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monster-disaster · 6 months

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[incubus] Darian

incubus!Darian x human!Reader Good to know: ass play, oral (f receiving)

Summary: You go to Darian for a massage session.

You can feel the warmth of the ground even through your flip-flops. The bright rays of the sun burn the back of your neck, caressing down on the soft line of your shoulders. The thin layer of sweat on your heated skin shines under the hot globe at the top of the clear blue sky. Even the thin towel around your body seems too much in this weather. Your fingers tighten on the soft fabric to keep it in place while you wait for the door in front of you to open.

Your gaze turns from the small hut to the pools nearby. The gentle ripples of the water glint as the humans and monsters move around in it. You can hear the splashes and laughs.

The plants and exotic, colorful flowers bloom in the heat all over the resort. Their scent mixes with the dryness of the desert. The dunes stand tall in the distance.

Your attention snaps back to the door when you hear it open. The creak is quiet and light. Your gaze meets with a bare chest first before dragging your eyes up to a smiling face. It's mischievous and dangerous. His dark blue lips seem soft around the pearly whites of his teeth. His tongue peaks up for a second as he licks one of his canines. They are pointed but not like the vampires'.

"Hello," you break the silence when you find your voice. His dark eyes crinkle with amusement at the hoarseness of your voice. "Hey," he greets you, stepping back from the door to give you enough space to enter. "You are Amanda, I believe?" "Oh," you gasp, reaching out your hand. "I'm Amanda. It's nice to meet you." "Darian at your service," he says, holding your hand in his much larger one. His touch is warm and firm. His lips are soft as he leans down and kisses the back of your hand.

You thought the small hut would give you protection from the heat, and even though the air is much better here, the presence of the incubus makes it hard for you to breathe. His tall form hovers above you, and your gaze drops on his nipples every now and again. They are pierced. The small silvery bars glint under the dim lights.

"Are you ready then?" He asks, and when you nod, he continues. "You can get comfortable."

He turns his back to you, busying himself with something to give you a moment to relax and settle on the massage table.

You take a deep breath from the air that smells like oils and candles as you drop the towel onto a chair nearby. You are bare and flustered. This is your first time being here, wanting a massage that can escalate quickly. The male hasn't even touched you yet, and you are already moist between your legs.

You lay down on the comfortable but firm table. Your chest presses against the leather, and your arms rest next to you. Your face is in the hole on the headrest.

"Just relax," Darian says after a few seconds. You see his legs when he moves closer. His feet are bare. "And tell me if something hurts or you want to stop." "Okay," you reply, forcing your body to relax.

He starts slowly. His hands are large and clever. He draws small circles on the back of your neck, going down to your shoulders and shoulder blades. His fingers dig into your skin, massaging your muscles and working through your body. Darian traces the line of your spine with his thumb, watching your every reaction.

"Is it good?" He asks even though he already knows your answer. The scent of your arousal is potent in the air. "Yes," you reply, groaning when he reaches a spot.

He isn't in a hurry. By the time he reaches your lower body, you are already relaxed and putty under his hands. You melt into the mattress, enjoying his long fingers gliding over your bare skin. He goes to your legs, working himself up on you from your toes and claves. He massages your muscles, drawing circles and long lines with his fingers. The incubus's palms are warm on your thighs. His thumbs go up on your inner thighs once, twice, three times.

You are excited, and you know he knows. You fidget every now and again, wanting more but not being brave enough to ask for it. The male smiles at your struggle. He can almost feel your pleasure on the tip of his tongue. You are sweet and needy.

"What do you want, Amanda?" He asks, smirking. His hands grope your ass cheeks, almost pulling them apart to see you better. "From the front," he continues, letting his thumb slip over your wet slit. "Or from the back."

A gasp leaves your lips when you feel his finger around your other hole. He draws small circles around it while he waits for your reply. Your legs pull apart automatically to give him more space.

"From the back," you reply breathlessly. Heat burns your cheeks at your answer, but Darian isn't shocked or repulsed by your wants. His eyes are on your hole, licking his lips.

"Good," he hums. "Very good."

He continues to massage you, teasing but never really reaching where you want him most. Long minutes pass by like this while your breathing gets heavier. The incubus feeds on your every moan and groan. He sees the small movements of your hips as you try to stay in place and not push your bottom up to him to take.

"Demanding little thing, aren't you?" He jokes. "Don't hold back, Amanda. Give me everything you can." "Please, Darian," you gasp out. "What do you want?" He asks, his voice coming from much closer than before. His breath is hot on the side of your neck. Goosebumps run through your skin that shines with a thin layer of oil under the dim, relaxing lights when he licks your pulse. His tongue is warm and wet. You can feel the tingling his saliva gives you immediately. It goes straight to your core. The table is probably already messy under you. "I want you to…" you gasp. He starts to go lower on your body. He kisses and licks your back, letting his saliva relax you even more. You tremble and fidget. You want to know how his tongue feels in your holes. "Yes?" He hums. "Do you want me to eat this ass?" He grips your asscheeks, squeezing and jiggling it. "Yes," you gasp. "Please." "I will devour you, do not worry," he promises, moving back to the end of the table to grab your hips and pull you up. Your bottom is in the air while your face is still on the bed. You can smell yourself on the fabric. Your pussy pulses at the familiar scent. "So pretty," he hums, opening up your lips to see your pussy better. You soak the tip of his fingers within a few seconds. "So warm and delicious." "Oh, god," you groan at his words, wiggling in his hold with anticipation. The vulnerability of your position does nothing but spike your arousal higher. You are open and ready in front of his eyes. The thick globes of your bottom shine with the oil he used on you, and your cunt drips, making a mess between your thighs.

You moan when his thumb grazes your puckered hole in circles, groping your cheeks with his other hand. He pulls on the flesh, opening up you more. Your whole body trembles under his touch. His hot breath fans over your pussy, making you pulse and flutter around nothing.

A muffled squeal escapes your tightened throat when you feel his lips closing around your clit. His plump lips are hot and firm around the small bundle of nerves as the male sucks on it. Every nerve in your body focuses on that small spot that makes you go crazy. He flicks his tongue against it, licking up on your slit and gathering your juices on his tongue. "Oh, fuck," you groan when he barely pushes inside your cunt and continues his way up between your cheeks. His fingers dig into your flesh for better access to your asshole. He is warm and wet on your skin. The male soaks you in his saliva until you can feel your tight muscles relax and his tongue dart inside your hole. Your eyes fall shut at the tingling feeling on your pussy and asshole. Just the effect of his saliva would be enough to make you cum, but the incubus demands more from you and your delirious body. He fucks his tongue into your hole, darting in and out until your muscles lose enough under his assault. "You are delicious," Darian groans, intoxicated by the energy that radiates from you in thick, heavy waves. His cock is hard in his white, loose pants. With every moan and scream that leaves your lips, his shaft jerks, leaking precum. "Fuck," you breathe out, panting. "I never want you to stop." Your words are followed by a deep, satisfied chuckle. "You are so sensitive," Darian hums. "Responsive," he adds, pressing his thumb into your hole. Even after his saliva-soaked rimming, you are still tight around his finger. You moan at the feeling of him filling you up. He pushes in and out of you a few times before changing his fingers to reach deeper inside you. You drip onto the bed, your cunt and ass flutter with pleasure. At this point, the sounds leaving your chest are constant noises in the small hut that smells like desire and sex. "The others probably can hear you outside," the male smirks down at you, watching you drooling onto the table. "They can hear you scream as I finger that sweet ass." "Darian!" You scream, shaking. When you almost reach your orgasm, he stops, and you fall back from the edge with a pained cry. "Not yet," he says. "I want to taste your cunt again." Your pussy clenches at his words. "Ohgodyes," you groan. "Please!"

The male's free hand that isn't busy with your asshole finds the wet slit of your cunt. He grazes your sensitive flesh lazily, feeling your plump pussy under his touch. Your clit throbs and aches with need. "So wet," he says. "I just want to drink you up. Slurp up every drop you can give me until I'm full and satisfied." "Ohplease," you gasp, gripping the edges of the table to keep your balance as you push your bottom back to him.

Your hoarse begging is the sweetest sound for his ears as he leans down and shoves his tongue into your pussy immediately. The world spins around you at the overwhelming feeling under Darian's pushes and licks. He fucks your pussy with his tongue, drawing small circles on your clit and still pushing inside your asshole. Your sweat mixes with the oil that you can't smell anymore under the thick scent of your arousal.

Darian devours your pussy while fingering your ass. You open up for him obediently, letting him explore your depths with two thick fingers.

"Don'tstopdon'tstop," you chant desperately, feeling the familiar spasm jerk your body and curling your belly into a tight knot. You shake and twitch as your climax blinds you for long seconds. Your asshole squeezes around his fingers, not wanting to let him go while your pussy gushes into his hungry mouth. Your heart beats in your ears, and your lungs burn for air. Sparks of pleasure burn your whole body as you come down from your high. Darian has to help you to lay back down on the table, still on your stomach.

"Can I write you up for another session?" He asks knowingly. His long fingers trace slow patterns on the back of your head, playing with the sweaty strands of your hair. "Please."

- Masterlist Mirage Resort Masterlist Patreon

#monster smut #monster boyfriend #monster romance #monster fucker #monster lover #incubus smut #incubus x human #incubus x reader #mirage resort #monster x reader #monster x human

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undercoverpena · 2 months

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a debt to pay

frankie morales x f!reader | masterlist

summary: you surprise frankie by coming home earlier than planned, answering the door a-la-fake-porn like, making him drag you to your bedroom.

warnings: smut. established relationship. praise kink. minor (and I mean brief) hand necklace. dirty talk. okay, frankie likes to talk kink. cowgirl riding for iwd. and the pizza goes cold (felt it needed a warning) wordcount: 4.8k an: to the wonderful, amazing @morallyinept - happy international women's day! i hope frankie treating you right is what you had on your bucket list for the day. but if not, just know you inspire me, and i'm grateful for your friendship every day. and ily.

Nothing should surprise him.

He’s seen a lot. A thing some could argue is far too much. In some ways, they’re right.

Frankie isn’t sure people who weren’t doctors should know the exact hue of red that blood is—shouldn’t know the pain from a bullet grazing his shoulder, catching flesh and ruining cloth.

Still, he found himself continually surprised—especially the night he met you.

Falling into him, into his life. Disrupting his days from bleeding into the next, knocking things off their axis. Change should be scary, but it was all welcomed, just not in a way he’d ever thought he’d earned.

Somehow, amidst the chaos you brought with you, you also handed him harmony. You made the corners of his world slot together. Slowly, he even found himself anchoring down to brick and mortar, and calling it ‘home’ for the first time since he’d originally left his for battles and fighting.

In time, even as months became a year, your things found their way to be with his, Frankie had assumed he’d seen everything. Happy to accept it, the routine, the complacency. He looked forward to lazy Sunday mornings with his fingers inside yours, toes curling; Thursday nights in a bar, watching a line appear on your brow as you scoured your brain for an answer to the trivia question.

He liked it, adored it.

And then you opened the front door for him.

Flooding him in golden light that makes him squint, before he finds himself reminded, quickly, he hasn’t seen it all. Not even by a margin.

Because you're not supposed to be here, due back tomorrow.

Your voice on the phone earlier muted, low, "I miss you, Morales," as he stares at your untouched, clean mug on the kitchen counter.

Yet, here you stand. All veiled in barely anything except bits of lace and sheer, a sight his eyes aren't able to tear away from even if he tries. Not even the dryness in his throat or the warmth emanating from the pizza box he's holding (attempting to sear his skin to his palm) is bothering him.

"Bab—"

His words are cut short, ended.

"Oh," you gasp. “Let me take that; and how much do I owe you?”

On registering your words, his eyes narrow, staring.

Doing so from one eye to the next. It taking a while, brain firing, ticking over, taking precious seconds as he remains out in the cold and you stand in the warmth in barely fucking anything, before it dawns on him. Crawls up over him as realises what it is you’re pretending to do, what you're reenacting.

Lips lifting, curling into one of his cheeks he steps in through the doorway. Almost over the threshold, easily able to take another step and close the door behind him.

But he waits.

Fingers twitch at his side, Frankie swallows, eyes dropping, tracing up the bare backs of your thighs as you bend over. Because fuck, you're something beautiful. A thing he always thinks, but finds himself reminded in waves as they crash into him.

Raising his hand, he itches across his chin, scratching along the wiry hair there as his gaze drops to the thin fabric protecting the last bit of your modesty as you and the bits of lace spread across your ass—

“I only have card—unless, I can pay you in another way?”

This shouldn’t be real.

You, like this. Him, standing like this. Not even as he steps inside, eyes trained on you—forgetting what words even mean—as you bend over.

A low exhale escapes, lips remaining parted as he fights to place his palm on the back of your thigh—stops himself from hooking a finger in the band of your underwear and dragging it down your thighs, bending you over the sofa, and burying his—

“I would really like to pay you in some way.”

Your words are almost lost due to the way his pulse has quickened in his ears, thundering, pounding. Feeling nothing but discomfort as his cock hardens against the zip of his pants as you bite down on your lip.

Brain quiet, no thoughts, all rendered silent by your appearance. Only able to shift enough to discard his cap, his jacket—folding it over the back of the sofa, eyes drawing out over you as he takes a step closer. Fingers finding his wrist, pinching, making sure this isn't some dream he hasn't woken up from.

But he can smell the present. The glorious cheese and several toppings, even if devouring the pizza are long forgotten. Because his eyes are raking over you, because how could he not—especially now as you straighten up, softly wiggling your hips.

"Is that so?” his voice rough, words catching. Letters clagging at the back of his teeth as though they attempted to glue to his mouth.

He's aware the three words are stained with want—a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips as you turn to face him, knowing it too.

But then, you always do know. Having long figured him out.

Like always, your eyes meet his in a way he can never explain, no words to articulate, to explain—just shared understanding dancing between the two of you.

“It’s only right,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, your fingers reaching out to trace his wire-stubbled jawline. “It’s bad of me to order food and not have the money to pay.”

He catches your wrist, gently but firmly. Pulling you close, steadying you with the other at your waist. Hearing it, the gasp, the briefest of indications you'd been caught by surprise, as he brushes his fingers against the fabric, all unable to stop themself. Half-needing to know what it feels like, as his thumb smooths out, taking his time—forcing the tension to buzz in the air as he leans closer. The distance you small, minimal—almost non-existent—as his breath hitches in his throat.

“You know what you’re getting into?” his voice a low growl, strained.

His gaze locked on you, watching you bite on your lower lip. “I really don’t like being in debt.”

It’s low, the way he replies. Short, two words: okay baby, before he’s leading, guiding, pecking kisses on your lips that likely leave you disorientated. It thrumming in his veins, the fact he gets to undo you, peel off the thin fabric you’ve likely had stuffed at the back of the closet—or even purchased with him in mind on your trip, thighs pressed together, wondering, finger and thumb stroking it as you imagine if he'd rip it off or slowly slide it from you.

He's not sure himself.

A part of him wishes to snap it from your frame in front of open blinds and undrawn curtains. To place his palm on your ass and taste your gasp on his tongue.

But another, the part which has missed you, wishes to wait. Make you wait. Wants to drag it out as long as humanly possible, have you soaked, wet, needy and desperate.

Because Frankie wonders if you've imagined this. Or, if you plotted it or it came to you randomly.

He gets an answer to it when the two of you are behind another door—one more private, intimate.

And it feels different in the bedroom than it did out in the living room.

The lighting being one of the reasons.

In here, you had opted for a darker shade when you’d both redecorated. Told him you preferred it, and had given him a shrug and a smile as you did. It had been a while later when he’d learned it was for him. For his eyes, for the sleep he struggled to grasp. It’ll help, I think? Saying it to him as though it wasn’t the kindest fucking thing someone had done for him.

But then, you are a waking dream.

A thing which has shaped itself and made itself real right before his eyes. Sculpted yourself from wishes and wants, shaping until you’re nothing but tangible and real.

He’s not afraid to tell you that either. Spends hours whispering it into your skin, pressing it close to your ear, repeating it over and over what perfection you are as you look at him with lust-blown eyes and lips parted around his name.

Frankie doubts it’s enough.

Least of all now, when you’re painted in soft white light, all gentle in how it rolls over you, as it becomes clear you’ve been home for a while.

You've drawn the blackout curtains—keeping out the evening—and you'd flicked the little bedside lamp on, doing its best to illuminate the room.

Swallowing, he traces his teeth over his tongue, wondering if you watched him reverse off the drive as you waited to make your move. Wondering if you're snuck in, trying not to disturb—dress yourself up, even if you never need to.

Because you’re a vision always.

The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Even angry because he's left his tools out or with disappointment etched into your eyes because he’s forgotten something, you’re radiant, a goddess on earth.

A thing he finds himself reminded of as he steps closer to you. Fingers fiddling at his side as begins to close the small gap.

If not for the way he’s looking at you, he might have missed the shiver running through you from anticipation—and he knows it because of his action, due to the hungry look he's sure he's sporting as he raises his hands to remove his outer shirt. Balling it up, throwing it, a thing already unremembered before it even leaves his fingers.

"Frankie..."

"I know, just keep your eyes on me."

And you do, ever obedient. A thing no one would believe him off outside of these four walls. Not when you hold yourself strong and are quick to bite back, all wit and quick-thinking in addition to your brains and beauty.

He hooks a finger under the edge of his t-shirt, dragging it up over his head as he hears it—that little hiss, that slight gasp you do as though you’ve not seen him topless a thousand times.

It feels good. Makes heat rise up his neck and flood his ears. For a moment, he forgets he’s not all that. Because he’s soft, a little thicker around the middle, it feels like a lifetime ago he was trained in combat. But the way you look at him makes him feel like that is the furthest thing from the truth.

Fuck, you make him hard. Make him want. Have done since the moment you’d given him half a chance.

It’s why he's quick to pull you close, desperate to slant his mouth over yours. All fiery, hungry. Aiming to claim and write out all the ways he’s thought of you in the days since you’d been away. How the hours of you being gone and the amount he’s missed you have all balled up into a thing that is now fuelling him—sketching his wishes and desires across your lips, against your tongue, burying them past your teeth so they sit in your throat.

He grasps. Likely leaves marks of it on the perfect skin that covers your waist—because his palm is calloused and worn. Reminders of holding things not half as soft as you. A flicker of guilt almost bubbles in his, as he moves to rest it on your cheek, cradling your jaw and ear in one hand, as he slides the other up your back.

You whimper against his teeth before fingers find the clasp—finger and thumb, pinging it open before he feels fabric scrape against him—then you moan.

His chest being greeted with nothing but warm, smooth bare skin—nipples pebbling in the cooler air before being pressed against him, before he cups the swell of one, thumb stroking, playing a pattern.

“Do this for all the deliveries you get?”

You snort, it blowing out in a breath. “Only the ones with packages I like.”

In the time you’ve been together, you’ve said worse, but this time makes cock harden more than it already is. It's almost uncomfortable, in how it presses against his zipper, wishing to be released, as his index and thumb stroke over your skin. Taking it on how warm you are, how impossibly soft—distantly feeling the tremors from your heart hammering into your ribs.

"Too good for me, you are." You hum, as he seals his mouth back over yours. “But, I don’t take card.”

Purposefully, he drops his hand, fingers dipping, tracing across the lace that covers your slit—finding damp fabric as his ears take in the note of a quiet escape leaving your lips. It trying to bury itself between your two mouths open, breathing it in.

“Guess you’ll have to swipe something else.”

He snorts, and buries it into your neck, teeth grazing your skin—nose catching the scent of your perfume. And the scent almost makes him dizzy from how his blood rushes south. How the moment he’d dropped you off for your flight, it had lingered in the cabin of his truck. Remaining there for the first few days you were gone, before slowly fading. Leaving.

Just there on the coat you'd hung near the door and the pillows he slept beside.

The ones he rested his head against when he’d heard your voice down the phone, tell me to touch myself, Frankie, I need you. His own hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it as you moaned his name, all those miles away, dripping instructions into your ear.

“You're such a dirty girl.”

You grin in response, fingers tugging at his curls—urging his mouth back to yours.

But, he instead traces his tongue over your pulse, circling it, all defiant in bowing to you as his teeth trace over his path. Instead, his finger dips, traces the crease of your thigh with his gaze never leaving yours.

“Missed you,” you whisper.

His hand slides between your thighs, cupping you—feeling the discernible wetness soaked through.

“Can feel it.”

You scoff, but he kisses it away.

Doing so in a similar way to how he makes you forget, how he pulls you from your mind and brings you to the present. It’s also swallowed by another gasp, one made because of his fingers finding the edge of the lace, hooking a finger underneath, sliding the pad of his thumb against your swollen nerves and slick entrance.

"So wet for me," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the whine you emit. “Feelin’ needy, querida?”

And he can’t take his eyes off you.

Practically locked in, watching as your lips part, and your hips try to shift for more friction. He’s too fearful he’ll miss it, all of it—a slight curve of a brow or a shimmer on your eyes. All things he thinks over when he dreams, when he wishes for replays of moments until the next day when he makes another that easily replaces a good one.

He likes how you say his name when he slips another finger inside you—how it falls all soft, breathless. So much intention in such a low sound. Even as you squirm, mouth pausing over his; little mewls and moans falling as he drags them in and out, all languorous, teasing.

“Want you.”

His thumb brushes over your swollen clit, a hiss escaping. “I know.”

You gasp his name, stifle a moan, teeth biting down on the underside of your lower lip as your lashes flutter. It’s your nails digging into his scalp that keeps him rooted, that keeps him focused—precise touches and strokes that have you rocking against him and keep him tuned in to you.

“Missed how you sound, baby. You're doing so well.”

You’re close. His words make your perfect pussy clench around him. A chorus of moans escaping as he curls them inside of you, finds that spot, the one which makes you babble and turns your muscles into liquid.

He likes that he can do this.

That he can read you and undo you. That it’s a thing he’s mastered when he’d thought he was far from learning. But then, he’d taken great pride in spending hours studying—in alternating between being on his back and on his knees.

And because of that, he knows when he halt you over the edge. Let you linger, not tipping.

Normally, he’d never tease, never make you want—but, today is a different kind of day as he stops. As he retracts his fingers and allows the fabric to lightly snap back into place.

It’s a different whine that cuts into the room then. It pours out from your lips as your eyes dig daggers into him—but, he knows you.

Knows it’s momentary and nothing he can’t fix. Able to hold his ground against it, digging heels into the floor—all refusing to be swayed by the storm rising inside of you, creeping across the formerly tranquil sea. Instead, his hands move to his belt—undoing it, metal clanging and zip sliding down as your eyes break from glaring to stare hungrily at the outline of his cock.

Watching as you walk backwards, the back of your knees hitting the bed before you’re perching—eyes holding his, tip of your tongue sweeping, tracing, as you move further up the bed. The one you’d picked—chosen.

He’s in a trance.

Under a spell when you hook a thumb on either side of your underwear.

It’s not smooth, it doesn’t glide or remove with ease—there’s even a slight kick out of your legs before it flings from your ankle. But, it makes him tighten the hold on his cock. Because it may not be a thing people ever see on TV or in movies, but then they never feel like this.

They don’t feel real, no rawness, no tangling of his trousers he has to step out of as he strokes himself, eyes flicking down to where you’re bare—where you’re glistening—

“Wanna ride you, Frank.”

He sucks in a shuddering breath, hands gripping the base of his cock.

It’s slow, the way he grazes his teeth over his lower lip. “S’that how you wanna pay me, yeah?”

“All I’ve thought about,” you reply, a soft smile greeting him. “Lemme ride you—wanna look at you, wanna watch you come, baby.”

Fuck. He doesn’t fight it.

Instead, letting you guide him, allowing you to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw when he kneels on the bed and groans—because it’s been a long day, querida; he’s not as young as he once was.

“Still know how to be good, though. Don’t you?” you smirk, open mouth leaving a trail down his neck, eyes flicking up when you leave one in the space above his heart.

Hands behind his head, admiring, doing nothing but watching you place your thighs on either side of his as your fingers wrap around his wrists. You pin him, pressing down—aching cock ignored, left to leak against his hip as your lips press to his, over and over, and over until he’s chasing for the feel of them when you pull back.

You only offer a gentle, "I missed you," against the air before you're lining him up, bearing down, sinking, taking him in as he paints a groan against your collarbone.

There’s a beat, maybe two.

Stillness, enveloped entirely by your walls as his mouth wraps itself around your breast, leaving it wet, coated in spit as he groans when you begin to move. Setting a rhythm, slow.

“Not rushing this, Frankie.”

He never wishes you to.

His hands gripping your hips, guiding you. Head falling back onto the sheets as his breath hitches, the sight of you atop him, breasts bouncing—owning him—is a sight he could never grow tired of. One he also never feels worthy of—but he won’t squander, won’t ruin.

Because you’re perfect, head to toe—pussy made for him as it strokes up and down and breaths leave your mouth in short pants.

“Y’so good to me, Frankie. So handsome.”

And he wants to tell you that it's you who is so good—who is nothing but colour in an otherwise grey world. That you’re sunshine and stars, moon and so much more goodness than he can list buried inside of you.

“Go on, querida,” he grunts through clenched teeth, hands squeezing your hips a little tighter as you move a little faster.

As you take a little more. It makes your eyes flutter, parts your lips—watching in nothing short of awe as you use him, as you lose yourself in the moment.

"That's it, just let go. Make yourself feel good.”

It’s something majestic when he sees you nearing release—when he feels you clench and flutter.

“Feels good, y’feel good inside me baby.”

“You need more?”

And you nod.

The green light—the sign—and he doesn’t wait a moment.

Just canting his hips up, making a rush of pleasure spread up his spine. He’s lightheaded, hot—practically dizzy with how good you feel enveloped around him.

The noises filling the air, your slick walls taking him and the sound of skin slapping against skin. It’s drowned by the noises he pulls from you, making a mess of you as your lust-blown eyes land on him.

It almost steals his breath. Thieves it.

Because you’re so pretty, wild—a fucking dream on top of him. All soft and shimmering with perspiration from how good you ride him as he’s bathed in whines, moans and cries of his name.

“You're perfect,” he says, hand clamping on your hip as he shifts, and angles himself before thrusting up into you—watching your eyes squeeze shut. “From your smile to your tight pussy. You know that?”

Studying you as you try to keep the same rhythm. But, you’re nearing your climax—nails digging into his shoulder and neck, half-moons etched there, and he hopes they take hours to disappear.

“Thought about you all week—”

You moan, eyes meeting his. “Thought about you too—missed you. Missed how good you make me feel.”

“Fucked my fist to the thought of you like this. Never thought—fuck—I’d come home to this, baby. Y’fuckin’ perfect.”

Your chin lifts, neck elongating as he spreads his palm across your side, fingers pressing, grasping.

“Love hearing how much you missed me,” he smirks, watching you—thinking nothing but revolving thoughts as to how pretty you look, what a picture you are on top of him—

Then he hears a slam. Heavy boots. A voice he'd rather not hear at all:

“Fish? You home?”

He stops, realisation slamming into him.

A hand drops to the bedsheets, grasping them so hard his knuckles pale, and throb—the bones in his hand aching as he fights shouting and blowing his load right there and then.

The plans he’d made—the ones he’d put into place because you weren’t supposed to be home—all coming back to bite him. How he hadn’t wanted to spend another night alone, another evening in front of the television until you could call and tell him about your day—when he should have. He really fucking should have.

And you’re frozen, hips halted in place—his other hand remaining on your waist, fingers digging in as you both tense, keeping movements paused.

He considers it, the two choices he has and decides.

Leaning more against you—half-grinning, whispering shh as you look at him full of alarm—suddenly aware of the impending actuality that you could be caught like this.

And, then you clench around him. He feels it. Head tilting and eyes narrowing as he takes you in.

"Dirty girl," he mouths, and you look bashful, shy—a look he rarely sees when you’re split open on his cock and the base of him is covered in your slick.

“Fish, where the fuck are you?”

“Getting changed Ben, be a min.”

Your pussy flutters around him at your shout, as he moves to not shout the words towards your ear—feeling you clamp down, muffling a whimper. Another falls as he lifts up further onto his palm, dragging his nose down the valley between your breasts.

He knows you’re close—teetering, a few more thrusts and you’d have unravelled.

Dropping his voice, low—barely above a whisper, “Shh, baby. Or, I won’t let you finish.”

“Fuck,” you hiss. “Can‘t, Frankie—I can’t.”

He nods, finger and thumb holding your chin because he knows you can. Seen you do so much, and been witness to what you’re capable of—before his hand guides your hips to begin moving, thumb drawing soothing circles on your hips.

“Touch yourself for me, querida. Be good for me.”

And you whimper, something akin to his name.

But he’s guiding his mouth away, shouting, “Beers in the fridge, Ben.”

His mouth presses to your chest, hearing the shout from his friend back, but it’s the sound of your fingers on your slick and swollen clit that he tunes into. That he wants to flood his ears. Watching you shiver, shake, tremble from it as you tighten around him, choking his cock as he begins to thrust in and out.

He could keep you here. Should do too.

One week has already been too long. A need to make up for it—to have you pay for all the times you ask him those questions you wait until the lights are usually out for and he’s about to tip over to sleep; have you press yourself against him, nudging your ass into him as you cuddle, but really you want his mouth between your thighs. He should edge you, hang you over the edge of pleasure and watch your eyes dig into him until your lips whisper the word beginning with P.

But he won’t.

Couldn’t.

He likes knowing he pleases you too much.

Your moan bringing him back to it. Seeing how your eyes are clenched shut, trying to keep it behind your teeth. Failing, expletives dropping in breaths before he raises his hand, pressing it to your mouth, muffling it, the moans you have to release before you shake your head and fold into him.

Suddenly, he wants to move the dresser and lock the two of you in here. Wants to let them watch whatever fucking sports they want out there, and him just watch you in here.

You’re his favourite sight, after all. Especially like this. Free, not overthinking or worrying, just present, feeling as good as you should—as good as he always wants you to feel.

And you deserve this.

Hearing the low please fall before he plants his feet down, angling his cock up into you as you let out a muffled gasp. His palm flat to your shoulder, steadying you, as he feels your fingers slide it to your collarbone, resting it, fingers an inch away from the base of your neck.

You flick your eyes open—smothering him in permission, in radiant sunshine and lust, before the softest fucking smirk graces your lips—as his own mouth chokes out your name.

“Not tonight.”

It’s less words, and more a noise.

Because he’s close too—it having risen close to the top. Toes clenched around the sheets, digging in.

But he wants to feel you come first. And it’s there—that familiar sign. Lashes fluttering, gorgeous mouth going tight, slack as you tighten around him, locking up, clamping down as your hips move sloppily and out of rhythm.

You’re so fucking close.

“Shh, be good for me.”

Fingers, trembling and weak, slide around the base of his neck, tugging on his curls that are likely slick with sweat.

“N‘gonna last—let go for me baby.”

“Please.”

“Come for me.”

Spearing up into you with more vigour as you rasp, groan, and hiss—spit coating his fingers as he slides them out, dropping his hand from you as his knuckles press to the mattress as he fucks up into you.

Your body bucks, a cry you bury into his neck—a drag of nails against his scalp—as you come undone around him. Convulsing. Muffled cries vibrating against his pulse.

Frankie is barely able to contain the low growl as his hips stutter—heat raging through him, joined by rabid electricity. It sparking, ripping through, making him both ache and feel alive.

The sight of you and the feel of you drives him to the edge—and then over. A grip on your hip all tight as he thrusts into you one final time, unable to contain the growl. His chest heaves as he spills inside of you, and you tremble against him—panting, all messy and boneless as he pulls you with him as he rolls onto his back.

"You're incredible," he breathes into your ear, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck.

You let out a small laugh, a soft, content sigh escaping your lips. "So are you."

He smiles against your skin, his heart swelling with affection. He may have assumed he'd seen everything, but you—you continue to surprise him, to captivate him in ways he never thought possible. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Pulling his mouth from yours, feeling you ease him out of you, his hand lightly slaps you on the back of your bare ass.

"I missed you, querida," he murmurs, heart still racing in his chest.

Meeting his gaze, your lips purse. "I know," you whisper, leaning in to capture his lips in a tender kiss. "I'm here now."

“Shame you’ll have to sneak out the back and come in through the front door. Otherwise, you’ll be in here all night—”

His words trail off, a sly grin tugging at his lips as it dawns, rises up over your face and makes your mouth fall open. “Francisco….”

“Shoulda' told me you were coming home. It's boys night.”

Narrowing your eyes, you tick your jaw—spine straightening. “Well, I could stay in here—like this…”

Smirking, he kisses your nose. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, baby.”

Your mouth opens, a smirk gracing his lips in response as he raises a finger to his mouth, moving and pressing a kiss to your knee. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco morales smut #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #francisco morales fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier x reader #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #frankie morales x reader smut

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sugarsprinklesoul · 6 months

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GLOW TIPS FOR SKIN

Skincare Routine: Establish a consistent skincare routine with cleanser, toner, moisturizer, and sunscreen to keep your skin clean and protected.

Hydration: Drink plenty of water to keep your skin hydrated from the inside out, promoting a healthy and radiant complexion.

Balanced Diet: Include fruits, vegetables, and foods rich in vitamins and antioxidants for overall skin health.

Sun Protection: Use sunscreen with at least SPF 30 to shield your skin from harmful UV rays and prevent premature aging.

Adequate Sleep: Ensure you get enough sleep as it plays a crucial role in skin regeneration and overall well-being.

Exercise Regularly: Physical activity improves blood circulation, promoting a healthy glow and helping to flush out toxins.

Avoid Stress: Chronic stress can affect your skin. Practice stress-management techniques like meditation or yoga.

Gentle Exfoliation: Exfoliate regularly to remove dead skin cells, unclog pores, and promote cell turnover for a brighter complexion.

Moisturize: Keep your skin moisturized to maintain elasticity and prevent dryness, especially in dry or cold environments.

Limit Makeup: Allow your skin to breathe by minimizing the use of heavy makeup and opting for non-comedogenic products.

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skin-care-news · 8 months

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The 13 Best Foods For Healthy Skin

Your skin is not only the body's largest organ but also a reflection of your overall health. Maintaining healthy and radiant skin requires more than just external skincare products; it begins with the nutrients you provide your body from the inside. A well-balanced diet rich in essential vitamins, minerals, and antioxidants can do wonders for your skin. In this article, we'll explore the 13 best foods for achieving and maintaining healthy, glowing skin.

1. Salmon:

Salmon is a fatty fish that's high in omega-3 fatty acids. These healthy fats help keep your skin moisturized and supple, reducing the appearance of fine lines and wrinkles. Omega-3s also have anti-inflammatory properties that can soothe skin conditions like eczema and psoriasis.

2. Avocado:

Avocados are packed with healthy fats, vitamins E and C, and antioxidants. These nutrients help keep your skin hydrated, protect it from UV damage, and promote collagen production, which is essential for skin elasticity.

3. Sweet Potatoes:

Sweet potatoes are rich in beta-carotene, a powerful antioxidant that can give your skin a healthy glow by protecting it from sun damage and preventing premature aging.

4. Berries:

Berries like blueberries, strawberries, and raspberries are loaded with antioxidants, particularly vitamin C. Antioxidants help combat free radicals, reducing skin cell damage and promoting a more youthful appearance.

5. Walnuts:

Walnuts are an excellent source of omega-3 fatty acids and vitamin E, which help maintain the skin's moisture and protect it from oxidative stress.

6. Spinach:

Spinach is rich in vitamin A, which is essential for skin health. It helps repair skin tissues, prevent acne, and maintain a healthy complexion.

7. Green Tea:

Green tea contains polyphenols and antioxidants that protect the skin from UV radiation and reduce the risk of skin cancer. Drinking green tea regularly can also help combat inflammation and keep your skin looking fresh.

8. Tomatoes:

Tomatoes are a great source of lycopene, an antioxidant that can reduce the risk of sunburn and skin aging. It also promotes collagen production and skin elasticity.

9. Dark Chocolate:

High-quality dark chocolate (70% cocoa or higher) is rich in antioxidants, specifically flavonols, which can improve skin texture, hydration, and blood flow, giving your skin a healthy glow.

10. Almonds:

Almonds are rich in vitamin E, a powerful antioxidant that helps protect your skin from harmful UV rays and environmental damage.

11. Yogurt:

Yogurt is packed with probiotics, which can promote a healthy gut. A balanced gut microbiome can lead to clearer skin by reducing inflammation and preventing acne.

12. Carrots:

Carrots are another great source of beta-carotene, which can help reduce skin dryness and promote a more youthful appearance.

13. Oats:

Oats are a good source of complex carbohydrates and fiber. They can help stabilize blood sugar levels, reducing the risk of acne and promoting clear skin.

While these foods can be a valuable addition to your diet for healthier skin, remember that no single food can work miracles. A well-rounded diet that includes a variety of nutrient-rich foods, along with proper hydration, is essential for achieving and maintaining radiant skin. Additionally, don't forget to protect your skin from excessive sun exposure, get enough sleep, and maintain a consistent skincare routine for the best results. Healthy, glowing skin is the result of both internal and external care, so make these foods a part of your daily routine and watch your skin thrive.

#skincare #skincare tips #beauty tips #glowing skin #skincare routine #antiaging #natural skin care products #acne #skin care #skin treatment #health tips #health #healingjourney #healthy skin #healthy #nutrition #healthy living #healthy eating #healthyfood

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sweetdreamlandstuff · 2 years

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Attractive things the Haikyu men do - Part 2

Characters: timeskip Atsumu / Kuroo / Daichi / Kageyama / Sakusa / Bokuto x gender neutral reader

Notes: A collection of things they do or habits they have that are sexy/attractive. Pretty self-explanatory lol (and soft!). Part 1 is here. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Atsumu Miya

Atsumu probably has no idea what he does to you, sitting in front of you like that. His muscular thighs are spread, his large hands casually laying on the rests of the armchair.

You gulp, trying to tear your eyes away from his imposing figure. But you’re unable to. He just looks too good tonight, all dressed up, his black suit clinging perfectly to his body.

His hazel eyes find yours. Your eyes widen in surprise when you realize he caught you staring. His lips curl into a smug smirk. He hums absentmindedly, not even listening as Osamu continues to talk with him.

Atsumu slightly sits up, adjusting his trousers. His gaze doesn’t leave yours in the process. You feel your cheeks growing hot, your heart beating loudly in your chest.

You avert your gaze, not being able to maintain the intense eye contact any longer. You don’t even have to look at him to know that a big shit-eating grin is plastered on his face. And you also know that he's going to tease you about this the whole ride back home.

Tetsurou Kuroo

You look up, your bleary eyes fixing on the man working across from you. The office is dimly lit, the light reflecting off of his black and messy hair.

It’s pretty late, but you two know you have to get this work done today. You have no choice. But there could be worse things than being stuck with Kuroo, you muse as you gaze at him.

He doesn’t notice you staring, so you let yourself have this moment. His hand is buried in his ruffed-up hair, a slight frown on his face as he scans over the documents. You watch his large hands flip through the pages before he leans back.

He lets out a long, tired sigh, resting his head against the chair. You swallow against the dryness in your mouth as you watch him move. His slender fingers work; loosening his tie, the small motion so effortless. Yet it intrigues you more than you’d ever care to admit.

Daichi Sawamura

The warmth of his large hand seeps through the thin fabric of your dress. You swear, his hand was meant to rest on the small of your back as if it was carved for him.

You gulp, trying to concentrate on the conversation unfolding in front of you but in all honesty - you can’t. Especially now that his thumb rubs small circles onto you, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.

Daichi probably thinks this little movement soothes you, although it has the opposite effect. You swallow hard against the dryness forming in your mouth before you turn your head.

You watch his side profile, noticing the large smile laying on his lips. His deep voice rings in your ears although you can’t catch the meaning of his words. He’s handsome, of course, he is. But with his hand on your back, guiding you through the crowd, his protective, if not possessive, hands on you - you swear you’ve never found him more attractive.

Tobio Kageyama

“I thought that maybe we could…” Your unfinished sentence hangs in the air, as you watch Kageyama’s hands gliding along the steering wheel.

He puts the car in reverse before he turns his head, looking through the rear window. You stay silent as you observe him doing so. Your eyes glide along his features, noticing the concentrated expression on his face and the sharp cut of his jawline. You ogle his arm, noticing his biceps straining against his shirt.

Kageyama places his hand behind your seat. His fingertips slightly brush against the back of your neck, causing you to shudder. You hold your breath, only exhaling when he’s done. His dark blue eyes search for your gaze.

“What were you saying?” He asks, oblivious to the feeling he caused to rise in you. You don’t have an answer to his question. Your thoughts are now circling around, well, other things.

Kiyoomi Sakusa

Sakusa usually wakes up before you. That’s why you feel incredibly grateful that you get to see him like this, still sleeping soundly next to you. You know it is only a matter of minutes before he will wake up so you cherish that you can quietly observe him now.

You take in the sight of him, warmth spreading in your chest. His eyes are closed softly, his breath is falling steadily and his curls hang messily into his face.

You stroke the strand of hair out of his face, admiring the two little moles on his forehead. You don’t know how long you watch him before he awakes.

You look at him as he slowly peels his eyes open, his gaze slowly clearing and fixing on you. He lazily smiles upon meeting your gaze.

“Were you staring at me?” He inquires drowsily, his voice barely above a whisper. The sound of his deep, raspy morning voice makes your insides twist.

“Hm?” You pretend not to have heard him, just to hear his voice once more.

A small smile stretches across his face. You melt at the sight. Oh, how you love him.

Koutarou Bokuto

Bokuto is, usually, a happy and cheerful person. So it doesn’t surprise you that he loves to hum to himself, to sing loudly in the shower, or quietly to himself when he cooks.

But what surprises you is how attractive it makes him to you. You’re not sure how to explain it, the effect it has on you, the way it makes your heart flutter and your cheeks flush. Maybe it’s the contrast between his strong, buff figure, and the soft sounds dropping from his lips.

When you get home from work and he is already at home, you stand there quietly in the frame of the kitchen, just for a minute, to hear him singing absentmindedly, as he chops up some vegetables.

You’ve never told him how you like it. And you’re not sure if you ever will, considering that telling him that he is a pretty good singer will only go to his head.

So you just wait until he notices you standing there, watching his expression lighten up upon his eyes meeting you.

©sweetdreamlandstuff

#haikyu fanfiction #haikyu x reader #haikyu x you #haikyu fluff #hq fluff #atsumu fluff #atsumu x reader #kuroo fluff #kuroo x reader #daichi fluff #daichi x reader #kageyama fluff #kageyama x reader #sakusa fluff #sakusa x reader #bokuto fluff #bokuto x reader

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months

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I've been dreaming of the Plotting Serpent.

A Sorcerer in the Sands seeks something far bigger than himself. Freedom, sweet freedom.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

Bundled up in several layers, Jamil makes his way down a twisting path and into an open market.

The ground crunches softly under his boots. His breath is chilled, turning into a fleeting fog as he exhales. He retreats to the comfort and safety that his bulky coat provides, watching bales of white lazily drift down around him.

Snow instead of sand—imagine that.

The market operates straight out of the town square. From a vantage point--his temporary housing upon a hill--he can see the entirety of it, all the stalls forming a circle. The market is, by no means, large—but it has the spirit of something grander. The banter, the bartering.

Not so different from the bazaars at home.

Jamil ducks in, taking his time to pace around to each vendor. He’s agile and bright, like a child first viewing the moon and rushing to catch it in his palms.

Most sellers—and most customers—are elderly, gnarled like the roots of a tree. The cold colors their rounded cheeks the same red as many of the apples on display.

There’s pink and yellow and green too, and other fresh produce. The majority of it, he is told, is grown in Harveston. Others are foraged from Mt. Moln—nuts, plants, berries, and mushrooms.

Other stalls offer already manufactured goods. Scarves and gloves to protect against the winter, steaming apple drinks and sweetly spiced snacks, toiletries lovingly handcrafted with botanical oils.

His eyes light up with interest. He stops to inspect a row of shampoo and conditioner bars.

Feel free to touch and smell! says a sign at the stall.

He does, testing the weight of a bar in his hand. It is light and has an easy slip to it, and gives off the faint aroma of apples. Slightly tart and juicy.

It'll be good to have on hand, especially when it weighs less than liquid variants. The sign says these bars are made with apple seed oil, an ingredient that treats split ends and dryness while restoring a shine...

He absentmindedly feels the ends of his hair. The locks are normally dark and glossy, but the cold has not treated them well, leaving them slightly dry and brittle.

That's the cost of travel. It can be difficult to predict how my skin and hair react to different climates.

“Excuse me,” Jamil calls out to the stall owner, “I’d like to buy one of these shampoo bars, please. One in the conditioner bars as well."

“Sure thing!!” The owner wraps up the bars and slides them over. As Jamil hands him a few bills, he pipes up. “Say, yer not from ‘round here, are ya, sonny?”

“Yes. I am but a traveler.”

“Traveler!” The owner’s eyebrows shoot up. “Real fancy livin’ ya must have."

“No, not at all. I try to live humbly and travel light.” Jamil indicates his backpack, the one piece of luggage that follows him wherever he goes.

"That so? Not many young folk visit these parts." The owner strokes his rounded chin in contemplation. "I figured ya must be on yer way to the city. A lot more for youngins to see 'n do there."

“I beg to differ. The village has shown me incredible hospitality during my stay. Delicious foods, friendliness... I can enjoy Harveston's natural sights without worry. I'm content with just that."

With each word that leaves his lips, he feels the weight that has been on his shoulders lifting.

Jamil, you're free, the wind seems to whisper. The realization is intoxicatingly sweet and crisp, the first bite taken from a forbidden fruit.

"Aww, that warms mah heart ta hear ya say," the owner beams. "Yer a good kid, yer parents would be proud of ya."

"My... parents?" Jamil falters at the mention of them.

His parents are back home. His sister, too. Najma had texted not long ago, pestering him about bringing her a souvenir and asking when he’d be back.

His family is waiting for him. And... who else is there?

Jamil's brows furrow. Suddenly, he feels as though someone should be beside him, and he, trailing after them. A hopeless person buying up all the stalls, shoveling new dish after new dish at him.

"Here, try this, Jamil! Oooh, and this! That looks super tasty, have some too! And this cracker!"

"Where did you get all this food from?! There's no way we'll be able to feasibly finish this before it goes bad. Why do you never listen to me, Ka..."

A growl rips from his stomach. Jamil's eyes widen, and his face heats.

The stall owner's laugh cuts through his confusion. "Gahahah! Ya hungry there, son? Here, lemme grab ya somethin' on the house."

"Oh no, sir, I can't accept that."

"I insist!! Won't be long 'fore ya mosey on outta here and move on ta the next place. Eat yer fill while yer here, there ain't nothin' like a homegrown Harveston meal or snack anywhere else in Twisted Wonderland!"

The owner rustles with utensils behind the stall, He fills a container with a generous slice of pie--oozing with apple filling--and fluffy pancakes, plus a few potstickers. Then he pours hot tea, apple cubes bobbing in the spiced brown liquid, into a paper cup.

Jamil gets a whiff of it from where he stands and--against his better judgment, his mouth waters. When the owner hands him the container, cup, and a wooden fork, he doesn't refuse them.

"Remember us ‘n all the fun times ya spent here."

"Thank you, sir." Jamil bows his head. "I will. I'll never forget your kindness."

"Don't 'cha mention it. Go on 'n git now, ya got plenty more of the village to visit!""

Jamil departs with his purchase and his gifts, which he immediately settles into.

Lifting the paper cup to his lips, he sips his tea. It's deep and tangy from the cinnamon and apples it has been brewed with. He pleasantly warms from head to toe.

It isn't long before he downs the rest of the drink, apple cubes and all. They're not fresh, but dried--so when his teeth slices them into halves, they're springy and chewy, with a strong flavor.

Jamil lowers the cup, dragging out a satisfied sigh.

It's then that he realizes he's walking directly into a black wall. He veers sharply to the right, but still brushes his arm against that of the incoming person.

“Pardon me. I wasn't watching where I was going...” Jamil looks back, but is startled to find no one where his shoulder has made contact.

Hm? Was I imagining things?

Jamil glances around the marketplace. The crowd is too sparse for him to miss anyone. There are grandmothers and grandfathers, mothers and fathers, each dressed in thick coats and boots, some wrapped in scarves and others sporting fuzzy hats or earmuffs.

But no one is wearing all black.

He shakes his head.

It was probably nothing then.

Jamil returns to browsing the square, his every stride as light as a feather. He feels as though he is dancing atop the snow.

The cold no longer bothers him.

The wind, carrying a new message that resonates with his heart. It seems stronger now, rumbling like a deadly avalanche.

"Be free, Viper. Be free."

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flyingdren · 5 months

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Coping Mechanisms

I had this idea of doing a story with multiple endings for all the people who can't decide between Seb or Ominis.

Plot Summary: So what would happen if you'd been friends with Anne, Sebastian, and Ominis since you were sorted into Slytherin at eleven. What would you do if someone tried to curse your best friend in front of you?

I'll link at the bottom Ominis, Sebastians, and a poly chapter with both! Because why choose

If anyone wants to read anything else about these two please let me know! I'm a little besotted

Disclaimer: This chapter is PG but the final chapters with the boys are a hard (wink) E. If you're not into that and want to read a fluffy PG version let me know!

You woke up the summer of your fourth year to one of your best friends poking you insistently.

“Wake up!” Anne hissed. You blink groggily up at the pale brunette, slightly annoyed.

“I am not helping you put toad spawn in Sebastian’s shoes.” You groan, burying your face into your pillow. Anne rolls her eyes and pokes you again.

“Never mind that. There’s someone at the old manor! I think they’re robbing the place.” You lift you head and stare at her.

“And that pertains to us how?” You ask. Anne huffs and grabs your wrist.

“Because. It’s our village and we have to protect it from thieves and rapists.” You can’t help but snort as you dress, fingers automatically lacing and buttoning your cloths in the dark.

“Your uncle is an Auror. Shouldn’t he handle this?”

“Ex-Auror.” Anne corrects, already dressed. “And he’s not here tonight.

“The boys?” You inquire, nodding towards the door at the other end of the room leading to the room that held your other two best friends. Anne shook her head.

“They wouldn’t let us go. You know how Sebastian is.” With that she grabbed her wand and marched out of the house. And, knowing how Anne was, you followed vowing to keep your friend as far from bodily harm as possible.

You met her outside the house and with a jerk of her head and a finger to her lips Anne guided you up the hill towards the old house that stood like a lurking creature at the top. As you squinted at it you saw that what Anne had said was true. Torches were moving back and forth in the windows and you could hear voices carrying down to you. The two of you quickly made your way there and stopped just outside the stone fence, crouching behind it and peeking out. You saw short figures moving to and fro and heard dark gravelly voices muttering back and forth. Anne’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Goblins? What would goblins want with an old house?” Before you could answer Anne stood up and ducked around the wall.

“I’m going to get a closer look.” Before you could protest she was running into the dark. You hissed her name and followed, but when you went around the corner of the house after her a dark voice ripped through the gloom.

“Children should be seen and not heard.” A bolt of red shot through the air at your friend. Without evening thinking you threw yourself forward, hitting Anne and taking her to the ground. As a result, the curse hit you full in the back and you felt your skin splitting down to the bone as agony coursed through you. You’d never had Crucio cast on you but you could imagine that it felt like this. You heard screaming but you weren’t sure if it was you or Anne.

~~~

You woke later the next day in St. Mungo’s. At your change of breathing you heard frantic shuffling, then a familiar voice.

“Hey. Hey, you’re awake. Thank Merlin.” You open your eyes to see Sebastian standing over you, eyes wide and hair even messier than usual. Glancing around him you see Anne slumped asleep in a chair by the window next to an also sleeping Ominis. Sebastian glances over his shoulder at the two then back at you.

“How are you feeling? I was so scared when I heard Anne screaming. I – we – thought you were dead.” You open your mouth then wince at the dryness of your throat. Sebastian sees this and quickly goes to work grabbing you some water. He carefully lifts your head and helps you take a sip before settling you back down.

“Thank you.” You whisper and he nods.

“No, thank you. Anne says that the curse was meant for her. You’re a hero.” His eyes are a little shiny in the dim candlelight and you flush a little at his words and shake your head. You plant your arms on the bed and try to push yourself up to refute his claim but a wave of agony so strong you almost pass out whites out your vision. It feels as if you’re being skinned alive and a strangled scream leaves your throat. Both of your sleeping friends jolt awake at the sound and suddenly you have three sets of hands holding you up.

“What happened.” Ominis is staring at you in that uncanny way he has, always able to find your face and eyes even across the room.

“I don’t know.” You whimper. “My back. It hurts.”

You’re gasping by now. Slowly and gently, the three of them pull you up to a sitting position and Anne carefully pulls the back of your gown down, her fingers feeling amazingly cool against your burning skin. You’re too busy lost in the soothing touch to even be embarrassed about Sebastian seeing the bare skin of your shoulders.

“There’s nothing here.” She whispers. “Just a scar. Where the curse hit you I think.” You frown.

“I felt it cut me when I got hit.” Sebastian’s fingers tighten in rage where they held your arms.

“They put a healing salve on it.” Ominis explained. “I heard them say so to Solomon.”

“It looks like those four sided stars they put on Christmas trees.” Anne said, putting your dress back to rights. You lay back, the pain fading to almost nothing.

“At least its pretty.” You sigh. Anne smiles but then begins to cry.

“It’s all my fault. I brought you there. I wanted to see what they were doing. I’m so sorry..” She trails off, burying her face in her hands.

“No, no.” You coo, slowly leaning forward so as to not aggravate your injury. “I’m glad it hit me and not you. I can handle pain much better than you.”

Anne stopped crying instantly, her indignation cutting off her grief.

“What makes you think that?” She demanded.

“I’m taller than you.” You say pertly and Anne sputters.

“You’re the same height.” Ominis pipes up dryly and before you can ask him how the hell he knows that, a nurse pokes her head into the room.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” She says smiling a little too brightly. You sit up again and Sebastian quickly moves to help you, settling you fully upright against the pillows.

“Your parents are here. I’ll send them in. Your friends can wait outside.” You swallow and nod, sending a slightly panicked look to Anne who glances back in commiseration.

You were muggle-born and while your parents weren’t ‘anti-magic’ it scared the hell out of them. They thought you might explode either themselves or their house at any second which was the reason you spent so much time at the Sallow house even if they did claim it was because the train ride was shorter from Feldcroft to Hogwarts.

Your friends shuffled out and a pair of terrified muggles shuffled in. Instead of coming to sit next to you as the others had they both stood at the foot of the bed, your father standing slightly in front of your mother as if shielding her. Suddenly you realize that your earlier explosion metaphor may not be all that far off in their eyes.

Over the next few minutes you alternately try to coax them closer and calm them down but in the end, its Solomon’s intervention that saves you. He announces that you would stay with him for the rest of the summer and the professors at Hogwarts would surely have a solution in the coming semester. You knew they trusted the man, all you’d had to do was tell them he was a wizard police officer, so they agreed quickly and with relief. They left soon after that, edging nervously around Ominis as he and the others came back in. This made you scowl at their backs as no insult to you could.

“They still think he’s cursed?” Sebastian asked in a low voice at your look. You nod.

“Superstitious twaddle.”

You spend the next few days with healer after healer attempting to rectify the curse placed on you. It caused terrible pain radiating from the scar if you moved too quickly or harshly; otherwise it was a dull ache. You insisted you could manage it. You had to. If you couldn’t return to Hogwarts you would be consigning yourself to being a muggle for the rest of your life and after five years of magic, the thought of having your wand snapped gave you worse pain than any curse could ever.

So, in a week you return to the Sallow house with your three best friends to support you. By the time you are all back at Hogwarts, you’re starting to get a handle on what causes the pain to worsen and what helps in the times when it's unavoidable. The dull ache fades to the back of your mind most of the time but it's always there and it's exhausting. There are times when you can’t sleep for hours on end because of it and even when you can you are plagued with nightmares. What if you hadn’t been there? Or if Anne had woken Sebastian or Ominis? What if the pain was bad all the time? You’d wake up covered in sweat or wracked with agony. At first, you woke the others in your dorm with your cries but after a while, you got better at keeping silent. You knew Anne was so full of guilt already, that you didn’t need to add to her suffering.

It was when you stopped sleeping that you noticed a difference in the two boys. They had always been caring in their own way, they were your best friends after all, but now they took it up to eleven. Sebastian in particular wouldn’t let you carry anything heavier than your wand and would probably carry you from class to class if you’d allow it. Ominis was always fetching anything you wanted or needed and encouraging you to eat even if the pain got too bad. Because of your injury, you couldn’t ride a broom so you spent those classes with your blind partner in crime. You found it soothing to read to him on the lawn while the other student flew around far above your heads. He joked he wanted to be close for when Sebastian eventually fell off his broom.

Sebastian got many a-detention by sneaking into the restricted section in hopes of finding ways to help the pain until you impatiently asked him why he hadn’t asked a teacher for access. This befuddled him enough that he didn’t say anything while you marched to Madam Scribner and asked if Sebastian could help in the library in return for a pass to the section. He became an assistant of sorts to her and what that meant was that you barely had to think of a book you wanted before he had it for you.

To be fair he did find a few helpful treatments, including a numbing oil that he commissioned from Garreth Weasley after you explained a muggle version you’d read about. It made it so that drying off after a bath wasn’t agonizing. Of course, Garreth brewing this did come at a cost, namely Sebastian not turning him into a small mammal after he finally asked Anne to go to Hogsmeade with him, which you were grateful for. You would hate for all your hard work encouraging them to actually talk to each other instead of staring longingly across the potions table to come to nothing because of a jealous twin brother. You even held his attention on the day of the big date by insisting Sebastian teach Ominis to fly while you shouted encouraging things from the ground.

At the end of the year, you went home and spent two whole weeks with your parents with them alternately scurrying around you, and trying to make you take muggle pain relievers, which you outright refused; you knew what things like cocaine did to people's minds. Thankfully they sent you to Feldcroft not long after for which you were thankful.

In your sixth year, Ominis found out you weren’t sleeping when you fell asleep during charms, a class you actually enjoyed. After much coaxing, you admitted to him about the nightmares and he finally opened up to you about his. You discovered his secret about his parents using the unforgivable curses on him and found solace in your shared experiences. You also discovered what a nice napping buddy he could be and, as you both found the undercroft soothing, you could often be found there curled up in a pile; like bunnies in a warren.

Ominis never kept secrets if he could help it so after hearing Sebastian ask you for the umpteenth time about the dark circles under your eyes he took Sebastian aside and quietly explained the situation. At first, the dark-haired boy was angry, demanding to know why you hadn’t told him yourself. Ominis told him your worries about Sebastian’s anxiety and Anne’s guilt. How Sebastian had finally stopped constantly looking for a cure. He listened, and together with Ominis, met with you at the library where they softly comforted you and explained that they would always be there to help.

A few nights later when he couldn’t sleep Ominis found you in the common area, staring out into the water. Without a word, he sat next to you on the lounge and pulled you close, and together you fell asleep. This became routine, one of them would come down to the common room in the middle of the night and curl up with you on the couch by the window where you'd both be found fast asleep in the morning. It was like they had a second sense of when your pain got bad.

As you got older, the burden of the pain became harder to bear. You found yourself, instead of waiting for one of them to join you on the couch, simply going to their dorm room and slipping into one of their beds. Usually whoever was most awake. This is how you found that Sebastian was a serious cuddler, he liked to wrap his arms around you and pull you so tightly to his chest that you could barely move.

Ominis on the other hand simply liked having you close to him and would lightly lay a hand on some part of your body. Top of your head, arm thrown over your waist, or holding your hand in his. If you woke with a nightmare or pain he would whisper gentle words to you and stroke your face. Sebastian would hold you tightly and do the same.

When you told Anne she acted scandalized and later confronted the boys about the possible consequences to your reputation.

“Reputation?” Sebastian scoffed. “Who cares about something daft like that.”

But Ominis looked concerned for a moment.

“Wait. Maybe Anne’s right. What about when she wants to get married?”

Sebastian glanced at the girl in question who was deep in conversation with Poppy across the lawn. She was clutching Duncan tightly by the back of the robes as the Hufflepuff girl held a Puffskein out to him. Sebastian grinned as he turned to face Ominis.

“Then one of us will have to marry her.”

Ending A: Ominis

Ending B: Sebastian

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #sebastian sallow #Sebastian sallow x reader #comfort fic #dealing with chronic pain #ominis gaunt x reader x sebastian #ominis gaunt smut #sebastian sallow smut #hogwarts legacy fanfic

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frannyzooey · 2 months

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On The Green: 2

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: M (corpses, harvesting violence) will be E in later chapters ❤️

a/n: thank you endlessly to @the-scandalorian who lent me her big beautiful beta brain, to @bageldaddy who made me blush with pride and to @the-ginger-hedge-witch who soothed my Ezra nerves by checking this dialogue like the queen she is ❤️

Series Masterlist

—

You know he’s waiting for you to speak, but you…can’t.

He takes his helmet off, and you can see his features more clearly. His skin has a ruddy look to it, like it’s been days since he’s last bathed or eaten well, or gotten a decent sleep. He looks older, more weary without the reflective dome hiding the finer lines of his tired features – but still, no less intimidating.

He looks rougher, his sharp eyes darker and more assessing.

Your eyes make a slow circuit between his hand, which still loosely holds a weapon, and his dead partner.

There is no deal to be made here. Not for you, and you know it.

“Kevva waits, girl.” The sharp snap of his words brings your attention back to his face. He looks impatient. “You ready to talk about that deal?”

You swallow against the dryness in your throat, trying hard to fight against the sinking feeling in your chest. “What do you want.”

It comes out more of a defeated statement than a question, and he studies you for a moment.

“To be perfectly candid, I am in need of transit.”

You stare at him blankly, and he sighs with impatience.

“I want your ship,” he states plainly. “However, I am not suggesting to leave you stranded if that’s what you’re thinking. As I find myself lacking….” He glances over at his dead partner for a moment. “I am generously proposing we join forces. Protection, for transport.”

“Protection?” you spit. “You gonna protect me as a partner like you did him?”

“He needed no protection, I can assure you that,” he huffs wryly. “But you?” He pauses in his speech, narrowing his gaze. “What is your plan here, anyway?”

Trying to appear like you have one, you steady your voice. “I’m here to dig.”

He laughs as if your statement is absurd. “I find myself disinclined to believe that, but let’s pretend for a moment that is the case. You dig. What then?”

“I’ll repair my ship and be on my way. Home, with something to sell when I get back.”

“And who is going to help you repair your ship?” he mocks. “You know how to do that too?” His eyes drift to your father’s lifeless form. “Seems your partner is out of commission. I think perhaps he was the mechanic?”

“He wasn’t my partner, I told you.” The corner he’s got you backed in displays plainly on your face. You shift your jaw, looking away. “I’ll find someone to help me. Someone –”

“A girl like you?” he interrupts, raising his eyebrows. “You wander into a camp of fringely mercs, raw, at the end of their tour, what happens? You appeal to their sympathies?” He shakes his head. “They have none. They are ruthless profiteers. You must have something to offer or they will find something to take from you.”

The emphasis he puts on the last few words makes his implication clear, and panic creeps into your limbs.

“We’re in the same trough, you and I. Can’t say I was pleased to find your mare all black and cockways as she was supposed to be my redemption as well,” he muses, looking around at the poor state of the pod. “But I know how to fix her up. I can help you.”

He seems sincere enough in his offer, but everything he’s done thus far shows you his supposed sincerity means absolutely nothing.

“I want someone else.” A childish statement, but the truth.

“Well I want a lot of things too, little bird.” He looks almost regretful for a moment, before leveling you with his gaze. ”Starting with your ship.”

Your mind still stuck on what he said about the other mercs on this planet, you wonder what’s stopping him from doing the same.

“They will find something to take from you.”

Will he?

You could try to go it alone, but your first fucking hour alone on this planet has been nightmare enough to dissuade you from that course of action. If he doesn’t kill you to get this ship, the next person will. If he found you, others will, too.

You think, buying yourself some time.

“It’s clear you don’t belong here, little bird. I’m your safest route home,” he argues. “That is the goal, right?”

You bring your eyes back to him, wary and he seems to recognize something in your expression. When he slowly steps forward like he’s approaching a wild animal, you scoot back.

“Hey,” his tone softens. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re no threat to me, a fragile little thing like you. Anyone else would have killed you outright by now, I promise you that. You have a functioning ship – a rarity in these parts. I can help you protect it.”

“Only because you want to use it,” you sneer, and the edge of his lips lift.

“Of course,” he replies. “I’m not foolish enough to offer my services for nothing. I promise you no harm if you promise me the same.”

“You killed your partner. Just now, right in front of me. What’s stopping you from doing the same to me?”

“I could have killed you a thousand different ways by now.” His voice slips into something lower, menacing yet truthful. “Like I said, you’re no threat to me. Besides, I think your ship would be better piloted by two, am I right?”

Seeing no way out, you deflate.

And nod.

“I need to hear you say it, little bird,” he tilts his head with a light scold.

You glare up at him. “Yes. I accept.”

“Excellent!” he says, clapping his hands together, the sound making you jump. “First things first. Let’s move these bodies.”

The bodies.

Forgetting all about your new deal with a murderer, your stomach drops at the reminder of moving your dad’s body.

“What’s your name, by the way?” The stranger grunts with exertion, lifting his partner’s feet to drag his body into a prone position. Crouching, he begins to pat the dead man’s pockets down.

He’s callous about it, perfunctory. Not gentle in the slightest which makes sense since the man is dead, but still, there is something about the deft way he’s going through everything he had on him that makes it known that this is not the first time he’s done this. Not by a long shot. You wonder if it’s just from his experience on this planet, or an indicator of something larger.

“Mine’s Ezra, if you were wondering.” He gives a teasing glance, making note of your rudeness.

When you don’t offer it, he merely shrugs. “S’okay if you don’t wanna tell me. I understand your apprehension. But I’ll have to call you something.” He seems to ponder for a moment, placing loose items he’s deemed useful in a pile by the man’s hip. “Since you came down from out of the sky, I would say “Birdie” is a suitable choice.”

You pull a face he doesn’t see, and then he’s moving the belongings to the side, making a clear path to the door of the pod. When his eyes shift to rest on your dad’s body, a sudden urge flares within you to stop him.

“He got anything useful on him?” Ezra’s chin jerks towards it.

On instinct, you follow his gaze, immediately regretting it. You turn away in revulsion, the pooled blood a dark, congealed mass that sticks in your vision. Closing your eyes, you shake your head with a tight movement. “I don’t think he had anything on him besides his, uh…drops. Everything else is here in the pod.”

If he wonders what you mean by “drops,” he doesn’t ask. Instead, he approaches the body and glancing back, frowns at your hesitant expression.

“Look. You don’t—” he sighs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His voice lowers. “I’ll need your help with the big guy, but I can do this one by myself.”

“No,” you protest, forcing yourself to move forward. You can still taste bile, sharp on your tongue. “I should be the one—”

He puts his hand on your arm, shaking his head. “No,” he says kindly, but firm. “You shouldn’t be. A girl shouldn’t have to put her own father in the ground.” He steps around you gently. “Tell you what. Why don’t you head outside and keep watch, little bird. Let me know if you see anyone coming. Make no mistake, there will be scavengers looking for the same opportunity I was, and we’ve got to protect our only means of escaping this planet.”

He gathers your helmet to place in your hands, checking your filters are connected and charged.

In your hurry to get out of the pod and away from the body, you’re already sealing your helmet into place when he snatches the thrower off the floor.

“Hey,” he calls out sharply, just as you’re about to step out of the hatch. He thrusts the weapon towards you. “Don’t forget your thrower. Armed. Always armed here. Understood?” His gaze holds yours in weighted significance.

You nod, taking it from his outstretched hand. “Okay.”

Opening the hatch, you step outside for the first time.

Everything is green. The brush, the trees, the sky–all varying shades of the color. Dust floats through the air; aimless, toxic, suffocating. You wonder how long you would last if you took your helmet off. Studying the lush, towering trees, your eyes follow the paths of thick vines that both climb up the trunks and spill over the dark soil, coming to rest on the soft dirt that your boots sink into. You lift your foot and the imprint you leave behind is as clear as the two sets that lead from the edge of the forest to your pod.

The footprints circle the pod, and your stomach lurches at the thought that they were circling without you even knowing.

Resolutely keeping your back towards the ramp, you tighten your grip on your thrower and use the moment to take stock of your situation. Your father told you a couple of things about this planet: the air is toxic, the population is non-existent, and the main reason anyone comes is for the aurelac. An amber colored gem found within the bowels of pit sites, the price it can fetch is significant. His drops clutched tightly in his hand, he told you of a neglected site filled with treasure—a rumor, the Queen’s Lair–his eyes wild and clouded with liquid that made them shine with foolish hope.

That’s it, though. No map left behind, no coordinates. No solid confirmation it even exists. He only brought you along because it would be dangerous to leave you completely orphaned for however long it took him, and to take advantage of your (limited) skills as a co-pilot.

When you hear a heavy slide and a grunt behind you, you keep your eyes on the forest, scanning the trees.

Nothing to offer the man who has offered you partnership, you wonder how long it’s going to take him to figure out you’re of no value. Completely useless, better off dead and out of the way. Your mind scrambles for leverage, and you’re still thinking when you feel a tap on the shoulder.

Swinging around, you point your thrower – directly at Ezra’s chest.

His hands fly up in surrender.

“Steady now. It’s just me.”

He must have connected your comlinks because you can hear his words, low and slightly modulated through your helmet. Lowering your weapon and assuming he’s going to take it from you, you offer it up, but he waves it away, resting his hand on a pistol strapped to his hip.

“Good to see you’re quick on the draw,” he smirks. He jerks his head towards the pod. “I need your help with the other one now.”

You glance over his shoulder towards the woods, trying to find a sign of your father’s body and his voice snaps your attention back to him.

“Hey. Don’t…” he pauses. “Don’t. Say your goodbyes to the Green, girl, but don’t go lookin’. You don’t need to see that anymore.”

Surprised by the consideration in his statement, you follow him up the ramp. Inside the pod, he lifts under his former partner's arms.

“Grab the feet – go ahead and push, while I pull.”

It takes ages getting the massive, limp body down and out, but eventually it’s rolled down the ramp with a thud. Ezra’s breathing sounds loud, and he takes a moment to catch his breath.

“What you want to do is cover the body with rocks. Try to hide it, so as to not attract any attention. The locals, they –” he grunts, dragging the man towards the brush, “—they leave bodies out in the open, as part of their ritual to honor the memory but I think it’s rather–” he shoves the man down a slope, letting gravity do the work for him, “uncouth.”

Slowly descending down the slant of dirt, you follow behind him. Not used to an explanation following orders, you listen closely to his words. He gives you more context for his decisions than your father ever did, and you pocket every piece of information, eager for it all. Anything to help your survival in this place.

With both your heads bent in task, he breaks the silence after a few moments. “What was your father here to harvest?”

Lifting a rock from the ground, you toss it in the general direction of the body. “Gems.”

Ezra huffs a laugh. “Most gems are long gone. Discovered and harvested during the rush.” He looks over at you from the corner of his eye. “Got any information on where he was hoping to find unfound riches?”

“If most gems have been harvested, what are you doing here?”

He laughs in delight. “Rapport, how I’ve missed it.”

You take note of the way he side steps your question. “He didn’t tell me.”

“What did he tell you about this place?”

Easy to talk to, charming and affable, you can see how easily he would wheedle information out of others. Unsure how much you should really be confiding in him, you decide less is better for now.

“He didn’t tell me anything. Just that we were going to come here to dig – or rather, he was.”

“Nothing?” he asks, surprised. “He led you here, unprepared?”

You say nothing, and his expression turns more solemn. He shakes his head. “Foolish, keeping you in the dark like that. My own partner was more of a utility. Seems like your father treated you the same way.”

His statement hurts, though you try not to let it show. You shrug instead, watching your steps as you pick through the rocks.

He gives you time to reply, and when you offer nothing up, he continues. “Did you ever want to learn how to dig? Harvest gems?”

You don’t think you’ve ever been asked that question, and when you look up at him to find him looking at the ground, you can hear the smile he has on his face through the commlink when you don’t answer. He continues, “I stumped you, didn’t I.”

“I don’t…” you flounder. You’ve always had a distaste for the profession, spending your life around the seedy people who do it. However, it seems rude to say that outright to his face. “I’ve never really thought about it. It would be useful to learn, I guess.”

“Maybe,” he says. “Depends on what you want from this life. It’s a big world out there, Birdie. If you could have your pick, what would you do?”

“Go home.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and though it’s such a small thing to ask in such an endless universe, he just nods like he understands.

–

The bodies taken care of, he leads you back to the pod and tells you to wait there for him. He’s got a camp close by – a tent, filled with his belongings – and while he’s gone collecting it, you clean the disorganized mess inside the pod.

Go home. You don’t even know why you said that, there isn’t much of a home to go home to. This pod has been more of a home than anything else has; the only constant in your transient life. What you meant was some place that felt like a home. A comforting place, where you felt safe and wanted and cared for. The place itself didn’t really matter, more the feeling it represented. You had yet to find it, but you knew it wasn’t here.

The metal cabinets that line the walls had burst open upon impact, so you take your time methodically putting everything right. Medical supplies, vac packs of food, your father’s harvesting tools. His case, with his initials stamped on it. His supply of chemicals, his various scalpels unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. You snap them carefully back into their case, and put them away.

Then your things: your bedding, your sparse collection of clothing, your journal. Wrapping the bound book in a shirt, you tuck it into your pillowcase, hiding it. Your headphones appear undamaged, and you test them with a couple of the cassettes that lay scattered across the floor. The music flows through them uninterrupted, and for the first time today, you feel a small sliver of relief.

You find his drops underneath his chair.

The tiny brown vial with the stopper you’ve seen him hover above his eye a million times, you aren’t ready for the resentment and rage you feel as you hold it in your palm. You can’t remember a time when your father didn’t have them on him. Slices of time flash through your mind: the sight of his back as he left you for days on end, the slow, syrupy drag of his words when he mumbled after putting the drops in, the feverish need in his eyes as he slipped the bottle from his pocket to calm the trembling in his hands – right before an emergency sensor went off in the pod and everything went to hell.

The urge to crush it underneath your boot or take it outside and smash it against a tree flares bright, and a scream builds at the base of your throat.

In your mind, you let it out. In real life, you tuck the bottle into a cabinet and shut the door.

A signal agreed upon when he left, you know Ezra is back when he knocks rhythmically before entering. Busy scrubbing the dash clean, you’re going over the blood spots for the third time. You can’t see them anymore, but you still feel them there.

“Got everything,” he states, removing his helmet. Tossing it on the ground, he rakes his fingers through his sweat damp curls with a sigh. “Quite the load to carry back. I’ll need space within your vessel to store my things.”

He steps towards a cabinet, and you stand, alarmed.

“Wait. You’re staying in here? With me? I thought you said you have a tent.”

He ignores the way your voice gets higher and tighter with every word, opening a door to peer inside. “I do, but it would be foolish to separate. If you’re opposed to discomfort, then you never had any business being on the Green, girl.”

It wasn’t my choice, you want to scream at him, but you hold your tongue.

“Can’t you sleep outside in front of the hatch? To make sure no one gets in?”

He shakes his head, opening another cabinet. He rifles through your medical supplies, impressed. “This beauty really is fully stocked, isn’t she? No wonder I thought she’d be my redemption. Riches beyond belief hidden within her unassuming depths.”

He’s murmuring more to himself than anyone, and annoyance begins to simmer at the careless way he’s putting your freshly organized things back. You’re just about to repeat yourself when he closes the door and turns to you.

“It won’t do to sleep outside. I need to protect this pod just as much as I need to watch over you.”

He opens another cabinet, and your cassettes spill out with a slide.

“What are these?” he asks, already bending to pick one up.

“Don’t worry about it.” Snatching it from his hand, you kneel down to gather them up. Huffing with frustration, you cram them back into their storage and shut the door quickly.

He watches it all, his jaw shifting in thought.

“Look,” he ventures. “I know this isn’t ideal, but it’s gonna be a long couple of months if you don’t trust me.”

You say nothing, and he sighs.

“A good partnership is only made so by candid discourse.”

He’s right. You know he’s right, and yet you don’t have it in you to acknowledge it out loud. How he expects you trust him you truly don’t know, and yet in the hours since you’ve met him, he has shown you kindness. A partnership offer when you don’t deserve it, protection against his former partner, burying your father for you. Whether that kindness is real or a ruse to have you lower your defenses, you don’t know.

Either way, you don’t really have a choice.

“There are a couple of spare storage bins over there,” you gesture at the corner, defeated. “You can put your things in there.”

“My sincerest thanks,” he replies with a slip of sarcasm, and turning back to your cleaning, you roll your eyes.

–

“I need to protect this pod just as much as I need to watch over you.”

The words repeat on a loop in your mind; your body shifting on the stiff cot. His presence in the small space feels foreign, your body hyper aware of it. You’ve never slept in this pod with anyone but your father.

Your father.

You wait for the grief to come, but when it doesn’t, you blame shock. The alternative would be to think about how you feel nothing, which, what kind of a daughter loses her father and feels nothing? Tendrils of shame seep through your thoughts, and you roll away from Ezra as if he can see into your mind. Your back facing him, you try to shut him out, focusing instead on the moon outside the window.

It’s full, high and clear above the horizon, suspended in the inky sky. Your eyes study the craters carved into the surface, and you take slow and steady breaths out, mimicking sleep. You wish you could slip your headphones on and drown out the tension that fills the small space, but you don’t want to leave yourself vulnerable like that.

You hear him shuffle behind you, and your shoulders brace themselves with tension – but when he doesn’t make any other sound, you go back to watching the floating dust.

Isolated, alone. No different than any of the other thousands of nights you’ve spent staring out at the moon while waiting for your father to come home. The weight of your situation compresses the air in your lungs, and you feel the sharp, hot sting of tears behind your eyes. Squeezing them shut, you will them away.

You won’t cry in here with him. You won’t.

Both resentfully frustrated with his presence and deep down, grateful for it, you cross your arms tight across your chest and squeeze. Pouring all your emotions into the pocket of your chest, you squeeze and you squeeze, soothing yourself.

He shuffles around quietly behind you, getting comfortable on his own cot and you’re thinking it’s going to be a long night just before the weight of the day presses upon your eyelids.

They flutter shut, and you fall into a dreamless sleep.

#ezra #ezra prospect #ezra prospect/you #ezra prospect/reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect x reader

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woozten-x · 4 months

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#. 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐚

[ ; m.list including other darl+ings! ]

─ Synopsis: Running away from your problems of being the child of a king, you end up stargazing with the God of War.

Underneath the stars, you found beauty within the deity however.

─ Pairing: Deity (God of War)!Joshua Hong x Royal!Gender-Neutral Reader

─ Genre: Fluff/Wholesome, Angst w. Comfort

─ Concepts: joshua is THE god of war!!, joshua lowk condescending and just kinda a smartass (i promise he's nice), reader is lowk whipped, stargazing concept!, conveyance of joshua's violent past, joshua is the angsty one not reader lol, reader comforting joshua<3

─ Count of Words: 1.9k

─ Inspiration of the work: Toilet-Bound Hanako-Kun (Manga) + Running Through The Night by Seori + meme of "You're Staring" "You're Beautiful"

❒ a/n: ok so like i had this au in my drafts for SO long...But, the main story including this au with Joshua is taking forever and ive been incredibly lazy to write it LOL. so, ill be introducing this au of Joshua with a drabble / one-shot ! this gives some introduction of how he is like and what to expect of him during this au

other members will be having a fantasy au / based on mythical creatures? type of au. so, there will be other members of svt being a deity or some mythical creature! they will have their own story also.

Fingers tap lightly against the wet surface, the grass cold against his fingertips and soil moist just underneath his nails. Thoughts raced through his head, his head tilted upwards to face the cloudy sky of the night; the moon and stars shrouded by the dark clouds, as both celestial spared no light from where he sat. The breeze carries through, the wind gently caressing his pale skin and stray strands of black hair is ruffled by the night’s wind.

His eyes fluttered close, a sigh leaving past his lips; a calm rise of his chest then a slow release of his breath, feeling relaxed. It was a quiet night, one where he could sleep easily for the night; or so he thought. Unfortunately for the God of War, he hears approaching footsteps from the distance and his eyes flutter open.

“Joshua, you are here!”

Annoyance expresses from his features, a visible frown appearing on his pink lips upon hearing your voice. Just when he was getting comfortable, you simply had to ruin it for the deity. You approach him, steps heavy along the steep path - “Ah...I didn’t think this would be so steep.” You complain, a huff leaving past your lips as you work your way towards him.

He watches from his spot, only watching how you slowly climb up the hill with a slight struggle. “Maybe you should work out more.” Joshua remarks, his words holding a dryness to them, but spiked with a drip of sarcasm. You loudly scoff, “I'd rather be stuck with one of my father’s lectures about royalty and expectations of being the next leader of the kingdom than physically work my ass off!”

Joshua tilts his head, leaning back on his hands and his legs extended out crossed over one another - “Ah, right. You humans with royal blood tend to be lazy…”

Once you reached him, you let out a sigh of relief before plopping down next to him. Joshua recoils slightly, seeming to adjust his position from where he sat and establish distance between your bodies; you noticed this, but you did not say anything. As you’ve learned, the deity was not fond of physical touch; whether it be accidental or intentional.

You glance at him, observing the way he sits a bit more upright; his body not poised, as before. “I assure you, royals are not lazy. Everyone is just always doing it for us, that’s why.” You say with a shrug, trying to save some bits of pride for being part of a royal family; although, you never wanted to become a royal, you still have a pride to protect!

“Cowards.” Joshua plainly states, a small smirk playing at his lips; oh, a given that he is trying to press one of your buttons. You roll your eyes, “For a God, you really are so mean!” You huff, deciding to act childish in hopes of changing the topic. Despite your childish complaint, Joshua hums in reply, glancing up at the sky once more. The night sky remains dark, empty of stars and only a void of complete darkness.

A silence overtakes the two of you, one that is heavy and you are sometimes unsure on how to speak to him. After all, he is a God, an infamous one at that; though his own reputation never scared you away, it only drew you closer to him like a reckless fool attracted to any signs of danger.

“Why are you here?” Joshua asks suddenly, showing hints of curiosity breaking through the aloof nature he had. You shrugged, “I have no idea.” You said, a lie leaving your lips; you do know why you are here. You have snuck away from the kingdom itself for a reason, and it was apparent to Joshua. His purple gaze had a slight glow, possibly from amusement, at your lie.

Joshua lets out a low hum, “You know how dangerous it is at night.”

Although his words seemed caring, it had no intention of sounding gentle or showing concern for your well-being; it was completely lacking any regards to your personal safety. You sigh, a heavy one that made your shoulders rise then fall - “I just couldn’t sleep that’s all.” You say, a half truth this time. Joshua looks towards you, “Being out here in the cold will help you sleep instead?” He questions, eyeing at you with skepticism.

Maybe as a God of War, he holds a strong sense of nosiness.

Rolling your eyes, you fall back on the soft grass, your back resting against the cold yet soft greenery. You place an arm over your eyes whilst Joshua watches your reaction carefully. With a momentary pause, you finally answered - “I wanted to get away from the kingdom.”

Joshua looks at you, his eyes softening and he slowly turns his head away - “I understand. I think.” He says, a tenderness replacing the tone he held before when you first arrived. “Was today not a good day?” He asks once more, glancing at the sky. Oddly enough, the clouds are beginning to drift apart, revealing the moon that hid behind it.

“It was not good nor was it bad. But, maybe I just felt overwhelmed.” You admit, removing your arm from your eyes. Beyond you, the stars hidden away were revealed and you sit up to point at the star littered sky - “The night is bright, after all!” You exclaim with a grin, a finger pointing towards the stars displayed. Joshua rolls his eyes, already staring at the stars.

“They are just stars.” Joshua said, detached from the sight he has been accustomed to for centuries. Nothing changes within the sky, but his gaze did not fall away; he was captivated and maybe those clouds had drifted him along, away from reality itself. You chuckle at his reply, looking at him to see his expression; as you’ve learned, Joshua is someone who expresses when he thinks no one is looking.

For a moment, the mask melts away and a longing expresses from his round eyes. His amethyst-like gaze only became dull, as those the jewelry embedded had lost its richness; the firm press of his lips, showing how deep in thought he was. Rarely you ever see this side of him, but when you do - an ache resonates in your heart, as he holds a burden of loneliness upon his shoulders.

After knowing Joshua, you learned that it was lonely being a God.

Joshua notices your staring, looking towards you with furrowed brows of confusion. The vulnerability is long gone, as he scowls - “What is it?”

You watched how his eyes hardened, his violet eyes holding a coldness that is always used to push you away. You smile at him, however.

“You are beautiful.”

Confusion expresses from his beautiful face again, but slowly dissipates into embarrassment. Joshua lets out a small laugh of disbelief, his head turning away to avoid looking at you directly; a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. “What are you talking about?” Joshua asks, his voice low…No, small like a mouse. It was endearing to see him so flustered, but you meant it.

“Way more beautiful than the stars above,” You add with a chuckle. You look away, giving him time to compose himself; you glance up at the stars again, sitting back on your hands with a stupid smile on your face. Joshua tenses slightly at your words, your words seeming to clear the haze in his mind; the usual haze he found comfort in, suddenly diminishing and bringing a realization that made his stomach churn.

He is unsure whether to feel disgusted by your words…Or accept it.

But, how could someone like him hold a beauty for anyone to admire?

“You always speak of nonsense.” Joshua says barely above a whisper, glancing down at his hands on his lap. The same hands that hold evidence of the violence he possesses deep within, he is not created to be admired or loved.

You shake your head, looking at him and ready to give your reply; but, you stopped. Anger…No, resentment flares within his eyes, creating an intense glow of violet. You’ve always seen the deity holding a look of arrogance or sometimes joy, but you have never seen this expression. Not even once.

To you, he looked like he was burning; flames of hatred burning him alive at that very moment, and he looked much brighter than the stars above. But, you realized those flames weren’t directed to your words - it was the flames that Joshua always held as the God of War, a showcase of a war that never ended for him.

Joshua, the God of War, hates himself.

Slowly, you reach out towards him, placing a hand on one of his hands. Underneath your touch, he shook and he looked towards you; looking frightened, as though he feared that with one touch you would burn away. But, you did not withdraw, instead you sat still with your hand over his. Your fingers curl around his, grasping onto him with a gentle squeeze surrounding them.

A gentleness that surprised him, one that made his own body tremble slightly; a swirl of emotions whirring inside, his own heart twisting painfully - seeming to punish him for the way things had turned out. Joshua wasn’t supposed to reveal this side to you, he is a God, he needs no pity from a human like you.

“Why?” He sputters out amongst his emotional turmoil, sounding hurt and…Heartbroken. The very question only made you squeeze his hand tighter, realizing the shatter of his own heart; the feared God with a reputation of being the source of chaos - was revealed to be a lonesome God, who was ruined by what he was.

Unexpectedly, tears stream down Joshua’s face, the warmth contrasting his cold skin and falling onto your hand as droplets of his own sorrow. Instantly, you raise your hand to place upon his cheek, your thumb wiping away his tears. Surprised, Joshua moves away from your touch and wipes them away with the back of his hand; he hasn’t cried for centuries, why now? He needed to get away.

Although, his mind tells him to, his own heart desperately craved the tenderness you gave him. The way you looked at him with concern, a look that seems to convey how much you cared for him; he didn’t understand.

Quietly, you watch how he takes shaky breaths, the tears continuing to fall from his delicate eyes - no matter how many times he wipes them away. Leaning forward, you wrap your arms around him, the warmth of your embrace only making him freeze. You held onto him tightly, fingers grasping onto the coat he wore, your head buried in the crook of his neck to hopefully take away his sadness.

His pain.

His hatred.

Gradually, his body relaxes into your touch, a hesitant hand rising to place on the back of your neck. The same hands that handled many things roughly, held a gentleness that contrasts the reputation he held as a God; his fingers warm against your skin, fingertips caressing the back of your neck.

Underneath the stars, Joshua holds onto you, welcoming you into his own embrace.

“Thank you.” Joshua whispers, his arms wrapping around you to alleviate the emotions embedded inside him. After so many centuries, he finally recalled the familiarity of acceptance from you.

For once, this type of warmth felt right.

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elonomhblog · 2 months

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how to reduce acne (and what is acne)

acne is a skin condition that occurs when hair follicles become clogged with oil and dead skin cells. it typically results in whiteheads, blackheads or pimples that can appear on the face, forehead, chest, upper back and shoulders. acne is most prevalent among teens but can affect people of all ages. several factors contribute to acne, such as excess oil production, buildup of dead skin cells, bacterial growth and inflammation.

acne is not inherently 'bad' but it is a source of discomfort for many people. while acne itself is not a bad thing, it can lead to potential complications if not managed properly, such as scarring or emotional distress.

when reading this post, it is important to remember that everyone's skin is different and what works for one person may not work for another. i'd like to add that i am not a dermatologist, and this post is written with my own experience in mind as well as research online.

reducing acne involves a combination of skincare practices and lifestyle adjustments. here are some recommended actions:

properly wash your face cleanse your face twice daily to remove excess oil, sweat and dirt. some common face washing mistakes include using the wrong cleanser, over-washing your face, under-washing your face, the wrong water temperature and using a dirty washcloth. don't worry if this all seems confusing, here's a post on how to properly wash your face.

know your skin type use products suitable for your skin type only--oily, dry, combination or sensitive. you can find this out by visiting a dermatologist or (alternatively) researching the skin types and seeing which best matches your skin.

moisturise moisturiser curbs dryness, which balances oil production in your face and therefore helps to prevent acne. choose a non-comedogenic moisturiser to not clog your pores.

consider over-the-counter treatments think about acne treatments with ingredients like benzoyl peroxide or salicylic acid.

stay hydrated drink plenty of water to maintain skin hydration. good hydration helps to maintain skin elasticity, supports the skin's protective functions and prevents sunburn, sensitivity and oiliness. women should drink about 2.7L of fluids every day (including water, other beverages and food).

limit makeup use minimal makeup and ensure that it is non-comedogenic. don't stop wearing makeup if it is something you enjoy, however, try to limit it in acne-strong areas.

don't touch your face this is a big one, and yet so many people do it. keep your hands away from your face to prevent the spread of bacteria. seriously, you use your hands for so much--you don't want the germs of everything you've touched on your face.

limit sun exposure protect your skin with appropriate sunscreen. and remember to re-apply! limiting sun exposure also reduces skin cancer risk. balance is key, though, because the sun is necessary for vitamin d production and maintaining circadian rhythms.

exercise regularly physical activity can help reduce stress, which may contribute to acne.

enjoy a healthy diet eating a well-balanced diet can support skin health. consider reducing dairy and high glycemic foods. a diet with a low glycemic index may help balance hormone levels, which is the same effect when insulin spikes occur less. essential nutrients promote skin health and help to repair and maintain the skin barrier.

invest in stress management find ways to reduce stress, such as journaling or going for a walk. stress can worsen acne. this is because, under stress, the body's healing process slows down, meaning acne can take longer to heal and become more severe. stress hormones can also increase oil production, leading to clogged pores.

(images are from pinterest)

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choupicosmeticbeauty · 11 months

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#Cocoa butter creme #Hydrating skincare #Natural beauty products #Nourishing body lotion #Luxurious skin treatment #Moisturizing cocoa butter #Supple and smooth skin #Restoring skin's glow #Deep hydration for skin #Protecting skin from dryness

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crevicedwelling · 1 year

Note

hello! i really enjoy all your slug images :) im curious, do you know how/why the texture of your slugs changes so drastically? it’s really neat to see how they kinda wrinkle up! also, is there a reason they sometimes look stretched out really long vs bunched up blob?

they bunch up defensively or when resting, with their thick skin providing protection from dryness and predators. they stretch out when moving.

(sped up video of Sarasinula plebia)

#leatherleaf slug #bugs

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alicerosejensen · 11 months

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Just headcanons with Leon and his daughter who has a chronic illness

Leon x daughter!sick (diabetes, epilepsy or any other severe chronic disease)

√ Hey, Leon carefully guards his child! however, there are not always things from which he can protect his daughter.

√ I see Leon as a very caring father. He will worry if his daughter's knee is torn from a fall from a bicycle and carefully treat her wound and bind it up if necessary. He will also monitor how her childhood injuries are healing.

√ Having seen so many horrors in the world, Leon takes even a simple cold seriously. If the temperature does not decrease even after taking an antipyretic, Leon will prefer to take his daughter to the hospital.

√ Leon hardly knows the symptoms of the diseases, but he noticed an unusual dryness of the skin and the smell of acetone in combination with other symptoms. If his daughter loses consciousness in front of him, it will drive him crazy. All the way to the hospital, Leon will hold her in his arms and kiss her on the forehead or the top of her head.

√ Nevertheless, he will not allow himself to show fear of his daughter. No matter at what age she is diagnosed with it, Leon will be her strongest support. He will learn everything about this disease and his concern will only increase.

√ He is paid very well for risks at work, so the question of money is never acute. Leon will make sure that his baby receives good treatment, which will be corrected by doctors in time and he will repeatedly take her to an endocrinologist and other necessary examinations.

√ Measure your blood sugar level every day and make sure that the insulin injection is done on time? Papa Leon is watching this very carefully. He even keeps a blood sugar control log.

√ Does she need a home education? Leon will study this issue, and if necessary, then no problem.

√ It is important to understand that under no circumstances will he leave his child alone with these diseases. He will never tell his wife/girlfriend to deal with this shit alone.

√ Will take her to all medical procedures.

√ He's such a loving dad. He always convinces his little girl that her illness does not make her inferior. Spends time with her looking for classes available to her.

√ He will definitely not allow his child to be offended.

√ He will turn on her cartoons and lie next to her in the nursery until she falls asleep. Actually, Leon, because of his daughter's illness, can check her well-being even at night.

√ He definitely knows how to provide first aid, but for the sake of his daughter, learn to put injections more carefully so as not to leave bruises and not cause her great pain.

√ Always consults with specialists on any medical issues.

√ Leon will always take care of his child's well-being. This is what he highlights, if nerves or stress affect her health, then he will comfort her and say that no excitement is worth her well-being. For Leon, the daughter is a little diamond, no matter what she is ill with.

√ If a chronic illness is caused by a severe injury (for example, a traumatic brain injury), Leon will literally hate himself for not looking after his child well.

√Again, medications are very expensive, as well as treatment, but Leon is ready to do everything possible so that his child does not need anything. If she gets epilepsy later, Leon will try to always be there to help his baby.

√ Leon will always try to be there. When she is in the hospital, he will provide her with the full care that is possible.

√ It does not matter what kind of disease she has, he will still study the Internet and books studying this diagnosis in order to know better how to help his child.

√ Perhaps his daughter will be banned from playing sports or attending summer camps, depending on how serious everything is, then Leon will try to find a good alternative with her.

√ All medicines will always be at hand.

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon scott kennedy x daughter #dad leon s kennedy #dad leon kennedy #older leon kennedy #leon kennedy resident evil #papa leon #leon #leon kennedy headcanons #resident evil headcanons #headcanon #leon Kennedy dad #papa leon s kennedy #resident evil leon

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foli-vora · 1 year

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Female reader. Steven grant. Prompts: 21, 26, 75.

In my mind is something like reader having to protect sweet Steven, so she breaks up with him and he’s destroyed and begs her to not leave him or something but ends up telling her he hates her after the whole break up scene, and she leaves.

Break my heart with this please. I want to feel stevens sadness and readers heart breaking knowing it’s what she has to do.

CONGRATS ON 3K MY LOVE!!! PRECIOUS FOLI IM SO HAPPY TO SAY THAT IVE BEEN HERE FOR LONG RIDE!! It’s an absolute honor to read you.

my sweet love, i am so honoured you've been here for the long haul and i appreciate you so much! thank you for your request, i had so much fun breaking sweet boi's heart! i hope this is painful enough for you x

tear into my heart

steven grant x f!reader

word count: 2359 warnings: angst. so much angst. mention of the avengers/other marvel characters, brief mention of S.H.I.E.L.D & HYDRA, mentions of danger, mentions of death/dying, lies, a fake affair, break up, brief violence (throwing a plate)

Dread.

It fills you. It runs through your veins, churns restlessly in your gut and fills your throat until it feels impossible to inhale. Panic begins to build, with sweat stinging at your skin and bringing a wave of fog over your mind.

How had things gotten so out of hand? You’d thought for sure the situation would be contained, would be dealt with so easily. It was looking fine, everything had gone well and it was meant to just be over. Done with. Finished. You should’ve known it was never that simple.

Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.

How did you get here? Maybe you could explain, maybe you could keep him safe, maybe it didn’t have to be this way—

Bucky sighs, the crackled whisper of it falling into your ear from your phone and you bite down on your lip to stem the bitter feel of tears.

“I’m sorry, doll. I wish there was another way.”

You swallow around the sudden dryness in your throat, picking at the blanket beneath you. The blanket you often shared with him.

The blanket he’d draped around your shoulders when you had a cold, the blanket you tucked around him when he fell asleep reading on the couch… so many memories with just a bit of fabric. You dare not look around to see the other trinkets and memories lingering in his flat.

“Am I doing the right thing, Buck? I don’t want to hurt him, surely I—we—can protect him—”

“I wish I could say we could, but the reality is I just don’t know. Do you want to risk it?”

Could you risk it by staying? Risk him?

“No,” you reply softly, knowing you’d rather suffer the pain of not being with him rather than the pain of potentially burying him. You needed him safe. You needed to know he was safe.

“Maybe once this is over, you could sit him down and explain everything. He might understand?”

Would he? Would you even get that far? While confident in your skills and abilities, there was always a chance of not walking away, and you might never have the chance to fix anything. Death has never frightened you — the possibility simply came with the job and you had long made peace with that, but now?

A trickle of fear buds in the centre of your chest. Could you die knowing you had left him heartbroken? Could you die knowing you didn’t utter a final ‘I love you’? Would he even know you died?

As far as he knew, you worked in an office. A simple job, with occasional travel included.

You hated lying, but it just seemed a lot easier than coming out with the whole 'Oh, well I worked as an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D before that went up in literal flames and I’m now actually stationed in London and employed by the Avengers on the recommendation of Agent Barton'.

Steven was nervous enough in the beginning, you didn’t need another reason to scare him away with that whole backstory.

“Yeah… maybe,” you mutter, desperately blinking the shine of tears overtaking your vision. “Okay. I’ll be an hour or so, I don’t want to just leave him a note—I want to do it properly.”

“We’ll be here, doll.”

Knowing you didn’t have long until Steven got home, you pass some time by shoving clothes into a bag and clearing your things from the bathroom, trying to not focus on the way his toothbrush now sits alone in the cup. You can barely look at your reflection in the mirror.

Emotion claws at your throat when you empty your side drawer and pluck the single polaroid from its depths. You hold it between two fingers, studying the way he looks so damn handsome in his glasses and fully focused on the little book in his hands, completely oblivious to you taking a photo.

“I love you,” you whisper, trailing your fingertips over its shiny surface before slipping it carefully into the front pocket of your bag, unwilling to part from it should he not want to see you once you were finished with the mission.

At least he’d be safe.

“Take care of him, Gus,” you murmur to the glass, watching the orange fish swim his usual paths through his tank.

The door opens, drawing your attention away from the little animal, and in shuffles Steven, rustling with a plastic shopping bag and a tired smile that considerably brightens when his eyes find you. Your heart quickens in your chest, his presence never failing to send your system into a tizzy.

He’s too good for this, too good for you.

“Hiya, love. Gods, you would not believe the day I’ve had—”

Off he goes.

You love his ramblings. You love how he would use his hands so much as he talks, how expressive he would get and how he was oblivious to anything happening around him. He would talk and talk and talk, and you would soak it all up, hanging on every word falling from his lips.

Just for a moment, you enjoy the normality of it; the calm before the storm, the peace before the pain. He’d stop soon, realising he hadn’t yet given you a kiss, so you straighten before he can do so, knowing if you were to feel that simple, tender press of his lips you wouldn’t have the strength to walk out the door.

“Steven?”

The word gets trapped in your throat.

“—and then some kid knocked the stuffed scarabs over so that was a little disaster in itself coz you know what Donna’s like. Oh! There’s that new David Attenborough doco on the telly tonight so I thought we could watch that and order in some tea, maybe have a little b—”

“Steven,” you repeat louder, firmer, “we need to talk.”

Immediately, he stops. His eyes fly to you and you fight to weaken at the softness swimming in them. This is for him, you remind yourself. It’s all for him. He’d be killed if they knew.

“I thought we already were, though it was a bit hard for you to get a word in what with me going on,” he gives a chuckle, but your face remains indifferent to it. His eyes flick over your face, taking in your cool, stiffly set features and his smile falters. “You ‘right, love?”

Here we go. I’m so sorry.

“No. I’m leaving.”

He blinks, “You what?”

“I’m leaving. This is over.”

“Over?” Confusion twists his brows, his face pinching as the words ring through his ears. “What do you mean ‘over’?”

“I mean this—” you gesture between him and yourself, “—is over. What we have? It’s done. I’m done, Steven. I’m leaving.”

“What? No, you—you can’t. We—” he runs a flustered hand through his curls, his chest jumping with his sharp inhale, “everything’s great. It’s great. Wh… I don’t understand. I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur before you can stop the words from falling, forcing yourself to swallow the feel of your heart beating in your throat.

“Is it the sleep thing? Love, I-I’m sorry, I can… I can figure something out! I’ll tie myself to the bloody bed if I have to!” He smiles, laughs, but it’s all nerves, panic.

So many nights you’d woken to him up and moving about. The first time it happened, it was almost as if he didn’t recognise you, like he was so lost to dreams that he wasn’t truly there and was startled at your presence. It happened frequently, almost every night, and with the more you began to stay over, the more it became a routine.

You’d coax him into bed, wrap him in the quilt and kiss his cheek with a loud smack, expecting his dorky little chuckle or an adoring little comment, but instead you were met with stares that didn’t seem quite so familiar. He looked like Steven, smelt like Steven, but the eyes… there was something there.

“No Steven, it’s not the sleep thing.”

“Is—is it me?” He asks shakily, faltering on a step forward and bringing his hands together anxiously, his fingers turning and twisting around the others. “I know I can be a bit much, love, but I-I can change… I’ll do anything for you, anything—”

It pierces right through your chest, impaling your heart and tearing it in half. How could he think that? He’s lovely. So, so lovely. You’ve never met anyone like Steven. He’s beautiful. He’s smart. He’s kind and warm and so damn sweet—

“It’s not you, please believe me when I say that.”

No, it’s not you, precious boy. I’m so sorry.

His hands begin to tremble.

There’s nothing more to say. It’s done. You let your gaze fall away from him, taking a quick second to gather yourself and keep your posture straight, ensuring to swallow down the pressure in your throat before it could morph into tears.

He moves when you do, watches you pick up the readied bag he had passed coming in, and he steps in front of the door, holding a hand out in an effort to keep you still.

“Love, please—”

“I’m going, Steven.”

He doesn’t move. He stands there in your way, hands shaking by his sides, his lips pressing tightly together to keep the noticeable wobble at bay.

“Please let me do this,” you mutter, the dull sting pricking the back of your eyes. Get out now.

“You can’t leave, love. You can’t, we—you’re my everything. Please—please, just—we can fix this. Whatever it is, we can fix it!”

He won’t let go.

Gods, Steven, please let go.

The thought of this all blowing out of control and someone finding him… the thought of it makes you physically ill. Your mind rejects the images of him hurt, beaten, laying bleeding and broken on the floor, his eyes empty and staring vacantly into nothing.

Bile builds in your throat. You have to protect him, you have to keep him safe.

There’s a way to make him let go, but it’s fucking brutal, and you’re almost certain there’s no coming back from it. But it’s okay. If he’s safe, it will be okay. It’s for him.

A bubble of self loathing builds in your gut. Please forgive me.

The words make you sick.

“There’s someone else.”

The moment holds after your spoken words, the air in the flat turning harder somehow. His heart shatters. You can see it play across his face. First the confusion, your words not quite sinking in. Someone else? No. No, you would never. The denial—you wouldn’t do that… no, you love him, don’t you? The pain. It pierces right through to the very core of you.

You bite down hard on your tongue. There’s so much you want to say. You want to cry, you want to apologise, you want to cradle him and tell him there’s no one else, there could never be anyone else… but you stand firm, watching the daunting understanding leak into his features.

His shoulders drop, and those tortured eyes meet yours.

“Oh. What’s their name?”

Your training kicks in.

“James.”

“James,” he repeats quietly, his throat bobbing with a swallow. “How long?”

“Steven—”

“How long?”

“A few months,” you lie through your teeth.

Lying had always been somewhat of a second nature to you, but here? Now? The words burn your mouth. The lies feel acidic on your tongue. It burns to the point you think you can’t utter another word.

“All that time?” He whispers in surprise, his voice cracking.

His lips press firmly together but the action doesn’t stem the tears that build along his lash line. The barrier breaks and they eventually spill, falling from his eyes and painting his cheeks with trails of heartbreak.

“Does… does he know about me?”

You don’t answer, but he seems to draw a conclusion from the look on your face. He gives a barely there broken chuckle, forced through shaking lips.

“Bet you both had a right laugh,” he mutters scornfully, “while your stupid little boyfriend waited in his stupid little flat.”

Your face creases, “Steven—”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, eyes dropping to the floor as more tears stream down his face. “Gods I love you, but I fucking hate you right now.”

And with those final words, he crumbles.

His devastation is palpable, and your heart shatters alongside him.

He wraps his arms around himself, unable to raise his eyes enough to meet yours as he shuffles out of your way, freeing your exit and allowing you to leave. A warm tear slips down your cheek as you listen to the sounds of agony falling from his throat, spreading over your skin when your fingers rise to brush it away.

Every step towards the door is a struggle.

You want nothing more than to turn around, to stay. The door knob is ice cold under your fingers, mirroring the feeling of grief spreading out from your gut. His cries echo around you, burning into your mind with each broken inhale and heavy exhale.

The soul shattering sobs stop, and the startling finality of it is enough to have you pausing where you pull the door open. His curled shoulders stiffen and his body hardens, almost as if he just snapped right out of his heartbreak.

He half turns, his dark, wild gaze locking onto you from beneath the mop of curls falling over his eyes and you’re frozen from the bitter hostility filling them. The rage, the hatred.

It’s not the stare you’re used to meeting at night. This is different.

The air changes, thickens.

He’s different.

“Steven?”

“Get out,” he rasps, voice taking on a deeper, angrier husk and it’s not him—it’s not your Steven, “now.”

“What—”

“Leave!”

His hand swipes a plate from the table, sending it flying across the room before it shatters into pieces against the wall and you swallow a sob, quickly resuming your exit and aching at the sounds of further destruction that echo down the hall once the door slams shut.

moon bois tags: @acourtofsnakes, @greeneyedblondie44, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @itswanktime, @stevenmylove, @ruhro7, @juletheghoul, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @asgardiandeadpoetsociety, @excitedcurtain864, @chickencouncilrep, @bluestuesday, @katronautt, @what-iwish-you-knew, @totallynotastanacc, @bangaveragewhitewine, @chaoticevilbakugo, @trickstersp8, @rominaszh, @gooddaykate, @midgardianminx, @mishasminion360, @detectivecarisi-1, @quicksilvermad, @raphaelaisabella, @iceclaw101, @thatpinkshirt, @breakfastonpluto19, @withakindheartx, @sirpascal, @littleone65, @xoxabs88xox, @timpletance, @jitterbugs927, @randomchick546, @xdaddysprincessxx, @dnxgma, @astronomeoww, @dindjarinswhore, @Curiouser-an-curiouser, @h-hxgirl, @mischiefnevermanaged94, @mando-amando, @mx-ferelden, @xxvariant, @welcometostayingawake, @trinkets01, @shadowolf993, @mwltwo, @loveslide, @lccs-world, @artsymaddie

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