#rose's incessant yearnings

[temporalteardrop]

bass makes a dollar. i make a dime. that's why i think about lesbian sex on company time

#me serving customers while chappell roan's red wine supernova is stuck in my head #me: yeah that'll be £3.60 / my brain: she did it right there‚ out on the deck: put her canine teeth in the side of my neck #rose's incessant yearnings #rose's gay little job #rose's ramblings

[inmyheadimobsessed]

Ruin the Friendship

pairing: scotty ✘ black!fem!reader

summary: it's raining, the power's out and you're alone with your brother's best friend, the girl you've been pining after for years. there must be a way for the two of you to pass the time, right?

word count: long <3

contains: smut (18+), oral (scotty being a munch), fingering (reader receiving), strap!scotty, desperate!scotty, extremely softtop!scotty, needy!reader, bottom!reader, tribbing, lovesick!reader (like BAD), a little angsty (reader is a dramatic crybaby who's in love, leave her alone), scotty is still her cute little shy self, but because she knows reader, she's a lil more open, drunken confessions, passionate sex, biting, lots of crying, praise, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, fluff at the end (they're just soo in love)

tags: @verachii @zayswriting @quintessencewrites @rxcently @widowmakker @blackgcomica @n7cje @dejaonline @shinsousliya @generallysapphic @mbakuetshurisprincess @pinkwright @saintwrld @axailslink @mocha-aya @uhwhatsay @6-noir @cuddl3s4shur1 @percsane @chidinma @shuriszn @lppriceisright @sweetalittleselfish-honey @abenomeiiii @marsolgy @prettymrswright @shurisjournal @marsolgy @shurismainbxtch @shurisbbymama @bestfriend491 @shuriri4life @bubshri @cafehyunji @vixentheplanet @ventingfanfics @yunhofingers @yamsthoughts @iseebeautyinwords @ihearttish @vampzxi

divider by: @firefly-graphics

note: back writing for the love of my life again, now y'all can stop YELLING at me! this fic kinda beat my ass a lil bit, but we did it joe! but honestly idk how the idea of scotty fucking on her best friend's sister turned into this, it was post to be funny and fluffy and cute (which it still kinda is) but THIS that i'm posting was not in anyway similar to the original plot of the movie. like i was writing and then i got done, looked back at my outline, and was like ooh baby this ain't the script. i was depressed as hell writing this too, so sowwy of it seeped through LOL! i do love this version of scotty though, she's just so ugh. anywho, hope y'all still enjoy. mwah mwahh!!

Falling for Scotty was instinctive, as effortless as an inhale — your feelings for her etched into your bones. And with those etchings traveled a wanting ache that created a home within your marrow, tunneling deep, and hollowing you out until the sensation was all you knew.

You welcomed it though, this incessant throb, for it was the only proof of your capability to love in this capacity: deeply, entirely, unequivocally. It wasn't easy, breathing without knowing her touch, but options outside of this did not exist for you, so you were forced to yearn from a distance, as you did now.

Your hurt lived at its peak at this moment, tugging on your sore heartstrings as you watched her cut your grass with a sigh brined in want. Scotty bathed beneath the drizzle of her sweat before you, dark skin glistening under each droplet while the sun accentuated her shine.

Those fingers, they belonged to a worker. Their tight squeeze on the lawn mower left you breathless as you envisioned their tips pressing deep into your throat, departing your flesh only after the creation of pretty bruises.

When the back of her hand met her damp forehead, you gasped in anticipation, a sharp gust of air nicking your throat on its way down. You waited, gnawing on your lip anxiously, gloved hands clamping down on the soapy plate in your hold — she was going to do it soon.

You were practically drooling, eyes protruding as you scanned her perspiring body hungrily. And then… there it was. Scotty's halt stopped your heart, and the plate you previously held plunged directly into a sudsy bath.

She removed her digits from the lawnmower, and her hand traveled down. Down to the hem of her soaked tank top, and she hoisted it up. Up to her face for assistance in drying her sweat beads. The material rose just enough for you to spot the edge of her equally damp sports bra clinging to her sticky skin, and she blessed your vision with those perfect flexing abs of hers.

A singular line of sweat rolled its way down the center of her toned stomach and your entranced irises stalked it, following the trickle’s descent to the waistband of her shorts until the droplet was absorbed by the material. “Fuck…”

You bit your lip with a smirk, squeezing your thighs together. Her fists clenched the handle again, and she fell back into her practiced pushing, eyebrows knitting against the slight resistance. If the window were open, her gravelly grunts would bless your eardrums with their strain, and your mind would construct the picture of her floating above you, making those same tired sounds as she rocked–

“Why do you just have the tap running?” That stupid voice. Your brother's voice. It snuck up on you, and it restarted your still heart, serving as nothing more than an aggravating prompt as to why Scotty wasn't yours.

You rolled your eyes, tightening your grip on that restraint trying desperately to escape your claws. “Maybe don't worry about what I’m doing.”

“When I pay the water bill, I make it my business to know how it's being used. Or in this case, how it's being wasted.”

Your groan was unavoidable, it always was when your brother chose to invade your bubble. Reluctantly, you peeled longing eyes away from Scotty, returning your focus to the dishes floating in the sink with a grumble. “You're so fucking lame.”

“Yeah, I'm lame.” You tossed a glance back at him, noting the way he buried his huge block head inside the fridge, and you took this as an opportunity to ogle your sweat-drenched love once more. You pushed onto your toes, hopelessly trailing Scotty's strides in the grass, clinging to the grace in which she moved as your stomach welcomed that familiar tightness.

The last dish was on the rack now, and you switched off the streams just as your brother emerged from the fridge with two chilled water bottles. He pushed past you, bumping your shoulder on purpose as he trotted to the back door, and soon the sounds of a growling mower filled the house. “Yo! Scotts, take a break, yeah?”

You watched her in the window again, her eyes finding yours through the glass. A fire flickered alive inside your body when she glanced up at you, and Scotty let a small smile crack across those lips you’d felt only in dreams. Your inhale surfaced low in volume, but its choice to harmonize with your sprinting heart’s prayer for reprieve deafened you still.

She was on the patio now, chatting mindlessly with your brother, and slowly, you allowed the prattle of her distant voice to draw you in, engraved bones piloting each of your strides to the living room as your tired heart complied.

“So, you coming by next Saturday?” You planted yourself by the couch, out of your brother’s view, but squarely in Scotty's. Bare thighs bewitched her, and automatically, those frantic eyes of hers swept the expanse of them, widening the longer she scanned them over in your shorts. Scotty let her inspecting linger, permitting her shameless gaze to climb your uncovered stomach, the poke of your boobs beneath your bralette, and finally, she let her eyes latch onto your expecting brown ones.

You blushed under her heated watch, and she did the same beneath yours. She wrestled with a demanding smirk and lost, but her attempt to conceal it remained adorable. Your Scotty was a story, seared into your skull, recitable on command, and if she knew your skill when reading her, she'd see her endeavor as what it was; one of no use.

Your brother tapped her shoulder, pulling her attention from you to him just after he peered back at you with a head shake. “Scotts, did you hear me?”

“Sorry, what?” She blinked, floundering in the shame of being caught, and you giggled from where you stood. You resided in her head, as she lived in yours.

This notion stirred a strength inside you, a sense of supremacy awakened only when you were reminded you weren't alone in your fancy, and it subsided some of that ache for a brief while.

“I said, are you coming by next Saturday? Mum’s out of town so I'm having people over, real lowkey. You gotta come mate, it's always so hard to get you out of the house.”

Thieving were your brother’s words, robbing you of Scotty's attention and you huffed in annoyance. Basking below her inspection filled your desperate body with a warmth; her stare was the kind to sizzle your skin, and you loathed the absence of the feeling.

Her head craned backward as she pushed the neck of her sweating water bottle to her awaiting lips, throat bobbing with each eager swallow of the cool liquid. You watched small streams spill from her lips, and roll down her neck, tangling with her existing speckles of perspiration. She was messy with each gulp, and a wet mouth suited her. “Uh, I’m not sure.”

Fuck, that voice again, you moaned at its vibration, and the not-so-subtle whimper perked both sets of ears on the patio. Your brother’s scrutiny heated your already burning skin, but you ignored its blaze, just as you disregarded your body’s demand that you run. You couldn't, you needed to witness the way her lips quirked ever so slightly when she heard the sound, your sound.

“Why are we even best friends, Scotts? I always gotta force you to come out.” Your brother whined, making her chuckle. God that laugh of hers; timid; deliberate, and it tugged you forward into its infectious reverb. Scotty owned you in this way, her laugh owned you, her nervous smile as you inched closer. Sore muscles propelled you toward her, and they were met with zero resistance — proximity to Scotty held all the power to dull your ache.

Fingers circled the doorknob as you hooked your chin around the open door, and you smiled up at the shy girl before you. “I’ll be here on Saturday Viv, you'll come to see me, right?”

“Uh…” Rendering her speechless, an action that bustled your pride. Her anxious fidget was one of the many things you loved about her, that, and the way she struggled pitifully when attempting to hide just how flustered your existence made her.

Your brother groaned, “You’ll be in your room. I don't want you anywhere near my friends.”

“Your friends are all a bunch of dickheads, just like you,” You smirked, and Scotty tripped into it against her will, steadying herself bashfully at the last second. “Well, except for you, Viv. You couldn't be a dickhead if you tried.”

“She's not fucking interested. And you look desperate.”

You stepped onto the patio then, smacking his head, and he winced dramatically. A sweet sound, though it wasn't comparable to the one you sought; Scotty’s laugh. When she offered it up it melted your mind; you’d be a puddle soon, legs and body dissolving before those swirling irises you loved dearly. “So glad the asshole gene ended with you.”

Scotty giggled again, waking the butterflies batting violently in your depths. “I’ll see you Saturday, Viv?”

“S-See you S-Saturday.”

•••

The ends of your wild braids veiled your bare chest, fingers dancing slowly down to where you needed them most as you tugged your nipple roughly. When those spit-soaked lips of yours separated, one name existed on your tongue, and it clamored from your pits the second shaking digits connected with your sensitive clit. “Scotty…”

A forever-clogged head generated only conjurings of her, your fantasies being the one place you were allowed to have her, and you never shied from indulging. Slow strokes teased that feeling forward, and your pedicured toes curled the higher her face in your mind's eye made you soar. Her name was enclosed in each exhale, intricately wrapped in your lusty desires with their inevitable unraveling being enough to tip you over.

“Oh, Scotty…” You let the sound of your slickness entrance you, brain traveling to her reaction if she were here to see you, feel you, taste–

A series of knocks on your bedroom door ripped you from deep within your Scotty-riddled thoughts, and you groaned, rolling over in your pillow to muffle an irritated scream. “Fuck off!”

“Scotty’s coming over to fix the drip in the bathroom sink. Let her in, and don't be a fucking weirdo, I'm going out.”

Your brother’s words possessed the strength to spring your body upright in your sheets, and you grinned, welcoming that throb you were on a mission to subdue just seconds ago, that throb that breathed and intensified from the mere mention of her name.

You tugged your T-shirt back on, slid your underwear up, and sighed at the feel of your slick gluing the thin material to your folds.

Rarely did the opportunity of being alone with Scotty arise, she was your brother’s friend, and she ventured around only to hang out with him, emphasizing your position in her life. Scotty liked you, a fact clear as day, but the restraint housed within her body remained one that forever combated your own, and it was for this reason that you forced yourself to become comfortable with the scope of separation between you both. But, she was on her way over, and it’d just be the two of you now.

Possibility floated in the atmosphere as you mulled this thought over, and your excitement constricted your chest, tightening those exhausted little heartstrings of yours.

An unsteady step abetted your climb from your bed and you exhaled once on your feet; your climax evaded your grasp, but the prospect of spending time with your forbidden love held the power to wobble you still.

The shirt draping your frame left nothing up to the imagination, exposing your curves, the nudge of your sore nipples, and your damp panty-clad cunt remained visible as you studied yourself in the mirror. Your attire screamed “She was just in the middle of getting off,” and you contemplated changing into something more… appropriate.

But the resounding clang of the doorbell blared throughout the house, jarring you, and you toppled, your half-naked body tripping over scattered shoes and dirty laundry begging to be washed on the floor. It rang again, and you stumbled back on your feet, flying out your bedroom door and down the steps at the speed of lightning. There was something to be said about the pathetic nature in which you staggered to the front door. You were a fawn, learning to stable oneself for the first time, lacking grace, lacking finesse as you launched yourself forward for the doorknob.

Did you care? Certainly not, not with Scotty awaiting your greeting on the other side of the barrier keeping you two apart.

Breathless as you were, you opened the door just as her finger poked the button again, and the pair of you giggled shyly, noting the other's blush. You could never tire of her laugh, and its coyness. It coaxed her blinding smile into the open, and once it beamed out, clouding it became a difficult task for Scotty.

“H-Hey Viv…” You huffed, scanning her appearance with a gulp.

Her blushing never faltered, mouth gaping before she decided to suck in her bottom lip at the sight of you in just a shirt. She dipped her head, sheepish in her attempt to shelter her nerves, but her sweet stutter betrayed her the moment she opened that pretty mouth, “Um, uh, h-hi. I c-came for the um, the…”

“The sink.” You finished for her, and she nodded with a small chuckle.

“Uh, yeah. The sink.” You stepped aside and Scotty trudged into the house, toolbox locked in those strong fingers as she wiped her work boots on the mat rather awkwardly. She watched you all the while, eyes trained on your thighs as you smirked up at her, absorbing the rays of her immersion. Scotty attempted subtlety when your brother was around, but she took advantage of his absence now as she ogled your tight nipples poking up in your shirt.

You ran your fingers through your braids, shaking them slightly to make your tits jump before her eyes, and when she exhaled wearily, you allowed your throat to vacuum her air, breathing in its warmth with a quiet moan.

And you smiled then, feeling that comfortable throb weaken just from the nearness of your bodies.

Scotty was right there, right in front of you, and it would be nothing to reach out and touch. God, you wanted to reach out and touch, but just as you leaned in a little, she jerked, turning frantically and heading to the stairs. “It shouldn't um, take me too long. It's just a drip r-right?”

“J-Just a drip…” Though, the leaking at your core exceeded that.

You climbed the stairs behind her, pulling on the hem of your top anxiously with each step as you followed her knowing strides to your bathroom. Scotty's shoulders flexed under her black and yellow patterned shirt, and your treacherous mind concocted images of crimson claws dragging along her back, feeling those blades tighten and loosen with steady thrusts, if you were blessed with the opportunity to lay beneath her as she had her way with you, that was.

“Can you um, I have to look under the sink. Just uh, tell me if the drip is still going when I ask, yeah?” She flicked on the light, placing her toolbox down on the mat and you nodded slowly. There laid command in her request — innocent in her mind — but far from in yours.

You hoisted yourself onto the counter, naked thighs spilling out from under your T-shirt. Its lack of length once again became her fixation, and you watched the flash of realization storm Scotty's electric eyes; she would have to kneel before you to get under the sink. You smirked, concluding this at the same time she did, and slowly, she stooped in hesitation, sinking to the floor to open the cabinet. Her eyes refused to leave your seductive ones, and a devious plan slithered its way into your mind like a serpent.

Once Scotty was on her knees, she wavered, chewing her lip nervously, still watching you, and you allowed your parting thighs to rocket her heart.

There was a squish, because you were fucking drenched, and Scotty's eyes followed the sound her ears alerted her of, landing right on your damp core. She whimpered in the back of her throat, permitting the sight to captivate her fully, and she frowned. She found your eyes again, pleading wordlessly for you to shut your legs, to allow her to do what she came to, but you were not in the business of being gracious. You wanted her too much — the beating in your chest and the beating at your core driving your choice.

“J-Just, uh, let me know about the drip.” She pointed weakly to the faucet, capturing one last glance at your red panties before vanishing under the sink.

She fumbled with the valves, “Did it stop?”

“Nope.” Your legs were swinging, blood rushing at the sight of her exposed middle, her stomach contracting as she worked.

“Now? Is it still leaking?” You glanced at the faucet, clapping your hands when you noticed the drip had disappeared, only to realize the one at your center was gaining stream.

You giggled, “Something's leaking.”

Scotty sighed, seemingly frustrated and you pouted, “But is the faucet still leaking? That's what I’m asking.”

“No.”

She muttered something, but it went unheard because her abs were out of hiding fully now, and you were a drooling mess at the image of her splayed on your bathroom floor. “How long have we known each other, Viv?”

Scotty hummed, unmoving under your cabinet. Something told you she remained under there on purpose. “All our lives.”

“And would you believe me if I said I've had a crush on you this entire time?” Your question startled you, and you blinked at your sudden spurt of confidence, gripping the countertop firmly to avoid fainting.

There was a thud, and a small groan, one that shouldn't have excited you because it was obvious the sound derived from pain, but any sort of moan evading Scotty's lips would push thrill through your body. “No.”

She stood, rubbing the side of her forehead with that same groan again, and you tilted your head. “You wouldn't believe that I have a crush on you?”

Her eyes brimmed with a speckle akin to want — hope; Scotty hoped sincerity guided your words. They dazzled, irises swimming in a chocolate sea as you studied her reluctance. Her pretty lips hung downward as you let your full ones fall also, the sight fracturing your heart just a little, her resistance in belief. “You wouldn't believe me, Viv?”

“The drip is on the hot water side. I n-need you to get down so I can take the f-faucet apart.”

Words that broke your heart entirely, because she was shaking, and she refused to answer your question. “I do, have a crush on you, Vivienne.”

A crush. An insignificant word, and a diluted confession, you thought. Describing what you felt for Scotty as a crush seemed so trivial. You loved her, you were in love with her, and you wanted her to love you. But if your admission of a crush unnerved her this much, you were terrified to find out what a declaration of love would do to the poor girl.

“Uh, c-can you let me get to the faucet? Please?”

Earnesty eluded Scotty now, the averting of your spiky stare told you that. She fought it, her desire to slip between your thighs and hold you close, but it would ultimately be a battle lost. “Scotts…”

“Please.”

You whimpered, “Scotty, look at me?”

Brown eyes met your wishing ones and she softened immediately, her sweaty forehead falling to yours as she snaked her arms around your waist. God, you could break. You did break, you broke the moment she did. “I-I… you…”

Her tears were light and steady, and they scorched, flowing and mixing with your own as you offered up a small whine. You cupped her wet face, and Scotty nuzzled her cheek into your delicate palm with a sigh, confirming the thing you always assumed — she was a beauty starved for touch. And now, amending this was to be your job as you gazed into her welling eyes.

It was so easy, to drown in every unspoken emotion filtering out the both of you through your sobs, and if she continued to peer at you through damp lashes, you just might let yourself sink.

Salty tears rushed your tastebuds, forcing you to swallow each drizzle as you searched for the right thing to say to calm your love. “Scotty…”

“Would y-you b-believe m-me if I said I had a c-crush on you, too?” She questioned with a sniffle, heated fingers gripping yours, and reluctantly, you let her peel your hands from her face. Your waist felt bare without her digits pressing into it, and your shattered heart knew not how to take the loss.

You laughed lightly, “Yeah?”

Scotty let the corner of her mouth quirk, and she took in your murky irises. “I shouldn't, but I do.”

“Would you like to kiss me, Scotty?”

She shut her eyes with a desperate groan, squeezing your digits so tight, your fingertips ran cold. “God… very much.”

You caressed her face intently, eyes boring into her untamed ones as you watched her brows knit in anticipation. And then you were pulling her in, feeling her hot mouth moving against your own. Your world stilled, and the remaining shards of your broken heart plummeted, leaving those butterflies of yours as the only things inside of you capable of sustaining life.

Your ache, your beautiful, throbbing, lifelong ache dwindled for a moment as Scotty's mouth meshed with yours. She kissed you fiercely, fingers grazing your throat, breathing existence back into your being, and it was then that you moaned for her.

Scotty lost it, your sound putting her on the prowl. Her incisors punctured your bottom lip and you hissed from the euphoric pain, wrapping your legs around her slim waist, fingers finding their way under her shirt with haste. When you grazed the dips of those abs you gawked on a daily, your moan bloomed louder, and Scotty pulled away.

“God. That s-sound, oh my god, s-so pretty. Please.”

You nodded, “Kiss me again.”

But Scotty shook her head, puzzling you, and when her teary eyes met yours, your ache returned — at full force — crushing every bone in your body. “We can't.”

“W-We just d-did.”

She kissed your hands, making you shudder, and she frowned. “Your brother…”

“Isn't here. It's just us, you and me Scotts. Want you to kiss me again, want you to touch me, please. Please, Scotty.”

Scotty pressed her back into the wall in front of you, eyes glazed over as you watched her breathing pick up. She once again battled with her want for you, and the only thing barring her triumph, was your stupid fucking brother.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to let it end like this, not after finally tasting her tongue outside of your imagination. “Scotty. Touch me.”

“Fuck… you can't say things like that,” She winced, as if your words inflicted pain. “Makes my mind go places it shouldn't.”

You raised your brow at this, “Where does your mind go when I give you permission to touch me?”

She didn't answer, so you reached out for her, spreading your legs wider the closer she inched, and she stared at your wet panties, pupils dilating as she whimpered. “I c-can't. I'm not supposed t-to. You're off limits t-to me.”

“But you want to, don't you? You wanna feel me, Scotty?”

She nodded, sucking in a sharp breath as she allowed you to press her palm flat against your heat. “Feel me, Scotty.”

You shoved your panties to the side, reveling in the effort it took to unstick the cloth from your pussy, and Scotty gasped.

A singular tear rolled down her cheek when presented with the cunt that wept for her touch, your clit calling her name with each jump. She stared into your wanting eyes, begging for permission and you nodded. Scotty pressed into your clit, whining softly along with your mewls, and you nestled your face into her chest to muffle them, entirely consumed by the ecstasy flooding your senses.

Scotty massaged nurturing circles into your bud, her wounded moans ringing in your ear while she twitched, absorbing the sound of your slick pussy. You hadn't even noticed you were crying again until you opened your mouth to moan, and warm droplets filled it.

You leaked onto the bathroom counter, wetness spilling with each of her delicate rubs. It wasn't long before you were quaking, thighs levitating in sync with your racing heart as you pushed your back into the mirror.

“You're s-so, fuck, I-I wanna… Can I put my f-fingers inside you? Wanna feel all of you.” You nodded, and Scotty wasted no time slipping two coated digits into your hole. God, it was way more than you saw yourself able to handle. The pleasure, the emotions; your body couldn't bear it.

Hard nipples rubbed against your shirt as you moaned for her, and she nodded toward the protrusion. “Touch them for me?”

This Scotty, and her commanding bass were a foreign pair to you. Though phrased as a question, her request was the furthest thing from, and you complied immediately, pulling your perky nipples above the material as your eyes fanned down to where Scotty worked you. “Fuck, Scotty, just like that…”

“Lift your shirt, I-I wanna s-see them please.”

The hem of your shirt came up as you hummed faintly, and your boobs were out, fingers latching on to tweak your tender nubs once more. The sound of her fucking your pussy with her fingers had you reeling, every tendon in your body tightening as they prepared to snap. You bucked into each of her skilled thrusts, whimper after whimper dropping from your parted lips as she stretched your tight cunt.

Scotty was inside of you, you were riding her worker digits as she grunted from how your walls drank her in. Fuck, was this real life? “You're so wet, god I can't take this.”

“Only f-for you, please, pleeease!” You craned your neck, connected your mouth with your nipple, swirling your tongue around its firmness, never once breaking eye contact with her and she shivered at your lewd act.

“You drive me crazy, I just, fuck… You're so beautiful.” Scotty confessed, flicking your clit with ferocity, and you cried out.

“I'm, I'm gonna come! Please, faster Scotty, I wanna come for you! Please!” You sprawled for her as you sobbed her name, showing off your flexibility and Scotty cursed under her breath. You were certain her knees would give out soon with their continued buckling as she worked your pussy; she looked closer to collapse than you.

Her pace increased, outstretching her free hand to grip your floating thigh, and she pressed a kiss to your ankle. “Can I touch them?”

You were so out of it, but you nodded, and Scotty’s palm trailed your lurching stomach on its way up to your sensitive tits. She cupped the right one, basking in its warmth as your messy pussy sucked in her knuckles, tips brushing your special spot.

“Fuck! Right there! Oh my god! Right fucking there!” You jerked, fisting her shirt to yank her in for a sloppy kiss as the showers of your climax rained down on you. You were denied the feeling earlier, but you chose to believe this was because fate wanted Scotty to bring about your bliss. It was intense as hell, a willful pour that turned your vision white, and your moan was long and broken, eyes spilling endlessly. Scotty kissed your tears away, pumping you slower now, the ghost of her warm breath doing what it could to soothe you.

“You're so pretty when you come.”

A tired little groan crept out of you; you were attempting to thank her, but those numbing lips of hers were more powerful than you'd realized as she used them to whisper into your charged skin. “Shh. It's okay. You're okay.”

She remained inside of you, absorbing your clench as she whined from the suction, that was until footsteps approached the door. “Scotts, you in there?”

Scotty plucked her fingers from your seeping cunt, leaving you empty as panic seized her. You couldn't move, so you chose to watch her frantic dance through slanted eyes while you heaved, orgasm sitting still on your chest, weighing you down. She was genuinely terrified: scrambling to get her tools, muttering under her breath, and you wanted to calm her, but you couldn't move.

“I'm sorry.” Scotty pecked your forehead, forbidding her lips’ linger, and then she slipped out the door before your brother got a chance to reach for the handle, abandoning your spent figure in a pool of your release on the counter.

•••

Rejection was not fatal, and chanting this motto should drill belief into your brain. Should. But reliance on these words provided no comfort, or aid. Instead, they epitomized the only sentiment your snapping mind seemed able to hold fast to: Scotty did not want you.

She left you behind on the drenched bathroom counter, discarded as a thing she played with before deciding you no longer were of use to her. Admitting her behavior had been cruel was not a thing you saw yourself able to do though, because you knew your Scotty, and within her dwelled not an ounce of cruelty. Inflicting pain, breaking your heart in the way she did that day was not, should not, have been in her nature.

But you experienced it, barely survived her transgression, so what were you supposed to believe? Certainly not the mantra about rejection’s inability to fatally scar, because here you lay, permeating in the blood drawn from the wounds of Scotty's misdeed, slipping out of your mind, and away from yourself with time.

Once, you had a whole heart, it took up space, its beating gave you life, breeding your ability to love, because you loved Scotty. But now, similarly to your excavated bones, there lived a hollowness in your chest. A hollowness operating as a depressing reminder that your motionless heart existed in tatters, occupying the deepest depths of your knotted stomach.

Maybe you were being dramatic, though you’d tried being hopeful, thinking she would come round the next day, desperate to apologize, desperate to hold you and call you hers. But Scotty never showed, and all sense of promise had departed by the end of the week, amidst the lonely nights spent crying yourself to sleep.

Something you were attempting to do now as you tangled your aching body in your many blankets. A satin pillow covered your face, damp with tears as you groaned aloud, irritated by the music and laughter floating up from downstairs.

Your stupid fucking brother and his stupid fucking friends. Being in distress the entire week helped you forget about the party he was throwing tonight, but you couldn't ignore it now, and the sound of their happiness made your eye twitch. How dare that drove of losers enjoy life, when you sat teetering on the brink of death? It wasn't fair, and you wanted to scream it in their faces, but another wave of sobs flooded your cheeks, and you hugged your teddy bear tighter, mind racing to her.

“Scotts! You made it mate! Didn't think you'd be coming round after you've been MIA all week. You alright?”

You were up on your feet at the mention of her presence, drying your tears and booking it down the stairs as you gave in to your body's coercion, not a damn given about your somber appearance.

There was a singular mission: Lay eyes on her. You loitered in the kitchen, aiming to appear inconspicuous as you scanned the group with impatient eyes. After minutes of not spotting her head floating in the sizable crowd, you poured a drink, stuffing the bottle under your hoodie once you were certain there were no witnesses. You shook your head at the sea of people, so much for “real lowkey,” you thought.

“Pretty sure um, your brother wouldn't be too happy if he knew you were stealing his booze.” Fuck… that voice, its tentative quiver, her endearing tone doing everything in its power to bring your skin to life.

You spun, meeting her meek gaze, the liquid sloshing in the red solo cup you strangled long forgotten as you chose to drink her in instead. Of course she looked good, because apparently being unkind to your body was now a thing she practiced. Fuck…“Luckily I don't give a damn about what makes him happy then huh?”

Scotty smiled, providing competition for the sun, and it was then that you felt it, the sharp shards of your broken organ piecing itself back together inside your sternum. Because as much as she hurt you, you loved her still, with all of the splinters composing your barely beating heart.

“You alright?”

You hummed, feigning a small smile of your own, “Yeah.”

She shook her head, unconvinced, and she stepped in closer, reaching out for you as you did for her that day in the bathroom. “Can we um, I want–”

Protectively, your body recoiled against your will, jarring Scotty and jarring yourself with the abrupt movement. This defense was your mind’s doing; your heart was barely whole again, and your brain chose to reject Scotty in hopes of keeping it so. “I–”

“Christ, leave Scotty alone. She's not interested in you like that, learn when to take a hint,” Your brother left no room for a response before he dragged Scotty off. “Sorry about her man, little sisters are the worst.”

Scotty huffed a dry laugh, peering back at you in the kitchen, pleading with her eyes, but it was a stare you shunned, once again feeling that rush of neglect, so you trudged up the stairs, and back to your room to wallow, and get drunk by yourself.

You were lowering the bottle from your lips when showers attacked your windows, and you spared a glance at the rain, chuckling to yourself with a sniffle. The skies were mocking your tears, mocking your sorrow as you sat alone on the floor. The blackness of the starless sky was barely visible, but the swift flare of lightning provided illumination, and you braced yourself then for the impending angry roar that often followed.

You shuddered at the sound of clapping thunder, shutting your eyes as you took another long sip from the bottle of Don Julio you had tucked between your splayed thighs.

“It's just a storm,” You recited the sentence, wanting to convince yourself it couldn't get any worse. “It's just a storm, just a storm.”

As the downpour picked up, your breathing followed suit, the tequila whirling in your veins worsening your anxiety. “It's just a storm. Not like the power–”

Before you could cough up the rest of your sentence, the lights went out, the music stopped, and you could hear the wind’s sinister snicker as you rocked from side to side. “Fucking perfect.” Now, you were awarded the pleasure of crying like a lovesick baby in total darkness.

You sighed, attempting to hone in on the mumbling voices of the assholes downstairs, and their laughs that were not deterred by the pelting showers and deafening thunder. You took another sip, gulping it down and basking in its burn. There was a rap at your door, soft, almost questioning and you turned your head. It wasn't your brother, you could still hear his obnoxious baritone wafting up through the vents from where you sat.

The sound came again, this time followed by that voice you were in love with, shy and sickeningly demure, “Um, it's, it's Scotty.”

You didn't move, unperturbed by your drunken mind’s fondness for games, but when she spoke again, your battered heart led you toward her reprise. “I'm just checking–”

You pulled the door open, and there she stood, purple flannel engulfing her slim arms, frown set, and bright eyes wishing. “I'm just checking on you. I know you don't like thunderstorms.”

Scotty chewed her lip as you blinked before her, averting your teary eyes with a hung head. She wasn't oblivious to your state, anyone with sense could detect you’d been crying, and Scotty knew you well enough to discern that it wasn't solely the quaking skies inciting your waterworks.

“You remember that?” A small, desperate whisper disguised as a question. It held no weight, no power, but you watched as your words made Scotty shake. You’d relayed your fear to her once, when you were seven and she was eight, yet it remained a planted memory for her.

She didn't offer you words, just a nod, and you let your lips curl, dipping your head to hide your blush.

“I don't l-like knowing you're sad,” You stepped aside, making space for her to enter your bedroom and she moved intuitively to the scented candles decorating your dresser, burning them to welcome light into your space. “And I'm sorry. For making you sad.”

You shut the door instinctively, trapping her, with plans of keeping her. “Won't everyone notice you're gone?”

“Told them I was gonna go check the fuse box.” She laughed to herself, placing the last candle down, turning to face you in the darkened room, and you narrowed your eyes curiously. “I don't expect you to forgive me. But–”

“You want a drink?” You already had, forgiven her that was, and there lived no shame in your choice.

Scotty nodded, watching you stoop to the floor and she sat seconds later, mirroring you as you shoved the bottle toward her.

Dim candlelight brought your room to life, their low beacon silhouetting Scotty’s tipsy face as you watched her watch you. You were sitting across from her, chin on your knee with a smile as she permitted her palm to wander your outstretched leg. Her fingers brushed your ankle, making you giggle as she continued the action.

You would be forever indebted to the tequila she downed, because without it, this boldness would not bustle within her.

“Why have you been avoiding me, Viv?” Your eyes turned desperate, their gleam burning her in the dark.

“Haven't been avoiding you.”

You shook your head, “Liar.”

Scotty let her eyelids stutter as she scanned you, reading your written pages, decoding your metaphors with ease and you stiffened beneath her analysis. Scotty was your favorite story; a tale inscribed on your mended heart, but it seemed that she too was a lover of literature, particularly when you were depicted as the protagonist. “You don't like it when you don't have my attention.”

You huffed at her revelation. Suddenly, the booze you downed was no longer happy residing inside the depths of your stomach — it wanted out.

“I-I don't like when you ignore me for five days.” You managed to counter, just as a furious clang dropped from the heavens, making you jump.

Scotty’s lips fell, but her kneading fingers remained on your jeweled ankle, smoothing up and down, her intent set on calming you. “I'm sorry. I–”

“It made me think you weren't into me in that way.”

She blew a laugh, blushing under flickering flames and she craned her head toward the wet window. You wanted to keep her there, flustered as you were. “I-I don't think there's any other way to be into you. You're all I think about.”

“Then why go ghost after what happened between us?” You sucked in your bottom lip as you awaited her response, though the answer was one you knew already.

She massaged your socked foot now, thumb rooting deep with that strength you fantasized about, and fuck if you didn't pass out then. “You know why.”

“He doesn't matter. This is about us.”

Scotty sighed, “It's no secret that I don't have many friends. Your brother is my closest and oldest, his friendship means a lot to me. Can't ruin that.”

You grinned at her with a hum, blinking back the sting in your eyes and the surge of hurt her statement triggered. It wasn't worth the risk to her; you weren't worth the risk, caring for you, indulging in you. Scotty's goal wasn't to hurt, but the way she blurred these lines so easily was daunting. “Being with me could really mess your life up, huh? Well, we can't have that.”

“T-That's n-not how I meant it.”

“How did you mean it?” You snapped back, harsher than intended, making her flinch.

Scotty settled, taking a sip from the bottle before returning all her attention to your foot. Both hands clasped it now, and the pressure they provided sent shock waves through your entire body. “I don't want to mess up my friendship with your brother. But I also know my feelings for you aren't g-going anywhere, and I can't see myself doing anything halfway. Not ever, not with you.”

You gasped when she pushed in hard on your arch, throwing your head back with a low moan. “And especially not when you make sounds like that.”

Alcohol made Scotty brave, you’d discerned, you liked brave.

“W-What are you s-saying Scotty?”

She sighed again, “I'm saying I’m conflicted. I'm saying I like you a lot. I'm saying you make me crazy, but I know your brother and I know he won't approve.”

“You're saying a lot of things.” You both laughed, and she nodded.

“Yeah.”

Heavy rain banged on the windows, pattering on the house like your pattering hearts and you scooted closer to her on the carpet, tugging your foot from her fingers as Scotty's eyes widened. “Can I say my things now?”

There was a gulp, and Scotty nodded. For a moment, all you heard was the drumming in her chest that mimicked the unsettling thunder outside, but this rumble was not one you feared, however. Instead, it existed as the only roar that could settle you.

“I like you too, Scotty,” God, how you loathed diminishing your feelings, but you hoped she sensed the weight in your confession. “I wanna be with you. Breathing hurts when you're not around. If I make you crazy, then god dammit, you make me batshit fucking insane. What I feel for you, Vivienne… these words of mine cannot do that justice.”

“There's no way you're like that because of me.”

You sat in front of her now, and her breathing grew rapid. “Let me show you,” You straddled Scotty's lap, and immediately, her hands found your hips as if they called out to her. “Let me show you what I feel for you, Scotty. I want you to feel it all.”

“I know what you're asking for. But we–”

You shut her up with a kiss, a famished one, and a moan crept out of you and down her throat. Scotty's eager lips danced with yours, and you tasted the tequila on her tongue, the agent of desire driving all of the night's confessions. Scotty pulled away with a growl, panting as she pressed her wet mouth to your throat, teeth sinking into your sweaty skin, and you saw stars. “Fuck, Scotty. Do that again.”

“We shouldn't be doing this. I don't wanna–”

We can't. We shouldn't. Words that held no meaning as you bounced without patience on her lap, the only thing on your mind being that line you were anxious to cross. “Scotty, to hell with the fucking friendship. You want me, fucking take me.” Your hoodie came off, and her eyes found your bare breasts with a sigh, erect nipples entrancing her.

“Why are you doing this to me? Fuck…”

You licked her neck, and her grunt was enough to make you come right there. “Please touch me. Anywhere. N-Need to f-feel you, please Scotty, just…”

“Baby I–” Her hot lips were on your neck again; biting and sucking, leaving you drenched, and you fought the urge to shove her hand down your biker shorts. Scotty called you baby. She whimpered it, and if you weren't so horny you’d be in tears.

“S-Scotty…” Maybe you would cry, your desire to have her ravish you pulling on those dams in your eyes.

She shook her head, firm in her protest and you climbed off her, sitting topless on the carpet as you finally let those tears roll free. “You don't w-want me.”

Silence.

“It's alright. I’ll leave.” You stood, feet on a mission to lead you straight out the door.

But then Scotty stopped you, locking your wrist in her warm palm and you halted in her touch, “T-This is your room. And you don't have a shirt on.”

A wet laugh escaped you. You’d forgotten about your hoodie, you didn't even know where it landed when you tossed it, and your readiness to book it spoke to Scotty's skewing of your mind.

She spun you, cupping your wet face in the darkness and her forehead met yours. “Please don't ever think that I don't want you. I want you so bad it brings me to tears.”

“Show me.” She nodded, lips finding your wet ones again and you felt like you were ascending. The way her mouth moved against yours woke the family of butterflies living in your core, and their fluttering pushed for a continuance.

Scotty's eyes landed on your boobs when she pulled away, and her huff of air came instantly as she nuzzled her face into your chest with a grunt. “Fuck, oh my god. They're right in my face, they're right there. Please, god please can I–”

“Scotty, you can touch me wherever you want.”

There’d still been some hesitation on her end, but sure enough, Scotty lowered her mouth to your naked chest, peppering open-mouth kisses along your blazing skin. Your moans were already on their way out of your mouth, and by the time those caring lips swirled your right nipple, your sobs were carrying.

She suckled your breast hungrily, shoving your back up against the frosty bedroom door with a desperate hum. “God, you're so pretty. So soft, I-I can't–”

Your hard nipple was locked between her teeth, and you whined, running your fingers through her hair as the tingle the action created shot straight to your damp folds. “S-Scotty, baby... N-Need more. M-More.”

“Tell me. I’ll do anything,” She rolled your puffy bud in her anxious tongue, slobbering all over your boobs with her endless sucking, and you writhed, the sensation fogging your brain. “Fuck, baby I’ll do anything you want.”

She found the second one, nipping softly, and the feeling almost sent you to the ground. “Bed, p-please.”

Scotty held your waist, guiding you swiftly to your bed with her lips still latched to your nipples, and you were a moaning mess the entire while, whimpering her name with each step.

She stumbled, ushering you to your mattress and she sat you at the edge. “Baby I want– I-I…”

You clasped her cheeks, gazing into those starry eyes and you smiled. Electricity seemed so insignificant when Scotty's bright irises emitted such power. “Talk to me, Scotty. I know it's a lot, use your words, yeah?”

She nodded, “I just, I’ve never done it before, but fuck, I need to taste you so bad it's killing me.”

“Yes! Yes, anything you need, please!” Your response was rushed, bellowing out of you like a dangerous wind of want.

Her hands were on the waistband of your shorts then, grabbing greedily at the hem in the darkness. Everything about the way she moved showed desperation, and it was the hottest thing you'd been subjected to witnessing. It took Scotty longer than necessary to get your bottoms off, and once they hit your ankles, she whimpered. “N-No panties? God, what are you doing to me?”

She nestled her face into your thigh, taking a moment to admire your shiny dripping folds in the darkness. “You're so wet already.”

“Only for you. Please…” You sprawled wider, showing off your leaking pussy to the salivating girl before you, and she allowed herself to blink for the first time in minutes. It was a brief one; Scotty refused to take her eyes off the cunt she made wet.

“Can I? Please tell me I can put my mouth on you. Need t-to hear you say it.” Hot lips sucking on your inner thighs made you shudder as you searched your brain for those words she sought off your lips. It was hard, talking this much when all you wanted was to feel her tongue steeping in your slick.

Her lips were on your waist, kissing you delicately, sucking your supple skin in attempts to coax consent out your throat, “Baby… say it. Say it, please.”

She begged so sweetly, never had you heard such a simple request coated in that much vulnerability. Your fingers found her hair, and you nodded, dragging her head to your center. “Put your fucking mouth on me, Scotty.”

That initial stroke of her tongue packed a punch that knocked you straight into your purple sheets as you released a guttural cry, feeling her hungry fingers trail your convulsing stomach. “Oh my god!”

Her sucks were masterful, the sensation of Scotty trapping your clit between her tender lips snatching the air from your lungs. You wanted to moan, wanted to cry her name as her sucks built you up, but you couldn't. All sound was trapped in your throat as you let your tears slip silently with Scotty’s tongue inside your depths.

It was all a dream, an overwhelming dream, except it wasn't. This was real life, the lapping at your dripping core was happening in real-time. And she made sure you knew that; there had been no taunting, no edging, Scotty went right for it, slurping your honey-coated folds as though it were her only purpose. “S-Scotty…”

“Is it good? Am I doing good?”

“Fuck s-so damn good. Perfect.” You pushed your hot cunt harder into her face, and Scotty breathed you in deep, neglecting oxygen as she chose to bury herself in your spilling juices. “Just like that! Ooh just like that!”

“Like this?” The languid strokes against your excited bud sent you soaring, small whines tumbling from your lips as you nodded in approval, relaxing into the pressure.

Your tears rolled down your face as you reveled in the way your pussy accepted Scotty's starved mouth, your body finally receiving the attention you knew she deserved.

“You taste so good, can't believe you're this wet for me.”

“Oh, Scotty, baby, every drop is for you. Only you make me this wet! Only you!” You were gonna come soon, that dangerous tongue of hers luring your climax from her hiding place deep within you. She crept up slowly; shy and unsure, but the second eager fingers slipped into your pulsing hole, she exposed herself, and the spasming force of pleasure she harbored.

“Fuck! Oh! Oh! Scotty, I'm coming please, don't stop! Please please please, baby, don't stop!” You squirmed as your orgasm hit, flailing desperately as you screamed Scotty's name over, and over, and over. Her free hand found your wet nipple, squeezing, tugging as she continued to lick, and suck you through the pleasure rush, never once taking her eyes off your body's reaction to her touch. “God, baby, wait, wait, I-I can't!”

She shook her head as she allowed her tongue to replace her fingers inside you, “Not done.” Her mission being to drink in every drop, every trickle of your cum, the sap from the fruit she was forbidden to have. Scotty knew it would be too much for you, but stopping herself wasn't an option, so you would just have to take it.

Your pleading clit palpated against her taste buds, shivering the longer she licked, but you would rather be rendered unconscious before you denied Scotty access to your wetness.

“M’gonna make you come again.” Her tongue swirled your entrance, pushing in and out, in and out as she swallowed everything your pussy expelled, your fractured whines only egging her on.

You nodded, eyes spinning, as you began to let yourself plummet, tangling in your sheets from the overstimulation. “Make me come again b-baby! I only w-wanna come for you, Scotty!”

“Are you mine?” Scotty's hand left your nipple, fingertips grazing your quivering abdomen on their way down to spread your pussy lips as she devoured you.

Your hips jerked. She was so desperate, her words pulling on that second release, and you braced your shaking body for impact. “Yes, I'm all yours Scotty.” You’d always been hers.

One last thrust of her tongue broke that dam holding back your raining orgasm, and you squirted in her face, groaning long and loud as your toes curled and your heels dug into her shoulder blades.

“You sound so p-pretty. So gorgeous.”

Your chest heaved, and your vision was damn near nonexistent, small flames doing what they could to anchor you. But you saw her, you saw Scotty: her pretty smile as she emerged from your deepness, the way both loads of your cum decorated her lips, and the way she licked them clean before climbing up the bed to hover above you.

“Are you okay? You aren't talking to me.” You wanted to, but the mist in your mind eliminated every word you knew. Every word except those three. They existed on your tongue, brash in their fight to escape, but you refused to be bested, even in this fragile state. “Baby? Where are you, talk to me, please. Need to know you're alright.”

“Mmm.” It was small, barely audible, and it did not suffice for Scotty.

She cupped your face, loving as ever, and those deep, lust-filled eyes bore into your drooping ones, “Hey.”

“H-Hi.” You gave her a weak smile, still floating, barely conscious and she kissed you softly.

Scotty swooped your braids out of your face when she pulled back, marveling at your blown irises under the moonlight seeping through your cracked curtains. You’d forgotten about the rain, but the scattered showers hadn't forgotten you. They demanded you shut your eyes and drift, and they somehow managed to get Scotty onboard. “I think you're done for the night, yeah?”

This rattled your heart, the idea that she would stop touching you and you shot up breathlessly with a stern head shake. “No! No, I n-need to f-feel you, wanna m-make you come t-too.”

Her blush was instant, “I don't wanna make this about me, this is about you, I just want to take care of you.”

“It’s about us, Scotty,” You pulled her in for a deep kiss, tugging at her flannel. “T-Take this o-off.”

A smile covered her lips and she pushed off you to strip. You were propped up on your elbows as you watched her, a smirk hanging on your mouth as your butterflies attacked your insides. Scotty reached for her briefs, but you stopped her, “Wait! Let me just… take you in for a minute? Just wanna s-see you.”

You’d waited your entire life to have a naked Vivienne Scott all to yourself, and you'd be damned if you wasted even a second of this glorious moment.

Scotty chuckled nervously, standing before you in her sports bra and boxers, wrestling with the desire to hug her middle and you frowned. “Scotty, do you know how fucking gorgeous you are? God, it's overwhelming.”

“Thank y-you.” She slipped her underwear down and you moaned at the sight of her pretty pussy. Dripping and glimmering, just begging to be consumed, and you licked your lips at the thought of being buried between those thighs of hers as you took her to heaven with your tongue.

“Come here.” You beckoned her forth with a lone digit, and she pulled her bra off before allowing your call to draw her in. She climbed you, settling her waist between your open legs as she peered down at your mess, then back to your eyes. “See what you do to me, Viv? Only you can m-make me come that hard.”

Your confession made her blush, and she buried her head in the crook of your neck shyly, “You can't say that, god I don't know how to take stuff like that.”

The waves from her giggle as she pressed her lips to your neck tickled you, and it made you grin. “You're so cute, but it's true.”

“Can I kiss you?” The question was her way of shifting the subject, and you laughed at her bashfulness before agreeing, pulling her lips to yours eagerly. “You feel so good under me.”

“I wanna feel you against me, Scotty.”

•••

Your right leg hung over Scotty's left, hips rolling skillfully into hers as you allowed her soft clit to knock tenderly against your own. She brushed your stomach as you rode her pussy in the dark, eyes glued to the meshing happening at your equally slippery cores. “Oh, Scotty, feels so good, fuck! God!”

A blissed-out Scotty lived only in your dreams, sweating and panting from the pleasure you caused her, moaning your name as you humped her cunt with yours until she was spilling all over you. Never had you thought a reality such as this could exist, and the sensation of finally living it had you bawling above her as she groped your bouncing boobs. “So good baby, I can't–”

She too was crying below you, overwhelmed by the pleasure created when your clits kissed. “Come for me, Scotty. Oh my god, come all over me, wanna feel all of it.”

“You're so stunning, so beautiful. My beautiful girl.” You’d been keeping count of the many times she'd called you hers all night, and the sound of those words falling from her lips coupled with your tired bud pressing into hers numbed your mind.

You gripped the back of her thigh, feeling its warmth, its dampness as you slipped your pussy against her swelling folds, ears welcoming the slick sounds of your melding cores. Each squish, each splash, pulled on Scotty's release, and it delighted you, the idea that she was in this state because of you. Scotty was going to come because of you. “Your pussy is so pretty Scotty, the prettiest. Can't believe I'm about to make her come. Please come for me!”

“Yes baby, I'm close, you're gonna make me come!” Her protruding clit knocked into your erect one and you screeched, the pads of your fingers leaving impressions on her soft skin. You felt your cum trickle from inside you, seeping onto Scotty's sex, nice and warm as it lubricated your desperate jolts. Your pussy was made to mold with hers, your releases serving as the nectar of your love, fusing you to her, thick and sticky and everlasting.

As the storm outside your windows intensified, so did the passion blooming in your bedroom; the spluttering rain was no match for the wet sounds created by the loving collision of your dripping cunts.

She was breathless, eyes rolling as she gnawed on her dry lips and you smiled, noticing a bead of sweat running down her erratic chest.

You leaned forward, grinding never faltering, and you licked it, absorbing her perspiration with your thirsty tongue. Scotty’s body convulsed at the feeling of your tastebuds grazing her abs, and you trailed a long line of spit up her middle, to the space between her boobs before pulling the left one into your mouth. “Oh yes… so good, feels amazing, keep doing that.”

“Come on my pussy Scotty, don't hold anything back. You deserve it, baby, please.” You mumbled with her hard bud trapped between your teeth.

“I'm, I’m, fuck baby w-wait– I'm coming all over you! I-I…” And her hips rolled faster, her breathing grew harsher and Scotty arched off the bed, moaning a long gurgle of your name, and it was this that exorcized the spirit of your orgasm from your own trembling being, hips sticking and stuttering as you felt the warmth of Scotty's cum pouring out of her and onto you.

She jerked underneath you, involuntarily striking your exhausted clit and the pair of you hissed from the hurt. You wanted to stay that way, keep her there, gasping for air as her head swam in her rapid release, eyes dazed and dark with her breathing inevitably mirroring your quiet huffs. Your cunts and thighs were a mess, cum coating your bodies as it drizzled down your interlock limbs. After a while it became indiscernible, whose juices belonged to who, but you didn't care, because you liked it that way, you loved it that way.

Scotty was an extension of you, your pleasure an extension of her own.

“That was amazing, baby, I-I, Th-thank you. I…”

You kissed her forehead, pulling her in as she caught her breath, and you smiled into her damp eyes. “Scotty, I need you to f-fuck me.”

“I d-don't,” You felt her tense, and her panic set in. “I’ve n-never–”

You pecked her, nibbling her bottom lip before pulling away, “S’okay. I’ll show you how I like it, just please, I need it. I need you.”

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

•••

“It's okay baby.” You were holding Scotty's face as she hovered above you, your trembling thighs widening to grant her entrance. As dark as it was, your slickness beamed brightly in the lack of light, shining only for her.

You pulled her in, ignoring her spilling tears as you planted a kiss on those delicate lips of hers. “I trust you, and I know you won't hurt me.”

Scotty nodded, gripping the head of the strap in her shaking fist as she rubbed it up against your achy clit, pulling on a hiss that prickled your eyes. “Scotty, I–”

The sensation was a lot; too much, and the building friction of the sensual assault on your bud had you weeping once more. “I know baby, I know. I just… Please let me rub it here for a little while,” Scotty used her hips now, avoiding your awaiting hole as she pushed the slicked toy through your tired folds, your clit throbbing beneath each glide. “You're so wet, I just wanna hear it, okay? Just wanna rub it against you.”

You could come from this: the pain, the pleasure, every emotion Scotty unlocked inside of you. But you were fighting it, battling that creeping crack deep down, because you wanted your last orgasm to consume you with the love of your life submerged in your canal.

She kissed you, guzzling your warm tears sitting on your puffy lips, “Please tell me you're wet for me. Tell me I can put it in, please?”

“S-So wet for you Scotty, please put it in, I need you, baby, need you so bad it fucking hurts.”

She wasted no time sinking into your searing heat after that, making you sob upon delivery, and you pulled her closer. Your nipples grazed hers with each of her ruts as your sopping cunt sucked her in, and she moaned in unison with you at the sudden contact. Her open mouth was on your wet cheek, pecking you as she filled you, stuffing your hollowed bones with a syrupy salve contrived of pure ecstasy. Her long, laggard strokes did away with that gorgeous ache you'd grown to love.

You just felt her — Scotty’s essence existed everywhere.

She was deep, bottoming out with the sexiest grunt you'd ever heard. The feeling of being stretched out around her as she worked your hole warped your mind, and you lost your grip on reality the higher she took you, something she sensed as she studied your contorting features. “Baby, b-baby, stay with m-me, eyes on me, okay?”

“I know. I'm g-good, keep doing it like that. Fuck me d-deeper. Need to feel all of you.”

Scotty swatted your watering orbs, rocking into your g-spot with all the care in the world, eyes swallowed black like the night sky as she spread your worn-out cunt with precision. “You're so precious, I-I don't want to ruin you.”

“Ruin me Scotty. Fucking ruin me.” Wet eyes clouded your vision, blurring the distant flicker of your candle’s waning flames as the sound of Scotty fucking you filled the room. Though gentle, her drives held power, sending tsunami-level waves of exhilaration through your cells. You could feel your pussy blooming wider as she drilled you into your creaking bed, and you inhaled the prominent aroma of Mulberry and Vanilla dancing in your room, allowing it to lull you.

Staccato thrusts tore you apart with each loving jolt, electrifying you as you wailed in her arms. Scotty was breaking you just so she could mend you. “You're doing amazing, s-so perfect. Don't cry baby, I'm taking care of you. Does that feel good?”

"G-Good."

She nestled into your bruised neck, inhaling you deep with grunts that made you quake. “Thank you for letting me take care of you, s’all I’ve ever w-wanted, baby.”

“I-I…” Your throat burned from all the crying, and you gripped tightly to her rolling shoulders, pulling her impossibly closer to your barren skin. “I love you, Scotty.”

Three little words. You’d been battling them all night, warring with them all your life, and tonight they emerged victorious. Their might surpassed your own in this state, frail and fucked out, floating aimlessly on your many billows of bliss. So you spit them out, and without hesitation, Scotty drank them, allowing her slow thrusts to gain speed as though your declaration were fueling her.

“I love you too. I love y-you s’much. You mean everything to me, you're m-mine.”

“I’m y-yours, Scotty. Only yours.” She bit your neck, hard, pulling on your hot wells, and you watched them drizzle down her bare back, mirroring the raindrops racing one another down your fogged windows.

“Please come for me. Please, please, need you to come with me inside you baby, you're so beautiful when you come, sound s-so pretty.”

You nodded weakly, already feeling that tensing band deep within. It wrapped around itself, stiffening — toughening into a coil whose demise was inevitable with the way Scotty fucked into the creamy chasm of your cunt. And you felt your walls narrow, clenching the strap and holding it in place the second she pressed the tip into your overstimulated nerves. You came then, eyes rolling like the thunder stifling your scream as your red nails punctured Scotty's flesh.

Her hips stammered when she knocked them into yours, and she used your throat as a silencer, grunting lowly into your sticky skin, weeping as you were from her own approaching climax. “I'm, I'm, b-baby I’m coming. Please, let m-me, I wan-wanna, Can I…”

You huffed, exhaustion treading through your body as you pursed your lips to kiss her head, “Let it out, Scotty. Give it to me, yeah? I love you so much, you make me feel so fucking good baby.”

Your name leapt from her stomach with one last push, and she whimpered softly into your ear, panting like a dog. “I love y-you.”

You were barely awake when Scotty eased her way out of your used walls, and you squirmed, feeling your hole clench around the absence of her stretch. You cried still, body vanquished by the thrill of the entire ordeal. Her lips pillowed your wet face tenderly before she rolled beside you, the pair of you exhaling on the same breath as the rain comforted your weariness.

Scotty said nothing, and her prolonged silence forced your mind to wander. Had she regretted the sex? Had she regretted you? Did she truly love you as you loved her? You wept heavier now, sniffling in the darkness, “I-I guess… I guess y-you should get going now. Don't w-wanna get cau–”

“Did y-you mean it?”

Your turn in the sheets was immediate, words steeped in admiration as you spoke, “I meant all of it, Viv.”

“Me too.”

You exhaled, mustering the courage to request to hear it again. “Can… I wanna hear you say it again. Please? Tell me again.”

Scotty did away with that practiced stutter, welcoming confidence into her confession. “I love you.”

“And I love you. Deeply, entirely, and unequivocally, Vivienne Scott.”

She sighed, and you detected her wavering assurance in the brush of her fingers when she stroked your side, “I-I w-want to be yours.”

You kissed her, sipping the fervor raining from her swollen lips as you permitted her respire to enter your being, melting the ache you once thought to be eternal. “You're mine.”

•••

Getting Scotty up and dressed proved to be exceedingly difficult. Rain still poured, the lights were still out and you were certain her absence would be questioned eventually. So she needed to be gone. “Baby, please, I don't wanna leave you. Just one more kiss? Last one please, please!”

Fuck… She deserved it. You wanted her to have it, but there was no time. You knew your brother well, and you had no plans of dealing with his scolding tonight if caught, not after the experience you and his best friend just shared. You wanted to allow yourself time to float on your high. But Scotty wanted one more kiss, and her lips were morphine. “Okay. One, Scotts, just one.”

“One.”

You pecked her, guiding her to the door and she whined into your throat, forcing you to swallow the heat it pushed out, and the gust shocked every last one of your nerves. You reached for the knob, lips still locked, and you pulled the door open. “You have to go.”

She giggled, stealing another peck before stepping into the hallway, flannel bunched in her fists, belt still unbuckled.

“Bye.” She said it, but her feet had yet to move, and all you could do was smile.

“I love you so much.” You pulled her in again, kissing her deeper, fuller, and it was you who moaned aloud this time as you fumbled with her belt buckle, wanting to clasp it for her, but fighting the urge of falling to your knees.

Her lips hovered over yours, sweeping, ghosting, and heating your feverish skin, “I lov–”

“Scotts, you still up here? I don't think you're gonna get that fuse fixed mate, the whole–” Your brother looked up from his phone, shining his flashlight down the dark hallway, and directly into your faces. “Yo, man what the fuck?!”

#scotty x reader #vivienne scott x reader #scotty x black!reader #vivienne scott x black!reader #scotty banana #vivienne scott #letitia wright #lyricswriting #myworks #scotty x black!fem!reader #vivienne scotty x black!fem!reader #letitia wright scotty #letitia wright x black!reader

[tightjeansjavi]

From Eden | AU Pirate! Joel Miller x Mermaid f! Reader

A/N: at long last, we have arrived. This fic was totally self indulgent for me as mermaid lore and pirates has always been a huge interest for me ever since I was a child (I blame pirates of the Caribbean) this is my first time dipping my toe in fantasy writing, but I am so excited to share this with you all. 🏴‍☠️🖤

~word count: 6.6k~

Summary: a prince with a desire for a new life, endures on a journey he’ll never forget. A journey that ends with you by his side always.

Warnings: angst, swearing, implicit smut, ambiguous ending that leads the reader to decide what has become of Joel, mentions of drinking, mild violence, awful mothers/fathers, arranged marriages, pirate talk, death, grief, magic, fantasy, mermaid lore, old English (that may or may not be historically accurate) reader has no physical description, no use of y/n minors dni! (+18)

The sea calls to me, mother. It beckons me. The salty breeze whispers my name. Do not fret where I have ventured. Tis be only in vain. Mourn me not for my departure. I will not live a life I wish not to live. I desire adventure and friendship. I do not wish to be pacified by marriage, and the duties forthcoming with it. I disdain the thought of growing old and grayed without discovering what the world has to offer. I will bear you no grandchildren, and our lineage will wash away with the tide. Pity me not, for I pity you. Leave thou tears unshed, for I will not shed my own in the thought of you.

-J.M 1721

On the eve of Joel’s wedding, under the flickering soft glow of candlelight, the husband-to-be dipped his feather quill lightly into the ink reservoir. He pondered what words would flow onto the parchment resting below his palm. The seconds ticked by as he sealed his destiny in ebony ink. Annabeth would find better. Someone more suitable for her mundane needs. Joel would not be her husband, she would not become his wife.

“My lady, does your mind ever drift and dream of faraway adventure? Does your heart not shriek in the darkest of night for more than these measly castle walls have to offer?” He gingerly took her hand in his own, fighting the bile that rose in his throat as his eyes drifted down to the ring presently shimmering on her finger. The ringer he dutifully betrothed her with.

“My prince, my only wish is to be your dutiful wife and bless you with as many sons and daughters my body can carry. Tomorrow brings new beginnings. In the evening light we shall be married, and you will bed me as you please. Is this no longer what you desire? My prince, what has become of thee?” The backside of her dainty hand rested upon his forehead for she was afraid he had come down with a delirious fever.

“Annabeth, my flower, I wish to see the world. I wish to know what lies beyond the steady horizon. To taste the sea upon my lips, to clench the sand beneath my palms. You speak of me as your prince, but I wish to not be addressed as one. I do not wish to bed thee.”

“Thou speaks evil upon thy tongue. My prince, oh how you wound me so. I wish not to be in a loveless marriage with a man who yearns for the caress of the sea. Why must your heart and mind wander? Why must you disobey your mother’s wishes? Have I not devoted myself to thee?”

A heavy sigh through the evening breeze. Joel’s forehead came to rest upon her bosom as his lashes fluttered shut. “Dearest Annabeth, thou hast not lived in happiness. Thou has lived by her mothers law since thou was just a babe. How cruel that you are expected to marry not out of love, but for status. Dost thou truly want to live a life imprisoned by marriage?”

She wept silent tears for she did not want to be married to a man that did not love her. She did not want to bear his children. She had dreams of a life far richer. Far away from silver platters, incessant lectures, and garments far too tight to breathe in. Her chin fell to rest upon his head as salty tears rolled down her cheekbones.

“My prince, I have always dreamed of becoming a poet. Mother disapproves. She believes that women cannot be anything but wives and mothers. I do not wish to bear children. It is expected of me, but I loathe it.”

Joel chuckled, pressing a kiss to the soft skin between the valley of her breasts where a smooth silver pendant lay. “Thou mother is an impudent cunt.” She giggled softly at his quick tongue.

her fingers threaded themselves through his hair, twisting ringlets mindlessly. “Mother would have thy tongue for use of such foul language.”

He snorted. “Dost thou disagree? Annabeth, it is just you and I in the gardens this evening. No one shall reprimand thee for speaking the truth.”

“My mother is a foul, loathsome, impudent cunt.”

“Recite it again, my flower.”

“My mother is a cunt.”

“Encore” he hummed.

“My mother is a cunt. I detest this all-too tight dress, and I do not desire to marry thee.”

“Bien joué, ma fleur”

“My prince, I thought thou despised French studies?” She pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head.

“Oui, mon chéri.”

She sighed, soft and gentle as she laid back into the soft cooling grass, gazing up at the glittering sky above. Joel followed her body, resting the side of his head in the lap of her flowy fabric dress.

“My prince, where will thou venture?”

“Tortuga, my flower. There I will be a prince no more. My lineage will fall as my mother weeps, and I shall step into piracy, and sail the high seas just as I have always dreamed.”

“Thou wishes to become a pirate?” She queried.

“Indeed. Tis true, my flower.”

“Thou shall make a handsome pirate.” She softly giggled, gently stroking his soft curls that she would admittedly miss terribly when he would depart.

“Just as thou shall make a brilliant minded poet.” He assured her.

Dark maroon wax dripped languidly along the pale parchment. Joel sealed the letter with a practice hand. His heart raced within the depths of his ribcage as the realization set in that he would be a prince no more. No more pretentious royals, no more stingy small talk, no more ballroom dances, no more lectures.

Joel Miller was to be a free man for the first time in his 17 years of life. The dying candle along his desk was blown out as the smoke curled and lingered. Below his window and past the looming castle walls, Joel could hear the sea whisper his name. In a giddy haste he packed his necessities in a leather bag. He took one last gaze over his room before departing into the ominous night.

His midnight black steed was steady under the saddle as the moonlight guided their way to the port docks. They rode swiftly and silently through the cobblestone city streets. Moving through the shadows with a soft squeeze of his inside leg to spur Hendrix forward. Joel’s horse was one of his prized possessions. A jet black colt with a tiny star being his only white marking. He would be saddened to never see his hooved companion again.

He could taste the salty sea air along his taste buds as the crescendo of crashing waves neared. With a soft tug on the reins, Hendrix slowed to a steady walk along the dock. He was so close to freedom. It was there, in his grasp as he discarded the hood of his cloak around his shoulders. Joel had studied many books on ships and how to maneuver one. It was frowned upon by his mother, so for this reason he’d sneak out late at night and find himself enriched in the library on the east end of the castle. It was now or never for him to put his knowledge learned under a real test. So much for trial and error.

“My prince?” The old sailor hobbled from the shadows of the creaky dock. A lantern trembling in his weathered grip. A quizzical expression crossed his sagging features as he watched Joel dismount from his steed.

“Thou shalt not speak of what thy has seen. I offer my horse in trade for your ship. Hurry please, my fellow. Before they become aware of my untimely departure. I have gold to offer thee as well. My horse can carry you wherever thy desires to wander.” Joel uttered, urgency stricken in his tone.

“My prince..is thee not set to be married in the morn? What use do you have for my ship lad?”

“Good fellow, I simply wish to leave the life I once knew and explore the world and all she has to offer.” He pulled out a sack of gold coins from under his cloak. “All I ask of thee is to speak to no one. Take care of my horse. He’s a good steed, and I shall miss him dearly.”

“Aye, adventure calls thy name?” The sailor pocketed the gold and grasped the smooth leather reins in his palm. “Best be on your way then, laddie. Your steed will be in good hands.”

“Bless you, sir. I wish you good fortune in your days to come.” He gently patted Hendrix along his silky smooth neck. “I shall miss you, my dear friend.”

Just like that, Joel Miller was no longer a prince. His name held a title no more. The tide pulled him out further, and further as he let out a sound filled with glee. A ship of his own to sail the high seas, what a pirate's life f’me.

In the far off distance, Joel could faintly hear the panicked bells ring. The prince was found to be missing from his bed chambers. Where had he gone? No one except Annabeth and an old sailor knew the truth of the prince’s disappearance.

Being a pirate was not all it cracked out to be. Well, in the first few years of entering piracy. His hair had grown longer, longer than it had ever been. It was speckled with sea salt and curled at the nape of his neck. The curls were unruly both from the sea, and maidens that enjoyed tugging on the strands with slender fingers. His once clean shaven face had grown into a patchy beard. The whores he bed didn’t seem to mind how it would scratch the apex of their thighs as he went to town on their pulsing cunts. He felt far more like that of a man with his facial hair. Oh the horror his mother would feel if she were to know of how her once proper, budding son became a frequent customer at one of Tortuga’s many brothels.

He always paid in gold handsomely. It drew the eyes of company that he did not wish to partake in. He was strong, sure and able to fight without breaking a sweat but as soon as a pistol was pulled and he had yet to obtain one, he quickly realized he would not be coming out of this altercation unscathed. He did however get a few good punches in before ultimately handing over the gold coins he kept on his person.

He thought he had the opposing pirates out-fooled by keeping a stash of his gold back at the inn room he inhabited..until he returned later that evening to find his room ransacked and his gold stolen. So be it, he thought. At least they didn’t take the rum.

That’s how he presently found himself in a drunken stupor, wandering the streets, getting into more fights than he could count until a fellow pirate took pity upon him one early morning…

A swift kick to his gut from a heavy boot sent Joel coughing up the rum that was still sloshing in his stomach. He groaned, reaching for his pistol but it was knocked from his grasp and landed a few feet away.

“Get yer ass up laddie.” A gruff voice spoke above him.

“Who the fuck are you—”

Another swift kick had Joel scrambling to sit up as he finally grasped his pistol and cocked it at the intruder. “I suggest ye fuck off back to wherever ye came from.” He growled under his breath.

“Yer drunk, matey. Ain’t gonna get a clear shot even if ya tried.” The older pirate crouched down to his level with a low chortle.

“What’s it to ya?” Joel snarked back.

“Ye got a ship lad? A crew?”

“Aye. I have a ship..I do not possess a crew. Do ye not have a ship? What kind of pirate doesn’t have his own ship?”

“Lost ‘er at sea I’m afraid. Ye have a ship, but be needin’ a crew. I can provide the crew if ye provide the ship, savvy?”

Joel was weary of the older pirate’s offer. He had preferred to sail the seas alone but considering his current state..what more did he truly have to lose?

“Ye have a deal.” He nodded in agreement.

“Smart lad ye be.” He helped the younger pirate to his feet, clapping him on the back stiffly.

Joel had become a seasoned pirate in a short period of time under the guidance of the older pirate. When he passed of old age, Joel became the captain. His ship and crew echoed through the Mediterranean channel. He felt that he had become unstoppable. Driven with greed and the desire for more, he led his crew to their watery grave too soon.

“Captain! She’ll never fit through! You’re goin’ to kill us all!” His secondhand warned him as they steadfastly approached shipwreck cove.

“Aye, she’ll fit! Have I ever let thee down?” His grip along the helm was steady and true.

“No sir, thee have not!”

“Hold ‘er steady boys!” Joel’s confidence wavered when he faced the cold hard truth that his ship would not fit through the rocky channel. He turned the helm sharply to avoid a collision but he was too late, the bow struck true.

“Abandon ship! Abandon ship—” his men yelled in a panic.

a deafening boom

flames

blood curdling screams of his frightened men being dragged down to Davy Jones Locker.

blood oozed from a gash along Joel’s eyebrow as he struggled to pull himself up to his feet. His ears were ringing as he took in the sight before him. Everything in his sight was burning. The wood creaked and groaned as the growing flames licked at his skin. This was the first in many moons that Joel truly felt terrified. He dove into the depths below, using the strength he had left to swim to the nearest shore.

He swore through the murky waters that he caught sight of shimmery scales..a swishing fin. Or perhaps it was his deluded mind playing a trick on him. Mermaids were just old wives tales after all. Creatures of the depths that woo men to their watery graves with alluring songs and seductive beauty.

He struggled to breach the surface as exhaustion seeped into his veins. His lungs screamed for air as he fought against the strong current with everything he had left in him. Suddenly, everything went black.

As a young mermaid you were taught to fear men, whether their ships carried white sails, or black. All men were to be feared. Your father forbade you and your sisters from ever making yourselves known to the surface world. It was too risky especially with the uprising of pirates. Your sisters like to toy with lone sailors lost at sea. They used their beauty and their natural talents of song to lure their victims to the depths.

Their song was melodious, angelic, and addictive; it was almost as if the men were under a trance and unable to escape your sister's snares. It was all a game to your sister’s of course. When your father caught wind of what your sister’s were doing in the pitch black of the night, he encouraged it.

You had no interest in drowning men. You had no reason to cause harm to another being that had inflicted no harm to you. Why couldn’t men and mermaids live in peace?

You spotted the ship crash into the rocky channel from afar. You saw frightened men jump into the sea, thinking that they would survive to see another sunrise..till your sisters dragged them to where the sunlight never reaches. Ripping them limb from limb to become mere fish food.

You witnessed the last body to hit the water from the safety of a looming sponge coral. You watched his arms struggle to pull himself to the surface, desperately clawing for air. When he gave in to what he believed to be his fate, and his body began to sink like deadweight, you made the split second decision to save this man. You swam as fast as you could, gliding through the water as you wrapped your arms around his torso and swam towards the light.

He was heavier in the water, but you were strong willed, and determined to save his life. When you breached the surface the man in your steady grip made no signs of life as you swam to the shore and hauled his body along the wet sand. You discovered that he was quite handsome, with hair that fell in ringlets, and soft pillowy lips that paired with a strong aquiline nose.

This man, pirate or not, was stunning.

Your hand gently came to rest along his cheek, feeling the stubble along his patchy beard lightly prick your skin like a sea urchin. You checked his body for injuries in a haste. Your fingers gently pushed back his hair to find the gash along his forehead. It ran fairly deep into his brow line, while crimson blood continued to trickle down his face only to be washed away by the gentle waves along the shoreline. The sea had healing properties as you knew, and the many plants that dwell below the surface were rich in nutrients, and could heal even the deepest of wounds.

You worked quickly as your fear of the man waking up was becoming prevalent when you observed his dark lashes fluttering and his body twitch. You gathered up a bit of seaweed that was used to heal open lacerations on the skin's surface. You delicately lay a strand of seaweed across his dripping brow. The blood clotted as the miracle plant adhered to his broken skin like glue. Magic, or science? The world may never know.

Your eyes zoned in on the pooling of blood through the once white linen of his shirt. There was a stray fragment of splintered wood sticking out from his side. The intrusion went fairly deep and it would require a little more work.

“Oh, fiddlesticks. I’m deeply sorry, sir. If you can hear me, I’m afraid this is going to hurt a tad.”

Am I dreaming..or is that a maiden's voice?

I must be dead, for I have never heard a voice tis so soft and sweet sounding.

With a small huff you grasped the end of the jagged wood and gave it a firm yank.

Your jolly sailor bold let out a deep gravelly wheeze as his hand subconsciously went to clutch at his side. More seaweed was gently laid upon his open wound and when you were satisfied that beautiful man would not bleed out upon the sand, you turned your body to head back to the sea.

With a flip of your shimmery tail you disappeared under the waves surface, and back to the depths of your home. You didn’t wander far as your own curiosity got the best of you. You hoped that your jolly sailor bold would awake to see another day. Perhaps your sisters and father wouldn’t send a search party for you. Perhaps they would believe you to be crushed by the bow of the ship. For now, you waded in the coral reefs below the surface to patiently wait.

Joel awoke suddenly in a disarray to his surroundings. All he could remember was his prized ship crashing into the rocky channel, his men’s frightened screams, and then everything went to black. How did he end up on the shoreline? Did he swim?..The current was far too dangerous to tread. The waves would knock him down..did someone save him? Or, was it something?

He slowly rose to a sitting position as he tried to rack his brain for any missing important details. His head turned to the side as he glanced down at the apparent indentation along the wet sand. Someone was with him. An Angel? No, it could not be. Joel wasn’t a religious man by any means. Besides, why would an Angel help a pirate such as he?

“‘Must be dreamin’”, he concluded. “Or I’m really dead. Dead as a man can ever be. Forever lost at sea.” His fingers reached up to brush his hairline where he felt a dull pain. He expected to feel the coolness of blood on his skin instead he was met with a strange slimy, yet soft texture. His hand reached down to his side where the splintered wood had been wrenched from and he was met with the same feeling.

“Blimey. What Devil’s work be this?” He twisted his body to get a better look at the wound on his side. His eyes widened the slightest when he saw the seaweed adhered to his skin. Upon closer inspection, the plant was very much still alive, and he could see the tendrils weaving together slowly acting as a suture.

Confused, and ridden in exhaustion, his body flopped back down along the sand with a soft thump. He was unsure how many hours he had slept under the gentle sway of palm trees, and the steady sea kissing at his feet. When he awoke it was due to a voice he had heard. A whisper through the thick vegetation that lay a few yards behind him. It was the same soft voice from earlier. A woman’s voice; the most beautiful voice had ever touched his undeserving ears.

Struggling to his feet, he staggered towards the voice, and used the sturdy bases of the palm trees to balance him. His body was still fairly weak, but he’d be damned if he didn’t meet the maiden that possessed such a sweet sounding tune.

As he drew nearer, the voice became clearer and easily detectable. Oh, it was so beautiful. Chillingly beautiful. It would be fairly easy for a man to be driven into madness from hearing a song so saccharine.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold

His hair it hangs in ringlets, his eyes as black as coal

My happiness attend him wherever he may go

From Tower Hill to Blackwall, I'll wander, weep and moan

All for my jolly sailor, until he sails home

He followed your voice till he was greeted by the lagoon tucked away in the jungle. The water was crystal clear and below there were all kinds of coral and sea life thriving. What he was first to take notice of was the fair maiden that laid basking along a smooth damp rock. He could only see your upper torso that appeared to be covered by shimmering silk that wrapped around your breasts like drifting seaweed. His lips parted in surprise as he had never laid his eyes upon a maiden so stunning in his lifetime.

A twig snapped under the weight of his boot as he crept closer. You had not caught wind of your jolly sailor bold till your keen ears detected the sound of a twig snapping. It was enough to send your mind in a fury of panic as you dove below the surface. Your tail flapped as you slipped off the rock, it created a wild splash from the movement.

“Wait! I do not mean to frighten thee! Please, don’t go. Are you the maiden that saved me? I awoke on the sand..confused how I came to rest there. Please, need not to be afraid. I promise I will not harm thee.” He slowly approached the entryway to the lagoon, crouching down onto his knees.

You slowly peeked around the corner of the rock you had previously been sunbathing on. “I am the one to save you sir, but I am no maiden.”

“What are thee then? You appear to be a maiden, one that I now owe my very life to. I will forever be in your debt.”

“I am one with the sea..one of her many children that dwell in the depths below. You do not owe your life to me sir. I only wished to do a good deed.”

“One with..the sea? Is this a riddle? My head hurts far too much for any riddles, my dear. Do ye have a name?”

“Tis not a riddle, sir. For I am a mermaid. The sea is my home. I cannot utter my name to thee as it is forbidden.”

“A mermaid? Poppycock. Mermaids are just silly wives tales. I do not believe in such stories.” He swallowed a scoff that crawled up his throat.

Your tail suddenly swished above the surface as Joel clambered back, rubbing his eyes with his fists.

“By god, I must be dreamin!’ How can it be? Body of a woman, tail of a fish. Are the tales true?” He asked in disbelief.

“‘You are not dreaming, sir. I am as true as can be. Do I frighten thee?”

“No, no. I am simply just awestruck. A real life mermaid. I have never been confronted with such beauty to behold.”

You cautiously swam closer. You couldn’t help but to be drawn to the thrill of danger, even when every fiber in your scaled being was screaming at you to not draw nearer. Your arms slowly rose from the surface and came to rest along the rocky shore as you looked up at him through soft lashes. “And you, are you my jolly sailor bold?” You asked softly, tilting your chin to rest upon the top of your wrist.

Joel’s cheeks inflamed. Never had he felt so flustered by another being. His hand reached up and nervously scratched the back of his neck. “I’ve never been pressured with such forward questions. Are your kind allowed to dwell with pirates?”

“For a pirate such as thee, you are quite sweet, and charming. Are all pirates like you?”

“I’m afraid not, my jewel. Most of us are quite brutish in nature. I come from Royal blood, and no matter how many years I have been away from my old life, my manners always find a way to sneak through. My men—” he paused rather suddenly. “My crew..were they saved? Please, tell me that they’re alive and not forever lost at sea.”

“Your men..didn’t survive. I’m so sorry, sir. My sisters are not as kind as I. They dragged them to the depths..ripped them limb from limb. Father would have a heart attack if he saw me conversing with you.”

“Fuck.” He whispered as he fell back onto his haunches and buried his face in his hands. “It’s all my fault. I am the cause of their deaths. If only I had listened..if only my ego did not shroud my judgment, they would still be alive.”

Your hand gently came to rest upon his arm. It caused you great distress to see another being in pain. Physical, or the mental kind, you felt it through and through. “You cannot beat yourself up over what has already been done. Not when you are still breathing air into your lungs, and tasting the sea along thy tongue. Do not weep for the dead, sir. You will see them when the time comes.”

Joel flinched at the soft contact, as it had been many moons since he felt the touch of a woman on his skin. “Joel.” He whispered. “My name is Joel, and I wish for you to whisper it as softly as thou sings.”

“Joel..I like the way it falls from thy tongue. Where doth thou wander from?..how did thou turn to piracy?”

“I like the way it sounds rolling past thy lips. I ran away from home, many years ago. I traded my trusted steed for a sailors ship. I was set to be married and live a life that I did not wish to live. My wife to-be was the only person to understand me, and my dreams. For you see, the sea has always beckoned me, and I finally answered it.”

“You ran away? That sounds awfully exhilarating. I’ve always wanted to leave my father and home behind. I suppose in a way I have, now that I am here with you.”

“Oh, it was. I still remember the rush through my veins when the sea carried me far away. All my life I had been searching for a purpose, and once I finally had it in my grasp, I could not forfeit what I always dreamed of. My jewel, why did thee choose to save me?”

“Your actions are very admirable, Joel. I struggle deeply with allowing other beings to be in pain. It goes against my nature. That is why I have never partook in my sister’s ploys. I never desired to drag lonesome sailors to a watery grave. Your life is just as special as the next. I could not bear to see thee perish.”

Your words touched a place inside Joel that no woman had dared to try and reach. It wasn’t that he was closed off to affection, he just simply didn’t have the heart for it. He bed women for an evening and he’d return to the sea the following morning. It was like clockwork. He only had felt for Annabeth, and even then he felt that it was platonic over romantic. He loved her, but not in the way that made his heart race and his palms sweat.

“I appreciate thee for saving my life. I do not feel that I am deserving to live while my men have died in a brutal fashion, but perhaps I shall take thee as a blessing.”

“Joel, every living being is deserving of life. Your woes shall burden you no longer. Doth thou wish to be happy, and at peace?”

“I wish for that, yes. How do I live with the grief in my bones?”

“You learn to forgive, and forget. You see the world for its simple pleasures of beauty, and grace.”

“Such as thee?” He boldly asked.

“If you wish it.” Your palm gently rested upon his own as you coaxed his hand from his face. “I have never thought pirates to be so..handsome.”

He leaned into your gentle cradled touch along stubble covered cheek. “How do you find such beauty in danger? I’ve killed many men. I’ve played the fool, and the instigator. I’ve made honorable decisions, and piss-planned mistakes. I am that of a scoundrel.”

“No, my jolly sailor bold. If thee were to be that of a scoundrel, you would have brought harm upon me. You are gentle at the core.” Your hand slowly drifted down to his exposed chest, feeling his heart skip a beat under your palm.

“You speak of that as a poet. I’d fancy to hear more of your honeyed voice.”

“Only if thou tells me tales of being a pirate.”

“Deal, my jewel.”

For many suns and moons, you and your jolly sailboat were engrossed in one another’s stories. He’d steal glances at your lips every few sentences as your fingers were gently toying with his soft ringlets. He’d recite to you stories of his past life, and present. Stories of adventure and thrills above the surface.

He craned his head to catch a glimpse of your shimmering tail below the surface. He was fascinated, as much as he was enamored. “Do you ever wish that thou had legs?” He softly asked as you twirled a curl gently.

“Sometimes I do wish for it. The sea has so much life and color to offer..but the surface land does spark my curiosity from time to time. I’ve seen ladies in fancy dresses upon ships with white sails. They always look so beautiful.”

“My dear, those ladies may look beautiful in their garments, they however can hardly breathe in them. You would be miserable in that life. Unless you somehow found your way to freedom.”

“Oh, would I be expected to marry for status? Not for love? I had no inclination to believe that their garments were suffocating, how dreadful.”

“Yes, your parents would have picked out a husband for you, before you’d properly experienced a childhood. You’d be forced into incessant lectures, proper etiquette, training and how to be a functioning member in society. Did I fail to mention you’d be forced to attend fancy parties and engage in mindless small talk? Life above the surface as a royal was draining at best.”

“My father has already picked a husband out for me. He is a fine merman, he just..doesn’t make my heart sing. Oh, how I’d love to dance under the moonlight. To hear a live orchestra..or an opera singer..”

Joel turned his nose up when you stated that you already had a husband picked out by the hand of your father. “I see.. Well, you did run away, did you not? You no longer have to marry. Not when you’re here with me. If you wish so terribly to dance, then we shall. All you have to do is wish for it, my jewel.”

“Joel, how are we to dance when you have legs. and I possess fins..” your lips curved in a soft pout.

“My love, in the crystal water you dwell in of course. Do you trust me?” He slowly sat up to rest upon his strong elbow.

“Of course I trust you. You have given me no reason to not trust you. Do you wish to dance with me under the moonlight, my jolly sailor bold?”

“I do, my jewel.” His words whispered against your skin like a soft warm breeze.

Just like that, Joel had stripped himself of his belongings, his holster that held his pistol and sword were discarded to the side as he struggled to unlace his boots. He had the ghost of a boyish grin across the shadow of his jawline. He truly was that of beauty.

You slowly swam backwards, wading in the gentle water as he swung his legs over the ledge and slipped in. His body was fully healed by now and only a scar along his browline and side were visible.

“Promise not to laugh..I am not the strongest of swimmers.” He chuckled as he swam towards you.

Under the pale moonlight and stars above, you were captivated by his golden tanned skin that was now speckled with water droplets. The gold that hung around his neck shimmered like your scales and the rings that encased his fingers.

“I’d only ever laugh in good fun at thee.”

“I never knew a mermaid could hold such humor.” He winked coyly.

“I never knew a pirate could be so..cheeky.” Your arms slowly looped around his neck as his gentle hands rested upon your scaly waist.

You slowly began to move your bodies under the water, mimicking that of a man and woman dancing to the sweet sound of a violin. The water rippled as the crickets chirped along the shore.

Joel Miller had never been in love; he decided now that his heart belonged to you, a mermaid that he believed was brought to him by fate alone. How blessed he was to be given a second chance at a fruitful life. He didn’t need a ship, or a crew. All he needed was you.

“Joel..” you whispered through the calm evening air.

“Yes, my jewel?”

“Do you believe that it’s ever too soon to tell someone you love them?”

“No, my love. I do not believe that there is ever a time too soon, or too sudden to confess your love for someone.”

“Then if that is to be true, I love you.”

“I love you, my sea.” His forehead gently came to rest upon your own as his hands slowly and delicately slid up your body. He stroked your hair, your cheekbones as his thumb dragged across your lower lip. “I wish to kiss thee. Do you wish it?”

You leaned into his gentle touch as your fingers threaded through his sea-salt speckled curls. “I wish to feel thy lips upon my own.”

He turned his head to the side, nose gently brushing against your own as his lips met yours. His hands were now gently cradling your face with the utmost care as he kissed you like a lover does for the first time. Your lips moved in synchronized harmony, you and your jolly sailor bold.

Upon one summer's morning, when the sea was at her angriest and the wind howled a ghostly tune as the skies above darkened to pitch black, Joel had decided that a life above the surface was a life he no longer wanted to live. He wished to be with you, forever.

“My jewel!” He yelled for you as he raced for the lagoon that had become yours and his personal oasis.

You swam up from the surface of the lagoon, his voice was like that of a beacon. “My Joel, you shouldn’t be out here. You must find shelter. The storm is picking up and I am frightened that you will be caught up in her fury.” Your tone was urgent as he crouched along the edge of the lagoon.

“My Jewel, my light, please. Please listen to the words I speak. The storm does not frighten me. I have no desire to seek out shelter when I am safe here. I wish for you to take me to the depths. I wish for you to take me to your Eden. Please, my heart aches terribly that I can not be with you fully. The surface world has become my prison. I don’t wish to dwell in it any longer.”

Your face fell upon his confession. Tears blurred your vision as you shook your head vigorously, grasping his hands in your own. “No, my jolly sailor bold. Do not wish such a thing. You are not suited to dwell in the depths of the sea. I forbade it.”

“Please. Please, I am begging you. I have given thee my heart, my soul, take me all; for I am yours.”

“Joel..my heart breaks for thee. You will never return to land if you make this choice.” His hand gently cradled your cheek as he wiped away your tears.

“It is a choice I am willing to make. I wish to be with you for the rest of eternity. Till the sun rises in the west, and sets in the east. Till mountains crumble, and the sea dries, and the earth cracks and shatters to dust. I wish to be with you, always.” He murmured softly.

“Take my hand, and never let go.”

“Never, my jewel. I will never let go.” He promised to you.

He grasped your hand bravely in his own. He kissed you swiftly, holding your face as close to his as possible. He could taste the salt dripping from your tears mixing in with his own. He took his final lungful of air, before you dragged him below the surface.

Joel Miller, once a prince turned a pirate; Was never seen by the surface world again. Some say he was driven mad by the loneliness, and grief that he took his own life and drowned in the sea's treacherous depths. Others say the sea always called his name, beckoned him to return home, and so he did. The sea claimed him, and he her, just as it had been written.

Tagging people I think will enjoy: @dinsdjrn @cavillscurls @sinsofsummers @thetriumphantpanda @cupofjoel @morning-star-joy @darkroastjoel @tessa-quayle @saradika @chaotic-mystery @kirsteng42 @korynnekorynne @amanitacowboy @last-girl @lovers-liability @pedrostories

Banners made by the lovely @saradika

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller au #joel miller angst #pirate! Joel Miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller story #joel miller one shot #joel miller self insert #from eden #tight jeans javi fic

[bizbat]

I Know a Place ~ 1

~ Spiderverse x Fem!Spider!Reader

~ Reader is shorter than Miles, Pav, and Hobie, but appearance is otherwise not mentioned

~ Possible love interest include: Miles Morales, Hobie Brown, Gwen Stacy, Pavitr Prabhakar, Earth 42 Miles, and Margo Kess.

~ Reader is a newer spider, who, after losing a fight against an anomaly that found its way into her universe, is consoled by her friends.

~ Wc: 1.9k

~ You can find more of my works here

~ Contents include: Fluff, Romance, Mostly platonic as of now, Slight angst, Comfort, Horror, Mentions of blood, Intimate non sexual touch, Slight Yearning.

Somewhere, in New York . . .

A group of teenagers clad in brightly colored spandex suits, sit in a booth at a small cafe. The cafe itself is a cozy, little hole-in-the-wall, known only to those lucky enough to live nearby. The teenagers rest their tired bodies, allowing their muscles to melt into the soft leather seats, as they're embraced by the warm aroma of nutmeg, cinnamon, vanilla, and cocoa.

The calming scents swirled in the air, providing the teenagers a much needed sense of comfort and relief. They chatted amongst themselves, some excited from the battle they had just won, some wearily listening and occasionally providing their own input. All engaging in the conversation one way or another. All except for one.

One of the teenagers sat silently staring into her drink. Her mind, like her peers, was still on the fight the had just walked away from, though unlike them, she wasn't exactly satisfied with the outcome. She tried to focus her gaze on the hot beverage clasped between her hands, and not on the dirt and blood splattered on her gloved fingers.

Everytime she closed her eyes she could still see it.

Horror starts here -

Previously . . .

He was an anomaly, a horrifying variant of the criminal Rhino. He was a massive man with stocky , tree trunk-like stubs for legs. He had huge, muscular arms, his fingers were thick nubs, a solid plate of keratin from his first knuckle to the tip of his fingers. Despite his giant stature, his bodybuilder physique, and his inhuman limbs which were covered in tough, dark grey skin, the characteristic that most caught the teenager's attention was his face. Two massive tusks sprouted from his skull, piercing his flesh, and causing dark blood to leak over his head, face and shoulders.

He was clearly in pain, screaming as he flung any and everything he could lift over his head. Cars, fire hydrants, chunks of sidewalk. Nothing was safe from him in his rampage. He spared no mercy as he threw objects towards innocent civilians. Thankfully, by the time Y/n had gotten there, most of the bystanders had already fled the scene, and the few that remained were quickly moved to safety. The teenager turned her attention back to the rhino-man as soon as the last citizen was safe and secure.

"You really do live up to the n-"

Y/n could barely get a word out before she was flung into the side of a building. She slowly rose to her elbows, her head spinning as broken glass clattered onto the ground around her. She felt something warm and wet run down on cool on her face beneath her mask. She hobbled to her feet the minute the loud, incessant pounding in her head stopped, another quip already on her lips, only to be interrupted once again by a whack to the face. She felt like she'd been hit with a wrecking ball as she flew through the air.

Horror ends here -

She crashed into the pavement, her head smacking the ground that cracked around her, before slowly rolling to a halt. She tried to push herself back up, with what felt like boneless arms. Her arms weakly trembled before collapsing beneath her weight. Fear rushed through her veins as the sound of thunderous footsteps approached her weakened body.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, her fists clenched and her breathing quickened as she braced herself, preparing her body to take more abuse. She felt dread embalm her entirely, her sweat cold on her skin, as the Rhino rose his arms above his head.

But before the Rhino could bring his clubbed fists down upon Y/n's crumpled body, the loud riff of an electric guitar rang through the air.

Her eyes remained closed, as bright yellows, purples, and blues flashed across the sky in blinding geometric shapes. Y/n's stiff body ironically relaxed at the sound of fighting and music, her body and mind fully exhausted. She only began to open her eyes when she heard a familiar voice softly calling her name, gently coaxing her to rise to her feet.

Currently . . .

Y/n sat near the window, strictly gazing into the mug between her hands. She had been so focused on her own moping she hadn't noticed the conversation around her had begun to lull.

"Y/n, you alright there, bruv?"

Her head snapped up, her attention suddenly placed on the british man seated across from her.

"Huh!?" Y/n's gaze drifted to the other teenagers sitting with her, unintentionally now the center of their attention. "What do you mean? I'm fine. I'm okay."

The teenagers around her exchanged glances before turning back to her. "Y'know, it's okay if you aren't okay, though," Gwen, the blonde sitting beside her replied, her voice had been the one to pull Y/n from her pained stupor. Gwen gently placed her cup of hot cocoa onto the table in front of her, before lightly stroking Y/n's forearm with her thumb.

"I know, I'm okay. Really. . . I am." Y/n dropped her gaze back to the hot, sweet smelling beverage in her hands. The cafe the teenagers took refuge in had some of the best food and drinks any of the spider's had ever had. It was a family business, run by an older couple and tended to by their granddaughter. It had been a place of comfort for Y/n since she had come across it while chasing a pickpocket down an alley.

Unconvinced, the rest of the teens sat quietly. "Is it about the fight cause if it is you got nothing to worry about" said miles, a chocolatey ring on his top lip. "When I was 'bout a month into being Spider-man, I had to fight Scorpion." Miles shook his head. "Lost so bad, it was on the news. My mom heard about it."

"Really?" Hobie questioned, taking a bite of his pastry, "That bad, huh", he followed earning a glare from Miles.

"Oh please, that's nothing! When I first became Spider-Woman, I got absolutely wrecked by Doc Oc! I got publically laughed at for two weeks!" Countered Gwen, her hands moving as she spoke. "I couldn't go out without hearing someone laugh about it."

Hobie chuckled, causing Gwen to toss a large marshmallow in his direction, "And what of you, Pav?"

"First of all, what about you, Hobie? You've never lost a fight?" Said Pavitr, flustered at the sudden attention. "Oi we'll get there when we get there, yeah? Your turn."

Pavitr sat back in the booth, his hand raised to his chin as he thought of his most embarrassing loss. "One time I . . . got . . . a got a bloody nose through my mask?"

"Yeah, but did you lose?" Asked Miles.

". . .no. But it was on TV!" Pavitr raised both hands in defence after earning a playful groan from the whole table, "Of course not", and "No surprise there" flying from his friend's mouths. "I'm sure mine will happen sooner or later!" Pav turned to face Hobie once again. "Okay, okay, your turn, Hobie. Tell us your most embarrassing story." Hobie sniffed, leaning back and putting his arms behind his head. "What's there to talk about, mate? I never lose."

"Right." It was the first thing Y/n had said with a smile on her face. Hobie glanced over at her, a soft smile replacing the frown she wore earlier. Hobie straightened in his seat, "Well-I mean- I-This one time right," Y/n laughed at his sudden disposition, "I was just off holiday, y'know, so of course I'm gonna be a bit rusty, a little out of it, y'know," the table began to giggle at his frantic excuses.

"But yeah, I'd just come off holiday, I start to swing around, warm up, got my blood flowing again, out of nowhere, this-this airship comes flying my way, absolutely massive, comes outta nowhere," "Oh it came at you, did it?" Pavitr asked between laughs. "Yeah," Hobie claimed, a faux irritation coating his words "It came at me, Pav man, you even listening? So it comes at me," he continued.

"I'm looking down, hundreds of adoring fans below, all lookin' back up at me, my senses kick in, little too late, yeah, but they do," Miles wheezes at Hobie's erratic retelling, his fist lightly pounding the table, as gwen writhes in her seat with her head thrown back. Y/n and Pavitr exchange glances with tears in their eyes whenever Hobie stumbles over his words or repeats himself.

"I look up at just the right time for the universe to take it out on me, i guess, and then WHAM! I smack into the aircraft, face first, all my fans still watching me as I plumet to certain death, just laughing, like I don't protect them everyday from the cold, greedy hands of a power-abusing, capitalistic, autocratic, and bigoted nightmare!"

By now every teen at the table is in hysterics, laughing so loud the table shakes with all their food and drink. Hobie and Miles have taken the slapping each others arms, as they cackle at Hobie, as Gwen has visible tears pouring down her face.

After being yelled at for being to loud and calming down, the group sits in a pleasant silence. Y/n sighed, yeah, today could've gone better for her, but in the end, she was thankful she had the kind of friends willing to embarass themselves to make her feel better. "Thank you, guys," Y/n mumbled out, a happy yet somber expression on her face, as they began to meander out of the cafe. "For tonight, and for . . . earlier."

"Aye, no problem, Y/n," Miles said, slipping an arm over her shoulder and looking into her eyes, a warm grin spread across his dimpled cheeks. "Any time." Pavitr gently stroked her knuckles with his thumb as he held her hand. The teens took off in the direction of Y/n's home, joking all the way. They saw her safely to her door.

Noticing the time, Gwen turned to Y/n and wrapped her arms tightly around her shoulders. "I'm sorry, I gotta get going," she saldy muttered as she squeezed Y/n. She pulled slightly from their embrace. "But I'll see you tomorrow?" Gwen stared into her face for confirmation, a playful smirk rising to her face as her cheeks heated up. "Bye Gwen, I'll see you tomorrow." Y/n felt her own cheeks grow warm, a little dismayed when Gwen fully pulled her arms from her.

Pavitr swallowed her form in his own muscular arms from behind, resting his cheek on her head. "I have to leave too," He groaned. Y/n giggled as he complained, a playfully sad look on his face. "I'll see you tomorrow too, Pav." Y/n laughed again as Hobie had to physically pull Pavitr away from her, before squeezing her shoulder himself and winking as he stepped through the portal.

Miles was the last to leave, he always was. He wanted to make sure Y/n was okay, having been no stranger to messing up himself. "You good?" Y/n sighed again, but this time it was filled with much less sorrow. She looked up at Miles and felt a warm smile rise to her lips. "I'm good Miles . . . Thank you. Really." Miles shrugged his shoulders as he beamed at Y/n before hugging her goodbye like the others. He lingered, just a bit, before letting his arms slip from her shoulders.

Miles stepped towards the portal, turning to grin at Y/n for the last time that night.

#astv #across the spiderverse #spiderman #miles morales #miles morales x reader #gwen stacy #gwen stacy x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown #pavitr prabhakar #pavitr prabhakar x reader #y/n #astv x reader #astv fanfic #margo kess #margo kess x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 milse morales #miles morales 1610 #bizbat

[definegodliness]

Vision

A new leaf unfurls, shimmering Pristine and lime green, Steadfast, and doubtless in the Mathematical perfection of nature's Origami.

Pretty little thing.

All too easily overlooked In the short lived process Of its existence, as such.

Soon, this leaf, too, will turn Dark and dull, Yet sturdy and fully functional; Anonymous among its kin, so, swallowed By the entirety that is survival.

Yet now, still,

It is a vision of purity.

I dwell on this — my incessant Yearning purity; grounds keeper home In the graveyard Of my soul, Where candlelight burns In the darkest nights So that the eulogies, collected, May remain legible.

The tomes in here contain Dust-ridden truths, I rarely revisit, But when the wind decides To leaf through their pages I cannot help but glance a bit:

Hope —

Hope is a symbiont of the dead, It grows even on ossified bones And as such it needs not my attention To remain.

I ponder this.

Were I more reckless, I would add:

"What more, virulent And constricting hope becomes When given too much time under sun; How its roots then thirst and beg; How its tendrils latch at throats and Seek to squeeze out Just one tear To nurture the only fruits it may bear; Despair And dejection."

Please do not mistake the winter hardiness Of my resignation For the rot of cynicism.

Hope, symbiont of the dead, Merely stems from the past; It is the residual waste Of a moment, captured and recognized As a timeless truth For the length of its Experience.

However, such truths rarely live on for long In us, mortal beings.

They are malformed By our defining, and analyzing When we cease to live within them, and start Remembering.

Timeless truths are better left buried.

This is why I do not pick up the pen To ruin the tome with my temporary Imaginations.

One does not disturb the soil where Once stood a rose To once more see Its petals.

One can only respectfully maintain the earth Wherein it lays buried.

A leaf unfurls, Pristine and lime green; I dare not touch it due to its fragility.

What a pretty little thing.

This is what love Means to Me.

--- 14-2-2024, M.A. Tempels ©

#poetry #spilled ink #writing #dark academia #romanticism #romantic poem #romantic poetry #love poem #love poetry #poem #poets on tumblr #tumblr poetry #spilled thoughts #creative writing #prose poem

[imperfectorange]

Monsoon at the End of a School Day.

As I make my way past the creaking metal gate painted black, the most dreaded part of my day lies ahead. The clouds have been crying all day and the sun has been hiding which meant the road was a muddy mess. It didn't always look like this, it had once been prim and proper. The tar that was now uneven and cracked was once laid out with the intent to be even, but our attempts to tame nature were never permanent or successful. At the end of the path stood the bus that took me home. It was the common faded yellow with worn cross-printed seats. as I was submerged in my meaningless annoyance in regards to the state of my paths, the sky was showing signs of another breakdown.

I prepared myself to move forward when the strong wind passed by, scattering my hair that was left loose. As I reached to push the hair away from my eyes and fix it behind my ears, goosebumps rose along my hand and I felt the world grow colder.

Suddenly the day’s fatigue has worn off and the veil of exhaustion disappears and I am alive again as the sweet smell of mud invades my nose. I know it will rain again.

The rain was an obstacle, halting some half of human movement and forcing us to stop and break out of the daily monotony of routine. It is a reminder to live in the moment and accept what life offers. It is the downpour of elixir, as the world grows alive again as the rains leave. People come out of their shelters as do animals and the world looks brighter than it did before.

The color of plants that surround the path seems to have grown saturated and they all seem to stand up a little bit straighter. I feel a water drop fall on my shoulder and then another and once more again. It touches my body in a single place as it seeps through the cloth that covers my shoulder and I look up to see that I am standing underneath a tree; the water collected upon its leaves all collects at the tip of the leaves before they fall to the ground.

It created a repetitive sound, soothing to my ear when combined with the sound of trees rustling to the strong wind. I hug my jacket closer to my body and a feeling of longing washes over me, to feel the warmth and comfort of being held by another body. The yearning to subdued quickly as the ground beneath my feet is no longer flat and solid. Each step I take creates a depression in the mud and leaves behind a mark. My whole body can feel the difference.

With each step I take, I feel my senses become more active as they take in every little detail, from the patterns in the soil to the buzzing of insects near my left ear while trying to gauge which animal grazes in a field that I can see from the side of my eyes.

After an eternity I reach the bus and sit by the window. Nostalgia washes over me I see the windows have a layer of fog on them- I would draw on them when I was younger. My inner child is satisfied when I let my fingers wander over the cool glass and create aimless patterns. I can peek through clear parts and see the wetlands beside my school.

As I stare at the grass swaying in the wind, my vision is disrupted by water droplets falling on the window. It creates an incessant rhythm and my mind grows hazy. I lean back into my seat and feel my eyelids grow heavy. I am comfortable, wrapped in my huge jacket with my hood up.

As the bus starters to move, waves of exhaustion come my way, pulling me into a deep slumber.

- Avani.

Painting - After the Rain in Kolkata, Shubhashis Mandal.

#india #indian #indian monsoon #monsoon #indian rains #monsoon rains #rainy #indian dark academia #indian culture #aesthetic #indian aesthetic #dark academia #desi #indian writers #desi dark academia #school #school days #nostalgia #nostalgic

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

decorum

period drama (bridgerton inspired) au headcanons ig

gender neutral reader

Cater feels like the entire world is on his shoulders yet not all at once. The price of being nobility means that judgement follows his heels no matter what, even if he’s only the youngest child of a proficient banker, even if he feels like he’s no more than a bumbling toddler trying to keep up with the world, even if he lives in the shadows of his vivacious sisters who are blossoming members of fine society. He’s skilled in playing the part for his family’s sake, but deep down, he isn’t sure what to make of himself as he matures and becomes aware of the expectations towards him to become the head of the Diamond household.

You are like a much needed breath of fresh air to him. You’re the one he always steals glances at whenever the atmosphere of a ball grows too stuffy, and you’re the one he shoots a mischievous smirk at along with a “wanna escape to the gardens?” dangling over his lips right after. And of course, you’re more than happy to agree to a secret tryst where no one else can see—away from the prying eyes, away from the incessant gossip, and away from the terrible expectations of class.

You’re probably the only person in the world who holds him like this, gently in your arms without any care as to whether he’s a high noble or a lowly peasant. The kisses you sneak onto his face and neck between the fragrant roses and the freshly trimmed hedges remind you of the sweetness he wishes he could hold onto forever, the love that he knows he’ll cherish for the rest of his life, even when he knows that this is the relationship that’s forbidden, especially when Cater knows it’s only a matter of time before he’s engaged off to someone he couldn’t care less about to keep his family name strong.

But in this moment, where you possess him like a moth drawn to fire, Cater doesn’t want to think about any of that. Here, he is just himself. Cater Diamond, without title or without possession—simply Cater Diamond, a boy with hair as vibrant as the roaring embers of the quaint hearth and eyes as dazzling as the most polished emeralds, who loves you more than words can describe and yearns to stay with you for as long as he can before he’s wrenched back into the world of flamboyant decorations and painful play-pretend.

“I missed you... Stay with me a bit longer this time. I don’t know how I’ll ever live without your touches, without your attention. Won’t you spoil me while you can?”

Idia is too used to the stares he gets whenever he steps into the room. His family’s name is tainted with tragedy, the sort of hushed scandal he knows everyone whispers about within the safety of their tea parlors and salons. But the walls have ears, and Idia is hyperaware that every movement he makes, every word he utters is bound to be scrutinized and pitied. It is the price he pays for being the heir to such a noble family, and it is the exact reason why he’s grown so wary and tired of social functions that require him to pretend to be happy and professional.

He wonders why you don’t ever shrink away from him. Whereas all the other aristocrats and wealthy folk avoid him out of fear, you have no problem striking up conversation with him and warming up to him. It doesn’t matter to him if it’s just useless prattle like you evaluating the newest set of pastries from your favorite bakery or analyzing the new lace gloves that a lady had given to your next door neighbor, you present yourself to be a rare companion that Idia finds himself falling for quickly.

Idia is terribly afraid of hurting you and of being anything less than perfect for you. He’s incredibly curious about you and who you are, so you’re bound to notice him trailing after you like a wisp of smoke after a candle has been extinguished. The hopeful gleam in his golden eyes and the soft smile he musters up towards you are sides of him that he reserves for you only—Idia knows better than to smile at anyone, and he only wants to be seen in such a vulnerable state by someone he trusts more than Fate herself.

He can only hope that one day you’ll recognize the delicate feelings he’s fostering inside of his heart. He wants nothing more than to make you happy, and Idia knows he’ll be asking a lot of you by offering his hand to you. You would be pledging yourself to a man of death and tragedy, a noble family plagued by sorrow and darkness, but Idia firmly believes that given your bright countenance and optimistic altruism, you might be the key to reversing all the gloom and doom that has weighed over his heart until the very first day that he laid his eyes on you.

“You want to dance with me...? Me? The loner that no one wants to be with? You better not be doing this out of pity... You’re not? ...Alright. I’ll dance with you.”

In all honesty, Leona thinks very little of you from the start. He’s a prince with people swarming around him for a crumb of his attention, and even if he isn’t heir to the throne anymore, he knows that people only view him as a stepping stone to upgrade their social statuses. He expects you to be no different than the vermin flanking him at any waking moment, so Leona treats you with the same coldness he does everyone else and dismisses you as quickly as possible so he can retreat back to his peace and quiet.

Except contrary to what he expected of you, you’re kind and understanding to everyone. You keep up with his nephew’s antics and entertain the little boy when everyone else is busy flaunting themselves to him. You’re civil with the servants and thank them for their hard work, offering to help with their chores. You’re nothing like the other nobles that mistreat their servants and use them as mere pawns. You treat everyone like a proper human being and give them the respect that they’re due, and Leona begrudgingly admits that he finds that part of you attractive.

It’s only when he gets an opportunity to dance with you alone that he becomes truly enchanted with you. You look beautiful in his arms, twirling and laughing with the music, asking him how his night is going. He finds himself flirting with you brusquely, chuckling with you from one dance to another, until he realizes that he’s been monopolizing your time. Leona can’t help it—you’re so easy to talk to, and you’re someone who sees him for who he is rather than a prize to be won.

Leona promises to find you again when another event is to take place, and he tells you that you better keep his interest then too. You simply respond with a bright smile and a warning that you aren’t his plaything. He likes that sass from you too. Even when you’re long gone, Leona finds his thoughts wandering to you, and when he smoothes down what he once thought was an unnecessarily stiff uniform, he can’t wait until he can dance with you again and share more of that witty banter that swept him off his feet.

“Have you ever danced with a prince before, herbivore? No? I wouldn’t be surprised. C’mon. If you can keep up with me, maybe I won’t eat you for dinner.”

Vil straddles an odd line between nobility and not. He technically gained his place in society by being an entertainer like his father rather than being an aristocrat by birth. He’s used to the attention and the scrutiny—he’s probably a rarity in that he actually invites it so that he can use it as a weapon. Vil is a paragon of effort and beauty, as deadly as he is gorgeous, with an entourage of suitors following him wherever he steps. No one can find a flaw in him, and at times, he appears more devilish than he does human.

His impression of you is pity: you’re someone with so much potential being choked out by society’s hold on you. He works in coaxing you out of your shell, shaping you so that he can breathe life back into your insecure form and helping you find the bounce in your step. You will be nothing but a shining star under his guidance, and you make for the perfect partner to attend all these meddlesome events with. At least with you by his side, a companion of matching beauty, no average noble would even dare bother either of you.

Surely enough, Vil falls for the small details in you that lead him to you to begin with. Your demure eyes become lively and filled with zest, your timid voice becomes firm and cheerful, your gloomy demeanor becomes steady and bright. Vil is proud of the progress you’ve made: all he needed was to help you find that spark. You continually push yourself to become the better version of yourself, and he’s taken with that side of you. This newfound version of you refuses to be contained by high society’s constricting roles, and you want to live as yourself without caring about what others might say of you.

One day, Vil wants to take flight and run off with you. Off to a paradise of your own making, where the two of you can flourish as untouchable legends in a different realm of the squabbling nobility. He promises to love you as you are, to uplift you and celebrate every aspect of who you are, to keep you close to his heart where you belong. As long as you feel nothing but the same for him, he’s sure that he’s found his place in this fairy tale romance, with both heroes emerging with the picture-perfect ending that the two of you have been coveting for so long.

“What a beautiful pair we must be. Why don’t we make them all seethe with jealousy? It can be the reward for all of our efforts. Stay close to me, darling, and let us make this night our stage.”

#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #cater diamond #idia shroud #leona kingscholar #vil schoenheit #x reader #my writing #weirdos dni or ill drown u in my sink

[lov3nerdstuff]

I've got you

*James Conrad x reader*

Parts: Oneshot/Drabble

Words: 1.7k

Prompt: "Imagine being on Skull Island (or somewhere equally as fucky) and Conrad shines a flashlight out into the darkness, only for several pairs of eyes to reflect back. His hand tightens around yours and every muscle in his lean body tenses. That deep voice gets low and quiet, warning you not to run. The second you try to bolt--because duh-- he tugs you against his firm chest and his lips are on your ear."

A.N.: This is a gift for @hopelessromanticspoonie who had this idea yesterday 💚✨ She (and her lovely anon) deserve some Conrad goodness! I hope you guys enjoy this quick little snippet 🖤 I am actually writing a longer Conrad series currently, but that will still take a while ☺️

______________________________

The low growling sounds outside your tent should have been warning enough, had they already sufficed to wake you up in the first place. If not that, then at least the distant screeching that carried through the cold night air at a bone-chilling frequency, haunting echoes in your mind filling the silence in between.

You should never have left your tent, should never have come on this bloody excursion to the middle of nowhere in the first place! But of course, you just had to be curious and go check on the noise by yourself instead of waiting for one of the men with the heavy guns to take care of it. Just had to prove to them that you weren't just the frail and frightened little thing they saw in you no matter what you did. You had to prove it to him. James Conrad, the man of both your daydreams and sleepless nights. Gods, you had been falling for him from the first day of this doomed mission. Him, with his incredible blue eyes and that unforgettable voice that could put the fear of God into every soul when he bellowed commands across any battlefield, and that yet would recite Shakespeare in the softest flowing melody like he was born to do nothing else. A voice dipped in liquid sin that should not be uttering compliments like languished breaths in the dark. Not without unravelling you softly in the sweetest torture known to man.

Well, you should have gotten a grip on yourself and your pathetic insecurities and just told him how badly you'd fallen for him days ago. Now, however, you were going to die lonely and frustrated, a mere hundred yards away from the well protected camp you'd been stupid enough to leave. Great job, idiot…

The same growling that had woken you up was all around you now, louder, so much louder than before and you couldn't believe that you had been so stupid to walk into this trap of… whatever was lurking in the darkness around you now. You didn't dare to move, didn't dare to make a sound… and simply clung onto the childish belief that if you couldn't see what was stalking you right now, it couldn't see you either. Not that you would've been able to see much anyway, with the stream of tears that was running down your cheeks now.

"Y/n! Are you out of your mind?! You shouldn't be out here alone in the middle of the night!" Conrad's scolding voice behind you, in that delicious British accent nevertheless, sent an immediate shiver down your spine, but unfortunately for more than one reason this time around. Gods, he was here… you only hoped that he had come as your salvation and not a second course to the hidden predators' nightly meal.

"James… They're everywhere, in the darkness… I'm so sorry." You whispered in a tear laced voice, too far frozen in your fear to turn around to him even when you felt his radiant presence coming up right next to you. So close that his warmth was almost seething on the chilled skin of your arm and shoulder. Gods… you had been so stupid indeed; you were absolutely bloody frightened and helpless out here, who had you been trying to fool!

When Conrad finally switched on his flashlight to shed some literal light onto the darkness ahead that you were still staring at relentlessly, you barely held back your startled scream by biting down hard on your bottom lip. There were eyes, so many eyes that reflected the light right back at you from the undergrowth in a glowing hollowness that spoke of nothing but hungry fixation and thus, impending death. Conrad next to you tensed in an instant, every muscle in his lean body coiling in a display of controlled strength, preparing to fight and defend himself. Or rather to defend both of you, for not even a broken second later his hand wrapped tightly around your lower arm as if purely on instinct, and your breath caught in your throat in return. A few deafening heartbeats long you both stayed frozen like that, until slowly, painfully, deliciously slowly, his hand slid down your arm to hold your hand instead, interlacing your fingers with his in the same unfaltering, strong hold.

"Don't move…" He drawled under his breath, commanding you with the deep tone of his voice alone to surrender his will no matter what he said. Thus you could only clasp his hand in a death grip in return, breath coming out in shallow pants as your heart thundered in your chest like the storm approaching in the distance.

And yet, when another loud growl announced that these beasts were drawing closer to you still, almost up your neck already with their teeth or claws sunk deeply into your tender flesh, the sound startled you so far beyond your reason that your flight instinct grew unbearable at last. Every fibre in your body burst in panic, and you bolted without thought, without reason, but you did not get far. Fast as lightning to match the thunder in your heart, Conrad's arm wrapped around your waist and he pulled you flush against his chest, holding you tightly against his strong body while your excess adrenaline merely caused you to whimper into the soft fabric of his shirt.

"Shhh... I've got you." His voice was surprisingly soft now, reassuring and calming almost as if just to soothe your fears, while the gentle brush of his lips against the shell of your ear caused you to shiver for entirely different reasons. A soaring heart and tingling exhilaration made for an odd mix combined with the prominent fear of death, but in the end it only heightened your every sense to the incredible. If you were to die now, you at least would do so wrapped up in the arms of the man you loved. La petite mort, only in the opposite direction of what you would have wanted for him and you.

"James…" You breathed into his chest, desperately trying to keep yourself from trembling too noticeably, which only made him tighten his hold on you with a sharp intake of breath.

"Shush now, darling, and listen to me…" He replied in an equally quiet tone, still staring into the hollow eyes of death with his head so closely next to yours. "I will throw the flashlight ahead into the forest as far as I can to cause a decent distraction, and then you and I will run back to camp without turning back. We should be safe behind the barriers we've set up. Do you understand?"

You nodded slowly with a shuddering breath, then turned your head ever so slightly to glance up at him with all those sharp lines of his stern features, while at the same time he dropped his arm from around you and instead took a tight hold of your hand again. Then in the matter of broken seconds, he threw the flashlight as far away from your path as he could, and finally dashed off back towards your camp while pulling you along by your hand. You were quick to comply, running as fast as you could while your lungs burned all the more, but both Conrad's death grip on your hand and the howling behind your back made for a magnificent motivation to keep running either way.

The hundred yards still were torture to your mind and body, but even without the light you could see the barriers drawing nearer and nearer. When you finally reached the gate of the improvised defenses, Conrad didn't waste any time to rush you through before it was barred off from the inside right behind you. The howling, however, remained right outside before the gates and still made your blood freeze over even now from the safety of your camp. Good gods… you really had cheated death. Again.

Panting, you finally dared to look up at Conrad once more. He was still clutching your hand as if he was afraid you would vanish if he let go, and when his burning gaze met yours in that undivided intensity, you couldn't keep your lips from trembling, nor your words from spilling over at last. "I'm so sorry, I… I really didn't mean to cause you so much trouble, I'm so sorry, I just… wanted to prove to you that I'm worth your-..."

You didn't get any further when his hand rose to cup your cheeks with a start, elegant fingers entangling in your hair as he pulled you close to him and pressed his lips to yours in every bit of passion and urgency you had been yearning for for so long. It took you but a broken second of surprise before you melted against him with a faint moan, returning everything he gave you and everything you had beyond. This was heaven… A heaven you were granted only after surviving in hell.

When you finally pulled back, both breathless far more thoroughly than just from your run, Conrad leaned his forehead against yours so very gently, and yet refused to release you from his incessant hold. "You are worth all there is and more, darling. I can bear absolutely anything for you, and with you, you must know that. All except for losing you."

"I'm so sorry." You breathed, eyes closed as you revelled in the roaring waves of unadulterated affection washing over both of you now. "You won't lose me, I… I won't let that happen. I've got you just the same."

Your words brought a smile to his face, you could feel it all around you, could feel it against your lips a second later. He wasn't a man of many words, you knew that, but the ones he spoke were always the most beautiful and honest to his soul. So you did know indeed, you both had each other and that was all you would need.

______________________________

General Tags:

@wegingerangelica @dreary-skies-stuff @wiczer @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @theweirdlunatic @caretheunicorn @kthemarsian @lady-of-lies @strawberrysandcream @noplacelikehome77 @theoneanna @mishaandthebrits @i-am-a-mes @nonsensicalobsessions @exygon @hiddles-lobotomy @rjohnson1280 @annwhojumps @spookycatqueen @salempoe @headoverhiddleston @fanfiction-and-stress @thecreatiivecorner @themusingsofmany @kinghiddlestonanddixon @scorpionchild81 @crystal-28 @adefectivedetective @lokis-girl-in-mischief @booklover2929 @iamverity @lovesmesomehiddles @akk4rin @whitewolfandthefox @stuckupstucky @kassablanca13 @delightfulheartdream @hayalee8 @lemonmochitea

#james conrad #james conrad x reader #james conrad imagine #james conrad x you #kong skull island #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston imagine #I can't usually write short stuff

[mssirey]

Phantom

National City wasn’t the same when Kara returned to it. It had the same skeleton, streets carving through more lofted structures in a mostly familiar way, but so much was different. She had not anticipated wishing for the incessant rumbling hum of car engines, now muted to a whisper of whirring gears. She looked for the names she always saw—CatCo, LCorp, anything—but they were stripped away, the skies colored with a scattering of new claims.

The heart of the city still beat with life, but it was not the one Kara knew.

Caught between a dazed stupor and the roar of panicked desperation, Kara flew. Hunted. Salivated at every hint of a scent she recognized, twitching with the urgency that sank like barbs into her muscles, puncturing skin that had not seen the sun in far too long.

Kara’s search landed her outside a home she didn’t know, one that had yet to welcome her. Her hand wavered as it raised, her knuckle rapping lightly against polished wood, coaxing a stir within the interior.

The fine clack of heel on hardwood was a precise staccato she remembered, punctuated between the beats of a heart she’d yearned to hear. The door opened for Kara, and her chin wobbled as she bit back tears.

Lena was still the picture of magnificence. Her age etched wisdom into her face, lines Kara’s eyes could follow forever if she was given the chance to stare, but age did nothing diminish Lena. She stared at poised posture, all the power that radiated from Lena; the creases of age around her striking green eyes, holding Kara in place as much as her hands rooted in the worn fabric of her cape; the strands of silver she didn’t color out of her hair, that added an etherealness to her image; that same curl of lips that hid a tongue that could spell the death of her.

But for all that time had stamped its mark on Lena, Kara was the ghost. She was the one who was not meant to walk the earth. By her estimation, she’d been presumed lost, years bleeding away in the cold.

How long has it been?

“Kara?”

“Tell me you’re real.”

Kara’s throat collapsed around the words, years of disuse eroding her voice until it barely sounded like herself. The scars of her scream shredded vocal chords were chased away by the yellow sun, but she knew echoes of that pain in every waking moment.

“Please.”

Weathered hands rose with a tremor of hesitance—or perhaps disbelief—fingers touching her cheek, jerking back momentarily when they met skin. But then Lena’s hands cupped her face, palms warmer than she remembered, the ice still clinging to her, still beating through her veins.

“It’s you,” Lena breathed, her lungs emptying with a shuddering sob that seemed to also bubble up in Kara’s chest. She lurched forward, crashing against Kara, arms slipping around her neck. “It’s really you.”

“Lena.”

Kara’s request had gone unanswered, but in that moment, all that mattered was that embrace. Even if it was some conjured fantasy that would evaporate at any moment, she needed it. Her own arms snaked forward, unsure hands gently smoothing up Lena’s back. She had not known her own strength for all that time and couldn’t bear to risk losing Lena then. Not when she’d just found her again.

Kara held her, let the drum of her heart drown out everything else, and crumpled. “Don’t leave me… please.”

Lena led her over the threshold where they slipped to the floor together, neither mustering the strength to stand.

“I’m here.”

#kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorp #my writing #mssirey

[temporalteardrop]

thinkin about boobs again

#this is a LESBIAN post men don't touch #rose's incessant yearnings #rose's ramblings

[bellatrixobsessed1]

She Never Liked Flies

More Lady Dimitrescu fics! Because I love her very much now lol. 

Summary: A lonely Alcina only has flies for company and she hates them very much. And then she is given a Cadou to work with.

She never liked flies, they are pests. They are bothers. They seem to be drawn to her, especially on days that are sweltering. Days when the bodies she has stacked are festering and baking. She hasn’t gotten around to tasting their meat so the flies have begun to make work of them. She is content to leave them to it so long as they leave her be.

But they don’t seem to appreciate her mercy. They’d rather antagonize her; land on her and make her skin twitch and crawl. She snarls and swats them away; having more success with slapping herself than any of the vermin.

She plucks one from her dress and flicks it away with a scowl. She supposes that she should just be rid of the bodies that are attracting them in swarms. She can harvest the village for new, fresher ones anyhow. Alcina’s face bunches in disdain as she makes her way through a cloud of flies. Their buzzing is incessant and aggravating and--with so many of them--impossible to ignore. They hang greedily about the corpses. Her corpses. She thinks that they may have gotten more of a feast than she had. She waves them away with her hand only for them to drift right back into place as though to antagonize her specifically. She thinks to crush them all, but what a mess that would make and one that doesn’t suit her aesthetic quite as well as blood.

She stoops to pick up one of the bodies. Her hand only has to graze it for a swarm of flies to burst out of the corpse’s chest cavity and into her face. Her face contorts once more in agitation. She thinks that one of the teeny pests has made its way into her mouth. She hoists the body up and over her shoulder. One by one she collects them. One by one the swarm grows larger

A few more moments, she reassures herself. A few more moments and the bodies will be outside and out of mind. A few more moments and she will be mostly rid of this loathsome flies.

She puts it in her mind to never leave the corpses in her dining room for that long again. Their blood is a honey for the flies and the meat is an incubator for their maggots. They multiply at such a ridiculous rate in such optimal conditions.

She ducks under the door and pulls it shut behind her. If she never sees another fly again in her life that would do her just fine.

.oOo.

Alcina finds that the flies are her only company. She isn’t exactly sociable but she shouldn’t like to call herself a recluse. She likes to think herself a fine, well-mannered lady. The sort that worthy, powerful folks might seek kinship with. And yet she has no one at all.

No one who comes by her castle save for Heisenberg every now and then, but his company can be loathsome at the best of times. She thinks it beneath her and yet she can’t help but to crave companionship nearly as ravenously as she desires flesh and blood. She gracefully licks her fingers clean of it.

The girl she drinks from is a pretty thing; youthful and willowy, just older than fifteen. She has the face of innocence, though it is growing ashen and hollow. Sometimes it is hard for her to remember feelings. Sometimes she forgets that she still has them. For her forgetfulness, when emotion does work its way back in, it takes her by surprise. And with surprise comes intensity. Intensity that is almost too much for her to shoulder.

This time it creeps up on her. Slowly. Subtly. Undetectable until she is taken by emotion in full. This time it stirs within her in such a way that she feels almost human again. Weak.

It comes upon her as she stares at that youthful face. It comes under the guise of her yearning for companionship and intimacy. Alcina steps away from the girl’s body and takes to her bedroom, the feeling follows her. Whatever it is, she can’t quite name it. Can’t quite name it and can’t quite shake it. Neither can she understand it. And so she can’t process it.

Putting it aside is her best option. This emotion, like a single breeze through a long abandoned crypt, clings to her. She tries to bury it under the elegant hum of a cello. She perches near her bedroom window and slides the bow over its strings until her wrists start to cramp. And when the melancholy still refuses to leave her she tries to mask it beneath smoke. A drag from her kiseru does little at all. She thinks that she could smoke the night away and see little pay off.

And it comes to her what she is feeling. It is longing. Longing and mournful nostalgia. A touch of regret. And she remembers. Remembers something from very long ago. From what might as well be another life entirely.

She remembers children. It is distant now but she is almost certain that she had, had one. A small boy. A broken boy who didn’t last past his third winter before withering the same as a rose.

She remembers nights both long and short of trying to have herself another to replace the hollow left by the withered child. The child who became feed for the flies. Those hateful flies that have tasted her child on their maws.

She remembers babies who died before they lived. Two of them before she gave up.

Alcina craves company more than ever. The castle seems somehow too big even for her. The only company she has are the flies.

.oOo.

She plants three Cadous. And three Cadous are taken by three separate swarms.

Her lips curl back in resentment, nose crinkles with aggravation. They take her meals and now they tarnish her experiments. Loathsome little beasts. She will be rid of them somehow. She watches them flick and flit about, untroubled and ignorant of what she has in store for them.

They dodge the slap of her hand. Swirling around her as though she is of no concern at all. Her temper rouses. They fly higher as though they think that they can ever be out of her reach. And then they begin to take shape and color.

She very nearly slices them to ribbons and then she sees a face. A young and pretty face. A smiling face with soft doe eyes. The young woman reaches out, her fingers brush the fabric of Alcina’s dress. “Mother?”

She yanks her dress out of its grasp and swats at the thing. A pest, one giant, talking pest.

She hates the face it makes, that pitiful expression.

“Leave.”

It furrows it’s brows.

Perhaps it isn’t as sentient as she had initial thought. It is, afterall, only a cluster of flies. “Leave my castle.” She turns on her heel. Decidedly, she will destroy it if she comes back to find it still dwelling in the room.

.oOo.

She hadn’t expected to come back to two more of them. Surprise and outrage alone became their protectors. “Mother?” The eldest of them inquires again. It’s voice is soft and quiet. The way it looks at her…

It is only a bundle of flies and yet it looks at her with such warmth and love. They all look upon her with the sort of affection she hasn’t seen since her mutation. Something in her breaks. She hadn’t realized that she could still cry, not until she feels wetness on her cheeks.

“It’s okay mother.” Assures the one with the yellow pendant fixed around its neck.

“We’re here now.” Says the third, the youngest presumably.

They are just flies. So many flies. But the eldest steps forward and when Alcina stoops down, she wipes her tears away. Gently, tenderly. Just like a real child.

Hesitantly, Alcina takes her tiny hand. The fly child peers up at her with such adoration, a bright and eager smile.  “You’re going to be alright, mother.” Declares the middle child. “You have us now.”

“You won’t be alone.” Adds the youngest.

And she believes them. She believes her...her children. Absently she finds herself wrapping her arms around them. She can feel the beating of thousands of wings and if she squeezes too tightly some of the flies break off. She can’t help but make a reflexive cringe.

They are unperturbed. The nuzzle their faces against her chest. Her children. The company she had longed for; her human dream finally fulfilled and yet she is apprehensive. They are flies, just an assembly of flies.

.oOo.

She is thankful that she never found it in her to exterminate them. They love her. They look up to her. They give the castle an aura that it had needed. They each have their own quirks. Their own hobbies. Their own peeves and dislikes.

Bela is quiet; a young woman of academia who finds entertainment in discovery and literature. She is a poet and a linguist.

Cassandra is an artist of her own.  She can pick a body apart in ways that Alcina herself could have never dreamed up. The girl has a knack for knives and a sharp tongue to match.

And Daniela is unpredictable. A feral little thing. She is difficult to tame, prone to making a perfect mess of Castle Dimitrescu. Her interests change day to day.

They are a handful. A handful and a helpful. Harvesting the village is easier with their help. Mealtimes and glasses of fine wine are richer now that they are here to make conversation with her. When they laugh with her and inquire, “mother?”

Sometimes she lets them fall asleep leaning against her. Sometimes she reads to them. Reads the stories that she might have read to that little boy had he not wilted. A part of the woman she once loved is still ever present and that part of her loves her little darlings dearly, as though they were born of her own womb and not a Cadou and hundreds of eggs.

They are flies. They are her children. They are her Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela.

She never liked flies but she loves her children.

#Lady Dimitrescu #Alcina Dimitrescu #Resident Evil 8 #Fanfiction #One Shot

[definegodliness]

With a cameo by Storm Louis at the end.

Text under cut:

Vision

A new leaf unfurls, shimmering Pristine and lime green, Steadfast, and doubtless in the Mathematical perfection of nature's Origami.

Pretty little thing.

All too easily overlooked In the short lived process Of its existence, as such.

Soon, this leaf, too, will turn Dark and dull, Yet sturdy and fully functional; Anonymous among its kin, so, swallowed By the entirety that is survival.

Yet now, still,

It is a vision of purity.

I dwell on this — my incessant Yearning purity; grounds keeper home In the graveyard Of my soul, Where candlelight burns In the darkest nights So that the eulogies, collected, May remain legible.

The tomes in here contain Dust-ridden truths, I rarely revisit, But when the wind decides To leaf through their pages I cannot help but glance a bit:

Hope —

Hope is a symbiont of the dead, It grows even on ossified bones And as such it needs not my attention To remain.

I ponder this.

Were I more reckless, I would add:

"What more, virulent And constricting hope becomes When given too much time under sun; How its roots then thirst and beg; How its tendrils latch at throats and Seek to squeeze out Just one tear To nurture the only fruits it may bear; Despair And dejection."

Please do not mistake the winter hardiness Of my resignation For the rot of cynicism.

Hope, symbiont of the dead, Merely stems from the past; It is the residual waste Of a moment, captured and recognized As a timeless truth For the length of its Experience.

However, such truths rarely live on for long In us, mortal beings.

They are malformed By our defining, and analyzing When we cease to live within them, and start Remembering.

Timeless truths are better left buried.

This is why I do not pick up the pen To ruin the tome with my temporary Imaginations.

One does not disturb the soil where Once stood a rose To once more see Its petals.

One can only respectfully maintain the earth Wherein it lays buried.

A leaf unfurls, Pristine and lime green; I dare not touch it due to its fragility.

What a pretty little thing.

This is what love Means to Me.

--- 14-2-2023, M.A. Tempels ©

#writersrecite #i'm doing my part #spoken word #poetry #audio poetry

[cognacdelights]

teenage fever

my outer banks masterlist

add yourself to my taglist

summary: with the aid of one too many alcoholic drinks, two life-long best friends confess their feelings for one another without using any words at all as the after party dwindles down around them. 

warnings: graphic sexual content. unprotected sex.

The air was thick with a nebula of nicotine and the sweet, yet musty, essence of marijuana as the laidback tempo of the R&B playlist echoed throughout the old, decrepit fishing shack. A legion of half-consumed beer bottles cluttered the kitchen countertops - standing tall beside the few crumpled, empty beer cans. Cigarette butts filled the several ash trays littered around the confined space, creating an unsightly mountain of burnt-out roll-ups that spilled over onto the stained, wooden surfaces. The small, anchor-themed clock which hung proudly on the wall beside the doorway read 4:13 - the incessant ticking drowned out by the calming bass of the R&B music. What had once been a raging, wild house party that had seen almost every troublesome teenager of The Cut had dwindled down into a relaxed, mellow affair, with only a few roisterous individuals remaining. 

Her crimson, platform heels lay discarded on the slate tiles just an arms-length away as her trim, scantily clad body entangled itself with his - her arms loosely coiled around the back of his neck. His jean-clad knee pressed between her sun-soaked thighs, her voluptuous hips moving in cadence with the slowed, sultry tempo of the music as they grinded sensually against his. Her movements were alluringly languid as he placed his bear-like palm against the small of her back, his touch searing her skin through the thin material of her sable, figure-hugging dress. Compelled further into his warm, enticing embrace by the electrifying pulses of energy surging through her petite, intoxicated silhouette, she eliminated the remaining gap between their two synchronised bodies. 

As she peered upwards through her dark, mascara-coated lashes, her hazy, inebriated eyes met with his. The taste of his spirit-laced breath consumed her as their faces hovered just a mere millimetres apart - both hesitant to invade no man’s land; both tentative in escalating their life-long friendship. It was the Don Julio which ultimately coerced the two longing, tipsy teens to take the plunge into the unknown; their soft lips molded together in a leisurely, timid manoeuvre, the ever-lasting agave flavour of the citrus liquor spurring them on in their ardent embrace. Her naturally long lashes grazed against the blush-tinted skin of his cheeks as her eyes fluttered closed - allowing herself to revel in the fervent passion radiating between them. 

Her scarlet-painted fingertips fiddled with the dishevelled ends of his tousled, sandy locks, his own paw-like palms settling on the entrancing, bodacious curves of her hips. Gently, he applied pressure - pushing her heated, panty-covered core against him as she continued to sensually sway to the music. The friction he had created between them was intensely euphoric, but not quite enough to satisfy the zealous yearning which had erupted in the depths of his stomach. Every inch of his being longed for more - more of every intoxicating sensation he could elicit; his hands hankered for the warmth of her exposed skin against his and his lips thirsted for the exhilarating concoction of flavours that she held.

Eventually, he tore his chapped, rose-tinted lips from hers, peppering several tender, affectionate kisses along her pronounced jawline as his lascivious tongue dared to explore more. His lustful lips found shelter in the crook of her neck - placing delicate, loving kisses in the crevices. Relishing in the sweet, floral aroma of her perfume, he began to gently suck on the golden tones of her complexion. She cocked her head to the side ever so slightly, allowing him full, unrestricted access as his pointed teeth grazed lightly over the wet patch of skin. He placed a handful of fragile, rapture-filled kisses over the sensitive area, satisfied by the possessive imprint he had left, before retreating back to the comfort of her lipstick-coated lips; it was almost as if his lips were in a state of withdrawal.

His thin, sinful lips landed upon hers once again, but this time it was different. His tongue valiantly forced its way into her unsuspecting mouth in an act of absolute dominance, yet the motion was devoid of all aggression - more abundant in a deep-rooted craving for intimacy. She contentedly welcomed his exploring tongue with her own, tauntingly caressing it as their lips continued to interlock together in a melodious synchronisation. The heat of his clammy, calloused palm sent an invigorating rush of adrenaline through her dainty, drunken frame as it came to rest against her upper thigh. With his audacious fingers breaching the thin, cotton boundaries of her bodycon dress, he squeezed the delicate skin.

A symphony of hoots and whistles erupted from the distance of the open, arched doorway - as their beloved, closest friends observed their erotic display of affection. The girlish, innocent giggles of Sarah Cameron and Kiara Carrera sounded above the slow, sensuous pounding of the bassline, as their four friends proceeded to throw what she could only assume were condoms at the entranced pair. As the cold, foil wrappers hit against her arched back, she nonchalantly retrieved an arm from behind his neck, gesturing her disapproval of their actions with a stern, rigid flash of her middle finger; they were far too embroiled in one another’s wistful, lovelorn tenderness to acknowledge their friends’ teasing behaviour.

Half in attempt to shield her petite, hour-glass silhouette from the barrage of condoms and half out of pure, carnal desire to escalate their amorous, salacious encounter, the shaggy-haired blonde maneuvered their entangled bodies around - his evident erection pressing comfortably against the sensitive, sun-drenched skin of her thigh. As her scorching, bare skin fell against the cool wood of the kitchen cabinets, a soft gasp surpassed her swollen, plump lips. Delicately, his dauntless hands hooked themselves beneath the shapely curves of her ass, pushing her hypnotic hips upwards onto the beer-stained countertop - prompting the hasty departure of their on-looking friends.

His wandering fingertips slinked towards the boundaries of her soaking heat, encroaching on the black, patterned lace of her thong. Parting their magnetised lips to suck in an unsteady breath of air, she felt his experienced thumb slip beneath the damp material and trace pleasureful figures of eight against her clit. Heat radiated from her sodden core as she instinctively threw her head back at the electrifying sensation. His lips once again found the sensitive skin of her neck, sprinkling adoration-filled kisses along the glistening highlight of her collarbone.

With a breathy moan escaping her velvet lips, she pushed her eager hips forward. A haughty, satisfied smirk etched itself into the foundations of his chiselled features at her pleading movements, attentively sliding his two poised fingers across the length of her folds - lathering them on her sweet nectar before slowly thrusting them into her core. Her desperate, ruby-painted fingertips reached for the buckle of his belt, fumbling slightly as they eased the worn leather free of the metal clasp. Effortlessly popping the button of his light-wash, denim jeans, she tugged down the sticking zipper.

Her gentle, delicate hands were warm against the sensitive skin of his hardened length as they found their way beneath the waistband of his boxers. An aroused, throaty groan bypassed his tequila-stained lips as his stubby, ring-clad fingers caressed the acute nerves of her core - the exhilarating friction of her soft, sultry palm working along his shaft smothering him. Short, staggered breaths and elated whines consumed the small, homely kitchen as they continued to tender to the other’s desirous yearns. Endearment clouded his ravenous, cerulean eyes as they bore directly and intently into hers - a content, adoring smile tugging at the corners of his thin, alcohol-soaked lips as he indulged in the affinity of their exchange.

Retreating from the shelter of her drenched heat, he brought his juice-soaked fingers to his lips - his mischievous tongue lapping up every stray droplet of her honey-like essence. A subconscious whimper vibrated from the depths of her throat, her hypersensitive nerves neglected by the sudden loss of contact, craving his expert touch once more. His covetous thumbs arched beneath the meagre string of her lace-detailed thong, guiding the damp material down her smooth, tanned thighs. As the damp, patterned fabric reached her dainty ankles, the bewitched blonde crumpled her panties in his calloused palm - carelessly stuffing them into the back pocket of his skinny-fit jeans.

Pushing the tight waistband of his boxers down, he released his stiff, poised dick and positioned himself at her sodden entrance. Slowly, sensually, he pushed himself into her heat. Her lipstick-coated lips entrapped his once again as they echoed an unholy harmony of moans and groans between them, his pleasureful movements remaining languid and gentle. Devilishly, the salacious girl captured his swollen, chapped bottom lip between her teeth, tugging gently at the sensitive skin, cautious not to draw blood. A primal grumble crawled out from the deep, dark depths of his throat as he reconnected their tequila-laced lips for what seemed to be the hundredth time that night.

As the seductive, soulful music faded from one song to the next, he skilfully adjusted the pace of his lascivious movements to the laid-back tempo of the familiar chorus. Her ardent hips followed suit - rocking in a heavenly, sultry cadence with his. The off-white cotton of his t-shirt wrinkled under her tight, careless grip, her pointed, vermillion-painted nails digging themselves into his clothed shoulders. Arching her back and smoothly thrusting her voluptuous hips forward in harmony with his, his pulsing length filled her aching core to capacity - eliciting an ungodly, sensuous whine from her luscious, spirit-laced lips.

His slow, seductive movements had taken her by surprise. The naturally radiant, sun-kissed girl had always expected the muscular, sandy-haired boy to be a rampant, raunchy lover; from the kink-fuelled, salacious scandals with worse-for-wear tourists that he often reminisced on, to the smutty, unchaste fantasies - in which he took the starring role - that frequently plagued her wicked brain, she had come to the affirmation that her troublesome, unruly life-long best friend was an untameable animal in the bedroom. However, the sumptuous, indulgent moment she had found herself living in was quite the contrast to her initial opinions of the stiff-jawed blonde. This was an intimate, passionate, emotional affair - and he meant every second of it; he meant every sensual touch, every lascivious kiss, every amorous thrust.

Their leisurely, romantic pace that heeded to the rhythm of the mellow R&B playlist meant that their attentive, enamoured embrace had continued for a prolonged period of time - much to the dismay of their friends. As the steamy, classic naughties ballad dissipated into the early hours of the mid-summer morn, a slightly more up-tempo, modern beat resounded through the old fish shack. Once again, he adjusted his affectionate thrusts, speeding up ever so slightly. Easing into his new found pace, the athletically-built boy with the tousled, shaggy, blonde hair felt his climax nearing. His calloused fingertips gripped on to the curvatures of her concave waistline out of instinct - forcing back the tidal wave of ecstasy he was so desperate to let overwhelm him, refusing to concede before her.

It was merely several, indulgent thrusts later that the sensitive walls of her sodden core clenched around his painfully hard length, the tell-tale, familiar knot of her high tightening in the pit of her stomach. As she forcefully rolled her bodacious hips against his, she began to unravel around his bulging span. Her manicured, ballerina-shaped fingertips gripped firmly onto the varnished pine of the countertop, her spine arching almost unnaturally as her head threw itself backwards in a subconscious reaction to the immense pleasure which surged through her alcohol-laced veins. A harmonious medley of curse words, enraptured whimpers and sensuous moans surpassed her heavenly, sumptuous lips.

As the petite, hazy-eyed girl continued to ride out her euphoric apex, the searing skin of her bare hips meeting with his own forced him to cave in. His valiant efforts to suppress his intense, building orgasm had been thwarted by the unholy slurs which rolled so effortlessly off her salacious tongue - feeling himself erupt inside her sensual heat. Shortening his cadenced, rhythmic thrusts, he dared not pull his aching length completely out. Her acute, hypersensitive nerves could feel his pleasureful load filling her core - the heightened pace of his hips dwindling into nothing as he finished.

Eventually, he pulled his juice-drenched length from the comforting warmth of her heat, tucking himself back into the fabric constraints of his boxers. An adoring, content smile contorted her doll-like features as her clouded doe eyes peered upwards through her thick, mascara-coated lashes into his admiring, indigo orbs. She could feel the blended concoction of their endearing embrace seeping from her throbbing, saturated folds - onto the bare, exposed skin of her thighs - but she didn’t care. She simply placed her swollen, plump lips on his once more, enrapturing the breathless, teal-eyed boy in yet another tender, passionate kiss, her delicate palms resting themselves on the broads of his defined, burly shoulders.

#jj maybank #jj x reader #jj maybank smut #jj x reader smut #outer banks smut #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader imagine #jj imagine #jj maybank imagine #jj #jj smut #obx #outerbanks #outer banks #obx imagine #obx smut #obx fluff #pogues #pogues smut #pogues x reader #jj one shot #jj maybank one shot #outerbanks imagine #john b routledge #john b #kiara carrera #kiara #pope heyward #pope #sarah cameron

[labyrinth-runner]

can we be alone for a bit? For obi wan x reader, please? 👉👈 thank you

Title: A Royal Flush

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: None

Summary: Reader is a Queen returning home after war. Much has changed and she must learn whether she will change for it, or fight against it.

I know I use this gif a lot, but he just looks so soft in it. Thank you, @coredrive​ for posting it because its truly lovely.

Because I’ve watched way too much Bridgerton, I shared a yearning list, so here’s some yearning. Thanks, @the-mandalorian-clone-lover for putting up with my incessant questions.

The battle had been long and tiring, but eventually it was won. You’d lost so many, and there were still so many more wounded as he siege to take back your kingdom came to an end. Your kingdom was yours again, free from the clutches of your enemy. Now, you were to negotiate a deal with the Republic, represented by the man at your side. Their assistance for yours. It was simple enough after the months of fighting, but you knew the fight was far from over. While you knew you owed the Republic everything, you also knew that some of your court would not feel the same. That would be another battle entirely.

Walking up to the castle across the bridge felt odd. The scorched earth on either side of the path left an acrid smell that stung your nose. It mixed with the singed smell of your dress from where you’d narrowly avoided becoming one with the Force multiple times over the course of the week as you traveled with the warriors to rid the world of the last few holdouts. Your knight and protector had insisted this was no place for you, but you had reminded him that you were not defenseless, knowing your way around a weapon.

“It will be a while before the earth is viable again,” you commented to Master Kenobi as you walked side by side.

“Unfortunately,”  he agreed with you, “We can only limit the damage so much.” His brow furrowed as he struggled to ask you something.

“Speak, Master Kenobi,” you bade him, “You know I’ll always listen, even if I don’t take your words to heart.”

“Are you nervous?”

“About coming home to my people?” you asked as you stopped to look up at the palace in front of you. It was large and imposing, towering well above the landscape and leaving you swathed in its shadow. The shadow of the crown that had always been heavy on your head, but even more so now with the deaths of your people on your hands because you had been too naive. “Yes. I’d be foolish if I didn’t worry about them blaming me for all of this.”

“Why would they blame the one person who fought the hardest for them?” Obi-Wan asked incredulously.

“Because at the end of the day, they were left defenseless. I should have known that the kingdom would be invaded. I was too naive to think that being neutral could have spared us. In the end, the people suffered. My people suffered,” you said emphatically. “Now, come on, my people have been waiting long enough.”

You walked faster, pushing your way into the throne room where the rest of the court waited. A hush fell upon the room as they all turned to look at the intruder. There was a man in your seat. You set your chin in a hard line. 

Obi-Wan came to a stop behind you as you started to stride forward. One by one, heads bowed down and knees bent for their fierce warrior queen. You were covered in soot and ash, and your hair was falling out of the intricate braids they had been woven into, but you were relentless. Your footsteps were confident and sure as they carried you back towards your throne. The man vacated, stepping to the your left. You sat, looking out over the awed assembly.

“Welcome home, your Majesty,” your advisor to said.

You leveled him with a gaze, “It is good to be back at court. However, our presence brings with it some conditions.” You looked up at Master Kenobi, your lip tugging up ever so imperceptibly at the sight of him. “We owe the Republic our lives, and that is a debt we intend to pay.”

Master Kenobi held your gaze until you broke it, turning to address the people around you. “We will have a treaty drafted by the end of the week. That will give the troops enough time to recover before they are sent somewhere else.”

“They have earned that much,” a man said from the doorway as he strode over to you.

You raised a brow at the man, having never seen him before. “And you are?”

“Kane Gridlow, your Majesty,” he said, dipping into a low bow at the foot of your dais.

You cast a look on your advisor who cleared his throat. “Lord Gridlow has kept the court together in your absence, your Majesty.”

Your eyes flashed with slight anger and hurt that some man could give your people the strength you could not. “Well, we thank you for your service, then,” you said as you sat up straighter.

“Your Majesty, I was hoping to get a moment of your time,” Lord Gridlow murmured, looking up at you imploringly.

A pit of dread formed in your stomach as you caught your advisor’s eye and nodded. “Leave us.”

The court filed out, jostling Obi-Wan with it and you were left with your advisors and the man who had ruled in your place.

“State your purpose, Lord Gridlow,” you ordered with a dangerously even voice.

He shared a look with your advisor. “Your Majesty, the advisors and noblemen seem to think that it would be best for the stability of the kingdom if we wed.”

You almost scoffed. Almost. Until you noticed that your advisor looked gravely serious. “You wish to corner a queen into a marriage.”

“We just think-”

“Not we, you,” you corrected. “We are the acting authority.”

“You were absent.”

“We had no control of that,” you shot back. “And we do not appreciate being spoken to like this.” You stood up and came to stand in front of him. “We will not be forced into things. Not by our enemies, and certainly, not by you. Dismissed.”

“Your Majesty-”

“Dismissed.” You repeated.

Lord Gridlow hung his head, giving you a mocking bow. “As you wish, your highness.”

Your eyes narrowed at his retreating figure. How dare he insult you by using the wrong honorific? Rounding on your advisor, you saw him wither in the crosshairs of your eyes.

“Your Majesty, I can explain-”

“Oh, can you? You can explain how you were willing to just give us out to the first nobleman that came knocking? Is that it? You were going to whore your queen out for the good of the kingdom?” You asked, voice rising in pitch. It was rare that you were mad, but beneath it all, you were hurt.

“The nobles will not support a treaty if you are alone,” your advisor simply stated.

You looked down at your folded hands, feeling quite young despite the power you held. You dropped all pretense and all formality, becoming the woman in a man’s world who was the only heir. The only option. You’d always known that they had never really wanted you, but you never quite felt that until now. You swallowed the lump in your throat and gave him a sad look, “I fought for you. I only ever ask that you should do the same.”

You gave him a nod of dismissal before crossing over to your balcony to look out over the courtyard. Leaning on the rail, you took in the people milling about below. They were preparing for a ball to mark your return. Perhaps they also thought it should mark the announcement of your betrothal as well. You looked up to the heavens as if asking for strength to get you through it all. You’d always told yourself that you would do what must be done for your people, that in the grand scheme of things, you were but one, the sole guardian of the many.

The weariness in the people passing by was apparent upon second glance. Young women wore the worry lines of widows who wondered how to feed their children. Children laughed in sparing doses, the knowledge of the world weighing down their mirth with the absence of their innocence. They looked how you felt: tired. The campaign had been hard on all, but on your people most of all, you could now see.

Yet, could you commit yourself to that odious man who had prostrated himself in public, yet dared to berate you in private? Was that the man you were expected to grow old with? Your eyes fell to the statue of your father in the middle of the square. He had married your mother for love, turning down multiple arrangements before you could even talk in order to give you a fighting chance at the same. A sigh passed your lips at the realization that it was all in vain.

“If I could choose,” you murmured wistfully as you looked down at a young man in a brown robe who had stooped to smell a rose, “I’d choose you.” 

As if sensing your gaze upon him, he turned to look up at you. The action dropped his hood from his face, shining the sun on his auburn hair. You gave him a sad wave and his brow furrowed in concern. His eyes held a question in them that you couldn’t bring yourself to answer. You never wanted to lie to him, but you couldn’t burden him with the truth either. Casting your eyes down, you backed away, retreating to your rooms in order to finally take the bath that you should have had days ago but never seemed to have the time for.

You dismissed your attendants as soon as the water was filled. Having spent months on the battlefields, you had learned to take care of yourself. You knew it was an honor to be a part of your retinue, but right now all you wanted to do was be alone with your thoughts. 

Lazily, you took your wash cloth and ran it over your skin. With your eyes closed, it reminded you of the time you had cut your arm during a fall and Obi-Wan had cleaned you up. He had teased you for being so stubborn and actually fighting, telling you that he never met a monarch with a death wish before you. He had been so gentle with you that night, kind. A kindness you might never know again. Slowly, you let yourself slip below the water, exhaling a barrage of bubbles as you opened your eyes. The light refracted along the water, glinting off the gilded tub. Only when your lungs started to burn did you resurface, sputtering water as you did so. Your lungs heaved at your stupidity, and you soon found that you were crying as more water droplets splashed into the water. You looked down at your reflection in the water and threw the wash cloth into it, sending ripples through the water. Taking a steadying breath, you got out and wrapped yourself in a towel before heading into your room to be dressed.

“Your Majesty, it is good to see you,” a voice murmured as you sat down at your vanity. You met the owner’s eyes in the mirror and smiled.

“Not as good as it is to see you,” you reassured her.

“It’s been too long,” she squealed before going to find you the perfect gown. “But, I must ask, what is the story of the man who came in with you?”

You turned on your stool to face her, “Liz, he’s off limits. Their kind don’t take wives.”

“He doesn’t look at you like he’s off limits,” she said coyly.

You felt your face heat up at her words. “It doesn’t matter now,” you sighed sadly, “They wish to marry me off to that Lord.”

“What they wish and what you do should not always be the same thing,” Liz said pointedly. “They do not have to live with all the consequences of that decision. You do. You are their Queen. Make your decision, and they will surely fall in line.”

“They won’t support the treaty otherwise,” you replied. “With the Republic at war, they need safe passage through the kingdom. They helped us defeat their enemies on our soil. It only makes sense that we should pay that good will forward.”

“I’m sure they’d understand if you couldn’t,” Liz replied.

“I gave them my word,” you replied. “I need him- them, I need them to know that means something.”

Liz looked down at the dress in her hands and sighed. “Well, should this be your last night of freedom, then we will make it your best. We will make you look so good that they will still believe in the divine right of kings.”

You cracked a smile at that, “Well, I’d certainly like to see you try.”

“As the old monks used to say, ‘do or do not, there is no try,’” Liz winked as she set about to work a magic that was often unappreciated by other nobility, but not lost on you.

By the time she was done, you were exquisite. Your hair was a series of intricate twists and braids that cascaded in all the right places to frame your face. Your dress sparkled in the light as you tentatively ran a hand down the intricate beadwork. It was white and pure. You looked like an angel that had descended from the heavens specifically to save them all. To add further evidence of your right to be there and the fact that you and you alone were their cause for freedom, Liz nestled your crown atop your head.

“Lest they forget who their true ruler is,” she remarked.

“I had almost forgotten how heavy this was,” you mused.

“Heavy the head,” Liz murmured as she pinned it in place, a hairpin held in the corner of her mouth as she added, “If he doesn’t confess tonight...”

“Lord Gridlow?” you asked in confusion as she finished and stepped back.

“No, Lord Kenobi,” she said pointedly.

You blushed, “Obi-Wan isn’t a lord.”

“Obi-Wan? You use first names, your Majesty?” she asked with a waggle of her eyebrows.

You shook your head slightly at her as you got up from your seat and slipped into your shoes. “Titles mean nothing on the battlefield. All are equal when on the end of a blade or a blast.”

“Do you view him as an equal?”

You looked at the crown on your head, “Yes. I do believe I do.”

Music drifted up the corridor from the ballroom down below. 

“I believe that is my cue,” you sighed as you went towards the doors.

Your footsteps were light as you followed the melody, but your heart was heavy. As you came to a rest at the top of the stairs, you could see the party down below. Murmurs ceased and heads bowed in deference as you floated down the stairs. All eyes were on you, but your eyes scanned the crown for a familiar brown cloak. Disappointed when you could not find it, you reached the bottom of the stairs, casting your gaze to your feet.

“Your Majesty, may I have the honor of your first dance?” a lightly accented voice inquired.

Your eyes flicked up to the owner and you allowed yourself to smile. “I believe the honor would be all mine.”

Gently, you placed your hand in his. He held it like it was the most precious thing in the world as he led you towards the middle of the ballroom. He bowed. You curtseyed, and then you danced.

“I almost thought you didn’t come,” you murmured, “I hardly recognized you.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve worn clothes like these,” he admitted with a smirk that didn’t meet his eyes.

You wanted to melt into him, but instead you just allowed yourself to be as close as was proper.  “You look very handsome, but uncomfortable.”

“I could never hide anything from you, could I?” he asked softly. “And neither can you hide from me. Darling, what happened earlier?”

You wanted to admonish him for the use of that pet name. After all, it wasn’t proper, but you loved the way it rolled off his tongue. He hadn’t always called you darling. It was a term of endearment that you had earned about halfway through the campaign on one of the instances you had almost died. A blast from a canon had knocked you clear off your feet and into the dirt. Your ears had been ringing and you could feel the blood trickling down your face from where you had hit a rock. In a minute, he had been at your side, begging you to hold on.

Darling, stay with me.

“Darling?” Obi-Wan asked.

You blinked, refocusing on his face. “Hmm?”

“Stay with me, I know I’m a horrible dancer, but it’s almost over,” he grinned, but his eyes showed concern.

“There’s nothing horrible about you,” you replied as the song came to an end.

He was left speechless in the wake of you as you withdrew to mingle with people you hadn’t seen in over a year who you were certain could not care less about your presence here tonight.

In your bones, you had known this wouldn’t be the triumphant coming home that you wished it would be, but that still didn’t make it sting any less. An inconvenient queen without a King. That was all you were.

Lord Gridlow asked you for a dance and you could not refuse, however every spin around the room had you searching for Obi-Wan’s eyes. When you deemed it proper to take a break, you went to stand by the sidelines as you sipped a drink.

“He seems dreadful,” Obi-Wan murmured as he stood next to you.

“They would have him be King,” you replied absentmindedly.

Obi-Wan blinked for a moment at your indifferent attitude to it all. “Does the Queen not have a say?”

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye as you felt the warmth of his hand next to yours. Your smallest finger brushed against his. His hand moved to envelope yours, but then you remember not only where you were, but also who you were. You cleared your throat and prepared to make your rounds. “Excuse me.”

After the lukewarm reception you received from the majority of your nobles, you began to feel the weight of your crushing reality. You had won the war for them, but in doing so had lost their respect. You wanted to laugh, but most of all, you needed air. 

It felt wrong to stand in the stuffy high society after experiencing the hardships of war. There were villages that were decimated, children who starved, and yet here they were practically throwing wealth out your gilded windows in your absence. They wouldn’t notice you were missing, not with Lord Gridlow taking care of their interests and protecting their investments. The nobles, you realized, were content to watch the world outside the palace burn so long as the flames stayed far away. Hell, you thought, they might as well use it to warm themselves without remorse as well.

Slipping out of the crowd, you made your way into the night. The air cooled your skin and filled your lungs. You wanted to scream. You weren��t cut out for this. Not anymore. You stood on your balcony as you looked up into the starry night. A feeling of disappointment settled in.

“You can see less of the constellations from here,” Obi-Wan mused as he came to stand beside you.

“Light pollution,” you replied, remembering how clear the sky was when you slept under it during the campaign.

“Can we be alone for a bit?” he asked softly.

A breath of relief passed through your lips, “Yes, please. I need a moment.”

A small smile tugged at his lips as he nodded, offering you his arm. You wanted to laugh at the formality of it all as you slipped your arm into his.

“You followed me,” you murmured as the two of you started down a path towards the hedges.

“I’m always following you, darling. If you blaze so many trails without looking where they lead, then I have to,” he said with a small smile.

“You shouldn’t say such things,” your face burned at his comment. The two of you came to a stop next to a fountain. It was all perfect. The stars above, the hedges around, the faint music heard over the bubbling of the fountain. He was your prince and this was your fairy tale. Except it wasn’t. You knew it couldn’t be. 

You settled on the edge of the fountain, taking the crown off entirely and holding it in your hands. “It’s so silly,” you murmured. “One circlet of precious metals and stones represents my station.” You tossed it into the fountain.

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened and he pulled up his sleeve to fish it out.

“Are you alright?” he asked, knitting his brow as he reached up to fix your crown on your head.

“Do you ever doubt your duty?” you asked him, turning to face him, to study him as he answered.

“I fight for freedom and peace,” he replied. “There can’t be a nobler cause than that.”

“What about love?” you asked softly.

“I suppose at the root of it all, I fight for love,” he admitted, looking at you as if in a new light. “Do you fight for love?”

You paused, drowning in the depths of his eyes. You fought for the kingdom that you so dearly loved, and now you found yourself willing to stop that fight when it came to the person that you loved. 

Averting your gaze, you murmured, “No. Not always, at least. Sometimes I fight out of duty.” Like now, you thought, as you were fighting your feelings for the man in front of you.

“Where is this coming from?” he asked softly, tilting your chin up to look at him. His eyes searched yours as he looked for meaning.

You licked your lips, feeling your mouth go dry. Your cheeks burned under the scrutiny of his gaze. 

There had always been a pull towards Obi-Wan Kenobi. It was a pull that made men follow him into uncertain situations. It was a pull that made conquered villages want to thank him. Now, that pull was making you want to leave your kingdom behind for him if that were the only way for you to be with him. 

His gaze flicked to your lips as you leaned into his hand on your cheek, allowing yourself the comfort of his touch for the briefest of moments as you closed your eyes. In that moment, you could see it all: the two of you, together, happy and laughing arm in arm as you took on the world. A dream that could not be. His nose bumped yours and you pulled back. 

“I... I can’t do this,” you breathed out, feeling like your lungs would collapse in on themselves. Getting up, you raced to get away, but a hand came around your arm to stop you.

You swallowed, looking up at the owner as his eyes pleaded with you. There was a fire there that threatened to consume. It spread through his body and into yours where you touched, licking up your arms and sending a wave of shock through your spine. Your eyes locked into each others and in that moment you made a decision.

Regardless of what happened after the dust settled in your kingdom, you wanted to know Obi-Wan in a way that only a few did. 

Your hands slipped up into his hair as you pulled him into you, crashing your lips against his. His arms encircled you, pulling you flush against him as he kissed back with the same ferocity as he fought. You wanted to lose yourself in this moment, to hold onto it forever, but you knew it could not last. It was the nature of a moment. They were short, fleeting. To hold onto singular moments was to miss the grand scheme of life, but moments, too, were pivotal. You could see where things had changed between the two of you so very clearly now. In hindsight, it was, in fact, a gradual fall. A domino effect of hundreds of tiny moments that led to the two of you crashing together like two planets on an inevitable course of collision. You could only imagine what wreckage would be in its wake. Should people find out, you thought. So they just mustn’t find out. You pulled back, knowing that to continue to prolong this moment would only risk further exposure. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened at the sudden retraction. The crown felt heavy on your head.

“Darling-” he started to say, reaching back for you.

You ran. 

#obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan x reader #obi x reader #fem!reader

[delonidies]

Incessant as the tide, 

Under the watch of the moon,

And roses burn,

with passion, yearn.