#i took too long on it & lost my steam | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nexusnyx · 1 year

Text

keep close | part III

Joel Miller x F!Reader [8.3k] summary: Joel was never a man of religion—thinking about the enormity of everything was not for him, but he understood the concept. Devotion. An other-worldly comfort in something, or a place. Joel had never, on the other hand, experienced religion. As he lifts his touch from your hands to explore the rest of your body, Joel is blessed, and this is holy. The air around him sizzles with everything existing between you two. 📝 This is the final part of this little story, and I hope it meets the expectations. If you enjoy it, reblogs and comments make all the difference. warnings⚠️ mature content—explicit depictions of sex, so minors dni. | 🏷️ soft!joel (he is, deep, deep inside, okay?), bathing together, slow undressing, deep talks, first time, dirty talk, begging, fingering, guided orgasm (yes, Joel Miller does walk you through it), penetration (p in v).

← part two | masterlist

Joel wished he felt comfortable in his skin.

He remembers there was a time when he did. He used to have a lighter step, lighter touch, lighter eyes.

All his edges feel sharp now, even to him—silver like steel, or the hair that glinted at him from every reflection as a reminder of why, and up until some time ago, he'd kept up a good shell. An exoskeleton of great thickness that kept him going with minimum blows to the skin.

Until a while ago, he had no reason to try being anything other than this.

Being this kept him alive, but—it would also keep him away. From Ellie. From you.

He wanted to be close to you. Closer than he admitted to himself for a long time.

As close as physics would allow, and even then, it wouldn't be enough.

He thinks about all that as he puts Ellie to bed.

Not that he calls it that. Or, god forbid, you did.

Ellie claims to be grown enough to live all on her own if it came to be, and yet, she somehow always ended up 'awakening' sometime in the night. Joel lost count of how many late-night conversations with you had been interrupted by that sight: her short, teenage frame being outlined in the darkness standing stiff and awkward, right before she blurted, "I keep hearing... you know."

Their noises.

Ellie's nightmares were about their noises. One day, you simply got up, took a deep breath, and said, "C'mon, let's go back to bed, I think you need just need some company. We can talk, if you want. Or not.."

No one — not you, not Joel — called it 'putting her to bed' because Ellie was grown, and 'far from a kid' already, as she'd put it. She didn't need some grown person talking to her until she falls asleep. It's just nice, she said. It's just soothing, because according to Ellie, they — the grown-ups — have a tendency of forgetting the 'younger folk need some stimulating conversation too, man'.

How could someone not love this kid?

Joel watches her sleeping body for a few moments. He places and tucks the blankets around her to keep her warm, and closes the door on his way out.

He hated to admit how magnetic she was at the start. It was so difficult to accept the sharp wit and horrible jokes were simply her. A part of her, born embedded in her genes just like a lack of patience, or straight hair.

When Joel opens the door to the bathroom, he's greeted by steam.

The whole place is still covered in it despite the hour of dinner.

He sees you sitting in front of the bathtub, and proudly announces. "Miss I don't need a lullaby today asked me to tell her a story," his eyes feel yours on him as he takes off his jacket.

He hears the scoff. "She's been asking me that all week," you answer with a tone that says you're behind, old man, "And she even threw the 'make them good stories, too—I don't want any boring, pg-13 rated shit.'"

"The army teaches shitty manners," he takes off the flannel jacket too and starts unlacing his boots. "She woke me up with a wet finger in my ear once. D'you know how long it's fuckin' been since someone did that? Decades. It's been literal decades."

"I think you meant to say the army doesn't teach them any manners," you say. "And hey—at least that's kind. You, on the other hand—"

"Oh, here we go," he laughs.

"—you decide to wake people by saying their name. Announcing their name, in that deep, Odin-inspired vibrato that already gives them a heart attack, and then you just," you blow raspberries in the air. "Fuck off."

He laughs. Tries his best to keep the volume low because he knows better, but laughing and kicking off his boots feels amazing.

None of you have showered since the attack.

A week was a gross amount of time to spend without a washing rag and hot water rubbing every inch of your skin, but the poor unfortunate truth of living in an apocalyptical world remained almost natural now—it was not weird to happen. Just gross.

Cleaning yourselves to the best of your lonesome abilities when there are bruises littering almost every member of your body is also a challenging task.

He's done poorly in his, and he wished bashfulness still existed somewhere in his bones for him to feel sorry about it. Instead, Joel let his body fall back with only a layer or two of clothes left in him and laid on his back on the floor.

He says, "I can't believe I'm gonna shower," fully expecting some witty remark back.

A joke. A jab. Anything other than— "Joel."

A soft, single whisper. Joel's head whips in your direction, and he almost gets up in an electric shock—your curled-up position awakens his instincts of 'cradle, cover, protect'.

Scared. Had he made a mistake? Had he jumped the gun and done something too fast? Something wrong?

Before he can jump to any conclusions, you add. "I'm gonna say this in a single breath 'cause I'm feeling oddly stupid about it and the rational, intelligent parts of my brain that know this means absolutely nothing can't find a single argument back for the question then why the hell do I still feel like every inch of my skin is a part of my insides..." you breathe in deep, and lift your head, tilting your chin high. Your eyes make sure to meet his. "I—," you choke on it once, and Joel witnesses as the blush rises from your neck, painting like watercolor its way up your skin. "I never... did anything. Nothing that went beyond sad, pathetic displays of.. what I can only call 'making out'," you laugh, humorless. "God, I feel like a fucking idiot."

"You're not," he affirms. He might be failing faintish, and his body may be running hotter than the insides of a volcano, but he'll be fine. "You tell me anythin' you wanna tell me, and I'll listen. And if you want to—"

"Don't," you interrupt him. "Don't take it back," your eyes shine at him. Don't take back your offer because it would hurt. It would kill me. "Please."

Joel would do anything you asked. "I won't."

You smile. "Thank you," you say softly. After another deep breath, you go on. "I wanted to tell because... It's only fair you know. Considering—" you swallow visibly around the word, and his body mimics the action as if you and he are your own hive of two, "I've thought about this. A lot, Joel."

A lot, Joel.

"Jesus Christ," he exhales, feeling the air punched out of his chest. He looks away from the earnestness on your face.

"And whether it's because a first impression always stays or not, I don't know, but I'm gonna remember."

And so would he.

Joel gets up from the form, his body now released from the imaginary chains that kept him bound to his place as you said your peace, and makes his way up the step to where the bathtub is and you're sitting on the floor.

It hits him that he's kissed you, and you've kissed back, and Joel's free to do it again.

The thought is what makes him sit right back you, pulling you in direction of his chest. You go easily, and it melts him more than the prospect of hot water on his body sometime soon.

"I thought you'd be happy I opened my mouth instead of stewing on stuff and keepin' it to myself and, y'know," he saw above your shoulders the way your hands did movements all over the place, and he laughed on your neck. "Didn't think you'd be this cuddly, though."

Joel rubs the bottom of his face on your skin just for that comment, enjoying feeling you squirm. "You opening your mouth is never a problem," he bites back with amusement.

"Callin' me blabbermouth?"

"Callin' you straight spoken," he corrects. "Precise."

"Awn, shucks—thanks, man," the sarcasm in your voice makes him groan. He's surrounded by smartasses, and it pains him. The laughter is nice, though; Joel guesses there are worst things than spending winter locked in a mountain cabin with someone who makes him laugh at the end of the world.

Sure, he is bruised and so many things are not right with humankind, but—not here.

He won't think about that now.

It's not his weight, just for these moments.

When you're done laughing, your body sags inside his hold, melting like snow under the Sun. He drinks it all in. "I'm aware this will be good for wounds 'n all, but I hate that I know it's gonna hurt so much the first couple of minutes that it makes me want to postpone it. What's another week without a proper shower, right?"

"Hell."

"Yeah, but so will be submersing our bodies in this," you point at the tub.

"At least it's together?" Joel offers.

Your head resting on his chest tilts up until you can look at him properly, and he's always thankful for the opportunity of seeing you smile. "That was cheesy," you whisper.

Once more, Joel sighs. He's smiling, but—it sounded so damn cute. Cheesy, accused between the lips that formed that teasing smirk, that mouth that—

Joel hates missing things.

He writes down in his mind that he will never miss your mouth; he'll always have it. If he wants it, he'll take it, and so he does.

Your face is angled, waiting for a hand of his to cup it and guide it toward his lips.

Kissing you is better than most things Joel's mind still clung to as the ones worth living for.

His personal favorite, the sun hitting skin for the first time after a long winter—it felt like that, but better.

He felt a tingle in his spine when you melted on him, prompting him to kiss harder—Joel starts moving his lips on yours and is granted with you following his lead like in the kitchen; you open up so well for him. You follow the rhythm of his tongue, and it makes it feel easy when he knows that's far from the truth.

When he pulls back, Joel thinks about what you said.

I never did anything.

Joel has to take deep breaths. You open your eyes after another heartbeat, and he's burdened with the silly need to kiss your entire face, so he does.

First the lips again. Then the cheeks, and the nose next, and you start giggling when he moves to your forehead, whispering, "tickles, Joel," but he doesn't care. There are the temples, and finally the chin, and—he exhales, smiling content at himself.

He looks ahead to the tub. It's a soaking type, made of dark wood he's almost sure comes from the forest surrounding them right now. "You think we'll fit in there?" he asks.

He feels your head moving to look, too. "It's made to fit two adults, I think."

"Ellie said it was the best bath she's had since she left the school," he shares.

Your hum of approval makes him realize just how hard this task is going to be—pun not intended but well applied. "She really needed one."

"We all do," he scoffs. Reluctantly, Joel lets go of your body to get up and finish undressing. He sees the two wood buckets you used to heat up water for Ellie's bath are full again, so he asks. "You heated up more water? Why?"

You pierce him with a are you kidding me, look. "Joel."

"Yes?"

"We need a wash, rinse, and repeat. I don't know about you, but I feel gross. Disgusting. Crusty—"

"Okay, okay," he interrupts, bursting into laughter. "I got you. You can stop tryna seduce me," he says while standing up.

Even though there's steam, he knows your blush is from him. For him. "Wasn't trying to," you argue with no heat. Smiling.

Joel is so fucked. "Really? All that sweet-talking about how much you stink had no goal?"

Your response is only a roll of the eyes, and Joel starts unbuttoning his shirt. "Hmm. Could've sworn it got me here showering with ya."

"You offered," you laugh, and then—your gaze lifts, sees what Joel is doing, and lowers, twice more bashful than before. "There was no seducing involved."

He groans in response. "Nope. 'm pretty sure your mouth was on mine. That's seducing," he states. "Hey," he calls. Your eyes find his. "You can look, 'yknow? 's nothing you won't be seein' in a second." Joel would say 'it's nothing special' but he knows you well enough. You'd hate hearing it, you'd fight him on it, so he thinks on his words. "If you want to," he adds, because fucking hell.

You do look up.

The second he feels your gaze on him, Joel's lifetime insecurities reappear from the shadows, birthing all over again like a flair under his skin.

He's okay. 5"11' of scars covering inner demons always on a battlefield, veins of whiskey, and a chest that he swore up and down would die empty.

It feels hot now. Occupied.

The shirt comes off, then the white tank top that's more a rag than a piece of clothing by now, and he only musters enough courage to look at you again as he unbuckles his belt.

The permission didn't prepare him to see you staring.

Gazing, checking him out with eyes as thirsty and obvious as a starving person being presented with a plate of their favorite food.

Joel swallows thickly around the knot that forms in his throat.

He wants to say something, but instead, he just undresses.

He wouldn't know what to say.

Joel didn't want things for two decades. He wants so much now that he feels like his body could vibrate at a frequency that would break glass.

His pants fall on the floor, and Joel stands there only in his underwear.

You swallow visibly, too. Then you look up into his eyes and say, "Permission to share a weird thought?"

That got his curiosity. You two loved sharing weird thoughts — no judgment, that was the rule — and he sees you nodding.

You start undoing your clothes as well. "You know that feeling of being so comfortable around a person 'cause they make you feel like you can be yourself?"

"Yeah."

"I always had that with you," you say. Joel removes his underwear with a single motion and tries to push down the feeling of hotness climbing up his chest. "And... I don't know if it's post-apocalyptical shit or not, but, d'you feel like you have a hunger that could never be fulfilled, ever again?"

Joel sits back down while he waits. "I do," he answers. "About everything, right?"

"Yes!" your exclamation is earnest. You get it. "I'll never satisfy any of it," you conclude. "That same feeling—that despair that a decadent world creates in you... it made me look at you and think 'I wanna bury myself in him' because—it brought me comfort? I hope that's not a too weird thought, I don't wanna freak you out or anything, but..." you shrug. He sees you trying to gather the words, and waits. "I just always had this.... feeling, this thing where I looked at you, and you're so broad, and tall, and strong," you shiver, and Joel feels his body twitching in response, "I wanted to get under your skin. Just... make myself all cozy inside you. That's probably some weird, mother-issue kind of thing, but."

It makes him laugh.

Joel looks down at himself for a second because taking in what you said and watching more of your skin become visible made his throat dry and his hands itch. "Trust me," he says. "You're under my skin."

Despite already being naked, Joel feels he peeled off another layer just with those words.

"You ready to go in?" He doesn't check for how you took the confession. He'd never said anything close to it that if he thought about it too long or too hard, something inside him would burst. "It's gonna hurt."

It takes a second for you to answer, and he's already up and dipping his legs inside when you do. "Good to know."

Nothing more than a soft whisper, and it heats up his insides better than the water.

Joel hisses in pain as his body submerges. While he alone occupies a good portion of the tub, you'll fit. A tight fit. Another knot forms in his throat.

There's the faint sound of clothing pieces hitting the floor and when he looks to the side, you're like he is—naked.

Vulnerable.

Just like him, you do it in one go, submerging your body despite the pain of the still-throbbing wounds. Your face scrunches in pain, which is the only reason he can focus on something else other than your legs touching his underwater.

The rag used for bathing is hung on the tub—clean, dry, washed.

He picks it up as you throw some water on your shoulders, and thinks about how much of you he'd like to know still.

So he asks. "Can I start?" He'd never be able to focus on something else with your hands on his body—washcloth separating the touch or not.

"You—you're actually gonna—uhm. Bathe me?"

"That's the idea, yeah. Unless you don't want me—"

"I do!" you interrupt. "I just—I thought you were only gonna clean my wounds."

There's not much space to move around now that you two are sitting, but he can move.

"No," Joel dips the cloth in the water and grabs the soap bar outside the tub. "Can you turn around for me?" He needs to find his guts first. If you're facing him, Joel will just gaze. Desire. Distract himself. "Wanna start with your back."

"'kay."

When you turn, Joel's mind goes blank.

Here he is, sharing a tub with the one person who's made him feel more human than anything else, and all he can do is long for.

His worries as he walked to the bathroom involved discomfort or tension. There's none to be found, even in the silence.

Joel sees your hair all tied up and wished he was the one to do it. "Aren't you gonna wash your hair?" he asks, and his hands start to work.

"One thing at a time, don't you think?" you chuckle. "If I was gonna do that I'd have to heat up another bath."

"Just for the hair?"

"Just for the hair. Ask El, doing this shit nowadays is a nuisance."

"I'll take your word for it," he's careful with his hands. There aren't many open wounds on your body, only splashes of purple, green, yellow, and blue. A Monet painting. "Please tell me if I hurt you."

There's a moment of silence before you answer, "You couldn't." It's the softest he's ever heard your voice, and he hears the confidence and truth in it. You don't believe he could hurt you. You're a hundred percent right, of course, but hearing it still soothes him. "But I will," you add, turning your face around to give him a smile.

Instead of returning it, Joel leans forward and kisses the lips that continue to do it—every time you confess thoughts and feelings buried in you, Joel feels something stirring inside. Being born, maybe. Growing.

You lean back to the kiss, and suddenly, your back is touching his chest. Joel makes sure to keep his hips propped against the bathtub so this is about what he said more than what he wants, but this is now his favorite position.

When you pull back, Joel feels himself smiling.

Opening his eyes, he finds you staring.

"It'll hurt when I wash that knife wound," he remembers.

Your eyebrows pierce together, recalling the gash you have on your left side. "It'd hurt more if it were days ago?"

It's offered like leverage. He takes it. "Brave one," he states. So much braver and smarter than he'll ever be—someone who still has the courage to feel what she feels and say it.

Joel hopes it'll rub off on him.

"You're the brave one," you counter. "You know... I think you never told me about what you did before all this."

He frowns. "No?"

You shake your head. Joel adds more soap to the cloth and starts washing your arms, "I used to work construction."

"Did you like it?" your body is loose in his hold. Joel holds up one of your hands and washes it slowly, back and forth, like he'll do to every part of you.

"I did. I think there's something to be said about building a home. About building good structures, y'know?"

As he cleans your body and wounds, the questions keep on coming, and he keeps on delivering answers.

For your arms, you ask about his work, and who he worked with. Joel takes note of every scar you have on your body, curious as to whether they came before or after the outbreak.

When he moves to your back and chest, you ask him about what he used to enjoy. He talks about it—trips with his brother, barbecues with friends and family, a nice and peaceful week at a distant country somewhere where he barely speaks the language, but he can get to know different cultures and people.

Joel stops when he sees the tattoo of a date under your right boob, trying his hardest to ignore the desire to squeeze what's in front of him.

Not the time. Bathe first, feel it later.

"Whose birthday is it?" he asks, putting the tip of his finger on it.

You stay silent, so he keeps on moving. He slides his hand underwater to your leg, and palming its way down your thigh and calf, he grabs hold of your foot; he's analyzing for any wounds but finds none, so he starts washing your legs.

When the answer comes, Joel's hand stops for a moment.

"It was—," your choked-up voice pulls his eyes to your face, and the sorrow he finds there makes him ache. "Oh, god."

A choked-up laughter. No humor to it, and a thousand ghosts on your face tell him he's about to hear something that'll change him again.

"You don't have to—" he starts, but you raise a hand asking for silence, for give me a second, and he stops. As long as you want to.

"We never talked about the 26th," you state. He goes back to washing your legs, shaking his head. "Can I?"

"Yeah."

"I was—" you breathe in deep, and look at him again searching for something. "I never told this to anyone."

Joel nods. "I never talk about it, too."

"It doesn't help, does it?" Your eyes are red-rimmed, and Joel notices there's much about you he never figured out. You're younger than him by a lot, but you were there.

"No." Sirens, flares of green light, and the cracking cacophony of screams and shots still wake him up almost daily. "No, it doesn't."

"I miss talking about him," you whisper to him. A tear slides down your face, and it cuts him.

Who does she miss? "Who do you miss?"

He's moved onto the other leg when you answer. "I was at my best friend's house on the twenty-sixth. She was working double shifts at the hospital to pay for—," you stop.

Joel can only take so much. He pulls you close until your face is resting on his shoulder, and he feels his eyes stinging.

He gets that. Sometimes saying a name was too much.

It took months before you heard of Sarah, and her name was all you got until now.

"Take your time," he says.

"Caio needed new glasses." Your arms wrap around Joel's middle, and he knows you'll be staying in his arms until the tale's over.

"Caio," he repeats. Recalling the roman numbers, he adds. "January twenty-five."

"Yeah. He—Caio broke his on his solo mission to find fossils in my backyard—well, technically my dog Diana was responsible, but he always said 'don't blame her, Gumma, she only wants to kiss me', so we said it was his fault."

"Gumma? Who's Gumma?"

"I am," you laugh. "He couldn't say 'godmother when he was born, so he shortened it. He told everybody I was Gumma, his s-second mommy."

Joel tightens his hold on you, suddenly very aware that he's shaking.

"He was sick," you go on. "So no school for him that day. Which means I was there. I could work from home, so Milla always called me."

"Was it just her?"

You nod on his shoulder. Joel starts rubbing his hand all over your back and he could never tell if it was for your comfort or his.

Both, probably.

"We raised him, basically," you sniffle. "Milla and I lived on the same street. She was basically disowned for her teenage pregnancy, so I told her parents they were always shitty at their job, and that unlike them, I knew what family meant, and that we didn't need them. If she wouldn't, I might as well."

Joel smiles at that. "Sounds like you."

"We moved, worked shitty jobs, and lived together for the most part. My parents helped us with bills for the most part of the first years. When—when Caio turned eleven, my parents paid for the coolest party. And—I'll never forget it, 'cause it was the last one he had, so..."

Eleven.

Joel buries his face and tears on the curve of your neck.

"So on the twenty-sixth, I was at home with him all day. Fucking hell, how unfair is that? That I got all those hours with him and—" the way you burrow your face on his throat makes Joel wish he could make you live under his skin. Protected from everything. Even memories. "When everything started going wrong, Milla was still at the hospital. She called twenty-three minutes before all signals went out to tell me that something was wrong, very wrong and that she felt we needed to go somewhere safe. She said 'babe, I want you to think of nothing else but getting to safety, d'you hear me? Go to Mr. Nunqua's house, he has a safety bunker there—go, and take Caio. I'll find you there."

Joel listens to the rest of the tale with his heart in his hands.

You got there, but Mr. Nunqua was already infected.

He was the first person you killed. His wife was the second.

You managed to get both you and Caio to the bunker, safe and sound, but it wasn't enough.

It never is.

Caio being Infected was a crueler end than anything Joel's mind came up with.

"He realized it, Joel. He noticed something was wrong, and—"

It takes a few more moments before you can finish what he already expected. "He asked me to make the pain stop before he could hurt me. He said 'please don't let me hurt you, Gumma'."

Milla found you cradling his body in your arms hours later, and that was the last you two saw of each other.

He lets you take your time to feel better before he pulls your face back to look at it.

The pink cheeks and eyes hurt him, but when he kisses your face, your lips, all he can think is how proud he is of you.

"Can I do you now?" you ask, pulling your hand out of the water in a request for the cloth.

He hands it to you, and watches as you do the same routine as he did.

In return, he asks you all types of questions.

He thought it would be hard to concentrate with your hands on him, but they're so dainty and careful that Joel feels transcendental.

No one ever took care of him like this.

Even the lovers that he once showered with, it was never this intimate.

In the bruises where he hisses in pain, you kiss somewhere else in a soothing manner. His shoulder, the nape of his neck, his outreached arm.

When the question comes, Joel is waiting for it, but he's not ready.

You answer the question about the places you've been and he replies with, "Oh, Sarah always wanted to go there. India."

"Did she?"

It's such a simple answer.

It locks him up the same. His muscles become tense, and his head shakes almost on its own.

I can't do it. He wished to be strong like you but talking about her hurts. "It hurts to talk about her. I don't—I can't."

He expects a nod, or a change of subject.

What he gets instead is you cupping his face in his hands and looking at every inch of his face.

"I know it hurts," you state. Joel, for the first time, believes someone. We raised him. You know how it feels, you do. Which is why what comes next blindsides him. "But Joel—she's already gone. I never thought I was gonna be able to speak about him with someone who understood, but—here you are. We cant—are you going to let her be forgotten, too?"

Bullets hurt less.

His body reacts for him—the inhale is shaky, almost frail. Your words hit harder than shots, but that's okay, because your inquisitive mind and sharp tongue were a couple of the reasons why he went back for you.

It was needed.

"I—" you start. Stop. Joel looks up at you, breathing out the air stuck inside his lungs, and wills himself to breathe. "You know..." your voice is quiet. "I think higher... beings or whatever—that does exist, 'cause—" your laugh is humorless. "I would totally be dead because of my stupid mouth if my path had crossed with anyone else but you."

Now he gets the lack of humor—a sad statement, but never untrue. Not even a hyperbole. Joel nods, "I'd say it's because you say things that you shouldn't, but it's the opposite. And most people don't like that."

I'm not most people, he thinks.

Thank you for saying what you did, is left unsaid. He sees in your eyes that you heard it loud and clear.

"What I'm saying is... you don't have to be ready now, but—" when you lean, his eyes close on instinct, but the kiss lands on his cheek. Sweet. Saccharine. "Please know that you can. When you want to."

He nods.

After a deep breath, you look at all of him. "I think we're clean. Next round?"

The tub is emptied, filled up again, and Joel thinks about how right you are, and how often.

The second shower will be perfect. He's clean now, but when he sits back down on clean water, it feels different.

He groans, and you laugh in response. "I know, right?"

Joel liked it better when you were fitting your bodies against each other.

The water in the tub seems to carry the tension of what you two have been waiting for. Conducting the electricity in each other's thoughts.

"What now?" you ask.

Joel knows what now. "C'mere," he pats his chest.

Like a well-oiled machine, you spin around and fit yourself against him in a second.

This time, Joel pulls you close until you're basically on his lap.

"Now this," he answers. To feel. "I think I had a dream like this once when we were camping."

"What?!"

He likes how shock always makes you look at him, even if it means craning your neck in the worst positions. He laughs. "Yeah. It was a river instead of a cool tub in a forest cabin, though."

"There's no way you—" words are cut sharp, and your eyes widen. "You did! Oh my god, you actually did. You avoided looking at my face all day for two days after that, I thought I'd done something wrong!"

He takes the hit you land on his shoulder with a smile. "You did. You sunk a knife in the middle of an Infected's head and kept me from dying."

What else could he say?

Joel shrugs. "It was hot."

He likes how you can look shy even sitting on his lap, feeling all of his body. "You're crazy," you laugh, looking down.

"Mmm. And don't you forget it," he kisses your shoulder, and that's it—that's all both of you needed to wish for more.

Your hand comes to cover both of his, and Joel is giddy with excitement when you guide his hands from your middle to your breasts.

It's silent permission. An invite.

It's all he needs.

"Can I make you feel good?" he kisses right under your ear and nuzzles his nose right there, goosebumps rising on his skin in response to your full-body shiver.

The next touches are bathed in silence.

The only sounds in the room come from the water moving with each move of both your bodies, and the soft exhale that escapes your lips.

Joel doesn't think about how long it's been since—everything feels like a first time.

A rekindle of sorts.

The hands you guided to your boobs stay there for a few moments, getting a feel of their size, their softness, how perfect they feel in his hands.

Your head drops to his shoulder, chin tilted upwards, eyes closed.

Joel thinks he's dreaming.

The faint pain in some places of his body is the only indication he has of reality.

Nothing else matters when you say, "Joel," so softly, so pleading.

"I'm here," he kisses the words on your skin. Your cheeks, temples, your shoulders that are right there. "I'm here, darlin'."

In the soft moans you let out, Joel plants a flag to signal his way home now every time he's lost in darkness.

The moans are so earnest and shaky that Joel starts trembling when you do. His hands move to explore your belly, and he pins the wound on your side as a reminder for later—it'll scar. He wants to kiss it better. Will kiss it until he's satisfied.

When his hands reach your waist, he imagines you feel his heart racing faster.

He takes his time with it, not only because you deserve it, but because it feels good.

Playing with the hair on your pussy feels good because it makes you whimper. Touching the folds with the tip of his fingers gets your legs to open a little wider until they're spread apart. Joel moans at the gesture and is gifted with another shiver. "Like this?" he asks, doing it again.

Tracing his fingertips up and down the folds.

"Joel," you grind against him, reminding him that he's here, and he's aching, too.

When you do it, your ass finds his cock hard as a rock, and it snuggles to grind on him, giving him the first feel of friction.

With another moan, Joel's lips are sucking on your earlobe. "Tell me what I do that feels good," he states.

Then he dips his fingers inside.

"No one's touched you here before?" his middle finger dips right into the core, applying pressure but not touching.

Your moans vibrate on his chest. "N-no one but me."

"Yeah?" the mental image makes him even harder. Joel thought that wasn't even possible anymore. "Did you finger yourself a lot?"

You nod frantically, pushing your hips forward, seeking more of his touch.

"Did it feel this good?" he moves his middle and ring finger up until they find your clitoris, and he starts rubbing circles on it; he pinches it, measures it with his knuckles, plays with it.

Maybe that's why you don't answer.

He'll take your moans as a good sign. Your chest is panting, and Joel feels a little drunk. He hasn't been drunk in years—no whiskey available for regular people will do that anymore; too diluted, too fake.

Your heavy breathing and nails sinking on his forearms get his mind hazy.

Joel kisses, licks, then sucks on your neck. "Talk to me, darlin'. I wanna know. I need to know."

"Joel," you say, but too loud. He uses his other hand to pinch your nipple, and the whimper you let out makes him twitch against your back.

"No screaming." Not this time. "I'm waitin' on your answer."

"I don't remember the question," you whine.

"Did it feel this good?" he pushes only one finger inside, and your mouth opens wide. Joel might not make it—it's so fucking tight and all he can think about is burying himself in it. All of him.

"Nonononono, it didn't, it didn't," you mumble.

It's a slow process, opening you up.

All the time, Joel talks in your ear about how good you're doing. "Taking my fingers so well, look at ya," he sounds drunk if he pays close attention. Two fingers fit in too tight, so Joel takes his time until he feels you opening up.

There's the grinding that never stops—the more Joel pushes his fingers in and out of you, the more you move in sync with his hand, grinding back up against him with every push inside.

It's torture. He loves every second of it.

"I want more," you whine at some point.

Joel was so lost appreciating the view of your chest painted red that he missed when you whispered his name the first couple of times.

He checks it—buries his fingers up until his knuckles, massages the spots inside of you that make you curl your toes and pull your knees up higher.

"Please," you beg.

He likes the sound of it, but he'll leave that for later.

The third finger is easier than the second—Joel feels how slick you are. He knows water bodies are not the best places for penetration, but he values your comfort more than anything right now, and in here you're both warm. At ease.

When his name starts falling from your lips like a song, Joel knows it's coming.

His other hand keeps traveling through your body—grabbing at your neck, pinching the hardened nipples of your gorgeous tits, palming through your stomach.

If his lips left your skin for longer than a minute, Joel thinks it's too much. "Yeah, yeah, I know, darlin', it's climbing up, isn't it?" he thinks addiction can be so easy. Your whines are necessary now for him, no matter what. "I wanna see it so badly." His voice had never been this low. Hoarse like sandpaper, and so filled with lust. "You're all ready for me now, d'you feel it?"

All three fingers are buried until the knuckles. Scissoring them open, pumping them against your walls in search of that spot inside you that makes you shake—Joel can barely breathe.

"D'you want more than this? Hm? 'Cause I'm in heaven, darlin'," he tells you. "All I need is to see you let go now. I can't believe I'll be the lucky fucker that gets to see you fall apart."

"Joel, I want more—want all of it, please, please—"

"I'll give it to you, I will." He'd give you anything. "You can have anything you ask me, anythin'."

"Harder—please, please, please—oh! Fuck, like that, like that, Joel."

"You sound so good moaning my name I'm gonna fuckin' lose my mind," he growls. "Do it. Cum on my fingers. Cum for me."

Joel marveled with every shake of your body. He closed his eyes and kissed the part of yours that was the closest. Your legs clamped shut around his hand, thighs shaking. At least this time, you remembered to muffle your sounds on him.

In his neck, you bit down the whispers of his name. Whimpers. Ohs,

He waited for the impossible grip to ease before he thumbed a grazing touch over your clit—just to check; to feel.

"Want more," you kissed his neck, and there was no need for all that honey in your voice, really.

Joel drank it, anyway. Licked it clean from your lips, and drowned in the way you and the water seemed to wrap him in.

"We gotta get outta the water, baby," says Joel. "'s not a good idea we do it in here."

You stopped kissing his neck, your hips stopped their motion and the little look around you at the room makes Joel's stomach feel funny. He feels almost suffocated with this need to kiss all over the red on your face.

"Uhm—are we... here?"

Joel never thought he'd live to see the day you would avoid the word 'fuck', but he smiled at it. "No, darlin', we should get dry. Put our clothes on. We can finish this in the room, right?"

You lick your lips, and then his. You bite his bottom lip, sucking it into yours, and Joel is fucked.

He melts, too. All over you, on your fingertips caressing his cheeks, on your chest pressing against his, and on the depths of your eyes as you stare deeply into his.

"'kay," you whisper. "Let's go."

Joel helps you out and loves to watch the way you gravitate toward him. When you whisper, "Do we have to put on our clothes?"

He wraps you in the towel instead of answering, and pulls you to his chest again. "Body warmth, remember?" Just for good measure, he puts the other one around him, collects all the clean clothes you had bought, and then looks at you.

"Hop on," he nudges your waist with his hands, and you get exactly what he means; your legs wrap around his middle and your arms stay firm around his neck. Joel holds you with a satisfied grunt, "atta girl."

The warmth of all of this has a price.

Joel knows it as he walks you to the room you two share, as he closes the door behind you both, as he lays your bodies on the joined mattresses, and pulls the winter blanket over your bodies.

It'd be more than a steep price.

Something on the figures of what he signed off when he took the job from Marlene—when he took Ellie out of her fingers.

Those dotted lines he signed with a blind eye. Unaware of what he was agreeing to until he Ellie's life faced danger and all the moments of every single awful joke she told, her smart jabs and the braveness in her bones to risk her life for him came back like a slap to the face, and Joel was crushed under the enormous weight of it all.

He accepted it, even if he still couldn't say it.

With you, it was almost the same.

He signed the dotted lines when he came back for you.

He couldn't know, wouldn't dream of knowing what he had signed up for until the time he ordered you to keep close and you answered with: "Always. El, you know it—between us."

Seven words, and Joel thought of nothing else for days.

Always.

For months, you never left his side.

Abided by his temper, shortness, curt words.

Spoke through his darkness and whiskey, reaching out to him the same way you did with Ellie—pulling from deep within the part of him that was still alive. Truly human.

When Joel touches all of you covered under a blanket, he wills his eyes to stay shut because if he opens them, they'll sting.

He feels too much, and it's never enough. The taste of your skin is sewn along with lines of fear, the acidic and familiar taste of I can't do it. I can't lose this. I can't lose you.

He kisses every inch.

Joel licks his name out off your lips every time they come out.

He nuzzles his face like an animal trying to imprint scent all over—from your neck all the way down to the inside of your thighs you'll have beard burns and it's okay, because you ask for them.

In the quiet, you two say so much.

Joel asked you, "you gotta keep quiet, baby, we can't be loud," and you listened, because you're so good. He says it, too. "So good, baby... you're so good," and listens to you reply with,

"You're so good, Joel. So good."

He soaks it all up until it's all mixed in his veins.

The price of hearing your sinful whisper in his ear is high. "Need you inside me," you brand in his skin. "Please, Joel?"

Joel would close his eyes and see those words—he wants to burn them behind his eyelids since they're so loud they erase everything else from his brain for a while.

He fingers you some more to double-check if you're ready and he has to talk, because, "You're so fuckin' wet, darlin', my god," he whispers in your ear, and your nails clawing at his back, digging into his skin tell him to hurry. "All this for me?"

"Please stop torturin' me," you whisper back, sounding like you're about to cry.

It's torture for both of you, so Joel lines up. He teases you with his cock, gliding his shaft between your lips, coating it in the slick that's dripping down your legs, and whispers, "You want it?"

"Joel," you growl at him.

Joel pushes in with a smile on his face and has his face scrunched in a silent smile when he slips inside. It's a tight fit at first, and Joel has to stop midway. He has to breathe.

"'m gonna go slow, 'kay?" He does. He pulls almost all the way out, and slowly pushes in again, feeling you tense around him, "Breathe, baby, you gotta breathe for me."

"Joel," you whisper. Around his cock, your cunt pulses, and he curses under his breath. You bury your whole face in his face and moan. "s big," you moan. "Feels so good."

He's only a man, you see—Joel's hands are supporting his weight on each side of your face, and they tremble.

He has to drop to his forearms and elbows, caging your body underneath his. "Breathe really deep for me, baby," he whispers, and you do it. "Close your eyes now, and relax."

The price of having you all to himself is one Joel never could afford, but one he'll spend each day of his life doing everything in his possession to pay.

His whole body shakes as you open up for him. It's a blossoming—Joel feels it around his cock the moment your body relaxes and you feel it.

Your legs wrap around him tighter.

"Move," you whisper.

So he does.

He's deeply in debt.

Joel gets lost in the feeling of how warm and tight you are around his cock, and it makes him drunk. It makes him feel like you're wrapped all around him, and Joel never fucked like this.

He could've gone a century without sex and he would remember;

Nothing felt like this.

No desire or lust or bodies aligning ever made him move this slowly, with this much pace; Joel's back must become a mural of claws being sharpened by the time you beg him to go faster, to push harder.

"'m not gonna break Joel, for fuck's sake, please," you beg as he kisses your lips and fucks you leisurely, and it registers.

Through the thick fog of everything that this is, he listens to it, and he gives it to you.

Joel has no idea how he lasts this long.

When you cum for him, it's not even because he's fucking you. He's more like imprinting the memory of your velvety touch all around him, pushing deep and hard as he caresses the sweat off your face, and he's telling you all that his lust-drunken mind is thinking off.

"Didn't think—could feel this good, darlin'." His pauses are his thrusts, and he wonders if you're listening to any of it, or is just lost on the sound of his voice. He knows you like it. "You like—the sound of my voice—don't you, baby? I know you do." Thurst—and deep, and fuck, "I'm—so fuckin' lucky—look at you—look at how good—god, you're gonna kill me, baby—"

He dies a little death when he feels you start shaking.

All you.

His name spills from your lips and your nails dig in deeper than ever before, and that's what does it, what drops the pin and makes the ball of knotted tension that kept him high burst—Joel has only the notion to pull out before he cums, but he cums so hard that he loses sense of everything for a moment or two.

Your hands are soothing his face when he comes back to it.

Joel feels like a whole person for just those hours with you in the dark.

With you, he realized something—while Joel's skin may offer him little comfort, yours does.

The soothing peace that comes with feeling that again, comfort, makes Joel breathe out and close his eyes without his chest tied in one big knot for the first time since... it. He is alive. However that came to be, or why, he'll never know, but your words are a mantle of truth that can start bringing peace to his inner war of two continuous decades now—he can either keep living and burying everything: Existence, hopes, feelings, love, memories, her, her—Sarah;

or... he can live.

Joel wants to live. With Ellie, with you. He pulls you closer, and focuses one last second to hear the certain sound of Ellie's pencil furiously creating something on paper across the thin wall, and he sleeps.

📝 So. I gave the old man some love and some peace (that he deserves) because I watched him lose yet another person this Sunday and I was hurt. What did you guys think? :)

#usernexusnyx #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller hurt comfort #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x female character #joel miller imagine #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic

3K notes · View notes

lilliumrorum · 4 months

Text

What does he have that I don't? (Part Two)

<<Previous | Masterlist | Next>>

Synopsis: After getting comfortable in your captain's dwelling, you experience a dream involving him, intensifying your desire for the man.

WC: 3k

Content/Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Soft Price, fluff, Cheating, kind of pining?, Wet dreams, Masturbation.

Notes: Sorry this took so long to post, I've had lots of fucking issues with tumblr and I am proper pissed off. Exams have been kicking my ass too, but I'll make sure to write an extra long chapter next time!

In this situation, unlike others, you wouldn't yearn for Simon's touch. The absence of affection from him for months has built a resistance to missing that once addictive sensation. Tears welled up once more as you reflected on the abuse endured just to cling to the shattered fragments of your 'relationship'. Desiring a different reality, you found yourself in a challenging situation, torn between lingering feelings for your lost love and developing admiration for your captain.

Concluding the scorching shower, the realization struck that a towel was forgotten. Cheeks burning with embarrassment, you pondered how such a simple thing could be overlooked. An uneasy hope lingered that the captain remained undisturbed in his slumber, as a preemptive guilt surfaced. The idea of waking him up intensified that internal conflict, leaving you in a contemplative state after the steam had dissipated. Standing there, damp and hesitant, you grappled with the consequences of a neglected towel and the possibility of disrupting your captain's peace.

Your hand unlocked the door, cracking it open just a bit.

"John?"

"Mm?" His deep voice echoed from the couch.

You felt a sense of relief upon realizing he wasn't in bed yet.

"I… may have forgotten to grab a towel," you admitted with a nervous tone.

You heard his soft footsteps moving down the hall and passing by the bathroom. As soon they approached the room you made sure to narrow the crack of the open door, ensuring you wouldn't accidentally flash him. A sturdy silhouette stood behind it, holding a towel. Cautiously peeking around, you gently retrieve it from his grasp.

He stared at you for a moment, gazing at your damp hair and shoulders before seemingly snapping out of it.

"Don't make my floor too wet, Sergeant." He said with a breath before trekking back to the couch.

You slowly closed the door, releasing a heavy breath you didn't realize you were holding. It felt as if butterflies had been swirling around in your stomach, cheeks burning like fire as you tried to comprehend what had just happened. The butterflies were nothing novel; in fact, they were a constant presence. Every time you worked near him your heart fluttered.

The salt-and-pepper mustache that quirked up when he smiled made your heart do flips. His hands, aged yet firm, with thick fingers calloused from years of service made you fantasize about what they would feel like inside you. The quick waves you received when he walked past you, his combat pants fitting him just right made for an easy distraction. Doing paperwork with him late at night presented itself a challenge. Your brain was constantly fuzzy whenever you looked at him.

At this point, you couldn't distinguish whether it was him making you shudder or your own nakedness. The stark contrast in temperature from your shower to the chilling air heightened your eagerness to get dressed. The towel rubbing against your skin brought a soothing sensation to your mind, interrupting your thoughts about him.

"You did so good f'me, lovie. Such a good fucking girl." He praised, slowly pulling out of your fluttering cunt.

You whimpered at the feeling of being empty after being stuffed full for so long.

"I love you, Simon." you whispered breathlessly.

He gazed at you, searching your eyes for some sort of hidden plan, or trickery. He found nothing but adoration.

"I love you too." He whispered as he got up, searching for the towel he had placed somewhere, you reached out and gently wrapped your hand around as much of his toned arm as you could before he moved too far.

He glanced at you, his expression filled with curiosity.

"Si, can you promise me something?"

"What is it doll?"

"Don't leave me."

"What kinda promise is that? I'm never gonna leave you. Hell, I'm stuck on you."

You smiled at his words.

But he broke that promise. He left you, a ghost in his place.

"Captain, is it alright if I get dressed in the bedroom?" You uttered your words with a delicate tone as you stepped out into the hall.

His head shifted in the direction of your voice, his attention lingering on your legs briefly before his gaze ascended to meet your face. He stared at you for what seemed like an eternity. Your posture started to shift as nervousness crept in, especially with his eyes on your barely covered body. He seemed to take notice, offering a smile before he spoke.

"Of course dove, that's where you're sleeping anyway." He spoke with a tone that held weariness.

"Oh no you don't ha-" as soon as you spoke you were interrupted.

"I said that's where you're sleepin' and that's that. Don't argue with me, sergeant." He commanded.

You raised your hands in the air, signaling surrender, before letting out a laugh and walking back to his bedroom.

The scent of everything was reminiscent of him, when you opened his closet, the aroma of cinnamon and pine struck you instantly. You breathed in his scent and felt a bit more at ease. Why did everything about him have to evoke such a strong sense of comfort and familiarity?

If you didn't move past this childlike crush soon, you'd end up with more issues than you're already grappling with. He could be your father for Christ's sake!

You shook your head, as if the thought would dissipate, while grabbing some pajama shorts and a tank top. The clothes were rather revealing, but John would surely understand if he saw them. Your intention was to return home to Simon, not to him. When you left, there was no time to retrieve your clothes, as you aimed to escape the situation as smoothly as possible.

Your body ached for sleep, going without it for what seemed like ages.

Turning the light off and slipping into bed, a subtle shift occurred in your thoughts, and the image of John began to weave its way into your consciousness like a gentle melody. In the calm moments preceding sleep, his laughter echoed, and the warmth of his gaze painted the canvas of your contemplations. The memory of John intertwined seamlessly with the comforting embrace of his sheets, creating a space where the lines between reality and the fanciful dance of imagination became hazy. With each closing of your eyes, dreams unfolded, casting John as the silent protagonist in the tales that quietly unfolded in the realm of your weary mind.

In the silent corners of your thoughts, dreams took shape, painting a picture where you were romantically involved with John. Scenes of stolen glances and hidden meetings unfolded, with the forbidden nature of it all adding an exhilarating edge to the fantasy. In these vivid dreams, shared moments created a connection that surpassed the ordinary reality surrounding you. However, these fantasies were kept as a personal refuge—a brief escape within the private chambers of your mind, where the blurred lines of possibility flirted with the edges of longing.

"Tell me what you want, dove. What do you need from me?" he breathed in a solaced whisper.

His rugged hands worked at your body, roaming across your naked form as you tried your hardest to utter a word, mumbling nonsense. He hadn't taken your panties off yet, the cloth becoming more and more wet by the second.

"Words, sweetheart. I need to know what you want from me." His fingers teasing your clit in soft, circular motions.

"John- Oh shit! I need them inside! Please!" You practically sobbed.

Everything in this moment completed you. His waist was stationed between your legs as he continued his ministrations on your cunt. At this point you were a whining mess for him. You were too distracted with your pleasure to realize he had pulled your panties to the side, thick fingers lined up with your sopping hole.

"God, you're perfect."

The captain's eyes snapped open upon hearing sounds emanating from the bedroom. Initially thinking it might be crying, he knocked on the door once.

With no response, he opened the door to investigate, finding you helplessly whimpering and pressing your thighs together in your sleep.

He was well Aware that intruding was not right, but he lingered a little longer, drawn by the sweet serenade of your voice. Going back to bed at this moment seemed impossible for him. His cock straining against his pants as discomfort grew, urging him to address it promptly.

He treaded back to the couch, every step carrying an enduring strain to his crotch. Fuck, those noises were driving him wild.

He knows it's not right, yet he pulled out his erection anyway. He needed relief, blood rushing to the tip as it sprung out of his pants. His arousal was yearning for a momentary reprieve.

He groaned as he started fisting his cock, guttural groans coming from his chest as he chased his release. His eyes fluttered closed, Imagining you spread out for him, begging for whatever he could give you. Your pretty body writhing underneath him while you worked in sync to reach that peak. Nails scratching at his back with each forceful thrust of his hips. He tried to stay as silent as he could, listening to the melody of your sounds. He tried to savor your sounds, prolonging his orgasm to the best of his ability. He couldn't hold it any longer, somewhat embarrassed at how fast he was going to finish.

The familiar feeling of his climax began to reach him, his lower abdomen flexing harshly with each stroke.

"Fuck"

His sticky cum flowed over him fingers as it spilled out from his twitching tip.

This was wrong, but god did it feel so fucking right.

Throughout the night, Simon couldn't shake the image of your shocked and saddened expression from his thoughts. All he longed for was to have you back with him at home. Who the fuck were you with anyway?

As the minutes stretched into hours, Simon's chest tightened with an unsettling jealousy. The anticipation of your return became a weighty burden, and the quiet emptiness of the house echoed his longing. He had watched you leave, hope clinging to the belief that you would soon walk back through the door. However, as the night wore on and you failed to return, that hope transformed into a bitter ache. Each passing moment fueled the jealousy that churned within him, a mix of fear and insecurity. The empty house seemed to mock his unspoken yearning, amplifying the silence that enveloped him in a suffocating embrace.

The air hung heavy with tension when Johnny left the house, the weight of your discovery lingering in the strained atmosphere. The revelation of the affair had cast a pall over the once-shared space, leaving behind a palpable sense of betrayal. The door closed with a hollow finality, echoing the rupture in trust that now defined the relationship. He laid there in your empty bed, the aftermath of your revelation settling like dust in the room, and the emptiness of the departing footsteps mirrored the void that now consumed the once-shared moments with Johnny. The silence that followed was deafening, amplifying your absence.

When you left he was still pent up with arousal, so him and Johnny went a couple rounds, but he soon had to leave to get enough rest before the sun rose. With both of you no longer present, he truly began to realize he was alone.

Jealousy gnawed at Simon as he grappled with the unsettling uncertainty of your whereabouts. Each passing moment fueled his imagination, and he found himself consumed by thoughts of who you might be staying with. The unanswered questions echoed in his mind, creating a symphony of doubt and insecurity. The image of someone else occupying the space meant for him sparked a surge of possessiveness, leaving him yearning for the reassurance that you were still his. The silent house became a canvas for his anxious thoughts, and the suspense of not knowing intensified the monster within him, clouding his emotions with a turbulent mix of suspicion and anger.

Just who the fuck did you think you were, leaving like that?

He felt his jaw clench, thinking of you with someone other than him.

Every thought of someone else near you ignited a primal instinct to claim and protect what he considered his own. The mere idea of sharing your presence with another set off a storm of dominance, intensifying his need to assert his presence in your life. It was as if an invisible tether bound him to you, and the thought of anyone encroaching upon that connection stirred a fierce determination to safeguard what he considered rightfully his.

Sleep eluded him, elusive as his thoughts were ensnared in a web of restlessness. The weight of emotions, a mix of envy, dominance, and yearning, kept him tossing and turning in the dim silence of his bedroom. The shadows on the walls seemed to dance to the rhythm of his unsettled mind, casting a surreal atmosphere that mirrored the turmoil within. The bed, usually a sanctuary, became a battleground for his inner struggles. The clock's ticking echoed like a constant reminder of the sleep he desperately sought but remained just out of reach. The night stretched on, a canvas painted with the shades of his unquiet thoughts, as he wrestled with the myriad emotions that held him captive in the wake of the events that unfolded.

Awakening to the robust aroma of tea wafting into your nose, you stretched out your well-rested limbs before swinging your legs over the side of the captain's bed. The lingering remnants of the dream from the night before clouded your thoughts, creating a palpable tension in the air. As you pondered how to navigate the interaction with him, uncertainty hung like a veil. The simple act of rising from the bed felt like stepping onto uncharted territory, and the fragrant tea served as a reminder of the shared space that had witnessed the intimate contours of your dreams. The challenge ahead lay in reconciling the vivid images of the night with the reality of the morning, as you grappled with the aftermath of the subconscious journey that now lingered between you and the captain.

You approached the bedroom door, turning the handle and stepping into the hallway that led to the kitchen. The journey down the corridor felt like a deliberate exploration, each step carrying a subtle anticipation. As you entered the kitchen, a captivating sight awaited you – the captain, turned away, engrossed in some task involving the kettle. The play of muscles beneath his skin was a spectacle, every inch defined and visible, yet soft. His silhouette painted a picture of strength and concentration, a moment frozen in time that captured the essence of his physicality. The air in the kitchen seemed charged with an energy that transcended the simple act of making tea, as you silently observed, feeling both a sense of intimacy and a respectful distance in the presence of this private moment.

"Good morning, Sergeant. thought I'd get some tea ready for ya."

You listened intently, and there was a warmth in the captain's voice as he completed the tea-making ritual. Even though you couldn't see his face, the audible smile in his words painted a vivid picture. The sound carried a gentle resonance, echoing the pleasure he took in the simple act of preparing tea. It was a melody of contentment, and the timbre of his voice conveyed a subtle joy that surpassed the mundane task. As you stood there, the audible smile became a shared moment in the quiet kitchen, a connection forged through the familiar sounds of morning rituals and the understanding that lingered between you and the captain.

"Thank you, Captain. For all of this. I owe you one."

The dual impact of your words and the vivid recollection combined to color his complexion with a subtle embarrassment. It was as if the mere mention of his title held a key to unlock a realm of thoughts he hadn't anticipated sharing. The involuntary flush revealed a vulnerability, a momentary glimpse into a private mental landscape stirred by arousal that lingered beyond the confines of last night. In that fleeting blush, a complex interplay of emotions unfolded, creating a connection between now and what he had done last night that had left its mark on the captain's waking thoughts.

"You owe me nothin', dove. Hush up and drink your tea." He uttered, handing you a partially hot cup of the chamomile beverage.

"Anything planned for today?" You asked while softly blowing on your tea.

"PT, but It's going to be different today, so don't you worry about lieutenant."

His words had the exact opposite effect on you. You were most definitely worrying about Simon.

Taglist: @ttsbaby01 @waves-against-a-cliff @konigslittleliebling @imjustheretofightforlove @beebeechaos @mikimumiki @splaterparty0-0

#cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #simon ghost riley #soapghost #ghost angst #ghost x reader #john price #john price x reader #john price smut #ghost smut #ghoap x reader #john price fluff

464 notes · View notes

insomniac-dot-ink · 9 days

Text

Deep in the Woods in the Dark of the Road

Everyone talks about the fear of hitchhikers. Parents and urban legends repeat, Never pick up someone on the side of the road. Like food from the floor, you don’t know where they’ve been. Smiling ghosts, prison breakouts, serial killers on the lam. Very few stories talk about the edge of the road, the place where you lose yourself to these strangers in a stranger’s land. The ones that pick you up. I tell the story to anyone who will listen.

First, I have to tell them, “of course I don’t hitchhike anymore,” condemning my youthful folly for them before they will consider me a credible source. As someone worth listening to. My sister likes to remind me I was on the type of adventure only clean-shaven young men can get away with in the first place.

I like to remind her that I’m not sure I got away with anything.

May 12th, everything else shifts around it like the light, but that date might as well have been printed on the back of my hand.

May 12th and the small Canadian town I had been staying in had a high school graduation, the place swelling with relatives and well-wishers. There was only one high school and their hockey team seemed to be the one big rallying point the people shared. Everyone became a grandkid to every aging adult and I knew it was time to move along in the same breath.

I meant to leave early in the day. Meant to leave earlier in the week too. Nonetheless, when you're on a country-long trek you do start to appreciate the little things and the Johnsons’ had a high-pressure shower. The Johnsons were a family of pit-stop angels for hikers and bikers, turning their home into an invitation. Hippies, aging athletes, and former-vagrants were the main types of pitstop angels–literal angels in my mind at that point. I told myself a second shower was indulgent and then I gave myself another shower. Me and time we’re never really on the friendliest terms, especially when I was a thru-hiker that had lost the trail.

I stood under the burning hot spray and melted. During the first shower, the water always runs brown and muddy, sloughing off layers of dirt and dead skin. I think I understood religious resurrection after showers like that.

This one though, a second shower, ran clear and crystalline and perfect.

Hot, steaming water and a steady drumbeat of pressure. Heaven. Heaven though, eventually turned cool and then freezing. A cold river from every faucet. I jumped out and had a mild freakout session. Leaving someone’s worse-off than when you found it was a big taboo.

Plus, I was young and still embarrassed by everything. I wrote a hasty apology note, and then packed up as quickly as I could. It’s the type of age where you’ve started to realize you are responsible, but not old enough to know how to go about doing it correctly. I left a note. I scrubbed their counters and stripped the sheets off the pull-out bed. I scrubbed the counters a second time and then tripped out the door before they could get back. The day had turned into late afternoon. A spring chill seeped across the land and I took a backroad to the highway.

Originally, I had told my parents I’d be back by the end of season. Then I told them I deferred my college start date to the second semester. Then deferred again to next fall. Bumming around ski towns during the winter and making just enough money to get back on the trails in springtime. I had been skipping around different trails since then.

I needed to get on the road. I needed to find another car.

One of the tricks to getting picked up is to be clean, so I had that much going for me. Boiled like a lobster in oil, I felt new and good and I walked confidently backward with my thumb out. The second trick is to smile. I smiled and waved and walked along a long stretch of highway bordered by dense conifer forests.

If worse came to worse, I’d set up my tent somewhere among the tree trunks. A dampness coated my skin. Strong wind rustled the branches. A minivan approached and I smiled wide enough to make my eyes water. The van passed.

I took a break to chew down an energy bar and some Slim Jims. Drivers normally don’t stop if you’re chewing furiously and an internal sigh was building in my core. I wondered if the Johnsons’ were toasting their daughter right now. Giving a cheer. Making plans for dinner. I’d miss their dinner.

When I stood up again, the sun had dipped toward the steep mountains. I shielded my eyes and scowled. How the hell did so much time pass? I hurried to the side of the road, thumb out, smiling, rehearsing some of my best stories in my head. I liked telling stranger’s stories, a “thank you” for the ride. I had learned the best ways to spin terrifying encounters with mountain lions and the chipmunk trapped in my sleeping bag. Most drivers seemed to like it too.

The sun disappeared behind the first peeks and the temperature plummeted. Pockets of darkness spread out before me between the shards of sunlight quilting the land. My teeth chattered.

The dusk had a feeling to, a weight. A car approached from behind me and I whipped around, hands too cold to be out. A beat-up Hyundai, off-green and compact. A tacky Sasquatch air-freshener hung from the mirror and the person behind the wheel wore sunglasses. He looked like a young guy, early 20s, with long brown hair down his shoulders. The hair reminded me of a girl, curly and well-kept, shiny in the dying light. The dusting of a beard offset the look.

Several cars lined up behind the Hyundai. Their lights were all on, shining like a procession of lanterns. This is where they all were apparently. Figures, I thought, and I stuck my thumb out.

My stomach sank when the Hyundai swerved off to the side of the road. I was hoping he would pass and let one of the others pick me up. I usually preferred families, women, couples, and the like. I would like to say it was the romantic in me, wishing for ladies or aging lovers, but the truth was I had never really gotten along with guys my own age. But beggars can’t be choosers.

He honked the horn once and grinned at me. I checked over my shoulder like the trees might turn into a Holiday Inn, and then approached the window.

He cracked the door. “Where you headed?”

“Vancouver,” I said, which was true enough. He gave the horn a second honk. “Alright, alright, alright, my brother. Going to the same jungle. Hop in.”

I gave him a crooked smile and avoided responding by opening the back door. Storing my enormous backpack was always a challenge, but the back seats were down and I slid Jessica, my pack’s nickname, right in.

“How’s it going?” The guy had both a California accent and swagger to him. I ran a hand through my hair, already on guard.

“Cold as a witch’s tit out there.” I might as well get the bro-ing over with. The driver had holes in his faded band shirt and board shorts. Sandals probably too.

“Only if you're walking down the side of the road like a lost kitten, my man. Here.” He cranked the heat in his car and I exhaled, gratitude shining from my center.

“Thanks,” I said, showers and warmth and soft beds having changed me. I swallowed a couple times, not sure if bros even thanked each other. “So, what are you doing out here?” I asked, already formulating my story about the mountain lion. And yes, I do embellish just a bit.

“You know, this and that. What are you doing getting yourself ax-murdered all the way out here?” I shot him a look. “You know, this and that.” I cleared my throat, mimicking his tone, “Ax-murdering. Collecting hooks for my right hand.” He lets out a big laugh and that’s a relief. I grow emboldened. “What are you doing to avoid getting hook-handed this late at night?” He chuckles, chest rumbling like a car engine. Taking off his sunglasses, he places them in the cupholder. “Distract them. Ask them what ACDC they are into.” His gaze flicks to the back as he says it.

I noticed for the first time a guitar case wedged into the back. My eyebrows raise. “Sweet. You playing gigs?” “Just coffee shops and anywhere that will take a burnout with a dream.” I copy his tone. The swagger. “You any good?”

“Hell if I know. Coffee shops aren’t Juilliard.” He winked. “But don’t tell my mom that.”

My arms gooseflesh and at least my teeth stopped chattering. “Good to know. You have an LP? CDs?”

“Not yet. Still working it out.” “Nice. Well, I’m Ben. Not really a music guy, but an appreciator.” I realized I had gotten all jumbled by being freezing and messed up my usual intro. “Hailing from Boston by trying to be anywhere else.” He chuckled again. “Christopher.”

“Not a Chris, I take it. The whole thing?” “All the way through, brother. Think you can handle it?”

I clicked my tongue. “I usually stick to single syllables, but I’ll make an exception for you.” “From my new friend Ben? Can’t complain about that. Damn, can’t complain about a long night on the road. Nice to pick you up.”

“Nice to be picked up.” I realized too late the way that sounded and rubbed the back of my neck. “Beats walking. Or have to hook-hand my own damn self.” “Heh.” His inky eyes flicked my way and then he grins. I looked away at that, gently embarrassed in a way I couldn’t explain. I had gotten pretty good at the chameleon act but still wasn’t finding my footing here. His eyes were deep brown, inky-almost, and deep-set in his face.

The beat-up Hyundai rumbled up a mountain pass and the sky turned the blue-black of a bruise. I tear my eyes back to the window. The conifers appear larger–like everything does at night, and pass in a blur on the back-forth mountain road. I spy a river through the trees and birds taking flight from somewhere in the distance, lights of tucked-away homes even further up.

Christopher turns the music up at that. “You ever listen to house music?” “Can’t say I have.” I turn back, mountain lion stories forgotten. “Ben, my guy, you’re missing out. You don’t do German house music either, I take it.”

I put a hand over my heart. “Purely provincial.” “I’ll play the good stuff.” He grins. “Make an exception.” “You usually play your hitchhiker’s mediocre playlists?” “Exceptionally mediocre. The last one didn’t even make it beat drop.” “I’ll sit and take notes.” “Don’t let me down, Benny.”

“Now who’s not going all through?”

His dark eyes flash. “Thought you wouldn’t mind.”

“For you?” I gave a sardonic half of a smile and then let it fall.

Noises with bumps and chs played out over the speakers and I had to wonder why Christopher had a guitar instead of a DJ soundboard. Maybe he had both. A hand placed on my knee and I jumped. I went to brush it off, God, I didn’t need this to get unpleasant, but when I looked down nothing was there. Christopher’s hands were lazing on ten and two and he raised an eyebrow.

“You still headed all the way to Vancouver? It is a long drive.” he asked slowly and I nodded, unwilling to say my real plans. To just keep going. I started on the east coast and wouldn’t mind making it to the other ocean. “Good.” He turned the music up a second time. Despite the grating techno and sense of still not having found my feet here, the heat of the blowers washed over me. The rocking of the car and dull humming of the driver next to me. The lights of cars wound through the roads behind us and my eyes fluttered closed.

You don’t sleep in stranger’s cars. It’s rude for one thing and dangerous for another. Yet, the cold leached out of me and a drowsiness sent me over the edge into a deep abyss.

—----------------------

I heard humming now and then, dreamlike and threaded through my personal abyss. I cracked open my eyes, glanced at Christopher, humming to himself and tapping a beat on the wheel. And then drift off again in the very way I shouldn’t.

—-----------------------

A hand shook my knee. I had no idea what time it was and the weight of night startled me awake more than anything else. A pair of headbeams blared into my face and I brought up one hand. “What the hell?”

“Hey, Benny, buddy,” the driver, Christopher, said. It took me a moment to turn toward him. His sunglasses were back on and he was frowning. “Do you think you could mess with my phone? I’m not getting anything up here. Do you have service?” I blinked rapidly and pieced together the back of tail lights in front of us and head beams behind. “Traffic?” I croaked, rubbing my throat. “Here?” Only three cars ahead were visible, disappearing up a mountain bend into who knows where. However, I get the sense of lights lined up like little soldiers through the night, long and duckling-like.

“I know, it’s whack. I was looking for a sideroad or something to get us out of this.” “How is there traffic in the middle of the mountains?” I rubbed my eyes until I saw spots, feeling groggier than ever.

“Probably a rockslide up ahead or a truck fell over, who knows. I think someone’s cleaning it up now but at the pace of, like tomorrow morning.” “What the hell?” “Now you’re getting it.” The line inched forward and Christopher refreshed his phone with one hand. I fumbled for my own phone in my small pack and cursed under my breath. “What?” Christopher prompts me.

“Out of battery.” I shake it like that might do something. “Hold on, I have an Anker in my pack.” I turn to climb into the back and dig through everything for my charger.

“Wait, wait, I think I see a road. Put your seatbelt on.”

“We can’t just,” Christopher grabs the back of my shirt and tugs me back to my seat. I inhale sharply, remembering I am in a car with a stranger–maybe getting too close for comfort. I sputter out my protests, “we don’t know where we are. Where that goes.” Christopher was already turning off the side. “I bet I’ll get some signal if we head down the mountain. That’s headed down. Don’t worry about it. Put your seatbelt on Ben from Boston.” The nose of the car dipped down and I clenched my teeth, clicking my seatbelt in place. We rocked, boat-like, and the wheels fought against the dirt until we were level again.

I wasn’t sure how I was feeling about Christopher at that moment. I wish I could charge my phone or maybe get out and walk. There were plenty of cars to hitch a ride from by then. Too late to make up my mind, the car’s wheels crunched on a new gravel road and our headlights streaked against an empty dark. The car behind us drove forward to take our place.

“Don’t you think other cars would go this way,” a bump in the road sent me jostling, “if it leads to the main road again?” “I’ll just get us some signal,” he mumbled. “Better than sitting in traffic.” I huffed, “Right.” The gravel road had the feel of a worn-down side street, probably leading to a series of fancy mansions or off-the-grid weirdos. Nowhere real. Christopher took off his sunglasses all over again and met my eyes.

“Sorry to get you take you on a side adventure.” He cleared his throat. “And wake you.” I remembered myself all at once and ran a hand through my hair. “Sorry,” I said, giving a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m normally a better house guest. Promise I don’t normally pass out in stranger’s cars.” “What do you normally do?” I shift in place. “Convince them to go off-roading in the middle of the night,” I deadpan. “Keep things interesting.” “That’s my line.” He laughs. Before we can really get back to normal and I can push away the dark flick of his gaze, Christopher slams on the breaks. “Holy hell!”

I grip on to the seatbelt, jostling back and forth, eyes go wide. “What?”

A line of cars appeared up ahead. My whole system tingled. “Were those there before? I didn’t see those before,” I repeated the phrase like a fool, “I didn’t see any of those cars a second ago.” A long line of cars, trailing off ahead and into the hills. “Out of the frying pan and into . . .” he trailed off. Christopher’s gaze lost its humor. He put his sunglasses back on. “Get out.” “Excuse me?” I definitely shouldn’t have taken that nap. “Get out.”

The hairs on my arm stood on end, breath catching in my throat. I glanced into the woods. The trees were tall here, leaving little undergrowth, and a sliver of moon lit barely penetrated the textured black. I could still make out headbeams, bright here, blaring, and moving through the trees. I reeled back, watching the lights bob in place. A few minutes ago, I had been chomping at the bit to get out of the car and find someone else to ride with. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

Head Beams swayed. Oddly. Unnaturally. Too far off the ground. Head Beams that couldn’t be headbeams when I squinted and looked. I gulped.

“Sure man, just give me a second.” I clutched at the seatbelt. A hand squeezed my knee and I glanced down, almost grateful if he was going to keep me for this reason or that. Nothing was there.

I buttoned up my jacket, readying myself to walk until I couldn’t walk anymore. Get ready to be eaten by a mountain lion because I sure as hell wasn’t setting up camp any time soon.

“Nevermind.” Christopher grabbed the back of my head. His hand was large and firm around the nape of my neck. “Too late. Get down.” The lights bobbed and weaved around us and I didn’t need to be told twice. Better to be hunkered down than out in the open. A second later, a knock came at the car window. The type you might hear from an officer in a tv show. I hoped. Just a regular official telling us the roads weren’t clear, the rockslide was too big. Go back, go home, all of this was explainable.

“Can I help you?” Christopher’s window rolled down. I tucked myself into a tighter ball in the foot space.

“Do you want to be loved?” The voice was sharp, a splash of cold water cloying through my senses. Branches against glass, more garbled than real. Then the words righted themselves in my head and I wished I was back at the Johnson’s. I could be with their family right now, however out of place, holding up non-alcoholic champagne and telling her life after graduation wasn’t so bad. Didn’t have to be.

“No, I’m all good.” “Do you want to be loved,” the voice said in an insistent tone.

“I don’t want any.” He cleared his throat. “We’re running behind, anyway. Have to go. You could tell th–” “Seven years. To be loved, do you want to be loved,” I peaked up from my fetal position, a thing bent into the car, “Seven years and a day. To be loved.” Christopher rolled up his window, slow and deliberate. “No. No,” he said, “not that.” I caught a glimpse, however briefly, of a head of something impossibly tall and with a singular eye, blinking and glowing and bobbing in place. My heart sang, briefly, called out, wanted. Then, the thing at our window turned and disappeared.

“That’s what I get for thinking it’d be someone important.” Christopher’s gaze lingered on my own, keeping me there and for the first time, I heard him humming, gently, in the back of his throat. Inky eyes, dark as night, and holding me there.

“Stop it!” I clawed at the air back to the door. My chest heaved.

He swallowed, looking away. “I really was just trying to give you a lift,” he muttered, gripping the wheel. “I don’t even think they’d want me back so soon.” “Who?” I lapped the roof of my mouth, realizing I was parched.

Christopher leaned his head back against the headrest, looking above. “Don’t tell my mom,” he adjusted his seat, “I’ve been playing music for mortals.” —---------------------------

There are ghosts and ghouls and monsters and many things that want to eat you. I was a fool, not recognizing what types of things might want to eat me. Traffic was barely moving, whatever this traffic was. I was getting thirstier.

I swallowed, again and again. A steady stream of knocks came at the window, but Christopher waved them all off. “No thank you, no thanks.”

Music spilled in the distance, faint and dreamlike, just like the soft humming Christopher had let out. I could see streaks of light against the seat, Christopher’s face, the trees up above. Once, impossibly, something passed overhead. An enormous head you might see displayed on mantles. Big as a house, mighty and towering up above. A long white nose and antlers thick as redwoods. Great tendrils of moss seemed to hang from the antler’s alongside lanterns. Lights strung up among the foliage and impossible prongs.

An elk, an elk enormous beyond imagination, passed and I exhaled. I really wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

“Do you have any water?” Christopher glanced down, eyebrows arching and eyes wet as dogs noses.

“None for you,” he said but in a tone that somehow did not convey rudeness. “Trust me.” “Trust you,” I muttered, “after being cramped and hiding for over an hour? God, it must be sunrise soon.” “No. I’m afraid not.” He heaved a sigh. “Fairy market and all that.” I gaped at him. “Would you like to run that by me one more time?” He shook his head. “Ben,” he said, tasting the name on his lips, humming, “sturdy name. Useful. You’ve got strong fate lines. You won’t die here tonight, as long as you do as I say. Well, won’t die or be stolen if I can help it.” I set my jaw and Christopher put his sunglasses back on. “Happy?”

I kicked out, deciding if I was going to have a delusion, I might as well have it sitting. I rested my back against the door, head peeking up above the windows now. “I want to go back to the main road.”

Christopher didn’t reply.

It could have been an hour or only a few minutes, before a face appeared in the window. At first, I didn’t recognize it as a face, a smooth moonlike token in the window. Then, it gathered itself into two sparkling eyes, a clever mouth, and delicate cheekbones. The lady's white hair piled high on her head, adorned with blood-red leaves and berries and she smiled. Her eyes were ink-dark.

“Oh no.” Christopher clutched at the wheel. The lady inclined her head, clever mouth remaining closed but eyes beseeching. A pang went through my chest, unbidden, I felt bad for Christopher. Lord have mercy on a fool. “I have to take this,” he said in a monotone. Air whooshed into the car, cool and light against my skin, tasting of mint or something sharper.

“Wasn’t expecting a visit so soon. Is dad here?” The woman didn’t seem to speak, but inclined her head. Christopher leaned forward, blocking my view or maybe blocking her from me. He got out of the car.

The second the door closed, taking Christopher with it, I decided to make a break for it.

—---------------

I racked my head for what I knew about fairies. Cinderella’s godmother, the tooth fairy, Peter Pan. Tinker Bell was probably not going to help me much unless, of course, pirates became relevant in the near future. Which they might, given the night I was having. I opened the door a crack. Sweet brisk air filtered in.

I contemplated the ground below. No longer gravel but rich black earth. My spine prickled and I held very still. The only thing I could come up with half-way relevant was a 11 grade project where we had to choose a poem to analyze. I had picked The Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti. As a 16-year-old I had chosen it for the racy content and riskier presentation in class.

Looking at the dark soil, I muttered to myself, “We must not look at goblin men, we must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil, they fed their hungry thirsty roots?”

I squeezed my eyes closed. I had already spoken to the dark-eyed man and listened to his music, I suppose. I didn’t remember much else of the poem but the heat rising in my cheeks and Lizzie walking into the market.

I kicked the door open, kept my eyes down, and went for my pack. My heart beat at the pace of the hummingbird's wings and my hands slipped on the door handle. Voices, whispering, indistinct. At the third try I wrenched the back open and got my pack out in one swing. The whispering grew louder and my eyes caught on the lights and the forest.

I knew the Canadian Rockies. I tripped over pine cones and hard stone, drank from crystalline lakes, ran my hands over Alpine forget-me-nots, froze and sweated and bled. This was them and so much more. The trees were the whitebark pines and firs, tightly knit together and crowned in ragged peaks. Voices called to me.

The darkness between the trunks bled into hands, red and mangy, like huckleberry shrubbery waving in the wind. Faces appeared in the shards of moonlight, lanterns bobbed and lurching heaving mountains of things moving in the far distance. Elk perhaps. Mountains.

I pivoted in place, keeping my eyes away from stalled cars that made up this place. Voices called and righted themselves into words this time. “Young man. Mortal son. Hello.” A sheet of misty rain appeared to my left, melting from the dark and blinking handsome golden eyes. A sturdy nose. A pretty mouth.

“Would you like–” “Thanks. No.” I copied Christopher, not meeting the thing’s eye, and began to walk. The underbrush was not empty however, the forest moved with creatures big enough to crush. I wondered if any amount of walking would take me home.

Another voice broke through the murmuring. “You’ll never make it that way.”

I turned. And there were cars. Glowing bright as stars and windows cranked open. Figures sat inside alongside various goods. Twinkling soda cans and pearl necklaces hung next to each other on string. Stuffed bears and empty plastic bags filled baskets hanging out of car windows. Paint brushes, old CDs, and pine cones set out on car hoods.

Market stalls. Of course. Some of them appeared as cars, others were old barrels and broken-down train cars off to the side. The beckoning of hands felt like it was coming from all directions.

“I don’t have any money!” I called like that would matter. “I’m, I’m a hiker. A traveler passing through.”

“We don’t take money. Those things,” a clump of white moths, fluttering around and around in a mass, spoke. Ink eyes. Beautiful, tumbling curls. She pointed at the empty soda bottles and stuffed animals, “not for you.”

I backed away. “I don’t have anything you might want.”

The clump of moths smiled. “My darling, sweet boy . . . Would you like to be loved?”

I gulped down air. “I have to, have to go.” Weaving between stalls one moment and stalled cars the next, I hurried to where there must be an end. There must be an end to the market.

Fruit the color of sapphires piled high on discarded card tables. Sardine cans and quilted blankets. Water bottles. Canisters and other hiker’s camel backpacks. God, I was thirsty. And I could hear all of them now.

“Boy, would you like unfading beauty?” “Ten years of glory and a lion’s heart. Heart of lion’s for only ten years.”

Calling. Beseeching. A market you could understand the poem’s sisters getting lost in. My sleeve snagged on something in this endless market. I stumbled into what felt like a rock face.

“Hush now, sweet thing,” thick lichen, flaking and upright, spoke, “I will give you a belonging you have never felt before.” My heart went double time and the thirst ached. I knew it was aching. I knew I was Lizzie about to have her skin pinched and clothes torn. Sullied. Or perhaps, like Laura, changed. I wondered about my sister then. I wondered about being home.

“Belonging for thirteen years and thirteen days,” she smiled. My heart raced and I searched the fairy's face. “You deserve to belong just like anyone else, don’t you? Thirteen years and nothing more.”

“Of my life?” She smiled wider and placed a hand on my chest, fingers spreading like a mold. “Or your heart. Your soul. Memories. Wakeful hours. A song.” I shook my head, slowly and then vigorously. I took a step back.

“A bargain then,” her voice crooned in the groaning of old wood, “Twelve years. Twelve days.” Her hand spread, soaking into the flesh of shirt. “And a kiss.”

“Thank you!” I nearly shrieked. “I’m not, I’m not. No.” I stumbled back, teetering away from the bright lights. I ducked and dodged into the darkened wood where smaller, stranger things dwell.

I stepped out of the light. The fairies called after me and their voices, luckily, faded into the murmuring of brooks and bird calls and rustling once more. I turned and felt the despair leach into my center. The line of stalls appeared endless, a train, a caravan, a curse.

I slumped down and put my head in my hands. No matter where I had looked, there was no sign of sun. I counted back from ten before I pried my eyes open again. “Christopher?” I called once and then shivered in place, perhaps the most lost I’ve ever been.

“Would you like to be good?” I didn’t look over when it spoke. “Good and know that you are good.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “I want to go home.” I groaned, still not looking down. “Or at least for my ride to come back.” Christopher, at least, had not tried to make any deals.

“Hmm. Not home. No.”

I saw her hop up from beneath a crop of twisted roots. This fairy was smaller and less beautiful. A dainty clump of mountain ash that was only a hands-length tall. A bushel of delicate white flowers crowned in dew-like hair. She reminded me a bit, only a bit, of Tinker Bell.

“You’ve been running from something,” her voice was more of a squeak. I was tired.

“You could say that.”

She patted my knee and my throat throbbed hard enough to make me groan.“You could be good. And know that you are good.”

I leaned back against the tree trunk. “How much?”

“For good?”

“For home.” “A year or two.” She shrugged. “For being good and knowing you are good. I’m not sure about home.”

I chuckled without humor. “Less than a decade. You’re not much of a bargainer.” “The others know I am small. And crushable.” Dew leaked down her shoulder tops. “So, I’ll take just a year or two of your heart. That’s all.” “My heart?” She shrugged once more, the water making its way down her fluffy skirt and dripping on the ground. “No love. No opening of it.” She put a hand over her chest. “And you’ll be good.” “Good. Huh.” “And know it!” she chirped, “so when you ask yourself, am I doing alright? Am I enough? When I am not earning or making or promising or getting a wife or standing big. You will know. Know that you're good without wondering.” My eyes burned and I rubbed at the corners until I saw spots. I cleared my throat, knowing I needed to steer away. “Where did you come from?” “Silly question.” “Sure.”

“I am like you.” “Not good then?” I raised an eyebrow. “In need of being good, apparently.”

She laughed, shrilly. “No. Not very good at all. Small. Crushable. Small and crushable are not allowed in the queen's caravan.” “That does sound bad,” I said, quietly, staring up. “I’d like to say I know how you feel, but . . .”

“But I do know things. And little boys like, they don’t have to make their own lives so difficult.” “Ha.” My gaze drops to hers. “You’re offering to make my life easy?”

A smile across the face of the little ash fairy, spreading all the way across her face like a jagged wound. “Good.”

My breath wheezed out and I dropped closer. I was tired, eyes heavy, body aching like a kicked dog coming back to sit at your feet. “It wouldn’t hurt, would it?” She held up a cup made of her own petals. A cup of deep water and lapped at my cracked lips. “All you have to do is drink your fill.” The moonlight caught in the shallow dip and I tipped my head back. Three droplets passed down my lips, fresh as spring, cold enough to strike from my chest to my fingertips. I screwed my eyes shut and clutched at my chest.

The cold blossomed and it was what I imagined a heart attack might feel like. Or perhaps the opposite of one.

“Wait, shouldn’t we, shouldn’t there be something to sign–” I choked and sputtered and then pain burst from my middle finger on my left hand. The fairy, small and crushable, dug her teeth into my flesh. Gripping ruthlessly, she attached to an open wound, drinking her fill. Dew perched on her head turned red and she made a supping, singing noise in the back of her throat.

“That’s enough!” I shook her off and another sharp prick went through my wrist. A sting in my neck and then another by elbow. “Stop it!”

A chanting went through my head, a child’s chant like a nursery rhyme. You are good, you are good, you are good. I covered my ears with both hands.

“Stop it!” I bellowed. “This isn’t what we agreed to.” What had we agreed to? The creature tittered and others gathered around it, sharp and hungry. The roots and the rot and the writhing soil.

I stood, world spinning and heart crushing together into a perfect aching cold. Are fairies allowed to be liars? A tingling spread to the ends of my fingertips and a dizziness overwhelmed me. I covered my mouth with one hand and stopped myself from heaving.

I might have blacked out, blacked out and not come back, and then a light parted the darkness of the wood.

“What have you done?” The words echoed in my head. The face of man, inkdrop eyes, and shining curly hair, looked down on me, pitying. “No,” he said simply. “You can’t. He is my guest.”

Blood seeped out of the cut on my hand and I think I might faint, actually faint like in the movies. Strong hands caught me and then two fingers, clean and warm, human even, pressed to my mouth. Light like the moon poured off of him. “Swallow,” he said. The light burned away the sickly chill. A white fire, burning a path down my throat and into my chest and leaving new life in its wake.

“Better?” A crown hovered around the man’s head in a halo, stars, the moon even.

Maybe I could have stayed, made clean and whole, and neither good nor bad. Could have stayed to be made better by the prince of fairies. But I wasn’t that type of person. Voices, again, of birds and wind and roots. I tuned them out. My eyes fixed on lanterns in the distance, meaningless words rushing over me. He spoke of being clean now, healed. The lantern flickered, floating there like something from the stories.

I looked down at my veins, spiderwebbed in light. They glowed from the inside out. A light, poured from the outside in. A hand was on my knee. Like it had been in the car and I saw it was my own, digging into my flesh. My own hand clutching my own knee and taking me back to myself.

“Can we get him a blanket?” Christopher turned his face. I bolted. No packback, no thoughts, only feet on the ground. Light blared into my face, branches gripped at my clothes, tearing at seams. My nose began to bleed, tasting heated and metallic. I didn’t stop to mop it up. I kept the light of that bobbing thing in my vision, running and bleeding like I never had before.

Later, I would learn a will-o-wisp will is a type of fairy as well, meant for travelers. A light that will get you lost or drown you, if it gets the chance. Though, I was already lost. I ran until my shoes lost the ground. One moment I was sailing ahead, the next I burst through the surface of a lake. Cold engulfed me from all sides, plunging me back into my flesh. I kicked for the surface, up into the fresh night. The trees surrounded this lake in beetle-worn packs, brown and small. Mud caked the banks of the water. Stars were distant and small overhead. I laughed.

I tore at my shirt and shoes and pants and rubbed deep dark mud across my skin. I laughed and laughed and laughed.

The water ran muddy. Ran red. Then, at least, ran a bright horrible glow, bleeding out and out and out. I bled out the glow of the fairy prince. I washed myself, heaving enough laughter until it turned into a whimper. I scrubbed myself raw until the water, with the sun rising among the peaks, ran clear.

—----------------

I thought of the prince now and then, how he saved my heart from closing. How he looked at me. How he poured light down my throat, burning me up from the inside out and taking with it a curse. I should be grateful. I went home after all, I hugged my sister and my parents. Hell, I even re-signed up for classes, even as I knew I’d eventually drop out again. Went on a few dates. Gained some roommates I loved and a dog I liked even more. I told stories and stayed. My heart was my own. But I didn’t come back the same after hitchhiking into the depths of the woods in the dark of the road. It was hard to be grateful. Hard for it to feel like a favor to have my heart kept open when it was only replaced by a worse sort of feeling. Longing and longing and longing for inky depths and impossibility, memory that grips you by the throat and murmurs, what if you had stayed?

---------------

Join my mailing list 🌼 Check out my new book!

#urban fantasy #short story #spilled ink #fantasy #fairies #original story #campfire story #long post

247 notes · View notes

jiminscockr1ng · 2 months

Note

hii! I saw that you were taking requests,if you’re okay with this one could I request bf!jungkook and black!reader that won’t stop smacking his gf’s bum? And if you’re fine with pet names can they be (mama/mamas) i hope this isn’t too much and love your writing btw ^^ ♡

✩｡°𝄞🍑 ALL THAT ASS 𝄞°✨｡✩

╝ one-shot ╔

╰₊ 𓂂➢ pairing: idol!jungkook x black!reader

╰₊ 𓂂➢ genre: established relationship, fluff, smut

╰₊ 𓂂➢warn!ngs: ass spanking/smacking, sensual massaging, teasing, oral (male receiving), hair pulling

╰₊ 𓂂➢ summary: your idol boyfriend whom you barely see, surprises you at home on a random friday afternoon. the two of you make up for lost time.

╰₊ 𓂂➢ word count: 2.1K words

╰₊ 𓂂➢ author’s note: i’m so sorry that this took me so long. i was severely behind on schedule TT. (thanks for requesting this— i enjoyed writing it!!)

The last thing you expected to see coming home from work is the house decked out with candles and rose petals creating an alluring trail throughout the walkway of your shared home. With whom you stay with your boyfriend— who (undoubtedly) put this whole thing together.

It’s exceedingly surprising to see your boyfriend stalking down the stairs in his comfy grey sweatpants and a white tank top.

The idol is usually off and away at the studio whenever you arrive home from work— especially on weekends. Coming in the house late at night, leaving the two of you with barely an hour of alone time before either one of you passes out. The simple fact that Jungkook is in this house before noon is a miracle. And you don’t feel the need to question it any longer. Not at all. You set your work bag on the ground, hurriedly taking off your shoes to sprint over to your fluffy haired boyfriend.

“What are you doing here?” You say into his chest once you’re fully embraced by his strong tatted arms. You could cry, you missed being held in his arms so much. He softly kissed your forehead. “They sent us home early for the day.” He briefly explains, only focusing on you. You look up at him, “what’s all of this for?” Jungkook smiles down at you, yearning and desire laced in his eyes.

“I figured that since I haven’t seen you in like forever, I’d do something special for you, mama.” You giggle before removing yourself from his hold. “You saw me three days ago babe.” You sarcastically correct as you strut up the stairs to your bedroom, Jungkook follows closely behind.

“Yeah but like, three days ago feels like ages. You know I have separation anxiety.” He partially jokes. He doesn’t have separation anxiety, he’s just needy for your attention and physical touch is his love language. Surely, three days without touching you is equivalent to death.

“Didn’t you miss me, mamas?” He lowly mutters in that sexy little bedroom voice he knows you love; sneaking up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. Gets you every time. “Of course I missed you. So much.” You turn around to face him, standing on your toes to place a long sensual kiss on his lips. His lip rings’ tickling your lips as you do.

“Good,” he says softly. “Because I’m cooking dinner tonight. So you go ahead and get your sexy ass in the shower and meet me down stairs.” He finishes with a smack on your thick rump making you jump and look back at him as he makes his way down the stairs.

You soon settle in the shower, lathering your body with smell goods and eventually even washing your hair which you never seem to have the time to do. Feeling yourself decompress as the steaming water massages your scalp. When you get out the shower you are (once again) surprised to see Jungkook standing there waiting for you. You eye him suspiciously while you grab a towel to wrap around your wet hair. “What are you doing?” He shrugs. “Nothing mamas. Can’t watch my beautiful girlfriend step out the shower?” He says smugly taking a step towards your wet body. “Thought you told me to meet you downstairs.” You arch your brow and without hesitation he lifts you off of your feet, your naked body lamely folding over his shoulder as you deliriously plead for him to let you down.

He isn’t an inch phased by your feeble punches to his back. Instead he lowly chuckles, sending a loud and heavy smack to your ass before gently tossing you on the bed. He comes to hover over you to which you kick him in his knee making him retract his movements, groaning.

“You deserve it!” You growl and he nods his head in agreement. “You’re right, you’re right.” He says, slowly traveling his hands up your legs to your thighs. “Sorry mamas.” You lightly moan at the added pressure. Slowly unraveling underneath his touch. His thumbs teasingly outlining your buzzed vag.

“Turn around, lemme massage you.” He demands and you quickly obey straight away, lying on your stomach as Jungkook diligently rub you down, kneading and manipulating your body. You’re very vocal about your pleasure, whining and moaning when Jungkook reaches sensitive spots. It doesn’t go unnoticed the way he pays extra attention to your ass. Generously fondling with the fleshy rump, jiggling it and smacking it around. Whispering opulent praises in your ears, his knees on either side of your body as he takes the time to sprinkle kisses on your back.

You can’t help but grow aroused. You wouldn’t expect any less, the way he’s consistently cajoling soft moans out your mouth with his hands. Yet another one of his god gifting talents. However, before it could go any farther he removes his hands and mouth from your body, flipping you over.

You’re literally breathless despite not moving an inch since he threw your body on the bed. Jungkook continues showing your body love; hasn’t been able to touch your body to his liking and satisfaction in weeks. He takes in your figure displayed in front of him as if it’s his first time seeing you like this.

He slowly and erotically drags his tongue up your abdomen to your neck, flicking his tongue off your chin before taking your mouth in his. When he breaks the kiss you urgently chase his lips. He moans into your mouth, feeding into your hunger. Your hands roaming his bulging biceps and broad shoulders.

Pulling away to catch your breath, Jungkook takes his time marking your neck and gently playing with your perky tits. Your hands are stuffed in his mane of hair, helping you control the anticipation as he trails passion marks down your breast, to your stomach. When his mouth is a few open mouth kisses away from your pretty pussy he eyes you, immediately satisfied with your fucked out expression. After placing a feathery peck on essence he gets off the bed leaving you absolutely baffled. “Get dressed, mama. Dinner’s almost ready.” He exits the room and you scoff, mindlessly scanning the state of the room as you process everything.

You’re not sure what kind of prolonged foreplay Jungkook has going on but it’s leaving you hot and bothered. Furthermore, you’re frustrated as you get up to search for a comfy pair of pajamas.

When you get downstairs you see Jungkook tussling with chocolate covered strawberries he made (that are stuck to the tray). His eyebrows furrowed as he spews out various curse words. “What’s that!” You sing out with a bright smile on your face which instantly calms Jungkook down a bit. “These strawberries are being stubborn— can’t get them off.” He pouts and you stalk over to him. “Lemme see if I can help.” You scoot in front of him, taking his place in front of the tray of strawberries. And as if you posses some sort of magical powers, you effortlessly lift a strawberry. Turning around to see Jungkook face, all he could do is smile lovingly at you.

“You’re literally an angel.” He says and pecks your lips. Your body warms at the sight of his smiling face. He smacks your bum before walking off to grab the food from the kitchen to which you simply shake your head.

The two of you eat your dinner while catching up on everything that occurred during the last month. His music that he’s been working on nonstop and your time with the kids at school.

Enjoying the amazing food that Jungkook cooked for you and actually spending time with your busy boyfriend. After dinner, you decide to watch a movie with Jungkook in the living room. You pour the two of you a glass of red wine, gracefully carrying it as you trek to the couch.

“Thank you, mama” He says when he sees the two glasses in your hand. You hum, slowly bending over to set the glasses on the coffee table, careful not to spill anything. The cotton pajama shorts you’re sporting rises up your thigh, showing off the curve of your ass, exposing the pleasant sight to Jungkook. And of course, like an uncontrollable reflex he goes to smack your bum, watching the thick flesh ripple by impact. You jump and quickly turn around, glaring down at your cheeky boyfriend. “Seriously Jeon, what’s with my ass today?” The lecture ends with laughter because you just cannot take his goofy smile seriously.

“Nothing. I just love your ass.” He lamely explains, wrapping his arms around you to squeeze your notorious cheeks in his hands whilst pulling you down on top of him. “And it’s all mine. You’re all mine.” His tongue slips out his mouth to wet his lips and you take the opportunity to kiss the pair.

The movie ends before it even begins. The home screen resting open on the television while you desperately pine for your hot, hunky boyfriend to fuck you silly. You leave red marks along his neck, identical to the ones he gave you. His strong hands rests on your ass as you eagerly grind your clothed pussy against his growing bulge. You easily grow impatient, removing yourself off of his lap and lowering yourself on your knees in front of the man.

He bites his lips at the sight, enthusiastically awaiting the next series of events. A load grunt escapes his lips as you grip his heavy bulge in the palm of your hand. Much like you, Jungkook doesn’t appreciate teasing. He hurriedly slips his grey sweats down his thighs, his dick springing up against his stomach. “You free balling is nuts.” You chuckle and grab his veiny length in your hand.

“Easy access, mama. You know what to do.” His voice lowers a register and you in fact do know what to do. Lightly smacking his tip on your tongue before closing your mouth around it. His brows furrowed together as he looks down at the pornographic scene. You lower your head making his length disappear in your mouth, nose hitting his lower abdomen, deep throating his fat cock. You lift up once a choke threatens to break out.

Not even a few seconds later, you wrap your swollen lips around his dick again. The tip repeatedly hitting the back of your throat and Jungkook’s low breathy moans floats in the air. “Yes, fuck that feels so good.” His abs clenching and unclenching when he feels his climax nearing. He grabs a fist full of your hair, guiding your head as you suck him off. You eventually allow him take control, letting him thirstily fuck into your throat. Tears streaming down your cheeks as you continuously choke on Jungkook’s girthy length.

“Look at me— shit! Lemme see.” His words slurring as he lovingly caress your face, in contrast to the way he’s brutally thrusting into your throat. You blink away your tears to look up at him and once you do he immediately gasps. His mouth falling agape under your gaze. “Mhmn, I’m gonna cum.” He says breathlessly and your hand reaches to tenderly caress his balls. A loud moan leaves his mouth at the sudden feeling.

“You want me to cum in that pretty mouth of yours mama, hmm?” He asks, smugly smirking and you instantly strain a nod, his dick still thoroughly penetrating your warm mouth. You watch as his face scrunch up in pleasure and seconds later you feel his warm seeds plant in the back of your throat. He slowly lets go of the hold he had on your hair as he sinks into the couch.

You wipe your mouth in satisfaction before standing up, making your way to the television. Not even a successful three steps were made before Jungkook grabs your wrist, pulling you onto him. Your stomach lays flat over his lap and you let out a giggle. “Where ya going?” He leans to the side to see your face. “I was going to turn the movie on.” You respond with a cheeky smile.

Jungkook mockingly shakes his head at you. “I’m not done with you— you don’t get to suck the soul out of me then walk away.” He sexily says which arouses you. Teasingly, you arch your back, sticking your ass up in the air over his lap.

“Mmmm, what are you thinking baby.” You further tease him and, predictably you receive a smack to your ass making you gasp out.

“Show me what you can do with ALL THAT ASS.”

JOIN THE TAGLIST

@hyunjinswifeee

𝒿𝒾𝓂𝒾𝓃𝓈𝒸ℴ𝒸𝓀𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𓁙

┌─────❀*̥˚──────❀*̥˚─┐

└───❀*̥˚─────────❀*̥˚┘

#who(re) you 🍂#jiminscockr1ng’s requests #˚ · .˚ ༘🦋⋆｡˚#jiminscockr1ng #bts smut #bts fanfic #kpop smut #bts x black reader #black reader #bts x reader #jungkook x black reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

400 notes · View notes

gtgbabie0 · 1 year

Text

Scraped knees and warm baths

{Cregan Stark knows how to take care of his wife}

I’ve been wanting to write for him so bad, I just haven’t had the time to write for any hotd characters recently, anyway hope you enjoy!! 💕💕

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

You hadn’t meant to stay out so long, just for a small walk, you told yourself however time seemed to slip away from you, as you took in the serenity of nature, how the packed snow crunched underneath your feet, or the soft joyous melodies of birds, the crips air filled your lungs and it felt refreshing, it was good to get out the castle.

However it came with its dangers, ice, and somewhere along your journey you had lost your footing, slipping with a gasp against the stony path your palms grazing against the ragged surface along with your knees, just your luck, you think standing back to your feet with a huff.

And while you take your calm stroll outside Winterfell castle walls, Cregan was losing his mind, going mad with worry as he searches for you frantically and you’re nowhere to be seen, your absence sends his mind spiralling with horrid thoughts.

“She can’t have gone far my lord, I’m sure she’ll return… eventually” Maybe it’s the lack of worry in his tone or the smug smirk that teeters on his lips that sends Cregans’ skin tingling with anger as he turns to the guard.

“Ser Duncan I suggest you go help the rest of the men prepare- no one sleeps until my wife is found” he snaps walking closer to him, “Do I make myself clear?” He asks, trying to bite back the concern that sits on his tongue.

“Of course, my lord” and with that Cregan walks over to the stables a crease haunting his brows as he racks his mind for where you could possibly be.

“Lord Stark! She’s been found!”

Cregan is quick to look over and sure enough there you are, an overwhelming feeling of relief washes over him as he looks at you, bright-eyed with a giant smile, your dress stained with mud and he runs over to you, wrapping your shoulders with one of his furs protecting you from the harsh northern winds.

“Silly girl” he murmurs, urging you into his arms tightly.

You can hear the unease that weaves through his tone and it nips at your heart making you feel a little guilty, "I'm sorry" you whisper.

he pulls away slightly, looking at you with gentle eyes before turning around, “Lyra prepare a hot bath,” he says and she nods curtly, turning on her heels.

You silently scold yourself for causing so much trouble as you look around at all the men and women gathering around, you didn’t realise you were gone for so long, his hand rests on the small of your back leading you back to your shared bedchambers.

“I almost had the whole north searching for you,” he tells you, his big hands cupping either side of your face and he just can’t bring himself to be mad at you, the way you smile so sweetly at him, “I reckon you’ll send me to an early grave my dear” he sighs pressing a kiss to your forehead.

His hands reach for yours, and you gasp as fingers brush against the graze on your palm, “What? What is it- what happened?” He panics, taking your hands and studying the abrasions that adorn your palms with concern.

“It’s nothing, Cregan,” you say pulling your hands away, and before you can dismiss his worries he’s already pulling up the fabric of your dress noticing the blood that stains your knees, along with the small cuts.

“How did you manage this?” He asks, guiding you to the steaming tub, his fingers make work with untying the lace of your dress, letting the sleeves fall down to your arms and he peppers gentle kisses to your shoulder.

You giggle at the memory, “I slipped on ice, it wasn’t too bad” You smile stepping out of the dress, and you're not too sure if you're trying to convince him or yourself, your hands grasping at his arms as he eases you into the bath, the warm water soothes the dull ache in your muscles.

His hand cups at the water pouring it over your skin, “Wasn’t too bad? Look at your knees my love” he says nodding over to your knees that are pulled to your chest, he leans to press gentle kisses to them careful of the cuts, “I’ll go get the Maesters to take a look at it, don’t want it getting infected” he presses a kiss to your forehead and he goes to stand but you're quick to stop him.

“Wait- stay for a second more” you whisper and his face softens, he doesn’t think he could ever say no to you.

He sits back down on the wooden stall, picking up the small jug, “Of course my dear” takes his forefinger resting it underneath your chin as he pushes your head up slightly before pouring the warm water over your hair.

He washes you gently, peppering occasional kisses to your wet skin, “Come on my dear let’s get you warm and something to eat” he says helping you out of the tub, the water now lukewarm, he dries you off with such loving eyes, helping you change into something comfortable.

You sit by the fire humming at the pleasant warmth that surrounds you like a blanket, “Thank you Lyra” Cregan smiles as she places a hot bowl of stew on the table along with bread before walking out of the room with a nod.

“Eat something, my dear, I’ll go get the Maesters,” he says, pressing a kiss against your temple.

“Thank you, Cregan” You look up at him as his thumb brushes against your cheek, his chest blooms with love and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you.

He looks at you with adoration in his eyes, “Of course, anything for you” and you swear your heart stops at his love, the lord Stark of Winterfell, how you owned his entire heart.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

1K notes · View notes

cambion-companion · 1 year

Note

“Just let me finish this and I swear ill go down on you until you cum at least three times.” (144) lets get down to bussines

Part 2 of "Spray of Blood"

Word count: 2724

reader gets lost trying to run back to King's Landing and Aemond, still splattered in blood, has to find her and bring her back to safety.

haha this is a joint effort it seems! Also I have wanted to write reader sitting on Aemond's face so thank you for #86

28. i’m just getting comfy

74. “Do you want me to stay?”

86. “don’t be shy now, sit on my face.”

98. “if we weren’t in public right now i’d have my head between your legs”

Aemond x wife!reader | smutty ending | 18+ only | fluff and a sprinkle of angst | Aemond isn't super happy lmao

You were lost.

Cursing, you stopped in the middle of the empty street, turning on the spot, surveying your unfamiliar surroundings.

"Fuck me sideways." You muttered, taking a moment to rub your aching temples.

You had indulged in too much spiced wine at the festival, muddling your already questionable orienteering skills.

"If the lady insists." A hissing voice accompanied a slender man emerging from the shadows of a stone building.

He held no weapon, seeming to think you easy prey as he strode forward, already unbuckling his trousers.

You still held the stone you had picked up when Aemond had confronted the men in the market, and so you collected your frayed nerves, taking careful aim as Aemond had taught you.

You threw the shard of brick, it struck true with a dull thud to the man's head. He went down like a sack of flour, hitting the damp cobblestones with a dull thud.

Shaking, you hurried on your way, in the direction you hoped the Red Keep was in. At least you were still walking uphill, that seemed to be a good sign.

After a few minutes of meandering, warm yellow light fell upon your face, a tavern in front of you that appeared cozy and welcoming. As you entered, you noticed a few other patrons, but the dining area and counter was mostly empty. A squat looking man was stacking dishware behind the bar counter as you took a seat.

He gave you a cursory glance with a raised eyebrow, you shifted to hide the fine fabric of your dress beneath the cloak you still wore. You pulled back your hood, wanting to be recognizable if Aemond passed the window searching for you.

"What can I get you?" The bartender asked in a gruff baritone, seeming not to care what brought you to his establishment so long as you had gold.

"Do you have hot tea? Or something non-alcoholic?" You asked. "I just came from the fire festival and had a bit too much to drink there."

"Ah I see!" The man smiled, his ruddy cheeks reflecting the candlelight. "Yes, I can get you some green tea brewed up. Does wonders for a hangover."

"Thank you."

Minutes passed, turning to hours as you sat at the uncomfortable wooden table. You drank several mugs of steaming earthy tea, enjoying the way it warmed your body from the inside out.

"Are ye waiting for someone?" The bartender looked at you quizzically, clearly wondering why you were remaining for so long. All the other patrons had left for their homes by now.

"Yes, my husband."

"You're lost?"

You shifted uneasily in your seat, casting him a wary glance.

He raised his hands, a towel draped over his shoulder. "I mean you no harm miss, but if you'd like directions, I can give them." He glanced outside at the dark streets. "Though perhaps it best if you wait here, it's not safe for anyone to be wandering about right now."

"Where am I?"

He chuckled looked at you with a fatherly smile. "Outskirts of Flea Bottom."

You groaned.

"Not where you intended to be I expect. Not wearing a dress like that."

You shifted your cloak to cover yourself better.

"You have nothing to fear from me." The keeper reiterated. "I'll not cast you out till your husband comes to fetch you."

"Thank you." You lay your head upon your hands, staring glassy eyed out the window, praying to all the gods Aemond would find you.

You had fallen into a doze, jolted awake by the sound of the inn door slamming open and the exclamation of the barkeep still behind his counter.

Aemond, glorious with his shining hair and piercing violet eye, strode into the tavern, his gaze locked onto you.

"My-my prince! What an unexpected..." The tavern keeper trailed off as he watched Aemond walking purposefully toward you.

You rose from your seat, throwing your arms around Aemond's neck as he pulled you against him, his hands at your back, stroking soothingly as he kissed your ear.

You tried your best not to sob. "Aemond, I got lost."

"You're the wife of Aemond Targaryen?"

The two of you broke apart to turn to the front of the room, where the keeper was bowing low.

"He helped keep me safe." You interlocked your fingers with Aemond's.

Your husband stepped up to the rough wood counter, depositing a bag of clinking coins onto its surface. "You have my gratitude."

The man continued to bow, averting his gaze. Aemond made a soft "hmm" in the back of his throat, guiding you out of the warm room into the cool night air.

You didn't get far before he pulled you to a stop, his taut face illuminated silver in the moonlight. "I've been searching for you for hours, Y/N."

"I-"

He held up a hand to stop you from speaking. "You were not in our rooms. So, I returned to the square as quickly as I could, asking anyone still outside if they had seen you."

You looked down at your feet guiltily as Aemond continued.

"Imagine my surprise when I find a man collapsed upon the ground, a stone beside him and a lump on his forehead."

"He...had ill intentions." You whispered, still studying your shoes.

"Hmm. A shame I left him alive then." Aemond's fingers hooked under your chin, pulling your face to look up at him. "However, that is how I found you sitting in that tavern."

You slowly moved forward, tentatively wrapping your arms around Aemond's waist. You could tell how worn and anxious he was, specks of blood still upon his tunic from the men he'd dispatched earlier that evening.

"Aemond, I'm sorry for getting lost. I...was panicking and a little drunk." You smiled weakly as his face softened, his lilac eye roving your features as you rubbed small circles to the small of his back.

"I had intended this to be a relaxing evening of fun." Aemond said, giving a short laugh of derision. He cupped your face in his hands. You noticed they shook slightly. "I was beside myself with worry, Y/N." He brushed his soft lips to yours gently. "This is not a place for a woman to wander alone."

"You have me safe now, Aemond."

"And safe is where I will keep you."

He kissed you firmly, slanting his mouth over yours, his fingers tangling in your hair as you made a soft noise against him. In the tension of his body against your own you felt how worked up he was from the events of the night, the intensity with which he kissed you promised bruised lips in the morning.

“If we weren’t in public right now I'd have my head between your legs."

"Aemond." You whispered, shocked, as you checked over your shoulder for anyone listening. The streets were luckily empty, though several windows were wide open.

"Come." The prince grasped your hand firmly in his and began leading you in the correct direction of the Red Keep.

You breathed a sigh of relief at the welcome sight of your chambers, lit with the orange glow of a blazing fire in the hearth that you immediately crossed to stand before, warming your hands.

Your large, clawed bathtub sat full of steaming water in the middle of the room.

Aemond came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle, his chin resting on your shoulder.

"I had the servants draw a bath for your return, we are fortunate it seems to still be hot."

You felt him beginning to loosen the ties of your dress. "Do you want me to stay?" He asked, nuzzling into your neck. "I'd understand if you need to be alone. It has been a...difficult evening."

"Please stay, Aemond. I need you with me, especially right now."

He kissed your neck and resumed undoing your dress. You smiled to yourself at his evident eagerness to see you laid bare before him.

The fabric of your dress and undergarments pooled around your feet, you leaned into Aemond's warm touch as he fondled the curves of your ass and hips with one hand, his other reaching around to stroke at your breasts.

You turned to him, allowing his gaze to roam your firelit body. "You are still covered in blood, my lord husband." Your wandering fingers began undoing the clasps of his own clothing, shedding each garment with tender care until he was as naked as you, his thick member already standing at attention.

You smiled coyly at him, allowing him to support your balance as you stepped into the hot water of the bath. You sank down into the silken water, scooting forward enough for Aemond to take his place behind you.

You pressed your back against him, your hands running along his legs as they caged your body, his arms wrapping around your torso.

"I'm just getting comfy." You murmured, leaning back so that your head rested against Aemond's chest, looking up at his adoring gaze.

He had removed his eyepatch, the sapphire gemstone glittering dazzlingly by the reflection of firelight against the water that now lapped against the edges of the wooden tub.

The two of you rested like this together, rubbing each other down with soap and wash cloths. You took your time cleansing Aemond's skin, feeling the knots in his tense muscles and kneading them loose, his eye fluttered shut at your loving attentions.

Only when the water had cooled and the two of you began to shiver, did you exit the bath, helping each other towel down until you were relatively dry. Aemond grabbed your waist, pulling you in for another scorching kiss, one of many he'd bestowed upon you that night.

"Lay on the bed for me."

You obeyed, perhaps misinterpreting his meaning as you wrapped yourself in your nightrobe before getting comfortable in bed. You watched Aemond from your cocoon of blankets as he busied himself trying to get the stains out of his tunic and undershirt.

"Aemond..." You called quietly, trying to entice him over with the lilt of your voice.

"The blood has set into the fabric long enough, Y/N. Give me a moment to try and lift it."

"Aemond." You wiggled beneath the covers, seeking to draw his gaze.

“Just let me finish this and I swear I'll go down on you until you cum at least three times.”

"If you don't come over here now, I'm going to start touching myself."

You knew just what to threaten.

With a growl, Aemond threw down his ruined shirt upon the sofa, striding to the bed and throwing the blankets off your body. "Take that off." His dilated eye took in your tantalizing curves wrapped up in your fluffy nightrobe.

"I'm cold."

"Do not tease me anymore this eve." Aemond crawled over your prone form, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip. "You heard me. Take. It. Off."

You undid the tie around your waist, shifting the fabric off, exposing yourself once more to your husband's eager touch. His fingers rolled your pebbling nipples, tugging at your flesh, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips as you arched into him.

"Already so wet for me." Aemond murmured against your lips, his hand cupping your sex, feeling between your slick folds.

You gasped at the feeling of him exploring you. In a fluid motion, you rolled your entwined bodies over, shifting to sit on his torso, looking down at Aemond's face, his curved lips parted in surprise.

"I want to be on top." You could barely speak, so entranced you were at the sight of him laid beneath you, his silver hair spread out atop the pillows. "Let me do this, please."

You rocked your hips, feeling his hard arousal beneath you as you stroked your vulva along Aemond's shaft. His eyelid fluttered at the sensation, his hands rising to grip your hips as you lost yourself in the feeling of him.

"Don’t be shy now, sit on my face.”

Your mouth parted, Aemond tugged you a little forward by his grip on your hips. "Are-are you sure I won't suffocate you?"

Aemond laughed. "If you do, I couldn't think of a better way to go."

Heat pooled in your belly as you scooted forward, bracing your hands against the bedframe as you hovered on your knees over Aemond's face. "You're sure?"

"Y/N."

Aemond rose just enough to tease your entrance with his nose, nuzzling against your swollen clit. You gasped, lowered yourself rather gracelessly onto his angular face.

You quivered, feeling Aemond's tongue working against you as you rocked gently against him. His chin, his nose all pressed against your most sensitive parts. The wet sound of him lapping up your essence filled the darkened room.

"Oh Aemond." You gripped the bedframe tighter, making sure to not actually suffocate your husband with your cunt no matter how he tried to pull you more against his searching mouth, his fingers pressing deep against the flesh of your thighs.

He grunted, the vibration of his voice causing you to clench around the tip of his tongue as he fucked it into you. His nose continued pressing and rubbing against your clit, Aemond moving his whole face with your movements as you began to grind down on him, losing your self control.

His name spilled from your panting mouth, your climax rushing over you like waves upon the sea cliffs. Aemond drank you down eagerly, his tongue lapping you up as though you tasted of the finest wine. You rode out your orgasm on his face, your legs shaking as you lifted yourself off him, collapsing to the mattress as your husband rolled over you once more. His hair was a mess, his lips and chin soaked from your juices. You bit your bottom lip at the lewd sight, his eye tracking the movement.

Aemond kissed you, more gently than you had anticipated, his tongue searching your mouth, allowing you to taste your own release as he lined his cock to your entrance. You gripped the back of his head, gasping against him as he sunk slowly into you. Aemond's breath filled your lungs as his cock stretched you out deliciously, filling you until he was fully seated within your still quivering walls.

Aemond broke your kiss, pulling away enough to watch your face as he began rutting into you. His gentleness gave way to a rougher, more desperate pace, his cock brushing your cervix with every punishing stroke. You clung to him, your legs rising instinctively to allow him deeper access.

"Y/N." Aemond breathed your name like a prayer, his chest still flush against your own as he nibbled the shell of your ear. "I can feel you tightening around me." You cried out as he increased his pace still more, fucking you deep into the mattress. "I need you to come. Show me you're mine." His cock twitched inside you. "Mine alone to claim."

"I am yours, Aemond." You felt your second orgasm of the night begin to rush through your body, your spasming quim already beginning to milk his member. "Forever yours."

Your name, so sweet on Aemond's tongue, filled the night air, mingling with your wordless moans of ecstasy as your husband spilled his hot seed within your clenching cunt. He pushed himself as deep into you as he could, remaining rooted there until you had both come down from the high of your climax.

Your legs were shaking in earnest now, Aemond reluctantly pulled away, his cum spilling out of you onto the now ruined bedsheets. Exhausted, satiated, and heedless of the mess you'd made, Aemond pulled you against him, encasing you in his arms. He placed a kiss to the top of your head as you made a pillow of his chest, his legs still tangled with your own.

Sleep took you quickly, a lock of Aemond's silken hair wrapped around your forefinger as you had a habit of doing when seeking comfort.

Aemond lay awake for a long while after you had drifted off, his mind still alive with the fear and rage that had consumed him mere hours before. Bedding you had taken the edge off, however the many gruesome possibilities of what could have happened remained unbidden and unwelcome.

He held you tighter against his lithe body, feeling the reassuring rise and fall of your chest on his, the light snores emitting from your slack mouth. Eventually exhaustion overtook Aemond, his eye falling closed, his lips still pressed to your head even in sleep.

2K notes · View notes

mountswhore · 5 months

Note

Hey if it's okay then I want to request a pregnancy fic where y/n has been having a hard time dealing with the changes during pregnancy and Mason is helping her out in every way he can. Thank you x

my beautiful girl — mason mount

summary: you were four months along, finally starting to show and yet you were still struggling with the changes you were going through. mason decides to help in any way he can.

After the hell that was the first trimester, you thought you were in the clear. With morning sickness subsiding, you realised it was just making way for more pesky symptoms.

You were four months along now, Mason still elated his beloved child was on the way. As were you, but Mason doesn't need to carry the child for nine months, nor does he need to experience anything you were currently experiencing.

It was still hell on Earth.

Mason's arm slid around your stomach, finally resting below the forming bump. You could practically hear his smile as he pulled you into him, his warm breath coating the revealed skin on your shoulder. Today was the day you were finding out the sex of your baby, and you couldn't wait.

"How did you sleep?" Mason asked quietly, the question was a frequent one, considering you couldn't sleep much over the past three months of pregnancy.

You hummed in response. "It was okay."

Mason was downstairs making you a peppermint tea and himself some breakfast, whilst you took to showering. The hot water felt good, too good, so the shower wasn't long. Unfortunately, Mason's massive bathroom mirror was a curse to you. Even whilst steamed up, you could see yourself and your body.

You tried to be grateful, to be so glad you were able to carry this child, as a lot of women struggle to do so and would kill to be in your position. But your body was changing, and you had terrible self esteem since gaining the stretch marks. You felt so unlike yourself, the feeling mostly being down to how different life had been since becoming pregnant.

The baby wasn't planned, is any child planned? You'd spoken about children in the past with Mason, and you'd both agreed you felt ready for whenever it was going to happen. And a year or so later, here you were.

"Hey." Mason appeared in the bathroom, mug in hand and a concerned look on his face. "What're you thinking about?"

You grabbed the mug and passed him to put it onto your dresser. "Nothing."

Mason knew that was a lie. Instead of saying anything, he sat you down on the bed and crouched between your legs. Still adorned in only a towel, you pulled it over as much skin as you could. Mason knew exactly what this was about, as you'd discussed it at the start of the first trimester. You were crying, you didn't know whether it was good or bad, so Mason calmed you down with making a list. Eventually, you had decided the baby was a good thing, the only cons being about how you'd look and how your body would react to carrying and birthing a child, which you seemed hesitant over.

"You," he spoke, kissing your lips firmly with his hands either side of your head, "are beautiful. I know what's going on in your brain, and I'm telling you it's okay to feel that way. Everyone struggles with their body, but you need to remember you're doing something amazing. You're carrying our child, you're making sure she grows like she should and you're looking after her until she's ready for us."

"She?" You giggled, tears sliding down your face.

"I'm hoping for a girl," he responded, "but anyway, you look amazing. You're doing amazing. I know I'd struggle doing what you're doing, but I'm so thankful every day I wake up and see that bump. It will all be worth it when the baby is born."

He was right, you knew he was. All you needed was that reassurance that you haven't lost your life to pregnancy. You're still the same person before, but you're growing a baby, too.

"You will always be my beautiful girl, nothing and nobody will ever compare to you." Mason spoke, his voice quiet as he held your gaze. You smiled, grateful for the kind words he'd said.

"Let's find out what we're having then," you breathed out, standing from your position on the bed and strolling towards your closet. "I hope it's a girl, too." You admitted, peering from around the door at Mason.

His cheeks turned pink, reaching out to stroke your arm before he left you to dress.

You were sat in the waiting room, surrounded by mothers to be. All at different stages in their pregnancy. You were grateful to have Mason come with you today, his arm wrapped firmly around your shoulders. He was scrolling on his phone, and you occasionally looked down to see what he was laughing at, but for the most pat you were looking around and hoping the doctor would call your name.

Finally, you thought, as you'd heard your name and stood up with Mason's support.

The appointment was a blur, it was mainly just telling the doctor how you were coming along and you were in your head for most of it, Mason taking control of the social side of today.

You were abruptly pulled from your thoughts once the cold gel had hit your stomach, a sharp gasp falling from your lips. Mason chuckled and squeezed your hand, and you couldn't help but return the smile. He was so excited, he'd been looking forward to this for so long.

"Did you want to find out the sex today? Or were you wanting it to be sent to a member of family?" The doctor questioned, and you looked at Mason. Neither of you wanted a gender reveal, it wasn't appealing to you at all. You just wanted to know, so you could tell family the good news.

"We just want to find out today, if that's okay." You answered.

The doctor rotated the screen so both you and Mason could see. It was just a blur to the both of you, you had no clue what you were looking at.

"So," the doctor pointed at certain parts of the screen, "it's a very healthy baby girl."

Mason cheered, kissing your cheek and thanking the doctor for the confirmation. You were both ecstatic to be having the baby girl you'd hoped for. You were mainly glad for the healthy part, you weren't as biased as Mason was. You felt like you were doing something right, your body was handling it well, and in the end it felt worth it. It wasn't long until you'd be holding that healthy baby girl in your arms, and even if it was long, painful hours or labour, it would all be worth it.

#mase #mason mount smut #mason mount x reader #mason mount blurb #mason mount imagine #mason mount #mason mount fanfic #mason mount x y/n #mason mount fluff

307 notes · View notes

ghostheartfelt · 10 months

Note

Hiiii! First of all I hope you're doing well <333 and second omg!! I loved your ghost smut 😭😭 I'm here to request smt if you don't mind, I've requested this before but nobody wanted to write it but feel free to not wrote it too if you don't like the plot but here we go:

Ghost breaks up with reader NOT because he hates her but because his next mission is really hard and dangerous and there was a really slim chance that he'd survive it. So he tries to push reader away to not hurt her feelings but things escalated and they break up but when he comes back from the mission they have make-up sex? 🤭 Thank you for reading all of this and if you can't write it then I understand, thank you for your time and effort 💗

*:･｡☆ a/n: hi anon~ thank you so much for being my first req!!!! And thank u so much for the support. I’m so sorry i took forever to get to this! but you bet ur sweet ass i’ll write this for you?! I hope you enjoy this regardless of how long it took me to get to it. mwah! -ur bbg cure

〔☆〕 desc: ghost is deployed on a mission in bangladesh that price explains as risky and complicated--ghost immediately thinks of you as the possibilities of survival are described as slim. him, gaz, and soap set out back to manchester, and no amount of talk is able to change his mind. he ends things off between the two of you, which arises a depressive state in you before he arrives and makes it up to you completely. (possibly takes place before ten minutes past?…. 👀)

*:･｡☆ tags: p in v, unprotected intercourse, whiny ghost if you squint, hand job if you squint, oral (f receiving), fingering, reader orgasms twice, cock warming, he sleeps with the tip inside<3, this hurt my breeding kink heart, pet names, possessive ghost, breast worship if you squint, break up and make up sex, porn with feelings. SMUTTY SMUT SMUT!!! not too bad, sadly.

—✩ N[EX]T REGRETS ✩—

word count — 4.3k

☆ (peep the song that inspires this writing...) ☆

Your hands are setting two plates on the dinner table; one for you, one for your boyfriend.

He was coming home from deployment—it’d been months since you’d last seen him, you’d lost track.

Silverware wrapped in cloth napkins are set beside the plates before you flick the cog of a lighter and ignite the candles in the middle of the table.

You turn yourself around to grab the cookie sheet of ribeye off of the counter after pushing on mittens, holding it in your palm as you place two steaks down onto one of the plates, then one onto another.

Then you take the tray back to the counter and set it back on top of the table cloth so it didn’t damage the marble.

Regardless of the fancy dinner setup, you were still in a black satin night dress and fuzzy socks. You knew Simon would just dress down himself the moment he got home.

You scooped steamed vegetables onto both plates, then potatoes and gravy with a sprinkle of chives.

When you place down the spineless wine glasses, you hear a heavy door slam causing a smile to crease your face.

Simon was home, he was going to come inside and he was going to hold you again for the first time in months. Run his hands through your hair for the first time in months. Kiss you for the first time in months.

You seat yourself gently on the dinner table, ankle crossed over the other with your elbows bent and palms pressed neatly on the wood as you wait for him to come inside.

You hear the door open, then shut, heavy padded footsteps approaching the threshold of the dining room.

Ghost is the one who comes through the archway—fully geared with the skull mask and helmet, the only thing he lacks is a rifle.

“Simon…?” You push yourself off your palms, confusion whisked on your face.

It was one of your rules, the mask stays off inside your home.

His eyes land on the neatly set table before they reach yours.

You approach him slowly and he tenses, your eyebrows stitching together in concern.

His stomach twists inside of him.

Gorgeous minx.

Absolutely breathtaking.

Beautiful perfection.

He couldn’t say anything he wanted to—and god he had so much to say.

Your eyes flicker to the windows alongside the front door seeing two other bodies.

Armed bodies.

He wasn’t staying.

“Can you all stay for dinner atleast? I made enough for everyone…” you smile softly while fumbling with the straps of his vest.

Stop touching me, you’re making this harder on me. Ghost swallows the knot in his throat.

There’s a pause before Ghost backs up.

“There’s someone else.”

It’s a lie, it’s a lie. It’s such a lie. Ghost

Something inside your chest tightens and you swear that it’s your heart.

“What?…” You scoff lightly, your eyebrows pinching together in disbelief.

Don’t make me say it again. Ghost inhales sharply.

“Simon…” you tilt your head slightly, extending your hand to touch him.

“Please, let me try to be better for you, give me a chance…” your lips quiver.

You don’t need to try and be better for me. Ghost thinks.

He knew you’d been reading articles on how to be in a relationship with someone in the special forces—he’d found out and closed the lid, sat you in his lap and kissed you so softly, telling you that you were perfect for him and you didn’t need an article to tell you how to love him.

But you know it’s real when Ghost jerks his shoulder away.

You know it’s real when you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood as tears start welling in your eyes.

You know it’s real when Ghost’s eyes evade yours.

You know it’s real when Simon turns around and he doesn’t spare you a goodbye.

You especially know it’s real when the door slams shut and rattles the walls around you.

It’s surreal, but you expected this.

He must’ve found someone on base, you thought.

You feel your knees give in beneath you, and you’re met with the floor.

A hysterical sobbed scream leaves your throat as your trembling hand lifts to drag down at your lips.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

Ghost stands for a moment on the doormat outside of your home.

Gaz’s hand finds a place on his back, the other holding his vest as he guides the larger male towards the truck they’d arrived in.

“Didn’t have to do that, Ghost.” He says, followed by a sigh.

“Did.” Ghost replies back as he seats himself in the back. “Wasn’t lettin’ her get my dog tags—she’s been through enough bein’ with me.”

Soap turns his head over his shoulder after sitting in the front passenger seat.

“Ay, L.T, we all know y’ll make it back t’ya pretty lass.” He says. “Y’r one of we bes’ fighters, ain’t that righ’, Kyle?” Soap’s elbow bumped into Gaz’s ribs.

Gaz utters a strained noise before nodding, hands wrapping around the wheel.

“‘M not takin’ that risk, now shu’up ‘n drive. Cap’s gon’ ‘b pissy enough.”

His head turns to look out the window as he feels the wheels of the truck roll down the driveway.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

It’s been seven months. Two-hundred-thirteen days.

All you do is work, eat, and sleep.

Eating, not as much as you should.

You couldn’t cook, couldn’t get yourself up from your bed the second you got home from work to start the stove.

You either sleep all day or not at all, there wasn’t a balance.

God, your living room was disgusting. Snot tissues were littered across the entire coffee table, empty champagne glasses, crusted food plates and crushed soda cans.

You’d resorted to hiring a maid just to clean your living room—which was the only room you stayed in for five months straight while your depression started getting progressively worse.

You lay on your side with a weighted blanket draped over you, holding you down comfortably.

Simon stayed in your head, even after half of a year. He invaded your head. It drove you insane.

At the same time, you were scared of the day that he wouldn’t be your first and last thought each and every day anymore.

You bunch the blanket closer to your chin, your wet eyes have drenched the little area to hell.

Things just have never been the same since Simon left the house–-you still happened to feel his presence next to you, hovering over you.

“There’s someone else.” His words settled an uneasy weight on your shoulders that you still were unable to shake off.

A splutter of sobs escapes you once again, tears blurring your vision as they fall and your nose starts to clog.

You try to breathe in, but you feel as though there’s not enough air around you. You breaking into a coughing fit is enough for you to push the weighted blanket off of your body and heave yourself up.

Spit and drool creates several small strings between your lips–you’re practically foaming at the mouth from how hard you’re crying.

Tears flutter off your eyelashes and further blur your vision, so you try and rub at your eyes with the heels of your palms desperately.

You stand up wobbly and start towards the bathroom, you didn’t have the energy to walk the extra couple of steps into your bedroom to use your own bathroom, so the guest bathroom would have to do for now.

You turn the shower knob and pull it out towards you after undressing, then step into the warmth and sink onto the shower floor, hugging your knees to your bare chest and letting the water run over your face.

Sobs cause your body to twitch and jerk, the heat in your eyes making your eyes burn as your breathing grows unsteady over the stream of water above you.

You just wanted him home.

But, he wasn’t yours to want home anymore.

He wasn’t yours to crave anymore or to love.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

A door slams so hard air causes the fabric of his shirt to flail in the wind.

Ghost had spent months struggling with the actions of his decision, where he had hoped that the choice would break you free of your shackles of worries when it came to the blonde when he was away.

He spent every night and every rising morning worrying someone would take his place. It would’ve been his fault, he knew that, and it made him want to scream at the top of his lungs until they felt raw in his chest.

He presses the lock button on his keys, hearing the locks inside the jeep click, then he jumbles with his keychain looking for the house key.

Ghost’s hands are shaking as he pinches the specific key and jabs it into the door lock, turning it.

When he hears the all-familiar click, he immediately pulls off his balaclava and pushes himself through the front door.

There’s silence–pure silence throughout the house except for the sound of running water.

She’s showering.

A short amount of relief washes over him as he bends to untie the laces of his boots, placing them aside.

When he stands, his eyes scan over to the living room and he feels his heart sink in him at the sight of the absolute mess made of the living room.

An overflowing laundry basket and take-out boxes that made the room stink of old fried rice.

He throws his bag behind him against the wall before he walks himself towards the pile of laundry and begins pulling out shirts and pairs of pants to fold against his knee.

☆════━━━┈┈┈┈━━━════☆

You took a two hour shower, most of it being of you shredding any form of emotion from your body that you could.

Now you were sitting on the fur-covered toilet seat, running your lotion-coated hands along your freshly shaven legs.

You told yourself you would try going to a club to replenish your sex deprivation.

Steam finally clears from the mirror allowing you to look at yourself in the mirror. Your hands pull the towel off your head, wet hairs sticking to your shoulders.

The bathroom smelt of your coconut milk shampoo and body wash–it smelt divine.

You thumb up your white laced bra and panties, plug in the blow dryer and scrunch your mop in your hands as you wave the blow dryer over your hair.

It seems like hours, being only nearly ten minutes until your hair is somewhat dry, but your arms are tired, so you unplug the dryer and wrap the cord around it.

You leave the bathroom and walk back into the living room, pausing in motion at the sight of it being clean–your laundry being neatly folded on the coffee table.

“Kris? Is that you?” You call, not too loudly.

She had a key to your home, but she had stated she wouldn’t be available this week due to some personal reasons she wasn’t required to go over with you.

You walk over towards the couch and drag your hand along the cotton material.

There was no reply to your call, which concerned you. You hadn't contacted any of your family members to come visit.

You slowly turn yourself around and the breath is practically stolen from your lungs.

Simon’s standing across the room from you, clad in a black t-shirt and jeans, a belt secured in the front.

You watch his eyes drag up and down your exposed body, watching as he inhales sharply while his eyes narrow.

“Love,” He mumbles.

Your eyebrows furrow and you lift your neck up. “Why–why are you here?” “Will y’let me explain?” He sighs.

“Does she know?” You reply quickly with a shaky voice.

“Does wh–”

“Does she know you are here, Simon.”

There's silence, then he licks his dry lips.

“There is no she.” He says flatly.

“No,” you scoff, running a hand down your face, eyes darting to the side as you listen to him walk closer toward you. “No…no. No–I remember specifically…” your angry, now.

Simon catches your lips in a firm kiss, but you push him away, and the look in his eyes makes your chest ache.

“Please,” Simon’s eyebrows pinch together.

“Stop, just stop.” You seethe, pressing your finger into the midsection of his chest making him back up some. “You said there was someone else, you said–”

“I was lyin’, there wasn’t.” He pauses, frowning.

“Bullshit,” you shake your head. “Fucking bullshit, Simon Riley!”

“Let m’talk.” Simon says gruffly, his tone stern.

You swallow thickly and lower your head in defeat after nodding, finger lifting so you can chew on your cuticle bed.

“I…I let a debriefing get t’me. Said there wasn’t much’a chance of survival–can’t say much, y’know that…but I didn’t want y’to have to go through that.” He explains.

His hand reaches down to lift your chin, thumbing at any stray tears making their way down your cheeks. “Forgive me, lovie.” Simon leans down to close the gap between you both again, this time you submit and his hand cradles the back of your head.

The kiss is slow and passionate–gentle with its hints of dominance.

“Missed you…” He mumbles over your lips, hands finding your ass to knead the supple skin.

You gasp slightly, but cave in to his touch instantly. “And I missed you…”

“Please…never do that again.”

His forehead rests on yours a moment, fingers toying in your hair by rolling pieces between his fingers.

“‘M sorry.” He murmurs.

He wasn’t the type to apologize, you knew that. His apologies were sincere and meaningful.

Your hands grip his shirt.

“Over half a year, Simon…” Your voice is so low, you couldn’t even call it a whisper. “This whole time…”

“I know…I know…” He mutters into your hair, taking in your scent.

“Will y’let me make it up to ya, love?” Hot breath rakes over the side column of your neck.

You simply nod, and that’s all enough for him to pick you up by your thighs and for you to wrap your legs around his waist and rut against him.

He guides you both into your bedroom, seating you on the edge of the bed.

“So fuckin’ sexy when y’r half-naked ‘n angry…” Simon chuckles dryly as he drags a finger up your clothed cunt.

“Simon…please…” you mumble into his shoulder.

“I’ve got’ya, gorgeous.” He says cooly while laying you flat on the bed.

Simon slips his fingers past your panties, his cock twitching in his pants at the feeling of your wetness spreading along his fingers.

“Ffff..uck, babe, you're so wet for me ‘lready…” he whispers.

You gasp as his finger slips up and down between your folds, making you twitch as he passes your throbbing clit.

“So fuckin’ divine…” he purrs above you, eyes full of love and lust. His other hand finds a place on your thigh, squeezing the flesh as he works at your warmth.

You whine, watching as his teeth bite at the lace lining of your panties, pulling them down as his eyes don’t stray from yours.

“Oh…fuck…” you bite your lip gently, the action making you fanny flutter to the point of aching.

“Jesus…” he breathes against your thigh, pressing his lips along the skin and sucking it until he’s satisfied with the markings.

Simon scoops up both of your legs by the crooks of your knees, spreading them apart as he shifts down to rest his knees on the ottoman spread across the end of the bed.

A shuddered moan releases from you as his tongue prods at the hole in your cunt, then drags up to swirl around your sensitive bud.

Your hand grabs a tight hold in his hair, making him groan against your core and increase the pressure and sensation in your stomach.

A whimper leaves your throat as he sucks and laps at your pussy, making you buck into his jaw.

“Jus’ like that, baby,” he growls onto you, pressing a wet kiss onto your clit. “Y’gon cum all over m’face like a good girl?”

You mewl and cry out as Simon slips a finger inside, your back arching and thighs jerking.

“Simon!” You gasp loudly as your fingers dig into his back over his shirt.

His tongue drags flatly up your cunt, collecting all your juices—he’s practically drinking you.

Another finger pushes inside gently, curling inside that same spot he’s able to find so effortlessly each time that makes you go wild.

“Gon’ c…cum…” you stutter meekly.

“C’mon then,” he urges. “Cum f’r me.”

Simon quickened his pace and the pressure, pumping his fingers in and out, in and out.

Like he was starved, his face presses closer into you, tongue toying at your clit making you twitch against him.

There’s an unbearable heat between your legs as you feel a knot tie in your abdomen when Simon levered his fingers deeper into you.

“Good…” he groans, pressing his tongue inside with his fingers as your walls clamp around him desperately, a strained moan leaving you as your orgasm snaps.

You cum, hard, and grip his shoulders with both hands as his fingers fuck your orgasm back into you before he finally pulls his fingers out to coat your thighs in your climax.

Simon sucks out his work, then spits it back out onto your heat, slapping your pussy and releasing a deep groan.

He licks his fingers clean, his tongue sliding between each finger.

You lift yourself up by gripping his belt, slightly wobbling before his hand finds a spot to rest on your back.

“Fuckin’ hell…cum drunk ‘lready, sweets?” Simon bends down to take your mouth onto his, taking the chance to slip his tongue between your lips when you moan into his.

Gently, you palm his hard cock over his pants, eyes squeezing shut then opening to find your place on his belt and fumble with the buckle.

“Mm—y’find what you were lookin’ f’r?” He pants heavily before his lips trail down your jawline to lick and suck at your neck.

“Oh..fuck…” he murmurs, lips brushing against your skin.

“Want you so bad, Si…” you moan, lifting your head to grant him better access. “Want to feel you inside of me.”

He pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere across the room while he kicks off his pants that you helped pull down Simon’s hips, lips then coming back down to tease at your collarbones and neck.

“Ooh..ho…you will, don’t y’worry, sweet girl.” His cock sprung free out of the restraints of his boxers, making him groan hoarsely.

Simon’s fingers tap on the outerside of your thigh. “Turn over,” he demands.

You babble out nonsense that is incoherent as you flip on your stomach and one of his hands gather both of your wrists.

He’s on the bed now, between your legs with one hand holding you up by your stomach.

The head of his cock teases at your entrance, lips trailing up your spine.

“Y’want it?” He growls. “Huh?”

He inhales sharply, nudging the tip into your greedy hole. “God…you do…”

“J’s suckin’ me in like th’needy little pet y’are.”

You moan out a chant of pleases, cheek pressing into the comforter of the bed as he arches and positions you to his liking.

“Y’want this thick cock in y’r empty pussy.”

“Yes…” you mumble, backing into him

softly until you take in his entire tip which causes the larger man to apply more pressure into your stomach. “Fuck me, please…please…”

“Oh…Mmm…Such a good girl beggin’ f’r my cock.” Simon praises, letting you bounce on his tip for a few moments.

“Tha’s right baby…jus’ like that…I own this pretty little cunt, don’t I?” He snarls. “Nobody else’s to fuck.”

“Only yours, just yours,” you nod helplessly, earning a positive noise from the man behind you.

He takes in a sharp breath before slowly he inches himself into you farther, stretching you.

Filling you.

You moan loudly, your walls closing around his length making him push out the same noise.

When he bottoms out in you, his tip kissing your cervix, he retracts and ruts back into you, the sound of skin slapping filling the room as he hisses and breathes harsher at every thrust.

“Oh…” he sighs in ecstasy, releasing your wrists so he can grab the fat on your waist.

“Yes…” he moans, every contact with your hips causing the breath in his mouth to jump and fall.

“Tight little pussy just swallowing me,” Simon hisses through clenched teeth as he painfully yet deliciously stretches you open to his size. “So—fuckin’ sexy.”

“Want y’to cum in me, please…” You gasp, clawing at the comforter as he bucks himself deep into you, filling you up and emptying you, repeating that motion over and over.

“Want me to fill y’with my seed?” He chuckles, a moan interrupting him. “Tha’s what my slutty pet wants?”

“Fucking yes! My god, yes…” you pant, muttering and whining unintelligibly as he slams back into you and makes your ass slap against his thighs.

“Too bad,” he croons.

“Simon…pl..ease..” you moan.

“No…no, I can’t…cum in ya, love. We—we ain’t thinkin’ straight…” Simon’s cock twitches inside of you as he continues ramming his hips into yours, a guttural groan tearing out of him.

“I can feel y’tightenin’ around me, j’s beggin’ to cum around my fat cock…”

“There y’go…Bounce that gorgeous ass on me, j’s how I like it, babe.” Simon strains, hand roughly smacking the skin on your hind.

You squirm against him, making the blonde growl and grab your hips with a bruising grip. “Y’feel me stretchin’ y’r tiny pussy?”

“Mhm? Y’do?” He grunts, heaving above you as he thrusts himself into you. “Fuckin’ take it, filthy fuckin’ minx.”

“Look at you, such a pretty pet, bent to my content…Pussy out on display.”

“Gonna cum, gorgeous, all over your perfect belly.” He mumbles and flips you onto your back.

You moan shamelessly and loudly, whining as he pulls out of you and starts stroking himself while playing with your pussy.

“Fu…u…ck…” his head leans back as you massage his balls and replace his hand. “J’s likeee…that, perfect girl…”

He rubs his middle and pointer finger over your clit at an inhuman pace, making your body jolt and try to push away if it weren’t for his hand holding you roughly in place.

You roll your wrist up and down, pumping his cock in your hand until he takes control again and smacks his tip against your lower abdomen, spilling out his cum onto your stomach with a choke of your name.

Simon’s body twitches, pants and swears rolling off his tongue in a pleading voice as he covers you in his warmth.

“C...C’mon lovie, cum all over my fingers again, let me sss…see y’come undone f’r me again…N…Need to see it…” He stumbles over his words as he comes off his high, an undertone of a whimper in his voice.

It makes you pool, your ego skyrocketing at the fact that you can do that to someone. To him.

Simon’s fingers hit every perfect nerve inside your pulsating cunt, curling and plummeting into the same spot of overwhelming pressure that brought you over the edge.

A tightness coils in your stomach again, and he absolutely fucking loves the strained noises that spill out from you at every rut of his fingers inside of you.

He loves the way he can get you wrung out at every pet name and gentle touch, the way you clamp your thighs together at the smallest motions.

Simon knew your body better than you did, and he fucking loved it. He knew every spot that drove you absolutely mad and every crevice that had the ability to make you beg just how he wanted.

Your eyes shoot open from their half-lidded proportion as Simon finds a certain spot that sends electricity throughout your entire body, making you cry out and dig your nails into his scar-ridden flesh.

“Righ’ there, huh, princess? Righ’ there?” He hisses which drawls out to a throaty growl, hammering that same spot with more pressure. “Couldn’t stand bein’ away fr’m this pussy f’r so long…”

You chant ‘yes’ over and over again until your gasping and panting his name, your breath catching in your throat as you let out a loud cry through your climax, thighs trembling as they slowly close around his forearms in reflex.

He lifts your thighs up again and sits you on his lap as he pulls the covers over the both of you.

“Did s’good for me, lovie. Mmm…S’proud of you, baby.” Simon whispers, catching your lips in a ravenous kiss as he presses his cock inside of your warmth, pushing your climax back into you in a tranquil motion.

“‘M gonna be right back, okay?” You coo against his lips as you swing your legs over the bed, he gives you a small ‘mhm’.

You quickly give yourself time to use the bathroom, then wash your hands before you walk yourself back into the room, crawling back into his lap before he turns the both of you to the side.

Simon unclips your brassiere and drops it onto the floor, cups both of your breasts in his palms and moans as you slide yourself back down onto his cock.

“Mmh…So warm…” he whispers huskily while kissing the nape of your neck down to your collarbones.

He spoons you, lulling you into a state of drowsiness as he gently massages your tits. Simon’s breath is a gentle pattern over your neck, gentle snores leaving the barriers of his lips after his hands go still.

You don’t take long to catch sleep right behind him, turning your head a moment to peck his wet lips before you’re able to finally shut your eyes.

#ghostheartfelt #ghostheartfelt writing #simon ghost x reader #mw2 smut #ghost riley smut #simon riley #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #mw2 x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost modern warfare #ghost cod #ghost imagine #simon ghost x you #simon ghost riley imagine #ghostheartfelt ;; 👻#ghostheartfelt writing ;; 👻

701 notes · View notes

bigassmoonchild · 8 months

Note

this is just pure self induglence

can i request ghost ripping into each member of the team over something stupid they did and when he finally get to us he cant yell and tell us not to do it again really sweetly and leaves the room and soap asks us how we get him to be nice and it leads to them finding out

A. we outrank him

B. hes our hubby and cant be mean to us even if he tried

(i love it when soap just never gets told anything about simons personal life. it’s like another way soap and ghost just go at each other to me 💀)

🫶🫶 (love my anons)

‘you need to start thinking more, sergeant!’ ghost nearly growled into soaps face. ‘if you’d think, maybe we wouldn’t ‘ave had to evacuate like we did, and maybe there wouldn’t have been three dead!’ and all soap could do was look away.

price had disappeared. he well outranked the lieutenant and didn’t need to stay behind for the talking to everyone was getting. you, though, you stayed because you wanted to.

he moved on to gaz, staring down at the younger man. ‘and you’re supposed to be with him,’ he pointed at soap, ‘at all times. did you forget? is that why he went off and fucked up?’ he snarled.

soap opened his mouth, ready to defend gaz before ghost cut him off. ‘don’t you even think about it, sergeant. i want you both on the field tomorrow. 0500,’ and he turned to you.

soap and gaz watched as the lieutenant just looked at you, your eyes glaring through his own. it was like you were talking to each other without speaking, and ghost shook his head. ‘don’t do that again,’ he huffed out and marched away.

gaz visibly relaxed, allowing his shoulders to fall from their stiff position. rubbing at his neck, he looked between you and soap.

‘i’m just gonna go on and get some food. might knock out early so ghost doesn’t fuck me up too bad tomorrow,’ and he walked off.

falling into step beside you, soap and yourself just walked for a bit. soap needed to blow of some steam. ‘how do you do it?’ he turned to you, face fallen and almost hurt. ‘i don’t get it, he never yells at you, he doesn’t do anything to you,’ he shook his head.

the mission hadn’t gone as poorly as ghost had thought. there were some missing pieces of intel, a few soldiers lost in the ranks here or there. maybe an outdated blueprint.

where you’d been watching, ready to help snipe should anything go wrong, things seemed to be going okay. soap hadn’t fucked anything up too bad, he just hadn’t seen someone walking by before they’d seen him.

he was almost shot, barely getting away. gaz had barely gotten away with the needed intel, but had to lose the person you’d been after. that was going to ruin a lot of things in the long run.

‘you didn’t do as poorly as ghost thinks,’ you said to soap, ignoring his initial comment. ‘he just gets all up in his head, believes that anything that goes wrong is nobody’s fault but ours,’ you told him.

you weren’t going to explain how he believed it was his own fault. when soldiers he was leading fell, he took it as though he was the one killing them.

soap shook his head. ‘how do you do it? he barely even tells you when you screw things up,’ you gave a little laugh.

‘oh he tells me, soap,’ you responded. ‘you just don’t ever see it, because he’s private. sure, i may outrank him, but-‘

‘you outrank ghost?’ he stared at you, brows furrowed. you nodded.

‘i just don’t ever wear my stripes or pins,’ you told him. ‘colonel, but i’ve stepped aside to help you guys out. god awful amount of paperwork, though,’ you shrugged and looked away.

soap shook his head. ‘he yells at price sometimes, but he never even gets angry at you. there’s something else,’ you gave soap a little smile.

finally looking back at the scot, you fully grinned at him. ‘it’s cause i’m his wife, and he’d be sleeping with the dogs if he ever yelled at me,’ you told him.

blinking at you, soap took a moment to process it. ‘you’re his what?’ you nodded, pulling the necklace with your wedding band on it. he grabbed it gently, staring at the pretty stone. ‘he even knows what type of metal you wear?’

you nodded. ‘he’s a genuine sweetheart sometimes, but he has his reasons for speaking to you guys the way he does,’

‘i guess,’ soap looked away. ‘ever think about having kids,’ you shoved him away from you, laughing.

#simon riley x reader #fluff #simon ghost x reader #john soap mctavish #cod mw2 #task force 141 #modern warfare ii #call of duty x reader #call of duty #no use of y/n #simon riley #ghost mw2 #slight angst at first #it gets better #mentions of death

848 notes · View notes

hd-junglebook · 1 month

Text

Little Dove

Part 3

a:n This is just full-on fluff and also my first attempt at something a little heated which probably sucks. If anyone wants to write smut for me pls lmk your girl is struggling. Also warning this is not proofread AT ALL.

Masterlist Link

Summary: To forgive you have to be strong, but all y/n needed was love before her last piece of resolve crumbled for the man she found herself so in love with.

Word Count - 4782

The house was enveloped in an unsettling stillness, a heavy silence that seemed to permeate every room. The only sound that pierced the quiet was the steady drumming of water from the bathroom, where steam billowed out from behind the shower curtain like a ghostly veil.

Inside the shower, Y/N stood motionless, her eyes closed as the scalding water cascaded over her skin, enveloping her in its comforting warmth. The heat of the water mixed with the salt of her tears, creating dark rivulets of melted makeup that swirled down the drain in a hypnotic dance.

Lost in her thoughts, Y/N didn't hear the soft creak of the bathroom door opening, nor the rustle of clothing being discarded on the tiled floor. It wasn't until the sudden yank of the shower curtain that she was jolted from her reverie, her eyes flying open in alarm as she instinctively reached for a towel to cover herself.

But instead of an intruder, she found herself staring into the intense, stormy eyes of Quinn. He stood before her, his chest heaving with barely contained emotion, his hair already damp from the steam that filled the room.

Without a word, he stepped into the shower behind her, the heat of his skin pressing against her back as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Y/N tensed for a moment, her heart racing at the unexpected intimacy of his touch.

But as Quinn's fingers splayed across her stomach, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on her skin, she felt herself melting into his embrace.

A deep, shuddering sigh escaped Quinn's lips, the warmth of his breath tickling the sensitive skin of Y/N's neck. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I should've told you how I felt. I waited too long, and now things between us aren't okay."

She shook her head, droplets of water flying from her hair as she turned to face him within the circle of his arms.

"I was happy having you here like this," she whispered, her voice trembling as she met his gaze. "But I won't keep waiting for you to be ready to love me."

Quinn's eyes softened, a flicker of pain crossing his features at the hurt he heard in her voice. He raised a hand to her face, his fingers gently brushing away the strands of wet hair that clung to her cheeks.

"You don't have to wait anymore," he said earnestly, his voice low and filled with conviction. "I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, her heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his words. She searched his face for any sign of doubt or hesitation, but found only a raw, unguarded vulnerability that made her own eyes sting with fresh tears.

Quinn leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers as the water continued to beat down on them, steam rising in lazy tendrils around their bodies.

"I don’t want to be with anyone else, Y/N," he whispered, his lips brushing against hers with each word. "I'm sorry it took me so long to say it but I just want to be with you. I’m ready to make things work with us."

…

In the soft, ethereal light of dawn, Y/N stirred from her slumber, the gentle rustling of sheets accompanying her movements as she turned over in the bed. The comforter, a whisper of silk and down, slipped from her arms like a lover's caress as she sat up.

Beside her, Quinn's sleeping form lay still, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breath. At the sudden shift in weight, he groaned, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to emanate from deep within his chest.

His eyelids fluttered, fighting against the pull of consciousness, before finally blinking open to reveal eyes still hazy with the remnants of sleep.

Y/N couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, his features softened by the golden glow that filtered through the curtains. In that moment, she knew with a certainty that burned bright and fierce within her chest that there was nothing she wouldn't do for him.

If Quinn asked her to move mountains, she would find a way to reshape the very earth beneath their feet.

As if sensing her thoughts, Quinn's lips curled into a slow, lazy smile. A quiet laugh escaped him, the sound rough and honey-sweet in the stillness of the morning. "Stop staring at me," he mumbled, his voice thick with the remnants of sleep.

With a tender touch, he reached out to brush away the strands of hair that had fallen across Y/N's face, his fingers lingering on the soft skin of her cheek. The simple gesture held a world of meaning, a silent promise of the love and devotion that flowed between them like a river, deep and endless.

Y/N leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed as she savored the warmth of his skin against hers. In that moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist, the only reality the cocoon of their bed and the love that enveloped them like a second skin.

She thought of all the moments that had led them to this point, the trials and heartaches they had endured to find each other. But as she looked into Quinn's eyes, she saw a future stretching out before them, a path illuminated by the light of their love.

With a contented sigh, Y/N lay back down, her head coming to rest on Quinn's chest. She listened to the steady thrum of his heartbeat, the sound a soothing lullaby that seemed to whisper a secret language only they could understand.

Quinn's arms encircled her, holding her close as if he never wanted to let her go.

The morning light continued to dance across their skin, painting them in shades of gold and amber. Quinn's eyes sparkled with a sudden idea. "Hey," he said, his voice still slightly raspy from sleep, "why don't we do something fun today? Just the two of us."

Y/N propped herself up on her elbow, her curiosity piqued. "What did you have in mind?"

Quinn's brow furrowed in thought for a moment before his face lit up with excitement. "I know! We could go horseback riding. Or maybe I could teach you how to ice skate. There's nothing more romantic than gliding across the ice together, hand in hand."

Y/N's heart swelled at the thought, a giddy excitement bubbling up inside her. "I love both of those ideas," she said, a wide grin spreading across her face.

"Let's do it." they both climbed out of bed, Quinn headed to the bathroom to freshen up, Y/N padded into the kitchen, her bare feet cool against the tile floor.

She filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove, the soft click of the burner a comforting sound in the quiet of the morning. As she waited for the water to boil, she busied herself with preparing Quinn's favorite tea, measuring out the loose leaves with care and arranging his mug just the way he liked it.

Lost in her task, Y/N didn't hear Quinn enter the kitchen until she felt his arms wrap around her waist from behind. She leaned back into his embrace, a contented sigh escaping her lips as he pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

"You're too good to me," he murmured, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder as he watched her work.

Y/N turned in his arms, her hands sliding up his chest to loop around his neck. "You deserve nothing less," she said softly, her eyes shining with love and adoration.

As they stood there, swaying gently in the middle of the kitchen, Quinn's expression grew thoughtful. "You know," he said, his voice taking on a wistful tone, "growing up, it was always just me and my younger brothers, Jack and Luke. We were inseparable."

Y/N's heart warmed at the fondness in his voice, the love he clearly held for his siblings. "Tell me about them," she urged gently, her fingers playing with the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

Quinn's eyes took on a faraway look as he lost himself in memories. "Jack was always the mischievous one, always getting us into trouble with his crazy schemes. And Luke, he was the sensitive one, the peacemaker who always knew just what to say to make everything better."

Y/N listened intently, captivated by the snippets of Quinn's past, the pieces of himself he was entrusting to her. She could picture them in her mind's eye, three young boys with the same sparkling eyes and infectious grins, their laughter echoing through the halls of their childhood home.

But as Quinn continued to speak, his voice grew tinged with sadness. "I miss them," he admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I hardly get to see them anymore, except for a few weeks in the summer when we all manage to get together."

Y/N's heart ached for him, for the longing she heard in his voice. She cupped his face in her hands, gently tilting his chin up until his eyes met hers. "Hey," she said softly, her thumb brushing across his cheekbone, "why don't we plan a trip to visit them?”

Quinn's eyes widened in surprise, a hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Really? You'd want to do that?"

Y/N nodded, her own smile bright and earnest. "Of course I would. They're a part of you, Quinn, and I want to know every part of you."

With a sudden, desperate need to show her the depth of his feelings, Quinn surged forward, his hands cupping Y/N's face with a tenderness that belied the urgency of his movements.

His lips found hers, the contact electric and all-consuming, a kiss that seemed to hold within it all the words he had never been able to say.

Y/N melted into his embrace, her own hands coming up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as if she couldn't bear even the slightest distance between them. Their lips moved together in a dance of passion and devotion, each brush of skin against skin a silent promise of forever.

Quinn poured every ounce of his love into the kiss, his touch reverent and worshipful as he memorized the feel of her in his arms. He tried to convey with his actions what he couldn't find the words to express, the sheer magnitude of his feelings for her, the way she had become the very air he breathed.

Y/N responded in kind, her own love for him evident in the way she clung to him, her body molding perfectly to his as if they had been crafted from the same star-strewn clay.

She kissed him back with a fervor that stole the breath from his lungs, her lips parting in silent invitation as she welcomed him into the very heart of her.

Quinn lost himself in the taste of her, the scent of her skin, the soft sighs that escaped her lips as he trailed kisses along the column of her throat.

It was a kiss that spoke of forever, of two souls finally finding their way home to each other after a lifetime of searching.

When they finally broke apart, their chests heaving and their eyes glazed with the heady rush of desire, Quinn rested his forehead against Y/N's, his breath mingling with hers in the scant space between their lips.

The kettle began to whistle, the shrill sound breaking through the tender moment. Y/N turned back to the stove, pouring the boiling water over the tea leaves, and watching as the liquid bloomed with rich, earthy colors.

She handed Quinn his mug, the steam curling invitingly from its surface, and together they settled at the kitchen island.

…

The ice rink was a glittering expanse of white, the soft scrape of blades against the frozen surface mingling with the laughter and chatter of the other skaters.

Y/N clung to the side of the rink, her knuckles white as she gripped the railing, her legs wobbling unsteadily beneath her.

Quinn glided up beside her, his movements graceful and effortless, a stark contrast to Y/N's unsteady shuffling. He bit back a grin at the look of intense concentration on her face, the way her brow furrowed and her tongue poked out slightly as she focused on keeping her balance.

"Okay, now move your left foot towards me," he instructed, his voice gentle and encouraging.

Y/N shot him a skeptical look, her eyes narrowing as she caught the hint of amusement in his tone. "Easy for you to say, Mr. Hockey Star," she grumbled, her words laced with a playful sarcasm. "We can't all be born with blades attached to our feet."

Quinn let out a soft chuckle, the sound warm and rich in the crisp air of the rink. "Stop laughing at me, it isn't funny," Y/N whined, her bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Quinn said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I promise I'm not laughing at you. I just find your determination incredibly adorable."

Y/N's cheeks flushed pink at his words, a pleased smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite her best efforts to maintain her pretend annoyance. "Flattery will get you nowhere, mister," she said, wagging a finger at him.

Quinn grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, come on, you've got to admit this is fun. And just think, by the end of the day, you'll be skating circles around me."

Y/N snorted, the sound decidedly unladylike. "Yeah, right. The only circles I'll be making are the ones my butt leaves on the ice when I inevitably fall."

Quinn laughed outright at that, the force of his amusement causing him to wobble slightly on his skates. Y/N's eyes widened in alarm, her hand shooting out to grab his arm, steadying him even as she struggled to keep her own balance.

"Whoa there, hotshot," she said, her voice teasing. "Looks like I'm not the only one who needs a lesson or two."

Quinn's eyes softened, his gaze locked on the point where her hand rested on his arm. "Maybe you're right," he said, his voice low and filled with a sudden intensity.

"Maybe we should forget about the skating and find something else to do. Something that involves a little less clothing and a lot more body heat."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, her heart skipping a beat at the implication behind his words. She swallowed hard, her gaze darting to his lips before meeting his eyes once more. "I thought you'd never ask," she murmured, her voice husky with desire.

But just as Quinn leaned in, his intentions clear, Y/N's foot slipped on the ice, sending her sprawling backwards with a yelp of surprise. Quinn's arms shot out, catching her just before she hit the ground, his laughter ringing out across the rink as he pulled her close.

"Looks like we'll have to save that particular lesson for later," he said, his breath warm against her ear. "For now, let's focus on getting you comfortable on the ice."

Y/N groaned, her head falling forward to rest on his chest. "Fine," she said, her voice muffled by his jacket. "But you owe me a hot chocolate after this. And maybe a foot rub."

Quinn grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Anything for you, my love. Anything for you."

…

Y/N and Quinn glided around the rink, their hands intertwined and their laughter echoing off the ice, Y/N couldn't help but notice the attention Quinn was attracting from the other skaters. A group of girls, all long legs and perfect hair, kept skating by them, their eyes locked on Quinn's handsome face and athletic frame.

One of the girls, a blonde with a dazzling smile, broke away from the group and skated up beside them, her movements graceful and assured. "Hey there," she said, her voice low and flirtatious. "I couldn't help but notice your technique. You're really good on the ice."

Quinn smiled politely, but Y/N could see the discomfort in his eyes. "Thanks," he said, his voice neutral. "I play hockey, so I spend a lot of time on skates."

The girl's eyes widened, her interest clearly piqued. "Hockey, huh? That's so cool. I love a man who knows how to handle a stick."

Y/N's jaw clenched, her grip on Quinn's hand tightening involuntarily. She knew the girl was just flirting, but the blatant innuendo made her skin crawl.

Quinn, sensing Y/N's discomfort, gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Thanks, but I'm actually here with my girlfriend," he said, his voice firm but polite. "If you'll excuse us, we'd like to get back to our skate."

The girl's smile faltered, her gaze darting to Y/N as if noticing her for the first time. "Oh, of course," she said, her voice slightly strained. "Sorry to interrupt."

With that, she skated away, rejoining her group of friends who were still watching Quinn with undisguised interest. Y/N sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as they continued their circuit around the rink.

"I'm sorry about that," Quinn said, his voice low and apologetic. "Those girls are just puck bunnies. They're always hanging around the rink, trying to get the attention of the players."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Puck bunnies? Is that what you call them?"

Quinn chuckled, the sound warm and rich in the cool air of the rink. "Yeah, it's a hockey term. They're like groupies, but for hockey players instead of musicians."

Y/N shook her head, a rueful laugh escaping her lips. "Well, I guess I can't blame them. You are pretty irresistible, after all."

Quinn grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, is that so? And here I thought you were just with me for my skating lessons."

Y/N laughed outright at that, the sound bright and joyful in the crisp air. "Well, that's definitely a perk," she teased, bumping her hip against his. "But I guess your rugged good looks and charming personality don't hurt either."

Quinn's gaze softened, his hand coming up to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. "I'm the lucky one," he murmured, his voice low and sincere. "I get to be with the most beautiful, amazing woman in the world."

Y/N's heart swelled at his words, the sincerity in his gaze making her feel like the most cherished person in the world. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, the taste of him warm and familiar on her tongue.

…

Y/N pushed open the front door of her apartment, the warmth of the interior a welcome respite from the chill of the ice rink. She stepped inside, her cheeks flushed from the cold and the exertion of their skating adventure. Quinn followed close behind, his presence a solid, comforting warmth at her back.

As Quinn shut the door behind them, Y/N couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation run through her body. The air between them seemed to crackle with electricity, the tension that had been building all day finally reaching a boiling point.

She walked towards the bedroom, her steps slow and deliberate, acutely aware of Quinn's presence behind her. She could feel his gaze on her, the weight of his desire a tangible thing in the stillness of the apartment.

Just as she reached the threshold of the bedroom, Y/N turned to look at Quinn over her shoulder, a coy smile playing at the corners of her mouth. But the words died on her lips as she caught sight of his expression, the raw hunger in his eyes stealing the breath from her lungs.

In two quick strides, Quinn closed the distance between them, his hands coming up to cup her face as he claimed her mouth in a searing kiss. Y/N melted into his embrace, her own hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as she opened to him, welcoming the slide of his tongue against her own.

Her fingers danced below his stomach, softly caressing the skin before tugging his waistband forward. Her hand sneaks into his boxers finding his hard length, hot and dripping. She squeezed the base leaving Quinn to do nothing but groan.

Y/N gasped as Quinn's mouth found the sensitive spot just below her ear, his teeth grazing the delicate skin and sending shivers of pleasure racing down her spine.

She arched into him, her fingers pulling harder, holding him close to her body as he trailed a path of open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat.

When her hand came up to tangle in the curls of his hair, something snapped in him. Strong hands gripped her hips, tight enough to bruise the skin even through the fabric of her jeans.

They tumbled onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, the softness of the mattress a welcome contrast to the hardness of Quinn's body above her. Y/N's hands found the waistband of his jeans, her fingers fumbling with the button in her haste to feel his skin against her own.

Quinn groaned, his hips rocking against hers, the friction delicious and maddening all at once. "God, Y/N," he breathed, his voice rough with desire. "You have no idea how you drive me crazy."

Y/N smiled, a wicked gleam in her eye as she leaned up to capture his lips once more. "Then show me," she whispered.

And with a growl of need, Quinn pulled her smaller form below him, her knees on either side of his hips. Quinn left a trail of love bites down to the line of her pants where he struggled to get the tight jeans off her thighs.

The feeling of him moving against her and around her had her eyes fluttering closed. They moved together in a dance as old as time itself, their bodies perfectly in sync, their hearts beating as one. Quinn exhaled, leaning back to tug down his briefs.

Her core throbs when he wraps his long fingers around himself, the sigh of relief he lets out as he touches himself makes her squirm from her position under him.

Adjusting his weight, he rested lightly on her and heavily on the elbows that were now on either side of her head. He tucked his head into her neck as they he lined himself up, using one hand to push himself inside of her.

y/n gasps at the intrusion, the feeling of her nails digging into his back hard enough to draw blood.

In the afterglow, as they lay tangled together beneath the sheets, their skin slick with sweat and their chests heaving with the force of their release, Y/N couldn't help but marvel at the love she felt for the man in her arms.

Quinn was everything she had ever wanted, everything she had ever needed, and she knew that she would spend the rest of her life loving him with every fiber of her being.

As if sensing her thoughts, Quinn pulled her closer, his arms tightening around her waist as he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "I love you," he murmured, his voice soft and filled with wonder. "More than anything in this world."

Y/N smiled, her heart so full she thought it might burst. "I love you too," she whispered, her words a promise and a vow all at once. "Always and forever."

…

Y/N sat at her desk, staring at the email that had just arrived in her inbox. The subject line read "Job Offer - Senior Marketing Manager," and as she scanned the contents of the message, her heart began to race.

"What?" she whispered to herself. "They actually chose me?"

With trembling hands, Y/N clicked on the email, her eyes scanning the contents of the message. As she read through the details of the offer, her excitement grew, a smile spreading across her face. "holy fucking shit," she muttered, her mind already racing with the possibilities.

The prestigious marketing firm she had interviewed with weeks ago was offering her a position that perfectly aligned with her skills and a chance to leave her parents’ miserable company.

However, there was one significant caveat: the job was located in another city, far from her current life and the comfort of her family's business.

Y/N leaned back in her chair, her mind whirling with the implications of accepting the offer. She knew that taking this job would mean charting her own path, changing her relationship with Quinn.

She knew that he would be supportive and encouraging, but she couldn't help but feel a twinge of nervousness about how this change might impact their relationship. They had grown so close, and the idea of starting a new chapter in a different city without him by her side was daunting.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N resolved to discuss the offer with her parents before making any final decisions. She hoped that they would understand her desire for growth and independence, and that they would support her in this exciting new venture.

Y/N stood up from her desk and made her way to her father's office. She knocked on the door softly, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for his response.

"Come in," Derek's voice called out from behind the closed door.

Y/N entered the office, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she approached her father's desk. Derek looked up from his work, his brow furrowed in concern as he took in his daughter's serious expression.

"Dad, I need to talk to you about something important," Y/N began, her voice steady despite the nervousness that fluttered in her stomach. "I've been offered a job at a marketing firm in another city, and I'm considering accepting it."

As Y/N shared the news of the job offer with her father, Derek's expression shifted from one of mild concern to intense disappointment and anger. His brows furrowed, and his jaw clenched tightly as he processed the information.

"You can't be serious, Y/N," Derek said, his voice low and filled with disapproval. "After everything we've done for you, after all the time and resources we've invested in your career, you're just going to throw it all away?"

Y/N flinched at her father's harsh tone, but she stood her ground. "Dad, this isn't about being ungrateful. This is about my future, my dreams. I have the opportunity to build a career that truly fulfills me, and I can't just ignore that."

Derek scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Fulfills you? What about your commitment to this family, to our business? We've been grooming you to take over, to carry on our legacy. And now you're telling me you want to abandon all of that for some job in another city?"

Y/N could feel her frustration growing, but she tried to remain calm. "I'm not abandoning anything, Dad. I'm trying to create my own path, to find my own success. Why can't you understand that?"

Derek's face reddened, his anger boiling over. "Understand? What I understand is that you're being selfish and disloyal. You're not ready for a change like this, Y/N. You don't have what it takes to make it on your own. Mark my words, you'll come crawling back when things don't work out, begging for your old job back."

Tears stung Y/N's eyes at her father's belittling words, but she refused to let them fall. She had worked too hard and come too far to let his negativity tear her down.

"You're wrong, Dad," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I am ready for this, and I will make it work. I'm sorry if you can't see that, but I won't let your doubts hold me back."

Derek's eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward in his chair, his gaze intense and unyielding. "We'll see about that. In the meantime, I expect you to invite Quinn over for dinner on Sunday. And before you even think about arguing, know that this isn't a request. It's a demand."

Y/N's stomach churned at the thought of subjecting Quinn to her father's scrutiny and control, but she knew she had no choice. With a curt nod, she turned and left the office, her heart heavy with the weight of her father's disappointment and the challenges that lay ahead.

As she walked back to her own office, Y/N pulled out her phone and began to compose a text to Quinn.

…

Tag List <3

@jamieeboulos, @shawnshoney, @fearfam69691 , @njdkatie

@dancerbailey3, @alwaysclassyeagle, @snailss

162 notes · View notes

tragedybunny · 9 months

Note

hehehe~ perhaps a cute fic with reader and Astarion and he talks about all the parties he used to go to before he was turned- and he dances with you 😳

Anon - So this took on a life of it's own, it reminded me of some of my Tav's backstory, so I worked in some elements of it. I hope it's still good. 🥺

Rhythm Like a Heartbeat - Astarion x F!Reader

Astarion and Reader share a dance that reveals more than they planned.

Wyll was teaching Karlach to dance, of all things you'd seen on this journey, this was somehow amongst the most surprising. The Blade and the "Devil" he should've slayed, moving together along with the melody from an enchanted music box someone had picked up along the way. The two of them seemed to be growing closer, and you couldn't be happier for them. You took a long drink from a pilfered wine bottle while you watched, you were all blowing off a little steam, which was well needed. Digging around for Kethric's weakness was a daunting task and the clock inside of all of you was still ticking. "Not rethinking your choices I hope."

You'd been so lost in thought you hadn't heard Astarion come up behind you. Or he'd intentionally snuck up on you. When he wanted to go unheard or unseen, you usually didn't have a chance of not getting ambushed. Mostly he seemed to enjoy the little jump you made when surprised. Tonight you didn't disappoint, exuding a high-pitched noise along with jumping. "Astarion," you scold, "honestly! And no, of course not, just impressed by Wyll's form."

"Really," he scoffed, not hiding his jealous streak very well at all, "he looks like a gangly teenage boy at his first gala. Clearly, you haven't had much experience in the ballroom." Part of you wanted to laugh a little, the insult was obviously ridiculous, but you knew his jealousy came from fear that he barely held on to you and could still lose you. Maybe sometime you should use the tadpole to show him just how impossible that would be. If only the thought of it didn’t fill you with revulsion.

“I didn’t know you were such an expert, love,” you know he feels comfortable with the playful banter, and you hope it pulls him away from that place of insecurity.

A sharp laugh answers you, “I’ll have you know I had plenty of experience, both in life and unlife.” You shoot him a look, he rarely speaks of life before Cazador, you’re not even sure how much he remembers of it. “What? I had an important job, I knew important people. Or are you just trying to get me to teach you?” An outstretched arm beckons you to join him. For a second you freeze, knowing you’re risking exposing everything you’ve held back. But hells, if you say no, he’ll take it the wrong way entirely. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be a quick study.”

Taking his arm, you let him lead you a distance from the tent, glad Wyll and Karlach are still the center of attention, and gracefully dip your knee as he bows. Gently, one hand takes yours, the other held properly tucked behind his back. The rhythm is an easy one, but you let him take the lead. Soft steps, elaborate turns around one another, your eyes locked with his. Gods, his eyes are breathtaking when he’s looking at you, when his guard is down, soft and shining with light. Tonight, they seem full of mirth, but you’ve seen them overflowing with his sorrow and tears as well. They’ve distracted you and you forget, he’s supposed to be teaching you, your form is too good.

Step away, one spin, back to back, face each other, palms touching. Skin like ice presses against yours, heating up with the exertion and the emotions humming through your every nerve. One night he asked if it bothered you, lying next to the chill of the grave. You only hugged him tighter and told him not to be ridiculous because you couldn’t find the right words at the time to explain that it was part of who he was and you loved all of him, even the pieces that might not seem loveable. Thinking of it that way now though, you should tell him.

Another turn, facing away from one another again, a chance to catch your breath. It’s madness how he still affects you, even after you’d confessed to one another, you’re still swooning nervously. He’s right when he calls you “silly girl” teasingly. The finale, one more elaborate twirl, you’re no longer even thinking of the dance, muscle memory taking over. His hand catches yours and you step close to him, closer than the propriety of a noble’s dance floor would’ve ever allowed. Cheekily, he leans forward, stealing a quick kiss. “It would seem you have more talents than you’ve let on.”

“I…”, you really don’t want to lie to him. The silence stretches far too long. “It would seem so.”

“Hmm,” you feel him studying you, and you realize his eyes are guarded again, his posture rigid. “So tell me one thing,” you nod, terrified you’re about to shatter that fragile bond you’ve built. Lies by omission are still lies. “Which noble house are you a runaway from?” His voice is cold and hard, the Astarion you met on the beach that fateful day. How fast he can change wounds you, just like that, he’s ready to be done with you. But it’s your fault, you know how years of horror have left him with walls he’s too quick to bring up. “Or do you want to keep lying to me?”

You shake your head. “I wish I could say.”

“And here I thought we really had something, but clearly,” he gestures wildly, unable to contain his rising temper.

Stinging tears begin to prick your eyes. “No, no, I wish I could say,” you emphasize, praying he’ll understand.

Suddenly, he stills, hand coming to your cheek, eyes wide. “Is this a warlock thing?” A thumb brushes away the tear that escaped and you hear agonized regret in his voice. “Oh darling, I’m sorry, don’t cry.” Arms pull you into his chest. “Please, I didn’t realize, it’s fine.”

“I wanted to tell you,” you sniffle into his shirt.

“Hush love, you can tell me what you’re able to, when you’re ready. Although I must insist you consider us even for any prior deception of mine. Even ones you haven’t realized yet.” He laughs that awkward, nervous laugh that happens when he’s upset, but he’s trying so you let yourself giggle a bit. “There’s my girl. Now how about we dance again and no holding back? I need to know if I can actually keep up with you.”

The music box is still playing but you’re no longer aware of anyone else in the camp. There’s only the two of you, softly and slowly moving together. Gone are the thoughts of the elaborate courtly show, you move by instinct, bodies responding to one another as you press close together. Then you still, let yourself be wrapped in his arms, your lips brushing the hollow of his throat. “I can at least tell you that you’re the best dance partner I’ve ever had.”

“Never doubted it my sweet,” you feel him kiss the crown of your head before resting his cheek against it.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x f!reader #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #my fanfic

514 notes · View notes

illyrian-dreamer · 1 year

Note

Congratulations on 500 darling!!!!!!!! Can I please request 30 with azriel? Thank youuuuuuu 🤍🤍🤍🤍

Confessions at Starfall

Azriel x Reader one shot

Summary: It's the night of Starfall, and you're hopelessly in love with the Shadowsinger. When Azriel keeps flirting with Elain, you're pushed to your final limits.

HELLO AND WELCOME TO DAY 1 OF 5 FOR 500!

Thank you @cityofidek for requesting 30 - Unrequited love/pushing loved one away.

Warnings: None.

Words: 3,048

--------

It was the night of Starfall, and you were utterly miserable.

Sitting at the dining table with your family, the rest of the inner circle exchanged jokes and light-hearted conversations as plates of steaming roasts, vegetables and pies were passed around. While it was usually your favourite holiday – the night ahead promising dancing and celebration, you were feeling far from festive.

It had everything to do with the male you loved, who sat across from you now, dotting over Elain Archeron. His eyes rarely left her, and you would know, because yours rarely left him. You noted the way he sat, his body tilted slightly in her direction, his wings folded back to make provide her more space to move. To the untrained eye, it wouldn't look like much – but for Azriel this spoke volumes.

That was the kind of detail you had learned to read over the past year. It had been twelve excruciating months since you had realised your own feelings for the Shadowsinger. Gone was the comfortable friendship you two shared – instead it was quickly replaced with blushing, timidness and uncontrollable awkwardness, all thanks to you. And while you once held out hope that Azriel might notice, or even return your feelings, overtime your friendship had drifted – pushing him further into the arms of the middle Archeron sister.

Elain made you seethe with jealousy. It wasn’t her fault, she was nice really, all be it a bit simple. But she had a way about her, like a doe-eyed fawn their first steps. It made you uncontrollably angry the way people would line up to help her, especially the males. Not to mention her undeniable beauty. You knew she and Azriel made a very handsome couple.

So you sat here tonight, marking every bit of attention the Spymaster gave Elain, longing for him to look at you the way he did her. Jealousy didn't even begin to cover it.

“Y/N?”

You blinked, not realising Azriel was speaking to you even though you had stared off straight in his direction. You coughed, straightening in you seat. “Sorry, pardon?” Your heart beat at the thought he might have started a conversation with you.

“Can you pass the potatoes?”

Your heart dropped, and you tried to hide the disappointment on your face. Of course he wasn't interested in talking to you, he hadn't in weeks. Without replying, you passed over the dish, reaching straight for the white potatoes instead of the orange kind. Azriel didn't like how sweet they were, and you knew that. It was the kind of detail you remembered about someone when you’re hopelessly in love.

“Ooh, can I please have the sweet potatoes?” Elain chirped. “They’re my favourite.” Of course the sweetest female in all of Prythian liked yams the most. You had to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. You passed the dish over silently, and watched Azriel load up his plate with those too. It took everything you had to stop the scowl that twitched at your eyes.

You pushed your fork and knife to the centre of your plate, suddenly having lost your appetite.

————

The luminescent glow of the stars shooting above had been going for over an hour, and the party was in full swing. You breathed in, letting the magnificent sight lighten your heart the way they did the night sky.

Gathered on a large marble terrace of Rhys and Feyre’s river home, almost a hundred guests had come in fine gowns and suits to celebrate the event.

Wearing a dress of midnight blue that sparkled with night, you laughed lightheartedly as Cassian and Nesta joked with you, champagne in hand. The musicians at the base of the terrace reclaimed their seats, raising their instruments and beginning a new set of elegant melody.

“I hope you don’t mind Y/N, but I must show off my mates dancing,” he winked at you before offering his hand to Nesta. She smiled, placing a delicate hand atop of his, nodding to you before being lead to the dance floor.

Couples now twirled and stepped in unison, the sight almost as magical as the sky above. You felt a large presence slide beside you, and your heart fluttered as shadows caught the corner of your eye.

“Are you enjoying your night?” Azriel had finally come to spend some time with you.

“Of course,” you lied, smiling softly as you gulped the rest of your champaign, earning a slight raise of Azriel’s brow. “And yourself?”

Azriel nodded. “It’s as beautiful as always.”

“Yes, it is.” You couldn't help but stare straight into his hazel eyes, your heart lurching as your words hung with double meaning. Ask me to dance, you begged in your head. We dance every year on Starfall, c’mon, just ask me. If Azriel was paying any attention, he would have read your pleading gaze. But he wasn’t, of course, because his eyes fell beyond you, at the pretty Archeron who wore a gown of delicate blush.

You looked down, suddenly overwhelmed with insecurity as you smoothed the ripples in your dress. Of course he didn't like you – you looked like a witch of death compared to the femininity that blossomed from Elain.

“You look quite beautiful tonight.”

Your heart leaped. Your anger from earlier quickly vanished as you breathed in to thank Azriel, already blushing. But as you looked up, your heart immediately sank as you realised Azriel wasn't complimenting you at all, but rather Elain, who had made her way over.

It felt much like being punched in the gut.

Your mouth was dry as you silently watched Azriel offer her an arm, her petite hand slipping through as he guided her to the dance floor.

That felt much like being kicked in the gut while you were down.

You couldn't help the steady flow of tears that now stained your cheeks, or the broken crumple that formed on your face. Unable to withstand any more blows, you fled the party.

————

Slumped against the frame of a large window, your body shook with cries so hard they fell silent. You didn't care if it was the most special night of the year, you had never felt more abandoned, underserving and unloved.

You were crying too hard to hear the footsteps that trudged up to the lookout room you were hiding in, and you didn't hear the faint knock at the door. It wasn't until Cassian placed a gentle hand on your shoulder that you noticed his presence, his face soft with concern as he crouched next to you.

You blinked back at him, your vision completely blurred by your tears. You were broken and there was no hiding it.

“I love him, Cas,” you sobbed, your voice break halfway through as a cry shook through your body again.

“Oh, Y/N,” Cassian said softly, his voice full of understanding as he immediately embraced you. You flung yourself to him, wrapping your arms around his solid waist as he rocked and stroked your hair. You weren't surprised that Cassian knew, anyone could have noticed months of hopeless pining and one-sided puppy love.

You continued to cry, your voice muffle by the embrace. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing Y/N! There’s not a thing wrong with you.”

“Then why doesn't he love me?”

“Because he’s a damn fool.”

You sniffed against his chest, trying to regain yourself. “But he loves her.”

Cassian sighed, the strokes on your hair pausing for just a moment. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

“Of course he does. She’s perfect.” Jealousy was not a good colour on you, but you were unsuccessful at hiding the bite in your words.

Cassian drew back, levelling his eyes to yours. “I know it hurts right now doll, but I promise, any male that doesn't see you for the beautiful, intelligent and fiery bombshell you are, is an outright imbecile. Even if it is my own brother.”

You chuckled at that, shaking your head as you gently wiped the makeup your were sure had stained under your eyes. “Thank you Cass,” you whispered, reaching for his hands tightly. He stood now, leaning down to plant a kiss on your forehead.

“Will you come back to the party with me?”

You forced a fake smile, but shook your head. “I happiest up here. Thank you though Cass, I mean it.”

Cassian nodded, throwing a tight smile of sympathy before ducking out of the room.

You paced to the other side of the viewing room to the window facing the terrace below where celebrations continued. Dresses of all colours fanned against the marble of the terrace, the music flowing up to the height of the room. And the stars, Gods they were beautiful.

You saw Cassian rejoin Nesta, his arms snaking around her waist as they admired the view. Next to them were your High Lord and Lady, and beside them, a dress of pale blush. Your heart stung with envy at the site of Elain, and you narrowed your eyes as you scanned the crowd for Azriel.

“Y/N?”

You jumped, whirling on the spot to find Azriel sheepishly standing in the doorway.

You cleared your throat, quickly wiping under your eyes again. He had hurt you, broken you without even knowing it. You straightened your spine – the least you could do was have your pride.

“Are you ok? Cassian said you left the party.”

You nodded tightly, not trusting yourself to speak.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” The words flew out of your mouth too quickly.

Azriel frowned, stepping through the door towards you. You stiffened, drawing one step back. “Go back to the party Azriel,” you said tightly.

“Have you been crying?”

You scowled. How dare he note that detail when he was the one who caused it. “Don’t pretend to care,” you spat. Gone was the ache in your heart from moments ago. Seeing Azriel here now, it was quickly replaced with fiery hurt.

“What?” Azriels brow was now contort with confusion as he reached for you. You stepped back again, your arms folding over your chest.

“Why are you angry with me?”

“How can you ask that?”

“Is it because we’ve been distant lately?” So he did have some clue after all. You didn't answer, instead breaking from the intensity of his stare, your eyes focusing outside as glowing spirits that shot past the other side of the window.

“Listen, I know I haven't been around much, or maybe it’s that we haven't spent time together lately. But things have been difficult between us for a while now Y/N. I can't help but feel you’re pushing me away.”

A scoff escaped you before you could stop it. “I’m pushing you away?!”

“Yes!” He exclaimed, his hands outstretched. “For months now. You don't open up to me like you used to, every time I look at you, you look away, and you never suggest spending anytime together.”

You blinked at him, biting your lip as you tried to process what he had said. You hadn’t realised that in an attempt to burry your feelings for Azriel, you had actually pushed him away.

“Tell me, what have I done?” Azriel’s voice was pleading as he stepped closer.

“You haven't done anything,” your voice was barely a whisper, and you were unable to meet his eyes. You had stepped away so he could explore his feelings for Elain, that was your truth. But when was the last time he made an effort for you? “But you can't pretend like you’ve been trying either, Azriel.”

He sighed then, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re right, I’m sorry ok? I’ll make more of an effort from here on.”

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes again as you blinked quickly, casting your gaze sideways yet again. You couldn't tell him – it would ruin everything.

For once, Azriel caught on to how upset you were. “You’re still angry with me?”

“Gods, Az! I wish I was angry!”

The male blinked at you before frustration overtook. “Well perhaps you could stop talking in riddles, and actually tell me what’s wrong!” he gritted.

You let out a quick breath, shaking your hands as you blinked upwards, trying your best to stop the tears that welled. “I can’t,” you whispered. It would kill you to say it, and it would kill everything you two had.

Azriel’s gaze softened when he saw how tortured you were. Uncrossing his arms, he walked over, cupping the side of your face. “You can tell me anything, Y/N. Just tell me, what’s going on?”

His hazel eyes scanned your face, begging you to open up. But there was so much at stake here, and even if you confessed, you knew his heart lay with Elain.

You shook your head, moving out of his hold. “If you can’t see it for yourself Azriel, I don't know what to tell you.”

Azriel frowned. “You’re speaking in riddles again.”

You threw your hands up in defeat. “Perhaps I am,” you sighed, suddenly drained of any energy you had left. “Listen, I’m exhausted. Please Az, just enjoy the rest of your night, ok?”

“I’ll walk you to your room.”

“No,” you said too quickly. Guilt struck you at the twinge of hurt on Azriel’s face. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.” Your voice was tight, and you quickly turned your heel, leaving Azriel still and silent as he watched you leave.

These feelings – these stupid, foolish, unrequited feelings. They hurt you and everyone involved, and you hated yourself for it. It was obvious Azriel didn’t return your affection, so why did you have to drag him down and cause a scene? You needed to do better, needed to push your love for him down, burry it in the depths of your heart so it would no longer get in his way.

————

You were in your room for barely an hour before there was a forceful knock on your door. You jumped, pulling down the length of your silk night slip as you spoke out loud. “Who is it?”

You door flew open then, Azriel’s large frame filling the entrance as he stepped inside, his expression wild, with another emotion you couldn't quite place. His wings were outstretched, and you could tell he had winnowed here hurriedly as his chest heaved with quick breaths.

Shocked, your eyes darted over him in panic. “Azriel, what –?”

Azriel stalked towards you, closing the distance as he towered over you.

“You love me?”

You gawked, your eyes moving back and forth as you tried to connect the dots. “Who–?”

“You love me?”

Cassian. You gritted your teeth and your fists clenched. How could he share something so private?

“No! I mean, yes, I mean, I have feelings for–”

“You, love, me…” he repeated, slower this time. It was no longer a question.

Your body burned in shame – you needed air. Pushing the double doors to your private balcony open, you grasped the railing as you tried to breath deep. Azriel was right on your tail.

“Az, I’m sorry. I’ll get over you. I promise. These feelings, they’re— they’re only temporary, I swear. I—I’ll get over you–”

Azriel bought a single scarred finger to your lips, hushing you instantly. You swallowed, panic in your eyes as they darted between his hazel ones, trying to read his reaction. As per usual, Azriel’s face was unreadable, the only movement was the gold that swirled within them.

“How long have you loved me?” he asked, his voice cold as ice. You felt as if you were tied to a chair, under his interrogation.

“Twelve months,” you whispered against his finger, your cheeks stinging in shame.

Azriel raised his brows. “So for a whole year, you have loved me, without so much as a thought to share that information?”

Your frowned in confusion. “I had no plans on telling you, Azriel. I didn't want to get in your way. You and Elain–”

“What of Elain and I?”

You levelled a look at him now. “C’mon Az, its clear you have affections for her.”

“You have no idea how I feel.” There was a bite to his words, something you weren't used to from the Shadowsinger. “I am a friend to Elain, because her transition as fae has been difficult. I enjoy her company, that’s true. But I am there to support her as my High Lady’s sister, and a member of our family. If I am someone she can trust, someone she can open up to, I will be there to support her.”

You sighed. “I understand that Az, but–”

The finger returned to your lips, cutting you off. “That does not mean –” Azriel drawled, his voice low, almost dangerous. “– that I have affections for her.” He was dancing with your emotions, using them against you to teach you a lesson.

You blinked back at him, your heart fluttering with realisation before denial quickly took over. “You love her,” you whispered, more to yourself, refusing to believe the dynamics you had built in your head were an embellishment of your own idiocy.

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“I do not.” Azriel’s voice was a growl now.

He moved in closer, and your heart began to thunder. The finger against your lip fell to cup your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. Azriel’s eyes swirled with dominance, his expression almost predatory as shadows danced between you. He leaned in close, his fresh scent filling your nose as his lips were now mere inches from your own.

“I have affections for someone else,” he said huskily. “One might even say I love her, for many years now.”

It took all that you had not to gawk. Instead, you kept your eyes on his. “Don’t mock,” you replied, your voice a half gasp as you tried to control your breathing.

Azriel’s mouth pulled into a smirk. “I’m not mocking.”

You flicked your gaze to his lips, then back up to his eyes, your expression bewildered and completely uncool.

“Azriel–” was all you got out before he closed his lips over yours, his arms snaking around your waist as he dipped you back, kissing you as the stars continued to fall around you.

--------

AN: I just want to say another HUGE thank you to anyone who's been following along with my fics, you mean the world to me <3 I hope you liked this story, I would love to hear any feedback you have. Please take care, and comment if you'd like to join any of my tag lists ✨:)

Tag list:@kennedy-brooke @cosmic-whispers @jazmin2211 @psychobookaholic @fieldofdaisiies

1K notes · View notes

circeyoru · 3 months

Note

I just love all your unwanted soul content it's hilarious and cute I was wondering if you could do my request if you can

What would happen if reader gave this really cool radio to alastor in one of their dates and he accidentally leaves outside in the hotel lobby and someone breaks it

Go to MASTERLIST for the works. This ask is for {Unwanted Souls}.

Thank you for saying that! So happy to see you guys like my writing and story!! Happy to do the request, no worries! Just takes time~

A cute and maybe angsty moment then.

I'd say Reader/you designed the radio by yourself after long hours of research. You have actually taken apart radios before and summoned ones with your pages. But to actually gift one to Alastor, you won't and I mean will NOT settle for a summoned gift. Even though Alastor will take anything you gift him like it's a treasure from a lost century. You have a thing for giving the perfect gift and seeing the receiver's face light up like a Christmas tree. In Alastor's case, it's very very extreme affection, not that you're complaining, he makes you feel very reassured to be liked by someone you care for.

Alastor knows you put a lot of attention to the gifts and plans you make, so he takes extra care not to offend you. He did before and got your passive aggressiveness, passing it off as being 'moody' until you were like "Oh we don't need that since you think it's a waste of time!". He apologized quickly and right the wrong. Though sometimes it's just you wanting to cool down since Alastor made sense in his view.

The radio gift in question would be a mix of the two of your colours, with deer antlers at the top and feathers below. Both are symbols of you two. You added the voodoo symbols that would appear around Alastor to the surface of the radio too. How you got them was by observing Alastor very very closely when he got annoyed or angry or a bit bloodthirsty. Alastor treasures it so. He fainted when he first got it. Took him a while to regain consciousness and he nearly fainted again when you showed him it was channeled to his screaming broadcast.

Yeah... Him leaving it in the lobby was a big mistake. I imagine he was listening and staring at it while you were out or just didn't want him around (like maybe bathing?), so he got the next best thing. The precious gift you gave him, made by your delicate hands. How he left it unattented, uhhh, maybe Charlie asked for something or maybe there was another random attack on the hotel.

(it wouldn't be the hotel crew that breaks it cause it's obvious to them that was a big no no)

Either way, Alastor saw that the radio was broken.

Haha. Alastor's gonna be the big bad wolf. He destroys anything in sight while his giant hands cradle the broken radio that was his. Charlie and the others definitely tried to reassure him they'll help fix it. It'll be good as new!

Impossible! You took weeks learning about radios and months perfecting this! He saw glimpses of it, but gave you privacy so the built-up surprise was even better when you gift it to him. Now? Now it's BROKEN! HOW DARE!

When you came back and found Alastor in his raging mode, you were confused. Charlie immediately rushed over to you to ask for your help, you asked her to explain first since Alastor wouldn't be like that for no reason. Ahh, so someone broke the radio you gave him. Luckily, it was made by your hand, so nothing you can't fix.

You got over to Alastor and called out to him. You didn't even need to shout loud and his eyes snapped to you. He leaned down, his eyes showing you shame and sadness that no one else would be able to tell. You told him to show you the radio, he shakingly did, partly scared that you'd yell at him for not taking care of it.

But you knew how much attention he put into catering the gift after he got it. It was like a mother treating a newborn. So you got your pages ready and fixed it in a flash.

You hugged onto the renewed radio and smile, "Now why don't you blow off some steam, don't take too long."

And Alastor was off to deliver judgment.

#Circe's Nighty Writings #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #yandere alastor #yandere alastor x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel imagines #Unwanted Soul

172 notes · View notes

takes1 · 4 months

Note

Bakugou has a crush on popular!fem!Senpai!reader. I love the idea of him trying to keep up with his senpai (senpai has no idea about his feelings, of course). maybe a little angst and where senpai's male classmates know about his feelings but don't see him as a threat because they think it's just puppy love and don't take him seriously

i took it in a slightly different direction, but hope it still holds up. kept the themes the same at least! 1st year bakugou/3rd year reader, puppy love, that sort of thing. tried to honor the angsty part, too. hope this does the job!

warnings. heavy alcohol consumption, suggestive petting details. sfw / nsfw to follow in p.2 / some suggestive petting / afterparty/houseparty / shadowing / mentor!reader / 3rdyear!reader / 'unrequited' love / puppy love / bakugou being a lightweight / sweaty bakugou / 1.6k words 🤍 scenario series. i have so much bakugou, please go check all of those scenarios out! / there will be a part 2 to this! / bakugou headcanons more links. my ao3

*shadow week: when a student follows and observes a third-year for a short period of time, such as a day or a week, for training purposes

The afterparty was much more crowded than you realized; the usual rule against first-years had been reversed in the spirit of shadow week. Right on the coattails of that stiff internship mixer, it was a pretty fitting way to finish out the week.

With the addition of a more excitable crowd, the general vibe was intense, loud, and near dizzying. It wasn't really your style.

You opted for watching, nursing something strong. Dancing, screaming, and the like was better far away. You didn't have the energy tonight, but you needed to make sure your shadow got to see what something like this entailed so the tradition might live after your class graduates.

Of course, you lost him almost immediately. He was steaming, almost itching to get away from you as he had been all week. The randomization process of choosing Mentors and Shadows faired unfavorable to you, because you couldn't have asked for a more difficult person to train.

It was an hour in and you still sat in your spot, surrounded by your closer friends who shared the same temperament about tonight in particular. Some normally big personalities took it easy in the presence of the younger crowd.

Togata settled in next to you with a big sigh.

"What's cookin' good lookin'?"

Your snort turned into an actual laugh. That's how you knew you were feeling it.

"Nothing much," You glanced around the room, half-concerned about your Shadow, "You seen that Bakugou kid?"

Togata rolled his eyes with a smirk.

"Probably left as soon as he realized a 'rager' meant a good time."

You both shared a chuckle and went on to talk about anything else.

Bakugou did, in fact, have a different idea of what this afterparty was going to be like. But his inhibitions had melted away long ago when he, unknowingly, began to drink a loaded cup.

He had inadvertently pissed off the guy in charge of the cooler with his usual attitude, and got himself the nastiest-tasting diet coke imaginable.

Bakugou didn't know any better. He believed this was a new disgusting flavor the Coca-Cola company came out with on the tails of their coffee bullshit, so something reminiscent of cinnamon didn't set off any red flags.

Thanks to this drink, easier to get down by the minute, he did seem to be having a better time at the party than he thought he would.

For a while, after the buzz melted away his better judgement, he searched for you, but quickly became distracted when he found some of his peers dancing fervently to a karaoke song.

The sight of Sero, Kirishima, and Kaminari going crazy to a shitty, dated pop song made a rare grin spread over his face. It felt funny smiling, so he laughed and the unfamiliar sound from behind them caught their attention.

They all looked relieved to see him, somewhat amused, in on a joke he didn't quite understand.

Sero laughed after he greeted them and exchanged charged looks with Kaminari-

"Dude-haha, Bakugou-- what's up with you-?" Kaminari giggled under his hand.

Everyone was laughing, the music was so loud, and he felt good.

"I dunno!" He yelled and swung to grab Sero's shoulder.

The tallest of them flinched embarrassingly hard with a short, alarmed noise, but was met with droves of laughter from the rest of his friends. Bakugou was the loudest among them.

He had to catch his breath and leaned back with a hand on his neck. He raked his hands through his hair, a little dizzy, a little heavy, and somewhat confused, "Fuck! I feel so good!!"

His eyes were big as he finished his cup. Kirishima grabbed it from him after he was done and smelled it. He muttered something under his breath, but nobody saw.

"Yeeesss!! I fucking LOVE this song ohmygod," Bakugou belted, but hardly even loud compared to the booming bass behind him.

His well-muscled arms dropped, and he turned with vigor and pointed glee to the first person he saw.

It briefly occurred to him that something wasn't right. The way his perception grew fuzzy wasn't normal but he couldn't keep a worried thought for long enough to actually get worried.

You were leaning against the counter from your barstool. You looked mellowed- buzzed, and relaxed. Your crooked smile was partial to Togata, the big, burly blond consistently at your side. You shared a slow, intimate conversation that Bakugou very much wanted a part of.

"Hey!" He exclaimed, dodging a supportive hand from Kirishima, and stumbled towards the two highest ranking in the room.

He approached faster than he intended.

His hands landed to catch himself on your parted lower thighs, but he was heavier under the influence and leaned a little far forward. There were about ten of you swirling around the room.

Your stomach pooled with a warm, fast buzz that spread a blush from ear to ear.

Bakugou was coated in a thin layer of musky sweat, no doubt from the combination of his loaded drink and intense dancing.

He was panting softly, eyes lidded when he caught himself on you, his handsome, chiseled face tilted in a drunken daze. Your heart was beating between your legs as you looked each other up and down simultaneously.

Oooh, man.

You hardened up, just a little, and cocked your head to the side, "You feelin' alright, bud?"

Your hand raked through his sweaty, spiky hair, and his entire body shifted to that side. He hummed, smiling, and gripped your plush thighs harder. Fuck, you were warm, and strong; he wanted to fall asleep here.

A larger, scarred hand grabbed the first-year's shirt.

"I think he's had too much."

You looked up at Togata, radiating irritation with a face that didn't match. Your stomach twisted again and you shifted in your seat, which in turn shifted Bakugou.

As he moved to pull Bakugou off, you got another whiff of that sweet smell. That must've been from his Quirk, afterall.

Your head fell back with a sigh while he was beginning to be escorted away by a kind, although a little patronizing, Togata.

Bakugou popped him with a shout and you jumped up- thankfully most people were also screaming to the song, which helped to soften the blow of the tense scene playing out in front of you.

"You need to leave, kid," The older of the two asserted, despite the singe on his shoulder from where he was pushed.

The both looked frilled and ready to make a scene.

Bakugou squinted up at him.

Before he could spit out a horrible insult, or threat, or anything else bubbling beneath the surface, you placed your hand on his wavering shoulder and took up the space in his vision in front of Togata.

"Hey," You said gently, eyes dodging around his very clear signs of heavy drinking, "Hey--,"

"Hey," It sounded almost like a question coming out of his mouth.

Togata moved back. This was something out of his jurisdiction; you were technically in charge of the kid, anyway.

Knotted muscles loosened against your touch, heavy and uneven. He watched, focusing and then glazed again on your pretty bottom lip. It was quiet for a moment between you.

His infatuation; your concern.

"Have you been drinking?"

He shook his head, concern on his brow for a moment-- but it disappeared in a moment's notice. It almost didn't make sense; you tossed the idea that he didn't want to tell you, but then you made the realization of what had actually happened as he swayed, entranced under your gaze.

"Let's…" Your brow furrowed and you glanced around, "Let's get you back to your room."

You wore a distrustful, upturned expression at the sea of patrons. His redhead friend jogged by your side for a moment, about to ask where you were going, but instead of answering, you took the cup out of his hand and threw it in the trash on your way out.

Somebody thought it'd be funny to get some first-years shit-faced. Normally you'd agree about it humorous quality, but this was your shadow. Technically your responsibility for the week.

From the looks of it, he had never touched alcohol before.

It was a cool and breezy walk back to his dorm building. The quiet night gave you space to slow for a while, ask some questions.

"How are you feeling?"

He was out of breath just walking. His stammered for a moment but didn't notice. "Good…good-good, really great."

The anger he usually wore was practically a memory now. His small, permanent frown was the only reminder.

It took 6 minutes for what would've been a 3-minute walk. His hand missed the handle to open the door and you had to catch him, then twist to open it yourself. He didn't help you at all even though you suspected he had the capacity to.

"Alright," You strained, arms locked under his- he was incredibly dense, impossibly warm, and at the moment, very lazy. He melted into you at an awkward angle, breath dancing against the shell of your ear.

Getting him all the way up the stairs was going to take a million years.

249 notes · View notes