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jinuaei · 2 months

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Cleaning up

Yandere! Husband! Alastor x Fallen Angel! Accidental Spouse! Reader

Part 1 --- Additional art

Maybe it was a bad idea to be married to this man. You thought as you saw other demons run away and cower from him, you would have also ran with them if only the person that everyone is so terrified of wasn't holding your arm hostage.

It would have been embarrassing getting dragged around by this tall deer if it wasn't the fact that you're also pissing yourself sacred. But the good thing is he actually believes that you are his ‘spouse’, so you don't think you'll be hurt…much. Besides, he’s such a gentleman that he gave you his coat to cover up your wings so that it wouldn't be exposed to any more harm.

After a while of trying not to trip, actually stumbling, and Alastor dragging you up again and again, you manage to notice the change of scenery, from tall depressing buildings to smaller, more quaint establishments. The demons that also frequent the streets changed from shark demons, to red imps, and finally to black eyed demons with sharp teeth.

Well, at least they look friendly.

“This place here is the cannibal town! We’ll be visiting a good friend of mine, I’m sure she’ll be able to clean you up in no time!” your ‘husband’ exclaimed.

I reclaim that statement.

The town is charming, and rather calming in contrast to that chaotic, overstimulating city you crashed landed in. Despite being in hell, there were flowers growing here, clearly being taken care of wonderfully by the citizens of this town. Vintage cars roam around the road and you see children playing in the parks you've passed through. It’s almost identical to what you see in heaven, but more demonic and nobody uses cars because well, everybody has wings. When you are reminded about the wings, yours twitches in response, rubbing against the deer’s coat. Because of that, feathers, still stained with blood, fall off. Alastor’s shadow tendril grabs it midair and pockets it into his trousers.

Finally, the radio demon abruptly stops, giving you enough time to stabilize yourself properly. With a wave of his hand he shows off to you a building named ‘Franklin and Rosie Emporium’, and you notice on the side there is a huge line of people waiting to enter. Whatever they sell here must be quite popular. Now that you think about it, it might be related to the ‘cannibalism’ part of the town.

Alastor must be important here because people moved away from him as he waltzed through the entrance and into the door. As soon as you both step in, an exclamation of his name catches both of you and your ‘husbands’ attention.

“Oh Alastor! It's always a delight when you come to visit the Emporium, how have you been? And oh! Who is this adorable birdie? Though they look absolutely filthy,” the demon steps into the view, a sweet looking lady with a polite smile who gingerly holds your hands.

“Rosie, meet mon cher, sent by the heavens to become my beloved spouse,” the radio demon lifts up your chin with his fingers, moving your head side to side as if to show you off to Rosie, “Also, would you be a dear and help them clean up? I expect my spouse to be absolutely pristine considering they're married to the greatest radio host of all time!”

“Well, I’ll be delighted to play dress-up with the sweet thing, maybe you can run to the tailors real quick and find them new clothes too.”

Agreeing to that, Alastor waves you goodbye and leaves, Rosie then ushers you to follow her while shouting at Franklin to man the store while she's out. You both emerge to a room above the shop, Rosie leading you to a spare bedroom with an en suite bathroom. It's quite homey, with mostly red as its main colour, other than that, nothing stands out to you.

“You can stay here for the time being as you wait for your husband, bathrooms over there, and there should be bandages and such under the sink. I will be down below to help Franklin with the customers, just find me if you need help!” Rosie closes the door to the room and leaves you to your lonesome. It's time to clean up, you think.

Stepping into the normal looking bathroom, a bathtub greeted you, thankfully it's big enough to fit you and your broken wings. You absentmindedly fill up the tub as you think back to before you fell, trying to determine what happened to cause you to fall from heaven's graces. Nothing comes to mind and eventually the tub fills up.

Shrugging off your ripped clothes and Alastor's coat, you sink into the water, seeping into the open wounds on your body. As much as you want to climb out the tub, it's important to rid yourself first from the golden blood and debris that cover you. You look over your whole body under the tainted water, you are covered in cuts and bruises but other than that, there's no concerning wounds to be found. Well, other than the numbing pain of your wings. Now that you think about it, your halo has been missing the whole trip. You can sense that it's there, but you cannot feel it above you, nor do you see it illuminate the room.

Maybe it's just hidden?

As you think that, the halo starts to manifest just above you, the glow weaker and flickering just slightly as if it's a broken bulb. You frown at the sheer difference from when you were in heaven, when it was incredibly bright, the other angels would tease you for being a walking lighthouse sometimes. When you lift up your hand to touch the halo, you notice a mark on your ring finger. Looking closer, it seems like a tattoo, of two snakes twisting into something akin to chains. How odd.

A knock pulls you out from your thoughts and a voice from the other room calls out to you.

“I’ll be leaving out your clothes on the bed my dear, Rosie will come by in a moment to help you with your hair!”

You quickly finish the bath and stumble in front of the mirror. Eyes darting to your mirrored self, you gaze upon the broken wings and dim halo, you are ashamed to see what you are now. Though you have done nothing to cause the fall, you still feel the undeserved guilt of being wrong. Ingrained to you during your time alive and dead, but you yourself know you've been good, so why berate yourself over other people's definition of good and evil?

Still, you try to will away the angelic limbs attached to you, and are successful in hiding it, leaving only red patches of burned skin on your back. Thankfully, you were able to soothe the irritated skin and patch up the area fairly well.

You close the door behind you and check out the clothes Alastor got for you, it's similar to his in design but also suited to you. How he was able to get your size right you're not sure. Regardless, it fits you perfectly, and there's even an opening at the back for your wings, though you've already willed it away, still you appreciate the sentiment.

“Are you done honey?” a knock reverberates in the room and you answer with a ‘come in!’. Rosie does and is pleasantly surprised at the lack of wings on your back. You remember the coat left in the bathroom and grab it, shrugging it on to cover the exposed skin and bandages.

The cannibal guides you to the vanity, starting to brush your hair.

“So you're Al’s little angel hm? How’d he manage to catch such a cutie pie?” The woman's Boston accent grabs your attention from the various tools in front of you.

“Well… As he said earlier I’ve been assigned to him as his spouse haha…” you laugh awkwardly,”but enough about me! How about Alastor…What is he like?”

“Oh! He’s such a sweetheart! Well he is an Overlord, he eats other demons, and kills for fun, but don't you worry about that! You're his darling, he wouldn't do anything to harm you. You're in good claws sweetie.”

“Sorry, what???”

“Hm?”

Rosie just smiles at you before finishing up your look. And might you say, looking at the mirror you look absolutely breathtaking. Coming out of the room, you find Alastor in the kitchen cooking. The smell wafting around the house is magnificent, you are reminded how hungry you are after falling from heaven.

“There you are my dear, I made some Jambalaya for you! My momma always said once I got my own cherie I should always provide for them for the rest of our days. So, expect more of this dear,” the man hums an upbeat tune as he gives you a plate of the food.

Adorably, he wears a yellow apron that says ‘Deer-est cook’ at the front, you also notice that he had his hair up with a ribbon in a low ponytail.

You were excited to consume the meal right in front of you but then you remember where in hell you are now.

“...Did you put demon meat in the Jambalaya…?”,eyes glancing up at him, the question lingers in the air as he catches your eyes and stares back, still smiling. A few unnerving seconds pass before he answers with a ‘of course not!’

You breathe out in relief and trust your so-called ‘husband’.

Or maybe I shouldn't trust what he says, but he's still staring, what if he gets angry that I won't eat it?? Oh heavens, please forgive me.

With closed eyes, you finally bite down on the food. Praying to all things holy, hoping that you did not do anything blasphemous by accidentally eating demon meat, you find yourself pleasantly surprised at how delicious it was. You almost forget proper etiquette when you start ravenously gulping down the rest of the food.

The demon before you chuckles in delight at the sight of you enjoying your food. As much as he would like to feed you his exotic diet, he would rather not force you to do anything you don't want to. And oh…the pleased shiver that ran down his spine at the trust you've shown him by not questioning him any further regarding the meal was truly delicious.

Dear angel… MY dear angel. How perfect you are… I'll never let you go. After all, you were made for me weren't you?

“I forgot to tell you how absolutely darling you are in that outfit! I must say I have quite the taste! Haha!” he laughs at his joke,“might I ask where your wings are? I could’ve sworn it was there when I left! Unless you cut it off? You should’ve asked me though, I’m sure your wings would be a delicacy…”

“I was able to hide it, I don’t want to be a walking target you know? An angel down in hell seems like a bad thing to be.”

“Oh don’t worry about being a target! I’ll kill whoever tries to even look at you wrongly,” crooning at you, he brushes away invisible dust on his coat, “also you may keep my coat dear, it’ll be a good way to show people that you belong to me now, that is until I can find a ring worthy enough to be worn by you!”

“I-uh thank you…”

Crap. If I don't escape soon I'll be officially married to him. Then again…if he keeps cooking me good food I guess it won't be too bad…

With that in mind, you hope your future will be brighter than your descent to hell.

A/N GODDD THAT TOOK SO LONG. Honestly, the more people kept asking for part 2 the less inclined I was to actually make one but here I am.

That being said, I will be making more fics at my own pace. Finals is coming up so please do not expect new parts for this fic. Truth is ITS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE MULTIPLE PARTS! It was merely an idea I had while I was in an art block. Nonetheless I hope you enjoyed it :DD

(I unfortunately do not do taglists)

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#yandere alastor #yandere alastor x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #yandere hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader

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depresseddepot · 2 years

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we caught a baby numbered three

#its officially been a year since that kitten was in my engine and ran away and ive been haunted by brown and white kittens since #i find them passed away on the road or running away from me all the time and now this baby shows up trying to find toby #because its lonely and scared and starving #but this one. i saved this one.#not to be dramatic but that engine kitten fucked me up and maybe this can be my penance #idk if we're keeping it bc toby gets ill when he gets stressed but we'll have to see #i am. so relieved.#also to clarify: this baby looks and sounds and is the EXACT same age as the baby in my engine.#i saw a picture a long time ago with three cats and two of them looked exactly like my cats and one was brown and white #and from then on i was always like 'huh. maybe ill be getting another cat someday?' and. low and behold. here's the brown and white one #god the cat in the engine fucked me up SO badly. i hope they're doing okay.#im playing it lord huron and calling it three for now but that name won't stick with my parents lmao we'll see #i won't name it for real unless i know we're keeping it

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astairo · 7 months

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The Baker and The Choclatier II

Wonka (2023) x Reader

Part I

Warnings: fluff, little angst

Y/n was contemplating Willy’s offer. She wanted better than running a bakery to provide for her lousy husband. Gallery Gourmet has been one of Y/n’s dreams since she was little. It would be a shame to turn down such an offer, but she couldn't stop thinking of her husband.

Despite his lousiness, she didn't want to leave him; not like that.

Willy told her to meet him at the station by the end of the week. If she showed, she’d leave to roam the streets of Gallery Gourmet with him; if Y/n didn't, she’d stay miserable. Sometimes Y/n wished she wasn't an empathetic person; it would make decisions like this simpler. Is it better to be selfish than empathetic for once? she thought.

If she goes to Gallery Gourmet with Willy, she’ll leave and risk losing everything. She pondered and pondered about her husband, knowing she wouldn't benefit much if she stayed. She knew leaving was the best choice for a better life. She ultimately decided she was leaving with the strange chocolatier. She decided to be selfish for once.

She gave her husband two days to see if she was carrying on with leaving, only to catch him with a woman at the pub across the street. She didn't care; she was getting on that train to leave it all behind. She was going to be free, and she was going to feel alive. It was time to fulfill some ambitions of hers: to feel loved.

She left him a letter the night before she left. She explained everything, even leaving him the bakery as a source of income. She stood outside her bakery, her home, for the last time. She smiled and picked up her bags, it was time for the adventures that awaited her.

She stood at the station with her head tall and waited for the odd chocolatier. She was startled to feel a tap on her shoulder, turning around for her e/c eyes to find ecstatic green ones. “You actually came!” He beamed as Y/n began to smile. She observed his jumpy behavior. Something about his ecstasy made her happy.

“You managed to convince me,” she admitted, perking up at the whistling of the train. Willy noticed this and grinned, “Are you ready to explore a world of pure imagination with me?” Y/n’s eyes twinkled at his words, “Will it be paradise?” Willy chuckled at her expression, offering his hand to her, “Let’s take a look and find out for ourselves.” She smiled and eagerly took his hand, feeling the fuzzy feeling course through her body once more.

Unfortunately for them, there wasn’t a train that would go straight to Gallery Gourmet. The two found themselves walking out of a station in a town miles away from Y/n’s. They stood waiting in the snow on the side of the road. Y/n couldn’t help but notice the glances Willy sent her way. She liked the feeling of his eyes on her.

After a few moments, she noticed the street light above Willy’s head grow brighter, along with his head perking up. “Are you alright?” She asked, slightly concerned at his expression. He nodded as his eyes trailed off to an approaching delivery truck, “I got an idea.” Y/n’s eyes looked and widened when she realized, “Absolutely not!” Willy chuckled at her exclamation, “It’s the only way to get there other than walking.” He grabbed her wrists despite her protests, running to climb the brick wall the truck was approaching. Y/n tightened her grip on him, causing him to wrap an arm around her waist. She looked at the approaching truck, feeling her legs go uneasy at the thought. Just as the truck approached, the two quickly took a step forward off the wall and onto the truck.

Y/n let out a shaky breath of relief as she settled down onto the roof of the cold truck. She fixed her suitcases, making sure they wouldn’t slide off as the truck moved. “You’re crazy, Wonka,” she chuckled as the adrenaline wore down. Minutes passed and Y/n started to feel cold, the cold air harshly hitting her skin. Willy noticed this and quickly took his magenta coat off, “You’ll need it more than I do.” She felt him drape the coat over his shoulders, warmth enveloping her. Clichè, she thought and smiled, pulling the coat closer to her.

Hours felt like minutes as the two chatted with each other. She smiled and looked up, eyes widening. “Willy, look!” Y/n gasped in awe at the sight. “Gallery Gourmet!” She pointed at the bright town. Willy kept his eyes on her, smiling at the smile she wore, “Absolutely divine.” She smiled brighter when they got inside, “This is unreal, Willy! It hasn’t lost its touch.” He chuckled and grasped a lamp post, using it to get down. He quickly assisted Y/n down after. “Thank you,” she smiled at him. Willy grinned and nodded.

The two walked through the beautiful streets, gawking at the sights. It was the place to be.

Y/n thanked the vendor before heading back to Willy, balancing two churros and hot chocolates in her hands. As she made her way back, she found him gazing at a big shop in the town’s center. She looked at the shop, smiling at the sight. It was perfect for his chocolate business, but it wasn’t going to be easy to manage alone. She snapped out of her thoughts when a police officer tapped Willy’s shoulder, breaking him from his daydream. “No daydreaming,” the officer spoke, pointing to a three-pound penalty sign.

She giggled and watched as Willy scrambled his pockets for three pounds, ultimately paying his fine. Once the officer left, Y/n walked over and handed him his churro and hot chocolate. He smiled, thanking her for her generosity. The two sat on a bench as they ate, occasionally talking about what to do next. “We need somewhere to stay, Willy,” she spoke as she realized. He nodded as he noticed her worry, quickly reassuring her, “Leave it to me, gumdrop. I’ll figure it out.”

Y/n felt her cheeks heat up at the nickname, “Gumdrop?” Willy chuckled at her flustered state, “You’re as sweet as one, I like to think.” She smiled at his words, “Thank you, Willy. You’re a real charmer.” He flashed her a smile, blushing at the compliment. The two eventually started roaming the streets again, ready for their awaiting adventure.

Y/n suggested dropping their stuff at a nearby lodging house, and Willy quickly agreed. After they had dropped their belongings off, Willy had planned to talk with the shop director. He wanted to talk about the shops, about one shop in particular. Y/n stood to the side of the room as she listened to them converse about the shop. Their negotiation quickly came to a close when the man spoke familiar words, “You can’t get a shop if you don’t sell chocolate, and you can’t sell chocolate without a shop.” This frustrated Willy even more.

“You say that, but how does that help me get a shop?” He snapped. The shop director leaned forward, “Look, Mr. Wonka, I see your dreams have potential, but for you to be rewarded with a shop, especially this one, you need to show me that that dreamt of potential can become reality.” Willy was quiet as he processed the director’s words. “Out of all the people I’ve talked to, you should know, Ms. Y/l/n. Your idea on a chocolate fountain was surreal,” the director spoke once more, causing Willy’s ears to perk up. Y/n nodded and kept her head down, “I’m well aware, sir.”

The next thing she knew was Willy dragging her out of the office. “Why didn't you tell me you’ve been here before? That you’ve been in my shoes?” he snapped in frustration. Y/n looked down in shame, “It was a very long time ago—when young Y/n was childish and immature. Don’t you see, Willy? I’ve grown up now!” She cried. Willy looked at her sympathetically, “But you have so much beauty, talent, and potential—“ “You think I don’t know that?” She cut him off. “I had a plan, Willy. I was going to have the greatest chocolate shop the world had ever seen,” she sadly admitted.

“Then why didn’t you? You were right there! What could’ve stopped you, having you run a bakery instead? What stopped you from being the greatest chocolatier the world would’ve seen?” Willy begged with desperate eyes. Y/n sighed, “It’s stupid—“ “Please, gumdrop,” he begged. She looked up at him, “I met my ex-husband soon after I negotiated on a shop I wanted here.” She sat down on a bench in shame and regret, “I was so close, Willy,” she looked at him, “I just needed to turn in my paperwork.” Her words were shaky as she remembered everything like it was yesterday. “I forgot all about the paperwork,” she admitted. “He took all my time, and I wasn’t able to complete them before the deadline,” her hands clenched into fists as she spoke. “Due to unfinished paperwork, I wasn’t able to get the shop,” her voice trembled at the memories.

“I loved him so much,” she paused, swallowing. “I loved him so much that I gave up on my dream,” she mumbled, trying to avoid eye contact.

Willy looked at her sympathetically, “Do you regret it?” Y/n looked at him, letting out a shaky breath, “Sometimes.” Willy sighed and shook his head, “You shouldn’t have, gumdrop,” he spoke with slight disappointment as he sat down next to her. “I know,” she looked at him with glossy eyes. He quickly embraced her, muttering soft, reassuring words in her ear.

The two stayed embracing for a while before Willy spoke up, “Don’t worry, gumdrop.” Y/n perked up at his words, “What?” Willy looked at her, “I’ll get you that shop, and it’ll be ours to run,” he told her. Y/n’s eyes widened, “But it’s your dream—“ “And I intend to share it with you.” Willy’s words made her eyes water, “Really?” He nodded, “Really.” She sniffled and wrapped her arms around him, tears of joy running down her cheeks.

It was only a matter of time.

—

Please participate in this poll 💖 it’ll help me know what to do with this story.

#willy wonka x reader #wonka 2023 #willy wonka #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee x reader #timothee fanfic

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bitchinbarzal · 8 months

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Fuck me, I’m Famous | J Hughes

summary: jack has to come clean about who he really is and it’s not received well.

“So what do you do for work, Jack?” You ask, swirling your wine in the glass.

You watch his face contort into something resembling a thought as he said “I work in… sports”

You smile “Oh! So you’re like what? A P.E teacher or football coach?”

He swallows thickly “Something like that”

“Oh, that’s so cool! You must have so much fun with the kids” you beamed.

Jack felt bad, you seemed so interested in his fake job.

He diverted the conversation quickly “So what is it you do? Do you work with kids?”

“Oh no! I wish but in New York a teachers salary won’t cut it. I’m a financial advisor and it’s super boring”

He quirks his brow “oh really?”

“Yeah, i actually just started a new job at Prudential? I don’t know if you’ve heard of them-“

“Um Yeah actually maybe I have in passing” he chokes on his water “I think maybe I’ve heard it on the radio or something”

You look at him skeptical look “If you don’t know it’s ok” you laugh “I just moved to the city so I don’t know much about them but I think they sponsor a sports team thats local to jersey? You might know?”

Jack’s face is stuck in his water glass and he shakes his head while making a nuh-uh noise.

Pulling away he says “No, no I don’t think I have”

By the end of the night you’d left Jack with a few stray kisses and promises from him to call you.

He hadn’t called you.

You thought he was ghosting you and had checked every social media platform for a Jack Rowden but you couldn’t find anything.

He really hadn’t called because he’d been on the road for the past two weeks and forgot in the run up to the cup and all the drama surrounding it.

Your boss had invited you out after work with the team, telling you it was a game for the team the organization sponsored.

You’d been given a jersey, the red with the number 86 on the back with the name Hughes written in white.

“So you’ve really never watched Hockey?” Your boss asked, laughing at the way you ogled at the arena below your box.

“No! Never! This looks awesome! And we sponsor this whole thing?”

Your never ending array of questions had to stop the moment the lights switched off and the jumbotron lit up with the teams intro.

You watched like a child at a show, your eyes lit up. Then his face appeared across the screen, your smile dropped and your eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

You watched as Jack’s highlight reel played on the screen then his smiling face came on at the end with his name — HUGHES

Throughout the entirety of the game you had a scowl on your face, truly hurt by his actions.

During the third period during a break in play the jumbotron showed random clips of the crowd. Jack was huffing and puffing on the bench, watching the screen when your face appeared.

Jack’s eyes went wide as he studied your pissed off expression surrounded by your colleagues all waving for the camera.

At the end of the game, Jack changed as quick as possible and ran out to the parking lot he knew the sponsors were able to park.

He ran down, spotting you headed for your car

“Did you know?!” He shouts, his voice bouncing off the walls and echoing.

You turn around, glaring at him “No, I didn’t know! And no thanks to you for lying — I was here for work! I was completely embarrassed!”

Jack shrinks at the tone in her voice “I’m sorry, okay?”

You chuckle and shake your head “It’s a bit late now, Jack Hughes”

He hears the iciness in your words “I’ve told women before about my career and they’ve just used me for fame!”

You were now close enough to touch, he reached out and you recoiled “Does that give you a pass to lie to me? Did I give you that impression?”

“No! No, of course not! Y/N, i’m sorry I should’ve been honest with you from the very beginning” he admits, he feels like he’s loosing you.

For the first time in a long time he actually liked someone and now he’d messed it all up.

Tears began welling in your eyes as it dawned on you “Were you ghosting me? Did you lie to me because you planned to never see again?”

It then dawned on Jack just how long it had been since he had texted you, scrambling to grab his phone out of his pocket and scrolling through your texts.

“No, no! I didn’t-“

You put your hand up to stop him “Forget about it, Jack” and turned to find your car.

“Please, stop!” He begged, running down after you.

“Forget it Jack! Go lie to someone else and leave me alone!” You cried.

“I really like you, Y/N!” He replied, finger hooking under your chin to tilt your gaze to him “I didn’t mean to hurt you, you’re amazing I’m so sorry for what I’ve done to you”

You gaze averted to the floor and you pushed away from him “Yeah I’m sorry too”

And he watched as you climbed into your car and drove away, leaving him standing there silently begging you to turn around.

“Fuck!”

#jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #nhl imagine

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tragedybunny · 9 months

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Things my heart used to know, things it yearns to remember - Astarion x F!Reader

Astarion sometimes has trouble sleeping now that he no longer can walk in the sun.

The sun is high overhead, the daylight shining at its brightest, playing off the water dancing in the fountain below the window of your rented room. The inn is nice, the owner a sweet older lady who doesn't ask questions about unusual sleeping habits of guests. Turning back from the window, you draw the drapes over it, shutting off the light from the room. "You need to get some sleep, love."

Astarion looks up from where he was seated on the bed reading, a safe distance from errant sunbeams and sighs, reluctant even if he's clearly exhausted. "I know, you don't need to fuss over me all the time," he snaps the book shut to accent his peevish tone. You don't respond, giving his temper a moment to cool. Red eyes look down at the floor after a second, "I'm sorry darling, you know I hate it. And it feels worse today."

Ever since he had to go back to life out of the sun, sleeping has been fraught for him. Some days, like today, he's put it off for several days, and he's weary and irritable. "I know." Crossing the room, you take his hands. "It's alright,” your hands squeeze his, “but I really can’t have you on the road to Waterdeep this exhausted.” Despite the way he's changed, Astarion is Astarion, and you love all of him, even the parts that are still hurt and angry.

“Why couldn’t Gale just teleport us or something? He’s a shit wizard.” You almost retort about him insulting his friends, but then his lips reverently kiss both your hands. "Lay down with me for a little while?"

"Of course." Letting go of his hands, you wait until he's under the covers and then lay down next to him, arm wrapped protectively over him.

This has become something of a ritual between the two of you whenever he’s afraid to sleep. Some days he’s afraid he’ll wake back up in Cazador’s manor, some days it’s fear that you’ll be gone when sunset comes, and on others, it’s the memory of faces, lured to their doom in the night. Only once did you make the mistake of walking away after an argument, and leaving him trapped alone in the day. You’d found him after, curled up under a blanket, terrified you’d never come back, knowing he couldn’t even try to find you until after dark. It had taken almost a week to get him to sleep again. Gently, you kiss the top of his head and run a hand through his silver curls. “Love you Sunlight,” his eyes have finally closed and you can feel him relaxing.

“Love you too, Starry Sky.” Very softly, you start to sing a lullaby, one your favorite Nurse used to sing to you, an ancient tune, passed down for generations. Your noble parents didn’t necessarily make a loving childhood a priority, but you do have more warm memories than him, and this is one of the few ways you can share them. Fingers move from his hair to his back, tenderly stroking it while you sing. The way he responds to the old Elven song, you wonder if someone sang it to him over two hundred years ago, someone who loved him just as much as you do now.

“Promise you’ll be here when I wake up,” he murmurs, half-asleep at last.

“I promise Astarion, I’ll always be here.”

#astarion #bladur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x f!reader

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prettys0bbing · 4 months

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you could feel his eyes for the thirtieth time in the past hour. you look down at where he’s sitting on the van floor next to your leg, shooting him another warning glare. all jj could do is look at you with that shit eating grin that makes your stomach flutter. “are you sure you’re not lost bro? i feel like we’ve gone down this road about fifty times.” pope asks john b, who’s driving in the front. kiara is distracted, trying to find the directions sarah had sent them. “why are we going to some kook assholes party anyways?” jj asks the car, right before sneaking another glance at your tits.

“sarah asked us to, plus free beer.” john b shrugs as you feel jj’s head tilt onto your leg. he presses chaste kisses along your knee, obviously bored and upset about their destination. the car stops and you realize you’ve arrived. you move to grab your phone and realize it’s gone? you look around for a second before looking up. “i can’t find my phone. i’m gonna look for it and meet you guys inside.” you sigh, not even excited for the night. you look around for a little while, when you feel a hand on your shoulder. you jump before looking back.

“fuck jj!” you cry out, trying to keep your voice down when you realize it’s him. he laughs at you while crawling into the twinkie, closing the door behind him. “you ever find your phone?” he asks, settling on the floor next to you. “nope! don’t even wanna be here and now i probably left my phone all the way back at the chateau.” you whine, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you poor thing.” he chuckles, leaning forward and pulling a joint out of his pocket. “smoke your troubles away?” he takes a lighter from the cup holder up front and sparks the end, taking a hit before passing it over to you.

you take a small hit, letting yourself relax. jj moves around for a moment before pulling your phone out of his pocket. you gasp and jokingly hit his chest. “asshole! i was freaking the fuck out!” you glare at him, taking your phone and taking another hit. “wanted to get you alone and it felt like the best way to do that.” he grins at you, sliding a hand up your knee. “get me alone to do what?” you question, handing the joint back over to him. “make you feel better.” he mumbles, completely focusing on running his hands along the inside of your legs. you open them further, letting him run his hands higher, ducking underneath your skirt. he leans forward as you feed him a hit, moving so he’s in front of you. “you still in a mood princess?” he asks, moving his thumb to apply light pressure on your clit. you close your eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling. “maybe i can feel the grumpiness leaving.” you say, leaning your hips into his touch.

jj grins, hooking his fingers on the edge of your panties before pulling them down. he adjusts your hips so you’re sitting with your pussy facing him. “all for me? always forget how wet you are when you’re high.” he says, leaning down and kissing your inner thighs. he starts to kiss everywhere except for where you need him before leaning up to look at you. “perfect tits too, goddamn.” he leans up to kiss the tops of them, unable to reach more because of the shirt you’re wearing. he takes them in his hands, massaging them for a moment before reaching into your shirt. he pulls them out, adjusting your clothes so you’re still comfortable. you bite your lip, brain going fuzzy while you watch him getting ready to touch you. “jay, please. i need you.” you whine, pulling his attention away from where he was leaving a mark on your chest.

“need me yeah? where do you need me baby?” he teases, already leaning down and placing open mouthed kisses on your thighs. you lean into his touch, whining impatiently. “need you to eat me out. please jay.” you look at him, a begging tone to your voice. you barely get the words out before you feel his mouth connect to your clit. the force of the suction makes you throw your head back, moaning loud enough that anyone passing by could hear. “tastes so good.” he says against, a mischievous glint in his eye.

you grab onto his hair, steadying yourself. “god jay.” you moan, feeling his fingers teasing you as his mouth focuses on your clit. he sucks harder, thrusting two fingers inside you. “can feel you clenching around me baby. cmon, let go for me.” he coaxes, speeding his movements up. you can feel your muscles tensing under his touch, your vision getting blurry for a moment. you finish on his tongue, breathing heavily as your legs twitch slightly. you sit and breathe for a moment, breath hitching as he slides his fingers out of you and sits up. he taps your lips, signaling to open them. you listen, parting your lips so he can slide his fingers into them and allow you to taste yourself. you stare into his eyes as you move your tongue around his fingers, watching as he stares at you with a slight smirk on his face.

“are you feeling better about the party now?” jj asks, a cocky tone to his words. you nod, staring at him with delight as he fixes your clothes for you. he leans in for a kiss and you immediately sink into it. he pulls away faster than you’d like, moving towards the door and getting out before holding his hand out for you. you take it and exit the twinkie, walking up to the house with him. “have a good time in there and i’ll give you and your perfect pussy an even better time when we’re back at the chateau.” he whispers with a wink before disappearing into the crowd.

#mayspeaks! ˚✧₊⁎#obx x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank headcanon #jj maybank x reader #obx #obx smut #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank smut #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x pogue!reader

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wheres-mylove · 11 months

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damsel in distress | sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

Summary: Sihtric arrives in Winchester for Aethelflaed’s wedding, and finds a princess for himself by the way - the bride’s younger sister with a feisty temper and an overpowering desire to break Aethelred's nose. But there’s a little more to the story than just that.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my first language!

Word count: 2.9k

The young warrior stared at the ground, not daring to look his lord in the eye. He had warned him. Everyone had.

“She's gone?” Uhtred asked, trying out a sympathetic tone, realizing it was not the time to mock his friend's misplaced feelings.

“Yes, my lord,” Sihtric confirmed quietly. “The silver too, before you question me about it. Gone with her.”

“No woman, no silver,” Uhtred summarized and crossed his arms over his chest. “Just so we're clear, I would have agreed to the marriage. Suffer if you're foolish. But not for too long. You need to find someone decent.”

“We would have named our first son Uhtred, lord,” he said, absentmindedly staring ahead.

“No, you would not,” the older warrior replied, visibly grimacing.

“It doesn't matter now,” Sihtric muttered, earning a comforting pat on the shoulder and a reassuring smile from Uhtred.

“Find Finan, we'll meet in the main square.”

Sihtric Kjartansson walked gloomily ahead, pondering why he had such bad luck in life. He took out his anger on a few pebbles scattered on the dusty road. The gods were not too kind when it came to sending him a woman who...

“Sorry, sorry!” He heard a girl's voice behind him and several other irritated grunts or a hushed 'Watch out.' He turned his head slightly and it was a miracle he avoided colliding with a cloaked figure in a visible hurry.

“If you'll excuse me, lord,” the girl quickly spoke, not even bothering to give him a passing glance, squeezing past him and running into a narrow passage between a stable and a nearby dwelling.

Sihtric furrowed his brow and observed the stranger leaning against the wall, anxiously looking towards the main street. With her slightly tilted hood, he was certain she was a young woman, clearly running away from something or someone.

What was he if not a hero?

“My lady,” he began, but faltered at the sight of her angry gaze.

“Are you crazy? Go away,” she snapped, waving her hand at him dismissively. The hood fell back, revealing the girl's face in all its glory.

Sihtric didn't know what to do. The lady was beautiful. But also pissed off.

“God, you idiot,” the girl said with a heavy sigh. Then she grabbed his arm forcefully, pulling him into a dark alley with her and positioning him with his back to the street.

Sihtric still didn't quite understand what was happening. Being pushed around by a mad gorgeous woman was not part of his plans for today. He didn't have any plans at all since the last one ran off with the remnants of his wealth.

“If someone is hiding, they have a reason for it and don't want someone standing in front of them, announcing it to the world,” she scolded him like a disobedient child, and Sihtric felt himself blushing.

“Right. Makes sense. I apologize, my lady,” he stammered, not taking his eyes off her.

She was even more beautiful up close.

“Discreetly look behind you and see if a monk is coming this way,” she instructed him gravely, to which he gave her a half-surprised, half-amused look.

“A monk is leading the chase?”

“Yes, you see, I'm a witch, and I was about to be burned at the stake this afternoon.”

Sihtric chuckled softly, but he complied with her request. He thought the girl was joking, but indeed, a monk was heading their way. Slightly bewildered but definitely annoyed, he was looking around vigilantly.

“Are you really a witch?” Sihtric suddenly asked with a hint of uncertainty.

“I sacrifice boys like you,” she replied without a trace of a smile, but mischievous sparks danced in her eyes. He smirked. “But seriously, you might come in handy. The holy man won't sniff around here for long. Let’s make him look away.”

She threw her arms around his neck, and without hesitation, Sihtric placed his hands on her hips.

Only after a few heartbeats did the absurdity of the situation dawn on him. He stood very close in a dark alley with a girl whose name he didn't know, protecting her from the wrath of a monk.

“But honestly, what about your troubles?” he asked gently.

“Brother Ceolwulf sometimes gives me calligraphy lessons. My father says I scribble rather terribly. I ran away to avoid that pleasure. And apparently, Lord Aethelred is due to arrive soon,” she almost spat the name as if it left a foul taste. “Maybe I'll go see that prick. Quite a commotion over a simple farce.”

“You don't fancy lords from Mercia and royal weddings, my lady?”

The girl didn't answer; instead, she scrutinized Sihtric intently. He felt a wave of embarrassment under the piercing gaze of her sharp eyes.

“And what business does a Dane have here?” she asked after a while, smiling slightly at the sight of his blush. Brother Ceolwulf flashed behind Sihtric, so she tightened her grip and rested her head on his chest. The warrior held his breath. A stream of muffled words reached him. “No, no, you can talk; that rascal is just behind you. You could also use a bath, you know? Great, he went searching on the other side. You could also tell me your name, for the sake of appearances and decency.”

“I'm Sihtric, lady,” he said with a laugh, which (Y/N) not only heard but also felt. “Together with my lord Uhtred, we arrived…”

“Uhtred?” the girl interrupted, raising her head with surprise. “You serve Uhtred?”

“Do you know him?” Sihtric tilted his head, intrigued.

“Oh, I'm in trouble,” she said barely audible, more to herself than to him. “I have to go. I apologize for the assault.”

She took a few steps back before Sihtric panicked. He didn't know her name. He didn't know where to find her. And he definitely wanted to see her again.

“What's your name, lady?” he called after her, but she had already blended into the crowd heading to the main square. He wasn't sure if she had gone to greet Aethelred. Even if she had, he wouldn't find her in that mass.

Brother Ceolwulf came to the same conclusion. The reprimand for the princess of Wessex would have to wait.

The delicate fabric of her blue dress fluttered with each touch of the wind as she gracefully crossed the courtyard. They strolled towards the main hall.

“I only have two options: jump out the window or become a nun,” Princess (Y/N) announced in a calm manner.

“Only jump out the window, my dear,” Father Beocca specified. “Nuns would chase you with crosses and torches in their hands.”

(Y/N) looked at the priest. He had an amused expression. And a soft spot for the princess. According to Alfred's commands, he shouldn't tolerate certain behaviors and opinions. But how dull it would be if he asked her to stifle her carefreeness and restrain her sharp tongue.

“I was just praying a moment ago.”

“Yes, with the intention of our heavenly father making your sister run away from the altar.”

Aethelflaed didn't run away from the altar. She paid no mind to her sister's efforts, who, with sheer willpower, tried to steer her away from it. (Y/N) saw that the bride was enchanted by her groom, and she wanted nothing but all the happiness this world could fit for her. But something in the back of her mind warned her about Aethelred. An unbearable premonition. She blinked a few times, telling herself that she simply didn't consider any man worthy of her dearest sister's hand.

She scanned the gathered guests with her gaze. At the back of the hall, she spotted Uhtred. She nodded at him slightly. He raised an eyebrow with a smile. They had last seen each other when she was a little girl and kicked him in the leg. She wondered if he still limps.

And then she noticed Sihtric.

The warrior paled the moment he saw her standing side by side with the king.

His stranger. The king's daughter. The princess.

Only he could have such damn luck.

“It's her. The girl I told you about. It's her!” He nudged Finan's arm, to which the latter chuckled.

“Sure. Your whole story sounds shady already. Don't involve noble families in it.”

“I'm telling the truth!”

“I believe ya. Yesterday, for example, when little ol’ me was drinking beer with king Alfred…”

Sihtric sighed, but he didn't try to convince his friend anymore. He didn't register the entrance of the bride or a word spoken during the ceremony, and especially not Finan's mocking. His eyes were fixed on the princess in the blue gown. He held his breath when she finally looked at him. She smiled faintly but immediately averted her gaze, with a violent blush on her cheeks.

Sihtric Kjartansson felt his heart beat stronger.

Uhtred embraced the princess with laughter, still wondering how she had transformed so quickly from a snotty child into a breathtaking woman.

Sihtric paid special attention to that breathtaking part, as he was having trouble with that.

“The older you get, the uglier you become. Good to see you, Uhtred,” she greeted him politely. The man snorted and gestured towards his companions.

“Princess (Y/N), these are my friends…”

“Sihtric,” she greeted, bowing her head. He smiled widely, and Finan's jaw dropped, before he realized he should probably bow too. The idiot wasn't lying. Unbelievable.

“Do you know each other?” Uhtred furrowed his brow, looking at the young Dane, then at the princess. “Is there something I don't know?”

“Yes, we've been secret lovers for the past year,” she replied, rolling her eyes. Sihtric's face took on various shades of red, much to Finan's delight.

“You haven't changed at all,” Uhtred commented with a wave of his hand.

“I would be more at ease if this reception wasn't so dull,” she said, wistfully glancing at the cup in Uhtred's hand. “Is he watching?”

Uhtred glanced at the king and nodded. (Y/N) groaned.

“So, after Edward, it's your turn?” Uhtred inquired, earning himself a murderous glance from the princess.

“He'll probably be a twat or at least hundred years old,” she grumbled in disappointment. “Beocca presented me with a list of potential candidates. About each one, he says they are pious, as if I were looking for a personal priest and not a husband. Why can't he say that one of them is kind? Wise? Or handsome.”

She shifted her gaze to Sihtric and smiled mischieviously.

“We only hope to be invited to your wedding, Princess,” Finan laughed, observing his friend's bashful demeanor. "I'm keeping my fingers crossed that he'll be no older than ninety-nine.”

“That's kind of you. By the way, Sihtric, did you take that bath-”

“Princess!” Father Beocca called out as he passed by. “Maybe nunnery isn't the worst idea.”

Humorous remarks and a grin froze on her lips when (Y/N) looked into her sister's eyes. The food tray nearly slipped from her hands.

Aethelflaed didn't have to say anything. She didn't have to scream or complain about her misfortune. (Y/N) understood everything from that one look and felt the unpleasant sting of tears.

“I will kill him,” she declared forcefully, slamming the tray onto the wooden table with a loud bang. “I will kill that arse.”

“(Y/N), please...” Aethelflaed whispered. “It won't do any good. And I am capable of handling it myself.”

“You shouldn't even say that,” her sister protested, getting closer and gently placing her hands on Aethelflaed's cheeks. They were wet. “It's alright, sweetheart, it's alright.”

She planted a kiss on the top of her head and headed towards the door.

“Don't tell anyone, (Y/N). Especially not father,” she begged, getting up.

“I'll only speak to those who already know,” (Y/N) replied, barely containing her anger towards Aethelflaed's pathetic husband. “You're the Princess of Wessex, for God's sake. You're his woman, and he shouldn't treat you like this. He won't have a cock if he lays a hand on you again, trust me.”

“You'll get into trouble, (Y/N),” Aethelflaed warned, shaking her head nervously. “He can hurt you as well-”

The princess didn't listen, for she had already left the chamber. Blind rage consumed her, but so did a sadness so great that it was even more dangerous than her anger. She knew there was something wrong with him. She shouldn't have allowed this marriage to happen.

She should have protected her sister.

Aethelred appeared just in time. He strode down the corridor, his posture straight, absentmindedly trailing his hand along one of the tapestries.

“Lord Aethelred,” she snarled, making no effort to be polite. “I was hoping to have a word with you.”

The man turned slowly, bestowing upon her the sweetest and most deceitful smile.

“Little princess.”

(Y/N) tried to calm herself, but she wasn't making much progress.

“Let's get to the point,” she hissed, finally getting Aethelred to reveal his true face from behind the mask he wore daily at the royal court. “I saw my sister and the state she's in. I will not tolerate such insolence or cruelty. Who do you think you are? Hurt her again and I...”

That pile of shit started laughing.

“Terrifying is the barking of an angry bitch.” He took a few lazy steps in her direction. “I almost pissed myself in fear.”

“And you should, because I promise that...”

Aethelred rushed forward, pressing her against the wall with a hand around her throat.

“Well, what? What will you do? Maybe you'll switch places with her to spice up this tedious life of mine a little bit."

Sihtric wandered through the palace, looking for lord Uhtred his excuse, but in reality he hoped for an encounter with the princess. They were about to head out from Winchester soon. Leaving without saying goodbye was not something he wanted.

He found them just in time as (Y/N) pushed Aethelred back with all her might and punched him in the face. They all heard the unmistakable crunching sound.

Lord of Mercia was trying to regain his balance, clinging to his bloody face in shock.

“You whore,” he snapped, but Sihtric was already nearby, placing his hand warningly on the axe.

“Hope I misheard something,” he said to Aethelred, voice dripping with venom, and then looked at the princess. “Are you alright?”

“She broke my nose, of course she’s fine,” the man snorted, trying to stop the flow of blood. “You will answer for it. Just wait. And your heathen friends won’t rush to your rescue, I assure you.”

(Y/N) took a deep breath, holding on to the fist that struck Aethelred. She watched him leave with an absent look in her eyes, and then as if she finally registered Sihtric's presence.

If he had come a few moments earlier, he'd surely fling himself at that arsehole in her defense. But it turns out she was perfectly able to fight back. Sihtric felt a sudden surge of admiration and respect for the princess in a beautifully embroidered dress, who did not hesitate to throw a punch.

“Are you sure he didn’t do anything to you? Shall I go after him?” he asked, but instead of answering, (Y/N) slid slowly down the wall. Sihtric crouched beside her, worried as never before. He gently held the injured hand. He raised her bruised knuckles to his lips, but left only the ghost of touch on them. “Princess?”

“He hurt her,” (Y/N) sobbed helplessly. She wasn't supposed to tell anyone, but she had a feeling Sihtric would know how to keep a secret. “He hurt her and he will hurt her again, and there’s nothing I can do. He will hide behind his title, behind his lands, wealth and nobility. He was right. I can't do anything."

She was shaken by a wave of tears, and Sihtric instinctively embraced her with one arm and supported the back of her head with the other. She cried there on the cold floor, in the arms of a warrior who couldn't stand the sight.

He knew what was going on. And his heart ached at the thought.

“You were very brave,” he whispered, letting her lean on his chest. “Others would look away. You confronted him. You are a brave, brave girl.”

He kept saying it like a mantra, holding her in his arms until the crying subsided. He wiped the tears from her face with the thumb of his hand when she finally lifted her head.

“I won’t run away from that either,” she whispered in a faint voice. Sihtric raised his eyebrows in a questioning gesture. “I can laugh about it and put it off, but I’m just a woman with a cursed title before my name. They'll hand me over to a man I won't choose. And he will have the right to violence as soon as we tie the knot.”

Sihtric shook his head. This fate wasn’t meant for her. There was strength and courage in this lady’s heart that demanded freedom. And demanded love, the wild and untamed kind.

“It can not be like that. I won’t allow it.”

“You don’t have much power in this matter, Sihtric. You don’t make the rules.”

“Let me decide for myself.”

He looked into the eyes of the princess and knew that the battle he would have to face was beyond his means. The only witnesses to this promise were the faces on the ancient tapestries. Men's faces behind unbreakable laws, traditions and customs.

But Sihtric Kjartansson was a warrior. And if there’s one thing that warriors can do, they can fight.

#sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric the last kingdom #sihtric x reader #sihtric fanfiction #sihtric kjartansson x reader #the last kingdom #the last kingdom fanfiction #sihtric imagine

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lovequartz · 2 months

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to feel the same.

❁ pairing: town doctor!wonwoo x fiancee!reader

❁ genre: fluff

❁ warnings: mention of blood + injury

❁ word count: 1.3k

❁ winter passed and spring came, you're a flower with green leaves and raindrops

❁ notes: this is dedicated to the lovely @jenowithjaem who gave me the inspo behind this piece, thank you <3

you are fixing your hair when you hear your mother call your name. her voice traveling from the front of the house through the open door of your bedroom. you quickly pin a few front pieces and smooth your skirt down before hurrying off to your mother’s side.

she’s standing with the entry door open, and beams when she sees you, “wonwoo is here!” she practically giggles.

in the time wonwoo has been taking to court you, he's been coming by your house more and more often lately. the two of you have been taking walks in the early evening, which was the reason you were fixing yourself earlier.

“you don’t have to announce his presence every time,” you whine softly as you grab her arm. turning to peek out the door, you smile as wonwoo’s eyes meet yours. he looks handsome as always, but today his glasses are tucked into the breast pocket of his lovely navy blue shirt.

“good evening,” he says, grinning when he hears you return his greeting in a much more quiet tone, “are you ready? or should i wait a bit longer?”

you give him an apologetic look, “give me just one minute? i’ll grab my shoes.”

he nods in understanding before you mother gets his attention once more.

“are you sure you don’t want to come in? you know our home is your home after all,” you hear your mother say as you scurry off to find your footwear.

a little later you and wonwoo wave to your mother as she slides the door shut, your arm tucked safely into the crook of his elbow as the two of you make your way down the road. the temperature is lovely and there’s a warm breeze rustling through the trees and their leaves. you wonder if someone like you is allowed to feel this giddy, to be able to bask in the sun’s glow and wonwoo’s simple presence beside you.

soon all your strolling takes the two of you to the small creek nestled just behind the persimmon orchard, the current a touch fast due to the heavy rain last night. wonwoo grips your hand in his as the two of you meander down the creekbank. a quick movement catches your eye and you spot a small frog near the water’s edge. you gasp before pointing it out to the man next to you.

“wonwoo look! it's a frog,” you say, letting go of his hand to see if you can catch the small friend. it does a tentative hop but surprisingly allows you to scoop it up into your hand, your palm underneath it.

its little head peeks out from under the arch of your thumb, and you cradle it gently before lifting it to your beau’s eye level.

wonwoo has a small smile on his face as he brings his own hands to hover just under yours, in case the frog decides to make a leap for it. “indeed it is.”

the two of you coddle the small creature for a few moments more before you eventually set him back on the ground. your hands are muddy so you swish them around in the water of the creek before brushing away an itch at your cheek and standing.

when you turn to wonwoo he has a look in his eye you can’t quite place, and a smirk tugging at his lips.

confusion paints your features as you say; “what?”

the man chuckles lightly before stepping closer to you and rubbing his thumb across your cheek, the finger brushing the very bottom of your scar. “i think you managed to get some dirt on your face while you were cleaning your hands.”

a small twinge of embarrassment flushes through you but you can only continue to stare at wonwoo and mumble a small “oh.”

he hums, looking rather pleased as he continues to touch your face. thumb gently running the line of your scar. part of you wants to flinch away but the other part of you wants to indulge in wonwoo’s attention and affections. so stay still you do.

“you never told me,” his soft voice breaks the silence between the two of you, “how you got it.”

you breathe out a sigh, fingers coming up to curl around the hand that touches your face. “let’s keep walking, i’ll tell you as we do.”

winter age 8

the winter’s chill bites at your bare fingers, not as cold as it was the previous day but still brisk. your sister had run up ahead of you, her boot marks disturbing the freshly fallen snow as she traverses through the neat rows of persimmon trees. your parents had allowed both of you to meander around outside until dinner was ready, your mother had just begun feeding the stove wood when you’d left. so you and your sister decided that it would be the perfect time to play with the kite your uncle had gifted the two of you a few weeks ago.

“not so far!” you shout to your sister as she continues to trek forward, the kite still sailing high in the wind above your heads.

“it keeps falling!” she shouts back, “i’m trying to get it to stay up!”

as her pace slows the both of you watch the kite circle around from a particularly strong gust before it starts descending quickly.

“see, it's coming down!” the frustration is clear in her voice.

eventually, the kite lands between the branches of one of the persimmon trees, and your sister tries tugging it free to no avail.

“you’re gonna rip it! one of us is gonna have to climb to get it,” you say when you finally catch up to her.

“its gonna have to be you,” she says immediately.

you turn to look at her, protests already ready on your tongue.

“i’m wearing my new skirt, mother will have my HEAD if i tear it. besides, you’re wearing trousers and you’re smaller so it’ll be easier for you to get up there.” she says before you can get a word in edgewise.

you sigh heavily, accepting your already decided fate, “fine.”

it doesn’t take you long before you’re able to reach the branches where the kite is wedged. however, due to their height you have to stand up on the branch you’re perched on. carefully, you make your way to your feet, heart pounding as you reach above you. your fingers brush against the fabric of the kite’s side and you lift just a bit onto your toes for a little extra reach. the next thing you know you feel your left foot slip, and all you can hear is your own scream followed by your sister’s.

a dull pain starts to radiate from your back, and you realize you’re on the ground. the left side of your face feels cold, and you wipe at it, thinking you must have snow stuck there from the fall, but when you pull your hand away it is covered in blood. you stare at it blankly before your eyes meet your sister’s who stands over you unmoving, a look of pure horror twisting her features.

her face is the last thing you remember before everything went black.

“she said she thought i died,” you say with a chuckle, “she ran screaming to get my parents, and everyone was pretty shook up before they were told i was going to be fine.” your fingers brush against the skin of your cheek.

“i got treated like a princess for the whole week after. my sister was beside herself with guilt, but she knows it wasn’t really her fault. it was a series of unfortunate accidents that ended with my face being the poor victim of a sharp branch.”

wonwoo looks pensive, his fingers squeezing yours. “poor girl, it must’ve hurt at the time.”

you immediately feel flustered at his words, stunned into silence as the two of you look at each other.

“well, just a bit,” you reply, “it was worse when it was healing, it took everything in little eight year old me not to pick at the scab.”

wonwoo hums, lifting the hand in his to press his lips against the back of it.

“thank you for sharing with me, i’m happy i get to know more about you.”

❁ notes: thank you always for reading! all these recent works from me have been an honor to write so thank you once again love u all

#wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #bee.pollen #fic.

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selarina · 9 months

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This is Part 2 because you guys asked

This florist guy is a peculiar lanky character, who later revealed himself as Gojo Satoru, who is apparently the son of a rich guy, the grandson a rich guy. He descended from a whole lineage of rich men and women, and so, it seemed particularly odd that this scion of affluence was was cooped up in a barely running florist shop.

So, you didn’t end up texting the guy after he cheekily slipped his number on the card but you did get rather… intrigued?

There’s something so strange and unreal about him. Apart from the oddity, the lankiness, the outright boldness that could only be a result of a privileged upbringing, he’s also interested in you — and boldly so. It’s never truly happened to you before, even your current boyfriend took about 6 whole months of weighing out the pros and cons before asking you out. It feels nice, you do suppose.

You’re lounging on your bed, the red roses from the shop lying beside you on your bed table almost dead from the rejection of the apology you gave. And honestly, you thought not to put waste to such pretty flower. You intended to put it into a vase or an empty bottle but you never ended up doing it. It’s funny how you’ve managed to neglect them over the past few days. It seems like a cruelly fitting metaphor of your relationship.

you: remember that florist guy

yue: sighh

yue: yeah you haven’t shut up about him all week if you haven’t noticed

you: shut up i only mentioned him like twice

you: anyway

you: i’m pretty sure he told me he wished my boyfriend died

yue: WHAT

yue: he’s just like me fr <3

You sighed. He is just like her. She’s never liked your boyfriend and saw right through him to be the facade of a temporary high school relationship based on nothing but superficial optics that would hurt at least one of you on the way.

But now, at the very least, she felt safe knowing it won’t be you, regardless of how cruel and selfish that may be. She always prioritised only the people around her. It’s something you admire about her, you wish you could care about the people around you as much as she did.

You mulled over the prospect of texting the florist, Gojo Satoru. For starters, he’s clearly interested in you, and you’re clearly in an odd limbo of a relationship and the ethics of that are well… pretty grey. And also, he came off strong, bold and you’re just meh. The first taste of your bitter sweetness and he’ll run.

A week passes, the withering roses sit comfortably at the bottom of your trash bin, amid ruffled paper, tissues and other junk alike. You stil find yourself thinking about Gojo Satoru, pondering whether you should send him a message.

If he's going to run away, you reasoned, you don't see the harm. Well, you do see the harm for your current relationship but again, he's going to run. So, it doesn't truly matter. So, you text him.

---

A week elapsed, and you received no text back, it started to eat you alive just a bit. The single checkmark next to your message mocked you every time you opened the chat. Did he give you a dead phone number? Was he just being nice?

It's all too odd, and the memory of you meeting the guy starts to feel like something you made up. You try not to dwell on it much, focusing on school, chores, sports, friends. Yet, after exhausting these distractions, you found yourself lying in bed, bones growing drowsy, thinking and dreaming about the man.

So, several days later, you do something slightly insane. Some might argue it was the most sane course of action, namely... Yue. But who cares? You're the only one here to judge.

You really, truly do not have interest in him but you do find yourself slowly taking the long route back home, walking past the flower shop every chance you get this week. But you always made sure to maintain a distance, choosing to walk on the other side of road, because like you said before — you aren't interested, just curious really.

And it would truly insane if this meant anything because he's just some guy you met while buying roses for your boyfriend.

You start to notice the little things about the shop itself — how it seems perpetually quiet, how the flowers displayed outside changing is the only sign of it being active, and then you eventually manage to catch a glimpse of Satoru inside, tending to the blooms like he's a practiced still from a movie.

You started to wonder if he was purposefully ignoring you. His quaint and unpopular shop always seemed devoid of customers. What did he do with all his time? From all the times you have crossed past the shop, not a single one of these instances has had any customers in them.

And one day, you decide to finally go back into the shop. No excuses prepared, you decide to make it all up as you go.

"Thought you'd never come in," he greeted you with a grin, leaning casually against the counter as if posing for a photograph.

You turned to scan every corner of the shop, checking to see if anyone else was present, reluctant to divulge your teenage romantic conundrum to an audience.

But to your relief, the shop was empty, save for the two of you.

You turned back to Satoru, noticing how his signature black sunglasses lay perched on the bridge of his nose. That's another one of those unusual things you've noticed about him, how he's always wearing his glasses.

One day you got late at school, having stayed back to hang some posters, so when you walked back you noticed the man still donning his glasses, even though the night had already set itself in the sky. You didn't understand why he would wear them. Perhaps, he has an eye condition.

"So, you didn't reply to my text," you say, striving for a casual tone as you pocketed your hands and approached the counter. You try to ignore the implications of him knowing you were walking past here all week.

He doesn't say anything, tilting his head, before he startles you by taking off into the backroom.

You wait there, confused, staring at the silent flowers beside you, as you wait and you wait.

He reemerged with a bag, rummaging through it for something? His phone, maybe?

Yes, his phone. "Right! Sorry! Sorry, I had my phone off," he explained, his eyes focused on his loading phone.

"You have one... right here," you remarked, removing your hand from your pocket and pointing at another phone resting on the counter.

He chuckles, "Huh, yeah. I do have another phone, but that's more for business stuff. My personal phone is the one you texted," he clarified, nodding toward the device in his hands.

"I see," you replied plainly, slipping your hand back into your pocket.

"I'm sorry for not responding. How about I make it up to you over some Mochi?" he grins. "Today? Right now?"

"Whoa, hold on. I didn't agree to go on a date with you. Remember, I have a boyfriend," you reminded him.

"Right," he grits with restrained chuckle. "Well, I didn't ask you out on a date. Just Mochi."

You can't help but raise an eyebrow at his response, amused by his persistence.

"Just Mochi, huh? Are you always this forward with all your customers?" you tease, finding yourself intrigued by him and all his boldness and audacity.

"Well, you're not really a customer today. Unless, you want to buy me flowers before our date?" he grins, abandoning his apron, as he comes from behind the counter.

"Hey! I said this wasn't a date," you find yourself yelling back at him, leaving only a slew of chortles as a response from him.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x gender neutral reader #jjk fluff #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x gender neutral reader #jjk x reader fluff #gojo satoru

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avocado-writing · 5 months

Note

omg… could we get an astarion x reader where the reader is gale’s apprentice? she’s extremely studious and focused on her learning of magic (as gale teaches her to be) and because gale took her on as a young girl she’s never had her first kiss (much less her first time) bc she’s been so focused on her academics… mwahahahahah 😈

notes: reader’s gender isn’t mentioned, but Astarion does call you “little”! (Edit; part 2)

rating: M

words: 1.8k

pairing: astarion x reader

Taglist: bg3 Taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 (let me know if you want to be added!)

“We hope to see you soon!” calls the cashier from behind the desk, waving amicably as you leave with your arms laden with scrolls and books. You manage a smile over your shoulder, no hand free to return the kind gesture.

“I’m sure you will!” you reply. This is true. Gale has probably spent a small fortune at Sorcerous Sundries, and - with the amount of time he’s been spending with Tav recently - supply runs have fallen to you. Not that you particularly mind. It’s nice to get into the city and get away from your mentor and the de facto leader of your group making heart eyes at each other from across the camp. It’s wonderful that he’s found someone (gods know that he deserves it after all that Mystra business) but he doesn’t have to be so bloody nauseating about it.

You wait for a cart to pass, readjust your hold on the pile, and head across the road. You’re so lost in your own thoughts that you don’t hear your name being called for a second and barrel on ahead - it’s only when you become aware of footsteps approaching that you turn.

Astarion isn’t jogging to catch you, exactly. He’s far too precious for that. But he has increased his speed to close the gap, that little smile on his face which you know can only spell trouble.

“Well, fancy running into you, my dear. Isn’t chance a fine thing?” he purrs. You raise an eyebrow.

“What, you fortuitously meeting me at the only store I ever seem to go to?”

He doesn't reply to that, instead putting a hand on his hip and cocking his head.

“It can be dangerous for a little thing like you to walk around a big city alone. Never know who might take advantage.”

He flashes his fangs with his smile, and you swear your cheeks don’t start to burn.

“I know the route back to camp perfectly well…”

“Oh, so you won’t mind if I join you then? Let me help with those books, they seem to be rather precariously perched.”

You take a moment to look him over. He’s got muscle, of course, you’ve seen him with his shirt off at camp, but you’re certain it’s all for show – you are definitely stronger than he is. Being Gale’s glorified pack mule means you have to be. But, suppressing a smile, you press half of your haul into the elf’s waiting arms and chuckle when he stumbles under the unexpected weight.

“You could suggest to your mentor that he gets into a little more light reading,” he mutters, and that makes you laugh properly. He seems pleased with himself for that. Well, more pleased with himself than he usually is, anyway - so you find yourself walking through the city streets with his company.

And it’s… nice. You’ve never been sure what to make of Astarion. He’s a bit too cunning for your usual taste in companion, but there can be no doubt that he’s competent. He travels the city streets with a familiar ease, and when he goes to turn down an alleyway mid-conversation, you almost follow him without thinking.

Almost.

“The thing is I’m sure he eats them, but – what are you doing back there? Keep up, I won’t wait for you,” he says, waiting for you. You shuffle awkwardly, and he reads your face without you having to say a word.

“Come now, I’m not going to bite you. Not unless you want me to,” there’s that damned grin again. You harrumph, knowing full well that’s exactly why you hesitated, but not wanting to show weakness in front of him. Nothing that he can use against you. You scuttle along until you make up the distance, and fall back in step.

Soon it’s just the two of you. The city noise dies down and the sound of your boots echoes in tandem with his. He has you completely alone. He could do whatever he wanted with you. You know he wouldn’t, of course, but… you’d be lying if you said the idea didn’t thrill you, just a tiny bit.

Astarion lets out a laugh.

“Your blood’s started pumping faster. Tell me, little mage, is something making your heart pound?”

Oh, right. Vampire. The bastard is uncannily attuned to these things.

“No!” you say, quickly, but there’s not much fire behind it, no real sincerity. His lip quirks.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, you know. It’s alright to feel desire. Gale doesn’t seem to take very good care of you, after all…”

That makes you stick your tongue out and gag. You totally ignore the first part of that sentence and spit:

“Eurgh, Gale? Absolutely not! He’s like my brother. We’ve known each other since… well, for as long as I can remember, honestly,” you say. And it’s true. You love him, of course, but not like that. Maybe you’re a bit jealous of Tav but only because they’re taking up so much of his time. You’re desperate to have another magic lesson. It feels like it’s been ages since he’s taught you anything, and you’ve been somewhat demoted to his personal assistant rather than his student. You can’t be too upset, though. He does have that tadpole in his head, so things are probably a lot more pressing to him than teaching you how to properly refine your Fireball spell.

Astarion sees how introspective you’ve become. You have a habit of chewing on your lip when you’re lost in thought, and he’s become quite partial to it. It’s… sweet. Secretly he’s become quite partial to you. You’re endearing, bullheadedly stubborn, but sincere and enthusiastic. A bright spark in a dark world and he is drawn to you, whether he wants to be or not.

He’s harbouring something for you, and doesn’t quite want to admit what that might be. So he teases.

“You really do take up all of your time with studying, don’t you?”

You shrug as much as you can beneath your armful of books.

“Wouldn’t you, if you had the best tutor around? Wouldn’t you want to learn every single thing you possibly could?”

“All that time squirrelled away over a spell book. I wonder if you’ve ever even been kissed.”

You stop dead. Ah, he thinks. Got you.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you snap, but you know your voice wobbles a little. A bit of a sore spot if you’re honest. Seeing Gale and Tav has made you realise that, actually, maybe there is something you long for. Something more.

“Ahh, so you haven’t. There’s no shame in that, little mage.”

Your cheeks are burning. You can’t look him in the eye. Thank the gods the two of you are alone, you wouldn’t want anyone to see you so flabbergasted.

“I’m… you’re…” you struggle to find words to adequately express how you feel. Furious. Embarrassed? A whole tide of things all at once, rooting you to the ground.

He walks closer. If he was living, you’d be able to feel the heat coming off of him. He puts his pile of books on the top of a part-built wall, then takes yours to do the same. You don’t resist.

“Would you like to be kissed?”

You manage to drag your eyes up from the ground to meet his gaze, searching it for any hint of insincerity. He is teasing you, a bit, but… his eyes are surprisingly soft.

He means it.

And before you can think it over, you nod.

His lips are soft. Far softer than you expected for a vampire. His kiss gently presses your mouth open, allowing for a lithe and curious swipe of his tongue. You eagerly accept it, voice catching in your throat a little in a half-rendered moan.

He tastes like mint. It’s fresh. It’s sweet.

You want more.

Carefully you put a hand on either one of his biceps, a gentle test of the muscle there. It might be only for show, but it’s firm enough for you to enjoy how it feels in your grip. You sense him smile against your mouth and deepen the kiss, running his fingers up the length of your arm until he can cup your face; grip the back of your head.

When he walks you back to press up against the alleyway wall, you trust him; and when he hooks your collar down with a single long finger, exposing your neck, that half-moan comes back with full force.

“That’s it,” he sighs, feather-light, “let me hear you, you sweet thing.”

His mouth leaves yours in order to kiss a long line down your jugular. His teeth ghost the skin there, but he never threatens to bite.

Not unless you want me to.

You find yourself trusting him absolutely. His tongue flicks against your pulse and you thrust your hips forward inadvertently. It’s an impulse. An instinct. But it has an impact, and you hear Astarion catch his breath just a bit.

“Where have you been hiding all this?” he asks, gravel filling his voice as you thread your fingers into his hair.

“Maybe you never gave me a reason to show it to you.”

He seems to like that answer, so when he slips his leg between yours, presses his thigh up to your sex… gods, you start to rock against him without a second thought.

It’s good. It feels good. Good in a way only your own hands have ever made you feel, late at night, beneath your bedroll with fucking Astarion, Astarion, Astarion running through your head.

“Look at you. All desperate for me. What do you want me to do, little mage? Where do you want me to touch?”

You take his hand and guide it down your body, yes gods yes to the apex of your legs, and —

Greetings! Hope I’m not catching you at a bad moment, but need those books at camp ASAP. Do let me know when you’ll be back!

Gale’s Sending is like a cold bucket of ice through your body, and you freeze under Astarion’s ministrations. The moment is utterly shattered. A hand on his chest moves him away and he acquiesces, confused but not pushing back.

“Hello Gale,” you sigh out loud, letting the elf know the reason for the interruption. “Will be back as soon as possible. Not too far from the camp now. Sorry for the delay. Got a little… held up.”

And then you’re just standing there. In an alley. With Astarion. And you feel very silly all of a sudden, very small. Once again your eyes drop to the floor and you start grabbing the books, quickly, anything to distract you from how humiliated you feel. You’re not sure if it’s because you let yourself give into him so easily or if it’s because you didn’t want him to stop — and you’re a bit terrified at how far you’d have let him go.

“I’ll see you at camp,” you manage to stutter out, before practically running away.

Astarion watches you go. Your departure stings.

#astarion x you #astarion x reader #Astarion x tav #Request #bg3 fic

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1000roughdrafts · 4 months

Text

Just Another Day

Summary: Fluffy Dean x female!reader Valentine's Day post

Warnings: some language (like 2-3 words), light mentions of angst, but mostly fluff

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Not betad, all mistakes are my own 😊 and bear with me, I’m a little rusty 🥰 happy love day 🥰

Valentine's Day has never really been a favorite of mine, let alone anything I'd consider more than 'just a day'. Hell, Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Years, even birthdays are all just 'another day' for me. It's kind of difficult not to harbor ill feelings about them after constantly being let down by the people in my life, one broken promise after another.

Dean and Sam have kept every promise they've made, though. In fact, they're managing to break down my walls bit by bit from stolen candy on Halloween to a fried chicken meal with beer on Thanksgiving all while living in cheap motels chasing monsters. When I told them this morning that I just wanted to hunt as usual for the day, I couldn't help but to feel a tad disappointed that they agreed. Bit by bit, I'm breaking my own rules about not getting my hopes up on holidays.

This is our first Valentine's Day as a couple, and I've known Dean long enough to know that chocolate and flowers aren't exactly his style. But I can count on him to bring me a piece of pie "just because" or he'll clean my weapons for me after a particularly grueling hunt because he knows all I want to do is shower and get in bed.

After a long day of exorcising demons, we are on the road again. Burnin' For You by Blue Oyster Cult plays low on the radio, but the clattering of rain on the roof has my full attention. Sam loudly rifles through the papers in his lap with one hand, flashlight held in the other, hesitant to ever let himself relax. Dean's eyes flicker between the road and the rear-view mirror to periodically check on me.

"Hey, you seem off today, you okay?" Dean asks, picking up on my vacant eyes and slight frown.

I suck in a breath, inhaling the scent of the Black Ice air freshener and a hint of stale whiskey, "yeah," I say curtly, keeping my eyes on the trees swaying in the wind as we drive past, lit only by the moon above us. The wind howls against the windows of the Impala, sneaking in and covering my skin with goosebumps.

His face scrunches a bit and he nods before the tick of the blinker signals that he's turning off the highway. I feel a twinge of discomfort knowing we're only minutes away from the motel now. As much as I hate the numbness I feel in my butt and thighs, there is something meditative about being a passenger on a long drive.

We pass an abandoned gas station before I can see the dim lights of the Wandering Inn. Dean parks us by the front desk, leaving the Impala to run with a soft purr as he gets us a key to a room. Neither Sam nor I take our time getting the bags together, so by the time Dean is back out and we find a parking spot near the room, we're ready to head in.

The door whines as Dean pushes it open, immediately palming the peeling wall for a light switch. The overhead light flickers a few times before settling on a weak glow, and before I can even shut the door behind us, the smell of burnt dust and old pledge assaults my nose. I glance around the small room. The musky yellow walls seem to make it feel even smaller, somehow.

Dean turns to me with outstretched arms and a smile, asking for my bags. I dutifully and sleepily hand them over, not realizing the weight they bared until the relief of their absence waves over me. Dean nods his head towards the bathroom, "ladies first on a shower," he says softly. His boots click on the tile as he walks over to toss our bags onto the bed, plopping down next to them to remove his boots.

In a few short strides I head over to grab my bag for the bathroom, stopping in front of him to plant a kiss on his forehead. His eyes, droopy and half-closed, look up at me in a smile. He places his hands my back, thumbs rubbing circles on my skin as he pulls me in for a kiss.

"Thanks for first shower, Dean," I say, letting my hands rest on his shoulders.

His eyebrows rise and fall before he says, "yeah, well, by the looks of it, you need it more than we do tonight."

My ear to ear smile is real, but I fake a laugh before pulling away. "Whatever," I say, but I slowly lose my smile on the way to my shower. Dean's ability to pick up on even the most subtle of changes in me are a testament to how great of a hunter he is, and even greater boyfriend. How he can't pick up on how torn I'm feeling about this wretched day I've no idea. What conflicts me further is that I know it's my responsibility to share these feelings with him. Dean may have an attention to detail I haven't seen in a partner in, well, ever, but he's not a mind reader.

The tile of the bathroom is cold under my feet, so I remove my shirt to stand on it while I wait for the water to heat up. I hear the guys shuffling and moving things in the room, keeping their voices hush, but I'm too tired to give a shit. Waving a hand under the water I decide that it's the perfect temperature and remove the rest of my clothes to get in.

I don't even realize how tense I am until the water hits my shoulders, nearly forcing me to relax under it. My body's reflexes take over and I go into autopilot as I think about today and Valentine's Day is already almost over, but we did nothing… at my request. I roll my eyes at myself, brushing my teeth while the conditioner sits in my hair. The scent of fruit and mint fill the room among the steam. When I rinse my hair, I imagine I'm rinsing the day away.

The mirror is completely fogged up by the time I get out. With slightly damp skin, and a towel wrapped around my head, I struggle to get my clothes on, and it frustrates me.

I open the door and allow the steam to pour into our room, and I'm immediately hit with a surprising smell. It's almost as if someone is roasting marshmallows in our motel room. I take a small, careful step and peek just my head out, eyes zeroing in on the lit candles on the table.

My eyes skip over to Dean who sits on the edge of the bed with his elbows resting on his knees, a single flower in one hand, and a mix-tape in the other. Beneath his feet is a trail of rose petals leading to the door of the bathroom. He keeps his eyes on me, a smile peaking through his lips as he awaits my next move.

Sam's eyes and mine meet before he offers an awkward smile and shuffles a few things around on his bed. He grabs his shower bag, and I take a few steps towards Dean to allow him to enter the bathroom. Dean and I are both silent until the door closes behind Sam.

"What is all this, Dean?" I asks, astonished. Moldy motel room, or 5 star suite, never in my life has anyone laid out rose petals for me. I feel my heart racing like it's ready to burst right out of my chest.

Dean smiles, standing to hand me the flower with a kiss on my cheek. My skin is warm where his lips just were, and he reaches to take my hand, guiding me to sit on our bed.

He notices my eyes glance down at the mix tape before jumping back up to his. "I've been working on this for a few weeks now," he says, shaking the tape in his hand before handing it to me.

My hand shakes when I grab it, and I flip it to see "To my Y/N/N, Love Dean," scribbled on the front. My cheeks grow hot again, but this time with embarrassment that I'd spent the whole day thinking about myself, when here's Dean blowing expectations right out of the water.

"It's, uh, all the songs that remind me of you," he says softly, and I notice the scent of my favorite candle as the flame burns. My head spins.

"I don't know what to say, Dean," I start, and he just smiles, caressing my hand with his calloused fingers, "I mean, thank you. This is the kindest, most loving thing anyone has ever done for me," I say, tears welling in my eyes.

It's overwhelming to think a personal could love someone so much that amidst hunting Heaven, Hell and everything in between he could find the time to make this moment so special.

"Aw, sweetheart, don't cry," he says, arms wrapping around me, pulling me in for a tight hug.

"I'm not crying, Dean," I contest, but I nuzzle my face into his soft, comforting shirt, allowing my arms to wrap around his torso, and under the warmth of his jacket.

I soak in the smell of his sandalwood cologne and tighten my arms around him. Kissing his chest, I mutter another "thank you" before lifting my head to look him in the eyes. He brings his hand to either side of my face, eyes looking back and forth between mine, "you're very welcome," he says, kissing me with a tenderness that takes my breath away, and I realize that it's moments like these that I want to fill my heaven with.

~~~~

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#dean x reader fluff #supernatural fan fiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader valentine's day #dean winchester x y/n #fluff #spn #supernatural dean #queued #supernatural fandom #dean winchester fluff #supernatural fic #supernatural fan fic #dean winchester #supernatural #fanfic

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yetanotherhiddlestoner · 2 months

Text

You move into a new neighborhood and have one hell of a hot neighbor.

(I tried to find out how long Negan and Lucille were married but couldn't find it, if anyone knows please correct me.) NO BREAKOUT! WARNINGS~ P in V, fingering, licking, smut, pregnancy (just in case), hair pulling, swearing, If i missed any sorry. No beta reader, any mistakes are mine alone.

WORDS~ 2354

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a year since Lucille had passed for Negan, and he never thought about moving on after losing his wife.

That was until you moved in next door. The day you moved in, you had smiled and waved at him as he smoked his cigarette next to his bike that he had been working on when you drove up the road.

That day he watched you as you picked up heavy boxes and crates refusing the help that the men offered you. He pegged you to be a hardworking, no shit taking type of woman. He peaked over when you and a guy were raising your voices to have a disagreement about something, he liked how you stood your ground up against a man who was much larger than you. The sun started to set, and he watched as the trucks drove away and you walked inside the house, the porch light flickering on as you closed the door.

Negan could see you close your bedroom blinds but still your silhouette showed what you were doing, Negan couldn't help but watch as the dark shadow took of pieces of clothing, he should stop watching, stop being a creep, but he couldn't. He went to bed that night with his fist gripping his cock thinking of you.

The next morning you were up bright and early, ready to go for a run around the neighborhood. You got into your running shorts, sports bra and sneakers and started stretching on the porch, it was a quiet street, you took the chance to look over to your neighbor's house. He had been outside most of yesterday, two things caught your attention, the first his bike and the second how handsome his was. During moving in yesterday you found yourself glancing his way as he lay on the ground, fixing something underneath the bike, the way the shirt rode up a little showing off his happy trail. The way he would roughly wipe the grease off his hands, your mind wandering to those big hands wrapped around your body, inappropriate to think about seeing how you were just moving in.

You started your run slow around the block, noting the streets and where they lead to, making a daily run plan in your head. Turning the corner to your street you see your neighbor outside once again working on his bike, you slowed as you approach him. "Morning" you say as you slow to a stop. Negan stands up from his bike, wipes his hands on the rag and smiles at you. "Morning. You're certainly up early, names Negan, seems to me that we are neighbors" he says gruffly. "Yeah, we are, names Y/N. I saw you yesterday out here, she yours?" I nod to the bike. "Oh yeah I took her off my mate a while ago, needs a little TLC but she'll be up and running soon." "That good to hear." I smile at you. "So far you're the only neighbor I've seen out so early." Negan laughs, "The neighborhood is sort of filled with older folk, you and I are the oddballs here. Most of them come out in the afternoon when it starts cooling down." "Oh true, it's a nice area, was lucky to get this place, seemed like it was a popular house." Negan couldn't help but stare at you, looking you up and down as you chatted away. "You wanna come inside for a coffee or tea?" Negan offers throwing the rag over the bikes seat. "Yeah, I could go for a coffee, as long as I'm not interrupting your day?"

"Nah you're all good love." Negan chuckles and leads you inside. His house is nice and neat, you look around as he leads you to the kitchen. "Take a seat, I'll put the kettle on." You sit down at the counter and smile and watch him as he grabs the coffee cups. "Should have asked this earlier, but you got a girlfriend or wife that might get upset about another woman in her house with her man?" You speak softly. Negan places the cups down, along with the spoons, coffee and sugar. He looks at you and smiles weakly.

"I am a widower. Lost my wife just over a year ago to cancer." "I am so sorry; I didn't mean to make you up...." Negan interrupts you. "It's fine you didn't know; I get it you don't wanna be making enemies the first day you move in." He continues "Lucille well she would have loved you I think, she barely spoke to any of the people here, a young girl like you would have been perfect to talk to take on shopping trips, you know all that." Negan chuckles. "She sounds amazing. How long were you married for?" You ask as he grabs a photo of her off the fridge, you study it. They looked so happy. "Oh man would have been about 10 years." "Well, you look happy in this photo" You hand it back to him and smile. "I was, been down in the dumps since losing her. What about you? You got a man I should be worried about?" "Hell no, single as shit." You say as you watch him mix the coffee, milk and sugar with the spoon, "It's the reason I wanted to start new, new place, new men to check out, you know" You take the coffee cup from his hand and thank him.

"Bad break up?" He asks taking a sip. "Abusive ex, so yeah and no, the breakup was well and truly needed." "Fucking pathetic male hitting women, would never lay a hand on a woman in that kinda way." Negan says getting angry. "Well, he didn't like it when I finally snapped and knocked him the fuck out, he went to his side chicks house, and I hightailed it out of there." "Abusive and a cheater, how the fuck did a nice girl like you get with that kinda guy?" "He was my brother's mate, we met at teens, hooked up and only when we lived together, he got abusive and controlling."

Negan just nods and continues to drink his coffee, staring at you. "What?" You ask smiling. "Nothing, just can't believe some fucker would raise his hands to the likes of you." He rounds the counter getting closer to you. "He taught me one thing, how to stand up for myself." You say, almost in a whisper. Negan's hand comes out and gently touches your face, his thumb gently brushing across your cheek. You breathe hitches as you lock eyes with him. You take in the salt and pepper hair, his facial hair, the way he smells like gasoline and cologne. "Y/N I know it's wrong, I just met you, but I can't explain why I felt drawn to you." You blush at his words; you felt the same. Since you laid eyes on him yesterday it was hard to not think about him. "Please tell me you feel the same" He moves his face closer to yours. "I do" you respond, moving your face closer, your lips almost touching. He sighs and, in a blink, his lips are on yours, kissing you deeply. Your hands grip his chin, nails digging into his skin. His hands one travels to your neck, the other travels to your hair, gripping it tightly. Making you gasp as he pulls it. Negan slid you off the stool into his arms, never breaking the kiss as he made his way carefully to his bedroom. He kicked the door close behind him and walked over to the bed, placing you down gently, crawling on top of you, his hands making quick work of his shirt, tossing it to the side of the bedroom. You look down at his bare chest. He sat up and you followed him, your hands reaching out to touch the small amount of chest hair he had in the middle of his chest. You smiled up at him as you kissed his chest, working your way over to his nipple, you take it between your teeth biting it, getting a groan out of him.

Negan couldn't help the noises he was making, your teeth gently grazing over his chest, nipples and neck were so good. His arms wrapped around you as you moved close, nibbling your way up.

"Shit" he moans. You smile at him and start to undo your sports bra "I seem to be a little overdressed" you whisper, his hands stills yours. "Allow me to fix that" He says pushing you back down to the bed, ripping the zipper of your bra down harshly, you move your arms out of the holes and it disappears into the room, at this point you don't care.

Next to go were your pants, Negan isn't gentle with them either, he grips both pants and underwear and pulls them down, tossing them, leaving you naked under him, you can see his pants are struggling to hide the erection he has going for you. "Fuck your beautiful" He says kissing your inner thighs, making you giggle a little. "Sorry, it's the facial hair" you explain when he looks up at you and raises an eyebrow. Negan smiles and keeps kissing you, moving up closer to your wet core. The giggles turn into gasps as his tongue licks your slit. Not going inside, just teasing you. Your hand reaches out to his hair, gripping it, you try and push his face down, but he stops you. "Needy little bitch, aren't you?" He growls, his words turning you on more. You were never one for dirty talk, usually it would turn you off but when he says it, it's doing the exact opposite, feeling yourself get wetter from not only his tongue but your own want. You moan as he uses two thick fingers to spread your lips and his tongues circles your clit, you arch your back at the pleasure. Negan keeps licking adding the twonfibgers thay held your pussy opened to him, you feel filled with those two digits pumping inside you. He keeps licking your clit when fucking yoi with his fingers, first gently, then getting rougher and rougher, until you tell the orgasm you been building releases and he laps it up like his life depends on it. When he moves over you, his face is wet with your juices. You smile at him and he brings his face closer "Go on baby, taste yourself" Negan waits for you to move closer to him, to kiss him, your tongue licking at your cum. "Fucking sweetest pussy I have ever tasted" He growls, he sits back as he undoes his pants, just enough to release his cock and line it up to your enterance. He kisses you deeply as he slides into your pussy, you gasp having to adjust to his size. But once he is fully seated inside you he doesn't move. You both lay there, panting. "Such a nice warm little pussy, I think Ill just let you warm it a bit before I fuck you senseless." He smiles as you try to move your hips, desperate to fuck him but he stops your tries. Smacking you on the side of your ass "Naughty girl. Can't you wait a little bit?" "No" you whisper. Negan laughs as he pulls out, almost all the way only to push himself back into you fast, getting you to gasp and moan. He continues this torture. Out.......slowly. In....hard......out.....almost all the way, just the tip toying with your pussy. In hard, his balls slapping your skin. Your moans mix with his, the pleasure building up again. It wouldn't take to long for you to come again. Negan's thrusts were getting erratic, he couldn't hold off the oncoming orgasm much longer. "Negan please....." "You close baby girl? You close?" Negan grunts thrusting again hard. "Mmmmmm yeah...." You moan, you feel yourself start to tighten.

"Oh my god, your gonna fucking milk me baby?" Negan says, going faster. It takes 3 more thrusts and your cumming around his cock, arching your back as your pussy grips on to his cock as he continues pounding into you. Negan grunts loudly and moans as his movement stop and you feel his cock pumping inside you, releasing his seed into you.

He rolls off you, but bringing your body closer to his as he lays there, coming down from the high. Negan laid there, his heart racing, he could feel yours beating underneath his arm, causing him to smile. "Just know I don't usually jump into bed with neighbors" You say after a few minutes of silence. "Neither do I, but I just couldn't help myself." Negan kisses your neck.

"What happens now?" You ask.

2 YEARS LATER. You sit on Negan's lap as you watch another set of neighbors move into the street, the street was starting to get a lot of young folk. You lean back and smile as Negan nibbles your skin. "That was you two years ago baby girl" Negan says as his hand toys with the helm of your shirt, gently rubbing over your swollen belly. "Sure was." Your hand entwined with his. To some you and Negan moved fast into this relationship, within 6 months you were moving in with him, at 8 months he purposed marriage to you, 12 months you had a small wedding with your family attending. Now you sit on his front porch, 6 months pregnant expecting twins, a baby boy and a baby girl. "I'm glad I moved into this street, I'm glad we met that day on my run." You tell him. "Oh trust me darling the feeling is very mutual." Negan says pulling your hair, making you arch back to give you a deep kiss. "Fuck" you whisper knowing that that alone was turning you on. "Let's go inside baby" Negan says standing up with you in his arms, not allowing you to walk. You start kissing his neck as your wrap your arms around his neck.

#daddy negan #jdm #jeffery dean morgan #negan smut #negan smith #negan x reader #negan fanfiction #twd negan #negan smith x you #the walking dead negan #negan x y/n

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 9 months

Text

Best Intentions - Chapter One

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x femme Warnings: Angst. Smut. Mentions of shell shock and trauma. Word count: ~4.3k

Summary: An overview of how Tom and her came to be friends, and the set up for the story now that he's returned to Longsight. Series masterlist.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

The imposing red brick building of Plymouth Grove Primary School is gigantic and intimidating to her as she enters through the gates to the playground, the thought of being left here for the entire day makes her clutch at her mum’s hand with tight desperation.

Her first day of school is one she’ll never forget, forever imprinted in her mind, owing to a big pair of blue eyes filled with mischief, and a grin with a pair of front teeth that remind her of a rabbit’s.

It’s morning break as she surveys the playground nervously, trying to decide if she feels brave enough to join in on a nearby game of hopscotch. It’s then that she feels a warm puff of air ruffle the back of her hair, and she spins around to see a sandy haired boy running back towards a group of laughing lads.

“I did it! I gobbed in her hair!” He shouts.

Humiliation warms her skin as tears prickle her eyes, and she hurries inside to the girls’ toilets to unsuccessfully try to locate where the offending spittle has landed, all the while sniffling back sobs.

It’s when dinnertime comes and she sits unhappily sipping her milk that she sees him again. He sidles up to her, alone this time, a sheepish look on his face.

“I didn’t really,” he shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, “Gob in your hair, I mean. I was dared to, so I pretended,”

“Oh,” is all she’s able to manage, not sure of what else to say.

“I’m Tom. Mates, yeah?” He says with his bunny toothed grin, and she can’t help but smile back.

He sits himself next to her, opening his own milk and they spend the remainder of the hour getting to know each other.

She’s surprised to learn that it’s his first day too, she had assumed from his confidence that he would be a couple of years above her. He lives with his dad, Douglas, who works as a bus conductor, his mum - Josie, and his sister, Lois, who is a couple of years above them.

He learns all about how she lives with her mum, and it’s just the two of them as her dad had passed away when she was a baby. Her mum runs the shop off of Stamford Road with her uncle, who lives in the flat above it.

Tom’s eyes light up at the mention of this. “The one with the jars of sherbet straws?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, “And treacle toffees!”

By half past three that afternoon, as the children file back out of the school gates, her and Tom are firm friends.

Her mum and Josie stand waiting to collect them, and they discover that they live only a few streets apart, so the four of them and Lois walk home together, chattering excitedly about her and Tom’s first day of school.

From that day forward, the thought of being at school for the entire day fills her with excitement. Tom makes it a less scary place to be, and is quick to defend her if ever anyone tries to give her trouble.

Their friendship remains solid as the years pass, as does Tom’s compulsion for finding trouble. He adores showing off and being the centre of attention, but it’s always her he runs to when it’s time to face the consequences. She is a privy to a side of him that nobody else is, she has seen his fear, his sadness and his doubt.

They sit on the wall adjacent to her mum’s shop, a paper bag rustling between them as they help themselves to sherbet straws. Tom and Lois had walked home with her and her mum. Josie hadn’t been there to pick them up, she hadn’t been for a few days now.

“Should probably go home soon,” she slurs around a mouthful of sweets, “Need to do my homework.”

Tom nods slowly, moving his own sweet around in his mouth. “D’you…d’you think you could help me with mine?”

“Why?” She chides, “‘Cause you spent all lesson mucking about?”

“Come on,” he pleads, “Me mam’s not well, last thing she needs is me getting into trouble because I can’t do sums.”

She clicks her tongue and sighs. “Fine,” she says, jumping down from the wall.

“Smashing,” he grins, following after her.

She smiles over her shoulder at him. “What are mates for?”

Josie’s illness worsens and she passes away around the time that they start secondary school.

Tom’s behaviour becomes more uncontrollabe, exacerbated by his mum’s death, but with her and Lois at the all girls school, and him at the all boys, there is little that can be done to stop him.

Things come to a head one day when Douglas opens the door to an angry neighbour, who berates him for Tom having stolen the milk from their doorstep, running away laughing, before dropping and smashing it when they’d chased after him.

He’d come to her after Douglas had given him a stern telling off, head bowed and looking sorry for himself.

“He hates me,” Tom had said sullenly.

“He doesn’t hate you, Tom, you just need to behave yourself. Why’d you do it?”

“Was dared to,” he says with a shrug.

“Like when you spat in my hair?”

He presses his lips together, lowering his eyes. “I dunno why I do it. It’s just hard since mam’s gone, dad doesn’t understand me like she did.”

It’s then that she notices the tears that rim his eyes, and she pulls him into a hug.

When had he gotten so tall? He feels massive compared to how he used to.

“Thanks,” he whispers, “I’m glad we’re mates.”

The next few years follow a similar pattern; Tom gets into trouble and immediately runs to her each time, basking in the safety of her presence and comforting words.

As they grow older, Tom’s misbevaiour evolves into petty crimes which soon attract the attention of the police.

She also begins to notice the smell of cigarette smoke clinging to him each time she pulls him into a hug, a troubling new habit he’s developed, no doubt to impress the older boys.

He now seems impossibly tall, and with every inch he grows it feels like he pulls a little bit further away from her. It makes her heart ache.

She grows used to seeing him walking home in the mornings looking bedraggled, a cigarette perched between his lips, after having spent the night in the back of a pub to avoid the police, who would no doubt have been knocking at the door of the Bennett household the previous evening.

When news of war having broken out in Europe reaches them and lads Tom’s age begin signing up to the draft, Tom decides he’s having none of it.

“Signing up as a conchie!” He tells her, as they sit on the wall together, waving the green booklet for emphasis.

“Your dad was a conscientious objector,” she says, narrowing her eyes in disbelief, “Your beliefs are suddenly the same as his are they?”

Tom tuts, flicking his lighter absentmindedly. “Just don’t wanna sign my life away for a load of bollocks that’s got naff all to do with me,”

His mind soon changes once the police come knocking again. He enlists in the Navy, action he considers less direct than fighting on the front lines.

The night before he’s due to ship out, he has a rowdy celebration in the local pub, jeering and clinking glasses with those who’ve not yet joined the draft. She watches on with a heavy feeling in her chest, she knows behind all his claims of how many Germans he’s going to kill and how he’ll have a bird in every port that he’s terrified of what’s to come.

That much is proven as he walks her home later that night, unsteady on his feet and reeking of beer. He sways in front of her once they reach her front door, big blue eyes misty and filled with emotion.

“You okay, sailor?” She asks with a soft smile.

“Can I– can I stay the night?” He asks, suddenly seeming like the little boy he was back when they were in primary school and he’d apologised for pretending to spit in her hair. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

She’s never shared a bed with Tom before. They’ve always been just friends. Her throat runs dry at the thought, but in that moment he seems so vulnerable, she can’t deny him anything.

They creep up the rickety wooden stairs to her bedroom, careful not to wake her mum, and squeeze into the single bed that occupies the space. He clings tightly to her, long limbs wrapped around her, like a drowning man grasping onto a lifesaver.

“I’m so scared,” he whispers into the darkness.

“You’ll come back,” she reassures him, “You have to, who else would be my mate?”

She feels him smile against her shoulder. “Yeah, who else would put up with you?”

They giggle, before shushing each other as she elbows him in the ribs, and they fall asleep curled around each other.

Tom’s gone when wakes up.

They write letters back and forth to each other, but each one feels distant and lifeless. He’s writing with the mask he shows to the rest of the world, giving an emotionless recount of each of his days. She supposes he might be afraid or whose hands his words may end up in, and he doesn’t want to embarrass himself, so she clings to every letter, vapid as they are, grateful to still have a connection to him.

She visits the Bennett household once a week, to share the letters they’ve been exchanging - to her disappointment, the ones she receives are much the same as the ones he sends home to Douglas and Lois.

Over time, her mum and uncle join her on her visits. Her mum brings cakes and her uncle gets into the habit of playing cards with Douglas. She is glad for the closeness between their two families, it makes Tom’s absence seem less daunting.

It’s at the Bennetts’ house where she learns the news of the attack on the HMS Exeter, the Naval ship that Tom is stationed aboard. Her blood runs icy cold at the news, though the Exeter was victorious it is not without deaths and casualties.

The weeks spent waiting for news are agonising, and it’s Tom she’s thinking of as she leans against the shop counter, eyes fixed on the large front window, but too lost in her thoughts to see through it.

“Quarter of sherbet straws when you’re not away with the fairies,”

The familiar voice startles her out of her reverie and she looks up wide eyed at Tom’s smiling face.

God, he’s grown into those bunny teeth. Has his smile always been so handsome?

“Tom!” She squeals, rushing from behind the counter and throwing her arms around his neck. “Do your dad and Lois know you’re back?”

He hugs her warmly before pulling back. “Yeah, popped home first to say hello. Left me new bird there, actually, thought you’d wanna meet her?”

She hates the way her heart sinks at this, but nods regardless, flipping the closed sign on the shop door and locking it behind her.

Tom tells her all about the Battle of the River Plate as they walk back to his house. He grows solemn when he’s finished, glancing sideways at her.

“I saw people die,” he says quietly, “I thought I was gonna die. Can’t believe there’s so much of my life I’ve pissed up the wall.”

It’s then that she notices how much more mature he seems, wise beyond his years. He’s seen things that no man his young age should have seen. She reaches for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, a gesture which he returns.

“So, this is Vera,” he gestures towards the kitchen table as they head inside.

She laughs, relief washing over her, when she sees the little canary sitting in her cage.

For a few days it feels like everything is back to normal, until Tom gets a new posting and has to leave again.

“I’ll come back,” he tells her, taking her hands in his, “who else would be your mate?”

She can’t help but smile. “No one else would put up with me,”

He’s away longer this time, his letters are fewer and the worry gnaws at her with more intensity than ever before.

For the second time in her life she cries over Tom Bennett when she hears that he’s been declared as missing in action on the beaches of Dunkirk, a suspected capture by opposing forces.

Lois falls pregnant, and for a time the advancing stages of her pregnancy and eventual birth are a welcome distraction, a reminder that there is life amongst all the death that surrounds them.

Her grief is amplified when bombs fall over Manchester, a bottomless pit opening in her gut when she finds out that there was a direct hit on the Bennett house. Her uncle and Douglas had been inside playing cards at the time, neither had survived.

Her mum moves Lois and her baby into the flat above the shop, with her uncle gone the space is no longer occupied and it makes sense for them to have it, considering they no longer have a roof over their heads.

It’s comforting to have them so close, a little piece of Tom to hold onto until he comes back, if he comes back. She hates herself for thinking it.

When Tom next steps through the shop door, there’s no trace of his grin from last time. He looks skinny, haunted, he’s aged. There’s an anger within his blue eyes that replaces the mischief that used to sparkle there.

He doesn’t need to ask for her to know what he’s after. There will be no hugs of greeting this time.

“She’s upstairs,” she says softly, her stomach tied into knots.

He simply nods and walks towards the back to go up.

It doesn’t take long for her to be able to hear the muffled sounds of arguing and not five minutes later he storms back downstairs and out into the street. She follows after him, grabbing the quarter of sherbet straws she’d bagged up for him.

He’s sat smoking on their usual spot on the wall, and she hops up beside him, placing the paper bag between them. He doesn’t touch them. She wonders when the last time he ate anything at all was, he looks so thin.

The silence between them feels painful, she doesn’t know what to say, but she can tell from the way his hands shake and the urgency with which he drags on his cigarette that if she doesn’t say something then he certainly won’t.

“You can’t be angry with Lois, y’know,” she says gently, “it’s not her fault,”

“Then whose is it?!” He snaps angrily, eyes narrowing as he looks at her.

He’s never spoken to her like that before and she shrinks away from it. “It’s not my fault either,” she whispers sadly.

His face softens, a look of shame replacing his anger as he averts his gaze, his lips twitching. “Sorry about your uncle,”

“Sorry about your dad,”

His return is brief, only a couple of days this time. Enough time for him to visit Douglas’ grave, but not enough for them to talk, not properly anyway. He reveals that he was taken to an American hospital in Paris, after being shot in Dunkirk. A woman named Henriette had helped him to escape France and he’d made his way home via Spain. It’s all so matter of fact the way that he recounts it, but she only has to look into his eyes to see the turmoil he’s feeling. It crushes her.

He looks fearful and uncertain when they say goodbye, the urge to cling to him and beg him not to go is overwhelming.

“You’ll still be here when I get back, won’t you?” He asks.

“Course I will, I always am,” she replies with a sad smile.

He cups her cheek, his large palm engulfing her face and leans down to press his lips to hers. She startles at first, they have never kissed before, but she quickly reciprocates, moving her mouth against Tom’s. His lips are so soft and there is a tenderness behind the gesture that brings tears to her eyes.

She’s breathless when they part, his forehead resting against hers, his hand still cupping her cheek.

“Mates, yeah?” He whispers.

The word makes her heart twinge. “Yeah, mates.”

Her fingers trace lightly across her mouth as she watches him walk away, kit bag slung over his shoulder.

Tom sends no letters at all the third time he leaves, so eventually she stops writing to him. She figures it can’t be nice for him to hear about how life is carrying on without him, how his niece has started to walk and talk, a new house built in place of his old one with a new family living inside it.

She can’t bear how the world continues, while she feels stuck in place, waiting for his return. It isn’t fair that there are people getting to laugh and love and live their lives, while he’s sacrificing his so that they may have the privilege.

With the exception of the morning paper sort, her mum has taken a step back from the shop, needing more rest than usual, and without her uncle around to help out, she’s taking on more hours in order to keep things ticking over. The sweet jars sit empty, rationing is difficult to get used to. She’ll never be able to come to terms with sending people away without the food they want and need, simply because the shop either doesn’t have enough stock, or they have already used their allotted portion for the week.

Her mind drifts back to how skeletal Tom had looked when she’d seen him last. She hopes he’s managing to eat.

It’s the beginning of September, the dying embers of summer glow dark orange on the horizon, as the evening battles the day for dominance in the increasingly earlier darkening of the sky.

Lois is on an evening shift, so her mum is round at the flat looking after the little one. She has the house to herself, and has lost count of the amount of times she’s read and re-read the same passage in her book, unable to take the words in.

She frowns when she hears the door knock, unsure of whether she should answer it or not, she’s not expecting anyone. Her hesitation provides enough time for a second knock, more urgent this time, so she relents, going to the front door and opening it.

It feels as though time freezes when she sees Tom standing there, gaunt and tired looking.

He doesn’t give her time to react, dropping his kit bag to the floor as he closes the door behind him and presses a bruising kiss to her lips. His hands pull at her clothes as he backs her towards the living room sofa, and she lets him.

She just needs to feel that he’s real, that he’s really back, so she loses herself in the moment, allowing him to climb on top of her, her own hands moving to strip him as he does the same to her.

Her fingertips stroke down his back and she’s shocked to find she can feel every vertebrae in his spine, and all the ribs that protrude through the skin. She’s never touched him in such an intimate manner before, but she knows he’s never been so emaciated. He feels hollow, yet there is strength to how he manhandles her.

Pulling her thighs apart, he settles between them, pushing her open with the thickness of his cock. She gasps, arching against him, clutching tightly to his shoulders as he pistons his hips in quick succession against hers. This is no gentle lovemaking, it is filled with raw animalistic need, a desire to feel something, anything.

His breaths are ragged against her neck and he finds release quickly, spilling inside of her with a grunt before collapsing and pulling her tight to his chest.

They lay quietly on the sofa together, nothing but the sounds of their heavy breathing filling the space. She has a thousand questions she longs to ask him, yet none of them seem appropriate. Despite the fact that Tom has just brutally had his way with her, she’s still in shock that he’s returned.

“I’m sorry I never wrote,” he says eventually, “was tired of never having any good news to tell you,”

“You’re back now,” she says quietly, fingers tracing over the bullet wound scar in his shoulder, “that’s all that matters,”

“Still mates then?” He asks.

Her heart lurches at the word. Is that all they are after what’s just happened?

“Yeah, still mates,”

He drifts to sleep in her arms and she holds him, until his thrashing pushes her from the sofa. She lands with a heavy thud on the living room carpet, watching in horror as Tom’s sweaty body writhes and cries out in terror in his sleep.

She kneels beside the sofa, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder to still him and coax him awake. He startles, wide eyed, before clutching at her, burying his face in her neck and sobbing until he drifts into unconsciousness again.

As Tom settles back into life in Longsight, he goes right back to wearing a mask for everyone.

“Are you a hero?” Children shout as he walks down the street.

“Always have been, always will be,” he says with a lopsided grin.

Yet each day ends with him muffling his cries into her neck after she’s soothed his night terrors, she knows better than the act he puts on for everyone else’s benefit. She suspects that Tom may be suffering from shell shock, but doesn’t dare to bring it up. Knowing his father had the same, it is likely a sore subject for him.

His return sees a new development in their friendship, them sleeping together the night he came back isn’t a one off occurrence, yet each time he still continues to refer to her as a mate. It’s confusing for her, but not an issue she wishes to push, knowing that Tom is struggling with enough already. He’ll figure it out when he’s ready, she just needs to be there for him.

Tom gets a flat nearby, and finds a job at the local garage. Having served in the Navy has imparted mechanical skills to him, and he can easily work his way around an engine.

She sits perched on the workbench of the garage, admiring the view. Tom’s sandy coloured hair is pushed back from his forehead, his navy overalls tied around his waist, leaving him in just the white vest he wears underneath. His first customer of the day has yet to arrive, so he’s clean for now. She bites her lip at the thought of how dirty he’ll be by the end of the day.

It has become routine for her to spend a few mornings a week watching him work - her mum has never gotten out of the habit of insisting she wants to open the shop and sort the morning papers before heading home, so she is left to her own devices most days until the early afternoon. Tom doesn’t seem to mind having her hang around the garage.

When a car pulls in, a portly gentleman stepping out, Tom walks to greet him.

“It keeps overheating, I can’t understand why,” he explains to Tom.

“I’ll take a look for ya, mate. Come back in an hour, yeah?”

The man looks over at her with slight concern. “Will she…uh…be assisting you?”

Tom grins. “Nah, she’s just a mate, won’t let her near your motor, don’t worry.”

Just a mate.

She thinks back to how he’d knelt behind her not long after they’d woken up, just a couple of hours ago, pulling her hips back to meet each of his thrusts.

Just a mate.

Mates don’t do that.

Tom’s voice breaks her out of her thoughts. “Stupid old sod, just needs to put coolant in the engine. Gonna tell him I replaced the fan belt and charge him extra.”

She giggles, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

He gives an easy shrug. “He’s loaded, he can afford it.”

She sighs, looking at her watch. “I’d better push off, mum’ll be expecting me at the shop. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Probably not,” Tom says. “Booked solid tomorrow, but come round to mine after?”

She nods, waving and walking away. She’s used to Tom letting her know when the garage will be busy, so makes a point to stay away so he’s not distracted.

It’s not until the end of the day, when she fishes around in her pocket for the keys to lock up the shop that she realises she has Tom’s lighter. She’s too tired to pop round and drop it off at his, so decides she’ll swing by the garage in the morning to give it back.

Her fingers wrap around it in her pocket, preparing to take it out to hand back as she approaches the garage the next morning.

She stops in her tracks when she sees a sleek black motor car parked in the vehicle bay, a tall, sophisticated, beautiful woman standing beside it. Her perfectly manicured nails stroke down Tom’s bare arm as her ruby red lips pull back into a smile.

Her heart lurches in her chest as she watches him reach out to tuck a strand of the woman’s long, dark hair behind her ear.

Her throat tightens, nausea bubbles in her stomach as she turns and walks away, the lighter long forgotten. It feels as though the bottom of her world has been ripped away. She angrily swipes at the wetness that rims her eyes.

Just mates.

Fine, if that’s what Tom wanted then that’s all they’d ever be.

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