some ridiculous upper crust rule or ball or challenge that he's got to participate in. He knows the drill by now; listen to him, reassure him and help him get ready, be it brushing his hair or co-writing a speech for him to give.

The Goldenloin family puts up an act for people to show off Ambrosius and his many qualities every so often. He doesn't really care, not anymore. He used to panic alongside Ambrosius, when they were thirteen. He's seventeen, now, and the novelty of it has worn off — it's just kind of funny, really, to see his boyfriend suffer through hours and hours of whatever bullshit he's supposed to do now.

This upcoming event, however, is doing a number on Ambrosius's nerves. He's pacing back and forth the room, and he hasn't even looked at Ballister yet. His tic — the one in his left eye, is back, and his lips are red and swollen in the places where he's been bitting them. It's barely five am, and Ballister knows that this is going to be a long day.

"You're going to get nauseous if you keep spinning around, Amber" he tries to start the conversation, voice soft and words slow. Between them, Ambrosius has always been the worst when it comes to keeping his emotions under control. Ballister's learnt, by now, that sometimes it's just better to give him space.

"I'm nauseous already. Some spinning won't hurt, I'm sure" he snaps back, almost screaming. Ballister decides that talking to him won't be possible right now, and goes back to the project on his table, making sure to hold the screwdriver at the right angle.

After fifteen minutes or so, Ambrosius finally stops. He whines, letting his body weight drag him down on Ballister's mattress.

"What is it, this time?"

Ambrosius's silent, only whining a bit more after the question, like a wounded dog. That's new. He usually loves to go on rants about how everything is going to go wrong and how the whole world hates him in secret. Ballister puts down the tools, quickly scribbles down what he's supposed to do next to avoid future mistakes, and sits down next to his boyfriend, threading a hand through the other teen's hair.

They stay like that some minutes, Ballister working his way through the blond strands and Ambrosius simply lying there. Ballister's starting to think that he's fallen asleep, when Ambrosius finally speaks up, face still buried in pillows.

"They're marrying me off, Bal"

The world stops spinning.

Ballister goes static. His whole body freezes, and his heart stops beating. He can feel the blood on his veins going cold, so cold his bones feel stuck, too.

This was a expected situation, kind of. Captain Gloria, Ambrosius's mom, had been married off, too. She didn't like her husband in the slightest and they never talked to each other. Ambrosius told him all that.

She had also promised to keep her son away from that predicament. But Ballister knew better than to trust mothers. His own had abandoned him some years ago, after all.

"What... How? What?"

Ambrosius sits up, criss cross, hugging a pillow. He's such a kid. His eyes are already watery, and he's got a red nose, probably from slamming his face into the pillows.

"Not- well, not actually marrying me off. Mum doesn't want that, y'know" He shrugs, looking at his own hands. "But she can't really... just go against tradition, I guess. So, uh, there's going to be a tournament, figths, you know? And I know I'll probably win, she chose combat because she knows I'm good at it, but what if I don't win?"

He takes a deep breath, grunting. Ballister's brain is struggling to catch up, so he can't do much more than nod, encouraging his boyfriend to keep talking.

"It's not going to be like here, only us, cadets and students, where I know I will undoubtedly win. Actual grown ups could get in there, Ballister. My mom's been screaming to anyone and everyone about how ridiculous everything is, but- I guess rules are rules. I haven't slept. We stayed up all night on the phone, she tore down the whole family's library, called all of our lawyers, we tried every single article and law ever written. Nothing. The best we can do is... hope"

"The Captain's right. This is ridiculous, Ambrosius. What do you mean grown ups? Why? That's fucking creepy. Can't you guys just... say no? You're a Goldenloin, surely you-"

Ambrosius grunts, again, tugging at one of his hair strands.

"It's not that easy!" He screams, shutting Ballister up. "I've been getting proposals for... for forever! It's not really a matter of love as it is a matter of money, Bal. I've been getting proposals even from before I was actually born. Political alliances and all that. Mom's been doing her best, I know she has, but when a heir has said "no" enough times, then a duel or something can be called up, and an actual tournament would be way easier than just fighting every single idiot that wants to get my last name!"

Ballister's never been happier to be an orphan commoner than right now. His only worry when it comes to marriage is whether or not he can afford a pretty ring.

It's not like commoners don't marry for money. Arranged marriages were a pretty common thing around him, young kids marrying older people to try and get their families ahead, forced by their parents, their "spouses" or their economical situations. He just... never really had to worry about it, ever since he became a knight.

"That's incredibly fucked up, Ambrosius"

"I know ! I am well aware of how weird this must be for you, Bal. And I have absolutely no backup plan. My mom's confident that I'm winning, because Goldenloins never lose, but I'm not her! She can still beat me when we spar together, what am I going to do if someone else wins? Just... get married?"

Trying to come up with a solution, Ballister stutters and stammers his way through a sentence.

"You could, uh, get married and have a divorce, right?"

"No! Totally no! You don't get it! Whoever wins gets to ask whatever they want from my family, money, land, my hand- whatever, and then that's irrevocable!"

Stressed out, Ballister screechs. Of course he doesn't get it. No one ever bothered to explain this to him. He knew that parents could force their kids to marry (Captain Gloria once told him the story, very drunk and very mad at her departed dad) but not that a whole fucking event could be staged even if the family said no.

"It's not my fault I don't get it, you twat! Do you think the knigth training automatically gave me political marriage bullshit training, too? Well, no, it didn't! I'm so sorry for not knowing you weird ass nobility traditions, Ambrosius, I didn't realize I was supposed to!"

Getting up from the bed, mad at the world for being unfair and at himself for snapping, he runs his hands through his hair, with the impulse to simply rip it all off. It quickly gets replaced by guilt. Ambrosius has done nothing wrong, and here he is, being an asshole instead of helping.

"Amber... Shit, I'm sorry. This is just-"

Chuckling humorlessly, Ambrosius waves his hand in the air. He looks up at Ballister, and shakes his head.

"You're right. Sorry. I just forgot. I always do"

They already went through this, too. Ambrosius is good at keeping Ballister up to date, always happy to explain the situation, but sometimes things just... slip his mind. It isn't anyone's fault, but it's still annoying when it happens.

"Sorry, too. For calling you a twat"

Ballister leans down, tentatively. Ambrosius doesn't hesitate to lift himself up, and they share a quick kiss. All is forgiven.

"So... what now?"

Silently, they both try their best to think. Ballister's mind is blank, just screaming at him to get a sword and go decapitate however wrote the fuckin rules. He ignores that voice, per usual. The fucker's probably dead, by now, anyway.

Ambrosius is the one who gasps, and smiles all of the sudden, so bright that the sun should be jealous. He bounces on the bed a couple of times, clapping to get his boyfriend's attention.

"We're both idiots!"

Ballister frowns, confused. An awkward smile is all he can offer Ambrosius, wondering if his man finally went crazy.

"I see no correlation between our supposed idiocy and the problem at hand, Amber."

"Come on, Bal! This is easy. I have the best plan" he giggles, like a kid that just got a new toy. Ballister can tell that this plan probably will suck and get them in more danger than necessary. And he's so on board. Always on board, when it comes to Ambrosius.

"Which is?"

"You!" Exclaims Ambrosius, rolling his eyes. "You're my plan"

"Excuse me?"

"You're going to compete and win, Bal"

Perhaps he never should've become a knight, that way he never would've fallen in love with this absolute trainwreck of a man. Is it too late to go back to being a random kid and forget about all this? Probably.

#goldenheart #nimona movie #ballister nimona #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister boldheart #nimona (2023) #ambrosius nimona #ambrosius x ballister #nimona #ballister blackheart #i should be doing homework #forced marriaged but he's trying to save his boyfriend from it #tournament au

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

In The Low Lamp Light

17/12: Reassurance & Car Sex - Billy Washington Word Count: 1.5k~ | Warnings: mild angst, p in v sex, semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), praise

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

She sighs as she locks up, huffing her coat on in the chill of the late evening. She's able to see her breath as she yawns, tapping her foot as she waits for the tell-tale sound of the squeaky shift from fourth gear to third. The inevitable sound of Billy's car as he comes to pick her up.

She smooths her hands over her cold and aching legs, needing nothing more right now than to just curl up on the sofa under a blanket and sleep like she's dead.

Billy's car screeches down the road, amber headlights aglow, right on time as usual.

It doesn't take a genius. She can tell right away when he pulls up and doesn't even look in her direction that he's got a mard on.

It's something that used to bother her. But now, after knowing and being with him for so long, she knows all the little tells, all his mannerisms.

He won't be able to keep quiet about what he's thinking for long when confronted with silence.

Billy rests his head on his fist as it leans against the window, keeping the car running as she gets in, preparing herself for yet another monologue. She complains in her head, but really, she'd rather he tell her than just keep it in.

He's wearing his dark green jacket over a jumper, and she can see as soon as she shuts the door how his knee is bouncing.

“Good day at work?” he asks, dispassionately.

She presses her lips together giving him a smile, nodding, like she knows something is wrong.

“Alright, ta,” she replies, knowing what she's about to say next might start him off, “you?”

He simply puts the car in gear and drives off, “Yeah, fine.”

Her eyes narrow. He's not looked at her once.

She's surprised that he lasts as long as he does to be fair. Without the radio on, and only the sound of his Vauxhall's grinding revs to drown out the silence, she can see how his knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

“No…actually…it wasn't fine…”, he says quietly, almost too quiet to really hear without leaning over.

“Why?”

Billy scoffs, shaking his head, “I'm just a fucking idiot.”

Oh, hell no. We are not doing this.

Luckily, the route Billy is taking home goes through a dark single carriageway, covered by foliage with ample place to pull over.

“Park up.”

It's the first time he looks over at her. Brows arched in confusion.

“Eh?”

“Park. Up.”

He even sighs as he does, slowing to a full stop and tugging up the handbrake like it's the most difficult thing in the world.

“Turn the car off.”

He does. Moving his fingers to the bridge of his nose. By now wishing he'd said nothing at all.

“Do you wanna run that by me again?” she prods.

“Why are you being like this?”

“I'm not gonna sit here and listen to you calling yourself a ‘fucking idiot’, Billy.”

He sighs, “I really didn't wanna do this.”

“It's not an argument, Billy. Can you just tell me, plainly, what's happened? No…self-deprecation.”

His finger taps idly on the steering wheel, both of their breaths fogging up the car.

“I'm just…finding it hard”.

She cocks her head, gaze softening.

“It's not the same as…fixing up my old banger. Just feels like I don't know anything…”

There it is. That look on his face.

The one he always has when he's giving up on himself.

“Billy, they wouldn't have taken you on if they thought you couldn't do it-”

“I know. I'm just not hacking it-”

“Billy”, she says it flatly, hoping to grab his attention.

And she nearly softens right up when his baby blues look over at her from the driver's seat, all shiny and sad.

“Listen to me. I know, I know, how hard it's been for you to get any work. And now that you have, you're just trying to find something else to beat yourself up about.”

She sees how Billy swallows, nervously smoothing his hands over his jeans, like he doesn't know what to do when praised. It so rarely happened from anyone else before.

“You've done so well, Billy. And…as far as knowledge goes, if you don't know how to do something or…if you don't know what something is, ask.”

She reaches for his arm, wanting to show him with her touch, just how much she means it.

“There is no harm in asking. And give yourself some credit. Half the guys there have been doing this way longer than you and can barely hold their dick in a straight line.”

Some of the tension is lessened when he gives a breathy laugh, no doubt blushing as well as he looks into his lap. And she's relieved to see the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

“I'm so proud of you, you know.”

It just came out so naturally she didn't even think twice about saying it. But she's forced to rethink about the weight of it when he looks up to her, their faces bathed in the minimal glow of the street lights outside.

But he doesn't say anything, making a warmth creep into her cheeks as he studies her.

“What?”

A surprised squeak is all that's able to leave her mouth as Billy pulls her by the back of her neck to crash his lips to hers. An urgent, needed kiss. One of pure necessity, but warming nonetheless in her gut.

His clothes smell of engine oil, something she'd become pleasantly accustomed to since Billy started this new job. And it's shameful to admit, but she rather likes the rugged, masculine scent that vapes off of him when they're in the throes of it.

Now is no different.

She melts into him as his tongue sweeps over her bottom lip, caressing hers, before pulling away with a soft click.

“Say it again, please…”

Her lips part involuntarily as his fingers run into her hair, tugging her close to him as he mouths at her neck.

“Um…I am…I'm proud of you…”

She can feel his breath against her neck as he sighs, as if those are the sweetest words she's ever said to him.

Her eyes dart around as Billy presses himself up against her, able to see the effect all this is having concealed beneath his boxers.

“Billy, someone could see-”

“I don't care.”

She squeals again as Billy pulls the lever up on the passenger seat, laying the back down flat so she faces the roof. He is quick to follow on top of her, emboldened perhaps by the fact that the road is dark and clear with being so late at night, and there is nothing around them but fields and trees.

His knee parts her legs, chest pressed against hers as his full lips make their way down her neck to her collarbone.

Her chest feels all tight, stomach doing backflips at the thought of doing this so unabashedly in his car. But she doesn't protest. Instead she watches his face as he edges down her body, eventually reaching her leggings where his impatient hands tug at the waistband.

“Billy…”

He doesn't even wait to pull down her underwear before he dives between her thighs, mouthing at her clothed centre like he's been thinking about it all day.

“- fuck -”

All breath is shot out of her throat when Billy collects her underwear in his fingers and tugs them hastily aside, flattening his warm, wet muscle against her bundle of nerves in a sensation that has her back arch off the seat slightly.

Her hand finds his hair, the sandy tresses spilling through her fingers, pulling him towards her in micro-movements as he feasts on her, moaning outright as he does it. It does well to drown out the muffled sounds of a car flying past the single carriageway outside.

She is sure it's never felt this good before as she grinds unceremoniously on his face, searching for friction. And she feels the way his hands wrench her thighs apart, wanting more of her taste.

“Oh - fuck, Billy -”

Warmth creeps into her gut as Billy quickens, moving down to fuck her with his tongue as his thumb moves to her clit so the sensation is not abandoned. And both of these dull, pleasurable feelings at once has electricity firing off in her blood, not realising how hard she's pulling on him.

Her orgasm is followed by a choked cry, her hips chasing his lips and tongue as she rides it out. All Billy can do is lap up whatever she gives him, her essence coating his lips in the most erotic way, the car smelling of sex and their bodies.

He pulls away just enough to undo his jeans and lay back on top of her, his lips finding hers again and allowing her to taste the heady, musky juices that have coated them. She'd be embarrassed if she heard how she moaned as the head of his cock pushed past her slick folds, spearing her open around him.

She desperately hopes that another car doesn't come by as theirs has now started to bob with movements that cannot be explained with anything else other than sex. Although secretly, excitement bubbles inside her at the thought.

So she holds onto him, raising her legs around him to aid him deeper inside her, smiling lovingly when he gruffs.

“Say it again.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy

#billy washington x oc #billy washington x y/n #billy washington x reader #billy washington #billy washington x you #billy washington smut #billy washington fic #billy washington fanfic #billy washington fanfiction #billy washington trigger point #trigger point series #trigger point fanfic #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters #12 days of smuff #billy washington x fem!reader #billy washington x female reader

[yanderes-galore]

Darling escaped Wesker and is hiding from him, being constantly paranoid and all. She takes a hike and gets captured by the Las Plagas cult but before they can do anything Wesker arrives (because he was conveniently around, watching Ada). How would the reunion be like? - 🐈 anon

I was confused at first but found out you meant the Separate Ways DLC. Here you go! Did a concept as not specified.

Edit: I only just saw this was meant to be a female darling I'm so sorry, but I hope you like it despite my mistake- 💀 The only gender related thing is in one thing Wesker said anyways-

Yandere! Wesker "saving" Kidnapped! Darling

(RE4: Separate Ways)

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Kidnapping, Possessive behavior, Stalking, Violence, Thoughts of murder mentioned, Forced relationship.

The whole scenario just sounds unfortunate for you.

From one bad situation to another.

Then potentially back to the first one.

Escaping Wesker is a feat within itself.

He usually always has an eye on you although he isn't as deadly as he is in RE5.

He may even be impressed that you managed to slip by, if not annoyed.

Not only is escaping a feat but hiding from him is also an achievement.

So to stay away from Wesker's sight you hide in the woods.

For awhile you learn to survive.

You take hikes to stay in shape and find food as you go.

You yearn for your old life... the one before Wesker.

Hikes have been the only way you were able to cope.

At least... that was until you encountered Los Illuminados.

The reason for taking you in could be for any number of things.

However the most likely reason would be for experimentation.

Injecting people with Las Plagas makes the cult grow.

It just so happens you were a vulnerable target.

They most likely had no idea who you were (unwillingly) connected to.

As a result you are chased and dragged to a cell for later use.

Around this time Wesker would've sent Ada to look for the amber he needs for his virus.

He may have even asked her to find you if she was able to.

Wesker is no doubt searching for you ever since you managed to leave his gaze.

He'll admit it's felt... odd to not have you around.

He doesn't like the feeling of being unable to hold you, feel your warmth, or breathe your scent.

As a result he's been on edge.

Not only must he make his virus but he also needs to have you by his side again.

Imagine his surprise (and anger) when he sees footage of you being carried away through Ada's lenses.

Wesker knows if they hurt you he's going to gut them all.

Plans have changed. He orders Ada to keep an eye on you while looking for the amber.

He's finally found you again... and he plans on retrieving you along with the amber.

As a result you end up meeting Ada.

You have no idea she's working with Wesker or why she's here.

All you know is once she sneaks into the prison and stands in front of your cell, you're saved.

Wesker most likely didn't say why you were so important.

He doesn't need Ada to know your past.

You and him have had history, romantic history in his eyes, and he'd just about blow up this entire island to have you.

If Wesker really can see footage through Ada's cameras then he watches the screen intently.

You look so dirty, malnourished, and unkempt.

He can fix that once you're back in his arms.

He wonders as he watches you if he should be punished.

However, the fact you were kidnapped by the cult seems punishment enough.

It only proves the reason he took you in to begin with.

You're weak without him... you need him in order to be stronger.

Surely you'll learn such a lesson by the time he comes to pick you up.

The moment Wesker comes onto the island, he calls Ada and demands she brings you to him.

Until then he watches the island to catch sight of you.

He's been patient with you... but you have to come back with him now.

Right where you belong.

It's a sad sight to see.

You trusted Ada to save your life, what does she do in return?

She brings you right back to Wesker.

The moment your eyes land on the blonde haired man, you try to go the other way.

You shake your head but Ada nudges you in front of her.

"You've managed to retrieve them, but what of the amber?" Wesker asks Ada before beckoning you closer.

There's silence between you as Ada explains she still needs to find the item.

You feel betrayed as Wesker sends her away before turning to you.

"I applaud you for making it this long. But you must know you weren't going to last long."

You're roughly dragged into Wesker's chest as he checks you over.

He's checking for scratches and signs of any parasite you could've been infected with.

If you were hurt his mind is set.

"For now... you're punished enough." Wesker tells you, but he doesn't let go. "But I'm not done here."

"You're going to take me back..." You whisper, defeated.

"This is only proof that you can't survive without me. You got yourself captured by someone else." Wesker frowns, annoyed.

"They won't leave this place alive. None of them will."

You stay silent, feeling Wesker stroke your head before kissing the top of it.

He hasn't been able to feel you in so long.

He feels you struggle a bit but he doesn't care.

All that matter is he has you again.

He'll make sure you're brought back onto his boat and watched.

You're coming back with him.

Meanwhile, he'll make sure there's nothing left of the cult that took you after he's obtained the amber.

#yandere resident evil #yandere resident evil 4 #yandere albert wesker

[cobaltperun]

Lost (7) - The Reason

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Word count: 5.3k

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

-And all the pain I put you through I wish that I could take it all away-

Sam mentally apologized to you. You’ve kept Tara safe, you gave her sister love she deserved, yet here Sam was, in a car she stole from you, out of gas about a mile away from Amber’s house because she was so blinded by rage. At least she managed to park it so it wasn’t in the middle of the road, but she would still leave it in the middle of the forest. And there was a gas station just ten miles prior, but, again, she was too consumed by anger.

Well, she’d apologize is she made it out of this alive. What she was about to do was reckless, she knew that, but as far as she was concerned, she'd either have a backup or she'd get both killers at once. So, she called Richie.

"Sam!" he sounded relieved, but that didn't matter, Amber was kissing Tara, playing the part of the worried girlfriend. "Where are you? I was worried sick!"

"It doesn't matter. It's Amber, she's the Ghostface, I'm heading to her place now," she revealed.

"W-What? Who is the other one? Wait, that's not important! Why are you willingly going to the killer's house? Please tell me you brought that MMA fighter with you, or that you are at least armed," Richie's voice was filled with panic and worry. Sam still hadn't decided what he was worried about.

"I left Y/N to protect Tara. I'll figure out who the other one is soon enough," she chose to reveal some more information, she wouldn't mention the knife she had with her, or that she was already walking toward Amber’s house.

"Please wait until I get back there. I went back to Modesto thinking you'd be there," Richie told her and it only made her more suspicious.

"Fine," she told him and hung up. She wouldn't wait though, she stopped just for a moment to send a just-in-case kind of message to Tara. 'I love you, I'm sorry for hurting you, please stay safe.' she typed it but then changed her mind and sent it as a voice message.

Sam didn't intend to die, and if she did die, she'd take Amber with her, but if she did die at least Tara would have some closure, at least she could listen to the voice message when she missed Sam.

But Tara would get over it, she was the strongest person Sam knew, her brave little sister, her survivor, she would stay strong, pushing on even if Sam was no longer there. It would be hard for Tara, Sam knew that, but eventually Tara would be fine.

With that in her mind, she saw the house, big, but otherwise entirely normal, not in any way indicating that a heartless killer who’d turn on her girlfriend and try to kill her twice lived there. Sam approached the front door, a knife in her hand. She had her guard up as she entered the house, checking the dark corners, and being as quiet as she could. So far all she saw were remnants of a party. She saw 'For Wes' hanging in the air and her heart broke a bit. Wes didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to die because of some stupid legacy. No one did. To make it even more cruel the party was held in the house of the one who killed him, or at the very least worked with his killer.

The few moments she chose to spare to grieve were a blunder she shouldn't have allowed as she felt a knife stabbing her in the back,

"It's so nice of you to join us Sam," the Ghostface taunted her as she managed to stumble away from her attacker and pointed the knife at whoever it was, she guessed it was Amber, but she couldn't rule out the possibility that it was the other one.

"Amber," Sam still growled, clenching her teeth to push down the pain. If Tara could fight with several wounds like this one, then Sam could fight as well.

"Oh, great, you figured it out!" Amber took the mask off, revealing her swollen cheek.

"Y/N's doing?" Sam taunted hoping to rile Amber up and provoke an attack.

Amber opened her mouth wide, revealing two broken teeth. "You mean this? Yeah, Tara's fucking guard dog really doesn't hold back," Sam could see the desire to kill you in Amber's eyes. "Too bad you didn't bring her."

Sam smirked. "Why bother her? You've already proven you can't beat her fairly, even two-on-one," her taunting had the desired effect as Amber rushed her with a furious scream. It was exactly what Sam was waiting for. She stepped to the side, hoping to end the fight as quickly as possible. There was still a chance the other Ghostface was in the house. And then the realization hit her. Amber was already in her costume. The only question was, was Amber expecting her, or was she in the middle of attacking someone? And if she was in the middle of attacking someone else, who was it?

Sam slashed at Amber, just barely grazing the younger girl's shoulder. It wasn't enough though, as Amber cried out and slammed her shoulder into Sam. With the wind knocked out of her Sam dropped her knife and barely managed to avoid another stab. All hopes of getting the knife back vanished when Amber kicked the knife under the kitchen sink, so Sam ran, hoping to get some other weapon. She ran up the stairs, having no idea where she was heading in the unfamiliar house. With Amber hot on her heels, Sam only had the choice to rush into the first room she came across.

When she came in, she saw it all. The blood, the three bodies on the floor, the knife that was used, she saw it all, and she felt sick, she froze, and Amber just stopped behind her. "No... What have you done?! Mindy! Chad!" Sam cried out at the sight of the twins, tied up and bleeding out on the floor with a girl Sam didn't recognize.

"They were supposed to be the bait for you to come back, but you came to us before we could even take photos of them," the voice that spoke was the same voice she heard over the phone, the one from the voice changer. Sam realized too late the second Ghostface came up to her and stabbed her twice.

"I'm so glad I get to kill you," he spoke, and Sam knew who it was before he even took the mask off. It still hurt to see Richie taking the mask off. In the end her and Tara shared the same fate, both being betrayed by their lover. Only, Sam didn’t have anyone to come for her, Tara had you, and Sam, in her struggles, fears and self-doubt, never formed that kind of bond with anyone. Sam didn’t have her protector, or someone to protect that wasn’t her sister. "I know, it sucks that it's me, but it was the best option for the movie," he said, only infuriating her further, but with the knife in her stomach, she really didn't have anything she could do.

"This isn't a fucking movie," she still gasped, the pain and anger mixed together in her voice, yet Richie only snickered at that.

"Oh, but it will be, but we need a few more guests before we get to the grand finale," a blunt hit to her head knocked Sam out.

When she regained consciousness, she had no idea how much time had passed. She did, however, know her head was killing her, she was in pain from the stab wounds, and she had her wrists and ankles tied up.

Sam failed. She went alone and failed miserably. Now she was defenseless, on the kitchen floor with Sidney and Gale in a similar situation.

"Fuck," she groaned and watched as Richie and Amber came back to the kitchen. What followed their arrival was the sickest tale she ever heard. A tale of two crazy fans taking a movie that was over two decades old at this point way too seriously. The pounding in her head made it difficult to focus on their sickening reasons, and then Richie approached her.

"It wasn't that hard for me to find you in Modesto. It wasn't that hard for me to fuck you, either. But I guess being a sexually available woman is supposed to be empowering these days," he could talk all he wanted, her anger was already past its peak when Tara first got attacked. "Speaking of sexually available women, it wasn't hard for Amber to fuck Tara either. I guess a bit of attention is all it takes when you get abandoned like she was," at that, Sam's anger went above boiling point, and she tried as hard as she could to get free. The tape only dug into her wrists, but it didn't hurt at all compared to the pain she felt when he mentioned Tara and what was done to her.

And then the phone rang and everybody, but Sidney froze.

"I'm guessing that's for you," Sidney smirked slightly as Richie picked up the phone.

~X~

You approached the front doors with your phone on speaker. From the corner of your eye, you could see blood on the grass. You just hoped whoever got hurt there was still alive. Someone picked up the phone and you spoke. "The resident guard dog on the phone. I have a bone to pick with you," you said and kicked the front doors open.

You didn't even bother to be quiet. You couldn't be quiet. "Come on out Amber and whoever the other one is. Richie? Chad? My money is on Richie," you announced your presence quite loudly as you entered the living room. Still, no one and then you saw Richie. With a gun. "Oh, it is you."

Richie pointed the gun at someone you couldn't see. "Stay the fuck back Y/N or I'll blow Sam's brains out."

You raised an eyebrow. "Really now? I want you to reconsider that just for a moment," you took a step forward. "Think long and hard how about many bullets you have and how many it'll take to kill me. Four didn't, are you sure you'll have enough this time," even one bullet would be fine, if he aimed well, but you could see his nerves getting to him.

A shadow from your side made you abruptly step back and just as Amber went to stab you, you went behind her and grabbed her. You pushed her to her knees and tossed the knife out of her hands. Amber let out a scream of frustration as you put her in a chokehold. "Looks like we are at an impasse," the implications were rather clear, Richie shoots, you snap Amber's neck.

"Shoot her!" Amber growled, trying to scratch her way out of your grip.

"You sure his aim is that good?" You asked rhetorically and tightened your grip on the girl. She tried to reach your face or neck when digging her nails into your arms didn't do anything. "That's it, keep glaring. you're hardly even a challenge," you had to keep Amber's attention on you.

"Fucking, guard dog," she choked out, that really was her favorite name for you, wasn't it? You watched as Richie aimed his gun at you, but his hand trembled. He wouldn't shoot, he wouldn’t risk killing Amber, besides, as far as he was concerned the three of you really were at an impasse, so he was safe.

"What was it you used to say, Amber? Tara barks and I bite?" you taunted before turning to Richie. "Take a few steps back Richie," you ordered.

"What?" well, your demand was a bit unusual from his point of view.

"Now," to get the point across you tightened your grip enough to actually start choking Amber.

Amber gasped for air, her arms once again reaching for your forearm to try and get free, but it was a losing battle. At least now she knew how it felt to fight for air, how Tara felt. That thought alone made you squeeze even harder.

"Fine, fine!" Richie raised his hands up and stepped back once, then again, then the third time.

"Bark, bark, fucker," you smirked as a crutch slammed into the back of Richie's head. Sam gasped. Someone else gasped. Tara went ballistic on the now-crying Richie, and you tossed Amber over the sofa as she coughed and gasped for air.

The moment Tara saw you approaching the two of you nodded at one another and she stopped her assault on Richie to go and untie Sam. Richie stumbled back to his feet and tried to attack Tara from behind, only to be stopped by you grabbing his wrist.

"None of that," you warned, glaring furiously at him and dislocating his right shoulder. Just as the frosting on the cake you then landed several blows to his head. Someone running up the stairs caught your attention, but you figured you'd handle Amber after you dealt with Richie.

"Chad and Mindy are upstairs, they were injured!" Sam was struggling to get back up as she told you that.

Your eyes widened at the new information, and you glanced at Sam. She wasn't exactly ready to fight, but it would have to do. "He's all yours Sam," just in case you hit Richie again, knocking the air out of his lungs.

You ran after Amber, catching up to her at the top of the stairs. She had a knife, so you guessed she wanted to either take one of the twins hostage or finish them off. "No! No, stay back! I didn't mean to do this! I was radicalized! Please Y/N, I'm just a dumb kid!" she cried out when she realized she couldn't reach the twins in time. When she realized you were still more than capable of catching up to her and beating her, despite all the injuries you suffered.

"So?” you saw the gun before she could catch you by surprise again. "Come on now," you sighed, threw a feint, and grabbed the gun behind her back. You could see fear in Amber's eyes, fear so strong and overwhelming that she ran and jumped over the fence just to get away from you. She cried out in pain and clutched her ankle. Was it broken? It hardly mattered. You walked down the stairs as gunshots echoed, exactly three gunshots.

~X~

It was over. She killed Richie. She shot him. The nightmare would soon be over.

"Sam," Tara's voice, so small and on the verge of crying broke Sam out of her daze and she stumbled over to her younger sister. Tara hugged her as tightly as she could, crying into Sam's shirt. "Don't ever do that again, don't ever leave me like that again," Tara choked on her tears. “Do you have any idea how afraid I was? All I could think about was reaching you in time!” she desperately tried to hug her even tighter, to make sure Sam would never do anything nearly as reckless.

Sam hugged Tara just as tightly. Fearing Tara would slip from her grasp if she held even a bit weaker. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll never leave you again. I swear I'll never hurt you again," she tearfully promised. She had five, no, ten years’ worth of Tara's pain and loneliness to make up for and she'd do it. She'd turn her life around for Tara. She'd be better for Tara. She'd do anything she possibly could to make sure Tara was happy and taken care of. That was what Tara was to Sam, she was the reason Sam would get her life together.

~X~

You wanted to check on Tara, but you'd have to believe in her.

"Wait, wait Y/N! I killed Dewey, don't you think Gale and Sidney deserve a shot?" you didn't know if Amber was trying to distract you or if she actually thought that. It didn't matter.

"I don't care. You hurt Tara," you pointed the gun at Amber's head. Somehow your hand felt really heavy. Come on, just shoot... end this nightmare. Shoot! But you couldn’t…

Amber laughed when she saw the look on your face, your eyes gave you away. "You really are hopeless, Y/N!" she was trying to taunt you, but her voice barely registered in your head.

The image of your father's gun overlapped with the one in your hand. It wasn't about Amber, it was the act of firing the gun itself that was keeping your finger frozen on the trigger.

"What's left to love, hmm?! Tara will never be the same! Scars, doubts, paranoia, she could even turn out to be like her mother, a drunk. You can try all you want, but you'll never erase the mark I left on her," the maniacal grin, the satisfaction Amber felt due to what she did to Tara, it all fueled your anger.

Your finger still couldn't move.

Amber laughed and, perhaps seeing your inability to fire, lunged at you with a knife.

A gunshot echoed before she could reach you and you watched with wide eyes as Amber's body just dropped.

"You didn't leave a mark," Tara declared as she lowered the gun, Sam coming right behind her with Sidney and Gale.

You lowered the gun in your hand to the floor and without saying a word walked over to Tara ž. You reached her and took her hands, slowly separating her fingers from it as she shut her eyes. With the gun out of her hands you made sure it wouldn’t fire and gingerly placed it on the table. You hated that your hesitation, your inability to fire, made Tara do it. You made Tara kill. "It wasn't what she was saying. I just... spent years trying to prevent myself from pulling the trigger, so now that I should have, I just couldn't do it," you whispered barely loud enough for Tara to hear.

Tara seemed to deflate at those words as she stumbled into your arms. She glanced down at Amber's body and quickly looked away, burying her face in your chest and clutching the back of your shirt. You could feel a single tear dropping from her chin onto your shirt and you just held her, just pulled her closer.

"Come on, let's get out of here," you whispered gently and lifted her up, making sure she couldn't see the body. As you took the first step you heard police sirens approaching. That got you to raise an eyebrow and look at Tara who just forced a smile.

"Better safe than sorry," she said and for a moment you wondered why you didn’t just call the police in the first place.

Then you remembered how they left Tara at the hospital... 'Yeah, that's why,' you thought and took Tara outside.

~X~

Mindy and Chad would live, but Liv bled out before help could reach her. Overall, between new wounds and old wounds needing to be treated once again, every single one of you would need medical treatment.

You did have one question, so, as Sam watched over Tara you walked over to Sidney and Gale. "So, how did you get my number?"

Gale looked at you incredulously, as if silently asking 'Really? That's what you want to know?' you just shrugged; you were curious, so you asked.

"You do know you're an MMA fighter and that I am an investigative journalist, right? It really wasn't that difficult," yeah, that made sense, you supposed.

"Right. I don't appreciate the tracker on my car, but I guess I owe you one for that," it didn't take much time to figure out Sam would be dead if that damn tracker wasn't on your car, or if Sidney called you even ten minutes later than she did. It was also lucky they called you when your car stopped in the middle of nowhere and you told them Amber’s address.

"Considering what happened inside, I'd say we're even," Sidney sighed and you raised your hands in surrender, if they thought you were even, you wouldn't argue. The last couple of days drained away your ability to argue.

"Right, take care," you stepped back and motioned toward Tara. "I'm going back to Tara," you said and went back to the ambulance Tara and Sam were in.

“Thanks for coming after me,” Sam gave you and Tara a small smile and judging by how Tara leaned a bit closer to her, you figured she already thanked Tara while you were with Gale and Sidney.

“Thanks for stealing my car,” you did not appreciate it being left on the side of the road.

Sam looked away and Tara turned to look at you as if she couldn’t believe what you just said.

Your eye twitched at her reaction. “Sorry I don’t like my car being stolen,” you grumbled and then sighed, giving in when Tara kept looking at you with those doe eyes of hers. “Fine, but Sam is paying for the gas.”

~X~

Three days later Tara was finally getting released from the hospital, but there was an issue with that. She would be going back to her house. And no one went there since the night Tara was attacked. You could feel how anxious Tara was last night when she was told she would be released today, you could see it in her eyes as she frantically turned to look at you. If your apartment was any bigger you would have taken her there, but given the lack of space and her broken leg it just wouldn’t work, especially when it came to bathroom, and Tara refused to allow you to rent a bigger apartment.

So, here you were, in front of Tara’s house with a bag in your hand. It wasn’t the biggest house in Woodsboro, hell, Amber’s house was bigger, but it wasn’t a small house either. The grass needed to be cut soon, but it could wait a few more days, it was more important to handle what was inside. With a heavy feeling in your heart you approached the front doors. Did Amber come in through the front doors? You didn’t know, you didn’t ask Tara anything about the attack, and she didn’t want to talk about it, she didn’t want to remember it.

You opened the front doors and immediately stepped back. The stale air you could take, but the moment you smelt even a hint of blood you nearly threw up, consumed by what happened inside. And Tara was supposed to come back here. You hunched forward, gasping for air and then you saw them, a few red spots on the floor, dried up a long time ago, but clearly there.

Your legs shook. You’ve seen blood plenty of times before, drops just like those back in the octagon, but you still struggled to push forward to get inside the house. There wasn’t any more blood in the hall, so Amber likely didn’t come inside the moment she stabbed Tara there. Knowing Tara, she likely back away so that meant…

You looked down the hall, toward the kitchen and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you began, likely somewhat tracing Tara’s steps, you stopped at the wall, right next to the opening leading into the kitchen and the dining area and you leaned your forehead against it. “I should have been here,” you pressed your right palm on it, your fingers pressing harshly against the rough wall.

You had no idea how long you stayed there, but eventually you stepped back and walked into the kitchen and you felt your heart breaking into countless pieces. There was so much blood in front of you. A smudge on top of the counter, as if Tara was slammed against. A nick on the counter that wasn’t there before, likely from the knife hitting it. Stains on the floor from trying to escape.

You knew what you would see, but you still couldn’t stop shaking. You should have shot her, you should have used every single bullet in that gun and then you should have taken a knife. You clenched your jaw and opened the bag you brought. You had a lot of cleaning to do.

~X~

She was going back to her house. She didn’t want to, but she had to. She needed to get over the trauma, to learn how to feel safe even if she was alone. She grew so used to you being by her side almost all the time, and no matter what happened between the two of you that couldn’t be maintained, you couldn’t always be close to her.

And neither could Sam. There would be days when Tara would have to be without either of you, and the sooner she got over her trauma the better. She could not let three days define the rest of her life.

But first, going back to her house. She was standing on her own, using her crutches while she was waiting for her papers with Sam right next to her.

“I can wait, you should go and sit down,” Sam said, worriedly glancing at Tara’s broken leg.

Tara smiled, nudging her sister slightly. “I’m fine Sam,” and while she didn’t say it, a part of the reason she didn’t want to go and sit alone was how vulnerable she would feel surrounded by vaguely familiar people. And she didn’t want to leave Sam alone either. Sam got hurt as well when she was alone.

She glanced toward the main entrance, and the tension and anxiety that threatened to consume her faded away as she saw you walking in, looking around briefly before your eyes met. Sam must have noticed because she chuckled a bit and patted Tara’s shoulder. Tara blushed at that, Sam wasn’t even back for a week, and she was teasing her.

The moment you were close enough Tara leaned forward, letting you support her weight. Her eyes widened slightly when you wrapped your arms around her, your arms shaking slightly. She felt your shuddering breath against her neck, and she was reminded of that time in front of her house, right after you tried to… she didn’t want to think about that. You were with her now, and you’d stay with her for the rest of her life and as long as you wanted her in your life, she would never let you go.

“Tara,” she heard you whispering and hugged you, not caring that her crutches would drop to the floor. Sam must have caught them, because she didn’t hear them falling, or maybe she was just so focused on being in your arms that nothing else pierced through the bubble you two created.

She kissed your cheek, dug her fingers into your hair and pulled you closer.

“Thank you for surviving,” you told her so quietly she was sure only she could hear you, she was sure she wouldn’t be able to hear you if she was even a few inches further away from you. And she understood what was going through your mind.

You went to her house, you saw it all, didn’t you? “Y/N,” she pulled back a bit, just so she could press her forehead against yours. She felt as if she was about to melt at how softly you were looking at her eyes. “Thank you for staying by my side,” she could overcome this, all of this and even more, as long as she had you, she would be fine.

“That goes without saying,” you said as if you didn’t do what no one else did, you said it as if you didn’t stay by her side and protect her and she had to bite her lower lip just to stop herself from kissing you. “Do you want me to stay with you at your place?”

She wanted that, she wanted to make up for the lost time, to have you by her side, but she knew she also needed to spend some time alone. To once again start feeling safe on her own. “I’ll be fine, I promise,” she replied. “And I’ll call you if I need you,” she reassured you, though she would try her best not to call you.

“I don’t like interrupting, but we can go now,” Tara didn’t need to look at Sam to know she had a grin on her face.

“Right, up you go,” you lifted her up and smiled as she made herself comfortable in your arms, and you took her to your car.

~X~

It was her third night back in her house. She was afraid of her own shadow, alone in her house, since Sam had to go to Modesto to handle the life she was leaving behind. She was vulnerable, she needed time to get up, she couldn’t protect herself, or escape if she needed.

Her house was locked, she was safe, she was alone, no one could hurt her. Yet, as much as she kept repeating that mantra she couldn’t calm down. She couldn’t play any music, or watch a movie, fearing the noise would keep her from hearing if anyone was in her house, or if anyone was trying to break in. And she tried to fall asleep, but she couldn’t, she couldn’t handle being caught off guard.

She couldn’t do this. She made it through the first night alone, she couldn’t sleep the second night and only fell asleep when you came to her house in the morning. And now she once again couldn’t sleep. She took her phone for what felt like the hundredth time in the past few hours, once again looking at your name.

She called you, unable to stand the horror she felt. It was one in the morning, yet you answered mere seconds after she called.

“Tara?” you sounded like you were already getting up and getting dressed.

“Please come. I’m afraid,” she whispered, afraid that if she spoke louder someone other than you would hear her.

“I’m on my way, Love,” you didn’t even hesitate, and she vaguely heard you unlocking your doors and then seconds later locking them again. “Do you want to talk until I get there?”

She wanted that, but you would drive, and she wanted you to drive safely. “No, no just drive safely.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in five minutes,” you promised her and she nodded, for a moment forgetting you couldn’t hear her.

“Thank you,” she hung up when she heard you getting in your car. “I love you,” she whispered, counting seconds until you arrived. A bit less than five minutes ago you sent her a message that you were about to come inside, but she still flinched when she heard ‘Systems disarmed’, her fingers twitched and she nearly locked her house down once again.

“It’s me!” you yelled and locked her front door once again.

Tara smiled, listening to you running up her stairs. The door handle turned and you entered her room and that fear vanished from her heart as she moved to the side and patted the spot next to her.

You closed the distance between the two of you and lied down, letting her rest her head on your chest. “I’m sorry, I had to call you,” she whispered, but you just rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head. “Just sleep, I’ll be right here,” you told her, and she did just that, she closed her eyes and fell asleep to the melody your hearts made.

A/N: And so Scream V ends. By the way, when it comes to what Sam and Tara showed in the movie, I think Tara is much more impressive. Sam is shown to be about as capable as one would expect from a woman who likely didn't have much, if any, martial arts training. Tara on the other hand moves with a broken leg, puts up one hell of a struggle in the opening scene, fights back even during the hospital attack, and on top of all that she has asthma.

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter #scream #jenna ortega x reader

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Kind of a dumb request but how about team DEFY + any girls you want with an s/o who somehow managed to build a mech straight out of Armored Core? Insanely maneuverable, loads of guns, can fly, etc and s/o built it in a garage with a box of scraps lol

(GFL/Genshin Impact) Task Force DEFY, Amber, Jean, Fischl, and Yoimiya's S/O building an Armored Core Mech

(Video Source: Pongsifu on YT) Luckily for you, I have been binging Armored Core 6 for the past month, and will hop on ANY request to talk/write about anything Mecha related.

12 stared at the giant 10 meter mechanical behemoth that had suddenly made its home inside Griffin's Hangar.

(AK-12) "...We didn't always have that, right?"

The machine's chest slowly opened and revealed a cockpit containing S/O, waving hello from the seat.

Apparently, they had constructed the mech out of spare parts lying around.

(AK-12) "Impressive...But, why exactly did Griffin have that many parts lying around? And how did you find guns that big?"

On the battlefield, she watches the mech fly around at almost breakneck speed, watching them zip around and eradicate one base after the other.

Kicking tanks and shooting helicopters out of the sky, it was far more effective to watch them fight instead of having to do anything.

(AK-12) "Hm. We'll be out of a job at this rate."

94 knew this was going to happen.

T-Dolls would only last so long on the battlefield before they were replaced by the next best thing.

However, she sure as hell wasn't expecting S/O of all people to surpass her, with a mech constructed out of junk parts no less.

It was honestly awe-inspiring what humans could engineer for the sole purpose of destruction.

And it was also physically impossible. Something that size should not be quad-wielding miniguns and moving that fast.

(AN-94) "...How has your machine not collapsed from the Earth's gravity?"

94 is more confused than anything.

15 was impressed more than anything.

She knew S/O was an engineer, but to construct a mech out of the parts they had was nothing short of a miracle and logic-defying technical prowess.

(AK-15) "How does your machine constantly reload the missiles while on the field? It is the only weapon you seem to have, and no one constructed missiles that large, even during World War 3."

She can't help but wonder why DEFY was even needed if Griffin had engineers like S/O around.

Well, at least S/O was on their side.

(RPK-16) "I wonder if humanity will wipe itself out faster with these new machines."

16 is fascinated by the human desire to make machines to wipe out life faster.

Granted, Griffin usually just fought Sangvis which consisted nothing of machines, but it would only be a matter of time until everyone else had their own version of S/O's mech.

And probably not one constructed out of junk either.

(RPK-16) "I must ask, S/O. How can you be in the cockpit of that thing and not reduce yourself to jelly? Surely the G-Force alone would kill you?"

Well, it's not the first thing that humans have done that confused her.

(Angelia) "Hmph. Why did they even bother calling us if they had you here? And could you have done that this entire time?"

Angelia is impressed and annoyed.

If S/O could create a hulking machine of death before, why did they only decide to do it now?

She both dreads and admired S/O's tenacity. To make such an effective machine out of junk took a hell of a lot of elbow grease.

Angelia doesn't question it, seeing that it's working alright so far, but she definitely wants to look into upgrading it.

(Angelia) "S/O, with me. We're painting DEFY's logo on it."

(Amber) "THAT IS SO COOL!"

Amber could create Baron Bunnies with a lot of yarn, but S/O could make a machine that dwarfed Ruin Guards with some random pieces of metal!

(Amber) "You have got to teach me how to do that! And lemme ride it too!"

Amber demands to fly with S/O, even though she can't go nearly as fast as they can.

She watches as S/O wipes out entire nests of monsters before leaping away with its mantis-like legs to the next location.

Honestly, it made her feel jealous.

(Amber) "Heeey, can I ask one of those for my birthday! I bet it'll make flying around Mondstadt a breeze!"

Though as the outrider, she kindly asks S/O not to park the giant machine weighing presumably hundreds of tons in the city.

For obvious reasons.

The color on Jean's skin fades when she heard Klee helped S/O build a brand new toy.

One that put her bombs to shame.

And seeing it park itself next to the cathedral, waving hello to her as she was standing at the entrance-

She was about ready to faint.

(Jean) "S/O! Get down from there right this instant!"

Jean gives S/O and Klee an earful for making such an absolute monstrosity that could potentially damage the land and city!

But seeing it in action and fast it disposed of a Hilichurl camp, it filled her with pride and dread.

Pride for her S/O's creative ingenuity, but absolute fear for what S/O and Klee could make next.

Especially considering how fast S/O's machine moved, and the weapons it had.

Where did Klee find the gunpowder for quad-cannons mounted on it?!

(Jean) "I pray that it won't blow up the city on accident..."

(Fischl) "...WHAT?!"

Fischl completely breaks character upon seeing the giant machine staring at her.

(Fischl) "How did...Why...?! Get down from there and tell me how this mechanical monstrosity came to be!"

(Oz) "You just want to ride the machine yourself, Mein-"

(Fischl) "SILENCE!"

...But yes, she constantly nags S/O to let their Prinzessin give the machine a try.

She finds it so friggin' cool, and desperately wants one of her own, in purple!

She watches with some kind of morbid satisfaction watching S/O's machine wipe out their enemies in electrical explosions.

(Fischl) "I hereby dub your steel horse…Raven, of the 621th star!"

(Oz) "…Why 621?"

Oh, that's where all of Yoimiya's spare fireworks have been going into.

(Yoimiya) "HOLY CRAP! What on earth did you make, S/O?!"

The machine seemed like it leapt from another world!

Especially with how fast it moved, honestly she was amazed S/O wasn't vomiting their guts out as soon as they exited.

While it seemed like it would do massive damage, instead they used it for something even better.

As the machine soared above the skies of Inazuma, the cannons on the arms and shoulders fired toward the moon, the starry night exploding into hundreds of beautiful colors!

They had transformed their machine into a firework powerhouse!

And with how fast it moved, it was able to provide a show from one island to another!

(Yoimiya) "Next festival, you're letting me ride with you! I want to see the work we've done up close!"

#girls' frontline x reader #genshin impact x reader #ak 12 x reader #an 94 x reader #ak 15 x reader #rpk 16 x reader #angelia x reader #amber genshin impact x reader #jean gunnhildr x reader #fischl x reader #yoimiya x reader #ak 12 gfl #an 94 gfl #ak 15 gfl #rpk 16 gfl #angelia gfl #amber genshin impact #jean gunnhildr #fischl von luftschloss narfidort #yoimiya genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons #girls' frontline imagines #girls' frontline headcanons