#rust on the harbor

[rightintoalake]

when will my boy come back from the war (absent from oxventure) link to on flight rising

image as ref and to link to from fr

#i plan on putting more jewelry and stuff when i get more money #ive designed the other dragons but its so expensive <.<' #got rly lucky on the ah for this one tho #oxventure #rust on the harbor #also ive based this off the idle champions character art

[teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps]

#Photography #April 2018 #Outdoors #Distance #Close-Up #Walt Whitman Bridge #Delaware River #Philadelphia #City #Harbor #Boats #Body of Water #Chipped Paint #Rust #Scratches #Clouds #Sky #Nature #Bridge #River #Philly #Paint #Water #My Snaps #My Photos #My Photography

[roguelov]

Let Me Help

Summary: On a mission with Miguel to stop a variant of Doc Ock, you accidentally inhale something you shouldn’t have. You actively try to ignore these burning desires raging through you. However when Miguel notices your odd behavior, he finally confronts you. A confrontation that leads to this thing you need most: him.

Word Count: ~6.6k

Reader: Afab (no fem pronouns used)

Warnings: SMUT (sex pollen, fem!masturbation, fingering, unprotected sex, riding, oral (fem!receiving), doggy style, multiple orgasms, slight praise kink, voyeurism, cockwarming, switch!reader, switch!Miguel), smut with some feelings, unestablished relationship, mutual pining

MINORS DNI/ 18+ ONLY

The salty harbor water splashed against the algae covered docks of the warehouse district. Smog of the city filtered into the already cloudy night sky. The sea and city - cars and boat horns - clashed together in an odd cacophony. Your nose wrinkled as the sting of salt mixed with newly poured asphalt.

On top of a warehouse, you and Miguel stood side by side overlooking the massive, old and rundown, area. Another anomaly was plucked and dropped off in a universe where they shouldn’t be. The Spider-Man, Peter W. Parker, of this world was unfortunately and temporarily subdued by the anomaly, a variant of Doc Ock. Peter was completely paralyzed from his encounter and was resting back at HQ as a team tirelessly tried to work on an antidote for him.

“Be careful,” Miguel warned.

“Always am,” you smirked under your mask, before leaping off the building to search the west end of the docks.

Miguel scoffed. Yet, his eyes watched you intently as you landed on another building. You slipped inside one of the broken windows and disappeared from view.

He paused, hesitating for a second, then turned away.

Searching through your area, the anomaly wasn’t in the first building. Or the second. You hoped, sending out a small prayer to the universe he was in the last building. If not, maybe Miguel had more luck than you.

The last warehouse was filled with wrecked boats strewn up on lifts, scattered repair parts, and half broken shipping crates. Moving around, your footsteps were light, and unheard. Nothing creaked, and dust barely moved. You tried a few office doors only to find them locked, or rusted shut. Sighing, you knew of another way to enter and luckily they all lined the edge of the warehouse.

Outside once again, you carefully scaled the building approaching the first set of windows. Brown paper covered most of the dirty glass, yet one window had no covers. The paper was luckily torn back. Peering inside, it was a packed room.

A manager's office was reinvented. The desk was pushed to the far wall. Crates piled into the room, acting as other workstations. Old and battered scientific equipment, some even haphazardly thrown together, filled the desk and crates. Cracked glass - cups, beakers, and vials - were scattered about. Scraps of tarp were laid across the floor and hung from the walls as if for protection. A harsh pungent smell soon assaulted your nose. Your face scrunched up in disgust. Chemicals, any and all so it seemed, were carefully placed into rows on the floor and on top of crates. While vials lined a chipped wooden shelf, poorly screwed into the wall. Each one a different color, and labeled with a system you didn’t comprehend or care to understand.

It was crowded, an office turned into a makeshift lab.

Yet, your eyes fell back to the obvious man taking up the cramped space.

If you could call him that.

He was an experiment, a genetic splicing, gone wrong. He was a human on top while stormy blue grey tentacles were his legs. Strangely, he moved so easily. The appendages carried him with perfect posture, and also effortlessly reached for material around the homemade lab. As a tentacle slithered past your view, you quickly noted the tips had black barbs.

You carefully pushed on the window to thankfully find it unlocked. You crawled through and softly dropped in. But, he was somehow alerted to you.

He whipped around, beakers and vials with unknown liquid swayed in his hands. Massive goggles were strapped around his bulging inky black eyes. Tubes of water wrapped around the side of his neck over gills. A torn, stained lab coat hung off his bare torso. Yet, despite his somewhat menacing appearance, he cowarded at your presence. A whine, a bubbling of water, erupted from him.

You raised your hands, hoping to calm him, “Hey, hey, there’s no need to be scared. We’re just going to get you back home, okay?”

As if proving your point, he glitched. He groaned, leaning into a wooden crate. His massive eyes locked with yours. He violently shook his head. “No, I’m not going back.”

“I’m sorry, but you have to. If you don’t you’ll destroy yourself and possibly this universe.”

“No!” He immediately threw whatever vial he had in his hand.

You easily dodged it, but it splattered into the wall behind your head. A sickly sweet aroma filled your nose. You coughed, waving it away. While you were distracted, he fled. He moved with surprising agility, and squeezed through a small air vent.

“Shit.” You coughed one last time. You pressed your watch, calling Miguel. Clearing your throat, you said, “Miguel, I found him. Far west end of the docks, and he’s on the move.”

“Understood.”

You stepped forward and the world tilted. You quickly stumbled into the crates. You grunted as a dull ache rolled through you. Clenching your jaw, you shoved down the pain.

Not now. We will deal with this later.

You dove through the window to catch Doc Ock who was scrambling down an alleyway. His tentacles made a distinct ‘thwap’ as he ran away. For a moment, your vision blurred. Your grip loosened as you slid down a few inches down the brick wall. Gritting your teeth, you shook your head. Everything cleared again. Ignoring the obvious signs, you fired a web and swung down into the alley.

Miguel, however, beat you to it.

Landing in the alleyway, Miguel stood over the now unconscious Doc Ock. The red glowing webs secured around his torso and tentacles. You let out a silent thanks.

Miguel turned around, and approached you. “Are you okay?”

His voice reverberated throughout your body. Your heart leapt into your throat. You let out a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself. “Yeah, I’m good.”

His eyes trailed over you. You were breathing heavily, why? Did the two of you fight? How did this anomaly slip past you?

“Ready?” You asked, already opening up a portal.

“Yeah,” he muttered, grabbing the anomaly.

After dropping off the anomaly at HQ, you said your quickest farewells and practically ran back home to your universe, to your apartment. Your chest started to constrict horribly when Miguel was nearby. It wasn’t the giddy childhood crush you were already accustomed too, but this deep heart wrenching ache of desire.

It frightened you.

You had to get away from him.

Returning home, you found your city basking in the moonlight. Neon signs and billboards flickered in the distance. And the usual rush of cars quieted down just enough for most of the city to fall asleep. However, sleep would not come tonight for you.

You tossed and turned endlessly. Your heart raced, like a hummingbird in flight trapped in a cage. Sweat beaded over your forehead. The dull ache from before started to move farther south of your body. You groaned and arched your back.

What … what the hell is this?

You rolled over, burying your face into the pillow.

We’re fine. It’s fine. It’ll pass.

It didn’t.

The moon, with its siblings of stars, fell and the soon burning and bright sun rose over the horizon. Yet, these sensations never wavered. Dare you say, they intensified. Your sheets were kicked off the bed, pillows tossed across the floor in fits of rage, and your clothes skewed and damped with sweat.

Fuck.

Your body ached horribly.

Hot flashes surged through you in intense waves. You groaned, curling into a tight ball. However, it was the growing heat between your legs that was becoming unbearable. You unconsciously rubbed your thighs together. The minimal friction, basically nothing, caused you to moan.

“Fuck,” you whimpered.

Shower. A cold shower might help.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled into the bathroom and slammed the door behind you. You turned on the show to the coolest, and still comfortable, temperature. This should help, hopefully. Stripping out of your sweaty clothes, you hopped in. You hissed slightly. The water was a shock to your overheated, clammy skin. Pressing your palms into the shower wall, you dunked your head under the water like a poorly done baptism. You needed to cleanse yourself and your unholy thoughts.

You forced yourself to stay there. You gritted your teeth, and squeezed your eyes shut. The water pounded over you. Each drop were needles: sharp, quick, and irksome. But, standing under the water, you were still unbelievably hot, still painfully aroused.

Screw it.

One hand skimmed down your body between your legs. One swipe over your soaking folds and your knees nearly buckled. Still holding yourself up with one hand, and hunched under the running water, you slowly dipped your fingers inside yourself.

And immediately, his face appeared behind your closed eyes.

You could easily conjure up a scenario, and you happily indulged in your fantasy.

He was in the shower with you. Still bent over, his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you up. His chest pressed firmly into your back. His skin was so warm compared to the cool water. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear. His thick fingers were inside you, it was his fingers bringing you to your release.

You moaned, pumping yourself faster.

“That’s it,” his voice whispered in your ear. “Just like that.”

“Shit,” you hissed.

“Come on,” he encouraged with a light chuckle. His hand brushed up your sides to your breasts. He gently pinched and played with your nipples. “Come on, cum around my fingers.”

You curled your fingers, making your walls flatter. You whimpered. The sinfully wet sounds mixed with the water rushing over you. You were close, far closer than you expected.

His lips skimmed down your neck. “That’s it, almost there.”

You bit your lip. You quickly flipped yourself around, supporting yourself with your back to the shower wall. Your other hand played with your clit, swirling around, as your fingers worked faster. It was messy, it was desperate. A whine rumbled in the back of your throat.

“Oh, please, cum for me. You’re so close, I can feel it.” His fingers curled, beckoning you towards your end.

It built and built, then it all snapped so suddenly and forcibly. You came hard around your fingers. “Fuck,” you hissed out.

He hummed, working you through your orgasm. “There it is.”

You leaned heavily into the wall, panting and dizzy from your rapid orgasm. You closed your eyes for a second, and let the water wash everything away.

Meanwhile, a familiar looking portal opened up in your bedroom. Miguel stepped out with a tension wrought into his shoulders. His mask retracted and his crimson eyes slid over your room, your messy room. He raised an eyebrow, surveying your room. The one thing that concerned him the most was you weren’t here.

Where were you?

“Fuck.”

Miguel’s head whipped over to the closed bathroom door. He heard you so clearly. He almost moved, almost burst through the door, but he stayed rooted in place.

Why couldn’t he move? What if you were in trouble, what if -

The shower turned off. He heard you move around, and he saw your shadow flash under the door. If you were moving, then maybe nothing was wrong. Then without warning, the bathroom door swung open with a resounding bang.

Miguel flinched, startled by the sudden noise.

Water still dripped down from your hair and down your face. Hunched forward, you propped yourself up with one hand on the doorframe. Your chest heaved. You gulped down air as if you ran a marathon. You wore only a baggy shirt which clung to your still wet skin. Your eyes swiveled over, instantly clocking Miguel’s unexpected presence.

Miguel’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay?”

“What are you doing here?” You asked, ignoring his initial question.

“You haven’t responded to my calls.”

You glanced over to your watch, blinking on your nightstand. “Sorry, I was busy.”

His eyes trailed over your body. Concern filled him. He repeated, “Are you okay?”

“Just dandy.”

His lips thinned. Why were you like this? So goddamn stubborn sometimes. “You don’t seem fine, especially since our mission last night.”

“I’m just tired,” you huffed. “And a little sore.”

God, even now your body was still aroused. And with Miguel being here, it was making everything so much worse. Your fantasy from only moments ago was seared heavily into your mind.

He needed to leave before you did something you regretted.

Miguel sighed, crossing his arms. “Are you sure? Did -“

“I said I’m fine.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever.” So be it. He pressed a button on his watch, opening up a portal back to HQ. He paused. He clearly wanted to say something, but didn’t. He stepped through without uttering another word.

You wanted to call him back, you wanted to shove him onto the bed, you wanted to him and happily bounce on his -

You groaned loudly, rubbing your hands over your face.

Dear god - universe, whatever - just someone save me from myself.

You reluctantly crawled back into bed. Maybe, the shower helped. Maybe, with Miguel gone you could rest. Maybe, this was all over.

Maybe, you were just delusional.

Tonight was no better than last night. In fact, it was probably worse. Fantasies of Miguel flooded your mind, and you couldn’t satisfy yourself no matter what you did.

You will find a solution tomorrow.

There had to be one.

The next morning, before the sun properly greeted the world, you pushed yourself up and out of bed. You had an idea on where to start. Not bothering with your suit, you kept your baggy shirt and pulled on an old pair of sweatpants. You slipped on your watch and opened up a portal to HQ. You marched directly towards the area where all the anomalies were being contained. Containers lined the area as their chorus of voices begged to be released. Your eyes swiveled around, trying to locate the one anomaly who had any possible explanation to your current endeavor. But, you couldn’t find him in the sea of people. Getting frustrated, you turned your attention towards the person operating the ‘Go Home’ machine.

“Spider-Byte.”

Margo, the purple holographic girl, whirled around. She smiled only for it to falter given your appearance. You were obviously and very plainly pissed. You glared icily, unable to calm yourself. Worst of all, every time you moved, pain and pleasure rolled through you.

“Whoa, are you -“

You cut her off, “The Doc Ock, the one Miguel and I brought in yesterday, is he still here?”

“Uh.” She brought up a screen and tapped on it. “Yeah, he’s still here but not for long. I’ll have him back home in a few hours.”

“I only need a few minutes. Just point me in the direction where he is.”

Margo did so without question, she gestured down a row of anomalies. Mumbling your thanks, you spun around weaving down the aisle until you finally saw him. You stomped over and pounded on the container.

“What the hell did you do to me,” you gritted your teeth.

The man blinked owlishly. “I’m sorry - oh, oh! You! Oh, this is fantastic! I’ve been hoping to see -“

You slammed your fist again. “Answer me! What the hell did I inhale!”

He shrank, and squeaked. “Oh, uh, that’s … that’s complicated.”

“How so?” You sneered.

“Well,” he fidgeted, his tentacles squirming around. “I don’t know exactly what I gave you.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I … I was experimenting with my toxin and - and I was constantly adding new compounds to it or trying to rewrite it.”

You clicked your tongue, and raised an eyebrow.

“And well, I was trying to make it stronger, more of a deadly venom than a paralyzing agent.”

“And so you don’t know what you gave me or what was in it?”

“… no … I needed more time to study it.”

“Fantastic.”

“Well, what are your symptoms? Tell me, what are you feeling? Any discomfort? Any pain? What about hallucinations?”

He was like a giddy child.

“Oh, yeah definitely some discomforts,” you sarcastically replied. You shook your head and turned away. He shouted after you, but you simply ignored him. It took all of your strength and willpower to not break through the containment and pummel him.

Taking calming breaths, you swiftly left the area. Passing by all the anomalies, each of them shouted at you as you tried to think of a way to make this suffering end. Peter W. Parker apparently was still in the medical wing dealing with his paralysis. So, time seemed to be the only reasonable solution you could think of. And it had been a day, surely it would wear off by now.

Even if you felt worse every hour.

“(Y/N).”

A hand curled around your wrist.

A fire unfurled in the pit of your stomach by such a delicate touch. You shuddered. You kept your head trained forward, and your back to the last person you wanted to see. He couldn’t see you like this.

Not now, not after yesterday.

“What’s wrong?” Miguel asked, then took in your disgruntled appearance. “You look like …”

Horrible? Like shit?

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” you quickly answered, tugging your wrist out of his grasp.

“Clearly,” he sarcastically replied.

You bit your tongue. Dear god, his voice. So smooth, so rich. “I’m tired, okay? So, I’m just going home.”

“Wait -“

“Good day, Miguel.” You pressed a button and stepped through the portal.

Miguel clenched his fists. He was about to chase after you when Lyla appeared saying others needed him. Begrudgingly, he left. But, this wasn’t the end for him. He will get a proper answer from you.

You sighed deeply, standing back in your room alone. You collapsed forward onto the bed. A muffled groan erupted from you.

I can get through this, I’ll be fine.

An hour passed.

An ice pack, barely cold anymore, laid across your forehead. Your pants and underwear were discarded. You constantly tugged on the collar of your shirt and fanned yourself. Your body ached. You wanted to claw at your skin, you wanted to rip your hair out, you wanted -

You wanted Miguel. God, you wanted him terribly. You wanted him to bend you over.

“Just like that,” you imagined he would coo as he slipped his cock inside of you.

You tried pleasuring yourself, but nothing helped. Nothing satiated you. This swelling sensation only became more and more intense.

You hissed and curled up onto your side. The ice pack slid off your forehead. You lazily picked it up, tossing it onto your nightstand. Your eyes blinked slowly. You stared blankly at the wall, trying to focus on something - anything. Anything but the dampness between your legs, anything but your spiraling perverted thoughts.

Move.

Do something.

Call for help.

You languidly pushed yourself up, and hunched forward. Your head fell into your hands. Your chest continued to heave and tighten. Your heart pounded and rang in your ears. “Fuck me,” you muttered under your breath.

“Only if you ask nicely,” Miguel chuckled.

You shivered.

Almost summoned by your thoughts, yellow and orange lights burst to life behind you. You twisted around. A portal opened up, and a familiar hulking figure walked through: Miguel. Seeing his face, your heart sank. You whipped back around, unable and unwilling to face him.

Why? Why the hell was he here?

He squinted, seeing your decrepit posture on the edge of your bed. “Still fine I see.”

You rolled your eyes. “What do you want? I’m trying to rest.”

Miguel shuffled over. “I came here to see why you’ve been acting weird.”

“It’s nothing.”

He sighed, a short disappointed sigh. He lowered himself onto your bed. A notable gap was between the two of you. Yet, you could feel the heat roll off of him. You unconsciously leaned slightly towards him, desperately seeking him out.

“Talk to me.”

I’m worried about you, he thought.

He hadn’t stopped worrying. You were constantly on the forefront of his mind. Most of all, he wondered why you were avoiding him. Why were you locking yourself away in your room? What happened?

You stayed silent.

Miguel gently rested his hand on your shoulder. “Look -“

You flinched. You leapt away and hastily took a few steps away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

One touch and your body nearly crumbled.

His hand fell. Shock evident on his typically stoic face. His fist clenched. Anger was now getting the better part of him. “I’m trying to help you.”

You hugged yourself, keeping your back to him. “I’m - I'm fine.”

“No, you’re not.” He stood up. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” you repeated harshly.

Miguel clicked his tongue. He had enough of your constant dismissal. He grabbed your shoulders and whirled you around to finally face him. You gasped. He stared intently down at you, dissecting and analyzing you. You were panting, your skin glistened with sweat, and notably your pupils were completely dilated.

“What -“

You jerked away from him. And you unconsciously rubbed your thighs together.

Oh. Oh.

Miguel’s cheeks darkened faintly. He placed his hands on his hips, and glanced away. He cleared his throat, “How … how long have you been like … like that?”

You crossed your arms, and sighed. There was no use hiding it anymore. “Since our encounter with Doc Ock.”

His eyes flickered up. “So, he did do something to you.”

“… yes.”

“Which was?”

“He … he threw some substance at me and I accidentally inhaled it.”

He rubbed the spot between his brows, a common place for his headaches to start. “And why did you tell me?”

You tsked and sneered, “Oh sorry, boss, I can’t come in today. I can’t focus or do anything because I am unbelievably and painfully horny.”

God, this is humiliating.

Miguel sighed deeply, dropped his shoulders. “Well, maybe Doc Ock can -“

“He can’t help. I already confronted him, he was just a mad scientist who didn’t know what he created.”

He shifted his weight side to side. “Well, have you … you know …”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Miguel, we are not having this conversation.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes scanned over you again. God, he couldn’t deny that you were absolutely delectable right now. His mind ran rampant with impure thoughts. It was the way your lips parted as you breathed heavily, it was the way your body squirmed, it was the way you desperately tried to bury the noises ready to jump out, it was the way you adamantly avoided his gaze, it was the way your hardened nipples poke through your shirt, it was the way how he could smell you and your arousal.

He wasn’t blind to your beauty. He was simply ignorant to his feelings and attraction. He buried it deep within him, unwilling to acknowledge any of it. But, seeing you now, seeing the discomfort you were in, seeing you in such a needy state, he wanted to help. He took a cautious step forward, “Maybe I can help.”

You snapped your head up, staring wide eyed at him. “What?”

“I said maybe I can -“

You shook your head and backed yourself away from him until your back bumped into the wall. “No, no, what needs to happen is that you need to leave.” Swallowing down such desire, you closed your eyes and muttered, “Just go.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Fucking hell.

You shouted, “Just get the hell out of here!”

Miguel didn’t respond. Cracking open your eyes, his gaze bore directly into you. It was a searing gaze. Your knees nearly buckled under the intensity. He stepped closer.

“Please,” you whispered, practically begging. “I - I … just … just not like this, not because of my dumb mistake.”

He froze, and his eyebrows knitted together.

Your gaze dropped to the ground. You couldn’t - and wouldn’t - look at him.

He slowly continued to walk towards you. You forced down a whimper. Sandwiched between the wall and him, he gently grabbed your chin. You flinched and squeezed your eyes shut. It pained you immensely to fight so fiercely against your desires and needs. He tipped your chin up. “Look at me.”

You kept your eyes closed, and your face scrunched up.

“Por favor, cariño. Please, look at me.”

Your heart flipped at his unusually sweet tone. You opened up your eyes, and was immediately greeted by his strangely, endearing, rosy crimson eyes.

“Good,” he murmured.

Oh, fuck.

Biting down on your tongue, you forced down any noises that almost dared to crawl out. You dug your nails into your palms. You wouldn’t dare touch him because if you did you wouldn’t let go.

“If I didn’t care for you in this way, I wouldn’t be here. I would be back at HQ working on a cure, on some antidote.” His other hand reached out and rested on your hip. He drew you close, flushing you to his chest. “But, am I at HQ right now?”

You didn’t trust your voice. You simply shook your head, a small twitch.

“You’re right, I’m not. I’m right here asking - begging - to let me help you.” He bent his head down, brushing his lips over yours. “Please, I want to help … I’ve … I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Miguel.”

“Please.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t … I don’t know what’ll do. I don’t know if I can control myself.”

He slowly pulled up the hem of your shirt. His hand skimmed across your lower back. He laughed once, “I can handle it. Please, let me help.”

His fingers lightly touched your skin. A groan rumbled in the back of your throat. “I don’t want you to think differently of me,” you whispered as your eyes dropped to his lips.

Your excuses were hollow now.

He moved his head, letting his lips brush over your neck. His hands snaked further up your back, and his talons gently scraped down. You moaned, arching your back into his touch. Your hands latched onto his biceps, squeezing them.

“My opinion of you won’t change,” he muttered into your neck. His leg slid between yours. Your swollen clit rubbed against his massive thigh.

“Fuck,” you hissed, clinging onto him.

“Just say yes, cariño.” He nuzzled his face into your neck. “I want to help.”

You cupped his face, looking directly into his eyes. His eyes were begging, pleading, for you. You brought him down, giving him a sweet, loving kiss. He hummed, wrapping his arms around you. However, you quickly broke the kiss before he could truly enjoy it.

Miguel didn’t understand. How would he know? He inadvertently poured gasoline over the already raging fire inside of you. Your eyes darkened. You pushed Miguel backwards until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he flopped backward. He held himself up on his forearms, stunned by your sudden change.

A smirk curled over your lips. A beast, one you had been holding back for more than a day, was finally unleashed. Locking eyes with him, you slowly stripped out of your shirt - your only article of clothing - letting it dramatically drop to the floor.

Miguel’s eyes greedily drank in your naked figure.

You crawled onto his lap, straddling him. You pushed him down so he laid flat against the bed. His hands instantly rested on your waist. You hovered over him, planting your hands on either side of his head.

He looked up at you with absolute adoration. He could not describe how thrilled he was right now.

You bent down, kissing him passionately. As you took the lead, you opened your mouth, deepening the kiss. Miguel hummed. He brought your hips down, making you grind down on him. You moaned into the kiss. Breaking apart, you muttered, “Fuck.”

You peppered kisses all over his face, and across his jaw. You desperately wanted to trail your lips all over him. It was such a ravenous feeling. You needed to mark him, to bite him, to taste him.

“Take the suit off,” you murmured, kissing the corner of his jaw.

He let out a pleased sigh. The digital suit retracted with a whirl of colors, revealing himself to you. You bit the inside of your cheek as you felt the tip of his cock brush against your inner thigh. Your lips brushed down his neck. He tilted his head, allowing you better access to do whatever you wished. Your heart soared. You slowly - teasingly so - kissed the crook of his neck. His grip on your hips tightened. Like a switch, you attacked his neck. Your teeth scraped across his sensitive skin. You nipped all along his neck needing to mark his skin. Oh, it excited you to know that these bruises would be under his suit tomorrow. Your tongue swirled over soothing any pains.

Miguel moaned.

What a beautiful sound.

Stopping your attack on his now blemished neck, your lips trailed further down his body. You kissed over his chest, occasionally biting his skin. Your eyes flickered up, seeing his head tilt back. You ran your teeth over his nipples. He groaned. You licked up his chest, tasting the saltiness of his sweat. You kissed up his jaw to his ear, and gently nibbled on his lope.

Miguel clenched his jaw. His heart flipped in his chest. He didn’t expect this, he didn’t expect to ever be here like this with you. He surely didn’t expect the control you quickly had over him.

And oh, he loved it.

Lifting yourself up, you teasingly rubbed his tip across your dripping folds. He groaned, almost whimpering.

“Fuck, Miguel,” you moaned.

At such a simple movement, you were seeing stars. You weren’t sure how long you would last. You wanted to draw this out longer, you wanted to have more fun with him, but you couldn’t.

You needed him. And you were nearly insatiable.

You slowly sank down on his cock. Miguel hissed. You placed your hands on his chest, panting. Miguel soothingly rubbed his thumbs over your hips. You moaned, feeling how he stretched and filled you. No one made you feel this full or good. As you bottomed out, you swore under your breath.

Miguel chuckled to himself.

But, his amusement was cut short when you started to move. Lust flooded back into his veins. He moaned out your name. His talons popped out and dug into your hips.

You set the pace, a nearly brutal but wondrous pace.

And Miguel thought you looked divine.

Your head tilted back to the heavens. Your lips parted as you whispered his name like a prayer. Your body arched like an angel soaring up, like a renaissance painting. Your hands traced up your hypnotic body, playing with your breasts. He wanted to draw you back down, he wanted to shower you in kisses, he wanted to flip you over and pound into you. But, this was all for you. You were the one who was affected by something strange, you were the one to take the lead. You rolled your head, glancing down at him. A soft smile tugged on your lips.

Oh, the way you looked at him, the way you bounced on his cock, the way your eyes softened with affection, he felt his heart was going to explode.

His cock twitched inside of you.

You hummed.

You rolled your hips, and he swore in Spanish. Smirking, you changed the pace. It was slow and easy - just to have your fun, no matter how short lived it might be - then flipped to hard and fast - desperate to reach your end. And your end was coming quickly.

You happily split yourself and continuously moaned out his name. “Miguel,” you moaned, dropping your hands back on his chest. “I - I won’t last much longer.”

Miguel felt your walls clench around you. He gritted his teeth, and moaned. “That’s okay, that’s okay,” he whispered.

He helped you, lifting your hips along with your movements. He slammed you back down right as he bucked his hips up, grinding you further onto him. You gasped and swore.

“Fuck, Miguel, keep doing that,” you whimpered.

He smirked, enjoying your sounds. Moving you faster, you pounded on his cock. Your nails scratched across his chest in red ribbons. The coil tightened and tightened in the pit of your stomach.

You whined.

Miguel wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and lose himself in the feeling of you. But, he also wanted to watch you come undone. So, he watched hungrily.

It was getting sloppy and erratic.

You closed your eyes. You dropped your head, tucking your chin to your chest. But, fingers gently guided your chin back up. “Eyes on me,” Miguel murmured. “Please, I want to see it.”

You melted into his touch, then he bucked his hips right as you went down. The coil snapped. Your walls clamped down around him as your orgasm crashed through you. You moaned out his name as you stared down at him with hooded eyes.

Miguel clenched his jaw. Oh, what a sight. His cock jumped.

Your movements, however, didn’t slow down. You wanted Miguel to cum, you wanted to feel it. You grabbed Miguel’s face and forced him to sit up. You kissed him heatedly as you still rode him. Miguel hummed. Your fingers threaded into his dark curls, and yanked on them.

He whined.

Your eyes sparkled. “Come on, Miguel. Cum for me.”

Miguel shivered. Your words, your body, it was so wondrous. He bucked his hips up, cumming inside of you.

Finally stopping your relentless movement, you dropped your head onto his shoulder. Both of you were gasping for air. Your eyes flickered down, seeing the mess you both created.

You shivered.

Miguel, however, surprised you. He flipped you over, landing you on your back. You gasped. Before you could do or say anything, Miguel dropped to his knees onto the floor, yanked your body down the bed, then nestled his face between your legs.

He devoured you like a starved man.

Your lips parted in a silent moan as your eyes rolled back. You arched your back, and tangled your fingers into his hair.

He wanted to taste you. God, he dreamt of this so many times. Although, he didn’t dare admit it out loud. He groaned. He lifted one of your legs, tossing it over his shoulder. His hands fiercely grabbed your thighs. His talons scraped along your inner thigh. He buried his face deeper. His nose brushed over your already sensitive clit and you cried out. He growled, the taste of you and him on his tongue was divine.

“Miguel,” you gasped.

He forcibly pulled himself away, panting. His chin and lips were covered in mixed juices. His eyes were lit with primal desires. He smirked, flashing his fangs. You scrambled up. You grabbed the back of his neck, smashing your lips to his. You easily slipped your tongue inside his mouth, swirling it around. You hummed in delight, tasting him and yourself.

You still wanted more.

Needed more.

The residual of whatever affected you still lingered.

You pulled away from him. Your combined hot breaths filled the minimal space between the two of you. With you still on the bed on your knees, you finally had some height over Miguel. You cupped his face, and tilted his chin up. His arms wrapped around your waist, pressing you into him. You smiled then brushed your thumb over his lip. Without hesitation, he parted his lips and you slipped your thumb into his mouth. His tongue ran over the pad of your thumb, and the tip of his fang grazed over it.

You shivered, causing him to smirk.

You removed your thumb. You couldn’t help yourself. You leaned down, kissing him sweetly again. It was a confession, and a thank you. He sighed into the kiss. You slowly parted, lingering for a second. It was so tender, despite the cum and saliva coating his chin and your lips. And your following words reminded Miguel how and why he got into this bizarre, surreal situation.

“I want you to fuck me from behind,” you whispered.

Miguel’s eyebrows shot up for a moment, then he chuckled. “Of course,” he purred. Whatever you wanted, he was happy to do. “Can you get on your hands and knees for me?”

You bit back a smile. Your fingers skimmed along his jaw as you backed away and got into position. Miguel watched, transfixed. His eyes trailed down. Seeing your soaking folds, he moaned softly. He can still taste you on his tongue. He licked his lips. Crawling onto the bed, he carefully grabbed your hips.

“You’re too good for me,” he confessed quietly.

You sighed under the simple praise.

He lined himself up, just teasing your entrance. You began to fist the sheets in anticipation. He leaned down. His broad chest pressed firmly into your back, and he whispered in your ear, “But now, let me be good for you.”

He easily pushed himself in.

You moaned unabashedly.

“That’s it, let me hear you,” he grunted.

This round was hot and fast. There wasn’t adoration or love this time, this was solely desires and sins. This was using each other’s bodies.

And Miguel was animalistic. God, it was utter bliss.

You grinded back, meeting his thrusts. You dropped down onto your forearms unable to support yourself fully. Your face buried into the sheets as you cried out. His cock was kissing spots you didn’t think was possible.

Miguel smiled, enjoying your muffled sounds and how you squirmed. His fingers reached around and began to play with your clit. You swore as your body shuddered. Your walls fluttered around him.

He rolled his head back at the sensation. It was as if you were made perfectly for him.

“Miguel,” you whined.

You wanted this so badly. You moved your hips feverishly in tune with his. Skin slapped together, wet noises echoed, and voices cried out. Miguel gasped. His talons buried into your hips, drawing out small specs of blood. He gritted his teeth, almost baring his fangs.

“Ay dios mío,” he grumbled.

Neither of you would last long.

You were begging under your breath. You needed it, you needed him. “Fuck, Miguel, please.”

“I know, I got you,” he groaned, pounding into you. “Let go, cum for me.”

You moaned.

With his fingers, his pace, and your already stimulated body, you came. You gushed around his cock, and slumped heavily into the bed. As your walls clamped down again, Miguel hissed as he spilled himself inside of you. He continued to gently rocked his hips as you both came back down to reality.

The air buzzed with the aftermath.

Your grip on the sheets loosened. You turned your head, glancing back at him: his chest covered in new bruises, his sweat covered forehead, and his fangs and talons were still out. You shivered at the sight. His eyes flickered over, connecting with yours. He gave you a tired smile. He bent down and kissed the spot between your shoulder blades.

You hummed softly.

Miguel rolled onto the bed. His arms wrapped around your waist as flushed your back to his chest. His now softened cock still buried inside.

“Better?” He murmured into your ear.

You nodded.

“Good,” he sighed. “Just … just stay like this with me, please.”

To be fair, you had no energy to argue or care. A day of exhaustion finally caught up to you. You relaxed into his embrace, enjoying the comfort as well as the fullness of him still inside of you. You placed a hand over top of his and intertwined your fingers with his. You squeezed his hand.

“Thank you,” you muttered.

He kissed your shoulder. “You’re welcome. Now rest, cariño, I got you.”

I always will, he thought as you drifted off in his arms completely satisfied.

#across the spiderverse #spiderverse #atsv #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x afab!reader #miguel x reader #miguel x afab!reader #afab!reader #smut

[fanaticsnail]

Two More Times

Masterlist Here

(Image Source:)

Word Count: 4,300+

Synopsis: A meet up with a beautiful Captain has you feeling unworthy of being by Shanks' side as his partner. Shanks does not like being ignored - he wants to showcase his pretty girl sat on his knee. He reminds you of your importance to him, while punishing you for behaving like a brat. His brat.

Warnings: MDNI, smut, p in v, afab!reader, dom!shanks x brat!reader, overstimulation, Shanks begs a little bit, Shanks is a hypocrite, prolonged eye contact, inappropriate use of mirrors, has plot I swear.

Notes: This little fic was brought to you by Aussie shenanigans write night while nursing mutual hangovers. A gift for and beta-read by @sordidmusings.

Tag List: @writingmysanity, @feral-artistry, @gingernut1314

The searing burn of a scorched gaze had been fixed on your body all night long. The feel of the attention on your back as you departed, the focus pinpointed on your face as you entered; the gaze wanting so desperately to meet with your own searching within your eyes - eyes that you refused to return the longing expression to find purchase against his rust-coloured orbs. 

No illusion, nor discrepancy, had you hold any disillusion that this man - the captain of the Red-Hair Pirates, was completely smitten with you. The way he was such a gentleman for you: ordering your drinks at the tavern, ensuring you were the first to cross the threshold into a room by holding the door ajar, his body always finding itself thrust between you and harm's way. He was a captain: a man of great myth and fierce legend. His legacy will live on forever by his works and deeds alone. And he wanted you, he desired you. 

He was with you.

You desired to be by his side fingertips granting warmth to one another through presence in proximity, the almost brush of your lips meeting as your eyes glazed over. Your bodies almost always found each other in one form or another, but tonight, you were yet to clasp the final link in the heavy chains binding you physically to one another. 

The small, insignificant thing holding you back from committing to the bit; returning his gaze and advances, was the pang clashing harshly against your ribcage and desire rolling off your body in waves. This meeting with a potential Nakama for the Red-Hair Pirates; a captain as beautiful in appearance as she was in nature had you feeling inadequate and unworthy of harboring the affections of a man such as Shanks. He was yours, and you were his through and through - but she? 

Oh, she? She was spectacular. 

Instead of being Shanks’ loyal partner by his side, you engaged with your crew ensuring their drinks always remained topped up while lying idle in conversing with the new allied crew. Making polite conversation with the Nakama crew came incredibly naturally to you. You had a knack for making all those around feel special and cared for, a skillset Shanks greatly appreciated in you. 

As you maneuvered your way around Lucky Roux and Lime-Juice to meet your interlaced hands at the bar top counter, those eyes you were avoiding burned you with the same intensity you had been feeling all night. Eyes you knew should hold their intense focus in the meeting with the potential Nakama captain in front of him. You flicked your hair over your shoulder, checking on your crew while sparing a fleeting glance at your redheaded captain through your peripherals. 

His rust-coloured orbs sat unblinking and hyperfocused on your body; exactly where they shouldn’t be to ensure the meeting went smoothly. Regardless of how desperately you desired to saunter over to Shanks, quietly reprimand him in his ear with a small kiss on his cheekbone, and flee without another word: you held back to allow him space to discuss the intricacies of the meeting space with the foreign captain.

Shanks was incredibly upset about your absence at his side. He wanted his pretty girl to sit on his knee whispering praises and playful jests into his ear. He wanted to look up into your face, smiling his broad dopey grin as his pretty girl was on display for all to see. 

Instead he sat, cradling his chin in his hand and ignoring this captain he knew he should be paying his undivided attention to. But his attention did remain divided, held completely transfixed by your surliness and the subtle swing of your hips as you leant against the bar. His every sense swelled with desire to have, hold and showcase his pretty girl in front of this captain - her own attention fleeting as she held her undivided gaze on a member of her own crew. 

“Something on your mind, Red-Hair?” she asked him, watching intently as her first mate approached the bar beside you. Shanks was finally roused from his hold of contact on your back, to float to the man the captain beside him held her attention against. 

“Have you ever been in love?” Shanks uttered, smiling as he elevated his tankard to his lips. The woman beside him chuckled, looking down to her own drink and swirling her index finger over the rim.

“I am in love, Captain,” she confessed, claiming her glass in her hands with her fingertips gripping the rim; her index finger gesturing to the man beside you at the bar, “My first-mate and I have been in a relationship for quite some time. He continuously thinks himself unworthy of my affection, which is completely and utterly ridiculous.” 

“I completely understand,” Shanks said, his smile stretching over his lips and up to the peaks of his eyes, “My pretty girl is at the bar next to who I assume your first-mate be.” The captains both take a moment to watch their spouses ignore them, both engaging in polite conversation and clinking cups against one anothers. 

“They’ve been awfully quiet while we’re in our meeting, wouldn’t you say Shanks?” her brow quirked at her question. Shanks grunted out a small ‘aye’ in response, holding his eyes once more over you as you began to sway to the music swelling from the band in the corner. After a few moments of silence, both captains began to turn their smiles up into smirks as their eyes darkened. 

“A small amount of reminding them of their importance to us would be in order, do you agree?” her tone quirked at the corner alongside the elevation of her lips. Shanks huffed a laugh into the rim of his tankard, the playfulness returning to swirl with the darkness within his twinkling eyes. 

“Aye, that I can agree on,” he admitted with a small nod. The foreign captain’s first-mate glanced over his shoulder and their eyes finally met. The first-mate visibly shuddered beneath the woman’s gaze, anticipation wracking through his body at the promise of what’s to come. 

“It seems we have far more in common than we initially thought, Captain,” she nodded, rising to her feet and placing her empty glass on the table. “I shall see you in future, Red-Hair. May our newfound Nakama flourish.” Shanks nodded politely, watching the aura this captain seemed to hold over her crew. With a simple brush of her fingertips on the back of her first mate, his brows upturned and he obediently followed her exit through the threshold of the tavern door. 

And there you were: finally alone, isolated and waiting for him. 

You felt a firm hand clasp the back of your neck, tugging at the flesh and turning your head to face the presence behind you. Squeaking out a small whimper of shock, your lips met with your red-haired captain as he pressed a bruising kiss against your startled mouth.

His lips moved expertly, the hum of his voice pressed its rumbled vibration into your mouth. His brows furrowed in deep concentration, his nose sucking in an elongated breath. Rolling his tongue over his lips, he sought yours out and brushed the organ against it slowly and deliberately. 

Whistles, hollers, cheers and snickers from the Red-Hair pirates had Shanks smiling into the shameless kiss; the firm grip of his hand on the scruff of your neck rendering you helpless to do nothing but take the affection he was pressing against you. A sign of the promised punishment your present surliness held for you in your future. 

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

The rough slaps and quickened snaps of your hips meeting with his echoed within the small room. You tried to halt your soft sobs and whimpers from overstimulation, eyes tightly shut and tears pricking at the corners as you rode him.  

"No," his voice commanded you softly. You felt his hand travel up from your thigh to rest on your face, thumb brushing against the apple of your cheek. 

Regardless of his verbal command, you continued your quickened pace: the heat of your walls sucking in his shaft at the same elevated rhythm you set earlier. 

He was yet to climax, and you had been at this for hours. He had your peak rise and fall for the upteenth time by his lips, tongue, thigh and fingers: each time, the lights dancing behind your eyes and the soft call of his name cried from your lips. 

You were desperate for him to cum. You wanted to have him share in the same bliss he had offered you so many times earlier today, the shoots of his seed buried deep within you with your name spilled as recklessly from his lips as yours did his. 

"No," he commanded once more, your relentless pace you set continued ceaselessly. You continued bouncing your body and sheathing yourself fully on his cock, feeling the twitch hitting against the top of your cervix. 

You knew he would cum like this, and you wanted him to feel his release just as he had you reach yours. You continued hastily riding him, him granting you a shuddered groan growling from between his clenched teeth. You felt him close, the small quiver of his cock depicting truly how thoroughly he was enjoying your hasty pace. Just as you felt him near his release, you expected him to fuck up into you, burying himself deeper and writhing beneath you as he came. 

Instead, his arm trailed down from your cheek, shoulder and hips: hooking around your body and holding you fully sheathed on his cock, halting your movement entirely. 

"P-Please," you whimpered, your pace fully halted by his firm arm. The twitch of his cock at your plea had you continue, "I-I-’s too much. W-Want you to feel good. P-Please Captain."

The twitch of his cock granted you the telltale sign that he halted his orgasm from shooting up into you. He lazily rolled his hips into yours, the grind of his pelvis meeting your clit and caused another cry from fleeing your lips. 

"You can take it," he whispered, rolling his hips against yours; his buried cock twitching once more, and stretching you deliciously. Your arousal coated his pubic hair and tops of his thighs, the wrap of his arm halting your every movement with the incredible strength he held you with. 

"Captain I-I-," you tried, Shanks halting your cry by sitting up while remaining still within you. You snapped your eyes open to meet his, the warm rust of his irises held a foreign emotion depicted behind them. One you had not seen for some time: overall unreadable, but not an unwelcome flavor painted on his face.

You knew you had been a tease to him earlier today. The swing of your hips, the twitch of your smirk and the looks you shot him over your shoulder were enough to warrant him clawing out climax after climax from you as punishment. Your surliness was his undoing: your refusal to acknowledge his eyes by meeting yours against them. 

As his eyes met yours now, and this new position held his cock buried deeper; his gaze no longer held that punishing brutality mixed playfulness he offered you earlier. This foreign expression you had yet seen depicted in his gaze, his words not speaking its unconfirmed intention. It was no longer the aggressive, lustful look he always threw at you during the bedroom hours, mixing with his boyish charm and humor. 

His eyes were dark, a hue of pink flushing his cheeks with a dusting of heat. Lips parted, eyes searching between yours as his breath caught in his throat. The closest you could place this expression was compared to ‘awe,’ but that was still not entirely correct. 

He began rocking you atop his lap, slow grinds of his pelvis and throbbing pulses from his cock bringing another pleasured whimper from your throat. He continued to hold your gaze, his lips parting as a slow groan fled his lips. The quiver of his jaw, the flutter of his eyelashes, and blown pupils darting its focus on your eyes held more emotion than you were used to seeing. 

"You can take it," he gasped again, "I know you can, pretty girl." You whimpered once more, feeling the slow rake of his cock pull itself out before burying it again deep within you. 

"Jus' want you to feel good. P-Please let me make you feel good," you cried once more, the swell of your exhausted tears within your eyes spurred Shanks' smile to rise against his lips. 

He halted his rocking all together, his forehead falling forward to meet against your collar bone. You cried out at his halt, desperately attempted to start your pace once more - his arm halting you by the sheer strength he held alone. 

"Just want you to cum. I’ll be so good. Please, Shanks. Please, please, please. Need it-... N-Need you-," your cries were answered by the surge of his hips and thighs propelling themselves forward, throwing your back to hit against the plush mattress. 

This small resurgence of his playfulness returning had your prior desperation for him morph into a laugh of joy - a sound mirrored by his own soft laugh. 

He propped himself up by his hand lying beside your head. As his cock slowly buried itself once more within you; mutual groans, mixed with laughter and sighs, joined together harmoniously. He sunk his weight onto your hips, his full weight halted it's descent by him angling down onto elbow beside your head. His hand began brushing your hair from your face, his playful smile never leaving his lips. 

He lunged forward, sheathing his cock completely within you and holding himself firmly there. 

His smile approached you, capturing your lips within his and brushing his tongue over your parted lips to brush against your own - his smile never leaving his lips. Pulling away his claim on your lips, he began slowly rocking his hips against yours, gasping at the feeling of your walls sucking him in further. 

"You're so desperate to feel me cum, love?" He asked you, the uptick of his voice and soft huff of laugh colliding with a sinful groan fleeing him, "You should've thought of that before behaving like a brat." 

You whimpered out a cry of bliss as his sheathed cock brushed with your g-spot, the slow, rhythmic slap of his hips colliding deeply with yours slowly echoing once more within the room. 

"No, love," he growled into your ear, successfully caging you beneath him with the hover of his body, "No. You don't get to feel me cum until I bring out another two from you. No cry of mercy or relentless fucking up into me will have me cum in you-." 

You cried as a particularly harsh snap of his hips had his weight topple down onto you. His pace quickened, the wind of the coil within your stomach began its tightening once more. 

The feel of being completely trapped beneath the weight of his body, the only movement breaking your entrapment away from his body was the small rise and fall of his hips harshly fucking into you slowly and deliberately. 

You groaned, arching your back and writhing as you felt your toes and fingertips begin to quiver at the approach of your climax. Shanks chuckled into your shoulder, his teeth slowly clamping down on the tender flesh and soothing over the bite with his tongue. 

"That's it, pretty girl," he complimented you, slowly picking up the pace of his thrusting, "You've finally realized, huh?" You whimpered, the depth of his cock brushing up against you and the pick up of his pace held your mind fuzzy and jaw slack.

"You're stuck," he growled against you, "And you're going to remain helpless and stuck through two more before I cum in you. Make no mistake, love-..." he continued to elevate his pace, the depth of his cock sinking into you brutally. 

"I will cum for you, pretty girl," his promise felt hot in your ear, scorching you as his gaze did earlier in the evening, "But not until I make you scream for me two more times."

You whimpered, the slow and deep pace he set now deliberately scraping against the tender spot within you. This new set of rhythm had your lips parting and walls condensing and squeezing against his cock. He huffed a small grunt against your ear, eyes rolling at the feeling. Wrapping your legs over his hips, you keened into his shoulder at the slow intwine of another elevation of your approaching climax. 

“There you go. Atta girl. I can feel how close you are,” He struck you with his cock, repetitively hitting the sensitive part by hooking his cock expertly within you, “C’mon now, pretty little thing. Let me hear you cry out for me.” You scrunch your eyes tightly shut, feeling the familiar buzz starting within your toes behind his back. 

Slowly pulling away his hips from your own, resheathing his cock back into you deliberately had your walls shifting and quivering for him as you cried his name through your bliss. He claimed another orgasm from you, the tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes by how tightly you clenched them shut. He pulled his face away from your shoulder, huffing in your ear before glancing at your face contorted in pleasure. 

“No, no, no, pretty girl. Open your eyes,” he slumped on his elbow, soothing over forehead and removing the hair stuck to your brow. You shook your head, physically unable to open your eyes as he shepherded you through your bliss. “Hey, hey. Open. Now.” You arched your back, your head falling away from his as you kept your eyes shut. 

“Alright then,” he uttered, feeling your high fall as you regained some semblance of your consciousness back through panting and deeply sighing. Your momentary calm was seized by the storm raging within Shanks, him unsheathing his cock from you and throwing you over his right shoulder and walking towards the tall mirror. The bob of his hard cock from each step he took had a proud smile on his face and a chuckle fleeing from his lips. 

Unceremoniously, he placed your feet back onto the ground, facing the mirror and lined his cock back up with your quivering and overstimulated hole. 

“This is what you get for being a brat and not listening, pretty girl,” he laughed into your shoulder, immediately surging forward and plunging his cock deep within you, “Keep your eyes open and watch.” 

He hooked his arm around your right hip, claiming your left hip bone beneath his palm and anchoring himself against you. Kicking your feet to part further, you had no choice but to watch his face contort within the metallic, silvery reflection as he fucked into you. The cries of your voice muffled as you took your bottom lip between your teeth.

“No. You let me hear you,” Shanks’ breathy voice whispered against your skin as he pressed his cheek against your shoulder blade. He scrunched his eyes closed and focussed on your gasps, cries and moans. You obediently unclenched your teeth from your lip, brows knitting as you whined his name repeatedly and ceaselessly. 

He groaned into your skin, baring his teeth down on your flesh to silence his own whimpered growls. The quiver of your walls sucking his cock within them had Shanks opening his eyes only to roll them back into his skull at the sensation. The grip on your hip bone held on firmer, his rhythmic thrusts and grinds becoming slopier, heavier and staggered. He was so close, closer than he would ever admit to you at this moment. 

Your abdomen began to burn beneath his bruising grip, the sensation of being trapped and helpless to him using your body in this way stoked the fires into a blaze of passionate release as he chased your climax. He held your body against his, the pick up of his rhythmic thrusting within the security of his arm had your lips parting. Your overstimulated and fucked-out expression within the mirror had Shanks chasing the spots that had you crying for him the loudest.

“Good job keeping your eyes open, pretty girl,” he praised you, his tone prompting a high whimper to pass from your parted lips. The slaps of slickened thighs and hips became louder and heavier; Shanks now opting to no longer pull all the way out of you while chasing his own high. His knob brushed its shined tip against the back of your quivering and tingling walls, your cervix being kissed with each deep thrust. You cried out for him, standing on the tops of your toes and arching your back for him to get a better angle with his cock sheathed within you.

“You better c-cum,” He stuttered against your shoulder. The hitch in his breath and the whimper within his tone alerted you that he was once again so close to his climax. He continued to chase your release, but was unable to fully tip you over the edge just like this. 

“Play with your clit,” he ordered you, watching you over your shoulder as your dominant hand sought your firm, leaking bud. “Th-That’s it-... nghm-... That’s my girl. Play with yourself while you take my cock. Little circles, pretty girl. Little circles while I fuck you through it.” You had no choice but to listen, your fingertips brushing with your aching clit while exhaustion overtook you. 

“Good girl,” he whined into your ear, his eyes meeting with yours while he watched you obediently play with your clit while he stuffed you roughly with his cock. Just his expression alone would’ve made you cum: his brows tilted up, pupils blown with list as his jaw hung slack. But the overstimulation was too much for you to continue. You whined, unable to push yourself over the edge for him as he requested you. 

“Don’t you dare stop,” he growled, watching as your hand began to halt its ministrations against your aching clit. “Make me proud, little thing. Cum on my cock and I’ll let you have mine. C’mon pretty girl. Cum on my cock again. J-Just like you did before. Cum for me, cum for me-.”

“A-Ah, Shanks!” you cried in bliss, his voice falling from your open mouth like a scream. Your arousal gushed around his cock as you came for him, your walls attempting to milk his cock of the precum he began to paint you with. 

“G-Good girl. Such a good girl,” he praised you, continuing his bruising pace while you watched him huff out his own cries of bliss, “Now you’ll get my cum. I-I’m-...mmff-... O-Oh, I’m cumming. I’m cumming for you. F-Fuck.” Ropes of his long withheld load splashed within you, the sheer force and amount prompting your shiny juices to pool down your legs as you both cried for one another. He roared your name, biting your shoulder with the clamp of his teeth over your flesh. 

As he rode you through your highs, tears began to pool down your cheeks at the sheer relief of earning his orgasm. You sobbed, body falling limp as he carried you back to the bed. He unsheathed his cock from you and caged you beneath his body, searching your face for any issue that ignited this release of emotion.

“Are you okay, love? Did I hurt you? What did I do?” he asked, wiping a tear with his thumb as you met his eyes with your own. You shook your head, angling your chin away from the brush of his thumb and pressing a small kiss against the pad of the shorter digit. He gasped, his boyish smile returning to his face while his eyes held that unfamiliar expression within them. He huffed out a breath, soothing over your hair as he whispered into your face.

“I am so in love with you, pretty girl. My pretty girl,” he confessed, closing his eyes and nudging your chin with his forehead. Your lips parted in shock, this being the first time either of you uttered the words remaining unspoken between you. You attempted to find the words to speak back to him, your voice cracking harshly from the amount of cries he pulled from you in your bliss.

“You don’t have to say it, love. I know, I know,” he confessed further, leaning up to press a firm kiss against your forehead. “You just lay back and relax while I clean up our mess, alright?” 

You weakly nodded, laying back completely against the mattress as exhaustion overcame your body. Sleep claimed you, soft and deep breaths propelling each moment for more rest to find you. 

As Shanks returned to your place on the bed, he sighed at the beautiful picture you made painted against his sheets. His pretty girl was all tired from the amount of times he made you cum, exhausted with the softest rise of heat within your cheeks. 

The next time you felt inadequate and undeserving of such treatment and attention, he would be so glad to provide you with the reminder of your importance in his life. He began to look forward to a longer and more worshipful way of showing you how much he truly loved you, and only you. 

He began cleaning up the mess he made of your bodies, maneuvering a warm cloth over every mark and splash of fluids and hungry kisses. He dried your body with a plush towel before tucking you into the bedsheets, crawling in them behind you and lacing his right arm over your hip and pulling you closer. 

“I love you,” he whispered against your neck, you stirring slightly within your slumber, “And I’ll happily remind you of how much I do any time you think I don’t.”

#one piece #opla #x reader #opla fic #one piece live action #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #shanks smut #shanks x reader smut #red hair shanks x reader #op shanks #one piece shanks #op smut #one piece smut

[fridayth13]

Could I request Zhongli reuniting with his wife after the two had a falling out 500 years ago?

crushed cor lapis.

↳ zhongli × gn!immortal!artist!reader

↳ part one, part two

↳ genre: soft angst at the beginning, but it's mostly bittersweet | wordcount: 1.6k | warnings: none

↳ notes: i ended up with less angst than i thought i would have. but i did want to explore the thought of time passage and fighting for people who are going to live forever, even if it's subtle; reader is immortal and implied to be an adeptus or a god, but the kind isn't very important; ive had an idea for zhongli and an artist reader for a long time so i tried to combine it i hope you don't mind; as with the gender. i did write with a fem!reader in mind as per the request but in the end, the gender didn't need to be specified for anything so i left it gender neutral; i tried to give reader a more divine disposition about them so the writing ended up really flowery, but in any case i hope you enjoy! i really did have fun writing this one

You were a painter.

In your old life, as you liked to call it, however, you were a god. Your domain of influence laid in artistry and beauty.

Or rather, that was what Morax used to tell you. Archons like him were the only beings in Teyvat with real domains of influence. But you wouldn't really stop him if that was his way of calling you pretty.

That was about five hundred years ago. Nowadays was a very different story.

You crushed the yellow berries in your mortar and pestle to turn into paint for tomorrow's commission.

You liked your job in Liyue Harbor. As quaint and.. human as it was, you thought there was divinity to be found in the painstaking recreation of the things around you. Though a painting couldn't rival a Kamera in terms of accuracy, you were certain it completely surpassed the device in most other things.

You slowed your movements, surveying the consistency of the paint and the color. That would probably do. You'd collected quite a lot, so you supposed it was time to head back. All you were really lacking earlier was yellow.

And so you trekked on home from the terraces, skipping over stumps of cor lapis and sunset-painted grass along your way.

As you finally reached your home in the harbor, the sun had fully gone down. The lanterns lit, casting the entire city in a soft, warm glow. The neighboring waters reflected the deep blue of the sky and the speckles of rust and gold adorning every building in sight.

You opened your door and you thought of Morax, wondering if he knew five hundred years ago what beauty would settle upon his previously war torn nation. Leaning on the doorframe, you watched over it for a while. Children playing, kites flying, dinner being prepared, laughter and joy running amok.

You don't like to think about him too much, or how his silence is present in every part of the city that was all him, despite having nothing to do with him any longer. No matter how much time had passed, you seemed stuck in the first night he decided not to apologize.

Still, five hundred years was a long time. Although it felt like the blink of an eye, even immortals had to move on eventually.

You gathered your materials inside and closed the door behind you.

—

The mountains may erode, but they will always be mountains.

You recalled his own words as you saw him again for the first time in five hundred years.

A human-sized Rex Lapis stood before you, hands behind his back, dressed to the nines, pristine, and put together, and perfect, and not at all like he ought to have seemed like at your first meeting in several centuries. Though at the very same time, you couldn't imagine him looking any other way.

You bitterly savored the way he avoided your eyes in front of his boss.

"So this is him!" She said. The lively Director Hu Tao of the local funeral parlor was Rex Lapis's boss. You tried not to laugh. "Our new consultant, Mr. Zhongli."

You set your canvas down onto its easel, then the bulk of your dyes and paints on the floor. You did this without averting your eyes, as if trying to burn him if he ever had the nerve to look back at you.

He did not. And to her credit, it seemed Hu Tao noticed it as well. So as not to make your client too uncomfortable, you decided to take a step towards them.

"Mr. Zhongli." You said. With the proximity you put between you, he had no choice but to look back at you. Not a lot changed about him in human form, but by far, his eyes were the most the same. Down to the hard, intense stare, and the set of his brows. You wondered how many other people in Liyue he'd enchanted with them while he was busy avoiding you.

"Mr. Zhongli?" You repeated, a little less amused. Though you somewhat enjoyed how stupefied he looked at your appearance, you'd endured his silence long enough. "My name is Y/N. It's an honor to meet you here."

This seemed to regain him his senses. That, or Hu Tao's suspicious back and forth glances between the two of you.

Zhongli cleared his throat.

"..The honor is mine."

Hu Tao nodded, seeming satisfied for now. She clapped her hands together in excitement, turning to you.

"Alright! I suppose I'll leave you to it then. I have complete faith that you'll be able to depict the poise and elegance of my esteemed consultant."

You gave her your best half smile.

"Well, I'll try."

"No need to be modest! I've seen your work before. You're one of, if not the best, painter in Liyue. Just ask Mr. Zhongli! He's been very taken with your paintings even before we first met. He speaks very highly of you."

You crossed your arms. "You don't say?"

Five hundred years or the blink of an eye, you could still see his embarrassment without him having to say a word.

—

Director Hu Tao had business to take care of for the funeral parlor, and so left with a flourish, and a "Make sure to get his good side!" as she ran off.

You both continued to speak as civilians for a little while. He sat down at a table on the porch, a steaming pot of tea on said table between you. Your face was obscured to him through the thick white canvas.

Avoiding conversation was easy, but not. Comfortable, but not. Natural, but not. It shouldn't have been. As such was the nature of a marriage to the Geo Archon, you supposed. Or rather, the current lack thereof. But even that was up in airs.

"How.. How have you been?"

Your responding glare was unseen to him, but he heard it in the vitreous tone of your reply.

"Fine." You said. "Something must've happened to you though. Your eloquence seems to have disappeared into thin air."

"..You are still upset. I see."

"In what world would I be upset, Mr. Zhongli?" Your use of his mortal name created a crease in his brow. You gently brushed over it on his painting.

"I didn't think you'd want to see me."

"You still could've asked." You muttered, momentarily leaning sideways to look him in the eye. "For someone so revered for his wisdom, your brain still seems to be as hard as rocks."

You caught his surprised expression as you turned back to the canvas. You didn't allow him another word.

"Honestly, who ghosts their own spouse after an argument like that? You'd think the best time would be after.. five hours. Five days. Maybe five weeks after. Not five centuries—"

You caught him mumble, "Well, it's not as if you tried to talk to me either."

"I didn't think I needed to. You made it very clear you wanted me to leave you to die in the Archon War all on your heroic lonesome."

When he didn't respond, you snuck a glance.

The sun's rays were at the precipice of turning gold in its descent into the sea. The glow smeared his porcelain cheeks in amber, his eyes in glitter, the metallic components of his suit in light. He looked like a monument. Tall, statuesque, and lonely. Almost like his mountainous true form. More beautiful than even his numerous statues across Liyue could capture. More than you could capture. Though you did certainly try.

Annoyed and angrily pining as you were, you still tried to get his eyes right. The little flecks of rust against gold. Like cuts of cor lapis crushed to shimmering powder in the Archon's hand. A man of his own making.

You looked at Zhongli as the golden hour faded, slowly turning dusky pink. His eyes swam in wistfulness as he stared out at the harbor. You couldn't help the dull twinge of sorrow deep in the pit of your stomach.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

You didn't know how to follow up. You weren't entirely sure what you were apologizing for. But it felt nice to hear it back from him.

When he finally looked back at you, you were tracing the rich scarlet of his eyeliner onto the canvas.

At some point, he turned on the lamp and set it down beside you while you worked on the finishing touches.

"You're better than I remember." He whispered like he thought you couldn't hear him.

You weren't sure what to say to that either. You just kept painting.

—

"This doesn't change anything. I'm still angry with you."

"Of course."

Zhongli never seemed to run out of tea. Despite not having brewed a new pot throughout your stay, the one on the table continued to steam, its aroma wafting leisurely throughout the room. When he offered you a cup after you left the canvas out to dry, you let yourself take it. You allowed him a calmer response when he spoke.

"This may upset you a bit more, but I am also somewhat bothered you never tried to talk to me."

"So we are at an impasse."

Of course, it did occur to you that you were both being hardheaded and moronic. But you were comforted by a few things.

"It would seem so." Zhongli nodded.

"Or maybe not." You quipped, glancing pointedly at an old painting on the wall. "You seem to have been stalking me, Mr. Zhongli."

"I think stalking might be a slight exaggeration."

"Oh, really."

Even as the mountains erode over the centuries, from the dust, they are fated to reform anew.

dividers from @clutteredfun

#mine #my writing #fics #requests #long post #genshin impact x reader #zhongli #gi zhongli #zhongli x reader #gi zhongli x reader #¡

[peachesofteal]

Dad!John Price/female reader This has been living in my head

“Beautiful out, isn’t it?” 

The old woman on the docks hitches her shoulder bag higher, eyes fixed on nothing in the distance. John hums an agreement, low pitch slow to rise from his chest. It’s not a dismissal, but not conversation. Non-committal. About as much as you’ll get from him, on a day like today. 

He keeps his focus on the expanse of the bay. A metamorphic magma layered coastal cradle holding entire populations of people, and animals, those that live on land… and at sea. 

He’s waiting for a fleck of dust on the horizon, a small speck that will slowly turn into ferry, one that carries some passengers, a few packages, bundles of mail by the heap. It is beautiful today; he doesn’t disagree. But it’s not because of the weather.  It’s because the ferry is carrying more than just a few passengers home. It’s carrying his worst nightmare. The final nail in a coffin. His own personal hell.

And… 

His brightest light. His favorite part of everyday. His everything. The reason his heart still beats.

Both on the same boat. 

The sun shines through the tips of the trees, bright on his face, casting an amber yellow glow over the harbor, and he basks in it, even with the brittle cold. 

The warmth of the light is foreign this time year, a time year when creeks all run underneath a quickly thickening layer of ice, morning frost lingers beneath cloud cover, and bears sleep.  

The town will be full of life today. The bar at the top of the hill, the only one in town, will be burning the midnight oil, everyone appearing at some point throughout the night, eager to have one last rousing round with neighbors and friends before the true cold of winter sets in. 

Of course, they don’t hate the cold. They wouldn’t live here if they did. 

Life is different in the winter. Year round. Life here revolves more around the weather and the seasons than anywhere else he’s ever been, or lived, and everything from the kelp to the whales, the deer and sea lions, the people, and the wolves, depend on the promise of perpetual change. 

The tide washes through little pebbles of ancient volcanic rock like a lullaby, one so familiar he swears he can hear it when he’s working, when he’s worlds away in his mind. It’s peaceful, full of memories, nostalgia beating in his blood for something long gone, long past. 

His heart aches, for a moment. Long enough that his brow furrows, and his hands find his pocket, anxiously feeling for the chain. 

The ferry shatters his memories, blaring across the beach, and the old woman gives him a smile. 

“Early today.” This time, John does respond. 

“Good.” 

“You must be John.” She offers her hand, face half hidden beneath a large hood and knit muff, black pants and coat nearly matching his. 

He hesitates, fingers flexing, and she doesn’t miss a beat, moving on to step around him, speaking briefly to the ferry captain, an old grizzled man who stared at John the entire trip, blatant curiosity wrinkling his frown lines. 

The wind cuts through his jacket, snaking beneath his layers, forcing his muscles tense. 

Bloody freezing. He's been cold, plenty, but this bitterness has bite.

She squints and jerks her head towards the end of the dock, sunlight glittering in her eyes. They’re beautiful, a rich shade of coffee and hazel, golden spotted and drusy, a cluster of crystals inside dark pupils. They’re a color he could drown in. The kind of eyes he could see in his dreams for the rest of his life.

The kind of eyes capable of disarming him, before he's even drawn a weapon.

“C’mon. Truck’s got heat.” 

“Mari says you’ve never been a Ranger before.” She tries to make casual conversation with him, patting the steering wheel as the truck sputters to life. Gears grind, they churn, and she smiles, glancing at the road before putting it in gear. It’s old, rusted in a quaint way, the kind that makes him think of old industrial parks and aging tanks, a rugged red chipped away above the passenger wheel well, rubbed raw by salt air. 

“I have… relative experience.” He’s careful with his words, hesitant about over divulging, and she shrugs. 

“With people? Or wildlife?” He points his face out the window. With people, sure. With bears and wolves and whatever else lurks in these woods, less so. 

The truck climbs a windy road, pushing up above the cove, narrow pitted pavement flanked by forest so black he can hardly see a meter inside the tree line. The shadow that lingers inside the tree line is primordial, alive, and he blinks when he thinks he sees something moving, deep in the dark. Douglas fir, silver fir, white pine flash by, occasional road signs with pictures of animals and speed limits dotting the way. “Logging is big industry out here. Forestry feeds a lot of families in this area, but it can be a point of contention.” She motions past him to another cove, one tucked just around the bend from where the ferry came in, its surface covered in shaved logs, all nearly uniform in size, floating together in rows upon rows, waiting for their next voyage. 

“That what you do? Er… logging?” Her hands are rough, skin cracked, nails trimmed short, and the coat is utility. Built for labor. For weather. It’s a natural conclusion. 

“No. I run the nature center in the late spring and summer. No tourism in fall or winter though, so I find other things to do. Work for the park. Tag trees. Winter trail maintenance. Wildlife management.” The truck rattles into a left turn, and she waves at someone in an oncoming car. “Guess I kinda work for you now.” Her chuckle is light, sweet, and his cheeks feel warm. “What brought you all the way up here?” 

Bloody hell. 

“Needed a change of pace.” 

“Long way to come for a change.” She muses, and he agrees. It is very, very far. Three planes, two ferries, this truck. Hours of travel, temperature dropping in ten degree increments every time he stepped outside. He doesn’t know how to answer that, how to tell her, what he’s doing here, how to say he had to leave things behind. 

The island changes, geology shifting, granite turning to mud and grass, darkness fading as the truck putters into its final descent.

He instinctively taps the tags in his pocket, a nervous tic that’s develops over the last few months since he took them off for the last time and clears his throat. 

“Yes. It is.” 

The ferry sidles up the wooden dock, rocking in the waves, captain giving the small, older woman next to him a friendly wave. At his side, a woman stands, straight backed and proud, eyes sharp against the setting sun. 

Is that…

You catch his gaze, glancing at the Ranger badge on his coat, and then nodding, hand lifting in acknowledgement. 

His breath freezes in his chest. You’re stunning. Beautiful, like the land, like the strait, and for a second, he forgets himself. 

Igneous rock hardens in his stomach, in his heart.

He's lost at sea. Lost in the swell. An eddy line of devastation sweeps him out, past the lighthouse on the rocks, past the pod of resident orcas, past the point of no return.

He's drowning.

Only to be brought back by one of his favorite sounds in the entire world. 

“Dad!”

#John price x reader #peaches writes #John price #captain john price #captain john price x reader #price x reader

[azullumi]

“under the burning hill” ; aventurine

premise — you say you know him, what will he choose?

tags — angst, with comfort if you squint, mentions of death, a lot of metaphors, spoilers to his backstory, i seriously don’t know how to tag this one, not proofread, 0.9k words; ficlet

tagging — @toorurs

note — i once cried to those tiktok slideshows that are like “if you really know your mother/self/father/sister/brother, what will they choose?” and then this fic happened. this is NOT my celebration fic for getting him, i have different one in my drafts

you say you know aventurine, what is he choosing?

a chance to be with his family again

he dreamt of flowers and gardens, of empty fields and large floating clouds, of tears and warmth, and he knelt into the dream where he felt the warmth of his sister’s hug and the soothing melody of his mother’s song. he buries his corpse who knew his father’s voice and how he would hold his child. in his dreams, he is good and he is loved.

he had nightmares of blood and fire, of wounds and tainted, dirty clothes, of screams and cries, and he’ll run away from the blades that will chase him, his body will become a corpse along with many others as he hides in the bloody waters. he has known death even before he saw his reflection.

and when he awakes from this, he’ll find himself in an empty bedroom despite the corners and the walls adorned with furniture, decoration, and dust. he’ll find himself alone—waking up yet he’s still in a nightmare. his family isn’t there.

for his shackles to never exist

the chain suffocates him—there’s the harsh smell of rusting metal and the cold tug of the chain when he moves his hand. his clothes are tattered, the collar and the hems burned off, and he stands before the eyes that scrutinizes and looks down on his existence. their gaze leaves letters that burn on his skin and it forms into a scar that will never heal, a reminder of what he is meant to be and will always be.

but he walks in the streets in flamboyance, the chain never seen on his wrist and neck as if it never once touched him. he treads the line of freedom and restriction recklessly and like a bird who has never known how to spread its wings, he could never reach far into the sky.

the form of his shackles have changed; it doesn’t mean he also has.

to stop the tremble of his hands

he fiddles with his fingers, adjusts the way his watch rests on his wrist—he keeps his hand busy and hidden. he wears a smile on his lips and utters such words filled with confidence as he places his bet, as he gambles his life, yet he desperately tries to conceal the way his hands tremble as he clutches on to his chips.

he wagers his life as if his existence was only a mere chip on the table, but it’s the only control he’ll ever have over himself.

an apology

he has dealt with scornful gazes and harsh remarks, has dwelled on the hidden meaning behind people’s words. he’s all too familiar with the cruel and unkind thread that weaves into their tongue as they speak—some may sing praises to him yet their eyes would harbor only hatred and disgust.

he wishes someone would ask for his forgiveness, but why would he even deserve one? what did he even do to deserve one? what did he do? does his existence outweigh the heaviness of a single syllable the word carries? was he worthy of one? does he even have any worth?

he can only let their gaze taint his skin, rearrange the letters of the words they utter into the one he will never hear.

(he has never forgiven himself either.)

to finally let go

how bruised are his knees and how long will he repent for the sins he has never committed?

he holds on to his burden as if it was a part of him, as if he’ll be nothing but an empty vessel if he loses his hold on it. he knows it's holding him down, knows it's making his hands bleed but it’s everything and the only thing he has known for—the thorns has been engraved into his palm and became part of his skin. he’ll stuff his mouth full of rotten food and leave his stomach empty, and he’ll believe this is what he’s made for.

perhaps when he'll finally find a place to put everything down, he’ll learn how it feels to live for himself and not for the things he carries.

you say you know kakavasha, what is he choosing?

to never have to say goodbye

farewell is a form of poetry and he is a poem.

in most days, he’ll hear his sister’s voice in the empty corridors of his home, he’ll hear the echoes and follow him into places she could never reach (his wishes will never be enough to save her). he’s haunted by the unspoken farewells and the goodbyes he is forced to make, watching their backs as they leave or his own.

(he wishes he never knew the word.)

(his child self) having a conversation with future him

children are bound with endless dreams and light to see into the dark as they walk into their future—he was (once) one of them. he’ll stay up at night wondering what’s ahead of him, grasping on to what little left of his hope that things will become better, and when he sleeps, he’ll dream of talking to his future self.

“are you happy?”

if he’ll have a conversation with his future self, he’ll tell him everything and anything, make him recall the memories lost when growing up, trace the stars with him as he asks him the questions he’s curious to know the answer to (his future self will know him inside out but he, the child he once was, will never know him). and maybe he’ll put their palms together once he notices his agitation—and he’ll see the differences of their hands and notice the dying light in their eyes—as they ask for their god’s blessings.

he’ll tell him: everything will be okay, even when he’ll only be met with silence.

(get onstage 

fear not

never look back.)

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

#—stellaronhvnters. #honkai imagines #honkai star rail #honkai #honkai x reader #honkai aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine #hsr aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #star rail aventurine #aventurine x you #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr #star rail #honkai x you #hsr aventurine x reader #star rail x reader #honkai star rail x reader #azul.writes

[fatallyfalling]

Bitter Water 0.00 ~ ♆

“ Let the Reaping of the 67th annual Hunger Games begin, “

{{ Finnick Odair x Reader }}

{{ prologue || next part }} {{ masterlist }}

warnings: typical Hunger Games violence/trauma/themes, language, blood, injury, insinuation of forced prostitution, enemies to lovers, slow burn, etc.

{{ word count }} 2.6 k

{{ prompt }} Panem is cruel - bloodthirsty even. Every year twenty-four children must fight to the death as a sick form of entertainment. Today is the 67th annual reaping in the seaside District 4 - may the odds be ever in your favor.

{{ a/n }} Warning there’s a lot of exposition for what i think life in District 4 would be like though it may not sound 100% accurate to the canon ideation! I did way too much research on District 4’s presumed location and the general pacific northwest seafaring system for accuracy. This chapter is a lot of scene setting to reference later on top of the reaping occurring - please enjoy !

The Pacific-Northwestern region of Panem was home to District 4. Otherwise known as the “Fishing District”.

Most of its citizens are concentrated directly on or near the salty coast of the sea, working the many sailboats or on the bustling ports that harbored them. Children of the district learn to help from an early age, shucking oysters and various mussels or helping their mothers weave and repair nets for the local fishermen. Everyone smelled of the sea - fresh air, sea salt, and a damp pine, with sand clinging to their shoes and linen clothes.

Though a majority of the year brought overcast skies and rainy weather, the better parts of mid-July through late August were filled with warm, sticky sunshine and cloudless skies. Come autumn and winter, cold snaps and heavier rain storms were regular visitors, with many homes donning rain barrels to collect the excess liquid to be boiled down for drinking or bathing. The northernmost edge of the District sometimes saw snow, bringing ice fishing and skating to measured popularity amongst locals.

The port towns were anything but sleepy. Community in a constant hustle and bustle while watching out for one another in tandem with the intense seafaring labor. Days spent on the beach were filled with tugboat horns, captain's orders, and elated shrieks of children wading in the spray of the ocean. There was always a game of who could find the best cliff to dive from, or conch shell to hear the distant whispers of waves inside and whatnot. A group of older kids developed a make-believe currency of sand dollar bits to trade wooden beads, small clusters of natural quartz, seashells, rope bracelets, and more to entertain the younglings on an outcropping speckled in tide pools on the rocky shore.

More often than not, a walk down the boardwalk as dusk neared brought warm golden lights flooding from old taverns with deep, joyous shanties of the past and banter amongst hardworking sailors merging with joyous whoops and hollers of young women and barmaids. Everyone knew one another like family, and the seaside town practically breathed on its own with the rolling push and pull of the tide.

However, the Fishing District was silent today.

Waves crashed on the beach as boats creaked in their ports. Scarred wooden tavern signs wailed in the eerie breeze on salt-rusted chains. The absence of sound in the sand swept cobble streets was almost unsettling. There’s only one day a year that invokes such an abrupt halt in District 4’s beating heart.

The annual Reaping of one female and male Tribute set to compete in a fight to the death against twenty two other children from the districts all for the Capital’s sick reminder of what rebellion once cost the “great nation” of Panem.

The Hunger Games.

You knew the odds were never in anyone's 'favor'.

“It’s fine. Everything - everything is going to be fine…”

The repeated mantra is barely a whisper under your breath as you make a futile attempt the smooth the front of your lightweight, sage colored ensemble. There was a tremor in your fingertips. The idea of getting cleaned up like this just to attend your own prospective funeral made your stomach twist painfully. Tucking a few stray hairs behind your ears and a deep sigh through your nose, you take one last look in the foggy mirror on your dresser before making your way out to the main room of your home.

Although the Fourth District was deemed wealthy among the remaining 12, your seaside cottage was quaint - and quite a ways from the beach, in all honesty. The home was small, if not cozy. The outside wooden panels were worn with smears of grey from age due to the weather, paired with a tin slabbed roof that allowed every raindrop to be heard throughout the house when it rained. The inside wasn't much better. Little furniture adorned the household and appeared washed out in the summer light. Ivory walls were marked with the mayhem of childhood and clumsy hands. The large main room held a mantle and hearth with a makeshift stove built in and a rickety dark stained wood table with four chairs connecting to a barebones bathroom and two bedrooms. There were fixtures and switches for lights but no electricity. Candles were placed where lightbulbs would be for nights when the hearth wasn't keeping the house warm.

"Come on, we've got to get moving, or we'll be late."

You groaned as the younglings, twin boys with hair like your father's, sat on the oval roving rug you had finished braiding two springs prior. "You were supposed to get them washed up." You quip towards the older man seated at the worn-out table. His only reply is a gruff rumble as you scoff, stooping to rub soot off the boy's cheeks with your thumbs. They burst into giggles, and you can't help the tight-lipped smile that crosses your lips.

You tried to be patient with your father. There had been too much loss in recent years, but it wasn't an excuse to neglect his boys. You had enough trouble picking up the slack as it was, from taking extra hours on the shipyard and staying up late mending sails like your mother used to. She passed away some years ago. There had been complications delivering the twins, and there wasn't anything the midwife you'd called could have done. It left your father resigned to himself, taking up more time at the nearby tavern than on the shipyard hauling crates due for the Capital. A foolish miscalculation and one too many drinks ended up costing him his dominant hand and forearm in a freak accident at the port.

To say you had fallen on hard times would be an understatement. It was more akin to plummeting down one of the tall cliffsides bordering the port and smacking face-first into the water like concrete.

Eventually, you managed to wrangle the little rascals into their shoes and straighten the collars of their matching olive-green tunics. Hoisting one onto your back with a huff, you tried to calm the drumming of your racing heart. Your father stood with another grunt and shrugged on a deep brown leather coat to cover what was left of his arm. Allowing the other half of the youngling pair to weave their fingers through his, your father offered a firm nod in your direction, and the four of you set out toward town.

Looking back on that moment, you regret not taking in that quaint little cottage one last time.

The trek to town was about a mile or two. The beat down from the summer sun brought sweat to your brow and the nape of your neck, forcing you to set down the toddler on your back halfway. "I know it's hot, but we have to keep going," You cooed when the pair began complaining about the lengthy trip. This would be the first Reaping they might remember, not to mention the first they weren't in diapers for. You'd done your best to keep them healthy, sometimes at the expense of yourself, but it was worth all the risk in the world.

With a little more commentary from the twins, the tall brick clock tower above the judicial complex at the center of town came into view above the pine trees, and you let out a shuddering breath that made your chest squeeze. "Almost there," You muttered. Averting your gaze to the dirt path under your feet. The sun was almost at its peak when you converged with the lines of other citizens. Many reeked of sweat and body order, having traveled through most of yesterday and this morning to get to the Reaping on time.

You didn't allow your fear to show more than a tightness in your jaw as you gripped your siblings tight in an almost bone-crushing hug. You refused to say goodbye as it felt like admitting defeat before the duel with death had even begun. After a few long moments, you heard the automated voices of Peacekeepers in stark white uniforms and government-ordered guns slung across their chests, and you had to let go. "I'll come back in just a few minutes," You promised, though your voice felt meek and caught in your throat. Ruffling their hair and sparking a fit of spritely laughter, you lifted your gaze to the hardened eyes of your father. "See you soon."

"See you soon."

Another brief, tight-lipped smile, and you forced yourself to turn away and join the other prospective tributes for check-in. Families were forced to remain in a balcony above the judicial complex due to such a large population and past "complications" from reaped children's family members. Anxiety and anticipation brought a tension thick enough to be cut by a knife through the courtyard of people. Wetting your lips following a thick swallow, you tried not to focus too much on the looming Peacekeepers overseeing the procession. When it was your turn to check in, you didn't stutter when asked for your name but scrunched your nose as they pricked your finger, squeezing to pool the blood before pressing it into the paper list and scanning with a device that flashed green. "Next!" The peacekeeper barked, shooing you away with a wave of their hand. Your gaze danced around the all too familiar formation of children as you fell in line with the older Tributes.

You were led in groups through a few back hallways before being brought into a widely open auditorium. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the back wall with long Red capital banners hung on the dividing stone pillars. Clenching your trembling hands into fists, your fingernails digging into your palms, you tried again to steady your racing heart as it pounded against your ribcage.

Things were going to be fine.

Another thick swallow forced its way down your throat, and you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. The anxious habit often left your bottom lip puffy, if not bleeding from the repetitive action, but you couldn't help it. Shuffling into place to stand in rows and columns with the other prospective Tributes, you had to will yourself not to look anywhere but ahead. You couldn't break till this was all over. It was a long process to get everyone inside. But once the large wooden doors behind you slammed shut with a contagious shudder shifting through the crowd, you knew this was it.

The deafening cry of an unfocused microphone wails through the room, causing your nose to scrunch and your head to lean into your shoulder in discomfort. A stocky, overdressed Capital escort appears on the short stage made of stone to match the rest of the auditorium. They release a small gasp at the noise and allow a brief dismissal before tapping the microphone twice, the poor device exerting two loud "thumps" for good measure. Clearing their throat with a phlegmy cough, the escort begins a crawl of lines that were evidently rehearsed and regurgitated the same way every year to every district.

"Welcome, welcome! Happy Hunger Games!"

The escort's tone is elated, making you feel sick at the pride they seem to take in their position. Your jaw set in place as they continued their spiel.

"Before we begin, I'd like to share this wonderful message from our dear President and our beloved Capital!" They exclaim while gesturing to a letter they seem to pull from thin air. A small "shink" whispers through the mic as the letter is opened. The escort pulls a sheet of parchment out, discarding the envelope in a dramatic toss behind themselves and another phlegmy cough before reading the page.

"Dear Prospective Tributes,"

"It is an honor as the President of Panem to welcome you all to the annual Reaping for this year's Hunger Games. As you all have learned from birth. War, destruction, and rebellion have brought great shame to our nation. A shame that runs so deep that our Districts must be reminded of the consequences and retribution that rebellion costs. War brings death. War brings dead children, dead mothers, dead sisters, and dead brothers. To raise war against your Capital, which has provided you all you've ever needed, is treacherous. To bring war against your home is treason. These Games preserve our past. And these Games protect our future."

Signed, President Coriolanus Snow."

There isn't a single round of applause that rolls through the crowd once the escort finishes reciting the letter. The letter has been identical at every Reaping you've attended since you were twelve. The silence in the auditorium is loud enough to hear a pin drop. Your palms grow warm as blood slowly seeps from where your nails dig in, but you don't bother to take notice.

"Well then, if all is said and done, we shall now move on to selecting our two wonderful tributes who will hold the greatest honor of representing District 4 in the 67th annual Hunger Games. As always, ladies shall go first." The escort exclaims once more, accompanying animated waves of their gloved hands towards the pristine crystal fishbowls on either side of the stage. Both bowls are brimming with slips of paper. Your heartbeat thrums in your ears now.

Everything is going to be fine.

The escort all but skips their way to the crystal mouth of death on the right side of the stage. Your heart feels like it might as well burst out of your chest and splatter against the backs of those in front of you. Your eyes are glued ahead as the escort makes a show of sifting their gloved fingers through the name slips for what feels like an eternity. At last, a slip is chosen in a dramatic swipe up into the air to be displayed to the crowd.

The anticipation is suffocating.

The escort comes back to center stage, coughing into the microphone again as they peel away the black seal of the name.

As the chosen name booms through the auditorium, it's as if you're suddenly underwater. But you can't be underwater because you're standing still, and nothing's wet.

The name booms through the open room again.

This time, you're shocked out of your thoughts at the recognition.

It's your name.

You have been chosen as the female Tribute for the 67th annual Hunger Games.

You barely register the prod of a gun at your back or the jab to your side to force you out of line towards the stage.

This really was going to be your funeral, and you couldn't stop it.

A wail rips apart the blanket of silence as one of the twin younglings cries out for you. On instinct, your head whips towards the cry, but your temple connects with the butt of a gun, and you're knocked to the concrete below. Somehow, a sound akin to a growl emits itself from your throat on your hands and knees as you force yourself to stand back up. Your head throbs with white hot pain from the contact point, but a bitter, spiteful decision solidifies itself in your mind as you're led towards the jaws of certain death on that stage.

You will not die.

{{ taglist }}

@emerald-09 @reader-bookling123 @finnickodaddy

#the hunger games #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #thg #finnick imagine #fanfic #finnick x reader #x reader fanfic #fanfiction #finnick x you #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #thg finnick #finnick fanfic #hunger games finnick #the hunger games trilogy #finnick x y/n #finnick odair oneshot #thg series #the hunger games finnick #bitter water #thg fanfiction #thg imagine #thg fic #thg fandom #finnick odair x you #slow burn #enemies to lovers #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games imagine

[sterlingsilver-starlight]

Talk Too Much 💘

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Female Reader

Genres: Hurt/comfort, angst, drama, fluff, romance

Content Warnings: flashbacks of emotional abuse (reader has emotionally abusive mother), self-harm (briefly graphic), implied suicidal thoughts, brief strong language (mild throughout), intimate moments (very steamy makeout session, but nothing further)

Word Count: 3195 words

Summary: When Reader excuses herself to the bathroom, Seonghwa begins to grow suspicious as minutes turn into an unusually long absence. Can he unravel the truth behind her melancholy, and perhaps something deeper?

Inspirations: During the sadder parts, “Kamihitoe” by Uru and this slowed/reverbed version of Lolo Zouaï’s “Desert Rose” were my comfort. And then for the cute parts, BLACKSWAN’s “Cat & Mouse” :)

(I love the title GIF for this 🤭 but I also am still recovering from the Arriba one…I swear, I will not be the same when the full song drops in a week 😩🥵) I had something like an epiphany while writing this…the comforting words resonate on many levels, and I had to remind myself that people like that do exist out there. Even if there is someone in your life who throws harsh words or vibes your way, that’s not to say someone who does the exact opposite might not cross paths with you, too ✨🫶🏼

Also please note: This is in no way supposed to represent or depict the actual Park Seonghwa; this is just created for storytelling/entertainment purposes only :D

A hard swallow, followed by the relentless jab of another burgeoning stomachache. You set your fork down again, barely scraping the potatoes at the edge of your plate. 

“Hwa, I…I don’t feel too good. I can’t eat this right now.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile as you got up from your seat. “It’s alright. Just…let me know if you need something. Okay?”

You offered a small smile, biting your lip. “Y-yeah. Okay.”

The bite dug deep enough to draw blood, but you tasted nothing like iron on your tongue. It was a flavor you had become all too accustomed to, one too bittersweet to fully enjoy or shy away from.

As soon as you were out of your friend’s line of sight, you bolted down the hall for the bathroom, only slowing down once you’d gone inside and shut the door. 

A click at the knob. A snap of the fingers, idiosyncratically, to distract yourself from the sudden echo the lock gave. Did he hear that?

You hoped to God not. 

Seonghwa was your most trusted confidant, but even the strongest of bonds could harbor skeletons in the closet, so as far as you were concerned, it would need to stay that way until you were able to get over this on your own.

Slumping against the door, you let yourself slide down to the ground, hugging your knees as they bunched up against your chest. 

You didn’t know what you would ever do if he found out. About the thoughts, about the self-hatred…

Heck, let alone the self-harm.

Seonghwa was the twinkling star in your life, lighting up any room he entered, constantly finding ways to make you crack a smile from absolutely nothing. He was too precious for this world, you were sure of it.

Which is why, on this otherwise fine and calm evening, you found yourself yet again questioning why in the hell he put up with you as much as he did.

What if you were just fooling yourself? What if this persona you felt from your very core was nothing more than an act, masquerading from the demon that had hidden inside you from years long past?

A silent cry threatened to surface. You took a sharp breath and reached in your pocket, fumbling around until you felt what you had been looking for: a rusted metal nail file.

The lump in your throat made you feel guiltier. It’d been mere days since you’d promised yourself that this wasn’t going to be an option…

Again.

But though time could heal wounds, it could only erase so many still embedded within your subconscious, still playing like a broken record during your moments of uncertainty and vulnerability.

“Do you ever shut up?! I swear, one more word and I’ll rip your tongue off!”

You bit your lip harder, genuinely wanting to taste the pain. What did it matter anymore?

“Sure, keep doing that shit. So we can all feel sorry for you and tiptoe around your stupid feelings? I don’t think so!”

You gasped with every memory, tears blinding and blurring your bearings, the file now slashing oh-so elegantly through your flesh like a knife through butter. 

“Slam your door again and I’ll make sure your head is the next thing that slams against the wall!”

You almost didn’t notice the crimson streaming down your arm, or the way it cascaded onto your other hand, dyeing the creases of your palm in a heartbeat, while numbness continued feeding your indifference.

Maybe there is no purpose to my life. Maybe I’m just meant to be a casualty and —

“Y/n?” You jolted, the three knocks on the door vibrating through your skull.

But you said nothing, afraid even a single syllable would give away your current state of mind.

“Y/n?” Seonghwa repeated, the worry carrying in his voice.

Panic kicked in and you started hyperventilating. Much to your chagrin, however, that only alerted him more.

“Okay, I-I’m coming in.” You heard the twists and click of the knob — darn it, I forgot he has keys for the place — and hastily shuffled over to the adjacent wall as he squeezed his way into the bathroom. 

A sharp gasp hushed within the small room. His eyes widened in shock as he took in the scene before him: the rusted nail file still in your hand, the blood-stained arm, the haunted look on your face — it broke your heart, to have him see you like this.

What you didn’t realize, though, was just how much his heart was breaking.

“Hwa, I…I’m sorry.” You hugged yourself tighter, wanting nothing more than to be a turtle hidden inside its shell. 

“Y/n…what happened?” His voice was laced with worry as he carefully approached you.

You tried to conceal the evidence, quickly slipping the file back into your pocket and attempting to wipe away the blood with the hem of your sleeve. But the damage had already been done. “I…I just had a little accident, is all. N-no big deal,” you stammered, furrowing your eyebrows as you looked away. 

He crouched down in front of you, gently lifting your chin to meet his eyes. “Y/n, don’t lie to me. What’s going on?”

A lump formed in your throat, and for a moment, you debated whether to spill your darkest secrets or to continue this facade. But when you saw the hurt in his eyes, you knew what your answer must be.

“I…I’ve been struggling, Hwa. There’s this darkness inside of me that just won’t go away,” you whispered finally, trying not to cry mid-sentence.

His expression softened, and he pulled you into an embrace. “You don’t have to face it alone, Y/n. I’m right here for you, always.”

The warmth of his hug felt like a lifeline, a tether grounding you in this moment of many that felt overwhelmingly chaotic. Tears streamed down your face as you clung to him tightly, slowly but surely releasing the weight that you had been carrying alone for far too long.

Seonghwa pulled away slowly, his hands holding yours gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? And then we can talk about this, together.”

You nodded, rubbing your thumbs against his in return. “Okay.”

He helped you to a standing position, and from there you both walked over to the medicine cabinet: you leaning slightly on the sink countertop, him removing a roll of gauze, bandages, and a few creams. Grabbing a nearby cloth to run it under warm water, you inhaled nervously. As he began tending to the wounds on your arm, still streaked in raw red, you hesitated, grappling with the storm of emotions brewing deep down. The bathroom felt like a fragile sanctuary, and you were on the verge of shattering its peace with the weight of your confessions.

“Hwa,” you began hesitantly, “I’ve…heard things. About myself. Terrible things that echo in my mind every day.”

He looked up at you, eyes brimming with a warm understanding. “It’s okay. Tell me as much or as little as you need to.”

With a shaky breath, you started to unravel the web of painful words that had been haunting you, from the cruel insults and relentless belittlement at home to the internalized hatred that had since taken root in your heart.

“I’m a failure. That’s what she says. My own blood mother.” You shuddered. “That I’m a disappointment, a burden…that her life would have been better if not for the presence of such an ungrateful bitch like me…t-that I ruin everything around me.” Your voice wavered as you stopped to catch a breath.

Seonghwa’s expression tightened with anger. “Y/n, believe me when I say you are none, and I mean absolutely none, of those things. You are strong, kind, and worthy of love. Don’t believe those lies. Please.”

You just shook your head. “I can’t accept your kind pity, though, Hwa.” Tears welled and clouded your vision as you continued. “She said I should be grateful that anyone tolerates me at all, that I’m lucky to have friends because I don’t deserve them…that I’m not good enough for anyone out there.”

His eyes softened with empathy. “Y/n, you’re more than good enough. You’re fucking incredible, and I…I care about you deeply.”

Your eyes widened at his choice of words, confusion and hope written all over your face. “Why, Hwa? Why would you care about someone like me?”

He sighed, setting aside the cloth, and cupped your face with his hands. “Because you’re not just someone, Y/n. You’re a remarkable person. Your strength, your kindness — it shines through even in your darkest moments. And…” He chuckled slightly. “I like you. More than just as a friend.”

A gasp caught in your throat, and time became still within the room as his confession hung in the air. Seonghwa’s eyes searched yours for a response, but you remained silent, the weight of his words sinking in. 

A spark of worry flickered across his face. “I-I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said —”

You placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “No, Hwa. I’m honestly really glad you did. I just…I need a moment to process everything. It’s a lot, but I really appreciate your courage to tell me that.”

His shoulders relaxed, a relieved smile breaking through. “I understand. Take all the time you need.”

He resumed cleaning your cuts, all the while as you couldn’t shake the startling but exciting realization that maybe, just maybe, someone as wonderful as Hwa could see past these insecurities, could see you for you.

An almost eerie silence hung between you two, broken only by the sound of running water as you rinsed off spots of leftover blood. Hwa glanced at you, debating whether or not to break the ice.

“To be honest,” you admitted in a voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t know if I’ve ever felt good enough for someone like you.”

He scoffed lightly, covering your hand with his. “Y/n, you’re more than enough. You’re perfect just the way you are.” 

His words lingered in the air, a poignant moment of vulnerability shared in the dimly lit bathroom.

And then something shifted.

With a playful smirk, you couldn’t help but bring up your insecurities, caught in a suddenly desperate vying to test the waters and see how he would take it. “Come on, don’t be silly, Hwa. I mean, look at me!” You raised an eyebrow at him, the hint of a smile teasing at your lips.

He took the bait. “Okay, and? What about it?”

Now it was your turn to scoff. “You gotta be kidding. I mean, for starters, I’m not even skinny, my face is rounder than the boba in that milk tea you were swirling around the other day” — he broke into a fit of laughter at this, prompting you to punch him gently on the arm (“Hwa, I’m being serious!”) before resuming your, he thought, rather dramatic speech — “and my body is far from what’s considered attractive these days.” You sighed, clenching and unclenching your fists before inspecting yourself through the bathroom mirror. “Especially with these…” You gestured vaguely to your rounded backside and thick thighs.

Hwa’s low, throaty chuckle reverberated in the bathroom, his eyes never leaving yours. “Y/n, you really think any of that matters to me?” He shook his head, his gaze intense. “You’re focusing on things that turn me on more than you could possibly know.”

To say you were surprised — curious, even — was an understatement. “W-what do you mean?” you dared to ask.

He leaned in, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “Your curves, the roundness of your face, that body you seem to underestimate so much — they’re all things I fantasize about more when I’m around you.” His words sent a thrill down your spine, and you felt a warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach.

“But why?” you managed to stutter out, genuinely baffled.

Hwa pulled back slightly, his eyes scanning you up and down. “Because, Y/n, it’s those very things that make you uniquely you. There’s…an allure throughout, if I’m being honest…and your body is nothing short of perfection in my eyes.”

He paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And let me tell you,” he continued, snaking his fingers across one of your thighs, massaging it with his thumb, “these parts of you aren’t just attractive. They’re downright irresistible.”

Your breath caught in your throat, desire rushing through your veins as he leaned in again, his fingers tracing patterns that left your skin tingling. “I think about you in ways that would make you blush,” he admitted, his voice a low murmur. “You’re beautiful, Y/n. In every way imaginable.”

With that, he closed the distance between your lips, initiating a kiss that held the weight of his confession. The bathroom seemed to vanish into the distance as Hwa’s lips kept meeting yours in a slow, tantalizing dance, each kiss a revelation of shared desire. His hands, warm and possessive, explored the curves of your body with a deliberate sensuality. Fingers traced the contours of your back, leaving a trail of trickling sensations in their wake. As the kiss deepened, his touch became more fervent, a silent promise of passion yet to unfold.

Your hands found their way into his soft, tousled hair, fingers threading through the strands as you pulled him closer. His tongue prodded your bottom lip playfully until you indulged him, allowing the sensation of his tongue to slide against and around yours, igniting a fervor that sent electrical currents through every nerve ending.

The room seemed to get hotter and hotter, but nothing could have curbed the chill in your spine by this point. Hwa’s touch was both gentle and confident, a melody of desire that crescendoed as his kisses lingered longer and he began sucking your tongue slowly, making you moan ever so softly into his mouth.

Your own hands mirrored his movements, traveling across the edges and ridges of his chest, feeling the rhythmic beat of his heart beneath your touch. The bathroom echoed with intertwined breaths and whispered promises.

As the intensity built, you couldn’t help but straddle his lap, your bodies pressing together with an urgency that mirrored the passion between you. Hwa’s lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses. Moans continued escaping your lips as you felt his teeth grazing gently down the side of your neck. You clung to him, lost in the intoxication of the moment.

Your heartbeats all but synchronized as his lips found their way to your collarbone, his whispers of passion mingling with your soft gasps. He pulled back slightly, eyes looking deep into yours.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress that sent shivers down your spine. He leaned in to place gentle kisses on your earlobe, his breath sending a flutter of anticipation through you. “I want you to feel cherished, desired, and free from any doubt about your body,” he whispered finally, his tone laced with sensual liberation.

His hands, like flames against your skin, caressed the small of your back. The room was filled with the harmony of your shared desire, moans and breaths alike embellishing the melody sounding strong.

As sweat dripped down your foreheads, the intensity reached its peak, and with a shared understanding, you both began to ease out of the fervent exchange. Hwa’s lips lingered on yours for a moment, a final note in the passionate composition.

His arms wrapped around you, nestling you within the sweet scent of his aroma, heaving heavily, slowly, as you both took a moment to catch your breath. You could spot the glimpse of a tender smile dancing on his lips. “See, Y/n, you talk too much,” he teased, his eyes alight with affection.

You chuckled finally, feeling a warmth enveloping you. “Maybe I do,” you agreed, “but I think I like it that way.”

Hwa’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he smirked at you playfully. “Well, you better, because I enjoy every word,” he smiled, leaning in to peck you briefly on the lips.

As you both settled into a cuddle, an air of contentment permeated within your space. Hwa’s fingers traced soothing patterns on your back as he spoke. “You know…I think we should have a date tomorrow. I want to take you out. Just the two of us.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the idea. “A date, huh? Where are we going?”

Hwa’s playful grin widened. “Somewhere nice, but you better promise me you won’t just order a small appetizer. I want you to enjoy the food, Y/n.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Alright, alright. No small appetizers. Got it. But you’ll have to deal with me talking your ear off about how delicious everything is.”

Hwa leaned in, stealing another quick kiss. “I can’t wait. And besides, I enjoy every word, remember?”

The banter continued as you both playfully argued about your plans. Hwa grinned mischievously, glad that you were cutting loose for a change and genuinely enjoying yourself now. “And promise me, no salads as the main course. We’re going for the good stuff if this is a date.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Excuse me? Salads are healthy and delicious.”

He chuckled. “Healthy? Yes. Delicious? Debatable. We’re going for flavor explosions, Y/n, not the world’s best landscape on a plate.”

You countered with a smirk. “Okay, first of all, tabbouleh is to die for. And maybe I like my explosions with a side of greens.”

Hwa pretended to gasp, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. “You’re breaking my heart. And here I thought we had a connection.”

You burst into laughter, eyes watering within seconds. “Oh, we have a connection, alright, but my connection with tasty salads might just outdo it this time.”

He pouted. “Fine, have it your way. But if that’s how it’s gonna be, I’m ordering the biggest, heartiest dish on the menu just to torture you.”

You grinned. “Challenge dutifully accepted. I’ll enjoy my dish while you tackle your food mountain. We’ll see who’s satisfied in the end.”

Hwa leaned in, whispering. “Well, just so you know, if you end up trying a bite of mine, you might never go back to salads again.”

You smirked at him. “We’ll see about that. You can’t deprive me of my greens forever, you know.” You pretended to think hard for a moment. “I know, I’ll revolt! I’ll revolt and you won’t know what’s coming to —”

He pressed his lips against yours in a sudden, actually sweet kiss. When he finally pulled back, he was grinning slyly from ear to ear.

“You were saying?” he teased.

You snorted. “Well, I was going to say that no matter how tempting your ‘food mountain’ may be, my love for salads will endure. Just like my love for you, even if you try to sabotage it with impeccably irresistible dishes.”

He tried and failed to suppress another laugh. “You talk too much.” You grinned in satisfaction.

“Maybe I do, but you love it.”

#ateez #에이티즈 #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez x you #park seonghwa #박성화 #성화 #seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #seonghwa x y/n #ateez fluff #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #angst with a hopeful ending #ateez imagines #seonghwa fluff #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff #romance #deep feelings #hopeful romantic #reader insert #ateez comfort #ateez fic #ateez scenarios #atiny

[definegodliness]

Chasing magic

Maybe she Remembered my Birthday and had Thought of me; That would explain the dream. Nothing special, save for the fact I hadn't harbored such feelings in, Say, twenty years.

A nigh divine gratitude lingered within me. Nigh divine and all that for merely a dream, I had forgotten the feeling.

She was my first Big love, Far exceeding the concept of 'crush'; I ate and drank that girl, Which is why I couldn't eat or drink at all, And when I lay myself to bed I only closed my eyes To dream of her.

... but that was twenty years ago.

More present, I favored reminiscence; Letting ancient feelings wash over me, Trying to recall As much as I could from Just a dream, As once I would, and, so, in gratitude; A strange regression.

One vision Kept reinstating itself Within my mind's eye, Which was or would be The place where we met, or would meet, And, so, Hauntingly.

Compelled, I was, As if I had just dusted off an old compass And lived by the rule of a needle full of rust, Inexplicably spinning when it Should be locked. I gave in.

This ancient feeling Rejuvenated; once more orchestrating My every step, as every step would mean One step closer toward her.

I used to breathe That girl.

Wherever she would go, I would find her Just by following the direction Which eased my chest as a flow of oxygen. That feeling. Again.

I went.

Nothing in my hands But that compass; an educated guess, And the leash of my canine companion That I brought as an alibi of common sense. Pretense, of course, In reality I gave myself fully To a magic, lost.

I went.

I walked.

I almost raced, treading forth To the beat of a heart at chase; to a place I had seen, which might not even exist, but… Had to be real. That, I could feel.

Half an hour in, at a crossing, I stalled, gazing down a neighborhood street Which could be 'it', But the pup wanted to take a right-hand turn. I pondered whether I should let him lead a bit, But as I did my breathing stifled; My heart cramped Like a fist.

"No, that street… that neighbourhood; there!"

I knew for sure, then.

Yet, so, I peered, awaiting my heart to sink, For I gazed upon a still life street, Emptier than all I had seen; No humans, no birds, No bees.

Just me, and my sigh, abandoning a dream. Another crossing; the pup wanted to go right Again, and this time I let him.

His nose Had lead him To a park I had never seen, And I decided we would return there one day When I would not want to go home So eagerly.

We entered south, and exited east Via a winding dirt path that, Coincidentally, Connected back onto my dreamed up street.

I saw her.

I saw her where she should be.

Where I should have been, but wasn't, Nor wanted to be.

Not anymore, really.

The first sensation of a missed chance, soon Made place for the realization I would probably not have liked re-acquainting Under reality's circumstances.

She did not see me.

From a distance, I watched her walk Arm in arm with her boyfriend, Or, more probably, Husband.

And, just like that, I was thirty-seven again. Not really attuned to anything, Yet not so jaded to not be grateful For giving in.

In fact, I hadn't felt so young in ages.

The chase's dedication; the doubtlessness Of the entire universe conspiring To aid in a soul's achieving Deepest wishes.

A rejuvenation in lost magic.

What a gift.

I smiled.

It did work, didn't it?

--- 28-3-2024, M.A. Tempels ©

#poetry #spilled ink #writing #romanticism #love poem #love poetry #romantic poem #romantic poetry #tumblr poetry #poets on tumblr #creative writing #spilled thoughts #poem #words #soul connection #soul #esoteric #dreams #magic

[reds-writings]

Ooo any grump/sunshine day to day with old man Rust!!! Maybe fluff prompt pt.2 #3 or #6!

You’re writings for Rust are incredible please never stop! <3

i mostly combined 3 and 6 with this ask and went with something kinda new?? this features a nurse!reader with a bit of an age gap taking place but nothing crazy. i love the sunshine/grumpy trope so i hope you enjoy!! (also I'm trying out using a placeholder nickname for the reader so i don't have to use y/n as much so pls let me know if y'all enjoy that at all)

When Marty first sprung the idea of a temporary at-home caretaker on Rust the man had half the mind to think the blonde was just being a tremendous chain-yanking shit. But his friend was dead serious and it was less of a ‘think on it’ idea and more of a ‘I got Maggie to pull some strings and a nurse will be coming in next week’ idea. No matter how much Rust reared and protested Marty insisted that he have someone to keep an eye on him since Marty couldn’t be his personal maid for much longer given that it had already been a couple of weeks since their hospital visit courtesy of that fucker Childress. 

Rust didn’t want a damned nurse. He wasn’t some pathetic geriatric fuck in desperate need of some lousy assistance. Sure, anytime he moved too much or stood for too long he felt like he’d pass out from the pain of the wound that nearly took up his whole abdomen but that didn’t mean jack shit. Marty brushed off any complaints without so much a blink and kept reassuring that it’d do the grump some good to have company other than himself or the neverending onslaught of his usual doomsday-esque thoughts. The day you showed up at Marty’s door bright and early on a Monday morning with a smile too genuine for Rust to fully comprehend, you were not at all what he was expecting. 

Not that he really had any expectations to begin with. Maybe that you’d be older. More seasoned. Not nearly 10 years or so his junior. Certainly not possessing such a radiantly pleasant disposition that no one else seemed to harbor anywhere around these parts. He wasn’t above immediately clocking the beauty you exuded but eyeing younger women was more of Marty’s MO than his own. 

You seemed untouched by the vast ugliness of what the world fostered. There weren’t many moments where you didn’t have a look of general felicity painted on the soft planes of your face. It was a habit of yours to wear brightly patterned or colored scrubs that he, at first, deemed a semi-loathsome eyesore (which then eventually grew on him). An array of silly patches and pins allowed on your work bag full of the necessities you slung along for the day’s endeavors with him. Kitschy socks you kept as a hidden surprise within the confines of your clogs that you’d show to him even if he never gave the inclination that he cared about something so trivial. Your unmoving cheeriness translated to a certain form of naivety that had something ugly burning beneath the prison of his ribs. At first, he thought he just felt this brand of annoyance towards a preconceived notion of cluelessness you carried but over time it found itself melting away into a subconscious need to shelter you from the horrors of earth. 

It took plenty of time to chip away at that impossible exterior of his but with your incessant refusal to let his initial gruffness and straight-up disregard of your presence deter you he had no choice but to give in to your efforts of friendly engagement.

Given that there wasn’t much to do for him care-wise besides keep his wounds clean, change bandages, make sure he didn’t collapse, and keep up with any meds he was prescribed post-hospital stay you took on the role of making the passing days a little more interesting than they’d usually be if he were by his lonesome. You’d find little non-exertive exercises to do in the afternoon to keep his muscles from getting too weak. Drag him along to the grocery store to shop so that you could try out some new recipes you saved online. You were steadfast in making g sure he wasn’t just surviving off the cigarettes and beer he’d stubbornly sneak behind your back. You also made it a goal to keep up with trimming that bristly mustache of his and making sure his hair didn't get too unruly. You’ve gone as far as to bug him about letting you practice your braiding skills so that you could fulfill your niece’s creative hairstyle wishes but no dice. One day you’d wear him down enough into agreeance. That was becoming easier, though, wearing him down for just about anything. One look at those doe-ish eyes and the battle he was prepared to fight had already been lost. Rust had a feeling you were more clever than anyone probably gave you credit for but there was no use in acknowledging that your stare was having an increasingly strengthened hold on him. 

To say Marty was absolutely tickled by the noticeable change in his friend’s demeanor throughout this new development was an understatement. It was about time there was something Rust somewhat enjoyed besides stewing over the point of humanity’s existence or yapping on about unsavory ideas involving shit like damnation. It didn’t take long for your attitude and delightful qualities to earn you the nickname Sunny. Marty deemed it exceedingly fitting and even Rust found himself playing into it much to everyone’s surprise. Hearing it from him had a splendid giddiness sparking throughout your system more than you’d like to admit. 

Today you’d driven him out near the water where you both could sit and read for a while. You always stressed the importance of fresh air doing him some good and he never complained. If it meant getting him out of Marty’s bachelor pad here and there he’d let you drag him anywhere as far as Timbuktu. As chatty as you could be, you stayed mindful of any moment of solitude he may require during these daily visits. Sometimes it was nice to just exist and absorb the ambiance the outside world had to offer in each other’s presence and for that he was grateful. 

“You’re starting to walk better on your own, Rusty.” You broke the bubble of serenity, looking up from your book –some light read of a romance– to fix him with a small smile that quirked the corner of your lips. The sun’s fading light drenched your figure in the hues of impending dusk and some nagging part of him found it to be an effortlessly alluring sight despite its simplicity. You’d have to be calling it a night soon but what was a few more stolen moments in each other's company? 

“Yeah, s’gettin’ a bit easier I suppose. Soon enough I’ll be back to mostly functional as opposed to some lame cripple.” He replied in dry amusement, dog-earing the page he was on to bring his full attention to you. Marty often gave him flack for his outgrown hippie look but it added some sort of rugged appeal in your opinion. Not that you’d ever find the courage to forgo any sense of professionalism by making your whims involving Rust Cohle known. But as he looked at you now with weathered blue you couldn’t help but give in to the ideas of something beyond this current format of companionship. 

“Cripple is a bit of an exaggeration. You’ll be up and at em’ before you know it. Though it sucks I won’t be of much use no more.” There was a twinge of sadness in your voice and he hated the frailty of it.  

“Ah…don’t worry, Sunny. There’ll be some other helpless old soul who’ll need you around.” 

“That’d imply you’re just some helpless old fart in the throng of said souls. Which you’re not. Plus, none have ever entertained me as you do.” You chirped in that playful matter-of-fact way you often do. 

“Entertainin’. Hm. That’s new.” He shook his head before looking out toward the water. 

“Even if your physical health will no longer be of issue I’ll make it my new mission to spruce up that self-deprecating brain of yours. Not that I’m necessarily trained within the realm of mental health but I can youtube it or something. I have my ways.” You wiggled your fingers in jest as if casting a spell. In truth, it was as if you already had when you came around all those weeks ago. 

“Can’t get rid of you that easily I’m guessin’.” He shot back in a lousy attempt at a joke. Whether you could read his poorly hidden desire to keep you around or not, he couldn’t tell.

“You know by now I’m like a leech. A cute, fun leech! It’ll take a lot to get rid of me for good,” You paused with a bout of slight insecurity, “unless you don’t want me around to bother you longer. I know I can be a bit much sometimes-”

“You can stick around, Sunny. Can’t have Marty as my only friend. That’d be plain sad.” He was playing it off cool, unaware of the barrage of butterflies he had set off in your chest with that simple statement. 

“I might have to alert the masses now that you consider me a friend. This is by no means a small feat– wait does this mean I can practice my braiding finally?! My niece is getting antsy and I-”

“Don’t push your luck.” He had to look away from the blinding beam of your cheek-splitting smile as he moved to stand up. Without fail, you rushed to his side to place your dainty hand into his so that you could help. The small action sent lightning down the length of his spine. The warmth of your joking jabs about your newfound title of friendship encased his whole being. He couldn’t help but think back on the conversation he’d had with Marty outside of the hospital, about light versus dark. Perhaps you manifesting into his orbit was another indicator that the light just might actually be winning. 

#reds-writings #rust cohle #true detective #true detective season 1 #rust cohle x reader #anon ask #writer blog #true detective imagine #rust cohle imagine

[conceptofjoy]

kids troll blood colors n reasoning

john purple: clown themes that's been haunting his life (no thanks go gamzee); alpha john being used by HIC as a means to an end much like the ICP or GHB; he doesn't want to be a leader but is shoved into ranks of nobility/ status; general absurdity associated with clowns can also be applied to him

jade hemoanon rust red: alpha jade being seen as a lost cause by HIC leading to her eventual assassination; jade’s parallels both megidos being tossed to the side by the plans of LE and scratch; psychic powers :) ORRR a defecting hemoanon jade for the obvious reasons.

dave:?

rose:?

dirk lime: interpersonal relationships being a theme associated with lime as well as heart; the black feelings caliborn harbors for him + how ARquius seceeded to him in lord english; his post apocalyptic existence

roxy cherry: ectobiology experience + her XY name wonk; she's a foil to HIC and meenah; callie doesnt hate her at all but i think the mutual attraction is something to be mentioned; also an underdog friend leader though in a different way than karkat

jane + jake fuchsia: that one post

#my thorts… #d talks

[teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps]

#Photography #April 2018 #Outdoos #Close-Up #Distance #Walt Whitman Bridge #Delaware River #Philadelphia #City #Harbor #Boats #Rear-View Mirror #Reflections #Rust #Chipped Paint #Scratches #Vehicles #Clouds #Sky #Nature #Bridge #River #Mirror #Paint #Water #My Snaps #My Photos #My Photography

[gffa]

I’ve been playing GENSHIN IMPACT for over a year now and reading a bit of fic here and there, mostly of the Tartali and Zhongli&Venti variety, but then Sumeru hit and oh hey Alhaitham is an amazing unit in a quickbloom team and then Kaveh hurricaned his way into my heart and oh no suddenly I was in love and absolutely tearing my way through every bit of Haikaveh I could get my hands on because christ there’s no way Hoyoverse isn’t writing them that way on purpose. I mean, I’m already a sucker for Old Married Couple type bickering, but then you give me the undercurrent of how much they genuinely mean to each other? How much Alhaitham is genuinely caring about how self-destructive Kaveh is? How Kaveh just absolutely will not shut up about Alhaitham, even the other characters are like “You talk about him so much that it’s like he’s been here with us all night.”? Yeah, of course I fell in love. So, here, cry about a gacha game having beautifully designed characters with just the right types of personality and funny banter that know how to knock me the fuck out with both delight and genuine feelings about idiots in love. Or just old elemental grandpas who annoy the shit out of each other because they’re both several millennia old and nobody else understands their weird friendship. I’m having a great time and I’m going to make that everyone else’s problem. GENSHIN IMPACT - CHILDE IS 10000% CASUALLY UNHINGED OF COURSE HE WANTS TO NOT JUST FIGHT A GOD, HE WANTS TO FUCK A GOD: ✦ Set in Stone by seredemia, childe/zhongli & childe’s family, 115.4k wip      What do you do when you write about a certain six thousand year old consultant so much in your letters that it somehow convinces your entire family you’re not only dating each other, but that you’re also engaged? In Childe’s case, the answer is plain and simple: he goes along with it, of course. Absolutely nothing can go wrong if he makes a contract with the God of Contracts, vowing that the two of them will pretend to be lovers for the duration of his family’s stay in Liyue. Afterwards, they’ll return as normal and speak no more of this mess. No feelings or complications involved whatsoever. ✦ the wind through the mountain tops by glassdrachma, childe/zhongli & venti, 25.5k      Boredom brings Barbatos of Mondstadt to bother a certain ex-Archon of the Earth. ✦ my faceless self, alone by recursion, childe/zhongli & guizhong, 7.2k      There is one lone glaze lily left, shining brilliant blue in the depths of Dihua Marsh. Zhongli kneels over it as Xiao looks on. “The contract is fulfilled,” he whispers. He takes his mask off with trembling fingers and sets it aside. The blood that stains it seeps into the ground, turning it rust-red. “That which thou seeketh is now bestowed unto thee, for my promise is solid as stone.” (Zhongli, in the before and after.) ✦ more espresso, less depresso by birdsofpassage, childe/zhongli & ningguang & xingqiu & chongyun, coffeeshop au, 5.3k      There’s a quaint little coffee shop that catches Childe’s eye as soon as soon as he arrives into town. The man that works inside is more exhilarating than any drink Childe has ever tasted. ✦ passing afternoon by bearbearer, childe/zhongli, NSFW, 1.3k      Zhongli just came, really. He just broke into his office with a white loose robe hanging from his shoulders, skin exposed like a gift, and two glasses of fine wine in his hands. There was a smile on his lovely red lips, while they moved around cloying words. “Are you amenable for a rest?” And everything was warm as he approached, because how could Zhongli not— He wouldn’t have a rest at all. ✦ the consultant’s kidnapping by glassdrachma, childe/zhongli & hu tao & cloud retainer & xiao & ganyu & keqing & cast, 19.2k      The Traveller isn’t able to stop Cloud Retainer from seeking revenge on Liyue Harbor. Zhongli is, however. Sort of. ✦ if i choose not to see it, it does not exist by inareese, childe/zhongli, 5.1k      Zhongli might as well have just straight up told Childe. He absolutely refuses to think too hard about it. or Tartaglia’s accidental guide to why Zhongli is most definitely a hundred percent not Rex Lapis. There is nothing suspicious to see here. ✦ A New Mission by Kuranoa, childe/zhongli, NSFW, 2.8k      “Sensei, have you ever bedded anyone?” Childe asks, chin resting on his hand while he observes the flawlessly elegant way Zhongli drinks from his teacup. “I have not.” The Archon answers just as frankly, not even batting a lash. “Would you like to?” ✦ Trial And Success by woahiohioh, childe/zhongli, NSFW, read the tags, 6.7k      Or: Childe asks Zhongli if he can tie him up and they both discover they’re into some things they didn’t know about beforehand. ✦ C.P.R. by silverid, childe/zhongli, NSFW, read the tags, 3.3k      It’s something straight out of Childe’s fantasies. “Don’t worry, xiansheng.” he chokes out. “I’ll show you.” Zhongli’s eyes go half-lidded. “Well then. Direct me.” GENSHIN IMPACT - LET ROCK GRANDPA’S FRIENDS BULLY HIM IT’LL BE SO FUNNY: ✦ rex lapis is totally undeniably dead! by arataka, zhongli & hu tao, 1.7k      when zhongli comes into her office and tells her, “rex lapis is dead” paired with the most serious face she’s ever seen him wear, hu tao laughs at him. GENSHIN IMPACT - YOU EVER LOVE SOMEONE SO MUCH YOU WANT TO PUNCH THEM IN THE FACE? YEAH THAT’S HAIKAVEH: ✦ handle with care by smallghosts, alhaitham/kaveh, 2.4k      Kaveh may be a thorn in Alhaitham’s side, but he’s his favorite one. ✦ Slip of the Tongue by LONEMOON, alhaitham/kaveh & cyno, NSFW, 9.6k      Kaveh is inflicted by a curse that makes him only able to tell the truth. For someone who’s fairly honest and wears his heart on his sleeve, this shouldn’t be a big deal, right? Unfortunately, he has some feelings he’d like to keep hidden… ✦ theory and practice by alcyonenight, alhaitham/kaveh, 3.9k      Kaveh falls ill. Alhaitham works through some things. ✦ too many nights by effervescentskies, alhaitham/kaveh, 4.8k      Kaveh keeps coming back home drunk in the middle of the night. Alhaitham is not pleased. ✦ itni khafa nahin by solarclimes, alhaitham/kaveh, 2.4k      Rtawahist scholars have a curious theory about parallel worlds, where the stars of a person’s constellation are weaved in slightly different ways, creating an infinite number of universes where they make different choices, lead different lives. He had told Al-Haitham about it once, who had declared it outlandish and based on pure conjecture, but Kaveh had found the idea interesting. Perhaps, then, there exists a world, where Kaveh’s life isn’t so at odds with him. Where Kaveh can reach out in this moment and pull Al-Haitham into his arms. ✦ inertia by smallghosts, alhaitham/kaveh, 3.6k      A drunken confession is all it takes to set the inertia of their non-relationship into motion. ✦ Opposites Attract by LavastormSW, alhaitham/kaveh, NSFW, 3k      Alhaitham returns home after a long day commentating on and wrapping up the Akademiya Extravaganza, only to find Kaveh waiting for him… ✦ truck, barter, and trade by Seungshi03, alhaitham/kaveh & wanderer & nahida, 13.3k      Or: Al-Haitham is, without a doubt, the most annoying person Kaveh knows. Maybe the world’s second-most annoying person can help Kaveh figure him out. ✦ I’ll keep your brittle heart warm by clouds_hide, alhaitham/kaveh & nilou & traveler, 3.2k      Or: The Inter-Darshan Championship brings out the problems they don’t talk about. They really need to talk. ✦ i’ve been loving you for quite some time, time, time by creativedisaster, alhaitham/haikaveh, NSFW, 4.7k      After spending the week talking about his plans to move out, Kaveh’s not entirely sure he can face dealing with Alhaitham now he’s staying. But the bad thing about living together - he has to go home sometime. - OR - Alhaitham has some truth for Kaveh that he might not be ready for. ✦ knocking is a wonderous invention by dearwormwood, alhaitham/kaveh & cyno/tighnari, 2.8k      Four times Tighnari and Cyno think they walk in on Alhaitham and Kaveh in compromising positions, and one time they actually do. ✦ sunbird by caniculeo, alhaitham/kaveh & cyno & tighnari & nilou & kaveh’s mother & cast, 19.1k      This is how Kaveh grows up—well-loved and loving, with a pencil in his hand and starlight in his eyes. This is how he grows up, until his father leaves for the desert one day, and never comes back. ✦ you put the ‘fun’ into dysfunction by emigmatic, alhaitham/kaveh, NSFW, 3.7k      His dream was not a dream. It was real. “Oh.” “Is that all you have to say? Oh?” Kaveh presses, but he relents after studying his junior for a moment. His eyebrows draw together and a slight frown takes up residence on his face. “You…why do you look so surprised that I want to talk about how we just had sex?” ✦ diesel is desire (you were playing with fire) by clouds_hide, alhaitham/kaveh & cyno, NSFW, 6.7k      Kaveh on his back, his blonde hair splayed across the white sheets, his entire chest flushed from arousal, is the most beautiful sight in the world. Even if Alhaitham lives through a thousand samsaras, he will never forget this. ✦ modus vivendi by katraa, alhaitham/kaveh, NSFW, 3.5k      Kaveh has a sprained wrist, his roommate is insufferable, and said roommate knows how to take someone’s mind off the pain. Or, they finally stop dancing around the subject and bang. ✦ That’s The Way I Loved You by rewmariewrites, alhaitham/kaveh & cyno & tighnari & cast, NSFW, 16.9k      Tighnari rolls his eyes and turns back to Kaveh. “You didn’t answer my question,” Tighnari says, like he thinks Kaveh is an idiot. Kaveh rolls his eyes right back. “No, we’re not dating.” ✦ argumentative, antithetical dream girl by clouds_hide, alhaitham/kaveh & cyno & tighnari, NSFW, 6.8k      Or: Kaveh attempts to have no-strings-attached sex with his roommate. There are so many strings attached, he might as well be a marionette. GENSHIN IMPACT - THAT ONE SCENE OF VENTI BEING AN ANNOYING BASTARD AT XIAO WAS ENOUGH TO CONVERT ME TO SHIPPING THEM: ✦ carried by the wind by underfallingflowerpetals, venti/xiao, 1.7k      Or: Xiao isn’t used to being taken care of, but Venti is nothing if not persistent.

#lumi.txt #genshin impact #zhongli #childe #tartaglia #alhaitham #kaveh #tartali #zhongchi #haikaveh #kavetham #venti #xiao #xiaoven #cyno #tighnari #fic recs #genshin impact fic recs #long post

[yourbelgianthings]

aforementioned giant list of mountain goats songs for taz

sadly some characters i couldn’t find a song i thought fit for (i.e. angus) that doesn’t mean i don’t like them!!

Magnus- Against Pollution, Spent Gladiator 2, Training Montage, Billy the Kid’s Dream of Magic Shoes

Merle- Hebrews 11:40, Harlem Roulette, January 31 438, Noche Del Guajalote

Taako- Up the Wolves, Get Lonely, Get Famous

Barry- Blues in Dallas, Love Love Love

Johann- Your Belgian Things, Harlem Roulette

Lucretia- Old College Try, Heel Turn 2, Game Shows Touch Our Lives

Davenport- Idylls of the King, Maybe Sprout Wings

Hurley- Magpie, Love Love Love

Sloane- Dilaudid

Lucas- In Memory of Satan

Lup- Going Invisible 2

Taakitz- The Age of Kings, The Coroner’s Gambit

Blupjeans- Bluejays and Cardinals

Carey and Killian- Animal Mask, 1 Corinthians 13: 8-10

IPRE- High Hawk Season, Corsican Mastiff Stride, When A Powerful Animal Comes

Aubrey- There Will Be No Divorce, Dinu Lipatti’s Bones, Amy aka Spent Gladiator 1, Shadow Song, Song For An Old Friend

Duck- Midland, New Monster Avenue, In the Hidden Places, As Many Candles As Possible

Ned- Cotton, Wild Sage, Estate Sale Sign, Prowl Great Cain, The Mess Inside, Bleed Out, Going to Hungary

The Pine Guard- Fire Editorial

Pigeon- Jeff Davis County Blues

Mama- Midland, Bones Don’t Rust

Barclay- Color in Your Cheeks, If You See Light, Harbor Me

Minerva- The Young Thousands, Luna, Mobile, Clean Slate

Dani- Blueberry Frost

Keith- Alpha Rats Nest

Hollis- Alpha Rats Nest, Amy aka Spent Gladiator 1, Guys on Every Corner

Boyd- The House that Dripped Blood

Indrid- Alabama Nova

Thacker- Elijah, How to Embrace A Swamp Creature

Amber- The Recognition Scene, International Small Arms Traffic Blues, Oceanographer’s Choice, 1 John 4:16, Bones Don’t Rust, The Young Thousands, Family Happiness, Game Shows Touch Our Lives, Genesis 3:23

Devo- Cotton, Up the Wolves, Get Lonely, New Zion, Outer Scorpion Squadron, Hopeful Assassins of Zeno, Never Quite Free, Cry for Judas, Mark on You, Autoclave, Genesis 3:23

Zoox- Song for Lonely Giants, Incandescent Ruins, Autoclave

Oksana/Kodira- The Recognition Scene, Oceanographer’s Choice, Luna, Genesis 3:23

Orlean- Trick Mirror, New Zion, In Memory of Satan

The Curator- Deuteronomy 2:10

The Shoreside Community- Letter from Belgium, Going to Lebanon 2

The Coriolis Crew- Steal Smoked Fish

#message from mirph #the adventure zone #tmg #the mountain goats #taz balance #taz amnesty #taz ethersea #playlist #fandom playlist

[miss-celestia13]

An Arsonist’s Anguish

Richy’s Lament - A Duskwood One Shot

A dark, angsty exploration into Richy’s character as he sets the stage for his death. There is no happy ending. Just some hope that another soul made it out of the mine as it burns. Crossposted on Ao3.

Trigger Warnings are below the line. Please check them.

TW: Suicide, Self Hatred, Hallucinations, and thoughts/descriptions of Death. Read at your own risk. I tried not to be too graphic, but you will know what’s happening.

Richy would never see the sun rise again.

The ghosts of all the beautiful things he killed to protect his secrets haunted his dragging, stumbling steps as he traversed the mine and ignored the cameras he installed. Gasoline poured and splashed from the canister he held as he wove through tunnels and gritted his teeth against the pain in his arm.

It was nothing compared to the emotional torture he felt inside. His thoughts were a tempest raging with the violence of a cyclone. Every destructive gust ripped through the fragile edifices of his grip on reality.

Within the labyrinth of his mind, self-loathing chewed on his soul like a pack of feral beasts tearing at the tender flesh of their fallen prey. Each bite drew forth burgundy rivers of desolation, self-condemnation, and unyielding fury. Blending with the physical aches until he couldn’t tell them apart

His arm throbbed as he ignored the yelling in his mind. Fucking Dan. Dan, who gave him a gun?! Oh, what an idiot! He scuppered all Richy’s plans and left him scrambling to end it before anyone else got hurt. Ensure nothing remains but ash.

Rivers of cold sweat streamed down his grey face as he held his injured arm over his stomach so he wouldn’t bang it into the rough wall. He wanted to punch the stone to take his mind off it. The bottle of pain meds he stole from his mother rattled in his pocket, but he couldn’t risk taking them yet.

His breathing roasted his throat, but his entire body shivered as though an icy glacier engulfed him. The persistent tremble in his body intensified with every labored step.

The combined weight of his physical and emotional agony was an anchor on his back, dragging his broken spirit beneath tumultuous waves, where the agony of drowning and being hammered from all sides echoed through the depths of himself.

It didn’t feel like any of it was unfair. The thirst was the worst thing. He kept smacking his lips together, attempting to inspire some moisture, but his tongue remained bone dry and coated in the remnants of bitter blood rust.

The blood he’d lost stained his skin and the stone as it dripped through the filthy dressing he tried and failed to use as a tourniquet. Everything felt like it happened to someone else. Something otherworldly piloted his body from the inside.

Like some demon possessed him, guiding him down depraved, treacherous paths, and the priest hadn’t arrived in time to exorcise him.

And he’d done it to himself. Every choice he’d made since kidnapping Hannah, it had felt like suicide in slow motion.

He marooned himself on an island surrounded by vipers of his own creation.

Now, the only option to set himself free was fire. It would hurt, he thought, and his stomach wrenched to the side, almost splitting in two as he dreaded it so strongly.

And death. There was a liberating freedom in death. A broken sob tore through his clenched teeth as he thought of Jessy, the emotions he harbored for her, and everything he had never deserved to have with her.

She was a shot of adrenaline after years of lethargy.

So many of his favorite memories revolved around her and their silly inside jokes. He’d used his closeness to her to torment and stalk her. Terrorized her and her friends. She would never forgive him. Her smiling face, her flaming hair, and desire for a life of adventure had made his miserable existence worth living.

She would forget him one day, but never forgive him. He was a coward. An idiot. He’d let them all believe a masked myth was chasing them.

The only masked freak after them was their own friend.

His megawatt smile, stupid jokes, and constant upbeat attitude despite the shitstorm life rained on him had been the heaviest disguise of his brief life. They’d all bought it.

Hook, line, and fucking sinker. None thought to check beneath that smile. Now, it had twisted and transformed into a permanent snarl. If they paid attention, they would have found the rot and ruin underneath his cheerful demeanor. None of his friends had stopped to think about just how stressed he was. How much he had to carry for his family and Hannah—screw her. She was party to his worst decision.

She caused it.

Her wanting to sacrifice herself, him, and Amy to clear her conscience, betrayal. Betrayal was a dagger Hannah concealed in a cloak of mutual trust and unspoken promises to take their secrets to the grave. That blade had appeared suddenly and without warning, piercing the walls of his shriveled heart.

Half of him wished he’d killed her while he’d had her under his control. End the threat, leave her body to decompose in the mine.

No one came here. He’d made sure of it. Everything might—well, it was too late now. She was safe in the hands of Alan Bloomgate. Hannah, perfect, beautiful fucking Hannah.

He hated her. He blamed Hannah. But it was Amy who he blamed the most. Richy blamed everyone but himself for too long. He knew that. And now he would pay the price for it.

He’d already staged his death. Now he just had to commit.

The cloying scent of gasoline infiltrated his nose, thickening in his raw throat, and the empty metal cannister fell from his weak fingers. The thunderous clanging as it bounced and came to a stop worsened the headache he’d had for the last few weeks.

It pounded in time with his thudding heart. Each pulse pushed yet more blood out of the wound in his heavy, aching arm. It tingled and sparked with fiery pain with every paranoid twitch as he glanced behind him, sure he heard footsteps chasing him down.

He gave himself a shake when only his shadow approached. It looked much bigger to him now. Sinister and spreading to encompass the entirety of him.

It had taken him over long ago, and at last, he accepted it. It was too late to beat it back. He’d embraced it. Its hug was gelid and dragged him down, down, down. The shadow had always been in him; his choices had brought it to life, and it was time to eliminate it so it wouldn’t harm anyone else.

If his last victim was to be himself, it would end on his terms.

His last words had been a confession and an apology. To Jessy, and his friends, to the unwitting stranger he’d dragged into this mess, and to himself. His conscience was far from clear, and his reckoning awaited him amongst the flames he would soon ignite.

The cave in which he’d chosen as his tomb would remain safe from the flames, but the poison smoke would choke him. An intangible noose, as he couldn’t bring himself to tie a rope. He shuffled inside and loosed a long breath that felt more like a death rattle.

His stinging eyes couldn’t penetrate the blackness encroaching him on all sides as he reached into his jacket pocket with his good hand, and pulled out the zippo lighter he’d stuffed inside days before. He’d always suspected.

Deep inside, Richy had expected that this was how it ended. The cold silver metal warmed a little in his clammy hand as his thumb stroked over the Garage’s logo and wished he had said goodbye to his parents before he gave himself to the fire.

It was best they learned with the world. His suicide letter would speak for him and he prayed it would ensure his family didn’t suffer for his actions.

Naïveté had always been his downfall.

Before he set his ultimate act into motion, Richy took his phone out of his jean pocket and flicked the flashlight on. The bright beam of white light assaulted his eyes and created a flurry of moving shadows. The skittering of tiny claws on loose stone racing away from him painted a cruel smirk on his mouth as he cast the light around the small cavern and found what he was looking for.

A grubby black backpack sat against the grey rock wall, covered in dirt, blood, and guilt as he scuttled over to it. He unzipped it and pulled out the almost empty bottle of water he’d been rationing for days.

After fishing the bottle of medication out of his pocket, he struggled to open them both, and cried out as his jerky movements irritated his wounded arm. It took five very long minutes to get the pills out. The light from his phone shuddered as he set it down to count the pills.

He’d chosen the strongest ones his mother had. One knocked her out for half a day, and he wanted to numb himself as much as he could before the smoke smothered or flames devoured him. They were heavy on his tongue as he tossed back a fistful of the chalky tablets and chased them down with the last of his precious water.

For a moment, they got lodged in his throat, his mouth flooded with saliva and his eyes prickled with fresh tears.

He couldn’t even kill himself right. Everything he did just failed in spectacular fashion.

He was a monster of his own making, and only he could slay it. He swallowed, compulsive and dry, ignoring the hot flashes creeping up his neck as the painkillers scraped down his throat and into his hollow stomach.

Richy dropped to his knees and crawled over to the wall, and slumped back onto it. Paper crinkled in his inside coat pocket as he shifted to get comfortable. He had about an hour before the full effects of the medication set in. He would light the fire once the gnawing, eroding ache in his chest and arm dulled.

Until then, he sat with his thoughts, his splintering sanity, and cursed himself. Cursed Duskwood and the predator the town had forced him to transfigure himself into.

The weight of hopelessness hung around Richy’s neck like a noose pulled tight, squeezing the light of life from his eyes.

It was a suffocating darkness that swallowed him whole, leaving nothing but the biting tang of despair on his tongue. Each breath felt like inhaling shards of broken glass, cutting deeper with every huffing exhale.

The silence that echoed in his soul was a relentless scream, a haunting, deafening reminder of the emptiness that consumed him.

“I should’ve told someone,” Richy said in a whisper.

The words bounced softly off the rock, a harmony of regret.

He twitched as it fell silent, mouth furling and eyes glazing over as he listened to the racket in his head.

All you had to do was hand yourself in. You could have avoided all of this.

What do you think will happen to your family? They’ll live happily ever after in the town you terrorized?

Do you honestly think your pathetic letter will save them?

The slippery voice of his own darkness broke into a baleful laugh. It made the hair in his nape rise and stand stiff. He shuddered, thrashing his head and gritting his teeth until they squeaked.

“I tried. I always tried. But I’m a failure. I’ve always been a failure. I can make it right. It’s the only way.” He muttered as the disembodied voice agreed.

Make it right? Ha! You think you can wash away the stain of your idiocy?

You’re tainted.

Forever marked by your wrong choices, Richy.

Redemption? You make me laugh.

Redemption is a fairytale, a delusion you’re desperately clinging to.

It is so far beyond your reach…

Richy’s voice was a growl as he said, “No, redemption isn’t my goal. I can’t undo the damage I’ve caused, but I can end it before anyone else gets hurt. I can make sure the world knows it was me.”

The derisive laughter of his demons chafed at his skull as if their talons were scratching their unspeakable names into the bone.

You’re a lost cause. A testament to all your failures.

Each step you take is a step closer to the abyss of self condemnation.

There’s no way out.

Your sacrifice won’t save your soul.

“I accept that!” Richy roared, spittle flying from his chapped lips as he panted like a wounded beast.

“My death might be the only way to atone for all I’ve done. I don’t care what comes after that. But my family won’t suffer because of me. Not any more.”

The voice in his head made a sound of agreement before it crooned his worst fears.

Yes, your death is the ultimate penance.

Your final act of contrition for the havoc you’ve so selfishly wrought.

Then again, have you considered the aftermath?

Your family will endure your actions. Long after you’re gone. Their suffering will echo until they, too, shuffle off the mortal coil.

Searing fiery agony ripped through Richy’s heart. It felt as though someone had taken a knife, heated it up over a fire until it glowed red hot, and then plunged it into his chest. The scent of burned flesh and molten iron filled his nose. The sensation felt so real to him.

His hand clawed at his jacket over his pounding heart, as if to pull the blade free, but his fingers met only dirty fabric.

“They won’t! They won’t! They won’t! I’ve made sure of it. This isn’t their burden to bear!” He yelled, voice laced with an anguish that made his body convulse as rivulets of salt descended his bared teeth.

Helplessness stole over him as his demons taunted and chuckled in a scornful manner.

You should have thought about that before you started donning the guise of an ancient legend.

Idiot.

Weak.

Pathetic!

Your existence is a festering wound that poisons all in your vicinity.

Embrace the fire.

Let it cleanse all the filth you’ve spread.

But just know, your family will bear the scars of your choices, as they’re carved into their souls for eternity.

Richy sobbed through the agonising sensation weaving through his internal organs. He felt as though someone was weaving his internal organs together with a blunt needle, and they had deliberately coated the thread in salt to prolong his suffering. The increasing pressure in his head demanded an outlet as well.

Everything ached, it bled, and it tore him apart. He was so tired. So tired of trying.

This mine, this town, and all it had demanded of him, he was done with it all. He wanted it to burn. His desire was for them all to suffer, just as he had for a decade. He hadn’t dug just one grave that night. No, there had been one accident and four graves waiting for them. They’d just seen theirs too late.

The forest had never forgotten them, though. It had been patient.

That night with Hannah and Amy, it had never ended. It was a living nightmare he had no way out of. Their deaths had simply waited for them to catch up, and even if Hannah could find it in her to exist after all he’d done, he knew she’d died alongside Jennifer and the rest of them.

Ghosts. That’s what they were. He saw it now. There was no point in trying to hold it off anymore.

It was as if the pressure in his head imploded with that thought.

He wasn’t fully aware of his surroundings as his mind fragmented and warped, and his tenuous hold on reality slipped from his grasp.

The cave dissolved in his vision. Something at the very core of himself disintegrated with it.

He was somewhere else. Somewhere he had long tried to forget.

It was ten years ago.

Amy was there. As was Hannah.

He held a muddied shovel. The surrounding forest smelled like home, but his blood had turned cold. Jennifer’s lifeless body lay broken and bloodied, the remnants of shock still painted across her lovely features.

Her hair lay in a sanguine halo around her head as Richy set down the shovel, and silently, the trio worked to lift the woman.

Hannah’s sobs blended with his labored breathing, sweat drip, drip, dripped down his sore neck. He’d wanted to report it to the police. Tried to convince them to do so anonymously. But Hannah, in her fright, had convinced him they’d be signing their death warrants.

His family would suffer. It was he who gave her the keys to a client’s car. It was due to be scrapped, yes, but that didn’t make it better. Everyone would boycott his dad’s Garage and now that mom was growing worse, the sickness in her invading her mind, he knew they needed that income more than ever.

All they could do was hide the body, agree never to speak of this night, and give the greatest performances of their lives to ensure no one ever suspected them once word of Jennifer’s vanishing spread through Duskwood. He felt like something inside him was dying.

His throat tightened, mouth flooding with saliva as the urge to vomit overtook his senses. Heat crawled through him as he swallowed a mouthful of acidic bile and looked heavenward as they shuffled to stand at the edge of the crudely dug grave.

The stars overhead mocked them as the foliage and freshly overturned earth disguised the metallic scent of spilled blood and their sour shared guilt.

“Are you sure you can live with this?” He asked as they hesitated to drop Jennifer into the ground.

Amy chewed on her bottom lip, blood staining her teeth she’d bitten so hard, and her leaking eyes wouldn’t settle on anything as she gave a single jerky nod. Richy’s stomach sank, but he turned his gaze to Hannah.

His friend’s grief mottled face would haunt him forever as she said, “What other choice do we have?”

That answer inspired zero confidence, but Richy accepted it as an affirmation, and said, “Okay, on three—1, 2, 3!”

With a slight swing and a wobble, they released their hold on Jennifer and all three screwed their eyes shut as she hit the bottom of the hole with a sickening crunch.

Amy fell to her knees, her shaking hands gripping the loose mud ringing the unmarked grave as she sobbed uncontrollably. Richy could hardly stand to watch her, and was glad when Hannah, who was crying freely herself, hauled her away.

He nodded once as Hannah and Amy embraced, clinging to one another, wordless apologies pouring from them both as Richy retrieved his shovel.

He felt like they were being watched. Paranoia snaked through his mind like a weed he knew would grow out of control. All he could do was start refilling the grave.

The soft sound of metal scooping up damp earth seemed to ring through the forest as he internally shut down. All his emotions, he forced them aside. He locked them in a cage made of lead and lined with explosives. Life would never be the same.

Life would be a method actors dream after this. He knew this would change them at a molecular level and none of them could breathe a word of it once they left this cursed forest.

Richy took the last deep breath he’d ever experience and watched expressionlessly as the earth rained down on Jennifer. The pattering noise reminded him of rain, of tears. Amy cried harder while he diligently worked to cover up their mistakes.

Hannah watched, her mouth open in a silent scream.

Wetness trickled down his cheeks as he slowly returned to the present.

Hannah’s face floated across his vision as the scene fully dissipated, and he found himself back in the cave. Stale air replaced the aroma of the night dark forest, and a thin haze hung over his eyes as a euphoric rush raced through his bloodstream.

He felt as if he was floating and drowning in a sea of deliriousness.

The medication had kicked in. His legs were leaden as his head lolled on his neck as if on a swivel, and there was an odd sensation in his nose, like the smell of a roaring fire, but none had been lit. The bullet wound in his arm still griped. Infection had set in, he thought.

Only death would cure it. The meds would ease his passing.

A synthetic fatigue draped him like a cloak as he blinked blearily at the dancing shadows creeping nearer. His mouth turned so dry his tongue curdled in his mouth, and his breathing grew shallower as the painkillers burned through the aches in his body. Not long now, his mosaic mind kept jumping between the past and present, footsteps and disembodied voices whispered so close and real that he answered one.

“I should have turned myself in, I know.”

“At least we agree on something. ”

A female said. His suddenly too heavy head swung around to find the source, his sluggish heart raced faster and faster as the voice sounded like Jessy’s.

“Jess? Remember the fish? The names I made up? If I could—No—I’m so fucking sorry...” He said. He spoke with a voice threaded with deepest despondency.

“The fish were just another lie. All of it was. Your life ended the night Jennifer did. Was any of it real after that? Anything you said, did you mean any of it?”

His shrunken heart broke irrevocably, the agony radiated through his chest, and filled him with a coldness that would soon embrace all of him.

“I didn’t mean—please—I’m ready to pay for it. No one else will hurt because of me.” He swore vehemently.

Jessy’s spectral laugh, derisive and humorless, taunted him.

“We will hurt. It won’t go away. Your actions caused wounds that will scar us forever. Death is your relief. Living with what you did to us is our grief. Goodbye, Richy.”

Richy cried silently as her voice faded and the full effects of the painkillers turned his bones to jelly. He had to light the fire before he passed out. A coffin was his only way out of this cursed place.

Bracing a hand on the knobby wall, he gradually rose to his feet as rock crumbled under his fingers, and rained to the dusty ground, sweat on his palm mixed with the dirt as he tottered toward the entrance. He thumbed the Zippo open as he panted, jaw clenched and eyes stinging with slaking tears.

Petrol permeated the air. He breathed it in as he flicked the lighter and swayed on weak knees as the tiny flame ignited. In the dim, damp recesses of the mine, shadows waltzed like specters as Richy, face obscured by the glow of the lighter and shadow, dropped the flame with a snap of his wrist into the pool of gasoline.

Flame surged away from him, hissing along in a serpentine trail until it morphed into a living beast starved and hungry for destruction. He stumbled back. The heat was a physical blow as it sucked out the oxygen, and he trembled like a newborn fawn as he dropped to his knees and stared and stared and stared.

Amidst the cavernous depths of the mine, the candescent light of the furious fire cast a macabre ballet of shadows upon the rough-hewn walls, a surreal tableau of light and darkness. Tendrils of flame licked and lapped at the stone, awakening ember-tinged echoes that wavered and flashed like phantoms in the subterranean gloom.

Billowing smoke, an ash ridden shroud, coiled sinuously through the labyrinthine passages. The evidence he had doused in gasoline would soon catch fire. Relief glittered through him at the thought. An acrid perfume of burning wood and charred earth mingled with the metallic scent of ancient minerals, an otherworldly aroma that lingered in his lungs and clung to all his senses.

There was no going back now. Every breath was slower than the last. It felt like he was inhaling lava as the heat singed the soft tissue and hair in his nose.

His weighty eyelids sat at half mast. The tunnel walls seemed to exhale, releasing murmurs of long buried secrets, as if the very mine itself sought to voice its resignation to the all-consuming blaze. Mirroring his own easing turmoil as he shut down the instinct to flee and welcomed the darkness speckling the edges of his vision.

His lungs were burning as he struggled for air, and it felt like there was a boulder sitting on his chest, keeping them from inflating and grinding his bones down.

The feeling went out of his legs as his hands turned to claws and raked down his neck, leaving scarlet trails of pain scoring his constricting throat.

His world flipped sideways as he collapsed and his head cracked off the rubble strewn ground, but he no longer felt any pain. The roar of the fire, the slowing beat of his heart, and the stones poking into his tear-streaked face were all he knew.

As Richy’s weary eyes teetered on the edge of closure for the last time, a bizarre scene unfolded within the tumult of his fading consciousness.

The nerves in his hands spasmed and his fingers twitched, filthy nails scratching at the dirt to distract himself as he resisted the urge to fight for his life.

No, it had to end like this. If Hell was real, it was best he got used to it.

Freezing panic blasted through him like a blizzard as his blurred eyes caught sight of something that didn’t belong.

Through the shimmering haze of smoke and heat, a figure emerged from a tunnel he hadn’t thought to include in his fiery last act. His heart tried to beat faster as fear spread its icy fingers through his body. The person appeared cloaked in a shivering orange glow and erratic shadows.

Masked and foreboding, the phantom figure raced away without noticing Richy. And lost in the fractured fabric of his perception, Richy could not see who or what it was. If it was a real person, they might’ve tried to drag him out. This would all be for naught. For once, his horrendous luck benefited him.

As it was, the panicked footsteps bolted away from him, barely heard over the howling fire, and vanished into the tumult of smoke.

He hoped they made it out. It hadn’t occurred to him he might take another’s life with him. Just another mistake. Another tally on his list of sins committed. His choices lay before him like an intricately woven tapestry, each thread a testament to the wrong turns and paths he tread, yielding a disturbing, wretched pattern he wished he could unravel and weave anew.

His trembling gaze soon faltered as the slithering smoke filled his lungs, gasping for air that no longer existed as he spluttered and coughed. With every shallow inhale, the world blurred and distorted. Black spots burst like maleficent fireworks in his eyes, shutting down his fleeting thoughts of crawling to safety.

A cacophony of wheezes and whines slipping from his open mouth faded into a distant echo, as his eyelids, heavy with surrender, fluttered closed. He gave himself over to the exhaustion eating him alive from the inside.

The world outside ceased to matter as an alleviating darkness enveloped his mind. His tiny exhales were little more than puffs of air. A whispered farewell to all those he was leaving behind.

Richy had fallen quiet, but the fire raged on, growing stronger as it feasted on wood, and hastily packed boxes, and the papers inside them. His legacy of ash and blood.

In the letter he left for his parents, he had assumed all guilt and taken the lion's share of the responsibility for Jennifer’s death, and his actions after. Hannah, he thought she had suffered enough, and whatever punishment she received, he didn’t want it to ruin her more. Death was his toll to pay, his lethal reputation would exist long after him and pay for the rest of it. He only hoped his parents could move on from this.

They wouldn’t see him again, not until the funeral. It was over. The corrosive effects of his choices had eaten away at everything good in him.

There was nothing left to salvage from his wreckage.

He tried. And he failed. This time, he finally succeeded in something. The complete demolition of him. A tear slipped through his lashes, warm and soft as it fell to the mucky ground.

It was the last. No more fell.

Death came quietly for him, as silent as a falling leaf drifting into a pile of its fallen friends. His chest stuttered as tentacles of smoke wreathed around him like funeral wrappings, falling as still as the rock he lay atop.

Death finally slayed Richy Rogers’ demons, and no one heard their screams.

——————

I have never been so nervous about something I’ve written. I hope that you—I can’t say enjoyed 🙈 but I hope your time wasn’t wasted. Thank you for reading, if you made it this far.

This is in no way meant to glamorise mental illness or anything like that. That is not my intention. I have been where Richy was in this story, I didn’t kidnap or help bury anyone, but I’ve dealt with depression/anxiety all my life. I’ve dealt with suicidal thoughts. There is nothing glamorous about it. This is just a fictional character study to explore his mind and emotions at the end of the game. If you are struggling, please reach out to anyone you trust. Or a stranger, if that works better. Share the burden. You don’t have to suffer alone. It can get better. I promise. I wouldn’t be here if it didn’t ❤️🫂

Thank you ❤️

And the “masked figure,” that was Jake from this story, The Ending You Deserve. Just a little Easter egg for anyone who read that 🤭❤️

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