#THE REFLECTIVE LIGHT ON HIS LEFT NOSTRIL | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

prettygiri222 · 4 months

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Summary: At your boyfriend Onyankopon's backyard pool, what could happen?

Onyankopon x Black Fem Reader SMUT

“girl I wanna handle you, put my hands up on you, baby…” you softly sang while scrolling through your boyfriend Onyankopon’s phone. you were in your own little world, lightly swaying in the water of his backyard pool as you queued up music. you were wearing a sparkly pink bikini that left very little to the imagination, Onya feared that during any little movement, your tits would spill out.

you and Onya hadn’t gone very far in your relationship, the most you’ve done so far was heated make-out sessions. you were a shy little thing when Onya first met you so he didn’t want to do anything to make you uncomfortable. he opted to smoke a blunt to calm his nerves tonight, he asked if you wanted a hit but you said no.

instead of feeling relaxed, he became hyper-aware of your second lips slipping out of your bikini. he was trying his best to be respectful and not look but it was so hard, especially when you bent over to shake your ass, making waves in the water when your favourite songs came on.

you were taking sneak peeks at Onya as he smoked on the other side of the pool not wanting you to get a “second hand” high. but the herbal scent still wafted close. your man was so fine, he had a freshly done taper fade that exposed his chiselled jaw. his chest tattoo was on full display and his neck was decorated with a gold chain that held your initials in cursive with a little heart. the reflection of light off of the pool gave his dark skin a glowing hue.

you could feel yourself grow wetter in the pool, your fluid tainting your boyfriend's pool. you looked back down at the phone to distract yourself. but you couldn't help but want to relieve the feeling.

Onya watched you with the gaze of a hunter stalking its prey. he wanted to know what you tasted like, you always filled his nostrils with the sweet scent of cocoa butter. he imagined that you would taste no different.

“when you gon let me eat you out babygirl?” Onya’s husky voice echoed in the empty backyard. your eyes widened in shock at his blunt statement but the words went straight to your core. Onya shocked himself as well, he was thinking about it but he he wasn’t going to say it. you slowly turned around to look at your boyfriend seeing him put out the end of his blunt, he said it so he was gonna stand on it.

“Onya! what are you…” you stopped mid-sentence making eye contact with his red eyes. he was manspreading on the edge of the pool, his wet trunks sticking to his skin exposing his boner but he wasn’t ashamed. he followed your eyes smiling when he found what you were looking at. he jumped into the pool and slowly made his way over to you, holding eye contact till he got too close and you broke it. you looked to the side nervously, your lower stomach was doing flips.

“you ain’t hear what I said?” his usual deep voice sounded hoarse as he whispered in your ear. he pulled back to look at you, loving the way you were turning into putty without him even touching you. you guys were so close but so far, you backed into the wall when Onya came close but he had you trapped now. he let his question hang in the air waiting for your answer.

“I did” you whispered, still avoiding eye contact. he didn’t even have to touch you and you were already losing it. you wanted him so bad, but you were speechless. the tension was so thick it was suffocating.

“you gon let me have a taste?” he asked. you nodded your head, biting your lip. finally, given the green light he’s been looking for, Onya pounced on you, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. he took your ass in his palms, groping you as he pulled you closer. you gasped into the kiss and he used the opportunity to slither his tongue into your mouth. you closed your eyes and wrapped your hands around his neck pulling him in deeper, feeling your tongues mould together.

the spicy taste of the weed was present in his mouth but there was an underlying sweetness of the honey candy he was always sucking. without breaking the kiss Onya grabbed you by the thighs and pulled you onto the ledge of the pool, situating him in between your legs as he stood tall in the pool. he took the chance to grind into you, feeling you melt into the kiss.

your boyfriend's tongue gently sucked on yours swallowing up your moans, it wasn't long till you were out of breath. he felt you pulling back but he grabbed you by the back of the neck so you couldn’t break this kiss. his other hand moved to play with the strings of your bikini at your hips, slowly untying them.

only when he started feeling you gasp for breath he pulled back, breaking the string of saliva between your lips. you looked up at him with blown-out pupils and the view went straight to his dick, your soft lips swollen, your perky nipples from the cool air, your brown skin glistening and the invisible locs that framed your sculpted face. you were perfect in his eyes.

Onya bit his big plump lips as he peeled your bikini off, he was salivating at the thought of finally seeing lil ma. but before he could reveal her you grabbed onto his strong arms and closed your legs.

“wait Onya!” he rolled his eyes but waited for you to speak. “we’re outside, what if one of your neighbours sees us?” you didn’t really care about his neighbours if you were being honest, you just wanted a second to breathe. you’ve never had a guy go down on you so you didn’t know what to expect and you were a little nervous.

Onya didn’t say anything as he got out of the pool beside you and walked over to the towels on the lawn chairs. you looked at his back in worry, did you make him mad? you watched silently as he walked back over to you with an intense burning in his eyes. he wrapped the towel over your wet body before picking you and your discarded bikini up.

you wrapped your legs around his waist shivering at the feeling of the cold night air against your exposed core and his hard-on rubbing against your stomach. he kicked open the glass door and hastily made his way across the living room and into his bedroom. he dropped you softly onto the bed, briefly exposing your lower half before you fixed the towel.

“is this better?” he looked deep into your eyes trying to sense any discomfort. you shuffled under the intensity of his gaze. Onyankopon was always such a gentleman, no matter how heated things got he never went further if you didn’t want to. but you were getting a bit frustrated, it’s not that you never wanted things to go further you just didn’t know how to initiate things.

“I need to hear you say yes baby,” he asked, sensing your hesitation. despite his demeanour, Onya was slowly losing it, he wanted you, no, he needed you. he was desperate to get a taste of you at this point if you said no he could see himself getting on his knees to beg.

“I want you, Onya,” you affirmed, holding his gaze. your boyfriend didn’t waste any more time. he dropped to his knees on the floor and grabbed you by the ankles to pull you toward the end of his king size bed. he was moving like a starved man, he made quick work of the towel and your bra leaving you exposed. but he couldn’t help but stare at you in awe, his beautiful girlfriend bare before him.

“stop staring, it’s embarrassing.” you lightly kicked his shoulder to get him out of his trance. he was staring at your naked body for so long you were starting to feel a little self-conscious. his gaze was intense, you could see the yearning in his deep brown eyes.

“you’re so beautiful, I can't help it.” he smiled up at you before he got to work. Onya grabbed the underneath of your thighs and pushed them up so they were out of the way. exposing your glistening two toned lips.

“shit, you ever touch yourself down here?” Onya hissed looking at your tiny hole. his dick jumped at the sight but he didn't think he would be able to fuck it tonight. it would be a tight fit. he would have to stretch you out and get you used to something smaller first, like his fingers.

“when I think about you,” you airly confessed. you looked up at the ceiling thinking of the countless nights after Onya dropped you home after hours of steamy makeout sessions that led to nothing. where his hands would ghost over your zipper unaware of your throbbing core desperate for his touch. how the thick material of his jeans prevented you from feeling his dick.

when you got home you would busy yourself playing with your little bud. imagining how Onya would fuck you, how he'd fill you up so well. on the days your dripping cunt miserably clenched around nothing, you would shove a finger or two to fulfil your fantasy of your boyfriend pounding into you.

“so you've been holding out on me?” Onya kept a steady hold on your plush thighs while he spread your lips with his right. he was able to witness the clear fluid gushing out of you. he dragged his forefinger around your hole collecting the liquid before pushing his middle finger past your tight muscle. “that's not very nice.”

“Onyaaa” you squealed out gripping the sheets.

“your fucking leaking babygirl” after giving you time to adjust he slowly inserted his ring finger. he loved the way your pink hole readily sucked him in, contrasting against your brown lips. “you a squirter? or you cream?”

“don't know” Onyankopon’s well-manicured fingers were prodding at spots your small fingers couldn’t reach. it had you twisting and turning in the sheets not knowing if you wanted to run away from the onslaught of pleasure or invite more.

“guess we'll both find out,” Onya loved how sensitive you were. when he pulled his fingers out your hips chased after. you let out airy moans and high-pitched mewls when he nudged your delicate spots.

Onyakopon looked up at you relishing in your beauty. your eyes were locked on him now but he could tell you were out of it. your brows were burrowing as you concentrated on the budding sensation on your lower abdomen.

you could feel him spreading you, he was doing a scissoring motion inside you. before you felt him slip a third finger into your dripping wet cunt. this felt way better than when you touched yourself alone.

now able to move his wrists more freely, Onyankopon started to curl his fingers against the roof of your core. goading out more of your translucent sap when he pushed in and out. the sounds of your wetness were mixing in with your moans.

his fingers were drenched. he was drooling just looking at it, he needed to have a taste. this time when he pulled out he removed his hands completely but it was replaced with a warm, wet feeling. you knew immediately that it was his tongue.

“mhmm,” your boyfriend let out a guttural moan at the taste of you. you were like a cold sweet lemonade after a long day of hard work in the sun, delicious. after he delivered a few kitten licks to your slit lapping up your slick he knew he was addicted and craved more.

“i'ma get it wet like a jacuzzi, and sex with me so amazing” rihanna’s song softly rang through the house from the speaker your boyfriend left playing outside due to his haste. but boy was it an understatement.

“ohmygod, Onya!” your hands found themselves on his head when he started suckling at your clit. you were grinding against his open mouth turning into putty from the mind-numbing pleasure.

“don’t stop, please!” you cried out even though he showed no signs of slowing or stopping. he licked from your hole to slit, sometimes dipping his wet muscle in to tongue-fuck you. the way you clenched around it was enough to tell him you were close.

“wasn't planning on it, just hold on for me ok baby?” Onya didn’t give you any time to process what he said before he inserted his fingers back into your soaking pussy. his lips still attached to your swollen nub giving you the best of both worlds. the onslaught of pleasure quickly had your legs begin to shake.

your hands locked into his short kinks grabbing at what you could. “m close, so close Onya” you were fiercely grinding into his face now. Onya loved it, you were using his face to get off like a fucking toy. your eyes were screwed shut as you focused on reaching your peak. you were so close you could taste it. “mhm mhm”

“can I cum Onya? pretty please?” Onyankopon thought it was cute that you thought you needed his permission to cum. even in your desperation, you were being such a good girl for him. so who was he to deny his sweet princess?

“uh huh” Onya didn’t bother to remove his lips to reply, busying himself with your clit while his fingers plunged into your throbbing cunt. the little vibration was enough to send you over the edge. and you plummeted hard.

“Onyaaa” you squealed out as the pleasure flooded your body. leaving your limbs trembling in its wake. “fuck fuck!” Onyankopon removed his mouth from your pulsating clit but focused on riding you through your orgasm with his fingers.

“shit, you do both” Onya ogled at his hands. when he pulled his fingers out they were covered in a creamy white paste. but still, a colourless liquid gushing out from your gaping hole. your empty whole was quivering at the loss of his fingers. your body let out little hiccups in attempt to calm itself.

“Onya…” you opened your eyes to see your boyfriend stuffing his fingers into his mouth. despite your previous orgasm, you felt yourself get wet again watching him lick and suck at the fingers he had shoved in you just a moment ago.

“I can't help myself, you just taste so good.”

#anime smut #aot smut #x black reader #aot x black reader #black reader smut #black y/n #onyankopon x black y/n #onyankopon smut #onyankopon x reader #black coded reader #fem reader #smut #aot x reader

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celandeline · 2 months

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Because We’re Doing This For the Thrill of It

Farleigh x Reader SMUT, sequel to Not Your Boyfriend, Baby, tw for cheating and being cheated on, you know the deal

part one

Felix’s hands on your hips keep you pressed to him as you dance, your back pressed against his chest as you dance, the music pounding through the club keeping time with your heartbeat. The smell of sweat, vodka and cigarettes invades your nostrils, but you’re too drunk to care about the stench, too focused on the scene in front of you.

It’s been two weeks since you fucked Farleigh, and you don’t think his eyes have left you for more than a few seconds the whole time.

India grinds against Farleigh, one hand wound up around his neck for leverage as she clumsily dances, eyes closed. You couldn’t care less about her. Your eyes are locked on Farleigh’s, the green/blue lights of the club painting him in unusual colors, making him all the more entrancing to look at. The top few buttons of his shirt hang open, and you can see where some of India’s body glitter has rubbed off on him, catching the light and reflecting it away. He lazily dances, that perpetual air of boredom hanging around him even in the midst of the club - you get the sense that he’s just humoring India for something to do at this point. After all, he hasn’t even spared her a glance in the past five songs.

You smile at him as you dance, wishing that it was his hands on your hips instead of Felix’s - but at the same time, this is fun too. Watching him watch you, knowing that he couldn’t care less about the girl that he’s with. Knowing that he’s thinking the same things about you. It’s intoxicating - more so than the green tea shots you’ve been downing.

Felix leans down, his nose dipping into the crook of your neck, breathing heavy. A bead of sweat drips from his face onto you, and you tip your head back onto his shoulder, eyes still locked on Farleigh. You watch him wrap his lips around a cigarette as Felix’s voice booms in your ear.

“Come do a line with me?”

You nod against his skin, and let him steer you off the dancefloor, through the crowd and towards the bathrooms at the back of the club, leaving the rest of your group on the dancefloor. You toss a look over your shoulder as Felix takes your hand, and find Farleigh again. He smiles around his cigarette as you throw him a gaudy wink before the crowd shifts and you lose him from your sight.

Felix leads the way, tugging you along behind him until you reach a quiet corner of the club near the very back. You grin up at him as he digs out a little baggy from his pocket and hold up your forearm for him to shake a line out on. His eyes meet yours as he runs his nose along your skin, the cocaine disappearing and a line of goosebumps rising in its wake. He inhales sharply, blinking a few times as he scrunches up his nose. “Here.”

He passes the baggy to you and holds out the palm of his hand. You shake out a line and quickly hoover it up, almost nuzzling into Felix’s palm as you do. He always offers you the palm of his hand for that reason you think - he likes to watch you eat out of it. He likes to watch everyone eat out of it. He gets off on being a white knight - you’ve seen it a million times.

You hand the little baggy back and watch him tuck it back in his pocket, his pupils already starting to dilate as the coke sinks in. You watch him watch you, and you can see in his eyes what he’s about to do before he does it, so it’s no surprise when he roughly grabs you by the jaw and kisses you, too much teeth and tongue to be really loving in any sense of the word.

It’s nothing like how Farleigh kissed you. Farleigh kissed you like he loves you. You bite Felix back.

He laughs when he pulls away, and grabs you by the hand again to drag you back to the dancefloor. You follow along in his wake as the crowd parts for him until you’re back where you started. India and Annabel pull Felix back into the throng, smiling up at him with that familiar hunger in their eyes as he lets go of your hand in exchange for theirs. You let Felix’s sweaty palm slide out of yours without protest. Let them have him - your eyes scan past Jack and Oliver as you look for who you really want to be here with.

He finds you first, grabbing your wrist and spinning you around to drop down to his knees, comedically sexy, holding onto your hand for leverage as he shakes his ass. You laugh, even though you can only barely hear yourself above the music, and he stands back up grinning at you, cigarette trailing smoke like a halo around his head. He doesn’t let go of your hand as you start to dance. He keeps it friendly, just in case Felix glances over, which you appreciate. To the common observer, you’re nothing but friends.

The way he looks at you is anything but friendly.

Playfully, you pluck Farleigh’s cigarette out from between his fingers and tuck it between your lips, a pseudo-kiss. He watches you take a long drag, and bats away the smoke that you blow into his face with a dry smile before he steals the cigarette back. Still dancing, you spin around, facing the rest of the group again.

The first thing you see is India’s hand skirting up Felix’s shirt and the way her eyes are half-lidded as she looks up at him. He doesn’t seem to care too much though - he’s too busy swapping spit with Annabel, his tongue bullying its way into her mouth. Your lips curl in disgust before you can stop them - you really hope that's not what it looks like when he kisses you.

Maybe it’s the vodka, maybe it's the coke, maybe it’s the culmination of the months of watching him do this to you, but you’re really not in the mood to just let it slide tonight. You’re standing not even two meters away - he can’t think you wouldn’t have noticed? You turn back around to Farleigh, and grab his hand, tugging him back towards where you and Felix had hidden away before. He doesn’t protest, his eyes flicking between India and you before he follows along.

The crowd doesn’t part as easily for you as it had for Felix, so it takes you longer to find your way back into the recesses of the club, amidst the more debaucherous partygoers - you breeze past a couple very obviously about to fuck against the wall, a group of people gathered around a table taking turns doing lines and a girl in tears as she storms away from the bathrooms with her phone wedged between her shoulder and her ear. Pushing past them all you pull open the door to the mensroom and pull Farleigh inside.

He grins at you, obviously amused. “Someone’s pissed.”

You roll your eyes, and push open the door to the stall at the very end of the row. “You wanna fuck or not?”

Farleigh raises his hands in surrender, and walks into the stall, still grinning. You follow him in, and slide the lock into place behind you, even though you’re fairly confident you’ll be uninterrupted. If it were the women's room you’d chosen, there would be no way in hell you could get away with this - too many drunk girls crying in the mirror - but the mens room is blissfully empty. Farleigh still looks like he’s about to laugh.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You say, pushing him against the wall and starting on the buttons of his shirt, picking up where India left off.

“I’m sorry.” He says, not really sounding sorry at all. “It’s just - you said that you didn’t care about the cheating, but it looks like-”

“I don’t.” You insist. And you don’t in the sense that you couldn’t care less about Felix being faithful. He’s never going to hurt your feelings by choosing someone else over you when the only reason you’re with him in the first place is to live off of his excesses free of charge. But you care in the sense that he’s not even trying to hide it anymore. He wasn’t even two meters away from you with his tongue down Annabel's throat. He surely can’t think you’re that fucking stupid.

“It seems like you do.” Farleigh slips his hand under the hem of your dress, pushing the glittery fabric up until it’s above your hips. He trails a finger under the lace band of your underwear, playing with the elastic.

“He was not even two fucking meters away.” You say, undoing Farleigh’s belt, and then moving to the button of his trousers. “It’s like he thinks I’m actually stupid.”

“I thought that was what you wanted?” He teases. “I mean, I thought that was the point of pretending that you don’t know he’s cheating on you.”

You push Farleigh’s trousers down his legs, and start to palm him through his boxers. “There’s a line.” You say. “Like, yes, I want him to think I’m a little stupid so he doesn’t figure out that I don’t actually like him, but this is just insulting. I’m not blind.”

He tips his head back against the wall, watching you through half-lidded eyes as you work him to full hardness over his boxers. You take the opportunity to attach yourself to his neck, kissing over the same spots you had before, renewing the mostly faded marks. You never asked him if India noticed - or if she cared. Judging by the way she was dancing on him earlier, it didn’t even register. Not that she has room to talk really, with how she was feeling up Felix in front of you.

“Why do you care anyway?” You ask against his neck. “Me being pissed at Felix is a good thing for you.”

“Why do I care if you’re upset?” He drawls, sarcastic, looking down at you. “Beats me.”

The implication hangs heavy in the air, and you pull back from his neck to look up at him. “Farleigh.” When you’d joked about it two weeks ago, when you fucked, it was just that - joking. You didn’t think he actually cared about you as anything more than friends-

He leans down to kiss you - soft, tender - everything that Felix isn’t. Your hands wander to his hips, and then up the sides of his stomach, trailing your nails along his skin to make him shiver. You slip your tongue into his mouth and he groans, his fingers dipping beneath the band of your underwear to push them down your legs. You step out of one side, and let them hang on your ankle.

When he pulls back, a string of spit dangles between your lips. You can’t tell if it’s yours or his. His pupils are blown wide, and he looks at you in the way that Felix used to when he first asked you to be his girlfriend. It makes something flutter in your stomach - something you haven’t felt in a really long time.

He starts to say something, but you stop him, scared that it might be too vulnerable, too tender. Tracing your finger along the column of his throat, you drop your voice into a sultry whisper. “Fuck me against this wall Farleigh.”

You see him twitch in his boxers as he shuffles you around so that your back is up against the cinderblocks. He dips a hand into his waistband to pull his dick out, a bead of precum already collected at the tip. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he places his hands under your thighs, and work with him as he lifts you so that your hips meet his. The cinderblocks scratch the skin of your back that your dress doesn’t cover, but you don’t care - it barely registers, your body thrumming with the coke you did earlier and need.

You dip a hand down to find his cock and line it up, pressing the tip against your entrance. You watch his eyelids flutter at the simple touch, and smile. He tucks his head into the crook of your shoulder as he pushes in, and the moan that leaves his lips trickles right into your ear. The stretch doesn’t even burn this time, and pleasure shoots through you when he bottoms out, reaching that spot inside you that Felix can never seem to find. You let out a sigh, and press your lips to the side of his neck, tounging at the shell of his ear.

Farleigh gives a few experimental thrusts, readjusts his grip on you, and then begins to snap his hips against yours in the way that you’ve been craving since the first time you had him. You have no idea how India can still want Felix after having Farleigh - after having this. The way he pants and whines and groans as he fucks you makes the feeling a thousand times more potent, and you take the opportunity to wind a hand into his curls, tugging his head out of your neck so that you can look at him.

Lips still spit-slick from before, he presses them against yours hungrily. You swallow up his moans as soon as they leave his lips, trading them for your own as he forces choked little sounds out of you with each snap of his hips into yours. His fingers dig into the backs of your thighs like he’s trying to leave a bruise there on purpose. If you were more sober, you’d tell him off for it - but you can’t bring yourself to care. Felix wasn’t even two meters away when he’d stuck his tongue down Annabel's throat.

Farleigh pulls away from the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours, watching his cock slide in and out of you. “Fuck.”

You cast your eyes down to follow his, and the sight makes you clench, causing Farleigh to groan, his eyes rolling up into his skull for a split second.

He drops his head back into your shoulder, leaning so that your chests are pressed together, breathing heavy. “Don’t do that, I’ll cum.”

“I want you to cum.” You say, running your fingers up and down his spine, savoring the feeling of his warm skin under your touch.

“Fuck.” He keens, mouthing at your shoulder. “You can’t just say-” He cuts himself off with a moan as you clench again - this time on purpose. “Stop. I want you to cum first, I came too quick last time.” He breathes, sounding absolutely debauched.

“Farleigh.” You clench again, not on purpose, as heat rushes through you. You busy yourself with pressing wet kisses against the side of his face and neck as he fucks you, trying not to think too hard about the fact that he wants you to cum first. He’s putting your pleasure before his, something Felix has never done - and likely will never do. You picked the wrong cousin. You’re sure of it now - even though being with Felix has elevated you to a status you could have never reached before.

Fuck.

Spurred on by the fact that he actually cares about your feelings, the coil of heat in your gut tightens. You grip onto his shoulders tighter, mouthing at his collarbone to try and ignore the fact that he cared when you seemed upset and that he wants you to cum first since he did last time is making you feel a particular way.

He doesn’t have to worry about making you cum first, because you do, muffling your moan into his shoulder as you tense in his grip, pleasure shooting through you, hot and tingly. “Farleigh-!”

He presses his lips to yours, muffling the moan that escapes from him as his thrusts lose their rhythm. You kiss him back with everything you have, and wind a hand into his hair, holding him close to you as he pants and whines as he cums, high pitched and breathy against your neck. “Oh fuck, fuck-” He keens. “Mm, you’re so good, you’re so good, love you-”

“Farleigh?”

The cold touch of death shoots up your spine as Felix’s voice rings through the bathroom. You hadn’t heard the door open, you have no idea how long he’s been standing there. Still panting, Farleigh lifts his face out of your shoulder, wide eyes locking with yours. Hurriedly, he pulls out, stuffing his softening dick back into his boxers and pulling his trousers back up his thighs. You slip your underwear back into place and push your dress down, strangely calm. You should be panicking - Farleigh’s panicking, you can see it - but you’re not. Startled, sure, but panicked? No. You’ve known this was going to happen eventually.

You slide the lock in the stall door, and pull it open, coming face to face with your boyfriend.

He’s pissed - brow drawn tight, mouth tilted down into a tight frown, nostrils flared like he’s ready to fight. “What the hell is all this then?” He says, glancing between you and Farleigh. His eyes fall on you. “You’re cheating on me with my own fucking cousin?!” His gaze shifts back up to Farleigh. “And you’re fucking my girl- I thought we were mates, Farleigh. Family. I can’t fucking-”

You cut him off with an incredulous laugh that echoes around the tiled room. “What can’t you fucking believe, Felix?” You say, the anger you felt from earlier coming back full force. “That I finally am cheating on you back?”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look at you, his eyes still locked with Farleigh’s. He doesn’t even have the decency to be ashamed at all, too full of self-righteous anger to realize what a massive hypocrite he is. And you’re fucking sick of it.

Reaching up, you grab his jaw, forcing him to look at you, uncaring about the way your nails dig into the skin of his cheeks. He might be mad, but you’re enraged, filled with months of resentment like a thousand bullets.

“I’ve known the whole fucking time.” You spit. “You’re not slick, you know, but I let it slide because you’re Felix Catton and Felix does what he wants, whenever he wants to and never suffers the consequences.” You sing-song. “I knew what I was signing up for when I said yes when you asked me out.”

“Sue me for wanting to enjoy my university years.” He says. “It’s different-”

“How?” You cut him off, searching his eyes. “Because it doesn't seem different to me at all. To me, it seems like you can dish it out, but you can't take it.”

He exhales, anger steaming from his breath. “Fuck you.”

You mockingly pout, pulling him closer by the jaw. “What are you going to do, break up with me?” You taunt. “What then? Who’ll protect that golden good boy image you work so hard to curate for your parents? Golden good boy Felix needs a girlfriend, or else Mummy and Daddy will find one for him, right? Or are you finally going to come out to them as a slag?” You tilt your head, waiting for him to respond.

You know he won't do it - he uses you as a shield from his parents expectations, that was half the reason he asked you out in the first place. You keep them off his back, and in return you get to live the life of a rich girl. That’s the deal, and he cares too much about his end of the bargain to let you go.

He rips his face out of your hold, still scowling. He glances once more at Farleigh before angrily stalking away, the door to the bathroom slamming as he leaves.

You let out a long breath, expelling the last dredges of anger from your system before you turn around to face Farleigh. “I’m sorry for dragging you into-”

“I love you.”

He says it too loud, it bounces around the tiled room before it finds its way back to your ears. Your gut flutters. “Farleigh.” You say, pursing your lips.

He closes the distance between you, kissing you like he wants to go for another round. “I’ve had fantasies about calling Felix out for being a bitch for years - mm - and you - mm - he can’t even do anything back to you.”

“That doesn’t - ah - mean that you love me-”

“I can’t stand that you let him fuck you.” He confesses, backing you up against the wall again. You watch him sink to his knees, pulling your underwear back down and pushing your dress up again in the same motion, wide brown eyes looking up at you in sheer admiration. “I get so jealous-”

“That doesn’t mean you love me either.” You gasp as he starts to kiss your thighs.

He sits back on his heels, looking up at you with such vulnerability and sincerity that you find yourself almost uncomfortable. “I care about you, and that’s close enough for me.”

It’s not ‘I love you’ but it is at the same time. He cares about you.

“I care about you.” You say. “Too.” And it’s true, you do. From the moment Felix introduced you, you’d thought he was interesting, and the feeling had only grown the more you’d gotten to know him. He’s smart, and funny, and a bitch in the same way that you are, and kisses you like he cares. Because he does.

Farleigh grins against your thigh, pressing another kiss to the sensitive skin. “I know.”

A moment of loving silence passes between you, and your gut flutters again.

“I still can’t believe you said all that to his face, that was so fucking hot.” Farleigh breaks the silence, nosing between your legs eagerly.

You just laugh, and let him in.

#farleigh start #farleigh start x reader #farleigh x reader #saltburn #saltburn x reader #farleigh start smut #saltburn smut

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distantdarlings · 6 months

Text

HARD EDGES (PT. 2) // t. riddle

RATING: R / 2.2K WORDS (PT. 2)

Tom Riddle x Reader-Insert (Gender not specified, but mentioned that reader is wearing a skirt) Part One

+ SUMMARY - *Requested* A follow-up from the rather interesting update on your relationship with Tom Riddle. After asking Tom to the Winter ball, he reacts in a rather interesting way. A way you've been hoping for, for a while.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Heavy sexual material, Tom is mean, choking, slight degradation (If you know me irl....no you do not)

+ MUSIC (Listened to while reading) -

Church - Chase Atlantic

---

Your eyes found his again as he pulled his away from your neck. A shudder ran down your spine at his dirtied words. The smirk never left his face. Your lips parted once, twice, trying to think of something to say in response to what he had said, but you came up with nothing. You reckoned you look like a bloody fish standing here, staring at him.

“Well?” he said, his thumb and forefinger coming up to pinch your chin between them. “Is that what you want?” His thumb rose to your bottom lip. He pressed against the chapped surface and pulled down gently. His eyes flickered down to your mouth and acknowledged how your teeth parted along with your lips.

“Yes,” you barely whispered, your lip moving against his finger.

“Yes, what?” his eyes flickered back up to yours. “You have to say it.”

You gathered what little courage you had and pushed it all into staring up at him through your eyelashes, allowing your tongue to push through your teeth, and gently touch the pad of his thumb. His eyebrow quirked. You wrapped your lips around his finger and sucked gently, watching as his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared ever so slightly.

“I’m yours, Tom,” you breathed. He smirked and pulled you as close to him as you would go by your hips. His hands dropped beneath your ass to grip the thickest part of your thighs. He pulled up swiftly with no warning. You stifled a gasp and wrapped your arms around his neck as your lips met once more.

He turned and walked the both of you over to one of the sinks that sat in the middle of the room. The cold of the rounded porcelain stung beneath your legs as you wrapped them around his waist and pulled him into you, his hips snapping against your core. You sucked in a breath against his lips, every bit of his air stealing down your lungs.

His hands came down to the tops of your thighs, caressing every inch of your legs through your tights. His lips never once stopped on yours. His slender fingertips brushed beneath the hem of your uniform skirt, tracing the sensitive spot where your thighs curved against your stomach, but never touching where you wanted.

Your hands fell down to the buttons of his uniform shirt and began shoving the buttons through their slits as quickly as you could. Once they were undone all the way to where the top was tucked into his trousers, your hands pushed the fabric over his shoulders and discovered the expanse of his chest. His paled skin caught the light and reflected against your eyelids. One hand curled into the dark curls at the base of his neck, while the other dragged its nails down his abdomen, relishing in each shudder you pulled from him. Roughened breaths pushed past his lips and into your mouth at every hand that got closer to the edge of his trousers.

He pulled away from your lips for only a moment as he rushed to loosen your tie and rip your shirt over your head. Whether on purpose or not, he left the loosened tie dangling between the valley of your chest. He dropped to his knees, just before your parted thighs, and applied a series of bruising nips to the soft skin. A small cry raised from you with each sharp pain and your hands wrapped in his curls.

The faucet on the sink was digging ever so slightly into your back. You weren’t sure how long it had been doing so but the flesh along your spine was rather sore. You tilted your hips forward to avoid the rough metal. Tom, however, must have taken it as a sign to get on with things so he rose back to his feet—no longer slow and gentle. He wrapped an arm around your lower back and yanked you back off the sink. A small yelp slipped between your lips at the sudden movement.

“Tom—”

“Shut up,” he growled. He spun you around to face the sink and slammed your hips against the hardened material. You gasped at the slight pain. He pushed your upper body against the cold porcelain and placed your face against the mirror just above it. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his reflection as his eyes trailed down your bare spine. His hands followed where his eyes led, his fingertips brushing down your sides slowly. Chills rose against your skin everywhere he touched. His fingers wrapped around to the front of your abdomen while his thumbs continued their path on either side of your spinal cord. Fuck, his hands were big.

You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as he took every bit of time he could possibly take to finally reach your hips with his hands. He was entirely unpredictable. One moment his hands were soft and gentle and the next, they were rough and abusive. It made the heat in your stomach pool rapidly.

His fingers cupped your hip bones. He was barely moving. He seemed to be thinking or watching or something. You didn’t know what he was doing, but you really wish he’d get going, already. Your hand gripped the base of the sink’s faucet and you placed an arch in your spine. You bumped your body against his hips once, waiting for a response. As soon as you made contact with his front, he quickly gripped the tie still strung around your neck and yanked—hard. A yelp left you as he yanked your head back against his chest and gripped your hips in place against him. You couldn’t move.

“I swear to Merlin, if you move one more fucking time, I will leave you right here,” he spat, his eyes looking down into yours from where your neck was craned so roughly against him.

“‘M sorry,” you choked out, your eyes flickering away from him nervously.

“Good,” he spoke, releasing the hold on your tie. Your head came to rest back against the mirror. The ache in your neck and throat began to dissipate slowly.

His hands went back to slowly moving over your hips before slowly beginning to dip over your skirt-covered ass. His fingers massaged slowly over the muscle, never stopping even when a whispered moan fell from you. He was slow and gentle. And then he was rough and abusive.

He pushed the arch back into your spine as he flipped your skirt up and over your hips. The blackened tights over your legs barely covered the bottoms you were wearing—if you could even call them that. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have ulterior motives any time you went to talk with Tom. Nothing had ever happened up until now, but that’s why you were always dressed for the occasion.

A quiet but shaky groan poured from his lips as his fingers ran over you again, tracing the thin fabric as it sunk between your ass and barely covered the rest of you. The tip of his finger, feather-light, traced the path of the fabric, curving over the spot you needed the most. A moan fell from you as you propped yourself on your toes, attempting to continue his touch. As soon as you did, he pulled back. A frustrated groan pulled from you.

“Don’t fucking move,” he growled. His hand grabbed hold of the tie once more and pulled, not quite as far as left time. “I will leave you right here, naked and pathetic.”

“Just fucking do something,” you spat.

“I will….when I want to and there is nothing you will do about it, isn’t that right?” he cooed. He let you fall back against the mirror once more. You clenched your eyes as tears began to pool. The want you felt for him was so deep and extending, you wish he’d just touch you.

“You’re so pathetic,” he whispered, his fingers curving around the base of your thighs, moving slowly towards your core. “This is what you wanted? This whole time? To be bullied by your classmate. How disturbing.”

His finger pressed against you gently. Your lips parted in a breathy whimper at the feeling. The heat between your legs was growing exponentially. A wet breeze blew against the inside of your thighs and you cringed internally at the embarrassment. The degradation of his words.

You never came down from your toes, trying to offer him the best access possible. His hand fell away from you once again, much to your dismay. But it quickly slid between your thighs, wedging a space between them. You exhaled roughly. The tip of his thumb slightly rubbed against you as his fingers slid through the wetness on your thighs.

His hand pulled away from your legs and, through the mirror, you watched as his reflection pulled its hand to his face and slid the material across his lips and chin with the end of his palm. His eyes remained closed as his lips parted in a shuddering exhale. You could see the shine imprinted on his face.

Then, as if the two if you had run out of time, his fingers slid against the material of your tights and pulled as hard as he could. The thin material ripped over the expanse of your ass as his cold fingers came into contact with your bare skin. The sudden clank of his belt buckle as he separated it from his pants made your stomach sting in anticipation. You could see him working rapidly to free himself and your hand tightly gripped the sink, your eyes clenching shut.

There was a moment of silence before his bare warmth touched against the bottom of your leg. You sucked in a breath. He slid the material of your bottoms to the side and lovingly ran two fingers between the slit of skin. A rather loud moan left you as you reveled in his finally touching you. The tips of his fingers brushed over your entrance a few times before slowly sliding them in. Your eyes clenched tighter and your jaw fell slack. He ran them in and out slowly as he gathered as much of you as he could.

Once he removed his fingers from you, he slid the wetness from between you across himself, sucking in a groan through his teeth.

“Don’t fucking move,” he repeated. “I’m serious.” His voice sounded less demanding as before. Quieter, ragged, a breathless beg, almost.

His heat slid against you from top to bottom. Words were no longer an option for you as he pushed into you, feeling the tight wetness sink around him. He pushed into you until he bottomed out and his hips were pressed up against you. You could hardly breathe, could hardly do anything but whisper his name over and over again.

It took him only a moment before he began moving. He drove himself into you over and over, each push making your legs weaker by the moment. He concealed groans with shuddered breaths and growls from within his chest. One hand gripped your hip while the other slid around you and came to grip your throat tightly. His large hand wrapped around your neck and applied tight pressure. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his pleasured face, angled towards the sky, his lips parted and eyes fluttering to the back of his head.

“Tell me—” you breathed, stuttering over your words. “—what you think, Tommy.”

An audible groan slipped from between his lips at the teasing tone coming from you. His lidded, darkened eyes found yours from where you watched him, nearly fucked out. Your lips, swollen and covered in your own saliva, your mascara sliding down your cheeks, and his hand wrapped around you. He struggled to find his words.

“So fucking good,” he groaned, his breaths becoming harder. His hands tightened and his hips became faster and rougher. You weren’t going to make it much longer if he continued like this. How was he so fucking good at this? He couldn’t have been a virgin before this…

The mascara and saliva he had been watching so closely had begun to mix against the mirror as you tried to find a comfortable resting spot. Your curled hair was pressed up against you messily and mixed in with your mouth. But you couldn’t care less.

He slammed his hips into you faster and faster and messier and messier until he was choking out a groan and releasing your throat. He lay against your back, his bare skin touching yours, and his lips touching your ear. The noises spilling from his lips were addictive, so much so, they sent your own end rushing towards you. The two of you became a chorus as the sweat and heat and thrill of the moment began to die down. He sat there for a minute, his head laid against your shoulder.

“So, yes?” you asked.

“What?” he replied, tilting his head to look at you.

“Does that mean you’ll go to the Winter ball with me?”

#fanfiction #creative writing #fanfic #writing #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #oneshot #reader insert #harry potter smut #slytherin #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle smut

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sports-on-sundays · 5 months

Text

Summary: Romantic Christmas walk with Charles. Extreme fluffy tropes. Charles being a complete and utter sap.

Requested?: Of course not.

You watch as snow gently falls in the golden glow of the streetlights lining the road. Shops are lit up with warm lights, illuminating all sorts of gifts to be bought by one person for another person they love- teddy bears, golden jewelry, winter attire, and the like.

There's a certain magical feeling in the crisp air gently blowing your hair and stinging your rosy pink cheeks. Golden fairy lights line the buildings, and as you walk past diners and bakeries, sweet scents of soups and pastries fill your nostrils. Despite the cold outdoor temperatures, there's an expected warmth in your heart. Christmas fills the air and your soft heart, and as you near the centre of this little town your boyfriend has brought you to, the sound of a small, makeshift choir singing classical Christmas songs starts to faintly reach your ears.

Your boyfriend's hand slips into yours, his warm gloved hand wrapped around your exposed red freezing fingers. You look up, and your eyes meet his. His cheeks are pink, and steam comes from his mouth as he releases a contented sigh. His eyes shine blue, reflecting the golden soft lights all around you. He looks adorable in his wrapped up scarf and snug hat on his head.

Charles, your boyfriend, wraps his arm around you, pulling your body closer to his as he feels you shiver slightly. You turn a corner, and you set your eyes on the sight of a huge tree, standing at about fifteen feet, covered in sparkling Christmas lights, with a shining star sitting on the top of it. Around the tree stand carolers, basking in the lyrics and feel of the season, many of them holding hands, arms around each other, arms linked, or just standing close together.

The feeling of unity hits you like a blanket warming your soul.

You tighten your grip on Charles' arm, leaning into him, and soft gasp escaping your lips at the lovely sight. "Charles..." you murmur.

He glances to you, a soft smile on his face. "Yes, lovely?"

"This is... amazing."

"I thought you'd like it." When you meet his eyes, he winks at you. You grin, setting your head back against his shoulder, looking up at the lovely tree and listening to the wonderful chorus of all different sorts of voices.

When that song ends, Charles gently asks, "Want to keep walking?"

You nod. As you walk, you feel chillier and chillier, pressing your body closer and closer to Charles', until suddenly he stops and gently nudges you away, before beginning to take off his jacket. "What are you doing?" you ask incredulously.

Charles doesn't respond, and simply drapes his bigger, black coat over your shoulders. The warmth of the coat from being on his body and the scent of his lovely cologne both hit you at the same time, but despite the comfort of his jacket, you say, "Come on now. You're no more immune to the cold than I am. I don't want you to be cold."

"Sh," he hums, and his warm pointer finger goes to your lips to hush you. "I'm just fine."

"Charles, stop," you roll your eyes. "I'm the one who didn't bring a jacket. You did. You deserve to keep yours."

He shakes his head no, and pulls you close to him. Suddenly you feel his hot breath on your ear as he whispers gently, "Before we left, I told you to wear a coat. But you said 'No, Charles, because I don't want to hide my cute outfit'," There's a teasing note in his voice as he imitates you and brushes his fingers over your cheek. "You look absolutely stunning, with or without a cute outfit. But I figured I wouldn't argue. So I just wore an extra jacket myself, because I knew you'd be shivering, and I can't have my love being uncomfortable, can I?" There's almost a gentle purring aspect to his voice, which is filled with sugar and honey as he speaks to you in such loving tones.

This time when you say, "Charles, stop," it's with more of an embarrassed giggle than with annoyance.

Both of you seem to accept this, because as you slip your arms in his jacket's sleeves and zip it up, Charles' hand hugs your waist, and the two of you continue walking. The jacket, because of it's size on you, feels like a comfortable blanket. It reminds you of home, and snuggling with Charles. You link arms with him, and he gently kisses your cheek.

As you walk, Charles starts whispering the sweetest things. Sometimes he gets on these rants about how much he loves you and how much he cares about you, and when he starts, there's no stopping his sappy self, so you're forced to listen to his soft praises. "My God, you're so gorgeous. I won't ever be able to stop loving you. Not that I want to. Loving you makes my life so much better. You make my life complete. Like, you are just... lovely and amazing and... I must be the most lucky man on earth to have you. You make me feel so safe and comfortable and I just can't get enough of you. With you, everything is perfect. I don't know how I lived before I met you, and I don't know how I would live if I didn't have you. Babe I just... I'm sorry for going on but..." Suddenly he stops, taking your waist in his hands, pulling your body into his. You look at your head-over-heels boyfriend in amusement as he gives you the most romantic look you've ever seen, pressing his forehead to yours. "Babe, I just love you so much..."

"M-hm... Whatever, you sap," you murmur back in a teasing tone, blushing softly.

"You're going to make me go insane," he swoons.

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Keep yourself under control, handsome."

He simply kisses the tip of your nose, saying, "You're still chilly, aren't you?"

"Don't you dare think of giving me your sweatshirt now-"

"No, no!" he grins, leaning his forehead away a bit. "I was just wondering, though... As we were walking, I saw a cute café. I could buy you a nice warm drink."

"Ohhh," you grin. "Well, in that case..."

Charles grins back, and slips around, only having one arm around your lower back, and the two of you start walking.

Soon the two of you arrive at the shop, but before you go in, suddenly there's a flash of passion in Charles' eyes, and he pulls you to him again. You fit together as two pieces in a puzzle, and his warm, soft lips gently meet yours. You feel bad about how cold and chapped your lips feel, but either it's just you, or Charles doesn't mind, because he kisses you deeply, like there's no one else there, like it doesn't matter. Like you're the only one in the whole world. His hand caresses your cheek and he lets out a soft grunt. When he finally pulls away, both of your breaths are quickened.

He whispers into your ear again, with his hot breath, "Sorry... I got a little carried away, babe. Let's get a little something to drink now. Then we can go to the hotel and do whatever we'd like."

You nod, feeling butterflies and excitement at these promising words. He puts his arms over your shoulders, and you walk in together to the romantic little Christmas-decorated café.

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azrielslightintheshadows · 5 months

Note

Hello....i hope everything is going well! If you dont mind i have a request for rhysand where maybe reader has just given birth and has lately been feeling very insecure about her body and rhysand comforts her...with lots of fluff

Insecurities.

Rhysand x f!Reader

Masterlist

Warnings; body image issues, insecurities.

I really love the way the body changes when a woman gives birth. They all look like goddesses and no one can change my mind.

You stared at your reflection and sighed. Your body looked like it belonged to someone else making you want to scream and disappear. You knew this would happen when you started trying for a baby with your mate Rhysand, but you couldn’t think that it would make you feel so bad.

“What are you doing?” Rhysand’s deep voice startled you and you fixed your shirt covering your body.

“I need to start training again” you replied and turned your back on the mirror.

“You need to rest and heal” he said and approached you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed your head. You shook your head and moved out of his grasp.

“I have to get ready for dinner” you whispered and opened the closet.

You heard the door of the house opening and closing again and your friends' voices filled the silence. Rhys nodded and left the room to join the rest of the inner circle. You waited for a few minutes and then left the room, you peeked into the dinning room from the stairway and noticed how elegant and beautiful the other females looked. The tears came back, and you ran back to the room. You tried on one of your favorite dresses and almost screamed when it didn’t fit. The only dress that fitted was sticking on your body in a weird way. You threw it on the bed and bit your trembling lip. Your glance fell on Rhysand’s closet.

Maybe I can find something there. You thought and opened the closet.

You wore one pair of leggings you had bought a few days before giving birth and one of Rhysand’s shirts, it was loose and reached your knees.

After fixing your hair you joined everyone in the dining room. Their eyes fell on you, and they smiled lovingly. Rhys furrowed his eyebrows when he noticed your outfit but remained silent. You took the seat next to him and he immediately grabbed your hand giving it a light squeeze and placing it on his lap.

Soon laughter and teasing sentences filled the room and you almost forgot about your insecurity, at least until Mor got up to reach the whine bottle. Your eyes scanned her body, the way the dress hugged her curves made your heart clench and you quickly looked the other way.

“I’m tired, excuse me” you mumbled and hurried off before anyone could reply.

Rhys stared at your back as you climbed the stairs with a frown.

“Dinner is over” he announced and followed you.

He walked into your shared bedroom and sighed when he noticed your shaking form curled on the bed.

“What happened baby?” he asked and sat next to you, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“I can’t recognize my own body” you sobbed. Rhysand’s breath hitched, and he laid down behind you, his arms wrapping around your body as he spooned you and kissed the back of your head. His spicy scent filled your nostrils, and you sighed pressing your body against him.

“Sweetheart you gave birth two weeks ago, your body needs time to heal.” He whispered into your hair.

“I can’t even wear my favorite dress.” You cried out harder.

“I will get you a new one” he exclaimed.

You rolled your eyes at that “classic rich Rhysand” you mumbled, and he chuckled.

“Wait here” he said and got up, a few minutes later he returned with your tiny baby girl in his arms. You could barely see her as she was completely swallowed by your mate’s broad body and strong arms.

“Look what you made… look how precious she is.” He whispered and sat on the bed, laying your baby between the two of you. Her nose twitched at the sudden change of temperature making you smile because you knew that feeling, moving from your mate’s warmth to the cold sheets.

“Sweetheart you are so beautiful, and the way your body changed makes you even more irresistible. Your body is a miracle, every small change makes my heart skip a beat.” He continued and stared deep into your eyes.

“You are her mommy, look how beautiful she is, she looks just like you.” He smiled lovingly and caressed the baby’s cheek with his finger.

“Really?” you sniffled.

“Yes, and I’m the luckiest male on this world to have the two most beautiful girls by my side.” His gaze moved from you to your daughter and then back to you, you could feel the love and affection pouring out of him without the bond. His eyes showed everything.

“I love you” you whispered.

“I love you” he replied and laid down, his wings emerged from the darkness, and he draped one over your daughter and you.

That night you fell in love with your body again.

Hope you enjoyed it!

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madschiavelique · 4 months

Text

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐦𝐛 — 𝟐

⟢ summary : getting closer to them unleashed a desire within you that cannot be tamed…

⟢ content warnings : NSFW, reader kinda being a perv (she’s obsessed and touch starved), masturbation (reader), reader listens to matt and frank while they’re at it later in the chapter (and she gets off on it), afab!reader, no use of y/n

⟢ word count : 6.7k

⟢ note : remember when i said this was going to be a 2 shot ? well, this is going to be a 3 shot in the end :D (i promise next chap you’ll get that hunter/prey dynamic sweeties)

⟢ previous part : here | next part : here

You'd come back to your flat and taken the opportunity to get some rest. When you're in a small 3 cubic metre room with just enough space for a bed, a mini kitchen and a tiny shower with a lousy toilet, it doesn't take long before you're crashing on your mattress.

Matt and Frank had shown you how to take care of your wounds, giving you a few things to help you out. You'd done everything right, reflecting on that evening all day long.

You couldn't stop thinking about everything that had happened, how you'd felt in Frank's arms, how Matt had comforted you and looked after your lip while Frank stitched you up. You thought about how the devil had stripped you and dressed you in their own clothes, how you'd spent part of your night in their beds.

You'd got rid of your trousers, which weren't very comfortable for lying in bed and resting. At this moment, with your back hard against the bed, it wasn't as comfortable as the silk of their sheets. Scanning your ceiling as if it were of some importance, your eyes looked at nothing in particular as your mind replayed those few major moments in your body, your heart and your thoughts during the evening. You were still wearing Frank's T-shirt, and the urge came over you.

You brought the collar of the T-shirt you were wearing up to your nose, the smell of Frank permeating the fabric but you dropped the collar. You shouldn't be doing this, it's inappropriate, it's unprofessional, it's... It's...

You let your nose discover the fabric again, pulling it close to your nostrils and inhaling the perfume left on it.

Your eyelids closed of their own accord as you exhaled softly, your shoulders drooping as the scent itself brought you the comfort of a night full of feelings. The same coolness of the night filled the black fabric as if the garment had been cut from the dark night sky, where you lost yourself.

You let the smell intoxicate you, searching for it everywhere, in every fibre, every seam, every patch, as if you were going to lose it at any moment. You were looking for him in the meanders of what he had left there, and soon enough, you were looking for them.

Had Matt's plump lips rested on the back of his neck, near the collar, where his warm breath would have sent a shower of shivers down Frank's skin?

As one of your hands gripped the fabric and pressed it to your nose as if it held the only scent you could bear, the fabric's folds lifted the shirt enough to expose your panties and bare thighs. It was then that the sudden coolness caressing your thighs and their insides made you aware of the intense heat that had settled in your lower belly.

Almost feverish, carried away by the smell, your free hand went down your body to reach your inner thigh. Your hand slipped under the elastic of your underwear, moving down until a light touch on the sensitive bundle of nerves made you press your thighs together tighter. Taking a heavy breath as your head fell back on your pillow, you let Frank's scent fill your lungs like new oxygen.

Would a guttural growl have escaped as Matt ran his nimble fingers along the fabric of his ribs, reading every curve of his body?

One of your fingers continued lower, slipping as it passed between your lips into the warm wetness of your desire. You pressed it lightly, coating it with your own juices with incredible ease before sliding it in and arching your back slightly at the sensation.

In the throes of euphoria, it wasn't long before you began slow back-and-forth strokes. You tugged at the collar anew, looking for more of the scent as your own warm breath muted the nuance of it.

Would his fingers have run up and down his back, up between his shoulder blades as one went down to his lower back?

The heat in your lower belly spread further, and as a single finger couldn't satisfy your desire, a second was added, curving and sinking into you in a way that made you curl your toes. The freshness of the scent fed the burning fire in your body, urging you to move faster.

Would he have grabbed the sides of that t-shirt, letting his fingers brush mischievously against Frank's skin as he slid it up his body?

You turned onto your side until you were on your stomach, your breath coming in short gasps as you nuzzled your nose close to your shoulder under the shirt and gripped your pillow, squeezing it tightly between your fingers as your back arched.

You eased your fingers away, returning to your aching clit. It almost hurt to touch it with such slow torment, and you began to make faster circular strokes around it.

Would he have taken it off gently, letting the fabric catch every little ounce of perfume on its way before he just pulled it off his arms and the back of his neck to throw it behind them...

The heat intensified, the knot in your lower belly tightening more and more as your movements accelerated awkwardly in your frenzy, losing a steady rhythm as tingles rose in your cheeks.

He would have run his fingers over his jaw, his thumb pressing against his bottom lip before releasing it so that his lips could caress Frank's…

Your teeth sank into your own lip, the latter still stinging as the fresh cut from the night before reigned over it. But the ecstasy in which you found yourself prevented you from giving a damn, letting small splinters of voice die out in your throat and never escape your lips.

What were you doing imagining this intimate scene, these delicate gestures full of unpronounceable words, the language of which only the skin knew. What were you doing as your eyes, hidden behind your eyelids, let you glimpse the projection of this secret duo? What were you doing, mentally observing them as if through a doorway, while Frank turned to you with an intrigued look.

You're staring little one.

The sentence in your mind made you open your eyes again with a jerk, as if the door behind which you were enjoying the spectacle had just slammed shut.

You yanked off the T-shirt and tossed it across the room, as if it had come too close to you, as if it had burnt so close to your skin that it carried with it a curse, or worse: something you wanted but couldn't afford.

Out of breath, feverish, you watched the almost ridiculous heap it formed on the ground, as if the weight of its lightness was not carrying the heaviness of desire. It was too entrancing, you couldn't allow yourself to give in to it.

That shirt was your shame, the extent of your desire, greater in the moment than your mind. You couldn't see it any more, you couldn't, the mere idea of approaching it now twisted your heart like a can.

Pull yourself together, you thought to yourself as your head spun, as you turned away to turn your back on it, moving back in your bed and lying down to look at your wall.

Your heart still pounding, the heat you'd felt growing inside you still present but gradually calming down, you felt the shame hanging over your cheeks and shoulders.

This idyll that you considered, this fantasy that you wanted to make go away was not possible. A flash of the two of them smiling at you in the kitchen earlier in the day came back to the front of your eyes, and you shook your head, closing your eyelids firmly until you saw multicoloured shapes on the skin of them, as if the gesture was going to erase everything.

Your mobile vibrated, and the screen displayed a message from Frank. Of course, while you were chasing them away in your mind, they were tormenting you with messages. Biting the inside of your cheek, you grabbed your phone. They knew you didn't have much contact apart from them, so unless you'd had some sort of problem or were at work you'd be able to reply.

The idea of ignoring the message was to be ruled out, if by some chance they thought you'd had a problem and one of them arrived here in no time to see you in that state... you didn't want to imagine.

Trying to calm your body from its previous emotions, you took your mobile in hand to read his text message.

No patrol for you for the next 3 days, if any of us come across you on the rooftops between now and then, watch out. Frank.

You swallow, your way out to take your mind off things and potentially forget your urges had just flown out the window. There's not much to do in this shabby flat. There's not really much furniture or shelves to work on, or to read, or to do a hobby, or to do anything else, just your chest of drawers to keep your clothes in, the rest being laid out on the floor.

Going out to fight, to decompensate by exercising and spending yourself enough to simply collapse at night and not have to let the possibility of any thought pierce that rhythm, that was your escape.

But now you were stuck in your flat, tomorrow you'd have to go back to work, and you'd have to live with the shame that seemed to bore into your eyes as soon as they rested on the shirt.

The three days were a constant torment. Clients and colleagues looked at you either as an alien or as a porcelain vase ready to break at any moment, while when you looked in the mirror you seemed to be staring at a wreck.

The first evening was already an ordeal for you, not going out as soon as it got dark to roam the rooftops and streets of the city. Still tired from the pain of your wounds though, you finally found a way to fall asleep and get a long night's sleep.

The second, you were irritated, unable to think of anything other than them doing whatever it was you were itching to do. You ended up putting Frank's T-shirt in your dirty clothes and going down to the launderette to get rid of the torment once and for all. You weren't sure how far Matt could smell or hear anyone's every move, but you sincerely hoped that this short night out wouldn't lead them to you for a slap on the wrist.

On the third night, the urge to go out was itching like an addiction. You couldn't bear the idea of standing still and doing nothing when you were perfectly aware of everything that was going on outside. Having located yourself in an area that wasn't very quiet, you had the urge to grab another shirt and get outside as quickly as possible to follow the sirens that were sounding from a distance. You had to discipline yourself to stay in bed and wait for the night to end.

After a few days of sobbing monotony, the routine resumed the next evening when you met them on the rooftops as usual. Questions were exchanged about your injuries, your new t-shirt for your costume - which they disapproved of once again - and then the night continued as if everything was normal.

However, as the nights multiplied, so did the delightfully unusual instances. A gentle tap of encouragement from Matt's hand on your shoulder that lasted a little longer than it should have, an honest smile from Frank that for once seemed less annoyed that you opened your mouth, a look or touch from one that lasted longer than it should have.

The 'patch-up' evenings began to increase in their turn, resulting in you often coming to their homes in the evening to help tend to them when they no longer had the strength to do anything other than lie down and grunt in pain. This time, you made it a point of honour to sleep on the sofa and not in their bed.

The next mornings for them were rewarded with good coffees that you prepared for them. If working in a café gave you any expertise at all, it was waking up a grouch and a sleepyhead in the morning in a pleasant atmosphere.

Soon, the evenings at their place became more recurrent than those you spent in your flat. So much so, in fact, that they installed an extra mattress near the stairs leading up to the roof for you. It wasn't much, but it was much nicer than the general atmosphere in your flat. Later, after this stage, they came to visit you at work.

The first time this happened, it was Matt who had turned up with his colleagues as if nothing was wrong at the café counter. Playing innocent at the time had been a strange experience.

"A mocha? Really" laughed Karen.

"What ?" retorted Foggy, "it's the most professional way I've found of not having a hot chocolate straight away, so consider yourself lucky for this exemplary behaviour.

"Oh yes, extremely professional."

"Come on," Foggy said indignantly before turning to you.

"Any cafe can look professional if you don't take a closer look at what's in it," you admitted, offering an inverted smile and raising your eyebrows.

"Finally a sane person here," Foggy said, raising his arms slightly in the air victoriously.

"So a mocha with extra chocolate?" you offered. "Extra's on the house."

"Careful with that, I might just become your next regular," pointed Foggy.

"I don't see what the warning would be," you laughed, noting down his order. "For you?"

"A latte, please," Karen replied.

"And I'm the one being unprofessional here."

As the two were zealously debating what a proper professional coffee is, and how the only thing that differentiates their two choices is the fact that Foggy's coffee had chocolate in it and Karen's didn't, Matt walked over to you. You were tempted for a moment to say "the usual?" but, not knowing what he'd told his colleagues about whether he'd come here often or not, you simply waited for him to tell you what he'd ordered.

You were aware of his habits and routines. In the morning, it varied from the fact that he simply needed something strong to wake him up, in which case he'd have a turkish coffee; or if he had more time and wanted to indulge himself, he'd have a latte with sugar, or tea. In the evening, he'd have tea or herbal tea, maybe even camomile tea, even though you knew full well that, tired as he was, camomile tea wouldn't even help him fall asleep.

"A red berries tea, please.

"Not even in the coffee family now, what is this meeting." Foggy grumbled.

You let them take their places in the café, at a table towards the back, preparing everything with care. You were already doing your job well on a daily basis, but the fact that Matt was there, accompanied by his colleagues, made you want to make a good impression.

Do they know? you wondered. Were his colleagues and friends aware that many of his nights were filled with doing his own justice when the Court couldn't do it? You brought them the tray, much to Foggy's delight.

"The mocha for you-" you said, placing Foggy's cup in front of him.

You nearly shook your tray as a sudden sensation spread through you from a gesture invisible to Foggy and Karen, who were too focused on the arrival of their drinks: Matt's fingers had come to rest on the back of your leg, gently tracing them up and down.

You were used to a few touches from him. Since he'd taken care of your lip and dressed you again, his gestures towards you had become more frequent. Of course, there were the taps on the shoulder to congratulate you, but there were all the points of honour he seemed to give himself for your fingers to brush against each other when you gave him his cup of coffee.

You'd already twice simply put his cup on the counter, notifying him of the fact that you'd finished making it, but he seemed to be making up excuses to get you to bring it to him.

"I think this ankle's a bit sore this morning, could you bring it here for me please" or "I think one of the hits I got last night messed me up a bit, I'm going to need some time to recover" and other excuses to get you to take the cup from your hands.

So, soon enough you realised that there was no alternative but to give it to him yourself. You wondered if he was doing this because he could hear your heart beating slightly faster as soon as your skins touched. Matt wasn't the lazy type, so it didn't take you long to realise that he was taking a malicious pleasure in his meagre contact with you.

The confirmation was amplified by the fact that whenever the two of you had the opportunity to share a moment, even just sitting next to each other led to situations where his fingers brushed your thigh. You could feel it sometimes, when he was the one examining your wounds, that his fingers stayed against your skin longer than they should have.

And the sudden feeling of his fingers on the back of your leg sent a shiver up your spine. Did he even have the slightest idea of what this could do to you?

Yes, it was hard to doubt, especially at that moment.

"The latte," you tried to pronounce as you managed to keep your composure, even though Matt's fingers were exerting delicious caresses just behind your knee, making you fear at any moment that you might bend and fall. "And the tea."

You placed his cup in front of him with the bag and the little teapot of hot water, his free hand obviously coming to grasp the cup while your fingers still encircled it. A shit eating grin spread across his lips as you straightened up and brought your tray back close to you.

"Oh, could you pour the water please?" he asked as his whole hand gently came to grip the back of your thigh. "I would, but I'm afraid if I do that the table will turn into a pool of boiling water."

You knew that wasn't true, that Matt could probably have poured the water into his tea a metre high between the cup and the teapot that not a single drop of water would have settled on the table.

Neither Foggy nor Karen seemed to notice of this hidden treatment he was giving you, Foggy humming against his mug in anticipation of drinking his coffee, while Karen rummaged in her bag for documents.

"Sure," you agreed as you picked up the teapot, placed the bag in the cup and began to pour.

Matt's hand gently pressed against your thigh, his thumb circling the fabric of your pants which could have very quickly become enough of a distraction to burn your hand as you poured the hot water.

"Hmm," Foggy hummed as he took a sip of his coffee, "Matt why are you only suggesting this place now?"

His hand moved slightly up your thigh, though not into the field of vision of his two colleagues, bringing the heat up into your lower belly gently like embers being blown on to rekindle a fire.

"I suppose I like to keep my little gems to myself." Matt said, turning to Foggy with a satisfied smile, the phrase making your heart drop into your stomach as you calmly finished pouring the water into his cup.

"Matt gatekeeps, I've seen it all," Foggy huffed.

"All done," you confirmed to Matt as you straightened up.

"Thank you," he grinned at you before letting go of your thigh for a moment, which you seized to leave the table and walk in what you hoped was a normal attitude to the back of the shop.

Closing the door behind you, you let your back press against it. Your heart was beating in your chest like you had just run a marathon. You pressed the back of your hands to your cheeks, warmed by the previous gestures you could still feel lingering on your clothed skin.

You didn't know what you were supposed to feel any more. Was this attraction that you thought impossible to feel for each other, and that you forbade yourself to feel, even possible?

You had to take a few minutes to pull yourself together and get out of the storage room, hoping you wouldn't have to come and serve them any more than you wanted to.

The nights of fighting together resumed as always, Matt seeming excited to see you each time, and Frank gradually seeming less grumpy in your presence - to say that he too was 'excited' by your company would have been a suspicion you thought unlikely.

The next time, however, it was Frank who came to visit you at work.

You were in charge of closing that evening, and Frank had unexpectedly turned up shortly before closure, when no-one was there but you. It was downpouring that evening and you'd been cursing yourself for not having an umbrella.

He seemed as surprised as you were to see you, as if his own presence here in front of you astonished him. There was always a twinkle in those dark eyes, a curious glint that you couldn't quite put your finger on.

It was a little light waltzing hesitantly across his look, which as soon as he got into a fight vanished to make way for two pools of ink, obsidian pearls reflecting nothing but anger, shark eyes mingling with the storm bombarding down his throat.

He was standing in front of you, towering over you as you looked up at him from behind the counter. His eyes were staring at you, shining with a message you couldn't read. You felt tiny like this, under his eyes, under his mass, under the mountain he was facing you.

"Hey," you finally said, clearing your throat.

He seemed to come out of something himself, as if your voice were a gentle hand reaching out to gently touch the bubble surrounding him. He blinked a few times, his gaze drifting over the many different objects on the café counter.

"Um," he began, obviously searching for what he wanted to say to you as he frowned and swallowed. "Could I get a coffee?"

Your eyes widened slightly, the simplicity of the question making your parted lips stretch into a smile, a single laugh swelling your chest for a moment.

"What's so funny," he then asks, confused by your small smile.

"Nothing," you laugh as you pull yourself together, moistening your lips with a flick of your tongue before looking up at him again, a teasing frown knitting your brows together. "Keeping an eye on me?"

He tilted his head back to the side, his eyes looking down at you as he chewed on a bit of his cheek.

"Making sure you don't end up burning the place down," he said with a vague gesture, pointing at you with his chin as he raised an eyebrow.

"You think I'm that incompetent?" you ask playfully, placing both hands on the counter and leaning forward slightly.

"Clumsy and risk-averse sound better," a pout coming from his mouth as he shrugs.

"Risk-averse?"

"You're the one who wears clothes a little too thin for a fight where all hits and weapons are allowed," he says, placing a hand on the counter as he leans towards you, "am I wrong?"

You bite your lip, he had a point, that was for sure.

"Are you here to make sure I don't cut myself on the label of those bloodthirsty tea bags?" you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

" You'd be capable of it," he admits, straightening up, "But I'm here for one coffee, no actually, for two coffees."

"Two?" you ask as you pick up a mug, followed by a second which you place on the counter as you start to prepare everything. "Did you invite Matt?"

"Not really," his eyes follow your movements carefully before returning to your own.

At the time, you attribute this request to thirst. He's a big man, with a big stomach, and enough grump in him that several coffees in one day is only enough to soften his irascibility. So his pragmatism had led him to have two coffees in one go, you thought.

"What do you want?"

"Just a normal coffee."

"What about the second one?"

"I don't care, just pick one."

You took your usual choice, starting to prepare it under Frank's observant gaze. You began the process with a skilled hand, accustomed to all measurements and other gestures.

"You do this to a lot of people?" you ask over your shoulder as you get everything ready, "to come in just before a place closes."

"Only for my little trouble," he admits.

The nickname sends a shiver down your spine until your cheeks heat up.

"To make more trouble?" you ask playfully.

" Everyone's got their own caviar," he huffs as he watches you at work.

You continued all your preparation, your back to him. He wasn't that far away, and you could feel his stare pressing into your back, covering the entirety of your covered skin like a blanket.

You were trying your best to keep your mind on the right track, to make sure your thoughts didn't wander back to the T-shirt.

You hadn't had a chance to give it back yet, not taking it out on patrol for fear it would end up a rag laced with bullet holes and knife cuts.

"I didn't know I was so much fun to mess with," you admit as you pour the first coffee into a mug.

"Yeah, 'guess surprises can never be taken for granted."

You pour the second coffee into the second cup, placing both in front of him, satisfied.

"Two coffees for you, sir," you smiled, wiping your hands on a cloth.

The nickname 'sir' seemed to leave an impression on him that was at odds with the mood of the conversation so far. His jaw clenched, the muscle at the corner of it tensing, but he pulled himself together and took the two cups in hand. Looking at how tiny they seemed between his fingers, you were surprised when he called out to you:

"Don't stand there rooted to the spot, get over here."

It was then that you realised that the second coffee wasn't for him, but for you.

Frank was inviting you in for a coffee.

The realisation almost took you by surprise, and your heart made its presence felt in your chest all at once. You put the cloth down on the counter, moving to the other side of it to follow Frank.

The lights in the café were almost all switched off, except for those in the reception area, which gave the atmosphere a very intimate, secluded quality.

The rain was pouring down, beating down from drop to drop, crashing against the window near where Frank sat on the seat. You took your place, coffee cup on your side opposite him.

Your fingers wrapped around the warmth of your cup, letting them slip through the handle. Frank was already starting to drink his own coffee, his fingers crossing the handle in a way that made you immediately look down at the contents of your cup before squinting on his phalanx.

Fuck, even the way he's holding a goddamn cup makes you feel all gooey.

"So you're inviting me in for a coffee?" you ask, bringing the hot drink up to your lips to blow on it.

He puts the mug down in front of him, his finger hooking over the cup to catch a single drop of coffee dripping onto its immaculate white surface.

"Take it as you wish," he said, bringing his finger to his lips to retrieve the brown pearl.

You took a sip of your coffee, setting the cup down on the table and letting your hand rest beside it. You raised your eyes to his, watching you as if you were the missing piece of a puzzle he had been trying to solve for some time.

A small smile spread across your lips, and he frowned, waiting for an answer from you on this reaction. You shook your head, looking at the contents of your cup as if it were about to turn into tea and you could read the leaves to find out where this conversation was going.

"'To think that you hated me in the first place, and now we're both together over coffee."

"Hated you?" he repeated as if the word felt peculiar on his tongue, as if it tasted wrong. "No, I was suspicious."

"It didn't take long to realise that you'd be suspicious of a hen if she looked at you for just a little too long," you remark as you grab your coffee again, sinking a little deeper into the leather of the bench seat.

"There's a reason to be suspicious of chickens," he counters, "these horrors are descendants of the freaking dinosaurs."

"Of course, these days they're a huge risk," you shrug.

"Make fun of me." he grinned, a wolfish laugh rising from his lungs as the mere sight of him smiling made your cheeks heat up.

He took his cup in hand, bringing it close to his lips without drinking just yet. He pressed his tongue against his teeth, his lips parted, and the sound was like lighting a cigarette lighter. He stared into space, mentally weighing up the pros and cons of what he had to say.

"You're growing on me better than I'd like to admit," he muttered before taking a sip.

Your heart suddenly felt soft, like a marshmallow on the fire getting all melty and warm. The heat spread to your shoulders and throat in a delicious way.

"Really?" you asked.

"Yeah," he admitted, staring into your eyes.

You tried to hold his gaze, intense as it was. Playing with the shape of the handle of your cup, you tilted your head to one side.

"Like a pretty flower, I hope," you smiled.

"More like a weed," sighed Frank, his lips stretching into a sneer nonetheless.

"The addictive ones?" you brought your mug close to your lips again, the still-warm vapour containing it mixing with the heat of your cheeks.

"No, like the ones you want to get rid of," he replied.

The tone wavered between joke and reality, and you didn't know exactly where you stood, but you waltzed along with the conversation as best you could.

"Too bad for you," you said, shrugging your shoulders and sighing, "they're the most resilient."

"Yeah, that's the problem," Frank glanced at you, his eyes surprisingly soft.

Then you felt your chest tighten, closing in on itself as you'd let your little heart uncover itself and welcome the warmth of a brief moment of delight just to snatch it all away at once.

"Because I'm the human version of a migraine to you?" you asked, your tone suddenly more irritated and cold than the playful attitude you'd adopted since the start of the conversation.

"Because you've entered me and Red's lives so easily, in a way that makes me doubt you'll ever come out of it."

Nothing in his eyes or voice conveyed any discomfort at the idea. Was it really what they were both thinking?

You wondered for a second if he hadn't finished his sentence, if a furtive "but" was going to slip in just after those words and shatter whatever little seeds of hope had been planted in your mind and were gradually sprouting on your heart.

He still had time to trample all that underfoot, to make sure that under his big combat boots he could crush what remained of your wishes. But he did nothing, there was no trace of searching for words on his face, he just seemed to be waiting. Waiting for you.

With your cup in your hand, bringing it close to your lips, you exchanged a glance with him for a moment, and you felt that your next words had an undeniable importance in his eyes. The idea that everything about you was actually important to them gave you a special feeling that you wanted to grasp and snuggle up to, lest it slip away.

"I'm beginning to think you're right," you managed to say before taking a sip from your cup.

"Everything happens," Frank smiled at you, joining in the gesture.

You had finished your coffee, and the rain had calmed down enough outside until not a single drop had fallen against the café window, and Frank decided it was time for him to go back to the flat.

"'Never hated you by the way,' he said once outside the café. "Alright little one?"

You smiled at him, nodding as he turned to go home.

Things began to get really complicated on one particular evening.

At first glance, it was nothing out of the ordinary. You'd had a fairly normal patrol for what you had to deal with on a daily basis, and you'd gone back to the guys' house to disinfect a few small scratches here and there, nothing too serious.

You had eaten a little, chatted as usual, and gone to bed. It was already late at night, and the desire to drink a glass of cool water woke you from your sleep.

Walking slowly on tiptoe, you ventured into the kitchen and silently filled yourself a cup of water. Once you'd quenched your thirst, you made your way back to your mattress, but when you reached the exact spot between your sleeping area and their bedroom, you heard a low voice.

Wondering if they were awake, you stood still for a moment, simply taking a single step towards the wall of their room.

"Hm," you managed to hear through the tiny crack in their sliding door.

You smiled softly, the idea of one of them talking in his sleep making you laugh inaudibly. You were just about to make your way back to your bed, when this time you managed to distinctly hear in the silence of the flat:

"Oh fuck."

Your hand had never reached your mouth as quickly as at that moment, trying as best it could to reduce to zero decibels the sound of your breathing and your heart having travelled up to your ears and obliterating all sound there.

Had you heard correctly?

You moved closer to the wall, your hand pressed so hard against your lips that you had to loosen it very gently to give yourself a chance to breathe. None of them were talking in their sleep as you might have thought, unless the dream in question included so much movement in their sheets and so many interspersed breaths.

With your back against the wall just outside the bedroom, you calmed your breathing, the feeling that your heart could be heard in the whole flat forcing you to find a rhythm that wasn't delirious. Gently, you let yourself slide down the cold wall, sitting with your knees close to you as you listened.

You shouldn't, you kept telling yourself as the memories of the sensations you'd experienced what seemed like the closest eternity ago on that day in your flat with Frank's T-shirt pressed against your skin.

It was when an additional murmur mixed with a groan came from the slight gap in the sliding door that your doubts were certified.

You should have left, should have taken refuge under your sheets and lay down on the mattress, pulling your blanket over your ears to muffle what you could hear...

"Don't stop..."

Inhaling as quietly as you could through your fingers, your thighs squeezed themselves, the search for any friction kicking off deep inside you.

You could feel your lower belly heating up, a persistent warmth settling in the hollow of your thighs and preventing you from thinking about anything other than whatever sound was coming from their rooms.

You could hear the lustful sounds of sucking, of a slight jerk of the body that you could guess was hips bucking into something, a hoarse rumble rising from the very depths of the other's chest.

Your free hand moved down your belly, past the elastic of your sweatpants and your underwear at the same time. You stayed like that for just a moment, hesitating about your next move.

It was wrong, it was revelling in their intimacy like that. But you were now awake, and so painfully aware of your own needs that you couldn't go back.

Your head tilted back and your eyelids closed on their own at the cool touch of your fingers on your damp skin from their hold on your glass of water. The contrast was intense, your digits heating little by little between your lips as they coated your fingers over their entire length with your essence.

You stifled your own moan as you let one, then two fingers sink into you, your shoulders pushing forward, caging your chest as your legs spread a little wider to ease the movement.

Turning your head to the side, pressing your warm cheek against the cool wall, you tried to hear more.

You could clearly hear one voice out of the two, one that was holding back, that seemed to be struggling to find a steady breath. His sighs were laced with muffled moans, his inhalations blocked with a fully open mouth before only letting his breath expel from between his lips.

Each moan spread a shower of embers under your skin, all heating up more and more inside you, a summer fog stretching in your lower belly with intensity. You were attentive to every sigh, every little quickening of breath mingled with the acceleration of rhythm that the other was making with sticky noises.

Your fingers reached the spot inside you, the little spongy part towards the top of your gummy walls that made you see sparks. You were close, your breath becoming less and less regular as you tried to make as little noise as possible.

"Shit Frank," Matt's voice stammered in a forced whisper, "I'm gonna-"

But he never finished his sentence, groans interrupting whatever words he was hoping to utter. Frank's response was not heard, you could only hear a muffled dark grumble followed by a muffled groan from Matt as he shook.

You heard the rhythm pick up, the movements on the sheets becoming more clumsy as Matt's breathing quickened. Your heart was pounding as your fingers continued to curve back and forth, your palm rubbing against your clit for friction. You were practically biting your cheek until it bled as the knot in your gut tightened and tightened and...

"F- Frank..." stuttered Matt as his breathing became increasingly laboured, "Frank," he called as his voice rose in pitch, "Frank!"

And everything exploded within you, like lightning striking metal and spreading waves of electricity through you like a second heart. Your thighs trembled, pleasure surging through you from your toes to the back of your skull.

But you couldn't enjoy this climax for long. The movements on the other side of the wall seemed to subside, Matt's breathing coming steadily as a quiet descriptive pop sounded.

The sheets moved again, and you realised your situation. Your breathing returned to normal as your cheeks felt as warm as the sun. Moistening your lips as you took your hand away from your lips, you watched a spot in the void in front of you.

You made the greatest effort to sit up in total silence, hoping that Matt's mind would be sufficiently scrambled not to have heard you as you returned to your mattress. With your heart still pounding, you slipped back under your blanket, the warmth of your body fading.

Hopefully none of them would find out.

⟢ previous part : here | next part : here

tag list : @blackhawkfanatic

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ratstwond · 2 months

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Smiling Critters? As if the cartoon show?

Disclaimer: This is made for fun, there's no specific lore to them.

Warning: Bad English.

MC will be a Red Panda, since i did research about these little fellas and immediately fall inlove with them. But that doesn't mean i won't write for Lamb!Reader or Other animal!Reader.

Reblogs and comments are encouraged! Any kind of interaction are appreciated!

Pervious || Next

Confusion plastered on your face when you rolled to the side, expect to feel the hard, unforgiving cold floor. You were met with the soft patches of grass, tickling your skin, swaying slightly to the cool wind. Colorful flowers surrounded you as if they're concerned. The smell of fresh air assaulting your nostrils, lacing with a tint of newly baked pie. Sounds of laughters and happy squeals filled your eardrums instead of off-putting silence or screams that get you traumatized for days. Your body is light, relaxed, the backpack's absence seems to

Is this heaven? Or a dream? Was everything in Playtime.co just a nightmare? So many questions running through your mind.

Bird's chriping snap you out, you brush it off. More distracted by the newly surroundings, warmth envelopes like a weighted blanket as you squint in surprise when the sun light grazed your eyes. Unfamiliar with the sudden change of environment. Being in the dark for so long with makeshift lights and sunny sky had your body unconsciously adapted, naturals make you recoiled.

You feel like crying. You don't know when was the last time you bother to think about the outside when all you focused was trying to survive. Reality hit you like a truck and left you broken.

"Oh no no! Don't cry!"

In the midst of moment, hands reaching out to cup both sides of your face, tilting you chin upward gently. You can't help but jolt, quickly get on your feet and stood with your arms raised, tail puffed up and claws out.

You got a good look at the foolish soul that dared to touch you so suddenly and immediately you recognize the familar mascot. A bear. Who's equally as spooked as you, debating whether back off or calm you down. Red fur with some lighter tone of red, heart necklace dangling on its neck, signature blackened eyes with white pupils, and a stretched out smile. She is nervous, and you're too. Both of you had a stare off for what seems to lasted 3 minutes before the bear decided to cut the tense string.

"Hi-! My name is Bobby Bearhug."

You stared, Bobby took it as a sign to continue.

"I'm really sorry.. For touching you so suddenly like that. It wasn't a wise choice-"

"No-nono! It's okay! It's not your fault, i wasn't in my right mind!"

Now it's her turn to stare at you, unexpected as you fumbled, fiddling with your fingers nervously. Now it's her turn to jolted when you let out a short scream after you took a good look at your hands- er paws? Colored fur instead of normal human skin you once had. Panicked, you ran to a nearby river, glancing at your reflection just to be met with a whole new body. Built exactly like the critters, black conjunctiva with white pupils, unsual big mouth. A red panda. And oh you smell like old books-

You grabbed your own ear.

"Wah- hey!"

It was a bit stupid to tug it so harshly like that, the painful ache on your head is enough for you to know that this is real. You groaned in pain, sitting on the grass then get spooked by seeing your tail tucked beside you. Bobby, upon watching you - couldn't help but snort while you're busy freaking out by your own tail.

She shook her head, taking her seat beside you - who had done with their silly antics and is too tired to move - as she only smiled. You're still confused why all of the sudden you woke up in another- word? Yet, weird shits happened all of the time so you maybe will just go along with whatever came to you.

You told Bobby your name, which, the bear immediately brightened, smiling happily. She shakes your hand when you held out,

"You're silly." She added.

"Thank you."

#smiling critters #reader insert #x reader #poppy playtime #poppy playtime x reader #smilling critters x reader #fanfic

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tsunami-of-tears · 10 days

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Iris

Azriel x Rhys’s Sister Reader

Summary: Reader has been struggling with her inner demons ever since her brother went Under The Mountain.

A/N: This is really dark. Please, please read the warnings before clicking read more.

To preface: I’m okay, just tired and was pre-menstrual when I started this. I haven’t been in this dark of a place in a very long time, but I wanted to write this for 15-year-old Shelby who thought no one saw her. I haven’t talked about my history of self-harm much and it’s hard to reopen those wounds, but it’s therapeutic.

If anyone is struggling, my inbox is always open. I’ve also included a few resources at the end of this fic.

Wordcount: 1.2K

Warnings: ANGST!!; major depression; disordered eating (binging); graphic self-harm; Rhys UTM

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

Reader

Things were bad.

Really bad.

You had completely withdrawn from your family in the months since Rhys had gone Under The Mountain.

Rhys - your idiot older brother - had sacrificed himself to protect you and your people; leaving you in charge of his court.

Ruling had always come easy to him, he was born to do it whereas you struggled to switch between the required masks.

These days, the only mask you wore was one of cold indifference.

As the shield fell into place around Velaris, trapping you inside, a wall of adamant rose around you, keeping everyone around from seeing the war raging inside your mind.

Most of your time was spent in your bedroom with the curtains drawn, unable to look at the sleeping city below your window.

Velaris, the city of Starlight, had lost its sparkle.

The first week after Rhys left, not a single light could be seen. The once lustrous city had gone into mourning. The Sidra, usually glimmering like liquid night, now reflected only the deepest black.

You only dared to leave your room during the night when you were less likely to be spotted, not wanting anyone to see the ghost you’d become.

You float down the stone hallway, robes billowing as you walk to the kitchen.

You’d taken to eating late at night. Food, usually sweets, was the only comfort you could find.

You’re rummaging in the larder when you feel a familiar sensation around your bare ankles, the cold shadow wisping over your skin.

“Y/N,” you hear a deep voice say behind you.

You turn, blocks of chocolate in hand, to face the one person you love more than your brother.

“Azriel,” you reply, taking in his appearance.

He looked terrible.

His hair was dishevelled, his jet-black curls in dire need of a comb, and his once warm hazel eyes were dull and bloodshot. Beneath them were deep violet bruises, clearly he wasn’t sleeping much.

You can feel his gaze on you, and wonder what he thought of the shadow of life you’d become.

You watch his nostrils flare. “Y/N, are you hurt? I can smell blood.”

You feign a laugh, “I’m on my cycle.” You hold up the chocolate as evidence. “Cravings.”

Azriel narrows his eyes but doesn’t push you. “I… We miss you,” he says.

You turn away from him, unable to voice how broken you feel.

“Please, I can’t lose you too,” he pleads.

“Goodnight Azriel,” you whisper, slipping out the door into the dark hallway.

Neither Azriel nor his shadows follow you.

————

You step out of the shower and stand in front of the bathroom mirror, scrutinising your reflection.

You pinch at the skin on your hips and stomach, scowling at the growing curves, before turning to the side to inspect your full breasts and butt.

Facing forward again, your eyes fall upon the ladders of scars across your thighs and forearms.

Angry red and purple lines jutting between faint silver.

You started again after losing Rhys. You hadn’t done it since losing your mother. It was the only way you knew to reflect your inner turmoil.

The day your mother was killed, you were meant to be with her. You should’ve been taken too.

Rhys had helped you out of the pit of despair that time, but he was no longer here. Once again, you were saved while your loved ones were not.

You towel off your skin before sitting down at your vanity. You pull out an ornate jewellery box and retrieve the ash dagger stashed inside.

You weren’t sure why you harmed yourself. There was a part of you that felt you deserved it, that thought you were a wretch for allowing your brother to endure all that torment for you. Then there was a part that just wanted to feel something other than the numbness that ached to your core.

You press the dagger against your skin. Not even the sting of the blade made you cry anymore. Your tears had long since dried up.

With each slice, your self-hatred rings in your ears.

Stupid – cut.

Useless – cut.

Waste of space – cut.

You set the bloodied dagger down on the counter, feeling nothing but apathy.

Morning starts to creep in when you finally make it to bed. As you lay there, staring at the ceiling, the little voice inside your head sneers at you.

This was the life your brother sacrificed his for? Pathetic.

————

Azriel

If Velaris has become a ghost town, the House of Wind was its crypt – haunted by devastation and grief.

Azriel leaned against the balcony railing, looking out on the once-shining city.

How did it all go so wrong?

Not a day had gone by where he didn’t blame himself for everything. For Rhys. For Y/N.

Y/N. He could see the pain in her eyes. She tried to hide it, but Azriel knew better. He’d always been the one who could see through her masks.

Azriel is pulled from his thoughts by his shadows, swarming around him in distress.

“Y/N. Kitchen. Now.”

“She doesn’t want to see me,” Azriel tells them.

“She’s hurt.”

Azriel winnows into the hallway, allowing his footsteps to be heard outside the door. He turns into the room and spots Y/N searching through the freezer.

She slams it shut, jumping as she turns towards Azriel.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were here,” she says. “We’re out of ice cream.” Y/N tries to step around Azriel but he blocks her path with his wing. He looks her over, not able to see anything visibly wrong.

“I’ll get you some more, just please come to dinner,” Azriel pleads. “Or we can go flying together, anything you want. I can’t bear to see you like this.”

Y/N shakes her head, looking at the floor.

“He wouldn’t want you hiding away like this,” Azriel says.

“I don’t care what he would want. He obviously can’t think clearly or else he wouldn’t have left,” she seethes, pushing past Azriel.

Azriel grabs her by the wrist, stopping her in her tracks. “Please Y/N, you’ve…” he trails off, feeling something lumpy under her sleeve. “What is that?”

Y/N tries to yank her arm back but Azriel’s grip is firm.

“Let me see,” Azriel says quietly. Tears start to fall from her eyes as he gently lifts her sleeve, revealing the bloodied bandages. “Oh darling, what happened?”

Y/N just shakes her head.

“Can I have a look?” he asks.

She bites down on her trembling lip, tears flowing freely

Azriel carefully unwinds the bandages revealing the stark, straight lines. His chest aches for her; as if the scars were etched into his heart.

Azriel always cared deeply for Y/N, offering her a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on whenever she needed it. A small part of him felt hurt that she hadn’t confided in him.

He swallowed his pain, it didn’t matter. He was here now.

“Come here,” Azriel wraps his arms around her, stroking Y/N’s hair softly as she sobs in his arms.

Azriel knew she was struggling, everyone could see it. But no one realised just how much losing Rhys broke her.

Azriel curses himself.

He should’ve known. After her parents, Rhys was all she had.

No that’s not true - she had Cassian. And Mor. And Amren…

And him.

And he wasn’t letting her go.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ

Mental Health Resources*: If you’re in immediate danger please call your country’s emergency number. Australia: Beyond Blue: https://www.beyondblue.org.au/ Mental Health Hotline: 1800 011 511 Lifeline: 13 11 14 USA: Crisis Line (call or text): 988 UK: Lifeline: 0808 808 8000 *If I have gotten anything wrong or if you have other resources to add, please let me know ❤️

#azriel angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar angst

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serverusslaype · 7 months

Text

Shameless, pt. 9

Severus Snape x professor!reader fic

Shameless Masterpost

hello my fellow snape lovers. i think you will love this chapter. hehehehe. thats all i am saying. and you might hate mcgonagall. </3

you can thank harry styles' song 'fine line' for the ending of this chapter. oop.

thank you for reading so far and for all your kind comments, likes and reblogs! I LOVE YOU GUYS <3

i apologise in advance for any typos or anything along those lines, i suck at proofreading.

VAMOS!!

Your throat tightened as you stared at your dishevelled appearance in the dirty, old mirror that sat crookedly in your greenhouse; overgrown vines of poison ivy enveloping it, slowly reclaiming it.

"Shit..." You muttered, angling your face to gaze at the marks that Snape had so graciously left on your jaw. "For Merlin's sake..." You spun away from the mirror with a distressed huff and headed towards your cabinet in a sweep, kneeling down against the mossy tiles, searching for a herb of some sort that had healing properties. Or something along those lines. You were desperate at this point. "Dittany, dittany..." You mumbled to yourself, digging through shelves and shelves of dusty glass jars and containers. At once, your eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning as the sight of a worn label caught your attention. You thumbed the dust off of the yellowed and faded label, reading it aloud, "D.. di-di-an...y?" You muttered, only noticing how worn the writing really was once you pulled it out into the light. How long has this been in here...?

That has to be dittany, you thought, curious eyes scanning the long and slender, deep mossy green stem that branched out with smaller rounded leaves. You blew against the jar with a sharp breath, a ball of dust and dirt puffing up in your face. You coughed and quickly retrieved your wand, swiftly flicking it to make the heap of dust dissipate. Well, you'd certainly lacked on cleaning your cabinets during the past year, but it's not like that kind of thing had any space in your mind. It was full of... other things.

Your fingers clutched the lid of the glass jar and lifted it upwards, a gentle, spicy yet mountainous smell filling your nostrils. As you placed the lid down with a loud clack, you reached your hand into the jar to retrieve a stem of dittany. You hoped to god this would work, otherwise you'd reluctantly resort to make-up, and that would be even worse. Not that you were awful at using it, but your skintone was almost impossible to match perfectly. You padded back to the rusty mirror in your greenhouse, the richer herbal smell of the dittany invading your lungs as you held it up to your face, preparing yourself to rub it vigorously against the darkening fingertip marks upon your jaw.

"Merlin, please, let this work." You mumbled with a deep breath, pinching the dittany and beginning to massage it into your marked face. You couldn't bear to watch for fear of it not working, so you shut your eyes, avoiding your own reflection. Desperately rubbing a herb against your face to get rid of some suspicious looking marks so the man you were seeing wouldn't accuse you of seeing someone else? Yes, that's you. Dedicated clown.

Hesitantly, you wrenched open your eyes. From what you saw, the herb had done nothing but give you a red rash, in fact, it actually highlighted the purpling bruises. You wanted to launch a rock through a window. Why couldn't Snape just keep his hands off of you? Why did he always resort to touching you? Not that you were complaining- well, actually, this time you were. His reckless actions were going to get you in trouble, but you couldn't exactly blame him. You hadn't told anyone that you were seeing the infamous Benjamin Bluewater. So why wouldn't he... grab your jaw in a fit of rage? Speaking of this, you hadn't really discussed a label with Ben, though, sometimes, he made you think that he wasn't particularly interested in putting a label on your relationship. It didn't bother you, but you'd prefer to know what you were. Were you exclusive? Not exclusive? Was he dating or seeing other people?

What really piqued your interest was what Snape would think of you dating Bluewater. He despised that boy with a burning passion. He'd probably lose a lot of respect for you, surely? But Ben had changed, you'd seen it for yourself.

"Hagrid, tell me that you didn't willingly let the students approach Buckbeak without proper guidance..." You sighed deeply, perched on a felled tree stump as you watched the half-giant-half-man gather some herbs from his personal garden. As the day had progressed onwards, the marks that littered your skin had died down a little, so much so that Hagrid hadn't noticed. Perhaps the dittany did help?

"Am tellin' ya, Y/N, the boy didn't listen!" Hagrid exclaimed, quite clearly stressed. He picked and pulled at the luscious shrubs rather aggressively, placing the stems and leaves into a wicker basket he was holding in his opposite hand. "I told 'im ta' stop!" He continued, his voice strained and panicking. Hagrid stood straight for a moment, his head shaking in a quick back and forth motion. "T-They're gonna want to 'ave Buckbeak slain, I tell ya," he stuttered, "they won't let this go! I'll lose me job too, Y/N!" His voice went up an octave as he glanced at you, his eyes glossed with fear. Hagrid truly cared for his animals deeply, and it pained you to see him so distressed over an accident.

"Hagrid, it'll be alright, I-"

"Y/N," Hagrid interrupted you, a stern look adopted his worn features. You instantly shut your mouth. "This is the Malfoy's we're talkin' abou'. They don't care for nothin', n' they ain't care for anyone but themselves." He finished, turning to look at his hut for a moment, big and grey clouds were starting to push their way across the dim blue sky.

"So... there's no other way? Buckbeak will be killed...?" You asked hesitantly, a lump forming in your throat as the thought of the silver hippogriff slipped into your mind. Hagrid was right, Buckbeak didn't deserve this. But what could you do? You were powerless.

Hagrid only nodded at you gravely, averting his eyes back to the garden in front of him, sucking in his bottom lip as if to stop the tears that had formed in his eyes from falling. You quickly rushed from your tree stump to Hagrid, wrapping your arms around him as much as you could. In this very moment, all you could offer the man was comfort. And so you did.

"It'll be alright, Hagrid." You mumbled against his musky smelling, tatty brown jacket, pressing the side of your face into his large, protruding stomach. A sharp inhale of air sounded from above, and you knew he was sobbing now. "It's okay." You whispered with glossy eyes, leaning back to glance up at Hagrid as he stared sorrowfully at the ground; his big, brown eyes wet with regretful tears. Gods, this was breaking your heart.

"He don't deserve this, Y/N!" Hagrid cried, his gigantic hands rushing to clutch you against his shaking body as he sobbed. "He don't, he's a good boy, he is." He muttered through broken cries. You had to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from breaking down into sobs too. As much as you wanted to cry with Hagrid, you wanted to be strong for him - like he was when you came running, crying hysterically because of... Severus.

It felt weird to use his first name. You hadn't used it since... you couldn't even remember when. You only called him Snape now, and it hurt you to do so.

A couple days had passed by since your incident with Snape, and he had found himself lurking in your greenhouse, sneakily searching for ingredients for his upcoming future classes. The screech of an owl hooked Snape's nose up and away from your cabinets and to the door of your greenhouse. He ducked, cursing, as a Spectacled Owl swooped over his head, the sweep of it's wings making Snape's raven-black hair fly outwards. He watched as it dropped a rather beautiful bouquet of flowers on your desk with a muffled thud, proceeding to fly out of an open ceiling window and perch itself on a tree branch to the right of it. The owl hooted as it watched Snape curiously with big, beady eyes. The Potions Master observed it for several seconds, his eyes narrowing inquisitively. Once he deemed it safe to move, Snape shuffled towards the bouquet, his eyes instantly finding a note attached. He slowly shifted his fingers towards it, opening the folded piece of parchment. His brows furrowed as it read:

Dearest Y/N,

I hope these stunning flowers find you well, the moment I saw them, they instantly reminded me of you, and I had to have them.

Since the day we parted from each other, you have not left my mind. You have ensorcelled me. Enchanted and charmed me. The sweet sound of your perfect laugh lives in my mind, and Merlin, how I miss the way that your smile bewitched my heart each time I had the honour of laying my blessed eyes upon it.

I do hope Hogwarts is treating you well. If it isn't, you know where to find me.

B.B x

Snape's stomach instantly twisted into a painful, egregious knot as his eyes continuously scanned over the sentimental note. You were seeing someone? Since when? More importantly, who was 'B.B'? Was it serious? It seemed to be, from Snape's basic knowledge of flowers, he knew they were high-quality, expensive ones. The thick, shiny material they were cocooned in also added to his conclusion. Whoever you were seeing was willing to spend a good amount of gold on you. Then, perhaps, was it an admirer? Someone trying to court you? No, it couldn't be, the note said-

Almost as fast as those thoughts had entered Snape's mind, he wiped them away, shaking his head aggressively as he let go of the note between his fingers, backing away from the flowers like a fearful doe. No, he wasn't doing this today. Not ever, actually.

Snape's eyes reluctantly fell to where you usually left a quill and parchment - specifically for him to note down what he'd taken. But it wasn't there. His brows knitted together, perplexed, as he glanced around the room for your quill and parchment. His eyes fell back onto the bouquet of flowers that 'B.B' had sent you. Snape's jaw clenched as he grudgingly padded forwards again, his hand reaching out slowly to lift up the neatly-wrapped bouquet. His hunch was right. That damned bird of yours had dropped the large bouquet on top of his quill and parchment, almost like a silent 'fuck you'. Snape had to force himself not to hex the poor animal as he retrived the materials, placing them beside the flowers to quickly scribble down the ingredients he required.

Snape felt something like a knife poke at his heart as he let his eyes glance over at the handwritten note again, staring at it with cruel eyes. A wave of disgust rushed through his body as he re-read the sickly sweet words. As much as he despised and envied the person behind the note, he couldn't help but agree with how they described you.

Over the next week at Hogwarts, more and more notes, flowers and small gifts began to turn up in your greenhouse. You had felt a bit smothered by Ben, but you gave him the benefit of the doubt - perhaps gift-giving was his love language. As time went on, you noticed that Snape began to slack in leaving notes of what he'd borrowed for his lessons. This confused you slightly, Snape was not someone that neglected agreements or promises. So, you just put it down to being an accident rather than on purpose. You weren't sure if you did that for the peace of your own mind, or hoping it was true.

Snape found himself assigned to the nightly patrol shift this Friday evening. He was a little miffed about it since he had planned to kick back in his room and bury his nose in a book he'd picked up on a subtle trip to Hogsmeade. Ever since he'd read that note in your greenhouse, he'd turned a little more bitter towards people. Including you. The only way he had figured out to hide something as petty and trivial as the feeling of jealousy was by acting a little colder to people. Everyone knew him as the callous and heartless Professor Snape, so it's not as if the students or staff alike would be alarmed by his extra bitterness.

As the Potions Master was strolling absentmindedly in the outside grounds of Hogwarts, two shadowy figures had caught his eye. Instinctively, he drew his wand, his fingers tightening around it. He crouched down a tad, narrowing his eyes in a feeble attempt to try and work out who the possible intruders were. Surely it was just two students out after curfew, right? Though, that idea came crashing down when he heard the sweet sound of your muffled laugh. His body ran cold as another heavenly, song-like giggle reached his ears. What were you doing out so late at night? …And who were you with?

"I'm sorry I kept you so late," Ben said quietly, squeezing your hand as you glanced up at him, the two of you strolling through the outside grounds of Hogwarts. The two of you kept your voices down as it was past midnight now, and you weren't exactly desiring the idea of getting caught. "I didn't expect the pub to stay open past eleven o'clock!"

"It's alright, work was rather stressful this week anyway. I needed a good break." You giggled, quickly placing a hand over your mouth to muffle it. Ben couldn't help but grin amusedly at your widened eyes.

"And you told me I had to be quiet," Ben mused, his eyes flicking back to the ground in front of him. You rolled your eyes at him and nudged him with a playful elbow. "But what happened with work? Annoying first years?" He teased. Oh, he had no idea.

A class of seventh years had been stressing you out since Tuesday afternoon when Jasper Greenlichen, a very intelligent and passionate budding Herbologist, made some fatal mistakes on a mock exam. The second you handed his results back to him, you hadn't expected, nor prepared yourself for such an intense meltdown of emotions. Since that moment, he was nonstop asking questions and asking for your expert opinion on certain ways to structure answers. The boy was absolutely obsessed with improving, and it was becoming extremely tiring for you. You could only help him so much.

"I wish," You groaned, shaking your head for a moment. "Seventh years, actually, one of them had a total meltdown when he did quite badly on a mock exam I'd set up for them." You explained, sighing exhaustedly. "From then on, it was chaos for me. I'd actually started dreading teaching for once!"

"Oh blimey," Ben grimaced at your words. "Sounds terrible." He added with a laugh, pulling you into his arms with a tug. A quiet squeak slipped from your throat as you fell into his chest, his hands snaking down to your waist suggestively.

"Ben," You warned, trying to hide the smile that was tugging at your lips. The bright, pale moonlight glimmered down upon the two of you, illuminating you like two shards of broken glass in the sunlight.

"What?" He asked innocently, frowning as if he was being falsely accused of murder. "I've missed you." He muttered. Your stomach twisted at his words. Had you missed him as well? The only time Ben had poked at your brain was when you'd been with Snape...

"Me too." You replied, staring up at him. Did you just lie to him? Perhaps. Is it terrible if you felt nothing the moment those three words left his lips? Definitely. What a fucking mess.

With Ben facing against the moonlight, the shadows cast on his face made his nose appear slightly larger, and his eyes seemed to turn dark. Were you imagining this...?

Before you could continue to question yourself, Ben's smile faded and his brows furrowed as his hand rose up to your jaw, grasping it gently with his fingertips. Your blood ran cold as he angled your jaw towards the light, encouraging it to illuminate the fading bruises on your jaw. Fuck, there was no way this was happening right now.

"What's this?" He questioned softly, his tone flat. You swallowed, anxiety bubbling at your fingertips as they began to tingle. What the hell were you meant to say?

"Oh, it's nothing," You laughed lightly, leaning away from his concerned touch. Sure, some bouncing bulbs could have caused small, red marks on your face, right? "I was teaching some first-years a couple days ago, some bouncing bulbs got loose." You quickly lied, smiling up at Ben, praying he'd just let it go.

"Are you okay?" He asked once more, his eyes flicking up to yours, burning with worry. A wave of relief washed over you as he believed you. If you'd told him the truth, you weren't sure how he'd react. Perhaps he'd curse Snape's classroom to smell awfully for eternity, or maybe he'd do worse... but you didn't want to think about that right now.

"Yeah, I'm alright, it's happened before." You laughed again, quietly, staring at Ben for any sign of doubt on his face. He continued to study your injured jaw, not seemingly convinced.

"Alright," he nodded at you with a curt sigh, letting it go. "As long as you're not in pain." Ben smiled down at you, pressing a gentle kiss to your marked jaw, trailing his lips to towards your parted ones. A gasp left your lips as Ben pulled you closer to him, his fingers digging into your waist hungrily. He kissed you a little harder, and you had to push him away slightly, releasing yourself from his lips.

"Ben, remember where we are." You said quietly, nodding to the grounds of Hogwarts that the two of you were currently stood in. "Someone could see us." You warned, a sheepish and awkward smile picking at the corners of your lips.

"So what?" Ben smirked as he leaned in to kiss you again, his reckless personality rearing it's head once more. You placed a firm hand against his chest, placing some space between you.

"I'm serious." You said again, your tone switching from playful to stern. Ben sighed, nodding, as he waved his white flag and surrendered to your demands. "Thank you." You smiled up at him, patting his chest gently, watching how as he turned his head, that familiar looking shadow cast over his features again, transforming him into your true desire. You tore your gaze away from his face as your heartbeat began to pick up in speed, memories of you and a certain brooding Potion Master flooding your mind. "I should really get going now." You quickly muttered, swallowing the lump of anxiety in your throat as you glanced to the right, avoiding his eyes.

Was this how your life was going to be now? Everytime you looked at someone you tried to move on with, his face would appear? Everywhere you looked, the thought of him would slide into your mind effortlessly - at this point, you were wondering if he had slipped you some sort of potion when you weren't looking.

"Oh right, yeah... I forgot it was so late," Ben laughed awkwardly, noticing your subtle change in demeanour. He wondered if he'd done something wrong. "I'll come and see you again soon, Y/N." He pushed past the niggling feeling in his mind and smiled at you, leaning forwards to press a kiss to your cheek. His hand brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and you returned his smile, the overwhelming feeling of guilt beginning to nibble away at your bones. This man was treating you like a princess and all you could think about was the man that had roughly grabbed you by your jaw the other day, leaving bruises on it.

"Send me an owl first, I'd like to be prepared this time." You hummed, referring to how Ben had caught you in your messy casualwear, tending to the plants in your greenhouse and covered in filth. It wasn't a pretty sight - well in your opinion, at least. "See you soon, Ben." You smiled at him as you turned to leave, a ghastly, freezing breeze of cold air suddenly tickling your skin.

"See you later, and... get back safe, please." Ben said wearily as he glanced about, having noticed the sudden drop in temperature as well. You nodded at him and pulled your shawl tighter around you, trying to ward off the cold that was now biting at your bare shoulders. You'd quickly slipped on a dark, rich emerald green dress that fell to the floor, and was slightly cinched at your waist in a shirred fashion, with baggy, ballooned sleeves that reached your wrists. You'd also opted to bring a thick, warm dusty rose-coloured shawl that was currently wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

Walking back to the grand entrance of the castle, your brows knitted together as your eyes stared at the ground that was suddenly frosting over, wilting flowers and withering plants. A feeling of uneasiness permeated your ice-cold skin as you let your eyes glaze over the frozen ground, the clouds above you suddenly turning deathly grey. Your heart began to pound as you immediately took off in a sprint, desperately trying to reach Hogwarts before whatever the hell was coming could get to you.

The air was dead, silent and motionless. Only the sound of your crunching footfalls and your chattering teeth pierced the blanket of silence. You were praying that you were only imagining this, there was no way you could fend off a dementor. As you ran, your hands began to clench and unclench, a layer of sweat forming within them as you continued to run as fast as you could, your chest heaving with complete fear as the cold began to invade your body. You felt as if you were going to die right then and there, dementor or not, your heart was going absolutely mental, pounding against your ribs like an insane prisoner, begging to be let out. Your legs began to slow as the freezing cold began to overpower your body, numbing your legs and sending you tumbling to the ground. You fell to your hands and knees, tears streaming down your face, still desperate to escape as you clambered forwards in vain.

The chilling temperature was becoming too much for your body to withstand, and so you fell to the side, a paralysing scream leaping from your lungs as your worst nightmare suddenly swept in front of you. It floated in front of you, as if taunting you. The haunting noise of a rattling, sucking-like sound surrounded you like a bubble. You stared up at the dementor, your mouth agape in horror, fearful tears brimming your eyes as you watched on helplessly. Your lungs burned with each strangled breath you stole, your limp body falling backwards against the ground, as the dementor glided closer to you, finally kissing you.

You felt as if you were drowning. Your lungs felt as if they were filled with water, stealing your breath away, leaving you to suffocate. All you could see was the dementor, it's menacing appearance rendering you immobile. You were paralysed. You couldn't move, you couldn't run away. This was it, this was how you died.

Then, suddenly, a bright white light pierced the darkness that had almost swallowed you whole. It was almost blinding as you glanced towards it, your vision blurring. You struggled on the ground, your eyes fighting to stay open as they caught a glimpse of what looked to be like... a... doe?

As you let your eyes roll back to the gloomy and black sky above you, it felt like you were in slow motion - everything was spinning and the lids of your eyes were feeling heavier and heavier; the freezing cold that once had you within it's grasp subsiding. The roar of rushing blood in your ears muffled the screaming voice from afar. You wanted to scream out, to beg them for help, but you couldn't. Your voice was no where to be heard.

As you laid motionless upon the frosted grass, your muscles relaxed, your body finally caving as the black abyss swallowed your vision.

Peace.

A quiet rustling of what sounded like metal against metal stirred you awake. You felt your fingers twitch as you gradually shuffled the tiniest bit against some soft sheets that you'd been carefully wrapped up in.

"She's awake." A soft, feminine voice called out from beside you; your eyes slowly, but painfully fluttering open.

"How are you feeling?" A familiar, warm voice poked at your ears. You blinked as your eyes followed the source of the sound, a blanket of relief encasing you as you saw Professor Lupin perched on a chair beside where you laid.

"Erm," You croaked, sitting up on your elbows in a leisurely manner. "What the hell happened?" You asked quietly, confused. Glancing about the room with squinted eyes, you noticed that you were in the hospital wing, sat in a bed, neatly wrapped up like a cocooned caterpillar in blankets.

"You were attacked by a dementor." Lupin put it simply, though he kept his tone soft, a hint of concern laced beneath. "Do you remember anything?" He further questioned you, curious. You looked back to him, letting yourself fall back into the bed. "Here," Lupin reached into his pocket, pulling out a chocolate bar. "It'll help." He said, offering it to you.

You took it gratefully, unwrapping the crackly plastic covering slowly, feeling your mouth suddenly salivate at the sight of the sugary treat. "Thank you, Remus." You smiled weakly at him whilst trying to wrack your brain for any remaining memories of the attack, taking a bite out of the chocolate. You sat there for a moment, staring down at your lap as you sifted through your memories, chewing at a slow pace. You remembered leaving Ben, then the cold... that was it... "No, I'm sorry." You mumbled, feeling a little useless.

"Don't apologise, we're all just very glad you're okay." Remus smiled at you, his moustache twitching. You nodded in agreement with him, keeping quiet. "You were lucky that Severus was there to save you that night." Your eyes instantly snapped to Lupin's, widening in surprise.

"Wait, what?" You choked out. It felt like someone had just punched your chest. Snape saved you? How did he...? Remus seemed a little concerned at your reaction as his brows knitted together in slight curiosity. "Sna... Severus was the one...?" You breathed out, shock stiffening your body, your throat tightening as your lips spoke his name.

"He was." Remus tilted his head at you, inquisitive blue eyes studying you. "He was on duty that night and heard your screams."

You couldn't believe what was coming out of Remus's mouth. Were you dreaming? Were you in some horrible, twisted nightmare? You had so many questions running through your mind that you couldn't keep up.

"Also, you keep saying 'that night', how long have I been... here?" You questioned Lupin, your voice weakening as you glanced around the hospital wing, noticing how empty it was. Only one other person was here and it was a student dressed in a Quidditch outfit with an icepack resting on his forehead. You deduced that he had probably fallen off of his broom during a match.

"Just over two days, Y/N." Remus replied slowly, continuing to observe you for any possible ailments. You blinked.

"What day is it?"

"Sunday," The professor replied before twisting his arm to check his watch. "Six fifty-two in the evening, to be exact."

"Right," You exhaled slowly, staring up at the ceiling, becoming lost in your thoughts. You thought you were alone outside. Why did- how did Snape know you were there? Did this mean something? Was this his way of- no, don't be silly, for Merlin's sake.

It's merely a coincidence, you chastised yourself. I should be glad he was there, I wouldn't be sat here right now if he wasn't, you thought, sighing frustratedly through your nostrils.

"I need to talk to him." You said quickly, beginning to sit up but Lupin quickly pushed you back down into the bed, his mouth flattening into a straight line.

"You need to rest." He replied sternly, his hand resting firmly against your shoulder as he forced you back down.

"I feel perfectly fine, Remus. I appreciate your concern but-"

"I'm sorry, but it's Madam Pomfrey's orders." He cut you off, an apologetic look softening his features. You sighed at him, a little irritated, but you understood where he was coming from. You did need to rest up, you didn't feel like you were in the best of headspaces. You still felt a little disorientated.

There was a moment of silence before you reluctantly gave in, giving Lupin a soft nod, avoiding his eyes. "Fine." You settled into the hospital bed, glancing out at the window to your right, watching quietly as beads of rain dripped down the glass pane.

"If you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask me." Lupin smiled warmly at you. You hummed quietly, returning his smile.

"Actually, Remus, erm," You cleared your throat, shuffling under the pale white sheets. "I was hoping to ask you if you could mentor me? To produce a patronus charm?" You asked, fidgeting with your fingers. Lupin's brow quirked at your proposal.

"Of course," Remus nodded as the surprised expression that had slipped onto his face clearly showed that he wasn't expecting you to ask him such a question. "We can start on Tuesday, seven o'clock. My classroom."

You felt your body relax at his answer. "Thank you so much." You said, your smile widening.

"It's my pleasure, Y/N, now please, get some rest." A gentle chuckle rumbled within Lupin's chest as he tilted his head at you like a parent would at their child. You scrunched your nose up at him jokingly and rolled over onto your side, tugging the blanket up and over your shoulders.

"Goodnight, Remus." You said quietly with a hint of amusement in your tone, closing your eyes. As the echo of his receding footsteps began to grow quieter and quieter as he left, you let your body finally rest, gradually dozing off.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" Snape's deep, languid voice echoed from behind his door, sending a nervous shiver down your spine. You'd slipped out of your hospital bed once you had woken up, determined to pay Snape a visit, despite the storm of butterflies swirling in your stomach. When you checked the clock before leaving, it had struck almost eleven-thirty at night.

You pursed your lips, slipping inside his office and leaning against the back of the door as it clicked shut. "How did you know it was me?" You asked a little awkwardly as your eyes flicked to Snape who still had his nose buried in a pile of assignments atop of his neatly-arranged desk. A flutter of envy flew through your chest as you silently admired how organised the man was. Your desk was a mess, you barely had enough time to keep it clean, let alone organised.

"Few people opt to bother me at such an... ungodly hour." Snape sighed, rather exhaustedly, not bothering to glance at up you. Usually you'd chastise him for ignoring you, but you felt like you owed him your life from the whole ordeal a couple days ago, so you chose to brush past the bitterness in his voice. Snape spoke again after several seconds of silence. "Speaking of, what is it that you need from me?"

"Erm," you choked, eyes falling anxiously to the floor, "I just wanted to... say thanks." You said, silently dreading Snape's reply as you looked back up to find him staring at you. Your body ignited at the sight, and you could feel your cheeks starting to burn. Nothing has changed then, you thought, a little embarrassed and somewhat disappointed in yourself.

"I believe we spoke about saying 'thanks'." Snape quirked a brow at you, his dark eyes scrutinising you as you leant against his office door. You huffed at him. He paused for a moment, studying your weak, pale-looking body. "Nevertheless, you're welcome. I suppose such a situation... warrants a thank you." He added, tone flat.

There was another blanket of awkward silence. "Who were you with?" He asked. Your blood ran cold. Here we go, you thought.

"Remember a year ago, when we were brewing the Mandrake Draught?" You spoke hesitantly, avoiding Snape's intense gaze. He hummed, as if to encourage you to continue. "Remember when we spoke about Benjamin Bluewater?" You added, voice going quiet at the end. You braved a glance at the Potions Master, who now looked very disappointed. Fuck.

"You were with... Bluewater?" Snape tried to hide the jealousy in his voice. "Why were you with such a scoundrel so late at night?" You flinched at his harsh tone.

"He's changed, Snape, he's not the same troublemaker as he was in school," you sighed, "he's working at the Ministry of Magic, for Merlin's sake."

"I highly doubt a boy such as him can 'change', Y/N." Snape hissed, averting his eyes back to the parchment in front of him. He felt his skin burning with anger as you spoke about Bluewater so casually. Your heart leapt at the sound of your name leaving his lips.

"And how do you know that, Severus?" You scoffed at him. Snape's hardened eyes snapped up to yours, your harsh tone obviously hitting a nerve in him.

"Boys like him do not change, Y/N, they merely manipulate you to think so." He sneered at you. "And a woman like you is an easy target." He added, igniting a once-extinguished rage within you.

"Excuse me?" Your brows furrowed together furiously. Snape stared at you, an icy glare plastered on his pale face. "A woman like me?"

"You are far too trusting, Y/N," Snape bit, baring his teeth as he rose from his desk, "you are a true Hufflepuff. You have no respect for yourself; you struggle with the prospect of being alone so you reduce yourself to be with a lowlife such as Bluewater." The booming of your heart began to deafen you as you listened to Snape's ruthless words, each syllable digging a knife deeper into your chest. "Are you so afraid of the idea of loneliness that you really think you belong with a miscreant such as him?" He spat at you as you spun on your heels, rushing towards his door, the reality of his words becoming too hard for you to handle. You were breathing so heavily that each breath you took was starting to burn your throat, like you had swallowed the thorny stem of a rose.

Your shaking hand hovered over the handle of his office-door, lingering as you debated between running away like you always did, or confronting your fears.

You turned around, facing Snape with glossy eyes and red cheeks, unafraid. "You have no idea what you're talking about." You hissed at him furiously, stalking towards the raven-haired man with such determination that it made him flinch out of surprise.

"Don't I?" Snape mused, returning to his usual stoic and cold demeanour. He stood tall, towering over your shorter figure, his lips curling up into a sneer as he bent down to look at you in your teary eyes. "I taught the boy for seven years, Y/N. You think I do not know him better than you do?"

"I..." You stuttered, snapping your jaw shut as you tipped your chin down, submitting to Snape's cruel tone.

"You deserve better than him." Snape said quietly, softening his tone as he noticed your form trembling with bottled rage and frustration. He pitied you in this moment, in fact, he wished he could save you from such heartache, but it wasn't his place. Not now, not ever.

"You don't know what I deserve, Severus." You bit back in a harsh whisper. Snape's jaw ticked and your chest tightened as his name fell from your lips for the first time in months. He swiftly moved from behind his desk in a sweep, his long, billowing cloak trailing behind him as he stood in front of you; an unusually calm expression softening the cold, unfeeling glare that once laid upon his features.

Snape parted his lips, staring down at you, mulling over his words for a brief moment. "No, I don't," He said quietly, tilting his head at you, studying your distraught eyes. "However, that does not mean I can't usher you in the right direction." He added, clasping his hands behind his back. "It... pains me to see you so... unhappy." You looked up at him, a stray tear embarrassing you as it rolled down your cheek. You quickly swiped it away, and looked away from him, staring at the record player that you had accidentally triggered all that time ago. You felt another bout of tears brim your eyes again as your mind replayed the tender memory of you and Snape sharing such an intimate moment together.

"How did you know where I was that night?" You questioned him quietly, ignoring his previous comment, desperate not to break down in tears in front of the man you had grown to adore.

"It wasn't hard to pinpoint your location when you were screaming bloody murder." Snape replied, a hint of faint amusement lingering in his tone. You huffed at his words, prompting him to quirk at brow at you questioningly.

"Yeah, well," You swallowed thickly, glancing back up at him through your wet lashes. If you asked him any more questions you were certain you'd start hysterically sobbing. "Thanks. Again." You choked out, nodding gently.

Severus hummed at you. He felt unusually warm as the two of you were silent, quietly savouring the rare, peaceful moment.

Your cheeks had pinkened again as you studied his face, your stomach going bananas as your eyes became glued to his. You felt yourself subconsciously leaning towards him, slowly, like the pull of two magnets. Snape's breath hitched in his throat as he watched your eyes drop to his lips, eyeing them hungrily. He hesitated slightly, his mind beginning to race with plentiful amounts of reason as to why he should stop what was about to happen, however, he found himself tossing them to the side, carelessly.

The way the soft, amber hue of the candles illuminated your wet cheeks made you look so fragile, he just wanted to cradle you indefinitely; an aching urge protect you from the outside world. You felt Severus nudge his prominent nose against yours in a gentle, tender gesture; your eyes fluttering at the intimacy. His hot breath was dancing across your face as the two of you grew closer, noses grazing.

Though, before your lips could meet, Snape's office door swung open, revealing Professor McGonagall clutching a candle dressed in her nightgown.

"Severu- oh!" She gasped, watching as the two of you quickly dispersed from each other. "Am I interrupting something?" McGonagall eyed the two of you inquisitively, her lips pouting together. You cleared your throat and clasped your hands together in front of you, blinking quickly. Your cheeks were still scorching hot.

"No." Severus quickly answered, broadening his shoulders as he dared to glance at you. He straightened his posture and averted his attention to his older colleague, staring at her expectantly. "What's the matter, Minerva?" He asked, an underlying tone of irritation in his voice. Your heart fluttered as you looked to Severus, noticing his usually pale face had a tinge of pink to it.

"Black is in the castle." She said with a worried voice, prompting you to snap your head up at Minerva. What? Sirius Black is inside Hogwarts?

Part 10!

oooooo THEY ALMOST KISSED? mcgonagall the cockblock, whoops. i hope you enjoyed another long chapter, please let me know what you thought!! <3 have a great day/night, im about to get some much needed rest :) im so excited to write the next part tomorrow oh my lordddd

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novthewolf · 6 months

Text

Two’s company, three’s a family - Part six

Summary : As a cupid, an angel of love, your mission was to make sure everyone was paired up with the right person. Yet you couldn’t get your two most ancient clients to finally end up together. And despite the 6,000 years spent on the case, you couldn’t bring yourself to give them up, oblivious to the reason…

Pairing : Aziraphale x Crowley / GN!Reader x Crowley / GN!Reader x Aziraphale (polyamorous relationship).

Parts : First - Previous - Next

Masterlist : Here

Warnings : foul language, car accident, broken bones, hurt Bentley, anxiety, nauseous reader, violent scene start at the ◇ (physical aggression, choking, non-con touching, death threat, withdrawal depiction) angst, slow burn, english isn’t my first language.

Words : +5,2k

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The night slowly fell on the tired English countryside. The sweet and warm temperature gently subsided to a more chilly atmosphere. Curled up against the right door, you slowly exhaled hot air against the window and drew a little heart among the mist. You smiled at your corniness.

"Hey ! You better not leave fingertips all over the window !" Crowley snarled in the front seat. The connection he seems to have with his car is almost frightening.

"Just focus on the road, and let me worry about entertaining your poor little bored car." You stuck out your tongue at him.

"Bored ? Alive, you mean ! If I left you and the Bentley alone, Hell knows how I would find the both of you."

"Aww, me as well ?" You cajoled in a fake-sweet tone.

"Sure, I couldn't do anything to you if you were already broken down to smithereens." He joked darkly, glancing your way and baring his teeth.

You gasped loudly and put your hand on your chest.

"You wouldn't dare..."

Aziraphale chuckled lightly and shook his head. He kept looking around outside, as if waiting for the anti-Christ to pop out of nowhere.

"I could and I would, sweetheart." The demon boasted with his raspy voice, now focusing on the road.

You laughed breathlessly in disbelief, already coming up with a comeback. However, a sudden wave of unexpected smell appeared to your little nose.

"Woah..." You inhaled loudly, enjoying the smell. Gosebumps pigmented the exposed skin of your left arm. It wasn't the first one, but it has never been so strong. You straightened up and scooted over to Aziraphale.

"Did you feel that ?" Not only do other angels not smell emotions, but love has a very specific flavour for everyone. Well, maybe it was generic for every cupid, but you never dared to ask.

"Yes, there's a very peculiar feeling to this whole area."

"Really ? I didn't notice anything in particular." Crowley shrugged.

"I'm astonished you can't feel it."

"I don't feel anything out of the ordinary." He insisted, dismissing your whole debate.

Aziraphale obviously didn't understand the feeling right away, so you just have to play dumb until then. Your eyes catch a glimpse of a silhouette in the forest. Probably a deer or another big animal.

"Mmh..-"

"Love !" Aziraphale exclaimed joyfully. Your ears peaked at the familiarity of the word, while pink coloured the thin skin. Your nostrils flared, and you caught the distinct smell of macarons and rosé. Crowley was as flustered as you were apparently.

"Flashes of love" He turned your way for confirmation, nodding quickly. You mimicked his movements before gazing back into the dark. The deer you remember shouldn’t technically be capable of producing any light...

"Guys-" You started urgently, clueing yourself to the window, trying to see if what you saw was human.

"You're being ridiculous." Crowley claimed through gritted teeth. You moved back to the middle when you couldn't see the light anymore.

"The last thing we need right now is..."

Crowley's reflection was cut short as the Bentley got hit by someone. The force of the shock made the whole structure tremble. You desperately hung yourself on Aziraphale's seat and the angel himself. Crowley's hand smacked to the left dashboard in front of the two of you in a reflex. Nobody moved for a few seconds.

"You hit someone." The angel observed, fixed.

"No, I didn't. Someone hit me." Crowley defended himself, looking over your way. You grabbed Aziraphale's shoulder and pulled yourself up.

"Let's see." You said your face was sombre.

The night was fully settled now; it was really hard to see anything. The leaves crunched under your feet as you felt Aziraphale join you. The angel then snapped his finger to identify the groaning form.

"Let there be light."

Your eyes squinted at the sudden light. Mmph. The animal you thought you saw was actually a young woman and a poor, injured bicycle. She was alive, proven by the complaints she made, so that was a relief. Alive and conscious, mind you.

"How the hell did you do that ?" She groaned, though she couldn't move. You looked over at Crowley with a clenched jaw. He looked at you in a lighthearted way before snapping the light away. The Bentley shone with a single headlight and looked quite banged up.

"I think I hit my head..." The weak voice called you back, and you hurried yourself towards the poor thing. You squatted down and looked over for any injuries. And apparently, everyone around the world seems to have very fragile wrists. You saw Aziraphale follow your lead and check if her legs got hurt too. Gently, you caressed the broken bones away.

"There are no broken bones." You whispered to hide the cracking bones. You shared a look with Aziraphale, who simply smiled, assuring you that's everything you needed to heal. As for Crowley, he carefully rotated around his car, fixing the broken headlight and popping the metal back into place. Slowly, she got up, resting against you for support.

"My bike," she croaked. Aziraphale went to get the bike and winced at its state. He miraculed it bettter and rolled it to her.

"Amazingly resilient, these old machines." You wondered if he was actually able to charm humans too. Or at least he tried, because the girl was nothing but wary as she put her glasses back on her nose.

"Where do you need to go ?" He asked nicely. You offered her a smile, which did nothing to comfort her either.

"No, no, we're not giving her a lift." Crowley interjected rudely. He wasn't very keen on letting strangers into his precious Bentley. You glared at him to encourage him to be more pleasant.

"Out of the question." He didn't back down but preferred to turn his attention towards Aziraphale. "There's nowhere to put the bike."

"Except for the bike rack." He stated it matter-of-factly. At the same time, you heard metal forming at the back of a car. You flashed the demon a satisfied smile.

"Ah, silly you..."

Crowley just mockingly smiled at you before rolling his eyes.

"Do get in, my dear." Aziraphale smiled sweetly at her, ignoring Crowley. Who held the door open for her, surprisingly. He silently insisted that she should settle on the left side, behind Aziraphale. That is why, now, you could smell how tense he was since you were right behind his seat. He probably didn't want someone he didn't know behind him. But you sure hope it doesn't rub off on you.

The young woman was like a frightened little animal, looking around the car, which behaved for once (until it started to blast Bicycle Race on the way), and she recently started to shoot cautionary glances towards you. You could understand, you were the closest after all. And since she started, you have seen Aziraphale look regularly in the rear mirror in your direction. You sighed, trying to focus on the music playing and observing the woman in the corner of your eye.

Her dress made you curious; not a lot of people dress this way nowadays. Her hairstyle amused you too; you had to restrain yourself from buzzing her hair bun. You smirked at the thought.

"Listen, my bike didn't have gears." She suddenly spoke up, her accent thick. It didn't bother you that much; you were just more used to fancy British accents. You violently crunched your nose at the smell of star anise. A small giggle tried to escape your lips at the angel's embarrassment.

"I know my back didn't have gears." She insisted. You decided to tease Aziraphale just a little bit.

"Oh, really ? How odd..." You fakely wondered. The silence was so loud when the angel slightly turned his head, not pleased at all by your amazing sense of humor.

"Oh Lord, heal this bike.." Crowley joined silently. You looked at him in the mirror, and you shared an amused look. Aziraphale tsked quietly before whispering.

"I got carried away."

"Oh, you can drop me off here." She pressed, scooting away from you. Crowley huffed while pulling over and rolled his eyes. Once the motor stopped, she almost bolted out of the car. You still got out too, just to make sure she was alright. Aziraphale was already outside, taking the bike down.

"And look, no gears." He smiled, dropping the bicycle against the gate. The young woman looked so confused, and you inhaled the sugary custard smell. "Just a perfectly normal velocipede."

"Bicycle." Crowley corrected; he was growing impatient by the second. Aziraphale was still tensed, and you were still guilty. But she seemed okay...

"Can we get on, angel ?" Aziraphale nodded in agreement and left the woman with a small good-bye. You still stood there, worried for her, scratching your arm.

"C'mon, get in, sweetheart." His voice had softened, and it comforted you. You stroked your arm to soothe the itching skin. The young American didn't smell so scared anymore. You bowed your head goodnight and joined them in your backseat.

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"I swear, Americans are so confusing." Crowley mumbled.

"You liked America." Aziraphale tried to cajole.

"No, I liked their messed-up crossroads." He smirked. Crowley truly had a weird thing for car-related matters. You were now sitting against the right door, watching through the opposite window. Yes, your feet were on the leather, and yes, your shoes were clean. However, it never seemed to bother the demon, even when you lied down.

Aziraphale looked back at you for support against his cynicism. You laughed lightheartedly, and the angel did the same. You really loved his smile, how his cheekbones would take on a redish colour, and how squizable they looked.

Wholesome moments like those made you forget that Love was disappearing from the world. However, humans always had a way to remind you of these kinds of things.

"Rah, come on... How bad can you drive ?" Crowley exclaimed.

"Oh dear..."

It was a car crash; it didn't look deadly and didn't seem to have any casualties. But... the air suddenly felt heavy, and the taste of blood seeped through your taste buds. You knew what followed next, and you were not quick enough to protect yourself from the smell—the smell of corpses and mold. It clawed at your throat, pulling at the darkest part of your soul.

Hate.

You gagged on nothing. Yet you couldn’t pull away from the sight. Not out of morbid curiosity, but because your eyes and your heart caught a glimpse of the thing you feared the most.

You thought they weren't supposed to rise yet...

Your breath hitched in your lungs, your heart sinking, down, down your chest. No, fuck, no. Your hands latched onto the fabric of your pants. Among the car debris and shattered glass stood the root of your broken heart. His hair is still grey, and his eyes are still as piercing as a hawk. And he stared right at you with those very eyes. And she smiled with that wicked look. And... moved your way.

"Please, please, let's get out of here." You didn't even recognise your own choking voice.

"Y/N ?" Aziraphale was worried and tried to see what horrified you so much. You couldn't focus on his voice.

Suddenly, your heart compressed violently, and your legs tensed up, ready to sprint back to heaven. With cold sweat and tremors rocking your entire body, you felt utterly empty. Your blood boiled right underneath the surface, ready to explode from the inside. And yet you felt... nothing. And that scared you more than seeing him could ever do. You needed love. You had to go back to heaven. You couldn't wait any longer.

"Y/N ? What's happening?" Aziraphale asked louder.

"I-I guess... it's just stress. Plus, I'm, uh... I'm hungry !"

"Oh, Satan, don't scare me like that." Crowley sighed, rubbing a hand on his face.

You laughed nervously. You couldn't stop looking back at the scene. But he wasn't there anymore. The skin on your chest stretched, seeking something you would never find anywhere again. A bound you will never have. You rested your head on the cold window.

"Let's stop somewhere." The angel suggested watching over you with sad eyes. You felt a protective force envelop you—a guardian angel's power.

"That'd be great; thank you." You were so grateful to have him. Well, both of them.

Luckily, a small dinner was open at such late hours, allowing you to replace the emptiness with food. More precisely, a sandwich, while Aziraphale preferred something sweeter. You felt a little better, but you still had to take some deep breaths from time to time. The atmosphere wasn't very light, as you could smell the snowy nights on both of them, clearly worried about their lack of trail. So eventually the topic was brought back again.

"Mmh... You know, we might get another human to find him." Aziraphale started first, still munching on his little cake.

Crowley, still focused on both of your foods, didn't register immediately. You always wondered why he didn't buy any dishes too if he was so transcended on how much food you two ate.

"What ?" he asked, deadpan.

"Humans are good at finding other humans. They've been doing it for thousands of years." Aziraphale stated.

"True, plus, the child is partly human. They might be able to sense him." You agreed, biting a chuck of your bread and ham.

"He's the Antichrist. He's got an automatic defence thingy." Azirphale hummed at that. "Suspicion slies off him like... whatever it is water slides off." He waved off.

"Rocks ?" You offered.

"No, not rocks..."

"Got any better ideas ? Or one single, better idea?" The sarcasm was strong in this one. You shook your head with a laugh. You couldn't see Crowley's eyes, but you knew he was nearing exasperation. Aziraphale simply wiped his lips with a napkin once he was finished. You swallowed the last bite, feeling a little bit better.

"Maybe we should head back..." You stretched your right shoulder and got up.

"You sure ?" Crowley asked. You simply hummed and had already made your way to the car. The reflection of the glass door shows you the shared look on Aziraphale and Crowley's faces. Your heart still ached, and your arm still burned. Your need for love—well, your addiction—was growing more and more hurtful by the minute.

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Mind clouded by a heavy fog, you lied on the backseat, not sure how long the drive was. You had dazed off the conversation, only hearing a ringing sound. It was frustrating, but you held on to it. You held on to any emotions now, to any remaining Love. You didn't know you would react so strongly; maybe it was due to your trip to that Tadfield village, but it was like the withdrawal was ten times stronger than expected.

You groaned as nausea overtook you once more. Turning over to face the road, you felt your right arm fall down, not touching the floor. Eyes closed, to minimise the gagging, you felt something touch your hand. In your state, you couldn't help but flinch away from the touch. But when you opened your eyes, you simply saw your hand first. As your vision lost its blur, you recognised the pale skin of Aziraphale's own hand. It stopped moving the moment you flinched but remained reached out. You felt your heartbeat heat up, your lips twitching in a shy smile. You took his offered hand in your own, caressing his soft fingers.

You hummed softly, enjoying the new-found heat. Things got even better when you saw Crowley's movements through your half-opened eyes. His hand settled down on your upper-arm and gently pat it up and down with care. Your scarred arm... But you weren't scared. And taht actually surprised you. A demon was once again touching your arm, and yet you knew he wouldn't hurt you. Neither of them would. And being certain of this made you feel so good. So secure. Even... Heh. No. Not loved. Maybe appreciated at best. Still, you basked in their affection, taking in every sensation the moment had to offer.

They continued to talk, and you continued to not listen to a single thing they said. Suddenly, you thought of something and couldn't help but giggle in a sleepy tone. Darting your eyes up, you saw Aziraphale's arched brow and curious smile.

"Ducks..."

"What about ducks ?" Aziraphale asked, ever so confused.

"They're what water slides off..." You giggled once more.

"Oh, that's right !" Crowley exclaimed as he put his hands back on the wheel.

"Just drive the car, please." The angel laughed, even if he tried to hide it.

Finally, you three entered the city. You let go of Aziraphale's hand and slowly sat up. Yeah, you still wanted to barf, though. Thankfully, you saw Crowley outside, ready to help you out of the Bentley. The door opened, but you felt something hit your foot on the car floor.

"You know, if you lined up everyone in the whole world and asked them to describe the Velvet Underground, nobody at all would say 'bepop'" You heard the demon nagging at the angel. The thing was a book, apparently about prophecies. Maybe Aziraphale would know what it was about.

"Say," you started while accepting Crowley's help. "Does it belong to any of you?"

"Nah, I don't read books." The red hair dismissed. He had crossed his arms on the roof and passed the book to Aziraphale as you handed it to him.

"It has to belong to the young lady you hit with the car." He scolded. He inspected the book, and the title immediately reminded him of something.

"I'm in enough trouble as it is. I'm not going to start returning lost property. That's what your lot do." Crowley huffed. You had to agree with him; you had your fair share of trouble too.

"We can always send it back to the Tadfield post office addressed to a witchy American woman." You jested through the dizziness. However, Aziraphale's reaction seemed quite disproportionate. Don't get me wrong; you would have loved to smell such jubilation if you were in a good mood. But now, the mix of lime and ladyfingers was kind of sickening.

"Oh ! Mh.. yes, jolly good ! Rather.."

"What is it ?" You asked in a more rude tone than you intended, but your temples were killing you, and no amount of massage could make it better.

"Just... mh..."

"Should we both contact our respective human operatives, then ?" Crowley was as disoriented as you, visibly worried and intrigued.

"All right." The angel was already walking away, crossing the slippery road to the other side, almost falling down.

"Are you alright ?"

"Perfectly yes. Uh, tip top !" Crowley and you comically followed the angel's movement. You would have laughed if it didn't mean feeling like you're dying from drowning.

"Absolutely tickety-boo !" He exclaimed finally, closing the door in a loud noise.

"Tickety-boo ?"

Crowley's question was directed to you, but you couldn't answer. That's it; you were going to pass out in any minute now.

"Y/N ?"

Sorry, Crowley, but if I open my mouth right now, you will strongly regret it.

"Do you want a lift?" His nonchalant tone sounded like a sham, but his hand on yours felt so genuine. You nodded, looking probably more grey than usual.

"Okay..."

Thankfully, you were able to settle down on your own easily. Maybe too easily, the Bentley propably pulled the seat out a little bit more than usual. Crowley drove as slowly as he could bear to your house in Brentford and helped you out to your doorstep.

"What's going on, Y/N ?"

Your pleading eyes met his own, yellow and troubled, darkened by his sunglasses. The last thing you wanted was to worry them, especially if it kept them apart. You sighed and looked away. Crowley would have probably followed Aziraphale into the bookshop to plan what they would do next. And now there he was, helping your addict ass, while Aziraphale had to do everything on his own. Oh, you were just a burden, weren't you ? But, oh, when he pleaded with such eyes, how could you want to keep secrets ?

"It's nothing, Crowley, just stress. But... It's true that... Heaven has been calling me back for the war." The demon tensed up, but let you continue. "And just... the simple thought of fighting you... i-it's hard." You teared up through your embarrassment. Emotions were spilled out on their own.

"We won't have to fight the war." He stated.

"Mmph, sure."

"No, we don't have to." Crowley articulated, grabbing your shoulders tightly. "If we can't prevent Armaggedon, there's no way in hell I'm going to stand there and watch the earth blow up." He growled.

"I... I can't just run away like you. I couldn't..." You choked on your own breath.

"But why, Y/N ?" His hands fell back beside his legs.

"I'm going to rest; I'll see you tomorrow, I promise." You hurried to slip into your house, desperately trying to flee the conversation. It took some minutes before you heard the red-haired man sigh and make his way back to his car. Hear still pressed against the wood of the door; you didn't notice Eden walking up to you. You gasped loudly, your hand flying to your bomb-like heart.

"Oh, hi baby..." You patted her head before freezing for an instant. Will she become aggressive now that love is evaporating from Earth? However, all she did was lick your hand and moo when you didn't pet her. You were surprised, but so relieved. Tears rolled down your cheeks, and you fell on your knees, hugging her. You rubbed your face on her soft fur; the texture relaxed your nerves.

Once you calmed down, you led your mini-cow back to her half of the house, which was basically a huge valley—a generous gift from Crowley. You fed her a big bucket of alfalfa, and she mooed in pure happiness.

...

Armaggedon means Eden's wouldn't be there anymore... It means nothing will remain. You had to hide her somewhere safe, where she would continue to be happy and eat grass all day. But what would happen if you did have to fight in the war ? What would become of Aziraphale, you, and Crowley ?

Would you lose them too ?

Not ready to face the harsh truth of your world, you kissed your baby's forehead and left her to her blissful ignorance.

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◇

The house was quiet, disturbed by the endless roaming and faint sounds of the wind. You couldn't sleep; you couldn’t get your head out of your thoughts. Where is that damn anti-Christ ? Where would Eden be the safest ? What was he doing here ? The last thing you wanted was to think of him; you always felt like you were about to faint. Or die on the spot. The white light of the moon shone through your living room, where he finally sat. You held your head in your hands, trying to hang your worries out of your brain.

You were just tired, and even if you knew sleep would certainly stand you up, you still wanted to try. The corridor was cold. Well, it could be cold, but it shouldn't be that cold. You felt the hair on your body bristle, and you realised something. Staring into the dark ahead of you, you knew there was someone there. And they stinked. A mix of anger, fear, jealousy, and hate. Imagine smelling naga viper, ice, moisture, burned meat, wine, corpses, and mold all together in one single wave. Someone was sending it to you. Stealthy, you tried to escape.

It wouldn't be him... It couldn't be him...

It was, sadly, a vain attempt. The thing jumped at you and pinned you down by the throat. It was choking you, stealing every breath you tried to take. Love was being sucked right out of your heart. You fought the creature, beating, biting, and clawing any skin you could reach. The green flesh was slimy, like hot bread dough trickling against your palms. You were growing weaker, and nothing you did helped. The creature suddenly showed you who he was.

Him...

"Y-Ystran..." You gagged.

Your chest swelled up, stirring your heart out to grab him. There he was. The one you were meant to be with Your bounded. Ystran, a hate demon. Your scarred arm burned and spasmed in recognition of its attacker. His lanky form overshadowed yours as he lowered towards your neck, his sharp teeth ready to bite off your throat. You whimpered and cowardly walked away from his touch.

"Hello there, Y/N... it's been so long..." he muttered. His voice was similar to the cold wind of an autumnal fog, where you could get lost in a matter of seconds. You didn't want him to touch you or be anywhere near you. Thankfully, he let go of your throat and instead slammed his decaying hand right into your stuttered heart. You screamed at the pain. It weighed too much, like dropping a thousand rocks on your chest; the pressure was killing you.

"Aw, it hurts, doesn't it ? You never thought someone you trusted so much would destroy you this way." Ystran mocked you, sniffing your neck to enjoy the sweet terror he brought you. His dry and long grey hair tickled your sore throat, and you considered pulling on it as hard as you could. Then, his hands started to slowly creep up on your chest, groping your flesh to get to your heart. You growled.

"Get your fucking hands off me !"

"But why..? You're mine, did you forget that ?" He licked your neck with his filthy, raspy, feline-like tongue, grazing his teeth on your fragile skin. The corners of his mouth stuck together, so that when they parted, the skin of his lips would strech too, with the most disgusting sound.

Alright stomach, if you wanted to barf, it's the moment.

You kicked him hysterically, wailing and yelling. "Let go of me ! Don't fucking touch me, you damn psychopath !" You charged a heart-shock wave and attacked your body.

Despite how much he tried, he couldn't hold on to you, even if your attack was weak. You dashed towards Eden's room to lock yourself in, but Ystran was quicker. He jumped at your legs and started punching your stomach.

"No, no, you're not cutting me out this time." Your heart tattled while he climbed on top of you, his flabby legs locking on your own. His hands grabbed your wrists and held them above your head. You coughed and spit at his face, but all he did was gently caress your damaged arm.

"Oh, I'm so glad you still carry such a tender memory of me..." His twisted smile repulsed you, and you tried to free yourself, to no avail. "I'm always with you, in a way."

You were dizzy. Ystran had kept draining your love and life force with a sadistic lust. Tremors racked up your body, and black silhouettes wobbled in the corner of your eye. And you craved and yearned for love. You tried to moisten your dried lips, tasting the air for a fragment of your desperately needed drug. Heaven called you, the bound was untied, and love remained solely in Paradise or in the minds of mad men.

"Oh geez... How could I have overestimated how much love you stocked ? Obviously, I should have known better !" Ystran hooted. "Silly me..." His claws came out of his hands, and your eyes focused on them.

Suddenly, you saw the demon's arm coming down on you, ready to slash your throat. And yet, all you could think about was that you would never see Aziraphale and Crowley again. And you, poor little Eden...

You didn't want to go...

You still wanted to see Aziraphale smile, thanks to your dessert. You wanted to hear Crowley's smile in his voice when he taught you about stars. You still wanted to spend unnecessary time with them, drinking, pampering Eden, discovering music together... And you never accepted to go dine with them, no matter how many times they asked; you just didn't understand why they even asked. Nor why you couldn't let them go. Well, I guess you won't even have time to find out.

And when you felt his hand's weight approach your face, the faint sound of your friends' names threatened to escape the barrier of your aching heart. But his claws never ripped your skin. Instead, the strident sound of the impact thundered in your ear, where it landed.

"Now, you listen to me, Y/N. You're going to go back to heaven, eat up all the love you can get your fucking hands on, and you're going to go fight in that damn war !" He roared and shook your frozen body. "But you better stay alive... Oh, no, you don't get killed unless it's me ! You're mine ! Mine to kill, mine to own !" Ystran slapped you across the face. The pounding in your head became unbearable, but all you could see was madness.

What were you going to do ?

You sobbed and closed your eyes once again, escaping into the darkness and just wishing that the nightmare was a dream. He left your body, getting up and staring at you with bare emptiness. You didn't want to see him; you wanted him to just leave you alone.

But Ystran had never been a merciful being. He kicked your pathetic weeping form in the side. You screeched yet, and you couldn't fight back. Maybe you just deserved it... Curling up into a miserable ball, weak and tired, you just waited for it to end. Ystran squatted down one last time to give you the smallest kiss on your cheek.

"See you soon, love."

He left. You knew he did. But you couldn't convince yourself that things would be better. Everything in your life will always remind you of what you've done. You cannot be forgiven, now can you ? Not after throwing away the only person who would ever love you. And for what ? Stay in Heaven ? Sure, look what he gave you: humour, isolements, and mockeries. You hugged yourself, unable to get up.

You kept looking. Searching in your memories where love could be Had it ever existed ? Had it always been a charade all these years ? Maybe you were just an empty, apathetic shell after all. A stupid cupid who couldn't even heal their own bound. You had it coming all those years. Fooling yourself with fake emotions and sensations. Everything you ever felt was just a fucking lie that you kept telling yourself to feel better. To keep going.

Not everything... A small voice whispered in the back of your head, despite your ragged breath.

When ? When did you truly ever feel anything ? Have you ever really felt Love ? Tears continued to roll down your cheeks, and your whole body trembled with fear, sadness, and desperation. But your heart seeked in your mind, searching for a memory, a crumb of love.

Anything.

And slowly, flashes of the past started flocking in front of your eyes while you stared at the dull ceiling.

Love ? Have you ever really felt Love ?

◇

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I think I'm going to start a new hashtag : "Save Y/N|Balael", it seems about right x)

Hello everyone ! It's been a while, hasn't it ? I'm sorry about that ^^" I really didn't mean to leave that long, but life is like that sometimes.

This chapter was bit darker than I intented it to be at first, but I hope it turned out ok.

I hope you still enjoyed it though ! Don't hesitate to comment or ask anything; it always makes me so happy to read you all ^^

Be ready for the next chapter : we will be deep-diving into the trio's common past ;)

Bye bye!

Parts : First - Previous - Next

Masterlist : Here

Taglist : @legendary-maddie @kpop-athena @drugs-for-memes @emo-queer-boi @cunning-girl @mochikofi @brain-has-left @cup-of-tee007 @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @somekale08 @liyacreate @msyolocat-blogblog @scoliobean @notahappystan @nebulagoddess @ray-rook @brain-has-left @mxxny-lupin @bluebear19 @yvonneeeee @kniselle @dmitrytherat @lookingforlifeoutthere @neenieweenie @lunalixya @socksandaslide @planetaryperson @kaillou66 @elleofdragons @rust-in-polar1s @who-goopy-goober @shadowluna25 @m1r-rored @sebs-oxygen @lieutenantlashfaz @a-winged-dreamer @keira-kaz2y5 @redsakura101 @captain-winter-wolf-aehs

#aziraphale x reader x crowley #crowley x reader x aziraphale #twoscompanythreesafamily #good omens #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader #good omens s2 #ineffable husbands #david tennant #micheal sheen #neil gaiman

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thefact0rygirl · 1 year

Text

carved out of stone

joel miller x fem!reader

Premise: The way you fuck is a reflection of the world around you — rough and hard. Joel is determined to show you what it means to be gentle.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: descriptions of rough sex, biting, bruises, penetrative (p in v), oral (f receiving), passionate sex, lots of emotion, creampie

The way you fuck is a reflection of the world around you.

Hard, rough, and chaotic.

Whatever the world took from you, it returned with cruelty. There isn’t any softness left, at least not enough to stamp out the desolation. Gentleness is a reckless act when the world is set to kill. It’s a wild risk, one you aren’t willing to take.

Joel can't blame you. He isn’t exactly preaching peace and love, but you…

You grind against him hard enough to make him flinch, dig your nails into his back until you draw blood, you suck until pools of broken blood vessels litter his neck and chest. Whether you’re on your knees with your ass in the air or taunting him until he shoves you against a wall, you’re always searching for more.

Faster, sharper, rougher.

He gets it. He doesn’t do kind, but sometimes he can’t tell if the noises coming out of you are from pleasure or pain. He doesn’t want to hurt you either — he may be tough, but he isn’t cruel — but you never tell him to stop. You demand it. More shoves, more thrusts, more bruises. It’s the only way you seem to be satisfied.

It's easy for him to get dragged into your ruthless wake. You push and jab at his cold exterior until he responds with his own snarls, fucking you with as much catastrophe as 2003. It’s been so long since Joel let himself get wrapped up in another person’s body like this, and truth be told, he needs it just as much as you need it.

It takes him a month of bruising touches and slapping skin to realize that maybe this is the only way you know how to do it.

You are fury and power presenting as flashing eyes and tight muscles. Any time he tries to go slow or be gentle — shit, not even gentle just light enough to not require a first aid kit — you look at him like he’s speaking another language. It's the same look you gave him at Bill and Frank’s house.

“Leave it alone.”

The piano lid slams down in a shriek of out-of-tune keys. You whirl around, eyes wide and mouth open like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Good. He saw the way you were eyeing the piano when you arrived.

You huff, placing your hands on your hips. “Why? It’s not like they’re going to use it.”

“No.”

If this were a cartoon, there would be a rising red line washing over you with flashing warning lights around you. Your annoyance is building. Pressing your lips into a tight line, you try to reason with him. “The strings are steel and copper. High quality too. We could use them.”

He knows you’re right. Raiders will eventually break through the gates and strip the house of all its worth. It's only a matter of time, but he'll be damned if it happens on his watch. Not here. Not this home.

"No."

Your nostrils flare, teeth grinding as you grit out, "It's gonna happen any— "

“It's not up for debate. Go shower and stay the fuck away from that piano."

It's not that you're unnecessarily cruel or heartless. You have a heart, it's just carved out of stone. The Cordyceps buried you in a steel wool blanket, swaddled you until you found comfort in pain. This started as way for both of you to thread anger and loneliness into satisfying primal needs. Gentleness was never included.

When he leans in to trail soft kisses down your neck, you retaliate with a snarl and shove. If he tries to hold you close, you claw at his back like a cornered animal.

It isn't until one night in Jackson when the chance at something less intense presents itself. He has you pinned to the mattress, his hips digging into your own as he traps your arms to your side. He doesn't say anything, only watches you from above and wonders...

His silence makes you hiss, “What?”

Remaining silent, he leans down to nudge the tip of his nose against yours in forewarning. Maybe you'll get the hint. He gets as close as resting his lips against yours before you bare your teeth.

“No,” He grunts, pushing away. “No biting.”

You roll your eyes, but comply. This is a game you’ve played before. Joel tries to be sweet, kiss you, caress you, make you feel all lovey dovey until his patience dries up and he fucks you against the nearest surface.

Only this time your wary look doesn't deter him. He risks moving a hand up to trace your bottom lip, a delicate touch you barely register through your haze of lust.

“What are you—?” You trail off as he presses his lips to the side of your mouth. Your shallow breathes tickle his ear, your body stiff under his mouth. He kisses you again, following the line of your jaw until he stops at the sensitive spot under your ear.

“Do you trust me?” He murmurs, lips hovering over your ear as you let out a frustrated huff of breath.

“Yeah, but what the fuck…” The slow, deliberate press of lips inching down your neck flusters you. They feel so...kind. Like liquid sunlight seeping into your pores. The only roughness is from his stubble and chapped lips.

He stops when he sees the constellation of discoloration and bite marks littering your skin. They’re taunting him, laughing at his attempt at softness. He retaliates with a long, slow lick.

“Joel,” His name comes out a whisper of a breath this time. When he pulls away to meet your gaze, your expression is one of confusion. His gentleness leaves you entirely unprepared. You shouldn't be relaxing like this.

“S’okay,” His thumb traces the hollow bags underneath your eyes. “D’you want me to let up?”

Your brows wrinkle as if it’s a trick question. The tips of his fingers continue to stroke your cheek. Your answer is a snort of frustration, paired with a forceful twist of your body as you glare something nasty at him. “I want you to fuck me.”

“I will. We’ll get there."

The joint in your temple bulges against his palm, "Then hurry up.”

"Yes ma'am." He mutters, not wasting a moment to lean down. You two often end up closer to chewing than kissing, but now it's slower. No bites, no blood, no clanking teeth. Your lips move tentatively against his as if you’re learning how to do it all over again. It's hot and slow, his stubble scratching against your cheek as you start to feel less like a steel cable ready to snap.

Good. That's good.

Joel takes your relaxing muscles as a sign to lift his weight off of you. Readjusting, he presses his mouth to the space between your breasts to be rewarded with a tiny, high moan that makes you shudder.

“You’re shaking,” He whispers. “D’you wanna stop?”

You shake your head no, eyes shut with your lips parted for raw breathing sounds to escape.

“Hey. Look at me, baby," He's expecting it to take more for you to open your eyes, but they shoot open almost immediately like you've been electrocuted.

“‘Y gotta use your words. Do you want me to stop?”

“No. Keep going. It’s just…different.”

“I know, but I won’t hurt you. Promise.”

You nod an okay before he kisses the space between your breasts one final time before moving on to nuzzle your breast, his hot breath fanning over your nipple. It grants him a little moan from you and, fuck, he wants to hear that again. He wants to find all your tender spots hidden between the steel and fire.

You straight up whimper when his mouth closes over a nipple with a wet press of lips and a teasing tongue. As he starts to suck, his arms shift so he is closer to holding you than pinning you down. He's slow, leaving open the opportunity for you to pull his hand away as his hands skim your sides, following the curves of your thighs before settling along the softness of your belly.

But you never do, not even when his fingers brush along the waistband of your underwear.

“Can I taste you?” He’s tentative, attempting to keep his breathing even despite his cock getting distractingly hard.

“Y—Yeah. Want your mouth on me.”

“Okay, I’ve got you.”

He takes his goddamn time, too, starting another wet trail of kisses down your stomach, his hands massaging the warm skin of your thighs, coaxing them open for him. You comply, but not without trying to push your cunt towards his face. He pushes down on your hips, keeping them flush against the bed.

“Stay still.”

If it were like any other night you would have pulled him by the hair down to your cunt. But tonight isn’t another blazing fire of barred teeth and bruising touches. You concede, lifting your hips to help him slide your underwear off as a show of good faith.

“You…Joel…” You can’t hold onto his name, it keeps darting away as he settles between your legs. Using his hands to spread you wide open, he dips down so he is close enough to smell your wetness, but far enough away that he can still hold your gaze.

You’ve seen men look at you with awe, with terror, and some with a kind of possessiveness that has you reaching for a weapon, but never the way Joel is looking at you now. He’s studying you, like he can’t quite understand how he’s earned your trust.

“You’re so—” He begins slow and slurring because he can't find the right words to say.

“What?” It comes out a challenge, if only because you don’t know what to do with the way he’s looking at you. It’s unsettling, something new. You hope he looks at you like that again.

The bite in your voice makes him smile. He shakes his head, letting the scratch of his beard rub against the inside of your thigh before running a hot drag of his tongue against your cunt.

You moan louder than expected, embarrassment making you snap your eyes shut. He builds you up slowly, his tongue finding spots the send shocks of pleasure through you, keeping you on edge as you open yourself up to him. He wants you to melt for him, drip like warm honey. No more of this shattering to a million pieces bullshit, he wants you to know how else it can feel.

And the sound you make when his finger nudges into your wetness —

Fuck.

He’s made you come plenty of times while buried inside of you, but there’s something about watching you fall apart with his mouth on your cunt that is just unbearably hot. He can feel his cock leaking a small puddle of precum on the sheets.

“I’m so close,” You whine his name, eyes shut so tightly he’s worried you’ll never open them again.

“C’mon, baby. Open your eyes. Let me see you.” He whispers, the caress of his fingers as tender as his voice. He’s desperate, adding another finger to coax you to look at him.

When you do, you look completely disarmed as you pant.

“What do you need, baby?” He coos your name, his words punctuated by the wet sounds of his moving fingers. “'Y want me to stop?”

“Don't you fucking dare, Miller.”

He returns to wrap his lips around your clit. He sucks tenderly, intimately, a contrast to the bitterness around you. This time you don’t shut your eyes, you watch him with as much conviction as he is watching you.

When you come, it's a gasp that swallows you up from the inside before it has a chance to escape. His eyes never leave your face, watching as your lips tremble in silence as your cunt grinds against his face.

His face is a mess too when he comes up, pressing his body against yours until his hard cock is leaking against your bellies. He is half expecting you to knock him on his back and climb on top, pin his arms to his sides as retribution for his little stunt.

But you surprise him when you curl around him, pushing your head up to find his lips. There is something weirdly hot about your wetness smearing and transferring from his beard to your chin only for Joel to dip down and lick your face clean. Or maybe it's the way you seek comfort in his embrace. It's hard for him to tell with how hard he is. He's sure he'll come on your stomach any second when you’re breathing, “Get inside me,” between kisses.

“We don’t have to,” His words clipped, his attention focused on not blowing his load.

“Now, Joel!” You groan, desperate and bratty as you wrap your legs around his hips.

“Not gonna last long,” A weak argument when he's reaching between you to grab his cock.

“Don’t care. I need you." You breathe. Plead.

For a heartbeat, he stills, giving you the chance to back out even as you reach down to his hand, your knuckles bumping as you guide him to run his cock along your slit.

“D’you really want this?” It's his turn to sound bewildered, a silent question in his words that makes the air heavy: can I show you softness?

"Yes," You reply, shifting when you feel the head of his cock nudging against your entrance. Your hand lets go of his, moving it up to wrap around his neck. "I want you."

His gaze keeps hold of yours with an intensity you can practically taste as he pushes in. You moan at the steady rock of his hips, each thrust bringing him a little deeper until he’s bottomed out inside you.

This is...new.

Slow and tender, it leaves you exposed to his adoration. You hide away into his neck, his heartbeat thumping against your ear as he reels his hips back, pulling out until only the head of his cock remains before burying himself back in one fluid thrust. Heat rises through your body, warming you up until you're melting. Your hands wrap around him tightly, scared you'll melt right through the mattress.

"Good. You're doing so good for me."

This is the first time you truly feel each other. It isn't some ambiguous tight pressure; you actually feel every vein of his cock pushing against your heat. Again and again, he rocks inside of you like there is nothing else left but you.

"Tell me," He grunts, his Adam's apple bobbing against your temple, "Tell me how it feels."

"F—feels so fucking good — oh, fuck — I need to—" Your words slip off your tongue, dissolving on his warm body. Struggling, you instead pull him forward until your lips are slotted against his. It's not even a kiss, just lips pressed against one another. Connected.

For as unnerving as this is, you don't want it to stop.

Joel’s throaty voice crooning the sweetest words, him thrusting until pleasure grows alongside blooming release. You want to freeze this moment in time, put it into one of those little snow globes you collected as a kid, save it forever.

You don’t expect to come again, but then his thumb presses down on your oversensitive clit until everything builds back up again.

"Give me one more. C'mon, baby, squeeze me. Come for me."

It isn't long until the jagged hot climax sparks up your spine, your muscles clenching down around him as you cry out his name. You’re still simmering in the afterglow, your blood boiling like you're laying on top of a bed of embers. Joel finds his own release soon after, your name heavy in his mouth as his cock throbs sticky pulses of cum inside you.

Using his last bit of energy, he pulls you on top of him as he falls back onto the bed, his softening cock is still buried inside your cunt. He's not young anymore, he's not about the get hard again but he still stays buried inside of you, if only to feel closer to you.

Your face is still pressed against the side of his neck when he feels an odd wetness there. He's about to mumble your name when your next breath is a shaky sob. You try to control it, hold your breath only to hiccup from the pressure in your throat.

"Shit, sorry," You choke, tears smearing against his neck. "Don't know why—"

"Don't be sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed —"

"No," You cry out, your hands gripping his arms hard. "It's not that. I liked it, I'm just...Fuck..."

"S' okay. I got you." He nods, his arms heavy as he holds you closer to him.

You’re digging your nails into his arms again, but this time he doesn’t mind.

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider telling me with a reblog and comment. It means the world to writers and helps us share our work on here 💚

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #vee writes

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wishuroses · 1 year

Text

.⠀ ݁ ⸜⸜ 𓂃 𓇼 such a sure thing, aonung.

✶ pairings: aonung x sully!reader

✶ warnings: awkward attempt at fluff, apologizing, rivals to friends but there’s something more, reader takes the place of neteyam but is slightly more assertive and even more prone to violence, aonung is a simp in the making and reader is here for a good time not a hard time, uppercase intended!

✶ word count: 1k

✶ na’vi glossary: payoang – fish, skxawng – idiot.

✶ a/n: second fic on this profile! this is a little something i just had rotting in my notes app since like early february, it was more self indulgent at first but since i currently don’t have a single creative bone in my body i’ve decided to feed u guys with whatever this is while i try to rack up more ideas for future fics. happy reading! :-)

“What is going on here?”

You called out with a panicked lilt to your voice, the sand shifting beneath your feet and between your toes as you hurriedly marched towards the commotion.

You’d heard the stern yet desperate voice of your little sister, Kiri, yelling at someone– or maybe more than one– to ‘leave us alone’.

Your voice and Kiri’s did nothing to stop them, however, as the teens continued to poke and prod at your siblings as nothing but wicked laughter and unabashed insults left their mouths.

With a sharp exhale, you stomped up to Aonung and shoved him as hard as your strength could allow you to, which effectively caught him off guard. The braids that frame your face swayed from side to side dramatically, and almost comically so, beads audibly thudding against each other.

You thought about doing more than just shoving him, thinking that maybe full on linebacking him with the intent to injure would’ve definitely been more satisfactory in your taste, but you knew the numerous consequences that would swarm around your head like the annoying flies your father talked to you about.

Aonung stumbled back a few at the force of your push, resulting in everyone shifting their attention towards you. A look of surprise flashed across his face, but was replaced by a sly smirk as quick as it came, more arrogance emitting from him. Despite his nonchalant demeanor, his ears were tucked back against his head, as if he was embarrassed at getting shoved so hard and nearly falling on his ass. As he should be.

“Back off.. Now,” You stepped closer, digging a strong navy blue finger into his sternum. Both of your faces merely inches apart as your big amber eyes peered courageously back into his baby blue ones, stern gaze never once faltering. Such a shame, you thought, that such beautiful eyes belonged to someone so awful.

“And so help me Eywa, if I ever catch you–” You then turned to the rest of his gang, making sure to lock eyes with every single one of them, “or ANY of you lay a finger on my siblings ever again, you all will be down to 2 on each hand. Then we can discuss who the real freak is.” You say carefully, making sure each and every one of them heard your words.

“That is a promise.”

The irritated look in your eyes and the occasional flare of your nostrils assured him that you were dead serious, he had no doubt in his mind you were. The rough, accented edge to your voice made goosebumps rise from his skin. Aonung locked eyes with you once more, pupils dilating as you both gazed into each other’s eyes.

It was then that time seemed to melt between the both of you. A beautiful baby blue swimming in pools of striking amber.

If you weren’t huffing angrily with adrenaline running through your veins, you probably wouldn’t have missed the light dust of pink that bloomed upon his teal cheeks. After a beat of silence, Aonung relaxed and passively looked off to the side, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Good choice.”

.⠀ ݁ ⸜⸜ 𓂃 ✿̅

It was nearing eclipse, the pinks and oranges of the sunny horizon reflected back into your wide, yet tired eyes. You were laid snug on your stomach by the shore, the foam of the waves kissing your hands as the grains of sand stuck snug against your tummy. The only thing that filled your senses were the waves crashing against the sand, the soft singing wind, and the odd saltiness and humidity that filled the air– which was something you’d barely gotten used to. Nonetheless, it was still comforting.. in a sense.

That was, until, the hairs on the back of your neck stood. You felt a shift in the atmosphere, almost as if someone else were there with you. Cautiously, you peeled your eyes away from the ocean and looked to your right immediately, only to find Aonung standing a great distance from you, not too far yet not too close either.

But it was still a bit too close for your liking.

His questionable behavior gained a look of confusion from you, as you sat up from your previous position to sit on your haunches. “..Hello? What is it?” You say, concerned at his sudden arrival, yet irritated at your alone time being disturbed by some ocean-dwelling creep who couldn’t keep his comments to himself. “If you say some dumb shit to me Aonung I swear–” At the expense of your words, he shuffled closer to your hunched form, sitting beside you at a pace so slow you were so sure he thought you were going to lunge at him.

And honestly? You wouldn’t trust yourself not to.

Aonung was so close that his arm occasionally grazed yours, making goosebumps arise from your skin at the foreign yet oddly calming contact. To your surprise, it didn’t bother you one bit. In an attempt to distract yourself from the extremely awkward encounter, you tediously wiped off the sand that dug into your stomach and thighs.

“Sorry. I have come to.. apologize?”

His revelation earned him a look of surprise, your eyebrows shot up immediately and your back straightened along with them. Your beads thudded together in unison at how quick you looked at him. “Are you asking me, or are you telling me?” You quipped, almost not believing the words that were said to you.

“I am telling you, skxawng.” He shot back quickly, his eyes trailing from the waves to your big ones; the ones that stared back at him, the ones that held so much emotion– yet he couldn’t figure out what they were. With a sigh, he averted his attention, finding the dangly bits of his loincloth to be much more interesting. “I apologize for acting that way towards you and your siblings. I was confused over everything, the sudden arrival of your family, and–as the future Olo’eyktan–protective of my clan, but I had nowhere else to air my feelings. So I took them out.. on all of you... I am so sorry.”

His voice wavered a little at the end of his statement, alarming you a great amount as you’ve never heard him get to this point before. Whether it was from embarrassment or if he was genuinely about to start bawling, you didn’t have a clue.

After a beat of silence, you shuffled closer and placed a gentle four-fingered hand on his back– hoping that your small gesture spoke enough words so that you didn’t have to. You heard his breath hitch a bit, and you hoped you hadn’t crossed any boundaries and made him uncomfortable. That thought was quickly replaced when he hadn’t made any plans to move away or to slap your hand away from him.

With a sigh, you gave a stiff pat to his back, making him look back at you with an expression you couldn’t read even if you tried. The corners of your lips quirked upwards as you locked eyes with him, only to look back at the beautiful view in front of you both. He never looked away from you, though, tracing your delicate features with his eyes.

He wouldn’t admit it aloud–not yet at least– but he thought you were beautiful. Despite you not looking like the Metkayina he was so used to seeing, and barely even your own, you were still pretty in your own weird way.

You weren’t yet ready to forgive him completely, as insults like those were like stones to your heart; but you were sure that amends could be made, and that people can change for the greater good.

“You’re good, payoang..” Your tone was light and airy when you responded, resulting in something weird happening to his poor, poor heart. He’d never heard your voice in a tone as gentle as this, only hearing your rough shouts, sneers, and the occasional threatening.

Aonung chuckled softly at the odd nickname, yet welcomed it nonetheless. He can admit, it was fair game with how many times he’d call you weird names, but this one seemed a bit more intimate.. had a bit more weight to it. “We’re good... but actions speak louder than words. I need you to respect my brother and my sister.”

“If you disrespect them, you disrespect me.”

Aonung nodded so quick you thought he would get a severe case of whiplash. “Yes, yes, I understand.” He was starting to become hyperaware of his surroundings, the hand that was still placed on his back felt like searing hot coal, but he didn’t dare flinch away.

“You are so, so pretty when you don’t threaten my life.” He said breathlessly, as if he was genuinely in awe of you, your appearance, your everything. It caught you off guard, the sudden confession, but the corners of your mouth quivered upwards into a bashful smile as a soft chuckle bubbled from your throat.

You felt shy under his gaze all of a sudden, dipping your chin downwards to look away from him, to get away from those eyes that held such intense emotion.

“Skxawng.”

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spectrerie · 1 year

Text

Your Simon

Simon Riley x reader (gn I'm 99% sure)

TW: toxic!Simon, whump, captivity, psychological torture(?), kidnapping, yandere!Simon, maybe don't read this if you're only comfortable with fluff and light smut... even though there no smut in this (maybe I'll add an epilogue or sm idk)

Approx 2k words, random drabble. wrote this at 4 am, un-betad. Let's not nitpick, yeah? Cool.

Simon knew you were fragile, but he didn’t think you could be so easy to break. This was his third deployment since he’d met you. The third since he’d pulled you into his life. At first you’d been panicked, indignant and ungrateful. You didn’t understand the significance of his actions. Every detail meticulously planned out, every minute aspect of your stay without him accounted for. You just had to stop fighting him and start fighting for yourself. Fight to stay alive, just like him. He just wanted to share this with you, why wouldn’t you let him?

“Don’t worry, Love, I’ll be back in no time. You won’t even get a chance to miss me.” His hand stayed on the back of your head, fingers locked in your hair, holding your head up so you could look into his eyes. So you could watch him lie to you. You knew the routine well at this point.

First the devil may care Ghost would ply you with cheeky taunts to smooth out your concern. His abrasiveness would wear you down, polish you into a reflection of himself.

Despite yourself you began to cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. In the beginning it wasn’t him you had missed. It was the promise of regular meals, and fresh water. Baths. Heating. Freedom. Now he was the centre of your world. He was your everything.

While he was deployed you didn’t know how long you’d be left to stew in your own sweat and the grime of the basement he’d thrown you in. The smell of dust and mold hung heavy in the air down here. Soon the smell of your body would join them creating a fetid blend that would stay in your nostrils for weeks after your release. If you lived that long. The single hanging bulb barely illuminating your surroundings, not that there was much to see.

Gallons of water lined one of the walls, at least a dozen of them neatly tucked from one dusty corner to another. You’d count them in earnest when he left you. Your mind was to panicked now to begin the frantic calculations of how long you could stretch your supplies. Just in case.

Two boxes of hardtack biscuits and cans of god only knew what were neatly pressed up against another. At times you feared he’d been feeding you cat food. You’d opened cans of greying meat floating in gelatinous gravy, other times the cans contained some kind of soup. Either way you’d choke it down cold.

A part of you loved it here, you felt closer to him. You were a soldier too. This is where you’d live or die. Your battlefield.

His hand left your head and he went to the centre of the room where a small metal cot with a thin mattress stood. No pillow or duvet, but at least he’d given you a thick itchy woollen blanket. Army surplus to complete your private barracks. You’d earned the cot after weeks of good behaviour, no crying, no useless begging, no disobedience. A luxurious upgrade from the sheets of cardboard he’d left you to sleep on during his previous deployments. You followed before he even turned to call you, taking a seat on the mattress.

“Will you miss me, pet?” He asked, coaxing your chin up with a gloved finger.

“Yes, of course” you said between sobs. He huffed out a humourless laugh, and stroked your head.

He hardly had to grind you down anymore, soon Ghost gave way to Simon. The mask he wore over his soul fell away, leaving behind the raw and broken boy he’d been before he learnt being someone else was as easy as covering his face. Part two of your dance begun.

The tears you thought you’d controlled began to fall again, pouring out of your tired eyes as you looked up at him. Your protector and captor. The man who told you everyday he’d die without you, the same man who held your life in his hands.

“Please, please, Si… don’t forget about me here. Please.” The last word came out as a choked sob as you pressed your face against his thighs. Begging him to let you go was useless. You knew the steps now. Let him lead you, let yourself need him. Let him have something to control, someone who wouldn’t disappoint him. Someone he didn’t have to pretend with, unless he wanted to.

“All you have to do is survive, pet. Same as me.” He knelt down in front of you, dark eyes shining with a mania that told you he was past pleading with. “All we have to do is survive. Think of me while you’re fighting in here, yeah? And I’ll be thinking of you out there. You’ll think of me won’t you? Hmm?”

You nodded.

“So say it.”

Gathering yourself, you pulled away from him, eye to eye it was easier to believe the words that tumbled out of your mouth.

“I’ll be thinking of you Si, so please, please,” your voice began to quake with unshed tears, “please come back to me. I’ll die without you.”

You knew he was smiling beneath his mask. His hands came up to cradle your head, his grip too tight to be anything but a reminder of the control he had over you.

“Of course you would. We need each other, don’t we?”

You nodded and said your well rehearsed line. “We love each other.”

He watched you weep for a while, and you knew a part of him felt sick with himself. If he returned, if you lived, he’d tell you as much when he came home.

The realisation that this was your home hit harder down here, puling more tortured sobs out of you as he watched. You weren’t sure if the ragged breaths you heard were yours or his.

“Simon, Simon” you chanted his name over and over as you cried, like a prayer to a long dead god. He stood above you, within reach. One touch and you’d know he was real. But you cried out his name, and he watched. Until watching became too much and the sound of his name was punctuated with the sound of his boots ascending the stairs.

The sound of a key turning.

And then the silence.

— — —

You counted the days by litres of water, cold canned meals, and fitful slashes sleep.

One of each a day.

No cheating.

You recited songs in your mind, the lyrics painted dark by the deep gravely voice of your thoughts. Simon’s voice.

You imagined a life with Simon, a life different from this. Those dreams were all that kept you sane. If this was sanity.

A life with sunshine and tenderness that didn’t have to be earned. With music and hot food, baths together. The warmth of his body against yours. Every dream began and ended with the sound of a key turning, the creak of the old cellar door, deep lungfuls of fresh air.

After meals and before sleep you’d press your nose to the tiny blacked out window. Taking deep breaths of the English countryside before closing it again. Air when were awake, warmth when you slept. These rules and rituals were what kept you alive here. Hell was rolling green hills and cloudy skies. Hell had no one around for miles. Hell and home were two sides of the same coin.

The same countryside he’d offered to show you when you’d first began dating him. You recounted those first few dates with him often. Combing your mind for any sign of the man he’d turn out to be.

It had been too soon for a weekend away, you told yourself this time and time again. Turning your captivity against yourself in your darkest moments was a game you hated but still played. What fool would take a trip with a man they barely knew.? You hadn’t even known him for two full months when you went away with him. Your 6th date. This may have been the longest date in history.

Sometimes you thought of your friends and your family. Were they worried? Were the little dribs and drabs of communication Simon let you have with them enough to keep them satiated. Had they stopped caring, like Simon said they would.

He often told you the family a person was born into was rarely their true family. Like his. You knew pieces of the life he rarely spoke about. The father he hated, the mother he pitied. The brother he held complex, painful feelings for. You hardly heard about him at all. You suspected he was the only person outside of the 141 Simon cared about. Maybe the only person he truly loved.

Did he love you? Actually love you?

Could he?

Another litre, another can. Another day.

— — —

The creak of the old cellar door woke you, as usual. You’d long since stopped running up the steps when you heard it, not trusting your mind to be honest with you.

“Baby? Are you awake, Love?”

You didn’t believe it. You couldn’t. The disappointment would hurt to much.

The sound of heavy boots descending the stairs drew something out of you, but yet you still couldn’t let yourself believe it was real. That you had survived. Again.

Warm fingers caressed your cheek, tracing the shape of your eyes and nose, until they finally settled on your neck, below your jaw. A beat passed in tense silence, you could still be dreaming.

A shaky breath that wasn’t yours filled the room, “thank god.” You opened your eyes, and he was there. A dark figure against the light, stoic among the swirling flecks of dust in the air.

“Si?” Your voice was weak and hoarse from who knew how many weeks of disuse.

He nodded, lifting you from your cot with ease. Holding your body against his tightly as he brought you up the stairs. Your eyes fluttered against the light, the early evening sun cutting through you until you help your eyes tightly closed.

You heard him shush you softly before you realised you’d been crying.

“Si,” you said again and you felt him hold you closer.

“I know baby, I know. I’m so proud of you. We made it.”

He set you down on the edge of the bath and began the careful work of peeling your filthy clothes off.

The final chords of this tragic, disgusting song had begun, and your dance was ending.

He washed you gently, tears in his eyes as he rinsed away the layers of pain he’d caused you.

He spoke to you in gentle tones, barely above a whisper, as though any loud noise would send you into shock. He didn’t wait for your responses, knowing you were too exhausted to give any.

“It’s okay, pet. It’s okay, you’re safe now. You’re out. You’re out.

“Were you scared? I know baby, I know how scary it was, but you’re safe now. I’ll never let anything happen to you, never. You’re too important, I love you so much, pet. Too much.”

You let the hot water and his words baptise you, remaking you under the heat of his love for you. He washed every part of you, yet nothing felt as intimated as when he washed your hair, stroking your head gently as he cried and promised you things you weren’t sure would ever come to be.

When you were clean he wrapped you in a towel and left to get you something to wear.

Was that you? Was that really you in the mirror? Chapped lips, large sunken eyes, your cheeks were hollow and your skin dull, your natural undertone wiped away and replaced with a pallid grey. When he came back you still couldn’t look away from the person in the mirror. He placed a pair of sweatpants and one of his t shirts on the heater and closed the door, giving you time to settle back into yourself. Your new self.

You hated him. You hated him for doing this to you, making you this person.

You opened the cabinet and went through the minor motions of humanity. Brushing your teeth, brushing your hair, and pulling the t-shirt on mechanically. You left the bottoms folded, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep them on no mater how tightly you tied them. He was just too big, and you were just too small.

You clutched a hair band in your hand, knowing he’d want to tie your hair back. He loved doing those small things for you. And you hated him for it.

When you shuffled into the bedroom you stood in the doorway, watching you with a grief in his eyes as though he hand’t done this to you.

He pulled you close, picking you up and laying you gently on the bed. The mattress felt obscene after weeks on the cot, you wept again and hated him for turning you into this person, a person that cried at everything. A person who knew what it felt like to sleep on the floor. Someone who felt blessed to have a bed.

He took his place beside you, and you pulled yourself close, holding your body to the curves and edges of his. His arms wound around you and pinned you to him, his lips brushed your forehead and you felt his tears fall, running down your cheeks and mixing with yours.

“I was so scared without you. I really thought I wasn’t gonna make it this time.”

“Me too, Si.”

You understood how much he needed this, how much he needed to be the villain, how much he needed to hate himself before he could go into hell and be a good soldier. So he could come back home a hero, a rescuer. Your protector.

Your Simon.

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