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dr3c0mix · 11 months

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umm is it possible to get a yandere! male!siren x shy!gn reader?

Fish Bait

Yandere!Siren x GN Reader

CW: Kidnapping, assault, minor stalking, murder, thalassophobia maybe?

🌊 You are quite shy when it came to talking to people. You found the whole 'socializing thing' a bit overwhelming considering how rough and loud the rest of the people in your academy was.

🌊 You much preferred staying by the shore with a nice book or drawing book to enjoy the sound of the waves with. The ocean breeze and wailing of seagulls never failed to relax you.

🌊 One day, you heard the strange sound of splashing by the tide pools along the more rocks area of the shore. You thought it was a fish or some other animal that got stuck in one of the pools after the tide retreated and got up to help it out.

🌊 But what you saw was no animal, well, half animal. In one of the pools was a man with the lower half of a fish, his scales glistened wondrously as it splashed in the water.

🌊 The man looked at you with wide eyes and froze. You put your hands up to show you meant no harm.

🌊 "Please! Spare me! I just want to go home!"

🌊 "Calm down! I won't hurt you!"

🌊 He shook with fear as your hands drew closer to him.

🌊 You then pulled him up from the pool and carried him to the sea, he stares at you as you gently lowered him unto the water.

🌊 As soon as his tail was submerged in the sea, he swam out of your grasp and went a distance away from you, part of his head peeking out of the water as his red eyes looked at yours.

🌊 "Well...safe travels.." You mutter, wading back to shore, but the merman peeks his mouth out the water and shouts to you.

🌊 "You're not going to ask anything in return?"

🌊 You look back. "Uhm..no, I'm fine, thanks anyway.."

🌊 "Hmm, you know...you can come with me to my home. I'll grant you the power to breathe under water and you can enjoy the treasures I have there. What do you say? It's the least I can do for what you've done for me!"

🌊 "Nah, I'm good. Be safe though, I heard theres pirates that hunt merfolk nowadays..." You continue your way to shore but the merman swims quickly to your side.

🌊 "Don't you want to be rid of those insolent fools you call schoolmates? I can give you a life people only dream of!"

🌊 "I'm not really..interested..."

🌊 "...You're not?"

🌊 "Yeah..."

🌊 "...Oh..uh..ok...wow-um..well, bye I guess..." The man stutters before sinking his head back into the water.

🌊 You sigh, that was some encounter. You doubt you'd run into something like that again...

🌊 Boy howdy you were wrong.

🌊 You'd spot the strange boy again and again, always hiding back behind the rock or piece of driftwood he was watching you from.

🌊 Sometimes you'd also find trinkets and beautiful stones laid on the shore. You never took them though; you didn't want to take something someone probably lost. The merman would grumble to himself every time you ignored his baits.

🌊 You'd also see him again trapped in the pools, feigning sorrow that poor little him got stuck again during another low tide. What ever shall he do?

🌊 Your days would go on like this, the merman desperately trying to lure you into the sea but to no avail due to your shy and polite nature.

🌊 Him basically stalking you turned to him directly talking to you and trying to get you to go with him in the water.

🌊 "Oh dear, I've been stuck at this reef for ages! I just can't get out! Could you help me please? I promise not to drown you!"

🌊 "No thanks, I'm on the last chapter of my book..."

🌊 "My, my, it's so lonely in the ocean, not a playmate in sight, come down with me so we can really get to know each other yeah?"

🌊 "I don't really wanna get my clothes wet..."

🌊 What you thought was a potentially dangerous creature of the sea became a whiny, attention-seeking drama queen.

🌊 Eventually, you'd learn his name is Caspian. He gave up a bit on trying to lure you and settled on making small talk with you.

🌊 Most of your conversations would revolve around your cultures, how you two lived compared to eachother.

🌊 "So those silver things with teeth aren't combs? Interesting...tell me more!"

🌊 He more or less looked up to you because of the knowledge you'd tell him, even though it was all basic things ever human knows, but he wasn't a human so, I guess it's alright.

🌊 He'd try to crawl onto shore to see what you were reading or drawing. You'd have to scoot away from him because he was dripping wet, and you didn't want your paper to get soiled.

🌊 Please read to him! He loves it when you read out loud the books you bring!

🌊 Life seemed pretty content with you having a friend to talk to, one who's not judgmental of your quiet personality.

🌊 That was until one day, you heard laughing and shouting from your usual spot.

🌊 You saw your classmates, waist deep in the water trying to drag Caspian to the shore, the merman snarling and biting the air around him angrily as the bullies degrade and laugh at his attempts to wriggle out of their grasp.

🌊 "Look at this, boys! With this ugly thing we can buy the whole pub if we wanted to!"

🌊 "H-hey! Leave him alone!" You shouted, dropping your things as you ran to help your friend, but one of them punched you with in the face and grabbed you, about to hit you again.

🌊 "What? You're gonna let this siren kill everyone that comes to this beach? God you're dumb! No wonder why you have no friends!"

🌊 He was about to give another blow when you both heard a shrill cry from the ocean.

🌊 The water pooled with crimson as only the splashing of limbs can be seen form the shore, cries and gurgles are heard from the writhing gore. Your classmate rushes into the water to save his friends before the violent splashing stops and the red patch of bloody water extends towards him and around him until you see him get yanked below into the water, a splash of a fish tail verified in your mind that it was Caspian.

🌊 You could feel your heart pounding as you see the siren lift its head from the water, his blood red eyes staring at you again with razor sharp teeth bared.

🌊 "P-please...don't hurt me..I didn't lead them to you I swear!" You cried as he crawled to your shivering form.

🌊 You held your breath as he pulled you in a wet hug, your clothes getting stained by the salty, bloody water.

🌊 "Oh my darling~ I know you would never hurt me~ But we're not safe here anymore..I fear I'll have to take you somewhere safer...somewhere away from those disgusting creatures."

🌊 You couldn't even react before you were pulled into the water forcefully, you kicked and swam all you could to get him to let go of you, but soon enough, your whole body was under the water. The only thing that was left of you were your things by the sand, and bubbles that rose to the surface before stopping.

🌊 "You'll be safe here my love, my most wonderful treasure~"

this one was by far one of my favorite bois ive written, he's so mhmhmghghghmmmhmhmmhhh

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were-changing-cake-vaults · 2 months

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Etho cannot deny that in some way, the ocean is messing with his friends, and that he noticed far too late.

It targets Gem first, long before it goes after anyone else, so subtly it’s almost undetectable. Here’s the way he notices: her little boat is cute, but the mangrove wood on the trim seems old and rotten in some places, murky river water staining the paint that coats the sides. The lighthouse, when built, seems washed out, as if the color has been sucked from the stone that forms it. Etho finds this strange, but refuses to jump to conclusions- Gem is still his little sibling with the same warm smile, so he lets it be for now.

It’s really when the fishing craze begins where Etho starts having doubts about the normalcy of things. Grian is in no way an average person most of the time, but this level of dedication is new and sort of suspicious. It starts with the mending book, which is fine, since he’s decided to avoid villager trading this season. Etho comes over sometimes and jokes about the luck of the sea. Here is where it gets weird, though: when he comes over to make that joke again, Grian turns his head, oh so slowly, expression serious and eyes blank as he replies.

“The ocean will provide the book. It’s the next one, I know it.”

It takes a little more effort than it should for Etho to not turn tail and run. The tambre of his friend’s voice is off-kilter and strange, almost hollow in the way it echoes. And it’s the way he doesn’t say mending, he just says the book- Etho can’t help but feel like he isn’t fishing for enchantments anymore. The air smells of rot and slime. He swallows bile, gives a little uh-huh as a reply, and leaves as soon as he can.

Then there’s Pearl and Beef, obsessed with salmon, of all things. Pearl’s thing seems like a one-off, but Doc tells him that Beef has taken the joke about “big salmon” a little too far, claiming he’s gotten emails from them that have threatened the goat directly. Etho doesn’t really know what to make of that, or Pearl’s salmon head, or the continuous slapping of fish on noteblocks that’s driving him insane.

But he knows this: he’s never really liked fishing before, not for its intended use, anyway. It’s good to have in a death game, but not once has Etho found the monotonous motions of fishing appealing. Grian said it best himself: he used to think fishing was lame. And he did. Does. He thinks it’s lame. He thinks all of this stuff about the river and the boats and the ocean and the salmon and the rot is all really weird and not at all cool. He’s only here to make sure his friends are okay. Not to fish, because he doesn’t want to, just to keep Magic Mountain in line.

But Grian says it again: Etho walked up here and was like ‘this is lame’, now look at him! Etho, in turn, looks at his hands. When did he start fishing? Was the sun always that high in the sky? Did the ocean always sing like that? Was there always a magnetic force to the waves at the shore, pulling him closer with every lap of sea foam? Was the lighthouse always this beautiful?

No, no it wasn’t. He knows this. Something is very, very wrong. There’s something in the water that’s making his friends lose it, and there’s something supernatural that’s trying to pull him in. He needs to get out of here, back to the jungle, with its nice green grass and earthy smells-

To his right, Etho hears his death call. The bell rings, the swan sings, and the water keeps lapping at his feet. It’s too late, he knows it, in the way that his hands are gripping the fishing pole with white knuckles, in the way the lilypads seem to grow under his feet to get him closer to the great deep blue. The music continues, the serenade settling into his bones, giving him an eerie sense of calm.

In the magnetic pull of the moment, he doesn’t even realize he’s crying.

#woosh writes #hermitcraft #ethoslab #grian #geminitay #oceans calling au #<- that’s the tag I’m using for this- l will edit the other fics tag to have this later #anyways I’m So Fucking Normal about this

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regularcitrus · 11 months

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big bad and the assassination team! (2/3)

- Risotto is based off the gift givers in the Best Gift Ever special

- Devil Darner does not have time powers, he’s just really really good at sneak attacks and throwing opponents off

- Devil communicates and gives orders to his underlings via magic scrolls (a la Celestia)

- i was gonna make a joke about how phones haven’t been invented yet so Dialtone is literally just making weird noises and talking to objects, but then i looked it up and turns out there ARE phones in equestria so. that’s out the window

- anyways some more bad italy puns: Shiredinia, Reinezia (or Reinice), Coatpri, Foalrence, Maneila, Marelan

1 / 2 / 3

Phantom Blood / Battle Tendency / Stardust Crusaders / Diamond is Unbreakable / Golden Wind / Stone Ocean

#my art #mlp x jojo au #vento aureo #golden wind #diavolo #doppio #la squadra #risotto nero #jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo #mlp #my little pony #friendship is magic #jojony #jojonies #ponification #ponified

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bumblesimagines · 4 months

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nice bedhead.

why don't you join me in the shower?

- Finnick Odair

nice bedhead.

why don't you join me in the shower?

i really like the plot and backstory for this... hm.

Pronouns: They/Them/Theirs, GN!Reader

You gazed at the window from the comfort of the bed, listening to the comforting sound of the ocean waves rolling in and inhaling the salty air wafting in from the open window. You enjoyed sleeping with the window open at night ever since you won the 68th Hunger Games. There was always a second of panic in the mornings. A split moment when your body awoke from a long night filled with nightmares and your brain hadn't yet caught up with your surroundings. That split second of dread and fear that coming home had been a dream and you were still in the arena always made your heart skip a beat. But then the sea breeze would seep in and fill your nose with the smell of home.

Your eyes dragged away from the window when the muscular arms around your waist tightened and a nose buried itself in your neck. You were pulled closer into a bare chest and Finnick's face buried further into the nape of your neck, your ears picking up on the shakey exhale that left his lips. His soft bronze curls tickled your cheek but you remained still, giving him time to fully awaken and gain awareness of his surroundings. He needed his reminder too.

You'd known Finnick as many things throughout your life. He'd been the neighbor's son who'd bring over the day's catch whenever your father fell ill. He'd been the boy in your class who had everyone wanting to be his friend with his charming smile and then had everyone on the edge of their seats when he'd been reaped into the 65th games. And finally, he became your fellow Victor when you returned home from your own agonizing time in the games. But even then, even with such close history as neighbors and former classmates, you scarcely called him a good friend.

You had always held Finnick at arm's length. He was the sweet pretty neighbor who lived across the stone path, the popular classmate whose eyes never strayed far from you, the fourteen-year-old who'd survived the games and embraced you the moment he saw you as if frightened he'd never get to see you again. His behavior had always been strange. With a flock of followers and admirers always at his feet, he'd always been eager to befriend you, not that you ever allowed it. Your parents laughed about it, cooing to give the boy a chance, that he meant well and only wanted a friend. Your teachers did similarly but you couldn't shake off the envious looks when Finnick sat beside you during lunch or when his hand would be the first to raise when you needed a sparring partner.

It was strange. He was strange.

You still remembered how his face paled when your name was pulled from the bowl. The way he avoided being in your presence during your stay in the Capitol and left Mags to solely train you. The way he whispered in your ear all the weaknesses your district partner had before you had to leave for the arena. The look of relief on his face when you returned that promptly fell when you lashed out at everyone and anyone who tried to help. But he stuck by. Always lingering, always checking up on you. Until you finally had enough of the nightmares and wanted an escape for the night. What was supposed to be a one-time thing turned into a common occurrence when you or Finnick wanted to forget about the games or the Capitol.

So, there you were. With Finnick Odair in your bed.

"How'd you sleep?" He asked softly into your ear, voice hoarse and still soaked in exhaustion. His arms remained around you, holding you closely but not constricting you. Finnick was a quick learner. One of the many reasons he'd always been top of the class. His observant eyes and quick mind had taught him how to handle you, how to ensure you wouldn't lock him out of your life again.

"Fine." You responded in a murmur and shifted around in his arms to face him. He leaned back slightly for wiggle room before pressing himself against you once again and pressing a quick peck to your forehead. Who knew an Odair could be so clingy? Your eyes lifted to his tousled locks. It suited him better than the pristine, perfectly combed style. "Nice bedhead."

He made a noise of amusement and moved his hand up to your face, pressing his palm against your cheek and running his thumb over your skin. He smiled, a genuine dorky smile unlike the flirtatious one he put on for the people of the Capitol, and bumped his nose against yours. "Why don't you join me in the shower?"

"Because I know you'll start something you'll want to finish in bed." Your answer made him snort and he closed the distance to properly kiss you. He smiled against your lips and rolled on top of you, pushing himself up onto his forearms and giving you a cheeky grin.

"Then I'll start something in bed we can finish in the shower."

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softlyspector · 11 months

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Catching

Summary: None of your partners had ever been able to make you come before. Joel changed that.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~1.9k

Warnings: smut from start to finish, but make it so poetic (piv, fingering, f receiving oral, dirty talk), Joel is a little bit of a menace and also a lot pussy drunk, negative self thought and doubt, a smidge of anxiety, talk of sex with previous partners being painful/uncomfortable

A/N: This was the result of another brain worm that would not leave me aloneeeeeee. Anyway, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy and I would love to know what you think!

Joel made you come the first time you slept with him.

It’s not that you thought he wasn’t capable of it. No, you were sure he was more than capable. Joel was nothing like your previous partners.

But something about it still surprised you.

His care surprised you. His careful attention surprised you. It itched beneath your skin and wormed into your heart. There was space among your bones, hollow places left empty that he managed to nest down into.

He touched you, touched you, touched you—

Joel wound you up expertly. Like he knew everything about you already.

Or, maybe he listened.

You soaked the sheets long before his fingers or tongue touched your cunt.

And then, he made you come.

You guessed maybe it was a little bit of a surprise then, but not because you thought he couldn't. Just because no one had ever tried to before, just because no one had ever managed to before.

You’d never come with a partner. And when Joel made you come, with his mouth and then his fingers and then his cock, again and again and again, it was more than a little overwhelming.

It made you cry in the intervals between hitched breaths and raw lips.

The spaces between your ribs seemed to close, the carefully built hollow parts of you that Joel had burrowed into crushed and compacted into something much more solid. The feeling seared through your chest.

It was different with someone else. Coming was different with someone else. It felt so much better with someone else.

You couldn’t say if it was always like that, because Joel was the only one that had ever really even attempted it.

Maybe it was just Joel that did you in, that untied your knots and broke apart your insides to find out what made you tick. Like a tinkerer deep inside beloved clockwork.

You expected what you’d come to know, the unimpressive and very brief—and sometimes painful because you were fucking dry—intrusion of fingers, before he stuck his dick in you for less than five minutes. Groaned about how good you felt, how tight, before rolling away.

Embarrassing, but true to almost every experience you’d had.

But Joel.

Joel felt how wet you were and groaned, a deep and pained sound.

Joel asked you, begged you, to let him touch you.

Joel wanted to put his head between your legs. He was hungry for you, wanted to live there, nestled between your thighs, nose buried in the curls of your sex. His tongue went inside you and he groaned, deep and guttural when he did and you clenched around him, back arched off the bed.

His hands held your legs apart. He thumbed gentle circles into your skin, divoted fingerprints into the malleable, soft flesh of your thighs.

His hands were warm but all you could think about was a picture you’d seen once, of a statue—a man’s veined hand on the marble thigh of a woman, so lifelike it felt intimate to gaze at. The stone man gazed up at the stone woman, benevolence and reverence in his gaze.

Joel’s hand looked like that on your skin, like artful, dimpled flesh beneath a solid hand.

Pussy drunk. He was drunk on you, lapping at you like you were the last goddess left on a scorched earth, brow furrowed, lips plump and swollen, coated with you.

Maybe it wasn’t different with a partner, maybe it was just different with Joel.

He was loud in the pleasure it gave him to be graced with the ocean of your body. He moaned into you, like the salt of you was not like every other person’s taste. He mumbled praises. He said you tasted good, he said you were doing so good my sweet girl, so good, honey, this all for me?

Your body gave endlessly to him, and Joel took it all. Greedy. Hoarding you.

The sound of how wet you were made the tightened, collapsed slats of your ribs catch flame. The feeling burned through your chest, sparked his name like tinder from your mouth.

Something new sprouted up in the razed ashes of it though, a forest that demanded attention and care, a need that seared you from the inside out. And Joel was more than happy to help it grow. He was more than happy to care for you. He groaned when you came, unaware that someone else giving you an orgasm was an entirely new experience.

That just that alone was almost too much.

You shook.

Joel only spread you wider, hooked your leg over his shoulder, pressed your other leg back flat with firm fingers, and kept going until another orgasm shattered through you, until you gushed over his mouth.

He seemed to like the flood of you, and so the shame that threatens to sink clawed talons into you didn’t last.

When he looked up, his eyes were dark, the color of a starless night, fathomless, bottomless wells, beckoning you to him like a siren spell. You would take the willing first step into those waters, into that abyss. Happily. You would happily do it.

He looked sated, like that was enough. Like he would never hunger again. Like your essence dripping from the soft grays of his facial hair was enough. Like you alone were enough.

So, after all of it—

When he took you apart on his fingers, one at a time until you were stretched wide around three, and he muttered under his breath about makin’ sure you’re ready for me darlin’ —he made you come again.

After that, he made you come when he—

Pushed into you so nice and slow, drawling low and thick about how you can take it, honey, doin’ so good sweet girl, you look so good gettin’ split open on my cock. And then he made you come again and again and again—

When the pleasure finally turned you boneless and weak and you begged—you begged and begged and begged for him to come too. He promised he would, he would give you what you want, sweetheart. I know. You did so good. Been so good for me.

Joel pulled out of you and came on your belly.

You swept your fingers through it while he groaned above you, spreading it over your skin until his hand snatched at your wrist and pulled your hand away so he could lick your fingers clean and settle you into his arms, stickiness be damned. The state of the sheets be damned.

He held you. He didn’t roll away, he didn’t fall asleep.

It was only then, that the tears came sudden and fast. They welled up and spilled over. They trailed down your cheeks before you could stop them, rolling onto the beating heart of the man next to you, siphoning down onto the little watered forest of his own soul, bruised and bright.

“What’s wrong?” He was cradling your face, swiping at your cheeks. Worry etched into lined skin. Worried, he was so worried. “Was I too much? Did I hurt you?”

No, not hurt.

You shook your head, and your voice was pathetic when it tripped over your tongue on its way out of your mouth.

“I’m overwhelmed,” you managed, and his eyes darkened, clearly reading the tone of your voice wrong, reading the word you chose to describe the full, choking feeling in your chest wrong. “In a good way,” you hurried to explain. “No one has ever made me come before,” you admitted against your better judgment.

It was possible for him, then, to realize that maybe there was something wrong with you, afterall.

Joel paused.

His brow furrowed. “You mean that many times—”

No one said he was a man above a little bragging. “No,” you laughed wetly, with shame. With heat tearing a hole in your lungs. The fire his name started still burning. “At all.”

“Serious?” You couldn’t decide on his tone.

“So very,” you breathed. “They all just kinda stuck it in.”

He frowned. “Really?”

“Well,” you admitted, “Sometimes their fingers first. A little.”

“That’s what’s got you cryin’?” He attempted teasing you. “I made you come too many times?” His voice was a chuckle in your ear, like the hum of a beehive, like the brush of a breeze through crisp, decaying leaves.

You wrinkled your nose and buried your face in his shoulder, embarrassed and still crying, still overwhelmed, like you couldn’t quite catch your breath. You couldn’t fault him for laughing though. It was ridiculous.

Joel cupped the side of your face, lifted your head. “Hey,” he said. He wasn’t laughing anymore, his expression sombered. “Did they hurt you?”

You squirmed and shrugged. “Not really. I couldn’t…maybe I should have been better at saying what I wanted. But they always seemed to just want it to be…over with.” The admission felt heavy in your chest, shameful somehow. It wasn’t like you’d told Joel what you wanted either.

“If they were any good to ya,” he tipped his head closer to yours. “They woulda known and done somethin’ about it.” His eyes flicked over you. “They never ate this pretty pussy?”

Your eyelids fluttered as Joel dragged his knuckles down your side. “No.”

“Their fuckin’ loss,” he growled. “I can’t wait to put my mouth back on you. All of it, sweetheart, is their loss.”

You shivered, tiny tears still slipping down your cheek. “You made me feel so good, Joel,” you hummed, the small compliment all you could manage.

He turned, pressed you back into the sheets, his nose dipping along your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. “And your pussy is so easy to make come, baby. I mean that in an admirin’ way. If they didn’t make you come, they weren’t tryin’ to at all.”

“J-Joel,” you stammered as his hands traversed your body again. “I’m too—I can’t again.”

He rolled his hips slowly against yours. His cock was still soft.

But he looked so pretty above you. The bulge of muscle in his biceps rippled, his mouth teased along your throat. “Why not?” He asked. “I got a lot of makin’ up to do.”

The familiar thrill and roll of anticipation shivered up your spine. His chest brushes yours. “You’re s’damn sensitive, honey. I gotta know all the ways I can make you come.”

“Too sensitive,” you remarked. “Please, baby,” you cupped his face in your hands, pulled him away from where he was nosing slowly lower, to your chest, your pebbled nipples. “I promise to let you find out. But later.”

Truth be told, you were sore. You ached, in all the ways a person could. You needed to recover from him, just a little.

He stared at you, relenting, somehow sensing that. “Alright, honey,” he agreed softly, kissing you instead. “Did y’keep count?”

Heat flooded your chest, chased the lingering dregs of whatever sharp things other people had left lodged in your chest away. There was only Joel now. There was only room for Joel. “No.”

He tsked, his voice low. “Hm. We’ll have to start over then.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller

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sunkendreams · 4 months

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Idk exactly what to ask for, but I have an ✨idea✨

Dwayne who seemingly has a penchant for choking his SO. He just loves the little whimpers and moans they make, and the way they squirm.

Really basic, ik 💀. You can take this and run, or simply enjoy this thought with me, but I wanted to share 🥰

moving in stereo.

( dwayne x fem!reader. )

➾ pairing ; dwayne x fem!reader.

format: one-shot — requested.

word count: 5.9K.

warnings: SMUT (mdni), making out, dirty talk, cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), bloodplay (he’s a vampire), breast-play, biting, hair-pulling, scratching, breeding kink, scent kink, p in v sex, missionary position, rough sex, begging, unprotected sex, mating press (a little bit), choking, bruising/marking, dwayne is hot

author’s note: i am so obsessed with him, it’s not even funny ngl :’) also, I have a couple of other fics/drabbles that I’ll probably post tonight too, I’m definitely feeling very inspired! If you haven’t voted on my poll, please do so! thank you guys sm for your continued love & support !! ❤️

Beads of blood filled your mouth as you absentmindedly chewed at the skin of your cheek, flesh taut between your back molars — you hadn’t intended to bite down as hard as you did. A singular glance at Dwayne’s hands had contorted into shameless ogling, smitten hues discreetly flickering over the veins and smudges of grayish grease coating his fingers.

He had a way with machinery that transcended you — he often claimed that it was simply natural instinct, but your running theory was something buried in his past life. Dwayne was known for his stoicism and quiet demeanor, neglecting to educate you on his background.

It must’ve been a life of hard work — otherwise, his hands wouldn’t have appeared so rough and calloused. They weren’t smooth and spindly like Marko’s, or pretty like Paul’s. They were taut and thick, dexterous and built for destruction, if he let it.

Hands that had held you many times before, touched you in ways that you longed to feel again. A shudder rolled down your spine as you daydreamed, mind floating into a fantastical haze of lascivious thoughts. If it weren’t for the presence of the other boys, a tendril of drool might’ve leaked from the corner of your mouth.

“It’s fucked, isn’t it?”

Paul’s agitated groan reverberated throughout the cavern as he crouched beside his boombox, slapping a palm against the top of the speaker, as if that would cure all ailments. His brows furrowed together, lip curled in annoyance as he knocked his hand against the machine a second time — for good measure.

“You’ll ruin it if you keep it up.” Dwayne’s monotonous remark echoed from the opposite side of the lobby. He was entrenched in repairing his motorcycle after it had gotten vandalized by a Surf-Nazi who didn’t live to tell the tale. Paul’s beloved stereo was the least of his concerns.

“How are we gonna listen to Alice?” A begrudging sigh escaped Paul, whose theatrics weren’t out of the ordinary. He huffed, falling in a dramatic heap along the edge of the dilapidated fountain. “Can’t you fix it, Dwayne?” He asked, peering toward his brother, who seemed entirely uninterested.

Silence filled the chasm between them, prompting you to stifle a smile. Dwayne didn’t enjoy being bothered whenever he was working on a project — he was always one to see it through until the very end.

David and Marko emerged from their abysmal resting place. Once the sun disappeared behind the ocean and dusk consumed dawn, the boys became wildly active. “Paul,” David’s voice carried, always domineering without even trying. “Let’s go.”

Disappointed in the lack of closure for his treasured boombox, Paul relented, rolling off of the stone bannister with an exaggerated sigh. He ruffled your hair in passing, and smacked Dwayne on the way out, who didn’t flinch or move a muscle. He simply exhaled — you could sense the twinge of irritation in his sigh alone.

Paul snickered, hopping up the ledge alongside David and Marko. “See you later, bud.” He sneered, waving at you as he departed with his brothers. Once the trio slunk away into the moonlight, it left you and Dwayne by yourselves in the cave.

You could’ve watched Dwayne work for hours, captivated by the way he dismantled the machinery, handling the finer pieces with nimble digits. He was wrist-deep in the grease-laden guts of his motorcycle, surrounded by a myriad of scrap and parts. His dark brows were furrowed together in stark concentration.

Intrigued, you abandoned your perch — a rickety, velvet-cushioned chair that had come with the hotel’s ancient wreckage. Paul’s stereo was sitting along the ledge, awaiting a tune-up that you knew Dwayne would inevitably provide. You sat down, inspecting it for any damage — it looked unharmed, on the outside.

“Do you think it was a user error sort of thing?” A burst of laughter escaped you as you opened up the hatch for the cassette tapes, noticing a rather banged-up copy of Alice Cooper’s Constrictor from ‘86. It was a good choice — you had to commend Paul’s taste in music.

Dwayne’s soft, bemused huff was all you needed to hear, prompting you to smile. You never mistook his tranquil, halcyon demeanor as indifference — he was a man of very few words. Even his temper wasn’t violent or tempestuous, like that of Marko or David. His placidity in most things was what drew you to him in the first place.

Being a human amongst a den of rancorous vampires wasn’t your intention, but you were happy — happiest with Dwayne, above all. He was the best boyfriend you’d ever had, not that it was a lengthy list. You idly fiddled with some of the switches on the boombox, removing and reinserting the cassette before closing it up.

Much to your chagrin, the stereo didn’t work — maybe it wasn’t Paul’s imagination after all. You gently nudged it back along the ledge, abandoning it for now. “How come you didn’t go with the others?” You inquired, folding one leg over the other, tapping the heel of your boot against the dusty stone.

There was a slight shift in his body language — a mere shrug of his broad shoulders, accompanied by the noises of metal clanging, gears twisting, and then he grunted. “I’m not looking for dinner.” Dwayne replied, matter-of-factly. He was in the midst of replacing the engine on his bike, placing the damaged part aside, hands stained in dark ichor.

With a soft hum, you pushed yourself off of the ledge, wandering over toward Dwayne’s scrapyard — a rather cluttered corner of the cave that acted as a makeshift garage. You sat along one of the flat outcroppings of rock, opting to watch him fix up his motorcycle. It would intrigue you more than messing with the boombox ever would.

His pearlescent teeth clenched around a wrench, clutched between his maw as he focused on putting the new engine back in. There was a quiet appreciation that he held for you — you were always respectful of his hobbies, if this even counted as one. Dark eyes flickered toward you, sitting there in your billowing sundress like some statuesque angel.

Dwayne appraised you in his usual silence, eyes carefully raking along your physique, as if he were undressing you through gaze alone. His jaw tensed, a fire beginning to spark within his chest, threatening to spread like an encroaching wildfire the longer he ogled you.

Sundresses were a hot commodity — and they never lasted, either. Dwayne made sure of it, and once he got his hands on you, that pretty fabric shielding you from him would cease to exist. He made it up to you with the gift of another, but rest assured, it would be shortlived.

It was a mutual feeling, the silent staring. His keen hues settled along the supple curves hiding just beneath that thin veil of fabric while you were captivated by the visual feast of strong, capable hands and taut forearms. You folded your hands within your lap, beginning to absentmindedly chew at your inner cheek again.

Your scent wafted throughout the short distance between the both of you, heavy with hints of your favorite perfume, a saccharine concoction that Dwayne had grown accustomed to. He loved your smell — it was unique to you, invading his senses as he continued his work.

Those strong, muscled hands of his were buried in the underbelly of the motorcycle, carefully placing the new engine back inside. He began to fasten it all into place, removing the wrench from his mouth, quickly fixing it all up with a series of bolts, screws, and metallic plates.

“I’ll teach you sometime.” Dwayne was, oddly enough, the one to shatter the comfortable silence between the both of you. He prided himself on playing mechanic — his ability to handle such equipment and repair it was rather renowned. Once he was satisfied with the job, he sat back, peering toward you.

Warmth oozed from those earthen-brown hues of his, coupled with a subtle adoration that only he possessed for you. Your smile only served to further it, the only thing to make his dead heart pump to life again.

“I’d like that,” You mused, canting your head to one side. “I think you should fix Paul’s stereo, too.” Even if Dwayne had brushed him off before, he would fix it and have it ready for him whenever he came back. It was the right thing to do, anyway.

Dwayne huffed, lips twitching into a threadbare smile, wrought with traces of amusement. He didn’t say anything — he didn’t need to. He wiped his hands off along the crimson cloth he carried in his back pocket, ridding his hands of engine grease and oil.

He stood, filling in his full height as he bent down to give you a kiss, hand carding through the back of your skull. It never failed to make you shudder, haplessly squeezing your thighs together as you reached for his forearm. Powerful, taut muscle flexed underneath your fingertips, and his kiss briefly intensified before he withdrew.

That familiar aching sensation flickered to life between your legs, a dull arousal pooling within your stomach. You wanted nothing more than to cling to him, beg for another kiss, but Dwayne was already over to the stereo, inspecting it for any damage it might’ve had.

For Dwayne, your mind was exceptionally loud — he could read your thoughts, hear them screaming from afar, which he happened to smile at from where he stood. The feeling was mutual, but he wanted to make you stew in it for a little while — it heightened the experience.

As he dismantled the stereo, you decided to go elsewhere — to Paul’s nest, which wasn’t the brightest idea, but he had an impressive collection of cassette tapes. You began climbing toward the rocky slope that led off into alcoves, using some of the ropes hanging about to pull yourself up.

“Where are you going?” Dwayne asked, seemingly finding the source of the boombox’s disarray — there were pieces of tape stuck in the machine.

“To see what Paul has to listen to,” You mused, nose wrinkling in amusement. “It’s the least that he can do for you since you fixed it. We should go listen to music.” Truthfully, Dwayne owned that stupid stereo just as much as Paul did — joint custody, you’d called it.

Hawkish, dark hues drank you in from afar, and Dwayne decided that he’d indulge himself in your wishes, picking up the boombox by the bottom. The handle had been broken off long ago — courtesy of Paul, once again. He simply trailed behind you, briefly pressing his hand against the small of your back when you made it up the incline, keeping you steady.

Paul’s nest was notoriously cluttered — in a very fascinating and macabre manner. It was littered in trinkets, things he’d taken from people he fed from, bones and all, or general thievary. The boys were all like this, but not to Paul’s level.

Posters of hair-bands and metal groups hung all around the rock, illuminated by flickering candlelight. It smelled faintly of marijuana, decorated by a patchwork array of tapestries, clothes, and stolen jackets. The guitar he’d lifted off of a traveling rock group sat on his bed — he always talked about starting a band.

A mountain of cassette tapes lay in a semi-organized heap, many of them taken from Videomax or anywhere he could find them. Dwayne simply stood at the fringes of Paul’s nest, watching as you picked through his extensive collection. You smiled at the handful you’d grabbed, rejoining Dwayne as the two of you made for his nest.

In an amusing juxtaposition, Dwayne’s nest was noticeably simplistic — yet, his personality was scrawled all over it. He liked to read, keeping a trunk of books, tools he’d taken from garages, and some trinkets stashed away in a large piece of a drawer.

He hadn’t bothered to invest in a bed for several decades — not until he got entangled with you. When Marko had mentioned it to you in-passing, it was rather intriguing, but you never asked Dwayne about it.

With the stereo now placed at the foot of his makeshift bed, placed atop a rather rickety wooden trunk, you ejected Alice Cooper from the hatch and put in The Cars, instead. Dwayne happened to regard this choice with curiosity, sitting along the edge of the mattress.

Moving in Stereo began to drift through the alcove, and you promptly fell back against the plush surface, tucking your hands atop your chest. “This song reminds me of you.” You murmured, gazing at the cavernous ceiling, focused on the jagged edges and outcroppings of rock.

Dwayne seemed curious, twisting slightly to face you. Even when sitting, he towered over you, indomitable and immovable, a wall of sheer strength and muscle. “Why does it remind you of me?” He wanted to hear your answer, eyes flickering toward your exposed stomach.

You smiled, somewhat embarrassed, but you decided to answer him anyway. “I don’t know,” You began, rolling over onto your side, propping yourself up with one hand. “Just a bit of a mystery, but alluring. It’s pretty magnetizing.” With a soft exhale, you began to pick at a stray string on one of the blankets that covered the mattress.

“Magnetizing,” Dwayne echoed, withholding the urge to smirk. Instead, he joined you, laying on his side as he mirrored your position, face mere centimeters away from yours. “You got a way with words, girl.” His chest shook with a brief huff before he leaned in to kiss you.

If a kiss could have destroyed you, this was it — Dwayne’s mouth consumed you, intensified by your seemingly innocuous words. He tasted good, like spiced smoke and the faint bite of copper.

You were eternally grateful to The Cars — Dwayne was careening into you, broad chest flush against yours, veined hand grasping at the base of your skull. Thick digits massaged at the nape of your neck, coaxing you close until there was no space left between you, lips voraciously tangling with yours.

He ripped all wisps of air from your lungs, as cold as ice as he shrugged off his jacket. Arousal reactivated inside of you, no longer dormant as your warm hands reached for his chest, feeling broad muscle underneath your palms. He felt like a god — chiseled, forever perfect — you were sometimes in-awe of his beauty.

In awe — Dwayne smirked against your mouth, unable to help himself when it came to your overactive imagination and racing thoughts. He pushed his hand underneath your shirt, fingers tracing along your curves as he began to feel a familiar tightening in his jeans.

Your scent thoroughly intoxicated him — your natural musk, the cling of perfume, the arousal coalescing between your thighs — it was a perfect amalgamation. Dwayne exhaled, sitting up and taking you with him, hands hooking into the hem of your shirt as he peeled it off of you.

His lips were on your flesh again, hands tearing your thin brassiere apart with ease, reveling in your warmth. Dwayne pressed a string of kisses along your neck, feeling the thrum of your pulse point pound against his mouth. The shorts you wore still clung to your frame, but they wouldn’t be for much longer.

“Dwayne,” You sighed, The Cars becoming nothing more than atmospheric background noise. Liquid heat pooled between your legs, a shiver rolling down your spine as he laid you down against the mattress, covering you with his body. Your eyes locked together as he stared down at you, gaze boring right through you. “I need you.”

Dwayne kissed your neck, sucking enough to create a hickey before he traveled to the base of your throat, peppering kisses across your collarbone. “Where do you need me, sweet girl?” His husky, warm baritone made you shiver in delight. Those eyes raked over you in rapture, full of reverence.

“Everywhere,” You whimpered, goosebumps coalescing along your spine. Dwayne’s huff of laughter made you smile, and you quickly urged him closer for another kiss. His mouth crashed against yours, passionate and blistering, full of an unrestrained want. “I’m yours.” A sweet moan tore past your lips.

A wave of possessiveness swelled up inside of him, coupled with that innate desire to keep you all to himself. Dwayne didn’t have an issue sharing with his brothers, but you? No — you belonged to him, and him alone. A growl rippled across his broad chest as he tore his lips away, returning to your sternum.

There was a prowess to him that the others didn’t possess — Dwayne was emotionally intelligent, just as vicious in the same breath. He was an enigma of so many things, drawing you in with his arcadian charm. Your fingers reached for his dark tresses, perusing through as he kissed your chest.

“You’re beautiful,” Dwayne’s affectionate baritone rumbled across your flesh as he continued his slow, deliberate string of kisses, making his way to your breasts. He trapped one nipple between his lips, gently suckling on the sensitive mound, the other hand tugging at your shorts. “Perfect.” He uttered.

You sighed, fingers tangling within his mane of black tresses, pulling and carding through. It felt silky between your digits, like velvet. Those veined, calloused hands gripped along the meat of your hips, strong and unwavering as he lifted you to discard your shorts.

Arousal pooled between your legs, honey-thick as it toyed with Dwayne’s senses. He wanted nothing more than to drown himself between your thighs, devour you until you were a trembling, mewling mess. Your thoughts shamelessly echoed that sentiment, prompting him to reach toward the apex of your thighs, hand breaking past the waistline of your panties.

Dexterous fingers languidly slipped along your slick cunt, making a line right for your clit. Your body responded in a near-violent fashion, hips jolting up into him, hands curling within his hair. “D—Dwayne!” You whimpered, chasing after the friction his hand provided. Those dark hues hadn’t left you, transfixed on your smitten countenance as he kissed your stomach.

He looked big when his body was spread over yours, but when he began to slink toward your thighs, he was hulking, a massive wall of muscle. Dwayne’s kisses continued, littered all across your pelvis and thighs, fingers still winding you up as he pushed in between your legs with those broad, bronze shoulders.

His visage was rugged with a fine layer of dark stubble, tangible as it scratched against your inner thighs. He curled his hands into your panties, and instead of removing them, Dwayne simply tore them asunder, leaving remnants of fabric behind. The alcove reverberated with the sounds of material being ripped apart.

A thin sheen of arousal painted your cunt, scent stinging his nose in the most pleasant way possible. The velveteen flesh of your inner thighs were layered in faint bite marks — his own, from the past. He looked to you for approval, thumb lazily circling around your clit.

“Please.” You huffed, head bobbing up and down in an idle nod as he moved his lips toward a patch of flesh, unmarred by any bites. Dwayne was always very sensual, and even when he fed from you, it felt so lascivious. Your body jolted, hips writhing closer as he began to bite down.

Dark, earthy-brown hues melted away into pools of a golden-red, unnaturally vibrant. The initial sting of his bite made you wince, but he was always gentle with you when it came to feeding. As sharp teeth drew blood, a low growl reverberated throughout his chest, causing you to shiver. Your fingers continued to trace through his mane of black hair, a myriad of moans escaping you.

Restraining himself from taking this further, he had his fill, kissing over your now-healing bite. Dwayne licked his lips, effortlessly tossing both of your legs over his broad shoulders as he tugged you closer. You were somewhat folded at the hips, but you didn’t care.

Dwayne’s gaze was incendiary, intense — he stared you down from his perch between your thighs. You were visibly flustered, staring right back, nearly shrinking away altogether. He kissed your thighs, mouth dangerously close to your aching cunt. “You ready, girl?” He asked, inhaling another gust of your scent.

You nodded, feeling every fiber of your being scream with desire, and you wanted him terribly. “Yes,” You whimpered, hands having splayed out at your sides instead, no longer buried within his hair. “Dwayne, please,” His deliberation made it worse. “I want you so bad.” Your hips wriggled again, desperate for his mouth.

A warm, hearty chuckle emerged from his lips, making his herculean form shake between your legs. “Just relax,” He soothed, noticing how coiled and poised you were. Those strong, veined hands wrapped around your thighs, keeping you spread apart. The flat of his tongue lapped across your slit in one long stroke. “Relax, Mama.” His voice made your head swim.

Relaxation wasn’t exactly your forte — you were too wound-up, too drunk with desire to simply sit still and melt into the mattress. Dwayne’s tongue began to lap you up, greedily consuming every drop of your sweet arousal, working along your cunt. His fingers clamped hard, enough to leave behind the inklings of bruises, etched into your flesh like his personal brand.

Your thighs threatened to squeeze at his head, but he kept your legs firmly planted on his shoulders, pinning you down and rendering you immobile. Your taste saturated his tongue, and he only chased after it, dutifully lapping at your slit as his nose absentmindedly grazed against your clit.

Dwayne was relatively silent — and you didn’t mind in the slightest. The only ambiance happened to be The Cars, your delighted moans, and your boyfriend’s deep, rumbling grunts. His tongue worked wonders on your aching slit, cunt clenching pathetically around nothing as he lapped you up, gaze flickering towards you.

Your countenance was a vision of beauty, all contorted into an expression of complete and utter bliss. Your hips writhed, with very little room to go considering that Dwayne had you locked down, arms bracketed on your thighs, keeping you caged in against him.

A heavy fire burned bright within the pit of your stomach, demanding to be extinguished. Throaty, noisy moans escaped you in droves, vocalizing your delight as Dwayne vigorously lapped at your cunt. He alternated patterns, between soft and exploratory and recklessly needy. His mouth occasionally brushed over your clit, causing you to shiver.

Each time he ate you out, it was almost like the first time all over again — blissful, filled with a lust-infused passion that threatened to swallow you whole. Dwayne was beyond attentive, savoring you as if you were the most delicious meal he’d ever had.

He lowered himself toward the mattress, musculature flat and poised between your thighs. Those strong, thick arms kept you held in-place, keeping you locked in as he continued to lap at your core. His hips rocked forward, harshly grinding against the bed to relieve some of the friction.

Much to your surprise, Dwayne got off on pleasuring you above all else. There was something intimately carnal about it, knowing that you only made those sounds for him, only let him touch you. Your hips jolted forward, met with a barrage of an eager tongue and mouth as he lapped at your cunt.

Dwayne grunted, lips opting to purse around your clit, instead. Your reaction was visceral, moans ascending to an excitable crescendo as your hands flew toward his hair. He grunted again, attempting to vocalize his own satisfaction of you pulling and tugging on his dark tresses as if they were reins.

A burnished-gold coloration had swallowed brown irises whole, flickering down towards your blissed-out visage. Your body had a mind of its own, twitching and writhing as his mouth relentlessly assaulted your aching cunt. Pleasure licked acros your frame, burning along your sensitive nerves. He was vigorous and attentive, throat itching with a dull, familiar ache.

Hunger could wait — Dwayne merely placed that feeling into the recesses of his mind. His tongue continued to cascade across your slit, lapping at your arousal before he returned his attention to your clit, suckling on that bundle of nerves. He steered you towards your orgasm, mind swimming with a thick haze of lust, overwhelmed by your heady scent.

“Dwayne!” Your voice carried above the nest, echoing throughout your cavernous surroundings. Fortunately, you were alone — you had little desire to mask how you felt about him. Needy digits gripped at his tresses again, hips bucking into his mouth until you were simply a pile of mush, unable to respond.

You were lost to the white-hot heat of your release, an explosive sensation that caused you to quiver and spasm in delight. A glittering perspiration danced across your hot flesh, sparkling from the glow of the candlelight. “Dwayne,” You huffed, a whimper emerging from the back of your throat as he dutifully cleaned you up.

He released your hips from his ironclad hold, crawling along your body until his broad frame nestled between your thighs. That taut, muscled hand rest against the base of your throat, digits gingerly squeezing on either side of your windpipe. You initiate a rather tantalizing kiss, able to taste yourself upon his tongue.

A clattering sound resonates in your vicinity, Dwayne wrestling his belt off of his hips as his jeans sag upon his frame. He’s swift, wrangling his pants aside with one hand, the other clutching onto your pretty throat like a vice, evoking a string of sinful noises from your mouth. You kiss him with a desperation that he matches tenfold.

His hips brush against yours, and the distance is nonexistent, closed by your stoic paramour, whose normally-cold gaze reflects with a semblance of warmth. Your hands clamor for his broad shoulders, sinking into the expanse of bronze skin, nails clamping down when he drags the head of his cock against your cunt.

“Speak up, sweet girl.” Dwayne grunts, lips ghosting above the shell of your ear. He thoroughly enjoyed your begging on occasion, with this happening to be one of those occurrences. His lips briefly press against the side of your face, stubble grazing across your silken complexion.

With an agonizing pace, he continued to toy with you, pushing his cock against your entrance, but declining to go any further. A pained whine escaped you as you tilted yourself closer. The hand around your throat squeezes, effectively commanding your attention.

“Please,” You sputter, squirming in delight whenever those veined digits tense around the slender expanse of your jugular. “Dwayne, please,” Your simpering pleas are met with a hiss as he sluggishly sinks into you, inch by inch. He lets out another shallow rumble when your fingers brazenly dig into his shoulder. “Please move!”

Cold-blooded and dangerous — but not to you, not now. The icy temperature of his flesh swallows the warmth wafting from you as he invades your space, musculature eclipsing any light. His shadow falls across you, visage awash with his own carnal delight. You’re tight around him, aided by your arousal.

Another satisfactory snarl rips forth from his mouth, echoing next to your ear. You wrap your legs around his broad hips, gasping when he began to move. His cock hit new depths, pulling halfway out before Dwayne pushed himself back in again. His pace was rhythmic and passionate — not sloppy or too rough.

The pad of his thumb draws circles along the curve of your jawline, the rest of his hand tight around your windpipe. You moan, legs locked like a vice as he continues to roll his hips forward, cock battering its way into your cunt with a domineering force. Dwayne was taking it easy on you — if he lost control, it wouldn’t be very pretty for either of you.

His lips find yours, kissing you fervently as you reciprocate in a flurry of passion. Heat bled from you, arousal seeping from your core as Dwayne continued to rut into you, one hand splayed beside your head. The sparkling sheen of his ring glints in the lower light, mouth relentlessly assaulting yours in a barrage of kisses.

Dwayne grunts into your mouth, but the entanglement is shortlived as he moves to cover parts of your neck in kisses — whatever parts aren’t covered by his hand. You feel the sudden scrape of razor-sharp fangs drifting over your flesh, testing your resolve. You shudder, eyes fluttering shut as you grip and pull on his hair.

Sometimes you simply forgot that he was a specter of the night, a fanged creature who had the capability to rip you apart at any moment. His fangs continue to hover across your neck before they retracted, lips replacing them as he kissed your pulse point. There was an added element of thrill and exhilaration as you whimpered, his name spilling from your mouth over and over again.

You nearly see stars when he pistons himself into you again, slow and savoring you, enjoying the sluggishness of it all as Dwayne continues to drag out his thrusts. Your cunt clenches pathetically around his length, prompting you to whimper and moan, goosebumps coalescing along your spine.

“More,” It was incoherent, a string of needy babbles that escaped you in droves. “Dwayne, please,” You whimpered, chewing at your lower lip. In the midst of his own pleasure, Dwayne’s calculating stare flickered toward you — it wasn’t a good idea. “Please, please fuck me.” You begged, hearing the growl that echoed deep from within his chest.

“You sure?” Dwayne didn’t want to hurt you, but he was inclined to obey your needy command. Another grunt escaped him as he steadily rutted away into your tight cunt, deliberating in the midst of it all. “Won’t be gentle.” His stark warning was concrete, you knew this — you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into.

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you nodded several times over, digits gently curling around his wrist. “Yeah.” You panted, chest fluttering with a tight sensation as he gave you a hasty, passionate kiss, a parting gift as he squeezed at your jugular. That steady rhythm began to pick up instantaneously.

Dwayne made sure to watch you closely, gaze hawkishly trained upon your body as he began to fuck you. The intensity and the heat rose like a tidal wave, consuming the both of you as he pounded away at your poor cunt. Your legs rattled like leaves, attempting to stay locked around his waist.

The taut muscles of his shoulders and abdomen worked in-tandem, body effortlessly exerting strength. For him, it was nothing — for you, it was a different experience entirely. He was rough, manhandling you with one hand as he grabbed at your hips, enough to leave behind faint impressions in the form of bruises.

Moving in Stereo still swallowed any background noise, encompassing the whole of Dwayne’s nest. You were a complete and utter mess, devolving into a puddle of sweet moans and needy whimpers, especially whenever he applied pressure around your throat. He squeezed whenever he thrust into you, force akin to that of a barely-restrained battering ram.

Even in his self-proclaimed roughness, Dwayne was still executing some measure of restraint. “Mine,” His thunderous voice swarmed you from all sides as he fucked you into submission, gritting pearlescent teeth together as he approached his climax. You kept nodding, back arching into his touch.

“Dwayne,” Dwayne — it feels like the only word you’re capable of saying, rolling from your tongue with a wanton moan. You tug on his tresses with an urgency, feeling his hips grind against yours, flesh kissing flesh with unyielding thrusts. His cock continues to bury itself deep inside of your needy slit until it can go no further. “S—Shit! Right there!” You cry.

He huffs, musculature flat against you, chest to chest as you coax him in for another kiss. You whimper into his mouth when his tongue tangles with yours like a heat-seeking missile, teeth breaking the thin skin of your lower lip. Pearls of crimson trickle onto his tongue, fusing lust with hunger — all for you.

Dwayne didn’t stop, showing no signs of stopping as he fucked the both of you through an orgasm, painting your cunt in hot ropes of seed. He doesn’t pull out, a sensation that the two of you feed off of. If it weren’t for his vampirism, you’d be round with his children — the fantasy would continue to linger on for as long as he pleased.

“Shit, Mama,” Dwayne’s strained baritone sends shivers throughout your body. He rarely talks during sex, and this felt like a treat as he continued to thrust into you, feeling your nails dig angry crescents into his shoulder. He groans, savoring the feeling of your constant tugging on his mane of dark tresses. “You’re perfect.” His voice tapered off into a possessive growl.

You want to scream, a raging fire surging throughout your body before it finally comes to an end, extinguished by Dwayne’s rough rutting. He could’ve kept it up, continued all night long with his cock stuffed inside of you, but humanity was both a blessing and a curse. Your thighs shook underneath his grasp, and he began to slow, pressing kisses along your collarbone.

His hand left behind a searing brand around your throat — whether or not the imprints are visible, it’s the sensation that refuses to leave. Your windpipe feels a little sore, but it’s a pleasant burn as he comes to a crawl, nestling his forehead against yours.

The excitement and blissful thrill of the moment steadily begins to fade, composure replacing a very heavy lust. Your heart thrums beneath your breast, beginning to crawl to a more uniform beat as you nudge forward, kissing Dwayne again. Your lips are swollen, split down the middle with a patch of dried cruor.

Dwayne’s exhale of relaxation comes after, and the tension within his body unfurls. He kept himself inside of you still, feeling your poor cunt clench around his cock when he adjusted his position. His kiss is astoundingly tender this time around, able to taste the pang of copper upon your lip, accompanied by your natural sweetness.

A sense of euphoria overwhelms you, body feeling wonderfully heavy as Dwayne peppered kisses all along your jaw and collarbone. “You alright?” He murmured, making sure that he hadn’t pushed the limit with you. It was easy to become lost in the moment, forget about your humanity.

You nodded, wincing slightly when he pulled out of you, resting his head against your stomach, arms encircling themselves around you. “Better than alright,” You mused, tracing your fingers throughout his hair. “You think Paul will mind that we borrowed his stereo?” Laughter burst forth from your mouth.

A bemused huff escaped Dwayne as he reached over with one muscled arm, hitting the ‘NEXT’ track on the boombox. He pulled you close, nose wrinkling in disdain as Drive by The Cars came on — it wasn’t exactly his taste in music.

“Like you said,” He rumbled, peering up at you with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. His arms effortlessly tugged you down to his level, lips twitching into a faint smirk, rare for Dwayne yet mesmerizing all the same. His mouth brushed above yours. “Joint custody.”

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bucketsofmonsters · 3 months

Text

Deep Water - Part 2

cw: the ocean, talk of being drowned, loss of a sibling, more tags to be added as the story continues

merman x fem reader

Word count: 4k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, drying off under the morning sun. It was easier than getting up and doing what you came here to do. But eventually, the rocks under you began to dig into your skin through your clothes and the warmth of the sun and your drying clothes stiffening from the salt in the water made you restless. You had to get up, to go somewhere.

The dock was the last place you wanted to be. It held a horrible ending and an even worse beginning.

But everywhere else in this new, unforgiving place seemed worse. At least you knew what was waiting for you on that dock. However horrible it was, it held something you understood.

And so you got up on stiff legs and stretched, fighting against pins and needles to walk towards the moment you’d fought to get to, the moment you’d been dreading more than anything.

The ground beneath you shifted from unstable stones to steady, aging wood, vibrating with the steps of dozens of people rushing around you.

It was just as hectic as the dock you had left from. There it had been a boon, the exact thing you had used to sneak onto that accursed ship.

You appreciated it here too. With dozens of people that had a thousand things to do, you felt invisible. No one had time to gawk at you, to ask if you belonged there. They didn’t have time to care.

You watched them as they passed and couldn’t help but wonder how many of them knew Isobel. How many of them greeted her with a smile every morning? How many people looked forward to seeing her every day?

You imagined it was many of them. She’d always had that effect on people.

But she wouldn’t any longer. And you were left to struggle to fill the hole she’d left behind.

That was why you were here. The pretense was that it was for her funeral arrangements, contacting the only family she’d ever told anyone about while she was still here. But really, you were here to take her place, replace her in the job she’d carved out for herself. They’d said as much in the letter, that they’d found her a shocking loss and you were welcome to pick up where she’d left off.

It was said more tactfully, of course, with much more focus on her coming to arrange the funeral for her dearly missed sister. However, they all knew it would hardly be a lavish affair, just whatever would be paid for by the church. She could mourn her sister just as easily back home as she could here. But a job, that was enough to have her hiding on a cargo ship.

Isobel has been an inventory taker, keeping the sailors honest, a job that probably would have been aided by you not being caught as a stowaway, but you weren’t particularly worried. They’d barely gotten a good look at you in the dark and even if they did, it had been for just a moment. With any luck, they wouldn’t dock here again, had left while she was sleeping on a quiet little island with a typically deadly monster.

The more you thought back on the last day, the less it made sense to you. It all felt fast and addled. Everything in you wanted to think you’d hallucinated it. If it weren’t for the fact that you were still standing here, alive, you’d be convinced you’d had.

And then you saw the last thing you wanted to see. You saw a ship that was sickeningly familiar. You didn’t recognize any of the men’s faces. You hadn’t had any real chances to see them, other than through holes in your hiding place and in your panic in the endless rain.

They looked like normal men. If they weren’t standing on that awful ship, you wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart from anyone else.

It felt wrong.

Something in you didn’t expect them to look like average men. In your head, they were monsters, the evil visible on their faces.

Your eyes darted over them, your mind trying to catalog as many of their faces as possible. The idea of seeing one of them someday and not recognizing them, of just seeing them the same way you’d see anyone else, sent a bolt of panic through you. You needed to know them, you couldn’t let yourself be caught off guard.

And then one of them locked eyes with you and you froze, unable to move, to run, to do anything without outing yourself. You knew that there was no way he knew who you were and yet somehow you were convinced that he knew, that exactly who you were was written all over your face.

He started walking towards you while you stood frozen. You willed your feet to move, tried to tell yourself there was nothing strange about just walking away, but some instinct deep inside of you screamed that if you moved he would know, that it would be just as obvious as turning around and running.

He greeted you with a smile and you felt a bile rise in your throat, fighting to keep the terror off of your face.

“You’re Isobel’s sister, aren’t you?” he asked, oblivious to the disgust and fear settling inside you. “You look just like her. Maybe a bit more nervous, but I never met her on her first day.” He chuckled as he spoke and you wanted to hit him, to run, to do anything. How could he just stand here and talk to you? How could he not know, not sense it somehow? “You’ll do just fine. I’m sure it all runs in the family, you’ll pick it up in no time. It is a shame what happened to the lass.”

“It was,” you said, your voice sounding stunted to your ears.

“Aye. Well, just take the run of our ship for me, let’s get everything sorted as soon as possible.”

You tried to shuffle off, refusing to meet his eye. “I haven’t even started working here yet.”

“It doesn’t really matter, you just need to make it official. Don’t worry, I’ll see to it you get paid. We’re all rooting for you, you know. God knows we’ve heard enough about you, Isobel’s brave, clever little sister.”

As he spoke, he laid a hand on your shoulder, one that you were sure was meant to be reassuring. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was one of the people who threw you overboard, if those hands were one of the ones squeezing your wrists so tight you had just begun to see the bruises.

You agreed quickly, more in a rush to get away from him than anything. You knew you weren’t in any real danger but still, being anywhere near that cursed ship made you feel queasy.

You boarded the ship, knees feeling weak as soon as your feet hit the deck.

You hurried below deck as fast as you could, knowing you were doing a very poor job of looking unaffected by the whole ordeal. You quickly found yourself in the same room you’d hidden in. You saw your shawl stuck behind the heavy boxes, sitting, abandoned and smashed, against the wall.

You weren’t taking inventory of anything while you were down there, with no means with which to do so or any idea of what you were looking for. You didn’t really know what you were doing. It was a difficult job to do without guidance but you knew they didn’t really want you to do it. All they wanted was the stamp of approval that they were sure meant little, the one that you did not have the authority to give.

If you’d had the ability, you just might have given it, although not for the reason he’d imagined. You just wanted them gone, considering risking a job you needed badly just to get them away from you.

Maybe you’d feel different when you left the ship, when you were no longer being faced with reminders of what had happened.

It seemed too calm like this. Like surely some signs of your struggle and terror should be strewn around the room. The only thing that even marked your existence was that abandoned shawl, barely visible behind crates that were stacked high.

You stood down there, listening to the sound of boots on the deck above in the familiar room until they got more and more distant. Finally, with no idea how long you’d been standing down there, the echoing footfalls largely dissipated and you peeked your head out the door, set on slipping away.

As you did, slinking off the skip back onto the dock, working to get lost in the crowd before any of the other sailors could spot you as you fled, you heard the sounds of shouting surrounding you.

You turned to see severed fishing nets held in the hands of deeply upset sailors.

It was hard to make out exactly what they were saying but you caught wind of cursing at sea monsters amidst accusations that some ravenous creature has chewed through their nets for the easy prey.

Despite the frustrated cursing at sharks and monsters, you thought that, at least to your untrained eye, they didn’t look like they’d been chewed through. The cuts were too neat for that. Instead, they looked like they’d been cut, cleanly and meticulously.

“You know what I think,” someone said, and it took a moment for you to realize that the voice was speaking to you. You turned to see a man, one of the younger ones here, leaning conspiratorially into your side. “I think they’re getting cut on the rocks.”

You hummed noncommittally.

The man didn’t seem to mind your lack of response. “A group of piss-poor sailors, can’t even miss something that doesn’t move.”

That managed to earn a quiet chuckle from you.

He turned, really taking you in for the first time. “Hold on, you’re new, aren’t you?”

You nodded, sparing him a glance before your eyes darted back to the upset men and their shredded net.

He was a rather ordinary boy, a medium brown hair, lightened from long hours of working in the sun, dark eyes, and freckles creeping up his cheeks. He seemed altogether more interested in you than you were in him but then again, you were the newcomer here.

You should probably be friendlier, make nice with him. He looked like he worked here so you imagined you’d be seeing a lot of him.

He stuck his hand out, having to back away from you a little to create enough space between you for a handshake.

You took his hand and he gave it a quick shake, his hand warm and rough.

“I’m Finn. Are you taking Izzy’s job? I should’ve guessed, you look just like her.”

You shrunk a bit at the comment. You didn’t think it was true, not in the ways that counted. You saw so little of yourself in her.

But this man couldn’t know that, couldn’t know anything about you really. You hadn’t so much as spoken a word to him.

“I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you said, your voice coming out quieter than you’d meant it, a breathiness sneaking its way into your tone.

He gave you a big, bright smile. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. Has anyone helped you or have you just been milling about? Your first day here and we’ve already failed you. What would poor Izzy think?”

You gave him a halfhearted smile as he spoke, in no mood to hypothesize about what your dead sister would think of you now.

Finn didn’t mind, taking your hand in his once more and leading you through the crowd of people towards a building to the side of the dock, just barely on dry land.

He turned to you, another brilliant smile plastered across his face. “Here you are, ma’am, they’ll be able to take care of you in here. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, bright and early. If no one else offers to show you the ropes, come find me, alright?”

You offered him a smile that you hoped was even half as big and genuine as his seemed to be. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

With a stilted little bow in parting, he walked away, leaving you with nothing to do but enter the building.

It was a small building, with not much room for anything inside. Most of the space was taken up by boxes and papers, with one lone desk against the back wall. An older man was sitting at it, hair looking overgrown and unkempt, streaks of gray working their way through it. He had a rather severe look about him, eyes sharp and pointed. He was reading something carefully as you entered.

His head jerked up to see you and it hit you suddenly that you should have knocked.

“I’m Isobel’s sister,” you blurted out. “You sent word to my family that she passed, you said if I hurried here I could take her place?”

Recognition flashed in his eyes and he settled back in his chair, eyes darting up and down to fully take you in. “Ah yes. Shame, that. She was a hard worker. Begged me for the job for days, swore she’d do anything to keep this dock running, that we’d never find a better worker. Smile on her face the whole time.” There was something unspoken in his gaze as he looked at you, a quiet challenge asking if you’d do the same. “And they sent you?”

You decided not to mention that really, there was no they. Your family was an independent people. Frankly, you hadn’t even known whether Isobel was alive or dead between the letters you got maybe once a year, if you were lucky. That’s what you’d thought that awful letter was, written on the same stationary she used. You imagine she borrowed it from whoever had written of her death. Or stolen it. You liked to imagine she’d stolen it, the little bit of extra danger she would have gone through to write to you leaving a warm feeling in your chest.

“They did,” you said, with the sweetest smile you could muster.

“Good. And you can read, we know that. How’s your attention to detail?”

“Immaculate, sir,” you said, straightening your back as you spoke. “I will be just as good as she was, I swear it.”

It was a lie, but it was one you could stomach.

“Good. I’m taking a chance on you, you know. But then again, I was taking a chance on her and anyone who works on this dock will tell you she was the finest worker we ever had.”

You smiled, and this time you meant it. “I’m sure she was.”

“Now, down to business,” he said as he shuffled some of the many papers on his desk around. “We’ve had some issues before, people fudging numbers, sneaking off with pieces of shipments. We have a reputation to uphold. If anything happens with any of them, it's on your head. You understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now what was special about your sister is she took the inventories in the ships without being largely despised like some of the others before her were. My advice? Play nice. Those men out there can make your life real easy or real hard. They’ll be nice to you, you’re pretty like she was. Try to keep it that way. Just don’t let anything they say go to your head. You report to me every morning and every night. Any questions?”

You shook your head. “No sir.”

He gave you a firm nod and then you were onto paperwork, setting up matters of payments and of reporting in. You took careful note of everything that he said, intent on getting this right. You had no other choice.

By the time you managed to get out of there, everything signed and squared away, the sun had begun to fall below the horizon. The docks were quieting, although they were far from empty. People bustled around in the orange light of the dusk.

The glowing sky reflected in the waves, shining back up at you from below. And amidst the reflections of auburn light and a dusting of clouds was a face, shaggy blonde hair framing cheeks with white scales reflecting the fading sun.

Just the top of his head was peeking above the surface, everything below his nose still under the water. His eyes were staring right up at you, watching you patiently.

You frantically looked around, making sure no one on the almost empty dock had noticed him.

“Shoo. Go away,” you hissed down at him when you ensured the coast was clear.

He splashed water up at you, wetting the bottom of your skirts.

Your eyes widened and you did your best not to yell. “You cannot be here, you need to leave.”

He stayed put exactly where he was, staring incessantly up at you.

His message was clear. He wasn’t going anywhere.

You paced off the dock, running over to the shore to try and pull him away from the lights and the people on the dock. The shore was largely abandoned, at least at this time of night.

His tail snaked across the surface of the water as he swam away, following after you and disappearing faster under shallow water than you were comfortable with, ideas of what else could be lurking under the surface flicking through your mind.

You weren’t sure when a siren following you had managed to land firmly in the non-threatening part of your mind but it had, his alien appearance nothing other than vaguely alarming in the presence of sailors who did not feel as nonchalantly towards him as you did.

“What are you doing here?” you hissed when you both managed to make it to the shore and you stared down at him, disapprovingly.

He was clearly built for deep water, shifting uncomfortably in the shallows, and yet here he was.

He shrugged, staring at you from the water, eyes only leaving yours to flick down to your wet skirts. If you hadn’t been so set on getting him away from here, you would’ve scolded him.

“Do you want something from me?” you asked, trying to get some sort of answer out of him, like you just had to ask the right question to be able to send him away. “Look, there’s safer ways to call in a favor. It’s not that I don’t want to help, I just don’t want to put you in danger.”

“Don’t want anything,” he said with a huff. “Not now anyways.”

“Then why are you here?” you asked, a sense of desperation bleeding into your voice. He’d saved you, if you got him killed now you’d never be able to live with yourself. It was out of the question. You needed to get him to leave.

He did not want to see reason. “None of your business.”

You sat on the shore, rubbing your temples as you lowered yourself closer to his level. “Okay. Sure, that’s fine. You know what? As long as you’re here I might as well ask. What’s your name?”

He paused, looking to the side for a moment before responding. “Simon”

“Is that true?”

He shrugged. “It’s a name.”

You stared incredulously at him for a moment before he decided it was time to try again. "Peter.”

This did not aid in your confusion. “What?”

“You didn’t seem to like the last one.”

“Do you not have a name?”

“Not your kind,” he said, his nose scrunching a little as he did.

“What kind then?” you prompted.

He shrugged. “Our kind.”

You sighed, frustration bubbling up inside of you. “Okay, well where’d you get Simon from?”

“Heard it.”

“Where?”

“From people.”

“What people?” you asked, feeling a little like a child who’d just learned the word why. It wasn’t really your fault though. If he’d simply answer a question properly he’d be freed from this endless barrage of questions.

“The ones on the ships.”

“Why were you…” The realities of sirens and ships flashed through your mind and you decided that you should probably end that line of questioning. You shook your head, set on getting back on task. “You’ve got to at least talk to me. Are you here for a reason?”

He shrugged again, nose drifting back below the water as he sunk down into the shallows.

“Look, they won’t take kindly to you if they see you. We can set something up, somewhere where you can contact me so you don’t have to put yourself in danger to see me. We can find a nice abandoned section of the shore, I’ll visit every day so if you need to talk to me, you can.”

He shook his head. “I can find you.”

“I know you can, but you really shouldn’t.”

“We will meet here at dusk,” he said, gesturing to the little slice of shore you were on now, the same one he’d left you at the night before. “And also when I want to, I will find you.

“Look… Simon? Is that what you want to go with?”

He shrugged noncommittally, eyes flitting towards the dock.

You sighed. “I’m not going to convince you, am I?”

He shook his head, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You groaned. “Fine. That’s fine. Get yourself killed if you want to, I don’t care.”

That knocked the smug look off his face, and he said hesitantly, with a bit of a pout in his voice, “You do care.”

“Not if you don’t want to listen. Why would I care if you won’t listen?”

He studied your face for a moment before a determined look set itself onto his face, saying with more certainty this time, “You do care.”

He turned and disappeared under the water before you could respond.

And then you were alone on the cold shore.

You sighed as you settled against the rocks, where you’d be spending the night you supposed. It was no worse than anywhere else you could think of in this city you knew so little about.

You had nowhere to stay, no money to get yourself a room. If you’d had it, you would’ve spent it on fare for a ship to get yourself here.

Or maybe you wouldn’t have. Maybe you would have been set in your ways, convinced you could just sneak on and save your money for where it would really count. Maybe things would have turned out exactly as they did.

As you leaned back onto the rocky shore where you’d be spending the rest of your night, you tried to put the spiraling thoughts of what might have been out of your head.

You stared up at the stars, already forgoing any thought of sleep. It wouldn’t be safe to sleep here anyway. Hopefully you could figure some sleeping arrangements out in the coming days. Keeping on like this might drive you mad.

But for now, there was nothing to be done, no use worrying over it. All that was left was to wait til morning.

#terato #merman x reader #merman x human #monster x reader #monster x human #monster bf #monster boyfriend #merman #Simon is so difficult #Its only going to get worse lol #Praying for readers sanity in these coming days #Lots of setup in this one #Next one things get crazy though :3

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yourheart-inmyhands · 5 months

Note

YOU HAVE A CAT?! ME TOO?!

She hates me tho :(

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Zhongli, Neuvillette and Dottore

With a fox!darling that is always with animals and isn't social at all due to heavy torture in her past and they discover it? 💀

Man I'm in need of some gore rn 💀💀

- Weird anon ✨

i'm so sorry but i just couldn't write neuvillette for this prompt, he's too precious DX

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including being held against will, delusional behaviors, torture, breaking of bones, and other potential topics. Please Read At Your Own Risk!

Yandere!Zhongli sympathizes with you, and since it’s clear that the animals bring you comfort, he allows you to keep a couple when he moves you in with him. He even goes the extra mile and builds a special enclosure so they’ll be just as content as you are, even if you aren’t receptive to his love yet.

When he finds out about your past, which is inevitable with how overbearing he can be and how good he is at finding out things from the locals, it almost hurts his heart a little. But the more sickening side of him is thrilled because now he knows exactly how to get to you, exactly how to make you his perfect little spouse.

Whether it’s be reintroducing trauma through breaking bones, locking you in a cold, damp room with no lights for hours on end, or even things that border on torture, he’ll use it against you so long as it won’t entirely ruin you. While he wants you compliant to his whims and wishes, he doesn’t want you to be a shell, it would’ve been a waste of his time to break you to that point;

Zhongli would never stop as low as hurting your animal friends, but if need be he could certainly find ways to turn them against you. It’s almost amusing to him, the way you care so much for creatures who you’ll outlive. How you care so much for creatures who don’t even really know you, funny.

The sickening crunch of bone echoes through the room as Zhongli stands over you, the heel of his shoe digging into the freshly crushed bones in your leg. The makeshift gag, a towel from the kitchen, dug into the sides of your mouth as it muffled your screams and cries. The Geo Archon almost feels bad for using his strength in such a brutal manner, but it would all be worth it, at least that was how he justified it to himself. It wasn’t about the now, but rather what now would soon be bringing him. By breaking you down bit by bit, sending you spiraling back into some of the worst moments of your life, he could slowly rebuild your shattered pieces how he saw fit. What use was a puzzle if the pieces weren’t in the correct order, right?

Yandere!Dottore is sick, sick, twisted, and absolutely disgusting. If he wasn’t the cause of your original trauma, you could surely bet he’d be the driving force behind re-traumatizing you.

Whether he chooses to reenact every step, or to simply do something far worse than what had previously done it all dependent on how he feels that day. Some days will be so similar to your past that you’ll truly feel like you were back there, all those years ago. Other days are so awful it almost makes what happened in your past seem insignificant as if that were a stone among boulders resting on the ocean floor.

Dottore does think it’s funny though, using it as both amusement and research opportunities. It wasn’t often that animals such as yourself came across his table, so of course he’d taken the prime subject as soon as he’d laid eyes on you.

In his lab, you aren’t seen as anything but a thing that exists only for Dottore’s own gain. If you’re lucky one of his more sympathetic clones might take pity on you and actually give you a day to rest when he’s out of the Palace, but they’re expected to keep up the same treatment he inflicts in his absence.

It was almost sickening to the segments as the watched the fox-human endure soul shaking torture day in and day out. Everything from injections to straight up live surgery to see how much pain the body could take whilst awake had occurred on the cold, steel table. They were often left to clean up the mess, expected to stitch you up, administer antidotes to anything too harmful that had been administered today, and even sometimes bathe you due to the mess that had occurred. You’d been fed little since you arrived, given water only when necessary for your survival, and hadn’t seen sunlight in days- or months maybe? With the sickening way time seemed to pass, you couldn’t tell how long you’d been here. Your only reprieve would be when the doctor left for something more pressing, leaving you in the care of his segments that only sometimes took pity on you. Some seemed to hold a little more humanity than others.

#genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin x male reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli x male reader #yandere zhongli x reader #yandere zhongli x male reader #dottore x reader #dottore x male reader #yandere dottore x reader #yandere dottore x male reader #yandere zhongli #yandere dottore #yandere genshin

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pickingupmymercedes · 2 months

Text

Under an Ipê tree - Lewis Hamilton

The three times your annual visit to Senna’s tomb brought something different

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Senna! Reader

warnings: mentions of death, mourning, AD 21', Lewis at Ferrari (rubbing salt into every open wound apparently)

wordcount: +1k

a/n: Not gonna lie, started this one with something in mind and it took a life of its own. I know Senna! Reader isn't everyone's cup of tea, so please, proceed with caution, because there is mention to real events and real emotions envolved with mourning. Also, AD 21', I'm sure as hell not over that, so here's another trigger warning.

a/n. 2: Those trees are how pink Ipês look in blossom, I know Brasil is not known for its colder months but those beauties come alive after the few cold weeks.

_______________________________________

Like most traditions it started without any intent on actually becoming a thing. You and Lewis would take a couple hours off on Wednesdays before the Brazilian GP every year, the destination a known one to everyone in the paddock. It was a journey you used to do by yourself until Lewis had been the brave, and first one, to ask you if he could tag along. He’d been to Senna’s tomb before, you knew that much, but the respect and adoration he held for your late father had you deciding he should be good company.

_______________________________________

“I swear I had never seen my mom angrier. Can you imagine her with the speaker at Interlagos shouting to everyone with an ear that I shouldn’t be racing and if anything happened Ayrton was to blame cause I wasn’t even old enough to be there” You told a laughing Lewis while remembering when your father faked an ID so he could sneak you to the track and teach you how to race in your brand new - Mclaren themed – kart. A Christmas gift he went out of his way to get to the famous Brazilian track circuit in time to open day.

“You know, my favorites snippets of his life are the ones you talk about, Sundays at the pool, ice cream dates, kart running without your mom knowing. Whenever someone talks about him it’s always about his wins, his hardships, his cars and battles … it’s almost as if he didn’t exist beyond formula 1, like we froze just a fraction of him and forgot all about the rest.”

You smiled at him, you liked how Lewis never questioned your feelings towards f1’s out of this world idolatry on your father, mainly because at the end of the day, to your 8 year old past self, Ayrton was first and foremost “pai”, the dude that thought you not to be afraid by throwing you into the ocean when no one was looking, the one that cooked instant noodles for dinner in spite of your mom’s pleads, the one that constantly tried to show you that love is a feeling we should act upon in the present and never wait for a so promised tomorrow.

“He would’ve liked you I think… would’ve hated to race you, for sure. But as a person, he would have probably seen you as one of the good ones, pointing out bullshit, fighting fia every chance you get, protecting the guys back at the garage, focusing on racing and not talking, looking out for everyone.” You answered truthly, as he respectfully held his hands behind his back looking at the tomb stone, while you casually sat in the edge of the stone, almost too comfortable around the place from all the visits you’ve done over the years.

“I think you should meet Galisteu someday, she’ll have way more interesting stories about him to tell you than I do.” You absentmindedly noted, remembering all she’s told you about your father, this other side to him you never got the time to see.

“Nah… we’re our truest around kids, his best version was the one you got to see. Now, what was that time he sneaked a stray dog onto your apartment?” he asked while reaching for your shoulder so you both could walk along the path back to the car awaiting to take you both back.

_______________________________________

“I don’t think I really remember the sound of his voice” you sighed looking up at the Ipê tree just beside the tomb. You had shown Lewis a photo of what it looked like once in full blossom before, in the Brazilian winter, and he promised you he would eventually find the time to come see it in its full glory in late June.

The walk in the cemetery, the light hearted banter, him opening his heart on dreams and the future and the confessions you would eventually make to Lewis about Ayrton were part of the annual occurrence you had both unspokenly agreed on, but that one line seemed to have hit him hard enough he just motioned you to go on, no answers or remarks.

“I mean, I know what his voice sounds like because there’s a thousand and one interviews with him, but I don’t think I can truly remember what he sounded like in real life … how he talked to me.” You explained it further, now looking at the Briton.

He engulfed you in a hug, the kind only he knew how, your tears leaving marks on his shoulders. You would rarely cry over anything related to your father, at least not in front of people anyway, but Lewis was… well, Lewis. You and Niki were the one who pushed, like hell, to sign him to Mercedes back in 2014 against everyone’s better judgment, and while you knew he would be every bit the driver and phenomenon he was, neither of you anticipated the friendship that came out of seeing him almost every GP you attended. A relationship that had crept its own way into your hearts, slowly allowing to see each other as something more than just good friends.

“He’s proud of you, wherever he is. I know that much” He whispered, leaving a soft kiss to your temple and bringing you even closer to his body.

_______________________________________

“He would’ve crashed into Verstappen back in 2021, wouldn’t he?” He prompted out of nowhere, gazing seriously at the tomb as you observed him pondering over the possible outcomes of a race that, like a ghost, had been following him nonstop, specially with the São Paulo GP fast approaching and with it his chances of securing his 8th title, two races before the end of the season.

“Start another Senna vs. Prost ?! ” You thought out loud, trying to read into his expressions and mannerisms, a talent of his you weren’t quite as good.

“Maybe I should’ve done it”

“You’re not like that Lew. You’re you and no one, not a single person, wants someone else” Your exasperation clear in your voice, hands reaching for his chin as his eyes locked into yours and he nodded, an unspoken agreement between the two of you, one you had to hammer into his head from time to time, that he may have Ayrton as his idol but he was just as much of an icon to the sport, and to a million of kids out there.

“On Sunday you’re going to reach that top step in your red suit, fulfill Ayrton’s dream and claim a championship for Ferrari. You. Not him, nor anyone else” and come the end of the race, he did just that. Smiling down at the sea of people in a mix of old Mercedes merchs and new Ferrari ones, dedicating his trophy to all the other people who believed in the impossible with him.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton imagine #f1 x reader #ayrton senna #Senna!reader

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zhongrin · 2 years

Text

your throne, my love

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, al haitham, childe, xiao, thoma

◇ tags ◇ minors dni, afab!reader, chubby!reader, facesitting (if that title wasn't enough of a hint lol), implied dragon!zhongli

◇ a/n ◇ enjoy you degenerates /aff <3

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

zhongli thinks it’s adorable - the way you get all flustered when he suggests the idea of you sitting on top of him. and now that you’re in that position, he thinks you sound just as - if not even more - adorable, with your breathless moans and surprised gasps.

he silences your worries for his wellbeing with his arms locked onto your thighs: solid, unmoving stone shackles that won't budge no matter how much you struggle, whine, or cry out. are you seriously underestimating him right now? given his history as the geo archon himself, being suffocated as he worships your beautiful, bountiful body is paradise to him.

his mouth sucking, licking, and lapping on your drooling cunt, until you fall apart multiple times above him, sobbing and pulling on his hair, begging for mercy - which he eventually gives out of concern for your exhausted mortal body.

perhaps next time he should have his horns out so you can grab onto them...

... and he has to wonder, would you be open to exploring how his forked, prehensile dragon tongue would feel inside you?

al haitham loves having you on top of him just as much as having your tight flower greedily swallowing his cock. it would be an honor, he says teasingly when you enquire about his opinion on the matter, not knowing that it’s one of the many things his filthy mind concocts whenever he looks at you.

he gets into it without delay, easing up your nervousness with slow, gentle licks to your slit and his hands massaging your wide hips. before long, however, he’s pulling you down more and more, tongue moving faster and faster, desperate and feral to taste even more of you, switching between flicking your clit and stirring your insides. your ‘no wait’s becomes ‘yes more’s, and pride swells in his chest, your pleas and unconscious grinding against his face making his cock ache within his pants.

he lets you move away from his face after you finish and chuckles darkly when you hide your embarrassed expression upon seeing the slick all over his cheeks, chin, and neck. “is that it for your fantasy? then, it’s my turn to relive my fantasy next,” he says as he pulls you back to your seat.

childe is a man who’s always starving for your pussy and this is easily one of his top five most favorite activities. he wastes no time in pulling you down to him, flashing you a cheeky grin - a silent promise to make you feel really good - before his chapped lips latch onto your clit.

within the first few minutes, your precum drenches the dried skin of his lips, its texture adding to that extra sensation as he passionately nuzzles further onto your cunt, humming and groaning at the taste of you on his tongue. he’s so drunk from the sweet ambrosia enveloping his senses, that he nearly forgets to breathe. still, he growls every time your fingers latch onto his hair, trying to pull him away, and he retaliates by giving a harsh slap onto your thick bum and nibbling teasingly on your puffy nub.

and when your orgasm hits you and you gush onto him? ajax whines and moans erotically, tears pooling in his ocean blue eyes as he cums untouched in his pants.

xiao will never admit it out loud but he loves how he’s reduced to a tool for pleasuring you.

you always start gently with him, afraid of being ‘too much’ or ‘too suffocating’, to which he scoffs and wordlessly pulls you closer to prove a point.

he’s always been a man of actions rather than words, so that’s what he does. he shows you how much he loves digging his bare, calloused fingers into the fat of your thighs, mindlessly using his whole face to lap, tease, suck, and massage the entirety of your drooling pussy. his golden pair of eyes trying to peek up at your expression every now and then, observing your reactions... but that all methodical cautiousness eventually flies out of the window when he drives you into mindless pleasure, and he’s grunting as you grind onto his tongue and sinful mouth, cock straining against his pants as your loud moans fills the room.

yes - if it’s for you, he doesn’t mind being used like this.

thoma’s service kink is thriving whenever you ask him to pleasure you in bed, but he’s always wondered why you never asked him this in particular. so when he sees the opportunity to try it out, he jumps at it, excitedly laying back and instructing you to move your straddling up towards his face.

he reassures you with his words and gentle squeezes of his hands on your waist as you descend upon him like an angel from the heavens. as soon as your heady scent hits him, he's eagerly pulling you close, intent to worship you like the deity you are.

it’s a slow and languid grind, gentle massages and slow-building pleasure as thoma tries to find a pace you like and the spots that makes you moan the loudest. the mix of his saliva and your juices are drenching the pillow and his hair, but he doesn't care. all he can focus on is your sweet taste on his tongue and the way you tighten as he tongue-fucks you from his place beneath you.

ps. if you want to be removed/added from the taglist, just send an ask!

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #zhongli #zhongli x reader #xiao #xiao x reader #al haitham #al haitham x reader #childe #childe x reader #thoma #thoma x reader #rin writes #minors dni #genshin smut #afab!reader #chubby!reader

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luveline · 10 months

Note

hi! i know ur not from the us so pls feel free to ignore this but i think a kbd fic where steve and the girls are doing sparklers for the fourth of july would be so cute! absolutely adore everything u post 🫶🏻

thank u!! sorry i know it isn't the fourth anymore bit I hope u enjoy regardless!! kbd —dad!steve and mom!reader show their daughters how to use sparklers for the first time, 2k

Steve isn't a huge fan of fireworks because of how dangerous they can be, but sparklers are just fine in his book. He buys a box of thirty. The girls can do ten each if they feel like it, though he knows Dove won't be interested, and he guesses Bethie will be too scared to hold them.

Still, he hopes. You're hosting a banquet of food when he arrives, a mixture of things you made and stuff he prepared yesterday. It's a feast of hotdogs and burgers, cupcakes and donuts, macaroni and cheese and chilli with white rice. The table is crammed with plates and the radio is on, playing fun pop music a little too loudly for Dove's taste, her hands over her ears.

You turn down the radio, and ask her where she sits on your hip, "Is that better, sweetheart?"

"Hey," he says, putting the box of sparklers on the counter.

"Hey, Stevie," you say, in a rare tone. You always talk to him with love but he adores how you say his name now, like you've never been happier to see him in your entire life. "They had some?"

"Lucky, right? Guess I'm not the only schmuck who forgot to buy some."

Avery rushes for his legs, a chocolate donut in one hand and a cup of juice in the other. Despite her luggage, she expects to be picked up. Steve grabs her.

"You're cold, dad," she says.

"Really? It's not cold out," he says.

"You need something to warm you up."

Steve raises his eyebrows. "Sure I do. Give me a hug, but don't get icing in my hair, please."

Avery hugs him, sticky cheek pressing into his as her arms strain around him. He pats her back, meeting your eyes and returning your happy smile. Steve turns on the spot to see Bethie practically elbow deep in a bowl of chilli. She loves anything that comes with rice, and she eats it like someone's going to take it away from her, chilli staining her lips and cheeks, a grain of rice stuck to her chin.

"Did you get a photo of that?" he asks.

"Of course I did," you laugh, putting Dove down to brace yourself against the counter. You stretch your neck in a tight circle.

"Thank you. Beth, that looks so nice! Are you saving any for me?"

"No!" she says happily, smiling wide as an ocean.

"Good girl. Alright, you tell me when you're finished, I have something fun for after dinner."

Dinner gets put on pause. You wipe Bethie's face clean, giggling the whole time and telling her how cute she is in your saccharine mommy voice that melts her, "We should have that more often, huh?" It's always a good day when Bethie eats well.

Steve helps Avery put her shoes on and together they step out into the backyard. It's small considering the house is a four bedroom, but maybe that's why you'd been able to afford it in the first place. You work with what space you have. There's a light wood fence, the perimeter half lined by pansies and the other side with a slim shed full of their bikes and scooters and a small bed where the girls attempted to grow strawberries last year. They didn't take, but Steve has hope for this summer.

The yard is clean though slightly neglected, and Steve has to work spider duty before Avery will agree to step off of the doorjam. You follow soon, Dove at your shins, Bethie cautious as she steps out in her socks behind you.

"Where's your shoes?" Steve asks her.

"I told her she didn't have to wear them," you say. "She says they're pinching her toes."

Steve had Beth's feet measured specifically to avoid that. He assumes it isn't pinching so much as not wanting to wear them. He shrugs. "Okay. Stay on the stones then, Beth, I don't know what's in the grass. You might step on a snail."

"Ew," she says, sitting down in the doorway.

Steve lights a sparkler for no one first of all, wondering how each girl will react. He hands it to you as the sparks jump to life, white and bright in the shade of the garden, the shadow of their house. You wave it around gently, but when each of your daughters gasps in unhappy shock, you hold your hand under the sparkler and let a spark kiss your palm.

"They aren't dangerous," you promise. You wave it into a heart, a star, the letter A. "Does anyone wanna try?"

"Me!" Avery shouts, holding out her hand. The sparkler burns remarkably quickly down to the stem.

"Dad will give you a new one. Hey, baby?" you put the sparkler down on the glass patio table as it sputters out. "Don't you have those gardening gloves?"

Soon, Steve's outfitted each girl in a glove too big for their hand. He passes Avery a sparkler, and her bravery and subsequent joy prompts some jealousy in Bethie, fighting her fear to take one too. You crouch down to stand with her as she waves it around, her eyes like saucers as white sparks fly.

"It's so pretty!" you say.

Dove is interested, but not in holding one. Steve picks her up and lights a sparkler, raising it away from her curious hands to draw her name. Avery squeaks with happiness and proclaims it as magic. "Dad, I'm a fairy!"

"I can see! Try not to put it by your hair, okay?"

She squeals some more until it dies in her hand. "Can I have another one?"

"Ooh," you coo, watching with pride as Bethie draws a circle with hers, "my girl's brave today, I'm super proud of you. Isn't this fun?"

Steve lights another one for Avery and gives Dove a loving kiss, thrilled to see them all this happy. He's really surprised Bethie's enjoying herself, but he supposes it would be hard for her to have a bad time with your hands on her shoulders, your encouragement soft and shining as angora silk.

They must use up four or five each like that.

"Daddy," Dove says, imploring as she touches his face.

"What?" he asks, thinking of tacking 'my little princess' on the end but withholding. Lately every sentence he says has a pet name squeezed in the middle. He has a lot of love to give.

She looks at him. He pats her small back, wondering if she's going to bless him with a sentence or two. She's old enough now to be talking, but she's quiet like Bethie most of the time. Or, she's not talkative —Dove is far from quiet.

"Hotdog, please."

Steve laughs loudly. "You want me to make you a hotdog?"

"And ketchup."

"Yeah, I can make you a hotdog. You don't want to stay for another sparkler?" he asks.

"No."

He laughs again, pressing another kiss overtop the first one he'd laid on her chubby cheek. "Thank you for saying please, sweetheart. You're such a good girl."

"Can I have a hotdog, too?" Avery asks.

"Sure you can, whatever you want. Beth? Mom?"

You've sat down on the floor. You're probably cold, but your smile would never show it. "I think me and Bethie are going to have another helping of chilli and rice, aren't we?" you ask hopefully.

Bethie's sparkler fizzles out. "Can we do more sparklers again?"

"Yeah. Tell you what, let's go back inside for food and when everyone's full, we'll come outside and do some more before bed. Sound good?"

The girls head inside, and Steve makes some hotdogs on the stove. Dove falls asleep with a bun in her hand, Bethie with her cheeks painted in sauce. Avery doesn't tire so easily, and while the others sleep, you and Steve take her out to the back door to light another sparkler. You write your names, you draw clumsy constellations. Steve writes 'I love

Avery,' grinning as she sounds out each letter.

Avery relishes in the delight of having your unfettered attention. She stays up for hours after her sisters with you and Steve, long enough to watch stray fireworks shoot up into the sky over your backyard, her head on your shoulder, her hand in Steve's hand.

"This is the best day ever," she says.

Steve wants to cry. Genuinely. He meets your eyes over Avery's head, and you shuffle closer to her without speaking, enveloping her in a hug from either side.

"Every day is the best day ever with you around, Ave," Steve says.

"The best. Me and dad tried some fireworks, when you weren't born." Steve and Avery look at you with mirrored interest. He doesn't remember what story you're going to tell. "You would've been very small in me at the time," you say, looking up as a pink and white firework blossoms across the night sky like a peony. "Like a strawberry seed. We… didn't know you were coming. I knew. I knew, but I didn't know. I could feel you right here," —you point at your stomach— "but I had no idea what you were going to be."

"Hey, you're right," Steve says. He forgets you were pregnant before you knew it.

"But me and dad lived together already," you say. "We were always going to get married and have babies and stuff, but you came really quickly. You were excited."

Steve grins. Avery hangs on your every word.

"But anyway, me and dad lived together. Not here, but somewhere, and we didn't have a yard but there was a little patch of grass and we figured we'd buy some, but he burned a stripe of my arm hair off by accident with a long lighter, and the we didn't have a fence to nail the Catherine wheel down, and he accidentally dropped the firecracker box on the way home so it didn't work anymore, and the rockets wouldn't light."

"Oh, no," Avery says. "You didn't have any fireworks?"

"None. But we had a pack of sparklers. We did it just like we did with you. I wrote 'I love Stevie' in big letters, and your dad tried to hug me and jabbed me in the stomach with his burned up one."

"Your hoodie," Steve remembers finally. "Your white hoodie, I bought it for you the week before at the mall after you threw up in Dairy Queen. I remember."

"I had it for a week, and he got this huge ash smudge on it."

"But you wouldn't let me wash it with bleach."

You give Avery a kiss on the top of her head. "I wanted to remember how happy we were. I thought the smudge was a nice reminder. Turns out I got much more than a smudge."

"You got me," Avery decodes.

"We got you," you say. "You're a thousand different things, Avery. You're smart, and kind, and pretty, and you're also a really good reminder that your dad loves me."

"Do you need a reminder?" Steve asks, genuinely worried, and kind of in awe. How you can sit there and say something that romantic off the cuff is beyond him. He really might cry soon.

"No," you say smugly. "You tell me all the time."

Not enough, he decides. After this, he'll be sure to tell you more.

Steve falls in love with you for the thousandth time.

"What I'm trying to tell you, Ave, is that dad is right. Every day with you in it is a really good day. I love you so much," you start to fizzle, which is to say your voice gets tight. You won't cry, but Steve teeters. "I'm really, really happy you had the best day ever, 'cos you make every day the best for dad and your sisters and me."

"Really?" Avery asks softly.

"Really," Steve says, rubbing the space between her shoulders.

A rocket squeals into the air and fractures into a ring of spectral colours.

Avery climbs onto her feet, and, torn between who to hug, wraps an arm around both of your necks.

Steve wraps his arms around you both, squeezing your hip. He's gotten used to being loved, to feeling it, but tonight might be an all time high. Sparklers become a Harrington tradition that year.

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grapejuicestyless · 2 months

Text

Could You Imagine That?

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: You failed. The gold, the cross, the fame, the fortune. But really, who cared? Not when you had the best gift of all. Inspired by the song: Forever by Noah Kahan

We listen to Pope and Kiara argue about who knows how to build a fire better, throwing logs into a heap by a pile of rocks and lining stones in a circle in the sand. John B and Cleo make beds for everyone to sleep on and Sarah works on some sort of spear for us. Yet, JJ and I haven’t even given a second thought of how long we just might be here for.

Maybe a few more hours, a couple days or years. In the end, did it really matter? We’d been just fine so far and we’d swear the feeling of freedom was worth it no matter how starved we became or how cold the nights were. We’d screamed about Poguelandia hundreds or times already, calling out the name of this great island and hoisting the flag we’d painted with rocks and the mud packed beneath them. Our hands pruning from the salt water and our shorts left on the edge of the shore line while we ran around in our underwear, splashing around like little kids and laughing like old friends should.

“We’re broke!” We laughed, finding the fact that we failed more funny than anything. Because had we really failed if we got a greater gift than what being filthy rich could give us?

“But real rich in our heads!” JJ would scream back, chasing me down along the edge of the ocean. And when the waves slowed my strides he lifted me from my waist with his tanned arms, not minding how our wet bodies stuck together like glue and our clothes would surely stink like ocean for as long as we’d be here.

“Won’t be alone for the rest of our lives!” I laughed in his hold, and his grip restricted my lungs but I would take the ache that came with it over any other feeling in the world. Because even after he loosens his grip, he never really lets me go and I am reminded of how he’s always within arms reach. Ready to make me smile, make me laugh. And it’s worth more than anything money could buy.

“Can you guys help us?” Kiara calls out desperately, but even she can’t hide the smile on her face, how much she loves the idea of it just being her and the Pogues all together and safe for just a small moment in the grand timeline of adventure ahead. No parents, no threats, no blood or tears. Just the sun and sand beneath our feet. A good cooked fish roasting over the fire and beds woven with leaves under our heads.

“Come in the waters just fine!” JJ splashes, catching a glare from Pope as the salt water briefly tames the fire they just started. And when Kiara catches his line of vision, we don’t have to look back to know their broken laughter is because their stripping to join us in the sea. Ready to splash around carelessly like children do, like we do.

“Can you imagine being here, like this forever? No more window shopping or late rent!” I laugh, bearing all my teeth in my smile when Kiara wraps her arms over my shoulders and places a sloppy kiss to my cheek.

“Won’t be alone for the rest of our lives!” She repeats my words back to me, eyes shining with the glow of the sunset that casts a warm hue over her sunburnt cheeks.

“Poguelandia forever, baby!” JJ’s arms pull Kiara away from me, and like glue, I’m stuck to him with nothing more to offer than the sweetest smile and the world shining in my eyes. I feel more alive than ever and theres not an ounce of gold that could replace it.

“Oh my god!” Cleo laughs at the scene in front of her, dry wood under her arm and a soft blush in her cheek from the sun. We’re all drenched in salt or sweat but we can’t help but feel absolutely okay with it.

You could fly over head at that very moment, on the search for miserable teens in need of help and you wouldn’t even look twice. The way everyone laughed like brothers and sisters and cherished what the world gave them, you’d think we were on some vacation. Like we hadn’t washed up here by accident.

Broken bones and aching muscles worth every moment that led us to this island and this life.

Looking back at JJ, I see the stars in his eyes and the world under his feet. It’s all we’ve ever wanted. A simple life by the ocean with all the people we love. So, we might be broke, we might be hungry and by god we might smell but by god are we richer than most.

“Poguelandia forever.” JJ whispers only for my ears to hear, forehead pressing against mine and his eyes observing the crinkles by my eyes. His thumbs lift from my hips to rub against my cheeks. Then he kisses me, kisses me in a way I hadn’t felt since before death looked at us in the eyes and grief was all we knew. Like we both knew finally that it would all work out and we would be okay.

When we pull away, we share the same hazy look we had plastered on our cheeks before and his hands plant themselves firmly on my hips once again. Squeezing the skin between his fingers playfully and drowning out the world around us.

“Could you imagine that.”

#jj maybank x you #jj mayback imagine #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank #jjmaybankangst #jj maybank fluff #p4l #jj maybank x pogue!reader #poguelandia #the pogues #pogue!reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x routledge!reader

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zwhoreo · 8 months

Note

A fic of Luffy and Reader first meeting please 😍🙏 ( I love how you write Luffy)

tysm !!! <33 this turned out so cute i think

meeting him - luffy x gn!reader

fluff

summary: while watching the ocean on your front steps one evening, you meet a boy named monkey d. luffy. he tells you about his life as a pirate, and teaches you how to skip rocks in the sea

words: 1.6k

________________________

Evening is just around the corner but the sky is still high enough over those clouds on the horizon that there’s warmth on your skin, golden and marinated. You’re sitting on the stone steps of your front garden and watching the waves crash on the white sand in the distance, because it’s warm enough that it’s still worth it to be here, letting the breeze weave your fingers.

Not many people are around at this time of night, the world is peaceful and still, but that’s why your head turns, in curiosity and focus, at the sound of wooden sandals on the sidewalk ahead, a heavy thwacking of aimless stumbling, the horizon bends with a silhouette of a boy walking down the cobble path and looking ahead, dazed, smiling over nothing.

You lock eyes. Large, brown, thoughtless and friendly eyes. You’re captivated and for some reason your heart folds in on itself in a way you can’t quite explain. His features are delicate, oddly beautiful in an unlikely sort of way, a hazel tan and greasy black hair blowing gently in the wind beneath an old, frayed straw hat. He looks like he’s been out at sea for a very long time, but although weathered he’s incredibly youthful, an older teenager, you think. He’s dressed like a pirate, you know this look well, they come into taverns drunk on cheap rum and leer at the young girls, picking fights, you didn’t think there were many good pirates left these days but something about this boy is so profoundly different. He’s not like anyone you’ve ever seen before, in some way you can’t place.

You watch him, keenly interested now, chin resting on your hands. Maybe this is why he comes up to you, crouching so close in front of you, no shyness present in his face. There’s an old scar under his left eye, tight and pale with age.

“Hiya!” His voice is raspy and loud. “You seen my crew anywhere?”

“Your crew? Mm, I don’t know. I haven’t seen anyone come by here for a while.” You find yourself talking differently than usual, not like you normally do with strangers, it’s something in your voice, your annunciation, that catches you off guard.

“Aw, really? There’s a lady with orange hair and this guy and he’s got green hair and three swords and-” He stops in the middle of a frustrated gesticulation when he sees your blank eyes. “Mm. Ok, I’ll go look in town.”

And just like that he gets up to leave. You’re saddened, but you find your words catching in your throat. Don’t leave.

But he pauses a few paces away, turning back after a brief consideration. “Hey, ya got any food? I’m real hungry.”

You look up, breath hitching. Yes, yes, this is something you can do. “Oh, yeah, I just baked some bread, actually. I’ll go get it if you wanna wait here.”

“Ooh! Sounds good. Hey, thanks!” he calls to you warmly, turning back, trotting to your front steps as you go inside.

The bread basket has been cooling on the windowsill, the crust is golden and steam wafts through the room and wets your hands as you pick it up to bring it to him. But when you come outside again he isn’t on your steps, or in your garden, you look around to find him but he isn’t anywhere, not until you step into the road and look over the rock embankment.

There’s the boy, he’s sitting in the white sand and playing with rocks, stacking them in lopsided towers with great intent. You smile when you see him. He isn’t gone. So you climb onto the beach and come to him, he grins casually, like you had been there all along, and his eyes light up when you set the bread in front of him.

“Ahh! This looks soo good!” Before his words are finished he’s already eating messily, he doesn’t care about the sand on his hands, he’s so focused.

You sit by him. You lean in, admiring his face, finally speaking, “I’m [name], by the way.”

“I’m Monkey D. Luffy!” he proclaims with enthusiasm, still not looking up. “It’s good to meet ya!” And he goes back to eating, as if this simple greeting has made you best friends and now everything is solved, but that name is familiar somehow and you like him so much already and you need to know more.

“Are you a pirate?” you ask with a tilted head.

“Mhm!” Luffy says through a mouthful of bread, “and I’m gonna be king of ‘em!”

“Pirate king, huh?” You raise your eyebrows, you’re charmed by him.

“Mm! Do you like the sea, [name]?” You feel like he’s been shifting closer to you, you hear him all around you now, his chewing remains consistent, loud.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s one of the prettiest things in the world,” you say honestly, the waves glitter in front of you, an infinite land-sky, glitter on pearl on galaxy-blue. Sunspots, stars, they twinkle on its surface.

“It’s real fun to be a pirate,” he chirps, finishing the bread and turning to you, his smile is gleaming and his voice is soft but gleeful.

“Yeah? What kinda stuff do you do out there?” You just want to hear him speak more, you realize.

“Ah man, everything! We go on tons of adventures, and we sing, and we get to make new friends wherever we go… and we look for treasure! We’re tryna find the One Piece!”

He returns your enchanted stare. He makes it all sound so easy, taming the cruel sea. His chest rises and falls, breaths heavy with excitement, his hands palm at the sand and hey, he’s really moving closer now, isn’t he? His eyes are so sparkly, it’s impossible to look away from him.

“Wanna skip rocks with me?” he asks before you have time to reply. He’s distracted so easily, reaching happily for his little tower, weighing the smooth gray stone in his hand.

Aren’t you looking for your crew? you want to ask. But you can’t let go of him yet, this mysterious, perfect boy. So instead you say, “sure, if you can teach me. I’m not great at it.”

“You live by the sea and ya can’t skip rocks?” Luffy laughs at you, tossing his stone into the sea with a snap of his wrist, it bounces once, twice, spinning in the air, a battle to fly from the ocean’s hunger, before it’s pulled beneath, disappearing into the surf.

Your hands touch as he gives you a rock, perfectly round and smooth, warmed from his palm. You throw it but your arm falters, it falls with a splash, gone before it could fly, a ripple of a memory left on the water, nothing more. Luffy laughs at you again.

“Nah, that ain’t it, you gotta flick your arm and keep it straight.” He moves close enough where you can feel his breath on your skin, hot and thick. “Mm,” he murmurs in your ear, voice low and ripe, “like this…”

He’s behind you, leaning against you, taking your arm and positioning you for the right sort of throw. His skin feels strange, like warm rubber, but your mind is so clouded with him, with his musky, overpowering scent and the tickle of his hair, you don’t notice much of anything. By accident, for the briefest moment, his salt-dried lips brush your shoulder, this is like lightning within you. But for Luffy this is nothing, it means nothing to him to be this close, it’s just what seems so natural.

You throw again, a smaller rock this time, aided by his hands on your arm. You’re so dizzied by his touch and you expect it to be even worse this time but to your surprise the rock skips once, a single heartbeat.

“See! Ya did it!” Luffy shouts joyfully, slapping you on the back, a little too hard, before pulling you in for a hug.

This is the best hug you’ve ever had. So tight, so warm, he buries his head in your shoulder, his weight nearly knocks you into the sand. You grab him back, by pure instinct, you want this closeness never to leave you.

But in an instant he’s pulled away again, unfazed by his own affection. He adjusts his hat carefully, looking back at the water, face content. He throws and skips one last stone.

“Mh, my crew’s prolly looking for me, huh?” Luffy stands up, dusting off his jeans, tilting his head at you. And then he offers you a hand, pulling you up with him, you’re face to face again and he places a hand firmly on your shoulder and says, “you can come if you want.”

“Huh?”

“On my crew. You can come be a pirate with me!” And again he has that way of saying things so simply. He doesn’t know you, how could he be so sure? But in his eyes you feel so incredibly, impossibly known.

He turns around, ready to walk away down the beach into the dying sunlight, and he turns to you once more and says, “you gonna be here tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I will!” you call to him, and he flashes you a broad smile, a thumbs-up, before running away into the horizon. You know he’ll come back.

Romance isn’t even in your mind. You just have this intense feeling for him, a certain kind of instantaneous love that goes deeper than any of that. You feel bonded, like you’ve never felt before, and you don’t know how it happened. You just stand there in the sand, dazed and misty eyed. You want so desperately to see him again. Deep breaths, calm your body, tonight you’ll have time to dream about what you’ll say.

You could see the world with him. You want to right now, very badly, so why not? Maybe it is that simple.

#luffy x reader #one piece #luffy #luffy x reader fluff #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #luffy x y/n #luffy x you #luffy fluff #luffy x gn!reader

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bowieandqueen11 · 3 months

Text

Distraction / Dracule Mihawk Imagine

Request: Hello! I was wondering if I could request a Mihawk x Reader that’s kinda enemies to lovers. I’m super in love with the whole ‘they hate each other but their constant bickering is bordering on blatant flirting’. Thank you so much ^~^

Babes you are so right!! This is so sweet oh my goodness!! :) Sorry if this is really OOC, its my first time writing for Mihawk!

This was fun to write, but it took me a while - so if you liked it, or if you want a follow on, please leave a comment!

Warning: a little strong language, mentions of knives!

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @bangnyfes.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

The exhale that left your nose at the sound of his voice would have been squally enough to shatter stone.

It had only been a meagre three days of uninterrupted peace before the cursed Dracule Mihawk arrived. Three. Days. True, your Captain and your fellow Red Haired Pirates had spent most of the hours here celebrating: emptying your dwindling crate supplies of poor Lucky Roux's lamb legs, unloading all the bottles of sweet liquor graciously donated to Shanks (or wily guerdoned by a female admirer off the coast of Syrup Village), and dripping every bottle dry until half the crew was splayed out on hammocks, and the other half was link-armed dancing underneath the endless ocean of drifting stars.

'For someone who's supposed to be a lookout, your observational skills are... well, decidedly more lacking than a sea cow's.'

As much as you loved Shanks, sometimes you wanted to grab his shoulders and give him a hard shake, trying to wipe that shrewd smile off his face. You hadn't even been granted any time to properly wake up; you had flung your arm over your squinting eyes, desperately trying to figure out why there was a looming shadow growing on the edge of your vision. Turned out, that as soon as that blasted coffin-shaped cruiser had come cruising past the white shores of Shank's base island, the man had nearly tripped over his feet to come leer over you like a grinning meerkat.

Look out duty? He had put you on look out duty!? With the brutish, blazing sun scorching across your bedraggled head? With the salty spray of the spring sea stretching its foamy fingers up across the shore and chilling your feet on this dusty, forgotten pocket of the East Blue? With the infuriating, pestering, testing, teasing Dracule Mihawk? Part of you was exasperated: you had been hoping for at least a week of recuperation before Shanks sailed off again for Yukiryu Island. Another part of you was dissatisfied that it had taken the swordsman so long to show up.

You hum in response as Mihawk's lengthening shadow shudders across your eyelids; feeling the cool chill that followed the flick of his coat around his boots, you don't even bother to open your eye and glare at the man. Instead, you dig your heels further down into the wet grains: legs stretched out and arms crossed tightly around your chest, lounging against the cragged edge of mossy crevice behind your back.

'I noticed you', you reply after a moment of pregnant silence. You fidget, trying your best not to give away the fact that your back was starting to ache from staying so *nonchalantly* perched in this position; to not give the man any ammunition. It really, really did not help your pride that his piercing eyes seemed to be mocking you with the way they glance obviously down the curved outline of your spine. Casting it away as vicarious embarrassment, Mihawk is almost ashamed with the burning realisation that his eyes had been trained over the years to be almost painfully conscious of your every miniscule mannerism.

'I just didn't think it was the effort to open my eyes', you sigh, tilting your head back towards the sun-strengthened field of bright blue swaying across the far yonder. 'There's no threat nearby. Unless-', you beckon your hand out towards the tapering shoreline, 'you count some of the cockles Beckman might stand on with his bare feet.'

'That's why the Captain's always wearing sandals!', you hear echo out from the mouth of the cave looming to your right, followed by the teetering sound of uproarious laughter. Despite the noise of your rancorous crewmates, Mihaw's golden eyes never waver: their piercing intensity focused solely on the edge of your irises as you finally, with a displeased twist of your lips, blink your gaze over to settle firmly on his own.

'I passed at least three Marine vessels during my jaunt over to your little...shack.' The swordsman's head cocks in your direction: his voice is low. Guarded. Unwavering. But you're getting to him. You know you're getting to him. Trying to wash down the waves of heat that begin to flood your vexed cheeks, you curse yourself for being able to read even his most minute idiosyncracies: the way his left eyebrow raises almost a tenth of an inch when he's struck by mild amusement.

'Shack? Shack!' You kick your bare foot off the slippery edge of the lapped rock and take a step out onto the gorge of beach stretching between you and Mihawk, swinging your arms out by your sides. 'Why Dracule, can't you see this is the last refuge of the East Blue - you dare scorn an abode teeming with luxury, good-will, and free booze!'

Another exuberant cheer rings out from Lucky Roux, as the unmistakable sound of two tankards slamming together, followed by a faint slosh and cry of outrage from Yasopp follow in quick procession.

The only hint that Mihawk has heard them is the slight narrowing of his eyes.

'It's not your fault, Hawk-Eyes.' You try to stifle your facetious smirk, instead placing your back against the rock again and fidgeting as if settling back for another snooze. Tipping the edge of your straw hat down to cover your eyes, you duck your chin into your neck and close your eyes, knowing the blatant disregard for Dracule would drive him mad.

'Suppose your eye sight isn't quite what it used to be, considering your advanced age and all.'

The clamour of your crew drowns in your ears by the pause that follows; too obdurate to flick an eye open and observe Mihawk's indignant reaction, you instead allow the sound of out-of-tune shanty singing to be replaced with the almost still whisper of the waves. Of the slight hiss of the balled sun, as it throws down its rays and coats you in nothing but the icy tendrils of Mihawk's obstinate silhouette. Of his sharp suspire twanging in your ear, as his pointed footsteps shift the earthen grains guarding you from his propinquity.

Of his gravelly voice, nearly making you knock the hat off your head as it suddenly flows past your ear.

The sunlight floods your eyes when they finally open, until you can barely see Mihawk: just the flaxen outline of his being as he comes floating up towards you: phantom like, and yet more imposing and colossal than the threat of a thousand Marine ships protruding their helms your way.

'Enough with the pleasantries. I believe I have something that may be of interest to you.'

He reaches into the inner lining of his coat, withdrawing a rolled up piece of parchment. Although you're intrigued, all you dare to do is look inquisitively between Mihawk's outreaching hand, and distrustfully back to his unwavering stare.

Wow, he really was close. You could almost see your reflection in the immaculately polished glaze of Yoru, still strapped on his back; as it turned out, that back just happened to be jutting your way. Mihawk's spine is almost completely arching over your reclining torso, almost blotting out the fringes of the sun, his head bowing as if observing rather flighty prey. Realising you're still stubborn as always: far too headstrong to trust him, or to place your fingers anywhere that could cause you to come into contact with his skin, he sighs and unrolls the treasure map with a flick of his wrist.

You did your best to hold back your snort. Really, you did.

'What, exactly, do you think the Captain will want with a scrappy looking, filth covered, mud covered, blood covered-'

'I didn't say Shanks. I said you. Although your Captain may have been a valiant opponent many years ago, he's now half the man he used to be. '

You chew the inside of your lip, finally rolling on the balls of your feet and coming to a full stand in front of the swordsman; Mihawk, almost unconsciously, straightens his own spine in return.

'You find me valiant, ey?'

He pierces you with the most grating stare he can muster.

'I find you wanting.'

The tang of salt seething off the bubbling sea could do nothing to burn away the fizzling want and joint annoyance banging against your ribcage, nor could the cool pinch of the jagged stone distract you from how restless you were feeling with Mihawk leaning so close.

'I bet I could find this treasure before you with my eyes blindfolded and my hands tied behind my back.'

The tangy breeze curls the strands of hair loosened behind his right ear, and by all the wishes in the world did you want so badly to tuck it back into place.

'Careful now, turtle.' He takes another step forward, effectively pinning you between the cove wall and his rigid chest. For the first time since your injudicious acquaintance with the warlord, you could feel it beat... no, feel it slam almost erratically. It seemed to jolt so ferociously against his pec, if he weren't restraining himself from taking another step forward and diminishing you completely, you would have been able to feel it against the unbuttoned cotton of your shirt. 'You've been spending far too much time around Shanks. We wouldn't want to step on that shell and have it crack.'

'You want to go out searching for treasure... you? With a map that looks like it's been pulled out of a goldfish's behind.'

He takes that final step forward, and as the buckle of his belt hits against the top of your groin, you find your obstinate bearing falter far faster than you were proud to admit.

'I find myself bored, and you may provide a fleeting distraction.'

The trimmed hair coating his jaw feels warm as it glides across the side of your cheek, but you still can't help but tremble. His voice: gruff and warm as it rumbles a devastating gale across the side of your nose nearly makes your breath hitch. Nearly. But just the mere thought: the mere tremble of your pulse point as you tried to swallow back down your pride as its slippery tendrils latched and slithered its way up the back of your throat was enough to give the game away.

Your thighs tremble as his leg slid up against between your calves, and you gave yourself away completely.

Mihawk's lips turn up at the edges, and the bastard had the audacity to pin your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. Imperturbed, as if unsnarling a feeble swallow's wings clipped by a wild springe, the man looming over your torso raises your face. Closer and closer and closer: his unbreaking gaze almost unnerving. Almost. If it hadn't been for that glint of delight festering in the corner of his swirls.

'Why bother, then?', you swallow thickly. 'If it's not a challenge.'

'I may find it fun.' His hand drops down to your collar bone: his grip firm, resolute, surprisingly warm as his fingertips constrict at the feel of your bare skin.

'No, really', you manage to pant out between laboured breaths, shaking your head out to try and stop yourself from becoming distracted by the racy feeling beginning to ball in the pit of your stomach.

He was playing you, you thought, biting down on your tongue and pretending the pressure of his thumb pad faintly pressing down on the strip of skin just above your left breast wasn't making you go lightheaded. He was toying with you. Snap out of it!

'Tell me the truth, and I'll do it. Why are you really here?'

'Perhaps I just like to see you squirm, like a little rabbit...', his hand rises from his side to slide up the inside of your wrist almost painstakingly slowly, his words dying out once he's encircled the bone with his vice-like grip. The next utterance is caught only by your ear as a whisper in the wind. 'Caught in my snare.'

Although he doesn't cut off your airway - he would never do anything to outright cause you physical harm - the finger still resting on collar bone crawls across your throat. His finger nails scratch like pinpricks from sharpened knives as he claws over your pulse point, before running the side of his finger back underneath your chin.

He looks almost... contemplative, as his eyes dart furtively down to linger over the top seam of your lip.

It's the first time, during all your years of solicitous enmity, that you had ever seen him distracted.

Using the opportunity, you manage to break free of his trance - of his hold on you. Grabbing onto his sleeve, you tug him towards you with all the force shaking through your burning body, appreciating the slight widening of his eyes in surprise as you slam his back against the wall of rock. You press yourself against the taut, constricting muscles of his abdomen, holding one hand firmly against his waist. The other snakes around to pin his wrist against the scrap of trouser by his hip, every cell in your bodies ablaze as he flexes his fingers. They curl into a ball over his fist, dangerously close to brushing across the back of your hand.

He could move you, of course. If he wanted to, he could flick you off him like a stray piece of sand, dusting you off as if you weighed as much as a handful of pebbles.

But he gave it away. God, how hard he had been trying not to: how hard he was trying to stop his body from flushing an increasingly paler shade of white at how mortified he was. How infuriated he was. How ensnared he was.

He didn't move. He gave himself away completely.

All he did was tilt his head back, and half-smiled expectantly at the sound of your dagger being sheathed from its thigh-scabbard; he was intrigued by the way you jutted its tip just below his Adam's apple, tilting his face to meet the steel.

'Don't forget, I still owe you for that time on the Nammu Isles.'

He tuts, eyes shining dangerously in the glare. 'Are you talking about the time I saved your pathetic life?'

You jut your chin forward, imposing your face against his own. 'I mean the time you took my bounty. You better stop talking, oh mighty warlord of the sea, before I shave that pretty little moustache off hair by hair.'

For a moment, there's nothing but the rhythmic brush of his breath against the pursed lines of your full lips: the odd jolt of the tip of his nose hitting against your own as he observes like with the intensity and rigidness of a man possessed.

Without breaking eye contact, he makes as if to lean forward and kiss you, but instead butts his elbow into your stomach and uses your doubled-over state to swipe the knife out of your fingers.

'You may have that back, if you win.' He toys with it, almost looking teasing as he tucks the small blade into his breast pocket.

'I'll take your sword, too.' You wipe your hand across your mouth before placing your palms on your knees, smiling up at the swordsman. You would be damned, if after all this time, you would give him the satisfaction of seeing how flustered he made you.

He bows his head, trying in vain to hide his amusement. He does, however, slap at the hand that's tentatively reaching behind his back, subtly trying to latch on to the hilt of jaded Yoru.

'Of course, if you win. Such a shame that you never stood a chance.'

'I look forward to wielding that sword', you hum in a sing-song tone as you creak your back up again, placing one hand on your hip and your other pointer finger ostentatiously on your chin. Raising your eyes to the sky, you pretend to think deeply as watch two seagulls squawk, stream and tumble past each other, darting through the streaming white clouds. 'I bet I could make some delicious Aburaage with it.'

'And if I win, I look forward to taking that awful hat from you.'

Looking on in disbelief, Shanks shakes his head and tilts back to face the rest of his slack-jaw, gobsmacked crew.

'Right, bets on boys. Which of our beloved numbskulls will be the first to make a move?'

'I mean, he couldn't be more obvious!', Yasopp chimes in, fiddling some loose berries out of his trouser pockets and slamming down into his Captain's awaiting hands. 'I bet he drew that map himself!'

Benn Beckman rolls his eyes, but joins in with the circling chorus of laughter as Shanks slaps his arm against his back. 'It is the fourth time this month he's shown up with a map for Y/n.'

'Well, no matter what happens-', Shanks replies, squatting down onto his hammock again and distractedly counting through the coins he's collected, 'we have to be thankful to Y/n! After all, all proceeds and winnings will be going towards restocking our drink supplies!'

#one piece #one piece imagine #mihawk #mihawk imagine #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk imagine #dracule mihawk x reader #opla #shanks #red haired shanks #shanks imagine #opla imagine

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lizthewriter · 8 months

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Hi! I love your fan fictions! I was wondering (First time requesting ever) if you could do a FIC for Mattheo or Theodore based on exile and the readers dealing with self hate,anxiety, autsim, adhd, Depression, and they feel so alone and push him away because the readers scared to accept her feelings and afraid she’ll get left, and no one loves or cares about her?

AUTHOR'S NOTE Oh my God, thank you so much for sending in a request! This is actually the first request I have ever received, so this is a first for us both! By exile, I'm assuming you mean the song exile by Taylor Swift. Here's a little blurb just for you anon! And thank you for the compliment, I'm glad you love my fanfics! Sending love and good vibes your way

Honestly, I tried my best with this. I've gone through depression and self-hate, and I am currently dealing with anxiety and ADHD. I don't know too much about autism, but I really tried my hardest to convey what you've requested. I hope this is satisfactory!

exile / mattheo riddle

PAIRING Mattheo Riddle x fem!Reader

SUMMARY Everything in your life feels like it's going wrong and there's nothing you can do to change it. What once brought you joy only leaves you numb. What once excited you now only bored you. What you loved only saw you as a friend.

Taking shelter in an empty classroom during a panic attack, Mattheo Riddle finds you a sobbing mess on the stone floors. You find out that he likes you more than you think he does.

TAGS Mattheo Riddle x fem!Reader, angst, hurt/comfort, self-hate, depression, anxiety, stress, ADHD, autism, exams, panic attack, suicidal thoughts, self-harm, fluff, happy ending, kissing

"All this time, / we always walked a very thin line, / you didn't even hear me out," - exile, Taylor Swift feat. Bon Iver

WORD COUNT 2.0K

WRITTEN 23.08.2023

pt. 2 here, karma

You sat in Transfiguration, leg bouncing nervously as you stared down at the test questions. You have always been a terrible test-taker - all the pressure of having to get good marks in such a limited time period and all this weight on your shoulders with the upcoming NEWT's made you more than nervous. Your brows were furrowed in both concentration and confusion. As you were gnawing on the end of your quill, McGonagall announced that it was time for you to place your quills down and pack your things. You let out a shaky sigh, placing down your quill. How could you not answer a simple question? Everyone else seemed to be finding the material easy, why couldn't you? You sat there, beating yourself up as you quickly packed your things away and left class.

You left Transfiguration by yourself and headed back to your dorm. Not only were you doing poorly in your classes, you also happened to be insanely in love with someone in your year. And, of course, you had to fall in love with the most unavailable person. Not only was he not interested in girls, he would never be interested in someone like you. I mean, why would he? What made you so special? And he has referred to you as a mate on so many occasions that if you had a nickel for every one, you'd surely be drowning in an ocean of them. Oh, and not only that, but you didn't really have friends. Most of the people you knew were dating and had at least one best friend. But you? No, you may know a variety of people but you couldn't call any of them a good friend, even. You didn't understand what you were doing wrong. Why was everyone else living happy, productive lives while you were stuck being miserable, alone, and depressed?

I mean, you lost all interest in everything. You couldn't find the joy in reading or taking walks about the grounds anymore. Your schoolwork was taking a turn for worse and you found yourself and bored and tired of your classes. Your grades were slipping, you had no friends, no partner, no nothing. Everything just felt wrong, wrong, wrong. And all you could do was sit there and blame yourself.

You knew you wouldn't be able to make it to your dorm to find the privacy to cry- you quickly ducked into the nearest room, curled up into the corner, and burst into sobs. It was all just too much and too little at the same time. You just felt like you couldn't deal with all this anymore. If you didn't deserve to be happy, than maybe you didn't deserve to be at all. Your hands bunched up into fists, lightly hitting your head at your temples. You hated your thoughts, the way your brain worked. You hated how you could think about everything all at once. You just wanted it all to stop, all to end.

You didn't hear the sounds of footsteps passing the classroom - Mattheo had only been walking by, skipping out on Potions, when he heard you. When he glanced into the classroom and saw you crying there, he couldn't help himself.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

You froze, sniffling, your chest heaving for air. You hadn't heard him and was caught off guard. Quickly, you wiped your face with the edge of your sleeve, collecting your bag from the ground and hiking it up your shoulder. "Nothing - nothing's wrong."

He ducked his head, his lips set into a thin-line as he observed you. "I'm not stupid. I can see that you're crying."

Great. Now you had offended the only person, perhaps, that even cared to talk to you for more than five minutes. He must hate you right now. Depise you. Think you to be cruel. "I didn't mean to say you were stupid." It was hard to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill over the threshold. You wiped your eyes with the end of your sleeve again. Why should he care about you? He must be pitying you now, surely he would have no other reason to act so concerned. Even if he did, he would one day realize that you were never as good as he thought you.

His gaze softened, the edges of his lips curling up slightly. He approached you, raising his hand to wipe away a tear that had collected in the inner corner of your eye. "'S all right, darling. Don't cry. Just talk with me about it, hm?"

Your chest heaved as you took in a shaky breath. "W-why do you care? I'm sure you have better things to do." You let out a weak laugh, backing away from his touch. "I mean, come on, don't you have Potions right now?"

"Why do I - I care about you. Do you need a reason why?"

"Yes, I do, actually," you responded, cringing at how snarky you sounded.

Mattheo let out a sigh. "I care about you because you're beautiful, inside and out. I care about you because you make me laugh. And you make me feel better when I've had a shit day. I care about you because no one makes my heart flutter like you do." His voice got smaller as he took a step towards you, and gradually raised his hands to cup your cheeks. He drew your gaze to his eyes, those beautiful brown eyes. His expression was rather serious, as though he were trying to affirm his words. "I care about you cause you're the only person who's ever really cared about me."

You trembled beneath the soft caress of his knuckcles, meeting his eyes for a short moment before shoving him away. A brief moment of hurt echoed through his eyes as you shook your head, backing away from him. "No, no you don't. I don't. And even if you did . . . " You found your voice trailing off. You hiked the strap of your bag up your shoulder again, having slipped down your arm. "I should go. I have History of Magic soon and I don't want to be late."

Mattheo glanced at you and then down at the floor, his jaw clenched. "Fine. I won't stand in your way then."

You spent the majority of your time avoiding Mattheo, but you knew there'd be a day when you would run into him and you couldn't do anything about it. Today was that day, almost two weeks after the aforementioned incident.

You were curled up in the Astronomy Tower, late at night, lying on top of a blanket as you glanced up at the stars. It was perhaps the only moment of peace you had found in a while - maybe it was the whistle of wind or the glittering of the stars.

You should've known he'd be up here. He's always sneaking off places late at night, the highest points of the castle. You heard your name being called and turned around to see a surprised Mattheo. He stood but a few feet from yourself. You weren't exactly sure what to do - in your panic, you did nothing.

"Erm - may I sit down?"

You didn't say anything for a moment, drawing your legs into your chest and resting your head upon your knees. You nodded ever so slightly, glancing away from him as he plopped down next to you. His shoulder brushed up against yours and he leaned forward to try and catch your eyes, mimicking your seated position.

"Hey, I'm sorry about the other day. I should've stayed there with you . . ." His voice trailed off. He let out a sigh as he leaned back on both palms, now spraying out his legs across the blanket. He stared put at the stars, his expression neither upset nor particularly happy. "I don't think you really meant it when you said you didn't care about me. I know you do. I just want to know why you're trying to convince yourself that you don't." He paused, hesitating. "Is it because you think I don't feel the same way about you? 'Cause you can erase that thought from your mind. I like you - really, really like you. And I don't know why exactly you keep pushing me away, but I want you to know that I'm here to listen."

He bathed in your silence, not necessarily perturbed by it. He finally decided to test the waters, raising his hand to gently touch yours. He seemed fascinated with you as he ran his fingernail gently across your skin.

You didn't know whether you wanted to tell him or not. You didn't know if you could trust him. If he wouldn't just laugh in your face, call you a fool, and leave you a pitiful mess. But Salazar, did you want to spill your heart out to him. And in the mental state you were in now, coupled with your fatigue, you didn't even care anymore.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't have any friends. I'm not particularly close with my family. And everytime I did start to make a friend or - or something more, they'd just leave." You wrapped your arms tighter around your legs. "I always wondered, what's wrong with me? Do I say the wrong things? Act the wrong way? Am I really so despisable that people actively go out of their way to ignore me?" You scoffed. "Guess I must be some kind of horrible person then."

"That's not true," Mattheo said immediately, surging forward in anger. "You're an amazing person. Whoever has just left you or treated you like that, they're arseholes. I won't do that to you. Never. I don't care how many times I have to say it 'til it gets through that pretty little head of yours, I like you, I care about you, I want to make you happy . . . and if leaving you alone and pretending like I never admitted that to you makes you happy, then that's what I'll do." He waited for your response, painfully hoping for a verbal one. However, you remained silent. Mattheo felt his heart sink. "Right then. Well."

He began to push himself off the floor to get up, but you quickly grabbed his hand. "Wait!" you exclaimed in alarm, finally meeting his eyes. "I - I lied before. I do care about you. Please don't go. Please."

Mattheo sat back down with an easy-going grin, like he knew he had you right where he wanted you.

"You really like me?" You asked, both breathless and doubtful all at once.

"Do you need me to prove it to you?" His grin grew smug.

"Yes, actually."

"All right then." Mattheo raised his hand to rest under your chin, tilting your head slightly to the side so you were facing him directly. Your eyes widened as he drew closer, his eyes glancing between your eyes and your lips. Breath growing shallow, you tensed as you could feel his humid breath on your lips. "I can prove it to you right now, if you let me."

You wasted no time in smashing your lips against his, hands coming up to cup both of his cheeks. Your eyes were shut tight as you relished in the feeling of his buttery smooth lips running against yours. He was a bit more passionate tha you had expected, but he had been waiting for years to do this. And whatever his imagination could try to conjure, it was nothing compared to the real thing.

Mattheo was the one to pull away but he was soon back to give you a quick peck, sming against your lips. "You're amazing - I don't think I'll ever be leaving you after a kiss like that."

You finally grinned, a true grin, gor the first time in a long time, and brought his face back down to yours to kiss under the stars.

Thank you all for reading! Be sure to like, reblog, and comment! I really appreciate it ^^. If you have any requests, by inbox is open but make sure to check the list of characters I write for here. If you want to be tagged in any upcoming fics/headcanons of mine, let me know. If you want to see more from me, go ahead and check out my masterlist here!

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