#their fierceness and love move me so much

[nightghoul381]

Smile for Me ~ Elbert Greetia (POV) x Reader

Entry number 6 in @judejazza's An Invitation to Crown Castle event!

Pairing: Elbert Greetia (POV) x Reader Prompt: Linked Fingers Genre: Hurt/Comfort-y fluff CW: None- Elbie's just a bit of a disaster WC: 1.6k

I wish to do something for you, so that I can see your beautiful smile again. The days have been so gloomy and grey the past weeks I feel as though your smile, too, has hidden behind the clouds.

I’ve done my best to give you beautiful things, and yet none of them seems to be able to keep the smile on your face for more than a fraction of a second. I feel darkness inside when your face is so unnaturally demure.

“I don’t know what to do, Al,” I sigh, staring out my window to where you sit in the garden gazebo, only slightly sheltered from the spattering of rain falling around you. Your eyes are fixated on the sky, a forlorn expression clouding your face and I can only imagine the same is mirrored on mine.

“Haha, you’re quite smitten with her aren’t you?  Have you told her that? Have you made her feel the depth of your love?”

“I believe so. I’ve given her several gowns and jewelry to match, yet she still looks so sad. Perhaps they are not beautiful enough…”

I feel Al’s presence move directly behind me, joining me to stare out the window and watch you lament outside.

“Oh dear, she does look troubled, doesn’t she? I wonder, what time have you spent together lately, just the two of you?” Al remarks, his gloved hands flashing two fingers in front of me.

I search my memory but seem to come up short. I’ve run into you a few times and those are the times I’ve given you your gifts, but those moments had been unmistakably brief, with you running off to your room to stow away your present and I to mine as the weather had me feeling particularly tired.

I let out a deep sigh, pressing my hand against the cold glass, wishing to draw your attention to me, yet too unsure of myself to do so.

“Perhaps she’s grown tired of me?” I muse. Surely it must be exhausting having to tolerate my eccentricities. Is this possibly why you’ve not tried on your dresses for me? You may be trying to indicate that you no longer wish for me to see you dressed so beautifully. Perhaps you’re afraid of me again. I don’t mean to hurt you, but the greed in my heart is vicious and unrelenting.

“Elbert, go speak with her. I’ve not a doubt in my mind she merely wishes to be in your presence,” Alfons mutters, a pitying smirk fixed in my direction.

“It’s raining.”

“It’s been raining for several days. That hasn’t stopped you from going out to purchase things, so should you really let something so benign prevent you from going to your lover?”

“If I catch a cold, she’ll be upset with me. Could you have her come inside to see me?” I asked, withdrawing my hand from the window as a chill rushes through my body.

“This is a matter between lovers, I’m not about to jump in the middle of it. Unless you’re inviting me for some fun after reconciling, that is,” Alfons winks and strides out of the room with a jovial laugh.

A fierce sense of possessiveness wells up within me, and I have to fight down the urge to keep you locked in my room, away from the prying eyes of others. Your beautiful smile belongs to me, your debauched expression belongs to me, all of you is mine. You’ve said as much before.

I move to my wardrobe and pull a thick coat and a hooded cloak out to wear.

Silently, I make my way through the gentle rain, coming up beside you and clearing my throat.

“Elbert!” You squeak, whirling in my direction.

“You looked sad,” I state, fixing my eyes on your damp hair. “And you’ll catch a cold.”

“I’ll be fine. You can head back inside if you’d like. I’ll be in after a few more minutes.”

Your expression seems darker again and my heart twists. What can I do to draw your smile out again? The darkness doesn’t suit you.

I find my body moving of its own accord, my long fingers twining with yours and holding fast.

“Your hands are cold,” I mutter, lifting them to my lips and pressing gentle kisses against your knuckles.

“I…” your voice cuts off briefly as I allow my kisses to travel up your arm.

“Your arms are cold too.”

I let my gaze meet with yours and the faint dusting of pink on your cheeks seems to cause my heart to begin beating again. Still holding your fingers, I tug you gently closer, staring down into your dazed expression before sealing my lips over yours. The kiss is quick and soft, but it’s enough to make me feel more alive than I’ve felt in days.

“Your lips are cold.”

Your tongue darts out subconsciously, swiping at your lower lip as you stare up at me.

“Can you warm them up?”

It’s not often I feel the primal need to claim you, to seal my need for you so passionately, lest you forget who you belong to. Yet when you look at me with those desperate eyes, and ask such things of me, I’m afraid I lose myself to those feelings.

I squeeze my fingers around yours more tightly, refusing to let go as our lips dance together, sucking and nipping at one another as if we’re vying for control, to devour one another.

I can feel my blood racing through my veins as you pull away just briefly, just enough to speak.

“I think… I think I’d like to go inside now…” You whisper, breathing uneven and ragged.

I still haven’t seen your smile. You may very well be through with me, and yet your fingers still remain linked with mine as you tug me back toward the castle. Our hands never separate as we hurry through the halls and to your room.

At the closed door, I feel you pull away and an unknown fear grips me. I wrap my arms around you, holding your rain-soaked body close.

“El… I need to open the door, then we can be as close as you wish.”

Was that a chuckle? I glance down and see a shy smirk tugging at the corners of your lips and feel the blackness settled in my heart begin to dissipate.

I allow you to be free from my grasp for just long enough to open the door, after which I bundle you inside, closing the door and flicking the lock to ensure our privacy.

I stare at your face with a serious expression.

“Will you smile again?” I plead, tracing your lips with my thumb.

You seem surprised by my question, a slight frown creasing your brow for a moment. “Of course, I’ll smile again… Why would you think I wouldn’t?”

I press a kiss to your lips briefly, resting my forehead against yours.

“You’ve not smiled in such a long time. Not truly. I tried to make you smile with the beautiful things but the smile faded so quickly,” I admit, a tightness in my chest constricting at the confession.

“You bought them to make me smile?” You ask incredulously.

“Is that so surprising?”

“I thought you were giving them to me because they were no longer beautiful to you, I had no idea you’d been trying to make me smile!”

You blush a bright red, as you lift your hands to cover your face.

“Please don’t hide your face from me,” I beg, my lips beginning to tremble.

Your shoulders shake and I step back in shock. I hadn’t meant to make you cry…

“Shall I leave?” I whisper.

Your shaking seems to intensify as laughter spills out of your hands.

Laughing…?

“Have I said something funny?” I ask, slipping my fingers between yours to pull them away from your face.

Your eyes are clenched shut but your mouth is unmistakably shining with happiness. When you finally open your eyes, you leap up, wrapping your arms around my neck and pulling me into a deep kiss.

I’m afraid I’m unsure of what to do with myself, my heart feels as though it may burst with how quickly my emotions have been changing.

“I’m sorry for misunderstanding, I truly thought that you have been too busy for me, and with the weather as it’s been, I’ve been feeling very lonely.”

“Lonely?”

“I just want to spend time with you. I don’t need beautiful things to make me happy. The loveliest thing I can think of would be time I get to spend with you. So please, don’t leave.”

Your grin is vibrant, seeming to light up the room and restore color to an otherwise grey surrounding. Perhaps this darkness I’ve been feeling… has it also been lonliness?

I think on this for a moment before I feel your hands slide down my arms, twining with mine and pulling me toward the settee before a warmly lit fire.

“Let’s stay together and warm up. Please?” You ask, sliding onto one of the cushions and looking up at me with pleading eyes. Beautiful pleading eyes.

“Smile for me?” I whisper, watching with bated breath. “If I stay will you smile for me?”

Your face cracks into a huge grin and another burst of laughter bubbles up from your chest.

“Of course I’ll smile for you! Spending time with you makes me want to smile.”

That was all? Spending time with me was all it took to make you smile? I feel embarrassed for not having realized such a thing sooner, my face growing hot as I settle onto the cushion beside you.

“All I need to do to see your smile is spend time with you?” I murmur, still mildly in disbelief.

“Yes, Elbert. Being with you makes me so happy, I can’t help but smile.”

My own lips curl up into a pleased smile of my own, warmth filling me with a sense of peace I’ve been craving.

“Then I shall never leave you.”

Taglist: @judejazza @natimiles @aquagirl1978 @candied-boys @themiscarnival

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#invitation2crowncc #ikevil #ikemen villains #ikevil elbert #ikemen villains elbert #elbert greetia #ikevil elbert greetia #ikevil fanfic #elbert greetia fanfic

[raayllum]

i'm gonna break down the poster later but for now I wanna talk about the poem

As others have noticed the first letter of each line, read bottom to top, spell out "The Red Wedding" which is likely the episode title, so I'm not going to speculate too much on that.

Like we know at this point hardly anything is accidental in TDP especially when there's blatant opportunities to hide clues, so with that in mind, I want to look at stanza by stanza to the best of my ability.

Gnash your teeth, O Dragon Fierce! Night’s not far away

"Gnash" is an aggressive reference to teeth, which makes me think of "ivory draconic" for the Nova Blade, but also of scenes yet explained (the arc 1 intro of human warriors gathered on one side of the border, and Thunder's display of power). However, I think it's likely that what the poem is referring to is even farther back in history, given that "night" might refer to a time period (i.e. the stars leaving) happening soon.

In the sky that watchful eye Does weep and stare and pierce

"White as the star's heart it pierced" and we see eyes in reference to dragons' ire against Elarion. That said, this "watchful eye" could belong to a long ago Startouch elf (Aaravos, Laurelion, Leola?) who cared about what was happening, hence being 'watchful.' Pierce has a less peaceful connotation, but this section of the poem definitely reads as "in the past to me" (I say, preparing to eat my words in the future)

Dance away, O Golden Queen! Eternal fiery flame While shadows jeer into your ear Don’t forge a blade from shame

This, meanwhile, feels like a pretty straightforward reference to Janai in present day. She is both queen and the Golden Knight of Lux Aurea. Dancing is a part of Sunfire proposals, she has fire powers, and she's planning a wedding. "Shadows" could be references to her nightmares from Aaravos and the shadow monster creatures Karim's army is probably going to accidentally turn into thanks to Pharos' lingering corruption. She wields a Sunforge blade, of course, and has doubt/shame surrounding her choices and status as queen as it moves back and forth... so maybe "don't make a harsh choice out of shame/fear of unworthiness?" But we shall have to see.

Now onto what's probably my favourite stanza:

Eight in a line, O Chosen Mine! Ready for a war Endlessly burning Hopefully yearning That love will triumph once more!

"Eight in a line" makes me lose my mind because there's 8 pieces across the board in chess (2 rooks, 2 knights, 2 bishops make 6, + 1 king and queen make 8; as well as 8 pawns, of course). "O Chosen Mine" also makes it sound like Aaravos is the speaker of the poem, which given that he's someone poetry has been written about up until now, is deliciously meta.

"Ready for a war" might apply most straightforwardly to the Sunfire elves, but I don't think we even have eight named Sunfire characters in show, so it must encompass more main players. Perhaps unrest in the Pentarchy, and of course, the Dragang taking steps to try to go to war against and defeat Aaravos.

"Endlessly burning" has a couple different meanings, given that 1) fire cannot burn forever, 2) it seems humans were gifted sun magic first way back when, and 3) fire/burning has a more positive association with light. "Hopefully yearning" has a positive connotation, even if people on both sides can have hope for various reasons ("There is one weird hope" from Claudia in 4x01 vs Ezran's "There is a hope" in 3x03, etc). To yearn for something is to have "a strong feeling of wishing for something, especially something that you cannot have or get easily" and we know that wishes and wants are something that can go from good to bad in TDP's world, especially when it comes to Aaravos.

The characters are hoping/working/wishing that "Love will triumph once more," the way it did for them in 3x09. This reflects back into love > control, narrative of love > narrative of power, etc. It also caps off this stanza of "eight in the line" having the game motif, and then triumphing also indicates winning the game.

But, of course, they can't. Not in S6, anyway.  😈

#tdp #tdp meta #the dragon prince #6x07 #s6 spoilers #arc 2 #s6 speculation #predictions #analysis series #analysis #tdp spoilers

[acourtofladydeath]

WIP Wednesday: Welcome to the Family

Well hello all, I'm back with a WIP Wednesday. A not-so-little tasty morsel to tide you and @secret-third-thing over until her birthday.

If I wasn't already going to hell (which I will be), this fic would seal the deal. It's at the very least sending me a few rings deeper.

"Welcome to the Family" features Elucien, Berlain, Erlain, etc., etc.... If you can name a Vanserra male, Elain Archeron is doing them in this fic. But why? Find out in the slightly abridged, albeit still lengthy, snippet below....

Lucien groaned, turning his face into Elain’s hair as she teased him. “Settle down love, you know we can’t.” 

Elain moved her head to pout up at him with big doe eyes. “Not even a little?” She licked her lips, leaving an enticing wet strip across her plump bottom lip. “Not even just a taste?” Her fingers traced a line from where they’d been resting on Lucien’s arm down the firm planes of his chest and abdomen. “Not even if I beg?” 

Resisting the urge to give into the very tempting little minx practically crawling up his side, Lucien bit down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. “You know we have to wait.” Hoping to distract his needy mate, Lucien began the slow stroking of his fingers against Elain’s arm once again. “The mating ceremony has to happen first. It’s important.”

Letting out a soft, defeated sigh Elain sunk comfortably once again back into Lucien’s touch and the skillful lines he painted across her skin. “I didn’t realize your family was so strict on no sex before the mating ceremony,” she said, frustrated but content to wait if it meant that much to Lucien. 

His fingers stilled on her arm, chest tensing under her cheek. “Lucien?” Elain asked, looking up at him with questioning concern. “What’s wrong?”

Lucien held his breath for a long moment before letting out a long controlled sigh. “It’s family tradition.” ... “There’s a ritual,” he started slowly, meeting the fierce, cutting Archeron gaze Elain pinned him with that was shared by all three sisters. 

“What kind of ritual,” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she sat back on her heels, nightgown draped across her knees. 

Averting his eyes, Lucien ran a nervous hand through his hair, “one where Beron and my brothers have to fuck you before I can?” Lucien phrased it as a question, though it was in fact a harsh truth of being a Vanserra. He looked up under guilty lids to meet Elain’s gaze. 

Though her arms were still crossed in stern confrontation, her jaw had dropped, leaving her mouth wide and eyes even wider at his confession. When Elain hadn’t moved from that position in several long moments, Lucien continued speaking. 

“It’s a rite of passage for us. The parent of the individual to be mated and any elder siblings get first dibs… there’s a whole age order thing.”  ...

Elain threw her arms out to the side in outrage. “Oh, nothing serious then! Nothing that will affect me in the least!”

How will Elain handle the predicament she's found herself in? Coming soon to an AO3 near you... 😈

#Beron Vanserra #Elain Archeron #elucien #Lucien Vanserra #Eris Vanserra #LD writes #wip wednesday #LD wip wednesday #LD WttF #Elain is gonna have such a good fuckin time #LOA makes an appearance #all the Vanserra's have different pet names for her #that was so fun to figure out. #there are ghosts in this fic #you read that right #there's a MMMMMF moment #you also read that right. #this baby is already almost 9K and i'm not done writing #let alone editing #here for the debauchery of it all #drugging #slightly dub con #the vanserras #high lord of autumn #acowar #autumn court #acotar fanfic #acotar #acotar smut #vanserra brothers

[cntloup]

"Hey! What are you doing?!" he nearly shouts as he quickly rushes to take the bags of groceries from you.

You're eight months pregnant and your husband has been immensely loving, helpful and considerate, but safe to say overbearing at times.

"I just wanted to help." you say sheepishly, a slight pout forming on your lips.

"I've got it." he says, tone harsher than he intended as he grabs the bags without even looking at you, then leaves, thinking nothing of it.

You stomp your feet to the bedroom, well, as well as you can in your state and slam the door behind you.

He's startled at the sound and it dawns on him just now what he has done, "Fuckin' hell." he grumbles under his breath.

He finds you lying down on the bed and walks over to sit beside you.

"I'm sorry, love. I shouldn't have talked to you that way." he apologizes in a much softer voice.

He places one hand on your waist and the other on your belly, tenderly rubbing soothing circles only for you to pull away and turn your back to him.

His heart shatters in his chest as he stares at you with desperate, apologetic eyes.

And shortly after, he hears the soft sound of your sniffles.

He shuffles on the bed to get closer to you, lightly touching your arm, "Love?" he beckons softly, eyebrows furrowed as he feels truly concerned now.

"Please, lovie. Talk to me." he pleads, fingers gently brushing against your bare arm.

Your hiccupped cry gets louder by the second until you’re full on sobbing as you curl into yourself.

"Fuck! I'm so sorry, love." he apologizes again, feeling more and more desperate and helpless.

He lies down behind you and pulls you closer to him by the waist and his hand rests on your belly.

He murmurs 'I'm sorry' and 'I love you' into your hair over and over again, not really knowing what else to do in order to calm you down.

Until suddenly he hears your burst of giggles, not sure if he heard correctly.

"It tickles!" you giggle again as his breath tickles your neck.

He slightly shifts in his place, supporting his weight on his arm and lifting himself up to look at you in surprise of the sudden change in your mood.

You turn your head to look back at him with a lovely smile, making his breath hitch in his throat.

"Yeah?" a mischievous smile forms on his face and his hands move to your sides.

And before you can react, he's tickling you mercilessly.

"Siii!" you whine in between uncontrollable laughter and thrashing your arms around trying to stop him from his brutal tickle attacks as he smirks and laughs at your attempts, enjoying this way more than he should.

Until all of a sudden a loud drawn-out gasp leaves your mouth and he immediately stops, "Fuck! Are you ok? Did I hurt you?" he asks in deep concern as his eyes stir around, looking for any sign of damage.

You just take his hand and place it on your belly with no words and at first, he looks confused, but quickly realizes what you meant, his eyes lighting up as he feels your baby's kicks against his palm.

He feels tears prickle the corner of his eyes and can't help but kiss you with such flaming love and fierce devotion that he feels for both of you.

And you spend the rest of the day in each other's arms, feeling your baby's kicks with pure happiness in your hearts and he soothingly rubs your belly and kisses you when you whine in pain.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost riley #ghost simon riley #cod fanfic #ghost cod #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod #mw2 #cod modern warfare

[tasteracha]

everything for your golden touch.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: fem!reader (reader is called good girl), slight restraint, new kink discovery, unprotected sex. smut - MINORS DNI.

synopsis: you didn't know how to tell minho you wanted him to pin your wrists down and ruin you.

you love minho. you love every single thing about him, from the freakish facial expressions that he makes when he wants to annoy you to the soft sound of his voice when he’s talking to his cats. you loved him so fierce that you ached with it, the knowledge that he is yours inflating your head to the point of almost bursting.

you loved having sex with him almost as much as you loved loving him. you craved the way he would untangle your body with his fingers, the dark and twisted way his eyes would bore into yours as he slid into you, the near animalistic way he would drive into you when he was close to his high.

and yet, your greedy little mind couldn’t help but want something else. despite the love and care and attention he gave you so freely, you held this small bundle of disappointment deep inside of you, locked away and begging to be set free: 

you wanted him to pin your wrists down - to the wall, to the bed, behind your back, anything. you wanted to see the veins in his hand bulge from holding you down, you wanted bruises painted on your skin for days that you could look at as evidence of his passion for you. you wanted to be rendered immobile, you wanted to thrash around with no chance of escape

you think about it more frequently than what is probably normal; when you try to not think about you end up thinking about it more, and it turns into this vicious cycle that you can’t leave. in bed is one thing, but daydreaming in grocery stores? when you’re out at dinner with your friends? even now, when you’re sitting with his head in your lap watching a movie?

in truth, this one wasn’t your fault, really. one minute you were watching the two leads dance around each other in a frustratingly awkward flirtation and the next they had peeled each others’ clothes off and were engaging in some heavy petting that you had to admit was a tad too much. usually when corny sex scenes took place during movies you watched together, you both laughed about it, giggling at how unrealistic it was. but this one…

the man takes both of her wrists in one hand and presses them to the mattress above her head and she moans, and despite how pornographically fake it sounded you still found yourself pressing your legs together just slightly. minho’s head shifts with the movement and he huffs, fidgeting a bit before settling back down. 

the camera pans to the woman’s wrists, and you can’t help the way your pussy clenches around nothing, an embarrassing gush of wetness seeping out of you. you haven’t been turned on this quickly by something other than minho’s lips in so long and you wish you could hide your face away from him. 

“he’s not even pressing that hard, she could get free so easily,” minho snarks, complimenting his words with a bark of laughter before looking up at you for a response. 

he doesn’t go to the gym like you do, is what you would likely say if this wasn’t affecting you the way it was. she’s pretending to stroke his male ego.

“yeah,” you say instead, and it comes out shakier than you wanted it to. he notices, of course he does, and before you could brush it off he sits up and scrutinizes you with narrowed eyes. 

“are you-” he cuts himself off, pausing to look down at your lap and back up to your eyes. “are you turned on right now?”

“shut up,” you drop your hands to your lap in an effort to cover up something invisible, something that he clearly already knew about. 

“don’t hide from me,” he teases, taking one of your wrists into his hand to move it away from your lap. “you’re turned on by a cheesy porno scene, this is so funny.”

“it’s not that,” you try to defend yourself when he bursts into delighted laughter. you try and move your hand out of his grip, but he keeps it strong, and that makes the pulsing between your legs even worse.

he notices, of course he does. he notices everything about you, whether you like it or not. 

“oh,” he breathes out, eyes wide and mouth dropped open, his tongue poking out to lick at his bottom lip. you can see the wheels turning in his head as he arrives at the answer to a question you didn’t want him to ask. 

“let’s just go back to the movie, okay?” you tug again at your hand but he doesn’t budge. his eyes are transfixed on the way his fingers look wrapped around the delicate skin of your wrist.

“you want me to do this?” he breathes out, taking your hand and leading it up to the back of the couch, right by your head. he positions your hand in place delicately before pressing down, so far that you can feel your heartbeat thrumming in your fingertips.

“god, yes,” you moan out, too far past being embarrassed to hold anything back. you can feel each one of his fingers pressing into your skin, and you buck your hips up into him when he moves to slide a knee in between your legs. 

“how long have you been holding this back from me, hmm?” he asks, leaning forward so that his words glide right against your ear. he presses a kiss to the top of your jaw before pulling back a bit.

“wasn’t holding it back,” you gasp out as he pins your other wrist to the opposite side of your head, trapping you in place. 

“i think you were,” he brushes his lips against yours and you try and chase him when he moves back but you can’t with the way he’s holding you back.

he guides you up, his grip still strong on your wrists, and oh. he’s walking you to the bedroom with your wrists trapped in his grip and this is something you hadn't ever imagined - it was somehow better. 

you move as if in a daze, the air around you moving away like syrup as he pushes you into the mattress underneath him. everything was happening too quickly, not fast enough, just right in the space and time he’s given you. 

he releases your wrists so he can undress himself, and you already miss the warm weight of him on you as if you were missing a limb. 

he doesn’t make you wait too long, climbing over you with a predatory look in his eyes, pressing just enough of his weight onto your body to make your breath catch in your throat. 

“my pretty girl wants to be held down, doesn’t she?” he teases, his voice deep against your skin as he trails his fingers against the veins on your wrists. 

“ngh, min,” is all you can let out, all the thoughts leaving your head with every touch of his fingers on you. he nuzzles his nose into your neck, an impossibly sweet gesture that makes you relax into a boneless puddle of spilled bones on the mattress. 

“i’ll always give you what you want,” he yanks your hands up above your head in one split second, a wicked grin on his face as he crosses them and pins them to the pillows. his other hand trails down to the waistband of your shorts, teasing them against the elastic before creeping further down. 

you’re already so turned on, so close to the edge that the first brush of his fingers against your clit makes you jump underneath him. your hands start to move to wrap around his back, wanting to hold him even closer to you, but you can’t. you let out a dry sob, so overwhelmed with how this was impossibly good, how such simple actions from him effected you so intensely. this was so much more than you could ever have imagined in the darkest parts of your head.

his fingers pause on your skin and he looks up at you with alarm, an are you okay? at the edge of his tongue.

“off,” you say before he could, wriggling your hips and hoping he would understand. 

“okay, baby,” he does, of course he does. he helps you kick off your shorts and panties, and it’s a little bit of an awkward affair but neither of you could think to care about that. every bit of his teasing from earlier was gone, the reactions he pulled from you making him desperate to do it over and over just to hear the way you gasped so prettily around his name.

his hand flies back to your cunt, keeping your wrists secured above your head as he rubs circles around your clit over and over until you’re shaking apart under him. your hips buck up when you come and he works you through it, finally stopping when you start to whine in sensitivity.

he lets go of your wrists to cup your face in his hand, latching his lips onto yours in a sloppy kiss that leaves you panting into his mouth. you leave your hands where he had kept them, still crossed over your head, and when he notices he groans at the sight. 

“you’re so hot,” he says reverently, the possessiveness in his gaze making your heart skip a beat. “you’re so good, my good girl, all mine.”

“yes, god, i’m yours-”, he doesn’t let you finish, flipping you over onto your stomach so quickly that you felt weightless. he paints himself onto your back and you can feel how hard he is, his cock brushing against your thighs. he takes your wrists in his hands again and twists them to rest at your lower back, securing them in his hold.

he ruts into the space between your thighs once, twice, three times before positioning himself at your entrance and burying himself inside of you. you’re so wet that the slide is almost too easy, he fits himself into you like he was made to be there always.  he stays there for a moment, nosing at the back of your head before drawing out and snapping his hips forward so quickly that you can hear his thighs hitting your ass.

“ah!” you cry out, the aftershocks of your previous orgasm giving away to the feeling of him gliding in and out of you. you feel so impossibly small like this, pressed underneath him and unable to move - not that you would want to if you could. 

he keeps you restrained under him as he drives into you, ignoring the way your hands clench and unclench into fists every time he hits that spot deep inside of you that makes your entire body sing with pleasure. 

he presses wet kisses to the back of your neck, the side of your ear, the crown of your head as he fucks you; the only sounds echoing through the room are his breathless pants and the little ah-ah-ah’s you let escape into the pillow under you. 

you come together, the rhythmic squeezing of his hand around your wrists and your cunt around his cock creating the perfect rhythm for both of you to ride until climax. he stays buried inside of you for a moment, releasing your wrists to intertwine his fingers with yours instead. 

when he pulls out to collapse on his back next to you, you whine a bit, and he shushes you and pulls you into his chest. he’s still catching his breath and you can hear his hummingbird heartbeat under your ear as he tilts his head down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

“why didn’t you tell me this was something you wanted to do?” he asks, trailing his fingers through your hair. 

“i didn’t want you to think i wasn’t satisfied with what we do already,” you mumble, addressing his chest more than him. “because i am, truly.”

“baby, you don’t need to be afraid to tell me these things,” he soothes, his voice so soft in the night air. “i can’t say this was something i’ve thought about before, but i very much enjoyed it. we discovered this together. i want to keep discovering things with you.”

“will you stop being so emotionally intelligent all the time?” you slap his chest, a light thing, but he grabs your wrist in his hand to stop you from doing it again anyways. there’s redness there from the way he had been gripping it and he rubs his thumb against your skin to soothe it; even so, you hope you can see the marks of his fingertips there tomorrow.

“you wouldn’t want me any other way.”

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #lee know smut #lee minho smut #lee know imagines #lee know x reader #lee know skz #lee know x y/n

[springtyme]

hii!! i saw ur inbox open and was wondering if i could request this; so, imagine dad!simon (or konig idm!!) having his son / daughter see his face for the first time since they were born and theyre just kinda sitting there like :000?? hes so pretty?? while yn is just screaming in the back?? <33 have a great day n thnaks for reading x

𝐔𝐧𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 ♡

Thank you for the request, I had such a good time writing this! I love writing dad!Simon so much! ♡ but also, ngl, the image of this big bloke wearing a mask in front of his baby seems borderline comical to me.

Simon Riley x afab!reader || Masterlist || Ghost playlist

summary: Your daughter finally sees her father's face for the first time.

word count: 2.2k

warning/tag: Mostly just dad!Simon fluff with a little hint of angst. No gendering terms are directly used for the reader, but they are pretty fem coded. It's mentioned that they were pregnant. No use of y/n.

As the soft morning light filters through the curtains of your bedroom, you slowly begin stretching your limbs and blinking away the remnants of sleep. As you slowly settle into wakefulness, you hear the screeching sound of the baby monitor on your nightstand coming to life and you feel how your heart flutters happily in your chest as a familiar sound comes through. The sweet sound of your daughter’s happy coos, accompanied by Simon’s deep, gentle voice, fill the room with sweetness. 

“Morning, sweet pea,” Simon’s voice crackles through the monitor followed by the sound of your baby happily gurgling at her father and then exclaiming a little more whiny sound. “Yeah, yeah, I know you’re hungry, but we have to get you changed before we can make breakfast, lovie.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you lie there, basking in the warmth and comfort of your bed. The love and joy that echo through the monitor remind you of just how much love fills your home. It’s moments like these that make your heart swell with an indescribable sense of happiness.

Your mind wanders, and you find yourself reminiscing about the journey that brought you here. 

From the moment you and Simon first met, there was an undeniable connection, a spark that ignited and grew into a love that was both fierce and tender. However, it hadn’t been that easy to convince him that he in fact was deserving of such love. He had been scared that he would mess it up, mess you up, convinced himself that he wasn’t able to make anyone happy and that he was broken beyond repair. But you had been rather insisting, and he had finally let his walls crumble and let you into his heart. 

And as you had expected, all his worries had been unfounded. He is the best, most loving partner you could ever have dreamt of. 

The love you share with him is a love that feels like home.

And then, the arrival of your daughter added a new dimension to your love story. From the first time you had held her tiny hand, you knew that your family was complete. Watching Simon transform into the most loving and doting father has only deepened your admiration and affection for him.

And as you lie here,  reminiscing on your life, you can’t help but feel a profound sense of gratitude for the love that surrounds you. 

With a content sigh, you finally pull yourself out of bed, ready to start the weekend with your little family. 

As you make your way down the stairs you can hear the sound of your daughter’s laughter from the kitchen, filling your heart with warmth and you can’t help but smile and make your way towards the source of the joyful commotion. As you enter the room, the morning sun gently illuminates the kitchen, casting a soft glow over the room, and you are greeted by a heartwarming sight. Simon is standing at the stove, stirring a pot of millet porridge, your daughter’s favourite, while she is sitting in her highchair, which has been moved away from the kitchen table and closer to the counter, so she can see what Simon is doing, clapping her hands in delight.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, mingling with the comforting scent of the porridge. You can’t help but feel a surge of immense love and gratitude for the man who stands before you, effortlessly balancing the roles of partner and father.

Simon turns towards you. “Good morning, love,” he greets you, his eyes twinkling with warmth, the bottom half of his face covered by a black mask. He had started to wear it around the house again after your daughter had been born.  

“Good morning,” you reply, your voice filled with a mix of amusement and adoration. “I see you two are having quite the breakfast party.”

Simon laughs softly and nods. “We thought we’d surprise you with breakfast in bed, but it seems that someone couldn’t wait,” he says, glancing at your daughter, who just giggles in response.

You walk over to them, planting a soft kiss on Simon’s masked cheek before planting another on your daughter’s, much chubbier, one. “Well, I can’t say I’m disappointed. This is the best way to wake up,” you say, gazing at your little family with a heart full of love.

Together you finish cooking breakfast, porridge for the baby and scrambled eggs and turkey bacon for you and Simon.

You begin to set the table as Simon picks up your daughter, supporting her with one arm as he settles her on his hip, so he can move her chair back to the table, but before he can grab the chair he stops dead in his tracks.

Your little girl has grabbed a fistful of his mask in her tiny hand. She doesn’t seem to be pulling on it, or otherwise trying to take it off him, but she also doesn’t seem to want to let go of it when Simon gently takes her hand to get her to release her grip.  

“Sweetheart, please…” Simon says softly, but he trails off, a wave of emotions flickering over his eyes, but they end up having a sort of determinant look to them as they lock with his daughter’s.

You feel how your heart skips a beat as Simon lets go of her little hand to instead grip the place his mask is fastened.  

With a deep breath, Simon removes the mask, revealing his face to your daughter for the very first time in her young life. You feel goosebumps rise along your arms as Simon’s features come to light. The room falls silent, and time seems to stand still.

Your daughter’s gaze is fixed on Simon, you can see a whirlwind of emotions flickering across her little face. 

It’s a pivotal moment that holds the power to change everything. You can see how Simon, too, feels a mix of emotions coursing through him. 

He has once mentioned to you that he was afraid that his scars would scare her, but you have had a suspicion that something else might be the reason he has kept the mask on in front of her for. 

He does have a few scars from his work, but they are nowhere near severe enough to scare anyone. You do have another theory to why he has kept it on, one he hasn’t directly confirmed, but a conversation from your pregnancy has stuck with you. 

He had voiced his concern that something would happen to him on the battlefield. not because he was that concerned for his own wellbeing, he knew what the risks of his job was, but because he was afraid of something happening to him, leaving you and your little one alone in the world. He had, on the whole, had many worries about becoming a father. 

He had been worried that his past had broken him so severely that he couldn’t be the dad your daughter needed him to be. Like the fear he also had about you and your relationship in the beginning of it, the fear that he couldn’t be the man you deserved. 

He has, in all the time you’ve known him, done everything to disprove that concern, he is the best partner you could ask for and now the most lovable dad to your little girl, but you know that he still has his concerns and that his feelings about them are valid. 

You think the mask has served as a sort of safety blanket for him. Like he thought that it would be easier for you and your daughter to lose him if your little girl couldn’t remember his face, or something like that. You find that thought heart rending.               

You know that his job comes with a risk, you had known it when you got together and you had known it when you married him and you had known it when you got your daughter. Losing him on the battlefield would be your worst nightmare come true. You know that he is smart, strong and capable, but you also know that there are no guarantees in war, which, to you, is just all the more reason for  your daughter to know her father’s face, but you have let Simon choose for himself when he was ready for that.  

But you don’t want to think about any of that right now, so you push those thoughts away, and instead let yourself be completely mesmerised by the sight before you   

Your little girl focuses on his, now revealed, face, taking in every detail. Her eyes widening in surprise, curiosity, and perhaps even a hint of fear, her little mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ of surprise as she absorbs every detail of her father’s face. 

“It’s just me, princess,” Simon tells her, his voice filled with a mix of amusement, nerves and an overwhelming love for his little girl. His eyes, once guarded, now shine with warmth and affection. 

The confirmation of his voice is what convinces her. A wide smile spread across her little face, revealing the adorable dimples she has inherited from Simon, on her sweet, chubby cheeks. She lets out a happy squeal, as she realises that it really is her father who’s now smiling down at her, a set of dimples matching hers on his cheeks.    

She giggles happily, which, to you, is the most beautiful sound in the entire world. Her little hands starting to explore Simon’s face, her tiny fingers tracing the lines and contours of it. It’s a gentle and tender gesture that speaks volumes. You watch in awe as the beautiful moment between your daughter and her father unfolds in front of you. It’s a moment you will cherish forever. 

When she finally seems satisfied with her mapping of his face with her small hand, she turns her head to look over at you with an excited expression on her little face, one that conveys something along the lines of ‘you seeing this too?’ Her eyes lighting up, reflecting the genuine joy that fills her little heart.

“Yeah, baby, that’s your daddy,” you smile at her, and she lets out another happy shriek before looking back at Simon again, happily nuzzling her little face into his neck. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?” You continue as you step forward, placing a hand on her back, rubbing gentle circles over the dusty rose bodystocking that she is wearing, one that Simon picked out when he got her ready and you still laid in bed.   

You look up at Simon, a soft smile on his lips as your eyes lock. 

“He never wants to believe me when I tell him, but he is actually the most handsome man I know,” you say, with a playful glint in your eyes. “He’s probably the most handsome man in the whole world, actually.”           

Simon chuckles, his cheeks turning slightly pink. “Oh, come on now,” he replies, his voice a mix of embarrassment and amusement.“I think you might be a bit biassed there, love.”

You shake your head, a warm smile spreading across your face. “Nah, I don’t think I am,” you state, wrapping your arms around both Simon and your little girl in his arms. “Just stating facts. I actually got the most handsome husband and the most beautiful daughter in the whole wide world.” you say with a content sigh, hugging your little family tightly.  

It’s a hug that speaks volumes, conveying love, affection and acceptance. In this embrace, you know that you truly have the most beautiful family in the world.  

As you finally let go of them you place a sweet kiss on your daughter’s little nose. She giggles joyfully, and you can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratefulness over what a happy little girl you have. Simon seems to be thinking the same as he smiles down at her.  

But your adorable little troublemaker doesn’t seem to be done with causing havoc yet.   

She reaches out her tiny hand and grabs for the mask again. Simon hesitates for a moment, looking down at the fabric in his hand, the symbol of his past, before letting her have it. The mask, once a symbol of his doubts and fears, now becomes a simple toy for your daughter as she happily shakes it up and down, a cheeky grin on her little face. 

You and Simon lock eyes, and then the two of you burst out in laughter.  

As your laughter fills the room, a sense of pure joy washes over you. You look at Simon, his eyes sparkling with happiness, and you know in this moment, that the love and bond the three of you share is unbreakable, and it fills your heart with an indescribable warmth.

With a deep sense of gratitude and contentment, you take a mental snapshot of this beautiful moment. It’s a memory that will forever be etched in your mind, a testament to the strength of your love and the joy that radiates from your little girl.

As the laughter subsides, you gather your family close again, embracing the love and happiness that surrounds you. In this embrace, you know that you have everything you could ever need.

Your daughter’s laughter and Simon’s unwavering love fill your life with immeasurable happiness, and you couldn’t be more grateful for the beautiful family you have created.

#springtyme writes #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #dad!ghost #ghost x you #dad!simon #ghost mw2 #simon riley x f!reader #cod fanfic #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod fic #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fluff #simon ghost riley fic #ghost fluff #ghost fanfiction #ghost x yn #simon riley fluff #simon riley imagine #ghost imagine #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost x you #call of duty x reader #call of duty headcanons #call of duty fic

[harmoonix]

Dangerously Beautiful

❀ (Astrology Observations) ❀

𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺

❀: Lilith (h12) aspecting the ascendant (all aspects) is in the top aspect for dark feminine energy which can be felt in their energy/aura

❀: Lilith (h12) quincunx/inconjunct the ascendant can be though because the native has a hard time to feel safe in their sexual energy, is like they are always restricted from something. Once you heal the pain you'll feel better

❀ Neptune in the 8th house can make you to have sexual fantasies, sometimes it's getting to dark or deep and they can visualise it in real life

❀ Aphrodite Asteroid (1388) aspecting Venus in all the aspects are very charming, they have some femme fatale energy in this too, they are hypnotizing with beauty

❀ Venus and Mars in the same house or aspecting eachother are radiating lot of sexual energy, this energy because is aspecting Mars can mostly be felt by men but by the women too in some cases

❀ Leo/Scorpio/Aries/Capricorn in the 7th house usually attract dominant spouses or partners, partners who usually have a boss energy, loyal partners aswell

❀ Mars aspecting the ascendant (all aspects) have a wild & fierce personality, they're love getting wild and just feeling themselves in their natural element, they're bold af tho

❀ Libra Moon/Libra Venus have a common energy, let me tell you they attract people like crazy, because of their character and personality these natives are very liked by people but most times end up being confused about their love life

❀ Mars in the 1st/6th/11th house axis need a lot of stimulationnnnn girl move your body your muscles, your neck,...dance til your feet get tired your body needs a lot of MOVINGGGG

❀ Men with Venus in a Fire Sign will love you with passion it actually depends cus Leo Venus Men gets crazy when they're in love but most of fire Venus men will give that passion you need (Or I hope they give that energy either they're boring like???😀🙌🏼)

❀ 10th house placements love to spoil the people they love esp Sun/Venus and Saturn they'll be like "I'll buy whatever you want cus you deserve it luv" 😩❤️

❀ Venus - Saturn aspects are underrated in love because yes they brings some challenges or struggles in love life but when you learned the lessons of love karma will give you loyal and appreciated partners

❀ Sun in the 7th house will focus most of their life on relationships or on finding a good partner for them because Sun shows where you shine the most they shine in a relationship (possible healthy relationship)

❀ Sagittarius/Taurus & Aquarius and possibly Pisces Venus are very open minded people in their relationships like they will understand their partners flows and downs 100% and sometimes even relate to it

❀ Moon - Pluto aspects (all aspects) can get obsessed/CLINGY or possesive in a fast way to those dear to them. Hope it doesn't go into the toxic side but they're actually attached hard for real

❀ Saturn in the 5th/6th/8th and 12th houses need to learn that privacy and intimacy are not something to fear with the right person, you won't be judged or mocked just loved by the right person

❀ Venus in Water signs are so calm in love (depends on aspects I write based on the element right now), i know some Water Venus signs and they're like a river so calm and unbelievably they're not overthinking that much

❀ Mars/Jupiter will show your husband in the chart. I certainly believe if those planets are in the sign of Sagittarius or in the 9th house your husband will love to travel and probably will take you with them on trips

❀ Venus in Virgo/Venus in the 6th house, is such an empathetic placements full of empathy, surreal energy, and extremely nurturing!! They can come off as shy/introvert at first but they are truly amazing people deep down!! The beauty of this placement is that they will always dress good and have a good personality

❀ Jupiter aspecting the ascendant (all aspects) are so underatted when it comes to beauty in astrology, Jupiter expands the beauty and gives them a specific glow 🌟

❀ Jupiter aspecting Lilith (h12) can be the horniest people alive, like omg 24/7?? 48/24??😀 They're so dirty minded at times and can indicate a lot of sexual energy

❀ If you have a Capricorn Mars/Jupiter and you're attracted to men I just know your man is gonna respect you so much and gonna put a lot of effort in the relationship

❀ Jupiter - Juno (3) in good aspects shows a very optimistic/supportive marriage/relationship between you and your specific person like supporting eachother is so important

❀ Uranus - Juno aspects will probably have a spouse/partner that will stand out of the crowd for their unique nature, inteligent & innovative

❀ Mars in the 8th house = To you all those people who have been blessed with Mars in this house, guys you will have the bed being broken 24/7 🙌🏼

❀ Sun aspecting Lilith or Mars have a pulling fierce energy they're usually very strong and determinated from a young age and of course rebellious

❀ Juno in Aquarius natives will have a spouse/partner who will do the things in their own ways, they can possibly have a lot of friends and being very social and open with you

❀ Asteroid Born 13954 aspecting Juno 3 can actually indicate you were born to have that specific relationship or that specific partner usually in romantic ways

❀ Asteroid Cassanova 7328 - ascendant aspects know how to seduce people with their words/voice they're FLIRTY AF and so damn naughty

❀ Asteroid Bless 92891 - aspecting Groom/Briede and Juno can be blessed with beautiful relationships/spouses/marriage/wedding etc.. is so cute

❀ Asteroid Sappho (80) in Taurus/Gemini/Sagittarius/Pisces/Virgo can have relationships with the same sex or dating the same sex people+ being attracted to it

❀ Sometimes Juno/Groom/Briede in Aquarius/11th house or aspecting Uranus can indicate meeting your lover in online, maybe on a dating app or just randomly in online

❀ People with Vesta Asteroid in the 1st house can experience things way more deep than others, usually these natives are very devoted and loyal they're truly so blessed

❀ Asteroid Charis (627) in Leo/5th house can end up with people crushing ont them without they realizing it sometimes people talking how charming you are

❀ Asteroid Charis (627) in the 3rd house aspecting Mercury or in Gemini has a charming voice, people will get pleased by hearing your voice and find it charming

❀ Asteroid Charis (627) in Scorpio/8th house or aspecting Pluto will definitely have a magnetic look and aura they're just like a bomb of magnetism and passion

❀ Charis aspecting Juno is one of the cutest aspects out here, your partner/spouse/specific person will find you charming/beautiful and the thing can be reciprocated/Let's not talk about how charming your marriage can be

❀ If you have Saturn in the 5th/6th/7th/8th house and you're struggling with your love life I understand you perfectly 🙌🏼 with the time you will understand that Saturn just wants the best for you and that lasting relationships come with the time

❀ Uranus/Moon in the 6th house can have habits that usually tend to be transmitted to other people for example you may like gaming/playing etc that specific thing can be pulled into others and then you wake up with people having the same habits as you

❀ Moon aspecting Uranus can go through 1000 changes of mood per day and is no joke from feeling happy to angry to sad to nostalgic etc..is like is messing with your mood

❀ Cancer/Pisces over the 5th/6th house axis have such a soft/kind energy you can see in their personality/aura that they are good people

❀ Venus in the 4th house and Venus in Cancer will baby you 24/7 like they're so mother energy?? damn I see my friends with those placements babying everyone in the friend group & be like "I'm gonna take care of you all" 😚😚

❀ Venus in Aquarius/Venus in the 11th house, my apologies for not talking enough about how gorgeous this placement is for the planet Venus!! Is unique/different (in a good way) it's an electric placement, a very beautiful fashion style, very social/open minded and honestly is always surrounded by people

𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺

🦇 I luvvv the vampire aesthetic 🦇

🦇 Be blessed you all who read the notes 🦇

𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺𖠺

#astrology #astro observations #birth chart #astro notes #astrology observations #placements #astro community #horoscope #ascendant #vampire #vampire aesthetic #vampcore #asteroid observations #asteroids #asteroid

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Nothing big in this one. Memory loss?? Overprotectiveness?? Azriel losing it (but not that much just yet)??

a/n: Hi this is going to be a series :) thank you for reading <3

Part 2 ♡

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

As you blinked through the haziness, a dull throb echoed along the base of your skull. You sat up abruptly, feeling rocks and twigs digging into the backs of your legs, and winced as several shouts attacked your senses. You recognized none of them.

Gods, your head hurt. 

A few more blinks and the sun made an appearance, light assaulting your too-sensitive eyes. The leaves beneath your hands crunched and blew away in the balmy breeze, a few flecks of green still stuck to your palm as you brought it up to rub your head. 

“Don’t,” a feminine voice warned, and it was then that you pinpointed one of the shouts from earlier. But it was warmer now, calm. “Don’t touch your head, y/n. Azriel and Cas are getting help.”

You scrunched your face up but obeyed the command, taking steady breaths to try and manage the pain. The woman in front of you—blonde hair, brown eyes, a fierce expression—was like no one you had ever seen before. She was so incredibly beautiful you weren’t sure if you were actually awake. 

You took a pause. 

And then another. 

Who was the last person you had seen? 

“Where am I?” you asked instead, trying to appear sane. Your voice sounded unfamiliar. 

The woman’s expression pinched. “You’re in Spring Court. You remember that, don’t you? Rhysand sent us.” 

“Rhysand?” you repeated, the name foreign on your tongue. “Sent us for what?” 

“Well, we were supposed to be rallying Tamlin into re-fortifying his borders to win back the Summer Court’s good graces, but that beast is an idiot. Forging agreements with witches was quite possibly the worst move he could have made.” 

“Witches?” 

“I know, unbelievable,” the blonde ranted, sitting back on her heels beside you. “We came to help only to find out he had helped himself to the wicked. I knew he was distraught after Feyre, but to turn to this?” 

The pounding in your head was making it increasingly difficult to follow the tale the woman was spinning. Perhaps if you had more backstory, more information, you would understand what she was talking about. 

Desperate for that connection, you winced as you asked, “Um, not to offend, but… who are you?” 

Her aggravated expression crumpled into one of shock and concern. Her mouth parted, her brows came together at a point, and then she shifted, bringing her hands to your shoulders. When you flinched at the touch, the woman pulled her hands back, her fingers curling into her palms. “You don’t recognize me?” she asked, trepidation lining her tone. 

You shook your head, immediately regretting the action as pain shot up your neck. 

“Not at all?” she whispered. When your face remained blank, she pulled her hands into her lap. “Do you know who you are?” 

Another lapse in silence. 

“My Gods…” 

Darkness materialized nearby—swirling darkness. It reminded you of shadows and brought you a sense of peace for the first time since you opened your eyes. 

But then people started emerging from the darkness, taking up space in the vast forest, and that peace collapsed. Two large men with wings stomped against the twig-covered floor, causing a raucous disturbance as they began hurrying an older woman out from behind them. They both spoke in low, rushed tones and you wanted all the sound to stop. 

You ignored the woman’s directions from before and squeezed your head in your hands, your eyes snapping shut. It didn’t work, and you hadn’t expected it to, but Gods did your head hurt. It hurt and it was plagued by an impossible pressure that wouldn’t seem to let up.

“Mor, how long has she been awake?” one of the men asked. You felt him kneel beside you, felt him place rough, textured hands on your wrists in an attempt to pry your hands down. But he was gentle—so very gentle. 

“Azriel, she—” 

“Mor, if you could move aside. I need to look at her,” a much older voice chimed in. 

There was shuffling around you, new hands pressing to your face. You heard whispering that you couldn’t make out, and then the panic set in. 

You didn’t know these people. When you first woke up, the disorientation was focal; you were concerned about the pounding in your head and your whereabouts and that was it. But there were so many people here now, and you didn’t know any of them. 

You didn’t know who you were. Did they know who you were? They had to. 

“Majda, stop. You’re scaring her,” the man beside you, Azriel you’d heard him be called, practically hissed. 

Majda only hummed. “I am doing the job you brought me here to do. If I can’t work around a mating bond I will send you away, Shadowsinger.” 

Your breath came out in faster huffs, each one deeper than the last. You opened your eyes to try and gain some footing in the situation, still keeping your hands glued to your head. 

Your gaze went out before it went in, and you saw the blonde woman, Mor, beside a much larger man. His shoulder-length hair was messy and windswept, and he sent you a bittersweet, sympathetic smile that you couldn’t replicate. He watched with furrowed brows as your eyes darted from him, to Mor, to the wide forest around you. 

“I still don’t see why we couldn’t take her home first,” the man standing by the trees grumbled. “She would be more comfortable there.”  

“We didn’t want to move her with a head injury,” Azriel growled. “Not one from a witch.” 

His voice sent your attention towards him. Azriel was on his knees beside you, holding your wrists with his thumb circling the back of your hand in delicate strokes. He was painfully beautiful and you were left to wonder, yet again, if you were truly awake. When your gazes met, something foreign pulled at your ribs and the pressure sent an unexpected scream past your lips. You hunched over in a panic, yanking yourself away from those beside you.

That wasn’t right. None of this felt right. 

The older woman, Majda, cursed, staring after you as you pushed yourself further and further away. Each movement sent a new ache aflame in your head, but that didn’t stop you because you needed to get away. Your feet kicked up dirt and rocks and your hands tore with the effort but this wasn’t right. 

Azriel reached you before you could hit the tree just inches from your back. He held your head in his own hands and locked you in his gaze, keeping you trapped in the yellows and browns and the flecks that joined them. He took exaggerated breaths, wings flared out to block out the sun, and then he began whispering. 

It took a moment for you to understand the words, your heavy breaths mostly drowning them out. 

Something swished in the distance. More whispering, more secrets. 

“You’re okay. I’ve got you.” 

When Azriel’s voice finally came through, it was like a lifeline. 

“I’m here, my love. You’re safe. I know it hurts, I know.” 

It was odd, finding peace in a stranger. The shadows that seemed to dance around him swirled into shapes that framed your skin, and some of the panic felt foolish in their presence. They twisted and curved, somehow amplifying the cool tone of Azriel’s voice as he promised you things you had no capacity to understand. 

But he never stopped talking, not even when your gaze left his to follow his shadows instead. If anything, the action seemed to spur on the small beings more, and you wondered—for a brief moment—if he was controlling them. 

Something like amazement seeped into your panic as you whispered, “Who are you?” 

You didn’t know the man in front of you, that much was true, but he looked so… broken at your words. Something akin to pain clashed with his beautiful features as his jaw clenched to an unnatural degree. You were surprised that his teeth didn’t crack beneath the pressure. You wondered what else he could withstand—what atrocities he’d seen to make his eyes turn so dark when you spoke your words out loud. 

“No,” Azriel growled, chin hooking over his shoulder. His wings pulled back to reveal a new man, but this one looked slightly different from the others. No wings, different eyes. “You stay out of her head, Rhysand.” 

Rhysand. He was the one that had sent you here.

The concern on Rhysand’s face looked unnatural, like it didn’t belong there. “Az, it could help. Let me help her.” 

“You could make it worse. We have no idea what that witch did to her.” As Azriel spoke, shadows began to cover you more and more. Your sight became dim, your body camouflaged in darkness. 

“Looking in could be the only way to figure that out.” The next bout of silence was uncomfortable. The pounding in your head persisted, exacerbating to the point of tears along your waterline. “I know what you’re feeling, Azriel. I get it. But I want to help her, brother. You know I would never hurt her.” 

A twig snapped beneath a boot.

Azriel growled low in his chest. 

The pounding gave way to a sharp pain, and it made your senses lighter, less focused. 

You couldn't remember ever passing out before, but you thought it might feel like this. 

“Stay away from her.” 

“She doesn’t remember you, Azriel.” 

A choked breath. “Don’t touch my mate.” 

Darkness that surpassed the shadows finally granted you a reprieve from the pain. 

Maybe you'd wake up and this would all make sense.

Part 2 ♡

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel spymaster #azriel angst

[deadliestpieceontheboard]

It's so surprising to me when people talk like Andrew genuinely hates Aaron. When like. He loves him. Fiercely. Until Neil, there wasn't anyone he cared more for.

He gave up the life he wanted for Aaron before they even met. Moved halfway across the country just for him. He killed for him. Spent years attached to a teenage promise and hyper protective to a fault.

Yeah, he hates him a little. Dislikes him most of the time. But there is so much love bleeding from each interaction, in Andrew's own weird and fucked up way, that I don't know how so many people (both in the story and in the fandom) miss it.

#it doesn't mean andrew only did right by his brother or anything #he is messed up and toxic to his people #but you can't attribute it all to him being a control freak or something #he only went that far because he couldn't help but care deeply for his brother #andrew minyard #aaron minyard #aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court #twinyards

[fragilefable]

nobody's son, nobody's daughter.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader Rating: Mature (18+ minors DNI) Summary: When you and Joel get separated the night of the outbreak, you spend the next decade searching for him. Just when you've given up— a miracle occurs. Warnings: heavy angst, canon typical violence, character death (sarah), discussions of grief, very brief mention of suicidal ideation, alcohol used to cope, depression, suggestive language, lovers reunited, hurt/comfort, happy ending.

Word Count: 6.6k Currently Playing: Chemtrails Over the Country Club by Lana Del Rey ♪

A/N: This piece has been months in the making, hours of rereading and rewriting. This is my love child. I'm possibly (definitely) planning a part 2 with smut... ;) I am a full-time college student who unfortunately has other responsibilities, so please be patient with me. My first lengthy piece in a while, so please be kind & enjoy my doves!

Sleep was the most convenient temporary escape available in the post-cordyceps world. Oftentimes, if you were lucky enough, with sleep came dreams—glimpses of a divine, utopian life. One without spores or fungi of any kind. There was, however, always the chance that with it came nightmares—Polaroids of the past, the uprising of the infection. Mothers clutching bloodied children, decaying men ripping open flesh with their savage teeth, and, worst of all— losing Joel Miller. 

Joel was... everything—neighbor, friend, lover. Joel hated that word— laughed every time it managed to escape your lips in a hushed whisper, but that was what you were to each other. It transcended explanation. You'd moved to Austin after college in hopes of starting over, a clean slate. Instead, you'd stumbled upon a single father and his then 11-year-old daughter. You fit into their life like the missing puzzle piece— you completed them. Sarah needed a motherly presence in her life. There was only so much Joel could do for the blossoming young woman. 

And Joel— Joel never knew what he was missing until you came along. Someone to be able to rely on, to love unconditionally, a fixed constant. To say he fell head over heels was an understatement, but it became so much more than physical attraction. It became something far more profound and terrifying— love. The kind of love only poets write about. It was fierce, at times agonizing. That's what made losing him all the more heartbreaking. 

You were with Sarah the night of the outbreak— Joel's birthday. Lounging around in plaid pajamas, waiting for Joel to get home from work. Despite being exhausted, Sarah was beaming with pride over her birthday present for her dad— his broken wristwatch now repaired and refurbished. You smiled mischievously, "And just where did you get the money to fix this, young lady?" Sarah grinned slyly, "Just lyin' around, it's not like he noticed it was missin'!" Hours passed, you and Sarah slumped against the couch: Fast asleep, soft snores escaping mouths, drool dribbling down chins. 

The sight made Joel's heart quaver in his chest. Kicking off his muddied work boots, he carefully plopped down in between the two sleeping figures, planting a gentle kiss on the crown of your head. "Hmm. You're home," you stirred awake, drowsy eyes met with a welcome sight: Weathered tan skin and dark chocolate curls. "Hey, Darlin'. You outta head up to bed. I'll be up soon." You nodded faintly, planting a chaste kiss on Sarah's forehead: "Goodnight, sweet girl." 

You fell fast asleep as soon as your body hit Joel's mattress, his scent engulfing you like a blanket of safety— a shield of sorts. The vague smell of sawdust and pine soap conquered your senses, a heavenly combination. An hour later, you felt the bed dip down, strong arms circling your waist.

Frantic hands shook you awake, calling your name weakly: "I can't find Dad. N' somethin' weird is goin' on outside." You sat up, Sarah's urgency pulling you from your hazy half-asleep state. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll call him. Go back to bed." Sarah ignored your suggestion and sat beside you as you reached for the landline. The call went to voicemail without hesitation: "Huh... That's weird." 

Sarah grew more anxious by the second, "I'm gonna go check the driveway for his truck." Sarah shot up from the bed, feet pattering down the stairs. "Sarah! Wait, I'll come with-" Throwing on your Converse, you hastily ran out after her. Your tired eyes scanned the pavement but found no signs of Sarah or Joel's truck. The Adler's door was wide open; you huffed: "Sarah?" 

The Adler's house was pitch black and eerily quiet, the family's dog nowhere to be seen: "Sarah? This is trespassing!" Tiptoeing through the living room, you halted at the sight of a ruby trail— blood. Grotesque, wet noises filled the previously silent house: "Sarah?" The teen bolted out of the kitchen, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the front door: "Run!" Mrs. Adler scrambled after Sarah, mouth dribbling crimson liquid, no longer bound to her wheelchair. 

"What the fuck–" Sarah's grip on your hand tightened as you passed through the door and stumbled onto the pavement. A pair of familiar brown eyes scanned Sarah's figure and then yours: "Sarah? Darlin'? Are ya'll ok-" Joel's words were cut off when Mrs. Adler dashed through the front door, her figure lunging for you. 

Joel struck the side of her head with a wrench as you made a feeble attempt to crawl away. His strikes were lethal, and yet the elder kept thrashing against the ground. "Joel, stop!" Only then did you notice Tommy, Joel's younger brother, behind you, coaxing Sarah into the truck. 

Joel exhausted Mrs. Adler with one final swing, dropping the bloodied wrench beside him and wiping his shaky hands on his jeans. His gaze softened when he saw your timid frame— shaking and unmoving. "Darlin'... Baby, are you okay?" His hands found your shoulders, rubbing soothing circles on a patch of exposed skin. You hesitated; Joel had just killed Mrs. Adler in cold blood— but she tried to kill you and Sarah first. 

Joel hurriedly hoisted you to your feet, "We gotta go, okay baby? It's not safe here." You clambered into the backseat beside Sarah, the girl's arms thrown around you tightly. Kissing the crown of her head, you reassured her: "It's okay, sweetheart, everything's okay." 

Neighbors began to exit their homes, baffled and disturbed by the sight of Mrs. Adler's bloody, lifeless body lying in the yard. Someone called out for Joel. He immediately instructed her to go back inside and lock the doors. Tommy beckoned Joel into the car, exiting the culdesac and taking off towards the highway. After a fleeting moment, you mustered up the courage to ask, "Joel, what's going on?" Tommy replied, "They're sayin' it's a virus- some kinda parasite." Sarah spoke up, tears forming, "Are we sick?" Joel shot the idea down immediately. 

Tommy and Joel continued bickering, your eyes glued to the road ahead: "Joel! Look- It's Jimmy's place." The two-story farmhouse was completely engulfed in flames, unrecognizable. Your hands clung to Sarah, burrowing her head into your neck: "It's okay, sweet girl." Police sirens rang out through the darkness, interrupted by soft pleas for help. A family was stranded on the side of the road, begging for aid. Tommy began to slow the car. "What're you doin'?" Joel firmly questioned. Tommy shot back, "Got a kid, Joel." 

"So do we. Keep drivin'," Joel spat. Tommy sped back up, eyes searching Joel's for an explanation: "Somebody else will come along." As Tommy approached the interstate, the sounds of disgruntled drivers grew louder: "Fuck! Everybody had the same fuckin' idea. I can't get through this." Joel gripped the dashboard, "All right, all right. Let's think it through," he paused for a moment, "All right, take the field! We cut across, and we pick up on the west side." Tommy steered right, the truck jerking on the uneven terrain. As he drove over the hill, helicopters and tanks came into view, "Shit. Fuckin' army." 

Sarah peered out from behind the seat, "Isn't that good?" Your voice was filled with hesitation, "That's the highway we need to get to." Joel and Tommy argued, eventually continuing toward a town just east of the highway. Sarah stilled, "Maybe it's everywhere. Maybe there's nowhere to go." A booming roar erupted, Tommy twisting his body to get a better look at the night sky: "What the fuck?!" Commercial airplanes flew overhead, merely hundreds of feet above the ground. You instinctively covered Sarah's ears with your hands, eyes wrenching shut at the deafening rumble of their engines. Tommy swerved to avoid a police blockade ahead, turning into a nearby alleyway. 

The streets were flooded with screaming civilians, running in every direction— no one sure who exactly they were running from. A hoard of people fled from inside a movie theater, causing Tommy to shift the truck's gear into reverse. "Dad?" Sarah called out, "Dad!" Joel turned; an airplane was rapidly descending— heading straight towards town, "Shit. Move!" As the plane made contact with the ground, a mushroom cloud of fire and smoke bloomed, causing Tommy to lose control of the truck. 

A strong hand shook your leg, "Darlin'? Stay right there, don't move." Your side ached, cool liquid flowing from your head. Beside you, Sarah quickly came to, her eyes shifting to the figure hunched outside of the flipped car, clawing at the corpse of an older man. "Sarah, baby, don't look. C'mere, put your arms around me." As Joel carefully unearthed Sarah from the mangled truck, you climbed out of the shattered window: Hissing as you shifted against your arm. Sarah tried to put weight on her leg, provoking muffled whimpers and cries at the attempt. Tommy, equipped with his shotgun, called out, "We gotta get off the street!" 

As you approached Joel and Sarah, a flaming police car crashed into the capsized truck, separating the three of you from Tommy. Tommy roared from the other side of the wreck: "Meet at the river! I'll find a way." Joel turned to Sarah, "Can you run?" She shook her head wearily. He scooped her into his arms, "Keep your eyes on me." Joel shifted towards you, "No matter what, you keep runnin'. Alright, darlin'? Promise me." You hesitated, desperate eyes meeting his, "I promise." 

The three of you stumbled through the alley until you came across a cluster of bodies scattered across the pavement, crouched figures grunting over the lifeless figures. The end of the passage was clear. The only problem was getting past the rotted creatures without being noticed. There was no way Joel could outrun them in his condition. One of the creatures shot up at the sound of a remote blast, eyes landing on Joel. His voice was firm, "Go." You grabbed his arm, "Joel!" He repeated his command, louder— frantic: "You can't carry Sarah w'that arm. Go find Tommy. We'll meet you there."  

You pressed a hurried kiss to Sarah's head, the deranged man scrambling to his feet before you could embrace Joel. You took off towards the other end of the alley, Joel and Sarah barricading themselves inside the vacant diner across from the pile of carcasses. Your body throbbed with every step, head burning with the fire of a thousand suns. Your feet carried you across town, weaving in and out of injured civilians and infected until you reached the river. The stream was pitch black, sounds of gunfire and cries rang out in the distance. 

Suddenly, a bright light blinded you: "Put your hands where I can see 'em!" You obeyed, raising them as high as your injured arm would allow. Your voice raw with distress, "M'not sick! Just trying to find my family!" The man stepped closer, seemingly inspecting your physical state. He was clad in military gear, "You hurt?" You shook your head eagerly: "Just a sprained arm." He nodded his head, "Alright. We've got buses that can take you to a decontamination zone." 

Your head scanned the vast field, eyes scouring for any sign of Joel or Tommy: "I- I can't. I'm supposed to meet someone here. At the river." The soldier looked dissatisfied and slowly lifted his gun, "The river goes on for miles. S'not safe out here." Your eyebrows threaded together in confusion, "What- are you- are you gonna shoot me?" The soldier's grasp on his automatic rifle tightened, "I'm sayin' you have two choices. You can either come with me or you can-" 

A guttural scream sounded from behind him. But before he could turn around, a pair of arms seized his neck and began ripping into his military garb. The soldier flailed wildly at his attacker. While he was busy fighting off the deranged beast, you took off into the darkness, wandering aimlessly and calling out for your family. That night was the last time you saw Joel Miller.

16 Years Later

The bitter winter air overwhelmed your senses until you were gasping for air, limbs numb and cold to the touch. You wouldn't make it much longer without shelter, without warmth. You'd spent the better part of the last 16 years searching for him— for Joel. Ever since that night, you'd scoured every independent civilization, every QZ, within mobs of infected. Each night, you silently prayed never to find him like that— skin pallid and overcome with fungus, head split wide open, cordyceps blooming from within. 

You'd trekked across the country with the sole intent of finding him alive and healthy. The journey was brutal— raiders and infected desperate for blood. But by far, the hardest battle was pushing away the nagging thought that, even if Joel and Sarah were somehow alive, you'd never find them. Now, after nearly two decades of searching, you were reaching the end of your journey. You'd officially trekked across the entire nation. If your estimations were correct, you were nearing Wyoming— hence the formidable cold front. 

You'd heard rumors about a small civilization located somewhere on the skirts of Jackson County— your last stop. You knew the chances were slim; that feeling only fortified with each city, each civilian who hadn't heard of or seen anyone by the name of "Joel Miller." But you kept searching— because the day that you stopped would be the day you lost everything, lost yourself. It was as though he held onto you with a leash. If you tugged hard enough, could you finally break free? What else did you have to live for? Maybe one day you'd have some sort of epiphany, something to make sense of all the death and suffering. For now, Joel kept your hope alive— the hope that there was happiness and safety beyond all of the pain. The very thought of him kept you alive. 

You stood in front of thick and rusted iron gates, your posture crooked due to exhaustion— Just one more stop. The sounds of cocking guns drew your attention to the top of the gates. A young man and woman stand there, rifles pointed at you: "Drop your weapon! Let us see your hands!" You obey. This is standard practice amongst civilizations— you'd done it a thousand times by now. Unsheathing and kicking away your pistol, you then throw your backpack towards the gate. Hands raised next to your head. Your voice wavers as you half-shout, "I'm not infected! Just looking for someone!" 

The woman searched your face for a bit, presumably looking for any signs of deceit. She nodded towards her companion, the corroded metal walls unfolding. Two men approached you and picked up your discarded belongings. The younger of the two roughly patted you down and checked for bite marks. When they were satisfied, they led you past the gates into the town square. The village was pleasant, a handful of people milling about in the slushy streets. 

A familiar voice erupts from behind you: "Please excuse the initial hostility. We need to be careful about who we let in... I'm Maria." She extends her hand. You accept it gingerly and introduce yourself. "Welcome to Jackson. You must be freezing. Come on, we'll talk inside." — Maria leads you inside a small building, the exterior reminding you of the Lincoln Logs you used to play with as a child. The inside is... quaint. A lone desk sits near the lit fireplace. Maria leans against the desk and motions for you to take a seat: "So... You're lookin' for someone. And you have reason to believe they're here?" 

You sigh, allowing your aching body to relax against the couch's plush cushions: "No... I am looking for someone, but... Well, this is my last stop." Maria nods sympathetically, tucking a lone braid behind her ear— "I get it. You've been looking for a long time. It's about time to stop. To rest." You can't help the tears that form on your waterline. Your gaze shifts to your lap. Maria continues, "Who are you lookin' for?" 

You swallow the fist-sized lump in your throat, "Joel. Joel Miller." Your attention snaps towards her as a wistful sigh escapes her lips. A tight frown dawns on Maria's face, "I'm sorry. There's no Joel Miller here." You nod; you knew it was a long shot, but hearing it aloud was something different entirely. You rise from the couch, "Thank you. I apologize for takin' up your time." Maria speaks up before you can reach the door: "Now what? You got a place to stay?" 

You honestly hadn't thought that far, about life beyond looking. For years, finding Joel was your only purpose— your rationale for remaining on this infested hellscape. You had no home, no roots. Maria's voice interrupts your thoughts, "There's room here. We've got food and water— shelter. Hell, we're even working on electricity." You turn to face her. Her words dripping with verity, "Jackson could be your home." 

Despite having just met her, Maria's words touched something buried deep within you— hope. Hopeful of a new life, of new beginnings. You forged a small smile, "Okay." Maria smiled, but it was much different from yours: It was toothy, genuine— "Alright. I'll give you the grand tour then." For the next hour or so, Maria marched you around town. She showed you the vast dining hall laden with maple furniture. The stables filled with mare and their young. 

Then she showed you the schoolhouse. It was a small brick building. The walls were filled with colorful crayon drawings. Tiny handprints were pressed onto the wall in various colors of acrylic paint. The dulcet sounds of innocent laughter erupted from every corner of the room. Children from the ages of 5-12 were scattered around: Some doing arts and crafts, some reading, and others playing with worn toys. A tear slipped down your cheek. You brushed it away quickly before Maria could notice. 

You couldn't help but think of Sarah. About the first time she knocked on your door— she was selling chocolate bars for some fundraiser at school. Her bronze complexion dappled with freckles, and her wide smile revealed a missing tooth. She was eleven at the time, eyes bright and full of wonder. Blind to the atrocities that loomed at every turn. Sometimes, you'd think about what she looked like now— did her curls still rest atop her shoulders? Did she still laugh until she was panting for air? She's thirty now... Has she fallen in love? That was considering she is still... 

You didn't entertain the thought. Sarah was fine, alive somewhere with her father to look after her. Maria's touch pulls you from your thoughts, "How about I show you where you'll be living? Get you settled in." As Maria exited the schoolhouse, you stole one last glance at the room. A little girl met your gaze. Her dark curls were pulled into two ponytails. Her burnt mahogany eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled, raising her tiny hand and waving it at you. You returned the sentiment, this time allowing the tear to fall down and onto the ground.  

Maria escorted you just outside of town, to a street lined with country-style two-story houses in relatively good condition. "This one here, the green one. It's already furnished. I'll have one of my guys come by later with some essentials from the pantry. Otherwise, you should be all set 'til tomorrow." Your eyes bore into the house. It was nice, but also... "It's big," you retort, "Don't know what I could possibly need all those rooms for." Maria lays the silver key in your hand, "You never know." 

You internally cringe at the connotation. Start over with some man? Have a big family and a white picket fence? You couldn't. It wouldn't be the same. You let out a shaky breath, "Thank you, Maria." She nods, "Come see me tomorrow, and we'll talk about where to go from here. Everyone in Jackson has a job, a role to play. Rest up... You deserve it." She departs, leaving just you and your great, big, empty house. 

3 Years Later

Jackson developed rapidly under Maria's supervision. The population rose from 50 to roughly 300 in just under three years. Jackson now had electricity, thanks to the Jackson County Hydroelectric Dam that Maria's team was able to get up and running. You'd become the head of patrol— in charge of organizing the schedules and determining the routes. You and Maria had become very close, practically family. She's the person who understood you, what you've been through. 

In an attempt to busy yourself and earn your keep, you'd thrown yourself into working alongside her. Not just with patrols but also with community relations and development. You'd completely reconstructed the greenhouse, built a jailhouse— that, luckily, wasn't used much— and helped fortify Jackson's defenses. Maria assigned you the title "community leader," but you much preferred what everyone else called you: "Maria's right hand." 

Your house was still too big, but now it felt homier— lived in. The walls were plastered with botanical paintings you'd found while out on patrol, vases of fresh cut flowers from the community garden placed upon every surface. Cable knit blankets were draped over the shabby leather furniture, the brick fireplace emanating warmth and bringing solace during the cold winter months. You'd even taken up baking in your spare time, frequently bringing baked goods to the schoolhouse. 

Nevertheless, when the sun set and the sounds of bustling downtown Jackson faded, your thoughts always returned to Joel. His bronze skin, tousled brown curls, and perfectly plump lips. Suddenly, it felt as though the house was mocking you, and the right side of the bed always grew colder. Perhaps it's why you worked yourself so hard; taking a day off was seldom. You couldn't escape the persistent feeling that Joel and Sarah weren't alive. That you'd failed to find them time and time again because somewhere, they were six feet under, buried in an unmarked grave. All it takes is one moment— one lapse between heartbeats— and suddenly, everything has changed.

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ────────────── · ·

The spring air was crisp with morning dew. A gentle breeze slipped through the cracked bay window. Three heavy thuds woke you— the sharp knocks cutting through serene silence. Your voice was raspy with sleep, "Coming!" You quickly pulled on the worn terrycloth robe that hung from the bedpost and stumbled downstairs. You swung the door open to reveal Stanley, a young man who worked in construction: "I'm so sorry to wake you, but Maria sent me to get you. She said it's urgent."  

You sighed deeply, rubbing the remaining exhaustion from your face: "Urgent like, 'don't get dressed' urgent?" Stanley's eyes roamed across the dark fabric of your robe before snapping back to your face. His cheeks bright pink, "Oh, um... no! Just meet her in her office ASAP." Sending him off with a nod, you traipsed upstairs and threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before making your way downtown. It was early morning, the streets empty save the early risers milling about, getting ready for work. As you passed a group of older women sipping hot beverages, you overheard whispers of "an outsider." As Maria's righthand, you were expected to greet all incoming arrivals. How on earth that could constitute a crisis, you did not know. 

As you approached Maria's office, the woman in question exited swiftly, shutting the door behind her. You grew closer, taking note of her fidgeting hands. She was... nervous? "Good morning, Mar. What's the emergency?" Maria's face was sullen. You'd never seen her like this, not in the three years you'd known her. Your hands clenched at your sides, "Maria? What is it?"

She took a deep breath, "This may be a false alarm, but... This guy's last name is Miller. Says he's originally from Texas." Her words stole the air from your lungs, a pit forming in the bottom of your stomach. She said something else, but all you could hear was buzzing. Your vision blurred, the dark-skinned woman's features coming in and out of focus. Could it be him—had Joel finally found you? 

Maria called your name, pulling you from your trance. As your vision focused, you pushed past her. Your grip on the doorknob was bone-crushing, your knuckles turning white from the tension. You inhaled— don't get your hopes up. It might not be him. You exhaled, pushing the door open with a startling amount of force. You analyzed the man's figure, you recognized him— only it wasn't Joel. It wasn't the Miller whose calloused hands once traveled the expanse of your body, making note of each hidden crevice as though it may hold treasure. Whose lips once seared white hot kisses in the places he knew were the most sensitive— "Tommy?"

He looked dumbstruck, his lips parted in shock. Before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around his neck. It took him a moment to reciprocate your embrace, but once he did, his arms anchored you in place. He spoke your name quietly against the crown of your head: "I can't... I can't believe it." You pulled away, "I hardly can either." His hands rested atop your shoulders as his eyes searched your face in disbelief. His resemblance to his older brother felt like a gut punch. You were afraid to ask— fearful of the truth: "Joel? Is he..."

Tommy's hand squeezed your shoulder in reassurance, "He's alive. Last I checked, holed up somewhere in the Boston QZ." A warm tear slipped down your face, the salty liquid resting just below your chin. You'd checked Boston QZ, but recent "terrorist" attacks had made it impossible to stay longer than an hour without drawing the attention of every FEDRA soldier in that godforsaken city. Your hands trembled as you clutched your chest, "And Sarah? How's my sweet girl?" 

Tommy's face went cold— No. No. She can't— "She's gone." The taste of bile rose in your throat, "Wh-when?" Tommy removed his hands from your shoulders, "That night. Shot by some military fucker. She..." He hesitated, "Joel held her. It happened s'fast." Your kneels buckled, threatening to send you towards the ground. You fucked up— you let yourself get accustomed to the idea of her being alive. Repeated it over and over again until you believed it to be true. This was all your fault. 

Your shoulders shook silently, as if you were crying— but no tears emerged, "I have to… I have to find Joel." Turning toward the door, Tommy caught you by your wrist: "I can't let you do that, hon. It's a damn death sentence." You tugged at your arm, desperate to break free from the restraint: "Let go of me, Tommy. I'm doin' this." Maria stepped forward, her hand resting at the base of your neck— "No, you're not. Jackson needs you here. I need you here."

Your breathing became labored. Deep down, you knew they were right— you were in no shape to travel across the country again. You'd barely survived it the first time. Chest heaving, your free hand found purchase on your throat, tightly grasping and constricting the airway. Tommy wearily let go of your wrist, his eyes wide and filled with fear. You ran for the door; you could hear Tommy call out for you as you fled homeward. Sarah was gone. Joel was alone.

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ────────────── · ·

Days passed, and despite everything, the sun rose in the morning and the moon at night. You weren't quite sure how long it had been. You'd stopped counting daybreak after the first five came and went. Maria checked in after the first couple of days, worried that you hadn't been seen around town— or leaving your house, for that matter. Your grief was debilitating, all-consuming. You couldn't eat, could barely sleep, only finding relief at the bottom of a liquor bottle. You were tired… The kind of tired that sleep didn't fix.

Tommy came once. Sat and talked while you stared straight ahead at the empty wall. He could sense your anger, your resentment. How could he not? You silently judged him for leaving Joel, leaving his brother after his only daughter died in his arms. Tommy told you that Joel had changed. He wasn't the Joel you fell in love with; he'd done terrible things— But so had you. You'd killed innocent people, people who were just trying to protect themselves. And you did it in the name of finding Joel and Sarah, of surviving for them. You'd convinced yourself it was kill or be killed, and you had to live with that. Come judgment day, you'd pay greatly for your sins. You accepted that, too.

You only dared to look at Tommy's face once. You saw Joel in his eyes— you saw Sarah. Maybe if you hadn't left Joel in that alleyway, she'd still be alive. You could've protected her, taken the bullet for her. You would have, without hesitation. You'd cross the fiery pits of hell for her, reside in Caina, and be tortured for eternity. You may not have given birth to her, but Sarah was your daughter.

If you closed your eyes hard enough, you could faintly picture her smile. The dimples that formed just below her bottom lip. You could smell the faint aroma of her strawberry shampoo. Hear the broken remnants of her grandiose laughter. You swore to keep those memories someplace safe. Take them out and remember when you needed to, as if they were photographs.

A part of you wanted to be happy that she didn't suffer. She was too innocent for this new, heartless world. She was everything good in life. She was sunshine, sugary syrup, and pure, unadulterated love. But you could not accept this bright side. Not when it meant a life without her in it. Innocence is beautiful, but life is for living.

Tommy stood up, slipping a piece of paper on the nightstand. You cautiously turned it over to reveal a creased photo: You, Joel, and Sarah posing after winning one of her soccer games. You stole one last glance at Tommy. This time, he did not see blinding hatred in your gaze. Instead, he saw gratitude. As your glassy eyes bore into him, he nodded knowingly and left.

Maria came a couple of hours later with leftovers from the dining hall. Setting them on the counter next to the empty whiskey bottles displayed like pathetic trophies. You were in the same position as when Tommy left. You held the photo in your hands, thumbs stroking its frayed edges. Maria quietly dragged a chair closer to the bed, sitting just within arm's reach: "I went to a really dark place after I lost Kevin."

Tearing your gaze from the picture, one of her hands finds yours: "He made life worth living… It took me a long time to start to feel human again. To feel something other than pain and sorrow. The grief never goes away. But slowly, it starts to feel less like loss, and more like love." She inhaled shakily, "I know what you're feeling right now. I know why you're drowning your sorrows in that shit, trying to drink yourself to death." A tear slips down your face, her hand squeezing yours gently: "But you have to understand… What you're feeling right now, that's love. You're not a bad person for how you try to kill your sadness. But it's not gonna work."

You're unable to contain the choked sob that escapes your throat. The tears come harshly, scorching saline against your skin. Maria shifts her weight from the chair onto the bed, holding your shaking frame: "It's okay… Let it out." Her hands cradle your head, smoothing over your disheveled hair. "It's all my fault," you gasp between sobs, "I never should've left them. It's all my fault." Maria shushes you, "No, honey. You don't really believe that. You want someone to blame, but you're not that person."

Eventually, the tears cease. Your breathing evened out as Maria held you, "I miss Joel, so fucking much." You could feel Maria nod tenderly, "I know Honey." A lone tear slipped down your cheek, "Do you think— do you think he'll find me?" Maria pulled away, her chestnut eyes meeting yours, "Truthfully, I don't know." With a deep sigh, she squeezed your hand— "But I know he wouldn't want you to live like this. Isolating yourself from everyone else. You're allowed to grieve, but please don't shut me out. You're my person." You clutch her hands, squeezing firmly: "Even at my worst?" Her arms curled around your torso once again, "Even at your worst."

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ────────────── · ·

The warmer seasons passed with haste. A wintertide blanket of white gradually covered Jackson. Day by day, Maria and Tommy were able to pull you out of your depressive stupor. You had to admit, they made quite the team. Maria was ultimately right, Joel wouldn't want you to spend the rest of your life a bedridden drunkard. But still, life without him was arduous. There wasn't a day that passed that you didn't think of Joel Miller. About where he was, what he was doing, who he was with, and whether he missed you as terribly as you did him. 

As much as you wished to focus on these melancholic thoughts, new developments began to bloom in Jackson. Tommy and Maria's blossoming love was hard to ignore and impossible to disapprove of. Watching two people whom you adored fall in love, it felt as though nothing had changed: No cordyceps, no raiders, just Jackson and all of its inhabitants. Perhaps you could find peace in that. When Maria told you that they were expecting, you were over the moon. Maria and Tommy deserved it, Jackson deserved it. Proof that the world is not over— that no matter the circumstances, mankind will prevail. 

You threw together a small wedding ceremony with the help of the florist and local bakery, the couple wanting to tie the knot before the baby's arrival. Joking about how "shotgun weddings" withstood the test of time. Something arose in you, a pang of jealousy— Envious that you and Joel never got the perfect white wedding. It disgusted you, so you buried it deep within the recesses of your heart. 

The winter was hard, the Wyoming chill threatening every crop that dared to sprout from the Earth. This resulted in you spending extra time in the greenhouse. You found gardening to be a rather soothing task, being able to nurture new life in a world marked by death and decay. It also provided plenty of time to think: Something that you did not relish. No matter how many times you pushed the thought of Joel away, it always returned. Whether it was at dawn or late at night plaguing your dreams. 

When you weren't at Tommy and Maria's house or at the Tipsy Bison, you were in the greenhouse. The small shack sat right on the outskirts of town, situated with the perfect view of downtown Jackson. The glass panes shut out the cold, trapping any warmth inside. You bathed in the basking glow of the sun, gravitating towards it as a Sunflower would. You weren't sure when thoughts of Sarah became joyous, memories no longer met with choked cries but instead with soft chuckles. Nonetheless, you welcomed the growth. It's how she would want you to remember her. 

You watched the clock that hung just above the door, a mere estimation of the time: 12:15 p.m. You carefully removed your dirt-caked gloves, setting them on the wooden bench beside you. Your stomach growled impatiently as you began the journey downtown. The air was frigid despite the sun's rays, the cold slowly numbing your fingers. As you ambled towards town, Stanley came jogging towards you: "Hey! Just got word from the gates that Maria's back. Brought some stragglers, two, I think." 

You nodded in his direction, "Alright. Thanks, Stan." The soft crunch of snow beneath your feet accompanied you as you approached downtown Jackson, an air of excitement and uncertainty radiating off of the townsfolk. It wasn't every day that Jackson came across people who weren't just blood-thirsty raiders looking for valuables. As you rounded a corner, you overheard a commotion, the sound of yelling. Strangely, it didn't sound angry or fearful. It sounded... happy. 

Midtown came into view; the construction that was being worked on was now abandoned. Immediately, your gaze fixed on two figures in the middle of the street embracing. That was... not typical. You could make one man out to be Tommy; his black curls contrasted starkly against his warm taupe skin. The other was taller and broader, his hair disheveled and graying. Behind them you could make out Maria on horseback, next to her was a young girl, who couldn't be older than thirteen. 

Maria's expression was borderline unreadable, a mixture of trepidation and relief. Until her eyes met yours, then her face softened. A look of tenderness emerged. Everything about this situation puzzled you— Until the two figures broke apart. The man stood inches from Tommy, his hands gripping Tommy's shoulders firmly. His face was sunken with exhaustion and hunger; a vast smile overtook his face. A smile you would recognize anywhere. 

He looked just as he had twenty years ago, only now his hair was significantly longer and his beard gray. His face was now littered with wrinkles, just as yours was. A telltale sign that time had, in fact, passed, that the world fell apart right in front of your eyes. Your fingers dug into your thigh. You surely would've drawn blood if not for the layer of denim protecting your skin. You knew you were grieving, but hallucinations seemed extreme. You took a hesitant step forward, still on the opposite end of the street. 

Maria beckoned for you. Your name seemingly catching Tommy's attention as he turned towards you. As the men stood side-by-side, it was impossible to deny. Their likeness evoked something in you— realization. You weren't dreaming, you weren't hallucinating. He was there, just a yard away: Joel Miller. His gaze found yours, eyes searching your face in disbelief. Your name left his mouth like a question, but it sounded like a prayer. 

He stepped forward as if he was testing the waters. You repeated his action, "Joel?" A smile broke across his face once again, causing you to break into a sprint. He jogged forward, careful not to slip on the icy gravel. Tears began streaming down your face, their warmth countering the icy chill. Before you could slow down, your body collided with his. His arms were tense, his hold fastening around you. You'd only dreamt of this moment for two decades. 

You weren't sure how long you stood like that. Head nestled firmly against his chest, tears staining his leather coat. His gloved fingers gently grasped your chin, pulling your face from its sanctuary: "Baby... Fuck, I can't believe it." His eyes searched your face for any sign of unease. He could find nothing but pure joy: "You found me. I searched for you, Joel Miller, for 16 years. And you found me." 

Joel let out a breathy chuckle, cut off as you captured his lips in a velvety kiss. At first, it was chaste.— A silent admission of consolation, twenty years in the making. You ran your tongue across his bottom lip, prompting him to groan as he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss. After a moment, a loud cough erupted from behind you. You reluctantly pull away, your forehead resting against his. Your hands cupped his cheeks, eyes glassy with relief and adoration: "After all this time?" Joel leans forward to place a gentle kiss on the corner of your mouth, "Would wait forever f'you, Darlin'." 

© 2023 fragilefable do not plagiarize, translate, or repost my writing to any other site.

divider by @saradika

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #the last of us fanfiction #fragilefable #ೃ༄ wren writes

[luveline]

losers | remus lupin

“Please.”

“Please?” he says back, mirroring your soft tone. “You think you need to say please?” His pinky bumps under the waistband of your trousers. There isn’t much give. He traces the lining to your zipper, fiddling with the small piece of metal as your eyes darken. “I should be the one saying it.” His voice keeps dropping, an utterance in the shell of your ear, his words for you and you alone. “I’m at your mercy, dove. Don’t say please with me. Okay?” 

you find remus’ number on an abandoned motorbike. things snowball from there. [10k words]

fem!reader, fluff, first date, smut mdni, implied inexperienced!reader, almost rockstar!remus, mentioned that remus takes painkillers, muggle!au, early 2000’s au

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ There’s a motorbike outside of the cafe.

It’s huge. Too heavy for you to move. Technically, you hadn’t found it at all, it was left there in the dead of night a few days ago and hasn’t budged since. It’s illegally parked, a fact that your manager won't stop muttering about while she’s elbow deep in latte foam and coffee cakes. 

“I’m getting the bastard thing towed,” she grumbles that morning. “Let the police deal with it.”

That seems rather harsh to you. It isn’t necessarily in the way, and it looks well loved. Perhaps whoever left it can’t remember where they left it, having stumbled home on inebriated footing after one too many at the pub across the street. You think about how much it must cost to get your stuff back after it’s been towed, and though you aren’t sure of the specifics, you know it can’t be cheap. So, when your manager falls into conversation with a regular and your break begins, you creep outside to do some investigating. 

It’s a hulking thing made of more black than silver. There are stickers across the left side of the body, weathered and peeling, though one is newer than the others and immediately draws your eye. 

A phone number. 

If lost, please call. 

You take your phone out of your pocket, a flip phone with one dangling charm in the shape of a star. You click each faded button slowly. You're scared to talk to someone you don’t know, but relieved to maybe save the day. 

It goes for ages. 

“Hello?”

“Hey,” you say, dropping your voice into its sweetest tones, though nerves make you too soft, and you worry you’re hard to hear. “Hey, um, sorry to bother you. I work at The Mill, it’s a– a cafe in the city centre… Are you missing a bike, by any chance? A motorbike?”

“Oh, thank you. Yeah, it’s my friend’s. He can be… forgetful.” The voice that speaks is both smooth and gritty, impossibly, like whoever it is that’s talking smoked half a pack of cigarettes before he answered the phone. He clears his throat. “I hope it hasn’t been an imposition for you.”

“Actually, uh, my manager wants to have it towed. Like, now. I can try to fend her off but honestly she’s like, that physics law, um, unstoppable force? Uh,” —you’re stuttering, making it worse, because his voice is surprisingly handsome and you’re an idiot through and through— “yeah, so could you come and get it?”

“Yes! Yeah, absolutely, we’re on our way. Thank you.”

“Sure. Of course.”

You hear something not meant for you, the tail end of, “Sirius, get up. You better call Marl and—”

Phone back in your pocket, you take a quick glance around the street before reaching out to run your finger over the cracked leather of the motorbike seat. You’ve never ridden one before. You’ve never wanted to. The level of fearlessness one needs for it isn’t one you possess. 

You’re the opposite of fearless. 

The sun hides behind a wave of clouds. Your skin chills near immediately, your prim slacks and apron a worthless defence against the cold. It’s an average day here, grey and quiet. Occasionally a couple will pass you, hand in hand as they traverse the worn pavement. You smile at an elderly man and his dog as they shuffle across the street and into the cafe. Your smile fades as you tune into the fierce tones of your manager, demanding to know where you’ve gone. If your absence is what distracts her from calling the police, so be it. 

You’re considering getting your phone back out to play Snake when a passing car slows beside you. You straighten up and out, feeling your spine click in more places than it should as the passenger door opens and an insanely attractive man throws himself out of it. 

“My angel!” he cries, heading straight for you. 

You take a panicked step backward. The man dives for his motorbike. You flinch, mystified by his enthusiasm and his opposite appearance. Short sleeves reveal arms full of dark tattoos, with one side marred by a brutally long scar from his elbow to the back of a ring-laden hand. You tear your eyes from him as a second door closes across the street, and feel all the air rush from your chest as a second man approaches. 

He’s very pretty. It might be redundant to say it to yourself, presented as you are with an undeniable truth, but you think it anyway. Sandy brown hair, pale skin, and in enough layers to make up for his friends lack thereof, the second man ignores any dramatics and meets you head on. 

“Hi,” he says, holding out his hand, “you’re the one who called?”

Closer now, you can see the scars on his face. They stretch over the ridge of his nose and into his eyebrow. A smaller one tugs as he talks against his top lip. 

You take his hand and shake it limply. “Yeah, that was me.”

If he’s concerned with your nervousness he doesn’t show it. His smile doesn’t move. “He wants to say thank you. He will, once he gets over himself.”

“Thank you!” the dark-haired man calls. “She’s my everything. I’ve been sick with worry.”

“Have you?” the man in front of you asks, his voice steady, almost intimidating in its impassiveness. 

“Yes, Moons, I have been… not that you’d know.”

“Some of us have real problems,” Moons snips, though he quickly looks at you like he’s embarrassed. “Sorry. He brings out the worst in me.”

“You must be good friends.” 

You don’t know why you say it. He only smiles. 

“We must be.”

The first man stands up from checking over his motorbike and beams at you. You suspect it’s an expression that works in his favour more often than not. “What can I give you, doll?” 

“No, nothing. Please. I’ll just be glad to hear the end of it.”

"Are you sure?" 

"Yeah, really." 

Your manager calls your name, clear as day despite the thick pane of glass and brick walls separating you. 

"That's you?" Moons asks. 

"That's me. Sorry." 

"No, don't be. Thanks so much for calling." 

You nod hurriedly, throwing them both a 'nice to meet you, I'm sorry for leaving so fast' kind of smile and head back inside. 

You take a sneaky look back when you're behind the counter again. They’ve turned their backs to you, Moons' friend ruffling his hair roughly. After a minute or two, Moons gets back in his car, and the motorbike pulls away like it was never there to begin with. 

What sort of name is Moons? you ask yourself. It's a question that stays with you for a few days. You find yourself hoping you'll see him again, or that his friend's motorbike will turn up outside of the cafe for a few long days and give you an excuse to call him. His number stays unsaved in your recent calls menu for a while. Eventually, you forget about him altogether; the motorbike, the call, the gentle wave of his hair. 

You're hard-pressed to forget his voice, though. There'd been something familiar about it. 

"Nice highscore." 

You jump hard and wince as the metallic taste of blood hits your taste buds. To make it worse, you slam your phone up into the counter it was hiding under in shock. It makes a fatal crunching sound. 

You shove it into your pocket and look up. Standing there, in all his handsome weariness, is Moons, sans friend. He's wearing nice clothes, clean and clearly ironed. You're immediately aware of your ratty uniform and your unkempt hair. 

"Shit," you say, which is so fucking embarrassing, honestly, you could fall through the floor and stay there, "Sorry. What can I get you?" 

His eyebrows inch up his forehead. "What's the easiest thing to make?" 

That's not a question you get often. "Uh, regular black coffee, or tea, or, the uh– the hot chocolate's not that hard. But you should order whatever you like, of course." 

Moons smiles at you. You're starting to understand the nickname (assuming it is a nickname). He has this odd but enticing presence about him, like that awestruck feeling of looking up at night and seeing all the teeny tiny stars and the moonlight that comes down with them, bright and somewhat daunting. 

"Sure you don't mind?" 

"I'm paid not to mind." 

"Can I get the biggest cup of tea you can make? Milk and two sugars, please." 

"Absolutely." You sidestep to the register and click a bunch of the wrong buttons. You're unprofessionally flustered. "Uh, three sixty five?" 

He passes you a five pound note. Your tip cup is for the more generous type, and he has no trouble dropping his palmful of change into it. He barely looks. You're expecting him to take a seat but he stays standing, one arm pressed to the counter, the other held up. He scratches behind his ear absentmindedly, as though he has nowhere else to be. 

"Are you in a hurry?" you ask, confused. 

He stays quiet for enough time to shit you up. You're tipping milk over your hand and hoping he hasn't seen it when he says, "No rush. I'm here to see you." 

You look over your shoulder at him. You can't help it. "To see me." 

"Yeah." 

You spin back to his tea. The counter is covered in spills and sugar, cup tops and wooden stirrers. You take them all in with wide eyes. Nobody ever comes to see you. Not your friends, not family (unless they want something). Especially not boys you met once for two minutes. 

"Is there something wrong?" you ask. 

You clip the lid onto his big tea and wrap it in napkins so it doesn't burn his hands. 

"Nothing's wrong," he says kindly. "I wanted to apologise. Your boss was upset with you. It was Sirius' fault. We owe you for it." 

"You really don't have to say sorry. She wasn’t that mad. No harm, no foul." 

You put his cup of tea down in front of him and try to smile like girls do in the movies. Soft doe eyes, not too bright, not too awkward. You give up after a second and feel it twist into something regrettable. 

His long silence makes you squirm.

"A thank you, then.”

He offers you an envelope. You take it. 

The paper is crisp and thick. Your fingers are clumsy, and it takes you too many seconds to fold the envelope's lip and pull out the card stock inside. 

You look up in shock. "I can't–" 

He's not there. You look to the door, catching what might've been his hand as he walks out of view. 

He's left you two concert tickets. You don't go to concerts. You might have, when you were younger, and had friends to follow. As it stands he's given you two seated tickets for a show in the Pointer Arena not far from where you work, for a band you've never heard of. The price on each is a solid £20, which is way too much repayment for ringing a number from a sticker. Worse, you're not sure you have somebody who can use the second one. 

You hope he'll come back for clarification alone, and a little to see him, but he doesn't, and soon the date on the ticket matches the date on your calendar and you're standing outside of the venue with no clue how to hold yourself. 

You stand in line for a while. It's a very long line made up of mostly younger women. You listen for the calling of a reseller and spot a group of young girls trying to haggle with them, reluctantly leaving your place in line. 

"Hi," you say quietly to the one furthest from the epicentre. "I'm sorry if this is weird. I have an extra ticket tonight, and I was wondering if you'd like it? I know it's seated, but maybe you could use it to get in and then, uh, not sit? Or just sit." You could writhe around on the ground in shame. You hold out the spare ticket. "If you want it." 

"Are you kidding?" 

"No, seriously." 

She takes the ticket and you walk away before she can try and give it back to you. Whether she uses it or not, it's no longer your problem to deal with. The lady who'd been standing behind you lets you back in line, for which you're extremely grateful, and you shiver your way to the front with nerves churning your stomach. 

You've imagined being turned away twenty times by the time they usher you through the doors. The air is buzzing with excitement, enough of it to ramp up your nerves, and you smile weakly at the people who pass you on the way up to the seating area you've been designated. The Pointer Arena is a smaller venue with much more standing than seating capacity available. The seats are at the sides and back of the second floor, looking down at the pit with a safety barrier in front. 

You slide into your seat and peer down at the crowd as it fills up one ant of a person at a time. You can't distinguish one person from another after a while. It’s a moving sea of dark clothes. 

It takes a long time for the opening act to come on. You're not having much fun. You'd tried to use the computer in the cafe to research the bands playing tonight but the dial up hadn't been working and your manager hates when you take long breaks, so you aren't sure you'll even enjoy yourself. You're not sure why you came here — is it sad, to come here alone? It looks sad, you think, pathetic, but it doesn't feel sad. You're not very good at talking, anyways. It's so difficult. Or maybe you just make it that way. 

This is why you regret coming. Any time spent by yourself is time to think. You hate thinking, but it's all you seem to be able to do. Think and think and think. Your mind runs in the same circles. Things you've done, things you wish you did, things you want to do so badly it makes you feel sick. You can't stand it. 

The crowd begins to rise in volume. Cheers echo against the atrium ceiling, and you push yourself to the edge of your seat to see what's making them all so excited. 

The opening band. They're too far away to see clearly. First on stage is a man with brown skin and a head of black curls, a guitar swinging from his neck, the body barely held as he waves to the masses. Next comes a paler man with hair tied up in a bun who sits down behind the drum kit and doesn't move much after that. A girl practically sprints to centre stage, scooping up a waiting guitar (or bass?) and strumming down the body appreciatively. She has purple hair, bright and choppy, particularly abrasive against the alabaster white of her skin. 

And last on stage… last on stage is Moons. 

You move forward suddenly, smacking your face against the plexiglass barrier and biting your cheek for the second time in a week. Used to your mistreatment, the poorly healed skin wastes no time splitting, and the metallic taste of blood makes you cringe. 

That's Moons. There are two huge screens either side of the stage that magnify him. First his hand on the microphone, a scar coiling up from his wrist to his thumb purple against his skin. Then his face. You wouldn't forget what he looks like so soon, not when you've half obsessed over him for days with could-be's because he'd wanted to see you and you have a bad habit of inventing future's with people you don't know, but even if you did it wouldn't matter. You've never met anyone else with three scars as he has across his face, taking centre stage. 

You hadn't realised the tickets were to see his band. It makes sense, now, why your seat is in such a quiet area, and why the people sitting close by aren't firecracker happy at the sight of them. They must've received their tickets in the same way, gifts or thank yous for small favours. 

Your mouth dries as they begin to play. It's not what you're expecting. Of course, you haven't really had time to expect anything, and yet you're shocked when they start to play a slow song. He doesn't really look like a rockstar, but a heartthrob? You can see it easily. The long lengths of his lashes, and the dark honey of his eyes. His smile, so small but somehow piercing. 

His voice is careful. He doesn't sing anything impressive —there's no belting or high notes— but you still find yourself wringing your hands together, entranced by his confidence. He dances around the melodies and fills up every space he can find between the beat of the drums and the searing guitar riffs that follow. 

They only play five songs. By the time they've finished you're feeling sick to your stomach, and you can't get your heart to calm down. You hadn't known a word of the lyrics, but you'd felt them. 

They're good. 

Like, too good to be openers for long. 

The crowd echoes your sentiment. They clap and scream and wolf whistle. The noise vibrates in the depth of your stomach. The cheering doubles when the headlining band’s techies emerge. The lights go down. Equipment begins to roll out. 

You scrounge through your purse for a lip balm and think about heading downstairs to the concession stands for an overpriced bottle of water to wash away the unfortunate tang of blood. It aches to pay, but if you don't soon you might get nauseous, and that would be a real disaster, throwing up here of all places. 

You hear his voice before you see him. He's laughing, talking to somebody about the set. 

"It was great!" compliments a feminine voice. "I don't know what you were so worried about, Remus, you're really great. And if you weren't, Marl would've saved the day anyways with her gorgeous showmanship." 

"Thanks, baby," says a second voice. Marl. 

"Thanks, Mary," Moons says. 

What had Mary called him? Remus? Odd, not quite as strange as Moons. 

You try not to tense as footsteps approach. 

"Can I sit?" he asks. 

You look up too fast. He's a little damp, the hair closest to his face curled with it, but he smells good as he sits down. He must've washed up. 

"I– I've been calling you Moons in my head," you admit, not sure what to say. 

He's intimidating. You don't imagine he knows it. He sits in the chair without any fanfare, setting his forearm on the rest between your two seats and turning his face to you completely, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, almost like he doesn't want to smile but can't help himself. His eyes are the slightest bit lidded, emphasising the brilliance (and unfairness) of his lashes, so thick and dark you wonder if he's wearing makeup. 

"You can call me whatever you want to, but my name's Remus. I should've told you that before. I was… distracted." 

He isn't being coy, you realise. He easily could be if he wanted to, but he was genuinely lost for words for a second.

"I didn't really tell you mine," you say, hoping to ease his gentle confusion. 

He says your name like it's easy. Like he enjoys the sound of it. "Y/N. Do you like music?" 

Is that a trick question? His eyes trace up to your eyebrows as they pinch together, but he doesn't amend his question. Not a trick, then. 

"I like music,” you say.

"I realise it's brave to ask someone to come and see you on stage. And that I look like a tosser sometimes with the stage lights and makeup." 

"No," you say quickly, "you don't. You looked just fine. You looked good. I bet it's hard getting on stage like that, and in front of this many people. And singing. You have a really nice voice." 

His eyes soften. "Thank you. Do you wanna go get a drink with me? There's a bar. It's quiet." 

Your elbow brushes against his long sleeve. "Yeah." You're not breathless enough to embarrass yourself, but it's a close call. 

Remus leads you up and out of the seats. The venue is large in that it has just as many hallways and back rooms as it has places to watch the show. Remus’ warm hand catches your elbow, a friendly touch that guides you around the barrier and through a dimly lit hallway that takes you to the bar. 

The bar overlooks the stage, but the sound of the band and the crowd is dampened severely, making for a sorely needed respite. VIP's mill around the room on plush leather sofas and cushy bar stools sipping from sweating glass bottles. Remus' hand moves up to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as a familiar face waves you over. 

"Hey, it's you!" 

You smile at Remus' motorbike friend. You're a hundred percent sure his name is Sirius, but you won't say it aloud in case you're wrong. Beside him sits the other man you'd seen on stage with them, the guitarist with brown skin and a head full of thick hair. You look between the three of them in secret shock, wondering if handsome attracts handsome or if it's just dumb luck that they ended up together. 

"James, this is the babe that found Stacia," Sirius says.

James wrinkles his nose. "Hi," he says, in a voice that sounds deeply apologetic, years of it like the rings of a tree. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Um, and you?" 

"I'm good! Thanks, I'm good, it's nice of you to come see us. Did you like the show?" 

"Yeah, I did. I had no idea you guys were musicians." 

He splits his attention between you and his jacket. He pulls a glasses case out of his pocket, clicks it open, and straightens out a pair of wire frames. 

"Couldn't tell from our baby boy's general demeanour?" he asks. "Hey, that's better, I can see you now." 

"Sirius is the youngest," Remus says. 

"And the handsomest." 

"No, Marl's clearly the handsome one," James says lightly. 

Sirius takes the rebuttal in good jest and brandishes his drink toward you like a toast. "Want a beer?" 

"I'm getting her one," Remus says, "come on, give me a minute here." 

Everybody laughs. You laugh too, turning your face into your shoulder to smother the sound. 

"Well, come and sit with us, make yourself comfortable," James says, moving his jacket off of the chair in front of you.

Remus makes a small, apprehensive sound. "Drinks first." He looks to you for confirmation. "Yeah. We'll be back." 

You follow him to the bar. Your shoes, a pair of dirty converse you wish you'd swapped for heels or something sophisticated, squeal against the hardwood floor. How were you supposed to know you'd see him again tonight? In what world does stuff like this happen to scruffy waitresses? You're starting to think he might be somebody. 

Not that it matters if he is or isn't. 

But if he is… This is embarrassing, right? Not knowing who he is. 

There must be a couple thousand people here tonight. Then again, his band were the opening act, so it doesn't necessarily mean they're all famous or anything. 

"Hey," Remus says softly, stopping your thoughts cold. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine. Sorry. I've never been in here before, anywhere that's like it,” you say. 

"Venues are all different but the bars don't change," he says. "What do you like?" 

"I'm not a big drinker." 

"That's okay. I just wanted an excuse to be alone with you." He doesn't even give you time to recover. "Truth is, I wanted to ask you out. But between shows I couldn't find time, and next week I'm in San Marino." 

What you mean to say is, you wanted to ask me out? But instead, you choke, "You're going to Italy?" 

Remus pushes a seat out for you, helping you up with a solid hand, and, while your fingers are still warm from his touch, he says, "San Marino isn't Italy. I didn't know that 'til a few months ago. But pretty much." 

"What's in San Marino?" 

"A wedding." He climbs into the seat next to you, smiling.

The tan colour of his long-sleeves contrasts his pale hands. Your eyes flash to his ring finger. Not his wedding. 

Remus isn’t easy to talk to. It's not wholly his fault. He doesn't force conversation, leaving you awkwardly searching for something to say. You're not the best conversationalist either. He clearly doesn't mind it. 

You're in the midst of a clumsy retelling of a shitty customer service moment when he tips his head to the left just a touch. 

"Maybe we can go on an actual date when I'm home,” he says.

He says it like he's talking about the weather. You'd be worried he was messing with you, but then he smiles again, flicking his index finger against your wrist mildly. "You don't have to answer me now. Finish telling your story."

"It was pretty much finished. And– and I'd like to. Go on a real date. I've never been out of the country, so you'll have to forgive me if I want to know everything about San Marino." 

He looks at your lips. Says, "Good," and doesn't give any indication that he's noticed how nervous you are. That is, until he covers your trembling hand with his and presses it flat to the bar. 

"You're really pretty," he murmurs. He takes a moment, and he smiles. "Come with me? If I don't give Sirius some attention soon he'll start showing off."

— 

James is starting to wonder if he should invite you to San Marino. He's not that stupid; it would be a huge pain if you were standing in the middle of all his wedding photos and you and Remus don't work out. But, while he's certainly and majorly jumping the gun, he has a suspicion he’ll be seeing you again. 

James has never seen Remus like this before. 

His friend is usually quiet, quipping every now and then perhaps at Sirius' insufferable antagonism but otherwise brooding. He hasn't seen him smile this much, ever. 

James is under no illusions — he knows Remus loves him very much. He knows Remus is happy, and not always healthy but managing. He knows Remus is pleased with their lives and ecstatic to have their music take off. But he also knows Remus won't let himself have a good thing, not really. Maybe that's why he's asked you out now, when in a week they'll be in San Marino, and a week after that they'll be in Cardiff to officially start the new tour. 

He knows Remus, sweetheart, kind hearted, miraculous Remus, tends to let people down. He's a stickler for asking people out and cancelling the day before. It's how it always goes. James will ask how the date went and Remus will shake his head and say, "it didn’t work out." 

He knows Remus doesn't mean to hurt anybody. He just… can't get close. 

But he's trying, with you. A glass of cordial in one hand, the other behind your chair, Remus tells you one of his more embarrassing stories about how he'd taken a bad fall and ended up in A&E with half of an eyebrow. He doesn't mention the painkillers that made him woozy. 

You've relaxed considerably since sitting down. James would be happy to report that you're having a good time. You have your own drink in hand, and your eyes are bright, with a receding space between your face and Remus' as the story goes on. It's like watching two magnets fight to hold themselves apart.

Matter of time, James thinks to himself smugly. 

—

Honesty is important. You admit to yourself that you and Remus aren't exactly a perfect match. Both quiet, both not quite social butterflies, your conversations had occasionally been stilted and slow, but you've only met twice. Things don't have to be perfect, and more than that — there's a spark there. A twinge of a possibility. He'd liked what little he knew about you enough to ask to see you again, and you'd like what little you knew about him in turn to say yes. 

It doesn't have to be perfect, you insist to yourself, a bundle of nerves. Nothing does. 

He looks pretty perfect. Base of his palm pressed to the brick wall of the cafe, hand angled down as his fingers grasp the neck of a bouquet whose flowers have been shedding petals onto the damp pavement below. He holds his other hand against his chest, clicking buttons on his phone. 

You approach from the left and watch him play a game of Snake. 

"You play Snake?" you ask.

"Doesn't everybody?" he asks back, his smile softening what might otherwise feel like a chastisement. He doesn't look up from his phone.

"Woah, how long have you been out here?" you ask, eyeing his weirdly long snake.

Remus guides the snake into a wall on purpose. It dies, his high score flashes across the screen, and he aims an apologetic look your way. "Sorry, that was rude." He doesn't try to hide that he's looking over your face. "Thanks for coming." 

He leans in and kisses your cheek. Delighted warmth curls in your stomach, worse when he passes you the bouquet of flowers. They've mostly survived his poor treatment, and there's a lot of them. He's left the price tag on and you're not sure if he's noticed. You pretend not to see it. 

"Thank you…” You look away from the flowers, all whites and reds and baby’s breath, to ogle him as subtly as you can manage. “Wow, you've caught the sun. Was it lovely in San Marino?" 

"I'll tell you all about it over dinner,” he says. “I thought we'd walk, it's not far." He holds out his hand. You wipe your palm against your side before you take it, worried you'll have clammy hands. He must guess, because he says, "Don't be nervous." 

"I am," you say hopelessly. "I've never been on a date before." 

"This is your first date?" 

You feel a hot flush coming on. "I– yeah. That's embarrassing, I shouldn't have told you that." 

"No, it's a good thing. Now I know it has to be extra special." 

"It doesn't," you say. 

"I was hoping it would be." He pulls you down the pavement and further into the city centre toward the main high street. "San Marino. It was beautiful, and I took a couple of photos but I didn't have room on my phone. Well, I could've deleted Snake–" 

"Why would you?" you joke, grinning. 

He laughs, and squeezes your hand slightly. "Exactly. I have priorities. It's a long flight, and looking over the photos can only take up so much time. No, but it really was… it was beautiful. I'd never given much thought to a destination wedding. They make sense, right? It's the best day of your life, why would you have it here?" 

He tilts his chin toward the grey sky. You look up with him, feeling the cold wind kiss the sides of your face and pull through your hair. 

"Come on, Remus, it's not that bad. If it's sun you're after, you could just wait for British summer time. You know, the whole three days of it." 

He laughs — you've made him laugh twice already. This is going okay. Laughing while looking at one another, a bouquet in one hand and his hand in the other, you feel that curl of delight begin to bloom. It fills your insides up, has you smiling until your eyelashes brush in the corners. 

"It was James' wedding. Do you remember which one that was?" 

He asks so kindly. You don't doubt for a second that he wouldn't care if you forgot. It's refreshing, even if it's something you'd expect. 

"I remember. I didn't realise he was getting married." 

"Don't ever say that in front of him, he'll put himself on the cross." He swings your hand as you turn a corner. The Italian restaurant you'd agreed on winks from a distance. 

"He's devoted," you guess. 

"He's insane. He was worse when we were younger. His girlfriend– his wife," he amends, "Lily, she's really something else. Warm and funny, but she's been keeping him on his toes for years. She has family in San Marino, hence the wedding." 

You listen to him talk eagerly. His voice is as handsome as his face, and the more he says the less stilted he becomes. There had been a strained quality to it before (strained, or restrained? something he wasn't saying) that's all but disappeared. 

"It was like a movie. White linen, sand, crying." 

"Did you cry?" you ask, expecting a puffed up chest. 

"So much. Too much, maybe. I was half of the best man." 

"Half?" 

"We had to share, me and Sirius. They've always been…" Remus slows his steps. "Am I being boring? I'm talking too much about me." 

"We have time. I want to hear it. I'd like to hear it," you say. 

James and Sirius are brothers. Remus sees your surprised look and doesn't condemn you for it. Sirius is unofficially adopted. The Potter's fostered him from ages thirteen until he aged out, and though they tried to adopt him, Sirius was reluctant. Remus doesn't get into the reasons beyond that, and you don't ask. You suspect he's only telling you about it to drive home how much the Potter's love Sirius. How much James does. 

Remus had been Sirius' friend from their very first year of comprehensive school. Sirius moved in with the Potter's, and, adoring as they were, they let him have friends over whenever he liked. James, Sirius, and Remus spent the next decade together like that, hiding in Sirius' room. Best friends, entirely inseparable, and all fiercely protective of each other. 

"They've always been like brothers." 

"But not…" 

He understands what you're worried to say. "I think it would've been weird… I had a candle burning for James. For a long time." 

Your jaw drops a little. "And you just had to watch him have the most romantic wedding ever," you whisper sympathetically. You're joking: it's clear the candle isn't burning now. 

"Told you I cried," he says. "No, but you've seen him. He's a supermodel. It's awful." 

"Remus, I think you might be underestimating how handsome you are," you say. You bite your lip and look at his chin rather than his eyes. 

He's generous. He gives your wrist a tug and chuckles warmly. "I'm glad you think so. Tonight might have been awkward, otherwise." 

You duck together inside of the restaurant, hands falling apart as Remus gives his last name for the reservation. Lupin. Your face has a mind of its own. 

"Charming, isn't it?" 

"It is," you say emphatically, denying his sarcasm. "I've never heard anything like that. Lupine, like a fox?" 

"Wolf."

A server shows you to your table and hands you two leather covered menus. Leather, not plastic, a sign that tonight is going to be classy. You've dressed for the occasion in a smart blouse and slacks, too terrified of wearing a dress. Remus seems to have done the same as you, reaching for smart but dodging the mark in a button down and a casual jacket. When he takes off his coat, he looks perfect. He fits right in. 

"Could we get a glass?" he asks the server. "For the flowers? If it's not too much trouble." 

"No trouble at all." 

You run your hand across the silken tablecloth and the space between you both feels somehow smaller than when you'd been holding hands. Outside, you could let your gaze drift to the pavement, the fenced in trees, the couples that passed you by. Here, you're forced to watch one another. 

It's not so bad. It's agonising. 

"This is weird," you say. You flinch when you hear yourself. "Sorry, not that you're weird! I'm weird. I've never ever done this." 

"No, I know," he says, almost murmuring, "it's okay." 

"I just blurted out what I was thinking–" 

"I know." He sits back in his chair. His head tilts down, his eyelashes kissing the skin above his brows as he fixes you with a look. It has the intended effect, tension easing from your rigid spine and tight shoulders. "This is weird. But it's still early. It could get weirder." 

You like that he says it as if it's a good thing. 

You order the same thing he does, and you don't turn down his offer to get a bottle of wine, though it feels too grown up. You keep forgetting you're an adult, and that your life isn't on hold. Things can happen to you at any time. 

"I want to address the elephant in the room," he says. 

Not promising. "Okay." 

"Are we having dessert?" Remus leans forward on both forearms. Hair falls in his eyes. He's dressed nicely and he's handsome but there's something homespun about him, something golden. You can't help looking at him and thinking impossibly forward thoughts, cheesy waffle from the films. He's familiar. "Nobody ever wants to get dessert with me. It's actually a real issue for me." 

"I'll get dessert with you." A smoother you with more confidence, who wore the dress and asked him to go to the Thai restaurant instead, would've said something more suave. We're having whatever you want, handsome.

Remus flips the menu to the very last page and reads the desserts aloud. For himself, it seems, half-muttered and apprehensive. "Chocolate cake from places like this will either be the nicest thing we've ever eaten or burnt in the microwave. And it's childish that I want chocolate cake. I should be spoon feeding you creme brulee. Or whipped cream and strawberries." 

He tips his head back and rubs his eyes. It's a charade of feigned self loathing that makes you laugh. 

"I'm a child," he laments, thumb and index finger pressed into his eyes. He checks to see if you're watching before doubling down. 

"I like cake," you say, and you'd lie if you thought it was what he wanted to hear. Handsome, kind, and funny. Not to mention talented. He needs smart for the sweep. 

Remus falls out of his dramatics. You mourn the loss, beggy a good look on him, but forget all about it when he slides his chair around the table to share the menu with you, your heads inclined as you read it together again. He smells woody. You hope he likes the jasmine of your perfume. 

"It all sounds really nice," you confide, afraid to disturb the comfortable hush. "I haven't had gelato since I was a kid. Oh, did they have real gelato in San Marino?"

“They had a lot of stuff in San Marino… I want to hear about you.”

“What do you want to hear?”

The questions start and don’t stop. Where did you grow up? That’s the easy part. What did you study in school? Were you in sports? The art club? And what do you do now, when you aren’t working in the cafe? The more he asks, the easier it is to answer. He doesn’t slow when the waiter brings a glass for your bouquet, simply stands and places them inside with exceedingly gentle hands, smiling at you from between the stems. You eat slowly when the food arrives — you're busy talking. 

It feels fucking amazing. To have someone want to know anything about you. And unless he’s an actor of the highest regard, he’s obviously enjoying your conversations, though they wilt and wane and wind around one another. You lose track of time and thread as the night goes on, distracted by the near unnoticeable asymmetry of his smile, and the way he laughs when you laugh, like an echo. 

You get cake like he wanted. Triple fudge cake with buttercream thick but melting from the heat. It looks straight from the pages of a magazine, glossy and dusted with sugar powder, but he doesn’t seem to like it. He takes a couple of bites and leaves it alone. You don’t want to look greedy, so you do the same. 

The date is suddenly over. 

“Could I walk you home?” he asks, when you’ve both put your coats back on, and the damp roots of your flowers are leaving an imprint on your chest. 

You nod rather than answer. 

Things are good, not perfect. That’s what you keep thinking. There’s something he isn’t saying. Or, horrifyingly, something he doesn’t like about you. Still, the sky is velvet black and the air is crisp. Stars like needlepoints dot the air. Street lights work to hide them, casting a warm yellow glow over the pavements and your meandering shoes. 

A brisk wind whips past you. You shiver and press your lips together hard, hands quick to rigidity. Remus looks at you sideways, and breaks the quiet. “Are you cold?”

“A little.” No point in lying when he can see you trembling. 

“Do you want my coat?”

“No, no, it’s alright–“ You cut off as he steps in front of you, his hand vying for yours. 

He tucks the flowers under his arm and sandwiches your fingers between his. He has short fingernails, and another scar down one pinky finger. How’d you get that one? you want to ask. How’d you get any of them?

His breath clouds the air. “I should’ve thought about the cold.”

“This is better,” you say. Than a warm taxi home. His thumbs brushing down the backs of your hands. 

You walk to your flat building and hesitate at the foyer door. The potential for a kiss goodnight has flayed your thoughts. The image of his hands climbing your arms, holding you still, plays like a flickering film. You have no idea if he’s going to do it. 

“How will you get home?” you ask quietly. 

“I parked by the cafe, it isn’t far.”

“Oh…” The lights from your building paint him the faintest shade of pink. Your breath fogs out in front of you, as does his, and the warmth of walking will soon fade. “I–“

“Here,” he says, handing you the flowers again. 

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“Fits the recipient.”

It takes a second for you to get it. Oh, you think. You can hardly feel the cold now. Your heart hurts, and you’re begging him to want to take a step toward you. The silence goes for too long. 

“I– I’d love to see you again,” you say. Love comes out funny. Maybe because you can feel his rejection coming. 

“I won’t be here next week. Not for a long time. We’re touring properly, now.” He scratches the side of his face.

“Right. Right, of course you are. Um, good luck with that. And thank you for tonight, for dinner.” You wave your flowers weakly. 

He looks at you. He takes a half step toward you. You can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. 

“You really are pretty,” he says finally. “Goodnight.”

He smiles quick and turns quicker. You watch him walk a few steps but ultimately can’t face it, pushing into the foyer of your building with a hardset frown. Your hands shake, minute abstractions of the sharp rejection panging in your chest. Your ears roar and then go quiet. What did I do wrong? you think, shocked and upset and trying to rationalise. He doesn’t have to kiss you. He asked you out on a maybe, and now whatever question he had is answered. 

The door creaks open. You spin on your heel, too wrapped up to think about hiding your expression. Remus stands in the doorway of the porch, his arm pressed to the glass panel, the other held out to you. 

"Come here," he says quietly. It isn't a question, but he's asking. 

You step into his reach, letting him pull you by the waist against his chest. He leans down until his nose glances against ýours, and he starts to say something. You push your chin up in your eagerness and he doesn't try again. He kisses you, once, contrite, and he pulls back and his hand clasps your arm tight as he ducks in for another. His lips are fast to lose the cold of the weather, but his tongue is a hot shock at the seam of your own. 

You go weak in his arms. The flowers between you crunch and smother themselves. You can’t think about it. Your hands are numb. He takes over every one of your senses until you’re more kiss than thought, reciprocating his slow, deep searching. You run out of breath. 

He eases you backward, cupping the side of your head in his big palm. 

“I want to see you again,” he says hoarsely. “But I– I don’t know when I’ll be back.” His hand adjusts against your cheek, like he’s worried you’re slipping out of his hold. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I can wait,” you say. 

“I couldn’t ask you to.”

You rub your buzzing lips together, each heaven of your chest marked by the crinkling sound of cellophane. 

“Do you want to come upstairs?” you ask.

He strokes the edge of your mouth with his thumb. “Are you sure?”

You kiss him. You don’t know if this will work, any of it, the broad stroke or this one night, but you want him. 

—

Remus doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows how to fuck somebody, that isn’t the problem. He doesn’t know what he’s doing with you. The same thing that made him walk away had pulled him right back in, had him skipping steps on the staircase up to your flat, drinking in the back of your head and roll of your shoulders as you’d made apologies for the mess inside.

He doesn’t feel like himself when he’s with you. He thinks of it like this — what he is, his pain, his wants, that’s all set in stone. Any change is an erosion, and little by little over the years he’s managed to whittle himself down into the smallest, cleanest version of himself. Then suddenly the band’s making money, people are listening to his voice on the radio in countries all over the world, and he can’t hide anymore. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to, after all. What else inspires a performer into the spotlight? The music, he thinks desperately, knowing it’s half a lie. 

Isn’t it why he’d asked you to the show? Come and watch me sing. See me at my most impressive. My most curated. 

And now he’s following you into your bedroom after one date, about to strip it all away. 

“You didn’t have too much wine, did you?” he asks. You hadn’t really finished your first glass, but it won’t hurt to make sure. 

You peel your jacket off and drop it over the back of a wide armchair. “I don’t think so. Did you?”

“No.” His head has never been this clear. 

He thinks about what you said. This is your first date, and he’s not clueless enough to assume that never going on a date means never having sex, but he wants to be careful with you anyway. He wants this to last beyond a dinner date. 

Which means he has to get out of his head. 

Beyond all of his own mess, he really does think you're pretty. More than pretty. You’re beautiful, and your voice… 

He wants to see what other sounds you make. 

Remus gets his hands on you. Soft touches, his hands coasting from your elbows to your warming hands. He squeezes your fingers, leaning in for a quick kiss. He rests his nose against the skin beneath your eye. “Tell me if it’s too much?” he asks, a murmur of hot air. 

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go slowly.”

“Okay.” Your voice is barely audible. 

He pulls away to make sure you’re alright, and is surprised to see a glassy sheen in your eyes. He holds your face in both hands and works your lips open against his, guiding you backwards into the plush of your poorly made bed. He’s all sweet touches and eager kisses, cautious not to hurt you, or let too much of his weight press against your soft torso. His kisses follow to the corner of your mouth, the tip of his nose tender against your cheek. “You’re so quiet,” he says. He isn’t complaining, but he wants to hear your voice. 

“I’m a bit preoccupied.”

He laughs into your skin, kissing down to your jaw. “You’re right,” he says, revelling in the goosebumps that rise under his hands. 

Your shaking inhales cleave a pit in his stomach. He mouths at the side of your neck, half-kisses, tiny warning nips before he thumbs open the first button of your shirt. He meanders, dropping a path crescent moon kisses into your front until the fabric of your bra gets in the way. The soft hill of your breast staggers to a halt beneath him. He can tell that you’re holding deliberately still. 

Kisses. You need more kisses, an absolution from any lingering nervousness. Your hands thread into his hair gently, your fingers raking wavy strands behind his ears as you give in. You melt into your sheets, your legs parting from the pressure of his hips. 

Your hands fall from his hair to needle between your two bodies and undo the rest of your buttons. The fabric falls aside, your chest and tummy his to catalogue. He drops his hand against your stomach, smoothing a line down to your slacks. His lips ache against yours as he asks, “Can I?”

“Please.”

“Please?” he says back, mirroring your soft tone. “You think you need to say please?” His pinky bumps under the waistband of your trousers. There isn’t much give. He traces the lining to your zipper, fiddling with the small piece of metal as your eyes darken. “I should be the one saying it.” His voice keeps dropping, an utterance in the shell of your ear, his words for you and you alone. “I’m at your mercy, dove. Don’t say please with me. Okay?” 

He smiles at your daunted expression. “Can I take these off?” he asks you, his fingertip running under the edge of your underwear. “Please?” he teases.

Your skin is a furnace, hot hot hot everywhere he touches as you nod your permission and Remus undresses you, one piece of clothing at a time. Your trousers, your shirt. Your bra, your underwear. His fingers slip in his ardency as he tears out of his own button down. 

Your thumb traces a scar. 

He looks up from your chest, startled, but you aren’t giving him anything he doesn’t want. There’s no pity in your gaze, no curiosity, no sadness. Just lust, your trembling hands pulling his slacks down the lengths of his thighs. 

He pulls the condom from his wallet in his pocket and lets it fall to the floor. 

Remus hooks his hands under your arms and urges you back against the headboard, a pillow behind your head, your thighs tipping open as his hand runs down between them. He grabs at them greedily, handfuls of fat that have his mouth dry as a bone. 

“Has anyone ever done this to you before?” he asks. He needs to know.

You squeeze your eyes closed and shake your head. 

Fuck. “Hey, look at me,” he says, waiting for your eyes to meet before continuing. “I just want to make you feel good. If I don’t, you let me know.”

He waits for you to answer aloud. “I will,” you say, your hand behind his back and urging him forward. “Please.”

“What did I say?” he jokes gently, letting his weight bear down on you again. 

He closes his eyes, his lips in what feels like a new home at the juncture of your neck. His hands skirt dangerously close to your heat. 

He’s gentle. He rubs a sweeping line against your cunt with the front of his fingers, heart hammering fast as a mouse’s when he finds the little button of your clit. You shiver and shudder and squirm as he toys with you, your fingers steadfast against the plane of his back while he opens you up. His lips part in tandem, not nearly as kind as his hands. His teeth scratch against your throat. 

Your soft moans move through him as he hickeys over your pulse, chasing each capering thud of blood. He winds you up. You’re snug around his fingers, fluttering, and he knows he’s probed something sweet when your breath catches and you whine. 

“Was that alright?” he asks. 

You nod, heavy headed, and lick your lips as he tears open the condom and eases it onto his cock, one measured roll at a time. 

“Can you– I want you to–” You turn your face from him, the line of your jaw kissed by the lamplight outside, and the rest hidden. 

He drags you down to lay flat on your back and holds himself over you, nudging his nose against yours until you lift your head. Face to face, he gives himself time to adore the shape and colour of your eyes, the side of his hand brushing along your cheek. “Do you think you’re ready?” he asks sincerely. The slickness between your legs is obvious, but he doesn’t want to blindside you. “It will feel…”

You nod, saving him the explanation. It will feel weird. Good, but foreign. “Will you kiss me again?” you ask feebly.

He can’t stop himself. He kisses your lips sore, his hand behind the crook of your knee pushing your leg up toward your stomach as he slides into the space he’s made there. He breaks the kiss to listen to your breathing as he pushes forward.

Remus hadn’t been lying — he wants it to feel good. He takes it slow, his thrusting almost languid as you get to grips with the feeling. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, struggling to smother the moan that escapes him as he feels you clench around him. You gasp, your arms tightening around his waist, destroying any semblance of space between your sweat-damp bodies as you hold him tight. He murmurs praises in your ear, his forearms tucked beneath your shoulder blades, hands gripping your shoulders a touch too hard. He can’t remember the last time he was this close to somebody, can’t remember ever feeling so maddeningly lost, like he’s one good push from hurtling over the edge. 

He kisses your cheek, calling you all the things he’d been too scared to say before. “Lovely girl,” he pants, “how’s that feel?” And, when you answer, “Yeah, you’re taking it so well, dove. Think you can take a little more?”

All that nervousness and desperation shrinks down to dust, and the smiling girl he’d been with at dinner comes to the forefront. There’s no mistaking it. You giggle something awful and turn your face into his, kissing him between sounds, dizzying him with the tender scratch of your nails down his back as he starts to move. 

“There she is,” he says lightly, almost smirking. “Feel good?”

“Feels– oh,” —you shiver violently, filled all the way up— “feels good.” 

Remus let’s his forehead fall to your chin, his eyes closed in pleasure, his cock to the hilt. Every move he makes evokes a near sinful sound from you, mewling, silvery whimpers and pleased little laughs when he angles his hips right. He’s a mess, desperate to cum from the second you touched him and running on stolen time as he presses you deep into your mattress. One of your hands flies backward into the pillows and scrunches up into a ball, the look on your face too tempting to ignore. 

The first time you fuck someone — it’s never timed right. Remus knows he hasn’t quite figured you out, but he knows enough to get you where he wants you. He slides his hand between your bodies and your soft cunt to draw circles into your clit, entranced by your twitching lashes as the pleasure builds. You chase him with your hips, and he grabs your hand at the last second to stop you from covering your mouth, holding it above your head as you come apart. 

He cooes at you. The sound you make — the breathless little cry that leaves you, your hips jutting up to meet him. He’s at your mercy, just like he said. 

Remus fucks into the extra tightness, drawing your climax out for as long as he can. You’re smiling as you shove his arm away, a playful chastisement that wanes when you see the look on his face. “Are you close?” you ask, brushing a curled strand of hair from his eyes. 

Close? Remus is fucked. 

“You can go faster,” you say, “rougher, whatever you want.”

“Shit,” he hisses, leaning back. 

His rutting hips slap the backs of your thighs. He squeezes your waist, his eyes fixed on your cunt as it pulls him in. One last wavering, “Oh, fuck,” from you is all it takes for Remus to lose it. White hot pleasure tightens his whole body, his abdomen aflame. You scramble to gather him back into your arms. You kiss him, swallowing his resulting string of moans. 

He has to catch his breath afterward. You comb the hair back from his face, your eyes droopy with pleasure.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, voice stringy.

“Of course not.” You’re quickly losing your confidence. Remus hates it, but he understands. This vulnerability can only stretch so far. 

“Let me clean you up,” he says.

“You look like you’re gonna fall over if you stand.”

He strokes your face with the back of his ring finger, his nail ghosting along the highest point of your cheek. “Funny,” he says dryly. 

He gets confused in your bathroom, and you won’t let him towel you off, but when he lies down beside you with his boxers back in place you don’t push him away. You drop your face into his chest and curl up. 

He drags the quilt over your naked back. 

Was that okay? he wants to ask. “Sore?” he worries instead. 

“Don’t think so.”

He chews his cheek. “You’re alright?”

You stir, looking up at him through your lashes. He thinks you’re the kind of pretty people might not always see. You’re clearly beautiful, but there’s something else to it. The way you move, maybe. The way your eyes smile before your lips can catch up. 

“I’m fine. I’m good… Can I…”

He hums. “What?”

“Could I kiss you again?” 

You speak so quietly, he hears the vibration in your throat more than the sound of your voice. It’s endearingly timid. He feels his attraction for you flare violently. 

He wants to ask you to come with him to Cardiff. He knows he can’t. It’s yards too soon, but for a second he entertains the thought. 

“Wait for me to come home,” he says. He’s still asking for more than he should. “I want to see you again. You can kiss me as much as you want, if you say you’ll wait.”

You nod immediately. Not a flicker of reluctance to be seen. 

You lift your chin and kiss him. He tries to make it the kind of kiss worth waiting for.  

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging cos it helps more than you might think <3

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin smut #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders

[cntloup]

18+ MDNI

You approach him slowly, carefully as he lies down on your shared bed, completely bare and vulnerable before you as though you’re a lion approaching its prey, watchful and prudent so as not to scare him away since this sense of sheer trust and submission occurs scarcely. 

You settle on his thighs and tenderly take his rock-hard cock in your hand as he gazes at you with slightly nervous eyes, "It’s ok, Si. Just lie back and let me take care of you.” you croon softly to put his mind and heart at ease. 

And he lets out a shaky sigh, leaning his head back on the pillows and shutting his eyes, feeling a surge of chemical reactions as if his body is on fire, burning with fierce desire. 

You slide your palm over his weeping tip and he whimpers keenly at your tender touch on his sensitive throbbing cock as you slowly move down to the base, making him groan softly which makes you smile in return as he gets louder and louder with each stroke. 

It's like a secret project to you to see how much noise you can elicit from him since usually he’s fairly quiet. You’ve learned his little tells as you went on with your languid movements, learning new tricks and now you know fully well how to touch him properly to make him putty in your hands. 

Now that you get to witness his pliant, obedient side, “Let it all out, Si. Let everyone know who you belong to.” you encourage him, putting enough pressure as your hand smoothly glides over his thick veiny cock, his face scrunched up in pure pleasure and tears rolling down the sides of his face as a string of curses leaves his throat, followed by whimpered moans of your name on his tongue, creating a beautiful symphony which you could never get tired of. 

And you feel the slight twitch of his cock against your palm along with breathy whimpers that get higher in pitch as he squeezes his eyes shut and throws his head back, signaling that he’s close, causing a sort of a victorious smile to form on your lips as his orgasm bursts through him, engulfing his entire body as seething flames and you feel the warmth of his thick cum on your hand. 

“Fuck...” he breathes out, chest heaving as he comes down his peak of pleasure and you giggle as you crawl up his body to kiss his slightly parted lips, “I love you.” you murmur against his skin, “Love you too, baby.” 

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost riley #ghost simon riley #cod fanfic #ghost cod #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod #mw2 #cod modern warfare

[angelltheninth]

Toji Fushiguro Loves Making You Cry

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, rough blowjob, slapping, dacryphillia, hair-pulling, degradation, forced cum swallowing, rough sex, mean Toji, Toji is nasty in this

A/N: I don't know what possessed me to write this.

Toji loves making you cry, but mostly during sex

He's always so rough with you that you can never walk without his help the next day

That way you need him to carry you around and you bet he's gonna keep his cock hard and warm in your pussy while he does it

Doesn't care how sensitive you are, you're his to have, to love, to break, to fuck, to use and you should know all of that well by now

He laughs in your face as you choke on his huge cock shoved deep down your throat

Orders you to take his cock deeper, to the balls, hell maybe he'll even shove those in your mouth if you don't make his cock come

You can't move away to spit the cum out and you can't wipe off the cum and spit either

Toji grabs you hard by your hair and pressed your mouth shut, his fingers under your chin until he hears the audible gulp

Then he pulls your mouth open to see if there's any cum left

No, that's what he likes to see from his cum toy

Always has to look you in the eyes when you start crying or tearing up, that's why while he loves to fuck you from behind he much more prefers the mating press

His cock gets in as deep as he wants and he can watch your eyes go from watery to full on crying as you inform him he's doing it too hard that you're close but unable to come because you can't focus on anything but how his cock is stretching your pussy walls

You'll come when he says so, and that alone is enough to make you cry, you've been getting fucked for what feels like hours and hours without proper release

That only makes you into a better whore for him

He has left marks on your cheeks from slapping you and sometimes it's a bit harder then but since you're a painslut you never back down

Hell you've been hit harder on missions, but then it's never about pleasure

With Toji it is, for both of you no matter how denied you are at first

To some you're fierce and to be respected as a Jujutsu Sorcerer but to Toji you're his pretty, nasty, good painsult who is ready to take anything in order to come

Oh how he loves you for that

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk imagines #toji fushiguro imagine #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #toji fushiguro smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #toji fushiguro x you #jujutsu kaisen x female reader #jjk x fale reader #toji fushiguro x female reader #jujutsu kaisen thirst #jjk thirsts #toji fushiguro thirst #toji x reader #toji imagine #toji smut #toji x you #toji x female reader #toji thirst

[leviismybby]

Oral sex with Levi is erotic, his mouth moves skillfully against your pussy, his tongue teasing and sliding through your folds making you squirm beneath him. He holds down your hips, not letting you move around too much, Levi needs you to feel it all, feel all of the desire he is feeling for you. It was one of his favorite things to do, his eyes are looking up at you the whole time, watching the way you drown in ecstasy as he eats you out. "Taste so fucking good." He growls against your wetness, his tongue sliding in and out of you which causes your hands to tug on his hair only driving him more. "Good girl, you're so wet for me." His tongue starts to move faster, driving you to your edge, Levi can feel the way your pussy twitches against his mouth and it almost makes him roll his eyes, you can tell that he enjoys this thoughtfully. He reaches up and squeezes your breasts, his mouth closing around your clit, sucking eagerly. Your thighs start to close around his head and he flicks his tongue on your clit a couple of times making you cum on his tongue. "Oh yeah, let it all put for me, princess."

Quickies with Levi are intense, you two don't have a lot of time so Levi makes sure to make it as fierce as he can. Usually, you either settle in his office for a quick fuck or a supply closet which is where you two are now. Your front is facing the wall, Levi holds your hands behind your back as he pounds into you roughly. You moan, your eyes rolling back from his cock hitting deep inside of you. "Shut the fuck up. Keep quiet unless you want someone to see how much you like getting fucked." Biting into your lower lip, you try your best to surpass the moans and Levi goes harder on purpose, his hips slamming into you. It's too much, you can't stay quiet as whimpers leave your mouth, you feel Levi tighten his grip around your wrists, fucking you faster. "That's it, baby. Cum for me." He feels your pussy clench around his cock at his words and it isn't long before you're cumming, moaning his name. Levi keeps fucking you through your orgasm, feeling himself get closer and closer to climax. He grunts and pulls out of you, cumming all over your back.

Angry sex with Levi is rude but it's the good kind of rude, the one that has you begging for more. His thrusts are ruthless, driving you crazy, he puts a pillow under your hips knowing how much pleasure that brings you. "Fuck yeah, take it all like the slut you are." The words he is saying are harsh and humiliating but it turns you on so much. Your hands dig into his arms as he grips your hips, keeping up with the harsh movements of his hips. The louder you are the better, Levi's eyes narrow as he watches you lose it under him. "Of course, you're enjoying this. Slut." His hand runs up your body and he pushes two fingers into your mouth making you suck on them. You gladly do, locking your eyes with his as he continues to thrust hard into you. Your tongue swirls around his fingers and Levi scoffs, fucking you with more force. "Oh fuck...fuck..I'll fill your tight pussy up." Pulling his fingers out of your mouth, he spreads your legs wider to get a better view of his cock disappearing into you. "Levi I am gonna cum!" You whine feeling that warm being in your abdomen, Levi slaps the side of your thigh playfully. "Yeah? Fucking cum then." And he does just that, with one last slam on his hips, he cums deep inside of you, his warm seed filling you up.

Outdoor sex with Levi is risky and both of you like the thrill of being caught especially when Levi gets horny during expeditions. You two are up in high trees, away from the rest of the group, Levi holds you up against the tree, fucking into you slowly, he loves when there's a risk. "Mhh atta girl, you know how to take cock good don't you?" Your arms are wrapped around his neck, your legs hold him close to your body, you can feel his warm body pressing against yours. His lips kiss your neck, his thrusts are deep and slow, he makes you feel every inch of his cock. You lean in to kiss him, it's a sloppy kiss, his tongue sucks on yours as his body moves against you. He continued to kiss you, his thrusts grew more passionate, chasing his high. "Fuck....". The passionate encounter continues and he waits for you to cum before pulling out of you. "On your knees, let me cum in that pretty mouth." You obey and get on your knees, your hand reaches out to stroke his hard cock, it's pulsing in your hand. Taking him in your mouth, you let your hands rest on his muscular thighs and suck on his cockhead. Levi grips your hair, pushing you deeper onto his cock, he grains and his head throws back. "Fuck yes, you're so fucking hold at that." It isn't long before his warm cum is filling your mouth up, he pulls you off his cock when he is down. "Swallow." You smirk at his words and swallow his cum. "Good girl."

Kinky sex with Levi is filthy, he has you in doggy style, one of his hands pulling your hair while the other squeezes your ass. He looks at you in the mirror, seeing how you keep your eyes on him through the reflection. "Oh yeah, keep looking at yourself getting fucked." His hand pulls on your hair harsher, his merciless thrusts never slowing down. You keep looking at the mirror, wanting Levi and how focused he is, sweat drips down his hair, a slight flush on his cheeks, his eyes glazed with lust. You love it all so much. Levi slaps your ass when you start to move your hips in sync with his. "Well well, there's my princess..." He growls and stops moving, keeping his hand on your ass as you move back and forth on his cock. When Levi has enough of that, he takes the nape of your neck and buries your head into the pillow. "You better bite into it princess, unless you want everyone to hear you." He starts to slam into you rougher than before, both of his hands on your ass, you do not doubt that you'll have bruises from his grip on you tomorrow but you don't mind at all. Levi sees how close you are to cumming and he looks at the mirror for a second, enjoying the view of your body. "Shit...your pussy is squeezing me so fucking tight..." He grunts out and starts to run your clit, pushing you over the edge at the same time. Both of you cum, Levi doesn't pull out, letting him cum fill you up again.

Breakup sex with Levi is bittersweet, his body is flush against yours as you move on top of him. It's not that he doesn't love you anymore or that you don't love him, it's the timing and the stress, you're better off without him is what he tells himself. Your forehead is pressed against his, you roll your hips faster, making his cock slide deeper into your heat. Levi is looking at your face, admiring you, he wants to remember it, to lock it in his memory forever. He wraps his arms tighter around you as he watches you bounce on his cock, low moans are escaping his swollen lips. "Mhh that's my pretty girl." He praises you, your nails dig into his shoulders, he hisses slightly but doesn't stop you, Levi craves to have you leave marks on him. Taking your face in his hands, he pulls you in for a kiss, it's deep and a little too intimate, that almost makes you cum here and there but you hold on, not wanting this moment to end. "I'll wait for you." You whisper as you pull away from the kiss, the string of salvia connecting your mouths. "Don't." He tells you, fucking up into you. "You deserve better." Levi bites into your neck, his hand grabs your hips as your hips roll together, you cum grabbing onto his hair, he groans against your neck and pulls out of you, cumming all over your stomach.

#levi #levi ackerman #levi x reader #aot levi #attack on titan #captain levi #levi attack on titan #levi x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi smut #levi x y/n #levi x reader smut #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman x reader smut #levi ackerman x female!reader #levi ackerman x y/n smut #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x female reader #levi x female reader #levi x fem!reader #Aot #aot smut #attack on titan levi #attack on titan smut #aot x reader #snk x reader #snk x y/n #levi aot

[suguru-getos]

࿐ soft yandere neuvillette hcs (f!reader) ࿐

neuvillette being a hydro dragon was always territorial of the things he held dear, whether it was his unyielding love for the melusines, or the love for the people of fontaine or the love for justice and the idea of it for the people. this has never been translated into an intense devotion for a human until he saw you. lawyering up oh so sweetly against one of your friends to defend the defamation case lodged against their business.

it was then — that your eyes lingered with the chief justice. for someone who holds a power so supreme — he sure had kind eyes. standing above all, having the ability to shut the whole opera house in a second with the stern daunt of his voice. he was enamoring too… but you didn’t know how enamored he was of you. for the first time neuvillette was getting distracted during a hearing. how your eyes fiercely spoke along with the entanglement of your words. how exquisite.

you won the case & the happiness which made your smile all the more beautiful with the glimmer of victory dancing all over it. you also got a chance to thank the chief justice, too. to which of course — he’d be kind enough and deny. “please don’t thank me. i am just doing my work here.” still, when neuvillette shook hands with you to depart, his eyes widened with the registering of a weird, twisted feeling inside of him. he wanted to protect you for life, mate with you, wanted to be by your side…

it was one of the weird times when it had been the sunniest after the trials. the people of fontaine were weirded out to find out no rains for the rest of the week. despite of the trials. truth been told, neuvillette didn’t have the time to be upset for anything because now he has someone he was invested in.

why waste time? neuvillette thought to himself, he had never approached anyone yet. so? when he approached your door and knocked with a tender smile, with a bouquet on his hands and a sweet smile just to ask if you’d be so kind for a date, you heartily agreed. heart fluttering throughout the date when he pulled your chair, ordered the same food as yours just so he can taste your likes. asking if you’d be so kind as to give him another date opportunity— kissing your forehead while dropping you home. things were beyond golden.

things started getting a little controlling after a first month or so. as someone who had a few friends who liked to travel, you’d find the chief justice of fontaine not so eager to allow you to move out of fontaine. “inazuma? do you understand how far it is from here?” he had a point, of course… “but one of my friend’s family is there and the vision hunt decree is abolished now and i—” neuvillette doesn’t yell at you, he’s too soft for that. “i believe i didn’t ask for any reply to that dearest. you will be here in fontaine. if you want, i can arrange that your friend’s family come here. they’d be given the most royal treatment-”

neuvillette also quickly shuts down any opportunity for you to be talking to someone unknown. it’s simple? he has met your friends in gatherings and they are intimidated and respectful of your man. the others would take too much of his time in dissection of their personalities. how does he stop you? simple — neuvillette gets needy. he would clutch you in his arms and pout. not wanting to let you go at any cost. “i missed you sweetheart.” you can’t help but give in.

he doesn’t do punishments. it is too heartbreaking for him to see you stressed and distressed of him of all people !! however there was an instance where you forgot to inform him & came back home at 2 am with a bunch of people partying. neuvillette didn’t take that lightly. you know this because that was the first time you were pinned against the wall. kind and tender eyes glowering down and enraged. you couldn’t help but sniffle for hours when neuvillette brought you over his knee for a spanking. he hated it when you cried, it was stormy in fontaine for the rest of the week <\3 why don’t you understand he just loves you so much it makes him lovesick!

to make it up for losing his temper — he would spoil you with so much love. it would get hard to breathe under the undying affection he gives you. kissing your forehead, bringing you your favorite food, letting you feel the freedom you felt taken away, anything and everything. would probably surrender and get on his knees, sobbing if you give him the silent treatment.

#neuvillette #yandere neuvillette #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #neuvillette fluff #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette hcs #genshin hcs #yandere genshin hcs

[sukunasweetheart]

Thinking of breakup angst with sukuna...

Thinking of the build up towards it, the way you have been fighting over the littlest things for months now

It leads you to think about how self centered he can be, how you always feel like you loved him more than he loved you and how crushing it felt to have that realisation fall upon you every time

He can be so career focused sometimes, with the long business trips, work parties, etc. always working vehemently to get higher, threatening to leave you behind

And one particular night, the argument gets so heated that you dont get a wink of sleep afterwards, only staring blankly at nothing as you try to calm the chaos in your head. Sukuna heads out without a word the next morning, and you make the final decision in your head, alone, by yourself.

By the time sukuna comes back home with the intent of reconciliation, he finds that youre packing the remainder of your belongings into a suitcase in the bedroom, ready to move out of his home.

"what the fuck is all this?" he asks, his tone coming out harsher than he means it to be.

"what do you think? i'm breaking up with you. i'm moving out," you can barely stop your voice from wavering. you've cried too much this week.

"oh, come on. you know you don't mean that," he reaches out to grab your arm, but you withdraw away from his hand so fiercely that it even surprises him.

"don't you talk to me like that," you speak firmly, "like i'm being dramatic. why won't you ever treat me seriously? i am leaving, sukuna."

you continue your work, neatly folding up some of your shirts. you're already almost finished. he looks around, and the house looks half empty.

oh. you really mean it. you're really trying to leave.

"no, you're not. you're not leaving. not after everything we've been through together," he tells you defensively, grabbing your wrist, stopping you from folding your last shirt, trying to get you to look at him again.

"like what? constantly yelling at each other until our throats are sore? i'm really sick of it. and i'm sure you are, too."

"don't put words in my mouth. i may have gotten sick of our fighting, but i've never gotten sick of you," sukuna hisses, refusing to let you continue packing your things. you feel yourself getting swayed by his words.

"well, i am. i've gotten sick of you," you say quietly through gritted teeth.

"oh yeah? say it to me properly then. look at me dead in the eyes," he demands, voice getting lower.

"you heard me. i don't need to say it again." you pull away from his grip and try to get this last shirt folded. he grabs you again, by the hand this time, and the piece of clothing unravels once more.

"no, i didn't hear shit. convince me that you really want to leave me - and i'll let you go."

in a fit of anger, you turn to face him completely, but your resolve crumbles away when you see his expression. not the one you'd assigned to him in your own mind, but his true features, under the bright bedroom lights.

he looks serious. he looks concerned. he's asking you to tell him it's not true. tell him that you want to stay.

"...let me go. i'm leaving..." you say, voice finally breaking. like a broken faucet, your eyes begin leaking tears relentlessly and your throat closes up in that painful way that you hate, but nothing compares to the pain in your heart at the thought of really breaking up with this man here and now.

he lets you go...

and calmly takes your things out of the suitcase to put them back. you didn't miss the relief in his eyes that showed up for that split second.

"bring it back! i hate you," you attempt to raise your voice, but really, it's only just your ego speaking.

"you can't even say that you hate me in the correct tone. we're not breaking up," he mutters, hanging up your coats and putting them into the closet.

having been defeated, your legs give way and you sit down on the side of the bed, sobbing.

through the blur of your tears, you watch as he meticulously goes through your suitcase, putting everything where they belong. and you sob harder. he knows too much. he arranges your creams, perfumes and accessories in the perfect order on the dresser. he spends a good fifteen minutes, putting all of your belongings back where they should be.

and by the time he gets back to you, he's like a different man. the mattress dips from his weight as he sits next to you, bringing a box of tissues with him to wipe your tears away.

"we can talk tomorrow since we're both tired today," sukuna tells you as he dabs your eyes with the tissue, "i'll take the day off." you just sit still without responding. now that he mentioned it, the fatigue seems to fall upon you suddenly, like a brick. he coaxes you under the sheets.

soon, you find yourself in bed, in his arms. it's been a while since the two of you had cuddled so intimately. you feel oddly shy, the same way you did all those years ago when you first started dating him. there's a special kind of warmth that sukuna's body emits - and you're surrounded by it under these blankets.

"i'll try to do better... so don't go anywhere," he speaks with a softer tone.

because, it's true, he can't imagine living a life without you.

those are the last words you hear before you drift off to sleep.

the next morning, he's still in bed with you, and you're pleased to see he kept his word about taking the day off. checking the mirror, you're horrified and embarrassed about your swollen eyes from all the crying last night.

sukuna takes a look at you and chuckles without ill intent. but in your flustered state, you slap his arm until he's saying "my bad, my bad" in between laughs.

there's still some awkward tension between you and him, but going through breakfast together seems to melt some of that away, until you're ready to bring up yesterday's event.

it goes better than you'd expected, and after the discussion, the only thing that's left is to wait and see whether things will change for the better or not. whether his promises are empty or not.

"i didn't realise that you were so lonely. 'm sorry," he apologises as he plays with your hand, "i may work a lot, but you're always on my mind, doll."

it's like a huge weight off your shoulders.

and he begins to be more like his playful self again, after the talk.

"i'll need you to tell me that you love me today. since you told me you hated me yesterday," sukuna says with a smirk, hugging you from behind.

"well, you need to earn it," you shoot back, rolling your eyes.

"alright. will you say it back if i say it first?"

"sure."

"i love you."

"..."

"now that's not fair, is it?" he tickles you without mercy.

you burst out in laughter, thrashing around uncontrollably, trying to push him away.

"okay, okay! i love you!" you tell him in between breaths.

seemingly satisfied, he lets you go and pushes his face into the crook of your neck. he'll never let you go.

the following day after work, sukuna comes home earlier than usual, and he doesn't wear a grumpy expression in front of you. he greets you with a hug and kiss. it's a small gesture, but it makes you happy.

and slowly, the relationship begins to rekindle itself.

#crazyy how everything changes overnightt hahaha #blame it on the power of communication #my sensitive ass cant handle breakups or prolonged conflict so i had to make it cheesy at the end sorryy #maybe one day i'll be able to post proper heartbreak haha #sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #soft sukuna #jjk x reader #sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader