#except since he's a ghost it's different for him than the others
Text
A sparkle in the night
Fandom: Hazbin Hotel
Pair: Alastor and Vox. A bit platonic, a bit romantic, could be read in different ways.
Disclaimer: Nothing other than it’s a SFW tickle fic. They are also slightly ooc but tbh we don’t really know since I’m describing a moment that happened before the series takes place sooooo… who knows (but honestly, Alastor is much too sweet to be canon).
Also I had fun with some fonts I found online, I don’t know if that is a problem so if you find difficulties reading please tell me and I’ll change it!
Vox is stressed and wants to reminisce old times, old friends, old feelings.
I got the idea for this from this fic by @starlight-write. I wanted to explore Alastor and Vox’s relationship before whatever happened between them.
I hope you all enjoy it!
~~~
Hell had changed a lot since Vox first arrived. He had met many Overlords who now weren’t ‘alive’ anymore, killed by Angels or by other sinners. He had seen Hell change its geography, different shops rising and then succumbing to nefarious fate.
He had met friends along the way, and he had lost them too.
Vox had learnt that the afterlife was just as complicated and confusing as his past life: people were hard to read, it was hard to understand their needs and, honesty, he wasn’t very good at accommodating them. Of course it was easy to solve people problems work wise (most of the times he was the one creating a fake problem and giving the public a new product as a solution), but when it came to personal business he couldn’t just hypnotise everyone. Well he could but…
He was alone in his personal room, monitors all over him, phones and computers all around him. Even if he was alone he was constantly under the spotlight. He knew he had to prove he was stronger. That he wasn’t scared of anything or anyone.
That’s how he would spend the majority of his afterlife: surrounded by his constant eyes, recording every movement he himself ever made.
So that’s why he felt so excited when he turned off every single monitor except for the bigger one in front of him. He shut down every camera or microphone around him. Unrecorded. Unregistered moments.
A shiver ran down his spine.
After seeing that ghost of his past back again after seven years of absence he had to see something. Something that was his and his only.
What he was looking for was an old memory, one that he had to update digitally from his old headset.
Everything was meticulously categorised so it didn’t take long before he found what he was looking for.
The video started.
And he was almost 45 years younger, he had a different - and much heavier - headset and an ‘old pal’ next to him.
They were in the middle of an animated conversation in a remote bar in the pride ring. Everybody was keeping their distance from them and the moody bartender kept sending them drink after drink.
«Television is much more than photography you radio obsessed demon. Television is alive, it’s thrilling!» Vox exclaimed standing up and stomping his foot on the chair in front of him. Alastor looked at the action with little to no reaction, his usual smile plastered on his face.
«You, young man, are as loud as a cow at the slaughterhouse. That is in no way an Overlord behaviour.» he said squeezing his shoulder and inviting Vox to sit again.
Vox blinked in confusion - and slight worry because of the metaphor - before pouting as a scolded child. He got himself back on the high stools next to the counter dangling his feet.
Alastor poured another whiskey in his glass.
«I admire your enthusiasm, but you have to understand that Hell is different from Earth. You cannot show demons your… moving pictures and expect them to simply follow you. You need to plan. To be strategic. Logical.» he offered the drink to Vox, who looked at the goldish liquid with skepticism.
Alastor’s smile grew bigger. «A peace offer?». Vox sighed and gulped it down in one shot, much to Alastor’s disapproval.
«I think you’re complicating your life too much! I can hypnotise people!» he pointed at his eyes as the pupil changed, but Alastor was unfazed.
«It doesn’t work on me.»
«Yeah I still have to understand why…» he sighed as his head started to spin. His face became a bit foggy, just for a moment.
That made Alastor grin wider. «Is the strong and powerful aspiring Overlord feeling a bit dizzy?»
«Fuck you I am not. You’re just-» he looked down at his empty glass and grabbed the bottle to refill it. «I am an Overlord! ‘M not aspiring to be anything you pompous-» but he was cut off by Alastor cupping Vox’s hands with his and helping him pour the drink. Vox’s heart skipped a beat as his antennas sparkled.
«You were saying?» he hummed, fully aware of what he was doing.
«Fuck you.»
Alastor’s smiled softened «Charming.» and Vox smiled back, rolling his eyes.
They had these kind of conversations every time they hang out. They would go to a bar and sit far away from everyone, start bickering, try to get a deal one from the other only to call it even and repeat this cycle every few days. Vox kept convincing himself that these encounters weren’t a big deal but things like that, like that genuine smile, made him doubt that.
Vox drank his whiskey quickly, just to see Alastor’s ear flicker in dismay, a gesture Vox had learnt to recognise over the years.
He took the bottle and refilled his and Alastor’s empty glass.
«You do not understand what it means to be an Overlord just as much as you do not understand how to enjoy your drink.» Alastor said turning on his stool and leaning with his back on the counter.
«AH! Alcohol gets you drunk. That’s the big meaning behind it.»
Vox was about to chug down his whiskey when he felt something brushing over his side. As he yelped Alastor snickered, trying to camouflage it with a cough.
«AÆl- he glitched - what are you doing?»
«As you can see I am not doing anything.» he said raising his hands to prove his point. Vox straightened his back, looking at his surroundings in confusion.
His fogged brain was trying to process whether there was a threat or not. He felt electricity build up in his body.
As he raised his glass, he felt it again, something brushing his side, just lightly, but, when he turned, his eyes could only scan thin air.
«What is going on?» he mumbled putting the drink down.
Alastor didn’t answer, but he was having fun. Vox could see it by that stupid tail of his that was slightly wagging.
If it was his doing… oh no.
The tendrils came out of nowhere and wrapped around his torso, caressing his stomach and sides slowly.
Vox felt electricity between his fingers and in his antennas. He clamped his mouth shut with his hands, slightly kicking his feet.
«Is everything alright Vox?» Vox shook his head, little sparkles all around him. That fucker…
One of those tentacles circled around the center of his tummy, caressing the blue skin. He could feel the tip lightly scratching the sensitive area, making his body tremble.
It was so agonisingly slow. The gesture felt both sweet and mean, as if it were Alastor’s fingers toying with him.
Then he increased the pace.
Vox’s face started trembling, the image of his expression danced on the screen for a moment, deforming his flat features. Alastor came closer to his prey, enjoying every second.
«Maybe it would be better if you just let yourself…-» the tentacles that were around his stomach changed direction and dug in his hips «…Laugh.»
Vox giggles sparkled, as static electricity vibrated around him. He tried so hard to contain himself, but once the first chuckle was out he could not stop.
«AHAHAHAHL nohohoho.»
«No? But I’m not doing anything my dear! I think you had one too many of these.» he said sliding away the man’s drink, saving it from being destroyed.
«Yohohou knohow dæ-ámňņ well what you’re dohohoing.» Vox managed to say while trying to push his tentacles away.
«Of course I do.» he got closer, more tentacles coming from all around him. Vox felt his heart pounding in his chest, his face a mixture of fear and excitement. A stupid wobbly smile was plastered on his screen.
«And you’re enjoying every single second.» had Vox been a little less drunk he would have probably tried to retort, but all he could do was stare at Alastor’s tendrils.
Two of them wrapped around his wrists, raising his hands.
«Oh noho don’t y҉̗͚͚̯̋̏̍̑O̸͎͕̒̽͐̏U҉͓̦̰̘̌́̏̾͆ DARE ALASTOR!» the tentacles danced in front of him, circling around his underarms. Two of them were near his sides, and no matter how hard he tried to pull at his restraints he couldn’t free himself.
«Oh how I like seeing you like this.» Alastor sighed «So helpless.»
«Ahahahahahl Ihihi ha-hatehehe yohohor stupid gahames.» he protested. He was still sat on his absurdly high stool, his feet trying to touch the floor to push himself back. But there was nowhere to run.
Every demon in the place had already fled, believing that the Radio Demon had found his new victim. Well they weren’t completely wrong.
«Do not lie to me.» Alastor caressed Vox’s screen with a single finger, and fake sweat flashed on his face. «You love my games. And besides, a powerful Overlord like you should laugh at the face of danger.» that actually made Vox titter.
Anything said by Alastor made him laugh.
«Let me see your smile.»
All of the tentacles attacked at the same time, some caressing his skin, some scratching at the fabric of his clothes. They were under his arms, on his stomach, meaningly attacking his hips.
The laugh that left his throat gave Alastor goosebumps. It was loud, the loudest he had ever heard from him and it was so… carefree.
All the sense of control, the pressure of becoming a powerful Overlord, the high standards the man held on himself all crumbled down. And he was just helplessly laughing in front of his friend, eyes closed, not afraid to be hurt.
Unfortunately for him he was definitely too sensitive though and the moment a tendril flicked his antenna he started to glitch.
«NOHOHOHOHŒĦØ-»
A spark of electricity made the entire place blackout for a moment, before the lights came back on. Alastor looked at the display of power both amazed and awed.
The man was really strong.
«Be careful my friend-» Alastor’s voice came from much closer than before «We wouldn’t want you to short circuit would we?»
He decided to give him a little break.
The moment the tendrils freed him, Vox turned his back and held the counter with both of his hands, looking for stability.
He could not stop the giggles and titters leaving his body, feeling even drunken than before even though the alcohol was starting to wear off.
However, before Vox could stop laughing, a single tentacle snuck under the his shirt, through his sleeve, slowly and gently caressing his underarm with its tip. The small movement was driving Vox mad.
He collapsed on the counter, laughter now pouring out of him. His feet were kicking the air. The free arm was pounding on the surface, not lucid enough to try to free himself.
He let his head rest on the table, the screen tilted toward Alastor.
«Yohohouh bihihihitch.» he giggled before trying to pry away a new tendril that was slipping under his shirt, targeting his stomach.
His feet kicked harder and quicker as he started to hiccup. «Ihi- IHĮĦĮ- chahaæn’ț.» his voice changed and distorted.
Alastor drank another glass, closing his eyes and enjoying the flavour.
«Sooo» he stood up next to the giggling mess. «Do we wanna make a deal?» he asked making his tentacles stop their torture and back away.
Vox took a few seconds to compose himself before lifting his head and facing the other demon.
Giggles were still stuck in his throat, threatening to leave his body at every word. «A deahal?» he straightened his back and fixed his shirt, now turning his entire body towards the friend.
«I’m not selling my soul for some T̵̲̫̈́̉͗̂͆-tickles. You can’t be that stupid.»
«I am not, my friend. And for once I do not care for your soul! Oh no no no! I would like…-» he let the anticipation roll on Vox’s nerves as he approached him with twitching fingers. «-for you to never drink whiskey in such an inconsiderate way. You either taste your liquor or you don’t drink at all. You do not gobble your alcohol. You understand that young man don’t you?» and as he pronounced the last sentence, he started tracing invisible circles on Vox’s sides.
Vox closed his eyes and the giggle that escaped his lips was a mixture of ticklish agony and amusement.
«Are you finding my request funny?» his fingers danced on his sides.
«Oh c’mohohn Ahahal.» he kicked his feet again, very careful not to hit the demon in front of him. «Ihiht is fuhuhucking hilariohohohus.» he managed to say.
Alastor was not amused.
«Well if you think this is hilarious I cannot imagine what you’d think of t̷̥̲͎͇̤̒̈́̔h̵̳̪̰͋̊ȉ̵̭̦̰̊̉̒s̶͈͉͙͕̥̅̚.» as his voice distorted he drilled his thumbs in Vox’s hips, scratching slightly under his clothes.
Vox’s face became black for a few seconds, before returning to his loud self, pounding with his free hands on Alastor’s chest.
«Such a sweet sound.»
«Ḍ̷̙̙̪̏́̏̒͊e҈̫̓̓̈ͅĥ̴̤̖̪̓́͗̀a҉̤̩͙̏̿ĥ̴̤̖̪̓́͗̀a҉̤̩͙̏̿ĥ̴̤̖̪̓́͗̀a҉̤̩͙̏̿l̸̳͓͔͇̗̋͌̈ ḍ̶̣͎͍͇̐̂̉̿̎e̷͎̘͌̈a҈̫͎͆̏̇l̵͉͚͓̃̄ ḍ̶̣͎͍͇̐̂̉̿̎e̷͎̘͌̈e҈̫̓̓̈ͅĥ̴̤̖̪̓́͗̀e҈̫̓̓̈ͅĥ̴̤̖̪̓́͗̀a҈̫͎͆̏̇l̵͉͚͓̃̄.» his glitched and distorted voice came so soft to Alasto’s ear.
Alastor stopped with a chuckle.
«You enjoyed it.» he said before stepping away.
«Oh well don’t think I didn’t notice your tail wagging.» the tv demon whispered with a smile on his face.
Alastor turned himself, hiding his back and his stupid soft tail, a small blush colouring his cheeks.
Vox laughed again, a genuine laugh, and then grabbed his own glass. The older man way eyeing him, fingers ready to summon his power once more.
Vox drank slowly, feeling the warmth of the alcohol. He closed his eyes, enjoying the taste.
Alastor smiled at him, the genuine smile reserved to these late night, where the alcohol in their veins made their heads lighter and their words easier to leave their lips.
The words Alastor pronounced forty-five years ago echoed in the empty room. They sounded sincere, no filter altering them, just honesty and liquor on his tongue.
«You’re like a sparkle in the night Vox. You make this dark world brighter with your smile. Remember that»
Vox closed his eyes and let out a sight. He hugged himself for a moment and let those words sink in, burning his soul.
He allowed himself to feel this way for a few seconds, before turning everything off and straightening his jacket.
He had to go now.
He needed to find out what that pompous old prick was planning.
~~~
I feel like I’ve been working on this fics for a month, but it’s actually been a couple of weeks.
I loved exploring Vox and Alastor’s dynamic and showing Alastor being kind of a mentor for Vox.
Initially Valentino had a part in this fic, but in the end his role got cut off, but who knows! I might explore their relationship and how it affected Vox and Alastor in future fics! In this universe (yeah, the one I created pretty much for this single tickle fic) Al and Vox originally had a strong relationship, something between platonic and romantic, that got ruined when Vox met Valentino and started hanging out with him (Even though I strongly believe that in the serie Vox was the one that fell in love and Alastor was just trying to get something out of him and eventually got tired of Vox and left him)
The first scene felt really like when Hamilton and Burr go drink together at the beginning of the musical ahahahaha.
I don’t know when will I publish the new fic, it will take me a long time before I am able to write so much again.
Let me know what you think guys 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻
#tickle fic#hazbin hotel tickle#lee!vox#ticklish!vox#ler!alastor#i hope it’s well written I’m stressing so much#i started writing with no idea for a plot#but i can totally see Alastor getting mad for not drinking in tge ‘right way’#and Vox being an impatient little shit about it#idk I love them so much#and really I need to get lee!vox out of my system
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
DP Promt!
Tw: mentions of death and the consequences of it. Not explicit or detailed, but still.
So it's been a few years, the Anti-Ecto acts have been abolished, the Fenton Parents arrested for all the trouble they've caused and so on so forth. Whatever you want.
Our story starts when team Phantom(Danny, Sam, Tucker and Jazz) take the (trusted)authorities down to the basement to shut down The Portal.
Right before they cut the power Danny stops them. Not to keep the portal open, just to give them a warning that he has his suspicions of what may still be there. Of course he gives no indication of what his suspicions are.
The power is cut and they watch as the tear in reality gives a few pulses before it softly collapses in on itself, pretty anticlimactic.
Then the stench hits them like a freight train. When they can finally look through the tears in their eyes... they see Danny's body.
Danny, didn't survive the accident. He's not a halfa because he's half-dead-half-alive, he's a halfa because he stopped dying right in the middle of forming. He's very much a ghost, he's just too connected and tethered to his body to the place of his death to finish forming. This is how to comes out he's Phantom.
Please ignore tags
#danny phantom#corpse au#kinda sorta#personally I want this to be bittersweet fluff#like#I want danny to be there as they plan his funeral#except since he's a ghost it's different for him than the others#He's super excited#it's like a super big birthday party#except it's for his death#he wants decorations#and fun games#and good snacks#he also wants his coffin painted with stars please#and the others use this as a time to show him how much they love and appreciate him#all of Amity Park pitches in#then it ends on a time skip#danny finds another halfa who thinks that they're still alive#he's been alone for so long now with just his memories of his loved ones and occasional visits with ghost friends#but he's not alone anymore#at least that's what I wanna read#why didn't you ignore tags?
39 notes
·
View notes
Text
@puppetmaster13u You called Danny a space whale in the tags of one of this post.
Now what if that was literal?
Hear me out, Danny outlives his friends, parents, sister. Danny becomes a literal whale.
Well, not a literal one because he's a ghost, but he takes the shape one of at the very least. He's just a giant, glowing white whale that looks pretty divine not going to lie.
Danny leaves earth. It wasn't safe for him anymore, what with the GIW and all that as even the ghosts found it not even worth anymore to visit the mortal world.
Except for Desiree and Spectra, but that's besides the point.
But Danny doesn't retreat to the zone, he's always longed for space, but because of his new half humanness he doesn't get believe he could've ever gone because, well. Yea.
But Danny goes fuck it and goes anyway. His form shifts from human to that of a giant whale, and he swims out into the vastness of space.
Years pass, and Danny does start getting bigger as he aged. He explored the vastness of space, marveling at many things, the different planets, the stars, the formations of rock and other things.
Then he encounters someone he never though he would've.
Vlad.
Well, he knew Vlad was left behind in space by his father but he didn't think he would find him again and Vlad seemed... different, from what he remembered.
For one thing, he didn't even know where Vlad began and space ended. He got only see those red eyes that even hinted at it being the man. His body was void black and filled with stars upon stars, all glittering from his body and Vlad barely even seemed to notice him, or if he did, he didn't seem to care at all.
So, Danny took him.
He was both curious and felt a bit bad about what happened to Vlad, even if he didn't know exactly what happened, and he couldn't just leave him there either.
So on his back Vlad went, and his travels continued.
It seemed to be the correct decision, really, because slowly overtime Vlad seemed to be regaining his awareness. Then slowly, tentatively, started to speak with him through ghost speak.
Vlad only seemed to vaguely remember what he was before space. He remembered hating a man, loving a woman, wanting a son, loneliness and a boy with white hair and toxic green eyes.
Even though Vlad was his former enemy, his nemesis, and someone who took the world hostage.
He couldn't help but feel pity for him.
Then their travels continued.
Years pass unnoticed, when in space, with Danny slowly getting bigger and bigger as the two travel throughout. They've come into contact with various civilizations, some hostile, some peaceful, some neutral.
The hostile ones never lasted long, even if Danny never lifted a flipper to do anything most of the time, Vlad made sure of it.
They came at went as they pleased, and Danny believes that they've gained a bit of a reputations over their adventures, but neither he nor Vlad knew exactly what they said. It did prove useful in some cases, however.
A few more years, and Danny feels that this system is vaguely familiar. Which happens sometimes, considering he's been travelling for so long. He then finds out why it was so familiar.
He came across Earth and, oh. When was the Earth so small?
Well, not small really, but when was he just only a bit smaller than it?
Did it shrink when he was away? Or did he just grow?
That doesn't matter though. What does, is the fact that currently seemed to be an invasion going on, on his home planet thank you very much. He did not like the fact that there was a massive fleet parked right outside his home.
So he spoke to Vlad, expressed his displeasure, Vlad responded back knowingly and went off to make the source of his displeasure disappear. That doesn't Danny was idle either, the fleet was big and, well.
It's been a while since he's stretched himself in a fight.
#dc x dp#dp x dc#dpxdc#dp x dc crossover#dcxdp#dc x dp crossover#Space whale Danny#Void touched Vlad#Yes this does take place after Phantom Planet#Vlad was left in space how can you not expect me to use that?#Danny is BIIIG#Vlad vaguely remembers what he once was#Danny decided to take him along with him#Vlad can use the void itself because he's been touched by it for far too long#Unfortunately for him#Would Danny and Vlad be viewed as gods by the various civilizations they've encountered?#Danny certainly has the divine look because he glows white in the vastness of space#Vlad I think kinda has that because he's just unnatural to look at because of his void touchedness#I mean they don't have to be but its just a thought.#Right also he isn't the ghost king or prince#But he's a giant ass whale the size of a planet and slightly smaller than earth
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
FIRESIDE. ✸ farmhand!rafe cameron au [1.1k]
summary. rafe cameron. everything you need and more.
꒰ WARNINGS ꒱ ༘⋆❥ afab!reader, farmer’s daughter au!, reader calls her dad “daddy” but it’s obvs not sexual (it’s country. it’s a country thing it’s normal.), porn with minimal plot, ooc rafe (he’s just sweeter in this lmao), mutual pining, friends with benefits, except reader has such an awful crush on him, unprotected p in v, public sex (no one sees), against a barn oops, dirty talk, fingering, praise, creampie.
reign speaks. i have a rlly bad obsession on the farmer’s daughter aesthetic rn so pls just bare with me while i literally milk the ever living hell out of it. a lot of farmer’s daughter/country au’s in the drafts rn. rafe, leon, ghost, you name it. just let me cook y’all i swear something good will come of it i promise LMAO. sorry about any spelling errors i wrote this in two hours😭
• — ꒰ masterlist ꒱ ꒰ nav ꒱
rafe cameron had an incredible way of making you feel both wanted and wholly confused all at once. he could be at your feet, begging you to follow him around whilst he did his farm work for your father, to keep him company and fill his ears with your voice of honey. he’d look at you as if you yourself had put the very moon and stars in the sky, as if you’d put them there just for him. hell, he even carved a small heart out of wood and attached it to some ribbon and gently wrapped it around your wrist.
he’d do all this just to continue calling you his friend.
his friend that he occasionally fucks dumb every week. the friend whose brain he turns to mush with his sweet words as he thrusts his cock deep into your cunt. the friend that he spends more time pleasuring than himself.
this time was no different. just another time when you snuck out of your bedroom window and into the warm night, illuminated by the soft hues of the moons glow. the note he had slipped into your hand earlier in the day had been discarded in a box under your bed.
(where you kept all of the notes he’d given you. shamefully, you must admit).
now, you find yourself being pressed against the side of your father’s old barn, towered over by rafe, mouths colliding in mutual desperate need. you pawed at his clothe covered chest, taking the fabric in your fist. his hand held the back of your neck while the other gripped at the skin on your hip, having pushed itself up and under your floral cotton nightgown. his fingers toyed with the waistband of your panties but never dared to go further, not yet.
the feeling of rafe took over your senses. he rendered you unable to form any thoughts other than him. it was embarrassing—the effect he had on you.
he pulled away against his own wishes to catch some air. but the look in his eyes, the look, forbade you from breathing any air at all.
“i missed you today,” he confesses. his voice is like silk against skin. smooth and gentle. “where’d you go?”
you smiled at him. “ran some errands with daddy. needed t’ get a new rake since someone broke the other one.”
“i told you, it was an accident!”
the laugh that escapes him makes butterflies form in your belly.
“i know, ‘m just teasin’.” you run your hand through his hair. when he leans back in and kisses you deeply, gently nipping your bottom lip, you tug lightly at the roots of his hair. the groan he lets out sends shocks through you.
you felt anticipation build up higher and higher when rafe’s index and middle fingers grazed over your clothed cunt, feeling the wet patch and knowing how wet you were already. he applied slight pressure to your clit over your panties, making you whine desperately.
“rafe, please.”
he made a faux pouty expression, displaying fake confusion. “what? i’m just teasin’.”
he is not mocking you right now.
he let out a small laugh before dipping his hands into your panties and finally drawing small circles on your clit. you moaned a little too loud at the sudden feeling, making rafe clamp his free hand over your mouth.
he then pushes a finger, then two, into your sopping cunt, curling them slightly. your eyes practically roll to the back of your head. you were thankful he had your mouth covered, otherwise you would’ve woken up not only the animals on the farm, but also your parents inside the the house.
rafe wasn’t holding back, giving you exactly what you wanted and needed. “god, she’s so wet f’r me, baby. you been missin’ me? missed my words? my fingers? my cock?”
you nodded the best you could with his hand on your mouth. your abdomen constricting with every sharp jolt of pleasure he gave you. an all too familiar feeling was rising too fast for you to prepare for.
but just as quickly it came, it left when he retracted his hands entirely.
you wanted to plead, you would’ve if not for the mouth guard, but instead you attempted to grab at rafe’s hand once again. he just shook his head, shushing you softly and undoing his belt with one hand. christ, you could’ve cum right then.
“don’t worry, baby, i’m gonna take care of you.”
he pulls your panties down and they pool at your ankles. you only have time to step one foot out of them before he’s grabbing at your leg and pulling it against his waist, your panties hanging from your ankle.
rafe takes his hand off your mouth and instead wraps it around your neck and captures your lips with his. in one push, he filled you to the brim with his cock.
your jaw falls slack as moans upon moans escape you. there was nothing rafe could’ve done to muffle you now. with him hitting every spot inside of you that had you seeing stars, you were done for.
the wood of the barn walls scraped against your bare shoulders, rafe’s hand sneaking up and under your nightgown to grope at your tits, pinching your nipples.
“rafe, rafe—fuck!—”
“watch your mouth, princess,” rafe warns. the nickname making your mind swirl. “i know it feels good, y’pussy’s just squeezin’ me. like it wont let me move.”
“‘m sorry! ‘m sorry!” you could barely think. his cock stretched you so much, providing the perfect combination of stinging pleasure.
once again, you felt the knot in your stomach getting tighter and tighter the more rafe fucks his cock into you. you attempted to grasp at any part of him that you could get ahold of and the only word you could mumble out was his name, over and over, until you finally let go. your body spasmed, eyes screwing shut in pleasure. rafe fucked you through your orgasm before he came inside you, against his better judgment. his hips stuttered back and forth, grinding himself against you as much as he could until he had nothing left to give you.
he stilled as you two caught your breaths, until he eventually pulled out and fixed himself back up.
“lift your foot, baby.”
you lifted your foot as he said and he put it through your panties, lifting them up your legs and resting them back against your wet cunt. his cum pooled from you and into your panties, but you didn’t care. you’ll just wash them tomorrow.
#i know the ending is kinda weird#but i couldn’t figure out how to wrap it up#neither could they apparently#but hey#rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x fem!reader#outer banks#outer banks smut
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
“ PRETTY , PLEASE ” ๑‧˚₊ ─── FLX
synopsis ; you think your roommate is really pretty, but you think he’s even prettier when he whines and begs for you.
genre 숌 virgin!felix x fuckgirl!reader | roommates AU
words - 4.0k+ tags/warnings 숌 fluff, pwp, smut, (slight age difference: felix is 23/reader is 25), sub!felix/dom!reader, noona kink?, perv!lix, oral (m), solo masturbation, corruption kink, edging, dacryphilia, rlly cute & soft ending tho <3
☆ 彡
Have you ever met someone so pure and innocent that you feel the need to shield them from any and all bad influences that might corrupt them?
Those were your exact thoughts when you first locked eyes with your new roommate Felix. You thought he was the most precious little bean ever ;( His shy, timid nature made you want to coddle him like a baby, and always spoke in such a polite, well-mannered tone due to you being his senior. At first Felix didn’t talk very much when he moved in and was constantly cooped up in his room doing god knows what, but eventually he’d warm up to you and the two of you soon became really good friends.
You don’t particularly like most men, you tend to get annoyed with them easily, only using them for a quick fuck because that’s all they’re good for. Personally, you didn’t care to start getting serious with anyone at the moment, prioritizing work and other future goals instead of boys who come and go. Felix was quite literally the only exception to this. You genuinely enjoyed his company and valued him as more than a friend, he was so easy to talk to and could make anyone in a room feel comfortable with his presence.
You loved how he never made a fuss about chores when you didn’t feel like doing them. He was never rude or brought strangers over, and he kept to himself most of the time— the perfect roommate ever. Felix was studying biology at school to become a veterinarian as he’s told you many times he loves animals before. You were already out of school by now, as you graduated 2 years ago but you didn’t mind living with someone a couple years younger. He’s very mature for being in his early twenties, even more than some of the 30+ year old “men” you’ve slept with in the past.
One thing you’ve noticed since he’s always keeping to himself, he takes his schooling very serious and constantly studies. He never drinks, smokes, or goes out to parties, but he doesn’t act better than anyone either, it’s just how he is. You’ve never seen someone so dedicated to their work, wondering in the back of your mind if he even knows what taking a break means. You’ve tried getting to invite him out to other social events but he would always say that studying was far more important, you seriously never seen someone be so obsessed with school. Before you graduated, you weren’t a straight A student by any means but you did care about your grades, overall you still managed to balance a social life within.
Felix was never the judgmental type, he didn’t care if you brought a lot of friends over or the occasional hook up you’d have, he would just turn a blind eye to most of those things. You didn’t think it’d ever impact the way you both interacted but unfortunately after a while things have started to get a bit awkward between you. He’s been awfully more quiet these days and whenever you two would walk by in passing he could barely even look at you. Any time he did, it was if he’d seen a ghost or something— the way his face went pale from being drained of all color and would immediately hurry back into his room.
You don’t know what’s up with him but the more he’s been treating you this way the more you feel like he doesn’t seem to like you very much anymore. This weekend you plan to have a quick chat with him about everything and to clear up some potential misunderstandings. Little do you know the real reason why he’s been keeping his distance from afar…
God he feels like such a creep for eavesdropping on you having sex with someone else right now.
It wasn’t supposed to end up this way, he simply walked past your door without a second thought but as he came closer he heard what is presumably you moaning out another guy’s name. That’s when it piques his curiosity to listen further, he’s only heard this type of stuff from watching porn but it’s a whole different experience when in real life. He should feel more than embarrassed about doing this, ashamed for invading his roommates privacy in such a horrid way but he doesn’t move. Only continuing to press his ear up against the mahogany door, getting a clearer sound of your wanton moans, feeling something shift.. a familiar throbbing sensation causes the sudden constriction in his pants.
He’s far too gone to even think about stopping at this point, subconsciously dragging his hand further down as he comes in contact with his hardened cock. All he could hear was skin slapping, imagining you bent over the bed while taking it from behind, arching your back as you pant louder for them to go faster and faster. Felix continues to feel himself through the constraints of his clothing but it wasn’t enough for him, it wasn’t enough to alleviate the discomfort down there. So he ends up going back to his room to finish his little fap sesh, ridding himself of everything, t-shirt, sweats, boxers— ready to finish what he accidentally started.
“___, please..” he’d stir in his bed, going to town on his cock as he pumps his hand around it, thinking about you on top of him. “Noona.. m’so close…” he whimpers out desperately, feeling so overly sensitive that his body’s buzzing with pleasure.
Felix was so overwhelmed in his thoughts he barely noticed the precum leaking out and spilling around his small hand, his eyes were completely shut and zoned out in utter bliss. He wishes nothing more than to have you doing this to him instead, wondering what it’s like to have a girl as hot as you jerk his cock for him, he’s never experienced what it’s like but he’d want you to be his first if he ever does. It frustrates him that he can’t have you in the same way those other guys do, they’re more experienced and can please you better than he could.
One thing he knows now is that he’ll never be able to look at you normally again after doing all of this.
Things just couldn’t get any worse for him at this point. He’s now found a pair of your underwear which has mistakenly ended up in his laundry somehow. He didn’t do know what to do … if he tells you it accidentally got mixed in with his stuff then you’ll probably accuse him of stealing them as an excuse. Plus he didn’t want to face the embarrassment of even handing these back to you. It was a really pretty pair too, a red lace thong with black trim and a cute satin bow on the front. He wonders how your ass would look in these panties, secretly getting so jealous of all your hook ups and how they’ve all got to see you naked.
Felix decides the best course of action is to quickly return them in your room before you finish showering. He’ll simply sneak into your room, put them back in your underwear drawer, and he won’t have to think about it again, this was going to be the easiest plan of execution. Boy could he have been any more wrong. He couldn’t find which drawer they were supposed to be in, essentially wasting more and more time trying to find where to stash them. He honestly could’ve hid them anywhere but he was paranoid about that seeming suspicious too. Then he just considers possibly keeping them for himself. Playing with the fabric in his hands as he thinks of the idea to jerk his cock with your underwear wrapped around it. If only you knew the things he wanted you to do to him..
“What’re you doing in my room Lixie?” You question your roommate’s intentions as you walk in from getting out in the shower. You catch him holding something in his hands but quickly stuffs the object away in his pockets.
Fuck he’s totally screwed. There’s no going back from this now.
“Uh- nothing! I was just about to leave actually-” just as he attempts to make a run for it, he turns around and comes face to face with you in just a bath towel.
He’s legitimately gone crazy now, stopping dead in his tracks to gawk at your beauty. You exude high levels of sex appeal without even trying, it’s almost intimidating being in the same room as you. Felix thought you look absolutely gorgeous in your natural state, noticing the fresh water droplets still glistening on your skin and wet strands of hair sticking to your face. He really wants to know what’s underneath that singular layer, sensing another uncomfortable situation down there.
“Don’t be silly Lix, you looked like you were looking for something. What’re you holding?” You continue asking but he refuses to give any solid answers, telling you over and over how it’s “nothing” and he wasn’t lying but something didn’t seem right about his behavior.
You saw he put something in his pocket from earlier, so without a second thought you reach into that same pocket to grab whatever was in there. Everything happened so fast Felix didn’t even have time to process what was going on, mortified when he sees you pulling out a pair of your underwear from his sweatpants.
“Why do you have these?” Your expression was stone cold, you genuinely looked pissed off and it was starting to frighten him. He didn’t think you’d actually be upset about this but now he wishes he had just hid it somewhere randomly.
“It’s not what it looks like ___, you’ve got the wrong idea!”
“No I definitely know what’s going on here. Didn’t ever really take you as the type to be such a perv,” you chuckle at his horrible attempt in making any excuses. Coming closer to him now, placing both palms on his shoulders, you get all the way up to his ear and whisper, “I like perverts though ‘cause I’m one too.”
His face burned a crimson shade, growing flustered at your sudden dirty confession. The only thing he could do was gulp out of nervousness, even more worried if you discover the massive hard on he’s sporting in his pants. A subtle smirk forms onto your lips, debating where you should kiss and mark first but you want to take your time with someone like Felix— he’s too pretty not to. You lightly brush your lips against his neck, as if he’s so fragile and delicate, making him tremble from the sudden cool air you blow against his skin.
Felix felt his heart beating out of his chest, internally panicking at what’s soon to come. It’s not like he didn’t want any of this to happen, he’s just worried out his mind and tends to overthink everything. Those anxious thoughts were soon adjourned with a pair of soft lips against his trembling ones, eyes bulging out from the sudden shock of your actions. He stood there awkwardly for a bit as he’s never kissed someone before, he doesn’t know how he should react but he mimics your movements. You deepen the kiss even further, gently caressing the side of his face into your palm— his body was so stiff it made you feel self conscious about you making the first move. He was kissing you back but it didn’t feel like there was any emotion behind it, everything he’s doing seems so robotic and manufactured. You’re starting to think he may not actually be enjoying this.
“Something wrong?” You cautiously pull away to voice concern, regretting everything if he’s uncomfortable by your advances.
He mentally curses himself, feeling more upset at you thinking you’re the problem. “N-no… you’re perfect. This is perfect, it’s just- I’ve never done it before..” His voice trails off towards the end, embarrassed by his lack of experience.
“You’ve never had sex before?” You blink in confusion, it was seemingly impossible for someone as attractive as Felix to have never had a single sexual encounter in his life. However, you’d be more than happy to change that.
“No.” He shook his head, frowning at his sad revelation that he’s a 23 year old virgin.
“Awee, s’cute. I get to be your first!” You couldn’t help but find that to be so adorable, you haven’t took someone’s virginity since freshman year of college, it excites you all over again.
He’s seemingly surprised by the way you respond, “You’re not put off by that?” Most girls in your position wouldn’t want to deal with someone like him. He needs to be trained, taught exactly how to please a woman the way she needs to— which you’re more than capable of doing.
“No, why would I be?” It’s not everyday you hear a guy as handsome as Felix say that they’re a virgin, it intrigues you in some capacity. You want him to become your cute little plaything, someone only you can corrupt exactly the way you want.
“So you’ve never pleasured another girl before? Like not even fingering?” You delve deeper with more questions, wanting to know everything he’s done or hasn’t.
He shook his head yet again, “no, I’ve never done anything.”
This was unlike anything you’ve seen before, at least the other guys you knew who were virgins had actually done a few other things but this was new for you. The fact he was able to confide in you with something so personal made you want to be his first so badly. Maybe this was perfect— you were way more experienced than him so you can show him the ropes, how it’s really done. You express to him that it’s okay he was inexperienced, it’s nothing to be ashamed of and he’s in good hands now.
“What if I don’t do it right?” Felix looks so worried, his adam’s apple bobbed each time he nervously swallowed.
“You won’t because I’m here,” you reassure him by placing an affectionate hand on his shoulder, flashing a warm smile. “I’ll show you how to, don’t be shy it’s fine baby. Just lye back on the bed and I’ll take care of you pretty.”
He did everything he was told, all instructed by you. Lying down on the bed with his back against your pink silk pillow, the black tee he wore slightly rode up, causing you to get a glimpse of his tummy. It was too cute not to touch, your nimble fingers travel up his waist to raise his shirt higher, feeling up his lower body.
Felix felt so powerless as you hover over his frame, both your legs on either side of his, enclosing him in such a tight space. Taking slow, deep exhales, he grows more tense as you slide your hands north, it’s a whole new sensation he’s never felt before. His breath hitched at you suddenly coming in contact with his nipple, brushing over it ever so slightly to elicit a subtle reaction. You love how sensitive he’s become to any minor touch you provide, feeling your arousal leak further down to your thighs as you think of turning him into your personal slut.
“Should I take this off?” You suddenly propose an idea, referring to the bath towel that was hanging on you by a thread. It was seemingly already coming undone as you didn’t tie the front properly, he was able to get a good view of your chest peaking out at the top.
“Mhmm..” Felix hums in sexual frustration, unable to get a clear word or sentence out in any possible way.
You oblige, biting your lip seductively at him as you reach to untie the loose knot, slowly prying the towel off your body that’s now completely dry. “Let’s start off with something easy,” you carefully suggest, traveling your hands down to the band of his gray joggers, lightly tugging them down to reveal his boxer briefs.
The tiny, blond, freckled boy is staring up at you with his big bambi eyes, he can’t believe there’s a naked girl on top of him while he’s still partially fully clothed. All the blood surges to his cock, making him so painfully hard he’s never been so desperate for someone to touch him in his life. Hips bucking into nothing as he humps the air for any stimulation, you couldn’t prevent the giggle that escaped your mouth. Finding him to be so utterly pathetic.
You lean in to kiss him again, never quite getting enough of the yummy taste of him. Tracing your index finger over the outline of his bulge, you feel him pulse underneath as you keep teasing him with more light touches. He could feel you smiling into the kiss, biting down on his lower lip as your free hand gets tangled in his platinum locks. You eventually sprung his cock freely out the constraints of his briefs, watching it stick straight up from being so unbelievably hard. His cock was gorgeous, about 6 inches in length and 2.5” thick, his tip was an angry, ruby red but the rest a blush pink color. Your fingers laced around his shaft, getting closer to spit directly on it before giving him a few moderate pumps. Felix threw his head back slightly, gripping the bedsheets in utmost pleasure, whimpering loudly as he ruts his hips to match the movements of your hand. Unable to hold back from just how good you’re making him feel he calls your name out again and again. His deep voice only gets raspier, a beautifully stark contrast to his angelic face being stuck in euphoria. As your pace increases he only gets more vocal, panting heavily while begging to cum as his jaw slacks wide open. Flashes of white invade his vision, everything around him becomes to fade into a blur. That’s when it all gets abruptly ripped away from him, soon as your hand withdraws his cock he opens his eyes again. His lips quivered in devastation, feeling as though he could cry from this.
“W-why’d you stop?” He whines out of frustration, wanting so badly to cum all over your hand.
The sight of him made you so incredibly turned on. Obsessed with the mess you’ve created so far, his flushed, rosy cheeks with drool seeping down his chin, his precum has leaked out everywhere.
You don’t answer, only chuckling at his misery. It’s fun to play with him, see how far you can push him in getting to do whatever you want.
“Want me to suck your cock, hmm? Say pretty please and I’ll make you feel so good.” Never breaking eye contact as you say it, getting off on the fact you have all the control and he’s totally helpless in your hold.
Felix is reluctant to speak at first, but he chokes up the courage to stutter out a plea, “P-pretty please.. Noona please...” lifting his hips just to feel something— you aggressively force them back down with your hand.
A devilish smirk forms across your face, you didn’t know he was the type to call you that. You want to reward him even more but only if he can be good and does everything exactly your way.
“Don’t cum ‘til I say you can. Got it?” You flash a look that’s anything but merciful, getting a rush from this dominant role you happen to take on surprisingly well.
He nods obediently, understanding what the consequences may be if he doesn’t listen. He wants to try his best to please you in any way he can, it’s the least he can do when you’re the one doing most of the work.
Wrapping your lips around his tip, you feel him twitch instantly inside your mouth, opening just a bit to swirl your tongue along his member. His cock feels slightly sore from being edged once before, gasping when he feels the plushness of your lips on him. Sinking further down, you fully take his length in your mouth now, head bobbing up and down to get the entirety of his cock down your throat. Felix couldn’t move, think, let alone breathe properly— he’s so far gone that the only thing consuming his mind is you.
“Like getting your cock sucked baby?” You coo, bringing your hand to gently caress his balls, making him cry out even more.
He only frantically nods in response, too weak and too lost in the feeling to speak, “Mmm…” he mumbles, he’s so close but he can’t cum, he has to resist the urge but it’s so difficult. There’s no way he’s going to be able to keep this up for much longer.
“Use your words Lixie,” suddenly pulling away from his balls, “or else I’m going to stop again.”
He’s back to being whiny again, not wanting to be edged so cruelly like last time, he finally chokes out a reply, “Y-yes.. I love it.”
You really love the way he sounds, you could listen to him like this all day. Back to what you were doing previously, your mouth completely takes him in, lashes fluttering up at him while you’re doing the most unholy act there is. His brain goes fuzzy as he can’t get over how amazing this feels, broken moans escaping his throat from the warmth of your tongue enveloping his cock. Humming around him in response to his constant throbbing, Felix hisses from the vibrations throughout his body. He’s trembling with so many nerves hitting all once, it’s all so new to him; this might just be the most intense feeling he’s ever had.
“Nggh… gonna cum- can’t hold it anymore..” he meekly warns, tears roll down his face as it begins to be too much for him to bear.
You decide to let him this time, feeling a little sense of sympathy for a cutie pie like him. There’s always next time you can edge him and break him down until he babbles and cries even harder. Your core aches just thinking about all the fantasies you’ll bring to life soon, it’ll never be a boring day from now on.
“Go ahead baby, cum in my mouth,” you urge him to finish by going faster, sucking him off like your life depends on it.
He can feel the coil in his stomach tightening, pushing him to the edge as he’s thrashing around the bed, moaning and crying out all types of profanities. The last words he spoke before he came was pure gibberish, too busy focusing on his release shooting out— he lulls his head back into the pillow from exhaustion. He doesn’t think he’s ever came that hard in his entire life. His eyes rolled back as you greedily swallow his cum, still continuing to suck like he wasn’t mewling for you to stop. More of his load comes out as you keep going, milking every last drop of him until he’s all drained out and empty.
Finally letting go of his cock, you pull away as you make a loud ‘pop’ with your mouth, a thin string of saliva still connecting you to his crotch.
“You did so good for me Lixie,” you praise sweetly, coming up to kiss his pouty lips after you’d just sucked him dry. He kisses back immediately, getting a taste of his release on your tongue, “c’mere puppy,” you motion him to come along once you pull away.
He’s not sure what you have in mind but he follows anyway, blindly letting you boss him around at this point. Felix enjoys every second of it though, you may have unlocked something he never knew he needed.
Your hands run over his shoulders, “How ‘bout we run you a bath, yeah?” Your voice is as low and gentle as a whisper, sounding as though you didn’t just do those unspeakable things minutes ago. He’s more at ease you’ve turned into a sweeter, more compassionate version of yourself now, “I think my precious baby deserves it.”
- 完 ︎♡︎
#felix smut#felix x female reader#felix x reader#skz smut#skz x reader#stray kids smut#stray kids x reader#stray kids x female reader#skz x female reader#felix scenarios#sub!felix#felix drabbles#skz drabbles#skz scenarios#skz imagines#felix imagines#skz fluff#lee felix smut#lee felix x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
EVERY CORNER OF THIS HOUSE IS HAUNTED. (2)
Synopsis ! Jake had taken you as his own after Tsu'tey's passing, leaving no one to care for you. Things had been good before your relationship with him had blurred along growing of age. You and him fought all the time; argued each other's ear off and tonight was no different-- except words have been said, severing the already damaged bond.
Content & warning Jake sully x Daughter!Reader, Sully kids x Sister!Reader Neytiri x Daughter!Reader. (wc: 5264)
You swung your legs over the edge, feet ghosting just above the calm lake that surrounded this part of the forest. It was a bit far from the village, but you felt more at ease knowing that you wouldn’t be found easily. This was your own place and ironically enough, a spot you and Jake had found years ago. You could see the familiar marks left from the arrows you had shot, deeply engraved in some of the trunks.
One drawing had caught your eye. From one of the trees, a bit taller than the rest; an image of you and your father. It was silly, clearly etched by the hands of a kid no older than six. The lines were harsh as the wood itself was tough, but it was there– almost mockingly. You scoffed, mindlessly grabbing a pebble and flinging it right on the center.
You have barely moved since you arrived here; detached yourself the moment you had sat near the jagged rocks. It was a habit you presumed you got from Jake. The longer you stayed, the more you succumbed to your ever-bleeding wounds– there was just something so tragic about being an eldest daughter.
You weren’t all bite, despite the constant snarl on your lips. You weren't so egotistical as to think that you couldn't possibly be wrong, but tonight, tonight you knew damn well Jake was to blame.
‘Is it because I’m not your daughter?’
Your own voice had rang through your mind. You wince in response, cringing internally. That could very well be the case– you weren't part of their family. You can’t help but think that they may have done it out of pity.
But Kiri wasn’t exactly their own either. In fact, you and Kiri weren’t at all opposites at birth.
While you came from Tsu’tey, she was from Grace; both of you from separate blood and brought together by one. However you weren’t exactly close to Eywa or have the skills she possessed. Kiri was undeniably special– spiritual and awfully attuned. Heck, she had managed to tame her own ikran simply by asking it to be her friend.
Still, there was no reason for Jake to treat you differently. You were jealous– of course you are. If he’s able to be as gentle as he is with your baby sister, why couldn’t he with you? It was a sickening thought, to think that he acts so rigid and unrelenting around you while he looked at her like she had hanged every star in the night sky. Sure Kiri was special, but you were at least his daughter too. Can’t he spare you even just a second of a loving glance?
With Kiri, he listens intently– looks at her with such tenderness as he takes in her every word. It was the same gaze he wore whenever we visited the sky-people lab; Jake would stare a bit too long at Grace, expression somewhere along the line of reminiscing. Whenever he had moments like these, his eyes would hold some sort of longing– a promise. Perhaps it was because Grace meant the world to him– literally. She taught him everything about Pandora, showed him the way of the Na’vi; gave him another shot at living.
Kiri was exactly like her mother; wise and cunning. Jake probably sees Grace in her very image.
You’d think this would be the embodiment of every father with their daughters; kind and vulnerable, but you would argue otherwise. When he looked at you, it was more of regret– grief prolonging. It was a gaze so ugly and unwanted; a weight you’re not supposed to carry.
Because you’re exactly like Tsu’tey and Jake sees him in yourself.
It was no secret that Jake was softer when it came to Tuk and Kiri. While you are relieved that it had been that way, you can never pray for them to experience the struggles you are burdened with– it tugged on your heartstrings that you would never feel the warmer side of your father; will never know how it feels to be babied nor to be held gently.
You were her daughter too so you didn’t understand. What made you any different from them that you had to pretend his love was hidden beneath his icy glares and dismissive grunts? These were emotions nonetheless– however odd or minuscule they may have been. You thought that maybe, just maybe, there’d be a crack to this exterior. Maybe if you tried harder, Jake would soften up to you too.
But that wasn’t the case because he never did. You had picked apart pieces of yourself that you thought weren’t pleasing– did better despite your age. You were young and only yearned for your father’s approval.
( “You’re not doing it right. Again.”
As you stretched your already sore arms for the nth time, ready to take aim, his hands tug on your stance– a bit harsher than intended. Light continued to glare down on your figure as you tirelessly corrected your posture again. Your ears pricked up at the sound of your sibling’s laughter, coming to you from afar. You stole a glance at them as they continued to play and enjoy themselves by the water, their childish exuberance highlighted by their splashing around in the shallow waves.
“Can’t I take a break?” You whined, dropping your stiff shoulders. Hearing them have fun made you want to jump in as well.
“I didn’t let you talk my ear off just to give up. Come on, you promised me a bullseye today, baby girl.” He said, eyebrows furrowing a bit. You look down to your feet, a bit embarrassed. You didn’t want him to not take you seriously– you fear that if you let him down now, he wouldn’t let you do anything again. “Just one hit and I’ll let you off–”
His head turns sharply towards Kiri as she calls out for Jake, asking him to join them in their game. He can't help but to let out a small chuckle as he yells back a short response of ‘in a minute.’
“Again, come on.” His hands move quickly and firmly grasp your arms, helping you back to the same position before. “I’ll be watching, promise.” With a light tap on your shoulder, he rushes off, chasing after your siblings towards the water.
The quicker you got it done, the sooner you would be able to play. You pulled on the string again and released a heavy sigh before releasing the arrow. After several tries of firing shots that missed their mark, you finally managed to hit dead center with one shot. Your eyes widen in surprise, disbelief crossing your face before you jump excitedly, “Did you see that, dad? Did you–”
Your yell was instantly drowned out by Lo'ak's hearty laugh. You couldn't help but feel deflated as you watched your father lift him up onto his shoulders while the others trailed behind them in a fit of giggles. You run towards them, bow in hand.
“You weren’t watching–” You tried to pull his hand in your direction, gesturing towards the arrow that was still firmly embedded into the red ring you had created on the trunk of the tree.
"Ah, darn, I missed it?" He said between breathy chuckles as Kiri tried to tug on his tail from behind, barely taking note of your work. "Why don't you do it again? This time I'll be sure to pay attention."
“But I want to play with you now.”
“Dad– Neteyam caught something! It’s huge, come look!” Jake slowly lowers Lo'ak from his shoulders, letting them pull him towards where Neteyam stood. The children squealed at the sight of the fish (with Kiri letting out a few disgusted gags), but Jake reveled in pride. “Yeah, Neteyam, the mighty fisherman!”
You stayed still on the shore watching them– watching him. It was so easy to lose your father’s attention despite your best efforts. You retreated back to your spot, eyes glaring at the arrow sticking out from the tree. If a single bullseye wasn’t enough to impress Jake, then you’d just have to perfect your aim. Your hits will never miss again and you’ll make him proud.)
You were clueless. If only you knew that there was no satisfying your father, you would’ve spent the days tirelessly training to play instead– to be an actual kid without having the worries of a grown adult.
You could leave. At the thought of it, your head swiveled towards the unfamiliar path that would take you away from the clan– away from everything you know. You could leave and never come back; take your father’s name and build your own person. There was this selfish thought pricking at the back of your brain that once they noticed your absence, everyone would look for you and even feel sorry for what they put you through; that Jake would be sorry to lose you.
You wonder what kind of reputation you'd leave for him when everyone realizes you had run away, never to come back. But it was unfair– your mother would be devastated. Neytiri had already gone through enough, were you worth another heartbreak? She didn’t deserve that.
Suppose you could only dream that Jake would put on an effort for a search party– for him to grow hopeless and regretful while searching for you. You could only dream that he’d run towards you, arms wide open. “You scared me, sweetheart. I thought I lost you. I’m sorry, dad’s sorry.”
But you’ve been away for hours and no one has reached out yet. They probably assumed that you only needed some time and space to clear your head, not seeing any cause for alarm. The only thing that waited for you back home was a hell of a scolding and a week’s punishment of tending the ikrans. Sighing, you decided to just head back.
Your steps are careful– silent, as you near your hut again. You expected for the worst. Neytiri could have told Jake to stay guard outside until you finally decided to come home for all you know, but you weren’t ready for another heated conversation with him just yet. So as you make your way back, you stick your neck out behind the bushes, trying to make out of the surroundings.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t Jake that was waiting outside. It was Kiri. Her figure glows underneath the starry night and it was hard not to be discouraged, but you suppose it was better than having to deal with your father again.
"Kiri?" You called out in a low voice, and instantly her head snapped up. She quickly jumps to her feet upon seeing your arrival, heart racing as she rushes towards you. Without hesitation, she wraps her arms tightly around you in a hug. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to try and steady herself. “Oh great mother, thank you.”
You tentatively put your arms around her in response, hands patting the top of her head. “This isn’t the first time I ran from home,” Your voice is soft– unsure.
Feeling your hesitance, she slowly withdraws from you. “But it’s the first time sempul has said something so..” She stops herself mid-sentence, shaking her head as if to clear away her thoughts. “I worry you’d finally want to leave.”
You stared at her, feeling your insides soften. You could never get angry at Kiri, no matter the situation. You couldn’t just leave. She was your sister still and no one would ever understand you like she does. No one will ever grow you another sibling. As much as you hated yourself, you were meant to watch as she thrives.
Siblings were such a weird concept; it was hard for you to wrap your head around it. Despite the fact that you could hate them with every fibre of your being, you’d still love them unconditionally and protectively; despise them but burn down the whole universe for their safety. It made no sense to be so full of such strong, conflicting emotions all at once, but she was your sister and that was enough explanation.
“Stupid eywa-powers.” You joke as you take your index finger, lightly pressing it against her forehead. She playfully swats your hand away with a laugh, eyes crinkling.
She silently murmurs, “Not stupid” to herself, a small laugh escaping her lips.
You two slowly sat on your wicker chairs in front of the fire. The seat creaked as you made yourself comfortable. Jake was real handy with his hands back then– made all sorts of things for everyone. Wooden Toruks, comfortable hammocks, and each one a special chair. Everyone’s name was etched on the back and although it was a bit smaller now, considering it was made for when you were toddlers, no one had grown out of sitting on it.
You smiled at the memory. It was like tradition for the Sully family– a silly one, but loved nonetheless. He first made you the wicker chair and although it was rather flimsy, you argued that Neteyam should have one as well when he came around.
It was so conflicting– to be able to remember your father was mean, despite being kind, then to know him as kind, despite being mean. You fear Jake could be every word you think of but the word father.
“Remember that time when we played hide-and-seek and we all thought Lo’ak cheated by hiding back at home only to find out we left him at the forest?” Kiri spoke, eyes fixated at the flames.
You chuckled, “Yeah, even dad was in on it– told us not to tell mom that we left him.”
“Oh– and that one time they left us to Mo’at to have their little dates and came home to see grandma knocked out and her hut a mess?”
You laughed, rather loudly this time. You remembered the memory like it was yesterday– little Neteyam wrapped from head to toe in bandages as you two tried to play healers; pastes and herbs were scattered everywhere while Lo’ak was playing to his own devices happily (something about kid Lo’ak and wanting to play alone most of the time). “Lo’ak and his lisp trying to explain why he was covered in warrior paint all over his body.”
“Ki-ti told me to do it!” Kiri squeaked out in her best impression of Lo’ak, before both of you burst into smothered laughter— careful not to wake anyone up. After taking a few moments to catch your breath, the area was silent once more. There was no sound other than the crackle of the fire, its flame illuminating the darkness in the vicinity.
“I’m trying to see the situation in both perspectives,” She starts once the quietness grows unbearable. You averted your gaze, not wanting to talk it out with her.
“I really don’t wanna talk about it, Kiri.” You threw your head back, your eyes burning a hole into the night sky.
“I just don’t want it to explode like what happened a while ago again.”
You kiss your teeth and let out an exasperated sigh, tongue clicking as you exhale. Deep down you knew that there was no getting out of this situation, so you may as well hear what they had to say. “Fine. What’s your diagnosis, doc?”
The flap of the hut's entrance is suddenly thrown back, revealing a rather disoriented looking Lo'ak stumbling out. It's clear he had just been stirred from his slumber. “You two aren’t as quiet as you think you are.” He said, his voice low. He made his way over to Kiri and sat down beside her with an audible yawn. “What is it this time?”
“Eywa tells me of your troubles,” Kiri starts, ignoring Lo’ak. “Father isn’t at all the greatest, I know, but he’s trying– His choices aren't really the best, but it’s what he knows. If you think about it, he was just as young once and you don’t exactly become a father twice.”
“What are you saying?”
“She’s saying– cut him some slack, maybe?” Lo'ak breaks the stillness with an unexpected remark, his voice quite loud in comparison to Kiri's careful words. His comment catches you off guard and you shift your position uncomfortably on your seat.
“Brother, you really have to stop going out with Spider. You and your lingo is getting harder and harder to discern.” Kiri jabs him from the side, “What he means to say is– maybe you should try being the bigger person instead?”
You let out a deep breath through your nostrils, not enjoying the direction of the conversation. Your brow crinkles in concentration as you try to make sense of why the discussion was taking this turn. You had no desire to pick apart the problem any further and yet, here you were– perhaps Neytiri told them to talk some sense to you? To quiet down for the sake of your old man?
Already sensing your anger, Lo’ak quickly interjects again. “Listen, It’s like,” He turns to you, the grogginess in his expression fading away and being replaced by something more serious. “If dad happens to reprimand us, we save our excuses or any reason we have. The response he wants is an apology and an apology is what you’re going to say– that’s it.”
“But that’s unfair.” You let out a groan, lips turning into a deep frown. “Especially to you and Neteyam.”
Lo’ak only lets out a playful scoff, as if he’s trying to lighten the mood. “You mean, especially to Neteyam. Bro’s an automated machine– expect him to immediately take the blame.” He says, grinning. “I think dad is just.. cracking the code still? Shit, I don’t know. He had to learn to live on two different stars. It must be hard on him.”
“Doesn’t it hurt you? Trying to understand someone older?”
Lo’ak stills for a minute as heavy silence envelopes everyone. “Of course it does. It stings a lot sis– but I think, no parent deserves a resentful son when all they wanted was for me to be better.”
Then it crashes down upon you like a heavy sack filled with rocks, a realization pressing directly against your chest as you watch Lo’ak’s face, illuminated against the flicker of the flames– the lights cast an image you failed to recognize before. Your brothers weren’t exactly immune to Jake’s ways either. He was equally as tough on them.
Maybe you can try for their sake. Maybe you should take the initiative instead of waiting for your father’s open arms.
“Why don’t you join us tomorrow instead? Take your mind off things. We’re visiting the old shack with Spider,” Lo'ak's hand carefully reaches for your hair, the tips of his fingers ruffling through your braids– a gesture he picked up after Neteyam. You chuckle, suddenly slightly embarrassed.
“Isn’t it dangerous?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed.
“It is,” Kiri answers for Lo’ak, giving him a pointed glare. “Tuk heard about it and is begging to come along.”
“More like blackmailed me– I’ll tell mom if you won’t let me come.” He put on a mocking impression of Tuk, sticking his tongue out in an exaggerated way. Kiri gave him another jab, causing him to hiss in response. “But it should be safe.”
Kiri rolls her eyes. “We are so getting into trouble.”
“You guys go,” You say, back resting against the chair again. “Think I should fix the situation with dad first before getting in trouble again.”
You feel Kiri’s eyes on you– gaze emitting a sense of gratitude, almost like a tangible thank you for trying. It’s funny how she’s younger than you and yet she looked out for you more than you had.
You let out a deep sigh as the three of you settled in, reveling in the quiet serenity of the woods. The soft sounds of the forest enveloped you, providing a sense of calm that was hard to miss. Slowly, it lulled you all to a familiar kind of comfort.
Breakfast was unsurprisingly silent.
You felt like the room was full of robots, their limbs jerking and movements mechanically programmed as they ate. As everyone shifted ever so slightly, it seemed almost like they were doing it robotically - stiff and slow. It was like they were walking on eggshells around you and it was hard not to roll your eyes.
It was painfully awkward– a hard watch as Jake tried hard not to make eye contact with you. Neytiri would occasionally jab him from the side and pinch the fat of his thigh. ‘Talk to her.’ – her glare would send him the message.
He lets out a sigh before visibly gulping. “Y/n.”
Your head suddenly jerks upwards from the bowl resting in your lap, startled by your father’s voice calling for you. Neytiri watches in anticipation while your heart pounded madly against your chest. Suddenly, the air fills with tension as all movement ceases. Not a single soul speaks or breathes– waiting.
“Pass the salt.” Jesus Christ.
You give him a deadpan expression, stretching your arms over to pass it to him. He carefully takes it, shaking it over his already salty meal. Neytiri could only push her hands against her face in frustration, a groan of exasperation coming from deep within. After a few minutes, she finishes up and leaves with Tuk in her arms. The rest follow suit.
“I’m off,” You finish cleaning up the table, standing up from your seat and grabbing the weapons you needed for an impromptu hunt. Without waiting for a reply, you left Jake alone on the table.
As you trekked further into the forest, you prayed to Eywa for guidance. You were careful to smear the war paint onto your cheeks and forehead– breathing labored, but focused nonetheless.
You figured, your father has been doing bad from the recent hunts– only coming home with fruits and small portions of meat, sometimes none at all. It was that kind of season where the animals were out to hide and hibernate. You didn’t know where you got the confidence that you’d be able to return with something, considering the best next best warriors could hardly do so.
You had to try regardless; you thought that perhaps it could be a way for you and Jake to open up a conversation with each other. Maybe he could soften down his glare a bit when you come home with something to eat– but as hours passed and the sun burned to noon, you were only met with disappointment.
You stopped by an unfamiliar area, leaning against a tree as you tried to catch your breath. You regret not bringing your ikran with you– just what were you thinking?
As if the great mother had noticed your desperation, a familiar sound roars from a distance. Your ears perked up as you tried to walk through the thick bushes. A lone sturmbeest, drinking by the river. You sighed in relief before hurriedly taking your bow out of your back. They mostly traveled by a herd, but today might just be your luckiest– you stretch your arms, carefully approaching the animal.
Just this once, you pleaded, be in my favor.
The journey home was dreadful. You had been carrying meat and a few bones for what seemed like hours on end, feeling the strain in your back from the task. It was a small sturmbeest– presumably female by the size, but it should be enough to provide meals for a week or so. Before you knew it, eclipse approached fast and you were eager to meet your hammock.
You couldn’t see; unable to hold any form of light as you needed both hands to carry the heavy sack, but the thought of going home with something to proudly show your father rekindled the sense of pride that was long gone; a feeling you hadn't had in a long time– burned by the countless times you’ve tried to gain even a drop of recognition.
You were successful in hunting a sturmbeest when no one couldn’t for the past weeks– your father would be proud and that was all the strength you needed to continue waking.
Noticing the familiar path back to the clan, a surge of adrenaline courses through your body from the thought of already nearing home. But as the horns blared from the village, you felt nothing but confusion– What could it mean and why this late? You quickened your pace towards them.
Ikrans flew in, landing at the open space as everyone gathered around. You squeezed your way in through the crowd– stomach churning as the sound of Tuk's cries became more and more clear with every step; but before you could run to your baby sister, you were harshly pulled back. You immediately recognize your father’s calloused hands, but this time his grip was harsh– unrelenting. Careful not to trip on your feet, you steadied yourself, head looking up to meet his glare.
“Where were you?”
And just like that, your thoughts come crashing down around you from the sight of your father towering your figure, leaning in slightly. You feel it in the pit of your stomach; this wasn't what you wanted to come home to, this wasn't what you were expecting.
“Sir I–”
“The kids are hurt,” Neytiri hissed, tugging him sharply away from you. “For once, hold your tongue.”
He gives you one last glance, nostrils flaring as he walks away. That was your cue to trail behind. You walked behind him, eyes cast downwards as your thoughts raced through your mind. Neytiri is quick to come and stand by your side, soft kisses pressed into the top of your head. “Are you hurt, ma’ite? Where were you?” She softly asks.
You pause, feeling the words on the tip of your tongue leave the moment you try to open your mouth to speak. For some reason, you felt embarrassed— ashamed.
“What happened?” You whispered as you neared your grandmother’s hut. You glanced back to your sibling’s shivering figures, all of them unable to look you in the eye. Neytiri didn’t answer either– didn’t know how to tell you that they had found them once again. They processed the severity of the situation still, clearly shaken up and scared.
Everyone stepped inside, Mo'at immediately gathering each of them in a warm embrace. She spoke her thanks to Eywa in a gentle murmur, kissing the top of their heads. Neytiri quickly drew Tuk into her own arms, easing her shaking body.
“Outside, now.” Jake whispers before leaving. You take one last look around at all the people in the room before finally following him, your palms beginning to sweat as your anxiety intensifies.
Once you both find yourselves in a place where there were no lingering stares or whispers, (and without Neytiri having to save your ass this time), he turns to you, anger just as fiery as before. He strides back and forth, feet heavy on the ground as he attempts to choose his words carefully.
“I–” He started to speak, but then averted his gaze, his jaw clenched tight as he tried again. “Where were you?”
You try to swallow the lump forming in your throat as you mull over the question, taking a deep breath before finally attempting to answer. “I went out on a hunt. I have–”
“Without telling anyone firsthand? With scattered avatars over the perimeter?” Jake is quick to interject, arms flailing in anger. “Just what were you thinking? You knew about them going to the old shack and you did nothing to prevent it?”
Your shoulders slump wearily, feeling extremely overwhelmed. “I only wanted to–”
“Jesus Christ, it’s always about what you want, yeah? You with wanting to be olo’eykte, you with wanting to be heard. You and your goddamn wants had us all worried!”
And as you listen to him raise his voice, you turn younger and younger– until you were that same kid trying to tug on his arms to look at your first hit; that same kid who would do anything just for a moment of his time. It was like being ten years old all over again and realizing that he was slowly slipping away. That’s where you finally decided that Jake— your father, was just capable of unloving a child.
You take a step back, feeling the frustration boiling over as well. “Well maybe if you were a better father, they wouldn’t have the need to go against you every once in a while!” You shouted with the same volume as his, “You act as if we’re some sort of troops rather than a family–”
“I do it for you– for everyone! To keep them safe! You think it’s easy?”
“Well you did a pretty good job because from what I see, they’re shaking in their boots inside grandma’s hut!” You sarcastically remarked, “Best dad of Pandora, yeah?”
“Jesus Christ,” He mutters under his breath before looking up, as if he was pleading for Eywa to lengthen his patience. He then looked at you, eyes momentarily softening. You were breathing heavily, fangs baring. It was funny, he thought. You weren’t his daughter and yet you stood in front of him now looking exactly like him.
What he didn’t understand was that it wasn't Tsu’tey’s attitude that was passed down to you– rather, it was Jake’s anger you inherited. This was all him. All his fault.
“I thought I had it good, having Toruk Makto as a father. Five year old me was the proudest, if not a bit boastful too.” You muttered, gaze not meeting his. “There’s this huge difference that draws the line between being the olo’eyktan and a father and you’re doing a real shit job at the latter.”
I miss the latter, you failed to say.
You failed to see the way his ears flattened against his head, how his shoulders dropped like he couldn’t hold the weight of the world’s pressure anymore– but you were unable to see him. No, you two didn’t see each other eye to eye. To know that you failed your child was something a parent would never want to hear. His own daughter resented him and it was a heartache beyond repair.
“You think you make parenting any easier for me?”
“Then I wish you never took me in!”
It was such a thoughtless thing to do; to utter words that you know will only harm you more than they would ever heal - but it was there, finally out of your system; a though that lingered for as long as you can remember. Why take me in? Why raise a kid you wouldn't be able to care for?
You only wished that words could be undone but neither of you knew when to bite one's tongue back.
“Yeah?” He challenged, letting out a mocking snicker. “I really wish I didn’t– is that what you want me to say? Then go ahead and leave. Find a new family, see if they won’t find you any less difficult.”
And that was the final blow– the push you needed to leave. You looked at him in disbelief, vision blurry with tears. You shoved the bag right to his chest, forgetting it momentarily amidst the shouting session you just had with your father; the one you desperately wanted to present to him. With nothing else to say, you stormed off, leaving him behind.
Oh Eywa, there is nothing else as undoing as being an eldest daughter.
believe me, i've been trying to post this since 7 am and it's already a quarter 'til 9. tumblr has got to b fucking w me bec i just ran through at least 4 problems trying to get this on my account
anyway, hellaur. i know this is a bit overdue, but i had to make adjustments because i just had to get everyone's inputs and opinions in! i absolutely LOVE everyone's ideas nd you best believe i am trying to make everything word (also bec of the fact that i am a slow writer, so pls bear w me) hopefully i'm doing the story justice! this part went through a lot of modifications bec i kept feeling unsatisfied (i still am, kinda)
also, i couldn't tag a few people! 'm so sorry, some of the names don't pop up when i type it down ;(
tags: @erm2020quinzeanos @al-lethan @violilaqrs @sparklyphantom @iwanttohitmyself @planetslove @teyamsjustsleeping @sully-stick-together @grandgreengrapes @erensbbg @queen-dk @loaklvr @theyoungeagle @ducks118 @teyyyteyyy @yeosxxx @simply-lovely78 @ellabellabus07 @thehoneymushroomhealer @saturdayrj @kingjulian0o9 @hippiezworldz @joemamalackin @random-3455 @zoetrope1997 @cl0esblogg @anxietydrogz @lokisfirstandlastwife @hiddensnow1 @lunyyx @pearlsandcoconuts @blkmystery @marsbars09 @gcldtom @luna-salem @wolflover384 @mushy-mushroom04 @whatthemonsterfuckisthis @eternalidentity @celi-xxmoon @dumb-fawkin-bitch
#mauve writes •°. *࿐#avatar#avatar the way of water#jake sully x daughter!reader#dad!jake x daughter!reader#jake sully#sully!reader#neytiri x daughter!reader#tuktirey te suli neytiri'ite#neteyam x sister!reader#neteyam#neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan#loak x sister!reader#lo'ak te suli tsyeyk'itan#loak#kiri x sister!reader#kiri te suli kìreysì'ite#tuk x sister!reader#tuktirey#tsu'tey#tsu'tey x daughter!reader#family feels#found family#avatar angst#angst#avatar 2009
3K notes
·
View notes
Note
I just got this idea and I trust your writing the most, I was wondering if you could write ,unless you already wrote this, where the reader steals König or ghost masks or anyone else and their reaction (nsfw or sfw is fine), thank you have a great day :))
König & Ghost's Reaction to their S/O Stealing their Mask
Warnings: Implications of Smut, Dominant Ghost, Dominant König, Territorial Military Men <3, Minor Spoilers of Ghost's Past, Mention of a Size Kink, Profanity, No Pronouns used for Reader except 'You.
König
Since he's absolutely massive, the ends of his sniper veil literally reach the bottom of your ribcage.
So when König sees you wear it for the first time, he's absolutely F L O O R E D
We don't call him Size Kink König for no reason.
Goes absolutely feral when he sees you draped in his veil.
Can barely keep his hands off you.
"Maus," he husks, fingers twitching as he reaches for you slowly, cautiously, offering you the chance to go with him willingly.
"You don't know what you're doing to me."
Even without the veil, his eyes are dark, a blackness settling over them that, somewhere in your mind, your intuition, has you seeing red.
Regardless of how innocent your intent when acquiring the mask, none of that matters now.
All that does is the growing bulge in König's pants, the shortness of his breath, and his shadow settling over you as he advances on your path.
"You'll be needing that mask more than I will after I'm done with you."
And when you dare to ask "Why ?" now entrapped – eclipsed – by his frame, he just smiles, thin and sharp. Cruel.
He takes you in his arms, pulling you to him, your face almost crushed into his chest.
He laughs. A low rumble – the promise of a natural disaster.
His nose is to yours covered by the veil, a condescending gesture of his prowess and your submission. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.
"Because everyone will get a free show to the fallout of an evening you’ve roped yourself into."
As if to prove his point, his hands are at your wrists before you even notice the pressure he's applying there, binding you, pulling you ever closer to him. And in that second, you know you're not leaving your little stunt – the night – unscathed.
Ghost
Hoo boy.
Okay, it's no secret to anyone who knows Ghost – really knows him – that he's suffered a lot of hardship throughout his life, hencewhy he is the way he is.
Which others may construe as cold, heartless – even soulless.
But that's only because Simon has lost so much.
So when he comes home to find you in one of his masks, smiling up at him (he can tell by the way your eyes crinkle), he's immediately whipped.
And I mean W H I P P E D.
To see the one person he can truly call his own wearing his gear is something he didn't know he needed until now.
Sure, he's seen you in his shirts, but this felt different. More intimate.
Your face was where his usually was, his spectral imprint practically morphed with the contours of your face.
Though it needn't be mentioned, he has a hard time... containing himself.
"Fuuuck me, Darlin'," he rasps, on you like a sickness as he sits on top of you, pinning you to the sofa by your waist.
"Y'look better in that than I do."
And you smile. Something intentional hidden within.
"Hmm... I doubt that." You can feel Simon's body heat rocketing beneath his clothes.
"You know I can't resist you when you wear it."
And that's all it takes to send him over the edge.
You hear his breath shake as he rolls into you ever so slightly, still restraining his whole weight to keep you intact. Something began to prod your abdomen.
"Oh, you're in for it now," he tells you. There is not a single hint of fallacy to his claim or his expression – one of barely stoic restraint.
"You won't be able to do much of anything by the time I'm through with you."
Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)
Masterlist
Masterlist [Continued]
Masterpost
Modern Warfare AI Masterlist
AO3
Wattpad
#simon ghost riley#simon riley#ghost mw2#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley x reader#simon riley smut#simon riley x you#simon riley x y/n#ghost x reader#mw2 ghost x reader#cod ghost x reader#ghost x you#ghost smut#simon ghost riley smut#konig x you#konig x y/n#konig x reader#konig x yn#konig smut
7K notes
·
View notes
Text
Dumb idea but what if you were found after being MIA for five years
The task force were confident in their ability to get the intel they needed from their current mission. They had been following this cell for months, knew more about them than the people paying them for information and had slowly chipped away at their defenses without getting their attention.
They were on the cusp of getting the intel they needed.
They had infiltrated the base without issue. Having taken out the guards in the perimeter so efficiently it was as if they had never been there in the first place. With the coverage of nightfall, they were undetected as they came up to the base and soon they were sneaking through the halls.
With every hostile they encountered they took care of them swiftly, leaving the bodies in a pool of their own blood before they even shot at them.
They reached the main room of the base and began their work retrieving all of the information they could from the computers and papers spread about.
Just as they collected enough information, alarms began to sound off in the base and in the distance they could hear gunfire.
Soap quickly looked at the cameras and saw a different group to the hostiles they were stealing from. They didn't look familiar as they gunned down the hostiles with expert skill.
"Who the fuck-"
"Doesn't matter." Price immediately went into action, barely paying attention to the cameras. "We need to get out of here."
In their attempt to get out unscathed and undetected, they ended up in the middle of the firefight. The fight became confusing; it was hard to tell who was shooting at who and where the hostiles were coming from. Many of the hostiles the 141 stole the info from began to die in front of them at an almost frightening speed, leaving the other group to push up.
The task force was close to getting out, if they could get past the threshold and run to a rendezvous point they'd get out without further issue-
A car bomb went off.
The blast sent Price into the ground, mostly unscathed saved for the wind being knocked out of him and temporarily taking his hearing with it.
He struggled to get up the others continued the fight, unable to get to him as they held their ground. They called out to him but he couldn't recover as quickly as he wanted to.
Someone approached him from the dust and he attempted to fire at them before he was kicked in the head. He became even more disorientated, barely able to hold onto consciousness as the person searched through his vest for the USB he had taken.
Price couldn't see their face and as he tried to fight them off, they shoved him back once they got the USB.
They were gone just as quick as they appeared. The gunfire slowly stopped and the group had disappeared, leaving the 141 with barely any ammo left and scraped up, and confused.
The mission went from successful to a complete disaster in mere moments.
Back on their temporary base they were left confused and defeated.
"How did this happen?" Gaz huffed.
"A group that small taking them head on would've died." Ghost said. "They were waiting for us."
"You believe that, sir?" Soap wondered.
Price hadn't said much since they got back, his arms crossed and a sour look on his face. He didn't like when things turned out like this, when things get taken from him so quickly without anyway to fight back. Usually an ambush never ended up with this much disaster...this had to have been planned.
"I do." He uncrossed his arms and looked to Laswell who was trying desperately to salvage this. "Can you find out who they are?"
"The cameras there recorded the incident but there's no identifiable markings or clothes that they wore." She explained as she sifted through her laptop. "I may have found our culprit."
The boys huddled around the projector, watching as the footage replayed from the security cameras.
The group walked out from the shadows into the cameras vision. They wore all black and all of them had their faces fully covered except for one, who looked at if they were given orders to put the bomb on the car.
Closer to the camera, it was easier to make out some of the features, but nothing looked recognizable until the person turned around.
"Pause it." Price's eyes widened and he felt his chest tighten. "Zoom in."
The others looked confused for a moment before they too felt their stomach drop. The air in the room became thick and every single one of them could only hear their hearts in their ears as it suddenly became hard to fight against their knees buckling.
Half a face they hadn't seen in five years, recognizable eyes that were darker and full of more hatred than they ever imagined to be possible.
The image was fuzzy but there was no mistake.
You were in the footage alive, five years after being confirmed MIA.
#wintersoldier!reader#anyone#idk i had the idea and had to get it out#simon ghost riley x reader#captain john price x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#it's been done before but oh well#here
606 notes
·
View notes
Text
The smallest of looks is the loudest moment in the room
Just a little one from me to save me from going insane and to sate my followers...
ZAHRA: How long has this been going on?
Alex is focused on Zahra, Henry is staring off into the middle distance until Alex answers her.
ALEX: Since New Year's.
And it's that Henry reacts to. Have a close up.
Henry's gaze flicks to Alex. In this exact moment (1 hour, 5 minutes, and 41 seconds), he looks at Alex for a few seconds.
This is the moment Alex has put a start date on this thing between them.
It's a little more certain here than it is in the book:
"How long has this been happening?"
"Since, um, New Year's."
(page 233)
The placement of that "um" holds meaning for me - in the book Alex is hesitating before he pins a start date on him and Henry. He's trying to figure it out and that's what he goes for. Because how long has it been going on? Since they started sharing intimate thoughts and fears? Since they increased the benefits they had added to their friendship? Since the Red Room?
Nope. Alex goes for the moment when the possibility between them changed and he completely ignores the weeks of silence that happened straight after. The period of time in which Henry was full of fear over what he'd done, what Alex might do. In the book we know he runs scared, going on a public date and being photographed.
If there was a prince, and he was gay, and he kissed someone, and maybe it mattered, that prince might have to run a little bit of interference.
(page 125)
We don't have anything like that in the movie but we do have the silence. We see Henry's fear when he comes into the Red Room. Not just because of the line he crossed with Alex but because he has exposed himself and his most closely guarded secret, a glimpse of his true self.
He will know that Alex isn't going to out him - they've spent long enough talking and getting to know each other for that to not be Henry's fear. And if he was then it would have happened long before the State Dinner. Henry's fear is about losing Alex, losing the friendship, losing that connection with the boy he's wanted since the Olympics/Climate Conference.
I'd put money on Henry promising himself, once upon a time, that he would never do anything to risk losing what small pieces of Alex he could have in his life. And when they start up this thing he goes in thinking that this is all he can have, all he will get.
"I thought I could have some part of you, and just never say [I love you], and you'd never have to know, and one day you'd get tired of me and leave, because I'm--"
(Page 272)
Henry didn't think he would have all of Alex, at least not anything of import, that Alex wouldn't be as far in as Henry is. And yet here he is in this hotel room, declaring they have been this thing since that kiss. Since before they properly made out in the Red Room, went down on each other in Alex's bedroom, talked about "keeping things casual" before embarking on the most insanely devoted shag fest known to mankind.
Alex has been in since New Year's and he tells Zahra just that.
In the movie he is more decisive. (Just like the instant "No" when Zahra asks if it would make a difference if she asked them to stop.)
Since New Year's. Since the moment Henry kissed me and I became unable to think about anything else except doing it again. And doing other stuff.
And even though Henry ghosted him right after, even though the next thing Henry said to Alex after his apology and disappearance into the night was another apology for his behaviour, Alex has labelled that moment, that kiss, as their start.
The moment when Henry was brave.
And in the movie we get to see Henry's reaction to that. They've been discovered, things are about to blow up in a way they can't control, and Alex says that as far as he's concerned this thing between them has been going on all year.
Before the emails. Before Paris. Before the State Dinner. Alex has been Henry's since New Year's and this is the moment he finds that out.
#overthinking jen is overthinking#firstprince#alex claremont diaz#henry fox mountchristen windsor#prince henry of wales#red white and royal blue#rwrb#book to movie#this was supposed to be much shorter#oh well#otp: history huh
884 notes
·
View notes
Text
Home : bat!family x bat!sister
Summary: no one gets to offend my siblings and father. No one but me. I'll make sure of it.
***
Maybe it was a bad idea to apply for that Erasmus program and leave her brothers and adoptive father alone for whole three months. Sure, studying abroad, expanding knowledge, learning language and customs was an amazing experience, but it came with the cost. The price of being in fear that her family would get themselves in trouble, pain, fight they could not recover from.
The first two weeks of her adventure was the worst, since she was waking up at most random night hours, ready to jump into fight, those vigilantes instincts and habits kicking in.
Those were the nights when she was turning and tossing in her bed unable to close an eye and in result sneaking out her dorm room and walk around the campus like the ghost. The quietness and peacefulness of her surroundings at the academy were so different from those she knew in Gotham, it was almost disturbing.
There was no denying that Y/N was the smartest in the family, even Tim admitted it once (obviously not while talking to her, but she overheard his conversation with Bernard) but at times like this she was second-guessing her choices.
Due to her specific upbringing and family background she also never managed to form any deep connection with her fellow students, preferring to stay by herself, focus on the task and putting a lot of work into expanding her knowledge and skills in technology. She never complained, but from other people’s perspective she was an eremite. Kind, polite with perfect manners when someone asked her for something or while working in group, but still highly reserved. Just like her adoptive father, whose relation to she was trying to keep a secret. And it worked up to the day when one of the lecturers accidentally called her “Miss Wayne” in front of the whole class. The second he did it the air in the auditorium froze. She might have been in different country, but for God’s sake she was studying technology, of course everyone heard about the Wayne Enterprises and the Bruce Wayne.
“You’re his daughter?” one of the boys in the lower row turned around and eyed her suspiciously
“Yes. Adoptive one.”
“Of course. He’s well known for taking kids in, right? Seems like some sort of complex or maybe even a disease” he smirked and it made the girl clench her fist. Her relationship with Bruce might have been rocky, but no one except her and her brothers were allowed to judge and offend him.”
“Care to elaborate on that?” she hissed, eyeing the guy with ice cold gaze
“Miss Y/L/N! Mister Olsen! Please calm down and sit down!” the teacher tried to make up for his mistake but it was far too late for that.
“You misspelled my name once, might as well keep calling me Wayne now.” the tone of her voice matched the gaze. She was not going to let the guy easily, but getting in trouble with the dean was not a part of her plan. “Now, can we continue with the lecture? I don’t know about anyone else in her, but speaking for myself I would love to actually learn something useful.”
***
Y/N was the middle child. Younger than Dick and Jason, older than Tim and Damian which placed her literally halfway in the family. Because of that she was a mix of responsibility and carelessness, doing her own thing, not always the right way, but still capable of getting away with a lot more than the others. Not as family oriented as Dick, feeling a bit overshadowed by Jason, highly competitive with Tim and more independent and individualistic than Damian. Still, even despite her “boss bitch” attitude, she was sandwiched between her brothers which made her the best negotiator and mediator in the family. Y/N also had a strong sense of fairness and morality and would always try her best to do the right things. Objectively, not subjectively. And making fun of her family was not one the things she could forget. However, before taking any action she had to gather intel, figure out what the guy knew and then come right at him.
***
Waiting till the end of the class was probably the greatest torture she ever had to endure, every minute stretching into infinity and when it was over the sense of relief almost made her drop the plan. Almost.
“I’m not done with you, Olsen.” she was faster to the door, stopping her potential victim from getting away.
“You want more, Wayne?”
“Please. Hit me with your best shot. What is your problem with my family, exactly?”
“Let me think” he tapped his chin. “There are so many. Like for instance, your oldest brother. What was his name again? Oh, right! Dick. Suits him quite well, doesn’t it. A prick, if you ask me. Definitely a show-off with no skills.” He scoffed “Shall I continue?”
“ Please. You got like three more people to gossip about.”
“The second in line, Jason, right? Oh, the unhinged one. Violent, mocking, thinking he is better than anyone else around, when in reality he’s just a lost, scared child. Probably a dumbass too.”
“Pretty sure he would agree with that. Now what about Tim and Damian?”
At this point Olsen was getting a bit surprised that the girl in front of him was still unfazed. Her calmness, a sign of silent inside fury making him slightly uncomfortable. Not enough to stop however.
“Drake…..” the name rolled of his tongue while the boy was wondering what words to choose “oh, he’s the gay one, right? Such a shame that the renowned Wayne family has someone like that as a member. Bet your father would never take him in, if he knew. A fairy becoming the next CEO of his renowned company. How ironic!”
“Hm.” Oh, Y/N was so much like Bruce at times and it showed in the least expected moments.
Damn that girl! How could it not make her angry?
“And …… Damian, the only biological child. Absolutely maladjusted and unaware of social norms and boundaries. Tell me, how was it like to have your youngest brother violate your boundaries and personal space?”
“It was. ….educatory. Just like it was with everything you just said. You presented yourself as someone with some serious psychological issues and possibly an unhealthy interest in my family’s life. So thank you, it truly was illuminating.”
***
“What the hell did you do Y/N?” a very alerted Dick appeared on the other side of the screen
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” The girl sighted and fell onto the cushions bringing the computer onto her lap to see her brother better
“Don’t lie to me now, sis.”
“I wouldn’t even dream of it.”
“Bruce has been on the phone for the last fifteen minutes and from what I figured it’s about something that happened on the campus.”
“The only thing happening on the campus are students who skip classes.” She mumbled “maybe except that one time when one of the boys lost some stupid bet and blew up the fountain as some sort of punishment. That was funny.”
A little grunt was heard on Dick’s side and for a second he disappeared from the screen.
“Dick?”
“Sorry, I had a little interruption.” He rubbed his forehead “Now, back onto what you did…..”
“Did you say that someone blew the fountain?” third face appeared on the screen in the corner, taking over the conversation.
“Hello, Jason.”
“Hi sis. Maybe I should have joined you in your academic career. Seems like you have a lot of fun there. Besides, I never really finished school, since you know…. I died.”
“We know.” Y/N and Dick said in unison
“Always a good opportunity to remind you, right?” he grinned “Now, sis, tell me, how was it going full rogue on fellow student? I gotta admit I’m proud of you here.”
“So that’s what this is about?” Dick’s eyes grew wider than ever “I;m gonna ask you once again, Y/N. what did you do?”
“Nothing permanent.”
“What…..?”
“Cut her some slack, Grayson.”
“Look who decided to join us.” Y/N smirked “improved your computer skills much, Damian?”
“I got tired of being left out.”
“Since when do you care about the group?”
“Leverage, sis. Knowledge is power, I thought you knew that.”
“Ok, that is enough!” Dick finally lost his patience “I’m trying to have a conversation with my little sis here. Both of you, get out of the line!”
“Mhm, keep dreamin’ Dickhead.”
“For once I agree with Todd.”
“You have no right to…..”
“Guys…..” Y/N tried to mitigate them, but deep inside she enjoyed their bantering. It was a while since she experienced it and only now realized how familiar it was.
“I was here first!” Dick yelled “And I’m the oldest”
“No one cares Grayson! You are a Bludhaven resident now. Just because you visit the manor does not mean you can keep Y/N busy using the wayne’s devices!”
“Don’t you have someone to kill in the crime alley, Jay?”
“Unlike you, I succeeded in all my latest missions.”
“Is that what you call coming back to your safe house bloodied and injured. You were on the verge of death!” Damian smirked “you were absolutely inept, that’s not a success.”
“You were what, now?!” Y/N shrieked. Her second oldest brother was sometimes too careless.
“It was not that bad, Y/N, I swear. And how the fuck do you know about it, demon?”
“I have my ways.”
“I would suspect Drake of spying on me, but you?”
“Speaking of the devil, I’m surprised Tim hasn’t already join us.” Dick muttered
“Oh, he did.” Y/N pointed out
“WHAT?” her brothers cried. Now there was another one fighting for her attention and it was not a secret that Tim was her favorite making the situation harder.
“I did.” Tim chuckled “Well, to tell the truth Y/N let me in the channel. We have our ways with technology. Something none of you could ever fully understand. “
“Of course not….”
“Cheer up, Dami. You can’t monopolize all the areas.”
“I would beg to differ.”
“Ok, everyone hold up here. I think we lost the point of the conversation. The thing was that Bruce was on the phone, probably taking to the dean about….”
“Y/N played a little prank on her classmate, is that right?” of course Tim was the one who everything best.
“He deserved it.”
“Y/n…..”
“Stop using the big brother voice on me! It’s not going to work!”
“How about we use Damian’s youngest one?” Dick teased
“I refuse to be used in this….”
“SHUT UP DAMIAN!” Dick and Jason shouted together and shared a murderous look between one another. Now they were both desperate to find out what happened since Tim would rather die than spill the bean. It was infuriating. They were the older brothers! This had to mean something.
“Ok, that’s it.” Damian stood up and the view of the empty chair in the place where his face should be was highly disturbing.
“That is not good.” Y/N said out loud something that all of them already knew. Her presumptions turned out to be right a second later when the shouting and yelling reverberated through the speakers and a blur of black and green rushed into Dick’s room.
“hey, I want to join the fight too!” Jason started up and with a speed, Wally West could be jealous of involved in the mix of limbs and screams.
“Wait! I though Dick was in Bludhaven! Tim?”
“Not today. We’re all in the manor.”
“And you idiots were talking to me through four different computers?”
“Are you actually surprised?”
“On second thought, not at all.” She sighed. It’s a good thing you are the reasonable one here…..”
“There you are, Timmy” now the situation has turned as it was Dick who appeared in the door of Tim’s bedroom “you are not getting out of this. If you want Y/n to yourself you have to fight me.”
“And me!” Jason tackled Dick to the ground with a loud thump
“Losers!” Damian jumped over their bodies and came right at Tim
Because of their actions, Y/N was the only one who noticed two men stepping from the shadows and exchanging some words. Apparently Bruce wasn’t capable of putting the boys in their places and asked Alfred to try this instead. And a single grunt from the butler did a miracle as all of them stood up and started explaining and apologizing. Funny as it was, Y/N knew that with Bruce’s arrival she was heading straight towards preaching from her father.
“Y/N.”
“Hello Bruce.”
“Did you break his arm?”
“You broke his arm?” Dick was halfway out but turned back immediately
“No.” Y/n shook her head “I broke his arm and hurt his legs.”
“Don’t forget that you also demolished his dorm room.”
“That wasn’t me. That was….”
“Did you go at him as a vigilante? Wow! Way to go, sis. Now I truly am proud of you.”
“Ok, both of you, out!” Bruce lost the rest of his patience pushing Dick and Jay away. “Now that we are alone…….” he sighed deeply closing the door tight
“I;m not sorry.”
“Oh, I know. And I’m not mad, because I’m sure you had a reason to do it. So tell me, why?”
“you…. you want to know ?”
“Of course. Look Y/n, I’m aware I won’t get a father of the year cup from you, but I care all right? Did that boy hurt you and you took retaliation? Just tell me….”
“He was talking shit about our family.”
“And you felt the urge to protect the Wayne’s honor?” Bruce smirked “this is so not like you.”
“Honor, my ass. We’ve lost that ages ago, Bruce. The only thing I was protecting was my sole privilege of mocking you. No one else is allowed to do it.”
“I’ll be sure not to tell your brothers that you miss them. “
“That would be most welcome.”
“And you have to know that we don’t miss you either, y/n.” father and daughter’s gazes met and they both nodded in silent agreement, right corners of their mouths lifting almost unnoticeable. “You coming to visit next week?”
***
Something was wrong.
Something was terribly wrong and that tingling sensation became unbearable the second she climbed the manor’s stairs and reach for the doorknob with a heartrate so fast it would send anyone else straight into cardiac arrest. Y/N however kept her cold blood, focusing on what may happened inside and considering her options and strategies for a potential fight.
She could not expect that the moment she opened the door four figures would jump out from the shadows making the noise that would bring the dead from behind the grave. It startled her and as a result she stumbled back, hitting the wardrobe and making it shake. She could not expect that on said wardrobe there would be packets and packets of paint and that those would fall down straight on her making her look like some abstractionism painting.
“I hate you all.” She muttered while her brothers run away in four different directions.
“Welcome home, miss Y/N” Alfred approached her with a tissue so she could at least wipe the paint from her eyes.
“Home.” She whispered “Yes, it definitely feels like it.”
It was good to be back.
But she was still going after them. .....
Later. When they would least expect it.
#batboys x reader#batboys x batsis#batfamily x reader#batsis#batfam x batsis#batfam x reader#dick grayson#nightwing#jason todd#red hood#timothy drake#red robin#damian wayne#robin dc#batboys x y/n#batboys x you#batfam x you#batfam#batfamily#batman#bruce wayne#dc imagine#dc x reader#batboys
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Be gentle, man!
Synopsis: You and the team go undercover to a dinner where high-profile guests are invited. You need to acquire vital information while acting posh at the same time. Good lord, help you all.
Relationship: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader, Task Force 141 x F!Reader
Word Count: 1,519 (approx. 6-7 min reading time)
Notes:
This is the second (and final) part of the story but you can read it as a oneshot. Here’s Part 1 if you’re interested.
No warnings; casual read with platonic relationships.
———————————————————————
The Athenian Palace: You’ve heard of the place a few times, mainly through the news, but never had the chance to visit. And why would you? Are you the president of a country? A diplomat? A wealthy businessperson with significant influence over government decision-makers? No, you are just a soldier among the many considered expendables. Your duty is to protect your country with your life—the same country that many attending the event have a vested financial interest in.
But today, everything is different. Today, you’re supposed to act like someone who comes from money.
For the past month, you and the rest of the team have undergone extensive training in formal dining, conversation, walking, and dancing. Everyone has adapted to their undercover personas somehow, except for Price, who couldn’t accompany you since he’s been undercover in a similar instance some years ago and poses a threat to the mission if he gets recognised.
Gaz required the least training among the four of you. You haven’t yet determined if he was naturally suited for this role or if his assigned persona was more straightforward than the rest. Nevertheless, he seemed comfortable conversing about the tech industry and acting like James Sinclair, the alleged tech entrepreneur.
On the other hand, Soap was the complete opposite of Gaz. Your etiquette instructor, Lady Theodora, struggled to mould him, but he always found a way to break free. Eventually, she found the tipping point to channel Soap’s extravagance to benefit the mission.
“What would you do if you were a trust fund child?” She asked, to which Soap replied that he would be “poised and all” but at the same time act “like Paris Hilton in the 2000s.” And that’s how Maxwell Vanderbilt—or “you can call me Max,” according to Soap—was born: with a mohawk, a loose-fitting suit, and an unchallenged attitude. You hated to admit it, but he was the most authentic and convincing among the four of you.
As for you and your Lieutenant, you were still adjusting to your role as a couple, particularly with the required intimacy. Yet, with Lady Theodora’s help, you managed to get closer, even if that involved a few unorthodox ways of doing things. One day, for example, she duck-taped your hands together and ordered you to spend the entire day together. She taught you how to dance, touch each other in public, and show, without telling, how you and Ghost— or Sir Ethan K. Wood—would infiltrate the facility and gather vital information as a couple.
He hated the name. “Why should I pretend to be fucking Ethan?” He asked, but Lady Theodora explained that it was a name forged by Laswell and she could do nothing about it. And when you told him you were named “Constance”, he spitted out his drink and immediately became grateful to Sir Ethan K. Wood.
Arriving in a Maserati Levante, you were greeted by a team of three people, two opening your doors and one guiding your hand as you stepped out of the car.
You wrap your arm around Ghost and approach the entrance.
As you walk through the imposing double doors, the room reveals itself in all its glory—a high ceiling decorated with murals stretch towards the heavens. The ballroom’s walls are draped in exquisite fabrics of gold and burgundy while crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow, illuminating the space and creating an inviting and elegant atmosphere.
The ballroom’s focal point is a large dance floor. It invites guests to dance while a live orchestra, hidden in a corner, fills the room with melodies. Surrounding the dance floor, elegant tables decorated with crisp linens showcase elaborate floral centrepieces, while towering candelabras provide additional illumination.
You look at the guests; men wear tailored tuxedos, and women glide in flowing gowns and sparkling jewellery. Your gaze shifts to Ghost, who looks dashing in a three-piece navy suit, a matching tie, and a white handkerchief in his chest pocket.
“Are you ready, my dear?” You ask with fake confidence.
“Ah, my love,” Ghost replies, “in for a penny...”
“... in for a fucking pound.”
“Language, Constance.” He corrects you sternly.
“Apologies, darling.”
You enter the crowd, mingling with the elite. Ghost introduces you as his wife, guiding you with a firm yet gentle touch on your back. Engaging in conversation, you discuss the land you supposedly own, the inflation—that most people in the room are the direct cause of—and collectively sorrow over the economy’s current state. All this while sipping champagne from crystal glassware that’s worth more than your annual salary.
Among the guests, you spot Soap conversing with a group of Wall Street figures. He appears relaxed, holding a glass of whiskey with an orange peel garnish.
“Ah, what can you do?” You hear his Scottish accent echoing in the room. “It’s a self-regulating market, after all.”
Lots of things baffle you in this world. Soap, talking about self-regulating markets with a bunch of Golden Boys who nod and agree with him just added another paradox to your list.
“Darling,” Ghost says, with his hand finding yours and interlacing your fingers, “dinner will be served shortly; let us find our table.”
You approach your seats, and Ghost pulls out a chair for you. As you settle in, you look around at the surrounding tables, searching for familiar faces. Gaz, sporting a suit with no tie and fake glasses, is seated at the table next to yours and talks with the people around him.
The evening unfolds with a symphony of courses served with artistic precision. Each dish arrives like a work of art—a culinary masterpiece. You apply Lady Theodora’s training and indulge in the exquisite feast while engaging polite conversations. You observe and listen closely to the guests’ discussions, hoping to obtain any valuable information that might aid your mission.
With dinner concluded, everyone moved to the ballroom for the entertainment segment. Ghost discreetly signals for you to follow him. Excusing yourselves, you navigate the corridors of the Athenian Palace, with the music and chatter fading as you reach the server room.
“This is it,” Ghost whispers as he approaches the servers. “The information we need should be here. You need to get to work.”
You nod and navigate the complex digital landscape, leveraging your technical expertise to penetrate the encrypted files. Meanwhile, Ghost maintains a vigilant watch and stands guard, ensuring no unexpected disruptions throw a wrench into your plans. Each creak or distant voice makes him reach for the gun in his inner jacket pocket.
Minutes pass like hours. Suddenly, your face lights up.
“Got it!” you shout, and Ghost brings a finger to his lips, urging you to keep quiet.
“Got it!” You repeat, this time in a whisper.
“Good girl,” he replies softly, “now let’s go find the others and get the fuck out of here.”
You begin your return to the ballroom, but things feel strange this time. The calm conversations surrounding the place have turned to screams, and the music sounds somewhat different than when you left the hall.
Ghost puts a hand in front of you and stops you.
“What’s going on, Constance?” he asks, concerned.
“Let’s find out, my love,” you reply, loading the pistol strapped to your thigh.
You run through the corridors, but there’s no one there—it sounds like everyone has gathered in the main hall.
Just before entering the ballroom, you compose yourself, adopting the poised stance Lady Theodora taught you. You enter the hall to uncover the reason behind the change in atmosphere.
Soap stands on a table in the centre of the ballroom, flipping his mohawk from left to right in sync with the rhythm of “Macarena”, played by the orchestra. Ties are now worn as headbands, and champagne glasses have become shots.
Dumbfounded by the spectacle unfolding right before your eyes, you approach Gaz.
“Ga-James, what’s the deal with all this?” You ask while looking at Soap dancing on the table.
Gaz chuckles, adjusts his fake glasses, and points towards Soap. “This fucking genius had a brilliant plan to create a diversion while you two were working your magic behind the scenes.”
Ghost raises an eyebrow. “So, this whole… thing is Soap’s way of keeping the spotlight off us?”
Gaz nods. “Exactly, mate. Soap figured throwing a wild party would divert the security’s focus from their employer’s safety.”
You look at Soap, who has now started a conga line. “If their employer is too drunk and occupied, they won’t care about outside threats,” you utter.
“Indeed,” Gaz says, “they have a whole other worry; their employer not getting any more shitfaced.”
“That audacious, brilliant motherfucker,” Ghost shakes his head in awe, “he just created the perfect cover for our mission.”
Soap notices you looking at him and raises his hands triumphantly. He looks so proud of his achievement. He brings his thumbs to his chest and mouths something.
“What is he saying?” You ask, confused.
Ghost’s lips curve up, and he leans towards you.
“He says,” he whispers in your ear, “like Paris Hilton in the 2000s.”
———————————————————————
#task force 141 x reader#task force 141#cod x female reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x y/n#simon ghost riley#simon riley#cod mwii#modern warfare 2#call of duty#simon riley x y/n#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#cod x reader#cod mw2#call of duty modern warfare 2#call of duty modern warfare#simon ghost riley x f!reader
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
heart, body, soul
cowboy like me chapter thirteen
surprise! happy friday eve. here's some cowboy to get you through it.
life has been a little tough on me lately. sorry for the terribly long wait. but the end is in sight, dear readers. tighten the stampede string on your hats. we're coming in to land.
pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader
summary: you and joel are at an impasse. you resolve it the only way you know how
warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, alcohol consumption, mention of dr*g use, titty appreciation, face sitting, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, major fluff, major angst
word count: 14.4k (y’all ask. mother macfrog delivers)
series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡
You sigh. “I don’t want you…with…anyone else. I want you to…only want me.”
His brows straighten. You sit in silence, staring at one another. Both daring the other to be the first to talk. But it’s his turn, and he knows it. So he swallows, and says –
“I don’t want nobody else.”
And that’s a thing. A great big, terrible thing.
It’s been a week since you last saw Joel. Blurred, tilting, pulling to-and-fro across your vision. A week since you last heard him; his low voice like the hum of an electric wire, tired acoustics drumming weakly through his chest into your heavy hand, laced through his own. Fingers draped softly across his swollen knuckles. You wonder if they’re still marked seven days later.
A week since you felt him. Felt your body lean towards him – gravity or dizziness or something stronger – as his weight dipped into the bed beside you. The way it has only a handful of times now, but enough to score it deep into your memory. Enough that you know the difference between him and anyone else, even with your eyes closed and your heart bleeding.
Enough to ensure that, for as long as you live, you’ll know and see each difference between him and every other person you ever meet. They won’t lower their head the way he does, or lift the corners of their mouth like him. Your name won’t sound the same, won’t sound as complete, coming from someone else’s mouth. Your body won’t magnetize to anyone, the way it does to him.
And that’s fine. The separation. The fact that he was a fleeting moment. The fact that it was over before you felt it leave, before you heard the door close behind it. It’s fucking fine.
Still, you let it hurt a while. Just a little while.
The gash on your calf has healed up, your hangover had subsided by Saturday evening. But your chest still feels tight, your hands are still restless. You lie awake staring at the ceiling, surrounded by the clothes you have of his; breathing in the ghost of his scent and breathing out pathetic, aching sighs. He’s all you smell, all you touch.
Except – he’s not anymore, is he? He saw to that well enough.
So you let it hurt. And you think you can just about make do with that.
“Hey, hon,” you dad gently calls, hanging on your doorframe. Your room is dark, drapes closed, the only light source the white light from your laptop.
“Hi,” you reply, with a break in your voice. Your eyes don’t lift from the screen. Jim just told Pam he’s in love with her, but she’s engaged to Roy. But she really loves Jim, she just won’t admit it. It’s cathartic, okay?
Dad steps into the room and awkwardly stuffs his hands into his jean pockets. “Awfully, uh…awfully quiet lately, hm? Everything okay?”
“Fine. Everything’s fine.”
It’s not a lie. You are fine. You’re so fine, you’re actually numb to it.
The problem is that for the last few weeks, you’ve been more than fine. The best you’ve felt in months – maybe even years. The most you’ve smiled, the hardest you’ve laughed. The warmest the blood has ever run through your veins.
And then you’re just – fine again. Back to nothing.
He shuffles between feet. Stares at the floor, where his shadow sprouts from his toes. “I was gonna head into town, grab a few things. You wanna come? Sit in the car with a book, maybe?”
“I’m good, Dad. Thanks.”
“Sure? Whatcha watchin’?”
“The Office.”
He nods. “Right, right. I, uh, I was thinkin’ of askin’ Joel and Sarah over for dinner tonight. You always have fun when they’re around. You and Sarah could spend some time together, y’know?”
Your heart nosedives straight from your chest into your stomach. The thought of seeing him again, this time crystal clear and not while under the influence of alcohol, drugs, or worse, sinks its sharp claws into your shoulders and sinks you deep underwater. His voice gets lost somewhere in the space between you. And when you finally come back up for air, back into the room, you gulp back whatever string of senseless words your empty chest initially offered up.
“Hm…” You pretend to consider the thought, then head straight for passive. “Whatever. Sure.”
Your dad’s mouth opens to respond, and you cut in again.
“I’m kinda tired,” you say, yawning. Trying to make him leave.
He’s not great at taking hints. “Kiddo, I am really worried about you. Weren’t you s’posed to be working this mornin’?”
“You ain’t gotta worry about me. I’m just a little tired, is all. Wasn’t feeling up to restocking tools and dealing hardwood to your buddies.”
It’s only the second truth you’ve told him since he set foot in your room. You never feel much like work, not Sal’s-fucking-Hardware-kinda work, anyway. But the thought of standing for seven hours with a bared-teeth grin plastered on your face, hands blistering from tearing open box after box of stock, shoulder slowly coming up in a bruise from the number of customers tapping on it…you figured Sal could do without you for one fucking day.
“You wanna look some more at other jobs?” Dad asks, and finally you look up. The blurry, luminous silhouette of Jim and Pam is strung in the dim air before him.
You shake your head. “Not right now. I have some bookmarked I can show you later.”
He takes a deep breath, unsure of which angle to come at you from next. Finally, with an air of resignation and defeat, he settles for, “You know where I am if you need me,” and closes your door as he leaves.
You’re staring intensely at the face of every character onscreen. The pixels burn into your eyes. You’re trying harder than anything to get him out of your head. It’s not working.
His hand through yours, his arms around you – warm, safe, protective; the way he smelled, sweet like whiskey, sharp like pine; the way he’d mumble, lips against your head, sweet nothings pressed into your hair; the feeling of his lips on yours, hungry for something only you knew how to give him. The look in his eyes, tender, knowing, loving.
And because he was the only other person fluent in your little secret language – a look, a nod, a tug at the corners of his mouth. His eyes settling on yours only for a nanosecond, one tiny moment in time laced with a thousand words that you translated as quickly as his glance moved across you. It all meant something. It all meant so fucking much.
All of it. You feel all of it as it sinks through your skin, through bone and into your brain. As it curls around your ribcage, holds tight around your heart. Every thought and feeling that flutters through on full display for him to read. And you’d let him, because it’s him. You trusted him. You – you might’ve even –
I mean, what the fuck, right? When the fuck did this happen?
Joel Miller. Joel fucking Miller.
Is this what you thought would happen that very first time you looked at him differently? Tidying up after pizza, leaning into you, telling you you’re nothin’ but trouble? Did he know then, that this was where you were headed?
Did you?
Your phone buzzes. You glance down at it through your tears.
Sarah: wtf is going on ???
You craft a reply as nonchalant as you can manage. Three little letters.
You: Wym?
Sarah: are u good??
You: Yeah lol. Why wouldn’t I be good
Sarah: idfk. weird. my dad’s on the phone to yours rn
That’s great. That’s just fucking great. He’s probably telling Joel right this second how miserable you are. That’s all you need.
You want to hold onto your pride, keep an air of casualness about you impermeable to even Sarah – but you desperately want to know what’s being said. What she’s listening to him say.
You: Yeah? What are they talking about?
Sarah: well now it’s just some andrew guy
Sarah: sounds like a loser
Sarah: we’re coming over for dinner tonight btw
You: Nice. See ya then
Sarah: u wanna come over here before? we can watch love island
You: I’m good. Gonna go for a nap
Sarah: you can nap here. come over!!!
You bury the phone under your pillow without replying. Sarah is like Joel in many ways, but her persistent nature is one avenue in which they drastically differ. Joel would – and has – give you space, let you mope; Sarah will probably text you all afternoon until she’s on your doorstep, takeout in one hand and a telling in the other.
So you drag your phone back out and put it on Do Not Disturb mode. She’s already sent two more texts since her last.
Sarah: seriously. would you come the fuck over. im only on episode 5 i gotta catch up
Sarah: even my dad is worried about you
Yeah. Good one, Joel. Fuckin’ asshole.
----------
They arrive at six on the dot, armed with pizza and a crate of beer. The doorbell rings once, you lean over a degree to glance down the hallway, and Sarah’s stepping over the threshold, her shadow of a father at her heels.
He’s rugged. Hair amok. He kinda looks a mess, sorta looks how you want him to after almost two weeks of no you. But he’s here. He’s right in front of you. And this time, the shape of him isn’t swimming across your glassy eyes.
Your heart swells with relief to see him again, only until it twinges from the wound that he caused, and it hurts all over again. You turn back in your stool to face the kitchen island, making some noncommittal noise when Sarah’s hand presses between your shoulder blades in greeting.
“Tyrique and Ella are kinda cute, but I don’t trust him. Dude’s gonna fuck her over for sure,” she mutters, shoving the box over the counter towards your dad, who accepts the beer from Joel with a pat on his arm.
He’s standing across the kitchen – Joel – as far as he can get from you. You’re sure his eyes haven’t lifted from the floor yet. But you scan him all over, from the loose collar of his shirt down to the cuffs, rolled halfway up his forearms; from the rough hair of his beard down to the soft tufts decorating the skin just below his clavicle.
You scan him all over. The body you know just as well with the flannel and jeans over it as you do without them. The body you’ve squeezed, and scratched, and bit and kissed – and the same one you’ve thrown curses and insults at as it follows you through his house.
If he looked you dead in the eye right now, you’re not sure you could look away. You’re not sure you could stop.
That is, until Sarah presses a chilled beer to your arm, startling you, and silently nods towards the dining table.
She sits on your right, opposite your dad’s seat. She resumes chittering about Love Island. Joel and your dad are still in the kitchen, stacking plates, cracking the caps off their drinks. And then he pushes off the counter, and slowly wanders over.
You watch his every move. Study him, like you’re about to be tested on it. Which foot he steps forward with – always his left – and which chair he’ll pick once he’s at the table – the one opposite you, ‘cause it faces the TV for when he and your dad watch baseball while eating.
Two for two.
He lifts the chair, pulls it back, and angles it to face Sarah’s. He places his beer gently on the mat. When he sits, he doesn’t pull in any closer. Doesn’t risk your legs crossing paths under the table. You pull your knees up, let your shins rest against the wooden ledge. Your dad takes Joel up in conversation.
“So, this Andrew. He’s the brains of the operation?”
The pizza is slowly pulled apart over the course of an excruciating hour-long meal. Sarah puts the next episode of Love Island on while you eat, points out her favorite couples and nudges you to ask your opinion on the girls’ outfits.
“Wouldn’t have gone with those heels,” she mutters, chewing, pointing with her pizza crust to some six-inch ankle-breakers.
You lean past her shoulder every now and then to pretend you’re as engaged as she is. Pretend you’re listening. Your left ear is tuned into the conversation happening across the table.
Your dad thinks Andrew Curtis is fucking hilarious. Hoots with laughter when Joel tells him about his untucked button up. Says, Oh, jeepers, when he hears about the way the guy tripped jumping down from his truck.
The storyteller doesn’t sound so lively opposite. Your dad’s slapping his thigh with laughter. Joel’s shoulders are jerking at best. You dare a glance at him, and he’s already facing your direction. He turns away before your eye reaches his chest.
Soon, the episode ends. The atmosphere dies arm in arm with your dad’s attempt at another conversation. There’s a thick silence between the four of you. You haven’t opened your mouth the entire meal, but even if you did, the tension would clamp its heavy hand over your lips, blocking any words from making their way out of your windpipe.
Sarah clears her throat, manages a tentative, “I –” and then the phone rings, piercing through the awkward mist like a bolt of lightning.
Your dad pushes himself up and trots over, grabbing the handset a little too hastily. “Hello? Oh, hi, Rita. Hi. Yeah. Yep, Joel’s – Sarah? She’s here, yep.”
Sarah’s head drops, hand gripping her glass frozen in mid-air. “Fuck,” she whispers, and Joel shoots her a look across the table.
“She’s – oh, yeah? Well, let me ask ‘er.” Your dad covers the bottom of the handset with a huge palm. “Rita has some…cross –”
“Cross stitch, yeah, I know,” Sarah says, and thuds her glass down. “I said I’d help her out with it. I bet she’s seen your damn truck across the street!” She jabs a furious finger at her dad.
Joel shrugs. “Ain’t my fault the woman has eyes.”
Your body jerks as if to laugh. You don’t catch it in time. He notices.
“She’s on her way over, Rita,” your dad continues, nervously smiling at Sarah as she pulls her jacket over her shoulder. “She’s – oh, sure, I’ll let her know. Alright, now. Bye, Rita, bye. You’ve to bring your glasses. ‘pparently the pattern’s pretty small. You even wear glasses?”
She huffs in response. “I’m gonna be there all damn night. I’ll just get you at home.”
Joel opens his mouth to protest, goes to warn her that she ain’t walkin’ home alone in the damn dark, but your dad holds his hand out.
“We’ll give you a ride home. You come back here once you’re done.”
She nods gratefully and struts off down the hallway. The door slams shut behind her.
Your dad lightly chuckles, sauntering back over to his seat. “And then there were three…” he says, sitting back down.
But the loss of Sarah only cranes the spotlight over to you. Only you. No one else to split it with. No one else to lend it to. You can feel your dad’s eyes on you, waiting for you to make a move, some song and dance for your company.
He lifts his beer to his lips. Nods to you. Makes a song and dance of his fucking own, when he says, “Guess who’s been lookin’ at grad jobs?”
Joel stares at him for a second, like he’s waiting for your dad to reveal who it is he means. Like it can’t possibly be the only she in the room. His thumbs tap around his own bottle. “Oh – yeah?” he stammers, and throws a haphazard glance in your direction. He seems to mean to address you.
You sit forward, choke out a, “Yeah, uh – it’s – well. Kinda.”
“Film?” he asks, and you hear the rest of the question in the tone of his voice. Somethin’ you like, ‘n not just your dad’s suggestion?
You nod, but he’s not looking. He’s studying the label of his beer.
“Film,” your dad confirms. “Shut me the hell up, didn’t she? Came downstairs with her laptop the other night. Where is it, kiddo – New York?”
Your breath catches. The answer cowers at the back of your mouth, terrified to show itself. You force it forward.
“LA.”
Joel’s eyebrows lift.
“I said she might be better goin’ back to school. Reapply for next year, right?” Dad looks to you, and your lips pull in an awkward smile. “…but she didn’t wanna wait around. Told you the other day – this place is like prison.”
He chuckles, but Joel isn’t laughing. He’s staring at his beer, his brows slowly lowering from arched and curious to dark and furrowed. And you want to reach for his hand, want to shoo your dad off and spill your guts to his best friend. Want to explain yourself, show him the webpages and application forms you’ve spent the last few days surfing through – want to justify yourself to him.
But so long as your father is sat here, bumbling to himself about the prices of college courses these days – none of that happens. You simply sit in a stalemate opposite one another – a million thoughts racing through your head, a million and one racing through Joel’s.
“…might change her mind, but who knows? She’s skittish, this one, she –”
Another bleating ringtone cuts what you’re sure would’ve been an endearing compliment short. You say a silent prayer of gratitude for whoever’s at the other end of the line. Your dad sighs and heaves himself up again, swiping the phone from the kitchen counter.
“Hello? Hi, hi, Richard. No, I’m not – well, it’s – sure, sure. What’s –?”
His head falls in much the same way Sarah’s did ten minutes ago. He sighs.
“Right. No, that’s quite alright. I can be there in ten. Yep. Alright. See you in a – hello?”
He drops the phone back into its cradle and runs a hand down the back of his neck, growling.
“Kelman?” Joel asks, jaw turning to his shoulder.
“You bet. Misplaced the damn keys for his site. You two alright if I head on over there ‘n lock up for ‘im?”
“He familiar with Andrew Curtis at all?” Joel quips, and then waves your dad off. “Go on. I’ll be outta your hair by the time you get back.”
In a frenzied blur, your dad’s tying his laces, grabbing his keys, tossing a jacket over his shoulders. He apologizes a total of four times to Joel, thanks him for dinner, promises he’ll pay him back next time he sees him. And then he’s jogging off to the front door, and taking every ounce of comfortability with him.
And then there were two.
You slouch back in your chair, listening through the silence as your dad’s car engine fades down the street. When the quiet humming disappears, Joel’s head turns back to face you.
You’re alone again. For the first time in a week. This is the closest you’ve felt him, even separated by the dining table and a fog of conversation that you have no idea how to begin clearing. There’s more weight to the silence between you than words could ever bear, you know that much. More to be communicated between your eyes than your tongues know the language of. But still, you can see him through it.
Like a lighthouse, shining bright and beckoning you to the shoreline. You can feel him again, as if there’s an electric pulse radiating off of him. And you feel drawn in, like you always do; feel that magnetic pull in your chest, only ever satiated by the meeting of Joel’s.
You shift in your seat. His eyes flit up. Your heart jumps, like it’s a sign he’s really still in there. And then they drop back to his lap, and your chest sews itself back together.
Your eyes start to burn with fast-forming tears. Your throat tightens, tightens, tightens, pushing them higher and higher until they pool across your waterline. Blinking doesn’t help, just drops them onto your cheeks, to be quickly swept away by the sleeve of your hoodie.
All you want is for him to look you in the eye, whisper, C’mere, baby, scoop you up and hold you in his arms forever. Fuck everything you said about the distance being good. That was when he was in his house, and you were in yours. He’s here, right now. He’s sat across from you. You’re finally on your own again. And he’s not fucking looking at you.
You let your legs down and sit up straight in your chair. It’s small, but it feels like a necessary step to silently tell him that you’re in the room with him. You’re here.
It lifts his eyes again. Not to you, but to your empty plate. Then, to the wet stain on your sleeve. You hope it stabs his heart a little.
From the shaky breath he sucks in, it seems to hurt just enough. He clears his throat. Pulls his gaze higher, higher, a little higher, until you’re eye to eye.
A wave of feeling, either burning hot or freezing cold – you can’t tell the difference – stretches across your body. It’s unnerving, and yet calming. It’s soothing on your wound, and irritating all the same. He’s looking at you. You wonder if he can see you.
You stare at one another for a few moments, drinking it all in. You can see him clear as day. You can almost see the shadows of his thoughts as they dance across the frosted-glass windows of his hazel eyes.
He blinks. Breathes in deep through his nose. And then speaks.
“LA, huh?”
You scoff. You don’t fucking mean to, but it’s the opposite of what you expected – and kind of wanted – him to say. Your whole body relaxes, though – finally relieved of the tension of the last seven days, even if only for a moment.
You feel lighter, like someone kicked the door down and this is the first gulp of clean air in your lungs. It’s small, insignificant even, but it does what it needs to.
Which is – it gives you the energy to answer back.
“It’s not a concrete plan. Yet.”
“Yet,” he repeats.
“I’m not running from you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Get your head out of your ass.”
He wants to laugh. He should’ve expected it.
“I didn’t say anythin’. I think…I think it sounds like a good plan. ‘n you’d be close by to Sarah, so.”
This conversation feels like you’ve been left alone for ten minutes with your dad’s buddy. Sanitized. Surgical. Which would’ve been what it was little over a month ago, but it’s not now. Now, it’s totally different. There’s more than just that one neat string between you.
You’ve held his hand. You’ve kissed him. You’ve touched him, in ways you’ve only ever touched a handful of people. And even then – none of those times have been anything like the way you’ve touched Joel. You’ve tasted him, you’ve felt him as he climaxes somewhere deep inside you. You’ve pulled him into your body, over and over; you’ve let him have you in ways nobody else has.
There exists a complicated, messy web of history and emotion, woven tight between you. The weight of it bears down on the surface of the dining table.
And he’s talking to you about fucking grad jobs.
“Could you just – stop fucking with me?” you ask, sincerely. You’re not angry, you’re not hurt. Not anymore.
Joel lifts his chin. Studies your face. “I’m not fucking with you.”
“Yes, you are. You’re talking to me about some job, like there’s nothing else to talk about. Like there ain’t nothin’ else we might have to discuss.”
His response is resigned. Bored, even. “What else do you wanna discuss?”
You narrow your eyes. “Oh, um, I don’t fucking know. Last week?”
Joel takes a swig of beer. You take it as reply enough.
“I don’t have any clue where you’re at, Joel. You pick me up from Frank’s, beat a dude up for me, put me to bed, ‘n then when I wake up, you’re gone. Oh, but you left your fuckin’ shirt. By accident? Or for me? Who the fuck am I to know?”
He holds back a smile. “I had work.”
“Right,” you nod, “Andrew Curtis.”
“That guy’s an idiot. You’d probably like ‘im.”
“I bet. I’m fond of idiots, apparently.”
This time, he can’t hold it back. A smirk spreads across his lips, soft and shy, but there. Right there. You could reach out and fucking touch it.
And then he nods. Leans back in his chair, folds his arms, and nods. The smile begins to fade.
With it, goes the breathing space between you. The fog starts to thicken again. The web tightens some more. Your chest begins to ache. Things feel normal for all of two minutes, and then they’re back to awkward air so heavy that you can feel it on your shoulders, feel it forcing you into a slump in your chair.
This whole thing is built on lies. Lies on top of lies on top of lies. The only truth there has ever been has been between the two of you. Two lonely figures, wrapped in each other’s arms in the eye of a storm. So –
Fuck it.
You sniff. “I thought – that the most we were risking was my dad. I thought the worst that could happen was him findin’ out.”
Your voice is quiet. Unsure of itself. One word carrying you to the next, not totally sure where you’re going with it.
“I didn’t know I was risking losing you, too, and now…now, you’re just gone. Like, you don’t wanna talk to me, you barely wanna look at me. I don’t…I don’t have you anymore, and it’s all fucked up. Do you know, I – I wouldn’ta done any of it if I thought you’d go?”
Joel flinches. Tightens the hold on his arms.
“I want you to come back,” you say, stronger this time. Louder. Clearer. You’re ignoring the tears sweeping across your vision. “Just come back. You don’t even – you don’t even have to touch me or nothin’. We can just hang out and talk, we don’t have to…we don’t have to do anything.”
Your voice wobbles by the end. Your lips tighten around it, shutting it off before you can say anything more to embarrass yourself.
Joel’s still quiet. He watches wordlessly as you stand, pile the plates atop one another and make for the kitchen. As you place them gently into the sink, you feel the weight of him behind you, reaching over to set the bottles alongside them.
“I ain’t gone anywhere,” he murmurs, and you twist to face him.
“Joel. This is the most we’ve touched in two weeks. Putting dishes in the sink.”
He repeats himself. Adds, “I’m still here. I still care about you.”
You shrug. “Then – show me.”
He steps back. “Show you,” he scoffs. Your expression doesn’t shift. “Show you? Like I didn’t just almost break my damn knuckles defendin’ you? Take you home in the dead a’ night, deal with all your drunk bickerin’?”
Your head tilts. He’s right. But you want more than that. More than spitting threats and leaving flannels behind. You want his hands, and his lips, and his voice. You want –
“…Lord, mighty me.”
Your dad’s voice follows the sudden jolt of the front door opening. You and Joel are already five feet apart by the time his body appears around the corner, one hand leaning on the wall, the other pinching the bridge of his nose.
“How on Earth that man has his own construction company, I have no idea. Called me halfway to the site ‘n said he found the keys in his damn pocket.”
“Always the scatterbrains,” Joel says, leaning casually against the counter.
“Sure is. You ‘n me oughta start our own, show ‘em all how it’s done. Anyways. What’d I miss?”
Before you can answer, Joel’s speaking again. He sounds in a hurry. “Just tidyin’ up. We were talkin’ about graduate programs, actually. You know what,” he turns to you, “I’m sure Sarah has some old brochures from UCLA. Might have some stuff worth checkin’ out. You wanna come get ‘em?”
It takes a second for you to realize he’s talking to you. His eyebrows are arched, his thumb pointing over his shoulder. He came up with the lie so damn quick, you have whiplash.
“I – yeah, sure. Yeah.”
Your dad runs his tongue between his teeth. “UCLA. Huh. Well, don’t keep Joel too late.”
“I w…I won’t,” you reply, following at the heels of the swaggering figure towards the door. You dodge his eye contact and dip your head behind Joel’s shoulder, thankful for his protective stance in front of you.
Your dad doesn’t say anything more – instead, he stands back and lets Joel lead you out. You steal a glance back at him as you slip through the door. His face unreadable, his eyes stick on Joel; locked tight on the flannel wandering down the driveway ahead of you. The word loops in your head as though the phone’s ringing again. Guilty guilty guilty guilty guilt–
But then the night breeze is dancing across your cheeks, and you’re following at the heels of Joel again, and you feel light as air in the wake of him. You climb into the passenger side of the truck and watch as he settles alongside you with a sigh. He pulls out of the drive, and his right hand sits idly on his thigh. You think to take it. Joel reads your mind.
He sits it on the armrest between you, palm facing up. You stare straight ahead and let your fingers slip through his. He knots your bodies together, thumb rubbing gently on your knuckle.
Another pound of weight lifts from your shoulders.
----------
Joel drives for twenty minutes before pulling up in an empty parking lot across from a church. It’s pitch-black and deserted. There’s a single streetlight over by the corner, illuminating a trashcan and not much else. You’re shrouded in darkness, save for the soft glow from the lights on the dash.
He switches the engine off and sits back in his seat. Your hands are separated. The distance between you slowly starts to grow again.
“LA,” he says, for the second time tonight, staring at the ceiling of the cabin.
“LA,” you echo, staring at him.
He looks down to you. Smiles. There’s something behind it. You can’t tell what.
“It’s not a grad job,” you say, forcing something up. Your fingers are twisting around the drawstring of your hoodie. “I was lookin’ at grad stuff, but there wasn’t anything I was into. The LA thing is a six-month temp job I saw.”
Joel nods. “What’s that look like?”
“Production assistant. Lots of behind-the-scenes stuff.”
“Mhm. Sounds like your thing.”
Your brows jump as you pull the tie around your finger. The tip turns white. “Might be. Job ad closes on Monday.”
He sucks in a breath. “Better get applyin’, then.”
Your head cocks. “So eager for me to go?”
“Eager for you to do somethin’ you love,” he corrects.
“But it would get me outta your hair.”
“I don’t want you outta my hair.”
A smirk sneaks its way across your lips. You nod to the view from the windshield. “Why are we way the hell out here?”
“Because your dad bombed our conversation, ‘n I figured we weren’t done.”
“Then talk.”
He licks his lips. Folds his arms, settles deeper into his seat. He turns a little more to face you. The single light from outside catches in his iris, like that same lighthouse beacon you could see earlier. Distant, far off, but there. Still there.
“I owe you an apology,” he says. “I…I thought what we were doin’…What I was doin’…I thought I was causing you more hurt ‘n harm than good. I was scared it’d gone too far. Scared it wasn’t okay anymore.”
“Was it ever okay?”
He shifts again, uncomfortably. In the dim light, you see his face pull. He squints, wobbles his head in consideration. “No. It wasn’t. But we did it anyways, you ‘n me. We made that decision together.”
“Right. And then you went and made the complete opposite decision, alone.”
He’s nodding. He knows. And you think you know, too. It fucking sucked, losing him – but you get it. What was the big plan? How far were you going to let it go? Someone had to pull the plug at some point. Someone had to cut the thing loose.
You lean closer to him. “I just…I wish you’d let me fight back a little. Wish you’d heard me out more. I know what we’ve done isn’t right. I know that. But I – I fucking –”
You sigh. It leaves your mouth shaky and unsure of itself.
There’s something more. Something at the back of your tongue, itching to separate into the dense space between you. Bigger. Stronger. Heavier.
“I missed you,” you concede, shaking your head. “That’s all.”
Joel’s eyes fall shut with a wince when you say it, like it physically hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. But he’s clearer, now – the fog is slowly shrinking away. The words behind his eyes seem to light them in a warm glow. Missed you too, baby.
His hand opens up on the armrest again. Yours falls into it instantly.
He clears his throat then, and says, “Also owe you an apology for – for the Lois thing. I know I should’ve explained a lot sooner, ‘n I’m sorry I had you thinkin’ what you were thinkin’. I didn’t – I didn’t know it was such a big deal to you. Thought you’d know I wouldn’t…do that.”
“I think I did,” you tell him. Your nails run up and down his fingers. “Deep down. Wasn’t so much about her as it was about me.”
“About you?”
You shrug. “Yeah. Me, us, this. It was more of a, Why wouldn’t he want someone like her?, y’know? No lying, no secrets. And she’s old, like you.”
“Easy.”
You smile. “She’s nice. I know she is. My dad went on for five whole minutes about how good you’d be together when I asked ‘im. So – why wouldn’t you wanna be with her, right?”
It’s rhetorical. Joel knows. But he answers it anyways.
“She is nice,” he agrees, “but I ain’t interested. To tell you the truth, darlin’, I was a little preoccupied worrying my ass off about you to even look twice at the woman.”
You freeze for a second. Stare at the outline of his jaw, the jagged bristles of his beard; the soft sweep of hair silhouetted by the moonlight outside. He’s still Joel – even in the darkness, even in the fog. Even when you can’t see, hear, or touch him – he’s still there. Thinking about you. Worrying about you.
“Well,” you sniff, “you don’t gotta worry anymore. I just…I didn’t like the thought of it.”
His head tilts. Beckons you to continue.
You sigh. “I don’t want you…with…anyone else. I want you to…only want me.”
His brows straighten. You sit in silence, staring at one another. Both daring the other to be the first to talk. But it’s his turn, and he knows it. So he swallows, and says –
“I don’t want nobody else.”
And that’s a thing. A great big, terrible thing.
“But,” he continues, almost immediately, “this has gotta be – I’ve gotta do right by you. Gotta be honest, now –”
“Wait,” you interrupt, “can you just – stop acting like it’s all you?”
Joel falls quiet. His brows knit together.
“Stop saying things that make it sound like you’re the only one in this. I’m in it, too. I want it. I want you.”
“Baby, it’s not as simple as –”
“Joel,” you take his arms and pull yourself closer to him, legs propped against the center console, “I want you. This. I want us. All of it, I want all –”
Your body is being tugged closer to him, lifted nearer, and his chin bumps against yours, and his eyelashes almost brush against yours when your foreheads link, and his breath sweeps hot and needy across yours, and he – he kisses you.
You stop breathing. You don’t care whether or not it ever comes back. Oxygen replaced by him. Everything replaced by him.
His tongue slips past your lips, his hand glides across your hair to cup the back of your head. He locks you into his body, lets you rest your arms across his shoulders. Your lips find a rhythm against one another; warm, wet, tender.
His free hand cups your cheek, holds your mouth to his just a second longer, before he pulls away, and gives you one last kiss. Softest of them all. Seals the fucking deal.
“We okay?” he mumbles, and you lift your head from his palm. You sit frozen for a second, just looking at him. Looking and looking and looking.
“We’re good.”
He smiles then. A genuine smile. “I thought,” he whispers, glancing around the quiet parking lot, “I could take you on a date.”
So that’s why he brought you out here.
“A date?”
“Mhm. Never been on one, have we?”
“Never could.”
He nods in agreement. “Just ice cream. For now. Thought I’d show you some of my moves.”
“You got moves?” you snicker.
“I’m a catch, darlin’. The ladies swoon for me.”
“Alright, never say that to me again.”
Joel laughs. “There’s a place right around the corner. ‘s go.”
He climbs out of the truck and wanders off towards the sidewalk, and you follow. He looks down at you as you walk. His cheeks swell with the smile on his face, dimples at the edges of his lips.
It’s quiet; quieter than you’d expect, not that you’re complaining. With the sun almost set, you’re doused in light only when you wander under a streetlight. So, it’s no surprise when Joel’s eyes quickly scan the street up ahead, and his hand reaches down for yours.
Your stomach flips. You’re doing everything you can not to let him feel your pulse in your wrist, but you’re pretty sure you can, because he leans his shoulder against yours and asks if you’re okay.
“Good,” you choke out, relieved to have just passed a streetlight that might give away the blush on your cheeks.
Approaching on the right is a sickly-sweet, pastel-painted store front; fairy lights decorating the window, wireframe tables and chairs dotted outside. A bell dings when Joel pushes the door open, holding it open for you to step inside.
It’s…dainty. Sweet. Everything is either teal or pink or white. There’s a giant ice cream cone stood in the corner. There’s a gumball machine opposite it. The lighting is a little garish – kind of reminds you of sitting in the dentist chair, eyes squinting up at the bright white light overhead.
You’re fucking surprised to be stood in here with Joel Miller, of all people. He sticks out like a sore thumb; his worn jeans and crumpled flannel against the minty gleam of the parlor like an earthy tree sprouting in the middle of that same dentist’s office. It makes you giggle, as he leads you over to the counter.
A boy with a teal uniform meets him over a glass case full of different ice cream flavors. His name badge reads Ben. “What can I get you?” he asks, scoop in hand. Your lips press against one another to stop your laugh from escaping.
Joel turns to look at you. He nudges you with his elbow when you don’t return his glance, too focused on Ben’s pink baseball cap, the logo of the shop printed on top.
“Uh,” you consider, glancing down, “I’m good with any.”
Joel sighs, lips thinning. “Am I gonna pick a flavor, ‘n then you decide you don’t like it?”
“Nope. Promise.” You smile innocently, and he turns back to the server.
“I’ll take one scoop of the cookie dough, and, uh…one of the coffee, please.”
When Ben dips to scoop the order into two little tubs, you mock gasp at Joel.
“What?”
“Coffee?”
He shrugs.
“I took you for a vanilla man.”
Ben stands straight and punches some numbers into the cash register. Joel hands him a ten.
“What about me makes you think I’m into vanilla?” he asks in a low voice.
You bat your eyelashes at him. A dark thought crosses your mind, but you think better of voicing it and save Ben the embarrassment of potentially hearing you.
Joel thanks him and takes both tubs in one hand. You make for a booth by the window, but his hand quickly slinks around your waist, diverting you back to the door.
“Nuh-uh.”
“What?” you ask, spinning around.
Joel continues walking, backing you out of the shop. “I am not sittin’ in here. Got a fuckin’ headache already from five minutes in the place.”
“But it’s so cute,” you protest, giggling. “You don’t want your picture taken with the giant cone?”
“Get the hell out,” he mumbles, shoving you across the tiled floor back out to the sidewalk. He can’t mask his own grin, spilling out behind you, taking your hand in his.
You snort as he drags you back along the street. “Maybe I should forget about LA and get a job in there. Drive myself insane.”
“Maybe you should,” Joel agrees. “Least then you’d have an excuse for it.”
You slap his chest. “Where are we goin’?”
“’s just go back to the truck. Quieter. Less fluorescent lights.”
He unlocks it a few paces away, but you stroll past your door.
“What are you doin’?” Joel asks when you pull yourself up into the bed.
“C’mon,” you call back, settling against the back window, “it’s a nice night. Who are we hiding from?”
He tosses it over in his head and cocks one eyebrow. Fair enough. He climbs up and passes you the ice cream, shrugging his shirt from his shoulders. He throws it over your bare legs and sits down beside you, grunting as he does.
You smirk when he rests back.
“I’m almost fifty, darlin’,” he warns, reaching for his tub.
Your lips curve and you nod, digging the little plastic spoon into your dessert. You stretch your legs out and cross your ankles, watching in quiet contentment as the cars roll by, squealing to a halt at the traffic lights. Lights are coming on in windows, curtains are being drawn. Joel’s legs lie against yours, joined at the hip, shoulders brushing off one another.
This is the most peace you’ve had in a fortnight. Sat in the back of his truck, no eyes on you, watching the comings and goings of some back street in the city. You talk about nothing, for the first time in what’s felt like forever. You talk about films, and music, and all the stuff that seemed so unimportant before. Now, it all feels imperative. Feels like a life-or-death thing. What’s your favorite movie? You know my favorite movie, baby. But tell me again. Just so I know for sure. Just so that – if anything happens.
You listen when he answers. You watch his mouth as he says the words. For all the times you took it for granted before. For all the times you thought it was insignificant. It’s all significant, now. It all means something. It’s just more strings to the web between you, each one knotting you closer and closer together.
And you talk about what you’ve missed. The two weeks you’ve spent apart. You catch him up as if he was only gone on vacation. As if he was always meant to come back in the end.
“The guy with the weed – same guy you punched – he was –” gulp, “– what was his name again? Knicks? No –”
Joel snorts, spoon scraping around the edge the tiny pot in his huge hand. “Knicks?”
You close your eyes, waving your hand like it’ll urge him to remember the name of a guy he took no time getting to know before he floored him. “No, it wasn’t Kn…Knox! It was Knox, and he –”
“Kind of a fuckin’ name is Knox? Knox?”
“Are you gonna let me talk, or what?” you quip, and Joel brings his wrist up to his mouth to mask his laugh.
“Sorry, sorry, sweetheart. Go ahead. Knox had the weed.”
“Knox had the weed, and…he…Fuck, I can’t even remember where I was goin’ with that.” You shake your head and lean it back against the windowpane.
He laughs. For real. A Joel laugh. His shoulders jerk with the force of it. “You were gonna tell me about his friends, I think. Somethin’ about his friends.”
It sparks back up in your brain – the memory. “Right! Right. His friends – that dude with the glasses? That was Zack.”
Joel stares at you blankly, tongue in his cheek. “Zack?”
“Big guy, red face. Buck teeth. From Costco?”
His jaw slackens. He remembers. “I fuckin’ – I knew I’d seen that kid’s face before. That was him?”
You nod. Uhuh.
“Damn.” He chuckles. “He looked at me like I was a wild bear.”
You toss your head, roll your eyes. “Well.”
He laughs again. Knocks your legs with his own.
“Good call, by the way,” your lips mumble around the shape of your spoon, “cookie dough. it’s nice.”
“Wanna try mine?”
“Really?” Your face contorts, eyes screwing. “Coffee?”
“’s good. Here.”
He holds out a spoonful.
“Yeah, nice to you, who drinks, like, thirty of ‘em a day.”
Joel responds by pushing the spoon to your lips and you oblige, opening up and letting him feed you the ice cream.
It’s not bad. It’s ice cream, it can’t be bad. But it definitely isn’t good, and the way your lips purse and your neck jerks lets Joel know exactly how you feel about it. He scoffs, wiping a little from your lips with his thumb and sucking it clean.
“You don’t like it?”
“Why is it…bitter? Eugh.”
He laughs to himself as he loads up another spoonful. “It’s an acquired taste.”
“Well, I am not interested in acquirin’ it. You want some of the cookie dough?”
He shakes his head. “You enjoy.”
You both turn back to the street ahead. Joel’s arm is warm at the side of yours, his shoulder right there for you to lean your head on.
He places a kiss to your head when you do.
“What do you think he’d do if he found out?”
You’re not sure where it comes from. Neither is Joel, apparently, from the way he clears his throat and squirms ever so slightly. He knows exactly who you mean.
“I, uh…I don’t like to imagine.”
“It scare you?”
He takes a deep breath. “Naw. I just got better things to do with my imagination, is all.” He prods your arm with his. Picturin’ you.
“Ha. You reckon he’d kill you?”
“Probably.”
“He couldn’t kill you. Wild bear.”
“Well, I reckon he might try.”
“I think he’d call the cops.”
Joel’s head lifts from yours and falls back against the truck with a laugh.
“Help, Officer,” you mimic your dad’s twang,“my grown adult daughter is sleeping with someone!”
Joel’s shoulders slowly stop moving.
“Is that all we’re doin’?” he asks.
“Huh?” You lift your head and look at him. His dark eyes reflect the city lights in the distance.
“Is that all we’re doin’? Sleepin’ together?” His voice is gentle, honest. Genuinely asking, seeking out what you think.
You consider it, tryna sound casual. You know what he’s getting at.
“That’s all we’ve been doin’. Help, Officer, my daughter’s grabbing ice cream with someone? Better?”
He hums. Looks down at the empty tub in his hands. Looks back up to your lips. Draws nearer to you, holds your chin with one finger, looks you dead in the eye, and whispers,
“How about, Help, Officer, my daughter made someone fall in love with her?”
Your breath catches. Your hands fall limp into your lap. You blink away tears.
“You – No, that’s – You gotta say it. You gotta actually tell me, ‘cause I’m not – I don’t wanna misinterpret – We haven’t –”
You’re buffering. Your brain malfunctioning. Your tongue can’t decide which of the words at the back of your throat, all desperate to escape, to let through first.
Joel’s just smiling, watching you stutter and stammer your way through a sentence that leads you nowhere, desperately trying to compute what he’s just said because he’s finally fucking admitted it. He’s finally letting you know, giving you access to a part of him he’s been keeping from you for who knows how long.
Even though all this time it’s been the one thought running through your head that hasn’t passed your lips, it reverberates around your ears like it’s the last thing you ever expected him to say.
Joel’s hand moves to your neck, just below your ear. “Baby,” his thumb rubs your skin, “you know I love you.”
A gasp flees from your lips. Your ice cream is thrown to the truck bed, probably spilling over, and you don’t care. You leap into his lap, arms around his neck, and kiss him all over.
Joel’s laughing, returning what kisses he can, squeezing you with his big hands.
“I love you,” he says again when you come up for air, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard in your life. You sit your forehead against his, whispering breathlessly,
“Fuck, I love you, too.”
You two stare at each other, eyes scanning every part of the other’s face, mapping every mark, line, scar, like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen each other.
Guess it is, right?
This is the first time you’re looking at the man you love and you’re not afraid of it. The first time your chest swells and you don’t gulp it back, the first time you let him feel your heart pounding against the wall of your chest.
It’s the first time you look into his eyes, dark eyelashes and fine lines decorating deep warm brown, and think those three words…and know you can say them. Know neither of you will be spooked, neither of you will try to push them back down where they came from.
I love you. That’s all there is between you now. Your cards are flat on the table, Joel’s, too. Game over. You know everything there is to know about each other. You know each other.
You’ve sunk down his body, turned so your back curves into his chest, his chin resting on your head. Safely encased in his body, sat between his thighs. His hand runs up and down your thigh, lighting drawing lines and circles and writing words you don’t care to guess, ‘cause you probably already know ‘em.
Love hums between the two of you, keeping you warm; your bodies pressed together, hearts beating just inches apart. You blink your eyes open and the single streetlight sails back into your vision – bright as the moon, stirring you from your tranquil bliss.
“Do you,” you turn, and Joel fixes your hair, presses his lips to your forehead, “do you tell all the girls that on the first date? Was that just one of your moves?”
He snorts, and answers by pulling you in to give you a tender kiss.
No. Just you.
“You ready to go?” he asks when your lips part.
“Mhm. Take me home, cowboy.”
----------
His house is dark against the dusky sky. The headlights illuminate the garage door as he pulls up in the drive, squeezing your hand once as the truck comes to a halt.
“And then…” Joel says, holding a finger up to you. Wait right here.
He gets out of the driver’s side and you watch the shadow of him jog around the truck, stopping at your door. He opens it, and holds a hand out for you to take.
You choke on a laugh. “That is…”
“That is what?”
“…so cheesy. You really do that?”
“Uhuh. C’mon.”
Your fingers lace through his and you hop out of the truck. Joel shuts the door behind you and extends his elbow, and you link your arm through his. His hand warmly rests on top of yours.
You both wander over to his porch where he stops, letting you walk up the steps alone. When you reach the top one, only just taller than him on the path, hands still interlinked, you look down.
“Then I say, Thank you for a lovely evenin’, and,” he lifts your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles, “then…” Joel holds his arms out. Voila. Just like that.
“Wow. I feel…honored.”
“You should.”
“Not even a proper kiss?”
“I just kissed your hand, baby. You didn’t like that?”
“You don’t ask to come inside?”
He scoffs. “Nope. What would I want to come inside for?”
You grin. Shrug your shoulders. Start walking backward to his door.
“Well, I am exhausted after our date, Mr. Miller. I do think,” yawn, “I should be gettin’ ready for bed.”
Joel lowers his head, eyes trained on you, smirk growing on his lips. “Is that so?”
You nod.
He starts to climb the steps.
“I’m sure I’ll be expectin’ a call from you,” you mewl, exaggerated Southern accent crooning to him. Your back bumps against the front door. Joel’s on the porch now. You bite your lip.
“Oh, I’m sure you will,” he returns, his shadow creeping over you. He reaches your body and his arms come to rest on the frame right above your head.
You hook your hands around his shoulders.
“You really don’t wanna come in?” you whisper, and his jaw ticks.
“I wouldn’t want to be ungentlemanly.”
Leaning in, lips against his ear, you whisper soft enough to shake the breath as it falls from his lips.
“And what if I asked you, nicely, to take me inside and fuck me good ‘n hard until I can’t walk?”
Joel’s eyes pool black when you lean away, head resting back on his door. Your gaze is heavy with lust, eyelashes batting slowly.
“Hm,” he grumbles, body beginning to press against yours. His head cocks. “You don’t wanna be treated like a lady?”
“Nope.” You smirk, hand falling down to cup the bulge quickly forming below his belt.
“Want to be treated like a fuckin’ whore, do ya?”
Chest heaving, you nod, massaging him.
“So dirty, darlin’, feelin’ your date up on the porch,” he tells you, dipping his jaw to run his lips along your neck. “What ‘m I gonna do with you?”
You shrug again, and your fingers find the door handle at your hip. You push, and the wood behind you falls inward.
As you plunge into the dark house, Joel’s rough hands clamp down on your waist, taking you in his tight grip and throwing you against the wall. His lips find your neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin, tongue caressing tenderly as he sucks a bruise into you. Heat spreads across your core. You clench your thighs around the feeling.
“Joel,” you whine, hands surfing through his hair. “Fuck, take me upstairs.”
He hums. He’s going to. He’s just not doing it quick enough.
You lift your leg to his hip, and his left hand scoops under your ass. He pulls your center flat against the swelling in his jeans, ruts slowly against your body. You hear a deep groan from his throat.
“Upstairs,” you say again, growing impatient, and he growls, taking you with both hands and lifting you two steps at a time towards his bedroom.
He kicks the door open, loosening his grip on you as he walks over to the bed. Light streams across the room in splinters, peering through the shades from the streetlights outside. Your legs drop and you dance along on your toes, turning him midway until his calves hit the bottom of his mattress.
Your lips part for mere seconds, allowing one reflected expression between you, before you’re pushing him by the chest onto the bed. His body springs when he hits the sheets, staring back up at yours between his legs. His breath courses from his mouth, thick with want and need.
You lay him flat on the mattress, knees either side of his waist, hands curved over his shoulders. His own find your waist, holding on tight as you straddle him, playing with the tie of your shorts when you settle.
You dip your head and brush your lips against his. One long, sweet kiss, and his hands are at the hem of your hoodie, pulling it free, lifting it over your head. You groan as it separates your bodies, let your tongue find his again as quickly as it was pulled apart from it.
“Let me see,” he whispers against your lips, hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shorts to rub circles into your hipbones.
You smile as you straighten, fingers dancing along the hem of your tee.
“Let me – see,” Joel grunts, when your core grinds into his.
You peel the tight fabric from your stomach, higher, higher, until it lifts your breasts, catching on the curve of them, and as you whip it over your head, they bounce back down. Joel groans from below, staring at the perfect peaked shape. He lifts one hand to cup your tit, runs his thumb over the quickly-hardening nipple.
“So fuckin’ pretty, baby.”
“I know,” you tell him, watching as his thumbpad circles the delicate skin. Your back arches into his touch.
And then his hands sink into the mattress either side of his body, pushing himself closer to you. He wraps a strong arm around your back and pulls your chest to his mouth, lips pressing wet kisses to the valley between your breasts. His teeth graze across the round shape up towards your nipple again.
His tongue slips over the hard bud, swirling and soaking all over it. Your head falls back, fingers grip onto his hair. Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes. Joel sucks harder.
“S– fuck,” you whisper, nearly voiceless. His tongue is flicking now, lips pulling more of your body into his mouth. “Fuckfuckfuck, I need you, I need you,” you whimper.
He releases your sweet skin, lips shining with saliva. “Tell me where.”
You writhe on top of him, hands pushing your shorts down over your hips. “You know where.”
Joel holds your body steady. “Tell me.”
You whine, trying to rock against him. He doesn’t let up. “Joel, fuck. Betw– between my – fuck.”
“Between your legs?” he taunts, pushing you harder against the hard folds of denim below his belt. “That where you need me? Between those pretty legs, babygirl?”
Your fists ball around the fabric of his shirt, clinging on to him. “Ye-ah,” you whimper, and his weight falls from your grasp.
You feel your shorts tug over the crests of bone by your hips. “Step out of ‘em, baby,” he instructs, and your knee lifts.
He pulls the cotton down one leg at a time, telling you to shift your weight as he curls a finger around the lace of your panties and tugs them down after. Before you can think about it, you’re naked, soaked cunt making a mess over the crotch of his jeans.
He looks up at you expectantly.
“What–?”
He flicks his fingers in a beckoning motion, a Come here, either side of your thighs. You hesitate.
“Darlin’. Up.”
“Joel.”
“Up.”
You take his open hands and shuffle up the mattress, knees pushing into the soft sheets either side of his head. You glance down at him.
“I don’t know –”
“’m not gonna tell you again.”
And he doesn’t have to. You steady yourself, locking your fingers through his behind your ass, and slowly lower yourself down to him. His jaw lifts to meet you, and you think about pausing again, telling him he doesn’t have to do this, asking instead to do something else, something he’ll enjoy as much, something you can both –
But then his lips open around the sweetest part of your body, and your lungs freeze. His tongue slips between, daring where you need him most, and your body sighs in equal parts relief and pleasure.
You’re so fucking wet. You can feel it, leaking onto his lips, spreading around your own as he kisses you, licks you, takes in every drop of you. Your back curls, lips fall open to the ceiling, breath comes in short wisps.
It’s been almost two weeks since the two of you felt like this. Hot, wet, needy. Two weeks of waiting for the other to come back, two weeks of reaching for the phone and deciding against it once the number’s dialed, two weeks of nothing.
And now – everything. Everywhere. Every part of your body ignited for him. You feel him fucking everywhere.
You lean all of your weight onto the palm of your hands, pushing all of it into Joel’s. He’s steady, strong, letting you rock and swirl your hips as he laps at your core.
“Right there,” you whisper, head rolling back. “Keep – keep – oh, fuck, Joel. What the f–?”
He slowly lowers his hands, letting you untangle your fingers and place them on the bed. His own come to hook around your thighs, clamping you as close against him as you can possibly be.
Two weeks of nothing. And now, five minutes of everything. The shards of light from outside blur across your vision; heat starts to prickle up your spine, tickling the back of your neck. You’re smiling, filthy and desperate.
“I’m gonna –” you breathe, and Joel hums. “’m gonna c– come.”
You can hear his response, though he doesn’t say a word. Then, come.
Your hips motion forward. Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Joel’s tongue slips between your folds, warm on the inside of your cunt. And you rock back. Unwind. Unfurl. Exhale. His bottom lip puckers against your clit.
“J-oel. Joel, I’m – you’re – fuck.”
He moans against your sex. His hips shift behind you. Buck upwards, carefully.
Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Tighten – inhale. Unwind. Unf-url. Ex-hale. Tighten. Inh– clamp. Fuck. I’m there. Unwind. Warm. Wet. Tongue. Exhale. Tongue. Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Joel –
Your fingers curl around his bedsheets, nails dig into the cotton. Your orgasm sends a flood of hot pleasure across your cunt, rains down over Joel’s lips, and sets fireworks off through your body which explode into the dark room in the form of a throaty moan.
You’re not sure when you come to. You’re not sure your arms can bear the weight of your body. But when your eyes blink open, he’s kissing the inside of your thighs.
His mouth is glistening. Moustache and beard covered in you. Soft lips pearlescent with your spend. Your body feels heavy, unbearable. You lift your leg and tumble onto the mattress by his side, pussy throbbing when you land.
“I love you,” you whisper, and not for any particular reason. Not because of what he just did. Not because you’re naked in his bed.
But maybe because it feels like this is what you were made to do. To love and to be loved – by him. It feels like this entire thing has been, from its genesis, an exchange. An understanding. Immediate and certain. Here are all the parts of me. You know what to do.
As if there needed no further explanation. No instruction, no tutorial. You just knew.
He pushes himself up, leans over your frame. His jaw lowers, and he licks into your mouth tenderly.
“Gotta be inside you, baby,” he says, and at the same time, your fingers find the buttons of his shirt. “Gotta feel you again.”
You nod against him. Fuck me fuck me fuck me.
Joel’s hands are on his belt, pulling it through the loops, dropping it to the floor. Your help him tug his jeans off when he undoes the button. The material of his underwear rubs against your sex; your creamy arousal smears all over the black fabric. You can feel the weight of his stiff cock beneath. It dizzies your head.
He lets your fingers sneak below the elastic, lowering it until he springs free, slapping against the bottom of his tummy. You could fucking drool at the sight of him – the pink tip, beaded with precum; the thick vein on the underside of the shaft; his balls below it, heavy and waiting. Your hands wrap around him and pump slowly as he drags his boxers down, kicking them off at the foot of the bed.
He groans, hips thrusting gently into your palms as you squeeze him. Your fingers slip between your folds, collecting your own slick, coating him in it as you fist him.
“So good, babygirl,” Joel breathes, leaning down to kiss you. “You gonna take it all?”
“Mhm,” you reply, tongue slipping against his.
“Yeah,” he says, “my girl can take it.”
You let his hand shadow over yours, the two of you guiding his cock towards your entrance together. It glides between your dripping folds, the head sifting effortlessly from your clit to your tight hole and back again. Joel laughs, teeth clashing with yours, as he dips in and out, teasing you.
Your ass lifts from the mattress, any movement to draw him nearer. “Stop,” you gasp.
Joel pauses. “Stop?”
“No,” you bleat, “don’t stop. Just – fucking do it.”
“Do what, darlin’?”
“Fuck me.”
And he sinks in.
You’d be lying if you said all you’d done for the last two weeks was cry, mope, and stare at the ceiling. That’d be discrediting everything that this little affair was built on. It’s impossible to forget how the thing fucking started – your hands between your legs, Joel watching from the doorway.
In the moments you didn’t feel the mind-numbing tsunami of heartache overcome you – you felt something else. Memories of his hands on you, the trail of his tongue between your legs, the swell of his cock deep inside you. You tried to replicate it a handful of times with your hands. But nothing – not your fingers, not two, three, or four – nothing stands a chance against him.
He pushes in slow at first, drawing out when he’s halfway, and then in again as he covers himself in the wet his tongue left behind. When he’s soaked, glistening and gleaming, he thrusts. Hard. His tip catches on your cervix, and your back arches in a mix of pain and delight.
Something throbs deep inside as he bottoms out. You feel your opening stretch around his base. You feel your legs widen as if by instinct, accommodating the size of him, the width of him, the pace of him.
You throw an arm over his shoulder, elbow hanging on the nape of his neck. His sweaty forehead sticks to yours, and your hand cups his cheek.
“Harder,” you tell him, and he listens.
“Fuck, baby,” he pants, “fuck, you’re so tight. Oh, my – I ain’t gonna last.”
“Don’t – want you – to,” you cry, body jumping as he fucks you quicker, quicker, harder, deeper. “Want to – come – together.”
Your head tips back against the bed, and Joel’s lips attach to your neck. He’s moaning into your skin, teeth biting down, breath hot and quick. He’s not gonna last he’s not gonna last he’s not –
“F-u-ck, Joel,” you sob, your walls starting to close in around him, “feels so – f-fucking good, oh!”
“I know, darlin’, I know. C’mere.”
He takes your cheek and pulls your face back to his, lines his lips with yours and kisses you. It’s messy, haggard, fucking all over the place as your bodies bounce together, but he tastes like sweat, and sex, and you, and him.
“Missed this so fuckin’ much,” he grunts, hips pounding. “Missed bein’ inside you. You know how bad I needed you?”
“Tell me,” you slur, echoing his own words back to him.
He smirks. “Best fucking pussy I ever had, sweetheart. Best – I ever – had.”
“Don’t pull out,” you hum against his lips, and his jaw pulls back a fraction. “Don’t.”
“Baby,” he says, strained, and your head tilts.
“Need it,” you tell him. “Please. Need you.”
He nods, leaning back into you, letting you connect your mouths again. His lips shudder when you pull away, the thought translated clear as day from your mouth to his. And he knows, and he drives in harder, and he fucks the image from your mind. Who the fuck is Lois, when you’re under him and he’s this deep between your legs?
You look up into his eyes, and you find your answer. She’s nobody. There’s only you.
Your body feels liquid, your mind like fog. You pull him into your body, deeper and deeper, until you’re sure you’re one, and there is no place where he ends and you begin, and you’re sure this is what it feels like, this is what those words feel like, not just the sound of them, not just the way his lips move around them, but the shape of them on and in and around your body. Something deafening, something blinding, something screaming from the pits of your lungs as you come all around him, and you feel him come all around you.
His warmth spurts deep inside you, filling you up, dripping down your walls as he collapses into your shoulder, a loud moan drilling into your collarbone. He slows, thrusts in and out gently, pushing his spend deeper and mixing it with yours.
It's everywhere. The feeling. The pulsing, the humming, the singing. He’s everywhere. Him. In your brain and in your lungs and in your body and in your cunt. And you want to keep him there, hold him there, keep your bodies together for five more minutes, just five more minutes.
But then he’s panting into your skin, pressing kisses into that little dip between your collarbone and your chest, and he slowly slips out, come dripping from where he leaves.
He presses his palm deep into the sheets by your head, lifts off of you – but your arm is still around his neck, and you lean with him. Tilted on his mattress, holding onto him, letting him kiss your head; letting his hand move across the surface of your stomach, mapping the gentle slope over your belly button and scaling the tiny mountains of your hipbones. Kneading softly into the skin over which his seed sits, warm and snug, deep inside you. It’s new. You think you love it.
And he’s whispering, “Good girl, did so good for me,” and he nuzzles his nose into your hair, and he tilts your chin back until he can see your face, see your expression, and he smiles with relief when he clocks your doe eyes, your blissful smile, the sweet tinge of red on your cheeks.
“I love you,” he tells you, and you’re staring at his lips.
“Again.”
“I love you.”
You look up to his eyes. “Again.”
“I love you.”
You smile. It breaks into a laugh. “Again,” you whisper, and he kisses you.
Slowly, only once you pull away from him and your breath steadies, Joel takes your body and carefully shifts. He turns onto his back, settles you on his chest, your hips between his thighs. He runs a gentle hand over your hair and you lie against his sweat-shining chest, his heartbeat whispering sweet nothings into your ear.
Love and sex, as far as you knew, were always two different things. Separate. One, you weren’t even sure existed. The other, nothing more than a need to be satisfied. Something deep within you, something no one had ever managed to touch. And then Joel. And his lips, and his tongue, and his hands and his cock.
And suddenly the two – love and sex – begin to blur, their edges touch frantically. They bleed into one another, until there are no longer two distinct forms; instead, one big shape which has the curve of your hips and the cut of his jaw.
You love him. And he loves you. You’ve heard it translated between your minds longer than you care to admit, and now – you’ve felt it. Transferred between your bodies. You love him. Jesus, you love him.
It’s as terrifying as it is thrilling. Enamoring, and yet dangerous.
“So,” you sigh, “what’s next?”
He glances down, lifts his eyebrows and gives his head a shake. His hand lifts off of your shoulder with a shrug.
“Like, your next move. What happened with the other eight?”
“The other eight?”
“Mhm. Me, Sarah’s mom, makes two. There are eight others, right? What’d you do afterward?”
“Kicked ‘em out.”
You lift a heavy hand and slap his chest. He shudders with laughter.
“I dunno, baby. Wasn’t all like this.”
Your brows knit. “Like what?”
He takes a deep breath. Your head rises as his lungs fill. “Lyin’ in bed afterward. Talkin’.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
“What?” he asks, smirking.
“Who even were they? I wanna know.”
“Why?”
“Just do. I wanna hear about ‘em. When was the last one, before me?”
Joel’s eyes drift off to the ceiling above you, thinking. “May.”
“M–?” You jump up, pushing yourself off of his body. “May?” you repeat, eyes wide. “That’s…so recent.”
“Recent?” He chokes back a laugh. “When’s your last?”
You furrow your brows, dropping his gaze. “We’re not talking about me,” you mumble, thumbs twiddling.
Your last had been two nights before you flew home. You’d gone out with your roommates and dragged home Matteo, an exchange student who you’d worked with on a group project for your screenwriting class. He was three inches shorter than you. He bent you over your kitchen counter and fucked you until he came. Then he made himself some cereal, ate half of it, and left.
Joel doesn’t really need to hear about him, you think.
“Do I know any of them?” you ask in attempt to change the subject.
Joel pulls a face. His lips tighten, teeth clench. His eyes narrow to a thin line, looking at you through his eyelashes. He nods tentatively.
“Shut the fuck up. Who is it? Who?”
“I dunno if you know her, but she knows you.”
“What’s her name?”
“Your dad gave us a ride home from the bar. She ‘n him got to talkin’, and he said he had a daughter –”
Your fist lightly drops onto his chest. “Joel, if you don’t fucking tell me who it is, I –”
“She’s an elementary teacher. Long, dark hair. Good few years older ‘n you. Think she said her little sister went to your school.”
“Who – was – it?”
He makes the face again. This time his eyes close over, waiting for the penny to drop. His head shakes lightly.
“You –? No, Joel. Come on. Please don’t…Are you fucking serious? You don’t remember her name?”
“It was a long night, alright?”
“How did you forget her damn name?”
He shrugs. “I don’t fuckin’ know. I was drunk, baby.”
“Elementary teacher? I don’t know anybody whose sister teaches elementary.”
“Guess we’ll never know.” Joel shrugs, and you shake your head at him.
You’re picturing Joel stumbling out of Frank’s, arm in arm with a brunette, heavy feet dragging along the sidewalk while your dad chitters in his ear about the Rangers, or about some rude bartender, or about…you. The brunette turns, and her face is yours. Your features, your smile. Your hand linked through Joel’s. C’mon, baby. ‘s go home.
You chase the image away. It slips from your mind like dust cleared from a countertop. Would never. Could never. Should never.
You replace it with something lighter. Something to make you forget about the dust.
“Does…Does my dad ever go home with anyone?”
“What?”
You don’t answer. He heard you.
“That’s…No. I ain’t answerin’ that.”
“Oh, come on. If you’re takin’ women home left, right, and center, he’s gotta be seein’ that. Does he?”
“I was not takin’ home women left, right, and – No, darlin’, no. It’s inappropriate.”
“Yeah, you’re right. And I’m known for my appropriate behavior, y’know,” you gesture between your naked bodies, “I’m known for the good life choices I make.”
“This,” Joel hooks his hands under your arms and drags you up until your chin meets his, “is a good life choice.”
“Yeah?” you ask through a giggle, your nose bumping his.
Joel smiles softly, runs a hand over the back of your head. Looks between your eyes, a twinkle in his. Yes.
Your lips crash together like waves on the rocks. You’re the sea; he’s the stone. Two different worlds, suddenly married in some unforeseen twist of nature. And when you pour over him, your body lighting him in a twinkling glow of ocean, it’s as though you never existed apart from one another. It’s as natural as the waves on the shore.
“Alright, darlin’,” Joel mumbles against your skin. “Speakin’ of inappropriate. I gotta get you home.”
“Why can’t I just stay the night?” you complain. “Like last time. Tell ‘im we’re watchin’ a movie again…”
Joel’s head rests on your arm. “He’s worried sick about you. Ain’t no way he’ll let you spend the night here. You know that. Plus, Sarah’ll be long done with Rita’s cross stitch by now.”
He sits up and you roll into his lap, head resting on the soft skin of his belly. He looks down at you, head tilted, eyes glowing hazel.
You stare right back. The dimples in his cheeks dig deeper when you whisper, “Kickin’ me out right after we finally make up. I see how it is, Miller.”
Joel’s shoulders hunch. “Happens to all of ‘em. Warned ya.”
He shifts off the bed and begins gathering his clothes. You sit up and watch as he pulls his boxers snug over his hips, swipes his tee from the carpet at his feet. As he drapes it over his scruffy chest, your half-naked form meets his at the foot of the bed.
His fingers knot in your hair. You lean into his arms, legs giving as he kisses you gently, breathing you in, stealing any more words of protest from your tongue.
“I love you,” he whispers when he pulls away, tip of his nose brushing off yours. “You know that?”
“Somebody told me somethin’ to do with that, yeah.”
He smiles. “Get dressed.”
You pull the rest of your clothes back on in silence, tossing socks and jeans across the room to one another, giggling like a pair of kids. After all you just did, the palpable pleasure you just sent hammering through one another – this is the part you wish you could bottle. The laughter, the love. The attempts to keep holding onto him, even as he tries to pull his arm through the sleeve of his shirt, even as he links his belt back through his jeans, as he bends to tie his boots.
The fun of it. The hope of it.
The foolish, foolish hope.
“Hoodie.” Joel flings it up towards you, crouched as he tightens his laces.
You pull it on over your bra. Flatten your flyaway hairs, stand straight before him.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
“You got your phone?”
Your hands instinctively pat your body down. “Oh, nah,” you realize, “musta left it at home.”
Joel nods and heads into the hallway, you at his heel. At the bottom of the stairs, you glance around his house, like it’s the first and last time you’ll see it wrapped into one. It looks different; two weeks of absence and you notice things you hadn’t before.
His coat hanging by the door, probably untouched since early spring. The bowl on the side table where his and Sarah’s keys live. The guitar in the corner of the room, the books in the shelves above it. All him. Every little piece of it. He’s reflected in every object in the room. He’s reflected in you.
You drive back to your dad’s place in silence. Comfortable, sweet silence. Your fingers ghost across his palm the entire time, watching out the window as the dark neighborhood soars by in a blur of porch lights and mailboxes. All too quickly, you’re back in front of your own house.
“What do we do now?” you ask, and through the darkness you see Joel’s smile fall.
After a moment’s silence, heavy and contemplative, he looks back up. Softens when his eyes land on you.
“We’ll be alright,” he tells you, and you believe him.
You lean forward and press a quick but tender kiss to his lips, and your fingers latch around the door handle. Joel’s hand finds the back of your head, keeping your mouth on his.
“Gotta – let me – go,” you mumble between kisses, and he hums a laugh in response. “Joel.”
“I know,” he whispers, finally pulling back. “I know.”
You smile, head tilting into his palm. “I’ll text you.”
He nods once. “See you, babygirl.”
You slip out of the truck and wander past to your front door, twirling as you click the handle. Joel laughs, and the truck reverses back onto the street. You wait for it to disappear before closing the door, and step into the unlit hallway.
The TV lights the living room at the opposite end. You stop by the kitchen, feeling the grumpy rumble of your stomach. Your dad’s armchair is sat facing the screen. You lean over to double check he’s not sat in it, fast asleep while Rangers highlights play on loop before his eyelids.
When you swivel the plaid pattern towards your knees, its only occupant is the remote. You flick the TV off and pad back over to the kitchen, filling a bowl with some chips. You’re hunched over at the refrigerator when his footsteps clunk slowly down the stairs, and he materializes like a specter around the doorway.
“Hey.”
You straighten up, lit in a nervous blue hue from the fridge. “Hey, yourself.”
“Joel gone?”
“’bout ten minutes ago. Where’ve you been? You left the TV on.”
“Just…y’know. You get those brochures?”
Fuck. You were at Joel’s under the premise of picking up fucking UCLA pamphlets – and you’ve come home empty-handed. The lie doesn’t form on your tongue as quickly as Joel’s did earlier. Something else on your mind.
“…sure. Some…interesting stuff.”
Your dad nods. “Good. Good, I’m glad. We can take a look in the mornin’.”
Your eyebrows flinch. “Yeah. That’d be – yeah. I’m…gonna head to bed, alright?”
“Sure,” he says, nodding.
With a can of soda under your arm and your bowl of chips in the other, you nod and cautiously shuffle towards him. His lips are a thin line. You duck by him and trot upstairs, and make it as far as the landing before he’s calling out again.
“Oh, hey.” He holds a hand out, and disappears in a jog towards the living room. You drop back down a couple steps, watching him swipe something from the dining table and pace back over. “You left your phone.”
He’s presenting it like a jeweler shows a Rolex – or maybe more like an investigator handles evidence. Holding it out in almost trembling fingers, afraid to mark it with his fingerprints. Your eyes flit from the phone to his, unsure which of the two frightens you more.
That’s not where I fucking left it.
You lean over and take it from his palm. “Thanks…”
“I think maybe you got a text, just then. It was lit up. Maybe I’m seein’ things.”
You force the corners of your mouth upward. Your cheeks inflate with nerves and shame. “Thanks,” you repeat, and then: “Everything okay, Dad?”
“Everything’s fine, kiddo. Sleep well.” He makes back for the living room.
As you turn, you unlock your screen.
Joel: Left your shirt here, and your bikini from last week. This mean I get to be the one wearing your clothes now?
Panic spills over your head, a wave of freezing cold washing over you when you read his words. Did Dad read them, too?
You continue walking, feeling the weight of your dad’s strange voice on your back as your feet drag you one by one up the stairs. When you make it back to the landing, your cool flees you, and you take the rest of them two at a time until you’re leaning against your bedroom door, panting.
You: Problem. I think my dad saw that text
Joel: How so?
You: When I got home my phone was next to his chair, and he’s being so weird
You: Joel I think he knows something
Joel: I’m sure he doesn’t. He wouldn’t read your phone baby.
He’s trying to reassure you, telling you he wouldn’t even know what it means, maybe he’ll think you spilled something on it, but no matter how many ideas Joel comes up with, none of them slow your heart rate.
You sit down on the edge of your bed, and the anxiety bubbling in your stomach forces you straight back up. Pacing doesn’t help, knowing your dad is directly below you probably hearing the floorboards creak with every step you take.
Your head dizzies with doubts, fears, worries, all frantically throwing themselves against the walls of your skull. You lean your forehead against the cold glass of your window, eyes screwing shut, stars in your vision. Nothing is calming you down.
Joel takes too long to reply back, whether he’s running out of explanations or just fucking forty-eight with an iPhone, but every time your phone buzzes with a new attempt at comfort from him, it only convinces you even more that – no, it wasn’t a stain, it wasn’t a joke, Joel has your top because you took it off for him an hour ago, and then let him fuck you in his bed.
And your dad fucking knows it.
#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#the last of us#tlou#tlou fic#dbf!joel miller#dbf!joel#dad's best friend#joel miller smut#pedro pascal#pedro pascal joel miller#cowboy like me#smut#fluff#angst
894 notes
·
View notes
Text
Nettle Soup
Halsin x female reader
5,776 words of fluffy nonsense
--
It had started as an innocent tickle at the very back of your throat, something you’d barely given more than a moment’s thought to - fair enough due to the fact you had a tadpole squirming around in your skull to contend with.
A day or so later, it had graduated from a tickle to an annoying and stubborn irritation which very much demanded attention – wouldn’t shift despite how many times you’d tried.
It would clear, surely, you thought, especially since the curse had lifted from the land and you were on your way towards Baldur’s Gate at last.
Except it didn’t.
If anything, it got worse - like you’d swallowed handfuls of crushed glass, the way it stung with every swallow – accompanied by heavy limbs and growing fatigue, no matter how much sleep you managed. Perhaps that was hardly surprising after the number of fights you’d undertaken recently, not quite as young as you once were.
Although not comfortable with the hitchhiker in your skull, you were at least confident it wasn’t the first sign of ceremorphosis, though the concern that Lae’zel may try to slit your throat if you voiced any notion of feeling unwell remained, so you kept silent.
You powered on, as you always do.
Gale frowned when you didn’t finish your portion of stew that evening, all sat around the campfire. He prided himself on keeping the party well-fed and anything but clean bowls appeared to be a personal affront to his skill. It wasn’t that you felt nauseous, just a lack of appetite made the quarter you had managed sit too heavy in your stomach.
“Was it not to your liking?” The wizard hovers over your shoulder. “While I’ll admit it is a repeated recipe from a few days ago, you enjoyed it well enough then.”
“No, no, it’s wonderful, Gale.” You smile, trying to appease his anxieties by laying a hand on your stomach. “It’s just filling – I’m stuffed already.”
“I recall you had second helpings.”
Oh, he had you there. Think.
“We had just fought Ketheric Thorn too, quite difference from the day’s leisurely pace.”
“Hm.” His pout remains, and the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach has been joined by guilt.
“Hardly a repeated recipe, though. I’m sure I noted something different on the palate?”
That did the trick, a wistful smile now gracing his face. “Ah, yes, I did stumble upon some splendid wild garlic that I thought would enhance the flavour profile – how kind of you to notice.”
You nod along, politely, as Gale tells his tale – something about how it elevates the spices - not noticing the wood elf staring at you curiously from across the circle.
You’re thankful it’s not your turn to keep watch as the githyanki takes her place in the centre of the camp, sword laying ready in her lap. You don’t wish to dawdle around the campfire like you do most nights, worried she might sense something off about you and jump to conclusions, so you bid the remaining members of the party goodnight and walk at a brisk pace to the safety of your tent…
..only for an icy cold grip around your elbow to jerk you into their own, your back now pressed against a firm chest with a thud.
“Surprised, darling?” Astarion murmurs into your crown, his other arm wrapped around your waist. “I thought you better than that. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“Bed.” You reply as brightly as possible, overcompensating for how rotten you’re now feeling.
“Oh, but the evening is still so young! I have a fine idea that will while away the hours, if you would be so very kind.” He drops his grip on your elbow and ghosts his hand up your side, making you squirm.
“Not tonight, Astarion.” You shake your head. Maybe it had been a mistake to let him feed off you after that first night. “I’m tired.”
“I can wait until you’re asleep, my sweet.” His hand finally reaches the back of your neck, giving it a slight squeeze. “I’ll be sure not to disturb any of your pretty dreams.”
“No.” Your tone is firm, maybe a little too firm as the vampire stiffens against you and drops his hand, causing your stomach to squirm with guilt once again. “Another night, I’m all yours – I promise.”
Astarion spins you around and you nearly lose your footing – a fact not missed by the vampire as his face transforms from annoyance at your denial to mild concern.
“My, you are out of sorts.” He sighs, before he plasters on a smile that you know to be fake. “Very well, darling. Off to bed you pop.”
You nod a thanks and hurry out of his tent, casting your eyes to the ground in the hopes of keeping steadier footing, only to collide into something firm.
A large, solid chest, covered in familiar druidic garb.
“My sincere apologies,” two warm hands grasp your upper arms, steadying you once again. “I am afraid I did not see you there. Are you all right?”
Your scalp tingles from the gravelly tones of Halsin’s voice, a warmth flushing over your cheeks as you look up at the former archdruid, his brow furrowed in concern.
“I’m fine, Halsin. And I should be the one apologizing - I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?”
He chuckles at your concern. “Of course. Although you have remained polite by not yet mentioning my stature, I am sure you have noticed the comparison between us, little one.”
Although one to lose your temper with the use of such pet names in inns or in combat, there is something entirely different when Halsin says it. You know it is not meant to be patronizing, more a sign of his age, really – it’s wholeheartedly sincere, affectionate, perhaps even… loving?
Well, you could still dream, couldn’t you? Even though he’d kindly turned you down at the celebration for the tieflings at camp all those weeks ago, you’d be a liar if you didn’t still kindle a flame of affection for the large elf.
You smile, wryly. “I suppose I have.”
“Forgive me for prying, but is anything the matter? You seemed in quite the hurry after supper. I confess I’d hoped to catch you for a moment.”
Your throat stings again as you swallow. Halsin is a healer - he would be the one to mention it to…
But you don’t want to be a bother, especially so soon after Thaniel. What was a sore throat in comparison to being trapped within the Shadowrealm for near on a century? Pathetic, really.
You shrug it off, “A little tired, nothing an early night won’t sort. What did you wish to speak about?”
He smiles at your response, though you notice it doesn’t reach his eyes. You wish you weren’t so observant of him to be able to identify which are real and which are polite.
“Ah, no, nothing of urgency. Please, do not let me keep you from your well-deserved rest any longer.”
You eye your tent in the distance, but hesitate all the same. “Are you sure?”
“Quite.” He squeezes your upper arms, gently, before letting go. “I bid you sweet dreams and a peaceful sleep.”
--
You don’t even fall asleep deeply enough to dream – tossing and turning for hours, one moment feeling too hot and then another too cold, periodically drinking from your waterskin trying to ease the rawness of your throat.
You give up at dawn, quickly dressing in your armor. Instead of waiting for your companions to rise, you set your sight on climbing the hill not far off from camp - it should provide a good vista of the road ahead to Baldur’s Gate. It shouldn’t be a long walk either, you’ll be there and back before even Karlach has roused, usually the last to do so.
You had only made it a quarter of the way up the admittedly gentle incline when you start to feel unusually winded from the exercise – it feels as if you are not quite breathing deep enough, oxygen stagnating at the top of your lungs. Perhaps you’d laced your armour too tight that morning in your haste to get moving? The sun is still only a little over the horizon, given the earliness of the hour, but you feel so very warm, a sheen of sweat already on your brow.
You raise a weary hand to wipe it away, but your vision swims in response and you stumble, all reflexes abandoning you and your face meets the dirt.
--
Halsin lets out a sigh as he rubs his back against the bark in his bear form, the ridges appeasing an itch that had been bothering him since he had wildshaped. It has been a while since he’d indulged the bear for purely pleasure and not combat – it hadn’t felt right to do so when traveling through the shadow cursed lands.
He’d woken early, as usual, and decided to take advantage of an hour or so to patrol the area before the plan would be to head towards Baldur’s Gate. Heading to the city wasn’t something he was looking forward to – to be cut off from the nature he so adored made he feel uneasy - but he’d made a vow that he intended to keep.
A familiar, invigorating smell crosses his snout, carried in the gentle breeze. He inhales it deeply, being drawn him from his thoughts.
White violet, jasmine, a touch of sandalwood…
You.
It is too strong a scent to have drifted in from camp, which must mean you’re close by. He drops down to all four paws and begins to follow the trail, curious as to what has brought you out so early and, perhaps selfishly, hoping to take advantage of your company.
He doesn’t have to travel far, though, lumbering a hundred or so metres out of the wood that lines the path. His stomach sinks when he sees you sprawled out on your front down the incline, unmoving, eyes open in a blank stare in his direction.
The next thing you were aware of was thundering paws on the earth, a flash of gold and then warm, heavy palms turning you over to face the dawn sky. A very concerned wood elf soon fills your vision, pressing a hand to your cheek as his eyes scan you over, frantically.
“What is it, my heart? Speak to me.”
Heart…?
The world goes black.
--
You wake up slowly. Your eyelids feel heavy, drifting in and out of consciousness until, finally, you manage to crack both eyes open to find yourself swaddled in unfamiliar furs and blinking up at an equally unfamiliar ceiling.
No, not ceiling, but the inside of a tent and one that is not your own. Various herbs and flowers are hung from the support pole across the top, seemingly set out to dry, dotted between other hand-made trinkets. There’s a scent of wood smoke, flowers, freshly cut grass, and something enticingly sweet...
You sit up in alarm, trying to work out where you are, panic rising in your already tight chest when your eyes meet those of the large wood elf’s, sat only a little way to the side of the bed roll.
“Ah-ah,” Halsin chides with a sympathetic smile, pushing you back down easily with one large palm upon your shoulder. “Please - you must rest.”
“This isn’t my tent.” Your voice is painfully hoarse, but you lay your head back on the pillow in defeat and watch as he tugs the furs back up to under your chin - the brief moment you had been upright a chill had prickled across your skin, almost down to your very bones.
“That is true.” The former archdruid nods, looking a little bashful. “We were camped at quite opposite ends this time round.” Your party did tend to spread the tents out across the ground you used, rather than all cluster together. “I thought it best to bring you here, where I have everything to hand to easily prepare, rather than go to and fro whilst I oversee your recovery.”
“Recov-” You don’t reach the end of the word as a horrendous, wracking cough emerges deep within your chest. You sit up again in panic, hoping it will cease. Halsin assists you with one hand on your arm and an arm around your waist, before he begins to rub large circles on your upper back.
“Easy, little one. Easy. I know it is uncomfortable, but it will pass.” He says, softly.
It doesn’t feel like it will – the pain is sharp, a tightness in your chest, a burn in your lungs, heart pounding as you feel more and more breathless with every cough.
Tears burn at your eyes but, true to his word, slowly but surely, it begins to settle, allowing you to catch your breath at last and left feeling exhausted.
The hand leaves your arm then but one remains on your back, keeping you steady, before a waterskin is brought up to your lips. “Take small sips. If you drink too quickly, it might trigger another fit.”
You nod, reaching up a hand to hold over his as he tips the liquid into your mouth. It’s soothing on your raw throat, but only for a brief moment.
When he deems you’ve had enough, he pulls the waterskin away, placing it back down to the side of the bedroll before pressing a hand to your forehead, a poorly concealed frown soon gracing his lips.
“You have a fairly high fever.”
“Can’t you…?” You reach out to mimic cure wounds – a spell you’ve seen him and Shadowheart cast many a time - but it seems even your depth perception has abandoned you as you brush up against the wood elf's firm chest, before snatching your hand back and circling your wrist in what you think looks a somewhat magical motion. Halsin lets out a chuckle that makes you feel flush – your temperature varying sporadically by the minute.
“Wounds and other injuries indeed, as can Shadowheart, but I am afraid for such illnesses as this the only treatment is rest for a few days, supplemented by herbal remedies to alleviate symptoms.”
“No,” you shake your head and immediately regret how it makes your vision and head swim. “We must press on - the Absolute are already in the city.”
He looks at you in alarm. “You cannot mean you wish to go and face them? You know I admire your unwavering resolve and strength to do what is right, but at the moment I fear a light breeze would be more than enough to knock you prone.”
“But-”
“No. I cannot allow it.” His tone is firm, a growl at the back of his throat – it reminds you of how he had spoken to Kagha once he’d returned to the grove. "You will rest. Lie down,” he doesn’t even need to push you back this time with a heavy hand, you’ve gone quite limp against the arm that had been supporting you, shrinking back at his tone of voice and nestle back down amongst the furs.
“Thank you.” Halsin replies, sincerely, the tension dropping both from his shoulders and voice. “I… I apologise for my manner of speaking, but I know of what I speak - you must rest in order to make a full recovery.”
“I’ll try – I promise.”
He looks down at you with a smile before brushing some loose hair from your face and then cupping your cheek with a large palm and calloused fingers. If you’d had more of your wits about you, if you could think clearly, you would’ve noticed the flash of gold in his palm as he cast sleep upon you.
--
You wake up to a hand pressing a damp cold compress against your forehead and your chest feeling tighter than before. You can’t help the wince as you open your eyes, the light smarting despite it being somewhat dim inside the tent. Halsin is sat cross-legged by your side, a frown in place.
“I am sorry to have woken you, but I am afraid your fever has developed.”
“Oh.”
“I have prepared something that will help. Allow me to sit you up.” Somehow, he manages to slip his arm beneath your head and around your shoulders, assisting you upright to lean back against a pile of firm pillows. Once he is satisfied you are settled, he produces a bowl from his side – a waft of steam emitting off the top.
“Here. It has cooled enough to drink.”
“What is it?” Your voice is still awfully hoarse, a raw sting as you talk.
“A staple in every healer’s repertoire - nettle soup. Adept at reducing fevers.”
You take the bowl carefully from his hand, though his follows closely as you guide it up to your mouth lest your grip fail.
You gulp down a mouthful, but it’s absolutely foul upon your tongue, burns your throat as you swallow it down. It feels as if you’ve taken a gulp out of a particularly filthy pond, one thick with algae.
You hold the bowl back out with a shake of your head, hoping he’ll take it. “That’s disgusting.”
Halsin smiles, knowingly – seemingly a complaint he is not all that unfamiliar with hearing. “Whilst I admit the taste is far from what one might call pleasant, it will do you a world of good to drink it.”
You shake your head again, trying to hand it back to him. “I can’t.”
A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest. “Dare I enquire your age again, little one? The children in the grove manage it just fine.”
“I’m not a child,” you pout – too feverish to realise the contradiction of your actions. “And they surely do not.”
“They do…”, he retorts, a wistful smile crosses his lips, “albeit with the promise of something sweet after they’ve rested. Would that suffice?”
“Something… sweet?” Your mind drifts off to somewhere it should not as your eyes drop down to focus on the druid’s mouth.
“Mm. They are quite partial to honeycakes, does that appeal?”
You shake your head, placing the bowl down on the floor between the two of you. Though a fan of sweets, the idea of eating anything at the moment doesn’t entice at all.
“No? Well, perhaps you have something else in mind. I’m sure Baldur’s Gate itself will have something to your tastes.”
“I want a kiss.” You mumble.
He must have misheard. “What was that?”
“A kiss - that’s the sweet thing I want.”
“Ah,” if it wasn’t for the dim light within the tent, you would’ve sworn the druid was blushing. “Now, that’ll be the fever speaking.”
“No.” You gaze up at him, wishing you had the strength to curl your fingers in his hair and pull him in for the kiss you crave. “It’s not. I’ve wanted one since that night at camp, the celebration with the tieflings. I swear I’ll drink all the nettle soup in Faerun for a kiss.”
“Since…” He trails off. “No, I couldn’t, little one.” He shakes his head, truly looking apologetic. “I won’t. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Why?”
He cups your cheek in a large palm, a small smile on his lips. “I do not believe you are quite aware of what you are requesting, given your current ailment.”
You purse your lips in thought, trying to seek a compromise. “What about when I’m better, then?”
He removes his hand and nods. “When you are recovered and if you recall this conversation and still desire it, then… yes, you may claim your sweet.” He mumbles towards the end, not quite believing what he was apparently promising. “However, you will still need to drink the nettle soup now.”
“Deal.” You acquiesce, and Halsin picks up the bowl in offering.
It burns as it goes down – all four or five remaining mouthfuls - but you manage the whole bowl.
“Good girl,” the wood elf murmurs with a smile – it makes the discomfort feel worth it for a moment - as he inspects the empty bowl, swapping it out for the waterskin once again.
“Now, try and sleep some more. By the time you wake, it will have done its work and you’ll be feeling much better.”
You lie back down without protest, closing your eyes. The furs smell like Halsin and you soon drift off back to sleep, a feverish thought of being wrapped up in his arms and the kiss you hoped to claim come morning.
--
Day turns into night and then day once more, the hours passed with numerous bowls of nettle soup that still burn at your throat with every swallow, vegetable broth for more sustenance and countless naps to no improvement.
Halsin has been trying to distract himself with whittling, but it is not proving successful – lopping off half of the duck’s beak when you stir momentarily. He’s checked your temperature with the back of his hand too many times to count. There’s a taunting rattle from your lungs between bouts of sharp coughing fits that doesn’t seem to be easing either.
The nettle soup should’ve broken your fever at least – he hadn’t encountered one in all his years that it had failed to do so – but you seem to be growing worse by the hour.
He watches as you toss and turn, brushing your hair from your face. You’ve done so much for him – freed him from the goblins, ensured the safety of the Grove and its occupants, defended him whilst he recovered Thaniel, freed a realm from the shadowcurse of beyond a century and yet he cannot return a simple favour by ridding you of a fever?
“Is she sick?”
“Thaniel.” Halsin’s starts at the sudden appearance of the spirit. The boy is knelt besides him, staring down curiously at your slumbering form. “What are you doing here, my friend?”
“Your party hasn’t moved on - I wondered why. Is she sick?”
Thaniel remained as curious as ever, it seemed.
Halsin sighs. “Yes, I am afraid so. The fever and cough proves most stubborn – I fear I am depleting this area’s supply of nettles.”
“Nettles?”
“For the soup – it reduces the fever. Or it should.”
Thaniel frowns, leaning over you and taking a cautious sniff. “But she smells of spolar.”
“Spolar?” The word seems vaguely familiar, though it sparks a sinking, sickening feeling in his stomach.
“It will have been a long time since you’ve had to treat it.” The boy shrugs. “A large purple mushroom, remember? Its spores line the lungs – its growth accelerates if surrounded by nettles.”
“No…” It’s as if a hand is squeezing at his heart. “I don’t recall seeing any on our travels out. It would grow so quickly?”
“Nettles are sturdy enough even for the shadowcurse, so when it was lifted it had probably laid dormant beneath the soil until the time came. How long have you been treating her?”
“Nearly two moons – numerous bowls of nettle soup.” Halsin’s face has drained of all colour. “By Silvanus, I’ll have been nourishing the infection itself.”
“You did not mean to,” Thaniel replied, patting Halsin on his thigh. “Do not fret. Vapours from a wilted Sussur Bloom will clear the lungs when inhaled, suspending any further spread. Then she will just need rest.”
“A wilted…” He gets to his feet, his mind whirring with the next steps. “I must make haste back to the Underdark – I could be there and back by night fall with the aid of sigil circles.”
He hurries out of his tent, finding Gale sat outside of his, camped a stone’s throw away, and a large tome in his lap.
“Halsin,” Gale starts cautiously, setting down his book at the wood elf's urgency. “Is something the matter?”
“Everything.” The druid drops to his knees and empties out his pack – planning to stuff it full of as much Sussur Bloom as he can lay his hands upon. “I made her worse. She’s inhaled the spore of the spolar.”
“The spore of what? And how could you have made her worse?” Gale quirks an eyebrow, trying to keep up. He has never seen the wood elf so flustered. “I don’t understand.”
“Spolar… the spores line the airways. It feeds and thrives upon other vegetation – I’ve been giving her nettle soup. She told me it burnt and I insisted she eat more. And she did, because she trusted me.”
“Oh. Well, you didn’t know-”
“I should’ve known!” Halsin explodes in response, his voice echoing around their encampment. “I need to go to the Underdark, I-” He gets up to his feet and immediately stumbles, catching himself before he could fall. Gale is quick to stand in front of him, hands held up to try in a feeble attempt to stop the wood elf leaving.
“Halsin, when is the last time you rested?”
“It matters not-”
“It very much does.” Gale chides. “Look at you – you are in no fit state to look after yourself, let alone gallivant off to the Underdark.”
“What the hells is going on?” Astarion appears the other side of Gale, drawn out by Halsin’s outburst.
“I must set this right. I cannot allow her to suffer a moment longer due to my negligence-“
“Okay, I’m sensing there’s a lot more to your feelings here, but allow me to assure you that we all care about her. Allow us to assist you, to aid you in whatever you need in this moment.”
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Astarion almost stomps his foot, never one to be ignored.
Halsin sighs, running a large palm down his face. Gale is right – he is exhausted, unable to enter a state of reverie in the past days in fear of you needing him.
“A Sussur Bloom. I need to retrieve one from the Underdark.”
Gale frowns. “But they don’t work outside the Underdark.“
“Wilted ones, they-"
“Wilted, you say?” Astarion looks at his fingernails for imaginary dirt. “I’ve got a handful in my pack still, I’m sure.”
Halsin sets off running in the direction of the vampire’s tent and his pack, Astarion hot on his heels.
“Now, wait a moment!”
--
Halsin won’t look at you.
You’d woken up, confusingly, back in your own tent two days later to Gale sat by your side and your fever broken. Your voice was still a little hoarse and walking around the camp left you all but winded, but that was meant to pass in another day or two, then the plan was to finally set off towards Baldur’s Gate.
You’d felt bad for holding the party up for so long, but everyone has been rather kind about the delay, doting on you a little more than you’d like.
All but Halsin, really, who stares over your head – not a hard feat given his height, true – but still, it smarts when you cannot catch his eye, especially when it was something you used to achieve so easily. He appears to leave the campsite before dawn and returns for supper, though he moves away from the campfire when you take your place, thanking Gale for the meal before hurrying off.
It’s driving you mad.
Tonight, though, you have a plan. You took supper back to your tent, feigning the need for an early night to your companions and lying in wait for Halsin to depart the camp once more.
You find the elf stood at the very edge of the lake, standing in the shallow waters as it laps to and fro, hands held behind his back.
You approach cautiously, conscious of disturbing a meditation or ritual the ex-archdruid might be partaking in, but it seems he is already acutely aware of your presence.
“There’s a chill in the air tonight.” His voice is firm – you can imagine him using the same tone when he was chairing heated discussions amongst the other druids back at the Emerald Grove. “You should go back to camp and keep warm by the fire at least if you find yourself restless.”
“Halsin,” you choose to ignore him as you wring your hands together and take another step closer. “Have I… offended you in some way?”
“Offended? Never.” Still, he keeps his head turned away from you.
“I apologise sincerely if I said something that upset you whilst I was sick. I’m afraid I don’t recall much of the time in your tent – it’s all a bit of a haze.”
“That’s understandable. You were…” His breath hitches, as if it’s painful to remember. “..quite unwell. But, no, you did not say anything malicious or cruel – it is not in your nature.”
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
His biceps tense as he brings his arms back in front of him, his shoulders heaving up with a breath before dropping back down as he swings round on his heels. He meets your eyes for a second or two before his gaze moves back above your head, as if something was extremely interesting in the distance.
“There.” A forced smile – it doesn’t reach the wood elf’s eyes by a mile. “Now, will you go back to the camp?”
“No.” You huff, taking a step closer.
“Please. Your lungs are not fully recovered yet and the chill tonight will do you no favours.”
“I’m not going back until you look me in the eyes and tell me what I’ve done to be treated this way.” You stand firm, stubborn.
He sighs, seemingly exasperated at the conversation. “You have not done anything, my h… friend.”
“I must have done something.”
“You are mistaken.”
“No, I’m not.” You retort back, placing your hands on your hips. “Ever since you healed me, you’ve been-”
“Healed you?” He scoffs, derisively, meeting your eyes at last with a furrowed brow. “Healed you? I did no such thing - I made you worse!”
You stare for a moment, bemused. “What? Worse how?”
“You said the nettle soup was burning your throat, you told me multiple times and I dismissed you saying it for not liking the taste, not of a symptom. Every time I had you drink it, I was giving the infection what it needed to thrive. I was killing you.”
“No.” You shake your head. “I don’t remember that.” And you don’t, everything’s hazy – vague memories of cooling compresses on your head, a supportive arm around your waist as you drank from a waterskin. “Why would I keep drinking it if it hurt?”
“Because,” he takes a shuddering breath, “we made a deal.”
“A deal about what?”
“I beg of you not to make me relive my shame.” Halsin sounds defeated, but you continue to push.
“A deal about what?”
“I… I told you of how the children in the Grove took their medicine under the promise they would receive something sweet when they were better. Honeycakes, candied fruits, the like. You…” His voice grows tight. “You asked for something else sweet.”
You feel your face flush, a hazy, whisp of a memory now becoming crystal clear. “A kiss.”
The wood elf’s shoulders shudder. “I took advantage of your trust in me.”
“Advantage?”
“Of your feverish state.”
“I’m the one who suggested the kiss.”
“And I’m the one who agreed due to my own selfish desires, ignoring what my patient was trying to tell me.”
“No, you thought you were doing the right thing. We all make mistakes, or misinterpret. I’m fine.” You wrap your hand around his forearm as best as you can, trying to tug him forward. “Besides the whole tadpole in my head, of course…”
He smiles, wryly, at your poor joke, though you see tears burn at his eyes. “I just… I cannot stand the thought that I have caused you harm, little one – intentional or otherwise.”
“You haven’t, Halsin.” You place your other hand tentatively on his chest and look up, feeling his heart beat beneath your fingertips. “I am well and, if you were still willing, I’m ready for my sweet.”
He shakes his head. “As much as my heart desires it – and it does - I do not deserve it.”
“Am I not allowed to be the judge of that? And I say a deal is a deal.”
“You… truly wish for it still?”
You stand up on your very tip toes and press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, as far as you can reach. “More than ever.”
A firm arm wraps delicately around your waist – cautious of squeezing you too firmly – and heaves you up easily against his firm chest, his other hand cupping your cheek as he captures your lips in a kiss. It is soft and delicate, as if he’s worried you’ll break, but when you lift your hand to tangle in his locks and tug to bring him closer and deepening the kiss, there is no mistaking the growl that emits from his throat when your tongues intertwine.
As soon as you drop your hand from his hair, he retreats too, dropping you back down carefully to the ground, eyes scanning you in concern.
“You’re breathless, my heart.” You feel your cheeks prickle with heat at the term of endearment. “And flush too. Please, I insist you go back and keep warm-"
You cut him off, pressing your fingers against his lips, exhaling breathily. “Two things. One, I’m breathless because of your kiss. Two, I’m flush because of your words - what sort of reaction am I meant to have to you calling me that?”
He lifts his own hand then to hold yours in place so he can kiss the fingertips pressed against his lips, before tugging your hand back down and interlacing your fingers.
“My heart, my love, my sun, my moon, my stars - so many things I wish to call you whilst I lavish you with affection from dusk till dawn, and dawn till dusk… if you’d allow me, that is.”
“Allow?” You smile, “I encourage – heartily.”
It happens too fast to comprehend, a gentle twist of your arm to twirl you in front of him before one arm wraps around the back of your knees and you are swept off your feet, the wood elf commencing large strides back towards the camp.
“Then I insist we return to your tent where you will have as many sweets as you desire.”
“Oh, my tent now, is it?” You tease. “I thought I had to go and stay warm by the fire.”
“Yes, but, lucky for you,” he smirks, “I am known to run quite hot.”
--
Comments, likes and reblogs make my whole day x
Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi
339 notes
·
View notes
Text
new wave dreams
Malleus smiles. You know this smile. In all your time with him, you’ve become intimately familiar with his different smiles. This smile, you fear, spells your doom.
This smile is smug.
“I recall Grim whining about spilled milk on his fur,” he hums, expression deceivingly serene. “Just before he went to sleep, he was telling me about how you have to clean up yet another mess and how dreadfully clumsy his henchhuman is.”
Oh that snitch.
or;
You're clumsy, Ramshackle has outdated appliances, and Grim is incapable of keeping house secrets.
tags: 2.7k words, cross-posted on ao3 under the same name and the same alias. this is my first work on here cries have mercy on me when it comes to formatting, ok. title is from P.U.N.K. Girl by Heavenly
You have a problem.
An issue, a predicament, a conundrum, even.
See, you’ve developed a bit of a … bad habit. Grim is a very deep sleeper and ever since you’ve been thrown into Twisted Wonderland, you are decidedly not. Whether it be unnerving dreams that wake you up or just plain insomnia, you’ve spent many a night kept awake with only Grim’s incessant snoring to keep you company.
And well… it’s not like your stomach stops working either. So maybe it’s not uncommon for you to sneak down into the kitchen and make yourself something to eat, and maybe it’s not uncommon for you to sneak back into your comfortable bed and eat while under the covers. Maybe.
You’re so used to the sound of boisterous laughter coming from the kitchen in Ramshackle that the dead of night just makes it… eery. Not to mention, the ghosts who live in the dorm have no sense of when is a good or bad time to play a silly little prank on you. Is it really so bad to want the comfort of a wall against your back and blankets trapping your warmth while you enjoy a home cooked meal?
It’s just that… your hand might have slipped while crawling into bed and you might have spilled your cereal all over your bed while Grim was still sleeping in it. Oops.
This is where your predicament lies. Grim is now partially awake, bleary eyed and upset at having been woken up at 2 am. Your sheets, comforter, and pajamas reek of milk. Class is at 9 am sharp, and if you leave things the way they are, you have no doubt that your room will reek of spoiled milk.
Which would be fixable, except for the fact that your biggest issue is that Ramshackle doesn’t have a laundry room.
Or… well… it does. Technically. Except you may have smacked the washing machine a little bit too hard to get it started once, and it hasn’t turned on ever since. You’ve been doing your laundry in Heartslaybul with either Ace or Deuce accompanying you ever since.
But that is definitely not an option right now! Let alone the fact that Riddle would undoubtedly take your head if you snuck around and did laundry in his dorm at 2 am, you know for a fact that Ace would have a field day if he found out why your sheets were soaked with milk at this time of night. No, Heartslaybul is certainly not an option.
Which leaves… no options at all. You suppose you could just use the kitchen sink… or maybe the bathtub?
“I’m not cleaning this,” Grim grumbles. He’s rubbing his eyes and lets out a big yawn. Despite his insistence, he really is more catlike than anything else you’ve ever seen. When he looks up at you with his big blue eyes, you can’t help but forget how annoying he can be. Aw, now you feel bad.
“I wasn’t gonna make you, d’worry,” you mumble back. There’s no other option, you suppose. You begin peeling the sheets off the bed. It’s heavy, and it doesn’t help that your movements have a certain grogginess to them. Just your luck, you’re starting to get tired after you already made a mess. “I’m gonna head downstairs to clean this, you go back to sleep.”
Grim doesn’t respond to you, so you assume that he nodded off even without your prompting. When you make it downstairs though, you almost trip over him running right past you.
“We’ve got a visitor!”
You almost drop your clothes to rush over to the window. From your spot in the lounge, you can’t make out what Grim is seeing. “Huh? Who?”
“Who else visits ‘n the middle of the night?”
The clothes are unceremoniously dumped in the sink and you rush to the window. Sure enough, green sparks fly around a familiar silhouette underneath your porch.
Talk about bad timing. “I can’t just leave him out there, can I?”
Grim just shrugs up at you. Ugh, your bleeding heart. How could you leave a friend out in the cold when he came all the way just to see you? The ghosts would scold you for even entertaining the thought.
With strengthened resolve, you glance out the window one more time. Sure enough, Malleus is still standing on your porch. He’s staring intently at the doorknob, but as soon as you move the blinds, his eyes meet yours.
You don’t even give him the opportunity to knock.
“And what are you doing out here, unsupervised in the dead of night?” You say in lieu of a greeting. You grin up at him and open the door wide as an invitation to come in. Malleus slips into the foyer, but not without dramatics of his own.
“Might it be that I’m unwelcome into your humble abode?” He sighs, forlorn and melancholic. You’d almost believe that he was hurt, if not for the fond smile he gives to you and Grim and the airiness of his voice. “I suppose I ought to make myself scarce, and hope the loneliness of my dearest friend’s rejection doesn’t take my weary heart.”
“We can’t have you dying yet, now can we? Your retainers would have my head, I fear.” You flick the lights on, and lead the way further in. “Not to mention your family — I can’t have an army sent after me at my delicate age.”
“Oho! So all you care about is your own life? Careful, should you offend me too much, I may very well send the armed guards after you regardless.”
You can’t help but roll your eyes at the dramatics. He’s too attached to you to do anything of the sort. “You’re welcome anytime, just make sure you leave your retainers a note or something.”
“That one guy’s too noisy when he doesn’t know where you are,” Grim grumbles.
“They should know very well by now to check for me here before breaking out into a frenzy,” Malleus breaks out into a grin, self-satisfied. “I am no babe; they haven’t a reason to fret over me so often.”
Grim lets out a little hmph! at that. “Betcha they're more worried ‘bout what you’re getting up to, going out at night all sneaky-like.”
You all pause for a moment at Grim’s statement. “Y’know Grim, it’s very rare that you say something smart.”
It takes a moment for what you say to process. Grim goes from smiling to attacking your leg in the blink of an eye.
“Hm, that very well may be it then,” When you glance up at Malleus, all you can describe his expression as is preening. “I trust that your word will be a suitable alibi then, should they assume that I’m up to mischief?”
“Oh I doubt it, with what we’re always up to? They’ll probably assume the worst as soon as you say my name.” A light hum is all that you get in response. Typical, Malleus tends to zone in and out of conversation. You lead him to the lounge with Grim still hanging off your leg, flicking lights on and fixing things up as you go. Everyone’s awake now, so there's no need to go traipsing through the dark. Besides, Malleus’ eyes seem to glow like a cats in the dark, and you don’t feel like going through that heart attack right now.
Malleus sits by the unlit fireplace, picking up a random book from the coffee table. Grim stays behind with him while you take a moment to head into the kitchen, ignoring the pile of sheets you dumped in there in order to grab some fruits. The living arrangements may be poor and decrepit, but never let it be said that you weren’t a good host. When you make it back, the fireplace is lit, and Grim is curled up in front of it. “He asleep?”
Malleus nods. His gaze washes over the fruits before settling on your face. “For me?”
“They’re chilled, but I think I remember you saying you liked ‘em better that way.”
He reaches out for a grape, plucking it from the vine with a delicate hand. He’s just about to pop it into his mouth when he pauses for a moment. “Ah.”
“What?”
“I’m not supposed to eat anything my retainers haven’t cleared first,” he sighs. “Poisoning and the like, you understand.”
You nod in understanding. You’ve never had Malleus decline anything you offered him before, but…
Wait a minute. He’s laughing.
“That is not true!” You dump the fruits on his lap, leaving him to place them delicately on the table. Malleus hums in amusement as you settle into place by his side. “I can’t tell when you’re joking, it’s not fair.”
“No poison you could get your hands on could harm me,” he says. “Let alone anything you could disguise with the taste of fruit.”
You think he’s joking. Malleus doesn’t force you to respond, content to nurse through the fruit in front of him. He alternates between giving you a handful of berries and popping them into his own mouth.
“Why was Grim awake at this hour? I seem to recall him to be a heavy sleeper, if nothing else,” Malleus murmurs out the question, like it’s not important enough to be articulated properly.
But it is. Because this is embarrassing. There is no way that you are going to reveal to the crown prince of any nation that you spilled cereal all over your bed while Grim was sleeping in it! Not even if you were tortured.
“Oh! I think he ate the leftover tart from Riddle’s unbirthday party,” you laugh, like a liar. “You know how it is, sugar highs and all that.”
“Really?”
“Mhm,” you nod. “Must’ve worn off by the time you got here.”
Malleus smiles. You know this smile. In all your time with him, you’ve become intimately familiar with his different smiles. This smile, you fear, spells your doom.
This smile is smug.
“I recall Grim whining about spilled milk on his fur,” he hums, expression deceivingly serene. “Just before he went to sleep, he was telling me about how you have to clean up yet another mess and how dreadfully clumsy his henchhuman is.”
Oh that snitch.
“It’s not important,” you rush to reassure Malleus. You wave a hand dismissively, hopefully putting an end to the subject matter. “Grim must’ve just been yapping, you know how he is.”
Before you can even process it, Malleus grabs your hand with both of his. Shocked but not uncomfortable, you don’t deign to snatch your hand back. If you didn’t know him any better, you’d say he even looks earnest. “I would be willing to lend you my aid no matter the situation, whether the problem be big or small.”
You can’t stand to look him in the eye like this. “It’s really not that serious.”
“Tell me what is troubling you, I will have it dealt with.”
… ominous. His grip on your hands is loose, his palms warm and dry. If you don’t catch yourself, you might start to lean into him.
Also… isn’t Malleus… a dorm leader? With access to his dorm’s laundry room? Really, maybe his late night arrival was just the solution to your self inflicted problems. Is it even taking advantage of the situation if he asked you?
With strengthened resolve, you lean in conspiratorially. “Nothing I tell you can leave this room.”
---
As it turns out, Malleus does technically have access to his dorm’s laundry room. Technically.
He just doesn’t know where it is.
“Hornton, aren’t you in your third year?”
“I’m well aware,” he shoots you a look. Man alive, is he pouting? “I just rarely have a reason to come do laundry myself.”
“It’s ok,” you tell him. Roaming Diasomnia’s halls in the wee hours of the morning with a trash bag over your shoulder filled with milk soaked sheets was never on your bucket list, but at least you have company! Even if the walls are tall and cold, Malleus is like a heater by your side. “We’ll find it together.”
The two of you, notably, do not find it together.
In your defense, Diasomnia is big. Malleus might know his way around these halls, but you are notorious for your horrible sense of direction. Seriously, you might as well be in a corn maze.
By the time you’ve scoured what you think is the entirety of the upper levels of Diasomnia, you’re about ready to throw in the towel. Far be it from you to ignore the sweet call of sleep.
“Malleus, I think we should just leave it,” you murmur. “With the way things are, I’ll be ok sleeping on the ground.”
You would not be fine on the ground, actually. But you are nothing if not a liar and exhausted.
“I suppose we should check the basement before we give up,” he hums.
…
You do not want to check the basement. The apprehension must show on your face, because all Malleus does is laugh. This man laughs at you.
“Worry not,” he breathes out between chuckles, “I won’t let any harm befall you.”
How comforting.
The door to Diasomnia’s basement is just like the rest of the dorm: cold and tall and imposing. When Malleus reaches out to open it, the door creaks open itself. Creepy.
“Can I let you go down by yourself and I stay up here with the living?”
Malleus casts you a sidelong glance. “The safest place is by my side.”
You can’t even respond, snarky or otherwise, because he’s not wrong.
“You go first,” you pat his arm. That way, if anything jumps out at you, he’ll get the brunt of the attack. “I’ll be right behind you.”
When Malleus takes the first step, you think you can hear an ominous thudding. But that’s probably just the paranoia speaking.
Your descent down the stairs is marked by you cowering behind Malleus and jumping every time you think you feel something ghosting over your shoulders. On the bright side, the basement seems to be well lit with torches.
When you make it to the bottom, you take a moment to examine your surroundings. It’s an open room, marked with chairs and a stack of baskets lined up against one wall. Along the opposite wall, however, stands the prize that you’ve been searching for all this time. Your long lost lover…
A row of washing machines.
“Oh finally!”
You don’t hesitate to run over to the first washing machine you see, tossing the trash bag you’ve been carrying over your shoulder onto the ground as you shed tears of relief. Not literally though, because you can only stand to embarrass yourself so many times in one night.
Malleus hovers behind you while you punch in the code for the rinse cycle and load the machine. He offers to help, but drops it when you almost bite his hand. No way are you letting him in close proximity to your dirty laundry. Once you’ve finished loading everything up and have slammed the lid to the machine shut, you get up to face him again.
“Well Malleus, I think we did good here today,” you nod, satisfied with the outcome of your journey. “I’m glad we could discover the location of Diasomnia’s laundry room together.”
“Dismissing me already? Humans can be so cruel,” he offers his hand to you, leading you to the seats on the other side of the room. “I believe you still have quite some time left before this load is finished.”
“Don’t remind me,” you whisper. As soon as your back hits the chair, you’re slumped over. It doesn’t help that Malleus is so warm next to you. “I’m exhausted.”
Malleus hums. “Then rest. I’ll wake you when the time comes.”
---
You wake up to your alarm sprawled over Ramshackle’s couch, a gray quilt tucking you so tightly you almost fall off the couch trying to get out of it.
On the table next to you are your clean folded sheets and a note.
Thank you for the company last night… I enjoy our time together greatly. I suppose the time to wake you never came. Apologies.
You don’t think he’s very sorry at all.
#malleus draconia#malleus x reader#malleus draconia x reader#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#*shakes hands*#i made this b4 i fixed my intro post so if u click on my blog no u didn't
271 notes
·
View notes
Text
Not Special
The refueling station was on a small moon in the back end of nowhere, close to nothing but a couple of wormhole junctions. Since it had a little convenience store and everything, it really gave off “7/11 next to a desert highway” vibes. Just, y’know, in space. The moon wasn’t big enough for proper gravity or air on its own, so someone had installed a gravity generator under the dusty red ground. And turned it up just a smidge too high, but I wasn’t going to complain.
I was going to buy pre-packaged alien snacks at the store while my coworkers handed the refueling. Mimi was calling the shots, tentacles waving and gravelly voice audible from here, while the Frillian twins handled the heavy lifting of connector hoses and Captain Sunlight was at the payment kiosk. The others were either staying onboard or already browsing the aisles.
I’d just picked up a pack of something colorful (doing an artful fumble-and-recovery because of the gravity) when a rowdy group of Armorlites trooped in. I didn’t pay them too much attention — just a bunch of macho dinosaurs with holstered blasters and bipedal swagger; totally normal here — but one of them said something that brought me up short.
“Hey look, another human,” said the cheerful voice. “Maybe you can get some tips on how not to be such a disappointment.” Raucous laughter followed.
I frowned in their direction and saw that they did have a human with them: a pale and unassuming guy just a bit shorter and stockier than me. He looked annoyed by the comment, but not surprised.
When he walked over to me, I asked, “What’s that about?” The Armorlites were already ignoring him.
The guy sighed. “They heard a lot of stories about humans before they hired me, and I don’t meet their expectations.”
“What kind of stories?”
“Humans doing daring things, like running for hours to get medicine to dying people, catching a diseased rat before it infected an entire space station, throwing fruit at charging fauna hard enough to make it leave…” He ticked things off on his fingers. “Exorcizing a ghost, and riding a hoversled like a skateboard fast enough to catch a bomb before it blew up. How am I supposed to compete with that?” He threw his hands in the air.
“Um,” I said, putting down the snack I was still holding. “Would it make it better or worse to know those were all the same person?”
“What?”
“The rat wasn’t actually diseased, the ghost was a howling dog, and I didn’t know the thing was explosive when I rushed to catch it,” I said. “And I wasn’t the only person throwing things at the fauna.”
“What?” he repeated, with a spread-arms gesture that smacked into the shelf. Rubbing his hand, he asked, “That was all you?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “Unless there are other humans doing the same things, which is possible.”
He raked fingers through his hair, setting it at odd angles. “I can’t believe this. I’d tell them, but they’d just want to hire you instead.”
I rushed to assure him, “I’ve got a job already, and I don’t want to take yours.” I glanced over at the Armorlites, who were grabbing food and accessories. One clicked a flashlight on in another’s face, prompting curses from him and laughter from the others. That tracked from what I’d seen of Armorlite culture before. Toughness was important. Kindness, not so much. “What do you do for them?”
He sighed again. “Bookkeeping, officially. They needed somebody to handle the boring stuff like money and permits while they focus on hunting the biggest animals they can sell.”
“Gotcha. That sounds … exciting.”
“It’s not. It’s like going on a trip with my cousins again, except they’re even bigger and make fun of me for not having claws.”
“You’ve got other stuff going for you, though!” I said. “We just need to figure which of your differences they’ll respect most.”
“I’m all ears,” he said with a certain level of sarcasm. “Please tell me what about my fragile human physique will get me respect from the Mighty.”
Oh right, they did call themselves that. I’d almost forgotten. At least they were a straightforward species without a lot of mysterious depths.
“Well,” I said, thinking. “They like fighting. You’re more suited to stealth than they are, small enough to hide and do sneak attacks that they wouldn’t see coming. What if you introduced them to rubber band warfare, and sniped from hidden parts of the ship?”
“Nope,” he said. “That would just end with me cornered somewhere, and them showing off how even thin scales are tougher than my skin.”
“Good point. Oh! What kind of animals do they hunt? You said big ones, but do you know the specific names?” I got out my phone and brought up the database of known fauna that I’d talked Captain Sunlight into buying for me. As her own hired animal expert, it was really the kind of thing that I should have. My vet training on Earth only went so far.
“Uhhh, I think the last one was a treehorn,” he said. “Wait, they talked about going for Argoshan Dagger Birds next.”
“Right. Now what kind of noises do those make…” I typed quickly. Big creatures indeed, by the looks of it: Dagger Birds had prevented more than one colony from getting a foothold in the wilds of a nearby world, and were unlikely to stop being a threat anytime soon. I skimmed the rundown for the vocal files. “Here we go. Mating call.” Keeping the sound low enough for just us to hear, I played the croaking warble.
“Okay?” the guy said, confused.
“Can you imitate that?” I asked. “Give it a shot. Kinda like a frog. Woarrrk.”
Looking skeptical, he did. The expression on his face said he wasn’t impressed with his own efforts, but it sounded accurate enough to me.
“Great!” I said. “Give that a bit of practice, then you can go out with your crew and impress everybody by luring in some targets for them.”
“I could,” he said thoughtfully. “I usually stay on the ship while they’re hunting, but it might be worth a try. Can I have a copy of that sound for practice?”
He got out his own phone and I played it again so he could record it. The Armorlites were dumping things onto the front counter, ready to pay and leave. I caught sight of bright packaging that I recognized, and I had another idea.
“Thanks,” the guy said. “This might actually help. What was your name?”
“Robin Bennett,” I said with a belated handshake.
“Oscar Tennyson,” he replied. “Thanks for your help. Looks like I should grab my stuff and get going.”
“Before you go. See those tall cans with the purple labels?” I pointed at something the Armorlites were buying.
“Yeah?”
“Have you ever tried that?”
“No! They get wasted on it; I’ve steered far clear.”
I grinned with all my teeth. “That’s not alcohol. That’s caffeine.”
“What?”
“Humans can process caffeine better than most species on our own planet, and just about everybody in space. It’s a poison to most. It gets them super drunk, but for you—” I pointed at him with glee. “For you, it’s just a bit of energy. Pick your moment, then walk in casually while they’re getting wasted, and slam one down. See what happens.”
He was smiling now. “You’re sure? It’s really just caffeine? How much?”
“I checked into it before. One of those huge cans is like a watered-down coffee. These guys are absolute lightweights, and they don’t even know.”
He grinned to split his face. “That is the best news.”
One of them called for him to hurry up, and he bid me a quick goodbye before scampering off. I saw him grab food cubes, water, and a six-pack of caffeine, which he bundled onto the counter as the Armorlites headed out the door.
“Be right there! Just getting some stuff!”
They didn’t look, simply telling him not to waste any time. He smiled his way through the purchase.
Peeking over the shelves, I smiled too. Then I went back to my own purchases, with thoughts of getting an energy drink or two in his honor.
~~~
These started as backstory tidbits for the main character from this book, and turned into a sprawling adventure series in their own right. The sequel book will feature a return of some familiar faces. And Patreon is coming soon — even the free tier will be a handy way to keep up with the ongoing shenanigans of this particular human in space.
#my writing#The Token Human#humans are weird#haso#hfy#eiad#humans are space orcs#writeblr#writblr#very excited about the Patreon you guys#that free tier didn't use to be an option#but for anyone who'd like to catch the new story each time one goes up#that's the place to go#the higher tiers have additional cool things#more details to come
190 notes
·
View notes
Text
"If so can I do a gn s/o who's very protective of them hcs n a scenario plsss"- requester
Protective
Hua Cheng x gn!reader x Xie Lian
So I don't if you want like a normal protective reader or like a crazy one sooo I went with the normal one, thank you for waiting so long and I hope you like it
Ignore grammar mistakes
Might be short
____________________________________
Xie Lian and Hua Cheng are very happy. Of course they are and they're even more happy when they gain a third lover in the relationship.
You!
Xie Lian is selfless and Hua Cheng is a devotee.
You are also very devoted to your lovers.
You and Hua Cheng are similar, both of you are protective.
Over each other and definitely over Xie Lian
Even though Xie Lian is perfectly capable of taking care of himself.
Xie Lian spends a lot of his time trying to calm you two down or telling you guys it isn't a big deal.
Hua Cheng is obedient. He listens and he'll settle down if that's what his gege wants
Not you though, nah if someone has a personal problem against Xie Lian or Hua Cheng they have a problem with you.
You usually have a good temper, and are very patient.
You're completely different when it comes to other people though.
Xie Lian is very kind and people try to take advantage of that, Hua Cheng is so focused on you two that he doesn't know when someone is clearly picking on him. That's alright you'll take care of it.
Loose temper and quick to fight
You definitely get in a lot of fights in the heavens more than anywhere else
It's not like there's any consequences!
Except Xie lian makes some 😔
Had to get you on a leash before the heavens got upset.
You just throw hands with anyone
Soooo now you can't anymore. Now you just resort to arguing with people and hurting them with your silver tongue
You love them very much and it's not your fault you want to protect them
At the end of the day they love you very much and they know someone will always be there to protect them.
🦊🪷
It was supposed to be a good day, strolling around ghost city. Nothing bad can happen there since Hua Cheng literally owns it. So the three of you are very comfortable in taking strolls. In ghost city it's also rare for you to get into a fight so Xie Lian and Hua Cheng prefer to hang out here.
So a pretty normal, good day. Or not! The three of you were strolling and the city is crowded with people and stalls so sometimes you bump into other people by accident. Only sometimes though! Someone passed by and purposefully shoved against Hua Cheng, and even sent your lover a nasty look! but he's more focused on Xie Lian. The person has walked between them both so he isn't even concerned about himself.
It's not hard to tell it's a heavenly official who took the opportunity they could to try and pick on an all powerful calamity. They aren't getting by you though. No way! "Hey you! Yeah you! the official in the mask which is doing an awful job at hiding your nasty face, come here!"
The official has never meant to get caught, it's not good to be revealed in the middle of ghost city but you grab him by the hair and drag him back over to the three of you. "Say you're sorry. How dare you try to pick on Crimson Rain"
Honestly it wasn't that big of a deal but heavenly officials are always looking down on your lovers it isn't fair! The man quickly mutters out pleas and apologies so you let him go
When you turn back to your lovers, Xie Liam has his hands on his hips though and you flush, looking at the floor. You hadn't meant to lose your temper so fast. "Sorry" you rub the back of your neck but your embarrassment is quickly shaken away when you look at Hua Cheng.
Hua Cheng is blushing, his eye wide and blinking at you. Hua Cheng is only enabling you really, how dare he look so cute. He can't help it though. No one has ever chosen to protect him and especially over such little things. It feels nice. He's too cute so you grab him by the face and give him a kiss.
Xie Lian shakes his head and sighs. All of you go back to paradise manor and you're definitely getting in trouble.
____________________________________
It was hella short but 🙏 I hope it's good anyway.
#tgcf#tgcf x male reader#tgcf headcanon#hualian x reader#hualian#hua cheng x reader#tgcf hua cheng#tgcf hualian#tgcf xie lian#xie lian x reader#tgcf x reader
208 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
fishdaia
Always sleepy
alterralandscaping
Alterra Landscaping
acornbringer
Acorn Bringer
maria-yubikiri
Just A Side Blog
nailyantena2-blog
おしゃれさんの集まり