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#i swear i had thoughts when i drew this and tagged it but they are gone now so uh-enjoy the art?
hesbuckcompton-baby · 13 hours
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Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 3
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Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
Summary: When a routine pick-up goes awry, Susie and DeMarco find themselves stranded, and grow closer as they try to find their way back to Thorpe Abbotts
Warnings: Language, Susie and DeMarco being deeply stupid for an entire chapter
Word Count: 3.9k
Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd @mads-weasley @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy
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Susie had woken up in a bitterly foul mood, dragging herself out of bed with the sunrise and rubbing sleep from her eyes as she tiptoed across the hut, careful not to wake any of her bunkmates. She loathed pick-up runs - loathed the tedium of long drives through the countryside, with nothing to look at but grass, cows, and more grass. They were good for nothing except a bit of reprieve from the bustle of Thorpe Abbotts, although she doubted anyone on the airfield would miss her in her absence.
Still scraping her hair back into a ponytail as she left the hut, Susie rummaged in her pocket for her keys, swearing under her breath as they fell to the floor with a jangle. No one ever got up this early without a planned mission, so the place was practically deserted, the air still and silent save for the crunch of footsteps against the gravel path. There was a half-eaten packet of crackers in her pocket, and she fished them out one by one as she went, crumbs leaving her throat unbearably dry as she marched towards the ATS garages, searching for her truck.
She had just reached the door, fumbling for her car key, when a familiar bark split the air, echoing through the warehouse. Turning, brow raised, Susie came face to face with Meatball, standing in the open garage door, tail wagging as he stared up at her. Her mouth hung slightly open, frowning in confusion at the dog's sudden appearance. The sound of footsteps drew closer, but she found her questions remained unanswered even as DeMarco came into view. He'd left his uniform jacket behind, shirt only half tucked into his trousers, Meatball's leash wrapped around his hand as he approached. "Ah. Morning."
"Why are you here?" Susie asked, gaze flitting between the man and his dog, still frowning.
"Meatball needed to take a shit. S'pose I could ask you the same question."
"I work here."
"Right. Guess I can't."
She snorted, unlocking the door to her truck and pushing herself up on the step, one foot dangling in mid-air. "Supply run. Gotta go grab some food rations, but it'll take a while so I thought I'd get an early start."
DeMarco nodded, the words leaving his mouth before he had a chance to think them. "I'll come."
Susie stared at him like he'd stepped in something foul, or perhaps said something rude about her mother. "You what?"
He hadn't quite known he was going to offer until he did, but the more he considered it, it didn't seem a terrible idea. "Yeah, I'll come along, keep you company."
"Are you sure? It'll be dead boring - unless you're a big fan of powdered eggs and powdered milk, and... other powder, probably."
Benny smiled - something about her dry cynicism always seemed to make him laugh. "How did you know? Powder's my favourite food group."
Susie chuckled. "Oh, shut up," She chuckled, climbing into the driver's seat and reaching across to open the passenger side door. Taking this as an open invitation, he clambered up, Meatball jumping into his lap the moment he sat down. "I'm not taking the dog on a four-hour round trip."
Now it was his turn to look offended. "Four hours is nothin', he'll be fine. When I was a kid, we used to take road trips that lasted-"
"I don't care about you Americans and your weird obsession with driving. I'm dropping Meatball off when we pass your hut, or you're officially uninvited."
"Fine," Benny grumbled, leaning back in his seat as the engine started with a roar, the truck pulling out of the garage and into the morning daylight. "You had breakfast?"
Silently digging into her pocket, Susie pulled out the half-eaten pack of crackers, dry crumbs spilling over the dashboard as she put them down. She was watching the road, but could feel the look of judgement contorting DeMarco's expression, staring at the side of her face with a horrified frown. "Good God, woman."
They pulled up outside his Nissen hut on the way out of the airbase, and the moment Cleven came into view Meatball had scrambled out of the truck, bounding up to the Major, tail wagging wildly. Susie struggled to suppress a smile as DeMarco let out a sigh of defeat, begrudged at his dog's ability to seemingly love everyone more than him. "You sure that's even still your dog?" She teased, laughing as he reached across to give her a light shove to the shoulder.
He insisted she let him stop to collect some 'real food', refusing to subsist on the dry, crumbled mess of crackers she had retrieved from her pocket, a thoroughly pathetic excuse for a meal. She waited impatiently for his return, fingers drumming off-beat against the steering wheel, rolling her eyes as he came back into view, grinning triumphantly and waving a paper bag in the air. DeMarco grunted as he clambered back into the truck, presenting the sandwiches and thermos full of coffee he'd managed to acquire from the Red Cross volunteers. "They gave me the good stuff, 'cause I didn't tell 'em it was for you."
"Piss off."
They drove for a while without speaking, sitting in silence save for the quiet murmur of the radio, which dropped in and out the more remote their journey became. Benny ate his sandwich contently, watching the countryside roll past outside the window. "Y'know, I'm glad you didn't get fired."
Susie resisted a smirk. The pilot she had punched in the officers' club a few nights prior had attempted to get her into serious trouble, and he would've done so, too. But when his claim was investigated, the men who had been present mysteriously and unanimously had managed to miss the entire event. Not a single person had come forward in support of the pilot's story, and she couldn't help but suspect that someone had spread the word to keep quiet.
"Oh, yeah, it was... quite the coincidence. I didn't know you Yanks were so unobservant."
"It's a real problem - always just missing when assholes get what's comin' to 'em," He nodded in agreement, and Susie let out a huff of laughter, smiling as she shook her head.
DeMarco chuckled, holding a sandwich up to her face every now and then so that she could eat without taking her hands off the wheel. It was his first time leaving Thorpe Abbotts since arriving in England, and never before had he gotten to see the British countryside in the flesh. At one point he had rolled the window down, quickly earning a scold from Susie as farm air and the smell of animal dung filled the truck, leaving them both coughing in disgust. It had taken almost twenty minutes for the stench to dissipate, most of which she spent muttering to herself and threatening to abandon him on the roadside, but her anger seemed to subside when he gave her a biscuit to eat.
A folded-up map of East Anglia had been tucked under his seat, and the rustle of crumpled paper split the silence as Benny retrieved it, brow furrowed as he attempted to survey the lay of the land. "Where are we again?"
Susie tore her gaze from the road for a moment, pointing to one of the thin, winding country lanes. "Somewhere along there."
He nodded, considering this for a moment. "...Are you sure this is the best route?"
"Do you want to drive the bloody truck? Shut up."
"Jesus, alright."
DeMarco looked around, growing steadily more disenchanted by the English countryside with every identical field they passed, beginning more and more to understand Susie's lack of enthusiasm for the journey. The radio signal had begun to stutter so incessantly that they'd turned it off altogether, and he stewed in silence until something interesting finally caught his eye.
Stuck to the rearview mirror was a photo, edges worn soft from being handled too much. It clearly wasn't an old photograph, but it was in a terrible state, battered and creased so much that it was almost hard to decipher what it was of. But upon close inspection, DeMarco found it raised a dozen questions. Susie was there, hair cropped just below her ears, beaming so brightly that she was clearly halfway through a hearty laugh. The image couldn't have been more than a few years old, but she looked so much younger, everything about her appearance softer to the point of being unrecognisable. Beside her was another girl he didn't recognise, clearly still a teenager, dark curls falling past her shoulders, her arms wrapped around Susie's shoulders. They had the same smile, the same eyes. The girl's side of the photo was more faded than Susie's, as if someone had rubbed their finger against it over and over.
"Who's that?" He asked gently. She almost didn't seem to hear him, glancing over for barely a second. But the moment she realised what he was pointing at, the colour seemed to drain clean from her face, her cheeks turning sickly pale. Susie's hand darted out, snatching the photo off of the mirror and tucking it swiftly in her pocket out of sight.
"No one."
DeMarco frowned, gaze softening, any humour that had once lined his voice immediately sapped away. Her jaw was clenched, fist gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white, but she had put the photograph away with such deliberate, tender care that it wasn't hard to fill in the gaps. No one kept a photo in that way of someone alive.
He kept quiet after that, and Susie couldn't help but feel a twang of guilt tug within her. He had a right to ask - had a right to try and get to know her, although why he bothered she'd never know. Her bunkmates had all seen the photograph of her family, framed beside her bed, but no one had ever thought to ask about Ellie. No one had ever picked the tiny baby from the crowd of little smiling faces. Her photo stayed here, where no one else had ever laid eyes upon it until now.
She was her best-kept secret, and her most obvious lie.
"She's my sister." Susie uttered after almost ten minutes of arduous silence had passed. DeMarco had been staring blankly out of the window, his gaze drawn by the sound of her voice.
"Is it just you two?" He asked. She appreciated the effort taken to talk about her in the present tense - she didn't doubt that he'd figured it out already.
"Nah," She shook her head, chuckling slightly. "There's eight of us. She's the youngest - I'm number six."
Benny let out a low whistle. "Jesus. I pity your folks."
"We lived in a poor bit of Manchester, it's just like that. We get on well enough... Haven't seen 'em in a while."
He hummed, nodding along as she spoke, unsure of quite what to say. There were clearly things Susie wasn't saying, and he didn't want to push her, lest he risk making anything worse. "... D'you want another sandwich?"
"Yeah, actually," Susie nodded, and he fished another one out of the bag, dutifully holding it up to her mouth so she could eat.
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The pick-up was quick, so quick it almost didn't feel worth the trip, tins and cartons of all kinds of foodstuffs piled up in the back of Susie's truck and secured for the long return journey. They hadn't time to waste, so after a shared cup of coffee and a quick walk around the outside of the warehouse to stretch their legs, they were back on the road again. Radio reception was better here, and they managed a rather self-conscious sing-along to 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy' before deciding it was less embarrassing to just sit in silence.
After a while, DeMarco had taken to filling the quiet by telling Susie stories of his time in flight training, and he was only half certain that she was actually listening. Her eyes never left the road, and she only let out a light chuckle at the funny parts, as if waiting for her cue to laugh but not actually finding it amusing. "Suze, are you listening?"
"Hm?" She hummed, confirming his hypothesis.
"Wowww," Benny nodded bitterly, slowly trailing off as he noticed a strange sound, something between a groan and a rattle reverberating from the hood of the truck. "Ok, tell me you at least hear that,"
Susie's brow furrowed, concern lacing her voice. "Yeah, I'm not deaf,"
"Coulda fooled me," He shrugged. She shot him a glare. "Sorry."
The further they went, the louder the noise grew, and within minutes of its appearance, the truck had begun to splutter and slow down, a thin trail of smoke funnelling out from beneath the hood. Susie pulled to a reluctant stop, sloping sideways into the ditch along the road's side. DeMarco jumped out, more smoke billowing out as he popped the hood, and with a cry of frustration, it became alarmingly apparent that Susie couldn't get the truck to restart now that it had stopped.
"Fuck!" She yelled, the door slamming shut behind her as she clambered out, almost slipping sideways into the ditch. "Motherfucker!"
"Well, what's wrong with it?" He called to her, staring down at the truck's insides.
"I don't know! God - I should've listened to Charlotte when she told me to get Bevan to check it."
"You didn't make sure it was working before you left?!" DeMarco cried.
"It was working fine! I don't know what's happened!"
"Yeah, maybe 'cause you're not a mechanic, Susie!"
"Shut up!" She snapped, and his mouth fell shut. "Just shut up a sec, let me think."
The pair stood side by side, hands on their hips, staring in despair at the indecipherable machinery before them. Neither had any clue what to do, and it was becoming alarmingly obvious that they were stranded, nothing but farmland as far as they could see in either direction.
"Ok... Ok," Susie huffed, lowering herself to sit on the grass at the edge of the ditch. "Just... get the map, we'll figure something out."
DeMarco swiped it from under his seat, quickly sitting down beside her. They unfolded it, stretching the huge map out across their laps and staring down at the winding roads. "You know where we are?"
"We turned here, I think," She uttered, pointing out their route. "So we're somewhere along this road, probably."
"But you're not sure."
"If I'd known we'd get stuck I definitely would've paid more attention," She snarked. "S'not my bloody fault."
"It is a little."
"You're not helping!"
"No, I know, I'm sorry. I just... don't feel great about this. But I don't blame you, by the way"
Susie let out a long sigh, raking a hand through her hair to push it out of her face. "Look. If we're on this road, which I'm pretty sure we are, there's a village just over that hill," She pointed across to the opposite field, which rose at a slope, obscuring the horizon beyond it. "We'll just... start walking that way, I guess."
Scrambling to her feet, DeMarco quickly followed, still frowning in concern. "Well, what about the truck? It's got all the food in it, we can't just leave it. What if someone comes by and takes it?"
She threw up her hands. "Well, I dunno. You stay here then, you've got a gun."
"What? No, I do not have a gun."
"Jesus, what the fuck are you good for, then?!"
He could tell she was stressed, that she didn't mean what she was saying. Susie struck him as a woman who lashed out when she didn't know what to do, and this was certainly one of those times. DeMarco let the dozen sarcastic remarks bubbling within him ebb away, deciding to just let it be. He took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh, feeling his heartbeat slow, his tone level out. "Let's just go, ok?"
"Ok," Susie frowned grimly.
The march towards her supposed village was miserable, and mud skirted their shoes as they trudged along the edges of fields, DeMarco nervously eyeing a flock of sheep as they passed. It was a beautiful day - the sun beating down on them, the sky a perfect blue - and if they hadn't been stuck here they might have been able to enjoy it. But now they were just beginning to sweat, an added discomfort atop everything else.
"Should've stayed in the city," Susie grumbled. "Can't tell what's mud and what's sheep shit out here."
"At least we didn't bring Meatball," He shrugged, and she let out a single burst of laughter, shrugging off her jacket in the heat.
"Bet you wish you'd stayed home."
"And leave you to march through sheep shit on your own? Never."
Susie turned her head to look back at him, flashing him a smile, her heel skidding in a wet patch of mud the moment she took her eyes off the path. DeMarco lunged forward, holding his arms out beneath hers before she could fall over, seizing her hands tightly in his. Her back was pressed against his chest, a lock of her hair caught on one of his shirt buttons. "God, this is the worst," They both began to chuckle, and she could feel the vibration of his chest against her spine.
Pausing a moment to disentangle themselves from one another, Susie regained her footing, muttering at the mud spatter that now ran up the back of her trousers. By the time they reached the top of the hill, the sight of the village she had promised was like a mirage in the desert, and Benny wasn't sure he'd ever been so glad to see anything.
"Oh, thank god there's a pub," She sighed, trudging limply down the hill towards the road.
"I'm not sure that's our priority right now," He pointed out.
Susie shook her head. "Nah - place like this? That's where everyone'll be."
"It's two in the afternoon."
"Yeah, exactly."
The logic didn't add up to DeMarco, but the moment they entered the pub he conceded, for there were at least ten old men scattered about the place, drinking away like it was a Friday night at the officers' club. "Y'know, I think the English scare me a little," He whispered in her ear, eliciting a snort of amusement.
"Bloody hell, love," The man behind the bar remarked, taking in Susie's appearance as she walked in. Her shoes were caked in mud, a halo of frizz rising around her hair. "You alright?"
"Rough morning. D'you have a phone?"
He nodded, showing her around to the side of the bar where a telephone was bolted to the wall. DeMarco leant up against the wall, watching on as Susie fumbled through her jacket pockets, finally producing a crumpled piece of paper with a phone number messily scribbled upon it.
"Who's number's that?"
"Uh, just... a friend. In the village. I'll send her up to the base, get them to bring a car - go get us a beer, will you?"
He wandered off, leaving her to make the call. Benny wasn't usually the type to drink this early in the day, but after their ordeal, he decided he deserved it, and was waiting with two pints by the time she returned.
"They'll be here in the next couple hours," Susie sighed, lowering herself into the seat opposite him and taking a long, grateful sip of her beer.
DeMarco nodded, his mouth widening with a yawn. "Alright. Sounds good."
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He didn't know when he'd dozed off, nor for how long he'd been asleep. All Benny knew was that one moment he'd been drinking, and the next he was opening his eyes with a grunt, Susie suddenly missing, her seat sitting empty. A jolt of panic shot through him, heart pounding for a second as consciousness rapidly returned, gaze darting around the place for any sign of her. Being stuck out here was bad enough - being stuck without Susie was infinitely worse.
The familiar sound of laughter caught his attention, following it across to the far corner of the pub and releasing a sigh of relief. With the thud of a dart hitting the board, a cheer erupted from the small group of old men that had gathered around her, and Susie turned towards them with a self-satisfied smirk. She caught his eye across the room, flashing a genuine smile before her attention was ripped away again by the competition at hand. She hadn't been lying, that night in the pub back at Thorpe Abbotts - she really was good at darts.
"Glad you woke up," Susie sighed, returning to her seat as the others took their turns. "Would've hated to have to leave you here. Although, ultimately, a sacrifice I'm willing to make."
DeMarco grinned, shaking his head as he lightly kicked her beneath the table. She gasped mockingly, faking offence. "Rude. I'll get the lads to beat you up for that."
"'The lads'?" He raised a brow. "They're visibly pushing eighty."
"And very spry for it," She nodded, and he chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. Across the room, the group of men she had been playing with let out a collective groan of disappointment, and she grinned. "Looks like I'm still winning."
Benny raised a hand to his face, wiping away the thin trail of foam that lined his top lip. "Y'know. This hasn't actually been the worst."
"It's been pretty fucking miserable," Susie shrugged.
"Well, yeah. But you're a pretty good person to be stuck with."
She seemed slightly shell-shocked for a moment, a distinct red flush tinting her cheeks. He realised he rather liked making her blush.
Susie cleared her throat, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "I did enjoy having an extra hand, for sandwich-eating purposes."
"Oh, of course," DeMarco nodded, smirking.
"You should really see about getting a gun though."
"I'm not-... I'm not gonna start carrying a gun around, Susie."
She shrugged. "Your loss."
He smiled, opening his mouth to speak, when a friendly face appeared in the doorway. "... Bucky?"
Susie turned in her seat, brow raised as Egan walked in, a grin creasing his cheeks. "Benny! Heard you were in need of a rescue."
"Thank God - boy, am I ready to get outta here," He huffed, noticing the way her smile flickered slightly, erring on fading.
"Well, let's get goin' - I got some folks picking up your stuff, I'll drive you back."
She rose from her seat just after he made his move, and the pair followed Egan to the jeep waiting outside. Susie quietly slid into the backseat, looking up in surprise as DeMarco climbed in after her, leaving Bucky alone up front.
"You guys look like crap, by the way," He pointed out, eyeing them in the rearview mirror. Benny leant back against the seat, feeling tiredness fill his body once again as the engine started with a roar.
"Eh. Worth it."
21 notes · View notes
breadbrobin · 3 months
Note
Hi idk if you’re taking reqs but I’ve been reading your posts about Luke Castellan a lot and I think I’m getting obsessed- So could you make a fic/shot about a Luke Castellan x daughter of Apollo reader where they’ve known each other since childhood and they’re kind of like frenemies (friends and/or enemies) and one day he ends up getting badly injured after a quest so she has to take care of him in the infirmary for a week, but ever since that happened he’s been trying to get injured just to go and see reader at the infirmary again?
Sorry if that wasn’t clear, and this is kinda inspired from another fic you made about Luke and daughter of Apollo:)
But if you ever make something like this I would really appreciate it if you tagged me!
two hearts
luke castellan x reader — percy jackson and the olympians
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[fem!daughter of apollo reader]
summary: (as above)
warnings: canon typical mentions of violence, kissing, flirting, a couple of swear words, blood, idiots to lovers a lil bit too (can you tell it’s my favourite thing)
word count: 3.5k
(hiiii hello hi!! sorry this took me so long to get out, but here it is!! thank you so much for the request i had a lot of fun with this one (3.5k words of fun apparently). hope you enjoy it!)
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if someone had told you luke castellan was going to be gone on a quest when you arrived at camp for the summer, you wouldn’t have spent the whole drive to camp preparing to deal with his annoying ass.
you hiked up half-blood hill and over the boundary, noticing the distinct tension in the atmosphere. something was off.
when luke hadn’t come to see you as you dropped your bags off in the apollo cabin, or when you stopped into the infirmary, or even when you walked past the hermes cabin, you were clued in that something was up.
“where’s luke?” you asked chiron curiously.
“he is on a quest, child. sent by his father,” he smiled down at you warmly. “do not worry about him.”
“i’m not worried,” you bit your lip. “just curious. that’s all.”
and that was that.
it was weirdly boring being at camp without luke’s constant snarky comments. ever since you’d both gotten to camp when you were younger, he’d been a persistent thorn in your side. maybe it was because you both were new around the same time, or because you didn’t like it when he hovered around the infirmary, poking his quick fingers into buckets of bandages and medications. whatever it was, he seemed to enjoy irritating you. and you apparently enjoyed it more than you thought.
monotonous days: breakfast, archery, infirmary, training, activities, dinner, bed.
sleepless nights: nightmares of quests and dragons and a bright white scar.
you sighed one night, waking up from yet another dream of flashes and brief images. your siblings were sleeping around you, a couple of them snoring, and you sat up.
the air on the porch was cooler that night, especially for summer time. you wrapped your sweatshirt a little tighter around yourself and leaned on the porch railing, peering out into the darkness. you just needed a minute, really. you sat down on a chair and relaxed.
you woke up abruptly.
at first, you were confused as to why.
then you saw the figure on the hill.
it was a camper. the hint of orange in the full-moon light told you that much. they were stumbling down—no, they were rolling now.
you stood up and dashed back into your cabin, grabbing your to-go first aid kit. you then turned and ran towards the obviously injured figure. there were only three people it could be. and where were the other two?
you reached them quickly, dropping to your knees beside them and rolling them over.
luke.
it was luke.
the air rushed from your lungs. he was here. he was back. he was alive. you’d never felt such an overwhelming emotion before. it drew slight stinging tears to your eyes.
his eyes were barely open but he gripped your arm with a strength you didn’t think his weak body could still possess. “y/n?”
“just hold on, luke,” you whispered. there were injuries all over his body. you hardly knew where to start. “just hold on.”
“they’re gone,” he said absently.
you looked at him, but didn’t stop trying to help. “who’s gone?”
“everyone,” he stared up at the moon.
you bit your cheek and looked over your shoulder. one of your brothers had gone on that quest with him. “wake up!” you shouted. “someone come help!” you turned back to luke. “okay, luke. you’re gonna be okay.”
his cheeks were hollow. it was then that you noticed the way his eye was swollen closed and a dark red angry cut traced its way down the side of his face. you gasped and turned his head gently to see it better.
“not looking good, huh?” he murmured bitterly. “guess i won’t be getting any modelling contracts soon.”
“we’ll see about that,” you muttered. “stay awake, yeah?”
“you’re not the boss of me,” he grumbled, but kept his eyes open as help finally arrived to get him to the infirmary.
he’d had more injuries than you’d originally thought. it was like he’d been attacked by half of the monsters in greek mythology, honestly, based on the peppered burn holes in his shirt, the cuts and scrapes on his arms and knees and the gashes littering his abdomen. oh, and not to mention the gaping spear wound in his right shoulder.
after working all night with some of your siblings and chiron in the infirmary, he was finally stable. finally, he’d be okay.
you volunteered to stay with him to keep an eye on him for the first few hours, though your eyelids were drooping with sleep.
you held his hand. it felt like the right thing to do.
he didn’t stir.
it was strange, being around him without him talking. since you were fourteen, he’d rarely managed to shut up around you. incessant talking and waving his hands around, explaining some new thing he learned in sword fighting or some joke one of his brothers made. it was both infuriating and entertaining. you loved and hated it, just like you loved and hated him.
sitting in silence with luke castellan felt like the world was turning on its head.
a couple of hours passed. you didn’t let go of his hand. not even as you slipped into a dream—a memory, really.
you were fifteen, and it was raining. it had only been a few months since you got to camp. things were still fresh and somewhat unknown. what you did know, though, was you could never get a moments peace anymore.
“y/n?”
you rolled your eyes. of course it was luke. “what?”
“where are you?”
you supposed you were hidden pretty well. sitting among the reeds at the bottom of the lake was one of your favourite places to be. it was cooler there, but even in winter it wasn’t cold. your feet could sit in the water if you wanted them to and the reeds blocked you from the wind and outside attention.
when you didn’t respond, you could hear him coming closer anyway.
“that’s fine, don’t tell me. i’ll find you anyway.”
and he did. he always did.
there was some theory about that, you realised as he sat beside you, the tiny space between the reeds barely big enough to hold both of you. some theory about a string of fate tying people together. some greek myth about people originally having four arms, four legs and two hearts, and when zeus split them down the middle, those people spent the rest of their lives searching for their other halves. drawn together by fate and reconnected always. you arm was pressed against his arm and your leg against his leg, and maybe it felt so right because you were cold and he was warm. not because of some silly soulmate theory that didn’t even make sense. because there was also the idea that maybe he’d put a tracker on you, but you had no idea where he would have gotten that. or maybe you were just bad at hiding.
“i’ve been looking for you,” he said.
you tilted your head in confusion. “what? why?”
“well,” were you mistaken, or were his cheeks kind of red? “i kinda hurt myself at training today. and the people in the infirmary told me to grow up and get over it. but honestly, it really hurts and i just wanted to know if you could heal it.”
you rolled your eyes. “always needing something, huh, castellan? is it so much to ask for you to just want to see me?” you hold your hand out and he extends his sword arm, revealing the cross-muscle cut on his forearm.
“i do want to see you,” he protested. “honestly. it’s not my fault that i’m also coincidentally injured whenever i want to see you.”
you couldn’t stay mad at that smile. “coincidentally, huh?” you handed him a small section of ambrosia from your pocket as your fingers ran over the cut, whispering a prayer to your father. you watched as the skin knit itself closed again, leaving not even a scar on his arm. you pulled back with a smile. “there. done. good as new.”
“thanks, doctor. don’t know what i’d do without you.”
“die a horrible death and be left permanently disfigured? to the point where we’d do a closed casket funeral just so we don’t have to look at your ugly face?” you tilted your head with a teasing smile.
he elbowed you. “shut up, loser. you know you love my face.”
and as you woke up, feeling his hand tighten around yours, you realised you kind of did. there was gauze over the cut on his eye and cheek, covering half of his face. and yet, he was still annoyingly beautiful.
“something on my face?” he mumbled as he saw looking, finally awake. “except for this thing, of course.” he gestured to the gauze.
you smiled wanly. “i’m glad you’re awake.”
“missed me?” he half-grinned.
you snort and drop his hand, patting the back of it and standing up to check his bandages. “you wish.”
he was silent as you checked his bandages and reapplied the few that were loosening. then, as you left to go and get the next person to keep an eye on him, he spoke up. “i missed you.”
you paused in the doorway, a small smile growing on your face. you looked back at him. his eyes were earnest and soft. he looked younger like this. “i’ll be back a few hours. we’ll have dinner together.”
you did have dinner together. in fact, you had almost every meal together for the first few days.
it was quiet, mostly. you didn’t ask him what happened and he didn’t tell you. you knew he’d already been interrogated by everyone else. he didn’t need that from you.
annabeth came and joined you a couple of times, chatting about some new architectural design she’d learned about or a new move she’d learned in training.
you realised how alike they were. family in every way that mattered, regardless of blood.
it didn’t take long for luke to start getting annoying again though.
once he’d been in the infirmary for four days, he regained most of his usual personality. and that meant bad jokes, incessant talking and poorly-timed, half-hearted flirting.
“the sun makes your eyes glow,” he said one day. he’d never had much of a filter, so it wasn’t too out of the blue, but it still caught you a little of guard.
you fumbled the supplies in your hand. “sorry, what?”
he was sitting up on his bed now. his wounds were almost healed. two more days and he’d be out of the infirmary. you didn’t know if you were one hundred per cent happy about that.
“your eyes. they glow in the sun.” he repeated.
you paused, glancing over at him. “thank you…?”
he nodded and leaned back, his eyes staying on you.
that was only the beginning.
within five hours he’d complimented your eyes, your skills, your smile and your kindness. multiple times. it got the point where the other two patients in the infirmary had stopped taking you seriously, just complimenting you instead. that’s where you drew the line.
“okay, luke, you need to stop. this is too much,” you said. you were checking his remaining wounds and nodding happily at them.
“what, am i flustering you? are you blushing?” he teased.
you were not blushing at all, you decided. whether it was strictly true or not was between your brain and your cheeks, not your honesty. “you’re annoying me,” you grumbled. “like, a lot.”
“you know you’ll miss me when i go back to my cabin,” he leaned back on his pillows, a smirk on his lips. it warped the scar on his cheek more than you expected, and it made your heart clench every time.
“if i miss you, you have permission to annoy me for the rest of my life,” you grumbled. you definitely wouldn’t miss this.
finally, he was out of the infirmary.
finally, you could work in peace.
finally, you could— oh, what the hell?
“good morning!” luke said as he waltzed into the infirmary. “i’ve injured myself.”
you looked him up and down as you walked closer. “you look fine to me. what did you do?”
“i fell of the rock climbing wall and hit my head.” he turned his head to show you the small trickle of blood above his ear.
you sighed and led him to a bed. you handed him ambrosia as you used a wet cloth to clean his head. “you were meant to take things easy for the first few days.”
“i did!” he protested. “i was only like, twelve feet up!”
you pursed your lips and shook your head. your hand was under his chin now, stopping him from turning his head to look at you. “taking it easy means no rock climbing at all, dumbass. you’ve been out of here for half a day and you’re already back!”
“maybe i like it in here.” he shrugged, pouting slightly, looking up at you.
“maybe i find you really annoying and ban you from coming in here,” you countered.
“you can’t do that,” he gasped.
“watch me, castellan.” you prodded his cheek mockingly. “don’t mess with me.”
his smile wasn’t exactly the response you were looking for, but you found that you didn’t mind it all too much.
luke came into the infirmary almost every two days for the next two weeks.
there was always some new injury that he couldn’t ignore, that he needed to have you heal. he only came in when you were there though, like he knew your schedule off by heart.
he probably did.
his sheepish smile was becoming a fixture of your days and you couldn’t help but smile a little brighter when you saw it. you couldn’t stop your heart from beating a little faster either, and it was annoying.
in the years that you’d been at camp, luke castellan had driven you up the wall. did you hate him? did you love him? how did you love him? how a friend loves a friend? how a doctor loves a patient? how a lover loves a lover? how did you hate him? why? why anything? why nothing? the questions only got worse.
“another minor injury?” you sighed, hearing his footsteps entering the infirmary. you didn’t know when you memorised the sound of his footsteps, or the rise and fall of his breathing while he slept, but you did.
“uh, not exactly…” the weakness in his voice made your stomach drop.
you turned around to see him clutching a bright red wound on his inner arm. he looked pale. that wasn’t a good sign. the blood was still seeping past his fingers. also not a good sign.
you gasped and pulled him to a bed immediately, pushing him to lie down and placing hard pressure on the wound. you could feel him reaching into your pocket and fishing around for ambrosia. once he found some, he ate it quickly and sighed in relief.
“what the hell happened?” you exclaimed.
he shrugged with one shoulder. “sword training.”
“were you training against the fucking terminator?” you took in the other minor cuts and bruises. your voice was unfairly shaky. you didn’t want to get close to losing him again. even just the thought made you feel sick.
his eyes were soft when they looked up at you. you almost dropped all of your anger right there. “i got sloppy,” he said nonchalantly. “i’ll be fine once i get back to normal.”
“this is an artery,” you said. “you could die.”
he didn’t look all that upset or shocked. “i won’t die, baby. i won’t.”
your stomach gave a pitiful lurch at the nickname. “save your energy.”
“is that your doctorly way of telling me to shut up?” he teased.
“yes, it is,” you nodded. “now, shut up while i help you.”
he looked at you like you were hanging the stars in the sky, not tending to him with hands red from his blood.
no one had stopped talking about luke since he got back. the first failed quest in years, with two of the three members dying and the third one permanently scarred by a dragon. not a good ratio.
you often saw luke sitting alone now, and when he was nowhere to be found, you knew where he was.
maybe there was something to the strings of fate theory, you thought as you found him and sat down beside him among the reeds. they were taller now and more dense, but the two of you had carved out a little spot for yourselves over time. your limbs were still pressed against each other though. that was one thing that would never change.
he was turning something over in his hands. a repetitive motion.
you tried to make sense of what it was, but couldn’t.
“it’s a dragon claw,” he spoke up. “the one that did this.” he pointed at the still-red scar on his face. that was why you couldn’t get rid of that one. magic scars never really went away.
you stayed quiet.
“peter distracted the dragon just in time for me to get my sword back. i got the cut, but when i turned back he was getting thrown against the mountainside.” he shook his head bitterly. “he didn’t stand a chance.”
you stared at a dragonfly on a reed in front of you. “knowing my brother, he just would have been happy to be there. and happy that you’re alive.”
he smiled, but it looked forced and bitter. “yeah. he spent the whole time talking about how lucky we were for this opportunity, and how he was so excited to explore beyond camp… and gianna was the same. they were just…” he was fiddling with his camp beads now.
you watched his movements slowly. it was like he’d never been gone, but also like everything had changed. there was a new tension in the air around him. you weren’t sure if it was you or him.
“don’t be resentful,” you said softly, breaking the silence.
“what?” his eyes turned to you. “what do you mean?”
“don’t resent yourself and the gods for this,” you said, leaning a little closer to him and looking away. the dragonfly hadn’t moved—like it was listening. watching. “peter and gianna made their choices. they’re in elysium now. that’s about as good as it gets.”
he pressed his lips together and nodded. “i know.”
maybe there was something to the two hearts theory too, because you could tell he didn’t. he didn’t agree. he didn’t want to. you slipped your hand into his. “you know i’m always here for you, right, luke? i mean, you annoy me—a lot—but you’re still, well, you. and you’re important to me. i’ll always be there for you. if you want to hold hate in your heart, then be my guest. i’ll just have to hold more love in mine to balance you out.”
he was watching your connected fingers as you spoke. his hands were calloused and hard, but yours were softer. less time spent training and more time spent healing. “love for who?”
you, you thought. you didn’t speak.
he turned to look at you. you were already looking at him. “love for me?”
you swallowed tightly. “luke…”
he leaned in closer, until his lips were moments away from touching yours. one wrong move and you’d touch. or was that the right move? was the wrong move pulling away? leaving him alone—again? that didn’t feel fair. but nor did your pounding heart and your flushing cheeks, and maybe you were blushing now, but that didn’t mean you had to like it.
then you gave in. that string that connected your souls was pulling you too tight. your lips brushed against his softly at first, and before you could think to move any further, his hand was gripping the back of your neck and pulling you closer, and his lips were pressing against yours with the passion of years of built up tension. you’d never hated him at all, you realised. you loved him the whole time. sure, he was irritating. he was chatty. he was pushy and annoying and never stopped bothering you. but you’d missed his bothering, and you’d missed his smile, and when he pulled away to take a breath, you missed his lips with a fiery need that bubbled up from deep down inside you.
“guess i’ll be annoying you for the rest of our lives then, huh?” he said softly, chest rising and falling against yours.
your eyes were still closed, reeling from the kiss. “wasn’t that a given anyway? i wouldn’t want it any other way, personally.”
when he kissed you again, you decided that the theory about two hearts was, in fact, correct. you met as two, seperate halves in a fucked up world that had you grow up far too fast. you grew as two, finding your places at camp, finding your people, but always finding each other first. you met now as one. four arms, four legs, two hearts, meeting in a tumultuous display of love and desire. and that’s how you wanted to stay. your limbs locked with his, your hearts pounding in sync, your every feeling, every emotion, every sensation making your very soul hum with joy. you’d found him, finally, after years of your hearts waiting for this moment. finally, your two hearts were one again.
809 notes · View notes
zepskies · 3 months
Text
Green
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Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader, Ben and daughter!OC
Summary: Ben spends the day alone with his daughter, to varying degrees of success. When you get home, it prompts a serious conversation.
AN: Another one-shot for the BMD-verse, set sometime after "Until Morning" (you'll see). This can be read as standalone as well!
Word Count: 2,500 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Father and daughter fluff, followed by husband and wife spice.~
Read more of the BMD-verse! ⤵️
💚 Break Me Down Masterlist
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Father and daughter were glaring at one another, gazes locked.
Green against green.
“Young lady, I’m telling you right now. I’m not gonna tolerate any more of your little attitude,” said Ben. “If you want to try me, be my guest.”
He held the ravioli poised on a pink plastic spoon. His daughter Lila sat in her highchair in the kitchen, boldly refusing any more of her lunch.
Her stubborn face reminded him entirely too much of you. But he needed her to eat. He wouldn’t have it said when you came home that he couldn’t feed a damn two-year-old.
He huffed. “Work with me here. Just a couple more bites.”
Lila made a shrill sound of refusal when the spoon came near her face. He knew she could use a spoon just fine. She was being difficult on purpose.
To demonstrate her resolve, she slapped at the ravioli with a chubby little hand, and it ended up splashing back into the bowl. A bit of red sauce splattered onto Ben’s cheek, with a pinch of it hitting his eye.
He blinked in annoyance. “Delilah Marie, I swear to Christ—”
She’s just a baby, a voice that sounded a lot like you infiltrated his mind. It still didn’t take away his aggravation.
“No!” Lila insisted. It was her favorite word, right behind Bluey.
She then pushed the bowl right off the highchair. It spilled ravioli and pasta sauce all over the floor in spectacular fashion. Ben was sitting in his own chair by the dining table, where he moved his feet back at the last moment. She almost got his Italian loafers.
“You gotta be f…” It took every scrap of patience within him to hold his tongue…and breathe calmly through his nose. He didn’t want to reward this destructive, disrespectful behavior, but he also knew that he needed his daughter to eat.
“Want some applesauce?” he said, as a peace offering.
Lila’s face scrunched.
“No applesauce, huh?” Ben muttered. He glanced at the mess across the highchair and the formerly white tile on the floor. “Your mother’s gonna have a conniption.”
“Mommy?” Lila asked. “Mommy’s home?”
“No, she’s not here right now,” Ben replied. “She’ll be home later.”
Lila seemed to understand, because that’s when she got upset again. Her red-stained finger drew a shapeless form in the sauce as she pouted. At least she wasn’t crying.
Ben sighed, once again, and stroked her cheek with his thumb.
Fuck it.
“You want some ice cream?” he bribed.
Her sadness dissipated at the thought; she smiled brightly and nodded. “Yeah!”
“Yeah, I thought so,” he grumbled.
After a scoop of strawberry ice cream for each of them (she liked it because it was pink), Ben wrangled her up out of the highchair and declared, bath time.
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He did fine with the bathing process. He’d helped you with this before, and so he knew what to do in order to wash the sauce off her face, hands, and even her hair. It was what came after the bath that remained a problem.
Lila was stubborn beyond belief, even before she could articulate what it was about the soft green onesie that she didn’t like. No, she wasn’t satisfied until Ben pulled out the yellow Starlight themed pajamas. Probably because they had “Auntie Annie’s” face all over them.
He rolled his eyes, but this wasn’t a hill he needed to die on. He dressed Lila and tried to tuck her into bed for her afternoon nap. The problem was, she refused to lie still in the crib.
Instead, she was bouncing on the balls of her feet, using the edge of the crib for balance. He’d be impressed, if she wasn’t trying to climb out and give him a small heart attack.
He grabbed her and gathered her against his chest. Despite the super strength you’d temporarily displayed off and on throughout your pregnancy, Lila’s powers were latent at the moment. Dr. Baker seemed to think Lila would start to display them once she got old enough. Like Ryan, who hadn’t started growing into his powers until around 10 years old.
So for now, Lila was a mostly normal two-year-old who could still get hurt.
Ben frowned. “This is the time you usually go down. Why do you have so much energy?”
She just giggled at him and put both hands on his face, over his eyes.
“Daddy, guess who?”
He sighed, but couldn’t help smiling. As usual, he indulged her.
“Could it be my baby girl?”
He waited until her hands came away from his eyes, and he opened them wide.
“There she is!”
She squealed and giggled and grabbed his hair when he kissed her cheek. In the comfort of his own home, he could afford to be this openly affectionate.
Aw shit, he thought, as something occured to him.
He finally realized why she was so fucking hyper. Maybe it had something to do with the giant scoop of ice cream she’d had for lunch.
Goddamn it. Ben sighed and unwrapped her arm from around his head.
“Okay, let’s watch some TV.”
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Lila didn’t seem all that interested in watching anything, or even playing with her toys. She mainly wanted to jump on Ben’s stomach while he was trying to relax on the couch. He put on a football game you taped for him. Or recorded, as you'd said.
“All right, enough. Your old man’s trying to watch the game,” Ben said, bringing Lila down to sit in lap.
That lasted for about two seconds. Thereafter, she was climbing up his chest and trying to smother him with her little hands.
He took her hand from his nose so he could at least breathe in peace.
“Where’s Mommy?” Lila asked, as she sat on his shoulder and beat a little fist on the top of his head.
“She’s with your aunt,” Ben replied. “Well, not your real one, the fake one.”
Lila made a sound of confusion. Realizing that she didn’t know what the hell he meant, he rephrased.
“She’s with your Aunt Annie. They’ll be back soon,” he said.
He didn’t mind you wanting a day out to yourself. What he minded was the attitude you’d struck when he suggested dropping Lila off with Louisa, your actual sister.
“What, you can’t handle her alone for one day?” you’d asked.
His pride hadn’t allowed him to say no to that.
So here he was, with a wily toddler who was doing her damndest to suffocate him. Better attempts than this had failed, but it was still annoying while he was trying to watch the game.
Somehow, he managed to tune it out while he watched the ref make a bad call.
“What was that?! You gotta be kidding me!” Ben said, holding Lila to his chest even as he pointed and shouted at the TV. “Son of a bitch. What a pussy call that was.”
“Bish, bish, bish,” Lila said, making a game out of the word. It called Ben’s attention.
He forgot about the game for a moment when he looked down at her. His eyes widened a fraction, even as a smile pulled at his lips.
“What’d you just say?”
“Bishhhhhh,” Lila repeated. “Somvabishhhh.” Her lips squished like a fish. And then she giggled, like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.
“Aw, fuck,” Ben uttered.
And he pressed his lips together with ever widening eyes at what he’d just said.
Lila grinned. “Fack!”
“Uhh, no. No. Don’t say that,” he said, trying to sound stern. Inside, he was trying not to laugh. He didn't really give a shit what she said, but you were particular about the kid not inheriting his vocabulary.
In fact, he was pretty sure you were going to go nuclear for this one.
“Why?” Lila asked.
“Because it’s uh…a bad word,” Ben replied, even though he wanted to roll his eyes at himself. This was what he’d become. A suburban dad.
"And it's not ladylike," he added.
“Fackkkk,” Lila giggled some more.
Christ on a cross. Ben bit the inside of lip hard to stop himself from laughing.
“Whatever. Just don’t say it around your mom,” he relented. He brushed his fingers through her soft brown hair. She preened at the attention, like the little showboat she was.
“Daddyyyy…” Lila wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled as deeply into him as she could, like a koala clinging to a shaking branch.
Ben sighed and rubbed a hand up and down her back as he cradled her against him.
These were the moments he didn’t mind. In fact, these were the moments he did his best to remember. They helped block out the older, darker ones that this kid would never know.
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Ben woke to the shutter of a camera going off.
He blinked his bleary eyes open to find you standing there with a highly amused smile on your face, and your phone poised in your hand.
He groaned, but he soon realized that Lila was sleeping in his arms, on his chest. You leaned down and rested a hand on her back. You also greeted him with a kiss to his temple.
“Long day?” you teased quietly.
Ben gave you a deadpan look, one that had you straining to taper down your giggles. Though he drew you closer by your hip and squeezed the soft flesh over your white sundress. He took you in with a lazy once-over.
You looked good. Sexy as hell, really. Your face was glowing and relaxed, and he liked the shade of red you’d done on your nails.
“You have a good time?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you replied, massaging his shoulder. Though you arched a brow. “There’s a catastrophe in the kitchen.”
Ben blinked.
Fuck. He forgot about that.
“Yep,” he said, giving you a teasing smirk of his own. “Right on time for you, baby.”
You chuckled, though your eyes narrowed in warning. “Yeah, right.”
You still helped him put Lila down in the nursery for the rest of her nap. She yawned and turned over onto her back. You pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, though you had to smile when it accidentally left the red mark of your lipstick behind.
You bit your lip and gently rubbed it off without waking her up. (An amazing damn feat, as far as you were concerned.)
Ben laid a heavy hand on your back, prompting you to straighten up and turn into his waiting embrace.
His lips curved as he looked down at you. “Hey.”
You laughed quietly. “Hey, yourself.”
Your hands glided up his chest, and further still to hold his face. You brought him down to kiss you, with your fingers slipping into his hair, and your nails dragging along his scalp. He hummed into your mouth.
“Miss me?” you teased.
Ben huffed. As usual though, his answer was in his actions. He held you close for a moment, just to feel you there.
Your arms slipped around his, clinging to his shoulders as you rested against him. This was your safe, comfortable place where you always felt at home.
But, you couldn’t help but break the spell.
“Come on. Clean up on aisle 12,” you quipped, reaching around to smack his ass.
Ben rolled his eyes, but when you pulled away from him, he followed you into the kitchen.
“You know, I had a lot going on. Your kid is a fucking menace,” he said. “Like a bull in a China shop.”
You scoffed. “She’s only my kid when she gives you a hard time. Where do you think she gets it from?”
“You,” he retorted.
You had to laugh at that one. It still didn’t get him out of helping you clean the kitchen from top to bottom.
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After a long shower, waking an errant child from her nap, dinner, and a joint effort of getting Lila to sleep for the night, Ben joined you in bed wearing just his usual sweatpants.
You’d opted for some black satin, he noticed.
Good, he thought, for the night to come. You’d spent the whole day getting massaged and moisturized and whatever else women did on a day out.
When he rolled onto his side, you greeted him with a smile and a hand running up his arm, already pulling him toward you. His hand glided along your bare thigh as you hooked it over his hip.
“I need to tell you something, but you’ve gotta promise not to say anything to anyone,” you whispered in the small space between his face and yours, and you tapped his chin.
Ben raised a brow and squeezed your thigh. Whatever it was, couldn’t it wait until long after he’d undressed you?
“What?” he asked.
“Annie’s pregnant!” you said with a wide smile. “Six weeks. She just told me today.”
Ben blinked at that one. “Is it Hughie’s kid?”
“Wha…of course, it is!”
“Wow. Guess he had it in him after all,” Ben remarked. “Who woulda thought.”
You shook your head, but his grin made you laugh.
“You’re ridiculous,” you said, through your remaining giggles, though you leaned forward and stole a kiss. It led Ben to want more, and more of you.
He started to ply you with slow, lazy kisses that grew deeper, becoming all-consuming as his tongue warred against yours. His hands dove under the satin covering your body, and his thumbs brushed the sides of your breasts.
“Maybe it’s time we go for number two,” he said.
You uttered another incredulous laugh, gripped a fist in his hair and tugged. “Excuse me?”
“You fucking heard me,” Ben said. He rolled you onto your back and pinned you there. “Ain’t no way we’re stopping at one. Lila needs a brother.”
“You can’t even handle one,” you teased. Your hands slid up his arms and then down his chest. “Baby, we can talk about having more kids, but—”
“And? We’re talking now,” he said. He dipped his head to start kissing a hot, wet line down your neck. It made your breath falter and your back start to arch. Your hips shifted against his, trying to find friction. You could feel his length hardening against your thigh.
“Ben,” you warned, and implored, but the graze of his teeth on your neck made you shudder.
Your grip on his arms tightened. “Please…”
“Please what?” he smirked against your skin. His hips rocked against your heated core.
This conversation was going into a no man’s land very fast.
You literally took matters into your own hands…by reaching down and grasping your husband’s cock through his sweatpants. You gave him a demanding squeeze.
His breath hitched. Ben paused, unlatching from your neck, and turning his lips toward your cheek.
“I’m listening,” he said, in a gritted voice. You smirked.
“We can, and we will talk about this,” you promised. “Just not when you’re about to be balls-deep inside me.”
You were back on birth control anyway (the pill this time).
Ben chuckled. His hand reached up and smoothed your hair away from your forehead.
“Fine,” he conceded. A smirk grew across his face. “But we can still practice.”
A giggle fell from your lips, just before he claimed them once again.
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AN: A little callback to the BMD Epilogue at the end there. 😂
What did you think about the father/daughter time? And do you think Ben won against either of the ladies in his life? 🤣
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Soldier Boy Masterlist
Main Masterlist
BMD Tag List (Part 1):
@this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort
@xoxoviennaa @katherineann814 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow
@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2
@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67
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715 notes · View notes
justporo · 3 months
Text
Like a cat in the afternoon sun
A/N: Idk, I just vomited up this drabble because I needed to get into a writing headspace I guess. It's not proofread because I need to get to other stuff but hope you enjoy a short drabble about Astarion enjoying his time in the sun. ~~~
Astarion lay relaxedly in the grass. Arms behind his back, to prop up his head to better soak up the warm rays of sun on his face. His legs angled and one ankle placed on the knee of the other leg. He drew lazy circles with his foot up in the air.
You could swear you could even hear a delighted sigh and see him take in a deep breath before he loosened it with his chest visibly falling slowly. He'd told you he didn't need to breathe once. But it seemed that filling his lungs with air before letting it all out again with a contented hum still had as much of a relaxing effect on a vampire as it had on you.
Just a few weeks back you would have never thought to see him like this - soaking up the sun like a cat lazing about in the afternoon. But Astarion had made leaps with feeling comfortable around you and the others - maybe even trust you.
At first his eyes had always seemed to flit around, watch everything and everyone to always pick up on possible threats as early as possible. He was still terribly scared and distrustful mostly. Of course he was. Your adventure was far from over and your quest for a cure far from done. Not to mention that freeing him from his master had climbed up very high on your list of priorities too, now that you knew of the horrors he'd had to endure before all this.
But somewhere in between he had found these moments to take a break, however short and small it might be. Just some room to breathe. A spot to bask in the warm daylight he hadn't felt on his skin in more than 200 years.
And a way to open up, let you in - if only a little, one small step at a time.
You tiptoed over to him, careful not to disturb his moment of peace and knelt down next to him while paying attention to not announce yourself by blocking out his precious sun.
It was delightful to see him like this. A warm feeling filled your chest as you watched him enjoy a quiet moment. If it was up to you, you'd find a way to always offer him moments like this.
In a sudden urge you felt you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips.
The vampire hissed and immediately went to push himself up, eyes flying open. But he relaxed again when he realised it was just you. He simply clicked his tongue in disapproval and sank back down again and closed his eyes once more.
That also might have been part of the process: some time ago you might've had a dagger between your rips now.
"You're blocking my sunlight, you little scoundrel," Astarion said in annoyance but with a smirk that told you that he was just messing with you.
"Sorry," you simply said and watched how the vampire observed you with one of his ruby eyes opened again.
"It will probably happen again," you continued when he had just closed his eye and settled in for sunbathing again. Lightning quick you pressed another kiss to his lips.
But this time the rogue was prepared and his arms quickly grabbed you and pulled you to his chest and held you there. You yelped.
"Rude!" the vampire exclaimed and wrapped his arms around you.
"I fear you need to be punished for your crimes," Astarion continued and wiggled you around in his arms until you were snuggled up against his side, your head resting in the crook of his neck.
"Oh?" you simply made as you tangled your legs with the vampire's.
"Yes, laying with me until we have to keep going to teach you not to disturb a vampire enjoying his rare moments of sun," Astarion explained and squeezed you close to him to show you that there would be no getting away.
"Sounds fair," you replied and snuggled a little closer still while you felt the rumble of Astarion's soft laughter shake through your body.
Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon
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effortandmore · 1 year
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you, after all | knj x reader (18+)
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summary: your break up hadn't been angry or contentious. he wanted to go, you never asked him to stay. it was simple, really. but when namjoon shows back up after three years, things don't seem so simple anymore
pairing: namjoon x f!reader
rating: explicit (18+ please)
genre: exes to lovers, smut, fluff (because of who i am as a person)
warnings: smut, a little swearing, here are the specific smut tags: kissing, penetrative sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, maybe a whisper of a hand job, namjoon has a big dick (i had to)... it's really pretty soft—they're just in love without saying so
word count: 6.8k
a/n: i haven't been able to write the things i need to write (sorry jin and yoongi), so here i am with some namjoon fluff & smut. thank you, as always, to @ugh-yoongi who is helpful and kind with reading these things. apologies for the banner quality; idk how to make it look nice on tumblr. this is posted to ao3 here if you like to read fics there.
There’s this thing about awkward silences—they’re not inherently awkward because of the absence of sound, they’re awkward precisely because you become acutely aware of every little sound around you that isn’t the one you were expecting or wanting to hear. 
The tap of his heel against the floor, muted by the thin cork flooring and then enhanced again by the way the fabric of his jeans whooshes when he jiggles his knee. The almost white-noise din of the other conversations around you, loud enough that you can pick out words but not meaning. The tinkling of silverware and chopsticks on ceramic and glass as people (including you) swallow things they think to say down with some glass noodles or spoonfuls of soup. 
No, you decide. Awkward silences are anything but quiet, they’re terrifyingly fucking loud. 
“So…” you finally start, “are you going to tell me what you’re actually doing here?” 
Namjoon looks up from his food at you as you speak, his eyes wide like they get when he’s been startled out of some (probably depressing) train of thought, eyebrows raised in crescents that sit like shadows above the rim of his glasses. Noodles trail out of his lips and hang there, resting on his chopsticks, waiting for him to act. 
It’s a perfect visual representation of the pause you feel in your whole body waiting for him to respond. Maybe somehow you are like a noodle, you think. 
You try not to laugh at the thought because you know it will send him back into some sort of overthinking spiral of dismal self-worth. You know he’ll think you’re laughing at him. Sometimes, back then, you were. But not usually.
(And he’s not the only one prone to existential crises. 
Perhaps that’s why you two had always gotten on so well. You’ve had plenty of time to think about how the two of you started and stopped, and being aligned in this sort of… well, thoughtfulness is maybe a generous way to put it… being alike in that way a little bit probably drew you together as much as it split you apart. One overthinker is enough for any relationship. Two is… two is probably one too many). 
With a slurp, he sits up and sets his chopsticks down. He’s still regarding you, his eyes haven’t left your face, you’re pretty sure. But now, it’s with the careful consideration he’s known amongst your friends for, not the surprise you clocked on him a moment prior. 
He’s still fidgeting. You can feel the vibrations of his legs when they brush the underside of the table because he’s too tall to keep his limbs to himself and too polite to stretch them out in a violation (would it really be? You’re not sure) of your space. For a moment, you think it’s out of character, and then you start to recall every difficult conversation you’ve ever had with this man in front of you. The way he would twist up his face into a scowl almost involuntarily, the pulling on his hair, the crumpling up of whatever paper was in reach, the peeling of countless labels off of beer bottles… No, you decide, the fidgeting is perfectly in sync with what you know of Kim Namjoon when he thinks he’s going to say something someone doesn’t want to hear (and also when someone’s telling him something he doesn’t). 
If you didn’t know him as well, you’d think he was stalling. Or unsure of himself. And he might be those things to some degree, but this version of him, you’re sure, is trying to figure out how to say what he wants to say in a way that you’ll accept. 
The problem is, you’ve been broken up for almost three years. You’re not sure what he could say that would even affect you like that any more. 
So, this is all a little frightening, this awkward loud silence between the two of you. 
You point the blunt end of a chopstick at him. “Joon, just spit it out. We haven’t seen each other in ages, I don’t want to waste this watching you think.” 
At that, he grins, and at least some of what you loved about him rears its head. He’s gorgeous when he’s happy—it’s contagious, too. His dimples appear, his cheeks push up into his eyes and his lips spread so wide they almost cover the span of his face. He’s really, truly beautiful like this, and when you see it now for a split second, you’re reminded of how much you used to love making him smile, how much pride you took in being the one who could almost always make him laugh. 
“Sorry,” he mutters as his grin turns from bright to sheepish. “You know how I can be.” 
That, you certainly do. 
“Well, you said you wanted to catch up, and we’ve done that, so now are you gonna tell me what you’re doing back here?” 
“I’ve been thinking,” he says, eyes dropping down to his bowl.
“Uh-oh.” You mean it to tease, not to be cruel, but his face falls a little anyway. You suppose it’s two sides of the same coin—being able to make him laugh and having enough influence to disappoint him with your words… they’re essentially the same thing and you know it. “Sorry,” you add, tapping his foot under the table with yours. “I was just teasing… Trying to make this less weird, I guess.” 
“It was never weird with us, was it?” He’s asking you, for what you’re not sure. Reassurance? Absolution? 
“No,” you reply softly. “It was a lot of things with us, but it was never weird.” 
And it wasn’t. Not when you fought about stupid shit late-night in the kitchen of your crappy apartment. Not when he took off to the city to do “big things” after uni and you just sort of… let him go. Not when your friends “didn’t take sides” but took careful measures to not invite you to the same parties, and not when he called you earlier today, totally out of the blue, telling you he was around and he wanted to see you. 
In order, it was frustrating, disappointing, lonely, and surprising, but none of it was weird. Not weird standing in his empty living room, leaning against a stack of his moving boxes and watching him pack the last of his belongings into a duffel. Not weird to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to you as he fucked you into the mattress that last night before he left, whispering that he loved you and needed you. Not weird after, when you spilled tears on his chest and told him you were scared for what life would be like without him while he ran fingertips up and down your spine and reassured you that no matter what, you were going to have an incredible life. 
It wasn’t weird when the next morning, he promised you’d always be friends. 
It wasn’t weird when you both eventually stopped texting. 
It wasn’t weird when he never came back. 
But now he’s here, sitting in front of you in the same grungy noodle shop you used to have your cheap college date nights at, and things are absolutely, inarguably weird. 
Namjoon’s staring at you, still hasn’t answered your question, when the server comes with your check. He snags it before you can argue and gives you a distracted sort-of-grin when he gets up to find the cashier. 
Everything about this is so familiar and different at the same time. In your past life with Namjoon, he’d never just leave the table to pay with noodles left in his bowl, he’d never forget his manners and ignore asking whether or not you were ready to go. But him getting distracted by his own thoughts is on brand… So is the way he knocks over the cashier’s pencil cup when he tries to return the pen he used to sign the receipt. The most familiar thing is the glance he throws your way when he does it, rolling his eyes affectionately when he sees you stifling a laugh. 
It makes your stomach tumble. 
There isn’t a discussion when you leave the noodle shop, thank god. No asking if it’s okay if he walks with you, no awkward first date bullshit. Which of course there isn’t, you remind your nervous system, because this isn’t a date and it’s not a first anything really. First time you’ve seen him in a while maybe, but even that feeling’s been fading since you saw him through the window of the restaurant, sitting alone (waiting for you with his knee bouncing) at your usual table a couple hours prior. 
“Why do you think we call it a pencil cup?” he asks quietly. You can barely hear him over the car that happens to pass as he speaks. 
“Huh?” 
“We always call it a pencil cup, but everyone keeps pens in them, you know?” 
You smile softly in spite of yourself. “I don’t know, Joon-ah.” It’s a nickname you haven’t used or thought of in a long time. It feels too affectionate for what you are to each other now (you feel a little too affectionate toward him for what you are now, so you suppose it fits), but he doesn’t seem to notice, leaving you thankful for the universe’s small favors. “Humans are quirky. Language is worse,” you finish. 
He hums in response. “You’re right. You’re always right,” he agrees. 
Suddenly he stills, footsteps halting as he grabs your hand. The surprise you feel absolutely accounts (you hope) for the stupid swoop of your stomach; not the first one you’ve felt since the sun went down. “Can we?” he says, tugging on your hand like a ridiculously strong kid. 
It takes a second for you to realize what he means, but when you do, you readily agree. “Of course we can.” You move first, pulling him behind you, and it’s not lost on you when you look over your shoulder that he looks happier than you think you’ve seen him maybe ever, and that you’re still holding hands. 
You hop up onto the metal platform, letting him go, and he grabs one of the bars and starts to pull it behind him as he jogs. Your world literally spins. Arms out, you tilt your head back and puff out a long breath. It’s cold enough that you can see the smoky trail of it float above you, tendrils of steam looking like they’re curling around the stars. 
With a thud, Namjoon lands across from you on the merry-go-round, sitting to face you, legs sprawled out in front of him. You sit, too, and the metal wheel spins a little more slowly with each revolution until it’s barely moving millimeters, all of the momentum from Namjoon’s effort petering out. 
It’s weird, you think, that staring at him across from you, it still feels like the ground is moving. 
“I left.” He breaks the silence with a simple statement and you’re not sure what he expects you to say in return, so you just nod. “But I don’t know why you let me.” 
He doesn’t look at you when he says the last part, his head tilts off to the side and he leans it against one of the cold, metal railings. If he was anyone else, you’d think he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But you know him, and you know he rarely says things he doesn’t mean. 
The first response in your chest feels like anger. He left you after all. He walked away. Of course you let him, what the fuck else were you supposed to do? Beg him to stay? You were basically kids. You still are. He had opportunities, you had a sick mom… it wouldn’t have been fair to ask him to stay. 
And then there was this: the insecure part of you didn’t want to give him the opportunity to tell you he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. That you weren’t worth it. 
Maybe you should have taken that chance. You’ve learned a lot since then. Grown up and gotten more confident, surely. Made new friends, had other partners. “Lovers,” as Taehyung likes to call them (just to see you roll your eyes at him in response). 
He keeps talking before you can let the angry thoughts have a voice. “I love being here,” he says softly, still not looking at you. “I love how you can see the stars, I love that the air smells better. I love the sea and the way it makes you feel small…” he sighs before he continues, “but I’ve been back for a week and I didn’t love any of it as much as I love this right now.” His voice gets quieter with each word. You barely hear him tack on, “with you.” You might even be imagining it, he’s that quiet. 
It almost makes you sick to not know what he’s getting at, to wish he would just be straight with you. All of this nostalgia… what amounts to a recreation of all your college dates… It’s just so much. 
“Are you pregnant?” 
“What?” Namjoon’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his skull. 
You let yourself laugh when you respond. “I don’t know! This just feels like the lead up to something big, you know? You’re pregnant, you have cancer, you’re moving to another country…” You trail off and then sit up straight, letting yourself get a little more serious. “What’s all this about? It feels like you have big news or… to be honest, it kind of feels like a date, Joon-ah.” 
“Feels like a date good or feels like a date bad?” he asks. 
“Feels like a date confusing,” you answer pointedly. “I don’t even know what you’re doing in town.” 
“Can I walk you home?” 
“That’s not an answer.” 
He stands then, and reaches a hand out to you to help you up. You let him even though you don’t need it, and he pulls you into a hug. Tight against his chest, things feel a little less confusing and this seaside town feels a little more like home than it has in a really long time. It’s distressing how right it feels to be close to him like this, how he smells just like he always has, how soft his stupid sweater is under your cheek. You do everything you can not to nuzzle against him in a complete violation of any boundaries that both of you might have. It’s all you want to do though, and that’s disconcerting in and of itself.
“Yeah,” you mumble into his collar. “You can walk me home.” 
You give him some grace as you walk, not repeating yourself for the millionth time with your request to know just exactly what he thinks he’s doing crashing back into your life with a half day’s notice. Then it occurs to you that he’s leading you home, which is fine except… you’re not sure how he seems to know where you live. 
“Joon? How do you know where we’re going?”
“Huh?” He gives you a distracted glance like he didn’t quite intake your question.
“My apartment, how do you know where it is?”
“Oh…” His cheeks flush the prettiest rose color. “Ah… you were at that art show in the city a few nights ago, right when I got to town, and Tae invited everyone over. We’d been drinking and the bar was closing and he said you wouldn’t be there…” He gives you a pained sort of smile. “He said you wouldn’t mind. Said you’d be staying with friends.” 
The idea that your ex was in your apartment without you knowing it is… well, it should be infuriating. But it’s not. It’s more like you want to know what he thought, if he liked it. If it felt like the you that he knew or a new version of you. If it felt familiar and different at the same time the way he does to you right now. 
“So… you’ve been in our apartment then…” It’s not a question, but Namjoon answers anyway, rushing the words out. 
“No! No.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t do it. We got there and I… It felt like sneaking around and I couldn’t do that to you. I went back to Hoseok’s and crashed on his couch.” 
“Oh… okay.” You can’t figure out why you’re almost disappointed. “You can see it now. If you want. If that’s something you’d be interested in, you know…” The words spill out in a rambly jumble. 
Namjoon stops to consider you, head tilted like he’s trying to listen to words you’re not saying. He must find whatever he’s looking for, because he responds quickly. “Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” 
“Okay.” You nod but don’t move. 
“This is it, right?” 
And it is, indeed. You’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk in front of your own building, too distracted by whatever this thing is with the two of you to notice where you are. 
“Yeah, yeah. Come on up.” You punch the door code in and hold the door for him, bowing a little and giving an exaggerated gesture for him to enter to lighten the mood. 
Taehyung, the world's most interesting roommate, is working an overnight shift, so you know he’s not home, but you pray he hasn’t left anything strange out in the living room. You’ve walked into your apartment to find it perfectly spotless except for a trumpet and a dildo sitting side-by-side on the coffee table before, and though you’ve never really discussed it for obvious reasons, you’re fairly confident it won’t happen again. But not one hundred percent. 
“Tae’s working tonight,” you explain for some unknown reason as you unlock your door. It’s not like Namjoon is some third date here to fuck you for the first time, so it doesn’t matter if Tae’s there or not and he probably knows your roommate (his friend, too) is working, anyway. 
“I heard,” he mumbles behind you. 
To your extraordinary relief, nothing odd or personal is strewn around the living room or the kitchen, so you say a silent prayer of gratitude and slide your shoes off, motioning for Namjoon to do the same. 
“This is it,” you say, in your most uncreative moment of the night. “It’s nicer than the last place you saw me living,” you joke. It is, though. Much nicer. Having Tae to split the costs helps, and your art has actually been selling for the past couple of years, so that’s afforded you a little more than the old studio with a leaky shower and what was probably mold around the windows. 
“Mmm,” he murmurs as he looks around the open space. “It was nice ‘cos it was yours. It felt like you. But this does, too.”
“Water?” you offer. 
“Sure, thanks.” 
You fill up two glasses from the pitcher in the fridge and pad back into the living room where Namjoon is looking at the art on one of your walls. It’s a combination of your paintings and Tae’s photographs that the two of you thought complemented one another. 
“Your art.” 
“Yes…?”
“No…” Joon shakes his head and sets his water down on your coffee table. “Your art. It’s why I came back. That's why I’m here.” 
“Oh,” you squeak. It’s not what you expected—you didn’t expect an answer to your question, and even if you’d hypothetically received one, ‘your art’ wasn’t what you’d thought it would be. “I don’t think I understand. You want to buy one or something? You can just have a painting, Joon-ah... Friends and family discount. You didn’t have to come here for that.” 
He frowns and shakes his head again before he carefully takes your water glass and sets it on the table next to his. Then he reaches for your hand, and when you offer it to him, he guides you to your own sofa to sit. 
This time, sitting too close like you were in the noodle shop, you’re the one who’s nervous. Something’s up with him, and you’re not connecting the dots. 
“I saw your show. The solo one. Congratulations,” he says. His smile is warm like his hand that’s still wrapped around yours and it feels like you could maybe let your nerves settle a little bit. 
“Thanks. It was a lot of work, but worth it. I’m still a little surprised at how well it was received.” 
“I’m not.” He says it with conviction, and you love it. The hint of praise laced with his belief in you has always been a driver of your confidence; you don’t love that you need the external validation, but it’s nice, regardless.
“It reminded me of home,” he continues. “Made me sick for it. Like I couldn’t stand to be away from it for another minute. So, I told my work I needed some time off, and I came home.” 
“Oh… Okay. Well, I’m glad you felt something… I hope being home has been what you wanted.” 
“You don’t get it,” he says, frustrated. “I haven’t been home, not really. Not until tonight.” 
“Joon-ah…” 
“Please? Can I get this out?” 
And there are so many things to feel, you’re not even sure where to begin, so you just listen. It’s not easy to ignore the feeling of being on edge, the idea that you think you know where he’s headed with this. Since you’ve never even let yourself consider it (you’ve really not let yourself think about him much since he left. Certainly not recently), you have no idea what to think. So you focus on him instead; the tendons that run from his hands up his forearms that you used to love to trace with your fingertips, the way he’s filled out some since you last saw him—his chest and shoulders are broader, his jeans hug his thighs tighter than you remember… He looks good. Great, even. Everything you remember but a little bit more. Like he’s become the person he was always meant to be.
“I’ve dated a lot of people since I left,” he starts. And maybe this isn’t going where you thought it was. You scoff involuntarily, and he rolls his eyes at you. “Can you just listen to me?” he asks. 
You nod. “Sorry.” 
“Not at first. I missed you. I couldn’t figure out why you never… I don’t know… Tried to talk me out of it, never asked me to stay. I thought it meant that maybe you didn’t love me the way I loved you. After a while, a few months maybe, Yoongi told me I was depressing to be around, that I should try and make friends, meet people. He reminded me that I was the one who left, not you. And he was right.”
“I remember,” you say. It comes out a little harsher than you’d intended, but maybe not ever letting yourself think too much about him (especially about him leaving) has left you with some unresolved feelings you weren’t totally aware of. Namjoon’s jaw tightens, but other than that, he doesn’t react. Maybe he knows he deserves you being a little upset. Things ended oddly fine between the two of you, it was amicable, but if you’d let yourself feel everything back then, it might not have been that way. 
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice softer now. “I needed to go, though. You know I did.” He looks at you, waiting for you to give him some reassurance you think, so you squeeze his hand. 
“Yeah, you did, Joon-ah. It’s okay.” 
His fingertips trace patterns across your wrist and you can almost feel his body get looser when you give the small peace offering. “So,” he says, “I tried. I met people, I dated people, I moved to new apartments with new roommates to new parts of the city. I tried to get that feeling back. Not to… I don’t know. Not to replace you, but to feel like I was home. But nothing worked. Nobody worked. And then I saw your show.” 
“Oh…” It’s not much, but it’s the only thing you can think to say as he pulls you closer to him on the couch and runs a thumb across your cheekbone. It’s so much, it’s such a private thing for him to touch you like you're something breakable. Like you’re his, still. It’s making you short-circuit. 
“Home,” he says in a whisper. “I needed to come home.” 
“Home.” You repeat it like he’s taken all the words you used to know and pulled them out of your head to scatter on the floor in a mess. 
His lips are on yours before you have time to process, and you hear a whimper that you quickly realize must have come from your own throat as he kisses you more tentatively than you ever remember him kissing you before. You know this is him testing the waters, giving you time to decide if you want this—sort of—and maybe this is a one-night nostalgia thing for him, or maybe this is what forgiveness tastes like, and maybe it’s a terrible idea, but Namjoon’s lips on yours feel like home to you, too, and you don’t want to talk yourself out of something that feels so fucking right. You didn’t even let yourself remember that you missed him until now, and your chest aches with something like longing even though he’s here, he’s real, he’s kissing you. 
Kiss back, you remember suddenly. So you do. A slightly shaking hand moves to his thigh as you let him slip his tongue between your lips and lick into your mouth slowly. He’s firmer than you remember when you squeeze over his jeans and tilt your head to give him a little bit better access. The kiss, which started out so sweet, soon turns into something else entirely, and before you know it, you’re out of breath and letting out another whine when his hand drops from your cheek to around your waist and he tugs you even closer to him. You can feel him smile against your mouth when you pause to breathe.  
“Is this okay?” he asks, cheeks flushed, dimples out, and hair mussed. He looks like a dream. 
He looks like he’s yours again, and you want to let yourself have this, even if it’s temporary. 
“Yeah.” You nod too furiously to even look remotely cool or in control of the situation, and he laughs. It’s not like he looks much better off with his swollen lips and the stars in his eyes. “Bedroom.” You’re up and pulling him up with you before he can argue, practically dragging him behind you past Tae’s room and the bathroom to yours at the end of the hall. 
You move into your room and barely get the door closed before you’re being pushed back up against it, Namjoon moving his mouth down your neck, over your pulse point– all his attention focused on seeing what might make you shiver and whine. So much hasn’t changed. 
It’s odd, you think, as he finds the perfect spot, to have to learn this all over with someone. Does he remember all your places and all the things you like? Will he still be patient like he used to be, content to watch you get worked up because of his touch before he lets you focus on him? Will he have new things that make him moan, are there new things he likes that he learned from someone else? All these questions float through your head as Namjoon slowly slips his hands under your shirt and pulls it over your head. 
With your back against the wall, Namjoon drops to his knees in front of you and carefully unbuttons your jeans, slipping them down your legs with your underwear, groaning and face flushing when he finally gets you undressed. 
“You… are… incredible,” he mutters against your skin in between leaving hot, wet kisses across your pelvic bone. “I’ve missed you so much,” he adds as he hooks one of your legs and rests it on his shoulder. His breath is hot on your skin and it’s like you can feel it everywhere—he’s barely even touching you and every nerve ending in your body is responding, wanting more. 
As he brings his tongue to your clit, you let your head fall back against the door with a soft thud. He was always so good at this, he still is. His stubble brushes against you and makes shivers run up your spine. He’d probably not shaved that morning—you wonder if he did on purpose, remembering how you used to brush your cheek along his chin and tell him you liked it, how it made you feel soft and delicate when he wasn’t. 
His tongue works you over in long strokes, dipping inside on occasion and you hear him practically whine when he really tastes you. There’s never been anything hotter, you decide, than his deep voice so fucked out and turned on because of you. If you could get off on sound alone for the rest of your life, that might be the one you’d pick.  
When he finally slides a finger inside you, you moan—you’re so much louder than you’d meant to be, louder than you have been for anyone in so long, but he knows you. Knows your body, knows just how fast to move his tongue, how deeply you like to feel him inside you.
Namjoon’s lips form into a smile against you as he pauses, asking in a whisper, “Can I make you do that again?” before curling his finger inside you and taking your clit back between his lips. 
“Oh, fuck…” you whine. And yes, the answer is definitely yes. “Keep going,” you say as he fucks into you, giving you space to roll your hips away from the door and into his face. 
It doesn’t take much longer for you to come—Namjoon puts a large hand to your waist and helps support you as you tremble around him and your knee buckles. With a lot of effort, you ignore the quiet, private voice in the back of your mind that tells you that you don’t deserve this—that you shouldn’t be doing this, that you’ll get hurt again. Finally, your shaking subsides, and he moves your leg off of his shoulder and to the ground, keeping a grasp on you to help you stay upright. 
“You’re… still very good at that,” you say breathily. 
“Thank you. I’m pretty good at a lot of things, I think,” he says with a wink as he stands. 
You love when he’s cheeky like this, confident in a way that you remember being one of his best traits. Like he knows exactly what he’s capable of. It’s the first time you’ve seen him like this tonight and it makes you ache for things you don’t think you can have, for the past. He’s suddenly close again, so fucking close, and you can smell yourself on his lips and you can feel that he’s hard in his jeans. He leans in, even closer, bringing his lips to yours but not doing anything with them, and running a single fingertip across your jaw to hold your face in place—no place to look except at him, square in the eyes.
“Are there things you’re still good at?” 
Oh, holy shit. 
And you’d remained upright this whole time, but fuck if your knees aren’t ready to give in now. You swallow audibly and struggle to form an answer in your post-orgasmic haze, turned on by the nostalgia and the way he’s half-whispering, half-rasping. The intimate way he speaks to you  makes you almost drip again with desire.
“Well, if you’re not going to tell me, I guess I’ll find out for myself,” he says. Namjoon grabs your hand and squeezes, then leads you to your own bed. “Do you want me to find out? Do you want… me?” 
It should be something you have to think about longer, should be more of a consideration. But it isn’t at all. Your head is bobbing a ‘yes’ of its own accord and you’re slowly unbuttoning his jeans and pulling his sweater off before you really realize you’re doing it, before you can think about what it might mean in the morning. Before he slips out of his pants, he pulls a condom out of his wallet in the pocket and tosses it on the bed. 
The simple action has you a little nervous now, like suddenly this is real, and this is Namjoon, the actual love of your fucking life who left you, and he must see it on your face as you stand next to the bed, naked, facing one another, and unmoving. 
“Are you alright?” he asks.
“Yeah… I’m nervous. It’s been so long and it’s… you.”
Namjoon cups your cheek and brings his lips softly to yours. His other arm snakes around your waist and pulls your body into his—skin to skin everywhere, and it feels so good. His body really is different than you remember: firmer, broader, bigger, and you like it. It’s different, but just as good, you decide. Familiar and different at the same time, just like everything else about him. When he breaks the kiss, he finally speaks.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” 
“I do,” you say resolutely, convincing him and yourself at the same time. You bend over to grab the condom and feel his hands on your ass, so you stay, dropping to your elbows on the mattress, remembering how he’s always appreciated the view from that angle. “Do you still like it this way, Joon-ah?” you ask as you push your hips back toward him a little, leaning into the familiar to calm any lingering nerves.
And instead of answering, Namjoon slides his hands up your back and down your arms, pulling you up at the elbows and pressing your back into his chest. “Yes,” he replies. “But not this time. I want to see you, I want to know I’m taking care of you. I want to remember.” 
He starts kissing you then, lips on your neck, across your shoulders, hands wrapped around you—one teasing at your nipples, one firm around your waist. You do feel taken care of, and it’s nice, you decide, to be with him again. This part hasn’t changed. You meant what you said—he’s really good at this.
Eventually, you move to the bed, and you become a little more brave, letting yourself explore his body. As you lay facing each other, you run your fingers along the ridges of the muscles in his abdomen, stroke his cheekbones, let one arm snake around his ribs and then fall to his ass. He really is firm all over, and you find yourself more attracted to that than you’d anticipated. You murmur appreciations into his skin, telling him he’s worked hard, that he looks incredible, that you want to take your time and appreciate everything he’s tried to build. 
Namjoon watches you as you test the waters, carefully mapping the ridges and planes until you take his length in your palm and start stroking him. The first time he breaks eye contact with you is when you bring your other hand down and palm his balls, softly squeezing as his eyes roll back in his head and he lets out a long, low moan. 
Maybe things aren’t so different than you remember, after all. 
You touch and kiss and whisper until you know he’s been hard long enough and you’ve been stalling long enough, and his hand makes lazy circles over your clit, no problem getting you wet again. Namjoon rolls the condom on and pulls your leg up over his hip. He’s careful in a manner that’s completely him (but you’re no longer used to from your recent hookups) as he slowly pushes into you. And you’ve been in a lot of… positions in the last few years, but nothing quite this intimate: chests pressed together, arms wrapped around each other, noses touching, and Namjoon so deep inside you, moving so, so slowly. You’re almost not moving at all, and you had no idea something like that could feel so fucking good. 
It’s slow and sweet, and he kisses and caresses you, and you realize that this is was what people are talking about when they talk about the difference between making love and fucking. 
Namjoon is quiet, quieter than you remember, but the look on his face is reverent, like he can’t believe you’re letting him do this, like he can’t believe you’re real. And you know how he feels, and you want to reassure him and whisper how much you care about him and how you think you could still love him, but it’s all too much for the moment. So, instead, you just let out soft moans of approval when he rolls his hips in just the right way and otherwise try to focus on him and the way he’s making you feel, cock buried in you, better than anything has been since the night before he left all those years ago.
Your second peak comes steadily and seems to last a while as Namjoon whispers how beautiful you look and how lucky he is. The praise has you clenching around him and pulling his climax out of him, too. 
You stay intertwined as your breathing slows, kissing and smiling with pink cheeks and tired limbs. When you’re sure you can move, you slowly push back from him and roll off the side of the bed, grabbing his undershirt. “You mind?” you ask, holding it up. “I thought I’d grab water and if there’s anything else you want…” 
“Sounds great,” Namjoon replies, a sleepy smile on his face, obvious in his preening over you wearing his clothes again. 
You try not to let yourself think too much about what just happened as you retrieve your water glasses and fill them up again. You find your phone on the counter, next to Namjoon’s, and you shoot a quick text to Tae telling him you brought someone home and you don’t know if they’ll still be there in the morning. You don’t want your roommate to be surprised by a visitor. But you know if Namjoon’s still there when he gets home, Tae will definitely be surprised. 
When you pad back to your bedroom and click the door shut behind you, you realize Namjoon’s already fallen asleep, snoring softly. He looks ridiculous on top of your sheet with the duvet kicked down to the end of the bed, his big cock soft against his big thigh and his hair sticking up in fifty different directions all over your pillow. His lips have fallen open to let his stupid snores out, and you have never been more endeared to anyone in your life. 
Like a thunderbolt, it comes suddenly, the realization that you think you probably never stopped loving this man. 
You set the water down on your nightstand and crawl into bed next to him, careful not to wake him up, even though unless something’s changed, you know he’s a fairly deep sleeper. You pull the duvet up over both of you and settle into your pillow, thoughts of unresolved and maybe unrequited feelings still clouding your mind. 
He wakes up enough to roll over and sling an arm around you, possessive in a way you like. You miss being his, you miss the quiet way he loved you before. All folded up love notes and kind gestures and small gifts for no reason. You almost let yourself tear up thinking about how big your love for him used to feel—maybe still does. 
You’re fully spiraling, deciding this was probably a massive mistake, when Namjoon strokes his thumb over your stomach and nuzzles into the back of your neck. 
“Baby? You awake?” he mumbles, half-asleep. 
And fuck, you’ve missed the casual endearment from him. “Yeah.” 
“Do you want me to go?” he asks. 
And you know three years ago, if you would have said it, it wouldn’t have mattered. That’s the real truth of it. Because if you’d asked him to stay then, he wouldn’t have, and he would have been making the right choice to leave, anyway. So letting him go without putting up a fight was easier on both of you. It was the right decision then to not ask him to stay. 
But now? Now, after tonight, you know things aren’t the same as back then. Some of them, yes. But not the ones that matter, not the ones you’re thinking about when you reply. 
“No, Joon-ah… I want you to stay this time.”
You feel him smile against your shoulder and pull you tighter into him. Neither of you says anything more, and it’s only a few minutes before he starts his snuffling snores into your hair again. It feels nice, you think as you finally start to drift off. It feels like home.  
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intoanotherworld23 · 9 months
Text
Let’s Go For A Ride
Pairing: Female reader x Javier Pena
Warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY DNI, whole one shot is pure sex and smut, there’s sex in a car, public sex, smidgen of spanking, loads of kissing, jealous Javier, unprotected sex, p in v, swear words
Summary: Javier loves the way you look in your dress, and his car is the perfect place to show you just how much
Ignore the woman in the GIF and just picture yourself like I did! HEARTS, REBLOGS , and COMMENTS are highly encouraged and appreciated! If you wish to be added to my Pedro tag list please let me know and I’ll add ya!! Thanks everyone again so much! XOXO
Check out my other works on my Hall Of Hunks
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"Be quiet baby not too loud. Don't want anyone to hear us now do you?" His question what rhetorical in fact he did want you to be loud so someone did hear what he was doing to you.
Legs on either side of Javier’s hips your hands placed on the leather head rest behind him. Your dress bunched up around your waist panties pulled to the side as you rode Javier’s cock. His hands on your hips holding onto you.
"Could spend my entire life inside of you cariño." He growled into your ear your eyes rolling into the back of your head.
Javier loved the dress that you were wearing admiring how it fit around your body. The other men in the room loved it too including agent Murphy who was drooling once he saw you. Something boiled inside of him, and he couldn’t hold himself back any more.
Plus Javier has always wanted to have sex in his car. The parking lot was basically dead so he took the opportunity while he had it. Dragging your body to his car, and practically threw you on top of him.
"I wish you could admire my view right now it’s fucking stunning." He breathed out the last two words like he was almost struggling to say them.
His strong hands gripping your hips squeezing the flesh between his fingers. He would look up from your face to your connecting bodies watching as his cock was disappearing inside of you.
Your backside hitting the horn making it go off causing you two to laugh. Covering a hand over your mouth when your laughter turned into loud moans.
Not even bothering to stop any of your movements not really caring if anyone say you riding Javier. If anything it really excited you if someone caught you and stood watching, and got turned on.
“Nobody can fuck you like me baby.” Leaning his head back to look into your eyes.
A possessive look drew on his face, and it ignited something over you. The thought of him becoming super jealous over someone else touching made your body hot. He wasn’t that type of guy, but the longer he’s been with you the more envious he became.
Moving your hips up and down sliding along his cock as fast as you could. His hands guiding your hips up and down on him. Your walls squeezing around his cock making him groan.
"Such a good girl letting me fuck you in my car knowing anyone could see." He teased you as he squeezed your sides making you giggle at his playful tone.
“You know what I think?” He asked with a smack against your ass cheek. “I think you want someone to see us.”
He wasn’t entirely wrong in that response. Judging by the look on your face he knew he had hit the bullseye. Smirking like someone who had won an argument, and loved being right.
Both of you staring into each other's eyes making it a more hot moment. He wanted to watch your face as you came undone on his cock. Your facial expressions alone turning him on. The car windows fogging up. Your hand pressed up against it making a print.
The spaghetti strap of your dress sliding down your arm too lazy to pull it back up. If anything Javier pulled it down more along with the strap of your bra.  His eyes becoming darker as he watched your breasts pop out.
"God you drive me wild Y/N." His voice strained almost like he was holding back.
His lips attached themselves so your nipple sucking on the nub while he was pounding his cock up into you intensifying the feeling. Your entire body shaking as you felt your skin burning with euphoria.
"Oh god Javi." You whined feeling your legs already getting tired and shaky from riding him.
Hearing you whine his name gave him the go to drive  his hips up wildly into you. Your whole body was shaking and moving along with him. His cock fitting so snug inside you like it was made for you. 
“I love when you cry out my name.” Pressing his face into your collarbone.
Your head reeled back in ecstasy hands clawing at the leather seats. Your arousal was coating his cock making it easier for him to slide in and out of you. Plus it made a squishing sound that vibrated against your ears. Your cheeks feeling like they were on fire, but Javier loved every sound your body made.
His lips left your nipple and moved up towards your neck kissing the flesh. Sucking on the skin making blood rise to the surface marking his territory. Javier was a sucker for marking what was his, but they were marks for his eyes only. He secretly loved it though if you showed it off without even realizing it.
The scruff of his mustache scratching against your neck making a shiver run up your spine. Warm hands constantly touching your body like a warm blanket was being wrapped around your body.
“Can feel that tight little cunt squeezing me.” Growling as you clenching down around him just as he said that.
You were starting to feel overwhelmed and incredibly flushed. In this moment all you felt was Javier and no matter how many times you guys had sex you could never get used to the feeling of his cock.
There was nobody else that could quite compare to Javier. He was passionate and sensual when he needed to be, but he was rough and kinky as well. Javier played all his cards whenever it came to anything in the bedroom. He always wanted to try new things.
His cock hit your sweet spot making you scream. Finding that spot he was relentless and continued to hit it over and over again. His hands gripped onto your hips so hard they would probably bruise.
"God I love your cock Javi." You mewled closing your eyes. "Keep going right there baby."
"I wanna feel you cum all over my cock baby." He snarled into your skin holding your body even closer to his trying to hit up into an angle that would have you seeing stars.
Your toes were curling and you could feel your pussy walls squeezing the life out of his cock as you released. Slumping your body down on top of him as Javier took over.
Feeling his mouth envelop your shoulder as he softly bit down making you wince. A couple more thrusts and Javier was squirting his cum inside you. Your head leaned down on to his shoulder trying to catch your breath.
Javier’s forehead was drenched in sweat and his arms were lightly shaking still holding your trembling body. Both of you still trying to come down from your intense high.
“That was fucking incredible.” Stating out of breath making him chuckle.
“Our best yet.” He responded giving you little kisses along your arm.
“I guess practice does make perfect.” Running your hand through his wet hair.
Pushing your head back you both looked at each other and just bursted out laughing. The mere fact you two just had hot sex in his car, and the fact someone could have caught you. Neither of you were ashamed or embarrassed though.
Javier was always hot for you, and quite frankly he didn't care if anyone caught you. He’d just make them watch and make them wish they could have you.
"From now on we are having sex in my car." He joked playfully swatting his chest.
“Well what about my car?” Grinning widely at that suggestion.
——————————————
Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989 @sullyosully
Tag list for Pedro Pascal: @pedrohoe04 @k-k0129 @marchai @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @milly-louise @kittlelittle24
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slashersteve · 2 years
Note
Hi, can I request a Steve Harrington x girlfriend reader where they get into a car wreck and Steve freaks out. At first the reader thinks it's about the car but it's really about them.
This request actually reminded me of a part of an old, unpublished series I wrote a few years ago a little after s3, so I revamped it for this. Also, I'm trying a new format for writing more shorter requests! Thank you lovely <3
warnings/extra tags: cursing, mentions of blood, car accident, st2 steve because meooow
✧ ✧ ✧
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The car was a wreck.
The frame of it looked like it was completely demolished, the red paint scratched off in various places, and the headlights were practically non-existent. The windshield too was one tap away from being completely shattered.
It certainly looked like it belonged in this junkyard you recklessly drove it through in order to save your boyfriend and the kids he found himself babysitting and monster hunting with.
You might say the cherry on top was the demodog blood that stained the scrapped pieces of the car, or the actual demodog that was pinned against the destroyed hood.
"What-what the hell just happened!?" Steve was shouting from where he had laid on the ground after he jumped out of your way, "Oh my god!"
You were stumbling out of the car, your head feeling incredibly disoriented before you nearly collapsed. Your hand had found a metal bin filled with various junk, and you leaned on it as to not fall to the ground.
The sound of Steve calling your name made you lift your head up to see a panicked expression written on your boyfriend's face as he was running toward you. You stared at him for a second, before you remembered what you had just done.
Your heart sank, realizing that the car you just crashed into a couple of demodogs wasn't yours. It was Steve's, and you probably just totaled it right in front of him. When you turned your head and saw the damage, guilt had already settled in you, and you very quickly began to apologize.
"I'm so sorry," you told him, your voice still quite winded from the crash, "I just saw a bunch of them surround you and I didn't know what else to do, so I just-"
Steve was in front of you now, his soft brown eyes frantically moving over your face before resting on a cut on your forehead that was protruding blood.
You didn't even realize you were injured, too focused on the fact that you destroyed Steve's car.
"I can't believe this," Steve said to you, and you almost wanted to cry, "Are you crazy? God dammit, you really just did that-"
At the sight of your eyes welling up with tears, Steve felt his heart stop and he thought the worst.
"I swear Steve, I will help you fix it, or hell I'll give you my car until I can get you a new one, god I am such an asshole, I didn't even think about it-"
Steve had barely started to listen what you were talking about, as his attention was on your wound and he was about to ask you if you were hurt bad anywhere else because you were about to cry.
"Wait what?" Steve asked you, his eyes resting back on yours.
You were frowning deeply, and replied in a quiet voice, "I destroyed your car, Steve."
His eyebrows drew inward, and his eyes flashed toward the smoking, hunk of metal that was currently pinning a twitching demodog against another, much older and abandoned car.
Steve blinked for a moment, clearly seeing the damage then turned back to you, "What? That's what you're worried about?"
You nodded weakly, "Yeah, it's your car Steve-"
"Screw the damn car," he interrupted, looking at you as if you had grown two heads when you really only assumed he cared about that hunk of metal rather than the well-being and safety of his girlfriend.
You still weren’t getting it though, “But I totally ruined it-“
Steve interrupted you again, “I’m more concerned about you, shit, you’re bleeding pretty bad. Henderson! I hope you have bandages in that backpack of yours or something!” His hand reached upward to the top of your forehead, his hand carefully touching around the wound. You winced when he did, and he apologized.
You didn’t know why you were so concerned with the car rather than yourself too, or why you would think for a moment that Steve, your loving boyfriend, would care more about it than you.
He clenched his jaw and shook his head when your eyes met each others and he saw your still confused gaze.
"Did you seriously think I cared more about a car?" he asked you, still baffled by the fact that you probably did.
"....no," you lied, and he shook his head and laughed quietly. He grasped your hand then and began to lead you toward the bus with the kids and where Dustin was pulling out a bandage from a medkit he was smart enough to bring.
"The car can be replaced, you cannot be, now come on before more of those...bastards show up," Steve told you, "Don't do that again though, god you scared me."
It was touching to realize that it was you Steve was concerned about, even with the pulsing pain in your head, and your half-foggy mind. It served as a reminder to you that Steve loved and cared for you as much as you loved and cared for him.
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thefallennightmare · 5 months
Text
Miracle-twenty three
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*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*
Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader
Warnings/Tropes: forced proximity, slight enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death, and swearing.
Summary: Reader is the merch girl for Bad Omens. It wasn't what she wanted to do with her life but when her mother got sick with Alzheimer's, reader took a job where she could to help with the costs. She thought it would be a one-time gig but the longer she was on the road with them, the harder she fell for Noah Sebastian; even if he wanted nothing to do with her. She needed a miracle to save her mom and her future.
Author Note: Hopefully this will keep y'all fed until the last chapter. WHICH I'M GOING TO CRY WHEN I POST THE FINAL CHAPTER TOMORROW. OMG. anywhoo, enjoy the smut.
Tags: @ada-clarence @nonamessblog @thescarlettvvitch @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @theoneandonlykymberlee @yumikitten @blackveilomens @cherrymedicine13 @thebadchic @notmaddihealy @jay02bo @beaker1636 @jakekiszkasguitarpick @punk-pr1ncessxoxo @er3nslovergirl @iamdesolate @lma1986 @jessitpwk @themodern-daywednesday @writethrough @bngurngheart @dreams-that-are-anwsered @loeytuan98 @omens-in-reverse @loverofagoodbeard @jay02bo @niicoleleigh @tearfallpixie @cupidsdreams
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"Noah?" I called out into the dark room, an uneasy feeling settling low in my belly.
It was late, the show in Paris ending a few hours ago. I hung back to help the crew tear down while Noah and the rest of the guys headed back to the hotel. They were exhausted as we were nearing the end of our month-long tour overseas with only two shows left and the thought of being able to go back home to sleep in our own beds made all of us giddy with excitement.
Home.
The place that Noah and I were slowly making ours before we had to leave. I was still very apprehensive about moving in with Noah because Jolly was living there but they both reassured me it was fine. It was a nice feeling to be wanted by someone and not in a sexual way. In a way that made your heart soar when they walked into a room or when they remembered to pick something up that you like from the store when they went earlier. I made a comment about how much I loved having iced coffee every morning so what did Jolly do? Bought four boxes of coffee and a specific machine that I could make the coffee iced.
The night before we left for the tour, I told Noah that I needed to run out to get something from the store. It was late in the evening, and he did not want me to go out alone to get it, so he offered. Immediately, I denied saying I was fine to go alone.
"Angel, just tell me what you need. I can run to the store and get it for you. You should stay in bed, it's already late."
"No, I can run to grab it. It's bad enough I have to ask my boyfriend for money so I can buy it, the last thing I need is for you to be the one that goes to the store for it." I quickly threw on my jacket and shoes so he couldn't stop me.
Noah chuckled while running a hand through his hair. "What, do you need tampons?"
My body stilled as I stared up at him.
"Oh, shit," he uttered. "You do need tampons."
"Yep," I said popping the 'P'. "So I'll be back in half hour."
Noah knew how stubborn I was but so was he so we ultimately agreed that we would go together. He ended up stocking the cart with atleast a three-month supply of tampons and pads also throwing in whatever sweet I was craving. My heart nearly soared out of my body when I saw him throw a large fuzzy blanket into the cart as well.
He shrugged. "It's heated. I'd figure it would help with the cramps."
That night he also bought me whatever else I would need to feel comfortable in the house since I lost everything in the fire. I only allowed him to buy me the essentials; toiletries, clothes and shoes, but I drew the line when he tried to buy me a new laptop. It was a pricey one where I could edit all the pictures, I took for their social media page when I went back to work.
"That's way too much money, Noah," I said with a stern voice. "I can save up some money to buy myself one. I'm sure Bryan has an old laptop I could use."
Bryan had one, even offered it to me, but Noah turned down his offer. All because when I went to open my suitcase after arriving in Europe for the first show, there was a brand new laptop still in its box with the plastic right on top of my clothes.
I remember being so pissed at Noah. I didn't talk to him for a few hours but eventually he wore me down, with his tongue, and I accepted the present with so much gratitude; with my lips wrapped around his cock.
The first night of tour, I was stoked to get back to work until I realized I didn't have a camera, that was until Bryan let me have an old one of is.
"It's a little older than the one you had, but I figured it would work for now," He pulled me into a side hug.
I wrapped my arms around him, heart aching with the amount of small gestures everyone in the band and crew had done for me. "Thank you."
Folio lifted my spirits whenever the bad thoughts crept back in my mind. A few nights ago, I woke up from a terrible nightmare. Noah was out with Nick and Jolly at a bar right down the road from our hotel in Ireland. It was the first night Noah wouldn't be by my side when I went to sleep since the fire and he was very nervous too. I reassured him I'd be fine because the nightmares stopped for a few weeks so when it clawed its way through my brain; I woke up with a shrill scream.
Flames tickled my skin, burning it right from the bones, as I reached for Noah to save me before falling into the dark depths of my death.
Folio's room was right next to mine and when he heard my screams, he texted me to make sure I was alright. I responded with a one word response.
No.
He stayed with me for the next hour until Noah returned, who was upset that I hadn't called him to let him know what happened.
"I didn't want to bother you," I blew out a shaky breath as he cupped my face.
"Angel, you could never bother me. I love you."
The last few days, though, I've noticed that Noah, Bryan, and Matt had been talking amongst themselves a lot but stopping as soon as I entered the room. At first it didn't bother me but now, it was making my mind race with what the hell they could be talking about. I couldn't dwell on it though because while I pack up my things to return to the hotel room tonight, Noah texted me he would be waiting up for me. Although the dark hotel room said otherwise.
"Noah?" I said again, this time flicking on the lights to the room.
I gasped when a hand wrapped around my throat from behind, cool leather pressing against the heated skin as a deep voice spoke.
"You're late."
Goosebumps pricked at my skin and I dropped my bag to the floor, ice cold fear filling my veins.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize what time it was," I tried to explain through my shaky voice.
He breathed me in then let go of his grip around my throat, pushing me forward slightly. Suddenly the room was blanketed in darkness again and I tried to maneuver my way through the dark until the bedside table lamp clicked on, a warm yellow glow showcasing the man that sat on the edge of the bed right in front of me blanketed in his own darkness. He slowly removed the hood of his jacket, his face covered by the black ski mask. It was as if he redressed himself after earlier.
Holy. Shit.
"Take off your dress," his deep voice demanded.
With a squeak, I shed off my black sundress with ease letting it fall to the ground at my feet. I stood in front of him in nothing but a matching red bra and panties set. Because of the mask, I couldn't tell if the sight of me affected him or not.
"On your knees."
I was on my knees so fast the carpet beneath my skin burned.
"Off."
One word that held so much power it made my body shiver with pleasure. Feeling cheeky, I unhooked my bra and slung it into his lap, the red lace contrasting to the darkness of his pants.
"Oops," I shrugged innocently.
His lips twitched into a scowl and hooked a finger towards me, beckoning over. My mouth ran dry when I realized I was in trouble and rose to my feet.
"No. Crawl to me."
Oh, so this is how it's going to be.
Whatever reserve I have about doing this was far gone along with my dignity. He wants me to crawl to him? With fucking pleasure.
The carpet scratched at my palms and knees until I stopped right in front of him and peered up at him through dark lashes. A gloved hand cupped my chin and forced me to look deeper into his eyes; dark and not a hint of the brightness I adored.
"You want to please me, don't you?"
I eagerly nodded. "Please."
His thumb brushed over my bottom lip. "Good girl. Take my cock out."
The sound of his belt clinking to the ground and then a zipper echoed in the eerily quiet hotel room and soon, his thick cock sprung free. Pre-cum built at the head and I licked my lips, wanting a taste, but his grip on my chin tightened.
"Not yet. I need you to put your hands behind your back."
Once my hands were clasped together, he stood to his feet, hard cock right in front of my face and I whined when the pre-cum now spilled onto my lips.
Such a fucking tease.
He bent over my head to tie my hands together with his belt, pulling it tight.
"How is it?" His voice was lighter than he'd been using, full of concern.
Our facade slipped away for a moment as I smiled up at him. "I'm good, trust me."
His thumb grazed over my cheek then slipping back into character, he sat back onto the bed with his hand wrapped around his cock.
"Open."
Mouth wide for him, I moaned around his cock as it slipped between my lips finally getting a taste of him. I bobbed my head up and down the length as much as I could; the head hitting the back of my throat, but I didn't gag; I wanted this to be perfect for him.
He deserved this after the hell of a schedule he's had.
"Such a good girl," his head fell back in ecstasy when my tongue flattened against the underside of his cock.
I moaned in agreement as I continued to suck him despite the pain in my jaw. His hips raised up in my face so he could bury his cock deeper in my throat while his hand pulled tight at the ends of my hair. He was close I could practically taste it but before I could beg him to cum; he pulled me off of him with a loud pop echoing throughout the room.
"On the bed," he grunted while lifting me to my feet.
I scrambled onto the bed as best as I could since my hands were still tied behind my back. Both gloved hands gripped my hips as he helped me face the mirror on the wall to my right and I nearly came at the sight that stared back at me. Drool stuck to my face, mascara running down my cheeks from how hard I was sucking, and lips swollen from the thickness of his cock.
I was a mess, but he didn't mind because he all but ripped my panties off, leaving me bare in front of him while he remained fully clothed in his concert gear, mask and all.
He pushed my upper body down to the bed while my ass was raised in the air, the cool air from the fan causing my skin to rise with pricks. My pussy shivered with desire when I watched him in the mirror stare hungrily at me, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
"I'm so fucking hungry, angel," he groaned.
I pushed my ass back towards his face. "Stop fucking teasing me-."
A hard smack to my ass echoed in the room and I mewled in pain at first then pleasure seconds after.
"Such a nasty mouth. Did my cock not teach you anything?"
I feverishly nodded. "Yes, it did."
Through the mirror, I noticed him tilt his masked face to the side while a gloved finger brushed over my wet folds. "Yes, what?"
"Yes, king," I moaned.
He rewarded me by slipping a finger in me, knuckle deep as he fingered me hard and fast.
"Oh god," I buried my face into the blanket beneath me.
His large body loomed over my back and left kisses along my spine. "Remember angel, there's no God here just us."
"Yes, fuck that feels so good," I gasped when he slipped another finger inside of me.
The feeling of his cloth gloves felt different but in such a good way. Through lidded eyes, I looked int the mirror to see his cock was still out of his pants; red and hard. Angry as it begged for release with the cum that dripped down to the bed.
His name fell off my lips as I begged for his cock. While his fingers were long and could reach that spot with ease, I needed the thickness of him to feel full.
"What do you want?" He purred while brushing his lips over my back, fingers slowing to an unmoving pace now.
"Please, I want your cock."
He hummed in response. "Anything for you, angel."
I screamed out as he pressed himself deep inside of me with one fast snap of his hips. One arm wrapped around my stomach from behind, enclosing my tied hands to his stomach, while his other hand kept us upright on the bed, palm flattened right next to my face. He tossed off one glove I didn't know when and when the small design of the back angel wings tattoo on his thumb became clear, my heart warmed and doubled in size.
Fuck, I really love this man.
"Noah," I moaned when I felt my orgasm build to a fever high, it needing to snap before it took me under.
He lifted me from the bed to adjust our position so we both were on our knees in front of the mirror. With his free hand, he spread my legs wider apart, and I leaned my head back against his chest with the new angel making him all of my most sensitive places all at once.
"Look at yourself," he demeaned.
I was exhausted but did what he asked by looking in the mirror, the sight so unholy. A man in a mask and dressed in black spearing me wide open on his cock.
"You're beautiful, angel," he praised with a hard thrust.
"Mine."
Thrust.
"Fuck," his burrowed his lips into my neck to bite down hard on the skin.
My throat was dry, raw, and I could barley make a noise as my orgasm finally ripped through me with such force I fell limp in his arms, my arousal coating his dick and pants.
"I love you," Noah moaned as he finally spilled himself into me, coating my walls.
We sat there for a long moment to let our breathing fall in slow sync with eachother then Noah gently laid me on the bed so he could remove the binds from my wrists. He rubbed the red marks before brining them to his soft lips, peppering it in kisses.
"Are you alright?"
I gave him a blissed out, goofy smile, and nodded. "More than alright. Thank you for this, Noah."
He made a noise low in his throat as he bent down to press a kiss to my lips.
"I should thank you, angel. This might have been my idea, but you were comfortable with it," he said while covering me with the blanket.
I held it to my exhausted body as I watched him remove the mask from his face, chocolate waves of his hair sticking up in many directions. Sweat beaded at his eyebrows and ran down the side of his face.
"I don't understand how you can perform three songs in that getup," I shook my head with a laugh.
Noah chuckled as well as he shed off the jacket and black shirt, now only wearing his black briefs and blank tank.
"The ladies love it," he walked over to the other end of the room.
I hummed. "Yes, they do."
Noah fiddled with something that was poised on the table in the room pointed directly towards the bed and mirror.
"Did you get what you needed?" I wondered with a cheeky smile.
He held the camera up towards me, the bright red light still blinking. "Sure did. Anything you want to say to the camera?"
I flipped it off. "If anyone sees this Noah Sebastian, I'll cut out your vocal chords."
Noah's vibrant laughter bounced off the walls of the room as he shut the camera off, letting it rest on the floor at our feet before he crawled into bed with me. He pulled me into his chest and left a chaste kiss on the back of my shoulder.
"I really should shower," I noted.
Sweat covered every inch of me, and I was a sticky mess between my legs.
Noah yawned while turning off the lights, drowning us in that same darkness from before. "In the morning, angel. Let's get some sleep."
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⠀ 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 – 𝐣. 𝐝. 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
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𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ✧‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ (navi. & masterlist. & tag. )
「 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 」 yandere!jason dean 𝒙 female!reader
「 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 」 in which you try to break up with jason dean, but you find that doing so is a lot harder than you anticipated.
「 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 」 man-handling, murder / death, manipulation, toxic / abusive relationship, unconsensual kissing, threatening, swearing, generally psychotic behavior, implied / referenced stalking, general yandere themes.
「 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 」 1.2k
「 𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 .⁺ ˖ ⌒ this one's a bit on the shorter side, but it was fun to write!
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"You killed her."
Those were the only words you could think to utter staring at your deranged ex-partner. "You fucking killed her, didn't you?"
In spite of your current rage and distress, all J. D. could seem to do was offer you a devilish grin and a smirk. "Well, I wouldn't say killed her, just... I put her out of her misery, is all. Charity work, really."
"You did it. You murdered my best friend. Do you think this is a joke?"
"Well, it is quite funny, if I do say so myself."
You weren't quite sure what you were feeling at the moment. Anger was one thing, but heartbroken, too, for you had lost the person that was closest to you.
And yet, your inner turmoil aside, you felt a terrible, terrible smile slither its way across your face - a not because you were happy by any stretch - the situation you found yourself in was by no means one that'd cause you any feelings of joy - but simply because you had no idea what else to do.
"She was right. I should have stayed away from you. You're not a rebel. You're fucking psychotic."
"Well, you say tomato, I say 'to-mah-to'."
You grated your teeth together. "Just get out, J. D." You were much too tired to play any of J. D.'s mind games. You just wanted him gone. And for a moment - for one beautiful moment - he seemed to consider doing what you asked. But, alas, he was never one for folding so easily.
"No."
You drew in a sharp breath. "Excuse me?"
J. D. took a step closer to you. You held your ground, hoping to give off the impression that you weren't intimidated by what he might do; you knew he had a loaded gun on him, and his unpredictable nature didn't ease your racing heart.
"I'm not leaving, and you can't make me."
"J. D., this is my house."
"Well, technically it's your parent's home, and I doubt you want to get them involved, unless you'd like two more of your loved ones with their brains blown out."
You stiffened, your throat tightening up. Upon your lack of a response, J. D.'s mouth curled into a wicked smile. "That's what I thought. Now, how about we both go out to 7-11 and grab a couple of slushies?"
J. D. outstretched his arm in order to grasp your hand, but just as your fingers brushed, you jerked backwards. J. D.'s smile faded.
"Y/n - "
"I'll call the cops - I'll fucking call the cops on you, J. D.!"
J. D. raised an eyebrow and began nodding. "The cops?" He inquired. "Tell me, when they arrest me, do you think they're going to ignore the fact that you somehow knew for a fact that I killed Heather, Kurt, and Ram? What proof do you have that doesn't incriminate yourself? What will you say when they ask you how you know it's me? You wrote the letters."
"Yeah, well I didn't murder people!"
A strangely exuberant laughter escaped J. D.'s lips. "You didn't, did you? Then you didn't give Heather that mug of liquid drainer? And you also didn't shoot Kurt?"
You paused briefly, thinking of a quick defence. "Well I didn't know that was the wrong cup! And Kurt - I was just so shocked - "
J. D. took a step forward. You took a step back. J. D. grinned. He continued his approach until you inevitably collided with the wall, letting out a small gasp. "Admit it, Y/n!" He trapped you with his arms. "You say I'm evil, but look in the mirror! We're the same! We both do fucked up shit, and we like it! I saw that look on your face when Heather died. You were glad."
"We are not the same. I did not want them dead. Whatever you thought you saw in me when Heather died, it wasn't there. You're delusional, J. D. Now, I'm calling the cops, so don't even try to - "
"You can't call them. You know that. The moment you do your parents would be dead - and, besides, you know you couldn't pay to have a lawyer send me to jail. I know your parents wouldn't be able to afford it."
He was right. And you hated him for it. You didn't even ask how he knew your family wouldn't have sufficient funds - at this point, you'd be surprised if he didn't know something about you or your personal life.
"Well, I'm not coming with you, no matter what you'd do. I'd rather - "
J. D. didn't allow you to finish, forcefully swallowing your words with the press of his lips. The kiss was anything then what it should have been - it was greedy, feverish, demanding. You didn't have so much as a moment to breath as J. D. devoured you, leaving you terribly, terribly breathless. His icy fingers tug into your skin, surely leaving bruises, and you shuddered at the feeling of his wandering hands along your exposed skin.
J. D.'s kisses now were not what they once were. A million years ago, they sweet and tender, a warm interlocking of souls on a cold winter's day. They were beautiful and wonderful and tasted of nothing but kindness and thoughtfulness. But this one was nothing like the ones you'd experienced in the past. It was hungry, rough as J. D. pressed you plush against him, searing as opposed to warm, poisonous as opposed to tender.
It was after what could only be described as an eternity that J. D. pulled away, staring at your dizzy self with a satisfied expression upon his face.
Because, at last, here you were, like a bird with clipped wings, caught in J. D.'s trap, the one you'd unknowingly watched him craft bar by bar.
You froze as you felt two arms slither around your waist, firmly pulling you to J. D. He liked you like this - he could practically smell the fear radiating off of you, and it was intoxicating. Neither slushies nor cigars could compare to the high he felt from your presence.
"You're not leaving. You can't. And, besides, I'd kill you if you did." He let out a satisfied sigh. "I worship you - can't you see that?" You shivered as J. D.'s warm breath tickled your ear. "We were meant to be, darling. There was a reason we met... you were made for me."
You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding as J. D. slowly let you go, grasping your chin between his forefinger and thumb. You naturally diverted your gaze.
J. D. grabbed your arm and squeezed it tightly, causing you to let out a small yelp. "Look at me."
Hesitantly, you obliged, your stomach knotting when you caught the dark glimmer in J. D.'s eyes. It was then that you knew - knew that you'd never once be free again, knew you'd be forever bound to J. D.
"We're going to fix this fucked up world together, Y/n."
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© do not translate, steal, or repost any of my works elsewhere without consulting me and gaining my consent.
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dystopicjumpsuit · 1 month
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The Night Before Someday
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A/N: Happy (slightly belated) birthday to my dearest @wings-and-beskar! I wrote you some smut. 💛
Pairing: Cody x Reader (GN)
Rating: M - Minors DNI
Wordcount: 1.6K
Warnings and tags: fluff; roofies mentioned in passing; somebody other than Cody tries to hit on you; SMUT; oral sex; teasing; minor dom/sub dynamics; orgasm delay; established secret/forbidden relationship.
Summary: Did you read “Someday” and feel a burning desire to know what happened the night before? Look no further! This is that fic.
Suggested listening:
Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list
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79’s was hot, loud, and crowded. The heavy beat of dance music pulsated through the dense, smoky air of the club. The 212th was on shore leave, and you could swear that all 42,000 troopers in the battalion were currently either in line for the bar or grinding on the dance floor. You weren’t the only nat-born officer in the place, but you still stood out in the sea of clones, and every so often a drunken trooper would hoot your name or cheer raucously as you passed.
The energy was frenetic. To tell the truth, dance clubs weren’t really your usual scene, but it was the first night of leave, and it was expected that the senior command staff would put in an appearance. It wasn’t so bad, though; the troopers were rowdy but unfailingly respectful, and as you headed back to your table after braving the line at the bar for a refill, one of your very favorite trios found you and pulled you inexorably into their orbit. 
“Didn’t think we’d see you here tonight, Major,” Wooley said as he slung his arm over your shoulders with an easy (if somewhat wobbly) smile.
“Why not?” you asked.
“Figured you’d have somethin’ better to do than hang out with the same faces you see all day every day,” Waxer grinned.
“What could possibly be better than this?” you asked, gesturing at the sticky, sweaty crowd.
“Probably just about any nat-born cantina,” Boil replied.
“Oh, we have more than our share of shitty dives,” you replied. “Plus my chances of having my drink roofied are probably lower here than just about any bar in the galaxy.”
“‘Specially with us watching your back,” Wooley said. He was slurring his words a bit, and his arm was ridiculously heavy on your shoulders, but you had a feeling his night was just getting started.
“Surprised you aren’t at the table with the rest of the command staff,” Boil remarked.
“I was on my way back when you waylaid me,” you laughed.
“Eh, we’re more fun anyway,” Waxer said with a charming smile.
Privately, you couldn’t help but agree, not that you would ever, ever say it out loud. Waxer, Boil, and Wooley didn’t have to worry about presenting a dignified facade the way the senior officers—including you—did. 
You drew a breath to reply, and suddenly, a Mirialan tripped and stumbled into you. She righted herself quickly, apologizing profusely in an Outer-Rim trade language. You replied fluently in the same language, reassuring her and asking if she was all right. She nodded and excused herself quickly, and as she left, you checked to make sure she hadn’t swiped your credits.
“Kriff, it’s hot when you do that,” Wooley said, leaning a little closer to your ear.
“What, check to make sure someone didn’t rip me off?” you laughed.
“No, when you speak Sy Bisti or whatever that was,” he replied.
“Meese Caulf,” you said.
“I don’t know how the commander keeps his hands off you when you’re translating for him,” Wooley said a little over-loudly.
Yeah, he’s definitely had enough to drink, you thought.
If you were honest, you liked Wooley just fine. He was sweet and funny, he had great hair, and he looked like… well… a clone trooper. Enough said. You might have considered reciprocating his interest if it weren’t for two very important factors. One: you outranked him by several degrees, and you’d have felt weird about it even if it weren’t officially forbidden for you to fraternize with him. Ironic, all things considered. 
Two—
“Because I don’t fancy a court martial, and I suspect the major doesn’t either, so I’d suggest you keep your hands to yourself,” a voice said from just behind you.
His tone was mild, but all four of you snapped to attention instinctively, and Wooley dropped his arm and put several inches in between himself and you for good measure.
“Yes, sir! Sorry, sir,” Wooley said sheepishly.
“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” Commander Cody replied. 
“Er, sorry, Major,” Wooley mumbled.
You kept a perfectly straight face as you reassured Wooley, then extricated yourself from the group and made your way back to the command staff’s table with Cody. 
Once you were out of earshot, you asked, “Court martial? Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?”
Cody arched a quizzical brow. “Just looking out for my officers.”
“Careful, Commander. People might start thinking you have an interest beyond strict professionalism.”
Under the guise of steering you around a group of rowdy, drunken troopers, Cody rested his hand on your lower back, and you felt his fingertips graze your bare skin, just beneath the hem of your shirt.
“We can’t have that,” he murmured. He leaned in slightly to whisper in your ear. “I wish I could dance with you.”
You suppressed a smile. “How much longer do we need to keep up this charade before we sneak back to my flat?”
“One more drink ought to do it,” he said. 
You glanced down at your cocktail. “Mine’s already half gone. I’ll leave first so nobody suspects.”
“You know, Wooley was right about one thing. You are hot as kriff.” He pressed his fingers into your back gently, then withdrew his hand as you approached the table where the rest of the senior command waited. “Door code still the same?”
“Always.”
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You were in the kitchen chugging the galaxy’s largest glass of water when you heard the front door swish open. By the time it closed again, you were already in Cody's arms. As your lips met, he picked you up and spun you around until you shrieked with laughter. When he set you down, he held you steady until you regained your footing, then slid his hand up your back to hold your head as he leaned his forehead against yours and took a deep, slow breath in and out.
“Hello,” you smiled.
“Hello,” he replied. “I missed you.”
“It's only been an hour,” you pointed out.
“An eternity.” He kissed along your jaw until he reached your ear, whispering, “A lifetime.”
You shivered as his breath tingled across your skin. “Welcome home.”
A quiet rumble of pleasure sounded in his chest at your words. “Let's go to bed.”
“Tired?” you teased.
He slid his hands down your body to grip your ass, pulling you hard against him. “Not even a little bit.”
That’s a kriffing lie, you thought, knowing exactly how busy and exhausted he was, but you weren’t about to call him on it when his lips tasted so perfect, and his body felt so strong and solid and warm, and his hands roamed over you, touching and teasing and exploring. You didn’t even notice that he was expertly guiding you backward through your flat until he leaned you slowly back onto your mattress.
“Excellent diversionary tactics, Commander,” you said as he kissed down your throat and sternum, deftly unbuttoning your top as he progressed.
“Mm,” he murmured, unzipping your trousers and sliding them down your hips. “That’s Marshal Commander.”
Your laugh turned into a gasp as he tugged your underwear out of the way and his tongue caressed your skin. 
“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” he whispered, gazing up your body as he stroked his fingers over you softly. He trailed kisses down your pelvis and swirled his tongue over your sex. “I could never taste you enough.”
Oh, gods, but he tried. He devoured you with all the skill and passion of a man deprived too long. He took his time, luxuriating in your smooth skin, your warmth, your scent, your taste, your quiet moans, your desperate whimpers, your frantic squirming beneath his lovely mouth. 
Ever the strategist, he used every tool at his disposal in his relentless pursuit of your pleasure: fingers, tongue, lips—even his teeth: grazing them gently across your tender flesh, then smoothing his tongue over you in soft, comforting strokes. He drew you closer and closer to your climax, refusing to hurry, even when your whimpers and moans gave way to pleading and sobbing as heat pulsed relentlessly through your veins, so close: so close, and yet just out of reach. 
And then—he stopped.
You nearly screamed in frustration. “Damn it, Cody!”
“Manners,” he chided.
You growled. “I am going to get revenge for this.”
“I have no doubt,” he replied, kissing you softly and then brushing his thumb over his swollen lips. “Now ask nicely.”
You gritted your teeth and took a deep breath. “Please, sir, will you let me come?”
He gave you a devilish smile and lowered his head back down to your body, devouring you with renewed enthusiasm, and within seconds, he brought you to the precipice.
“Please, please, please,” you chanted.
He groaned, a deep, gravelly sound that vibrated on your skin, and with a dexterous movement of his fingers, he pushed you over the edge. You let out a hoarse cry, for once not concerned about keeping your volume down, as your hips thrust up off the mattress. He pressed you back down as he kept going, eagerly taking everything you had to give, until you were twitching and writhing helplessly beneath him.
At last, when he’d wrung every last drop of pleasure from your body, you fell back, breathing hard as you slowly relaxed against the pillows. He looked up at you with a self-satisfied grin, and you narrowed your eyes vindictively. Wrapping your legs around him, you flipped both of you over so he was lying on his back beneath you, gazing up at you with blatant adoration.
“My turn,” you murmured.
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Didn't read "Someday"? It's here, and it's fluffy as hell!
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snorklingfae · 1 month
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Shades of Deception- Prologue
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Dark!Joel Miller x naive!Fem reader
Synopsis: Amidst the ruins of a broken world, one survivor stands out from the rest - Joel Miller. With his sharp wit and unmatched ability to deceive, Joel has always managed to outmaneuver those around him. But when he meets y/n, an unsuspecting and trusting survivor, Joel sees an opportunity to take his game to the next level. As their relationship progresses, y/n unwittingly becomes entangled in Joel's web of lies and deceit, utterly unaware of the true extent of his cunning and manipulation. Will y/n break free from Joel's grasp before it's too late?
Notes: thinking of instead using the term y/n as it can get tedious to write but use Bambi instead as a nickname Joel uses.
Warnings: none yet more will be added in each chapter
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Joel trudged wearily through the overgrown remnants of what was once a thriving city. The air hung heavy with the scent of decay, and the dilapidated buildings echoed his every footstep, reminding him of the world that had crumbled around him.
His senses were on high alert, scanning the shadows for any sign of danger. Survival had become his second nature in this unforgiving landscape.
One day, fate intervened as Joel was patrolling the area, and he saw a movement amidst the rubble of an abandoned storefront.
He slowly approached, weapon at the ready, prepared for any threat. But as he drew closer, he realized it wasn't a runner or clicker. It was a survivor, like himself, but far more vulnerable than he could have imagined.
She looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes, and her face was illuminated by a faint glimmer of hope that still flickered within her.
Despite the grim reality of their world, she radiated an aura of innocence and purity that Joel found both unsettling and strangely captivating.
As Joel observed her, a comparison sprang to mind, one that surprised even him. She reminded him of a character from a storybook, a creature from a world untouched by the darkness that now enveloped them—a fawn, fragile and trusting, with wide eyes that held a spark of curiosity and wonder.
Bambi, he thought to himself, though he doubted she would understand the reference in this harsh new reality.
"Are you bit?" Joel's gruff voice betrayed his concern as he approached cautiously.
"No, I swear," she replied, her voice trembling.
After a few seconds of debating, Joel sighed, "Are you alright?"
She nodded, offering him a tentative smile that tugged at something deep within Joel's hardened heart.
“I'm fine," she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just... scared."
Joel crouched beside her, his expression unreadable as he studied her carefully. He could see the fear in her eyes, and the uncertainty mirrored his inner turmoil.
Despite the danger that lurked around every corner, there was something about this girl that drew him in, a flicker of humanity amidst the chaos that consumed their world.
Without a word, Joel extended a hand to her, offering her comfort in a world devoid of kindness.
“Come on," he said gruffly, his tone softened by a hint of warmth that surprised even him. "You'll be safer with me."
And with that simple gesture, Joel's solitary journey took an unexpected turn, leading him down a path he never could have anticipated—a path that would intertwine his fate with hers in ways neither of them could have imagined.
As they set out together into the unknown, they would discover that sometimes, in the darkest of times, it was the tiniest glimmer of hope that could light the way forward.
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Shades of deception tags
@orcasoul @paanchusblog
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pastshadows · 2 months
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Shadows of the Past
Chapter 8: Flight
Summary: Astarion remained a spawn after ending the reign of Cazador with your help. After defeating the Netherbrain, you and Astarion stay together, moving forward with your lives. You reside in a small house in the city. One night, after an awkward and concerning interaction with him, he disappears without a trace.
Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.
Word Count: 6.8K
Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.
Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]
Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions.
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What happened? What in the Hells just happened?
His fingers putter over the greyed skin of his arm, but he’s not even looking as that blistering pain dwindles to a dull sting. He stares at the wide-open door, sun swarming across the floor, mouth agape.
He has seen panic. Hells, fear is well known to him, but he has never seen her succumb to panic. She never wavered. Even when they peered certain death in the face, she rose like a phoenix from the ashes, all glorious flames and roaring fury.
What had he said? His eyes shift furiously from side to side as he strives to recall the last moments. She recoiled from his touch, winced as his hand drew near, and her heartbeat thundered so furiously he worried it might burst in her chest. She never shied away from him before, even when she awoke to him hovering over her that night, fangs bared.
Gale enters, wide-eyed and dishevelled, and he nearly groans out loud but stifles it. He knows what’s coming before Gale even notices he’s standing, stiff as a corpse on these damn stairs.
Gale’s eyes find him with a scowl, voice drizzled in hostility hot enough to melt infernal iron, “Astarion, what did you do!?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” he retorts hoarsely, voice constrained, trying to push down his annoyance, “We were just,” Gods, what does he say, not the truth surely, “-talking.”
Gale pokes a rigid finger into his chest, and by the Gods, he almost breaks it, hands balling up at his sides. He’s not sure he’s ever seen the wizard so irate. It would usually positively amuse him, but his mind is focused elsewhere.
“If you hurt her again, Astarion, I swear on Mystra-Ryl-”
His temper gets the better of him, and he snarls like a rabid animal, fangs bared in warning as he shoves the wizard backward, “You’ll do what, Gale,” he spits, voice coarse as sandpaper, “Try to seduce her again with your silly parlour tricks?”
Gale gnashes his teeth, mouth twisted in a grim line, “No, Astarion. I admit my feelings for her have not departed. She is a rather unique soul, after all,” Gale sighs, “But she told me, in no uncertain terms, might I add, who her heart belongs to. You hold it in your very hands, my friend. Do not squander the second chance she’s given you. You are a lucky man to have her devotion.”
There is heartache in Gale’s expression, meshed into his voice. His tongue feels clad in stone, sitting heavy and uncomfortable in his mouth. Words fail him, a peculiar occurrence. He’s used to being able to weave masterfully articulated webs with his linguistic talents, but he cannot think of a response.
He smooths back his hair or perhaps messes it further; he cares not, “Indeed, I am.”
He needs to think, and he cannot do it when he’s making impetuous errors, letting anger get the better of him. He stalks up the staircase, silent as a thief shrouded by shadows as the wizard’s damn eyes bore into his back, scars bared, making his skin crawl.
Sitting on the bed, he leans forward and puts his head in his hands. His thoughts are chaotic, streaking like lightning bolts across the black void. They jumble together in untidy disarray, starting and stopping without fully rendering in the first place.
Fuck, this is his fault. What has he done to her? She’s different than when he left. Skittish, shy, and afraid of everything, just as he had been once. She tries to hide it from him, but he recognizes it reflected in those beautiful doe-eyes that gleam like the morning sun.
He inhales sharply, a futile venture for him, but sometimes, even 200 years later, those old habits of life still spring his dead body into action. He frowns at himself, springing upright with artful grace and fluidity practiced and perfected over centuries and paces his room with his fingers laced behind his head.
He’s never wished he could extinguish the sun so desperately. If only he could wrench it out of the sky and fling it into the heavens, blotting it out, he would set out after her. Darkness is mere hours away, but it feels like lifetimes.
Despite his best efforts, he thinks of home. He’s missed it since he softly shut the door behind him that night. The memory haunts him like no other.
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He slips off the bed, careful not to jostle it and wake her, an easy feat for him. How often had he simply slipped away from his targets when Cazador came for them in the dead of night? Countlessly. He cringes inwardly at the memories that surface of the life she rescued him from, giving him this new, bright future to look forward to. Only in this moment that once radiant future is bleak and endlessly lonely.
It’s better for her, he tells himself. After all, he cannot give her a real life if she’s bound to the shadows with him, both the umbrage plaguing his mind, holding his body hostage, as well as shackling her to the night.
He tucks her in, making sure the blankets are tightly swaddled around her, and she stirs slightly, a soft sigh rising from her parted lips. He stills instantly and listens intently to her heart. It continues its languid, sleepy thumping. He concentrates on it far longer than he needs to, committing that beating melody to memory, for he knows there will never be another. She is her, and she is unequalled, the only person in two centuries who looks at him, almost through him at times, and truly sees him.
His bag is already packed, hidden close to the door, but he can’t get his legs to advance, so he stares at her. Gods, she is beautiful beyond words. All unruly, long hair, pouty lips, tapered ears and ravishing scales adorning the delicate skin of her face that glint in the last ebbing glow of the fire starting to sputter out in the brick-clad fireplace. He wants to reach out and let the cool pads of his fingers be warmed by her skin, feel the glassy smoothness of those shining scales. He wants her to wake, simply so he can put this off and spend another day with her, or maybe he would tell her so she could talk him out of this idiocy.
Gods, she would plead with him to stay, and he would, because he wants to with everything he is, so he dares not touch her.
Tears stream out of his eyes despite his best efforts to keep them imprisoned. He brings his hand to his mouth to bite back the sobs that are threatening to sputter out. He grits his teeth and glides over the floor like a ghost, grabbing his bag. He takes one last look at her with a panging hope she will awaken and bring an end to his cowardly retreat.
She does not wake.
He lets himself out into the cool night air, closing the door behind him with barely a click, and he runs as fast and fleeting as his feet can carry him because he cannot hold back those noisy, breathy sobs a moment longer.   
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Your lengthened strides devour the ground beneath you, blurring everything around as you avoid obstacles and people alike. Your blood thrums in your ears, your heartbeat pounding against your temples, and a sheen of sweat veils your skin, droplets rolling down your forehead. You sprint forward with reckless abandon, a rabbit fleeing from the snapping fangs of a starving wolf, trying to push your legs to move as fast as your thoughts are spinning out of control.
Guards at River Gate eye you suspiciously as you blow past them into the country surrounding Waterdeep. Crashing through the forest, you duck under boughs and willowy branches, dodging around undergrowth, feet spitting pebbles and stones. Your lungs burn as if embedded with sparking cinders as you draw in gulps of musty, earth-scented air. Stark tree limbs rake scratches into your face and pull at your hair like skeletal fingers.
You do not heed your surroundings. You are fleeing, and nothing will thwart you. You will run off the very edge of the realm and surrender to the abyss if it will put an end to this agony.
The ground falls from under your feet, sending you careening forward, rolling down a steep embankment. An excruciating pain splits through your head, and white peppers your vision as black starts to trespass around the edges. You clamber to hold onto consciousness, but it slips like sand through your fingers.
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The suite of the Elfsong Tavern is dark. You shift on your mattress, trying to get comfortable enough to slip into rest, but your body is as restless as your mind, and you gaze at the ceiling. The sleepy breaths of your friends resound around you, and you can’t help but feel a pang of envy. You are tired, and Gods, you crave rest, but it does not come.
There is rowdy commotion from the pub, still flourishing and restless as the citizens spend another night indulging in drink, dance and each other. Slipping out the door, you descend the stairs, sit at the counter and order yourself a pint. The ale is piss-poor, bitter and bites at your tongue and throat as you swallow. Your mouth twists, and you stare into the flagon, scowling at the offending taste.
“Not your drink?” Astarion chuckles, resting his hip against the counter with an amused grin and those crimson eyes that glimmer mischievously.
“No,” you admit, “I prefer something… harder.” Tilting your head back, you gulp it down anyway, “I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“I have not been able to rest easily since my siblings came for me,” Astarion taps the counter hard, getting the attention of the barkeep. He points to a bottle high on the shelf and signals for two drinks, not caring to raise his voice over the shouting of the other patrons.
“I won’t let them harm you, Astarion,” you vow, eyes sparking and igniting like dry tinder, “I would die before I let them take you.”
Astarion smiles, cocking a brow at you, “Feisty with a little drink, aren’t you?”
He jokes, but you can see that he’s scared as hell. He’s wearing the mask again, pretending he’s anything but afraid, but it cracks under your penetrating gaze.
Glasses filled with some russet-coloured liquor slide over the counter. Astarion nods curtly in gratitude while pushing one toward you, “Try this, darling. I think you will find it far more palatable than the swill.”
You regard the glass and stare at Astarion, who sips it while watching you with an earnest yet devious grin. You take a tentative sip and are delighted by the heavily spiced liquor that leaves a fiery burn in your throat and warms your belly.
“It’s lovely. I guess I will have to bring you with me every time I want to imbibe,” you tease.
He chuckles, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, “Where you go, I go.”
I love you.
The alcohol loosens your tongue, and you bite it to stop yourself from spilling all the emotions that still sit turbulent and voiceless in your heart.
This is not the time for heartfelt confessions.
You throw back the rest of the drink and start toward the door. Astarion calls out from behind you, “Where do you think you’re going?”
You glance over your shoulder with a wily smile slithering across your lips and a wicked flash in your eyes that could rival his own, “Probably to get myself into some trouble. I do tire of playing hero.”
The truth that keeps you awake. You tire of having to be good, everyone’s expectations thrust upon your weary shoulders. It was so hard to balance it all. You have to be everything for everybody at once - the picture of morality for Karlach, Wyll, Halsin and Gale, cold-blooded for Lae’zel, Shadowheart and Astarion. You must be both sides of the proverbial coin. It is exhausting.
Stepping out of the tavern, night breathes chilled air on your face and into your lungs. It feels fresh and pleasant compared to the tepid warmth of the pub. Sauntering down the street, Astarion pops out of a barely noticeable, dark pathway ahead of you, and you nearly shout.
“Trouble, you say,” he drawls, his arms bent behind his back as he takes his place beside you, “Consider me intrigued.”
Astarion follows as you weave through the shadowed streets and alleys to your destination. He doesn’t ask where you are going or what kind of mischief you’re leading him into, likely because he doesn’t much care.
“When we met, you said you were a magistrate,” you remark after he explains some dilapidated building used to be a courthouse, “Was that true?”
“Yes,” he nods, “I was, though I admit, not a very good one.”
You chuckle at him, “I expect you broke the law as much as you enforced it.”
“ When I enforced it,” he corrects with a clever smile tugging the corners of his lips upward, “I wielded the law masterfully when it suited me and broke it artfully when it didn’t, which was often.”
“I’m shocked,” you say deadpan, “truly.”
Astarion rolls his eyes, “Yes, you look positively beside yourself, scandalized even,” he smirks flippantly, “What about you? What was our fearless leader up to before all this madness?”
“I-” you pause and consider lying but dismiss the reflex as it rears. You don’t want to lie, especially not to him, “I was travelling, looking for someone.”
Astarion’s eyes shoot to the ground at his feet, scrambling from side to side. When he finally speaks, there is apprehension braided into his voice, delicately weaved between practiced reserve, “A former lover?”
“No,” you frown, clamping your jaw so hard your teeth click audibly, “An enemy.”
Astarion’s brows furrow, but before he can question you further, you step toward the door of Facemaker's Boutique, “I feel like shopping. What do you say, Astarion?”
Astarion beams wide, his fangs glinting in the moonlight, “Move over, sweetheart. I’ll get the lock.”
You bow shallowly, splaying your hand on your chest theatrically, “My hero.”
He crouches down languid and graceful in front of the door and shakes his head, “I don’t play hero. I’m afraid you will have to settle for a morally questionable saviour, at best.”
You’re my hero.
“Heros are boring anyway,” you shrug while watching his fingers manipulate the lock with expert precision, just as they did your body. You feel the flush of heat as it runs down and spreads between your legs, “I would choose morally questionable any day, especially when it is so devastatingly beautiful.”
“I am quite dashing,” he smirks smugly, his eyes creasing at the corners while he side-eyes you, “Why else would you be flushed and wanting while we commit a crime?” 
How did he know?
Nearly choking on the air, you try to rein in your composure quickly, “What I want is a new outfit, and you are taking an awfully long time. Having troubles, Rogue?”
“Cheeky pup. I thought I would give you a moment to continue imagining my fingers handling your body as well as they do this lock,” the lock clicks instantly. He stands confidently, smiling, “You may be able to hide your truth from the rest of them,” Astarion wraps an arm around your waist, tugging your body flush against every curve of his and places a soft kiss on your lips, “But you cannot hide from me, Sorceress, and you never have to.”
Astarion releases you suddenly, and you stumble backward, catching yourself on the iron fence behind you.
Astarion chuckles, “Now, shall we?”
He pushes the door open, walks inside, his footsteps soundless, and listens. His eyes find yours, and he points to the top floor, indicating someone is upstairs.
Astarion pulls you in close again, lips fainting over your ear, “He sleeps, but if you keep bumbling about, you will get us both in the trouble you seek.”
You smirk at him and head for the shelves, trying on various hats and coats, only to discard them on the floor when Astarion cringes and shakes his head. Astarion examines the jewelry and gems, rolling his eyes at the poor imitations.
You drag him into the back with you, “Come on, Astarion,” you tut, whispering in his tapered ear, “There has got to be something in here you like.”
“Oh yes, there is something in here I’ve had my eye on for quite a while,” his arms wrap around you, lips hovering so close to yours that you can feel the chill, “Quite a while, indeed.”
Moving you to the side, he steps away from you quickly, leaving you tottering on your feet yet again as if his presence has intoxicated you further.
Astarion’s fingers flit over various chemise and doublets before landing on an opulent obsidian-black coat with red twisting dragons climbing up the breast and polished silver metal clasps to bring it all together.
He slips it on over his shirt, “Well?” He spins for you, allowing you to take him all in, “What do you think, love?”
“It’s beautiful,” you stutter, “you’re beautiful.”
The moment it comes out of your mouth, you know you’ve said it far too loud and Astarion’s eyes flick to the ceiling above you. Footsteps trail soon after, and a groggy voice shouts obscenities down the staircase.
Astarion grabs you quickly, putting his hand over your mouth to stifle your surprised grunt, and pulls you into the darkest corner of the shop.
“Damn thieves!” Figaro shouts, shuffling into the room straight past you and Astarion, huddled in the corner. Your bodies are flushed together so tightly that you don’t think you could get any closer to him.
Well, except if he were inside me.
The thought makes heat rush to your face, and your cheeks burn. Astarion grins at you, cocking his head to the side, observing you through thick lashes. He plants a lingering kiss on your cheek, making you redden further.
You pull his hand away from your mouth as you stare at the back of the man standing with his hands on his hips regarding the mess you’ve made of his shop. When he turns around, his eyes cast around and bypass the little corner but snap back, brows furrowed in an angry scowl.
Astarion knows you’ve either been seen or are about to be, and you can hear his dagger slip out of its sheath. Shaking your head at him, magic glowing on your fingertips, you cast Sleep before Figaro can utter another word or call for guards. The man tries to fight the wave of exhaustion that encompasses him, but he drops to his knees and flat on his face quickly enough.
“Well, you are quite handy to have around. Had I met you in another life, we would have terrorized this city,” Astarion steps out of the corner, releasing his tight grip on you, and regarding the sleeping man, “I believe we have overstayed our welcome, don’t you?”
Astarion grabs your hand, dragging you behind him, hurrying out the door while keeping a sharp eye on the surroundings. He takes you around back and through the darkened park to avoid any passing guards who may notice your hasty retreat.
Your chest heaves, and your heart pounds wildly, invigorated by the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Astarion turns to look at you with that delighted expression, and you dissolve into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.
Astarion chuckles with you, “By the Hells, the exploits I let you drag me into,” he teases, dragging his fingers across your cheek, “You are quite a lot more fun than I gave you credit for when we first met.”
“Oh, Astarion,” you giggle, eyes narrowed with a cheeky smile, “You have no idea just how bad I can be.”
“I await the day you demonstrate exactly how naughty you are,” Astarion drawls suggestively, his eyes hooded and seductive. He holds his hand out to you in a shallow bow, “May I have this dance?”
You look around the park, covered in shadows that flit with the breeze in the moonlight, “Here? Now?”
He shrugs, “No time like the present. Who knows when we will have another chance?”
“I’m not a dancer, Astarion,” you warn while taking his hand.
Astarion deftly pulls you into a dancer’s embrace, “Follow my lead and try not to step on my toes, will you?”
“No promises,” you kiss his cheek while he starts taking slow steps that are easy for you to follow.
“You’re making this quite the challenge, you know,” he whispers, resting his cheek against yours.
It almost sounds pained, and you pull back slightly to examine him, trying to decipher his meaning, “What are you talking about, Astarion?”
His hand finds your hips, pulling you tight against him, and he grinds himself into you. His desire for you is evident, bulging in his trousers, “Need I explain further?” He purrs.
“That’s not what I’m trying to do, Astarion,” you insist, “I told you we could wait as long as you need, and I meant it. That’s not what I want from you.”
I want you to love me.
With a lift of his arm, you spin. When Astarion pulls you in, his hand comes to the small of your back, and he dips you low with sure, confident steps, “What do you want from me then?”
“You,” you breathe, “Just you, as you are.”
His lips mould to yours in a short kiss as he brings you upright. When he pulls back, you’re struck by the ceaseless devotion mirrored in the scarlet pools of his eyes, your lips parting with a small gasp.
“I’m yours, my love,” he coos softly near your ear, laying your hand on his chest and holding it.
Your arm wraps around his neck, holding him tighter, and you rest your head on his shoulder. Astarion hums a tune familiar to you, and the dance carries you away.   
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You feel like you’re floating as if being rocked by gentle waves, and for a moment, you wonder if you’re still caught up in the memory of Astarion’s slow swaying under the stars. Something is pressed hard against you, cold and unmoveable, and it all recurs to you in a flash flood.
Astarion’s crimson eyes wide with distress and confusion, recoiling and falling to the floor, his mouth moving but his words not making it passed your ears.
Running through the manor, Astarion’s pained yelp and dashing through the streets like a crazed animal who can’t flee the wildfire fast enough.
The embankment, tumbling, your body striking something hard, and the slow fade to black.
Fuck.
Your eyelashes flutter as you try to force your eyes to open. Gods, it feels like they are clamped in a vice and fused shut, but you must get up, get home, to Astarion. You try to stretch out your numb limbs and are met with resistance.
Astarion’s voice drifts through your alertness, “Easy, darling. If you continue this wriggling, I might just drop you. Are you awake?”
Astarion? 
Your vision is carpeted by a gauzy haze, but you can faintly make out the darkened canopy of the trees moving above you.
“Astarion,” you murmur groggily, hand coming to your aching forehead, “Astarion, I’m so sorry.”
At this point, you’re not even sure if this is real, and you mutter on, sputtering out words insensibly. A frosty gust of wind howls through the trees, icy teeth nipping your skin, and you shiver harshly.
“I’m going to put you down for a moment,” he cajoles in a velvet-wrapped voice, “Can I trust you not to bolt off again?”
You blink to rid your vision of the fog that muddles it, and your eyes coast gradually to his, “I won’t run.”
Astarion eases you down, slow and measured, until you’re sitting upright on the carcass of a long-ago fallen tree. You groan with the movement, teeth clicking aggressively in your mouth as you tremble.
“Arms,” Astarion instructs, crouching in front of you with one knee on the ground. He gently grabs one of your arms and slips it into the arm of his coat and then the other before pulling it tightly around you and fastening it up.
“No,” you try to argue with him, “You will be cold.”
“Well, aren’t you just talking absolute gibberish,” he tuts with a click of his tongue, “My dear, I am dead, remember? My body is colder than this wind.”
You nearly giggle, but it dies in your throat before it can ever be expressed, “I’m so sorry, Astarion.”
“This is not the time for such a discussion,” he objects softly, sitting beside you and placing a hand on your thigh, “Just tell me you’re okay. That will suffice for now.”
“I’m okay,” you lean into him, and he wraps his arm around your back.
Astarion’s cry reverberates in your mind, tangling your heart in barbed wire and wringing it, “I- Gods, I hurt you, didn’t I? When I opened the door. Fuck.”
Your eyes examine him as your fingers trail down the smooth skin of his arms until they feel it - the greyed, cracked skin, rough as tree bark.
“A trifling matter; do not concern yourself with it,” he pulls his arm out of your hand, “We must be getting back to the manor.”
Astarion adjusts to pick you up, but you push him away, “I can walk.”
He stands with his hands on his hips, giving you a judgmental glower, “Well, then please,” he waves dramatically, “Lead on.”
You attempt to stand, but your legs are wobbly beneath you like a newborn foal, and you sit back down, muttering profanities under your breath.
He groans, “If you are quite done being disagreeable, I would very much like to get you back to the manor before dawn. I’ve had enough sun for one day.”
“I am not grumpy,” you scoff, scowling at him.
“You’re cold,” he shrugs with a light-hearted snicker, “Of course you are. Now, come on, hold onto me.”
You scold yourself for looking this weak in front of him, infantile and feeble, but you do as he instructs and wrap your arms around his neck while he lifts you into the air and begins the meandering route back to Gale’s. The delicate swing as he walks, his scent all around you, wafting from his coat, and the pure exhaustion tows you in and out of consciousness no matter how hard you try to rally against it.
“Do you remember visiting the boutique in Baldur's Gate,” you sigh in one of your fleeting moments of wakefulness.
“Which time? The time you so stubbornly interrupted a perfectly good murder,” he admonishes, and you smirk, remembering the look of absolute irritation twisting his mouth, “Or the time you almost got us caught engaging in misdeeds because you were admiring me too loudly, again interrupting another perfectly good murder.”
“Admiring you too loudly,” you confirm, “Where did that jacket go?”
Astarion adjusts nervously, “I took it with me when I left. A sentimental attachment I could not bring myself to relinquish.”
The question tumbles out unceremoniously before you can stop it as oblivion begins to swallow you whole, “How many came after me, Astarion? How many have warmed your bed since I did?”
Astarion lurches so brutally that you wonder if he’s going to drop you, “Good Gods-”
The void conquers you, slipping you back into obscurity. If he answers, you don’t hear it.  
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The morning sun streams into the window, gilding the skin of your face in a radiant, warm glow. Your eyelashes flutter as you stare at the open window through heavily lidded eyes. Fluffy, white clouds drift through the brightening sky as birds greet the reborn sun with their songs. Closing your eyes, your hand slips over the sheets and bumps into familiar chilled skin. You run the pads of your fingers over him, but instead of skin smooth as the finest silks, a grainy texture grates against your fingertips.
You frown and open your eyes to look at your fingers. A white powder coats them, and your brows knit in confusion as you rub them together to test the texture.
Ash.
Lurching upright, hurling the blankets away, you stare at Astarion resting peacefully beside you. His hands are crossed over his chest as if being laid to rest, his skin dull, and he does not stir.
“Astarion,” you whisper, reaching out to him.
The moment your trembling fingers contact his body, he crumbles.
A shrill, deafening scream tears painfully from your throat.   
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Still screaming, you catapult off your bed and instinctively hurl yourself toward the window, only to find it closed and shuttered tightly. Rivulets of tears run down your hot cheeks, and you clutch your chest as if it might ease the pain. You slip down the wall to the floor, bringing your knees up and folding your arms around them.
Astarion bursts into your room and drops to the floor, arms outstretched, and you throw yourself into them. Your fingers curl into his flesh firmly, testing if he’s going to disintegrate under your touch.
“Another nightmare?” he murmurs, one hand at the back of your head and the other rubbing up and down your back.
“You, you, you, Gods,” you falter, not even wanting to form the words on your tongue. You shudder and force it out, “I woke up, the window was open, the sun and you were...” You can’t finish the sentence.
“It wasn’t real,” he coos, “I’m here.”
You can’t help it, and you flex your fingers into him and run them over every part of him with firm pressure.
Astarion takes your hand and smiles, “Handsy this morning,” he quips, kissing your knuckles.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” you smile while he wipes your cheeks.
His brow cocks, “How do you know you woke me?”
“Your hair is a mess,” you chime, running your fingers through the wild curls, tousling it further.
“I couldn’t very well style it while you screamed bloody murder. The wizard is lucky I even bothered to put my trousers on,” he laughs, plucking a dry leaf out of your hair, “I am not the only one looking rather unkempt. I didn’t want to wake you last night.”
Looking down, you realize you’re still in your clothes from last night, including his coat, “You put me in my bed?”
“Well, you are positively filthy,” he sighs, still picking dry leaves and other plant matter from your hair, “But mostly, I thought it best after what happened yesterday.”
“I’m sorry, Astarion. I-”
I’m scared.
His fingers come to your lips, and he shakes his head, “Not now,” he opens the cabinet at your bedside and grabs a Potion of Healing, placing it on the table, “First, drink that, then a bath and food. I can hear your stomach growling obnoxiously from my room.”
“But I-”
Astarion wags his finger at you, “No, no, no.”
You cross your arms and scowl, “I’m not a child, Astarion.”
He smirks, “Clearly. Children tend to listen. As endearing as you are, darling, if you insist on being obstinate, I will simply ignore you until you do as I ask,” he shrugs.
“You would ignore me?” you scoff, “Really?”
“I would do anything to get you to eat so long as I no longer have to hear your stomach. Gods, you mortals can be quite irritating,” he giggles, pushing himself to his feet.
You glower at him, “Fine. You win this time.”
Astarion nods with a smug smile and leaves you to tend to yourself. You stare in the mirror and groan. A cut splits the skin of your forehead, bordered by a dark bruise that is all hues of blues, purples and sickening yellows. There is still debris in the tangled nest of your hair, and you can smell yourself under the scent of his coat.
At least he didn’t comment on that, I suppose.
Gulping down the Potion of Healing, you rush through bathing and dressing, jogging downstairs to the kitchen to make some breakfast. Your heart feels heavy with everything left unsaid and unresolved, and you sit at the table, picking at your food pensively, lost in your thoughts.
Tara sits on her perch in the corner, twisting her head and giving you a questioning look.
“Tara, where is Gale?”
“Mr. Dekarios is giving a lecture today,” she informs, starring daggers at you, “Did you do it?”
You shake your head with a sigh, “Not yet.”
“Idiot,” she admonishes, jumping and trotting off with her fluffy tail held high.
I know.
“A charming feline,” Astarion watches her walk off, “What were you supposed to do?”
You skip over the question, “I’ve completed your damn list.”
“Such a good girl,” he purrs, chuckling, “Very well. I suppose it’s time we talk. My room or yours?”
You tangle your arms behind your back and glance away as a blush reaches your cheeks, “I like yours better.”
Astarion leans his shoulder against the archway, crossing his arms, “Why’s that, my dear?”
“It has you in it.”
“You are adorable when you’re trying to make amends,” he smirks, “Go on then. Get upstairs.”
You sit in the chairs by the fireplace as it crackles and pops in awkward silence while Astarion regards you with red eyes, burning as bright as the fire, leaning back in the chair. Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly, unsure where to begin, how to explain what happened or how to ask him the question that started this whole mess.
Finally, Astarion leans forward, “I’m worried about you. It is not like you to give way to panic, not like that. Beyond that, you are shy and afraid of me, I think.” You open your mouth to speak, and he puts his hand up, “Do not try to dispute it. I can see it in your eyes,” he sighs and leans back again, “I do not wish to pry. Gods know I have my fair share of demons that I prefer to keep closeted, but I would like you to feel like you can be honest with me, and you can be honest with me.”
It’s time to stop hiding.
“I think I’m broken,” your voice is quiet, eyes swimming with tears. When you blink, they rain down your cheeks, “I lost part of me, something I haven’t been able to find,” your eyes find his, “You’re right, I am afraid, but it’s not of you, Astarion. I’m afraid of losing you again.”
Astarion descends to his knees in front of you, bringing his palm to cradle your face, “You may feel lost, but you are not lost alone. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“Where do you go, Astarion, when you left?"
“I ran,” Astarion returns to the chair and rubs his hands together. His mouth is in a tight line with a look of pure misery, “I ran as fast and as far as I could manage. I believed the further I got away from home, from you, the easier it would be to let it all go.”
Running… Something I know far too well.
Reaching out, you hold his hand, swishing your thumb over the back, “Did it work? Was it easier the further you got?”
“No, love. It was not,” a single tear slips out of his eye, and he inhales a shaky breath, “By the time I realized what a fucking fool I had been and returned home, you were already gone. I spent the rest of the time trying to track you down,” he pauses, wiping away the stray tear, “Do you recall what you asked me last night?”
Your brows furrow, and you close your eyes to summon the memories. What you can remember is murky and fragmented, “No, I’m sorry. What did I ask?”
Please tell me I didn’t ask that question.
Astarion’s jaw clenches, “You asked me how many have warmed my bed since you,” he leans back in his chair, regarding you thoughtfully, his fingers holding his chin, “Do you truly believe that I was gallivanting around Faerûn taking strangers to my bed? Is that what you think? Is that what this was all about?”
Gods, me and my big mouth.
“I- I’m sorry,” you can’t give him any other explanation because you don’t know yourself, “If you don’t want to tell me, I understand. It’s none of my business, after all.”
“Hells love, I told you I had not been touched in a while, did I not? There was no one else,” he shakes his head slightly and then sighs.
“You never had…” you trail off and look away, staring into the fire.
“Sex? We are both adults. You can say the word.”
Taking a deep breath, you meet his patient gaze, “You never had sex with anyone else?”
“No one,” he purrs while grabbing your arm and pulling you into his lap, “You’re the only person I want to make love to. Why did you not ask me this if it was bothering you? You can ask me anything. I thought you knew this.”
“I was afraid of the answer,” you fidget with your fingers, “I don’t remember when I started doing that.”
Astarion wraps his arms around you and lays his head against yours, “After I left, I presume,” he sighs, “I’m so sorry.”
He can tell I’m not the same person he left. What if I’m too different and I never get better?
“Are you having second thoughts, Astarion?” you swallow, trying to rid your voice of the audible quiver, “I would understand.”
“What?! Absolutely not,” he pulls back, and his hands come to your cheeks while he looks deeply into your eyes, “I’ve never been this sure of anything in my life, and I’ve had a very long life,” a lopsided grin spreads across his lips, “I am rather looking forward to courting you again."
You giggle, “Court me?”
He grins, “If you call me old again, by the Gods, I swear I will tickle you until you can’t bloody breathe.”
“You sound old,” you taunt, jumping out of his lap and running away from him playfully.
Astarion is out of his chair so quickly you barely registered when he started getting up. He chases you around the room but nimbly catches you with one arm, hauling you up into the air by your waist, when you try to make a mad dash around him.
You laugh loudly as he pins you to the bed, holds you down and does exactly what he warned you he would do until you’re begging in stuttering, breathless pants for him to stop.
“I warned you,” he sweeps loose waves of your hair out of your face with a bright smile, “sassy girl.”
“Maybe I just wanted your hands all over me,” you chime, eyelashes fluttering while you blink slowly at him.
“Hm, I could be convinced,” Astarion murmurs while running his index finger over the smooth scales on your face, “May I kiss you, friend?”
“Oh, Astarion,” you run your finger up his ear to the tapered point and look intensely into his scarlet eyes, “We have not merely been friends since I crawled into your bed at the inn.”
“Catching onto that, are you?” he chuckles, kissing your forehead, “Took you long enough.”
Leaning forward, you take his lips in yours. Your fingers curl into the white curls at the nap of his neck, and you relish the comforting coolness of his skin. Astarion’s tongue slips past his lips, and he groans as he coaxes little sighs of pleasure out of you.
Astarion leans his forehead against yours, “We will take things slow.”
Slow? Gods, I don’t know if slow exists when it comes to him.
“Astarion, do you think… Would you be okay with…” your heart kicks up into your throat, and you trail off, trying to subdue the panic.
“Come on, darling,” his finger sweeps over your bottom lip, “Out with it. Would I be okay with what?”
“Do it afraid.”
I will.
Anchoring your eyes on his, you sift through your fear and find your resolve, “Can I move into your room with you?”
He blinks, eyebrows rising, making his eyes round, “You wish to share a room with me? Truly?”
You glance away, unsure of his reaction, “If it makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to share your room.”
“Look at me, my love,” he purrs, using his fingers to direct your gaze back to his, “Our room,” he smiles, “It’s our room.” 
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Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I hope you're enjoying reading this! Let me know what you think :)
Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past
AO3: Crossposted
If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts
Small Notes:
- I know it was upsetting (my apologies) when I toyed with the idea that Astarion may have slept with other people after he left. I hope this chapter applies a soothing balm to that heartache.
- So I decided to try something new with this chapter - a little glimmer into Astarion's mind. Let me know if it works, and I might continue switching perspectives so we can explore his memories and thoughts as well.
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pillow-anime-talk · 8 months
Text
his talented baby. {pt.2}
synopsis: You as a person with a huge (and hidden) talent, and also a person who really surprises your boyfriend.
# tags: scenarios; current relationships; romance; some comedy; big fluff; some PDA; sfw
includes: gender neutral reader ft. sebastian michaelis & undertaker {kuroshitsuji} + josuke higashikata & rohan kishibe {jojo 4}
part one {click}
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— SEBASTIAN (ft. chess)
Sebastian was perfect in everything; in cleaning, in cooking, in playing various instruments, in foreign languages, in gardening, even in singing and dancing. There was, however, one thing he couldn’t achieve fully well, and that was the game of chess.
Of course, he defeated others (I mean here; Grell, Agni, Bald or Finny) with ease, but when you offered him a game one day, his so far intact worldview changed dramatically. Eventually he found someone better than himself, but at the same time he felt so damn frustrated that he couldn’t win against your person. You were better than him, than Ciel, and even better than Mr. Tanaka, who was almost equal to him and the young lord.
“... Your move, Sebastian.” You announced by moving the bishop to the field of your choice, taking his black rook at the same time. “Are you going to give up, my love?” You smiled gently as you took a sip of delicious English tea with the perfect amount of sugar. The man looked at you in response, frowning and looking at the chess alignment after a short while.
“No. Everything is fine, I just need to think for a moment.” He said calmly, though his face expression seemed to hide the urge to swear. “I am impressed with how quickly you made such a confusing setup, darling.”
“Well, well. My grandpa taught me to play. As the saying goes, the student has surpassed the master.” You chuckled as you put your chin on your right hand while looking at the fingers of your man surrounded by white gloves, who decided to move the king to space F5. “Maybe someday you will surpass me, who knows?”
Sebastian stared at you out of the corner of his eye, nodding in delicate, almost invisible amusement.
“Maybe someday, dear. For now, I will give you the honorable title of the best chess player.”
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— UNDERTAKER (ft. drawing)
Drawing has been your passion since you remember and you loved to paint literally everything; still life, nature, huge landscapes, other people, animals, and even things that didn’t make much sense (Picasso was one of your biggest inspirations when it came to cubism). In addition, in your bag you always carried your favorite blue sketchbook in which you drew tiny thoughts or things you noticed while walking, working or drinking coffee in a cafe.
That day, however, you were sitting quietly on one of the chairs in the funeral parlor, and the Undertaker was also sitting nearby – he was writing names with concentration, calculating in his mind the number of deaths in the last month and year.
His calm face was really handsome from your perspective; the faint light of the lantern caressed his pale complexion, and his green eyes full of mischief stood out behind his fair hair. Every now and then you glanced at the tall man, then your eyes focused again on the small notebook whose pages were blank. I mean, they were not all empty; some of them had sketches of dogs on them, others sketches of flowers, and others featured the figure of a tall Grim Reaper.
When you finished your illustration, you smiled and nodded, satisfied with your work. A beautiful play of light, self-confident pencil strokes and small additions in the form of ivy and rosemary beautifully composed the whole black-grey picture of Adrian.
“Excause me, darling...?” You whispered hesitantly, not wanting to interrupt his work. Nevertheless, the man quickly looked in your direction and a wide smile appeared on his face.
“Yes, my little flower.” He asked, instantly standing up and forgetting about the paperwork – you were definitely more interesting than the dead, after all. You showed him your drawing with a slight blush on your face and he opened his mouth in slight shock. “It’s me?” You nodded, and the Grim Reaper just chuckled. “Am I really THAT handsome?” He joked and you just rolled your both eyes. A short time later, Undertaker praised your talent, asking if you’d like to hang some of your sketches on the board next to the entrance.
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— JOSUKE (ft. playing drums)
More than five years ago, you and your three friends started a music band. Since then, you’ve been focused on making your dreams come true, on small concerts played in the Morioh, on school performances, also on learning notes and practicing singing. You were the drummer and leader of ‘CR△WL’; your vast musical knowledge, willingness to develop your passion and daily rehearsals aroused great admiration from the rest of the band and from people who watched your slowly growing career. Of course, Josuke was no exception, on the contrary – he considered himself your biggest and most faithful fan, who with the greatest pleasure went on dates with you to music shops or bookstores with records of old bands.
The young man was delighted every time you played the instrument – just like years ago in your garage when you first played ‘Paranoid’ by Black Sabbath for him. He was smitten and would come over to your house to listen to your covers or help you make a video for your YouTube channel (you were pretty popular for tutorials, trivia, and drum videos).
“...Y/N, Y/N. Would you be able to play this song?”
That day, Josuke visited your house once again. Your mom made you two some snacks, and you grinned as you practiced another song for an upcoming concert at one of the smaller festivals this summer. Your boyfriend seemed to be excited like never before, so you asked what is the title of mentioned song. Hearing the familiar words, you just smiled, nodding your head in response.
Instantly, your both hands and right foot began to beat the drums, which making the dark-haired teenager’s face look very surprised.
“Y/N... You really know every song on this planet!”
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— ROHAN (ft. rapping)
Karaoke, bowls full of ice cream and fruit, carbonated drinks, hot snacks and great company were what you’ve been missing for the last few weeks. Focused on studies and work, you didn’t have time to rest properly; but you finally met with your closest friends and you also took Rohan with you.
You had a great time gossip with besties who talked about changes in their lives and new achievements, for example, at work. You were telling about your experiences as well with a huge smile, while Rohan was sitting right next to you, talking to some people from time to time. He wasn’t interested in large gatherings, but he couldn’t say ‘No’ to you either because you were too sweet that evening.
Suddenly, one of Cardi B’s songs was played in the background and you almost squealed.
“Ooooh, I see that someone want to sing, huh?” The blonde haired girl asked, and you just laughed, thanking her for the black microphone.
Rohan almost spit at his new shirt as soon as you started rapping the verses without any problems, without even looking at the screen where the lyrics were displayed. You had a great time dancing a bit in the middle of the small room. You looked at your partner with a smirk, sometimes sending a kiss or wink in his direction. You were literally in your world; you showing your energy and love for music so perfectly.
Rohan was really surprised.
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sailor-aviator · 6 months
Text
Singing in the Sanctuary: Chapter One
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Singing in the Sanctuary: Chapter One
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader
Summary: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw is a simple man. Well, as simple as one can be while living a life of crime. The notorious outlaw of the western territories has never been interested in settling down and having a family, but will that all change when he meets a shy, new teacher who just moved into town?
Warnings: Swearing, Bradley Bradshaw being a flirt, suggestive language. I think that’s all?
Word Count: 2.8k
A/N: Here's Chapter One!! I hope you all enjoy. As always, validation of any form (reblogs, comments, and likes) are always appreciated. And if you want to swing by and leave me a message or ask, you are always free to do so! I love talking about my works. 18+ ONLY!! Find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator where I will be posting these fics as well!
Series Masterlist || DPU Masterlist || Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Tag List
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Maverick had taken you home and let his wife, Penny, help you get settled in to your temporary home. Penny was a lovely woman, smile lines clear on her face. While she was easily one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen in your entire life, her easy confidence is what ultimately drew you to the older woman.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” you had gushed as Maverick led you into their home. It was a simple, white house close to the edge of town, and the interior gave a particularly cozy atmosphere that had you relaxing almost instantly.
“You as well, darlin’,” she smiled, green eyes twinkling. You went to shake her hand, but she pulled you into a tight hug instead. “No need to be so formal, sweetheart. You’ll be staying here until we can find something else for you, after all.”
“Of course,” you sighed. Penny pulled away and rested her hands on your shoulders. Peering over at her husband, the corners of her mouth dipped down in disapproval.
“Speaking of which, Pete, when are you going to get that school house built?” she griped. Maverick rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and offered her a small smile.
“We’ll start it here soon, I reckon,” he murmured, causing Penny’s frown to turn into a full blown scowl.
“You’ve been saying that for months now!”
“And when I find the workers, we’ll get right on it,” he replied pointedly. “Besides, we just now got ourselves someone to teach all the little hellions.”
Penny rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath that you didn’t quite catch. She turned her attention back to you and smiled, guiding you towards the stairs. “Come on, darlin’. Let’s go get you situated. Mav’ll bring your things up in a little bit.”
You followed her dutifully up the stairs and down the hall until she stopped in front of the the last door on the left.
“This is you, sweetheart,” she said, opening the door. It was a simple room. A four poster bed was placed against the far wall and a wardrobe on the wall to your right beside the window. A small vanity sat at your left, and as you took it all in, you felt the excitement of the day wash over you.
“I love it,” you said quietly, grinning from ear to ear. Penny’s smile matched your own.
“I’m glad. I know it’s not much, but you’re free to do with it what you like until we get you your own place. It even has a view of the mountains.”
At her words, you moved over to the window, drawing back the curtains and leaning in to look out. There were no words to describe it. You had been a little worried to move out to the middle of the desert, knowing how much you’d miss your sprawling green landscapes. The mere thought had you feeling a mixture of guilt and homesickness. Your parents were probably beside themselves at that very moment, despite the note you had left them explaining where you were going. You could practically hear the wails of your mother from hundreds of miles away. But the view of the mountains before you almost made up for those awful feelings within you. It was like a painting you had seen once at the market. The blue sky popped against the muted oranges and brown that lay underneath, and the white clouds that floated by looked almost unreal.
“It’s beautiful,” you breathed quietly, and Penny chuckled.
“It is, isn’t it?” she began, coming over to stand next to you. “It’s even more beautiful at night when you can see all the stars in the sky.”
“I can imagine,” you said, already smiling at the thought. Penny straightened up and clapped her hands together.
“Right! Well, how about you and I go downstairs and get supper started? The butcher sold me a prime cut of beef today, and there’s a recipe I’ve been dying to try.”
You followed her out the door, the smile still plastered on your face. “I’d love to.”
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Your dinner with Maverick and Penny had been full of conversation and laughter. Maverick told you about how he had come to found the town with his best friend, Tom “Iceman” Kazansky, who also happened to be the towns sitting sheriff.
“He’s a stubborn son of a gun,” Maverick had said with a hint of a smile, “but there’s no one I trust more.”
Penny had cocked an eyebrow at him at that, and Maverick chuckled, placing his hand on top of hers where it sat at the table. “No one else but you, of course darlin’.”
“Do you know when Bradley and the others are getting back into town?” she had asked him some time later. Maverick sighed, sitting back in his chair with a wistful look on his face.
“I don’t. You know how those boys are. Here one minute, gone the next. If I’ve told them once, I’ve told them a thousand times, ‘keep me posted so I know you’re still alive.’ Do they listen to me? No, I’m just an overly cautious, old man.”
“You’re not that old,” Penny smiled, causing the corners of Maverick’s mouth to twitch into a small, returning one. “You’ve still got a couple of years, I’d say.”
“How kind of you to say,” Maverick laughed. He stood up from the table, stretching. “That was a mighty fine meal you two girls cooked up. But, I have some things I need to tend to before the night is over. Y/n, you’ll be joining us at church in the morning, won’t you?”
“Oh, I wasn’t sure I was allowed to,” you said, setting your fork down sheepishly. Penny smiled at you warmly.
“Of course you are! You don’t need an invitation to attend service. The reverand will be happy to meet you, and I’m sure it’ll be a good opportunity to see where you’ll be teaching the young ones. When did you want to start? We can announce it while everyone is gathered tomorrow.”
“Oh,” you said, thinking. Much like every other decision you had made recently, you decided to dive head first into the opportunity. “I can begin on Monday. Let’s say, eight o’clock? I can start getting things ready tomorrow afternoon after the service, provided that’s alright with the reverend.”
“I don’t see why that would be a problem,” said Maverick. “I’ll let him know as soon as we get there tomorrow morning. Have a pleasent evening, ladies. Penny, I’ll probably be late, so don’t wait up.”
“That man never stays still for long,” Penny sighed, smiling fondly after her husband. Standing, she stacked the dishes in her hands and made her way to the kitchen. “You go on ahead to bed, sweetheart. I’ll get the dishes tonight.”
“Are you sure?” you asked, following after her, and she waved you off.
“‘Course! You’ve had a long day, and you’ve still got some unpacking to do. You can help me after breakfast in the morning.”
“Alright,” you relented, turning to head upstairs. “Goodnight, Penny.”
“Goodnight, darlin’.”
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The following morning came quickly, and you found yourself excitedly walking into the sanctuary of the church in your Sunday best. A few people milled about you as they took their seats in the pews up and down the aisle. Some looked at you curiously, but you paid them no mind as you followed Maverick and Penny to the front of the church. You all sat down in the front pew and waited for the service to start.
“Did you hear?” said a girl to your left. “The Dagger Posse is back in town!”
“Really?” squealed her friend, earning looks from some of the older townfolk. “When did they arrive?”
“Just last night! Oh, that Jake is so handsome, isn’t he?” the first girl giggled. You heard someone snort, and turned to see a pretty girl a few rows back from you roll her eyes. She sat next to a handsome man who looked like he might be her brother and a pretty girl with dark hair and deep, brown eyes who smiled at him affectionately. The two girls continued, not paying any mind to the one who snorted.
“He is, but that Bradley isn’t so bad on the eyes either! It’s been horrible going this long without seeing all those handsome men walking around town,” said the second girl.
Her friend nodded enthusiastically. “You’re right. A month is simply too long.”
Before her friend could reply, the reverend made his way to the front to begin the service. The chatter died down as the reverend began to speak. It was a lovely service, and before you knew it, the hour had passed. The reverand gestured to Maverick, who stood up and turned to face the rest of the congregation.
“Mornin’, folks,” he said, earning a cacophony of “good mornings” from those around him. “You all know me, and you also know that we’ve been doin’ our best to get a school established here in Maverick. Well, I’m happy to announce that as of yesterday, our humble, little town finally has a new teacher!”
He gestured to you, and you stood up shyly, waving at the people surrounding you. Several people clapped and you could have sworn you heard a few people say “finally!” Maverick continued.
“Unfortunately, we still don’t have a schoolhouse built for our little critters, so for the foreseeable future, I’ll be looking for volunteers to help me build not only a schoolhouse, but a home for our wonderful new addition.”
“Thank you, Pete,” said the reverend as Maverick sat back down. “If anyone should have any questions for our new teacher, I believe she’ll be taking some time to get our sanctuary ready for school tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock, was it?”
“Yes,” you chirped. The reverend smiled.
“Eight o’clock tomorrow morning is when school will start. I hope to see many young, shining faces here on time ready to learn! That’s all I have for today. May God bless you all this fine Sunday.”
You sat back as the congregation began to file out of the sanctuary. Once everyone had left, you got up and walked up to the front. Behind the pulpit, you found the slate tablets that Penny had told you about earlier that morning. You grabbed a few of them and began to place them in the first few rows of the pews. You began to hum a little melody as you worked, allowing the sound to roll through you. Your mother had always been proud of your ability to sing.
“Like an angel here on earth,” she had said once. You had shied away from the compliment, but it never deterred you from enjoying the hobby.
“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,” you sang as you walked back up towards the pulpit to grab more slates. “That saved a wretch like me.”
Turning, you moved to the other side of the aisle, repeating the task from before.
“I once was lost, but now am found,” you continued, turning back to grab the last few remaining tablets. Gathering them up in your arms, you turned. “Was blind, but now I see.”
Your finished the last note, looking up towards the door and nearly dropping the slates in your arms as you jumped. Standing in the doorway was a devistatingly handsome man. His skin was golden like it had been kissed by the sun itself, and chestnut brown hair curled at his forehead. His mustache sat above his lips that were curled into a small smile as he watched you with deep, brown eyes.
“Hey, little songbird. Don’t stop on my account,” he drawled, leaning against the doorframe. You didn’t say anything, to nervous to speak. This only seemed to amuse him, and he pushed off from the doorframe and started walking over towards you.
“That’s a pretty voice you got there,” he continued, causing you to tighten your hold on the tablets. “Maybe I can get a private show here soon.”
“C-c-can I help you?” you asked, cursing yourself for stuttering. The man hummed, coming to a stop in front of you. He was so tall, that you had to crane your head back in order to meet his gaze. He looked at you thoughtfully, biting his bottom lip before leaning down so close that his breath fanned over your face.
“That depends,” he smirked. “What are you offering?”
“I don’t,” you started, but your sentence was cut off by a squeak as the man cornered you against the wall by the pulpit.
“You gonna let me have a taste, darlin’?” He asked huskily, sliding his hand down to grip your skirt.
“We’re in a church!” You gasped, your brain struggling to catch up with what was happening. You put a hand on his chest, trying to use the tablets to push him back. He chuckled, taking them out of your hand and tossing them to the floor.
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Your pulse skyrocketed and your breath caught in your throat as he leaned in closer, close enough for you to see the green in his eyes.
“Oh, Rooster,” called a voice in a sing-song tone. You glanced over to see another tall, handsome man. This one, however, was blond and just a breath shorter than the one currently caging you in.
“‘M busy,” the man—Rooster—grumbled, softly stroking your cheek. You felt the skin in where he touched you blaze, and you tried to suppress the shudder that ran up your spine. Rooster’s smirk returned as he pressed in closer to you.
“Rooster?”
Rooster continued to ignore the man, cupping your jaw. He leaned in so that his lips hovered over yours, and you let out an involuntary whimper, feeling your resolve weaken.
“Don’t worry,” he cooed softly. “I’ve got you.”
“Bradley.”
“What, Hangman?” Snapped Rooster, Bradley, whirling around to glare at the man, thunder in his eyes. The man, Hangman, didn’t seem phased by the sudden hostility of his friend. In fact, he looked bored as he inspected his fingernails, propped up against the door frame where Bradley had just been minutes before.
“Well, Roo, I hate to interrupt your,” Hangman paused, casting you a quick glance before smirking, “fun, but we do have some things we need to take care of.”
Bradley didn’t say anything, still looking at Hangman with a thunderous look. Hangman cocked an eyebrow as if to challenge Bradley to argue.
“Have you even found Maverick?” Hangman asked exasperatedly.
“Maverick?” You questioned, your sense slowly coming back to you now that Bradley wasn’t quite so close. “He left already.”
Both men turned to look at you.
“Do you know where we can find him?” Asked Hangman, standing up straight now, hand on his hip.
“I believe he and Penny went home,” you said carefully, unsure of what these men wanted with your host.
“Well, thank you kindly, darlin’,” Hangman said, throwing you a wink before sauntering out the door. A moment passed and Bradley turned back to look at you, but your gaze was focused on your hands. Bradley’s hand reached out to cup your cheek again, pulling your face up to look at him. An unreadable expression was on his face as he studied you. His thumb gently stroked your bottom lip, and you once again found yourself having difficulty breathing and focusing on a single thought. His hand was so warm.
Bradley seemed to make up his mind about whatever it was he was thinking about, and he pulled away with another smirk. He turned and walked down the aisle of the church and out the door without another word to you. You shook your head in an attempt to clear it.
You quickly placed the rest of the tablets in the pews and waved goodbye to the reverend who had wandered back in from outside. You dragged your feet a little more than what was necessary as you made your way back to the house. You spotted several horses tied up by the gate outside, and you took a steadying breath to brace yourself for what, or who, was on the other side of the door. You stopped just outside and debated on whether or not it was too late to run off to another town. Deciding against it, you swung the door open before you lost your nerve. A group of six men were sprawled across varying pieces of furniture in the parlor, two of whom were now familiar to you. Both looked at you in surprise, but Bradley’s shock quickly turned into a lazy smirk.
“Well, hi Birdie,” he drawled, earning looks from both Maverick and Penny. “What’re you doing here?”
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shygirl4991 · 2 months
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BREWING ROMANCE Glowing Stars
THIS IS NOT CANON Since i know i havent worked on BR for a while since im focus on the splits into three i thought i write something to feed you all for now thanks to @lizaluvsthis art of our boys that inspired this! SMG3 and SMG4 design for the AU by Liz!
Summary:SMG3 needs some help testing new paint and who better to help him then his cafe boyfriend SMG4
Tags: fluff, comedy, just two idiots in love, establish relationship, glow in the dark paint, two gays being cute
SMG4 hums as he walks into the cafe, it was exciting coming to work these days. Who would have thought dating his ex rival would make such a huge impact on his mood, he lets out a soft smile as he looks at the night sky before turning around. He pauses, staring at his boyfriend who was glaring at the walls “Stare at that wall anymore and im going to start thinking you rather date the wall,” he giggles as Three turns around startled by the man.  He rolls his eyes as he approaches his partner, gives him a peck on the cheek then smirks at him “You're an idiot, to think i'm stuck with you.” 
Four blushes looking away from his partner, he swears he has gotten too weak to that smirk of his.  “So what's the deal with the glares?” Three walks to the back room and takes out two cans of paint “I was planning on adding new art to the wall, was thinking of testing this new glow in the dark paint!” he flashes a huge smile at Four making the man feel close to passing out from how charming it was. SMG4 takes a deep breath to relax himself “Will the paint dry in time for when we open?”
He nods as he pops the cans open “Please you think I would do something like this and not have a plan?” Once he is done opening the cans he hands a brush to Four. Slowly he takes the brush and watches as Three removes his hat placing it on a table nearby. He then ties his hair into a bun and starts drawing stars on the wall, Four then removes his hat and follows what Three is doing. After a while of painting he turns his head and smiles lovingly at Three, the man had such a relaxed expression on his face as he paints that Four couldn't help sneak up to the man and plant a kiss on his cheek.  Three pauses before turning to face his boyfriend, Four was expecting the man to get flustered over what happened. Instead his blushing partner used his free arm to wrap around Four’s waist bringing him close “Oh uh heh i couldn't help it you looked so relaxed when painting!” it wasn't fair why he was the one getting flustered at the interaction. Three smirks “Idiot, i knew you found me attractive when i draw, after all i have caught you staring before.” 
With that he leans in kissing Four. With a hum Four drops the paintbrush to wrap his arms around his partner's neck, he remembers the time he would daydream about moments like this now here he is on cloud nine kissing the man he loves the most. Three pulls away, his face beat red “That was pretty gay of us, now shall we finish the wall?” Four giggles and nods as they return painting the walls. Once done SMG4 sits on the counter watching his boyfriend clean up the cans, then he releases his hair making Four blush. If anyone asks him what his number one weakness is he would never admit it's his boyfriend with his hair loose. Three smirks as he walks over to the light switch “Alright, ready to see our glow in the dark art?” four gives a thumbs up as Three hit the switch.  The stars they drew on the wall started to glow alongside bits of the pairs uniform, Three giggled as he got close to Four “See told you glow in the dark art is awesome, to think you complained about them being for kids haha!” Four rolls his eyes at the teasing. His partner wasn't wrong about the paint, it made the cafe have a different feel. His eyes then rested on his boyfriend who was glowing with joy at what they did, slowly he scoots closer to him  catching Three’s attention. With a smirk he scoops Four off the counter making the man squeak “While the stars we painted look amazing, i think the best art is the one in my arms right now~”
SMG4's face goes bright red, he hated how Three could get him to be a flustered mess. It should have been the other way around, He thinks, trying to catch his boyfriend off guard. Seeing how Three was carrying him bridle style he wraps his arms around the man's neck leaning close to his face “You're not so bad yourself handsome~” then kisses him.  Three blushes and returns the kiss excitedly, distracted by their love bubble they don't notice Mario was coming over for a late night visit to get some spaghetti. Seeing the pair kiss he chuckles taking a picture of the pair kissing surrounded by glow in the dark stars “Ah the gays so happy they finally got together!” He then posts the photo online and runs off before they notice what he did.
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myveryownfanfiction · 4 months
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Rickmas day 5: grave of snow
18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI
tags: @illiana-mystery, @deepperplexity, @fangsandroses
warnings: post-smut, swearing, talk of death
AN: this probably isn’t what the prompt means but while I was looking for inspiration this idea came up that a grave of snow was looking at life as something beautiful while looking at death as something to be feared. And hans seemed to fit that perfectly. So enjoy!
I gently traced circles into Hans’ chest as I laid next to him. He hummed slightly as I moved my finger up to trace the lines in his face. Hans had a smile on his face as he laid with his eyes closed, enjoying the quiet bliss that came after we had sex. He tilted his head slightly to kiss my finger and I giggled quietly.
“you’re so beautiful.” I murmured as I propped my head in my hand. “Sometimes I think you’re so beautiful it hurts.” Hans chuckled and opened his eyes to look at me.
“Darling, no one is more beautiful than you.” He smiled at me, leaning up to kiss me. “Not even me.” I blushed as he brushed a strand of hair off my face. Hans groaned as he laid back and his eyes scanned over my face. “What I wouldn’t give to spend forever right here. Right now.” I smiled softly at him, tracing the light scars that littered his body. Hans turned his head when I gently ran my finger over the one along his ribs. “Snow falling, fire roaring…” Hans turned to look at me again, a smile on his face. “You naked in my bed.” I gently shoved him but Hans grabbed my hands, bringing them up to his face to kiss them. “Perfect.”
“You’re lucky I enjoy being naked in your bed.” I laughed. Hans drew me in for another kiss. “What were you thinking about?” I asked after a while. Hans looked at me confused. “When I was drawing on your face. You looked like you were deep in thought.” Hans nodded slightly and his eyes went vacant for a second before looking at me softly.
“the fall.” He admitted. “And how lucky I got afterwards.” I bit my lip and frowned. “I should have died. Should have been arrested. But for some reason…”
“they thought you were dead. Not my fault they failed to check. Let alone look for you.” I pointed out. Hans smiled at me and kissed my hand again.
“I was going to say for some reason I was sent an angel instead.” I blushed again at his words. “Nursed me back to health.” Hans reached up and cupped my cheek. He absentmindedly rubbed his thumb over the bone and watched me. I leaned into his touch and smiled at him. “I’m not entirely sure what would have happened to me if you hadn’t found me. I’ve run the scenario through time and time again. I don’t like the endings.” His eyes flickered down to my lips and back.
“Hans.” I breathed out. He shook his head.
“it’s alright (Y/N).” He whispered. “I’m here. Now. Thanks to you.” Hans leaned up and kissed me again, pulling me on top of him for another round.
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