#wishing for all the beauty and safety that's meant for me

[luxaofhesperides]

Soulmark AU + Sleeping Beauty ; requested by @candeartist422!

For the last few years, Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die.

It sounds cruel to say it that way. But the waiting is more painful, he thinks, than just mourning a lost love. It’s not like most people ever meet their soulmates anyways; his parents weren’t meant to be, but they still loved each other and had a life together. He wishes he could turn his focus away from his soulmate, but Duke is a romantic at heart and has always wanted to find the other half of his soul.

But since he was fourteen, his soulmark has dulled, fading in and out of color. What was once a vibrant blue crystal star, with eight points and a swirl of watercolor hues around it, dimmed more and more until Duke was sure he was watching his soulmate die slowly. 

His soulmate didn’t die then. Whoever they are got better, his soulmark gaining color, but it never went back to the way it was. For years after, Duke would check at the beginning and end of each day, keeping track of when it faded and when it regained its color. 

He thought his soulmate was sick. In and out of hospitals, fighting to stay alive.

And then it went nearly colorless. 

Duke doesn’t remember much about that day. He knows he woke up, brushed his teeth, the lifted up his shirt to check his soulmark in the mirror. The blue was almost completely gone, the star on his left hipbone nearly gray with how colorless it was. He started at it for a moment, shocked, and reality slid away from him as he retreated into the safety of his mind, fully dissociating. 

Bruce had found him when Duke didn’t show up for breakfast. He held him and offered quiet words of comfort that Duke couldn’t understand, but just having someone with him lessened the hurt of losing his soulmate. 

Seeing the color come back the next day, faint as it was, hurt even more.

A year later, Duke still can’t break the habit of checking his soulmark twice a day. It hasn’t changed at all, still faint and dim, but carrying just enough color to show that his soulmate was still alive. At the very least, they were still breathing, but his chance of ever meeting them is basically zero. Still, he can’t help but hope, wishing that he could meet them even once before they die and leave him forever. 

“Same as ever,” he murmurs to himself as he brushes his thumb against his soulmark. He’s terrified that he’s forgotten how beautiful the blue of it was when his soulmate was healthy. 

Duke doesn’t let himself think on it too much anymore. Though his thoughts often turn to his soulmate during quiet moments like these, the busy nature of Gotham is usually more than enough to pull his attention back to the here and now. There’s no use in obsessing over his soulmate anyways; they’re just going to die, sooner or later, and Duke knows he’ll never get to meet them. They’ll just be another empty space in his life, right next to his parents. 

“Come on, Thomas, focus,” he tells himself firmly, then gets dressed and heads down to the kitchen for breakfast.

The manor is quiet. It usually is in the mornings, with everyone from the night shift dead asleep and trying to get as much rest as they can before they have to start their day. Not that many of them stay in the manor these days; Duke and Damian are the only permanent residents at the moment, but Steph usually stays half with her mom and half in the manor during the summers when she’s home from college, and the others drop in whenever they feel like it. 

Bruce lives more in the Batcave than the manor, so he doesn’t really count. It’s also why Duke is surprised to see Bruce awake and dressed like a normal person, drinking coffee in the kitchen as if this is a normal occurrence. 

“Morning,” Duke offers.

“Good morning, Duke,” Bruce replies. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough. Alfred out or something?”

“He may have kicked me out of the Batcave to clean it up a bit,” Bruce answers tiredly. “Want me to make breakfast?”

Duke has heard the horror stories of Bruce’s attempts to make edible food in a kitchen. In the interest of not dealing with food poisoning, Duke shakes his head quickly and says, “Nah, it’s fine. I was kinda wanting to eat out for breakfast. Get out there as me, and not a mask, you know?”

“Mind if I join you? Alfred may forgive me for not sleeping if I willingly go outside.”

Duke laughs. “Sure man, as long as you pay.”

“I’ll drive, too.”

“What, don’t trust me behind a wheel?”

Bruce gives him a tired look, eyes dead and dull. “I have taught all my children how to drive. The day I willingly let them take the wheel when I am not actively dying is the day I’ve been replaced by a robot clone of myself who doesn’t know better yet.”

“That is… very specific. Is that a thing you usually worry about?”

“I’m Batman. I have to worry about everything.”

Yeah, that tracks. Duke wouldn’t be surprised if he has at least five contingency plans for that scenario, should it ever happen. “Well,” he says, “Right now, all you need to worry about is having your wallet and driving us down to The Foodie Nook. I’ve been craving their breakfast plates for ages.”

Bruce doesn’t object to his choice of restaurant and follows Duke down to the garage, grabbing a random set of keys and pointing it out to the many cars he owns. One near the front blinks its lights as it unlocks and Duke cheerfully tosses himself into the passenger seat as Bruce opens the garage door. 

The drive into Gotham is smooth. They don’t hit traffic until they reach the bridge that leads into the city proper, taking them away from the quiet of Bristol. The morning is busy, but not enough that Duke worries about being out as the Signal to help keep the peace. It’s a normal type of busy, one borne from people going about their lives, feeling safe enough to go out. 

The Foodie Nook is entirely local and very popular, so the parking lot is nearly full. But they expanded their space last year, which means he and Bruce don’t have to sit outside while they wait to grab a table. Bruce keeps conversation light and casual, well aware of the many listening ears around them, and it’s nice, feeling normal for once. 

Well, as normal as life can be with Bruce Wayne™. The server who comes to lead them to a table realizes who she’s talking to after she gets a proper look at them while holding open the door and promptly stutters over her words. 

“No need for any special treatment,” Bruce laughs lightly, “We’re just here for breakfast. Nothing special.”

“Of course,” she replies, cheeks red. “Um, right this way! We’ve got a table by the windows for you. Just two, yeah?”

“Yup! Just two. Thought this was a good day to spend some time with Duke. He’s a great kid, you know, I’m glad I was given the opportunity to foster him.”

The sunny, cheerful Bruce Wayne persona is so different from the usual Bruce he works with that it feels like he’s standing next to a stranger. But his words are sincere and warm his heart, filling up the gaps that his soulmate has left. 

“Here you are!” their server announces, showing them to their table. “I’ll be right back with some menus.” She’s gone in a rush, and other customers glance over before quickly averting their gaze. 

It’s one of the unspoken rules of Gotham: give the Waynes their privacy while they’re out in public. Questions and conversation are for public events only, but if they see a Wayne out and about during a normal day, everyone leaves them be unless spoken to first. Duke used to follow those rules as well when he was just another Gothamite. It’s strange being on the other side of that now that he’s in with the Waynes.

Duke barely has to look through the menu when it’s handed to him. The breakfast plates are his favorites and he gets one every single time he comes to The Foodie Nook; stacked full with breakfast foods from around the world. As a kid, he loved the Mexico Plate, but these days he’s craving either the Brazilian Plate or the Vietnamese Plate.  

He can’t decide on which one and thinks about tossing a coin to decide, but seeing how that’s Two Face’s whole thing, he decides to hold off and settle the matter with eenie-meenie-minnie-mo. 

He gets the Vietnamese Plate.

Bruce, on the other hand, reads through the entire menu like it’s a novel, then leans over and says rather loudly, “Duke, what’s a tort-illa.” 

The pain he feels hearing that is only worsened by the amusement in Bruce’s eyes. He’s doing it on purpose, playing up the Brucie act for the public so he can psychologically torment Duke. A few nearby customers choke back laughter, turning away to hide their smiles. 

Duke shakes his head and says, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just food. Don’t ask any more questions, I just want a peaceful breakfast.”

“Well then,” Bruce replies, “I suppose I know what to order now.”

As if she was summoned, their server reappears before them, cheeks still looking a little flushed. “Hi! Ready to order?”

She writes down their orders quickly, valiantly keeping a straight face at Bruce’s mispronunciation of tortilla, then heads off to deliver their orders to the kitchen. 

Rather than draw out a conversation with Brucie Wayne, Duke settles for playing a few idle games on his phone; his current favorite is one quiet cat cafe game where he directs cats into fulfilling cafe orders. 

Bruce, despite being out in his civilian identity, is working. He’s on his Batman phone, which looks the same as his other cell phones except this one has a bat symbol sticker just barely hiding a Superman sticker on the phone case. His brow is slightly furrowed as he reads whatever file he’s accessing from the Batcomputer. It’s a little worrying but it could be anything. Bruce makes the same expression when he reads one of Tim’s snarky comments getting quoted in the news.

But that’s not Duke’s problem! He’s here to enjoy his breakfast and it will take the end of the world itself to remove him from his seat before he’s done eating.

The game takes most of his attention until their food comes out, and by then Bruce has tucked away the smallest of his Batman mannerisms. They enjoy a normal, peaceful breakfast. Bruce ends it by asking their server if she has any debt that’s weighing her down, then giving her a tip that’s at least five thousand dollars above that. 

She does cry and Bruce hugs her. It’s very sweet. 

As soon as they get back into the car, his easy going smile drops and Duke knows some superhero nonsense is about to take over his day. 

“Duke,” Bruce starts, seriously, “I received a message from Zatanna.”

“Don’t drag this out,” Duke says, “Just give it to me straight. What terrible thing is about to happen to us?”

“It’s nothing too big. They just recently defeated a magical being who had been tearing apart secret government facilities in Illinois. He had both magic and a high tech weapon, which they confiscated and are delivering to me. The government agency he was fighting was suspiciously interested in the weapon, and based on their behaviors and newly revealed work, Zatanna made the decision to turn the weapon over to us so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Bruce smoothly merges into traffic as he speaks, getting them onto the road back to the manor. There’s a look in his eyes that means he’s keeping a lot unsaid, and Duke knows without a doubt that whatever this government agency was doing is bad if Zatanna needs Batman to act as extra security. 

He’s not sure about her decision to trust the weapon to be safe in Gotham, either. Sure, Batman will keep it as safe as he can, but with their luck, it’ll end up in the hands of a Rogue and lead to a lot of death and destruction. 

As soon as they cross the bridge and return to Bristol, Bruce steps on the gas and the car tears down the road. Without any other cars to worry about (or traffic laws), it takes barely two minutes to reach the manor, when the gates open for them and let them into the garage. 

Alfred waits for them by the door, looking them over with a critical eye. “I see you have managed to go outside, Master Bruce. What’s the special occasion?”

“Just breakfast,” Bruce answers. “I’m heading back down to the Batcave. Zatanna will be here soon to deliver a weapon.” He’s gone before Alfred can say anything more, hurrying down the hall and turning the corner, disappearing from sight as he heads towards his office. 

“I see we have yet to break that bad habit of his. Did you enjoy your morning out, Master Duke?”

“Sure did, Alfred. I’m, uh, also going down to the Batcave. He’s definitely not telling me a lot about what’s going on, so I’m just going to read about it over his shoulder. I’ll be back up for lunch, though!”

“And perhaps you’ll be able to drag Master Bruce away from that cave of his,” Alfred comments wryly as he walks with Duke towards the office. He gives Duke a nod, then splits away from him, returning to the kitchen where Duke can hear Damian speaking to someone, probably Tim by the annoyed tone of his voice, and mentally wishes Alfred luck in handling them.

Duke sets the correct time on the clock in Bruce’s office and heads down to the Batcave, taking the steps two at a time. 

Bruce is already at the Batcomputer, shoulders tensed, when he arrives. 

“More bad news?” he asks as he makes his way over.

Bruce doesn’t bother looking away from the screen as he says, “More details about the fight. It seems the magical being called himself a ghost and was going on a rampage due to a betrayal. He says they nearly killed his son.”

“Oh, yikes.”

“And two of the scientists working with the government agency said that he stole their son and is keeping them from saving him.”

“Yikes,” Duke says with more feeling.

He doesn’t get to hear anymore details about JLD’s fight with this ghost when he catches a flicker in the corner of his eye. Duke turns and stares at the empty space in the Batcave near the medbay and watches as colorful magic gathers and swirls in dizzing circles. The portal opens a moment later and Zatanna steps out, looking exhausted and lightly singed. 

“Batman,” she greets, holding a white gun that looks like it belongs in an early sci-fi movie from the 60s. “The GIW is trying to arrest us. Constantine keeps burning their badges and documents so it shouldn’t be a problem, but they are determined to get this back. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came after you next. They’ve got some way of tracking things, but I didn’t have time to get any details before I had to leave.”

Bruce takes the gun from her hands carefully, looking it over with a sharp gaze. “Why would a ghost want to use a gun?”

“I don’t know. He had a variety of powers, too.”

“What does this do?”

“Shoots ice. He never let it go and nearly burned me alive for taking it before we subdued him.”

“We’ll keep it locked up,” Bruce promises. 

Zatanna sighs. It looks as though a physical weight fell off her shoulders. “Thanks. I’m going to head back to stop Constantine from getting into a fistfight with the GIW agents.”

She opens another portal with a waved hand and a muttered spell. Bruce is already walking away to set the gun down on a work station, so Duke is the one to wave Zatanna goodbye. 

By the time he reaches Bruce’s side, the gun is already dismantled, all pieces neatly set aside. Sticky notes denote which pieces go together and in what order. It looks the same as most guns, save for the aesthetic, but the heart of it is a glowing blue orb, large enough to cover the entirety of Bruce’s palm, and it brings a chill to the air.

Duke stares at it and feels his soulmark burn ice cold.

“Duke?”

It’s in his hands. He doesn’t remember reaching out to take it, but it’s in his hands. He can’t take his eyes off of it, cradling it gently and bringing it closer to his chest. 

It’s the same blue his soulmark once was. Before his soulmate began to fade, before every day became a waiting game to see how long his soulmate will last before they die. 

This has something to do with his soulmate. He’s sure of it. 

He won’t let anyone take it from him. 

“Duke. Give that to me.”

He doesn’t feel like he’s in his body. He’s detached, floating somewhere outside his body, puppeteering his limbs, making them move without feeling the motion. Shadows condense around his feet and Bruce takes a step back, wary. 

“Duke,” he says again, but Duke can’t find any words, can’t draw on his voice, can’t even look away from the bright, bright blue of the orb. It pulses lightly in his hand like a heartbeat. 

Bruce reaches a hand out. 

He’s pulled back by shadows before he can get close, and Duke holds the orb against his chest, right against his heart, and feels the cold seep into him. 

“Duke. I need you to look at me.” This time, Bruce’s voice has Batman’s growl in it, a heavy command that he can’t help but instinctively follow. He looks up and meets Bruce’s eyes, but he can’t focus. All his awareness is in his hands and the heartbeat of the glowing orb.

“I have to protect this,” Duke manages to whisper. “I… I think it’s alive.”

“Okay. Let’s get you to the medbay so you can sit down. We’ll figure this out, Duke.”

Bruce slowly, carefully, sets his hand on Duke’s shoulder. He keeps his attention away from the orb, so Duke allows it and lets Bruce guide him to the medbay and onto one of the medical cots. Bruce leaves him after a minute of quiet fussing, muttering about calling Zatanna.

Whatever. None of that matters when the heartbeat of the orb grows stronger, steadier, and Duke feels it match the beat of his own heart.

Time slips away from him. Distantly, he hears people move around the cave, speaking in low tones. A hand presses against his shoulder, warm, then moves away. 

The orb in his hand moves. 

Duke blinks slowly, then claws his way back to awareness, pushing past the haze that’s fallen over his mind. The orb turns over in his hand, then cracks right down the middle. The glow grows stronger, washing the medbay in blue light and a symbol appears on the orb.

It’s his soulmark. 

Later, he won’t be able to say why he did it. There were no thoughts, no reasonings, no explanations. Duke simply moved on instinct and lifted the orb up to his face and pressed a soft kiss against it. 

One moment, the orb was still.

The next, it had burst in a flash of light that blinded everyone in the Batcave, and then a thin, injured teenager had fallen into Duke’s lap. 

Hands immediately grab him, pulling him away from Duke. The teenager puts up no fight, eyes barely open, but he reaches for Duke weakly. On his wrist is the bright blue snowflake, the color strong and vivid. 

“That’s me soulmate,” Duke whispers as he watches Bruce and Tim set the boy down on another medical cot. 

“What?” Tim says, turning to face Duke, concern clear on his face. 

“That’s my soulmate,” he repeats, louder. Then, panicked, he pulls up his shirt enough to see his own soulmark; the color is still dull, weak, barely there, but it’s more blue that it has been in a while. He doesn’t need to say anything. Tim sees the dullness of his soulmark, looks at the boy, and puts the pieces together on his own.

“I’ll call Doc Thompkins,” he says, already moving to fix everything. Bruce remains where he is, making sure the boy is tucked in and breathing steadily before he returns to Duke. 

“Are you alright?”

Duke swallows roughly, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy. He’s pale and thin, as if he’d been starved, and there’s frost beginning to spread on the bedsheet from his fingers. “He’s my soulmate,” Duke manages to say. “He’s been dying for two years.”

Bruce’s eyes a hard, a determined light in them. “We’ll save him,” he promises. 

If anyone can, it’s Batman. 

If anyone can, it’s them, Batman and the Signal, and their entire network of family and friends. 

Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die all this time. Now, he’s going to save him.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #i dont really know much abt jld so they are not really in here #just duke trying to live his life and have a nice day with bruce #when his soul mate gets thrown at him in the form of an ORB #(ghost core but they dont know that yet) #dannys gonna have to answer so many questions once hes awake bc not many know abt realms beings #its gonna be rough for him bc he's been asleep for 2 years in his core bc he was never safe enough to recover #until duke gave him a boost (plus the power of soulmates really helped him) and he woke up #in a cave with his soulmate and a whole crew of superheroes #what a thing to open ur eyes to. rip danny lol #thanks for the prompt!

[diejager]

a Miguel x f!reader "who did this to you?" Angst fic?

Bittersweet Devotion

Pairing : Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Cw: angst, neglect, canon death, dead wife, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 3.5k

Miguel’s been distant these days, the world around him coming to a stop. His temper shortened and his patience dropped lower than it was before, but his attentiveness to his work sharpened. He divulged more of his time to the cause, to defend the multiverse from every anomaly that kept popping up in wildly different universes, at the cost of his personal life. Ever since the *Miles issue* had been dealt with (Spots was stopped from ending Captain Morales’ life prematurely, the canon was kept safe and intact, but his parents knew of his identity and his duty to New York and the multiverse.), Miguel shut himself inside the main office, closed off from the wandering Spider-people he brought over to help him protect their livelihood. 

Atop his platform, he worked tirelessly, swiping screen to screen in search of any escaping anomalies. He depended on Lyla to help him search and the rest of the community to capture and contain these anomalies before they could be sent back to their appropriate universe, closing the rifts they used to escape. The brooding Spider-Man locked himself in, imposing shoulder peering from the edge of his high-floating platform while he stayed there most nights; days even, he hadn’t returned to your shared apartment in the building. He ate when you, Jess or Peter B. brought food to him, he drank and cleaned only when you urged him to do so. 

Staying in his den meant that he rarely slept, the dark bags under his beautiful eyes growing as the days passed. Anomalies appeared left and right, Spiders were dispersed to catch them, sometimes in solo missions, and other times in teams if Miguel deemed it necessary for the anomaly (Green Goblins, Vultures and Sandman were some that were harder to deal with for their volatile attacks.). If you weren’t sent away on a retrieval mission, you’d be working around his office, keeping it clean and usable while he moved around, growling and throwing things as he went.

That’s where things became complicated, Miguel hated meddling and you were often in his space. While he was soft and caring in your shared room (the one he hadn’t been in for weeks now), he was domineering and imposing around the others. His shorter temper meant he often hissed and growled at you, brown eyes glimmering red as he sneered your way. You hadn’t made much of it, contributing his issues to the stress and anxiety he felt while shouldering all this madness. His glares and growls meant little, he was under pressure, but his words, his rants in your face hurt.

His words burned you to your core, the degrading things he screamed at you when you did something that might’ve ticked him off or the insults he’d throw your way when you did something he deemed unsatisfactory. They stung, but you ignored the pain that tore into your heart, the tears that threatened to fall and the anger you felt at his shrugs. You simply missed him. 

Didn’t you deserve some affection? To feel the tender caresses of Miguel’s hands on your skin, the loving promises of his dreams and wishes, and the adoring stares he sent your way. Were you selfish for wanting that? For wanting to have your lover back in your arms. Or were you feeling neglected from the time you spent alone in your bed, the faded scent of his musk, the coldness of your apartment and the uneaten and forgotten plates on the dining table? Were you at fault for feeling forgotten? To sacrifice one for the good of thousands. To sacrifice your love for the safety of all universes. Did one outweigh the other?

“Hijo de puta! Why can’t you do anything right?!” He’d scowl at you, talons digging into the metal of his desk. The ear-splitting sound echoed as he dragged his talons to the edge of the table, red eyes brimming with wrath. He seemed on a warpath, ripping into anything he could get his talons in and throwing the things he could lift off the platform. (Motherfucker-)

You skipped around the objects he threw in his fit, ducking under a chair he gripped and swung randomly, over the desk he kicked, and around the cabinet, he swiped at. Every object he used to vent his emotions were light, in comparison to your given strength. He’d complain afterwards about his things being broken and needing fixing, something you helped him with unless they were too technologically advanced for your time. You webbed all the things you could, aiming your wrist and quickly sticking your end to the floating platform when it stuck to the victims of Miguel’s power. 

You danced around him, catching everything without getting too close to Miguel. He acted without thinking at times in these fury-filled moments, eyes tinging red and reverting to his more animalistic side. He’d warned you before about staying clear of him, to wait until he calmed himself down and realized the devastation of his office. Then he’d apologize and kiss you in hopes you’d forgive him (you always did, you knew his biology made him different - more violent - than you and the Spiders.). You’d fix the platform up, remake the broken parts or simply forget about it, like the many cabinets he ended up buying instead of patching them up.

Now especially, his tantrums began more often and lasted longer, a common occurrence when it was rare months ago. You couldn’t fault him, you didn’t want to, even if your heart throbbed painfully at his words, shoulders curving under the immensity of his tone and actions. You loved him, so you’d bare him in his best as in his worst.

“Detente- Simplemente detente!” In his fits of rage, Miguel reverted to his vulgarity, spitting Spanish words at anyone he faced. His voice was low and gravely, body convulsing as he swung at the fizzling, orange screens, dissipating under his aggressive gesture. (Stop- Just stop!)

When his fuse popped, he’d throw words left and right in Spanish, the enchanting slur of his Mexican accent turning hellish, slamming loudly like the Hephaestus’ hammer. Along his hit came the blow, the effects following them. Whether they were positive or negative, he pushed on, frenziedly hammering the weight of his words into whoever was the nearest to him. Which, coincidentally, happened to be you at the moment when you climbed onto his platform to relay the summarised report of last week’s missions from every Spider.

You let him ramble in silence, watching him twist on the spot and walk circles before his desk, turning and gesturing arbitrarily at something that wasn’t there. He’s expressive with his love, his spite, his care, his needs and his fury. He’d make big motions with his hands, voice dipping low and sometimes rising high with the pitch of his impatience. He growls when he’s displeased. He roars when he’s furious. He spits when he’s agitated. He smirks when he’s pleased. If not his voice or his lips, his eyes shine with emotion, showing those who knew how to read him how he felt.

That’s why you ignored the sharp nabs at your person, the low jabs at your work and how you dealt with the other Spiders as his right hand, or at your simple performance of his care. He didn’t want your care when he was busy, he didn’t want your soft and soothing words when he was tracking down another anomaly with vehement hate, and he didn’t want your meddling when he was focused on important matters of the multiverse. 

He was stressed, and pressure mounted over self-expectations made him lose himself. Down went his tolerance for failure and mistakes. Down went his awareness of his needs. Down went his patience with people and Lyla. Every man and woman would buck under intense pressure, some would break and stop working, and others would submit to the fate of their failures, but Miguel persevered, he pushed and pushed, pulling at the strings he could grasp, even the shortest ones. 

“Can you just- Coño- can you just shut up for a second?!” Miguel bucked, slamming his fist into the desk. It’d probably leave a dent for you or him to fix, a hole in the shape of his fist. 

You rushed to him, hand wrapping around his upper arm, supporting his hunched body as you webbed a chair closer to him, pulling on the synthetic fibre until it was behind Miguel. You whispered encouraging words into his ear, easing him into sitting on the rolling furniture. His legs shook, falling limp when he finally sat down, back slumped over and head low. You ran your fingers through his hairline, pulling up his wild mane. His eyes were closed, bags the deepest you’d seen, and his cheeks were sunken, near sickly. 

A chill wracked your body at his deteriorating appearance, his exhaustion had finally caught onto him. You wanted to fuss over him, to berate him for letting it get this far, but his exhausted figure made you frown and rethink your words. You couldn’t let this go on, you’d have to sit him down and talk to him after you took care of him. You lowered the platform, watching Miguel from the corner of your eye until you reached the lowest it could go. 

“Miguel,” you hushed, pressing your lips to his cheek, soft and gentle for his fatigue. “We need to get you to our room, you can’t work anymore.”

He grumbled, feet weakly moving to ease the weight on your shoulders, you wanted to remind him that you were strong and that you could easily carry him back if you wanted, but he liked to keep his pride as the strongest, the boss that people could depend on. You nodded at those who gave you worried glances, shaking their helping hands for carrying him (you knew Miguel wouldn’t have liked others to touch him so casually.) and asked some to run errands for you while you two were busy. Lyla would take over for now, until you took care of Miguel.

“Let me help you, Miggy. Let me take care of you.”

He slept better than night, the best sleep he’d gotten in weeks - months - and was grounded to a week of rest and recuperation. You helped him shower, washing his back and hair. You cooked his favourite dishes, following the Mexican cooking books you had laying around. You gave him daily massages for the aches over his shoulders and back, massing the tenseness off his arms and legs. At night, you’d force him to bed, blocking his access to his office and kissing him goodnight. The sun rose with you, you rode Hélio’s chariot, turning his nights into mornings as you pulled Selena’s moon into the sky.

While he rested, you worked tirelessly to fill in Miguel’s seat, scouring the multiverse for anomalies and sending Spiders to deal with them. You had Lyla run diagnostics and simulations about the chance for future appearances, playing the game of prediction and bettering the percentage after each successful prediction. Peter B. and Jess could help you around the clock, they shared the job you had as Miguel’s right-hand and worked fantastically together when put in charge of it. They were still sent on missions if you and Lyla determined it was too difficult to face alone, they were skilled and had experience, and they would mentor those who needed help. If the case came forward, you would step away from the office and jump through the multiverse, aiding your fellow Spiders to capture anomalies while Lyla took care of the office. 

Miguel came back healthier, stronger and more energetic. He thanked you in the forms of kisses and hugs, gratified words and gestures that made your heart warm, flutter like wings. It nearly made you forget all the heartache he burdened you with within the past months. Nearly. 

Something had ticked Miguel off, his ragged breath simmering in the air, a steady stream of fury. It burned like the lowest pits of hell, ruled by the cold tone of its god, seated at the top-most throne of the Underworld. Powerful and iron-handed, Hades led with strong principles and meticulous habits, much like Miguel did. His fury and anger were dealt by Cerberus, the three-headed dog of hell, as ferocious and dangerous as Miguel’s agitated state was. 

His shoulders shook, waves of unadulterated rage filtered off his back, rippling his sculpted back as metal creaked under his hands. His talons sunk into the metal, drawing lines in his anger-filled moment. He spun to face you with a roar, arms flailing until he faced you. He heaved heavily, shoulders and chest moving as his blood rushed with emotions, eyes dilated and turned deep red. He stalked towards you in all his mad glory, like the form of the Cyclops casting its dooming shadow on Odysseus’ men. Except, unlike his men, who were eaten in a blink, embraced by death in such a violent but swift way, you’d be ripped apart by it, pieces of your being torn apart for a slow and painful descent.   

He moved in big, lumbering steps, looming over you, shoulders broad and demanding. He sneered at you, in ways that would kill others but wound you deeply, to tear your heart out and throw it away like old, wilted flowers. The air seemed stuffy, hot and confining, his breath even hotter, burning you when he stopped inches from you. You gaped at him, eyes wide and fingers trembling, something crossed your mind, a flash of emotion that you never thought possible to connect to Miguel: fear. 

“Why can’t you be like-!” He started, mind dead set on breaking you down to your smallest, his force slamming into your softer one. Then he stopped, body seizing as if he was shot, but his round eyes told you he almost let himself slip, to let the name slip from his tongue in a haze. You knew who he was talking about, the memories that he related to her, that he was simply mad, but it didn’t ease the pain that ripped through your heart.

“Like who, Miguel!?” You cried back, hands clenching and rigid on your side. Your body trembling with disgust, shock and heartbreak. You couldn’t believe he would bring her up, to compare you to her and voice it out. It hurt; it drove the nail deeper into your coffin, adding another thing over the mountain of doubt and pain.

He just stared, he couldn’t finish his sentence, a starch contrast to his attitude seconds ago. It pained you that he couldn’t even say the words, to apologize to you about what he said. He knew how to run, how to ignore, and how to push things back. He did that well, and now he couldn’t face what he said to you was pathetic. 

“Like who, huh?! Like her!? Like Dana?!” Your vision blurred, and your breath hitched as your body crashed down with agony, sadness and betrayal. You shook this time while he looked on with desperation, body unable to make a sound or motion. 

“I- no- mi cielo, no- I didn’t mean to, I swear, ” he reached out, hand (his talons had received back into his pads) extending to touch you, to hold you in an apologetic embrace, but you stepped back, unable to contain your sobs. “Mi vida, please. Perdón, no fue mi intención.” (I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.)

You backed away from him, his warmth, his adoration, his love. His apology sounded guilty, dripping with regret and sorrow. He winced, watching you step away from him, regret gripping his heart as he moved to follow you. Every step you took backward, he took one forward, copying you, trying to approach you as if you were a wounded and unpredictable animal, to appease and soothe you. 

You shook your head, tearing your eyes away from his teary ones. You fiddled with your watch, opening a portal to your world and shook off your watch. You jumped back before he could catch you, hand extended to you in a desperate attempt to stop you. He wanted to bring you back into his arms, to kiss the tears away and beg for forgiveness until you let him back in, but to leave him, to throw away the watch that connected you to him. It broke him. 

He wouldn’t be able to see you unless you wanted to be seen, the tracker in your watch left blinking before his feet, discarded as you had with him; after he pushed you away, tore you down with his words spurred by the moment’s rush of negativity and pressure. It wasn’t an excuse, he knew that, but it didn’t ease. He sank to the floor, raking it with his talons as he cried out, a pained sob breaking out of his chest as he cradled his head, cursing himself for not being careful, for not heeding your winces and frowns, and not taking your heart into consideration. 

You fell when you landed in your universe, knocking a few boxes as you crashed onto your side. Your body jerked, cold droplets pouring down on your broken figure as you sat back up on the pavement. You hissed, the downcast atmosphere making your body heave a heartbroken sob, clutching your chest - where your heart would’ve been if Miguel hadn’t shattered it - and falling into yourself. You made yourself smaller, hiding your tear-stained face between your knees as you let the rain shower over you, soaking you down to your socks. 

A relationship built on pain, need and desperation was bound to fall. The carelessness of his ways cracked the edge of your relationship, slowly breaking it down into a shell of what it was. You bled for his cause as you bled for your loss. Like Apollo - a caregiver, a watcher of the fates of the people he oversaw, all the good and evil he could do just by saying the word - Miguel loved and felt, he gave and took, but lost it all in the end. His heart was broken and his soul lost over and over, the people he loved and cared for lost to time and fate. Like the Greek god, he loved what he could not have, loved what he could not hold, loved what he could not keep. 

As would Daphne’s story, she loved as much as you did, she cared as much as you did, and she hated as much as you did. In love was the god, as Miguel was with you, heart-stopping in every aspect. He stood like a god over them all, tall, broad and caring. But like any Greek love story, yours was as tragic, the hymn of your love left to fester with hate and anger, with regret and untold pain. Run, you did as Daphne had, crossing where you hoped he couldn’t reach you; where you’d be left hidden from the heartbreaking sorrow.

You didn’t know how long you sat in the rain, perhaps seconds, perhaps minutes, perhaps hours, but every moment blurred into one. The once vibrant colours of New York dulled to a boring monochrome, the world was swallowed in tones of black and white. Your limbs felt numb, you could hardly feel the cold, only the drops of rain and the heaviness of your heart in your chest. You could sit here a while longer, to drown in the sensation of the world falling around you-

Then it stopped raining. That wasn’t right, you could see the water crashing onto the ground by your feet, inches from you. Your side felt warm, a calm, soothing warmth that made your body quake from the cool air. You looked to the side and saw feet, big ones. You followed their body, tracing the lines of their soaking pants, to a warm jacket, broad shoulders and to a familiar face. 

“Oye, who did this to you?” His voice dripped with worry, a calmness that contradicted his frowning eyes. It was a familiar voice. It was a familiar face. It was Miguel’s face. Your lips quivered, staring at the face of your lover - ex-lover now that you thought about it - with newly shed tears. His eyes widened, even more worried than before as he crouched down to your height, hand running down your back soothingly. “Hey, hey, calm down. It’s all right.”

You wished you could believe his words, believe the softness in his tone and the beat of your torturous heart that missed the Miguel you knew. This one - your universe’s Miguel O’Hara (you didn’t even know you had one in your New York, it felt surreal to your depressed mind.) - was a stranger wearing the face of the person you loved. His face was a carbon copy of your Miguel’s, but softer on the edges, calmer and more… human than Spider-man 2099. His voice was gentler, caring more warmth for a stranger in need than yours has, like a whisper from an angel lulling you into a peaceful rest. 

“Vamos, let’s get you out of the rain first.”

Next

#x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara angst #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #spider man 2099 #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #atsv #female!reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #atsv x reader #spiderverse spoilers #spiderman atsv #astv

[jdeclerc]

happy birthday, shadowsinger

pairing: azriel x reader

summary: it's the night before azriel's birthday and he can't help but want you all to himself, politeness and decorum be damned

author's note: i'm a self-proclaimed cassian girlie but az does something to me, i wanted my first fic featuring him to be a happy one...enjoy :)

warnings: smut

word count: 5,728

“Even you can’t slip out unnoticed during your own party, Azriel.”

Azriel can hear the smile in your voice from where he stands facing the kitchen window overlooking the ocean. He wordlessly sends his shadows away, commanding them to ensure the two of you are left alone.

“Who’s to say my plan was to go unnoticed?”

He turns, drinking in your form from where you stand in the kitchen’s doorway.

He had almost been brought to his knees when you exited your shared dressing room hours earlier. Azriel had gone with you too many times not to recognize the pieces you wear as being custom-made by your favourite designer in the rainbow.

The top is made of the most beautiful lace Azriel has every seen, a band of black underneath is the only solid piece. The neckline raises high enough to circle your throat, he had found himself picturing his hand replacing that particular part more times that he cares to admit.

The high-waisted black pants flow down your form like water over rock, two slits running up both sides until they stop near the tops of your thighs. Throughout the night his hands had used every opportunity to slip themselves beneath the fabric, your skin against his own being a feeling he will chase for eternity.

But it is the vision of you now that has him thinking himself the luckiest male in all of Prythian.

You had removed your shoes at some point throughout the night, the intricate style of your hair had been replaced by a beautifully messy knot at the top of your head, and your jewellery had been abandoned in various places, the only piece remaining being the band he had placed on your finger two centuries ago.

You embody everything he deems to mean home, to mean comfort and safety.

“What if my plan was this? To have you all to myself?”

The kitchen is empty save for the two of you, the only noise being the music filtering in from the sitting room.

“You have me Azriel…any way you wish, any time you desire, I am yours.”

He can’t help his smile as he extends his right hand out toward you, a silent invitation for you to approach.

“Dance with me?”

Your eyes don’t stray from his as you close the distance, your left hand meeting his right. He takes your right hand and places both around his neck. His arms come to circle your waist, drawing you in as close as he is able. His wings follow suit, framing the two of you where you stand.

Azriel begins slow movements as he rests his head atop where yours is tucked under his jaw, brushing his lips across your forehead. A song he recognizes as one from your mating ceremony begins playing in the other room. After a moment he begins singing for only you to hear.

Azriel has let only those in his immediate family hear him sing, them being the only fae in existence aware that the ‘singer’ portion of his title rings true. He has only sung for them a handful of times, usually only doing so when faerie wine has gotten the best of him.

It was the expression on your face after the first time you heard him sing that erased any fear he held about your reaction. From that moment he never once denied your requests to hear him sing. You know him too well to ask in front of the other members of the Inner Circle, asking him only in the sacred space of your shared home. He will never get used to the waves of love and adoration you send down the bond when he sings for you.

As the song ends, Azriel begins quietly humming along with the one that follows, pulling both of you further into a moment meant only for the two of you. Neither of you dare to break the cocoon of quiet that surrounds you, moments such as these happening not nearly often enough.

Azriel isn’t sure how much time passes before you break the silence.

“I’m sorry if the party is too much, Cas and Rhys insisted on a night of revelry and debauchery…a gathering, at our house, with just our family, was the best I could get them down to.”

Your voice comes out hushed, like speaking at a regular volume would break the spell of the moment.

“I’m not even sure I want to know what it took to change their minds.” Amusement laces Azriel’s response. “And for it to be on the night before my birthday rather than the day of? You must be a sorceress.”

“It wasn’t quite that dramatic…I simply began telling them how I plan for the two of us to not leave our bed on your birthday, and of all the things we would be getting up to. That seemed to lessen their resolve.”

You can feel Azriel’s hands tighten where they rest on your waist, his head lowering until you feel the brush if his lips against your ear.

“I imagine it would…care to let me in on the details of what you told them?”

“I only got to tell them that I would be too sore for training the following day and that my voice would be strained from screaming your name before they feigned retching and begged me to stop.”

Azriel’s laugh is impossibly deep, the tone causing an involuntary wave of desire to shoot from your end of the bond. The air almost instantly changes, the scents of your respective arousals twisting and twining in the air around you as your gazes lock.

Azriel’s hands move to the backs of your thighs, lifting you into his arms and wrapping your legs around his waist. He moves forward until he can set you down on the closest counter, positioning himself between you and the doorway leading out of the kitchen. His look is nothing short of predatory as he stares down at you.

His right hand comes to rest on your jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. His left moves from your waist and begins toying with the base of your top, the small, black buttons being the only thing that stands between him and your bare skin beneath his hands.

Your hands tighten their grip on either side of his neck as you bring your lips against the base of his ear.

“Damage even one button and I will cut you down…the Night Court will be in need of a new spymaster.”

Azriel leans far enough back to meet your eye and gives you a scandalized look in return. Despite his look his hands retreat to either side of your waist, his thumbs brushing beneath the hem of your top.

“So very violent…I would never dare to do such a thing, my love. Do you think so little of me?”

You respond with a raised eyebrow, both of you knowing his accounts list numerous trips throughout Velaris to replace the articles of clothing he had been too impatient to remove without ripping them.

“Shall I start counting how many pairs of undergarments I’ve lost to your impatience?” You stare up at him through your lashes, choosing your next words knowing exactly what they would do to your mate.

“Or is there something else you’d prefer my mouth to be doing?”

“Fuck me.” He says it so low that you know he’s saying it more to himself then you. His hunger is evident in the way he searches your eyes.

Azriel’s grip tightens around your waist. He moves forward spreading your thighs further to accommodate his form towering over your own.

Wordlessly you begin undoing the buttons of his shirt, reaching halfway before running your hands over his chest. You trace his tattoos, taking in and appreciating the beauty of your mate. You can feel him tense under your touch as your hands move under the collar of his shirt, stopping at the base of his neck to toy with the hair that had grown longer than normal after his last mission.

You look up at him through your lashes and it’s as though his world stops.

Nothing exists outside of this moment for Azriel as his lips meet yours. His right hand moves to the base of your neck, tightening his grip to tilt your head back, allowing him the angle he needs to devour you.

The kiss is the exact opposite of his outward, quiet demeanor. It’s demanding, he is a male with a singular focus, a hunger that only you can satiate. His hands move to your thighs, holding them with a bruising grip as he pulls them higher and tighter around his waist. Every part of him meeting every part of you.

It’s when you reach and beginning running your hand along the length of him over his pants that he pulls back, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth as he does. He rests his forehead against yours, both of your breaths laboured.

“Here or our bedroom?”

“Wha –”

“I plan to be inside you before the clock strikes midnight Y/N.” Azriel’s tone is severe, determination lacing every word. “It can be here, with our family in the next room, or I can spread you out beneath me as you grip the satin of our sheets…tell me where and tell me quickly.”

A mischievous grin spreads across your lips before you respond, and it takes everything in Azriel not to capture your lips with his once more. Your words come out as a whisper.

“Your birthday, your choice.”

Azriel emits a low groan at your words. With a practised ease he lifts you from the counter, keeping your body tucked close to his. He turns and carries you through the doorway of the kitchen, toward the stairs leading to the second floor of your shared home.

Only Amren notices the two of you as you pass by the sitting room. She gives Azriel a knowing smile and it’s the slight bow of her head that tells him she won’t alert the rest of the Inner Circle to your joined absence.

As he reaches the second floor, he carries you through the double doors that sit directly opposite the stairs. He removes a single hand from you only long enough to close both doors, sealing the two of you away from the world once more.

It takes you no more than a moment to know where your mate has taken you.

“The library? Interesting choice.” Amusement is mixed into your loving tone.

“My birthday, my choice, remember?” He moves forward, your back meeting the closest bookshelf. “I bolted these shelves to the floor for a reason, my love.”

Your eyes widen, your mate having left that particular piece of information out when explaining to you how he planned to make changes to the library when the two of you had moved in.

“Azriel…you did not!”

“Oh, but I did, my dear. Do you not remember what happened the first day we moved into this house?”

You both can’t help laughing at the memory. What started as a simple kiss ended with the two of you surrounded by a broken shelf and books scattered every which way. It had been your favourite room in the house ever since.

The library holds such peace and tranquility for both of you. Your respective offices both have doors leading into the room. Azriel can’t count how many nights you both have fallen asleep in front of the fireplace, still holding your books. He also can’t count the number of heated moments that passed between you within the walls of this room, your books, in particular, being the starting point to more than a few of those moments.

Azriel lowers you to the floor and takes your hips in his hands, turning you around. He moves both your hands to rest on the shelf just above your head.

“Keep them there.” His tone leaves no room for discussion or argument.

His hands move to either side your neck, his thumbs brushing the base of your jaw before moving to the first of the buttons that rest there. He undoes each one with painful precision, your arousal growing with each that comes loose.

It seems as though an eternity has passed before the last button comes free. He lowers your hands and pushes the top past your shoulders and down your arms. He sets the top on the empty portion of shelf behind him. As he turns back to face you, he moves your hands to rest on the shelf once more.

He presses a kiss to your left shoulder, leaving a path of searing skin in his wake as he settles his lips at the base of your ear. His fingertips brush across your skin from your hips until both hands come to rest beneath your breasts.

The tightening of your grip where it rests and the shiver that runs through you as he brushes his scarred thumbs across your nipples doesn’t go unnoticed by the spymaster. The cool air of the empty room has formed them into sensitive peaks, and he relishes in the stuttering breaths you let out as he continues the movements of his thumbs.

Azriel’s right hand comes to rest between your breasts as his left moves down your stomach, stopping just short of where he knows you want his hands most.

“Az…”

Your words come out weak, pleading.

His hand undoes the buttons of your pants with expert precision. You can’t help the whimper that escapes as both of his hands leave your body to slide the garment down your legs. He repeats his earlier actions, your pants now resting with your top.

Azriel’s hands find their place once more as he presses your bare form into his fully clothed one, the friction causing another shiver to rake over your body.

His left hand continues its previous path downward until his fingers brush against the most sensitive part of you. It’s his turn to let out an involuntary groan at what his hand is met with.

“So wet for me already Y/N. I’ve barely touched you…are you that desperate for me?”

Rather than give him a response, your body does its best to grind against his hand, searching for some form of friction. His right hand tightens where it rests on your sternum, halting your movements.

“You’ll have to do better than that Y/N. Use your words…tell me exactly what you need.”

His lips are pressed to your ear, his voice so deep it is the accelerant to the fire raging within you.

It takes a moment for you to respond, your words coming out broken.

“I need you…I need you inside me, Az. Now.”

Your words pull him from the haze of his arousal. Very rarely do the two of you move forward without some form of preparation to make the experience more enjoyable for you. Azriel isn’t ignorant to his size, he is acutely aware of the discomfort he has unintentionally caused you in the past. Very rarely does your need outweigh the pain you feel as you adjust to him.

“Be sure Y/N. Please.” His words are desperate, the need to have your intention clear necessary for him to move forward.

You turn in his grip, bringing your hands to rest on his chest as you meet his eye. Your left hand raises to rest against his jaw, your next words giving him the reassurance you know he needs.

“I’m sure Az…I want every inch you have to give me.”

Your hands become desperate, reaching to undo the buttons beneath each of his wings. Azriel can’t help but let out a low laugh as you struggle to pull his shirt from his body. He grasps your wrists and places them on his waist before reaching overhead and pulling the garment off himself. He tosses it to the side, all the care he showed your clothes has been thrown into the Sidra.

He looks down and watches as you pull his zipper down, his breath hitching as you sink to your knees before him, the sight never failing to bring out his base desires. He steps out of his pants when they reach his ankles. His hands move to cover yours where they grip at his thighs when they start to move.

“You’re not the only one that needs me inside you, Y/N.” His voice is gravel, almost pained as he pulls you to stand once more. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth in the beginning of a pout.

“It’s your birthday Az, this is about you.”

His hands encase either side of your neck with a firm grip, ensuring you hear every word he has to say.

“If it’s about me then it’s about you.” His voice goes impossibly deep with his next words. “You should know by now that nothing gets me off quite like the sounds you make as you cum around my cock.”

He says nothing more before he captures your lips with his own and lifts you into his arms. He parts from you just long enough to brush his cock through your folds, lining himself up. You both let out a low groan as he pushes into you, your head falling back against the bookshelf and his coming to rest against your chest.

Azriel doesn’t dare move, savouring the moment. Your hands brush back the hair that has fallen over his forehead, tilting his face up to meet yours. You both refuse to break the eye contact as he draws his hips back and moves them forward once more, working himself deeper.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, and he can see your eyes begin to water as he bottoms out inside you. His heart breaks at the sight, but you don’t give him a single second to fall into self-deprecation as you pull his lips to meet yours.

The kiss is different than the last, it’s fueled by care and adoration. A love so deep neither of you can quite comprehend it most days.

Azriel tucks his head against your neck as you tighten your arms around his shoulders, his lips paying special attention to the spot just beneath your ear that has you clutching him, your nails surely leaving marks.

His first movements are slow, measured. He plays you like a song that he has practiced his entire life, knowing just what you need. It’s when you bring your forehead to rest against his that he knows you need more, knows you want him to give you everything he can.

His pace becomes burning, pulling sounds from you that would have him offering up whatever he needed in order to hear them just one more time.

“That’s it Y/N/N.” He pulls out to the tip before beginning to push back in, painfully slow. His pace quickening again as he snaps his hips into yours. “I want to hear you take every inch like the good girl that you are.”

It’s his words that send you barreling into an orgasm that has you seeing stars. His right hand moves to circle your clit, causing you to cry out as he carries you through your release. Your left hand grips his forearm, attempting and failing to halt his movements.

“Az, please…”

Your words are more desperate than he knows you wish them to be. Azriel gradually slows his movements, and he can feel your body coming back from the over-stimulation. He doesn’t give you time to fully recover as he moves to lay you down on the couch that is centred in front of the dormant fireplace.

Azriel takes a moment to admire the sinful beauty of you beneath him, it’s a sight that he commits to memory each time he is graced by it.

Your hands grip his biceps as he lowers himself to hover above you, his arms resting on either side of your head. His lips meet yours in a kiss that is nothing short of devastating. He pushes every bit of need he has for you down the bond, ensuring you know he is worshipping before his chosen altar.

He hooks his left arm under your knee, raising your leg and pushing himself even deeper inside you. He relishes in the expression that passes over your features at the new angle. Your body is pliant under his, ready to take whatever he gives you.

Azriel doesn’t have many words to say but he wishes he could give every last one to you in this moment.  Wishes he could find the words to properly describe the effect you have on him, his feelings so consuming it terrifies him.

A squeeze on his forearm pulls him from his thoughts, he glances up to meet your questioning expression.

“Care to tell me what has that beautiful mind of yours thinking so hard?” Your words are gentle, barely coming out above a whisper.

Azriel brushes his thumb along your jaw.

“Nothing you don’t already know.” He smiles to himself. “Just that I am hopelessly, endlessly, devastatingly in love with you.”

“Keep talking like that, Shadowsinger and I won’t even need you to move. Your voice is all I need.”

“Then maybe I shouldn’t be doing this.” He pulls out to the tip and pushes back in, hitting every last spot that has you clenching around him and arching your chest into his. “Or this.” He leans down, closing his mouth on your pulse point, leaving his mark on you. “And I really shouldn’t be doing this either.” His mouth resumes its position, and his fingers start moving over your clit in the way only he knows how.

“But we both know it doesn’t matter what I do when I’m the only that can have you like this, the only one that can give you what we both know you’d beg for.” His fingers stop their movements, leaving you to clench around him, wordlessly begging for him to do something, anything. The sound that comes from you at the loss is nothing short of primal, so involuntary Azriel can’t stop the pride that washes over him.  

He starts moving again, varying his pace until he finds the one that has your head falling back onto the couch and the nails of your left hand digging into his back, just below where his wing meets his skin. Azriel can’t help the moan that leaves him, the scrape of your nails only heightening the euphoria beginning to consume him.

Your right hand blindly grabs for the hand he has anchored next to your head. He interlaces his fingers with your own, your knuckles turning white with the force of your grip, desperate to maintain your hold on him.

“Fuck, Az…don’t stop.” He can barely hear the words as you choke them out, each sounding more strained than the last. “Plea...please.”

You’re close; he can hear it in your breathing and feels it in the way your body tenses, as though you’re a rope about to snap.

He doesn’t let up in his pace, even though he can feel himself barreling toward his own release. Azriel is determined to hold out long enough for you to fall over the edge first.

“Such good manners.” Azriel grips the back of you neck with his right hand, forcing your eyes to open and meet his. The expression across his face has you letting out a whimper, the fire in his eyes unmistakeable. “But what did I say about telling me exactly what you want Y/N? Use your words.”

He can see you struggle to form the words, so lost in your pleasure it takes more than one try for them to cross your lips.

“Please, Az, I want to…need to cum on your cock.”

Your words break the last of his resolve. His hand moves from your neck to resume its movements on your clit, moving against it slowly, in such stark contrast to the burning pace set by his hips.

The dual sensations have you crying out and Azriel responds in turn, with a needy groan falling from his own lips.

He leans down and places his lips against your ear, his voice sinful as he whispers the exact words you need.

“Then do that for me, love…cum for me.” His fingers quickening their pace only slightly.

That all it takes for your vision to flash white, your orgasm ripping through you with such delicious ferocity. You can’t help the trembling of your thighs as Azriel’s pace doesn’t slow, drawing sounds from you that only he’s ever been able to do.

His release quickly follows your own as he bites down on your neck, pushing his hips harshly into yours as he cums. You can feel him tremble under your touch as you cling to him, the reaction a direct contrast to the deep moans coming from him.

Azriel’s thrusts slow, anchoring you both as you come down from your respective highs. The sound of your combined releases nearly sending you into a third orgasm.

Azriel isn’t sure how long it takes for your respective breaths to even out. All he knows as he stares down at the look of pure bliss on your face is that he will never get used to this, will never stop wanting to be the one that gets to see you like this.

He waits a few more moments before slowly pulling out of you, a small gasp leaving your lips at the loss. Azriel rests his head on your chest, giving himself a moment to truly come down from his high.

Your hand brushes the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead, a truly contented smile forming as he lifts his head and closes his eyes with the movement of your hand.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence for a few moments before the clock that sits on the fireplace mantel gives out an almost silent chime.

“It’s midnight…Happy Birthday Azriel.” You whisper the words, sending every bit of love you can down the bond. “Hopefully you’re not disappointed with how your day is beginning.”

He leans down to kiss you rather than respond, exploring your mouth with slow precision. When he breaks it his forehead rests against your own.

“When I say this is better than anything I could dream, please believe every word. I thank the cauldron every day for gifting me with you as a mate.” You can tell his next words are said to himself as his eyes search your face. “I will never deserve you.”

“You wish for me to believe your words…believe mine in return.” Your hands grasp either side of his face. “You deserve everything you have, my love. The life you have built, your family, me, all of it.”

He lets out a low hum of acknowledgment, leaning down to kiss you. It’s slow, patient – allowing the both of you to bask in the feeling of each other.

You break from the kiss suddenly, unable to stifle the yawn you let out.

“You’re tired Y/N.”

“No, I’m here, I’m –” Another yawn interrupts your words.

Azriel lets out a low chuckle, shifting so he rests on his side facing you. His wings relax over the edge of the couch, and he allows them to brush the ground rather than devote the concentration to keeping them raised. He reaches over you and pulls the blanket folded over the back of the couch to cover your entwined bodies.

He wraps his arms around your waist and rests your head against his chest.

“Sleep Y/N, you’ll need rest if you’d like us to live out the day you scarred Rhys and Cas with as you described it.”

You smile and let out an amused hum as your eyes begin to close.

“It would be a perfect day, Cas and Rhys be damned.” The words come out in a whisper, and it doesn’t take long for Azriel to hear your breathing leveling out.

He waits long enough to ensure you’re truly asleep before gently untangling himself from you. He looks down as he stands and finds his shadows have returned. They skirt around the bottom of the couch, holding true to their need to keep you safe at every turn.

He silently thanks them, only now realizing just how long your shared family had gone without interrupting the two of you.

Azriel crosses the short space to the bookshelves, retrieving his pants and pulling them on, not bothering to button them as he knows they’ll be on his bedroom floor in a matter of minutes.

He faces the couch once more and pulls the blanket tighter around your form before lifting you into his arms. Even in sleep, you burrow further into his hold, tucking your head tight to his chest.

Azriel can’t help the smile plastered to his lips as he exits the library, vowing to himself that the two of you would be back in this room later in the day, continuing this evening’s activities.

---------

“Where did they go Rhysie?”

Rhysand can hear the pout in Cassian’s voice as he asks the question.

“They didn’t leave the house so I’m sure they haven’t gone far Cas. Don’t worry, we’ll find them.”

He tightens his grip on Cassian’s arm as his massive form sways during their ascent up the stairs.

“We better, they’re too important to me to lose.” His eyes are taking on a glossy glint as he continues. “What if something terrible’s happened?! I’ll kill anyone who dares lay a hand on them!”

It’s in that moment that Rhysand thanks the Mother he insisted they all come unarmed tonight. A drunk Cassian is one matter…an armed drunk Cassian could end in catastrophe.

Rhysand can hear a slight shift from down the hall as they finally reach the top of the stairs. He looks ahead and spots two of the few fae who permanently reside within his heart.

Cassian moves before Rhysand can pull him back. His massive form taking the most ungraceful of steps to reach his friends.

“Thank the gods you’re okay!” Azriel quickly hushes the General, his tone having crossed from its previous whisper to the beginning of his normally boisterous, energetic tone. “I was so afraid something terrible had happened when neither of you came back!”

Azriel eyes dart to Rhysand’s, his eyebrows raising in question. Rhysand shrugs in response, slipping into Azriel’s mind after he lowers his shields.

“He refused to leave until he laid eyes on the two of you, his concern so great he turned down every reassurance I tried to give him.”

“Just how much did he drink?” Azriel’s amusement is evident, no anger imposes on his tone.

“Please don’t make me answer that, he winnowed to the wine cellar before I could stop him. Feyre’s in similar shape but Amren was able to get her home, I clearly haven’t had such luck.”

Azriel nods at his High Lord in understanding and turns his attention to Cas once more.

The stretch of silence has given the General an opportunity to move even closer to the two, his eyebrows furrowed in worry as he looks down at Y/N.

“She’s not hurt Cas, she simply sleeps. You wouldn’t want to wake her, would you?”

Cassian shakes his head.

“Can you do me a favour, brother?” Cassian nods in response.

Rhysand can see from where he stands that the expression Cassian gives Azriel is nothing short of one filled with utter love.

“Y/N had a headache earlier today and she misplaced the tonic Majda gave her in the House of Wind after our meeting. Can I trust you to find it for her? It would make her so happy to have it back.”

“For Y/N? Consider it done, brother.” Cassian’s tone is as serious as it is when he walks into battle. The two of you had been close since the moment you met, the General declaring himself your protector.

He stares at Azriel for a moment longer before taking his face in his hands and kissing both of his cheeks. And it’s as he leans down to give Y/N the same treatment that Rhysand finally takes in the scene before him.

He observes Azriel’s half-clothed state and his quick adjustment to the blanket covering you, pulling your body in closer to his own.

Rhys realizes just what he and Cassian have interrupted and curses his less than sober state for not realizing earlier the most obvious reason two mates would slip away at one of their respective birthday celebrations.

“Cas, let’s go find that tonic. We wouldn’t want Y/N to wait any longer than she has to.” Rhysand crosses the short distance and moves to turn Cassina away from the mated pair.

Azriel shoots him a grateful look, his thanks clearly evident.

Cassian allows Rhys to lead him away but abruptly turns back just as they move to descend the stairs.

“Azriel?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Tell Y/N Happy Birthday from me when she wakes up, I want to be the first one to say it.” His smile is beaming at the thought.

“The second she wakes, she will know.” Azriel’s words are filled with amusement, letting out a low laugh at the General’s words.

Cassian gives him a triumphant smile, turning back toward the stairs without another word.

Rhysand gives Azriel one last apologetic look before leading the General down the stairs and past the wards that guard the home.

“Y/N must’ve gotten hot before she fell asleep.”

Cassian’s words have Rhysand pausing.

“What makes you say that, Cas?”

The General’s words fall to a whisper, as though somebody may be listening.

“She didn’t have any clothes on under that blanket. She was in front of a fire and got too warm, Azriel didn’t want us to see so he put the blanket on her, I’m certain of it.”

He speaks like he’s privy to confidential information and has finally chosen to let Rhysand in on it.

Rhysand grips his brother’s arm, giving him an endearing smile as he begins to winnow them to the House of Wind. Cassian’s face conveying unending pride at Rhys' reply.

“You must be right Cas…there’s absolutely no other possible explanation.”

#azriel x reader #azriel #cassian #rhysand #acotar #acotar x reader #night court

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hi can I request twst dormleaders with lapis!mc from steven universe like her telling them about homeworld and gemkind and them finding out about her past when she was stuck in a mirror for 3000 years because of the crystal gems and them accidently poofing her when they overblot but then she reforms infront of them

Lapis Lazuli Reader (2) | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Riddle Rosehearts

“So the gem…”

“Was me…it happens when I get too damaged.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not really…it doesn’t feel like anything.”

Your past and the reality of your gem scares him 

He treats you like glass despite your clear difference in power

He can’t imagine letting you back into a world that resulted in the crack you speak of

Beheading people who are to careless of you is getting too much

You’ve taught him not all rules need to be followed

But maybe

Just maybe 

it would benefit you both if he made some rules just for your safety

Kalim Al Asim 

“Your constant smiling reminds me of someone.”

“Do…you wish you were with them now?”

“....Yeah.”

He wants to be the world you live in

Be the one you think about when your listless gaze floats away

He wants to make you laugh more

It’s the most beautiful thing to him

Not to mention the gem reminds him that you two were meant to be

The Asim family has tons of jewels that transcend history and value 

It’s just perfect

You truly should belong with him

Rulers of water bound together

Sounds like the way things should be

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere twisted wonderland #yanderes #yandere #yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere riddle x reader #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere riddle #yandere kalim x reader #yandere kalim al asim #yandere kalim al asim x reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere x gender neutral reader

[gloomwitchwrites]

Say Yes

Bounty Hunter Boba Fett x Female Reader

Content & Trigger Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): fluff, heavy suggestive themes, protective!Boba, Mandalorian!Boba, light angst, non-descriptive sex

Word Count: 2.5k

A young, handsome bounty hunter on Tatooine makes it a daily intention to ask you to marry him.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // fluffuary 2024 masterlist

Mando’a Translations: cyar’ika – darling / sweetheart riduur – partner / spouse “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde” – marriage vows

“Marry me, cyar’ika.”

You glance up from the worn open tome resting on the counter in front of you. “Again? Really, Boba?”

The Mandalorian helmet, dented with flaking green paint, tilts slightly to the right. “You called me ‘Boba’ this time,” teases the bounty hunter.

You roll your eyes and push off from the counter, cheeks heating even as you grumble in false irritation.

Boba Fett, Jabba the Hutt’s favorite mercenary for hire, has asked you to marry him every day for several weeks now. And each time, you have refused him. For the first few, you were overly polite. But as his attempts continued, your polite rejections transformed into snarky quips and blatant dismissals.

It’s not like you don’t find the man attractive. Underneath the armor is an incredibly handsome man, and his attention has always been sincere. But Boba Fett is a dangerous man, and you’re just a simple shopkeeper trying to make a living in Mos Espa. In that regard, the two of you are incompatible no matter how much he persists and chases after you.

“I like how you say my name,” continues Boba, his voice a soft purr. “Sounds beautiful on your tongue.”

“And you are too forward,” you snap, knowing that your sharpness is just a cover. Which is silly, because you do like him, and Boba seems to understand this. Boba burrows beneath your skin, and you cannot dig him out.

“Am I?” he asks with mock offense. You really want to throttle him, but you also really want to kiss him.

“Yes. I don’t know how many times I have to say this, Fett,” you emphasize, deliberately using his last name. “But a ‘no’ is a ‘no’ even if you don’t like it.”

Yep. Push him away. Keep pushing. Maybe he’ll take the hint this time.

Boba Fett stands tall, arms crossed over his chest, one hip slightly popped. With the helmet on, you have no idea what his expression might be or what he’s feeling. Not knowing is maddening, and it quickens your heartbeat, a growing tingle buzzing in the tips of your fingers.

“So, all those touches meant nothing to you?” he asks with just the faintest hint of roughness in his tone.

“Yes,” you lie.

Boba shifts on his feet, shoulders straightening. “What about all the kisses you’ve given me? Hm? Nothing?”

Kriffing hell, why is this man always so direct? It’s nice that Boba is good about telling you what he wants and what he’s thinking for the most part, but it always catches you off-guard. It makes you weak, melting you into goo that he can mold however he wishes.

“Those are not enough to build a marriage, Boba,” you shrug. “There has to be more.”

“But there is more.” He steps around the counter, stepping into your space. “Isn’t there?”

Boba is right. There is more. There has always been more. Whenever Boba is on Tatooine, he is visiting you, talking with you, bringing you gifts, fixing things around the shop without you having to ask. He has offered to take you out after you’ve closed shop. He routinely takes a personal interest in your safety and security. Because of that, no one bothers you or tries to harass additional credits out of you. They stay away and respect you because they see you as Boba’s woman.

And it isn’t only that. He only ever speaks softly to you. He only ever treats you with respect and shows general interest in your life. The most maddening thing is how many women have actively shown their interest in him to his face, and he has brushed them all aside. Even after all these refusals on your end, Boba still declines their advances, and shows up at your shop each day insisting that you marry him.

“Why do you keep denying this, cyar’ika? You know I’d make you happy.” Boba is standing too close, almost on top of you.

“The shop is closed,” you reply. “If you’re not going to make a purchase, you should leave.”

Boba nods his head and backs up, reaching for an item off the shelf without looking. He deposits some credits on the counter, much more than what the item is actually worth.

“I’ll return tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder, tapping the counter as he makes his exit.

The soft chime that alerts you to when the front door opens echoes throughout the room.

You’re in the backroom organizing. It’s the next day, and Boba hasn’t shown himself yet. This might be him, but it’s likely not. There are times when Boba does not come, and you are fully aware that those are times when Jabba sends him off for a job.

“Sorry. We’re closed.” You step out from the backroom and immediately freeze.

Three Nikto bikers loiter in the middle of the shop. It’s evident that they are not here to purchase anything. Their dark eyes roam over the shelves and tables, but once they notice you, they focus in, drawing closer.

“Apologies,” you say, attempting to project your voice, to sound tougher than you are. “We’ve closed for the evening. If there is something you need right away, I can ring you up. Otherwise, you’ll need to leave.” You do your best to keep your voice steady and calm, but you hear the gentle shake.

“This street is our new territory,” hisses the leader of the group. “We were stopping by to offer our…services.”

Services, meaning protection, meaning “pay us or you’ll be a target.”

Tatooine might be overrun with crime lords and criminal activity, but the main powers at play are not known to harass the smaller folks just trying to make a living. These are outliers. These are individuals who answer to no one but themselves, and believe they can carve a piece out for their own gain.

Rarely are they ever successful, but that doesn’t mean they don’t try.

Just as you open your mouth to reply, the soft chime comes again. This time everyone turns and you sigh with relief when you see who it is.

“Boba Fett,” says the Nikto slowly. His shoulders stiffen and they all put their hands on their blasters.

The bounty hunter does no answer right away. His helmet moves, scanning the Nikto, and then you, assessing. Even from across the shop, you sense Boba’s anger. There are few things that rile him up, but you’re one of them.

“It’s not smart moving in on Jabba’s territory. Or to harass what’s mine.” When Boba says mine, he growls it. The possessiveness in his tone heats your flesh, sends a sharp spike of desire down to your belly.

The Nikto all glance at each other before the leader addresses Fett. “We didn’t know the female was yours, Boba.” He holds his hands out in a placating gesture, indicating that he didn’t mean any harm. Yet you know that isn’t true. Their intention from the start was to harass you for credits.

You scoff at female but decide to let it go.

“I think it’s best that you leave.” Boba steps to the side.

The duo glance at their leader for direction. The Nikto’s features are impassive, but he eventually inclines his head, exiting as Boba insist they do. When the last one leaves, Boba momentarily glances in your direction. The door stands open, and Boba exits with him.

When it whooshes shut, you sprint over to the wall panel, immediately engaging the lock and shuttering the windows. You stand in the silent shop for a few minutes trying to calm your heartrate. Once it’s manageable, and not beating so hard it might burst from your chest, you head upstairs to your small apartment above the shop.

By the time you’re curled up in bed, you’re no longer anxious, but there is the slightest bit of tension that lingers in your limbs. Sighing, you turn over in the bed, only to hear the brief pulse of a jetpack shutting off and boots on the small balcony outside your bedroom window.

Slowly, you push up to sitting, the bedsheets falling to your waist. You know it’s Boba. He does this some nights. Camps out and protect you in the only way he knows how because you’re too stubborn to take him up on his numerous marriage proposals.

Tonight, it’s obvious as to why he’s out there. Part of you is reluctant to leave him outside. You’d prefer it if he were with you, within arm’s reach, to see him without the helmet. Plus, nights on Tatooine can grow cold. You want him inside where it’s warm.

On quiet feet, you go to the door that leads outside. Opening it silently, you stick your head out into the chilly air, finding Boba as he leans against the exterior wall, arms crossed.

“You should be in bed, cyar’ika,” chides Boba playfully.

You swallow, suddenly nervous now that you’re confronting him. “Do you want to come inside?” you ask, a bit hesitantly.

Maybe it’s the uncertainty in your tone, or the way you shrink back a bit into the interior of the room, because Boba is suddenly alert, all of his attention attuned to you.

Boba immediately pushes off from the wall and approaches you, his hand on the door, pushing it wider. “Are you hurt? Did one of them touch you?”

You shake your head vehemently. “No. I’m fine. Promise.”

Boba’s chest heaves slightly but you’re not sure if it’s from his sudden movement or a releasing of relief. He glances over his shoulder at Mos Espa, the t-shaped visor of his helmet fixated on the city’s skyline. Turning back, Boba nods.

You step away from the door and Boba enters. Even with the door closed and the windows’ shutters slanted to dim the moonlight, some of it still spills over the room like tiny white rivers.

His helmet hisses as the pressure seal disengages. Slowly, Boba lifts the helmet off his head and sets it aside on a nearby table. He runs his fingers through his dark hair, the ends sticking up slightly after he does so. With the faintest movement, Boba turns, and that moonlight cuts sharp glowing lines over his face, highlighting tanned skin and dark eyes.

You don’t even realize you’re moving closer to him until Boba grabs you by the waist and pulls you against his armor-clad body. Instinctively, your hands reach out, locking onto the beskar. Boba’s head dips and yours rises to meet him automatically, and yet there is no connection. It is simply holding, a waiting between two hesitant people.

“You haven’t asked me to marry you today,” you murmur.

The corner of Boba’s lips turns upward in a soft smile. “Will you marry me, cyar’ika?”

“No,” you say automatically, before the two of you start laughing.

“Let’s try that again.” Boba reaches up and cradles your cheek. “Cyar’ika. Will you marry me? Will you allow me to speak the words of my people? And will you speak them back?”

The words of his people. The Mandalorian marriage vows. You are distinctly aware of what they are and what they mean. Which is why Boba’s earnestness isn’t fake to you. Mandalorians take their weddings vows seriously even though the process of exchange is simple. It is the intention behind the exchange that is most important to them.

That is how you know Boba speaks the truth, that him asking you to marry him is a genuine desire of his.

“Passion does not make a relationship,” you reply.

The answer is a shift away from actually having to answer. How many times have you and Boba ended up on the floor of the backroom after rejecting him? It’s more than you can count on your hands.

“That’s all this is to you?” he laughs. “You know I can give you more. I do more than that now.”

You curl forward a bit, rest your forehead against the beskar. “I’m scared,” you whisper.

“Of what?”

“Of what will change.”

Boba’s fingers brush under your chin and lightly guide your gaze back to his. “I wouldn’t ask you to give anything up.”

“Yes, but—”

Boba gives the slightest shake of his head and you instantly quiet. “Do you want me?” he asks. “Tell the truth.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I want you,” you breathe, allowing the words to drip off your tongue.

“May I have one of your kisses?” he asks softly, one gloved thumb lightly pressing down on your bottom lip.

“Yes,” you breathe.

Boba closes the distance, forms perfectly to you. It is slow and delicate and sweet. Your body hums with energy, and when you press for more, Boba growls and pulls back, hastily ripping off his gloves to reveal his bare hands.

Then he’s cupping the side of your face, drawing you back to him, tasting and tasting and tasting until your fingers are clawing at him in desperation. When he breaks the kiss, you still lean forward as if you can reach him.

“Then repeat the words with me, cyar’ika. Become my riduur.”

Boba presses his lips to yours, draws forth an air-stealing shiver from deep within your lungs.

“Mhi solus tome.”

“Mhi solus tome,” you repeat.

We are one together.

Boba slides an arm around your waist to drape softly over your curves. “Mhi solus dar’tome,” he says.

You say it back to him. “Mhi solus dar’tome.”

We are one when parted.

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

We share all.

This time, Boba slots his pelvis against yours, and you understand his heated intention.

“Mhi ba’juri verde.”

“Mhi ba’juri verde,” you say with shaky breath.

We will raise warriors.

Boba snuggles the side of your neck, breathes in your scent. “I’d like to lay with my riduur.” His fingers find the edge of your sleeping robes.

“As long as I can have my riduur the same way.”

Boba grins against your throat. Together, the two of you remove his armor, piece by piece by piece. The moment his flightsuit is unzipped and he steps out of it, Boba is on you, drawing your lips to his, desperately claiming what is now so rightfully his.

Your own clothes are gone before making it to the bed. Boba runs his hands over your back, sliding down to lift you into his arms. Your legs wrap around his middle, and Boba carries you off, placing you gently onto your back.

His mouth upon your skin is a brand. Hot. Searing. It goes lower, lower still until you’re crying out for him, begging for him to be with you as your riduur should. Boba is happy to do so, sliding between your thighs so perfectly, you both lose yourselves momentarily before becoming nothing but a raging storm, waves crashing into each other repeatedly until one of you breaks.

Rest does not come until the morning suns begin to ascend over the horizon. You do not open your shop. And Boba does not return to Jabba’s palace.

There is peace for a while.

Harmony.

taglist:

@padawancat97 @foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @garfunklevibes2012 @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @kayden666 @cherryofdeath @enfppixie @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @beebeechaos

#boba fett fanfiction #boba fett fic #boba fett fluff #boba fett x reader #boba fett x fem!reader #boba fett x you #boba fett x female reader #boba fett smut #bounty hunter boba fett #mandalorian boba fett #clan fett #tbobf fanfiction #tbobf smut #tbobf fanfic #tbobf fic #the book of boba fett fanfiction #the book of boba fett smut #the book of boba fett fanfic #the book of boba fett fic #star wars fluff #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #star wars fic #star wars original trilogy

[writethrough]

Vigilance

(Vessel x Gender-Neutral Reader)

Synopsis: Vessel contemplates what you mean to him while you're laying together.

Warnings: Maybe a little self-deprecation on Vessel's part, but besides that...?

Word Count: 599

A/N: This one really came out of nowhere. The first half is part of this dream I had, then I filled in the ending. Short, kinda fluffy, but in a serious way. If you've read "Sun Daze," "Morning Blue," or "Found You," it's that vibe.

You felt his presence before you were truly conscious. Sitting on the edge of your bed, he watched you. You’d gotten used to it by now. It was reassuring. His constant vigilance—a protective bubble that embraced you. 

His nimble fingers grazed your side, trailing to the small of your back. “Rest, my love.” 

Humming, your eyes remained closed, enjoying his feather-light touches. You had shoved the blankets off you in your sleep and were rewarded when his skin caressed yours. 

The bed shifted, then his lips brushed the side of your head.  

“Lay with me?” Though it escaped as a statement, you meant it as a question. One you knew he’d never refuse. 

He slipped behind you, one arm sliding beneath your head, and the other around your middle. You threaded your fingers through both of his hands, needing to be as close to him as possible. With his exposed chest pressed against your back, you relaxed into him, head resting in the crook of his shoulder. 

This was your safe place. Nestled in his hold where no one else existed.  

You took in every part that connected to him and wished you could stay like this forever. 

“Ease now, beloved. I am with you.” He pressed his mouth to your shoulder, lingering to feel more of your skin.  

He would stay like this until you woke next. Until you had to move. Until you indicate otherwise. He would remain.  

He could not follow you into blissful unconscious, but this almost seemed better. The trust you put in him, the way you let him embrace you, how openly you received every part of him—he witnessed it all in these moments. As you drifted, your walls receded. He saw you for who you were and vowed himself to you. Even if you didn’t know the extent of his allegiance to you, it didn’t matter. You belonged to one another. He would ensure your happiness, your safety, your peace—because they were his own.  

The scent of your hair enveloped him. You were home to him. He could not determine the last time he had a home, but the word was fitting. In all his travels, in all his life, he had glimpses of reprieve, but with you he had gained more than that. You had given him more than he ever had in the centuries before you. And for that he owed you his existence. 

Every time he looked at you, spoke to you, touched you, was like the first. You did not want anything from him—like so many others—you simply wanted him. So, he gave you all, every piece of darkness within himself, every memory from before, every task he was given, because he wanted to make sure. Was this what you wanted? Was he what you wanted? 

In response, you showed him all of you. Your regrets and failures, your hopes and dreams, your fears—and they were beautiful. You were...everything. 

For that, he had pledged to be yours. He had proclaimed his love, and you returned it.  

So, he would remain by your side, in every sense of the word. In ways he could not explain. 

He matched his breathing to yours, steady and deep. Once your fingers had slackened, he curled his a little more to keep you connected. And his eyes closed, letting your skin warm his and your scent fill him. 

This was as close as he could follow you, but it was enough. You were with him. This was all he needed. His greatest treasure. His love. His meaning.  

Taglist: @steph-speaks, @themultiverseofmars

Let me know if you want to be tagged in future fics!

#vessel #sleep token #sleep token vessel #vessel sleep token #vessel fluff #vessel x reader #vessel x gn!reader #vessel x gender-neutral reader #vessel x gender neutral reader #vessel x you #vessel fanfic #vessel fanfiction #vessel fic #vessel fics #vessel oneshot #vessel one shot #vessel imagine #vessel imagines #sleep token fluff #sleep token x reader #sleep token x gn!reader #sleep token x gender neutral reader #sleep token x gender-neutral reader #sleep token x you #sleep token fanfic #sleep token fanfiction #sleep token fic #sleep token fics #sleep token imagine #sleep token imagines

[secretagentsociety]

yandere demon king X reader

I really like the idea of a demon king all powerful and all feared by everyone,shows no mercy to anyone but when it involves you he will melt like butter

Yandere demon king who pretended to be a normal farmer boy,conveniently his farm was the one farthest away from all civilization

Yandere demon king who took one look at you and decides your soul will be his,every inch of you will be his

Yandere demon king who had to really restrain his strength or he might ended up injuring you his lovely fiancé

after months of playing pretend living normally by the country side,you one day came home with very very sad news

the demon king has put a curse upon the prince,and you've been nominated to be the sacrificial lamb meant to ward away luck, you'd came home from the town hall crying your eyes out complaining to kaziel as his eyes slowly became dark

yandere demon king who'd soothes you slowly coping you to sleep,he made sure to hug you tightly as you bawled your eyes out,his beautiful little treasure his pretty soul his future spouse

Yandere demon king who softly whispered word of affirmation and confessed his love to you every night as if his life depends on it,stood Infront of a dead body who'd been brutally murdered

it'll be so sad for him to have to leave you behind,it took his subordinates alot of convincing for him to go back to the demon realm,even then the elders had to threaten your safety and he can't have that

he'd came up with a reason giving you a cute little plush toy of him "don't be scared to call my name if you ever need me okay?" He said Caressing your face

yandere demon king who'd be absolutely touch starved after he came home back to you, he'd be very clingy you barely had any room to move around with how much he clings onto you

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

at night two demons from the demon realm sneaked inside your shared home they wondered why they have been given the job of assasinating a human,a weak human no less for devilssake!their the top assassins!

"you two must've gotten lost" they suddenly heard from behind, turning around they were met with the piercing eyes of their king "YOUR MAJEST-"

"shut up,do you wish to awoken my beloved?!" Kaziel asked,the two assassins quickly quieted down but trembling nonetheless

"now then" a faint glow appeared on kaziels eyes

in the mean while you're sleeping soundly muttering something in the line of foods and mother's

at the break of dawn the shadow guards placed by kaziel around your house all had a twisted look on their face seeing the faith of the two assassins their ruly is truly a cold blooded man

How you didn't see it goes beyond them,but this isn't so bad either,by far the easiest job they've done considering you rarely walk around often opting to read books or let your frustration out on some poor burning woods

slowly you opened your eyes to see a bloody man standing Infront of you....is that?..."kaziel?" You asked eyes still heavy with sleep

"shhh go back to sleep my love" he whispered kissing your forehead suddenly you felt the sudden urge to fall back asleep,well there's no reason to fight the feeling you gladly accepted the sleep with open arms

"six,ten" kaziel called out

two shadow guard appeared behind him kneeling "yes master" they said in unison

"clean this mess for me" he said wiping his hand off with some handkerchiefs before rejoining you in bed

#yandere x you #male yandere #tw yandere #Yandere demon X reader #yandere boy #Yandere oc x reader #yandere oc imagine #Demon X reader

[troublefemme]

In case you wanted to know what these terms mean in terms of the butch/femme community (not ballroom culture), I'll try to make it quick:

butch/femme ≠ aesthetics !! These are community roles first and foremost. Not just being masculine or feminine as a rule of thumb, especially because masculine and feminine are presented and expressed in multiple different ways, there isn't just one way. Butch and femme are complex and subjective identities (it's not one size fits all because everyone is a little different).

Butch and femme are about subversion and belonging. About your role in your community.

Butch is authentic, transgressive, beautiful in its own ways, it's taking masculinity that for a long time was seen as only belonging to men and making it their home, their comfort, finding their true self there and giving it their very own meanings, much like femmes' femininity, their masculinity isn't one size fits all and it shows itself in different ways. Femme, for me, is taking femininity and making it your own, presenting yourself for others in your community, femme is strong, it's brave, it's fierce, it's demanding when we need it to be, it's making your voice heard for your sake and for others, because that's the important bit, it's all about community. Femme is being safety and community to butches and vice versa. Being femme is being proud. Femme is taking care of your community, it's making a home together where we all belong. If femme meant just being feminine every feminine lesbian would be femme and that simply isn't true.

Here's an article dividing feminine and femme - butch/femme - in terms of their functions.

stone butch = sexual role. stone butch ≠ most masculine butch/hard butch - this misinformation was reinforced by the futch scale and it is not correct, as said previously, stone butch is a sexual role! Stone butch is a butch who has boundaries regards receiving/being touched by their partner(s) in sexual situations, a butch who doesn't like/feel comfortable/would rather not be touched in certain ways for whatever reason they might have.

futch: silly joke started by the futch scale that reinforces butch and femme being simply looks and aesthetics when they're not :)

high femme/stone femme/pillow princess/stone femme bottom: it's a sexual role just like stone butch and it means a femme who has certain boundaries when it comes to giving or touching their partner(s) in a sexual situation, someone who doesn't like/feel comfortable/would rather not touch their partner(s) in certain ways for whatever reason they might have, it's important to understand that each stone femme has their own subjective boundaries and what, and to what extent, they're comfortable with, so you shouldn't assume one size fits all, same goes for stone butches. High femme does not mean an extremely feminine femme. That's another twisting of the concept reinforced by the futch scale that I wish everybody would quit listening to.

Do you have to be butch or femme to be lesbian? No! You do not, it's so ok to be unaligned.

Do you want to simply talk about your presentation? You can say masc as in masculine presenting or fem as in feminine presenting.

Alright, hope I helped.

#trouble posts #just seeing a lot being reblogged uncritically with those terms being used incorrectly in context #butch femme #stone butch bottoms stone femme tops i know y'all exist i think y'all are great. please don't fight me

[lily-fics-11]

The Girl Next Door: Chapter 4 (Hazel Callahan, Bottoms)

Fic master post here (feel free to comment to be added to taglist)

The Girl Next Door

You hadn't been close with your neighbor Hazel for years. But you find her beat up in the locker room after fight club and all of that changes

Chapter 4

After getting cleaned up by Hazel and clearing the air, things are beginning to feel the way that they used to. Aside from the romantic tension, of course.

Word count: 3.4k

CW: Profanities, mention of injuries, illusions to violence. Hazel WILL melt your heart. (LMK if I missed anything)

You take out your phone camera to check the damage. A swollen bottom lip with a cut on one side. There’s bruising on your chin that spreads all along the jaw. The cheek gash looks worse than it feels. Eye makeup is smeared around from all of the crying. 

The mess is captured in the click of a picture and Hazel laughs. “Did you seriously just take a picture?”

“Hell yeah. My face hurts right now, but soon enough I’ll be looking back at this and laughing. Come over here with your black eye and take a picture with me.” Hazel shifts closer to you and leans her head on your shoulder. There is a lot of blushing, but also the biggest smiles. This is probably the worst picture you’ve ever taken together, but you have a feeling that it’s going to be your new favorite. 

You sigh. “I look fucking busted!” Hazel moves away, laughing even more. “Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?” You wish she would have stayed close to you.

“I look like absolute shit! I can’t go out like this, what are people going to think?”

“I don’t know why you care so much about what other people think. But if it makes you feel any better, everyone's going to think you’re a badass. People even think that Josie and PJ look cool and you are working with a lot more than they are.”

“I look like I got jumped on the way home from school and it's completely unattractive!” You groan.

“That’s not the least bit true,” Hazel reassures with a very serious look on her face. “Don’t lie to me, Hazel.” 

“We both know that I can’t lie to save my life.” Hazel’s reminder is paired with raised eyebrows and a snicker.

“Well don’t just tell me what I want to hear to make me feel better!” The pitch of your voice careening upwards cartoonishly.  

Hazel’s expression softens and she takes your hand. “I’m totally serious. You are too beautiful for some cuts and bruises to change that.” You feel your face turn bright red. You aren’t going to let yourself take what Hazel is saying the wrong way. Even if she is holding your hand. Her words cannot be taken as they are desired, they must be taken as they are intended. It’s all very overwhelming and calls for a change of subject. 

“Looks like I won’t be kissing anyone anytime soon,” you laugh uncomfortably regretting the words the second they leave your mouth. Why bring up kissing? Stupidity, that's why. You pull away, dropping her hand.

Hazel shifts around uncomfortably. “Were you planning on kissing anyone?” She quickly adds: “because you just broke up with your girlfriend. That’s what I meant by that. Not anything else. I would never want you to -ahem- do something you weren’t ready to.” There are clearly two very different trains of thought here, allowing for a sense of safety while admitting “not planning exactly. Just hoping, I guess.” Hazel bites her lip and averts her gaze while continuously taking off and putting back on one of her rings. This conversation needs to be turned in the complete opposite direction. 

The opposite of romance is violence, right? “So PJ, she’s really something, isn’t she,” you throw out with an uncomfortable laugh. Hazel looks a little… upset. Based on your observations it seemed like her and PJ had made a deal before fight club that wasn’t honored. 

“I know right!” she scoffs, “I can’t believe she was flirting with you like that.” Your cheeks had been red but now they are burning hot from embarrassment as another attempt to make normal conversation has been fumbled. 

“Flirting? That’s not what I meant! PJ does that all the time. She used to flirt with me and my ex at the same time. She gets off by fucking with other people’s heads. I’m talking about how she beat the shit out of me. It seemed like you had talked to her and she just disregarded it. Anger aside, I have to say I’m a little impressed. I would have never expected that from her. I heard she had been to juvie, but I had assumed that she had been the one getting fucked up.” 

“I told you that she likes to hurt people,” Hazel sighs. “I’m just as surprised about her not finishing things off as I am about the flirting. How could she flirt with you like that in front of” she huffs and scratches the back of her head, eyes darting around “everyone! When she knows that-” Hazel’s voice breaks and she clears her throat “that you just broke up with your girlfriend!” Hazel had always been protective and PJ is kind of a dick. So it makes some sense why she wouldn’t want you getting involved with her. 

Hazel quickly receives your reassurance, “you don’t have to worry about me going near PJ. At least not like that. I plan on training like a WWE fighter and giving her a taste of her own medicine.”

Hazel laughs in relief. “Good. That’s good. Because I… I um, I think that you could do better. Not just do better. You deserve the best.”

Hazel’s kind words are met with a grateful smile. “I’m gonna find someone, someday, who might actually treat me well.” God did you want, more than anything else in the world, for that to be her. Those feelings get shoved deep down into a box to avoid any misguided hope.

“I promise that it will happen,” she assures and seals it with a signature pinky swear. A silence falls over the room, accompanied by a sudden reservation, coming from the disconnect brought on by years of separation. Before an attempt is made to break the ice there is the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. 

“Fuck! My mom's home! She can’t see me like this!” Your heart rate increases tenfold. Hazel is somehow remaining calm, cool, and collected. “I hate to break it to you, but those cuts and bruises are going to last much longer than you can avoid her for.”

“Right now is not the time to do this, we need to go upstairs. Now!” The demand is made with urgency.

“Like to your bedroom, upstairs?” Her blue eyes are bulging.

“No Hazel, the roof. Of course I mean my bedroom!”

“Ok, sure. Of course. It’s just that I wanted to clarify. That's all.” She nervously laughs, probably in fear of taking a dive into the past.

“Help me get all of this stuff out of here.” You grab your backpack and she picks up the first aid supplies. “Are you going to make it up the stairs ok?” Hazel questions with deep concern.

You just shrug, “I guess we’re going to find out.”

“That’s a terrible idea. But you should go first, and I’ll follow behind in case you fall. I can catch you or whatever.” She gives an encouraging nod.

“That’s a terrible idea, but I don’t have time to convince you otherwise.” The two of you take off and you realize that you are starting to feel a little better. You’ve made it up the stairs and out of sight when you hear the front door open and your mom call your name. 

“Hi mom!” You yell down the stairs. 

“How was your day honey?”

“Good, great. Nothing out of the ordinary, not at all. Just like any other day.” You bite your tongue, in fear of sounding suspicious. 

“I’m not going to keep shouting at you, I’ll talk to you when you come downstairs.”

“Sounds good mom!”

You go into your room and Hazel cautiously follows. She’s not sure what she’s walking into. You have changed a lot, she is probably expecting this once familiar room to have also changed. Your bag is left by the door and Hazel puts everything she is carrying onto the desk. You turn around and flop onto the bed, exhausted and still in a decent amount of pain.

You only look up when Hazel asks “you still have this?” She is pointing at a framed photo of the two of you from 6th grade and it brings on a sudden wave of embarrassment. That only gets worse when she picks up the friendship bracelet that hangs over the picture frame and looks closely at it. It’s a beaded bracelet made up of Hazel’s favorite colors and the letter H in the middle. She has one that matches, but it has your favorite colors and first initial. Those bracelets were worn everyday, with every outfit. She smiles, “I still have mine too, and all of the pictures are still on my wall.” You feel your heart skip a beat. 

“We should wear these again, the bracelets. To remind us of how things used to be. So we don’t forget that we can make it through anything as long as we have each other.” Tears of joy are forced down and masked with a nod of agreement, to avoid revealing any feelings through your tone of voice. Hazel moves closer and sits down next to you on the bed. She takes your hand and slides the bracelet onto your wrist and you hope that she can’t feel your pulse. She is causing major heart palpitations that you can only assume could lead to cardiac arrest. “I’ll put mine on when I get home.” She promises. “We should take them off during fight club though, we wouldn't want to break them.”

“Yeah,” you agree with a shy smile. Your eyes lock for a moment before she breaks it and hurries to get up. Hazel begins fidgeting with her rings as she wanders around the room. She’s looking at everything, her eyes lingering on everything that’s still the same, clearly feeling nostalgic. 

“Your glasses,” she gestures to them with a quiet smile. “I only wear them at night. I switched to contacts freshman year.”

“I know,” she mentions casually, looking at the pair of glasses wistfully. It creates a sense of wonder. Had she been trying just as hard to avoid and ignore? Or had she been paying attention the whole time and you were too busy trying to forget about her to notice. What else, if anything, did she observe? The next stop Hazel makes is in front of the collection of photos that hang on the wall. She points out Isabel and Brittany when she sees them.

“There are some photos missing,” Hazel states, sounding confused. She is referring to the few blank spaces amongst the immaculately aligned array. You take a deep breath before sighing and admitting “arson.”

“Oh my god someone came into your room and committed arson!?” Hazel looks genuinely horrified and that makes you laugh as you explain what happened. “All those empty spots had pictures of my ex-girlfriend. The night we broke up Isabel and Brittany came over and we burned them in the backyard along with all of her clothes. I guess I can add arsonist to my resume, along with street fighter. I’m really making my parents proud.” 

 “Sorry to bring it up,” she apologizes, though she has a smug look on her face. 

“I have a photo I’m going to put up in one of those spots,” you share with her. “Yeah?” Her eyebrows raise with curiosity. 

“The picture we just took.” Bashful feelings come with the disclosed intentions, but Hazel just beams in return. You breathe a sigh of relief when she doesn't seem to connect the dots. You took down those pictures and burned them, along with all the memories. Now you are going to put up pictures of the girl you wish you had never strayed from loving.

“I should put it up too.” Her awkward posture relaxes but she quickly changes the subject. “I should probably give back your sweatshirt. But I can wash it first though. I just have to remember to do that and then remember to actually bring it to you.”

“No it’s fine, you can hold onto it.” There is too much enjoyment in seeing her wear it to even think about taking it back. 

“I’ll give you one of mine then. Make it a fair trade,” she seems pleased by the prospect, though it's impossible for her to be as happy as you are about it. 

“Feel free to borrow any of my clothes, but I don’t think you would want to wear them.” Even though she is being teased, Hazel smiles. 

“Oh really? Now I’m going to have to wear one of your little tank tops to school one day just to prove you wrong. And if I wear your clothes you have to wear mine.” Your cheeks flush at the thought of wearing Hazel’s clothes. Seeing her in your clothes does things to you but this would push you over the edge. And she notices the little tank tops? FUCK!

“I’ll even do your makeup to complete the look,” you joke, hoping that some humor can distract from the way she is making you feel. Hazel wanders over to the vanity where the collection of makeup is located. She picks things up and looks at them, like she is considering the offer. She picks up a lipstick, takes off the cap, and twists it up to see the color. Hazel looks back and grins, “this is the lipstick you had on today. I guess I technically wore it too.” There is a sudden hitch of your breath and you have to remind yourself that she knows the color not because she was paying attention to your mouth, but because it accidentally got on hers.

Hazel puts the lipstick back where she found it. She comes back closer, but she sits on the end of the bed and you wish that she would stop keeping her distance. But that just serves as another reminder not to be misled. Hazel looks down at her rings for a second and then looks back up and crosses her arms. God, why must she keep drawing so much attention to her hands? Does she have any idea what she is doing to you? 

“You know what, I’ll let you do my makeup. Under one condition.” Your head tilts to the side, very interested to find out what kind of offer she is going to make. “I will let you do my makeup. If you let me complete your look too. That means you are going to have to wear some of my rings and one of my chains.”  Your eyes widen, feeling self conscious, unsure of whether or not you are about to pass out. Maybe even drop dead.

An attempt is made to laugh it off without revealing that you are straight up fighting for your life. “You’ve got yourself a deal. But you should be more careful with what you offer. You know I used to steal your clothes all the time, and I’ll do it again” the fond memories cause lots of giggles.

Hazel raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Believe me, I know exactly what I am doing.” There is a sudden realization that you are going to be able to survive. If that statement didn’t kill you, nothing will. The two of you are stuck in a trance, locked eyes and sheepish smiles. Neither party snaps out of it until Hazel’s phone buzzes. You look away, trying to hide your face that must be redder than a tomato at this point.

Looking at Hazel is avoided until she addresses you directly, and you can only pray that your emotions aren’t written all over your face. “Hey, I just looked at the time and I’ve got to get going soon.” There is an attempt to hide the disappointment, which probably fails.

Thinking about how she is about to make an exit, you are suddenly reminded that the girl next door looks like she came from a UFC octagon. “Hmmm…” thoughts of how this could possibly be explained swirl around. “One problem. My mother. You are going to have to walk past her.” Hazel scratches the back of her head and sounds very unconvinced when she wonders out loud “maybe she won’t say anything? My mom hasn’t.” She is met with rolled eyes. But also a smile, at the thought of how much her steadfast optimism has been missed. 

“Haze,” you laugh and her eyes widen when she hears the nickname. Red has become the permanent color of your face at this point. “You know how she is.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “We can go downstairs and explain together. You are definitely going to need some backup” This amazing girl’s unwavering support has been greatly missed. You move closer to Hazel and pull her into a hug. “Thank you, you are the best,” you whisper in her ear. “Anything for you,” she mumbles back.

The stairs are cautiously descended before a hasteful entrance into the kitchen. “Oh my goodness!” Your mother yells after seeing two very bruised faces while peering over a magazine. “I know you two have your issues but I can’t believe you would do this to each other!”

“No, no, no, that's not it!” Hazel swiftly begins to defend. “We are actually friends again!” Your mom looks both pleased and confused. After Hazel explains ‘self defense club’ your mom isn’t sure how she feels about it, but is grateful that it has reunited such great friends. Friends. Oof. Your mom gives Hazel a big hug and tells her “I’ve missed you so much!”

After a bit more chatting you walk Hazel to the front door. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at fight club?” You inquire, feeling a little disheartened. 

“I guess so.” She looks just as disappointed. 

Looking down at your shoes you complain “it sucks that we’ve been avoiding each other for so long that we are kind of stuck like that now. We are on opposite sides of every class we have together. I’m pretty sure the only time we actually got to hang out today, other than fight club, was in the car.”

Hazel is silent for a moment which causes you to look up at her. Her face suddenly brightens like she has a brilliant idea. “Why don’t we just drive to school together again? We are leaving from and going to the same place anyways, right? And it’s good for the environment!”

You bite your lip. “Would this be any everyday thing?” 

“Only if you wanted it to be…” Hazel blushes

“That would be great, that’s a good idea. It just makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“It’s my turn to drive though,” she emphasizes, and is surprised to be met with resistance. “Hazel I’m sorry, but there is no way in hell you are a good driver.”

“I am deeply offended. How would you even know?” She playfully rolls her eyes.

“You can’t even walk in a straight line!” An expression of shock and amusement crosses Hazel’s face when she accuses you of almost killing her this morning.

“I did not!” you fire at her. “Did to!” She shoots right back. As mean as you try to sound, the exchange is very playful. You could enjoy bantering with her like this all day but you decide to compromise. “Fine, we can take turns. If we survive.”

“Same time in the morning?”

“Yeah.” You tell Hazel and she turns to leave

“Wait.” Hazel pivots back around upon hearing your voice, and makes heart melting eye contact. “Before you go, I just wanted to say thank you. For bringing me to fight club and taking care of me.”

“I should be the one thanking you.” A rosiness floods the endearing girl’s cheeks as she makes the confession.

“I guess we can call it even.” You hold out your hand and she shakes it, but then she pulls you into a hug. You are there for a while and it doesn’t seem like either of you want to let go, so you decide to bite the bullet. Even though you really don’t want to. You know that you would stay in her arms forever if you could. But you need to keep your hopes in check. Goodbyes are exchanged and a feeling of dread washes over you when she leaves, afraid of getting left behind once again. 

#hazel callahan #hazel callahan bottoms #hazel bottoms #hazel x reader #hazelfanfic #bottoms hazel #hazel callahan blurb #hazel callahan brainrot #hazel callahan fanfiction #hazel callahan fluff #hazel callahan headcanons #hazel callahan imagine #hazel callahan x fem reader #hazel callahan x fem!reader #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan x you #hazel from bottoms #hazelcallahan

[maisonaime]

The Star Who Listened [Azriel x Reader]

My little contribution to @starfallweek 2024 ✨

Prompt: Character A is a fallen star, Character B finds them

Note: Angst with a happy ending. This prompt immediately reminded me of this quote from a very beautiful but heart wrenching spoken word poem about the power of friendship and of friends who dream together. Happy Starfall Week!

“You kept a rock on a satin pillow on your bookshelf and told me ‘It’s a star.’ You said you found in a junkyard. And it had been broken down for quite some time because too many people wished on it, and that’s a lot of pressure for one little star.” Shane Koyczan and the Short Story Long, For Instance

There was no telling how long he had lain there. Long enough that the ground had given way to valleys and mountains, snow and grass, fire and rain. Long enough that the wind and the moon cooled his skin, warped from the burnout. Long enough that the bones that cracked on impact hardened in the same position they had come to rest. Long enough that he learned all of the parallels of nature.

First he learned the way the ground vibrates during an earthquake is almost indiscernible from the thundering of hooves and feet as armored men trample over him. His tears flow into the rivulets of blood from fallen warriors, which flow into the river that rages through the carrion. He wants to wash away with it.

Then he learned how the earth would split and crack and flow bright and hot, creeping across the ground like candlewax. It looks like his beautiful, ruined hands. He remembers the skin dripping off of bone when he could no longer hold the burning dreams they piled into his arms. So bright, and so beautiful, but so heavy.

Then he learned how the air would hang heavy before the sky cracks open. It reminds him of the weight that hung around his shoulders in the moments before he tumbled from the sky. Feels the despair, the failure in being unable to remain afloat. He waits for Hera’s wrath for his forsaking of Astraea.

Azriel could’ve recounted all the lessons he learned in all the hundreds of years he’d lain there. Could’ve stopped someone to tell his story, to beg pity or forgiveness, or simply for a listening ear. But how could he have proven his tale?

Who would believe that a small, rough-edged, unassuming rock was actually a fallen star?

How could he even begin to explain the thousands of dreams he had forsaken when he fell? He had seen some of those dreams dashed personally. Had seen the men whose safety had been prayed for fall screaming on their swords. Had seen a woman who wanted nothing more than a child bury seven silent born at the riverbed. Had seen the children who dreamed of their prince or princess and were instead sold into marriage beds with monsters and carted away from their homes.

So he could not move, he could not speak. He could only relive his failure and all the lessons he’d learned from it. Lessons he would never get to use. Lessons that meant nothing to anyone, because lessons don’t mean as much as dreams do.

Rocks don’t mean as much as stars.

But to you they do.

You, who look to the stars to guide you. But who also looks to the ground to see how far you have come. You who use rocks to mark the trail the stars take you along. You who collect the ones you find most beautiful, the ones that remind you of the stars.

You too have a gift for seeing the parallels in nature.

And yes, dreams are beautiful. But so are the lessons we learn when they do and don’t come true.

And so, this is how he finds himself in your pocket, after so many years in the dust. After so many years on the cold ground. The wool of your skirt is warm and soft, and it cushions Azriel’s hardened heart.

The next thing he knows he is resting on a satin pillow, high on a shelf in your room where he can watch over this strange savior. He watches day and night. Watches as you work and write and wander by day. Watches as you dream by night.

He wishes you had left him on the ground. He is stricken and terrified to be so close to another’s dreams, even as his very essence cries out to caress them. It is worse agony than he ever faced. At least before didn’t have to be so close to the humans who once depended on him.

He feels perverted because you haven’t even entrusted him with your dreams and here he is fantasizing about them. Prostrate before you trying to hold himself back, because he cannot warp your dreams with his horrible hands. Cannot bear the responsibility of ruining even one more dream. No matter how large or small.

He doesn’t even know why he is there. Why you plucked him out of his quiet obscurity and forced him to endure this proximity to such a vociferous dreamer. He loves and hates it in equal measure. Loves and hates you in equal measure.

And then the strangest thing happens one day. You are showing a friend around your room. And your friend points to him and laughs “Why do you have that rock on that pillow?” and Azriel would blush if he wasn’t a rock. But you smile knowingly and say “That’s not a rock, it’s a star I found. It fell from the sky when too many people piled their wishes onto it. Too much pressure for anything, don’t you think?” and the friend nods understandingly.

And Azriel glows. And Azriel cracks. Because he is awash with the forgiveness of a dreamer. And he remembers the child with eyes like yours but different, the first who looked up to him and wished. The one who made him want to take as many wishes as he could carry, and then take more after that.

And when the friend is gone, you reach up onto the shelf and bring down the satin pillow. You set it on your desk, and observe the crack that that splits your star down the middle. You gingerly separate the two halves, and behold the bright blue gemstone in the center.

You smile. “Do you think the weight of one person’s dreams is bearable? I promise to leave plenty of room for your own.”

Azriel glows as brightly as he once did in the sky.

#Starfall Week 2024 #acotar #azriel #fantasy #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #classic Azriel angst #because of course I did #angst #angst with a happy ending #night court #acotar crack

[starryriize]

how &team views love | maknae line

╰┈ ⋆｡˚ 🪼genre: fluff!!

╰┈ ⋆｡˚ 🪼author’s note: i don’t know how good this was compared to the Hyung Line ver but i loved how it turned out!! hehe writing abt yuma and jo made me so 🥹🫶🏼

listen to: how long will i love you - ellie goulding

🫧laur's taglist: @chiiyuuvv @kehnarii @cherrycolaberry @leehanascent @hyvelxve

Yuma - To me, he loves with such deep care and affection. I think he views love as beautiful, an emotion that leaves him sad yet wonderfully happy. Love is interesting to him, as it’s not new, but oh, how he wishes you weren’t hurt by your previous love. Despite this, he loves you, fully and with his whole heart. He hopes you realize that you’re loved more than you’ll ever know. Even with all your failures and mistakes, he holds you and continues to love you because your past doesn’t define who you are. You’re still loveable and just as beautiful in his eyes, nothing could ever change that. To him, love is quiet and calm. He cherishes every moment, never failing to remind you that you’re appreciated and worth the entire world. If the whole world comes crashing down, he’d reach for your hand, guiding you to safety and facing misfortune together. Loving him is slowly healing…

Jo - When Jo loves, it's beautiful and the only word for it is magical. It's always shown through his actions and he feels that it's different. He thinks of you in every moment of every day. His love is always so gentle, soft, and warm like his smile. Even when the day seems to be gloomy and you’re feeling stressed, he’s always by your side. Love, to him, is more than a feeling or knowing that his heart beats faster when you’re around. Jo loves you and he wishes to tell the entire world that he loves you. The love that he has for the sunsets, the tiny dandelions outside, the stars that twinkle each night, and the rain that falls...he thinks of you because you deserve to be loved like he loves the universe. Love shouldn't be reserved for special occasions so he makes sure to let you know that he loves you. Everyday. Every hour. Every minute. Every second.

Taki - His love is playful and sweet! Just like him, his love is akin to seeing a butterfly land on a flower. It's delicate and beautiful. He realizes he's in love very slowly, but once he's in love, he finds himself smiling at the most random times. That's what love is- unexpected but welcome. He really can't help but love you. You may think you're not easy to love, but you should see what Taki sees. The way the sunset reflects on your eyes makes you look like an angel on earth. You're even more breathtaking when you talk about something that you're passionate about. Taki loves you in every way.

Harua - I think, despite not having a lot of experience with love, would see love like the movies. When he loves, it’s very real and he values it with his entire heart. I see him as the type to be a soft romantic and stand up for his partner, regardless of what life throws at you. He finds himself picking up your little habits and it makes him smile just thinking about how he hopes you're his forever. Harua views love as something beautiful- not superficially, but the way love is simple. It's fond and familiar. Love is hard, and Harua knows that. Despite the cruelty of the world, he wants to be with you. His love reminds you of summer breezes and the simplicity of life. If forever meant being with you, he would embrace forever with wide open arms. He loves you more than you can ever know.

Maki - I firmly believe he sees love in everything. Perhaps it is his upbringing but to him, love is laughing when you trip on air and saying aww when you see cute puppies. His love is noticeable, yet reserved. You know he loves you but he expresses it in ways that make you wonder if you saved a world in your past. To him, love is learning about you and wanting to live life with you! Loving you is so easy, it's like breathing. He loves you so much and in each kiss, he hopes you know that you're never alone. Even if no one is by your side, he'll proudly stand with you. His love makes you feel like life is worth living, not just being stuck in the corporate cycle.

🫧join laur's taglist!

#laur’s thoughts 🧚🏼‍♀️ #andteam imagines #&team imagines #andteam reactions #&team reactions #andteam yuma #andteam x reader #&team x reader #andteam jo #andteam maki #andteam taki #andteam harua #&team maki #&team fluff #&team scenarios #&team soft hours #andteam soft hours

[deadpool15]

Let me

Beautiful. The only word fit to describe the Targaryen’s as a whole. They are viewed if nothing above society. Closer to the gods than men, as many would like to say. Though there is something quite different when it comes to Aemond Targaryen. The man is gorgeous, the most beautiful specimen you’ll ever encounter. There are times where I realize I don’t compare to such beauty or the royal life in general. You see, I have indeed grown from the silence and embarrassment I faced upon arrival. “You are to be wedded, a fine gentleman if I do say so myself. A match meant to bring forth unity for both houses. Securing us many things across Westeros.”

The words that had changed my life, in which I didn’t know at the time would mean for the better or worse. The life of status is quite new to me, from a certain age the idea of being a proper lady had been instilled in my brain. Then, a match as my grandfather believed the gods before us made themselves came along, the prince of House Targaryen wanted a wife. Aemond was the silent type, one couldn’t exactly understand what was going on with him. He was a tough one to figure out, and I was anything but patient except when it came to him. My dragon.

Watching as Aemond stepped into our chambers putting down his sword. He spent majority of his time training, I never blamed him for it, especially since he has started training me secretly. It took a while before I fully convinced him into the idea but with a few tricks up my sleeve if you know what I mean, he was on board. He starts to remove his tunic, leaving him in nothing but a pair of trousers. “It almost feels as if I’ve been waiting for hours, maybe centuries, dear husband.” He looks up so exhausted, it seems his usual high perception was gone. Not taking notice of me sitting up in our bed. He breaks out into a small smile.

That smile, it gives me peace. Anxiety and pain are forgotten, replaced with nothing but thoughts of Aemond. “It seems, you’ve decided to retire quite early to the bed chamber, haven’t you, gevī?” He moves toward the bed, caging me beneath his arms. “Yes, it seems that way. Yet, once I got here there was an absence of one’s presence. A person meant to ensure safety and warmth, but they aren’t in this very bed with me right now. If you would like a little help husband, there is currently no one blonde laying in this bed with me for our usual activities. Know any blondes?” Looking at him with a coy smirk he laughs at my statement.

A laugh only I can pull from him. Gives me a sense of grace, that only I have that power over him. “I would hope the only blonde you need is currently in the room with you. He says grabbing my chin firmly. Pushing him on the bed to sit beside me and whisper, “I would think we have the same person in mind, my dragon”. I grab a hold of his face, “in order to make this easier I would enjoy if you are the most comfortable, so let’s just remove this.” As I reach for his eyepatch, he takes a hold of my hand firmly. The other gripping my waist. “It’s just me husband, no one is here to judge or ridicule you. Even if they were they would have to go through me if they wished to talk about such lies.” I tell him while looking directly at his eyes. “They wouldn’t be lies.” He said quickly.

Grabbing both his hands firmly I place kisses on the inside of each palm. I wish for nothing but him to be his true self with me. To know I love him deeply. “You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever witnessed. Any woman should be lucky I even allow them to glance in your direction.” He laughs again, though this time it’s a full belly laugh. Coming straight from the depths of his throat. “You allow them, is that it little wife.” I start to place kisses all over his eye and then I remove the patch, this time he doesn’t stop me. Simply sits there basking in the glory. I grab my special tools. Whisking a brush hidden behind my back, slowly but surely start to smooth out the tangles and knots in his hair.

He finally takes notice of my appearance, a think silk nightgown. Leaving almost nothing to the imagination. For the right person, of course. He smiled holding me closely and placed a kiss on my shoulder blade. “I love you both.” I stop moving the brush, running my hands through his hair. Feels of silk. Glancing down to look at my growing belly and then back at him. Realizing this is paradise. Pulling him even closer, “I love you both as well, my love.”

#aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #aemond x reader #Spotify

[jinkookspencil]

Helloooo how are you????? Could I plz request for a jungkook drabble where he and his gf spend an evening at a funfair...so stuff like them going on scary rollercoasters together...feeding each other typical funfair snacks...and ending their day on the ferris wheel with kisses (cliche i know hahaha)... also I saw how you wrote that you have been feeling down recently...Wish you better days :))))

hi!! tysm for requesting! this is adorable and unintentionally reminded me of the speak now taylor swift album, i listened to it as i was editing <3 and thank you for your words/wishes/concern - my mental health has been…. rocky but at the very least, I’m in a better place mentally than i was when you submitted this. and it took a whiiiiiiiiiile to feel better so it took a while to do anything and write this (sorry) - but better late than never! i hope you like it!! <3 

wonderstruck | jjk

jungkook convinced his fearful girlfriend to try out a rollercoaster at the funfair...

tags + wc: jungkook x reader (f) / fluff / one-shot / established relationship / clean / ~1.5k

“If I do this, you owe me a churro,” you say, looking up at the rickety death trap looming over you.

“Done,” Jungkook smiles, kissing you on the cheek. He forcefully pulls your hand from your own grasp until he’s able to hold it, giving you reassuring squeezes and pep talks throughout your short wait in the line to the rollercoaster cart. With your hand still in his, he pulls you to the very first cart.

“Oh fuck no,” you protest, trying to pull him away to another cart, but failing. He barely moves an inch.

“Baby, baby,” he giggles, succeeding when he pulls you closer to him. “The front is less scary!”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“Ask him!” Jungkook points to the attendant, who merely nods in response, hiding his annoyance that your resistance held up the visitors loading onto the ride. 

Reluctantly sitting on the cold piece of metal, Jungkook could see the terror in your eyes as reality sets in when the safety bar is pulled down against your bodies. 

“You good?” he peeks, trying to read your face and think of any possible way he could calm you down. Jokes, a kiss, ill-timed dirty whispers, and flashing his abs always did the trick - but none seemed appropriate or doable then and there. If all else fails, he hoped his smile could do something.

“If we die…. we die together. There’s something beautiful in that…. right?”

Jungkook smiles when your eyes finally land on him, and he sees most of your fear fade away, replaced by what he could only assume was love, if not comfort. Either way, it meant the same. Whether his smile was what did it or not, his happiness only grew.

 “There is. Pretty dark, baby, but… there is. I mean, I do want to spend the rest of my life with you.” 

The smile on your face was too brief. The cart is jolted onto its tracks, and Jungkook is deafened and delighted by the sound of your screams and calls of his name, which last all the way through the track until the cart comes to a complete stop once again. 

Peeking at you at once, he tries to conceal his amusement, yet it shines through along with his concern. “Are you okay, baby?” he asks with raised brows, a hint of a smile, and wide eyes as you catch your breath.

“….I think I can do that again,” you murmur. 

Laughing, he throws his head back against the headrest. “I knew you’d love it. Let’s go to another one, the scarier ones. I’m not letting you settle on this one.”

“Deal, Jeon Jungkook,” you say. The metal bar whizzes away from you and Jungkook hops out of the cart just as fast, holding his hand out for you to hold as you jump out after him. “But only if you hold my hand like this whenever you can, alright?”

“You don’t even have to ask.”

Jungkook kisses your hand before you can take another step, holding you tight as you whizz and weave through the crowds. 

“Wait, Jungkook! About that churro….”

+

“It all seems like toys from up here. Not scary at all, actually.” 

Looking over the funfair far below you, each ride, stall, and booth was now lit up in an array of neon colors and flashes. Distant screams and carousel melodies are faint from so high above, people seeming small as ants, pixels on a computer, or, he guessed, miniature toys as you described it. 

“I knew you had it in you,” Jungkook giggles, kissing your cheek and pulling you tight against his chest, not caring that it was practically impossible for you to be any closer. Already caged into his body, you rub your head in the crook of his neck, taking off your matching animal headbands to better fit against him. His other hand only leaves your thigh a couple of times to grab the occasional handfuls from the popcorn bucket resting on your lap. “There’s nothing you can’t do, honey.”

“I think that statement applies to you, Koo,” you giggle, gesturing towards the third-wheel accompanying you on your compact Ferris wheel seat: the giant plushie he’d won you at a game booth. “I nearly took the guy’s eye out trying to win it. And you beat me at the duck shooting game and that stupid guessing game.”

“Well, first of all, you won this,” he begins, showing you the cheap plastic watch on his hand, “- at the ring toss, which is notoriously difficult. Don’t sell yourself short. And you could easily win the guessing game, too, you know? It’s just physics! It’s not so hard to guess how much candy was in the jar!” Jungkook ignores you rolling your eyes.  I’ll give you the others, though. Darts is a skill I mastered in the dorms…. and I was going to let you win the shooting game but I won before I even realized I was in the lead. I guess I just have a good eye.”

“Well, obviously. If you didn’t have a good eye, you wouldn’t be with me, now would you?”

Jungkook chuckled heartily at your comment, and considering the way you moved your back and snuggled in position, he was sure you’d felt the laugh escape him through his chest against your back. He couldn’t help it - he loved seeing you all confident. “Well, obviously. It’s the perfect set of eyes, actually - it has a secret power, too. Want to know what it is?”

“If you see the future, then you probably missed a very cool job opportunity of opening up a booth here.”

“Make that two secret powers, actually. One for each eye!” Jungkook is too excited at his sudden idea, sitting up to face you directly and make sure you were following along and listening to every word. “This eye,” he begins, pointing to his right one. “This eye acts as a compass. It led me to my soulmate. That day we met, I noticed you the moment you walked into the room. I know it’s a compass pointing to my soulmate since I’ve been unable, and unwanting, to take my eyes off you ever since.”

You roll your eyes in an attempt to tease Jungkook’s cheesy words, but you know his words to be true - it was always hard to ignore both his gaze and the rush you’d feel whenever you feel his eyes on you, always lingering for far too long. 

“You were right about the other eye. The left eye sees the future. My future.”

“And what do you see in your future, O’ Mystical Jungkook?” you tease, widening your eyes and waving your fingers.

“I see you.”

Jungkook’s tone is serious, yet it doesn’t stop a shy smile from appearing on his face when he sees the same on yours. 

“Exactly where I should be,” you reply. “A mysterious, traveling fortune teller I’d met as a child told me that I’d fall in love and spend the rest of my life with another clairvoyant.”

“Then I guess I’m in the right place, too,” he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Before you could nod in response, his lips are on yours, and his arms pull you close to him once again. You don’t pull away from one another until a loud boom sounds out from behind you, alerting the two of you to the sudden visual of colored sparks lighting up the brighter night sky. Jungkook always loved fireworks. Every time, the sight of a colorful sky was always so enchanting… but was even more so was the love of his love right beside him. Captivated, he takes in every wonderstruck expression on your face, every burst reflected in your eyes, and every second. Yet he held himself there, resisting the urge to spill out his heart and kiss what enchanted him most, to take in the scene a moment longer. It was practically a scene from a movie or a fairy tale ending, too picture-perfect to forget. Jungkook could wait patiently to do what he wanted to - certain he’d have the rest of his life to do so…. yet no ride that day gave him the same burst of adrenaline as the second you pulled him by his collar and kissed him soft and slow with the same certainty of an eternity together. 

#jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook drabble #jungkook oneshot #jungkook one shot #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenarios #jungkook scenario #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fluff #bts scenario #bts scenarios #ask #anon request #request

[evita-shelby]

The Devil of Small Heath

Kelpie!Tommy Shelby x witch!reader

Gif by @zerenitysblog

Tw: mentions of suicide

You first see him by the cut. Wet and with a dark mane and his eyes blue as the sky.

He is a ghost, roaming the bank of the canals at night and bringing death to those who see him.

A black horse who drove all those who tried to capture him ---to see if he can grant wishes---to a watery grave.

The Devil of Small Heath.

A kelpie, a real one going by the human nature of his eyes.

You had no idea magic still inhabited this land.

Your dad used to tell you stories about a kelpie who fell in love with a romani princess with a touch of magic and that they lived in a boat until their son, a kelpie like his father, decided to live in a house of brick and wood just down the street of him.

They had beautiful and strong children, but when the kelpie left in search for cleaner waters, his wife, a witch just like you, drowned herself thinking he would return.

This was one of them, a Shelby. But which one?

“I do not seek to ride you, I only wanted to see if the rumors are true.” You speak clearly, making sure the water spirit knew you meant him no harm.

The horse stands still by the bank, huffing in warning as you come closer, so you reveal your true self.

With every step you skin gains a sort of luminosity, your nails and the tips of your fingers turn black as his shiny coat and by the time you reach him, you stand there as a witch.

“I am just as human as you.” Your father had been human, just as his mother had been. Both were lured by magic when it began to make their old blood sing.

It is an intoxicating feeling, thrilling and sweet and filling you with something akin to desire. After all, kelpies use their allure to kill their victims.

He stares, hesitant to let you come near him, hesitant to stay.

For a moment you think he has given in and let you touch him, but then he runs back to the water for safety.

You do not see him again until you pass by him in the street, but he is not in his horse form, this time he is human.

So, Tommy had been the one to inherit his father’s and grandfather’s magic? You should’ve have known it from the way misfortune clings to him like his fine coat.

He makes your blood sing just as then, only this time you are among the ladies of Small Heath who find their heads turned towards Thomas Shelby as if he were the sun.

Only this time he turns to look at you as if you had called out to him.

Magic calls to magic so it seems.

Unlike that night at the Cut he doesn’t bolt, instead he offers to walk you to your home. You accept wanting to know everything you could about the kelpie walking beside you.

“So, you are the Devil of Small Heath then?” you ask quietly as the two of you pretend this is nothing out of the ordinary, just to people wanting to get to know each other.

“In many ways I suppose.” Tommy answered regretting his decision. “And you’re the witch on 76 Watery Lane?”

“And proud of it, Mr. Shelby.” You said with a lovely smile and make a peace offering. “Your secret is safe with me as long as mine is safe with you.”

“Then call me Tommy, y/n.”

#tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x witch!reader #kelpie!tommy shelby

[depressed-cookie-dough]

Amm hii my first ever public brain thought i have these often but yee i didn't see much of lyney so i took it out to try and write something about him ^^...

What would people say now, when the the representative of Inazuma is being so drunk

How did you get here you you don't know ether you really wanted to see him and plus he said you can come to see him anytime you want so no harm is done here right, at least that is what you tell yourself.

As you opened tent he was in you slowly walked to his sleeping form it would be be shame to wake him.. And you jumped on him.As he jolts awake he panics a bit but sees its you and instinctively hugs you back "well hello mon chérie";"hii, and i told you to not call me that if you don't tell what it means" he only giggles at that of course you could ask someone in city or court what it meant but you afraid someone is going to make fun of you after all you were one of most respected person in city of Fontane and that that is why you shouldn't be here even worse drunk as you are now, honestly you just wanted a little escape from your thoughts thinking of him all day so it was better idea to get drunk and actually see him great life choices, "soo ~ why did you come here to see me not that i mind". "honestly idk i just want to see you"

L:ou is that so, soo what do you want to do

Y:honestly i don't know i just want to spend time with you so anything is fine

L: wanna go around the festival ground i think i can turn merry go round for a little bit

Your eyes sparked as you tug him out tent

Y:What are we wait for lets goo

He only watched you amused honestly you are such different person out of court house so lively and energetic noting like that reserved figure. He got his hat and cape which looked really funny on his pj but he still looked good god he always does dose he. After walking a bit you got there at first it was nothing special but once he got it light up it was beautiful you quickly rushed to it sitting on one of horses, lyney slowly got to your side holding one of support bars for his safety. You laugh and giggled whole time

L:you know i prefer you like this happy with honest laughter

You turned your head to look at him but because of amount of alcohol you had your head spined and start falling forword he rushed to catch you

L:hey carful we don't want you to get hurt

You crashed your head on his chest as he try to keep you on the house

L"See i told you to be careful you could gotten hu.. "

" you smell nice" your drunk ass said would you hate yourself for it if sober YES, are you now proud of it also yes. He stares for a second as you wrap your arms around his neck and nuzzle further it his neck

L "hey hey slow down there that pa it sensitive"

"is it now" you kissed it congratulations you might fucked up your friend.. And he moaned never mind you don't care

"OUU that much sensitive ~" as you smirked and looked at him you could swear his eyes were beginning for more

L"i don't know how much you drink but you are not acting like your self maybe i should take you home "

And ou boy did you not like the idea you wanted to stay with him so as any saint person you hugd him with your legs too

" no, home is lonely, here with you better "

He soften his eyes at your wish but still wanted to do right thig after all you had a couple of drinks so your not thinking straight and he didn't want to use that

L "i can stay with you in your room until you fell asleep"

As soon as that left his mouth your was back in his neck this time tho you took small bite enough tho for lyney to grabs your hair and yeests it backwards.Now he did want to scold you but look in your eyes that begged him to continue just a bit more made him question his decisions.. But too late for that now because he was slowly closeing distance between you

As his lips touched yours there was feeling of addiction right behind he want to be slow with you to give you chance to back away, ou but you had other plans as you made him physically not able to get closer to you as he is now and it surely didn't help how you grinded on him. He groaned softly this is not okay he needs to stop you before he can't himself

L"Cheri you really need to stop and get your head clear "

But you didn't like that idea and wanted to continue but this time he read you and firmly grabbed your chin and spoke in most serious voice he ever used

L" salope now i believe i told stop now be good little bitch and stay still "

And boy you did was that all that can make you stay put just one degrading word and you are done you wanted to smack your self but before you got chance you felt fingertips on your cheek and mouth

L" I would love to continue this will you one you are more sober butt until then this must satisfi your hunger "

He watched as you look at him ou and boy did he want to ruin you image just how much his pride would be.

He slowly picked you up and you did feel kinda dizzy he was saying something but you were falling and didn't hear what.

As you opened your eyes you instantly got pictures in your head that by the way hurted like bitch.

You want to cry because of stress why did it had to be dream, as you tried to lay on your back you here mumbling behind you. Fastly turning around to see who and to your luck he was there now slowly opening his eyes

L"morning cheri did you sleep well "

"i think i told you not to call me that "

L"ou but you didn't mind yesterday did you now " he said with grinnin. He is not going to let that one go until you retire that is for sure, as he slightly moved to get closer to you he whispered

L" if you don't mind helping me fix that problem you made yesterday "

#genshin impact smut #lyney and lynette #genshin lyney #albedo #genshin impact #lyney x reader #lime