#disabled f!reader

[ladamedusoif]

able

(Joel Miller x disabled F!Reader)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader

Summary: "I just don't think she'll be able for patrol". But then it's just you, Joel, and your trusty walking stick in the middle of nowhere...

Content/warnings: Reader is disabled (she has rheumatoid disease/arthritis in addition to panic attacks, she uses a walking stick as necessary); Reader had a sister; Reader is an art teacher; strong violence; blood; description of panic attack; references to impact of chronic illness and disability; references to medication; references to disease and death; non-canon compliant; Jackson!Joel; strong language; ableist language and abusive language

Rating: Mature; 18+ MDNI

Word Count: ~3.7k

A/N: After making a plea earlier in the week for people to actually write disabled Reader fic, as opposed to forcing writers to feel they have to tag literally everything in an able-bodied Reader story, I knew I had to put my money where my mouth was as a disabled, neurodivergent writer with various mental health things going on here and there. And this one-shot is the result.

This one is a little personal. I was diagnosed with rheumatoid disease about ten years ago, and Reader’s experiences are informed by my own (though, thankfully, I haven’t had to contend with an apocalypse that meant I couldn’t access the medication that has kept me going). She’s also inspired by @agentjackdaniels, who acted as consultant extraordinaire on walking sticks and panic attacks, and suggested the Joel picture for the moodboard. Thank you, Luce, for this, for fighting the good fight for representation in fic - and for beta-ing the story. 

(A note on terminology: rheumatoid disease/arthritis are sometimes used interchangeably. ‘Arthritis’ often sounds like it’s ‘just’ osteoarthritis to people who don’t know the difference. Rheumatoid, unlike osteoarthritis (which is shitty in its own ways), is a systemic, lifelong, chronic illness and an auto-immune disorder that affects the entire body, not just bones and/or joints. So personally I use ‘rheumatoid disease’ as it conveys more of the impact of the condition. It's also often seen as an 'old person' disease but this simply isn't true - not that this stops mobility aids being modelled by people in their 80s all the time...)

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Dividers by @saradika - moodboard by me

You weren’t supposed to make it.

Twenty-odd years in the apocalypse with your fucked-up joints and no steady supply of the meds that kept you going, pushing through the cycles of fatigue, and fighting off your own goddamned immune system as much as you were fighting clickers and raiders. 

You really weren’t supposed to make it. But you had Annie.

You were sharing an apartment when the outbreak happened, a quirk of shitty personal circumstances - she’d just broken up with her long-term boyfriend - that probably helped save your life. Annie was the all-action sister - the kind of person who thinks there’s nothing weird about spending your weekends doing triathlons and “Tough Mudder” challenges, who had a perfect bill of health your entire lives, who bounced out of bed in the mornings while you cracked and creaked and stiffly manoeuvered yourself into being. 

The good days generally outweighed the bad in the years between your diagnosis with rheumatoid disease and the initial outbreak - or maybe you had just gotten used to the aches and pains and the occasional flare-ups of fatigue. You invested in a walking stick to help on those days when mobility was particularly bad: solid, heavy, and carved in a pale yellow wood. It felt like a comfort in your hand, more a sign of strength, to you, than of weakness. 

Annie helped you through the panic attack that consumed you on outbreak day, working with you to regulate your breathing and relax your tense muscles until you could finally say what was on your mind.

“My meds. What am I going to do without my meds?”

Nothing a quick smash and grab at the local pharmacy couldn’t fix. It was the first of many, stockpiling the little yellow tablets you relied on and taking as many packs of over-the-counter painkillers as you could carry. Useful currency in the apocalypse, as it turned out.

All-Action Annie was never going to cope with life in a QZ. She got the two of you out after months of planning, nights of whispered talk about a town out west that was normal - or something close to it, anyway. She hadn’t entertained your protestations about you slowing her down, holding her back.

“You think I’m leaving behind a girl who’s so handy with a weapon?” she’d teased, pointing to your walking stick. “Be real. We’re busting out together.”

The infection took hold in her about three days from Jackson. Fuckin’ barbed wire, tearing a jagged line through Annie’s hand and leaving behind an old-fashioned kind of threat to life, the kind penicillin had mostly dealt with. But that was then. This was now. 

She died in an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, you holding her hand until the end, talking to her about your childhoods and trying to keep smiling until she closed her beautiful eyes. 

It took all your strength to dig her grave. And then, somehow, you found more.

You weren’t supposed to make it. But you did. 

Jackson stands before you. 

He sees you for the first time in the community dining hall, talking animatedly to Maria as you hungrily devour the food set in front of you. Eyes wide, face grubby, clothes ragged. Half-wild, he thinks, like most of the new arrivals. Like him and Ellie, once upon a time. He returns to his bowl of soup and his own thoughts - at least, until he’s interrupted by Maria.

“Joel? Want to introduce a new member of the community, just arrived.”

He doesn’t quite know why he’s surprised when he realises you’re leaning on a sturdy hand-carved walking stick in a solid, light yellow wood. Maybe it’s because he knows how physically hard it is to get here. Maybe he just assumed folks who needed a stick wouldn’t have been able to manage the journey. 

For a second he can hear Sarah’s voice in his head, chiding him for focusing on what a disabled person can’t do instead of what they can. 

“Joel?”

He snaps out of his reverie and looks from Maria to you. “Uh, hi. Sorry, just…sorry. Forgot my manners.”

“I was just saying how glad we are to have someone who can offer some art education in the town, isn’t that right, Joel?”

Your eyes are warm and mischievous as you meet his gaze, silently conveying your amusement at Maria’s rather brusque manner. It’s all Joel can do not to laugh.

“Sure is. You’re an artist, then?”

You shake your head. “Not a real one. I was an art teacher, before. Long time since I created anything, though, so I hope I remember how.”

He smiles softly, his gruff exterior receding a little. “Bet it’s just like riding a bike,” he says, before his face falls as he looks at your walking stick. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean… Shit. Hope I didn’t offend.”

“As it happens, I can ride a bike, Joel. The apocalypse just doesn’t give me much cause to.”

You leave him with a smile and a wink as Maria ushers you to meet other townsfolk. He watches you as you walk away, the tap-tap-tapping of your stick beating out a new rhythm in the heart of Jackson.

You think of Annie every morning when you wake up in the little house you’d been assigned. Sometimes, as you potter around the kitchen, still revelling in the novelty of making yourself morning coffee for the first time in two decades, you even talk to her. You tell her about the town, the townsfolk, your work in the community vegetable garden, your art classes. 

“Honestly, An, you wouldn’t believe how popular they are,” you tell the Annie who, in an alternate universe, is sitting at the kitchen table with her own mug of coffee. “I’m setting up extra sessions to cater for demand.”

There’s something uplifting in how hungry the people of Jackson are to make art, no matter their experience or existing skill level. They’ll draw stuff from memory, they’ll dutifully work on a still life, they’ll even traipse outside with you, wooden sketching boards in hand, and make rapid-fire sketches of the goings-on on Main Street. 

Joel doesn’t join a class - but the teenage girl Maria refers to as “Joel’s kid” does, all potty-mouthed and enthusiastic and pretty damned talented, to boot. Ellie tells you how she’s pinned up the drawings she’s proudest of in their home, “like our own fuckin’ art gallery or some shit.” 

You pull up a tall stool and sit beside her, resting your stick over your thighs. “Joel’s got his guitar and those dumbass model figures he paints,” she continues, leaning around her easel and squinting at the woman who’d volunteered to act as a life model for this week’s classes. “But this shit? This is real art.” She adds a little highlight to the woman’s sweater and leans back to assess the work.

“You probably got exempt from patrols, I’m guessing. On account of the stick, an’ all.”

“Maria asked, and I signed up happily. I got all the way here, didn’t I? I’m sure I can manage patrols. And it’s the least I can do - they’ve even found me some of the medications I need.”

Ellie nods, somewhat convinced, and returns to sketching out the contours around the model’s jaw.

The day of your first patrol arrives. You bundle up and set out early for the stables, allowing extra time to get there on account of the flare-up you’d been experiencing the day before. 

You arrive early - just in time, in fact, to overhear a heated conversation between Joel and Maria.

“She’s doing enough, ain’t she? I just don’t think she’ll be able for patrol.”

“You’ve seen her out and about, Joel. She’s mobile. She’s competent. She’s good with the horses. She got all the way here, the last stretch on her own. What more proof do you need?”

“You’re seriously gonna send a woman with a walking stick out on patrol?”

“I seriously am. Sent you and your bad back out, didn’t we?”

“That ain’t the same and you know it.”

“Just saddle the horses, Joel. And, in case you’re wondering - yes, I paired you together deliberately, just until she gets settled.” You hear her footsteps recede as she leaves him.

You had misjudged how much your already-limited grip would be further impeded by the gloves you’re wearing. The stick clatters to the ground.

“Who’s there?”

You emerge from the shadows. “Me. Sorry.”

Joel rolls his eyes and gruffly points out the tack and supplies.

The first patrol passes in silence. You wonder what happened to the softer man you’d caught a glimpse of the first day you arrived.

On the second patrol, you ask him questions about himself. On the third patrol, he asks (fewer) questions about you. By the fourth, you’re having something approximating normal conversation. 

“Sarah loved to make all kinds of stuff,” he ventures, leading the way on his chestnut horse. “Those beaded bracelets, that girly Lego in the pink and purple, all of that. My girl had enough Magic Markers to supply a whole elementary school. Maybe two.”

You can hear him smile, even without seeing his face. His shoulders relax a little as he recalls the memory.

“So she was a creative kid?”

“Creative, sporty… she could do anything. Made the school soccer team, she was so proud. Just a…” He pauses. “A great kid.”

There’s a few beats of silence, punctuated only by the sound of the horses snickering and the steady rhythm of their hooves on the ground. 

“What about your sister, was she arty like you?”

You’d told him about Annie on the last patrol. This was the first time he’d asked about her explicitly.

“She was the sporty one. I think that’s why I survived so long, truth be told. She was so strong and fast and tough as fuck.”

He chuckles, the burr of his voice resonating in the cold air. “Sounds like a good balance, though.”

“It is - it was. Was.” Your voice grows quieter as you repeat the word to yourself, chest starting to tighten. The horse slows, responding to the tension of your body, as Joel continues to trot on, not realising you’ve come to a halt behind him. 

And then the tell-tale snapping of a twig, the sound of footsteps, and the realisation there’s someone else there, emerging out of the woods. Two someones. 

Raiders. 

The panic attack that has been building inside you gives way. An innate fight or flight response kicks in as you roar his name. 

Joel turns and charges back towards you, just in time to see you take out one raider with a crack shot from your pistol. He slows the horse and readies his rifle, staring at the other man who is now trying to haul you off your mount.

“Get the fuck off me, motherfucker!” You flail against him, desperately shifting your weight to the other side of the saddle to try to shake him off. 

Joel takes aim. 

You think you’ve kicked the raider off. And that’s when you hit the ground.

He can’t take the shot now, not with her half-hidden from his view and audibly fighting off the man who’s dragged her to the ground. Joel is still a little distance away, slightly too far to see exactly what’s happening. 

Why didn’t he hear her slowing? Why didn’t he realise she was further behind than she ought to be? Why did she slow in the fuckin’ first place?

Joel quickly dismounts, rifle in hand, moving closer so he can get a clearer shot at the guy who’s now standing over her. The horse’s elegant neck obscures the raider’s hands from Joel’s vision - he has no idea if he’s pointing a gun at her or not. 

He thinks he has a clear sight on the guy’s head, provided he stays in the same position. He readies the rifle. 

Suddenly, the raider disappears, letting out a primal roar before he hits the ground. 

“You fucking cunt!”

Joel can see she’s standing now, the man prone before her. As he rounds the horse he sees her lift her cane, hands securely gripping the pointed end of the stick. 

She brings the solid, weighty handle down on the raider’s leg with a sickening crunch. Even Joel recoils a little at the sight and the sound.

“F-f-fucking…c-c-cunt!”

Thwack. The other leg. 

Fuck. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

”Keep calling me that, and I’ll keep the blows coming.”

Holy fuck. Who is she?

”C-c-c-cripple.”

”Excuse me?”

The raider props himself up on his arms. “I said, cripple. Fucking crippled cunt.”

“You shut your fuckin’ mouth.” Joel cocks his rifle. 

The stranger sneers at Joel. “Awww, he’s actin’ the big man now. Weren’t too quick gettin’ back down here to save your cripple woman, were ya?”

Before Joel can react, she swings her stick over her head and brings it down on the man’s skull with a furious scream that seems to come from the very depths of her being. 

She screams and screams as she hits him, over and over, eyes wild in her blood-spattered face. Joel recognises this: in himself; hell, in Ellie. It’s the moment when the floodgates open and all those years of pain blend together and zone in on this convenient target, an avatar for everyone and everything who had forced loss and trauma upon you. 

He roars at her to stop, but knows she can’t hear him. It’s just her and the raider, now: her rage and fear and grief finding their expression through a walking stick turned cudgel.

A single shot ends it. She turns sharply, as if snapped out of a trance, and sees the smoke leaving Joel’s pistol. 

“Hey. Hey. You alright?” His broad hands grip your biceps as he looks into your eyes.

Yes, you tell him, yes. You’re fine. But Joel keeps asking. 

“Talk to me. Are you okay? I’m worried about you. Please, just talk to me.”

You are moving your mouth, but no sound is coming out. The familiar vice is tightening around your chest. You look down at your blood-stained hands and you struggle to breathe. 

“‘M dying, Joel. Can’t breathe. All the blood. So much. Why can’t I breathe?”

Oh, he realises with a pang. She gets these things too. And I know how to help.

“You’re okay, you hear?” He’s rubbing your arms gently, keeping his gaze on you. “You’re alright. Breathe along with me, okay?”

It’s difficult to find the rhythm, at first. Joel’s hands find yours and squeeze them in time with his breath.

”In through your nose, that’s it. Slow and steady. Now out through your mouth.”

He can see your muscles starting to visibly relax. A wave of relief courses over him.

”Yeah, that’s it - you got this. You got this, good girl, you’re just fine. Gonna be alright.”

When he’s confident your breathing has settled and the panic attack receded somewhat, he gently guides you away from the body of the dead raider, one hand holding your horse’s bridle and the other holding yours. 

“Why don’t you have a seat for a minute, huh?” Joel gestures to a long, low tree trunk lying near the forest’s edge and opens his saddlebags, rummaging until he finds a cloth, a battered hip flask and a bag of dried apple slices.

”Here.” He wipes the blood as best he can from your hands and proffers the flask, settling his substantial frame beside you on the log. “Have a sip or two, just to relax you a little bit more. Got a snack, here, too.”

You flinch at the taste of the liquor, but take a second sip regardless. The apple slices barely taste of anything in the afterburn of the moonshine. Joel nibbles on some jerky and stares into the middle distance. 

You take a break from patrol, agreed with Maria, and a few days off your art classes. It was tempting to keep going, to return to the light and airy studio and to your students. But you feared a relapse.

And your body needed to recover physically, too. You ached from head to toe, fingers and toes puffy and swollen and movement seriously restricted. You ration out the supply of medication you’ve secured since getting here, and use hot water bottles and plenty of rest to try to ride out the flare in your arthritis.

Three days after the incident, there’s a knock on the door. You hobble to answer it, leaning on your trusty stick for support.

”Came by to see how you were doing. Got you some things if you needed ‘em.”

Joel is standing on your front porch, holding a jute grocery bag. He pauses, as if waiting for you to give him permission to say more.

”That’s so very kind of you, Joel. Come in, won’t you? I was able to set a fire so it’s nice and cosy.”

He watches as you lead the way into the living room, noting how much slower you were today. Guilt laps at his conscience. He said she shouldn’t go on patrol. He knew.

”You want me to bring these into the kitchen for you?”

“That would be a great help. Thank you.” He’s glad to see you smile, after the trauma of the patrol. “If you want a drink, I’ve got some tea and coffee in the cupboard just to the left of the sink.”

He pops his head back into the living room. “What would you like?” 

“A tea would be perfect. Mugs are in the cupboard to the right.”

You wrap yourself back up in your blankets on the couch, making room for Joel when he returns with the drinks and a couple of cookies, sent over by Ellie as part of his care package for you. The mug feels like a comfort in your aching hands, its heat assuaging the inflammation ravaging your joints.

He sips his coffee and you sit in silence for a little bit, watching the flames dance over the firewood. 

“Have you, uh - you been okay, doing okay, since…”

Joel stares into his coffee cup and then looks at you, a little awkward. You smile, hoping to reassure him.

”I’ve been okay. Just the physical pain and exhaustion, mostly. And - well, you saw it. The panic. It can leave you drained.”

He nods and takes another swig of his drink. “I know. I - I’ve had times like that, too. Real fuckin’ scary, when you’ve never gone through it before.”

You study his face for a moment or two, noting the little scar on his temple, the lines on his face, the stern expression completely undermined by the warmth of his deep brown eyes. For an instant, he seems so vulnerable, this strong, tough man sitting on your little couch. 

“I haven’t had an attack like that in a while. But then, I hadn’t done anything like that in a while.”

This time Joel turns to look at you properly. “Not your first rodeo, huh?”

You giggle at the turn of phrase. “Not quite. Let’s just say my stick did a lot of work over the last twenty years. He wasn’t the first to feel the brunt of it.”

Joel nods, and you feel strangely relieved that he doesn’t seem surprised. “Doesn’t get easier, though, does it?”

“It does not. Which is why it’s better to avoid having to do it.”

”I agree. Gotta say, though, I - I was worried you wouldn’t be able for patrol, y’know?”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “I know. I overheard you, remember?”

He blushes. “Aw, shit. Yeah. I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t want anything happening to you, what with your - condition, and all.”

You sigh softly, not really noticing the affection in his voice. “Most of the time, I’m fine. Y’know? I’m slower, but I do okay. I get tired more easily, but I manage. I didn’t come here to be a drain on the community.”

”You aren’t.”

”I know, but I want to keep it that way. I want to pull my weight. I’m able, Joel.”

He huffs in agreement. “Not like I’m a perfect specimen these days, either. Knees, fuckin’ back, deaf in one ear…” 

You chuckle. “And you thought I wouldn’t manage patrol? Anyway, you’re not doing so bad, are you?”

He gives you a little smile, but that constant sadness still haunts his eyes. He stares at his coffee for a moment.

“You knew what you were doing, though.”

”I did. But I didn’t feel like I could stop.” You sip your tea, swallowing hard. “And I’m scared that makes me some kinda monster. You know?”

Oh, he knows. He knows it too well.

”You aren’t a monster.” Joel resists the urge to put an arm around you. “You just… something snapped, I guess. All that - well, all that hell you’ve gone through. It… it changes you. But it doesn’t make you a monster.”

He realises you’re crying before you do, spotting the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. He finds a clean handkerchief in his jeans and offers it to you. 

Fuck it. 

“Can I - can I put an arm round you? Just for some support?”

Your eyes light up, tears or no tears, and you nod enthusiastically. Joel is warm and comforting, his broad chest and strong arms a kind of anchor in the emotional storm. You nuzzle against him, and he gives you a little squeeze on the arm.

”You’re a really brave woman, you know that?”

His voice is quieter, more intentional. You look at him quizzically from under your lashes, unused to praise of this kind. For an instant you think about asking him what he means. But the safety you’ve found in the broad arm draped around you is all you need right now. 

You nuzzle a little against his chest, and watch the fire dancing for the rest of the night. 

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x disabled f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #soft joel miller #disabled f!reader #disabled reader fic #hbo the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedrostories

[latenightdaydreams]

Very specific request but König finding gn!reader (who was unambiguously his lover) who was presumed dead in a nursing home. Crippled and scarred, maybe they were also part of the military, but your body was never recovered after the mission. Yet here you are, sitting in some nursing home with a book in your lap and a blanket around your shoulders, looking so much paler and thinner than he remembers. Maybe they wanted to wait until they were strong enough to actually go see him in person themselves, or maybe they're struggling with their self image now. Just headcanons on how he and reader would deal with it, if you want more angst maybe reader is also disabled now, unable to walk without crutches, or developed a chronic illness. I'm just such a sucker for this type of hurt comfort.

🥹As someone who uses arm crutches, this story was close to home lol. Thank you for your request and I hope you enjoy🥰

Finding You (g/n)

Fluff and angst (slightly)

Master List

>cw: internalized ablism, disability

1.3k word count

.

.

Today was just like any other day at the nursing home. You sit in a vintage arm chair with a pale blue crochet blanket around your shoulders, donated from a local artist, you took it as soon as you saw it in the pile. The shade of blue reminding you of König’s eyes.

You miss him, crave him, but you aren’t ready for him to see you. Not like this. Physical therapy has only been helping but only so much, your body still looks wasted away. A deep scar cutting across the left side of your face now, making you feel hideous. You don’t resemble the person König fell in love with and you’re scared that if he sees you, he will fall out of love.

You drop your eyes from the window to your book. You struggle to stay focused on the words when all you want to do is see, even talk to, König. The months have been lonely, your depression only getting worse. Next to you, resting on the chair, are your new arm crutches you’ve been getting use to walking with since your spinal injury. You glare at them with distain for a while before looking back out the window, remembering life before the incident.

The common room is quiet as most people are outside today to enjoy the warm weather. You wish to be outside, but you still feel a level of embarrassment having to use crutches now to walk. You never knew how hard internalized ableism could affect you until you became disabled.

König walks up the stairs and opens the door to the nursing home. He sees a young woman sitting at the front desk and she greets him warmly.

“Hallo, I’m here looking for y/n.” He gives her your full name.

“You’re their first visitor! I’m sure they will be so excited.” She stands and gestures for you to follow her to where you are.

She walks him through long hallways full of rooms, finally he arrives at the end of a hallway with large windows illuminating the room, the walls painted a pale yellow, making the area bright and cheerful. She points to you.

König stares, not recognizing you at first. You’re small, your skin pale and your hair grown out. You haven’t noticed him, dissociating and looking out the window instead. König thanks the woman and begins to slowly approach you. His eyes gleaming with love as he looks over your fragile body.

“Schatz?” König speaks softly to not startle you. He notices the crutches next to you on the chair.

You turn your head to look at him head on. Your eyes widen with surprise to see him. A wave of emotions rushes over you as you realize he is really here. You don’t respond, just stare. You watch as König kneels in front of you and slowly pulls off his mask. His cheeks are red and there’s a small smile on his lips.

“Schatz?” König slowly moves his hand and rests it on your thigh. He has missed how you feel.

“König…” Your voice shaky as you’re overcome with emotions.

Hearing your voice makes his small smile grow, his eyes study your face. Dark circles under your eyes and a deep sadness fills them. A small frown on the edges of your lips. A new scar on your face, he wonders what happened, but won’t ask right now. No matter what, you’re still the most stunning human he has ever laid eyes on.

“I’ve missed you.” His grip slightly tightens.

“I’ve missed you too.” You move your book to the side on the chair, your hand finding his.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He grasps your hand in his, bringing it up to his lips to kiss. “Why didn’t you call? Write? Something?”

König doesn’t mean to talk about such heavy topics right now, but he is just so full of heart-ache. Life without you has felt so empty.

“I wanted to heal, get better.” You look into his eyes scared of rejection.

“I could help you heal Schatz.”

“I didn’t want you to see me like this…” Your voice cracks as you talk, you drop your gaze to your lap.

He squeezes your hands slightly; he is aware of how much you’ve changed. Not just physically changed, but probably also mental.

“You know that I love you no matter what, right y/n? You’re my light.” König has felt rejected, learning that you were alive yet never tried to reach out to him.

Your frown deepens at his words, tears building up in your eyes. A heavy feeling of guilt and regret washes over you.

“I’m sorry…”

König gently grabs your chin and turns your face to him. “Don’t be sorry. I’m just glad to see you’re alive.”

He looks at you for a while before leaning in and kissing your lips softly. You kiss back and move your free hand to cup his face. You didn’t realize how much you missed him, his touch, until right now; you’ve been suppressing your feelings for so long.

Just then a nurse comes into the room and approaches the both of you. She smiles warmly and places her hand on the back of your chair.

“Today is a beautiful day, you haven’t been out in a while y/n. Why not show your guest around the garden?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” König excitedly agrees. He stands up and reaches his hand out to you.

You let out a deep sigh, not really wanting to do anything. Yet, you grab his hand and stand up, your legs wobble slightly. König notices and quickly wraps an arm around your waist and holds you close. You feel so much lighter in his arms. Holding you steadily, he reaches down and grabs your crutches.

“You need these, right?” He asks in a soft voice as he hands them to you.

You nod and grab them from him. You slip your arms in and stand with them. König softly steps back and lets you stand by yourself. He watches the way you stand and how you rest on your crutches.

You both walk out of the room and to the back door to enter the garden. König walks at a slow pace to keep up with you. His eyes on you the whole time to make sure you don’t fall or need his help in some way. You feel self-conscious as he looks at you, you know it isn’t with malice, yet you can’t help how you feel.

Stepping outside the warm sun hits your skin and you squint your eyes. König just smiles, taking in how precious you are to him. Seeing how far you’ve come in your healing journey makes him proud, he’s always known you were a strong person. He just wishes he could have helped you along the way.

You walk with your crutches, one foot at a time, making sure to not rush yourself and allowing your body to move at a pace it’s comfortable with. The pain from moving already starting to kick in, and it’s written on your face.

“Do you need any help Schatz?”

“No, I’m okay.” You lie not wanting to push König away by asking for support.

König nods, seeing a bench in the distance he begins to slowly guide you there with a hand on your back, not meaning to over step but he sees you struggling and wants to help. Once there, he puts his hands around your waist to help you sit. There are so many things he wants to ask you, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm you. Instead, he simply wraps his arm around you and pulls you close to him. He kisses the top of your head.

“Would you come home?”

“I- I need to heal still.”

“I can hire a nurse for you, you know money isn’t an issue Schatz. I can take time off work as well.”

“I don’t want to be a burden-”

“You are never a burden. Never.” His voice stern but he isn’t angry. “You’re more important than stupid paper work. Please, come home to me.”

You look up at him with teary eyes and just slowly nod your head. You thought when König saw your crutches, your scar, your frail state, he would fall out of love. He would be… disgusted. But no, his love has proven to be unconditional.

#konig #konig x y/n #konig cod #konig x reader #könig #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig x #konig x gn!reader #konig x you #konig fl #konig fluff #konig an #konig angst #könig x gn!reader #könig x #könig x y/n #könig x you #könig x gn reader #könig f #könig fluff #könig a #könig angst #könig x disabled y/n

[bakubunny]

give and take

a/n: retired (disabled) shota x disabled reader hurt/comfort fluff. pls read all the tags; this is very self indulgent bc that’s how i feel like writing today. also i did a quick grammar check but this is generally unedited.

tw: neurological disorders, tics, muscle spasms, speech problems, dissociation, functional seizures, established relationships, l-bomb, reader is called baby, babygirl, daddy as nickname/title (used once)

You stood in the kitchen, chefs knife in hand as you cut the last of the vegetables out before you. Shota rinsed rice at the sink on your right. You froze briefly before a muscle spasm shot through your hand, then a small tic. It was hardly any movement, but he caught it in the corner of his eye. Five years into retirement, you’d swear Shota was still sharp as ever.

“You okay?” he asked.

The sound of water stopped.

There was a slight hesitation in your voice. “Yeah. I’m good.”

With a few measured slices, the job was done. Your hand seized again. The large knife clattered onto the counter.

“Shit, sorry,” you said. More for yourself than him, perhaps.

Another small vocal tic.

Shota glanced your direction. “Let me take care of the rest.”

“Really, I’m-I’m fine, Sho,” you replied, transferring the cut onion onto a plate.

The subtle shift in his face told you he held his tongue this time when he’d rather not. Sure, you had a bad habit of pushing yourself too hard, but Shota had no room to talk on that. He knew - especially now - that life didn’t stop just because you did.

You shut your eyes; one pulled back and rolled for a second. Your body grew tired and heavy. “Just been a long-”

One moment, you were standing, the next, your legs gave out beneath you. There was a clang when the metal bowl of the rice cooker hit the floor. Rice and water splattered nearby as Shota caught you, body limp in his arms.

“Baby?”

An eyebrow twitched in response. Your head lolled forward painfully. Shota pulled you back into his shoulder and carefully lowered you to the floor, your head in his lap. A muscle spasm ripped down your spine as your back arched, muscles so tight that your extremities shook and your vision blurred once it passed once your eyes opened. Head foggy and empty, you fought your body to respond. A small groan left your throat.

“I’m right here. I love you,” Shota said, running his fingers through your hair.

Another look of fear crossed your face with a whine. You wanted to apologize and crawl into his arms, but your body stayed still. And your husband knew you too well.

“Don’t be sorry.”

You laid with him as spasms came and went, along with your awareness of the things around you. When you came to a little, your fingertips stretched out seeking his hand, so he reached for yours.

“Hey, babygirl. You with me?” he said.

“Mhm.” You still couldn’t move much. But this was something.

“Am I okay to carry you?” Shota asked.

“I… think so,” you said.

With relative quickness and the ease of a practiced hero, he gathered you up in his arms and carried you to bed.

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

You laid in bed with Shota, your head on his shoulder, finished dinner plates on the tray he’d set at the end of the bed, and sighed.

“Sometimes I really hate all of this,” you said. “I hate that you have to do so much for me. You’ve got enough to handle.”

“You’re the love of my life. Why would I leave you to suffer?” he asked.

When you stayed quiet, he continued. “It’s give and take. You do just as much for me.”

“I know…” you replied. “Sho?”

“Mm?”

“If… if I take care of the dishes, will you take a bath with me?” You played with the hem of his shirt.

Shota smiled softly. “You want daddy to wash your hair, baby?”

A grin pushed at your cheeks. “Maybe, yeah.”

“You don’t need to do anything to have that,” he replied. “I have the energy tonight. Let me take care of you.”

You hugged him tighter. “Thank you.”'

if you’d like to be added to my tag list, let me know. ♡

gremlins: @arlerts-angel @dcsiremc @darkstarlight82 @bookcluberror @neon-gothicc @zazter-den @breadandbutter33 @i-literally-cant-with-this @rinalouu @stvrfir3 @r4td0lll @emmab3mma @aria-chikage @mhadabiandhawks4eva @yazminetrahan @doumadono @dreamcastgirl99 @maddietries @jazzafayesworld @karebear5118 @unofficialmuilover @cherriluvs35 @erensslut @ruu-https @hana-yuri @keiva1000 @katsul0vr @trickster-kat @ayeohoh-blog @dinomeow @flamgosstuff @mistressreaper @angelltheninth @anonymously-ominous @amberexe2 @hisconsistency @nanamisbigassschlong @223princess @honeeslust @naughtygobbo @acenanxious @blumoonwisteria @chaos-gem @levizonlywife @kxtsxkii @nuttyunknowndetective @katsuslover @yooxverse @jjamiee21

#i don’t miss days like this #and i’m glad they’re rare now #but here you go #hope u like it #aizawa shouta #aizawa shota #aizawa x reader #f!reader #x reader #disabled reader #disabled characters #bakubunny

[catras-witchy-girlfriend]

For my disabled selfshippers, whether that be mentally or physically, your f/o loves you.

Even on your bad days.

Even when you're in so much pain all you want to do is scream and cry.

Even when you forget important things, or make mistakes.

Even when you keep them up all night with your night terrors, or wake them up to help you with your meds because you can't get it yourself.

Even when you can't get yourself out of bed and sleep for most of the day.

They love you when you talk too loud and when you can't talk at all.

They love you when you infodump about random things they don't have a clue about.

They love you when you're stimming really badly, or screaming uncontrollably, and when you're trashing around from a seizure or meltdown.

They love you, even when you hate yourself. Even when you can't see why they love you, they still do.

You don't have to be perfect for them to love you, you don't have to be good, you don't even have to be okay!

They don't love you only for your good days, they love you for you. And you is messy, you is weak, you is scared, and you is angry, and they love that about you!

You're not their burden.

You're not someone they're forced to babysit.

You're not a headache.

You're their heart.

You're who loves them the most.

You're the best thing that's ever happened to them.

You love them, even if no one else does, you love them. You see the good in them. You see them for what they are, and they aren't perfect.

The same fear that you have, that you're too much or too little for them? They have it too.

They worry they're not enough for you too.

But they believe in your love for them. They believe you when you tell them how much you love them. So please, for their sake, believe them when they tell you they love you, because even if they've never told the truth before, how much they love you could never be a lie.

#catras witchy girlfriend #comfort character #romantic f/o #self shipping #f/o #nd selfship #disabled selfship #nurodivergent selfship #nurodivergent!reader #autistic selfship #selfship imagines #f/o x s/i #f/o x you #f/o x reader #f/o imagines #f/o imagine #comfort imagine #imagine your fictional other #imagine your f/o

[chvoswxtch]

texas heat

pairing: dean winchester x disabled!female reader

summary: when the texas heat causes a bad flare up in your body, you lose your temper with dean. but that doesn't stop him from taking care of you.

warnings: swearing, angst, dean being a charming fucker, fluffy ending

word count: 2.9k

a/n: a huge thank you to my darling @mars-rants-a-lot for trusting me with this, and being so informative and helpful to make sure this was as accurate as possible. i hope this brings the comfort you were looking for. this one's for you. 🖤 as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

Being in the car for three hours straight did nothing to help the sour mood that you had woken up in. Despite changing sitting positions several times to the extent your body could handle, you couldn’t seem to get comfortable in the Impala. Not only did your lower back feel incredibly stiff, like a tense rubber band that had been stretched entirely too thin, there was also a sharp pain aching in your knees. Someone might as well have taken a white hot iron to them with a vengeance.

When Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot of a motel, you didn’t wait for him to assist you in getting out like you normally did. Instead, the second he shifted the gear into park, you pushed open the passenger side door, antagonizing the sting of merciless arthritis even further along the column of your wrist as if you had tossed a lit match into a bone dry field. Putting your cane down firmly on the concrete, you attempted to use it along with the door handle as leverage to push yourself upwards. The Texas heat was even more unforgiving as it seared your skin without a layer of glass protecting it, and you could already feel sweat beading along your hair, like some kind of saltwater crown.

While you were struggling and sweltering, Dean had quickly jogged around to your side, pushing the door open further and ducking down to be eye level with you. 

“Whoa, easy there sweetheart. Lemme help ya.”

He wore that dazzling toothy grin that you adored so much, and his subtle charming dimples that settled above the edges of his lips were on full display. Dean was already reaching out to place his hand on your waist to help you get out of the car, just like he had done a thousand times before. But between the blazing heat and the searing pain spreading throughout your body like catastrophic wildfire, you didn’t find it nearly as endearing as you normally did. 

It snapped the final paperthin straw of patience that you had. 

Shoving his hand away spitefully with all the force you could muster in your agonizingly sore wrist, you narrowed your eyes into vexed slits and glared up at Dean.

“Jesus Christ, Dean. I’m disabled, not helpless. Can you just back off?”

The bright smile on Dean’s lips fell harder than an angel from grace, and clouds of shock and perplexity suddenly cast over his handsome features. It was as if his crisp green eyes had turned sour with dejection when your acidic words reached his heart, leaving searing scars in their angry path. Dean Winchester, who had spent his entire life hunting monsters and demons and every kind of evil imaginable, was completely frozen on the spot. You had never lashed out at him before, and he couldn’t produce a single clue in his brain to figure out what he had done wrong to upset you. 

Getting out of the Impala on your own was harder than competing in an Olympic sport you hadn’t trained for, and it only depleted your energy even further. The ground seemed to be wobbling under your feet the way a bridge in a fun house would, and you abruptly began to rue your decision to stand up so quickly after sitting in a car for three hours. The wind was knocked out of your lungs by your own impatience, and the weight of your frustration settled on your chest brick by brick with every step you attempted to take. The unforgiving stiffness in your wrist made it extremely difficult to grasp the handle of your cane. Medusa might as well have turned your hand to stone with the way you couldn’t move your fingers under the handle of the cane, or grasp it at all. 

Every little thing only fueled your resentment towards your own body, and it made you want to scream. Not even three minutes of trying to walk towards the motel room on your own, and your heart was palpitating furiously beneath your rib cage while you floundered with panic trying to breathe. The sun’s rays nearly blinded you, forcing you to tilt your head down, afflicting you with a sense of vertigo that had everything around you spinning faster than a rogue carousel. A dull headache began to throb at the base of your skull, rising louder in volume the more the extreme heat depleted your body of hydration, rendering it a barren desert. The sweat streaming down your skin was almost molten, and it caused your clothes to stick uncomfortably to your body like a foreign second skin.

Dean’s name was caught in the back of your throat, but your mouth was so dry, and your tongue felt like it had shriveled three sizes, that you couldn’t get it out. The sound of your cane clamoring against the concrete barely registered in your ears, and for a moment, your vision went completely black. But as you felt yourself free falling into some kind of abyss, a pair of strong arms caught you.

Floating in and out of consciousness, the comforting pressure and warmth surrounding you made you feel like you were wrapped in your favorite anxiety blanket. But then you smelt the familiar cologne of gunpowder, whiskey, and mint. You knew exactly who that scent belonged to. You would recognize the melody of Dean’s steady heartbeat anywhere. It had lulled you to sleep on several occasions. An arctic blast suddenly nipped at your heated cheeks, and it caused you to sigh in content feeling the way it lowered your body’s internal temperature. 

The moment you felt the pressure and warmth becoming faint, your eyes snapped open, and you stared up at Dean in pure panic. He took in the alarm written clearly on your features, and reached out to gently take your hand as he bent down slightly to adjust the pillows behind your head.

“I’m just gonna go get your bag, alright? Be right back.”

The soothing timbre of his unspoken promise soothed your anxiety slightly, and Dean’s protective gaze remained on you while he rounded the motel bed and headed for the door. He liked to keep an extra bag for you in the Impala just in case you were ever running low on anything. You had once made the joke that he could do a pop up weapons depot and a hospital right out of his trunk. 

In record timing, Dean was crossing the threshold of the motel room and was over to you in less than four strides. Sometimes you forgot just how fast he was. Those adorable bowlegs could really move. There was a look of pure concentration embedded on his sharp features while he pulled out various items from the bag. His petal pink lips were pursed slightly in a faint pout, chestnut brows were drawn together, and the crystal green of his eyes had darkened considerably in a way you’d only seen when he and Sam were getting ready for a hunt.

“Dean-”

“Don’t talk. You need water.”

The faint croaking of your dehydrated vocal chords barely registered any volume in the quiet hotel room. Meanwhile Dean’s gruff command seemed to echo off the tacky red and orange art deco wallpaper that was peeling at the crown molding and baseboards. You watched him remorsefully as he mixed a strawberry electrolyte packet with a bottle of water and shook it mercilessly. He always remembered to get your favorite flavor.

Dean twisted the cap off the water bottle and set it on the night stand for a moment. Snaking his arm behind your back, he carefully sat you up gingerly, positioning the pillows behind your back and neck to allow you to sit up comfortably. After placing a heating pad against your lower back, he delicately lowered your back against the pillows and grasped two pain reliever pills between his thumb and index finger and held them in front of your mouth.

“Here, take these.”

“Dean-”

“Don’t argue with me when I can see how much pain you’re in. Take ‘em.”

You knew better than to argue with him when he had his mind set on something. Parting your lips just enough for him to drop the pills into your mouth, you gazed up at him softly as he brought the bottle of water to your lips and gently slipped his left hand into your hair to cradle the back of your head.

“Drink the whole thing. Take your time.”

The juxtaposition of Dean being so firm yet so gentle with you at the same time always amazed you. It was rare you ever saw him treat anyone else like that, and it made you think he reserved it just for you. Your heart wanted to believe it was because he cared about you, really cared, and that he wanted to spark that fuse of friendship to explode into something colorful and more like you did. But your brain dismissed that it was simply because you were disabled and that you were vital to him and Sam as their person behind the scenes. 

After finishing the entire water, Dean set the empty bottle down on the nightstand and turned the heating pad on medium heat. The bloom of warmth slowly started to ease the ache in your lower back, and you were suddenly aware of the pain in your jaw from clenching it so hard during your grueling POTS flare up. Dean swiftly but tenderly removed the braces from your wrists and knees to allow your body to sink into relaxation. He carefully removed your shoes and slipped tall compression socks on your feet before unfolding your weighted anxiety blanket and placing it over you delicately and tucking you in.

The air was still thick and tense with your treacherous treatment of him earlier, and the guilt pooling in your stomach nearly made you nauseous. He didn’t deserve that. He was just trying to help you. He was always trying to help.

“Dean, I'm sorry.”

Dean’s entire body language changed as soon as he heard the tears in your voice. His broad shoulders visibly relaxed beneath his forest green flannel, and his hardened features morphed into a soft look of empathy. His eyes were back to their normal shade of enchanting green, and they were shining with understanding and compassion. Letting out a deep exhale through his nose, Dean took a seat on the bed next to you and hunched over slightly, resting his elbows on his denim covered thighs.

“You got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

“I was mean-”

“You weren’t mean. You’re havin’ a bad day, and you’re struggling, and I didn’t catch it. I’m the one that should be sorry.”

Leave it to Dean Winchester to try and shoulder the blame for something that was nowhere near his fault. Emerald guilt was already forming around the outer rim of his irises, and even though there was still a lingering flame nipping at the nerves in your wrist, you stiffly reached out for one of his hands. As soon as Dean caught your fingers in his peripheral, he instinctively enveloped your hand delicately in his larger one. His hands were always so warm, and even though they were a bit rough with scars and callouses from a lifetime of trying to be the best soldier, to you they felt soothing and were a sense of tangible comfort.

“Listen to me. What happens to my body is not your fault. It’s out of your control just as much as it’s out of mine.”

“We were on the road for three hours straight. I shoulda stopped, given you breaks from sittin’ so long. I shoulda made sure there was enough refrigerant in the tank. The A/C wasn’t hardly blastin’ a damn thing. I shoulda just left you at the motel in Arkansas-”

“You said you didn’t want to leave me alone because Sam-”

“I know, and I didn’t. But better you bein’ in a nice cool motel than fuckin’ Texas. The heat here’s too much for you, sweetheart. I shoulda known how it was gonna hit you. I shoulda made sure you were drinkin’ your electrolytes the whole ride-”

Giving his hand a gentle squeeze to halt his self-condemnation, he finally met your gaze. A tender smile graced your lips as you shakily lifted your hand up to place on the side of his cheek, enjoying the slight tickle of his coarse scruff against your palm. He instantly leaned into your touch, and his body deflated slightly in content at the contact. You brushed your thumb along his sharp cheekbone to the best of your ability and let out a gentle sigh, shaking your head slightly as you gazed at him in adoration.

“You take on too much, D. The weight of the world isn’t yours to carry.”

“I’m not worried about the world. I’m worried about you.”

The firmness in his deep voice and the intensity of his gaze nearly knocked the wind out of you all over again. You weren’t used to him being so serious unless it was regarding a case or something with Sam.

“I’m alright-”

“You blacked out.”

“And you caught me and took care of me, like you always do.”

You were too exhausted to argue with over the over six feet of pure stubbornness sitting in front of you. The electrolytes were steadily getting rid of your cotton mouth and foreboding sense of dehydration, and the heating pad felt marvelous against your agitated lower back. The motel bed surprisingly did not feel like it was made of cardboard, and the pillows Dean had placed around you almost felt cloudlike. As you closed your heavy eyelids and let out a deep exhale, you could still feel Dean’s intense gaze on you, and an idea to melt the icy tension suddenly popped into your head.

“You know D, there is actually…one thing that I think would really help me right now.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to contain your grin, hearing Dean shuffle closer on the bed. Even though your eyes were closed, you knew exactly what look of concern and curiosity was plastered on his features.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

Peeking one of your eyes open, you stared up at him with faux innocence.

“Well…I mean…I don’t want you to go out of your way, you do have a case to work-”

Dean shook his head firmly and gestured with his chin down in your direction.

“Tell me whatcha need.”

Letting out an overly dramatic sigh, you brought your hand up to place the back of it against your forehead, like a damsel in distress in an old Hollywood movie, as your lips pursed into a distressed pout.

“Salted Caramel ice cream.”

Dean’s expression of concern quickly vanished into a deadpan look that let you know he was absolutely and completely done with you, and it made you burst into stomach cramping laughter. Dean tilted his head back to stare up at the ceiling in exasperation, as if he was silently asking God why me.

“And I thought Sammy was dramatic.”

When he swiftly stood up from the bed, you attempted to hide your grin while staring up at him in faux annoyance. 

“Hey, you have to be nice to people that are disabled.”

Dean arched one of his chestnut brows as he turned his head to stare over at you in a playful look of defiance.

“Not if they’re a brat.”

When he opened the door to the hotel, you couldn’t help but giggle at the look on his face.

“Oh! You know what would also really help? Frescas con crema. But make sure it’s-”

“Strawberry. I know. Drink your damn salt water. And do not put on Criminal Minds.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know how you sweat when that one guy with the dorky haircut and permanent frown shows up.”

“You mean Hotch?”

Dean pursed his full lips in slight annoyance seeing the grin on your face and the slight purr to your voice when you said his name. Tilting your head to the side slightly, the mischievous grin stretched further over your lips.

“You know Dean, you have that exact same ‘dorky’ haircut.”

Dean let out a dry scoff and crossed his arms across his chest, face twisted up in absolute rejection.

“No I don’t. Mine is way better than his.”

“You’re kinda frowny sometimes too. And you do have an FBI badge.”

Dean’s expression melted slightly into a look of recognition, like a lightbulb had gone off in his head. Before you could tease him anymore about it, he grabbed the remote and placed it on the tv stand across the room, pointing an accusatory finger in your direction.

“No TV, take a nap.”

“But Dean!”

“Nap, young lady!”

As Dean shut the door behind him and you watched him through the window stalk over to the Impala pouting like a child, you couldn’t help but laugh. Once the roar of the engine faded down the street, you pulled your phone out of your pocket and smirked to yourself as you opened an app to pick up on the last episode of Criminal Minds you had left off on.

“Sorry, D. You’re not coming between me and Hotch.”

#dean winchester #dean winchester x disabled!female reader #dean winchester x disabled!fem reader #dean winchester x disabled!f reader #dean winchester fic #supernatural #supernatural fic

[real-jane]

you don't say

[bucky barnes x disabled!reader]

summary: you matched on a dating app, but you didn't tell him that you use a cane. bucky's response is not what you expected. it's better.

warnings: mention of smut, but mostly fluff and insecurity on both bucky and reader's part. autumnal vibes all around.

a/n: i became disabled in the last few years and i have really struggled with needing a cane to increase my mobility, especially where dating is concerned. i wrote this as a love letter to myself, and other babes who are processing what it means to accept love as a disabled human being. enjoy. <3

***

You didn’t tell him. 

If the last six were a good litmus, it was for the best. Apparently being that honest with a man you met on a dating app was to be avoided at all costs. The goal, ultimately, was to have him say: “You’re prettier in person,” and then flush like he was comparing the version of you in his head to the reality before him, and coming up wanting.

Bucky was his name. He hadn’t proposed anything rigorous–he liked coffee, as did you. It wasn’t like he suggested a Central Park marathon for your date.  You weren’t even sure how you matched; it probably happened when you left your phone unattended in the same room as Natasha–whose taste was much more varied than yours. Adventurous. It’s not that you wouldn’t have swiped in interest over Bucky, 39, Brooklyn. But not until he swiped first. 

That wasn’t entirely true. You remembered his face popping up as you doom-scrolled for Jesus, on a two day pajama pity-party bender. Consuming Norah Ephron films and cheap cabernet, you swiped right on any man with kind eyes who didn’t have a fish picture in his array. Which… the pickings were slim. But his face–Bucky’s–appeared beneath your thumb as Meg Ryan met Tom Hanks at the top of the Empire State Building on your third watch-through of ‘Sleepless in Seattle,’ and it felt serendipitous. Bucky, 39, Brooklyn looked very serious, and he had a white long-haired cat. You swiped. He swiped. He was nice in his first message…

Hi… I’m new to this, but it looks like we both hit the magic button.

So, there you were.

You arranged to meet at eleven–you were at the coffee shop by ten-thirty, so you could sit by the window and not have to walk towards him. You tucked yourself into the booth and stashed your things on the bench seat beside you, eager to meet the first guy who said yes to a date since you got back on the horse, so to speak. Nevermind that you hadn’t told him the whole truth.

When he walked in–ten minutes early–he scanned the little cafe until his eyes fell on you. His expression went from hardened and serious to… bashful, almost. He recognized you right away, and there was no way you could mistake him either. 

What was that thing about people being prettier in person? 

He was dressed in layers to combat Autumn in New York (comfortable in varying shades of blue and brown) with leather gloves on, which shone like they hadn’t yet been worn before that day. So like a native New Yorker to wear the same tattered coat… but quality, definitely an expensive peacoat which could last him several generations… but buy brand new gloves when the slightest chill sets in.

Bucky was scruffy, like he couldn’t quite bother to shave but every few days. You didn’t mind. When he approached, he had vibrant energy, like it was all packed up inside with nerves.

“Hi. Sorry. I think we had the same idea,” he said breathlessly as he approached. He held out his right hand to you. You grasped his fingers automatically, but he didn’t shake. He squeezed softly, and then pressed it between his own. 

“It’s Bucky. I’ve already had coffee. Too much. I was nervous. But if you still want some, I’ll just get decaf.” 

“Y/n. To be honest, I did the same,” you chuckled, nodding to the half-empty carafe on the table, which your waiter had left after the third refill in twenty minutes. “It’s nice to meet in person.”

“I don’t do this kinda thing, I gotta warn you.” Bucky shucked off his coat and slid into the booth across from you. The gloves remained. He had a loved but noble corduroy blazer on, over a henley. “Dating. I hate the whole conceit.”

“You’re two-for-two!” You grinned. “My roommate got me on the apps. They can be blamed for seventy-five percent of my daily dread.”

“What’s the other quarter?”

“Global warming, and getting shat on by pigeons coming out of the subway.”

“Fair,” he said, smiling. You dimpled at one another. “We don’t have to stay. We’re caffeinated, and I might start levitating, here. We could walk a bit?”

Your stomach lurched. “We could. Where?”

“Dunno. I’m sorry–I have no idea how to be out. We should just sit here for the requisite number of minutes before upsetting the structure of a date.” He smiled at you pleasantly, but it was clear how incredibly nervous he still was… and how unlikely it was to go away unless he could be more active. Which meant standing. Walking, some. Something which you were not prepared to do.

Bucky watched your expression shift. He sat forward and reached out to touch your forearm. “You okay?”

“So. Yes, um. Yes, I’m okay,” you sighed. “It’s still new for me so I’m figuring it out, but… walking long distances? Can’t do it. I could probably handle a short walk, but I’ve had a rough time the last week, so I don’t know how much stamina I have. Even with my trusted friend, here. So.” You showed the head of your cane above the table bashfully, and looked away. “Sorry–people get weird about this stuff, I’m finding out, so I don’t really say anything in advance.”

Bucky blinked for a moment, then he leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table. “What do you mean weird?” His blue eyes narrowed.

“Suddenly unmatch. Tell me ‘it’s such a shame.’” You huffed. “Although it’s guys, on the whole. Women care less. But that’s beside the point–”

“Because of that?” He pointed at the seat beside you, where all of your belongings were stashed, and you knew what he meant. You nodded.

“I don’t say it in so many words. I’m not like–hey, just fyi, I use a cane, so deal with it or fuck off–”

“Why not? That would be a good way to separate out the weak and worthless,” Bucky said, but you could’ve sworn you heard a little touch of anger in his tone. He shook his head. “Doll… shit. Men are shit.”

“Yeah. They are. Sorry.”

“No, I’m shit, too. You can’t insult me when it’s true.” Bucky sat back against the worn cushion. “So, we going? Or are you going to talk me into an espresso to see if I can fly?”

“Sure. If you want to. I’m just slow–”

“Nonsense.” Bucky scooted out of the booth. “I grew up in this neighborhood. There’s plenty to do. And see.” He paused. “If this is insulting, just tell me to fuck off… You can lean on me.” He held out his elbow like an offering.

You could have cried. “Um. Okay.”

“Yeah? I–I would’ve offered, regardless. I like talking to you. I’ve enjoyed myself… through the phone.” Bucky scratched his cheek in embarrassment. “So. Even if you didn’t share, I probably would’ve tried to find a reason.”

“Really, I’ve just given you an excuse,” you said, tamping down a smile. He nodded solemnly.

“It’s thoughtful of you to spare me.” Bucky raised his eyebrows, waiting. The waiter breezed by, just then–

“You can pay at the front register!” the beleaguered hipster sighed, gesturing to the counter at which there was an extensive line. Bucky grabbed his elbow and fished a bill out of his pocket, slapping it in the guy’s palm. The waiter stared down at the twenty in his hand. “Great. I’m a human cash register.”

“Keep the change,” Bucky said. He turned back to you. “Do you get motion sick?”

“No?” You were clearly holding up whatever grand plans he was making in his head, so you hastily grabbed your things. Bucky liberated your coat from your hands and held it open. You stood slowly, leaning on the aid which had given you newfound freedom. Bucky smiled at you softly. He wasn’t impatient, just… excited. You slid your arms into your coat with Bucky’s help, and then curled your fingers into his elbow. His cheeks reddened. He had a boyishness to him which was endearing. 

“This okay?”

Okay? Well. If you considered the wafting warmth of sandalwood cologne and the soft weave of his woolen peacoat okay, then you were dandy. You nodded, feeling your own cheeks flush under his attentive gaze.

“Great. I have an idea, if you’re game. So.” He cleared his throat, ushering you through the front door of the shop onto the sidewalk. “Where do you stand on surprises?”

“Um. Hate ‘em, to be honest.”

“How bad?”

“Flash mob? My idea of hell.”

“K–In that case, I’m gonna call a friend, he runs a ride service. There’s a festival in bridge park–I keep seeing fliers for it all over. We could check it out.”

You couldn’t help the smile which pulled at your cheeks. If that’s the sort of surprise Bucky had in mind, you would’ve been charmed by it. But knowing how quickly his brain was working to improvise a date was impressive, so you squeezed his elbow. 

“Sounds fun.”

“Good. Okay.” His mouth turned up at the corner and his eyes crinkled. 

He quickly dialed a number he had memorized, but not saved in his contacts. It made you wonder how many other people he knew by heart, and what it took to be remembered by this Brooklyn boy. He didn’t say much into the phone, just the intersection you stood on. Bucky hung up abruptly and pocketed his phone again, clearly intent on hiding it away.

“He’s two streets over, it’ll be five minutes max.”

He was a horse-and-buggy driver, who had festooned his buggy with bales of hay and pumpkins bearing hastily Sharpie’d faces drawn on them by someone under the age of ten. When the carriage pulled up outside of the chain coffee shop, Bucky grinned, passing the coachman a tenner and ushering you into the four-wheeled hayride. The straw was strewn over the plush seating poorly enough to poke you in the ass, even through your coat, but Bucky was so excited to pull the plaid wool blanket over your legs that you tolerated the gluteal acupuncture. He stashed your cane beside himself, and pressed you close enough that your thigh pressed against his. 

“I went to school with Pat,” he explained, gesturing to the driver who was too far away to engage in conversation, but kept throwing back knowing glances at you and Bucky. “Kindergarten through the twelfth grade.”

“You really are in your neighborhood.”

“Yeah.” He blushed. “Never did get out, like I thought I would. Not complaining though. There’s a lot to love about Brooklyn.”

Bucky encouraged you to wrap your arm through the loop of his elbow again, and pointed out things to you about Brooklyn which had defied your notice prior. Brickwork at the pinnacle of a building, dating back to the 1920’s. A man dressed like a bush who stood on the street corner, blocking the walk button so no pedestrian could disturb his meditation. The fire hydrant he broke the bolt off senior year, flooding the sewer drains and causing rats to rush down the gutters like a parade of hissing floats. Halloween decorations in windows. Scarecrows mounted to telephone poles like they guarded a field of yellow taxis with as much aplomb as a treasury of corn stalks.

All the while… he distracted you. Little touches on your wrist where your coat met your skin with his soft gloves left you curling your fingers around air, and still he persisted. You studied his profile when he was distracted. With stubble and expression lines, he had character. He wasn’t stoic like you had thought him. Every inkling which crossed his brain was projected on his forehead like a drive-in feature just for you. And he kept smiling at you. 

You arrived at Brooklyn Bridge park having spent an eternity and no time at all in a horse-drawn carriage positively burdened with loose hay, but the tents and balloons and various sizes of gourds distracted you from anything but the Autumnal joy of it all. Stalls lined the park in a makeshift walkway, which smelled of pie spices and syrup, and crisping ham on a rotisserie, and campfire. 

When he helped you down from the carriage, placing your cane at your dominant side, Bucky instantly seemed to have a plan. Time passed like you were observing through a looking glass. He ushered a cup of cider into your hands, and then adios’d the empty into the garbage once you finished it. You dominated the hammer game, winning a massive plush gorilla. Which you promptly gave away to the first screaming child you saw, to Bucky’s amusement. He fed you funnel cake while you picked out your choice for the fastest piglet in a race which consisted of five piglets running around a kiddie pool. You lost–everyone did, when the piglets abandoned course to lay in the tepid water and snort bubbles at one another–but you left a lingering dusting of powdered sugar behind at the corner of your mouth. Bucky wiped it away without a second thought.

And so the date continued, with you floating beside a man whose eyes sparkled with delight every time you found joy in something. It didn’t feel like you had only met that day. You reached for his hand to express delight. He curled his fingers over your shoulder to wish you luck in the ring toss. Bucky–Barnes was his last name, you learned–was some kind of familiar fixture. He even bought you a coffee, and then brutally beat a group of sixth-graders at bobbing-for-apples.

It wasn’t until the sun tucked itself behind the rooftops that you realized dusk approached. Without needing to ask, Bucky summoned a cab. You had leaned on him heavily the second half of the afternoon, and opted to sit every opportunity you got. Yet… Bucky’s excitement never diminished. It wasn’t until you sat on the top step of your stoop that you realized it.

That was the best date you had ever been on.

And you sure as hell didn’t want it to end. The stars were out in force–as clear a night as you had ever seen in the city of light pollution, and yet… Orion’s belt… the pan handle of a Dipper… stars shone for you.

Bucky shoved his hands into his coat pockets in acknowledgement of the drop in temperature, while he balanced one foot up a step from you. He studied you through honest eyes–that is, he looked at you like he saw who you were without pretense. Which felt very vulnerable.

“Repeat the question,” you breathed.

Bucky smiled. “You date much?”

You shook your head. “No. To be honest, I don’t usually feel like it’s worth it. Putting myself out there. I’m sorry–I know it sounds like I’m wallowing in self-pity, but, uh. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it. Being turned down. Because I use a stupid piece of metal to walk.”

“You could spend a lot of time feeling sorry for yourself, doll. And–that’s not to say you don’t have the goddamn right to feel some type of way about it. It’s your body, it’s not how you pictured your life going. Of course you’re gonna be sore about it. You aren’t alone in that. I’m just sayin’... Anybody who’d lose out on a chance with you because of something as insignificant as a tube of aluminum ain’t the type of person you wanna waste your time with anyhow.”

“It’s weird. I don’t disagree with what you’re saying, but. I dunno. It’s hard to think people exist who aren’t gonna be weird about a freakin’ cane.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “Fuck’em. Waste of your time.”

“What about you? Are you a time-waster?”

“Worse. I’m a Brooklyn boy. We can wait out a stubborn dame with the best of ‘em.” Bucky braced himself on the railing. “Can I take you out again?”

“You’re gonna sit on my porch until I agree to a second date?”

“I–when you say it like that, I sound like a creep,” he chuckled. “No, I just… if you had a good time, and I really hope you did, I would like to treat you to another date. I took a wild guess on the festival idea, but I can think of a million other things. More than just coffee.”

“I was holding a coffee mug in my profile photo,” you laughed. “That was enough.”

“There’s more out there.”

“I had a good time.”

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

You watched his face turn from excitement to pure glee. His body angled towards you intensely. All his energy was directed towards you. It made your skin tingle, and all good sense fled from your mind.

“Just come in, Bucky.”

“You gotta say it, or I ain’t budging. This is all up to you, doll.”

“Yes, okay?” You leaned against the doorway with an exasperated sigh. “I had a great time. You’re adorable, and exhausting, and I’ve never had more fun on a first date. Or any date, for that matter. Please–come inside. Kiss me a little. I think you’re probably good at it.”

“It’s been awhile,” he admitted quietly, though he pushed off the railing to do as you bid him.

“Good. I don’t like it so formal–”

“You’re so cute.”

“I’m not–”

“No, it isn’t up for debate.” Bucky tucked a finger under your chin so you’d look up at him, given that your attention had fallen to the laces of his boots in embarrassment. His irises flicked back and forth, mapping every refraction in your eyes. “I know cute when I see her. And there’s nobody else in this whole damned city but you, doll.”

He kissed you as if that were true… as if he had stepped out of the subway to a world devoid of anything but a billion scattered golden leaves tracing circles on the pavement, and a girl with a cane who hates surprises. As if–in that dystopian and autumnal universe, that were heaven to him. Like he’d been looking for you in every empty coffee shop. Like he knew you, and it was only a matter of walking into the right store. It was soft, the drag of his lips over yours. At first he just ghosted a millimeter from your mouth, but then he needed to know… so he gave in. He didn’t spoil it with tongue too soon. Bucky discovered you.

You’d been kissed, but never at the world’s end. The world you knew was siphoned away. In this one? Well, kisses stopped time. Made leaves hang in the air between gasping breaths. Kisses were where the light got in. Where sun broke through clouds… where a girl who didn’t much care for vulnerability let a man she barely knew steal every little sound from her throat, out on her front stoop where anybody could see them.

You got the door open by feel, and stayed on your feet by virtue of the man with roving hands who backed you into the building. It was for the best that your apartment was on the first floor, because your knees threatened to buckle when his tongue worried the seam of your lips. He tucked the crook of your cane into the curve of his elbow when you tore yourself away to fight the finicky lock at your threshold. 

“I didn’t expect to have anyone over,” you said by way of an explanation for whatever mess might be found inside, but Bucky snorted.

“When are you gonna get it through your head?” He nipped at the tendon which helped form the curve from your shoulder to neck, making you shiver. “I don’t give a shit if all you got is a mattress on the floor. I like you.”

“I have a bit more furniture than that,” you giggled, “but I still appreciate you saying it.”

The moment you were inside the apartment, Bucky leaned back against the door and turned you, so you stood between his feet. He looked at you through heavily-lidded eyes. “Tell me.”

You turned your attention to the buttons on his coat as he saw right through you. “Bucky–”

“I think you like kissing me, but you’re skittish. If you’re freaked out…”

“I’m–shit.” You sighed. “I believe you. That you like me, I do. But I am so used to feeling like nobody is ever gonna want me back–”

“Impossible.” He cupped your cheeks. “Look at you.”

“Bucky,” you groaned. 

“No, stop it. I know what you’re doing. Oldest trick in my book. You think that a good thing is a lie, that it ain’t gonna hang around. I’m a really, really, really bad liar. Alright? My ears turn red.” Bucky smiled triumphantly when you chuckled. “I watched you drink a pumpkin latte today like it was the best thing you’ve ever had in your whole damn life and it cost me three dollars. You’re charming. I’m addicted.”

He kissed your forehead and you melted into his chest in resignation. “I don’t do this,” you mumbled into his sweater.

“What? Let somebody say why they like you?”

You shook your head, and pressed your cheek against his chest. “I’m starving.”

“Oh–doll, dammit, I should’a fed you–”

“No. I mean, yes, we should order something,” you laughed, “but. Just. Why?” When you raised your hand, gesturing to your general being, Bucky’s expression transformed from concern to… something gentle. 

He shrugged, but his shoulders fell heavily downward, and his fingers curled into the pockets of your coat so you wouldn’t pull away while he found the words. 

“Because–I just knew. You were simply a notification in a stupid app and I still thought about your profile picture waiting in my ‘likes’ for days. And we talked like it was an everyday occurrence, feeling your world shift its axis. I didn’t talk to a single soul on that app but you, sweets, and I tried my damndest not to jump the gun on asking you to meet in person. Imagine my delight when you agreed. I was so terrified last night that I hardly slept, but I never thought once about feeling… self conscious, all day. It–I don’t feel that way with most girls. Safe, I guess. And I may not know what the hell I’m doing, but I’m not a guy who ever feels like I can trust a person and I’m pretty prepared to lay down naked in the street if you tell me that’s what you want–”

“Not necessary,” you said, smiling. 

“Well, that’s a relief.” Bucky brushed his thumbs over your cheeks. “Doll–I’m so sorry that anybody ever made you feel like you got some kinda worth to live up to. It makes me so angry, but then I think–who’s that for? What’s the point in me being angry at somebody who isn’t gonna change their mind… especially when it means that I get a chance.”

“Says the handsome guy with perfect teeth.” You winked at him when he scowled.

“I’m tryin’ here–”

“You’re wonderful,” you whispered. You smoothed over his bottom lip with the pads of your thumbs. “I’m… thank you.”

Bucky leaned forward until his forehead pressed against yours. “I’ve overwhelmed you.”

“No, sir. I just need a second. To acclimate to the idea.”

“I can go–”

“Please. Please don’t.” You tugged him towards the living room, slowly walking backwards and giving him every opportunity to wrench out of your grasp and run. But he didn’t break eye contact, no. Bucky kept pace with you, toe-to-toe. “We’ll watch something.”

“Spooky movie?” he suggested.

“...I’m such a wimp,” you admitted, and he let out a quick breath.

“You can hide under my arm during the scary parts.”

“So just bury myself under you the whole movie, got it–”

“If that’s what you want, doll.” Bucky smirked as your knees bumped into the lip of the couch, causing you to sit abruptly against the cushions. You still had a fist wrapped in the placate of his coat, so he fell forward, catching himself on the arm rest and hovering over you. You watched intently as his tongue whetted his bottom lip absent-mindedly, and you had to bite back a groan.

“That’s what I want. Bucky.”

***

A long time later, when your body was so sensitive that you shivered beneath him, Bucky hopped up… pantsless, still wearing his sweater, but peachy ass exposed to the air so he could run to the bathroom and find a soft cloth. When he returned to you (with a towel around his waist, suddenly bashful), he bore a damp washcloth in his left hand, which… you sat up slowly on your elbows to watch the reticulated fingers on his left hand as he cleaned you with soft strokes over your thighs and bit his lip… asshole. You smiled at him softly when his eyes flicked up to yours. 

“You gonna tell me about it, or wait for me to ask?” you murmured, sliding the cuff of his left sleeve up his bicep, exposing a charcoal and gold metallic limb to the dim light. 

Bucky didn’t say anything at first. He lifted you beneath the knees, and behind your back. He had no choice but to shower with you (since you woefully lacked a bathtub), as cleaning you both was clearly his priority, so he sat you on the edge of the porcelain counter to help you fully undress. He did so with a type of reverence which felt undue… but you were reminded that he didn’t look at you through the same lens with which you viewed yourself. Especially when he trailed his fingers over your softness like he didn’t feel worthy of touching you. 

But then, he stepped back from you, and he shucked his sweater.

He didn’t look you in the eye once he was fully exposed to you. He studied the tiles under your toes, and his hands didn’t seem to know whether to rest on his hips or try to hide his flesh from you, so he fidgeted. Which meant he didn’t see you reaching for his left hand, and when you did so (threading your fingers through his metal facsimiles), he looked like he might cry.

Bucky was an amputee. With a gleaming prosthetic extending from his clavicle to the tips of his left fingers, so intricate and complicated a design that it must be something experimental and custom-made, just for the likes of a soft-hearted Brooklyn boy.

“You’re beautiful.” You meant the raw words, even though they escaped your lips unbidden. 

Bucky squeezed your hand. “I’m not.”

“You don’t have to agree for it to be true.”

He looked at you, then. An agreement passed between you, unvoiced. I’ll say about you what you can’t. I’ll hold for you what you won’t. I’ll touch you again, because I want you, all of you–the flesh and the metal and the weak and the kind. Especially the kind. Of course Bucky understood you. Your heart-wounds took different guises, but they pulled the same strings.

When he knelt at your knee, it was supplication. It was obvious when he bowed his head to kiss the skin above your heart. Your heart had known his forever, it seemed. 

“A long time ago, I didn’t have a choice,” he said, so quietly you could only make out his words because you had coaxed him up to meet your lips again. “I almost died. I–god, I never thought I’d live or touch somebody again. And then you. I can’t explain this to people–” He rolled his shoulder like the limb was hurting him, and maybe it was– “without inviting them to look at my naked fuckin’ heart.”

“Is it heavy?” You ran your finger the length of the connector, where metal met his skin and cupped his pectoral. You meant the arm, but the way his head bobbed… you inclined your head so you could catch his lips before his spirit fell one iota further. It was a kiss of knowing. Understanding, without words.

“I can take it off,” he breathed against your lips.

“So do it.”

Bucky sat back on his heels. Then, he looked you square in the eye and detached the prosthetic arm. It wheezed as it lost power, the moment its circuits no longer drew power from his body’s natural electric whims. You held out your hands, and he set the thing across your open palms. It was lighter than you expected, but still hefty. You could only imagine how it pulled at his muscles, unnatural as it was. It was incredible, but then–so was the man with an empty prosthetic socket, who sat at your feet like he hadn’t hastily fucked you on your own couch at the end of your first date. Like sex was a small exchange when there was a soul resonance at hand. If you said it out loud? It would sound insane. Holding Bucky’s cheeks in your hands, though… 

“I like sushi,” you said softly, “and any carbs, really. So. Jot that one down, for your date ideas. And I’m a fabulous co-pilot if you like road trips. I love Upstate. I excel at floating down a river on an innertube–”

Bucky pushed up between your knees so he could reach your lips and he kissed you senseless. “Doll–”

“Shhh, darling man,” you smiled against his mouth. “I am addicted.” Parroting his words back to him made Bucky beam. “Stay the night. Surprise me in the morning. I don’t care. You’re everything I didn’t think I deserved and–and I’ll keep you. To spite Me.”

Bucky laughed. “It will be a pleasure to help you get revenge on yourself.”

***

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[a-reader-and-a-writer]

No Words

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Jake "Hangman" Seresin, f!reader, Soulmate AU

Summary: In a world where your soulmate's first words to you appear on your arm on your 16th birthday, Jake Seresin is an anomaly. His words never appeared, and he has resigned himself to being alone forever. That is until someone catches his eye....

Word Count: 1380

TW: Angst, Happy Ending

Note: Thank you to @reysorigins and @green-socks for reading this over for me and giving me the thumbs up. I love you guys!

From the time he was sixteen, Jake Seresin knew he was destined to end up alone. No matter what he did, no matter how good of a person he was, no matter how much he tried, it didn’t matter. He would never find his other half because, apparently, he didn’t have one. Unlike everyone else in the world, when he awoke on the morning of his sixteenth birthday, there was no tattoo on the inside of his forearm. There were no words scrolling across his skin that conveyed his soulmate’s first words to him. There was nothing except the blank canvas of his skin. 

The doctors told him that unfortunately, this sometimes happened. Either a soulmate would die before they could meet, they were in a distant location where their paths would never cross, or there was some default where someone was just not meant to have a soulmate. It was just how things were, and there was nothing Jake could do to change it. 

So, he did his best to accept that fact and move on. He dated and had flings and one-night stands. He even had a few long-term relationships. But in the end, none of them could last. Not while they both knew the truth. Over time, the attempts at meaningful relationships grew less and less as he became tired of the inevitable heartbreak. At least with a casual encounter, there was no hope that things would be different. That someone would want to stay with him regardless of the words on their arm or the clear skin on his.

But now at his age, he found it more difficult to find someone who wanted to be with him, even for one night. Either they had already found their soulmate or weren’t interested in wasting their time on him. After all, why settle for someone else when you knew your perfect match was still out there waiting for you?

And it didn’t help that all of his friends had found their soulmates. Bob had been one of the lucky few whose soulmate was actually the girl he was already dating when his words appeared. Then most of the other pilots had found their soulmates around the time they were attending the Naval Academy. For a while, it had just been him and Rooster, the two unmatched bachelors of the group. But since Rooster had stumbled upon his soulmate at a banquet celebrating the Dagger Mission, Jake found himself as the lone man standing. Now, more often than not, he would end up at the Hard Deck alone or remain long after everyone else left early to go home to their significant others. But since Jake didn’t have anyone to return home to, he preferred hanging around the bar with a drink to keep him company.

Tonight was no different. Rooster had left about twenty minutes ago and Jake was just finishing up his third beer. He glanced around the room, half-heartedly wondering if he should play a solo game of pool or darts. However, as his eyes passed over the corner of the bar near the jukebox, something drew his eye. 

You were beautiful, but so were most of the women he had been with. Yet it wasn’t your looks that made his breath catch in his throat and caused the skin on the inside of his forearm to itch. It was something deeper than that. And as he continued to stare, the rest of the room seemed to dim and fade away around him. Almost unconsciously, he left his table and walked over to where you were standing.

As he approached, you smiled at something the girl next to you said and you raised your drink to your mouth. But just before you could take a sip, you noticed Jake and you froze, the bottle resting on your bottom lip. As your eyes locked, Jake felt a jolt zip through him, almost as if he had been electrocuted, but in the best way. It was a sensation he had never felt before.

As his lips curled into his signature cocky grin, he said, “Hey there, pretty lady–”

However, before he could finish his pick-up line, the beer slipped from your fingers and shattered on the floor. The girl you had been talking to grabbed your shoulder, asking if you were okay, but you didn’t acknowledge her. All of your focus was on Jake, your eyes wide and your mouth gaping. 

But then you blinked, seemingly breaking the spell, and a brilliant smile spread across your lips, lighting up your entire face. Jake could see tears starting to well up in your eyes even as they refused to break contact with his.

Jake’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What? What did I say?”

You shook your head and held out your arm. There, in a thick, brash-looking font, were the words that Jake had just spoken. He stared at them in disbelief, then looked back up at your beaming face.

Taking a stunned step backward, he muttered, “No…. I didn’t think…. I-I don’t have a soulmate. See.” He held out his bare forearm.

You looked down at it as you ran your fingers tenderly over the place your words should be, sending a chill of pleasure up Jake’s spine. Then, when you gazed back at his face, there was a gleam of understanding in your eyes. You tapped your throat lightly and shook your head.

It took Jake a minute but then the truth hit him like a Tomahawk missile. Inhaling sharply, he whispered, “You can’t speak….”

Jake placed his finger under your chin and tilted your face until your gaze met his. All it took was an instant of staring into your eyes for him to know with all certainty that everything he had believed to that point had been a lie. He wasn’t broken, he wasn’t unlovable, he wasn’t unworthy. When he looked into your eyes, he felt whole for the first time since his sixteenth birthday. He had finally found his missing half. 

Biting your lips and shifting slightly, you shook your head once more as your eyes drift to the floor. All the joy that had been on your face seconds ago drained away, replaced by unease as you anxiously rubbed your hand over your tattoo, and Jake realized that you probably interpreted his reaction as some sort of disappointment, though nothing could be farther from the truth.

You still looked hesitant as you gazed back at him, not sure what he was thinking. But as he smiled, you did too. His finger still under your chin, Jake began to lean in. When he was just a few inches from your face, he paused, but the tiniest of nods you gave him was all the permission he needed. His lips pressed into yours, molding together as if they were made to be joined. The chill of pleasure from earlier returned, this time spreading throughout Jake’s entire body, and as he drew you closer, the feeling only intensified. It was an adrenaline rush unlike anything he had ever experienced on the ground or in the sky. You felt like air, and he was desperate for breath. Your hand slipped up the back of his neck to thread through his hair, and he knew that you felt the same way. 

Eventually, the two of you were forced to pry your lips apart. Both of you were panting slightly, and Jake couldn’t help but stare at your kiss-swollen lips, already dreaming of the next time he could feel them pressed against his own. 

Reaching up, Jake brushed his fingers across your cheek and he once again whispered, “Hey there, pretty lady.”

Beaming brightly, you grazed your fingers over the line of his jaw before reaching over to the table next to you. Grabbing the pen someone had left there after signing their check, you took Jake’s arm and flipped it over so his palm was facing up. Jake had spent over half his life staring at that spot, willing words to form there. And as you took the pen and began to write, his deepest desire finally became a reality. He had a soulmate, and he knew your first words to him.

What took you so long?

Taglist: @loverhymeswith, @babblydrabbly, @lorecraft, @green-socks, @heart-0n-fire, @marvelousmermaid, @mayhem24-7forever, @wildbornsiren, @hederasgarden, @the-untamed-soul, @inglourious-imagines, @topguncortez, @footprintsinthesxnd, @therebeccaw, @airhogger, @piscesvancouverite, @straightforwardly, @bonnieelizabethparker, @srry-itshockeyszn, @flyinlove, @fandomhopped, @sweetheartlizzie07, @yjwnoot, @wanderdreamer, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @callsign-fox, @imjess-themess, @callsign-phoenix, @shanimallina87, @forever-sleepy-sloth, @notroosterbradshaw, @dezthegeek, @blessupblessup, @cherrycola27, @phoenix1389, @nicangelinee, @smells-like-perfect-senses, @boringusername3, @petlaufeyson, @cycbaby

#fic #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman #hangman x reader #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #soulmate au #glen powell #f!reader #disabled!reader #mute!reader #angst #fluff

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

No Words

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Jake "Hangman" Seresin, f!reader, Soulmate AU

Summary: In a world where your soulmate's first words to you appear on your arm on your 16th birthday, Jake Seresin is an anomaly. His words never appeared, and he has resigned himself to being alone forever. That is until someone catches his eye....

Word Count: 1380

TW: Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending

Note: Thank you to @reysorigins and @green-socks for reading this over for me and giving me the thumbs up. I love you guys!

From the time he was sixteen, Jake Seresin knew he was destined to end up alone. No matter what he did, no matter how good of a person he was, no matter how much he tried, it didn’t matter. He would never find his other half because, apparently, he didn’t have one. Unlike everyone else in the world, when he awoke on the morning of his sixteenth birthday, there was no tattoo on the inside of his forearm. There were no words scrolling across his skin that conveyed his soulmate’s first words to him. There was nothing except the blank canvas of his skin. 

The doctors told him that unfortunately, this sometimes happened. Either a soulmate would die before they could meet, they were in a distant location where their paths would never cross, or there was some default where someone was just not meant to have a soulmate. It was just how things were, and there was nothing Jake could do to change it. 

So, he did his best to accept that fact and move on. He dated and had flings and one-night stands. He even had a few long-term relationships. But in the end, none of them could last. Not while they both knew the truth. Over time, the attempts at meaningful relationships grew less and less as he became tired of the inevitable heartbreak. At least with a casual encounter, there was no hope that things would be different. That someone would want to stay with him regardless of the words on their arm or the clear skin on his.

But now at his age, he found it more difficult to find someone who wanted to be with him, even for one night. Either they had already found their soulmate or weren’t interested in wasting their time on him. After all, why settle for someone else when you knew your perfect match was still out there waiting for you?

And it didn’t help that all of his friends had found their soulmates. Bob had been one of the lucky few whose soulmate was actually the girl he was already dating when his words appeared. Then most of the other pilots had found their soulmates around the time they were attending the Naval Academy. For a while, it had just been him and Rooster, the two unmatched bachelors of the group. But since Rooster had stumbled upon his soulmate at a banquet celebrating the Dagger Mission, Jake found himself as the lone man standing. Now, more often than not, he would end up at the Hard Deck alone or remain long after everyone else left early to go home to their significant others. But since Jake didn’t have anyone to return home to, he preferred hanging around the bar with a drink to keep him company.

Tonight was no different. Rooster had left about twenty minutes ago and Jake was just finishing up his third beer. He glanced around the room, half-heartedly wondering if he should play a solo game of pool or darts. However, as his eyes passed over the corner of the bar near the jukebox, something drew his eye. 

You were beautiful, but so were most of the women he had been with. Yet it wasn’t your looks that made his breath catch in his throat and caused the skin on the inside of his forearm to itch. It was something deeper than that. And as he continued to stare, the rest of the room seemed to dim and fade away around him. Almost unconsciously, he left his table and walked over to where you were standing.

As he approached, you smiled at something the girl next to you said and you raised your drink to your mouth. But just before you could take a sip, you noticed Jake and you froze, the bottle resting on your bottom lip. As your eyes locked, Jake felt a jolt zip through him, almost as if he had been electrocuted, but in the best way. It was a sensation he had never felt before.

As his lips curled into his signature cocky grin, he said, “Hey there, pretty lady–”

However, before he could finish his pick-up line, the beer slipped from your fingers and shattered on the floor. The girl you had been talking to grabbed your shoulder, asking if you were okay, but you didn’t acknowledge her. All of your focus was on Jake, your eyes wide and your mouth gaping. 

But then you blinked, seemingly breaking the spell, and a brilliant smile spread across your lips, lighting up your entire face. Jake could see tears starting to well up in your eyes even as they refused to break contact with his.

Jake’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What? What did I say?”

You shook your head and held out your arm. There, in a thick, brash-looking font, were the words that Jake had just spoken. He stared at them in disbelief, then looked back up at your beaming face.

Taking a stunned step backward, he muttered, “No…. I didn’t think…. I-I don’t have a soulmate. See.” He held out his bare forearm.

You looked down at it as you ran your fingers tenderly over the place your words should be, sending a chill of pleasure up Jake’s spine. Then, when you gazed back at his face, there was a gleam of understanding in your eyes. You tapped your throat lightly and shook your head.

It took Jake a minute but then the truth hit him like a Tomahawk missile. Inhaling sharply, he whispered, “You can’t speak….”

Biting your lips and shifting slightly, you shook your head once more as your eyes drift to the floor. All the joy that had been on your face seconds ago drained away, replaced by unease as you anxiously rubbed your hand over your tattoo, and Jake realized that you probably interpreted his reaction as some sort of disappointment, though nothing could be farther from the truth.

Jake placed his finger under your chin and tilted your face until your gaze met his. All it took was an instant of staring into your eyes for him to know with all certainty that everything he had believed to that point had been a lie. He wasn’t broken, he wasn’t unlovable, he wasn’t unworthy. When he looked into your eyes, he felt whole for the first time since his sixteenth birthday. He had finally found his missing half. 

You still looked hesitant as you gazed back at him, not sure what he was thinking. But as he smiled, you did too. His finger still under your chin, Jake began to lean in. When he was just a few inches from your face, he paused, but the tiniest of nods you gave him was all the permission he needed. His lips pressed into yours, molding together as if they were made to be joined. The chill of pleasure from earlier returned, this time spreading throughout Jake’s entire body, and as he drew you closer, the feeling only intensified. It was an adrenaline rush unlike anything he had ever experienced on the ground or in the sky. You felt like air, and he was desperate for breath. Your hand slipped up the back of his neck to thread through his hair, and he knew that you felt the same way. 

Eventually, the two of you were forced to pry your lips apart. Both of you were panting slightly, and Jake couldn’t help but stare at your kiss-swollen lips, already dreaming of the next time he could feel them pressed against his own. 

Reaching up, Jake brushed his fingers across your cheek and he once again whispered, “Hey there, pretty lady.”

Beaming brightly, you grazed your fingers over the line of his jaw before reaching over to the table next to you. Grabbing the pen someone had left there after signing their check, you took Jake’s arm and flipped it over so his palm was facing up. Jake had spent over half his life staring at that spot, willing words to form there. And as you took the pen and began to write, his deepest desire finally became a reality. He had a soulmate, and he knew your first words to him.

What took you so long?

Taglist: @valoraxxx-blog, @m3laniehearts, @autumnleaves1991-blog,  @rule107, @vintageleather, @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak, @slutforadambanks, @americaarse, @reneki, @ynbutbetter , @sugarcoated-lame, @imagineadream, @sadpetalsstuff, @salty-thembo, @rachelizabethgraham, @duckandrobin, @queenbbarnes, @grincheveryday, @uselesslyromantic, @choochoo284, @littlebadariell, @blue-aconite, @thescarletknight2014, @dempy, @nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @shirley2996, @kkrenae

#fic #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman #hangman x reader #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #soulmate au #glen powell #f!reader #disabled!reader #mute!reader #angst #fluff

[punkeropercyjackson]

I relate to Percy Jackson on a spiritual level because i too wonder how in the goddamn hell men conforming to male expectations makes them more appealing.When they forgot what the word 'hot' means because they were that baffled at Thalia finding Apollo attractive,i felt that and when they choose Nico's faggy ass as their favorite boy ever,so did i

#ZTEKTSJETKDETDKZETKKDTTDZJ #percy jackson #transfem percy jackson #aroaceflux bi percy jackson #black percy #latino percy #autistic percy jackson #team parent percy jackson #punk!percy #pastel punk percy jackson #team mom percy jackson #thalia grace #nico di angelo #black grace siblings #black nico di angelo #trans nico di angelo #autistic thalia grace #trans thalia grace #ace thalia grace #disabled nico di angelo #pjo #hoo #tods #dead seapunk siblings #nico percy and thalia #big three kids #x black!reader #f slur cw #💌 #summerposting

[queenquinzel715]

Halfdan 18+

Wrd count 3,398

Y/n p.o.v

People always told my mother that twins were a true blessing of Freya, but when one is a crippled son while the other is a normal girl, it gets more difficult. My brother Ivar was born ten minutes after me, but he deems himself my boss. Growing up I was in charge of pulling Ivar everywhere I went, which was mostly to Uncle Floki's home. He taught us everything we needed to learn on how to be Viking. Most came to fear Ivar, but when I got caught in my own hunting cabin torturing a man that was watching over Kattegat. I got the nickname Galco which means monster. So far I've never been bothered by the name, people would run away, and I'd be left alone like I like.

Over the years my brothers have allowed me to be in charge of weapons, but of course I have my shadow behind me telling where I mess up.

"You have to sharpen that end or it won't snap into place." Ivar snaps over my shoulder.

"I know Ivar I'm not finished." I try to calmly respond.

"Don't snap at me, because you're to stupid to actually build weapons properly." He rolls his eyes with his sassy voice.

"Can't build…." I slam the arrow shooter down as I turn to him. "Ivar I've been building weapons while you were going crazy crawling after Floki, so would you shut up." I walk out of the work area we have in the blacksmiths.

I was stomping my way through Kattegat, people would jump out of my way, but one man kept following me without me even noticing. The brother of King Harald Finehair, Halfdan the Black, a man that has worked with my father and eldest brother, a man I've heard so many stories of, and admired since I began my own stories. I've heard he's been asking questions about me, and since the first stories that are told are my torture stories then I'd say it's good he wants to hear more. I'm opening my cabin's windows when I see a shoulder poking from behind a tree. I quickly grab my bow and arrow, shooting the tree in warning, and to my shock Halfdan jumps from behind with his hand up with a sly smirk on his face. I watch his every step as he walks across the field getting closer to the window.

"Why are you here?" I ask imitately.

"I heard of this cabin, and saw you coming out here. I thought I would get a look at your weapons." He seems to be speaking truthfully.

"Behind a tree?" I smirk at him as I lean on the window.

He seems to stagger a bit, but when I point to the door he walks inside. He eyes all the weapons I have hanging on the walls, but stops at my baskets of snakes.

"I tend to collect different snakes I see on my walks." I honestly tell him.

We get comfortable talking about the different weapons I have made or in the middle of making. He helps me finish the arrow shooter and advance another weapon I had. We tell stories as we work, mostly raiding stories, his England times, and I give him my details of my nickname sake. The way we move together is like we've been with each other for years. Once the sun starts to set I roast some meat and potatoes as we sit on the palette I have made of blankets and pillows.

"I still don't understand why Galco is your name. Why would a mother name a gorgeous girl like that?" He waves around the bone he has in his hand.

"My name is (y/n) Halfdan." I laugh. "People just call me that since I started torturing people." I take the plates away as I laugh.

"(Y/n) is much better." He compliments, standing up. "I'd much rather call you that." He's standing against my back now.

"Halfdan, you know my brothers will kill you if you continue to try this." I informed him.

"Love, do you think.." he runs his hands on my waist to connect them on my stomach. "I care about your brothers when I have a goddess like you in front of me." He softly kisses my shoulder, causing me to lean my head back. "I want you as mine (y/n)." He whispers to me as he moves his hands along my body. "I need someone who thinks like I do, who can handle my ways." He turns me around to face him.

"Halfdan, I take words seriously. If this happens then you are mine." I grab his arms so I can lean into him.

He deeply kisses me while he pulls me against his chest, and all I could do was move my hands to hold onto the back of his shoulders. Everything moves so fast as he pulls my dress off to me pulling his clothes apart. He slowly lays me onto the palette with a hand behind my head, and his arm around my waist. His lips move around my neck, shoulder, down my chest, and once to my breast he licks my nipple in circles. I hold onto the back of his head not really feeling anything in my body other than heat, and shaking.

"Halfdan please." I moan out as he kisses down.

His head goes in between my legs using his shoulders to keep them out of his way. I've never had a man do this to me before, and I'm angry at every man I've been with for not doing this amazing thing. I couldn't stop moaning his name loud, and having my back shoot up into an arch. He keeps moving his tongue around, but he adds his finger into me. With his finger curling up, his tongue circling around I tighten my legs around his head and cum so hard making him groan as he gets everything. As he stands on his knees he wipes his mouth, but his eyes stop me. They were almost black with a primal look, like he was claiming me completely just for him. I let my legs rest on his hips as he leans over me with his hard cock slowly entering making me gasp, but he kisses me as he bottoms out. I hold the back of his head with one hand, his side with the other as he starts moving. He rests his forehead against mine with a groan while I moan out. He grips my hip as he goes harder.

"Halfdan!" I yell from the stretch I've never felt.

"Mine" He groans, his head falling into my neck.

He starts pounding away like he lost all self power, and is letting everything go. I can't even begin to think of how good he feels from the non stop cumming. He lifts my legs higher to his shoulders making him go so much deeper than before. He's holding onto my hips using them to help him pound into me. My body arches as I let out a loud moan, but as I feel my body shake he groans loud.

"Fuck!" Halfdan finishes deep inside me with a tight grip on my hips.

He lets my legs fall as he slowly pulls out of me causing a surprise gasp to leave my mouth. He gives me a smirk as he leans back down to kiss me, and lay down next to me. I'm so relaxed my eyes won't open, and his body is so warm I don't want to move.

-Next Morning-

"Love, I have to get going." I'm woken up by Halfdan whispering into my ear.

"Then leave, why must I get up." I smirk at him.

He rolls his eyes before kissing me, rolling over me as his hands cage me to the pallet. He kisses around my face, neck, and down to my chest. He gives me a soft smirk as he stands.

"You have to get up, because I know your brothers will be looking for you if you aren't at breakfast." He holds his hand out to me.

"Ugh. I wish they'd let me be." I grumble as he helps me stand, but pulls me to his chest.

My naked body against his clothed body just makes him feel so much warmer than mine. He holds me by my lower back.

"I could always just take you with me. You'd be left alone… for the most part." He grabs me tighter causing me to laugh.

He gives me a last hug before leaving. I smile to myself as I lift my dress from the floor, but I almost lose my heart when an angry Ivar comes crutching his way into my cabin.

"Halfdan?! Have you…no no I know you've lost your mind!'' He yells pointing at his finger in my face.

"Ivar I'm a grown woman I don't need your approval. Now leave so I can get dressed in peace." I move to the small wall I have off to the side.

"Grown woman who's stupid enough to pick a man that won't actually care for you." He leaves once he realizes I'm not going to respond.

Not long after I'm about to reach the great hall when a body is thrown from the doors. Ubbe, Ivar, and Sigurd are glaring at the slowly moving body.

"You can beat me all you want, but (y/n) do as she wishes." I hear Halfdan tell my angry brothers.

"Well let's ask her ourselves." Hvitserk decides now to come outside, making everyone turn to me.

I can't move. I just look at my family, and then to the man I've actually felt normal with even before yesterday. He would always made me feel like a normal girl that liked a man. My brothers eye me like I'm some villain. Ivar shakes his head at me, because he knows what I'm going to do. He just doesn't know where. I give Halfdan one last look before bolting away from the great hall to the stables. I mount my horse, and push my poor girl as fast as she can until I reach the past the small river. I dismount to guide her into the water, going up the river, and getting out at the waterfall. I then ride my horse only a few miles til my father's cabin comes into view. This is the cabin he stayed in while he went into hiding. He only told me about this cabin, and I only come here for my moons.

It's only three days until we leave early for England. I'm glad I keep supplies up here. I know this seems cowardly, and Halfdan probably feels betrayed by me just leaving him there beaten up. I don't even understand why I ran. I just can't believe everything just flipped over night. One night my brothers, except Ivar, would eye me like I'm an angry dog that's one movement away from attacking, but now I'm their fragile little sister.

-Three days later-

I ride slowly into Kattegat with my head high as people point, and whisper about me, gods only know about what this time. I give my horse to the stable boy, and walk into the great hall as everyone is giving one last cheers to the gods for safe travels. I speak to no one as we load the boats, and set sail. I do keep looking over to King Finehair's boat to see Halfdan look over from time to time. I wish I actually talked to him, but I know he wouldn't want to speak with me.

As we get to England we start to build camp immediately. I'm helping with my tent as I looked over to see Halfdan move trunks of weapons to tents. I roll my eyes at my little girl act, and get to work. That night I swear I hear walking near my tent opening.

As I wake up, and get ready I find a new piece of armor that goes over my shoulders on the ground. I quickly strap them on as I walk to the front of lines with my brothers. Ubbe hugs me like always, giving me a quick nod, Hvitserk smirks at me from his spot, Sigurd touches axes with me, and as I step to Ivar's horse wagon he rolls his eyes at me.

"Don't die with those off-made weapons." He says as he ties his gloves.

"Don't worry I'll be close to protect you little brother." I laugh as he snaps his head to me.

"Ten minutes you awful…" He grumbles to himself. Cursing the Gods for giving him a twin.

Northumbria is an English kingdom my father spoke highly about, and since King Aelle is the one who killed our father we thought it'd be better to kill him first. The closer we march the faster my heart pounds the more I want to run ahead. The moment my axe makes contact with the Saxon's sword I get hit with my childhood of my father teaching me. The faces my father would make at my strength, at the precise strikes I'd make. I catch myself laughing at certain points in battle, and then laugh harder at myself.

Everything seems to stop once I hear my Viking family cheer I'm victory. I smile around catching my breath, but I'm spun around. Halfdan pulls me into a Saxon home, throwing everything on the ground, and putting me on the table. I grab hold of the table as he rips every strap in his way until he can finally push himself inside of me making me moan loud. I could only hold onto the table as Halfdan grip my hips in a bruising grip.

"You are mine." He grunts in my ear. "Think you can run from me, and act like I'm not here." He pulls out of me to quickly turn me around.

He enters me roughly again making the table scratch against the floor. He grips the ends of my hair to pull me up to have him bite my neck.

"HALFDAN!" I scream out as I shake against his body.

"What is it, love?" He mocks.

I keep moaning out as he grips my body in rough, tight grips. I can't gather any part of myself, but when he deeply groans with a final push so deep I get a sharp amazing feeling as he finishes inside me. He leans against me as we take deep breaths, and just cling to each other.

"I'm sorry I ran. I got scared with everyone looking at me." I tell him honestly.

"I know. I was going to wait until later, but I know your family's plans. I couldn't wait." We laugh at his last statement.

(Actual detail blood eagle)

He helps me tie everything in place in time for my brother's to collect King Aelle. My brothers Ubbe and Hvitserk tie him up as Ivar and I sharpen the tools we will use. Sigurd takes the first as Bjorn opens the great King open for me to crack his rib off. Ivar completes the rest, so Hvitserk can raise his arms to spread open more. We left him on the spot they dropped our father. We are joking like old times as we ride back to town where we set our new camp.

"So you and Halfdan?" Bjorn asks.

"Yea (y/n) him of all people." Hvitserk mocks.

"I don't think I could ever explain to you how I feel or how things are. However the Gods gave me a strong man, and I'm not going to question it." I laugh as we get to camp, and I go to my tent to bathe.

I have some of the girls help me with the water as I try to get as much of the blood off as I can before getting into the tub. I use some of the oils I found, and groan from the hot water. I can actually feel the knots untie along my back, some of the scars I have sting a little. My mind races from how battle went, what is to come, but I'm stopped with thoughts of Halfdan. I feel the water start cool, so I get out. As I wrap a linen around me Halfdan sneaks his way inside, making me stop in motion. He stops once he gets a look at me, and just falls to his knees.

"Goddess." He grumbles looking from my feet up to my eyes.

"Halfdan, get up." I laugh, but I'm stopped when he grabs the linen.

"I can't believe you are mine." He moves the linen over me to dry me off.

He helps me dry my whole body leaving soft kisses from my ankles as he rises to leave a long kiss on my lips. I smile at him, but when we hear my maids coming he tells me he'll see me at the celebration before running out.

I smile to myself as I walk into the celebration dinner in the town center. I'm about to sit next to Ubbe at the table when I hear Sigurd tormenting Ivar again, but something makes me snap my head at Ivar. He quickly grabs his axe, and throws it at Sigurd. I somehow grab it before it hits Sigurd. Everyone is quiet until Ivar crawls away with a shocked look on his face.

"Sigurd, I swear you never stop you torment. Next time I'll let him kill you if you don't learn to keep your mouth shut." I tell throwing the axe on the table.

He stands with a scowl as he steps closer.

"You're just defending him, because you know I'm right. No one, but other cares for him." That did it.

"Step back." I warn.

He comes closer with his hands reaching for his sword, but I stop him by putting Ivar's axe to his throat. Ubbe stands, but I give him one look making him sit back down with his eyes on his plate. I slowly feel a warm hand slide around my waist, and the other grab my wrist.

"Breath, love. He is your brother." Halfdan whispers to me as he takes the axe from my hand.

He slowly moves me from my brother's tables, and puts me in between him and King Finehair. I glare at Sigurd as Halfdan places a plate of food in front of me.

The rest of our time in England Sigurd stays away from me even though he and Ivar have made up. I will not tolerate him disrespecting me like he thinks he can with Ivar. I catch myself glaring at him as I help Halfdan pack up.

3rd pov

Ubbe watches his sister grow more and more dark toward Sigurd as he keeps being Sigurd. Even at her wedding to Halfdan. She doesn't even acknowledge her brother, Sigurd as he makes jokes on her life. She just whispers to Ivar, Halfdan, and her new King brother in law. It wasn't until (y/n) became pregnant that Ubbe understood what they whispered about. As (y/n) told her brothers of her new gift from the Gods Sigurd tried attacking her in her sleep the night before she was supposed to leave Kattegat to go to her new home in Norway. Ivar was waiting in her room to protect her, and (y/n) and Ivar killed Sigurd.

(Y/n) gives birth to two boys of perfect health, naming them Eirk and Egil. Once she is back raiding Ivar is king of Kattegat and tries to set up an attack on her, and her husband while they are planning to raid England with him. She ends up killing Ivar late at night, becoming Queen of Kattegat. Only to give birth shortly after to a girl, named Helga. She ends up giving Kattegat to Bjorn, so she can go home to Norway. Over time King Harald gives his kingdom to Halfdan when he gets too old, and still doesn't have sons. She dies with her pet owl watching over her howling as she goes to Valhalla to see her husband who died in the battle of Norway to keep our land from the Irish.

Fin

#x reader #x reader smut #smut #fluff #fandom #reader x oc #reader #romance #fanfic #disabled writer #halfdan fic #vikings halfdan #halfdan x reader #halfdan the black #halfdan the black x plus size reader #halfdan x f reader #halfdan x plus size reader #halfdan #vikings fic #vikings au #vikings history #vikings fandom #vikingsedit #vikings fanfic #vikings fanfiction #history vikings #vikings imagine #vikings x reader #vikings smut #vikings x you

[aspiring-writer-hidden-voice]

🐚

Horror widened his eyes as billows of smoke rose to blanket the sky, unhearing of the many people and emergency response sirens, the heart that had been hammering away within its cage falling oddly still. Flames were devouring the earth with ravenous vigor as they crawled with purpose towards where the city limit began. For a moment sounds threatened to deafen him when the call of a name came from chapped lips attempting to fight off quivers. The heels of his shoes dug into the ground in preparation to move forward.

“Wait! You can’t go out there!”

Pro Hero status came with its advantages. They could go places that the average civilian couldn’t hope to, for starters, but today it would bring him the privilege necessary to satisfy the swirling emotions threatening to burst forth.

“Red Riot!”

And then he was sprinting across the blackened earth, uncaring of the chorus following him.

Familiar trees and large stones marked a passage that his feet knew without conscious thought. They traversed over or under obstacles that would cause any unawares by surprise. The Pro Hero clothed in black and red paused just for a moment when after a near minute of sprinting, almost too faint for him to see, came the glisten of something reflective. Clouds of smoke prevented the moon from guiding his path, no stars to give direction, nor was there a breeze to ease burning lungs quickly filling with the burning ashes falling like snow. Blisters were threatening to form across his unprotected skin as he began running once more. Embers singed cloth, skin, and hair alike as he vaulted over a fallen tree to land heavily beside a crevice made between two rocks.

There wasn’t supposed to be one here.

The name rose from his lips again, this time in a hope of hearing an answer, as garnet eyes searched the surrounding area. The tree line ends just a little farther ahead of where he stood, meaning the shoreline wasn’t too far, which also went to reason that a specific residence was near. Silence rang loudly across the once beautiful shoreline in between the fire’s roars as he caught sight of a gut wrenching scene.

Underfoot the crunching of twigs gave way to hair rising crackling of fragile glass before it gave way to the grind of sand. Where trees met shore was blackened sea glass beach. Salt saturated waves cascaded over the usually breathtaking and colorful only to currently be wetting lackluster rocks. Flickering of lingering flames were just enough to illuminate a secret path that led towards a cluster of rocks to his right. Garnet followed the trail, as did their owner’s feet, until they came to a stop after rounding the imposing craggy coif side belonging to the upper hill that overlooked the area.

Nothing was left of the once bright two-story house filled with laughter and games. Even the ocean itself seemed sad of its demise as its frothy waves appeared to reach for the wooden path that had once led to a porches front stoop. All that was left was ruined piles of wood, broken tile, shattered glass, and various ruined belongings scattered about.

“Help!” Oxygen caught within his lungs as the faintest of echos tickled his ear, drawing his attention away from the completely destroyed residence that lay hidden between the rocks.

Not too far from where the pathway disappeared into the ocean was a flat rock that had often been used as a stage in childish games. How many times had the two of you played upon it? Surely it was impossible to count them. Though his family only visited here during the summers since a relative lived along the coast, meeting you had been purely by chance. He’d gotten lost along the beach in search of seashells to show family and friends once returning back to Japan when the tide had risen without his knowing, rendering him stranded upon that very same rock. Waves made it difficult for any to swim, including him. Unsureness filled him the sun had begun to set, the faint calls of his name belonging to that of his parents coming from the distance. Would he be stuck there all night?

Until from the bubbling waters rose a person whose gaze offered comfort.

“Are you stuck?”

So startled he’d been that initially the boy had been rendered stiff with shock as you extended your hand farther.

This didn’t deter you though. Instead, you came closer to him with great effort until your upper body was splayed across the stone. “I’ll tell you a secret if you let me help.” Curiosity shone so brightly within his gaze, though it was tainted with caution, but eased the shadow from those garnet gems by raising your lower half.

His eyes widened with wonderment as iridescent scales glittered in the fading sunlight over the horizon. Even in this minimal lighting it was clear for all to see the beautiful appendage now swaying thanks to the tide’s flow. “Wow!”

A smile lifted your lips when he shuffled closer, just within reach for the tip of your fin to tickle his cheek and earn a laugh. “Will you let me help now?”

Hesitation shone brightly within his gaze as it flitted down to the water lapping at his bare feet. “But I’ll be swept away.”

“I promise to get you back to the human world in one piece. You have my word!” You proudly waved your fin. “My pride as a mermaid it at stake!”

“So you really are one?!” Eijiro’s eyes were nearly popping out of his skull as you laughed.

The droplet that had gathered within the corner of your eye was wiped away courtesy of a fingertip. “Of course not, silly, its just my quirk that makes me look like one.”

All excitement dwindled as you confessed that it seemed to have a mind of its own. “So you can’t control it?”

Your fingertip appeared inches from his face. “Talk later, rescue now. Are you going to let me or not?” When it still seemed as though he was hesitating, you winked and offered him your hand again. “I know it’s scary but it’s better to be manly than dead. Trust me.”

Before he’d realized it himself, his hand had found yours and the two of you were back on shore in the blink of an eye. Though he’d been soaking wet there had been no mistaking the firm ground beneath as he crab crawled away from the ocean’s reach. That was when he saw it, or specifically saw you, reach for something that seemed so out of place: a wheelchair. He had watched with wide eyes as you hoisted yourself up into the seat then went about situating the fish fin attached at your waist.

“(Y/n)!” Red Riot shouted, his gaze combing over every inch of the scorched beach in hopes of seeing familiar tire tracks.

He was embarrassed when you offered a bright smile; clearly you’d felt his stare. “Sorry—”

“No, it’s fine!” You waved away his apology before it could be fully voiced. “I don’t let it get me down! It’s actually super helpful for my family. Since it likes to act on its own, especially when its least convenient, it easier to get around like this than just flopping around uselessly or crawling everywhere. Trust me when I say that the ground is much dirtier than one thinks. Mom was nearly at her wits end when I had to drag myself through a carnival. That funnel cake and chili dog doomed that outfit real quick.”

“What are those?”

Judging from the expression of understanding that crossed your face, it must’ve clicked that he was no local. Still you smiled and cooed. “Stick around long enough and I can show you. They’re the greatest foods in the whole entire world!”

His gaze drifted back down to your lower body. “How long until you turn back?”

“Dunno.” You shrugged, though he could see the briefest appearance of disdain within your gaze despite it being focused upon the ground. One of your hands absentmindedly stroked the metal. “Can’t use my legs very well anyway so this chair is pretty much how I get around. My family moved here just so that I could have some form of freedom to go where I want. Land is kinda hard for me but the water is my whole world.” A blush tinged your cheeks pink as his gaze met yours. “I mean who can say they turn into a freakin’ mermaid thanks to their quirk? I love the ocean so it’s no loss for me! I get to spend as much time in it as I like…or at least until my quirk decides enough’s enough.”

“(Y/n)!”

All summer the two of you had spent time together. True to your words a carnival had appeared just close enough for you to show him the wonderment you’d spoken about. And, of course, he was over the moon with how amazing everything was down to the smallest popcorn kernel that nearly toppled your wheelchair. For nearly two whole months he watched you go beyond Plus Ultra by overcoming your physical disability. More importantly, doing so allowed his eyes to be opened farther in understanding of just what it meant to be a hero. You would be the first to offer help to other lost tourists, assist children who’d strayed too far from their family’s umbrella or too scared to enter the ocean’s playful surf. Nearly every day that he came to the beach there you were wearing a smile.

Desperation was beginning to fill him as despite his careful search there was no sign of your presence. No tire tracks, no telltale signs that someone had crawled from one point to another, and there was no indication that anyone had lingered behind after the evacuation sirens sounded.

How had he been assigned to California, USA in the first place? The answer was simple: All Might recommended him to a hero agency that happened to be close by to where you lived. Accepting the offer to train beneath the American heroes was easily made.

Calamity though had a wicked sense of humor.

No sooner had his feet met the concrete and asphalt covered soil did villains strike the coastline.

Which led him to the current situation.

“I found your family, (Y/n), they’re waiting for you at the rendezvous point!” Red Riot’s focused exterior faltered for just a moment, allowing Eijiro’s worry and concern show through, until it was smoothed over when spotting something clatter across the ground to lightly tap against his boot. It was the sign he needed and he immediately shed any unnecessary clothing before diving into the salty ocean.

It was the shell you always left on the beach to let your family know that you’d gone into the water.

His head broke through the surface with a gasp before your own joined, gasping and sputtering while leaning heavily against the man who supported you. A wave sent you both tumbling onto the beach until the two of you were flat on your backs. Despite being tossed around like rag dolls, his hand had never relinquished its hold upon yours. It was when he tilted his head to get a better look at you that he saw your tears. “I gotcha,” he soothed while enclosing you within a tight embrace, “it was my turn to rescue you this time.” The broad, heaving muscles of his chest did little to stem your quivering as you explained that the fires had scared you into the ocean despite your family still being in town. A tendon within his jaw grew taunt when you confessed that your quirk had deactivated itself just when high tide was ebbing, meaning you’d been nearly stranded upon the rock platform not too far away, leaving you alone to watch as the fire consumed your home. His hold on you grew more when, while sobbing, you’d been driven back into the water during the villain’s retreat so as not to be taken as a hostage or worse. “You were amazing, (Y/n)! So freaking manly I’m almost jealous!”

Your wide eyes still filled with tears rose to meet his own as he sat up with you cradled within his lap. “W-what?”

The mask obscuring his face was torn away with a sharp toothed grin. “Guess who!”

All of the fear that had been threatening to choke you instantly vanished when seeing his smile and hearing him call your name. Somehow, someway, that cautious little Japanese boy had returned just in time to fulfill his promise to one day save you as you had him. Sinking to the bottom of the ocean once your quirk had deactivated itself left you regretting not asking for him to stay in touch. Who would’ve guessed that your heart had developed feelings for him or that you realized what they meant the hour you found out he’d returned home? Your arms wrapped around his neck until his forehead met yours, the tears streaming down your face no longer belonging to fear but to happiness as he returned the embrace by wrapping an arm around your waist and the other your shoulders.

#mha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #mha #mha x you #bnha x you #bnha fluff #mha fluff #eijiro x y/n #eijiro x reader #eijiro kirishima #f!reader #physical disability #kirishima eijiro fluff

[naerwenia]

More x reader fics?

If I were to write more Mozus Trein x reader fics, what would you like to see? What is your favourite aspect of the relationship? Teacher-student dynamic/relationship? Daddy issues? Older man, younger woman? More shibari and more in-depth dom/sub relationship?

Thrawn and Tarkin are also a possibility. I still think my Grand Moff Tarkin fics have been my favourites to write, even if those are quite niche. I enjoy thinking about the motives and implications of actions and inactions, so powerful men indulging in sins of the flesh is always interesting to write. 

I really think I will lean more heavily to writing disabled/neurodivergent/mentally ill readers, maybe to process my own differences, to discuss issues like meds, trauma, how fucking humiliating it is when people talk to my friend rather than to me about me, about what I want to order or if I need help, while I’m right there, just in a wheelchair.

I have small ideas in my head, but no real concrete ideas to write, so I’m screaming into the void if there’s something someone somewhere might like. I still have my Dead by Daylight Doctor x OC fic on the back burner, just waiting for me to finalize the secret plan discussed in it.

#x reader #x female reader #x f!reader #reader insert #mozus trein x reader #thrawn x reader #tarkin x reader #disabled reader

[flowersandbigteeth]

Would you ever consider doing an Orc royalty arranged marriage? The Orcs have taken over a Human kingdom, because of their low birthrate (and because humans are universal breeders). The Orcs start scanning the Humans in their newly conquered territory for the most genetically compatible mates, which the royalty obviously gets the first pick of because the royal line is seen as the most important. Reader happens to be the most compatible with a member of the nobility, or maybe even the royal family, and so is married off to Orc King/warlord or the Warlord’s son/the crown prince/heir.

Yes! This one was so fun to write ^_^. I had an idea for a reader with a speech disability in my drafts, and this seemed like the perfect scenario to use it. It's a little long and very fluffy. Now that I've done this one, I kind of want to do one about Vola's romance, as well. (how they met, etc.)

Orc King (Golmad) x f reader with speech disability

Word Count: 8k

TW: there is a lot of orc fluff followed by nsfw orc smut, p in v sex, some light violence, bullying by family member, arranged marriage, size difference

“Straighten your back (Y/N),” your mother snapped as she adjusted the obnoxious pink bow on your head. “You must look perfect for the King.” 

She wrinkled her nose at you. 

“Considering your…deformity…You need to look as pretty as possible, so he won't toss you aside.” 

“Oh, shut it, Mauria!” Your father chuckled, taking a thirsty sip of his wine. “A silent wife is a blessing! He’s gonna be thrilled!”  

She gave him a withering look before turning back to you and fussing with a lock of hair. Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but as usual, you said nothing. 

“Don't make that face, darling, smile!” 

You pasted a fake smile on your lips, wishing you could be anywhere else. She licked her thumb and rubbed some stray blush off your cheek before she took a step back, looking you over. 

“Wonderful! Like a little doll!” 

“Oh look, the future Queen,” your perfect big sister Starla sneered as she wandered to the pile of olives at your father's side, popping one in her mouth. “You sure you don't want to fuck one of the stableboys before that Orc splits you in two? I’d hate for you to die before you have your first orgasm!” 

She and your father cackled in laughter, but your mother frowned. Not because she insulted you, but because your mother was the pinnacle of decorum. 

“Don't talk like that, Starla. It makes you sound cheap. You're going to be Queen soon. You need to learn grace and discretion.” 

She snorted, grabbing your father's goblet of wine and taking a big gulp.

“When I'm Queen, Rotham will defeat all these miserable monsters and put their heads on pikes! Too bad (Y/N) won't live to see it after that awful creature snaps her like a twig!” 

Your smile fell, and you looked away. As the oldest daughter, Starla should have been the offering to the King of the Orcs. But Starla was beautiful and brilliant and talented and popular and…blah blah blah. Your parents couldn’t waste her on the insurgent Orc king. The nobles all thought they’d make a comeback, stage a coup, and everything would go back as it should be. Starla would marry the human prince, Rotham, still in hiding, and become the real Queen. 

You were the spare, a sacrifice to placate the enemy. Suffering a sickness as a child, your vocal cords were fused. You couldn't speak or make any noise other than whimpers and mewls. The snobby nobles your parents spent time with had labeled you damaged. When they bothered to speak to you, they acted as though you were dim, as well, which you were not. That was the only thing you surpassed Starla at, you were a very fast reader and quite good with math. 

When the Orcs overthrew the former King, they said they were looking for fertile human wives. Humans bore children at twice the rate of the Orcs, so they’d taken the kingdom to secure their hold on the region with big, robust families. 

 You were all required to submit a blood sample to determine if you were compatible, and then you'd be assigned to an Orc husband. Your mother didn't dare submit Starla’s blood. She had to remain untouched for the human prince. So she sent yours and one of the maids. Yours was a match…to the King. 

You all turned as an Orc dressed in fine livery appeared at the door. 

“The King will see you now,” he said, then turned and left. 

“Look how they dress themselves,” Starla whispered. “As if they're civilized! What a joke! He didn't even stay to escort us! Savages.” 

Your parents chittered while you sucked in a deep breath. Your mother shoved you through the door, eager to get to the negotiations, her favorite part of any encounter. 

“Back straight! Chin up! You are representing our family.” 

You stumbled forward, following the direction the Orc butler had gone. You'd been in the castle before, attending court with your parents, but as you stepped into the large hall, you saw it had all changed. 

The old tapestries had been torn down, replaced with large pelts of animals you'd never even seen before, their heads preserved and their eyes replaced with glass balls. The old wooden furniture was now twisted iron, probably made by the mountain dwarves, allies of the Orcs. They’d provided most of the weapons that led them to victory. The new flag, green with a bear and an axe pictured in silhouette, was hanging behind his throne. 

Orcs lined the gallery, laughing and chattering, but they all fell silent as you entered. You took a thick breath, forcing yourself to put one foot in front of the other and ignore their curious eyes. 

You heard Starla snort behind you as if this was all hilarious. Her disdain made you lift your chin. You would not go to the King as her joke. 

Your first glimpse of your future husband from across the long hall made your eyes widen. Even from far away, he was massive. He must have been nine or ten feet tall and wide as an Ox. 

On his broad shoulders, he wore a thick fur stole over a neat indigo shirt lined with the same cream fur. His thick legs were tucked in matching navy pants and imposing black boots. His outfit was surprisingly human. Behind him, massive shining weapons were arranged on a stand, just within arm's reach. 

When you arrived at the end of the carpet leading you to him, you curtsied as you'd been taught. 

You couldn't greet him verbally, so you waited for your mother to present you. 

“Your majesty!” She crooned. “Please let me present my lovely daughter (Y/N), your perfect blood match!” 

You tried not to tremble in front of him, but this close, he was so very large! His gold eyes passed over you, cool as cold metal. You’d never seen an Orc close-up before, and everyone had told you they were ugly, but the King in front of you was…not. No, he didn't look human, but his jaw was thick and sharp, and his eyes were a beautiful, rich color, like the setting sun. 

Thick black hair fell over one shoulder, shaved to the skin on one side. A full bottom lip wrapped around large tusks that were more exciting than unappealing. His skin was flawless, olive green that reminded you of a mossy forest. Everything about his countenance screamed royalty, though he didn't wear a crown like a human King, his head tipped up, unafraid and confident. Instead, a chunky gold chain link necklace hung around his neck, with a large diamond set at the center, identifying him as the regent.

Your breath became labored as the reality that he would soon be your husband set in. You had no idea how you could be compatible. He was almost twice your height!  

The King nodded for your mother to go on. 

“Unfortunately, my dear daughter suffered a sickness in her youth that stole her voice, but she's otherwise healthy, untouched, and fertile. Fit for a crea- King.”

The casual discussion of your sexual history in front of a hundred-odd strangers made you blush and dip the chin you'd been trying so hard to keep up.  Before you could stop it, a tear slipped down your cheek, and you hurriedly wiped it away, probably smearing blush across your cheek. Behind you, your sister snickered. 

You peered back up at the King, wondering if he was disappointed. His eyes darted to her, and his frown deepened before they returned to you. Your heart sank, assuming he was comparing you to your stunning sister. Instead, he did the last thing you expected. He signed to you. 

“Is your family always this tiresome?”

You released an audible gasp, one of the few sounds you could make, but signed back. Learning to read sign language was something your parents and sister never bothered to do. You’d learned from the kind chaplain at the church, one of the few places your mother allowed you to go alone. He thought you ought to have a way to communicate that didn’t involve scribbling notes on paper—your parents and pretty much everyone else preferred to communicate at you, not with you. 

“I'm sorry if they displease you, Your Majesty.” 

A wide smile spread on his lips as he signed back. 

“You are incredibly polite for the daughter of such fools.”

You giggled, and your parent’s wide eyes danced between you. 

“You don't have to see them again if you'd rather not.”

At that, your breath caught in your throat, and you chose your next thought carefully. 

“Please don't kill them, Your Majesty.”

That drew a deep chuckle from his throat. It was rich and smooth, like chocolate. 

“Since you asked so politely….but if you change your mind, just let me know.”

You gave him a tight nod, unsure if he was joking or not. 

Your mother, not appreciating being out of the loop, cleared her throat. 

“Since the two of you seem to be getting along so…familiarly…there's only the matter of the reward you promised. Of course, considering the status of the match, (Y/N) being the Queen and all…we expect a significant...investment.”

The Orcs promised to compensate every family for whichever daughter they took. It was the only way they could get the citizenry not to revolt at every turn. Making each daughter valuable in gold appealed to their sensibilities, especially after the draining war. A thick eyebrow shot up on the King’s face, and your mother continued with her pitch. 

“You wouldn't want the family of the Queen living in squalor. Not because we are greedy, of course. Never that. We are incredibly humble. But we lost a great deal of our fortune during the war. What would the citizens think? You don't want them assuming you scraped some farm girl from the manure pile. We are a noble family and must exude a certain level of status, don't you agree? Especially considering her condition.” 

Your eyes widened that your mother would be so bold, but his eyes shifted to her and narrowed. He rolled a finger in her direction, signaling her to go on.   

“What exactly do you mean about her condition?” 

Seeing an opening, your mother gave him a genteel smile. 

“Well, we understand that (Y/N) will never take an active role in your rule- Her value lies in the heirs she can produce.” 

“And isn't that a blessing?” Your father piped in. “A pretty little quiet wife is preferable, no? Worth twice a chatty wench!” 

Your mother shot him a look, and swatted him. 

“I'm just saying…” he muttered before she went on. 

“What I mean is…people will assume things about her. Due to our status, the nobles all know she’s…not all there. I don't know how it is for Orcs, but the court here is…discerning.” 

She turned to Starla. 

“If my other daughter had been at all match, we would have sent her since she's a far superior candidate for Queen. Pity it didn't work out that way. In any case, I'm only thinking of your image.”

He glanced at you, signing. 

“Are you sure about keeping them alive? I’m growing tired of this nattering, aren’t you?”

You giggled again, your mother shooting you a look full of vinegar.  

“Killing them is probably not a good plan. My mother is made of tough stuff…I'm sure she’ll return as a noisy wraith and torment you about your posture,” you signed back.  

He let out a roll of laughter, crooking his finger at you. Blushing, your eyebrows rose, but you took slow steps towards him. When you were within grabbing reach, he snapped you up and settled you on his lap. He was very warm compared to the lofty, cool hall and smelled like ginger and leather. You couldn’t help but stroke the shiny black hair that fell on your side of his shoulder. You didn’t mean to be so curious, but you’d never seen an Orc up close, and he was quite the specimen. His skin was smooth and velvety to the touch. Without thinking, you poked one of his tusks with your finger. He flashed you a smile, amused at your interest, before he returned to your mother. 

“Since you are all so thoughtfully concerned with my image, it would be best to make you at home here, in the castle. You can get a taste of Orc society. You won't need any gold here. All your needs will be provided for.” 

Your mouth fell open, trying to read his thoughts, but he only smirked at you. 

“How…kind, your majesty,” your mother said, ever the diplomat. 

Starla was not happy and stomped her foot. 

“Mother! You can’t be serious! I can't be seen with these savages! Rotham will think I've been touched by beasts!” 

Your hand clapped over your mouth, never thinking clever Starla would say something so brash. 

The King’s face turned severe. His easy smile had tricked you into thinking he was a gentle giant, but his business face was terrifying. You were thankful it wasn't directed at you. 

“Rotham? Our enemy's son, leading a band of traitorous supporters? Are you saying you are harboring a fugitive and dare to show your face in my court?” 

Starla backpedaled as quickly as she could. 

“Of course not, Your Majesty, it's…it’s…another Rotham…a man from the village…a…butcher.” 

He relaxed. Which was odd to you because you knew he didn't believe her lie. 

“Good. He should be pleased he has a chance with the Queen’s sister. You can invite him to dinner if you like.” 

Starla’s face blanched, but she nodded obediently. He waved at one of the Orcs standing to the side. 

“Show them to their quarters. We will convene for a meal to welcome our new Queen shortly.” 

 When they were gone, the King turned his attention back to you.

“Would you like the chef to prepare something special for your first dinner in the castle?” 

You had no idea what to say. No one had ever asked your preference or opinion on anything. 

“We should eat what is traditional. You are welcoming me into your family, Your Majesty. I’d like to know more about your customs.”

Though he seemed satisfied with your answer, he waved a dismissive hand at you. 

“Don't call me Your Majesty. We're meant to be married. My name is Golmad.” 

He fingerspelled the letters, then showed you the sign he used for it– the gestures for gold and bear, together. You returned the sign you used for your own name. 

“May I ask a question, Golmad?” 

“Anything. I don't want you to fear me, (Y/N).”  

You organized your thoughts for a moment before you formulated your question. 

“Why do you know sign language? I can hear; you could speak if it is easier.” 

He looked you over, his expression warm. 

“I learned for you. I wanted to speak to you in your language. I knew you were for me long before you took the test– over a year ago. The test is for your human sensibilities. Your people don't rely on instinct. Demanding the test makes it something they can understand. I know by scent your sister is compatible, as well. But I don't desire her.”

Your eyebrows popped up at that admission, and your heart thumped in your chest. You never expected such care from a battle-hardened Orc king. 

“But how? I've never seen you before!” 

He smirked. 

“We Orcs are stealthier than you humans know. It's in our nature to hunt our match.” 

You frowned, a vicious thought pricking your mind. 

“Did you pick me because I'm silent?” 

His eyes narrowed, but the expression they held was not cruel. 

“You are not silent. You speak differently, but you are not a doll without thoughts. Your mother is wrong. You are the best candidate to be Queen. If I had chosen your sister, do you think she would have appeared before me as you did?” 

He patted your chest, not to fondle you, but over your heart. 

“You are a survivor, brave, and virtuous. I trust you at my side.” 

You gasped, feeling more seen than ever before, but also the weight of the responsibilities on your shoulders.

“Now, we must prepare you for Orc society.”

He tugged the big bow on your head, tossing it on the floor when he'd pulled it loose. 

“An Orc Queen will not be dressed like a puppy.”

A smile spread across his lips, and he stood, so large he could carry you with very little effort. As you passed the Orcs lining the hall, they bowed to the two of you, giving you the first taste of what it meant to be Queen. 

The bedroom he brought you to was very different from a human King’s bedroom. It had more plants than furniture, large leafy vegetation planted in a generous selection of iron pots. His bed reminded you of a nest, a wide pallet layered with thick furs in colors ranging from white to rust red to pitch black. There wasn't a spot you could stand in the room where a weapon was not in reach. Axes and swords were mounted on the walls, and iron stands on the floor. Daggers of varying sizes seemed splayed haphazardly on every horizontal surface. 

Golmad set you down and began stripping off the clothes he wore. Your cheeks burned as he revealed thick muscle after thick muscle, but you were also a bit frightened. Was he going to take you now? His eyes met yours, which had to be as large as saucers. 

“I only wore this to speak with your parents. There is wisdom in accommodating humans occasionally. They see us as monsters. Dressing like them makes them more comfortable, but now that you are mine, they will need to grow accustomed to our culture.” 

You nodded, forcing your mouth closed, and he stopped undressing when he got to his pants. The bulky planes of his chest were plenty of eye candy. You weren't sure if you were ready for the rest. 

He let out a loud call, and two Orc women appeared at the door, holding folded stacks of fur and leather.

“These are my sisters Vola and Cayenne. Don't mind their doting. Orc families are very affectionate.”

They gave you a polite bow. 

“Greetings, Your Majesty,” they signed together after they’d deposited the fabrics on a table. When Golmad stepped out of the way, they circled you with big smiles, patting your hair and pinching your cheeks as if you were a new kitten. 

“She’s so cute!” 

“I didn't believe she would be so tiny, but look at her. Precious!” 

Cayenne spun you around, examining your form. You weren’t exactly tiny in human terms, but compared to them, you were short stack. 

“We must choose something daring!” 

Vola nodded.

“Like a little wildcat!” 

You signed to Golmad, a little surprised at their sweetness. They even learned sign language for you! 

“The nobleman said the Orc women resent us and that they'll rip us to bits for stealing their men.” 

He chuckled. 

“That's nothing but propaganda. They want babies just as much as the males. A stout, fertile, submissive human husband is ideal for caring for their pups. Your people are obsessed with the purity of their women. We never had to organize a silly test for the males. The Orcesses just bop their mate on the head and drag him home.” 

He gave you a conspiratorial grin, his gold eyes glittering. 

I have a surprise for you at dinner. I think you’ll find it quite funny. 

You blinked, absorbing that fact, but decided to tuck it away for now and focus on what was happening in front of you. 

“It was kind of your sisters to learn sign language.” 

He looked slightly bashful at that comment, his green cheeks burning a bit darker. 

“Everyone is required to learn. Your staff will speak to you in your own language, not at you. Though I initially ordered it to accommodate you, we've since found tremendous value in practicing the skill.“

You didn't have time to think much more about it as the Orcesses started stripping your heavy dress off. Your cheeks burned as Golmad’s eyes roved over your bare skin, an appreciative glint in them. 

Vola wrapped a soft, asymmetrical skirt of spotted fur around your waist, and Cayenne pulled a leather crop top over your breasts. Then she secured a thick belt on top of your hips. She turned and started picking up and putting down daggers. Once she’d decided on the right one, she sheathed it in its stop at your side. 

“This one is perfect for you,” she explained—”light and sharp. You don't need might to wield a blade. Only speed and endurance.” 

She patted it. 

“We’ll help you train. Every Orc does morning training together before breakfast. We are a communal people. Training is another way to reinforce community. We hash out our disagreements on the training mat, and by the time we sit for our meal we are all on the same page. Our strength is not just our size. We win wars because our bonds are unbreakable.”

You nodded, feeling very special to be trusted with their secrets. 

They finished the outfit with fur-lined boots and a diamond necklace matching Golmad’s. Cayenne produced a makeup stick, drawing a long line across your nose from one cheek to the other and vertical lines from the center of your eyes down to your chin. 

“This is traditional for the Queen. We don’t wear crowns like your people. These markings identify your position at special events. When you are officially married, there will be tattoos and you won’t need the makeup anymore.” 

You blinked at her, wondering what your mother would say to that. An Orc appeared in the doorway, not dressed in human clothes. Instead, he wore leather pants, and was shirtless with an axe strapped to his back. 

He spoke as he signed, showing his respect for you. 

“Dinner is ready, Your Majesty.” 

You swallowed deeply as you were about to meet your future subjects, wearing less clothing than you’d ever worn in public before. Your arms and stomach were bare, as well as one leg where the skirt split. Golmad scooped you up and plopped you on his shoulder as he carried you to the dinner hall. You could hear the raucous laughter of Orcs celebrating, but when you walked through the door, all were silent and bowed in unison. 

It was difficult to find them amid the massive Orcs, but you finally spotted your family seated at the long table at the right of the King and Queen’s seats. Starla was dressed to impress in a low-cut gown emphasizing her assets, though she looked disgusted at the Orcs around her. When your mother caught sight of you, her mouth opened, and she covered it in horror as if they’d done something terrible to you. 

Golmad waved a hand, and the Orcs all took their seats at the table. As he got comfortable, arranging you on his lap, his sister Vola sat down with a familiar man on her lap. 

“Rotham?!” your sister screeched. “What the fuck are you doing here?!” 

You felt Golmad’s body shudder underneath you as he chuckled. Vola shot a glare at Starla, petting Rotham’s head. His cheeks darkened just a bit, but he snuggled against her ample breasts. 

“Don’t speak so familiarly with my mate,” Vola spat. 

Starla’s eyes looked like they might pop out of her head. 

“Rotham, how could you? We were supposed to be married! I was supposed to be Queen! How can you lay with that…monster?! What about your people? YOUR COUNTRY?” 

The table had grown silent as everyone watched the drama play out. 

“Vola is my mate,” Rotham said, looking down his nose at her. “I love her! Why would I want to sit on a throne waiting for someone pretending to be my friend to stab me in the back and fuck my wife when I can stay cozy and safe tending Vola’s hearth?” 

He shook his head as if he were knocking something unpleasant out of it. 

“Why do I have to be King, anyway?! Just because I'm a man? You know what, Starla? You've never once asked what I wanted! Do you realize that? You don't care about what I want, only that I fulfill what fantasy you have about conquering the Orcs and obtaining a sparkly trinket. You'd be happy to stand on the sidelines like a swooning maiden, spending money you haven't earned on meaningless crap, while I risk my life and limbs for a battle I don't even care about!”

Starla looked incensed, shocked, and confused by his position. 

“But she's a monster, Rotham. The enemy!”

His brow drew and jabbed a finger at her. 

“Don’t you dare call my mate a monster; she is no enemy! It’s cruel and disrespectful. Vola loves me for me! She likes my cooking! She kisses me when I get hurt! She listens to my fears and helps me accomplish my goals! My goals! Not a bunch of spoiled noble's goals. 

I'm warning you, don't provoke her. I don’t love you, but I don’t want to see you harmed, either.” 

His smile met Vola’s before his eyes dipped to her body, looking quite pleased with his wife. 

Starla stood up, knocking over her chair as her sense dissolved with her dream of becoming Queen. The real Starla came out, the snotty girl who used to throw tantrums when she didn’t get a toy she wanted at the Goddesses’ Supper.

“Kissing your boo-boos like a sniveling child? Chasing frivolous goals? What the fuck are you talking about? You are royalty! You have a responsibility to the country! To me! What could possibly be more appealing than being the King?” 

Rotham huffed. 

“I want to be a baker! That's all I ever wanted to do, and because I was born my father's child, I never even had the option to try. My parents planned out my life, then advisors, then generals, and even you. I could never do what I wanted. I was scolded if I ever went near the kitchen, even to bake in my spare time! It was hell!” 

Starla snorted. 

“A baker?! That's work for common folk! It's beneath you! You’re throwing away the crown to bake cookies?! That’s pathetic! Stop this nonsense right now!” 

Vola growled. 

“Do not speak to my mate that way. Rotham deserves to be as free as any of us. He's an excellent baker. You're just sour he's not putting himself in harm's way to elevate your status!” 

Starla's eyes narrowed on Vola.

“How dare you think, you, a filthy beast, are worthy of a Prince?! MY PRINCE?! You’re nothing but an ugly ogre!” 

You felt the tension rise as every Orc leaned in, watching what would happen next. Vola gave her a cool smile. 

“Do you mean to challenge me for my mate, little girl?” 

“He’s not your mate! He’s mine! MINE!” 

Golmad held up a hand. 

“The human has declared an official challenge for Vola’s mate. Take her to the ring.” 

Starla screamed as an Orc picked her up and awkwardly carried her out of the room. Everyone else at the table followed, including your parents, whispering between each other.

The battle ring was a simple dirt circle with thick ropes marking its outline. By the time you and Golmad arrived, Starla had been placed in the center, and someone had armed her with a thin rapier, probably the only weapon in the arsenal against the wall she could lift. 

You could see the terror on her face when Vola set Rotham down next to you and entered the ring, cracking her knuckles. 

“Wait! Wait! This is madness!” Starla screamed, realizing there was no chance she would win this fight. 

Golmad waved her screams away. 

“In our tradition, a mate challenge is binding. You should not have spoken so carelessly if you did not want to fight. You must follow through. Prepare yourself! Begin!” 

Your heart raced, wondering if you should do something to save your sister. Golmad caught your worried expression and signed to you with a small smile. 

“She won’t kill her. Death’s not necessary to teach her a lesson.” 

You let out a breath of relief, leaning into Golmad’s warm body. The two competitors circled one another…rather, Vola circled Starla, and Starla looked for an exit. The Orcs packed tightly around the ring, and there was no gap to escape. When she realized there was no way out, she raised her weapon with two hands as best as possible. 

“Stay back, beast! I’ll cut you!” 

Vola laughed, darting forward so fast she was only a green blur. You heard a crack, and Starla smacked the dirt, blood spraying across her pretty dress. Mercifully, Vola didn’t knock her out. Starla’s whining voice drifted up from the ground. 

“My nose! She broke my fucking nose!” 

Vola snatched her weapon up and pointed the blade at her throat. 

“Do you concede?” 

Starla’s eyes got big. She focused on the tip of the rapier and nodded. 

To make her point, Vola adjusted her grip and stabbed the sword into the ground next to Starla’s head. A clump of her hair fluttered to the ground beside her. 

Leaning in so close to her that their noses almost touched, Vola pinned her with an icy glare. 

“The next time you raise your voice to my mate, I will not miss, little girl.” 

Golmad lifted a hand, ending the fight. 

“Vola has defended her claim! To dinner!” 

The Orcs cheered, but Rotham cheered the loudest. When she returned to him, he squeezed her biceps, looking up at her with stars in his eyes. 

“You're so strong! You were fast, too, like a beautiful bolt of lightning!”

“Rotham, please…” Starla whimpered from the dirt, hoping to get sympathy from him. 

He only frowned and turned away. Vola scooped him up, swinging him around while she kissed him. 

“I'll always protect you and your honor, my darling,” she said. “To my dying breath.” 

They and the other Orcs piled out of the room, leaving your parents to help Starla with her bloody nose. As Golmad carried you out, you heard them speaking to her as your mother helped her to her feet. 

“Don’t be difficult, Starla. We need to return to the table. Buck up.” 

“Are you insane? My nose is broken, and I’m covered in blood! I’m not going back there!” 

For once, you heard your father sound stern. 

“You got yourself into this foolishness, Starla. If Rotham is not leading a rebellion, we must find favor with our new King. We cannot be absent from (Y/N)’s dinner. It would be disrespectful, and we don't have the money to live up to the standards we're used to without her grace! Living here is our best option. I’m not going to be tossed on the street to defend your ego.” 

When Golmad set you on his lap at the head of the table, Starla sulkily took her place beside your mother, a napkin on her nose to slow the bleeding. When she did look up from her plate, it was to glare across the table at Vola and Rotham, caught up in their own banter between lovers. 

Golmad cleared his throat to call everyone to attention, and the noise quickly quieted. 

He signed as he spoke, so everyone could understand. 

“We come together for this meal to welcome my lovely Queen (Y/N) to our fold!” 

He glanced down at your parents, his face a bit smug. 

“Family and community are a core value of our kind. I also welcome (Y/N)’s parents and sister to our castle. Please do your best to help them grow accustomed to our traditions.

This night marks a step forward in the blending of human and Orc society, and as I have found my match, I wish you all your own mates so that, from the wounds of war, another generation of both our peoples can flourish! Let’s enjoy the bounty of this land together!” 

That was the end of the speech, as Orcs carried out massive dishes of roasted meat, vegetables, and golden-crusted pies and arranged them on the table. 

Happy Orcs were loud and raucous, apparently enjoying giving toasts. Everyone guzzled ale as they tipped their glasses to speeches of triumphs in war, hunting their new mates, and lots of well wishes to your future children. 

Numerous Orcs lined up to kiss your hand and declare their devotion to your protection. Meanwhile, your parents focused their energy on courting Golmad’s favor, complimenting the food, the music, and whatever else they could think of that might endear them to him. Your mother even gave you a tight compliment on your skirt. 

While you tried to focus on greeting your subjects, your mind wandered to the warm body underneath you. Golmad’s firm, barrel chest brushed your arm with every deep breath. The bulging muscles of his thigh were like sitting on a stone chair covered in bulky leather, but those features aside, your absolute favorite part of his physique was his husky stomach. It was firm and toned from daily training but thick from eating well. Leaning into it was quite comfortable and cozy. 

Everything about him was so big, including the enormous shaft, you could feel at your back. Maybe it was the wine, but your initial fear of it had slowly changed to curious interest as the night progressed. What would it be like? How would it feel inside of you? What would it taste like? The lewd thoughts were incredibly distracting. You found yourself wiggling your bottom to brush it without thinking. Every time you did, you felt a low rumble in his chest no one else could hear above the merrymaking. 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” He asked when there was finally a break in the production, and you could speak. 

You nodded and gave him a wan smile. 

“Your court is delightful. It's just…

When you paused his focus on you became intense. 

What's wrong? You can tell me, I won't be offended.”

You looked over the celebration, considering how your day played out compared to what you expected. 

“A lot has happened today…between the meeting and the fight…I'm a little tired, to be honest. I want to keep up with your people…but…” 

His gold eyes gleamed with predatory interest, making heat swell in your core. 

“I have a remedy for that. Orc celebrations take a bit of time to get used to. They'll all be up till dawn.” 

He stood before you could ask anything more, willing the Orcs to quiet down. 

“My Queen and I will retire for the evening! Enjoy the food and drink. Show our guests how Orcs celebrate!” 

A happy cry rang out, and the party started again as Golmad carried you out of the room. Your heartbeat thumped in your chest, realizing this was the first time the two of you would be alone for any length of time. He was so large he could do anything to you, and that thought had become far more exciting than frightening.  

When you arrived at his bedroom, he gently set you down on a table and turned his attention to starting a fire in the fireplace to warm the cool room. 

You swung your legs over the edge of the tall table, watching the muscles in his back flex as he loaded the hearth with logs. When he turned, he pulled off his boots and tucked them in a corner.  Finally, he approached you, his footsteps silent for someone so large. His eyes moved over your body as if deciding what part to engage first. 

“Do you think a back rub would help you relax? It’s been an eventful day.” 

You nodded, your heart skipping at the thought of his big hands on you. He tugged your boots off and set them next to his before settling the two of you on his bed, with you on his lap. 

You let out a long moan as his thick fingers pressed gently into the tense knots in your shoulder. His breath fanned across the nape of your neck, causing a pleasurable shiver to snake up your spine. Since his hands were busy, he spoked to you, his head dipping close to your ear. 

“I didn’t have a moment to tell you how beautiful you looked, today. In your human clothes, but especially so in ours.” 

You hummed a thank you, a sizzling tingle vibrating in your ear. As his thumbs slid down the curve of your waist, you realized he could circle both hands around your middle. His thumbs worked the knots away, but his other fingers smoothed over your bare skin. 

He seemed to get distracted by your arms, shifting his attention to one. He measured the diameter of your wrist with his thumb and forefinger. 

“You are delicate. I feel fortunate to have someone so sweet to protect and love.” 

At the word love, your cheeks burned, and you let out a quick mewl. You heard him chuckle behind you. He spun you around to face him, putting his hand lightly around your neck. Your breath came short, and your eyes widened at him, not sure what he was doing. 

“You are a precious blessing. I’ll never hurt you, (Y/N). If something hurts, pinch me, and I’ll know to stop, okay?” 

You nodded, relaxing just slightly. With his other hand, he tipped your head to the side, and the fingers around your neck massaged the muscles that had gotten tight from gritting your teeth. Your eyelashes fluttered as all of the tension slipped away. When you opened them again, Golmad’s eyes met yours, flickering as if they were lit from within and drawing you forward. 

He loosened his grip on your neck, and you pushed yourself up on your knees, pressing your small hands into his chest as you leaned up to him. 

For a moment, he looked surprised, but his eyes tracked yours as you looked over his features, pulled to his nicely shaped lips. He seemed to have no intention to push you to be intimate with him, but he was to be your husband. You were curious about him. You sucked in a quick breath before you tipped your head forward and brushed your lips against his. That’s what a wife was supposed to do, no? 

He let out a deep, rumbling grumble you felt between your legs. His big hand swept you up by the small of your back, while the other cradled your face. The next time your lips came together was a hungry, needy kiss. Your hand wrapped around his tusk, sliding over the smooth surface as you explored with your lips. 

You’d never kissed before, so you weren’t entirely sure what to do beyond the first taste. Pulling back you looked at him through the veil of your lashes, cheeks burning and lips swollen. 

“Was that good?” You asked. 

His eyebrows rose slightly, and he gave you a gentle nod. 

“Is this your first time kissing?” 

You looked away, embarrassed at your inexperience, but a thick finger pushed your chin back in his direction. 

“I didn’t mean it as an insult. I assumed the “untouched” bit of your mother’s introduction was a production. I mean…look at you. You’re gorgeous.”

You frowned, and he looked contrite. 

“I didn’t mean…to question your purity…I only meant-”

He huffed, and you were surprised to see a confident Orc King flustered by you. When his gaze met yours, it was open and vulnerable. 

“You’re so much smaller than me. I don’t want to scare you.” 

You searched his face for a moment. 

“You don’t scare me. I want to please you. Will you show me how?” 

His cheeks darkened to a rich forest, and his mouth fell open. You watched his pupils widen, and he nodded, eyes drifting over your body. You pushed yourself up on your knees, kissing him again, hoping to encourage whatever might come next. He groaned, thick hands wrapping around your waist. 

Feeling bolder, you let your hands move over his bare shoulders and gently trace every plane of his chest. He shuddered when your fingers slipped over a nipple, so you tried it again, earning you another rich groan. His tongue slipped past your lips, tasting you for the first time, and he hummed into your mouth.  

Beneath you, the shaft you’d already thought felt large suddenly got much firmer and larger. Curious, you gingerly let your fingers slip down his chest, palming him through his pants. A deep rumble vibrated his chest, and you mewled as he suddenly flipped you under him. You looked up at his massive body looming over you, panting. 

His eyes ate up your skin, glowing with appreciation. A fingertip traced your collarbone down the V of the little crop top you wore. It took only a flick of his fingers to rip it in half. You gasped, chest heaving. He met your gaze, searching for any indication you didn’t want him to go on. 

“Are you okay?” 

You nodded quickly, your nipples pebbling now exposed to the air. He smirked, dipping his head to press a kiss into the top of one breast and then the other before he moved lower. Pleasure you weren’t used to was intoxicating as he licked and sucked your nipples. Your breaths were heaving, and your thoughts scrambled. 

Though thick, his fingers were nimble, unbuckling the belt at your waist and stripping the skirt off you. 

Instinctively, you looked away, never having been so exposed in your life. A grunt brought your eyes back to him, and Galmod squeezed your cheek before he spoke. 

“It’s my job to please you. May I?”

Your nod was far more enthusiastic than you intended, and he grinned. A thumb teased a nipple, while his thick tongue traced your slit. A breathy mewl slipped out, and he glanced up without pulling away. His gaze was intent. Every hunting instinct he possessed focused on making sure you were enjoying what he had to give you. His tongue dipped inside of you the first time anything or anyone had touched you there. Your back arched, and your eyelashes fluttered. Your hand instinctively clutched his hair, your hips bucking into his mouth as wetness flooded your channel. 

He chuckled, the added sensation making you whimper. Though your flavor was appealing, Golmad had a second reason for filling you with his tongue. He also stretched you, preparing you to take something much larger. When you were eagerly rocking your hips to create more friction, he slipped out of you, turning his attention to your clit. Your irises crossed, your first real orgasm exploding between your legs and shooting through every nerve in your body. You were practically drooling as he slipped two fingers inside, bringing you right back where you started, needy and wanting. 

He stopped for a moment, cupping your chin to get your attention. 

“Do you want more?” 

Your fingers were shaking as you responded. 

“Yes…please?” 

He chuckled, leaning down and kissing you deeply before he rocked back on his knees. 

“It will hurt for just a second, then it will feel good…but if you want me to stop, just pinch me. I’ll stop.” 

You nodded quickly, wiggling your hips to entice him. You wanted whatever he planned on next. His gaze was ravenous, and you could tell staying in control of his instincts was work, but you trusted him, which made no sense since you'd only met. Something about him made you feel safe and protected, maybe the way he seemed so worried about hurting you. 

Your eyes popped as he slipped out of his pants. A thick cock bobbed in front of him. You’d never seen something so viscerally sexy, his bulky green body hovering over you, a thick hand fisting a massive shaft. A zip of sheer excitement made you quake. You felt a little mad. His cock had to be too big for you, but you wanted more than anything to take it. A fresh wave of slick leaked from inside of your spasming cunt. 

Your legs looked tiny in his hands as he spread them. He rubbed the large, round head of his cock against your slit, watching you whimper and beg for him with your eyes. 

Entering you maddeningly slow, you felt your pussy stretch to accommodate him. It felt good, the strain feeling more decadent than painful. There was no way you could fit his entire length inside, but he didn't seem concerned, gripping the base for more control. His fingers circled your clit, and you hardly felt a slight pinch through a veil of pleasure. Your eyes rolled back in your head as he filled you completely. 

When your gazes met, you could see the concentration on his face, his brow drawn, and his jaw locked. You nodded to him, asking him to go on, telling him that you wanted it. 

Pulling back, his hips snapped forward pushing a high-pitched mewl past your lips. He watched you, looking for any pain, but whatever he saw just egged him on. The concerned expression melted to a smug smirk, and he picked up the pace, heavy thrusts jerking your body against the soft furs. 

His long fingers wrapped around your neck, holding you in place while his strokes grew more intense. 

“That’s it, you can take it,” he groaned, his husky voice tickling your ears. 

You were amazed at your own body, your slippery fluids coating his shaft and allowing him to grind in and out of you despite his size. Though you could feel the strength in his hands, he only applied light pressure to your throat, making your heart skip. He could crush you easily, yet despite the rapture in his eyes, he held you like a baby dove.  

The tension in your thighs relaxed, your legs opening for him far wider than you even knew they could to accommodate his big body. 

The room filled with the sound of your sweet mewls and his guttural grunts. 

“So good,” he drawled, words slurring. “You were made for me.” 

You wanted to sign, “you, as well,” but your brain was mush. 

His cock battered you in just the right spot, while his free hand never left your clit, pinching and circling it until your eyes crossed and you were drooling. You soared, high on his musky scent, your body sparkling in ways you’d never felt before. Pleasure licked the tips of your nerves, zipping up and down your spine like lightning bolts. The only thing you could do was hold on tight to the hand circling your throat, your nails digging into the sinewy flesh. 

Your mother had made it seem like sex was a chore a wife did to please her husband and keep him from messing around. You had no idea it could be like this. Golmmad’s gold eyse lit as your wet cunt spasmed around him. A wet rush of bliss washed over you like the tide tugging you under. Your scream pierced the heady air as you reached your peak, spongey walls sucking him deeper. 

It was one thing to cum underneath him, but the look on his face as your body clamped around him, wet slick coating his cock, was sheer euphoria. His mouth fell open, eyes fluttering shut as he roared his finale. Making a large, powerful Orc king fall apart made you feel powerful and desirable in a way you’d never been allowed to feel before. It was a high that couldn’t be matched. You wanted to do this again and again until neither of you could walk or think. 

You felt his shaft grow impossibly harder, twitching inside you as he emptied himself into you in searing ropes. The ragged, stiff thrusts to seek his pleasure pulled another lingering orgasm from your pussy. You felt tears slipping down your cheeks as he slammed his hips into yours one last time. 

For a moment, the two of you just panted together, his head dipping down just an inch or so above yours. You felt a thick thumb trace your cheek, wiping your tears away. 

“I-I didn’t hurt you?” he whispered, and you forced your eyes open so he wouldn’t panic. 

A small smile and a slight jerk of your head told him no, you were just fine. He peeled himself off of you, sinking down into his bed and pulling you onto his lap. His fingers played lazily in your hair as he caught his breath. 

“What do you think?” he asked, his tone raw and vulnerable. 

You propped your head on one fist, elbows resting on his chest, while you wound a lock of dark hair around a finger, thinking of how to answer him. You felt his breath halt, waiting eagerly for your answer. Finally, you pulled your legs under you, sitting cross-legged on top of him so you could use your hands. 

“Can we do that again in the morning?” 

His eyebrows jumped before his lips stretched into a broad smile, responding with his free hands. 

“Of course, as many times as you like.”

You grinned and yawned, plastering your body on top of his. His warmth sunk into your bones, and sleep came easily. The last thing you felt before you dozed off was his hand stroking your hair as he muttered thanks to the goddess for bringing you to him. 

#monster romance #monster boyfriend #monster x girl #monster x reader #monster fluff #x reader #terato fic #teratophillia #orc boyfriend #orc #orctober #orc x reader #orc x human #monster lover #terato #monsters #orc fluff #orc romance #orcs #human x monster #monster bf #monster #monster husband #monster oc #monster x human #monster fic

[solaireverie]

aa23 | put it into speed drive

summary: [ lawyer!alex albon x f!driver!reader — social media au ] alex is contracted to help you get out of trouble after you land in hot water

faceclaim: florence pugh

warnings: language, dirty jokes

author’s note: hello party people!! so happy to bring you the first installment of in their shoes, my series with @lorarri about driver!reader. chaotic reader is the love of my life frfr

liked by landonorris, redbullracing, tatemcrae and 4,582,193 others

yourusername eat pasta drive fasta 🏎🍝

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user mother is mothering 😩

user i live for y/n's photodumps

user everyone say thank you y/n for feeding us!!

redbullracing let her cook 😌

user the way y/n looks at the camera in slide 2 🫣

liked by christianhorner, sebastianvettel, redbullusa and 9,105,273 others

tagged: yourusername

redbullracing Oracle Red Bull Racing is aware of the charges being brought against driver Y/N L/N. Oracle Red Bull Racing respects all official decisions and will be assisting Y/N in any legal proceedings. We ask for privacy and discretion during this period of time.

comments on this post have been disabled

7,482 likes

y/nupdates y/n left the monaco police station this morning accompanied by her lawyer, alex albon. alex is also a family friend and was contracted by red bull to help y/n with any legal issues that may arise. y/n and alex left on motorcycle shortly after she was released. when asked about recent events, y/n stated that she isn't worried and that she's in good hands (implied to be alex's)

pictured above: y/n this morning, a photo captured by passerby of alex on his bike waiting for y/n, and a picture of alex found on his firm's website

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user y/n's slaying everywhere 😍 even getting arrested isn't stopping her from serving with every outfit

↪ user omg fr i love her jacket and boots

↪ user we should have a y/n style account ngl

user damn her lawyer's hotttt 😳

↪ user yeah exactly!!! so glad someone else sees my ✨ vision ✨

user lol i can already see this dude getting a migraine within the first two hours of dealing with y/n

↪ user she's a menace and while i love her for that i pity her lawyer 😂

↪ user our thoughts and prayers for mr albon 🕯🕯🕯

628,192 likes

effwontea ok so who was going to tell me that y/n's lawyer is hot, cute, AND good with animals - admin g 👾

what crimes do i need to commit to hire alex to defend me 😳 - admin t 💃

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user idk if anyone's noticed but he's actually in a few of her older vlogs 👀 guess they've been friends for a while

↪ user and she hasn't showed us him until now???

↪ user i went back to watch the videos with alex in them and omg they're so cute togetherrrrrr

↪ user ikr!!! did you see that part where she drives them around monaco and he's literally scared for his life but also staring at y/n with heart eyes 😍

↪ user guess this isn't the first time that y/n has terrorized alex with her driving skills then 😂

user is it just me or are they really freaking adorable together

↪ user omg fr!! he balances out her chaos and she makes him laugh so much ❤️ my heart can't take this

liked by landonorris, alex_albon, georgerussell63 and 28,492,123 others

tagged: alex_albon

yourusername everyone say thank you to alex_albon's savior complex 😌 love u 🫶

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user did she just... hard launch???

↪ user i think???????

↪ user knowing y/n she kept him a secret just for the chaos 😂

georgerussell63 about time, mate!

↪ landonorris thanks a lot for making me lose my bet with george 🙄

↪ alex_albon what were you two even betting on?

↪ yourusername when i would get arrested and you'd have to defend me in court 😜 btw georgerussell63 i expect dinner from whatever lando needs to give you

alex_albon love you too (even if you exhaust me sometimes 🙃)

↪ yourusername don't lie, you like it 😘

user so now on top of dealing with y/n in court he has to deal with her every day 😭 thoughts and prayers dude

↪ yourusername i promised to behave in public if he lets me misbehave in private 😉

↪ alex_albon you call that behaving???

↪ landonorris ewww get a room

↪ yourusername get a win 🤷‍♀️

↪ georgerussell63 MIC. DROP.

↪ landonorris alex_albon can i hire you to sue y/n and george for emotional damage

↪ alex_albon i'm afraid that you're on your own 😔 i have no intention of stepping into a courtroom with y/n ever again

↪ yourusername guess who's sleeping on the couch tonight!

↪ alex_albon lando because he insists that we've adopted him?

↪ yourusername correct ✅

likes and reblogs are appreciated!

series masterlist | masterlist | lola's masterlist

taglist: @scenesofobx @vellicora @boiohboii @julesbabey @flannelforthetoads

#solwriting #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula 1 #f1 #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x you #f1 social media au #f1 imagine #f1 smau #alex albon #alex albon x reader #alex albon x you #alex albon imagine #alex albon fanfic

[moondirti]

animalic (3)

← chapter two // series masterlist

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader rating: mature word count: 2.2k summary: he's got a plan that neither of you like warnings: enemies to lovers, predator/prey dynamics, biting, bondage, temporary paralysis, concussions, miguel is not nice, no use of y/n notes: this was supposed to be longer but the cut off at the original point was super awkward. this chapter is super exciting for all you fang lovers out there

You really can’t catch a break. 

The city bustles with a verve rivalling your own, a kaleidoscope of luminescence dancing upon the glass facades of its skyscrapers. Their spires pierce the ink-dark cloak of night, and if you weren’t so busy running for your life, you’d stop to admire the way their aviation obstruction lights mimic the stars back home. 

(Everything has a trade off, you suppose. You remember what it was like as light pollution gave away to reveal the cosmos above, the beauty of it lost upon your own grief.)

Now, it’s fear – clinging like a shadowy spectre to your heels. The pavement is unforgiving beneath you, each step sending a jolt of energy through your bones. Despite it, you can’t go any faster. Sidewalks crowd with the humdrum of everyday life – people filtering out from work and bodegas, dressed in a slightly odd fashion, their clothes a reminder of your unfamiliar landscape. Car horns blend into one another, providing an unsteady tempo to the race of your heart. 

It’s disorienting, all of it. Times like these, you wish you’d been given the opportunity to hone your abilities. Stamina, flexibility. Web shooters in particular would have proved handy in avoiding the bustle of the ground. 

Of course, he has that advantage on you too. 

You can’t see Miguel, but you sense his proximity. It prods you, nipping at your flesh in a constant assault, intensifying goosebumps and raising hairs. Your spider sense usually doesn’t last this long, solely serving as a warning for immediate danger. Yet that’s just what he is, immediate. Dangerous. Predatory eyes track your every move, sourced from all directions. He’s everywhere; atop buildings, within alleys. Neon signs morph into twisted apparitions; serrated talons, red skulls. 

How did he track you down so fast? 

The day pass? 

You wonder if he’d brought back-up – whether there are other spider-heroes here who trust in his noble cause. Your anxiety triples, and passerby’s begin to warp too. Their hurried footsteps now strike discordant notes, amplifying your isolation. You think you see some tense their wrists, or unbutton their coats, ready to reveal their tailored suits and ensure the capture you’ve managed to evade thus far. 

It’s luck. It’s only ever been luck, and that fact changes depending on who you ask. You’ve never outsmarted him, never disabled him. You just so happen to have the power of being a pain in his ass. 

Something itches at you, though. A nagging sense of foreboding. His presence in the past has spurred chagrin, annoyance, and – admittedly – arousal. But the genuine terror that lights your nerves now is new. Perhaps because you understand him, are far more familiar with his pride than most. The logical part of you can predict that he won’t let you off so easily, not after your stunt with the kiss. You won’t – can’t – get away this time, even if it damn well nearly kills him. 

Any hope you had of a bargain dissipates, rolling back from shore and into the depths of an elusive sea. You jerk the rubber band off your wrist, throwing it into some undisclosed corner.

In a then desperate bid to throw him off, your path loses cohesion. Like a leaf seized by a tempest, you turn based on split-second instinct, weaving through the labyrinth of New York’s grid. Your body sways in frenzy, bolstered by pure adrenaline, which works to dim everything else. Your ribs haven’t fully healed yet – they’d taken a pretty bad beating upon your last fight with Miguel – but you can barely feel the ache as you focus purely on the task at hand. 

Your determination surges, recklessness taking hold of your rationale. Veering abruptly, you just about collide with the racing line of cars that flow at a green light. In fact, you think you do. Your skin prickles, and a taxi runs straight through you, blearing a loud honk all the while. Some vehicles break off, drifting around your form at the last minute. In your peripheral, you can see the glowing red of your pursuers web, stretched across the gap between two apartment complexes. 

Chest tightening, your breathing loses depth at the sight, shallowing to leave room for the distress that torrents up your system. You clamber up on the hoods of parked cars, using a mast arm pole to propel yourself forward. It’s a fruitless effort. You know it’s too late – have known it since he walked into that convenience, prowling in search of one thing. 

(A lion only catches its prey a quarter of the time. But that twenty-five percent?)

Your ankle is the first victim to his hardwearing web, wrapped in the silk and pulled out from underneath you. The back of your head smacks into the concrete below, a high pitched ring reverberating through your skull upon impact. The collision sends a shock wave of pain throughout your being, and in that harrowing moment, everything stutters to a crawl. Spots speckle behind your clenched eyelids, metallic warmth flooding your mouth.

Well, fuck. 

To add insult to injury, your atoms rip apart and splice into one another, a consequence of your abandoned day pass. The glitch aggravates the headache that begins to pound at you. You’d allowed yourself to forget how bad it could be. 

The willpower that had just played a forefront in your mind steadily starts to trickle out, absorbed by your humiliation and the ground below. 

“You really gonna give up that easily?” 

Yes. 

You make a point to never lie to yourself. In truth, you won’t ever get enough of Miguel’s cadence. Deep and resonant – it smoulders with a charred ruggedness. Commanding attention, rumbling like distant thunder, an unmistakable authority woven into each word. Yet, even amidst the rough contours, there lingers a softness, a subtle grace that soothes the edges of his threats. 

(Sharp claws, sharp teeth, sharp cheekbones. Soft voice.)

More webs bind you, erupting from an unclear point to circle your legs, chest, and secure your arms behind your back. You’re diminished to little more than an aggravated caterpillar, ensnared in a spider’s web. And, just as his little game of bondage draws to a close, said spider stalks within view, splitting through the crowd that quickly forms around the commotion. 

With his mask on, he stands as completely impenetrable. You, on the other hand, try to reduce your quivering the best you can, afraid of relaying how truly pathetic you feel. 

“Maybe I’m biding my time.” You bite back, calling on a complete bluff. “I’m sure you know how good I am at that?” It’s a low blow. Even if you could control when and where to phase out, you wouldn’t get very far before he catches up to you again. 

But Miguel doesn’t waver in his closing in – not until he towers over you, looking down at your incapacitated state. Space buckles under the gravity of his existence; you, too, can feel yourself sinking, drawn in closer by the credence that bubbles off him in flares. You wish you had a cover – your pair of makeshift goggles, a face mask, anything that could elevate you to a degree relative to his. But you’re bare, figuratively naked, and you’ve never hated him more. 

He lingers, assessing you, weighing his options. The moment he turns to survey the mass of people who look on inquisitively, you wiggle upward into a sitting position, then throw your head forwards, aiming for his crotch. His wrist gets in the way, though, blocking your pitiful attack on his only defenceless area. Your forehead cracks against his dimensional travel watch, shattering its screen. 

“Tu puta madre!” Miguel hisses, snapping back to survey the gadget while you begin to slink away. He seems to have an eye on you, however, because you’re tugged back just as soon as you make the effort.

Like a naughty cat. You shift uncomfortably at the thought. 

“Are you gonna spend all night deciding what to do with me, then? I have plans, even if you don’t.” 

“Plans. I have plans alright.” The low timbre of his threat slices you where it hurts.

With a calculated flex of his shoulders, he crouches down, gathering the webs around your arms. They serve as leverage when he hauls you upward, exercising his muscles – of which you’d suspected had been padding up to this point – with one swift motion. The world upends on itself, nausea enveloping your senses with its oppressive weight. It allows space for little else; not the uncertainty, not the trepidation. You divert all your efforts on keeping your scarce lunch down, accepting the possibility of a concussion by product of his less-than-refined manhandling. 

The journey to wherever he takes you is not at all long enough for you to recover. Before you know it, he’s busting through the creaky door of an empty storelot, carelessly tossing you to the floor. Your vision doubles. 

Yeah. Definitely a concussion. 

Like you could afford one right now. 

“You’ll stay, and you’ll listen.” He points an accusatory finger. 

“Sure. Until I’ve had enough, that is.” 

“And where would you go, exactly?” 

“Nice try, O’hara. Like I’d tell you,” Snickering, you let your head roll to face the ceiling. The action sends you back to earlier, to the robbery you’ve been seeking to suppress. How careless you’d been, letting your fortune to date trick you into thinking that any collateral was safe too. You’d killed that woman. You. “Maybe I’ll fall right through the floor. That way, you’ll never have to worry about seeing me again.” 

The notion makes him pause mid-pace, hands on his hips, tilting his head to look at you with what you imagine is the most earnest glare. The air bobs, suspended in static tension, a crackling constant that only unravels once he seems to make up his mind. 

Marching forward, he drags you along with him to a nearby wall, upon which he then pushes you upward until you have to look down to meet his eyeline. Your bound legs kick forward, but the struggle hardly affects him. 

“I didn’t want to resort to this.” 

You assume he means treating you like a toddler does its shiny new toy, hurling you across this playpen of a city. “You really didn’t have to, then.” 

He stays quiet, fists clenching tighter around you. 

“I suppose we’re past the courtesy of letting the other recover from the last fight before starting a new one? My forearm is still fucked, thanks to you. Maybe if you’d given it some time, I would’ve proved more of a challenge today.” Your words, whilst never your most steadfast allies, betray you in lieu of this restlessness, tumbling forth with unruly incoherence.

Miguel's mask pulls back, the nanotech collapsing to just above his adams apple. Your mouth moves faster. 

“Okay, I get it. The fate of the multiverse and all that. I’ll listen, whatever you want, but at least try and make the lecture original.” 

His hand cups your jaw, tightening around your chin to firmly guide it upwards. Your throat stretches taut at the motion, its smooth expanse spread across the wall – an evening repast for a party of one. The imagery breaks down an all too sobering realisation into fragments small enough for you to register. His talons rest against your cheek, bordering perilously close to your waterline. 

Traces of that patchouli aftershave hit you. His skin looks especially bronzed in the dark, highlighted at the edges from the phosphorescence outside. His curls droop where they’re plastered to a sweat slicked hairline. 

You can’t help it. Your gaze flickers down to those plush lips.

Fuck. Fuck. It’d felt so good to kiss them. 

Please let this just be a kiss. 

“O-Or go with the… the usual, y’know. I don’t–” 

Miguel lunges, sinking his fangs into the fleshy sinew of your neck.

Christ.

Your jaw hangs open, but no breaths filter in. Shock wedges itself at the site of his bite, implacable, steadfast as a barrier between logic and uninhibited emotion. Your reasoning plays no part in this, provides absolutely no valuable contribution to the series of reactions you undergo. 

It’s physical, first. The cold slither of paralytic venom distends through your nerves, neurotoxins striking their functions, rendering them useless beyond the point of sensation. Which, you’d say, is the cruellest part. Miguel’s poison doesn’t stop you from feeling anything; not the puncture, nor the burn. You can truly feel it, trekking its graceful path to all muscles in your body, taking hold of the tissue, suppressing their vitality. Your back arches, your body doing its very best to fight what it cannot prevent. It cracks up your bone, down your spine. Your toes unfurl, fingers loosening to hang lamely at your side. 

And, when you lose all executive authority over yourself, you’re pulled in to centre on his mouth again. His canines slowly retract, tongue taking their place. It’s warm – so fucking warm – and dextrous, covertly lathering the blood that beads down your nape. 

Your last proper breath is wasted on a whine; a loud, keening, absolutely wanton whine. After it, you can do nothing but hold your flat inhales to cycle in as much oxygen as possible – diaphragm weak, your resolve weaker.

Miguel draws away, letting you slump to the floor, heavy and just as useless as a sack of flour. He wipes the excess carmine from his chin, kneeling to regard your glassy eyed stare. 

“Fall through now, and you’re as good as dead.” 

(You might as well already be.)

chapter four →

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#miguel ohara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x f!reader #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x f!reader #miguel ohara fanfic #miguel ohara fanfiction #x reader #x y/n #x you #x f!reader #x female reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x y/n #marvel #spiderman across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman: atsv

[landorris]

yes, and? | carlos sainz x fem! leclerc reader

part two to this

fc; sophia birlem

warnings; english is not my first language, 10 years of age gap (20 to 29/30)

taglist; @thef1diary @bigsimperika @shobaes @d3kstar @stinkyjax @the-untamed-soul @bibissparkles @judespoision

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yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and others

yourusername: went on a lil trip to australia 🐨

danielricciardo: yeah you’re welcome

yourusername: for what?

danielricciardo: for me letting you stay at my house?!?!?

yourusername: oh that, yeah…….. thanks danny

user1: never beating the couple allegations

user2: he’s so much older than her

user3: will you atend to the gp this weekend?

charles_leclerc: i feel betrayed that you’re with him

user4: WHAT DO YOU MEAN WITH HIM?

visacashapprb: stunning🤭

yourusername: you know it admin

f1gossip

liked by imrebeccad, user1 and others

f1gossip: rebecca donaldson girlfriend of carlos sainz was spotted on a verbal fight with y/n leclerc carlos sainz ex and sister of his teamate charles leclerc near by the ferrari garrage, some people say they heard y/n saying “f*ck you both”. We don’t know what happened but this was probably about the ferrari driver.

user1: not rebecca in the likes, she really thinks she’s doing something

user2: imagine having 28 and go cry about your boyfriend’s ex being in the same place as you

user3: i was there and i can confirm that y/n said that and just walked out leaving the other girl talking alone

user4: this is queen shit

user5: she’s my mom

user6: i hope carlos feels embarrassed

your phone

danielricciardo

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and others

danielricciardo: p3 in my home race! this one is for you 🤍

yourusername: he’s really proud of you danny❤️

danielricciardo: he’s really proud of you two, hope you know that

charles_leclerc: congratulations mate!! you deserved it 🍾

danielricciardo: thank you lord

charles_leclerc: you’re welcome brother, now heavy on the celebrations tonight, don’t let my sister get drunk

yourusername: shut up charlie

danielricciardo: you heard her! (i’ll take care of her dw, i’m not like some others)

charles_leclerc: i know

comments have been disabled

yourusername

liked by landonorris, arthur_leclerc and others

yourusername: got drunk, lost daniel and made friends

danielricciardo: girl bffr i just went to the bathroom

charles_leclerc: answer your phone

landonorris: i think my invitation got lost

user1: the drivers in the comments😭😭😭

user2: charles is such a big brother

your phone

#formula 1 #f1 #moodboard #cars #grand prix #aesthetic #ferrari #red #carlos sainz smau #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz #sainz #f1 x you #f1 smau #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic