#it always makes me shake my head when mention is made of the resemblance | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

abouttofillhisshoes · 1 month

Note

Lena!! ❤️❤️❤️

I finally thought of a request for my fav MPIND Matty 🤭

Maybe something with girlie using a toy on him? Maybe a vibrator? Overstimulation perhaps?

-Sugar-coat-it <3 <3 <3

@sugar-coat-it This was supposed to just be a short blurb but i got way too carried away xx. hope u like it!!

Rush! - Matty Healy

A/N: This was so fun to write!! MPIND Matty lives in a special corner of my heart i think i might never stop writing for him. @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff tysm for being my (half decent) beta reader and making sure this isn't totally shit. Enjoy!! (edit: this is non-canon, so it doesnt have anything to do with the plot of MPIND or its sequel, Before you go)

wc: 9k

content warnings: filthy, semi public?, but also not really, overstimulation, teasing, begging, dom! reader, most of the time, matty is a cocky piece of shite but we love him, grinding, bondage, marking, use of sex toys, specifically a vibrator, what else hmmm, both of them are high, so dubcon?, still in their right mind though, wow the content warnings are long

Everything reeked of cigarette smoke and cheap liquor, hints of Jimmy Choo’s ‘illicit’ lingering in the air around Matty. You scrunched up your nose at the scent, Matty obviously having doused himself in it while you were in the bathroom, straightening your hair. Soft music played in the background, Matty using his turn on the Ipod to put on some ambient stuff George had made (yup, George was a music producer now for some reason? Quarter life crisis vibes.)

Adam was on his way, his little red Kia primed and ready for a good smoke sesh in some parking lot somewhere. It was nearly winter, which meant going outside was hardly an option considering neither you or Matty actually owned anything resembling warm clothing.

“I'm not letting you wear my coat again. Remember what happened last time?” he says when he sees your ‘finished’ outfit; a pair of jeans and a sage green long sleeve top, adorned with white and beige rhinestones. How dare he even mention that day, the state you entered the house was completely his fault.

“That only happened because you booked it down the fucking street and left me there!” It was true. The two of you had been sharing his massive coat, both of your bodies easily fitting into it, up until he decided the last four blocks home were to be a sprint, and took his jacket with him.

“Touché.” he grins as you shake your head at him. Fuck him, honestly. You tell him as much, his only reaction being a simple shrug of his shoulders, and his attention was back on his reflection in the mirror, carefully applying glittery purple liner to his eyelids, giving him a sort of emo-fairy look. Ross’d take the piss out of both of you, all dressed up to go smoke in a car on a wednesday evening, but you knew Matty already had some sort of comeback prepared, about how at least he groomed himself, and wasn't desperate to be a ‘proper’ lad (cue Ross chucking the nearest object he could pick up in Matty’s direction).

Impatient as ever, you sigh loudly, trying to get Matty to stop hogging the shared vanity. You could always just go back into the bathroom, but his lightbulb was truly shit, and besides, most of the stuff he was using was yours anyway.

Finally, you give up on trying to keep the piece, and promptly shove him off the chair

“Stop doing yourself up and move-” he doesn't budge, hanging on to the edge of the desk for dear life, refusing to let you finish getting ready.

“Violence is never the answer- Fuck off, christs sake, fine!” he whines like a child, getting up and throwing himself on the bed, and you cringe as it creaks loudly beneath him.

“You love it when I hurt you, shut up.” you tease, watching the look in his eye dramatically change. “Not like this!” he shoots back, flipping you off before grabbing his Ipod, switching to something more punk, heavy drums and guitar filling the space.

“Touché.” you repeat his own words back to him, and he rolls his eyes, sitting up. Taking the same brush, also using the same color, you frame your eyes with purple eyeshadow, trying your hand at a smokey eye. The two of you were matching more often than not, with Hann’s comments on it slowly getting on your nerves

“You both look the fucking same, its like you’re clones.” he’d overexaggerate, just to get a reaction out of a easily riled up Matty.

“D’you reckon Ross’ll have the good stuff this time? I can't deal with Hann’s bickering otherwise.”

You shrug your shoulders, looking at Matty from the corner of your eye. Maybe Adam’s comment rang somewhat true, seeing as Matty was wearing the exact same color scheme you were. Green Jersey top, definitely stolen from George, paired with blue, seventies style jeans, white and red trainers peeking out from beneath the too-long pants.

“I dunno, but we could go to the shop if it's shit, maybe get some wine?” you suggest. It was always 50/50 with Ross, and bad weed always fucked Matty off to no end, making him unbearable. Almost finished, you look around for your mascara, hands rifling through the piles of makeup littering the desk.

“Where’ve you put the mascara?” you ask, slowly getting annoyed.

“Left.” he answered curtly, engrossed in the newest edition of vogue. Sure enough there it was, bots of product caked around the cap. Coating your eyelashes with it, you hear Matty stand up and walk over to you. Setting spray topped off your look, and you run your fingers through your hair, smoothing it out.

Matty isn't particularly strong, but then again, neither are you, so the strong hand around your wrist was useless to fight against, and you let him pull you up. Face to face with Matty, you quirk an eyebrow at him. What was he playing at?

“You look absolutely gorgeous, darling.” you blush at the compliment, quietly telling him to fuck off, smiling as you see him grin at you. His brown eyes rake over your body, giving you a slow once-over, savoring the sight in front of him.

“Stop looking at me like that-” he cuts you off with a tug of your hair, smashing his lips against you. Surprised, it takes you a solid few seconds to properly kiss him back, utterly overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the kiss. His tongue immediately shoved past your lips, licking into your lips with fervor, drinking in every small gasp for air.

“Taste like sugar as well, so sweet.” He pulls you back in, deliberately not giving you an opportunity to answer. You feel his hands wander, trailing down your back and under your shirt, caressing your bare torso. His fingers toy at the band of your bra, teasing the clasps. Refusing to let you go, he presses your body flush against his, and you can sense every inch of him on your skin, like electricity, the smell of him travels up your spine, intoxicating.

The buzz of your phone snaps you back into reality. The guys, your plans. It takes every ounce of self control in your body to press your hand to his chest, effectively separating the two of you. Matty looks at you with a hurt expression, hands quick to cup your face, desperate to taste you again. Shaking your head, your voice is slightly as you tell him that the others are already outside.

“I haven't seen George in like three weeks. You're not the only person in the world, you know.” George was up to his eyeballs in Uni coursework (yes, Uni), and hasn't been able to hang out since forever, making you really miss him.

“I could make you feel like i'm the only person in the world, have all your attention on me.” he says with a wink, tracing your collarbones over your shirt. Matty was a hard person to say no to, with the way he peered down from above you, eyes wide, silently begging you to just stay.

“No.” you say firmly, grabbing your bag from the chair you were previously sitting on and slinging it over your shoulder. Instinctively, Matty takes it from you, holding it out of reach.

“Can't have you carrying your own bags, what would people think?” he teases, pushing past you and out the door, his footsteps heavy on the carpeted stairs. You follow him, heartbeat finally starting to slow. Already at the front door, Matty waits for you to tug your boots on, leaning against the coat rack as you did.

“What the fuck was that about, anyway?” The way he kissed you was passionate, hot, and definitely not something you just do on a whim. He tries to play innocent, raising his eyebrows and shrugging his shoulders.

“Nothing, just wanted a peck.” he answered, running his fingers through his slightly damp hair, still not fully dry from the shower he had taken a few hours prior. You scoff, looking at him in a ‘are you serious?’ type way.

“You fucking jumped on me, don’t be a such a dickhead.” you feel around for your cigarettes and light, smiling fondly as you realize it's the one Matty had gifted to you. “What was your end goal? You know we’re about to meet with the others!”

“I’m sorry for kissing my girl, jesus,” he exhales sharply, hand reaching for the doorknob, a loud honk sounding from the other side. Swinging the door open, Hann looks truly fucked off as the two of you walk down the driveway and climb into the car. Now usually, you would sit in the middle, between George and Matty, letting you comfortably lean forward to talk to Ross and Adam in the front, but it seems as though Matty had other plans.

Shoving past you, he settled into the middle seat, setting your bag on the floor next to your leather clad feet. George looks over, slightly confused at the new seating arrangement, but accepts it, going back to rolling the first spliff. The car starts, sputtering before actually turning on, Hann letting out a sigh of relief. There had been multiple occasions where his ‘precious baby’, as he called her, refused to start, leaving all of you stranded until Ross somehow managed to find the problem and fix it.

“See, this is what I mean,” Hann gestures to you and Matty, facing primarily Ross “They look like fucking clones of each other, its weird.” Matty reaches past the headrest and tries to smack him, causing the car to sway slightly as his hands leave the steering wheel.

“I’m trying to drive, fucks sake.” Hann mutters, pissed off now that Matty had almost made him crash the car. You set a firm hand on the dark haired boy's shoulder, lightly pulling him back into his seat. His legs are firmly pressed up against you now, and you feel a familiar tingling sensation blossom under your skin.

“Try to go steady, ‘m almost done.” George has this legendary talent of being able to roll the perfect spliff in even the most impractical situations, making him a god in Hann’s eyes. The car slows down slightly, and you see George lick the spliff closed, admiring his work. Matty immediately snatches it out of his hands, grinning from ear to ear as he sniffs at it, the smell filling his senses.

“God, you’re so fucking weird, mate.” Ross grimaces as he eyes Matty, watching him try to evenly light the spliff, failing miserably. Both you and Ross couldn't stand the earthy, stuffy smell of weed, constantly begging Hann to roll down the windows whenever someone decided to smoke in the car. Matty, however, had some sort of hash-fetish, and absolutely loved the smell of it, hotboxes being his favorite activity ever. He thought it heightened the experience, which was a load of shite, but he believed in nonetheless.

You were almost there, the Mcdonald’s parking lot being your end destination. Taking the scenic route, the five of you passed the spliff around, partially skipping Adam so as to not get him completely off his tits while he was driving. Matty agreed to rolling down the windows, seeing how nauseous Ross looked, with you not being far behind. Wind raked through your hair as you leaned your head onto the edge of the car.

Feeling at ease, peaceful and very, very high, you don't even notice Matty’s hand trailing up your thigh. He was just like that, touchy and overly affectionate with everyone, not just you, though, the type of affection did differ slightly. Scratching your skin lightly, you feel his fingers claw at the thin material of your jeans, grabbing hold of your panties through them. Your eyes snap up to meet his, and he pulls suddenly, letting go of the elastic. It hits your skin with a muffled smack, and you jump, noticing Ross’ eyes on you, peering over his shoulder.

Slightly disoriented, you don't even register Matty wrapping his fingers around the base of your neck, pulling you in for a hot, definitely too passionate kiss. Yelping in surprise, you sigh, almost inaudibly, into the kiss, letting him take control for a few seconds. George groans as he spots the two of you, dramatically shielding his eyes.

Realsing where you actually were, you pull away, shooting Matty a look that can only be described as ‘what the actual fuck was that?’. His skin is flushed, matching the color of his droopy eyes. Hann doesn't seem to have noticed Matty’s little PDA stunt in the back seat, blissfully unaware of the reason Ross was grimacing right now.

“I'd rather not see you snog, thanks.” Ross spits out, making a fake gagging motion as his eyes meet George’s, equally as unsettled as he was. Adam hadn’t seen the two of you, but the mental image was enough to make him join the other two in their disgust.

“What, you jealous mate? You can ask to join, it's no problem.” Ross laughs sarcastically, taking the spliff out of George's hands, taking a deep drag. He could sense Matty wasn't finished yet.

“You’d have to shave first, can't have you shedding all over my girl.” You still weren't used to him actually calling you that. It felt off, especially with your three other best mates staring at the two of you, silently wishing Matty would just shut the fuck up, for once. He was killing the soft, chilled out atmosphere with his incessant loud babbling, making George roll his eyes until you were sure they were going to get stuck there.

Ignoring the various groans of protest, he pulls you back in, basically climbing on top of you now. You giggle, partially because of the distinct floaty feeling clouding your mind, and partially because of Matty’s complete lack of shame, making him snog your face off just to rile up his mates, not really knowing how much it affected you. You pretend to be annoyed, shoving him off of you, wiping your mouth to really drive home the point.

“For the love of god, Matty, stop humping her, she's probably sick of you by now.” Hann says, making sympathetic eye contact with you in the mirror. He knew how you felt about the kissing in front of the rest of the group, not wanting to alienate them from you and Matty’s dynamic. The whole thing was a complicated mess.

His hand is still on your thigh as you squirm around a bit, you manage to gather your thoughts and speak for yourself.

“I quite am, fuck off, Matthew.” he tenses.

Now, to anyone else, you sound completely normal, if maybe a bit fucked off. Purposefully putting distance between you two, Ross reaches back and hands you the almost done spliff, and you inhale lightly, finishing it off. Matty is uncharacteristically quiet and you know he can feel your eyes on him. A warning.

He was prone to acting out like this, loud and obnoxious, almost bratty. To Ross, George, and Hann, this was normal, his fits a cry for attention, wanting all eyes on him, but to you, it meant so much more.

Stubbing out the joint, you throw it out the window, dangling your arm down the side of the car. George was calm, collected, and seemed to be enjoying life as Adam finally parked in your usual spot, turning the car off. Spreading your legs out more, you bump your thigh against Matty’s, making him twitch slightly, a soft smile spreading onto your face.

“Matty.” you say, his eyes darting up to meet yours.

“Mhm?” nudging him, you lift both your legs up and onto his lap, draping yourself over him. George is a bit startled, but guides you over his lap as well, letting your feet settle against the other side of the car, pressed up against the door.

“Fag?” George asks, holding out a pack of cigarettes in your direction. You happily take one, and so does Matty. Placing it between your lips, you watch George as he hands Matty his lighter after he lights his. His fingers fumble a bit, before finally flicking it on and inhaling the smoke, letting the nicotine mix with the weed, his face nothing but blissed out. It reminded you of what he looked like when he-

“Here.” he mumbles, holding the lighter in front of your face.

“Do it for me?” you ask sweetly, leaning your elbows against the back of your seat and the headrest of Hann’s, making yourself comfortable. His breath hitches as you shift, the bottom of your thigh pressing against his crotch. Two can play at that game.

The flame paints his face in an orange hue, and you feel the world close on around you. The way his delicate hand holds up the light to your cigarette makes your head spin, and not just from the weed. You feel George shift beneath you on the other side of the car, rifling through his pockets, pulling out a small baggie and rolling papers, getting to work rolling another spliff.

Hanns voice rings dully in your ears, asking George to hurry up a bit, saying he was nowhere near the level of high he wanted to be at right now.

“Let me do it, stop nagging.” George's movements are slower, his motor skills definitely more than just slightly inhibited.

“Good?” Matty asks, your attention turning back to him. His eyes are glazed over, red and half closed, and his hair falls over his face, indicating he’s long overdue for another haircut. Mattys hands settle on your knees, rubbing small circles over the bone, warmth blooming underneath your skin wherever he touches. You refused to let it show, opting to lean your head further out the window, admiring the stars glimmering above you, the cold of the night biting at your cheeks.

Matty can tell you’re cold by the way you shiver slightly, and he feels a bit bad, even if he did tell you to bring some sort of extra layer.

“I’m fucking freezing.” you state to the car, Ross turning around to face you, lowering his seat back a bit despite Georges protests.

“There's a blanket in the back, I think.” Hann nods in agreement, confirming his statement. Knowing you wouldn't be able to reach, Matty blindly feels around for it, fingers meeting a slightly scratchy, but still soft, knitted blanket.

Draping it over you, his hands linger on your waist, goosebumps forming on your skin as his nails graze your tattoo.

George is finally finished with the spliff, and hands it to Hann so he can light it. He greedily inhales, letting the feeling overtake him. A soft groan leaves his lips and you see the back of his head slouch against the headrest, lolling off to the side.

“This is some good shit, no wonder Matty’s so quiet.” Hann mumbles, half to himself.

“Told you, my guy’s the real deal.” Ross says with pride, like he’d grown it himself or something. Putting his feet up on the dashboard, he leans back, head craning to talk to Hann. Their conversation is quiet, meaningless, with Ross going on about his stupid bass instruments and chatting pure shit to a half dozed-off Adam.

George is in his own world, gazing out the window and off into the distance. He was tired, you can tell by the way the rings under his eyes were dark and prominent, evidence that he hadn't been sleeping much these days. Uni was truly kicking him in the arse.

A loud sigh from Matty makes you snap out of your thoughts, flexing your toes a bit, trying to stretch without bothering George too much. You feel a tap on your leg, telling you it's fine, and that you can move freely. George smiles at you from across the back seat, stoned out of his mind and looking like he was ready to pass out in the next five seconds.

“Y’alright?” you ask Matty, who keeps shifting around beneath you. One particular movement makes your legs spread, his big palms gripping the side of your left thigh, kneading the flesh.

His eyes flash up to yours, and the look he gives you is fucking delicious. Lips slightly parted, wet and swollen from his teeth gnawing at them for the past half hour, the sight makes your thighs clench, a cough escaping your lips.

The spliff makes its way to you, and you take a drag, your lips wrapping around it as you make direct eye contact with Matty. Your lipgloss rubs off on the filter, and you hand it to him with a smirk.

“I’m fucking knackered, I need to sleep.” George's deep voice cuts through the silence, and Hann nods in agreement.

“We’ve been here like an hour! We never hang out, let's stay for a bit.” Ross protests, sitting properly and trying to face everyone at the same time.

“Yeah, let's.” you side with him. Matty’s eyes widen at your statement, and he goes to speak. A sharp look makes him rethink his actions, and he slumps backwards into the leather, pouting at you. You grin at him playfully, seeing him start to do the same, before pressing your leg down, right onto his crotch. Underneath the blanket, not one could see what you were doing, giving you the perfect opportunity to fuck with Matty

“Fine, but I'm driving home in 20, whoever doesn't want to walk is coming with.” The tinge of annoyance in Hann’s voice is painfully obvious.

Time passes at a snail's pace as you continue your movements, thigh pressing down onto his steadily hardening cock ever so slightly, not wanting George to figure you out.

“D’you reckon Britney’s a good shag?” Ross asks, and you realize he’s holding a magazine, Britney Spears plastered onto the cover.

“Mate, maybe you shouldn’t-” George starts, but another voice cuts him off.

“Probably, I mean, just look at her.” it's Matty speaking, you realize.

His voice is drawn out and deep as he holds out his hand, silently requesting Ross to give him the paper. He’s taunting you, and fuck, is it getting to you. The way his eyes scan over the cover makes your blood boil, and you stare him down, warning him to stop.

“She’s fit.” He says, refusing to look at you as he takes a drag from the spliff, passing it on. His eyes finally dart over to yours, reading you like an open book. You were jealous, and he knew it. It was his goal, after all, to rile you up enough so you knew how he’d been feeling since that moment in your room.

“Hey Hann? I'm feeling a bit shit.” you lie through your teeth “Can we go?”. Ross tries to stop him, but with the vote being 4-1, he groans as the car sputters on, and Hann backs out of the lot.

You go to sit normally, putting as much distance between you and Matty as physically possible, not even looking in his general direction. Not really speaking to anyone, you listen to the soft sound of the radio, the music distracting you a bit. Matty’s eyes are glued to you, watching your every reaction, you can feel it. He silently begs you to stop being mean, ignoring him like this. You almost cave. Almost.

The drive feels longer than it actually is, George being dropped off at his house first. He waves goodbye through the window, which is the only reason you turned to the other side. Eyes avoiding the boy next to you, you blow George a kiss goodbye, hoping he gets some actual sleep tonight.

You and Matty were now both facing forward, chatting to Ross.

“Must be great, having an whole fucking house to yourself.” Ross grunts out, clearly still fucked off that you decided to leave so ‘early’.

“It is,” Matty answers, telling him how nice it was to live without his parents and with you, even if neither of you had the ability to prepare an edible meal, or clean the house every once in a while. You chuckle as his words, painfully true as you think back on the state you’d left your room in, clothes and books and various items strewn about the place.

Matty turns to you, your small giggles at his story making him think he was off the hook. You shoot him a look, and he immediately retreats, knowing it wouldn't be that easy. Not that he didn’t like a challenge, especially from you.

“Alright, you two.” Hann breathes as the car comes to a halt in front of the house. The soft rumble of the engine was deafening as you opened the door, climbing out of the vehicle. Matty followed quickly, almost banging his head against the roof, narrowly avoiding a small concussion. You tapped on the window, waving goodbye to both men in the car. Flashing a smile, you turn to Matty, grabbing his hand and leading him up the steps.

Inside the car, the conversation quickly shifted.

“What's going on with them? They’ve hardly spoken since he stopped trying to jump her bones in front of us.” Ross just shrugs, mind spinning different scenarios of what could've gone down.

“D’you think they’re fighting?” Hann nods, noting that you did look a bit pissed off towards the end.

“I dunno, it's weird though.. them being a thing.” Ross hums in agreement.

“Just leave them be, they’ll sort it out.”

The click of the door unlocking was as loud as a jet engine, and you push it open with your shoulder, Matty trailing closely behind you. You take your time, taking off your shoes, setting your bag down onto the floor next to the coat rack. He fidgets on the spot, not quite sure what to do next.

Without warning, you spin around, shoving him backwards into the door, both your hands on his shoulders. The tension is thick, his heavy breaths loud and desperate for you to fucking do something.

A beat passes between you before he finally speaks, stuttering over his words.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t h-have fucked you off, not infront of everyone.” you raise your eyebrows at him, a condescending smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“So you knew what you were doing then, trying to rile me up like that?” He nods, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows. He mutters out another “‘m sorry”, like it was going to save him at all.

Your hands trace his collarbones, just like he had not three hours prior, and you see his breath hitch when you dig your nails into his skin, leaving behind red indents.

“You wanna kiss me?” you ask, tucking his hair behind his ear sweetly, letting your fingers run over his jaw.

“Yes.” he gasps, your chest now fully pressed up against his, your bodies now flush. Mattys eyes are filled with desperation, lust, thoughts clouding his mind and the sight of you wasn't helping him think clearly.

“How badly do you want to kiss me?” he tries to speak, but you shush him. “How much do you want to touch me?”

A guttural groan leaves his lips, and his hands find your back, grabbing onto your waist for support. You look at him expectantly, tapping his face to get his attention back on you.

“Please, I'm sorry, just– fuckk, please darling.” His voice is small, soft, filled with want and desire. He pulls you in closer, and you feel him, fully hard, pressed up against your upper thigh. Your hand travels lower, pushing his shirt up as you go down, fingertips ghosting over his bulge, leaking and painfully hard.

“This all for me?” Matty looks like he’s going to combust, but still, he manages to force out a small, choked ‘yes’.

“You think you deserve it?” He freezes as you squeeze him through his jeans, feeling him twitch in your hand. A desperate whimper rips itself from his lips, and he buries his head in the crook of your neck, breathing shallowly.

“I’m sorry, just– please. I’ll do anything, just fucking touch me please, please, oh god–”

You mouth at the spot where his neck meets his jaw, sucking an aggressive hickey into the skin, simultaneously stroking him over his clothes. Trying to seem unaffected, you pull away from his cock, placing that hand over his chest, hearing him whine at the loss of contact.

“Upstairs. Wait for me.” Those four words manage to leave him absolutely breathless as he scrambles to tug his shoes off, throwing them into the corner. One last look is directed at you over his shoulder as he walks up the steps, almost tripping. Catching himself on the bannister, he disappears from view.

You use the moment to take several deep breaths, steading yourself. Matty might be the more expressive one, but he had this effect on you, even if he didn't know the full extent of it. Every reaction you elicited from him made your knees weak, your façade of control slipping slightly. Running your fingers through your hair, you glance at yourself in the hallway mirror, making sure you look good. Good enough to send Matty fucking spiraling.

The house is silent, apart from the odd creak of the floorboards underneath your feet. The door to your room crashes against the wall and you push it open, eyes immediately finding Matty.

Jesus christ.

Sprawled out on top of crumpled sheets, Matty’s eyes rake over your body, his cock visibly twitching in his pants at the sight of you. He had already taken off his shirt, the material bunched up next to him. The atmosphere in the room is heavy, thick with lust and desire and want and every other adjective that could be used to describe the fucking wet dream of a man currently sitting on your bed.

His hands trail up his chest, toying with his nipples as he bites his lip at you, a wild look in his eyes. Your feet take you to the foot of the bed, kneeling down onto it, not quite sure where to look. His skin is flushed a deep shade of red, the blush spreading from his face down his chest, which was rapidly moving up and down as you reached out to touch him.

“How do you feel?” your voice shakes, and you know he can tell. Does it actually matter to you at the moment? Absolutely not.

An indecipherable sigh leaves Mattys lips as he looks at you, curls sticking to his forehead and his cock rock hard against the fabric of his jeans.

“I feel–” he starts, words getting caught in his throat as you trace the inseam of his pants. You still, motioning for him to continue.

“I feel so good, please touch me, I need you so bad. So gorgeous like this, love you so much– jesus.”

You listen to his rambles as his eyes screw shut, everything being far too much for him. It's delicious, the way he squirms under even the slightest touch, involuntary noises spilling from his lips.

He trusted you, and you knew that well enough. Your entire relationship was built on a foundation of trust, a promise that you would never, ever, harm each other. Your hand reaches up to clasp his, squeezing gently. He smiles softly, wiping away the beads of sweat that had collected themselves on his forehead.

Your eyes glance over to the nightstand next to the bed, the wooden exterior a stark contrast to the otherwise black furniture of the room. The bed creaks as you get up, slowly pulling the drawer open. Matty watches you move, fluid and sure, as you take out a vibrator, you hear a small gasp escape him.

“You want me, Matthew? Want to be good for me?” you grin at him, throwing one of your legs over his lap, settling right below his hips. The way his cock is straining against the zipper of his jeans couldn't be comfortable in the slightest, but you let him suffer longer, relishing in the way he whined whenever you shifted on top of him, just like he did in the car.

“Will you let me use this on you?” That question is the final nail in the coffin, an animalistic groan ripping itself from the depths of Mattys throat as you palm him through his pants, beads of precum painting the front.

“Please,” his voice cracks slightly, eyes silently begging for some sort of relief.

“You know, you really shouldn’t have pulled that little stunt.” you speak, voice dripping with honey as you unbuckle his belt, the clanking metal making your heart speed up. Unable to speak, Mattys hands go to settle on your waist, gripping the fat of your hips.

“No.”

“W-what?”

His chest heaves as you grab hold of his wrists, pinning them up above his head. The belt he wore with his pants, while usually completely unnecessary, suddenly proved quite useful. Your hands fumble a bit as you bring the leather up, binding his hands to the metal bed frame. The arousal plastered on his face was impossible to hide as he gives the belt a tug, sucking in a deep breath of air when he realized what you’d just done.

“You’re so fucking– holy shit, you’re perfect.” his praises go straight to your core, and you grind down onto his thigh, feeling around for the vibrator that you’d placed somewhere next to you.

Towering over him, you observe.

It feels like you're daydreaming, the man in front of you just a figment of your dirty, vivid imagination. His skin glistened with sweat, and your eyes flicker down to the bulge in his black calvins. If there was a heaven, you’ve definitely reached it.

Running your fingers up and down the vibrator, you grin at him, watching his thoughts run wild, every possible fantasy playing out right in front of his eyes. Clicking the toy on, you rake your nails over his chest, the loud vibrations filling the room.

You had never done this before, but the utter look of devotion Matty gave you proved that he trusted you completely to do whatever you wanted to him. He follows your movements closely as you press the toy to the underside of his cock. Immediately, you see his eyes clamp shut, his hands instinctively pulling and fighting against the restraints.

“You like that, baby? Feel good?” you coo at him, taking in every single twitch of his body, savoring it. He frantically nods his head as you move his boxers, letting his cock slap up against his stomach. The feeling of the vibrator straight onto his weeping erection felt like pure heaven, desperate moans spilling from his lips, unable to control his own actions.

“F-feels so good, it’s so good, a-ah, fuck me–” he whimpers as you up the speed, your free hand cupping his face, smudging his eye makeup. Blissed out and shaking, Matty tries to hold off as long as possible, desperately wanting to be good for you.

“I can’t– I'm so close, please, let me cum.” his eyes search your expression, begging for permission. Pleasure trickles up your own spine as a sudden movement of Matty’s thigh beneath you makes you grind against him again, a soft moan leaving your parted lips. You swear you could cum just from the sight of him alone, twitching and begging and so, so close to the edge he could taste it on the tip of his tongue.

Shoving your fingers into his mouth, you watch as he chokes slightly, eyes welling up with tears. It's so unbelievably erotic, seeing him fall apart like this, all because of you. His dick twitches in the tell-tale way that lets you know he’s seconds away, just needing a little push. You lock your lips onto his neck, licking and sucking and biting marks into the skin, making him moan around your fingers. It's all too much for him, and his voice cracks once more before spilling into your hand, painting his stomach and the toy with ropes of thick cum, gasping and shuddering as you keep the vibrator against his cock, working him through his orgasm.

You finally kiss him, fingers weaving through his hair as you lick into his mouth, his arms still helplessly trying to pull free.

“That was– fuck– I can’t even describe it.'' His voice is raspy, sore. He looks utterly fucked out, a sly grin already adorning his face not ten seconds after you gave him the most mind blowing orgasm of his life.

“You dont think I'm done, do you? After the shit you pulled in that car?”

Your sudden change in tone makes Matty’s eyes widen, his hips bucking up against you. The evil look in your eye as you lean down to catch his lips in a kiss only makes him impossibly more turned on, fingers itching to touch you, a groan of frustration leaving his lips when he realizes he can't do anything but lay there and take what you give him. You move, one of your hands leaving his chest.

“What are you–?” The click of the toy is impossibly loud as a wanton moan rips itself from his throat, his hips twitching away, the sensation overwhelming and raw, almost too much. You grin from ear to ear as you study his reactions, writhing and pulling at the belt holding him in place, eyes silently begging you to just let him go.

“A-ah oh fuckk, no- I can’t–” he cries, arching his back, exposing his neck even more, adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he tries to swallow down his sounds

“You can, I know you can.” you lick across the expanse of his collarbones, teeth grazing the skin harshly, the slight pain only making Matty thrash more, the leather of the belt digging into his wrists.

“It’s too much– jesus christ-” he chokes out as you tangle a hand into his thick curls, tugging his head forward, making him look at you.

“Look how desperate you are, you sure it's too much?” you press a kiss to his lower stomach, his muscles tense under the skin.

“I need you so bad, fuck,” he sucks in a deep breath, making direct eye contact with you.

“Look at what you do to me.”

His sudden change in tone makes you take a second, truly taking in the sight before you. He smirks when he sees you staring, arching his lower back with the sole purpose of riling you up, knowing exactly how to get to you, and in turn, get what he wanted.

“Such a slut, fucking begging for attention, aren’t you?” he nods slowly, winking at you provocatively as his eyes follow your movements. The name made his breath hitch, and the return of the toy back on his hardening cock feels like pure ecstasy, moans and whimpers spilling from his lips as you continued speaking.

“Was it worth it?” he cocks his head at you, asking what you meant.

“Was it worth it, fucking around in the car, embarrassing me like that?”

“Absolutely, if it gets me this.” he purrs, trying to provoke you once again. You were going to make him eat his words if it was last fucking thing you were going to do.

“You have a lot of confidence for someone who was grinding against my leg under a blanket not even an hour ago.” A small laugh comes from Matty as he playfully tugs at the restraints, the sound morphing into a moan when you press the toy down harder, feeling him getting close again.

“Gonna cum again, make a filthy fucking mess of yourself?” Matty is so far gone, his cocky persona falling away in bits as he bucks his hips against the vibrator, chasing his high. You watch him, sweaty and out of breath, his hands straining against the leather, the mix of pain and pleasure making his head spin.

“I love you so much, please let me cum, please i’ll do anything, just let me cum–” there it is. Anything. He doesn't know the weight his words hold, willing to say everything and anything for you to let him fall over that delicious edge.

“Cum for me, let me see you.” your voice shakes, one hand planted firmly on his chest for balance, while the other holds the toy to his cock, twitching and leaking all over himself and you as he cums, screaming your name loud enough that it echoed through the whole house.

You watch as he shakes, gasping for air and writhing against the sheets, so overstimulated he could barely form a coherent thought.

“Again.” you whisper as Matty shakes his head violently, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Do you want to stop?” he shakes his head again, hips bucking up against the toy, desperate whines and groans filling the room. His chest heaves, lungs expanding as far as they could go to try and bring some oxygen to his brain. Breathless and exhausted, he looks at you, eyes wet and pleading, the mix of pain and pleasure driving him insane.

“Don’t s-stop.” he begs, voice sore and hoarse. Thoughts run widely through your mind, wondering how much more he could take before tapping out. “If you need to stop, tell me.” you say firmly, his frantic nods telling everything you needed to know. Clicking the toy back on, the reaction is immediate, visceral as he jerks under the warm feel of your lips on his jaw, pressing hot kisses down the skin, mouthing at his neck.

Pulling back, you admire the deep purple marks you left behind, tracing them with your free hand.

“You’re fucking glorious- I- I could look at you forever, so pretty on top of me, fuck, like a fucking wet dream, so perfect–” you listen to him babble through curses and moans, eyes drooping shut as he bucks up into your hand.

“Yeah? You’re so gorgeous for me, taking everything I give you.” you whisper back, pupils completely blown out with lust, the high you were still yet to come down from heightening every feeling, every sensation, until you were grinding against his thigh, desperate for him.

“I see you, baby,” your eyes snap up to his, a filthy smirk spread onto his face, “C’mon, use me like a toy, use me to get off.” his voice is sultry and low, working hard to bite back screams as you finally give in, sparks of electricity shooting up your spine as you increase the pressure on your clit, soft moans and gasps spilling from your lips as Matty tenses his thigh, lifting it slightly to meet your movements.

“Don’t cum until I tell you.” you warn, refusing to give up power, even if Matty made it incredibly fucking difficult to not give in. His eyeliner was smudged, tears streaming down his face, your fingers wiping them away sweetly. You bring your tear soaked hand to your mouth, licking it clean while making direct eye contact with Matty, the expression on his face making the salty taste on your tongue completely worth it.

It didn't take much to bring you to the edge, the warmth in your core blooming everywhere else in your body, your blood feeling hot as you balance yourself. Being met with Matty’s smirk as you look up, the smugness quickly morphs into white hot pleasure when your hand finds his nipple piercing, giving it a small tug.

You had convinced him to switch it out, the black metal ring being replaced with a purple barbell. It shimmered if you looked at it from a specific angle, a perfect contrast to his milky white skin, suiting him well. He gasps when you don't let up, tweaking the metal and rolling his nipple between your fingertips, an indescribable feeling radiating from his chest, making all the remaining blood in his brain rush down south.

You were so close, you could taste it. Matty knew this, doing his best to get you there, just as you were doing for him, holding off his own orgasm. Filthy words leave his mouth, making you feel dizzy with pleasure, the feeling of his jean clad thigh against your clit making your legs shake on top of him.

“So good, you’re so good– fucking marvelous, I could write a thousand songs about you like this.” he groans, eyes never leaving the spot where your core met his leg, watching closely.

“I’m so close, fuckk.” you whine, your high pitched voice like music to Matty’s ears, his cock visibly twitching against the toy.

“Cum for me darling, wanna see you fall apart on top of me.” he coos, and you feel your control slipping. It was all consuming, the pleasure making time slow as you barely manage to slow down to speak.

“You first.” A relieved sigh leaves Matty’s lips, hips bucking violently, precum bubbling from his tip, coating your hand where you held the toy against it. One last arch of his back and he cums onto his stomach, painting his skin white.

You groan at the sight, your own orgasm hitting you like a freight train, vision whiting out as you buck against Mattys thigh, his eyes burning a hole into your skin. He watches in awe as you gasp and stutter, the visual of his third climax too much for you to handle, carnal desire overtaking your body.

Collapsing on top of him, your chest heaves against his, everything blurry and disoriented. He tried to move his hands to your back to hug you, but realizes he’s still tied up, the leather really digging into his skin, leaving angry red marks.

“Darling?” you look up, apologizing profusely as you undo the belt around his wrists, kissing the burns it left behind. Matty chuckles quietly, running a soft hand through your hair, pressing your face into his chest.

“That was..” he starts, eyes still wide in disbelief.

“Okay?” you offer a hint of insecurity evident in the way you speak.

“Fucking amazing, visceral, undescribable, life chang-” you cut him off with a firm kiss, silently telling him to shut up. He giggles into the kiss, his other hand pressing against your lower back, pulling you impossibly close.

“It wasn’t too much?” you ask, gesturing to the marks on his wrists. He shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He assures you it doesn't hurt at all, and besides, “You know I like it when you hurt me.” The cheesy wink that follows his statement makes you roll your eyes, leaning down to breathe in the scent of him. Fucking Jimmy Choo, ugh.

“You have to stop using my perfume, you smell like a woman, it's unsettling.” you complain, wishing he’d use some sort of musky cologne instead.

“I thought you liked it when i'm girly? Remember that time when I wore that skirt and you fucking mauled me–'' he tries to tease, being rudely interrupted by you digging the heel of your foot into his leg, making him yelp in pain.

“That was different,” you mutter, avoiding his taunting gaze.

“Was it?”

“Absolutely, yes, now come here.” you grip his jaw, crashing your mouth against his, biting his lower lip, enjoying the small gasp he lets out. The kiss is hot, filled with love and trust, your heart swelling up in your chest.

“Don’t ever pull that shit again, George could have noticed and that would've been a complete shit show-” you shudder at the thought of your mates knowing anything about your sex life, gagging inwardly.

“You were the one grinding your leg down on to my dick, don’t act all fucking innocent!” he protests, a playful tone to his voice.

“Imagine Ross knowing anything about what we do, he’d lose his mind.” you comment. Knowing him, he’d physically throw up and never speak to either of you ever again, the mental image having scarred him for life.

Matty is oddly silent, his hands fidgeting. Your eyes widen in realization

“Dont tell me you fucking– Matty!” you shut your eyes, embarrassment flooding your body.

“He’s my mate, and he asked. Who am I to deny him?” you hit his chest, propping yourself up as you laugh in disbelief.

“Ross asking doesn't make it any better!!” you screech, watching him pull back at the sheer volume of your voice “For fuck’s sake Matty, what did you even tell him? I’m never going to be able to look him in the eye again, fucking hell.”

“Just about the camera, nothing else, I swear!” you cup your face, letting out a frustrated groan.

“You know I can never speak to him ever again? The fucking camera, are you taking the absolute fucking piss?!” you throw curses at him as he giggles into your hair, muttering apologies and promising to never say anything again.

“‘M sorry darling, i won't give out the details of our sex life anymore.” he jokes, earning a choked giggle from you, unable to stay mad at him.

Looking up at him from your spot on his chest, anger fades as you take in his features. You could look at him forever if he let you, drinking in every inch of skin, committing it all to memory. Your fingertips touch the top of his cheeks, wiping away any left over make-up, smiling fondly as you do so.

Love. That's what you see in his eyes. Pure love, utter devotion. His breathing is slow, the soft sound of his heartbeat comforting as you lay back down onto him, nuzzling your face into his skin. You could stand the permeating stench of Jimmy Choo if it let you hold him this close to you.

“You’re mine.” he mumbles into your hair, stroking up and down your spine, pushing your shirt up.

“I’m yours,” you answer, this overwhelming feeling of adoration taking over your whole body. Matty was yours, and you were his, from the second he said the words ‘I love you’ that night on the terrace, overlooking the glowing city.

Life with him seems so real. Growing up properly, getting your own house, getting married. It was all possible, still, it felt far away, a distant future. You let your thoughts spin in your mind until the exhaustion won, your body going slack against Matty, soft snores filling the room.

Matty lays awake beneath you, the darkness of the room enveloping his senses.

“I love you so much,” he mutters under his breath, knowing you couldn't hear him anyway. That was the moment he knew, the moment everything solidified.

You were just kids, the pair of you, young and free, life filled with infinite possibilities. So much was uncertain, but he knew one thing without a doubt. Eyes flickering over to his coat, they fell on the outermost left pocket. It wasn't about the pocket itself, but what was inside. Dark red velvet, the same shade as your favorite color. A box.

A small one.

read part two here xx

#i had so much funnn #the 1975 #matty healy #ross macdonald #adam hann #george daniel #drive like i do #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy smut #matty healy x you #matty healy fluff #the 1975 smut #matty healy x reader

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sorcerous-caress · 8 months

Text

to dance with you | Astarion

[ fluff, heavy angst, bad end, character death, trauma, nb!reader ]

[Before the events of bg3, Reader is one of Astarion's victims ]

I am very sorry.

There was no taste to numbness, no colour, shape, or smell.

Just an absence, an emptiness.

You couldn't escape it, no matter how much you tried. Much like total darkness, the abyss waited for you back home at the end of the day.

And while you knew it was hopeless to attempt to rationalise your way out of it, to cling to some justifications that explain that lack of warmth in your life, that just maybe it somehow made you superior to endure, you knew deep down it was a waste of time.

There's no dignity in suffering. There's no prize for enduring agony.

Your drink was getting cold.

Lifting the cup to the edge of your lips, you swallowed down what you could of the lukewarm liquid. Barely registering the taste of it.

You're spiralling again. You always did around this time of year.

People say one must imagine sisyphus happy, and yet you've dragged your own corpse up this hill too many times to count. Clawed your way out of rot and into a resemblance of a functional adult.

Staring out the cafe window into the snow-covered city, you finished the rest of your now cold drink. It was barely night, and yet the sun has already said its goodnights.

The streets will fill out soon. The buzzing of the nightlife was just on the horizon.

You found it ironic in a way, for how much Lathander's followers loved to proclaim the sun as the symbol of absolute goodness, then how come people only felt like being their true selves at night.

It felt like a curtain being drawn at the end of the show, when the angels slept and the pressure to perform melted away.

You should take your leave soon.

Your eyes shifted to stare into the bottom of your empty cup, traces of the remains of your drink have dried up in various shapes.

"Good evening" a voice called out to you, someone standing in front of your table, next to the empty chair.

Looking up, you were met with ruby eyes. Silvery hair and curling around pointy ears, framing the pale face and.

"Would it be alright if I joined you, my dear?" The elf continued, voice gentle as if coaxing a rabbit out of its nest.

You don't know why, but at that moment you nodded.

He sat down on the opposite chair.

You weren't superficial. At least you didn't think so. People couldn't control their appearance, so what right do you have to judge them based on it?

Yet when you took in the man in front of you. His half lidded eyes made you the sole point of his focus, the subtle smile to his lips. You would've been blind to pretend that it didn't affect you in some way.

"Do you mind if I buy you a drink? Something to warm you up, maybe?" Clear concern in his voice, "it tends to get very cold quickly at night, and we don't want someone as lovely as you getting sick now, do we?"

He was…worried about your health? A stranger you've never met before?

You shook your head. "No, it's alright." He was probably just trying to be nice, "I wasn't aware I looked miserable enough to worry a stranger, I was just about to leave anyway."

His eyes widened, his smile dropping. "No wait…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend" he cleared his throat, seemingly embarrassed by the misunderstanding he caused, "But where are my manners? You may call me Astarion."

You stared at the hand that he extended to you, he didn't seem phased by your hesitation to shake it. In fact, he patiently waited for you.

Not wanting to make this more awkward than it already is, you took his hand. He smiled again.

You told him your own name, and he said it suited you. His cold hands let go of yours after running his thumb across your hand.

"Please excuse my previous…failed attempt. I'm not used to approaching people." His eyes looked to the side, probably to mask his nervousness, you thought.

He seemed so bold and confident moments ago, yet the second you mentioned leaving, he immediately switched.

Huh, people really aren't what they seem like, you thought to yourself. Who knew behind his confident facade was just someone like you.

"It's alright, I'm sorry for my rushed assumptions." You felt bad. This person was just trying to be nice, and you were rude to him for no reason but your own paranoia.

"I noticed you since you walked in," he admitted, "you looked…simply breathtaking." His eyes drank you up, taking in every detail of your form.

You've barely noticed him. You've barely noticed anyone in the cafe. You were too occupied wallowing in your own misery to give the outside world more than a passing glance.

"I'm flattered, really." You admitted, "but I'm not sure if I will live up to your expectations…" as shameful as it was to admit, you thought it was better to warn him early on than to pretend to be someone you're not.

Astarion's hand reached over the table, holding your own in a loose reassuring grip. Giving you enough space to pull back if you wanted to.

"Oh no, trust me." He gave your hand a comforting squeeze, "you're simply perfect." His voice dripped with honey, warm and sweet sliding down your throat.

You held his hand back.

"Then let me make it up to you, how about I buy you a drink? To warm you up." There was a playful edge to your voice as you repeated his words, "well by how cold your hand is, you probably really need this drink."

Amusement filled his face as he chuckled. "You clever little thing." Your eyes followed his tongue as he licked his lips, "I'm starting to like you already."

After a couple of drinks and some time, the two of you ended up leaving the establishment together. Light conversation flowed seamlessly and weaved into one another between you both.

To say he was easy to talk to would've been an underestimation. You felt like you're hanging out with a lifelong friend instead of a stranger you've met a couple of hours ago.

You really didn't pay much attention to time flying by, not when the night sky looked so mesmerising above you. Not when Astarion sat next to you on the garden bench.

And while your conversations didn't stay light for long, he didn't seem like he minded as he leant you his shoulder to lean on while you expressed your worries.

"I think you should tell them. They're your parents, after all." His arm kept you close to his body, "Isn't it their job to help you during rough times and all of that?"

"I don't know, I'm supposed to be an adult." You hid half your face in his shoulder, "I much rather suck it up until I find a new job, and then maybe I'll tell them."

Easier said than done. It's been a week since you've handed in your applications, and yet not a single letter was sent back to you.

"I just don't want to be a burden," you continued "sometimes I wish I didn't worry them so much. Maybe they'll do better without me holding them back."

Astarion didn't reply. His hold tightened around you.

"Sometimes…I wish I could just disappear." You buried your face in his neck, taking in his scent and closing your eyes.

Again, no reply, only the sound of the night breeze rustling the nearby bushes. The moon looming over the both of you and showering you in her light.

A waning moon.

"I ruined the mood, didn't i?" You let out a bitter laugh as you pulled away from him, "I'm sorry."

There was a somber expression on his face, his usually sharp eyes appearing soft and round.

"No, not at all." He said, "I was just thinking about your words. Wishing to disappear."

With a heavy sigh, he turned to you. "I could preach to you all night about how valuable a single mortal life is like they do all morning at those temples, but we both know that's bullshit." His voice sounded more natural, vastly different from the smooth sultry tone he had before. "Life will still move on, with or without that person."

You snorted, "What, not a fan of the church and gods?"

"More like they're not fans of mine. But I suppose we can't all have taste." Getting up from the bench, the moonlight illuminated the edges of his hair like a halo, completely facing you.

"I suppose they're missing out." Walking by his side, the two of you strolled through the garden at a slow pace. Hands occasionally brushing against each other.

"Definitely, who wouldn't want this face on their side. I'd probably get them more visitors than their clerics ever could." Leaning closer, Astarion stopped in his tracks as his hand held your face.

"Actually, something tells me you'd do very well at that job, helping others." You leaned into his hand, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

With a sarcastic laugh, he said "Please, me?"

"Yes, you." When you opened your eyes, you were met with his intense gaze, "you're really good at making people feel at ease, letting them speak their worries. Like you did to me."

"Darling, I did no such thing." He lowered his eyes to your lips, licking his own. Maybe he was using this as an excuse to avoid your gaze.

You gently lifted his chin to look at you again, "Sometimes the best way to help someone is to listen to them, truly listen."

His lips pressed into a thin line.

"I have been cold and rude to you, and yet you've treated me with warmth…that's a gift, you know. I won't ever forget it." Your own hands cupped his face, contrasting against his pale cold skin. "So yes, if you ever consider being a cleric or something one day, you'll definitely have my recommendation."

Closing the distance between the two of you, your lips gently pressed against his forehead. Wishing his safety and well being with a quick peck as you pulled away.

His own hands left you long ago, laying abandoned on his sides. His fingers twitched.

Taking a deep breath, you saw his usual easy going smile come back. You felt at ease again as he returned to what you knew as his normal self. "I can think of a way or two you could repay me then, something we would both enjoy greatly." he said.

You felt a subtle touch against your hips, his hands asking permission to hold you.

It was getting really late, you realised. Your dogs must be worried sick back home. Their anxious figures waiting in front of the doorstep, you remember kissing them goodbye before you left.

...

It will be alright, it's just one night. You always left them more food than normal just in case, so they'll be safe and happily fed until your arrival.

Maybe you can even introduce Astarion to them tomorrow. You have a feeling they'll absolutely love licking his face until his hair is a mess.

"Yeah." You pushed his hands to fully grip your hips, his smile grew. "That sounds good to me."

The time spent during the walk to his home flew by. He was very good at making you lose yourself in the moment.

Stepping inside, he kept a tight hold on you as he led you through the corridors.

Huge oil paintings adorned the crimson walls, a red carpet to match. You immediately noticed the lack of windows, and whatever ones you could spot had a thick layer of black curtains drawn closely shut over them.

He ignored any servants you passed by, and likewise, they seemed to pretend you didn't exist either, as if you were invisible like a ghost.

Astarion's demeanour shifted the second you stepped foot inside the palace, and his replies reduced to one word or less whenever you tried to start a conversation.

You had a sinking feeling in the pits of your stomach, gnawing at your flesh and slowing down your steps.

"Is something wrong?" You asked him after he led you into a bedroom at the end of the hall. "You don't seem well."

His back was turned to you.

You took a step forward, placing a hand on his back. "Astarion?"

He flinched away from your hand the second you touched him, as if you burned the flesh on his back. A low hiss of pain escaped his lips.

Turning to face you after a few seconds, his expression was schooled back into the most charming smile.

"I just tend to get nervous when it comes to initiating intimacy." He told you, a nervous look in his eyes as he shifted slightly.

Oh, is that why he has been acting this way? You offered a comforting smile. "That's completely alright. We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with."

"... really? Even when you came the whole way here?" He said with a sceptical tone, "nonsense, my dear, I will get over it in time. I just…need a couple of minutes, yeah."

"I really mean it, Astarion, we don't have to do anything." You repeated yourself more firmly.

You thought your words might offer him some relief, yet the subtle frown to his lips only grew deeper.

"How about we just get comfortable on the bed and see where the night takes us?" He offered, unbuttoning the cuffs of his embroidered shirt and sitting on the lush bed.

You didn't like his total disregard for your offer. You could tell he wasn't believing you. But you didn't want to push him at the time, so you just let it go.

After making some adjustments to your clothes until you were in a comfortable state, you joined him on the bed. He immediately turned to face you. His body was so close to yours.

"Now…" he whispered so close to your ear. "Just how much I wanted to make you mine since the moment I saw you."

One thing led to another, a teasing touch there, a promising squeeze here, and the taste of his lips against yours.

He just knew how to take your breath away, how to get you to melt into the kiss. Wanting more, chasing after his tongue for another taste.

His hand going down your body, feeling your throat, your chest, your waist, and then your thighs. Heat collected between your legs. You could feel your body respond back to his expert touches, completely ignoring your brain and forming a mind of its own as it grinded against his hands.

Pleasure was overwhelming you. It was both too much and not enough at the same time. It was addicting and consuming.

Was he enjoying it, too? Did seeing you this needy and responsive to his touches make him burn with lust and desire for you?

You tried breaking the kiss to get a good look at him, but he wouldn't relent. Wouldn't give you a chance to even think about anything else but your own pleasure.

When you finally managed to pull away from his lips, you couldn't get more than a glance at his expression before he immediately went for your neck. Sucking and marking the flesh with vigour, teeth sending shivers down your spine.

You didn't realise how sharp his teeth were until you felt them graze your neck. They were almost alarmingly sharp, one wrong move, and they'd glide easily into your flesh.

"Astarion…" you called out to him. His lips left your neck and took it as an invitation to kiss you again, stealing your breath away. "Astarion no wait- " you mumbled between each kiss.

That got him to stop, his hands pulling away from your body.

"Yes my love?" He breathed against your lips.

Your eyes met his, you took in his dishevelled appearance, the flush to his cheeks and his wet glistening lips. His eyes looked like they held desire in them, inviting and tantalising.

But the more you stared into them, the less they seemed to look at you and instead look through you. Deep inside his eyes, he was a thousand miles away.

You couldn't even see a hint of desire in them if you took away the facade.

"I don't want this." You whispered.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No…I just don't want this."

He got off of you, giving you your space back.

Neither of you mentioned it, instead each of you stuck to their own side of the bed.

It was clear he didn't know how to proceed forward, a crease to his eyebrows while in deep thoughts, as you assumed.

The silence was uncomfortable, unbearable even. Your mind wandered back to your home, your comfortable safe haven.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you said, "one time, Luna cost me over 5000 golds."

Seemingly coming back to reality, it took Astarion some seconds to fully register your words, "Luna?"

"My dog," you said, "the sweetest shepherd you'll ever meet. I came home from work late one time and she wagged her tail so fast that she fractured it."

"She sounds charming." Astarion let out a soft laugh, "although, why Luna?"

"She's black and white, you know like the phases of the moon. I thought it was clever at the time." You admitted, "or are you more of a cat person?"

"I'm not an animal person at all, honestly."

"What, are they also not fans of you?"

That got another chuckle out of him. "They tend to be too smelly for my liking, but I'd take a cat over a horse any day."

He turned his body to face you again, you did the same.

"Really? Luna adores horses, she could teach you a thing or two."

"Are you really not only suggesting that the dog and I meet up, but that she'd also take me as her pupil?"

"I mean…well yeah, I was kinda hoping I'd take you to meet her tomorrow morning." You cleared your throat, "well that's if you want to.

His focus seemed to drift again, "...you don't happen to have cats, do you?" His tone was quieter than before, eyes not fully meeting yours.

"There's a stray that comes to visit Luna daily, he's not very friendly to other people but who knows." As corny as you thought your line sounded, you still proceeded to say it in hopes it will lift his mood up, "maybe he'll also fall victim to your charm like I did."

Instead of the reaction you expected, you were met with genuine scepticism.

"Ha" his laugh was bitter, "you don't have to spare my feelings darling, I know you don't see me that way."

You sat up on the bed.

"What do you mean?"

He looked up at you, you felt like he was attempting to make himself smaller against the pillow.

"Oh I'm not holding a grudge or anything." He claimed, "I can admit it when I'm not someone's type or whatever."

Brushing a strand of his hair behind his pointy ear, you tried to coax him to meet your eyes again. "...Astarion, I am very attracted to you.

He leaned away from your hand. "Then why did you want to stop?"

The truth burned in your throat to admit. "I just…I didn't feel like you were enjoying it. Like you wanted it."

That look, the eyes staring through you.

Astarion seemed very conflicted, about what? You weren't sure. But you wanted to comfort him, to take away his pain and carry it yourself instead.

He never denied your words.

You pulled your hand away from his hair, still not laying down beside him as you watched his body curl under the covers.

"It's alright, you don't have to explain anything." You got up from the bed, "I can leave if it's-" just as you were about to pick up your clothes, his hand immediately grabbed your wrist in a desperate grip.

"No," he said with dread in his eyes, "you can't."

It was a complete switch from his previous state, you weren't sure what to even make of it.

"I can't?"

He seemed to catch himself, letting go of your wrist.

"stay with me, at least for tonight." His eyes were pleading, "we can just hold each other, isn't that what you want?"

He sat up from the bed, gently taking your hands in his as he led you back to the comfort of the sheets.

"It's what I want." He whispered, voice so inviting and beckoning you closer, "I swear."

You weren't strong enough to resist.

Following after him, your bodies pressed together under the soft sheets. You only felt your own heartbeat in your chest as he held you close. He was cold, so you shared your own body warmth to warm him up.

The candles in the room were burning out, a calming silence fell. Lulling you to rest and let the day end.

You could only hear your own heart beating.

This was nice, it felt nice and safe so it must be.

Just as sleep was about to steal you away, Astarion's voice nudged you back awake.

"What do you like about me?" His voice was raw, sincere.

You couldn't see his face, "you, of course."

He moved against you, "obviously, now be more specific."

You tried to think about it. It felt like one of these important questions that'd shape your future relationship with him, so you tried to give it all of your thoughts.

There were so many things to love about him, but many of them were things you'd still love him without.

Yet they were still parts of him, but how many parts were actually him.

"Your nature." Was the answer you gave, still not quite satisfied with it.

"Oh shit." His serious tone didn't last long before being replaced by a playful one, "I didn't invite a druid to my bed, did i?"

You snorted, "very funny, but I meant it."

Even without seeing his face, you felt his lips curl upwards against your skin. Claiming that small victory was enough for you.

"You know" you found yourself rambling, "my day was going absolutely horrible until you showed up. I don't usually really believe in gods or miracles, but…you were the closest thing to a guardian angel I've ever had."

A yawn escaped your lips, you continued.

"I was too inside my head. I forgot that a whole world outside existed. A world with people like you." Your eyelids fluttered, sleep lurked behind them. "As shitty as life can be, somehow I believe things will be okay."

Adjusting your position so you could face him in the dark, you felt his body stiffen against yours.

"Goodnight Astarion." you gave his forehead a small kiss, wishing for his safety and well being. "Rest well."

The deep hours of the night is when the Szarr palace fell the most silent. Merely an hour or two separating them from dawn.

A warm living breathing body laid next to him, just like many others before. And Astarion embraced them just like many others before.

But the waves of emotions swirling inside him like poison were definitely new.

He didn't get a hint of rest, he couldn't. As much as he wanted to just close his eyes for the remaining hours and ignore the waking world. After all they will definitely disappear in the morning, so what's a few hours of blissful ignorance?

But he just couldn't, the thought itself threatened to turn his stomach inside out. Disgust he has never felt in years lurching at his insides.

It's their fault, it's all their fault.

They should've made it easier for him. They should've just closed their eyes, spread their legs, and ignored his existence.

They shouldn't have mentioned their stupid moon dog. They shouldn't have made him leer inside at the idea of having parents to support you yet still choosing to suffer alone.

How dare they be so cruel? How dare they kiss his forehead so tenderly.

He was choking. His throat burned so much that every breath felt like needles being dragged against the inside of his neck.

Worst of all, he could still hear their heartbeat. Did his own sound like that before? Is this what it felt like to have a speck of evidence that you're alive?

A constant reminder of your mortal life, of your endless potential, of your stupid naivety and your pointless kindness.

His whole body was shaking.

Cazador will be here soon. Just like so many times before.

He needed to act fast. He needed to do something. Otherwise, he felt like he would go crazy.

They don't deserve whatever that monster did with all the others. They don't deserve a fate that cruel, not someone like them. Please God, anyone else but them.

He prayed, holding them closely as he begged and pleaded with each one of the Gods he could recall the name of in his state of panic.

If not for his miserable life then please do something for them, they're still a mortal, they're still one of your children. Please god just save them.

Like always, no answer came.

Astarion felt hopeless, useless and small.

He stared in horror at his own hands, still in the same praying position. He truly had nothing to offer.

Nothing except a dignified death.

Death would save them from Cazador, Death would save them from torture.

Death was what he should've picked that night almost two centuries ago.

Careful not to disturb their peaceful rest, Astarion grabbed a pillow.

He took one last good look at them in the dark, he engraved their face into his memory.

He wanted to lean over and give them one last kiss. He didn't feel like he deserved to.

The pillow pressed against their face, slowly cutting off their oxygen.

Astarion held tightly. He kept his hold firm even as they struggled.

He couldn't take his eyes off of the pillow, his tears falling and staining its white cover. A drop after another.

As their struggles died down, by that time, he had gotten his side of the pillow entirely wet. He still held firm, despite his shaking fingers, despite the blood slowly joining his tears onto the pillow from how hard his teeth dug into his lips.

At these hours, the Szarr palace was the most silent. He couldn't risk making a single sound.

Only when a heartbeat ceased to exist did he let go of his grip.

He got off the bed, closed their eyes and covered their face with the sheets. He sat on the floor, head next to their cold dead feet.

Despite his clean hands, he swore he felt their blood on them, seeping into his skin and marking him forever.

Not just their blood, but the blood of every innocent miserable person he lured back into this hell.

He just wanted to save them, to save this one person. Take a life in stride and carry the guilt to the end of his days.

It was just one life, one very precious person.

Was a very precious person.

But he forgot to account for the hundreds of lives he has taken indirectly before, it was easier to forget when it wasn't his own hands stopping their heartbeat.

His whole world felt like it stopped because of one life.

As he sat there on the cold floor, naked, shaking with tears streaming down his face, he heard the very familiar tapping of a staff against the floorboards.

All of his feelings vanished in an instant, as if he was drowning in a deep volcanic abyss before getting pulled into the freezing surface.

He could not feel his fingers, numbness spread throughout his whole body.

The tapping got closer. It was heading towards him.

Cazador was heading towards him.

There were no feelings left inside him, just pure numbness.

There was no taste to numbness, no colour, shape, or smell.

Just an absence, an emptiness.

He couldn't escape it, no matter how much he tried. Much like total darkness, the abyss waited for him back home at the end of the day.

#♡Astarion #♡angst #astarion x reader #angst #angst with a bad ending #no comfort #bg3 angst #bg3 x reader #astarion #trauma #character death #nb!reader

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welcome-back-home · 1 year

Text

SLEEPY TIME SNUGGLES!

paring:wally x puppet!gn!reader (romantic)

warning:nothing! just mostly fluff ^^

note:the following contains mentions of past personalities, I suggest you look at the following link to understand my puppet y/n au and have a nice read ^^

link: puppet y/n

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

it`s the start of a new day!

the sun shines and the birds sing, the air carries the smell of freshly bloomed flowers as spring begins. As the neighborhood becomes awake and busy, wally opens homes door to greet the outside, a smile on his face with a canvus and several bottles of paint in his arms. it was the perfect day to paint he believed "ill be back later home, see you soon!" he speaks to the house as he makes his way out the open door, with a creak and a squeak in response home shuts its door for wally as he had his hands full. what a nice home.

several minutes goes by as wally walks down the yellow pavement, passing by houses and work places of his fellow neighbors. until he spots it, a home that is decorated in a new design compared to yesterday. it`s still wet from fresh paint and the plants in the property was replaced with different plants, a garden gnome that was once there yesterday was replaced with a plastic flamingo and different colored stepping stones. it is the house of his beloved, a wonderful person...or people they are. he wonders who they are today, maybe a florist? or even a baker? whatever they may be today he will love them all the same.

while drawing closer to the house he noticed a person laying in the grass, face planted in the ground with their hair a mess and still wearing pajamas like it is not day just yet. wally drops his painting supplies in shock and runs over to his beloved, his felt heart racing at the thought that they have hurt themselves and he wasn`t here to help "my dear?” wally says as he slightly shakes them, fear gripping his heart....only for him to let out a sigh of relief when the puppet made a sound that resembles a groan and the muffled words "five more minutes".

wally chuckles a bit at his beloveds antic and shakes them again "sweetheart you should be sleeping in your bed, not the grass" wally says in a sweet voice, causing the puppet to turn their head to the side so wally can hear them "i wanted to sleep on my roof but i couldnt find my ladder" they said in a joking tone, it makes wally smile that they are ok. "let me help you up" wally suggested as he helps them off the ground, his beloved lets out a big yawn and rubs their eye, wally now noticed dark circles around their eyes, like they have not slept in days "oh dear, lets get you inside and into bed. itll be much better then the grass" wally stated as he leads them to their own front door "what about your paint stuff?" they asked as they saw the pile of paint supplies wally dropped moments ago, followed by another yawn "it`s not going anywhere" wally says "besides, you are more important" he added to his statement before he leads them inside.

it didn`t take long for wally to take them to their room so they can sleep in their bed, the layout of the home was the only thing that always remained the same each day. he watches as they crawl into their own bed only for them to look in wallys direction and beckons him to come closer, wally does walk over only to expect a goodbye kiss on the cheek. when instead they grabbed his hand to pull him in the bed with them "whoa!" he says in surprise as he now rests on the soft mattress full of many pillows and blankets…with his beloved wrapping their arms around him "stay with me? please? just until i fall asleep" they mumbled, already half way asleep.

wally can feel his heart speed up and his cheeks grow warm, he wouldn`t mind this but it was still a big surprise. he wraps his arms around his beloved "ill stay" he says in a whisper, not wanting to wake them up further by talking in a normal tone. it takes only five minutes for them to finally fall sleep, lightly snoring and their limbs go limp as they relax into their deep slumber. wally wouldn’t dare to move, he would give anything for this moment to last forever, but he knows that soon you both will have to get up and continue the day.

he stares at the nightstand, seeing a alarm clock reading 10:37 and still ticking... maybe a nap couldn't hurt, just 30 minutes longer...and he will then get up and do his daily painting… that sounds nice...

he slowly closes his eyes, being careful not to accidentally 'eat' one of the many trinkets in the room...and eventually...falls into a long blissful sleep.

#wally darling x reader #wally darling x y/n #welcome home #puppet y/n #puppet reader au #welcome home puppet show #welcome home arg #wally darling #so sorry if it’s ooc for Wally #I haven’t written in a while so I hope this is good enough #wally x reader

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hotxcheeto · 1 year

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Can you do a ellie where reader is Joel's daughter and ellie wasn't there when joel died but reader was and ellie has to watch reader become like joel before he meet ellie

━ 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader, Reader is Joel's daughter

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Cursing, angst, crying, alludes to death, crying, no fluff except maybe a tiny bit if you squint, alludes to depression, mentions of a ton of negative emotions, sad

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah/Nope

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - Two fics in two days?!?!?!?! Hope you enjoy!! I love how I can write smut then the most depressing thing known to man. thank you for requesting, ily!!!!!!!

Ellie had seen the familiar dark in your eyes. Because your eyes weren't your own, they were his. They'd always been his.

The rest of you may have resembled your mother, but those irises were your father's. And she loved them. Ellie did. Sometimes, as you laid beside her, she would just stare into your eyes while you watched whatever movie she throw on.

All your emotion welled up into two beautiful things.

Some couldn't see it, same with your father's. But Ellie could. Ellie could read you both like a book and she'd call it her special talent.

She liked Joel, he was good to her, more of a father than she'd ever know. Someone that was proud of her, someone that cared about her.

But Ellie loved you. Loved every inch and every piece. Every limb and every scar. Even the ones you hated, or the ones you'd show.

She loved them, because she loved you.

And you always loved her the same.

So as you began to open up, to let her read you, to let yourself learn to love her. Your eyes became your own, with your very own twinkle and sparkle that Ellie could admire for hours and hours and never look away.

That would well up with happy cries, and sob to sad movies.

Shrink in the bright sunlight, and grow large with fear in the darkness.

They were yours, and they were beautiful.

But as she sat in thought, watching you stare out the window with wet hair and shaking as you remembered the incidents just a few days prior, she wondered if you'd ever be the same.

Because the darkness was back, swirling around your pupils and flooding the whites of your eyes with tears that would never fall. Tears you wouldn't let touch your cheeks.

She knew those eyes weren't yours anymore, they were his once again. They always had been, hidden behind your happiness and devotion to becoming who you dreamed of.

"Y/n?"

You turned your head, jumpy she noticed, meeting her gaze with an expression that she couldn't study. Something unintelligible, something scared.

"What?"

"Come here."

You hesitated, for a mere moment, you hesitated to come to her. But you did, sliding off the chair you propped against the window beside Ellie's bed.

Silently taking the few steps towards the couch where she sat back, wondering what was going through your head.

You made a noise, as if you were going to speak, but not a word passed. Taking a seat beside her. She felt you lean back against the cushioned couch, bringing your knees up.

"She looked at me y'know, like she didn't want to do it." You started softly. The sounds of your sharp, shaky breaths making her glance over. "Like she regretted being there, but she still-" You stopped, choking a sob back while looking up at her ceiling.

"I want to kill her." Ellie knew it was coming. She knew the anger was hiding behind your eyes, behind the sadness. "I want her dead, I want her to feel his fear, I want-" You began to cry.

You never cried, not with such heartbreak. Sure you'd tear up during a scene on the TV or over a song, but you would laugh as Ellie made fun of you. You would smile when Ellie spoiled the happy ending to calm you down, you would giggle when she'd kiss you like the characters on screen.

"I want her gone, and I want them to pay. They watched, he spit on my dad, he didn't deserve- he-"

It wasn't long before her arms wrapped around your body, taking you into her chest. Letting you cry until there were no tears left. Until you were quiet, and exhausted.

Until she had to carry you to bed, with tear marks down your face and muscles gone sore. But that wasn't the end. No, you had a habit of holding a grudge, you still you remind Ellie of when she dropped your favorite knife in the mall. Or when your dad promised on a movie and fell asleep mid-afternoon.

You never forgot, but you did forgive. Maybe not this time, but you had in the past, you had back then. You did. Did.

But now, right now, in this moment, your eyes showed something different. Unforgiving and cruel, silent and sad but nothing could go up against the emptiness that was sat inside.

They reminded her of your father's eyes.

When he'd look at her, there was something that had died, a light that was burned out and snuffed years before you and her had come along and you knew. You knew of Sarah though Ellie did not, but somehow you both could see the darkness. With and without a knowing.

And it's familiarity had returned, staring into the bonfire in front of you. Even the bright orange flames couldn't recreate the light that you had lost. You were gone, and all that was left was a vicious shell.

"Y/n?"

You didn't glance up at her this time, barely making a sound in acknowledgement before forcing yourself to speak.

"What?"

It was harsh, and it sounded just like Joel, the same voice that made her confidence falter and her body tense at first. The same one that introduced you both.

"You should eat." You looked down and shrugged at the grass. "I'm fine. Just been a long day." "That's why you-" "Ellie."

She stopped, frustrated and exhausted, rubbing her face before taking in a sharp breath.

"Will you listen-" "Ellie, I'm fine. I'm not your responsibility. I can take care of myself."

Somehow, you guys hadn't broken it off, but you wouldn't touch her or look her in the eyes for long. Your nightmares were so violent sometimes you'd just lay beside her, but you couldn't feel her, you couldn't your you'd panic. You'd think of them, stepped over you.

"You don't have to." Your jaw clenched, throwing down the stick in your hand and watching it wither away in the heat of the fire. "I said I'm fine."

But it was the look in your eyes that scared her the most.

"I'm sorry." She whispered.

"I know." You replied, just as soft, but not as nice.

Behind your eyes, was anger, pure anger. Not at her, not at Abby or her friends you promised to kill. You were mad at the world, and mad at yourself.

Just as he was. Just as he had been for so long.

#ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x you #ellie williams #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #tlou 2 #tlou #tlou x reader #the last of us part 2 #the last of us part two #the last of us #the last of us x reader

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slippinninque · 2 months

Text

✨📱Kiss me Through the Phone 📱✨

Fontaine x black!fem!reader

Warnings/content: fluff, cursing, mentions of smoking/weed, long fic. Black!Fem!Reader, ramblings

He treated his phone like the tool it was. There were few apps for entertainment, and the necessary apps to stay updated on what was going on in his streets.

Fontaine was never one for taking pictures until he met you. Now he has a nice collections of you on his phone.

Particularly, there is a folder of photos in his phone dedicated to your stuffed face. You turned full hamster when you were hungry and he thought it was adorable. This is top secret.

You have a folder of photos in your phone dedicated to catching him sleeping during movies. From cozy shots of him latched on to you like a giant octopus to the bent neck, open mouthed snooze. What started off as a cache of evidence became an absolute delight. This was also top secret.

Fontaine didn't save many numbers. Due to his business, the less information he made available the better. You swore his memory was his super power.

The first picture you ever sent Fontaine he'd swore he would get framed. It was purposely unflattering with an expression he didn't think your pretty face could make. It was sent to him by mistake but made him nearly choke on his '40 and he knew then he needed more of you.

------

A little bit of sun was all the Glen needed for it's parks to come alive with get-togethers and hang-outs. That was the whole reason you and your girls were out in the first place, looking to get some warmth before the heat vanished again,

You were sitting close to each other sharing whispers and smoke. It was a lovely day though the breeze was relentless. Fontaine was already unzipping his jacket when you shivered for the umpteenth time.

The sight of him was poetic. Leaning up a bit just to whip his jacket over your shoulder, the sun taking it's place immediately with delicacy. Fontaine's face was soft at least enough for his golds to glimmer between full lips.

He was gilded in the setting sun as he stepped a bit closer to zip you properly into the jacket. You felt like you were staring, but you couldn't look away.

"There we go," he grinned at you as he passed the blunt to you and resetting your brain, "Wear it better than me."

"Better stop before this hoodie come up missing." You took a puff and laughed a bit,

"Y'know how clothes just be adventuring off on their own..."

"Is that so? You wanna takin' down my number so you can let a nigga know if his thermals come knocking at your door?"

"Your-your weed is good, so I suppose I'll be neighborly."

He laughed and you couldn't even feel the full thrush of embarrassment at your fumbling. You could only shake your head at yourself as you handed over your phone.

Fontaine typed in his number and you traded the blunt for your phone. He didn't save it at first and you added him to your contacts with the quickness.

Just as you always did, first thing that came to mind--

Sunglow.

Quickly after that you keep you eyes to your keyboard as you sent Fontaine a wave with a smiley face.

-------

You jerked awake, hearing hard knocking and loud voices seeping in through your cracked window.

Heart pounding as you stared up at the ceiling, you scrambled for your phone to see it was well past midnight. The TV was still going from when you fell asleep on the couch, but it wasn't enough to drown out the slurring call of your name.

Clutching your throw blanket, you swallowed as much of your panic as possible. It was your neighbor, drunk again and "confused" despite it being the third time this month.

As much as you tried to be understanding, it made you more than uncomfortable. The man was all grins and half-apologetic in the daytime, insisting that their front doors were nearly twins despite there being 3 houses between them. His roommates thought it was funny and made a few comments about how you even resembled his ex.

He even asked what the issue was with letting him linger until he sobers up enough to go home.

The next knocks were thunderous and got you out of bed. You weren't keen on opening the door or even speaking to him, it would only make it worse...

Tearing up as you heard the stumbling and nonsense filter through your door, you chewed your lip as you slowly typed out a text.

[Are you up?]

You winced. It sounded so dirty to you at the moment but you were scared and tired--

The sound of your ringer startled you enough to answer.

"Um, hi, sorry." You crept to your room in the dark, afraid to turn on the lights, "Did-Did I wake you?"

Fontaine made a soft noise, "Ain't doin' shit but runnin' to the store. What's got you up so late?"

You struggled for words for a moment but hissed when the banging came again. This time it sounded like he was hitting the front room's window.

"What the fuck is that?"

Fontaine's tone broke you, a sob stuttering out as you told him everything. You curled up and tried to make sense but a headache was beginning to grow.

"I'm comin', sweet heart, I'm on my way." Fontaine's voice was soothing in his promise, "Stay on the phone with me."

"Okay, 'm so sorry."

"Don't be. Just keep listening to me, you hear me? 'M on my way."

Fontaine's voice flowing through that little speaker was your life raft. You did as you were told, listening to the sound of him getting into his car and driving.

Your neighbor went quiet and it knowing where he was was worse. Imagining him stalking around the perimeter of your home, looking for things to "accidentally" break, ways into your home, would he do something to your car? In the dark feeling small, you quietly hoped that there were no red lights to keep Fontaine long.

The call ended and before your panic to dwell to hysteria, there was commotion from outside your house.

There was hollering and another terrible clattering noise. Running back into the living room, you peeked through the blinds with shaky hands.

Fontaine had your neighbor on the ground, bent up and yelping next to your overturned trash can. You could only see the back of him as he wrangled your neighbor.

You felt rooted to the spot, watching from somewhere else as you watched the terror that's been stealing your peace get the ragdoll treatment. Fontaine tossed him here and there, his voice furious and low.

Fontaine hauled your neighbor up enough to walk him down the street and out of sight. Still shaking, you took a seat on the couch and tried to pull yourself together.

You aren't sure how long you say there with anxiety eating away at your stomach. When your phone rang again, you hurried to answer.

"Hello, hi..."

"C'mon to the door, it's okay now."

You peeled yourself off the couch and went to the door, flinging it open but still unable to look him in the face. He was wearing only sweats and a grey long sleeved shirt. Quietly letting him in, you couldn't stop the tears when they returned.

Fontaine told you that he made absolutely sure that your neighbor knew what his porch looked like. You could only imagine what he meant by that.

"Don't cry anymore, you're okay now," Fontaine came near you, hand hovering your shoulders in a mimic of touch. You leaned forward until you could feel the softness of his shirt.

"You did good, I'm glad you let me know. Promise he ain't gonna bother you anymore, trust thayt."

Wrapping your arms around his waist, you asked if he would mind staying until morning. Fontaine cupped your face and ran his thumbs along your stinging cheeks.

"Of course."

He went toward the couch but you pulled lightly, leading him to your bedroom. Fontaine was quiet and you still sniffled as you crawled into bed. You only had to look at him and Fontaine hurried to follow.

Cuddled close and worn out, your nerves cooled enough for exhaustion to wander in.

"You can always call me. Just know that, yeah? If you're scared....call me. Don't matter what it is, I'm gonna be there."

Grateful, you could only nod again. Fontaine's hand splayed along your back and to the sound of his steady heartbeat, sleep finally came back for you.

------

"It's probably somewhere in the car," you said to Fontaine as you searched your bag, "I think I left my lip chap anyway."

Fontaine paused in searching himself and pockets to give you a grateful nod.

" 'Preciate you."

You tossed a wink over your shoulder, turning to jog the short distance between the porch and Fontaine's car. He stayed behind, sorting the grocery bags more comfortably to key into the house.

The car was still unlocked and you whipped out your cell, dialing Fontaine's phone to hone in on its hiding spot.

I'll be your groupie, baby (oh whoa)

'Cause you are my superstar (ha, superstar, yeah)

No way. You nearly knocked your head trying to look beneath the driver's seat. Legs nearly hanging out the car as you laid as flat as you could. You were cheek to seat as you scrabbled beneath the seat, the song playing on.

I'm your number one fan, give me your autograph

Sign it right here on my heart (I'll be)

Pushing aside some loose change and grabbing Fontaine's phone, you went to decline your call when your eyes caught on the screen.

My Baby

The big softie, giving you butterflies and he isn't even near you. Wriggling and utterly smitten, you couldn't believe how much you liked this man.

Fontaine gave you such shit for having a crush, but then he goes and lets his homies hear your favorite song every time you call.

Grabbing carmex from the cupholder you could finally wriggle out of the car. Closing the door, you turned and saw Fontaine had been holding the door waiting for you the entire time.

----------

Fontaine texted and you sighed, wishing that you could see him in person. Sometimes the phone just wasn't enough.

Your phone vibrated again, the notification sound pinging through the earbud in your ear. Music definitely made the time spent pouring over technical details a bit more managable.

Fontaine's texts were little nuggets of gold you hoarded through the shift. An aimless sort of conversation that didn't make you feel pressured to answer so soon.

He sent you a picture of a stay cat you looked out for, hunched over what looked to be a half of sub sandwich. You sent him a picture of a goose sitting in one of the managerial parking spots at with all the attitude of a Cadillac.

Only you and a few other ladies jumped at the chance for a short shift the following day, but of course it mean sudden overtime. You glowered at the dwindling piles straight tab files and binders.

There were still records to edit and submit. Then a well deserved long-weekend after to look forward to.

Your phone vibrated in your lap, the only safe place for it since your desk turned into a disaster of binders, white-out, and sticky notes.

Sunglow: [come out side]

[I'm not at home remember?]

Sunglow: [never said you were]

You frowned at your phone. What the hell was he talking about?

You jumped when you heard the blare of a horn. It echoed in the empied parking lot and you were sure you aren't the only one who was leaving their desk to check.

Your cubicle had one of the best views of the parking lot and a few streets over, you put your face to the glass at the same time another horn sounded.

In all his glory, Fontaine leaned up against this car with his phone visibly in hand and the other tucked inside to rest on the steering wheel.

Surprised and fumbling back to your cubicle, you managed to dial Fontaine before he tried summoning you again.

"Romeo, Romeo, stop bein' so disruptive!" You hissed into your phone,"Stop honkin' that horn, you're going to wake up the guard!"

"I know you better bring yo' tail down that tower and give me what I came here fo', Juliet."

With only a sheepish grin to offer "mhmmm" and "okay, then, girl" looks you got, you hurried down the stairs while Fontaine grumbled about the integrity of your building's security through your ear.

Smoothing out your cardigan as you exited the building, you were wishing that you wore something a bit more flattering when Fontaine was already meeting you at the double doors.

You went when your hand was pulled and you were hugged by Fontaine as he rested up against the brick wall of your office. It was a little hiding spot that was mainly used by the night shift.

It was the perfect spot to hide away from supervisors and sudden rains.

"You got somethin' for making yo' man wait for so long?" Fontaine asked, keeping a hand at your waist while the other one steadied you by the chin. You chuckled before looking up at him and pursing your lips.

"Mhmm, don't mind if I do..." Fontaine purred and pressed his silky lips against yours.

Sweet and slow. Fontaine took hold of your hands, left them to massage your shoulders, used on hand to settle at the dip of your waist.

"I can't stay down here for too long," you breathed after parting, "Very tempting to hop into that passenger seat, though."

"Give the word, I'll peel out this bitch."

"Oh, I know you will," you laughed and kissed his cheek before pressing yours to his, " 'M happy you came to surprise me. I think I can make it to the end now."

"I aim to please."

The wind blew a bit tougher and you burrowed into him as best you could. He rested his chin on the top of your head, hands locking at the small of your back.

It felt like being set out in the sun to dry. A nice, long stretch after an afternoon nap. Just...good.

"How much longer do you have?" He asked voice quiet. You probably had another five or so minutes.

Shifting around so your phone could be brought up between you, "About this long."

Hitting play, you both listened to Ms. Hill remind you how nothing mattered more than where you wanted to be most.

-----

ending notes: this felt kinda long lol! thank you soo much for reading! I appreciate every pair of eyes that lands on my writing, it means so much to me! 🥹

taglist✨: @megamindsecretlair @thadelightfulone @mag1calenchantr3ss @cocoeffects @wide-nose-and-wonderful @8ttached @thadelightfulone @hobiesmain @thickeeparker @longpause-awkwardsmile @ms-angiealsina @educatorsareslutstoo @mysterychick93@mcondance@sageispunk@kindofaintrovert@hunnishive@notapradagurl7@blowmymbackout@educatorsareslutstoo@blackerthings@miyuhpapayuh@westside-rot

#Fontaine x black reader #fontaine x blackfemreader #fontaine x black!fem!reader #Fontaine x Black Reader #Fontaine x Black!Fem!Reader #They Cloned Tyrone Fic #they cloned tyrone fic

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daphnefisherofficial · 9 months

Text

bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER SIX

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Avatar Fem!Reader

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CHAPTER SIX - COFFEES, PANINIS, AND MUSEUM DREAMS.

"When Marc mentioned he had a twin, I never imagined you'd be 'identical'," you quipped, shaking your head in amazement as you sized up the man in front of you, who bore an uncanny resemblance to your recent acquaintance, Marc Spector.

Steven flashed a mischievous grin and shrugged apologetically. "Should've given you a heads-up, right?"

You chuckled in response. "Absolutely. But I have to admit, it's a pleasant surprise. I'm thrilled you could make it today."

Amusement danced in Steven's soft brown eyes as he replied, "Wouldn't have missed it for the world. Only a complete fool would pass up this opportunity."

"I like your way of thinking," you said with a grin. "How about grabbing a quick coffee and panini before the program starts? It should kick off in a few minutes. You can join me on the way or hang out with the others inside, your call."

Steven's stomach rumbled in agreement as he chuckled sheepishly. "Haven't had lunch yet, to be honest. I'd love to join you."

"Of course!" you exclaimed warmly. "Let's get some fuel in you before the tour."

Together, you exited the British Museum, basking in the warm glow of the afternoon sun casting its radiance over the historic building's ancient façade. The museum's grandeur never ceased to amaze you. After a few walks, you stepped into a cozy coffee shop just around the corner, where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and toasted sandwiches filled the air. At the counter, you both placed your orders—cappuccino for you and Earl Grey tea for Steven—along with a scrumptious panini to share.

With snacks in hand, you made your way back to the British Museum's majestic entrance hall, where your professional duties awaited. Clearing your throat, you addressed the eager group of potential tour guide applicants who had gathered there.

"Thank you all for being here today," your voice resonated through the room, capturing the rapt attention of the aspiring tour guides as you introduced yourself. "I'm Mira Batala-Carter, a curator specializing in Egyptian Art, Sculpture, and Written Culture here at the British Museum."

A hushed awe filled the room as the applicants regarded you with admiration. They had come to vie for the coveted position of exhibit tour guide at one of the world's most prestigious museums, and now they were about to learn what it took to secure such a role. Among them, Steven stood out, his demeanor relaxed and enthusiastic as he absorbed every word of your introduction.

"I've had the privilege of working with the Department of Egypt and Sudan for many years," you continued, "beginning as an assistant to one of our previous curators, may he rest in peace. Egyptian culture has always been my bread and butter, and it should become yours as well, considering you've all applied for this position."

The applicants nodded, some exchanging glances filled with nervous anticipation. They knew they were in the presence of someone who lived and breathed the subject matter they so dearly cherished.

"In a few weeks, we will be hosting an exhibition featuring The Great Ennead of Ancient Egypt," you informed them. "We're looking to expand our current roster of tour guides, and judging by the turnout today, it's going to be a highly competitive process."

Pausing for dramatic effect, you let the gravity of the situation settle in. Then, you offered a warm smile, easing the room's tension.

"However," you said, your tone encouraging, "don't view this as a competition. We're searching for advocates—individuals who can convey the rich history of Egypt to a group of five-year-olds and make them want to return. That's your mission."

The applicants exchanged intrigued glances, some breaking into smiles. It was evident that you sought not just knowledgeable guides but passionate storytellers capable of igniting curiosity in young minds.

"Now, let's get into the nitty gritty details of the application process, shall we?" you continued, your voice businesslike once more. "Each of you will have a brief one-on-one interview with me. Following that, we'll proceed with a guided tour for my evaluation."

The applicants nodded in understanding, their faces reflecting a mixture of excitement and nervousness. This was their opportunity to prove themselves in the world of museum education.

"One more thing," you added with a compassionate note, "I will personally inform the shortlisted candidates and provide feedback to those who don't make it, allowing them to explore other opportunities. We value the effort and passion each of you has brought here today."

With that, you concluded your introductory speech, leaving the room buzzing with anticipation. The aspiring tour guides were about to embark on a journey that would test not only their knowledge of Egyptian history but also their ability to share that knowledge with the world in the most engaging and enchanting way possible.

Among the applicants, you spotted Steven, his supportive smile eliciting a reciprocal one from you. Today promised to be an intriguing day, and you eagerly anticipated how it would unfold.

As the tour guide interviews commenced, candidates streamed in and out of your office, their resumes showcasing impressive credentials, extensive educational backgrounds, and impeccable work experiences. They approached you with heads held high, eager to make a lasting impression.

However, you couldn't help but notice the stark contrasts in their demeanor. Some appeared so nervous that they struggled to form coherent sentences, fidgeting in their seats and avoiding your gaze as if you held the secrets to the universe. Their anxiety tugged at your sympathy, despite your efforts to create an informal atmosphere.

On the other end of the spectrum, a few candidates exuded an air of entitlement, seemingly the embodiment of nepotism. They rambled on about their achievements, leaving little room for your questions. It appeared they believed their qualifications alone guaranteed them the position.

A handful of candidates did capture your interest but fell short of something intangible. It wasn't just their impressive qualifications but something in their character and presence that you sought.

Outside your office, Steven Grant sat patiently on a wooden bench with fellow tour guide applicants, engaging in light conversation about their experiences as guides. The amiable British man radiates warmth, drawing some applicants toward him.

Steven shared his journey, describing his transition from a gift shop attendant to aspiring tour guide. Some were impressed by his audacious career change, recognizing the determination it took to make such a leap. Others, however, scoffed at the idea, doubting Steven's chances in this competitive field. Still, a handful of individuals remained encouraging, genuinely wishing him luck with his application.

As the afternoon faded into early evening, the number of applicants dwindled to the final four. Interestingly, Steven would be the last to undergo the interview—the ultimate contender.

"I can't believe this," Steven mumbled, his nerves palpable to the American man residing in his mind. "I think I might be sick."

Stay calm. Marc reassured, ever the embodiment of encouragement. You just need to be yourself and let your passion shine through.

"I'm trying, mate," Steven muttered, exhaling deeply as he adjusted his collar repeatedly. "This is the biggest opportunity I've ever had. I can't mess this up, bruv."

You've got this, Steven. Marc declared with a reassuring smile. You've prepared for this moment your entire life. Remember, you know more about Egypt than all these tour guide applicants and curators combined.

Steven nodded, his confidence bolstered by Marc's words. As the time for his interview with you approached, he took a deep breath, ready to make the most of this opportunity. You finally called his name from outside your office, and he knocked softly before entering. Steven stepped inside with a tentative smile, a mix of excitement and nervousness evident in his demeanor.

"Good evening, Steven," you greeted him with a warm smile, gesturing to the chair across from your desk.

"Good evening, Mira," Steven replied, taking a seat as his voice tinged with a hint of nerves. "Great to see you again."

"Nervous?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as you leaned back in your chair, regarding him with sympathy.

"A bit, yeah," he admitted, shyly scratching the back of his head.

"Don’t be. I don’t do the old-fashioned way of job interviews; they're quite dull," you chuckled, aiming to put him at ease. "Let’s treat this as a normal conversation between friends, yeah?"

"Oh, sure," Steven replied, his eyes lighting up with pure relief as he visibly relaxed. "Just a casual chat then?"

"Exactly," you affirmed. "So, how have you been?"

"I've been doing pretty well," Steven shared, his nerves slowly fading as he launched into his job-hunting journey. "I've applied to a couple of museum and library jobs in the past few weeks. This would be my seventh job interview."

"Interesting," you mused softly before offering an encouraging nod. "Maybe this is your lucky seventh, I hope."

"I hope so too," Steven replied with a hopeful smile.

"Now, I've had a look at your CV," you continued, shifting the conversation to his work experience. "You worked at a gift shop in the National Art Gallery, right? I think Marc mentioned it to me a few days ago."

"Yes, that's right. I worked at a gift shop," Steven confirmed, recalling his most recent job before his dismissal. "I sold museum merchandise—everything from toys and sweets to accessories."

"I see. How was your experience there?" you inquired, genuinely interested.

Steven hesitated briefly before deciding to be honest. "Not too bad, except for some colleagues who barely remember my name, and my old boss who's a living nightmare–”

You couldn’t help but let out a hearty guffaw, prompting Steven’s eyes to widen as he slowly realized what he just blabbered. “Oh, bollocks, I shouldn’t have said that”

"Don't worry about it," you reassured him with a soft chuckle. "It's normal to speak candidly about our superiors, especially if they haven't been good managers, right?"

"I guess," Steven agreed, grateful for your understanding. “Still, me and my bloody mouth doesn’t know when it should shut up”

"I'd rather you be honest and open with me, especially if we'll be working together," you emphasized. "I want us to have a good professional relationship, yeah?"

"That's actually a good point," Steven agreed, feeling more at ease.

"There you go. Much better," you said before finally getting to the heart of the matter. "So, you want to be a tour guide here at the British Museum. Why?"

"Why? Well, that's pretty self-explanatory, innit?" Steven replied with enthusiasm. "This is one of the best museums in the world. Why wouldn't I want to work here?"

"I can't argue with that," you admitted, nodding softly as you made a few notes. "But why the interest in Egyptian history and culture?"

Steven's face lit up with passion as he began to explain. "Egypt is a treasure trove of wonders—mythology, mummification, the study of ancient texts, and archaeological discoveries spanning thousands of years. I could talk about it all night."

"I don't mind," you replied with a curious smile, jotting down a few more notes. "It's fascinating the way you talk about Egypt. Your enthusiasm really shines through."

"Thanks, I guess," Steven shrugged, not quite sure how to respond to the compliment. "I've read and studied a lot about it, for sure."

"I can tell," you said with a knowing smile before moving on to the next phase of the interview. "As you may have heard, part of the application process includes a guided tour."

"Yes, I remember," Steven nodded.

"Don't be nervous. It's designed to assess your tour-guiding skills," you reassured him. "Just be yourself."

"Natural, got it," Steven said, his determination returning. "I'll be myself."

"Are you ready?" you asked, standing and offering him a reassuring smile.

"As ready as I can ever be," Steven replied, taking a deep breath as he prepared to seize the opportunity to prove himself as the ideal candidate for the job.

END OF CHAPTER SIX.

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withlovewriting · 2 years

Text

You’re On Your Own, Kid

Summary: You and Steve were best friends, until one hot Indiana summer, that didn’t seem enough.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader.

Words: 3,556

Warnings: Angst. A kind of happy ending but not in the way you’ll want. Very brief implied mentions of sexual situations. Not so much Toxic!Steve, but he’s defo on that King!Steve shit. I am absolutely ignoring the entire story line of Strangers things, as am I ignoring the timeline of college applications etc. The story just fits better this way so i am uprooting everything anyone knows about american university. My bad. No use of y/n.

I also have really bad writers block, so I’m hoping this will help me pull through it.

Masterlist

Summer went away, Still the yearning stays, I play it cool with the best of them, I wait patiently, He's gonna notice me, It's okay, we're the best of friends

This years heatwave felt like no other. Indiana Summers were always hot, but this year it felt unbearable. Wiping the back of your hand across your forehead, trying in vain to stop the beads of sweat from dripping down your face you knocked loudly on the double, red doors.

"Alright, alright. Keep your hair on."

As soon as the door opened, you pushed yourself past your friend, making a beeline for the kitchen, grabbing a large glass of water and gulping at it.

"You were only out there for a couple of minutes." He smirked, watching you from the door frame that he leaned against.

Rolling your eyes, you placed the now empty glass into the sink and sent him a sarcastic grin, "So glad to know you can count, Harrington. Are the others here?"

Before he could reply, you heard Carol's loud screech, causing your head to jolt around and peer out of the window just in time to see Tommy throw Carol into the Harrington's pool.

Making your way outside, you placed your tote by a deckchair that hadn't already been claimed, laying out your towel and pulling off your loose fitted t-shirt and shuffling out of your shorts.

A loud wolf whistle came from Tommy, resulting in you sending him a finger as Carol's swift elbow to his ribs shut him up.

Relaxing back onto the deckchair, you could finally enjoy the sun's burning rays.

"Got you a beer."

A eye opened, watching as your best friend placed the opened can down by your deckchair, another in his own grip as he sat on the chair next to yours, "You know it's really not safe to lay out in the sun like that. Bet you haven't even got lotion on."

Sending a glare, your retort was quickly cut off when he pulled his own shirt over his head, revealing his lean torso, the tuft of hair on his chest thicker than you'd imagined.

Considering you'd known the boy since you were both in diapers, you could attest: Puberty had hit Steve Harrington hard.

His time as captain of the swim team and his previous summer of being a life-guard down at the community pool had done wonders, helping him grow into his gangling limbs. His position on the basketball team didn't hurt, either.

"You good?" His voice pulled you out of your own head, for once thankful of the absurd Indiana heat as you watched a single bead of sweat trail down his stomach, disappearing when it hit the band on his swim trunks.

Shaking your head a little, you sent him a tight-lipped smile before taking your beer, downing a few large mouthfuls to try and cool yourself down, "Totally. Just, hot, you know?"

"You know, I've heard a really, really good way to cool down in the hot weather."

His devilish smirk sent chills down your spine as he stood, moving closer to you. Your own playful smile tugged at your lips, knowing damn well what he was planning, "Don't even think about it, Harrington. I will kill you-"

His large hands heaved you into his arms bridal style as he made a sudden run for the pool, leaving you to tighten your grip around his neck, your own screeching that resembled Carol's from earlier falling from your mouth as your friends hollered and cheered Steve on as he leapt into the pool.

When you emerged, his arm now around your waist, you shoved at his chest a few times, spluttering as the chlorine filled water dripped from your nose, "Harrington!"

One of his hands left your side, helping to wipe the water from your face and out of your eyes before pushing his own hair back from his forehead. Between the humid weather and the pool activities, he had no point of styling it today anyway.

As he held you in his arms, you realized for the first time, you were crushing hard on your best friend.

I hear it in your voice, You're smoking with your boys, I touch my phone as if it's your face, I didn't choose this town, I dream of getting out, There's just one who could make me stay, All my days.

As the hot temperatures fell with the browned leaves of the trees, something had changed between yourself and Steve.

Twisting the phone cord, you could barely keep the gentle upturn of your lips as bay, "You really didn't have to call tonight, Steve. I know you're busy, really. I don't mind."

"I just missed your voice," he sighed softly down the phone, his altered state of mind made his lips a little loose.

"Are you high right now, Harrington?"

"Only a little," he sighed.

A few moments of silence passed between you both, his deep sighs showing that he was close to falling asleep. Deciding that maybe his his good mood might soften the blow of your news, you swallowed hard before softly saying his name,

"I, uh… I got an acceptance letter this morning."

"Awesome, Indianapolis?" You could almost see the grin that would stretch at his face, eyes full of pride, all to be shattered in your next sentence.

"UCLA," you whispered, almost hoping he didn't hear you, but your news seemed to sober him up.

After a few seconds of shuffling, you heard him much clearer, "Wait, what? I know you mentioned it but… I didn't think you were serious."

"Well, I didn't think I had a shot. But the letter came this morning and so long as I get my predicted grades, I'm in."

"Are you gonna accept?"

You remained silent for a moment, swallowing the lump that had crawled its way up your throat, "Would you be mad if I did?"

A small scoff fell from the boy's chest, but his words remained steady, "Mad? No way. Sad, though? I mean… You're my best friend. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Please, Harrington. We all know you'd do just fine without me."

"You know what? Give me 10 minutes, I'm coming over."

"Steve, you've been smoking and-"

"I'm fine, trust me. I didn't smoke that much, I can still drive."

True to his word, just under 15 minutes later, Steve Harrington came barreling through your open window as he sneaker caught on the frame.

"Holy shit, be quiet, my parents are asleep."

"I just, I needed to see you. You can't just drop a bomb like that over the phone."

You took a seat at the end of your bed, fiddling with your hands as they sat in your lap, "I applied to a few places. I'm still waiting for the letters back… California isn't set in stone."

Steve was pacing in front of you, hands threading through his hair as he tried to get his thoughts in order, "I know, I just… I thought the plan was to stay close to home. Close to me."

Grabbing the sleeve of his sweater as he passed you, you gently dragged him toward you. Taking a seat next to you, he finally seemed to settle a little.

"You know that me leaving Hawkins doesn't equate to me leaving you, right? You're always gonna be my best friend. No amount of miles will change that."

Steve placed his hand over yours, still cold from the autumn air, "That's not true, and you know it. You'll go off to sunny California, and some hot guy from your class will teach you how to surf, and you'll join a sorority and… Once you're gone, you'll never look back. I'll just be some guy from your hometown who's name you don't remember."

"Steve," you whispered softly, as if he were some cornered animal ready to bolt at any moment, "you know that's not true. I could never forget you."

The boy watched you for a moment in the low-light of your room, his eyes growing softer with each moment that passed. You knew that Steve – no matter how much he'd reject your opinion – had abandonment issues that stemmed from his childhood.

His father, a chronic cheater, would constantly be off on business trips, his shoes barely hitting the welcome mat before he was packing another weekend bag.

His wife, eventually found out about one of his out-of-town trysts, and Steve thought that would be the end of it. He expected a blow out fight, his mother to send her father packing, but it just never happened. Instead, his mother – despite being a respect woman of affluence around town – feigned ignorance and continued her role as housewife with only one exception. She now joined his father on every business trip.

Whilst it did mean his father couldn't continue his rendezvous as easily, it had a domino effect on the way he treated his son.

From a childhood of broken promises of camping and fishing weekends, to a back hand whenever Steve might dare toe the line of respect, Mr Harrington always seemed displeased. With his life, his wife, his son… You couldn't tell.

And still, his mother just sat by, putting the blame on her child, telling him not to provoke his father.

If Steve was honest, he thinks he preferred it when they weren't in town. At least that way he could be left to his own devices without someone scoffing at him over a newspaper during breakfast.

"Steve," you cupped his face, his downcast eyes glancing over your own, "I'd never leave you behind."

Before you could take another breath, the boys lips were pressed against your own, hard and demanding as though he was scared you'd vanish into thin air.

You'd be waiting for something like this, ever since the summer. Your friendship had changed along with the seasons, and you felt there was no going back now. You'd both crossed a line that couldn't be redrawn.

And as Steve's body pressed you down onto your mattress, his lips caressing your neck, small, soothing pecks after sharp nips, you realized that maybe you didn't have to leave. Maybe you had everything you'd ever need, right here in Hawkins.

Pulling his face into your hands and making him look at you, you whispered, "Ask me to stay. Ask me to stay, and I will."

His lips crashed back into yours, the passion exploding like fireworks on the fourth of July, the intensity of your words acting as an igniter.

And although he never muttered those words, you knew after that night, leaving just wouldn't be an option anymore.

From Sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes, I waited ages to see you there, I search the party of better bodies, Just to learn that you never cared

The Christmas lights hung around the Harrington household were Mrs. Harrington's parting gift before she left for a Christmas cruise with her husband, not planning on being back until after New Years.

You watched as they twinkled, the soft glow of reds, greens, yellows and blues illuminating the living room in a warm haze, just like the alcohol that swam through your veins did.

Neither of you had brought up the evening you'd spent together a few months ago, but it seemed you had settled into a softer relationship. You would hang out after school as usual, trying to force him to at least attempt his homework before giving up and munching on popcorn as you lazed around watching whatever film he'd picked up from Family Video that evening.

The conversation of your future didn't always come up, but even the slightest mention of California seemed to send Steve into a frenzy, barely giving you time to pull off your underwear before he was gently easing into you.

Soft words and even softer touches would remain for hours after, he'd keep you tight in his arms, but never allow himself to fall asleep. By the time you'd awaken the next morning, his side of the bed would be cold.

But your father knew of Steve's reputation around town as a ladies man – as did most of the parents in Hawkins – so you couldn't blame him for making a quick exit.

Taking another sip from the red solo cup you'd been refilling almost as quickly as you'd been draining it, you peered around the party, hoping to spot the host.

Steve was always busy at his own parties. Between the swim team and the basketball team, he remained on a tight loop of schmoozing, just like his mother had taught him. You'd lost sight of him about an hour ago, and as the minutes ticked down before you'd have to leave for curfew, you decided your best option was to just go find him and tell him the good news.

The acceptance letter from Indianapolis burned in your back pocket, and although you wanted to keep the secret until Christmas day, you knew the words would fall out of your mouth the moment you saw him.

You were going to accept Indianapolis. You were going to turn down UCLA. You were going to stay here, with him.

You'd no longer have to send small, knowing glances followed by fleeting smiles across the lunch table, and once you'd moved, he could come with you. You weren't overly optimistic about sharing an apartment with three other girls, anyway.

He'd no longer have to sneak out before he'd be noticed, and you could continue your nightly activities long into the morning if you so wished. You could finally be together, away from the gossip and reputations of the town.

Placing your cup on the small end table, you began to push your way through the room, the crowds of bodies dispersing just enough for you to squeeze by as they continued dancing the night away.

Tommy and Carol were off in the corner sucking face, and you'd seen a few of the basketball team grinding against the cheerleaders in the living room, and decided to head out toward the pool, where Steve would most likely be upside down, cementing his crown as Hawkins High's very own Keg King. A title you couldn't help roll you eyes at.

Sure, he had set a pretty impressive record, but Steve Harrington was not a boy who could handle his drink, which granted, most teenagers couldn't, either.

Thankfully, nobody was stupid enough to go for a winter's night swim, despite the heated pool, but it did mean that there were a lot more people hovering around outside, blocking your view.

"Hey, you seen Harrington anywhere?" you asked one of the cheerleaders from your Math class. She simply shrugged before returning to the drinking game she was playing.

With only two options left, and 10 minutes on the clock before you definitely had to leave, you decided to head up to Steve's bedroom, where he was most likely already face-down on his mattress, snoring the night away.

Few people hovered on the large staircase, chatting over the music as you pushed by. Taking a left at the long hallway, you knocked softly on the door, as if that would prepare you for what you were about to witness.

Steve was, in fact, face-down on his bed. Unfortunately, however, another body happened to be under him.

Sure, they were seemingly both clothed, the only item of clothing that had been removed was his yellow sweater that was crumpled up in a pile at the end of the bed, but the site still caused your heart to plummet.

"God, can't a man have some privacy in his own- oh. Shit, sorry."

Steve looked between you and the flushed girl, as if he genuinely didn't know what to do. A deer caught in headlights, or a fly caught in the spider's web.

The girl grumbled your name, an annoyed scoff falling from her plump lips, "God, get out!"

Despite all of the oxygen leaving your lungs, you quickly hurried back down the hallway, taking the steps two at a time.

You could hear Steve's calls from behind you as he tripped over his own feet, trying to tug on his sweater and ignore the staring eyes of the students he passed by. He didn't managed to catch up with you until you were half-way down the drive.

Panting, Steve grabbed your arm, forcing you to turn toward him. Letting your palm fly, you struck him against the cheek, guilt still somehow crawling up your spine when the red mark bloomed on his skin almost imminently.

You both remained silent for a moment, your chest heaving as you tried fruitlessly to catch your breath. Taking advantage of his few seconds of shock, you turned once more, marching away from the boy, the acceptance letter burning a hole in your back pocket.

You're on your own, kid, Yeah, you can face this

Packing up the last of your bags, you released a deep sigh before heaving them down the stairs of your family home. Sure, it wasn't necessarily a permanent move, but something about leaving felt so… final.

Of course, you would be back during the holidays whenever you could, but you weren't made of money, and it was a long car ride for just for a few days of home comforts.

Your father placed your last suitcase into the trunk, slamming it shut before wiggling the handle. The last thing you needed was to lose most of your packed clothes on the I-70.

You felt like you had been preparing for this day longer than you realized. A bittersweet feeling, dipping your toes into adulthood, even if you did still have the security of falling back on your parents if you needed to. But after everything that had happened, everything you had lost, you refused to allow college to be one of them. Especially when you'd already almost lost it once.

The screeching of tires caused you all to halt your actions, a loud huff from your father when Steve Harrington almost fell from his maroon BMW, tripping over his white sneakers to get to you.

His hair was a mess -- something that was unbelievably unlike Steve -- and his eyes were shining with what could only be guilt.

He had tried to speak to you after his Christmas party, but you'd managed to escape any interaction with him so far. You hadn't outright told your parents what had gone on between the two of you -- you weren't looking to get the boy killed, and yourself grounded for life -- but it was evident something had transpired between you both, causing the rift.

"Can I speak with you?" his eyes darted toward the direction of your parents, suddenly seeming a little meeker "Alone?"

Despite the delay his sudden arrival would have on your travel time, you agreed, waiting until your family made their way back inside.

"What do you want, Harrington?"

"I just... I needed to come see you, before you left. Carol told me about UCLA and I... It just didn't feel right to let you go without seeing you first."

Rolling your eyes, you opened the driver's side, throwing your back onto the passenger seat, "Well, don't worry, Steve. Now your conscience is cleared. Have a nice life."

His hand caught the car door before you could settle yourself into the seat, blocking you from entering the car, "Please, I didn't mean that. I just... You told me, that night. You told me that if I asked you to stay, that you would."

It felt like such a long time ago, yet his weak and wobbly voice still tugged at your heartstrings. you knew what he was getting at before he'd even began to say it. Steve Harrington knew that with one word, he could change the whole trajectory of your life.

"Stay, please. Stay here with me."

And if this had been Summer, or Fall you. Then you would've. In a heartbeat, without hesitation. It was hard to think about what your life could be. A small, one bedroom flat with Steve, the new friends you'd make at the University of Indianapolis would fawn over your love story. Boy meets girl. Girl falls in love with boy on hot summer. Boy asks girl to stay. And she does.

Except this time, she didn't.

Steve watched from his car as your own vehicle pulled off the drive, bags all packed, goodbyes said, and promise of calling as soon as you arrived at your first stop in your cross-country road trip.

You took a moment as you passed him, sending him a small wave, the ghost of a peaceful smile tugging at your lips when his downcast eyes met yours, hand raising to return to wave regardless.

Winding down the window as you made your way throughout the small town of Hawkins, passing by the 'Thank you for visiting Hawkins, Indiana. Drive safe' you released a deep breath that you were certain you'd been holding in all of your life.

Hawkins wasn't the end of your story, and Steve Harrington wasn't the be-all and end-all.

California was only the beginning.

You're on your own, kid, You always have been

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things fic

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wonieleles · 2 years

Text

— our first valentine’s ; park jay

paring: boyfriend!jay x fem!reader

genre: established relationship, fluff (like pretty much the entire thing) | warnings: like one joke about stalking, mention of knife and gun as a joke as well, unedited so probably filled with grammar mistakes | wc: ≈ 1.1k !

as jay stood outside y/n’s door with a bouquet of paper flowers in his hand and a bag of her favorite chocolates, he thought over what to say and how to greet the girl—and possibly her parents. it wasn’t the first time he stood outside her house, but every other time wasn’t valentine’s day, and he couldn’t afford to mess up their first valentine’s together.

his fingers hovered over the doorbell, slightly shaking before finally pressing it.

“ding dong,” the sound echoed throughout her house, causing y/n to immediately run down to open the door.

she calmed herself down and fixed her appearance in front of the mirror situated in the small walkway before the entrance. after making sure every strand of hair was placed in the right position, y/n opened the door for her boyfriend, a bright smile instantly filling her face.

“hi,” she said softly with a shy wave. the growing red on her face was obvious, but the boy was too busy admiring her beauty to care. otherwise his ears would probably burn even more than they already were.

“hey, you look really pretty,” he told his girlfriend while rubbing the nape of his neck. “ah, here, i got you these.”

y/n grinned as she took the gifts, admiring the thought her boyfriend put into them. he had gotten her paper flowers after remembering her allergies towards real ones, but still managed to get ones that resembled her favorite flowers, pink roses. “aww, you remembered,” she pouted, “how did i get so lucky with you?”

“you deserve the best. after all, you’re so incredible, i still can’t believe you’re mine,” the words rolled off jay’s tongue like it was nothing.

now she knew her cheeks were definitely as red as tomato, maybe even redder. “ahh no way, you’re even more perfect.”

jay pressed his lips together in an attempt to resist the goofy smile that itched to appear, but ultimately failed as his ears turned into the color of a fire hydrant. “oh yeah, uh i planned to get you a teddy bear—because i know how much you love stuffed animals—but i thought it’d be better if we made one together at build a bear, you know, for the memories and all. and then afterwards, we can go to a baking class together since you love sweets.”

“correction: i like eating them and that honestly sounds perfect; how do you always think of the best date ideas?” y/n asked as the two walked towards jay’s car.

“i can’t lie, i google them most of the time,” jay chuckled before opening the car door for his girlfriend.

“why thank you, you kind sir,” y/n joked, however, smiling at the gesture.

“of course, a gentleman of my caliber should always help out beautiful ladies like you.”

“ha ha, but can we get food first? i’m kinda starving.”

“yes, i already booked a reservation at blue diamond.”

“oh my, why are you actually always on top of things?”

“it’s cause i just know you too well,” jay responded, glancing over at y/n when the car reached a red light.

“you do, actually, it’s kind of scary. because what if you’re actually a creep,” y/n stopped to fake gasp, “oh no, don’t tell me you’re actually a stalker and have been following me years before we met.”

“how did you know?” jay joked back, “i might have to end you now if you leave me.”

“and exactly how would you do that?” a knife? gun? no, don’t tell,” she paused for dramatic effect, “you’re gonna push me off a cliff like a monster.”

“or i could just kiss you and watch your face turn so red it looks like it might explode,” jay smirked.

y/n obviously shaken by his flirtatious comment, just hummed in response as she turned her head away from him. “oh~ you’re bright red already,” jay teased.

“shut up,” y/n mumbled with a smile.

“don’t worry, you rock the tomato look.”

“i do not look like a tomato.”

“oh then maybe a fire hydrant? or a strawberry?”

“why do you always use a fire hydrant? that’s so random.”

“because it’s funny.”

“it is not funny.”

“is to”

“is not”

“if i agree with you, will i get a kiss?”

“maybe”

“then yeah you’re right, it’s not funny,” jay agreed.

“i’m glad you know where your humor stands,” y/n commented with a triumphant grin.

“yeah yeah, you know you love me still.”

“i do. i love you very much.”

“and so do i, my favorite tomato,” jay responded, laughing at the nickname he made.

y/n rolled her eyes to feign an annoyed expression, but truthfully, she loved his humor even if it wasn’t the best, which jay knew despite her never saying it. “you have got to stop with the tomato comment. people might think you’re serious if they hear it.”

“that’s because i am; you’re my favorite tomato,” jay cooed, reaching out to hold her hand, and when y/n accepted it, he gently squeezed her hand—something he always did to show her he was there and cares. “well, unless you want to be my favorite fire hydrant instead, i mean, i’m not complaining.”

“no! not the fire hydrant again, please. i am not competing with something dogs pee on.”

“wouldn’t that just mean that dogs love you also?”

“i would prefer not to be loved by dogs that way.”

“you can’t control how someone shows their love.”

“yeah, but seriously, peeing? that’s just gross.”

“gasp, i will not take this dog slander,” jay said with pretend offense.

“did you just say ‘gasp’?” y/n questioned as she struggled to hold back her laughter. “please, who says that?”

“your favorite guy”

“nah, my favorite guy is cha eunwoo.”

“okay then, second favorite guy”

“that’s andrew garfield”

“third? please tell me i’m at least third.”

“oh…well that’s embarrassing”

“y/n, what number am i on that list?”

“wait like actual answer or pity answer?”

“why, are they different?” jay questioned, slightly panicking at her lack of response, “you know what, i’d rather not get my feelings hurt today.”

“awww, it’s okay, my love, you’re the one that has my heart,” y/n reassured her boyfriend with a genuine smile.

“heh, my love,” jay mumbled with the pinkish red hue filling his cheeks and ears at the thought of the affectionate term.

but unfortunately for jay, y/n heard his mumble and gushed over his discomposed state. “you’re actually adorable. like the cutest adorable mess.”

note: AHHHH i kinda wanted to jump /nsrs as i was writing this cause why are they so cute and i’m sorry for not adding the keep reading idk how to 😭😭 anyways posting this before i sleep cause my mind is so silly at night 😋😋

permanent taglist (open): @yedamdamn @miridicallyyours

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poohbea · 2 years

Note

IM HERE TO BOOK MY MF APPOINTMENT BABEEEE🤭

so yk obviously i have to pick red w toji😵‍💫 and i just know that dirty bastard has a corruption kink so he got no issue handling little virgins😗 i’m thinking cute lingerie is involved, readers definitely overthinking everything until he fucks the nerves outta you😔

CONGRATS AGAIN ON 300 I LOVE YOU!!😚

wordcount: 1.4k

content: escort!toji, softdom!toji, virgin chubby fem!reader, implied black!reader (there’s one mention of skin tone but it’s very minor), lingerie, blindfold (you see that tie around his neck?), very light choking, pet names (baby, doll, darlin’, etc.), unprotected sex (use protection kids), unedited

note from pooh: the way i was in the ZONE while writing this goodness gracious me, i was literally in toji’s mind while writing, seeing you through his eyes, how you’d feel and sound like, heheheeeeee. why do i always get into that headspace when writing for him? i don’t even know 😭🤭 but anyway, im so sorry this took forever to come out, im lowkey embarrassed smh 😭 i blame my perfectionist ass, cause this wasn’t supposed to be this long lmao but i needed it to be good so here she is 🥺 i hope you enjoy my angel 🤎

WARNING: this is smut, so please ensure you have your age visible on your account before interacting. minors (below 18+), ageless and blank blogs will be BLOCKED

Hope you enjoy ♡ reblogs are greatly appreciated

“My, my,” Toji purrs with the slight shake of his head. He admires the way your skin flushes under the intensity of his dark gaze, eyes raking your body shamelessly. His fingers trace the silken material of the remaining black lingerie, the lace hugging your hips in a way that made his dick all too hard. “Fuck, look at you, doll.” You had him thinking up the most depraved thoughts as you lay there on the bed, blindfolded, so open and responsive to each and every touch.

Innocent. It was the first word that came to mind when you walked through his door. It was difficult for you to meet his gaze when he spoke, often keeping your head down or picking at your nails out of nervousness. However, the more he pried, the more you began to relax, able to speak beyond just one word when he asked you a question.

Then he finally got your attention. “Are you a virgin?”

Your response was almost immediate, wide eyes, trembling lips, a shaky exhale, all before you confirmed it with a soft. “Yes.” It’s when he laughs do you panic. “T-that’s not an issue, is it?! I can go if-”

“No, no,” he interrupts your distressed ramble. “It’s…No, it’s perfect actually.” You were inexperienced, untouched, uncorrupted. And soon you were on his bed, expression resembling that of a deer in headlights, that was until Toji offered you his tie. “This might help with your nerves.” You eyed the satin with clear confusion, drawing a chuckle from the man. “Clients typically find it easier to relax with a blindfold on, gets them outta their head.” With shaky hands you take the tie from him and with some help you manage to tie it securely around your head, vision black and body on high alert.

“I’m scared.” You admit, huffing an anxious laugh.

“That’s okay, baby girl. You’re new to this, so we’ll go nice and slow.” You noticeably shudder as he runs his hands up your legs, starting at your ankles, fingers tracing the sides of your calves before dipping behind your knees, enjoying the soft moan you emit as a result. He knew every erogenous zone there was and just how to touch them to make you squirm. He didn’t have to wonder between your thighs to elicit a sound from those pretty lips, no, he’d make you beg with them first.

Before long he’s at your stomach, your hips following the arched path of his fingertips over your pelvis in a languid buck, goosebumps rising upon your heated skin. “So sensitive.” He can’t help but chuckle when you whine in reply, thighs clenching tight as he journeys over the swell of your breasts, just barely ghosting your already pert nipples through the thin lace.

The man didn’t mind the adorable sentiment, wrapping his gift in such a pretty material, all so he could remove it, layer by layer. But first he’d play with you a little, help unravel that tight coil of trepidation set in the pit of your stomach.

“Breathe, doll.” He whispers in your ear as he wraps a hand around your throat, relishing the way your chest falls on command. “That’s it, baby.”

“Toji.” Your weak pleas went ignored as he continued his amorous exploration, digits hooking the thin straps of your bra. Slowly drawing them down your shoulders, his lips followed suit, each newly revealed section of skin met with the heat of his kiss. And soon your top was off, lost to the shagginess of the carpet beneath the bed as he tossed it aside.

Which brings him back to marvelling at your figure, an irresistible softness beneath his fingertips as he plays with your pert nipples, humming as your back arches, body silently begging for more of his touch.

“Fuck, darlin’.” Was all he could manage before replacing his fingers with his tongue, drawing a sharp gasp from those pillowy lips of yours. You couldn’t help the moans that followed as it swirled around the sensitive bud, his hands massaging the soft flesh whilst he tended to them one at a time.

“Toji, shit.” His name was breathy as it left your throat, unable to lay still in the face of his teasing, teeth nipping gently at the cocoa dusted skin of your breast, slowly making his way down your body.

“Tell me what you want, pretty girl.” He mumbles against the plushness of your tummy, taking the string-like waistband of your underwear between his incisors.

“You, I need you, please.” Even blindfolded you still manage to comb your fingers through his hair, practically egging him on as he finally unwraps his gift completely, your panties still between his teeth when they slip from your ankle and onto the bed beside him.

“What do you need from me, angel?” He doesn’t miss the way you lick your lips when you hear his zipper sound, the button of his pants accompanying it as he draws the garment around his thighs, an already hard cock bouncing at attention in its newfound freedom.

“Make love to me.” Those four words stopped Toji in his tracks.

As an escort it was his job to cater to his client’s every need, to be the lover they’d always desired, they were paying him after all. However, it had been a very long time since he’d heard those four words. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to anymore, if he were truly honest. This line of work was no breeding ground for unstable emotions such as love, so with time he’d removed it from his vocabulary entirely. But the desperation in your tone stirred that forgotten feeling inside his chest. He supposed he could make an exception. You were still a virgin, and that alone blossomed a steely determination that steadily washed away any doubt clouding his mind.

“Say that again.” He huffs, taking his already leaking tip in the palm of his hand, spreading the pre-cum across the flushed velvety skin.

“M-Make…”

“Don’t go shy on me now, sweetheart. Let me hear you say it again.” You shudder when he removes the blindfold from your eyes, free hand parting your thighs, hips settling themselves against your own.

“Make love to me, please, Toji.” He has to swallow the growl rising in his chest as he witnesses you bite your lip, gaze never wavering. That hidden confidence finally reared its head unabashedly, challenging his own as he stared down at you with dark eyes.

Toji is silent when he glides the head of his cock through your unsurprisingly slick folds, the sensitivity of your body revealing itself in the form of a delicious glossy arousal that easily paints his tip. “Mm, baby girl, you’re making such a mess.”

“Don’t say it like that.” You whine breathlessly, eying the way he runs his dick over your puffy clit.

“Like what?” His head dips into the crook of your neck. “You don’t want me to tell you just how fucking wet you are for me, doll? How you’re dripping so much you’re ruining the bedsheets?”

“N-No.”

“No? Oh, but I think you do, darlin’. I think you wanna hear all about how wet you’ve made my dick, and how easy it’s gonna slide into that pretty pussy of yours. Isn’t that right, baby?” He rocks his hips into yours ever so slightly, just enough to nudge against the entrance.

“I-I…” You reciprocate with a needy wave of your spine, almost crying when Toji withdraws from your advances.

“I’m not gonna give it to you until I get an answer, pretty. All you have to do is admit it.” The ragged breaths that break the ensuing silence make him chuckle deeply. So he tries again, making sure to include your clit in the mix. “Do you like it when I tell you how wet you are, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes, fuck.”

“Does it feel good when I run my dick over your clit?” He’s tantalisingly slow in his movements as he speaks, each syllable creating a tortuous cadence against the overly sensitive bud.

“Yes, Toji.”

“Good girl. Are you ready?” The question was answered with a soft ‘yes’, and as fast as those words left your lips was he sinking into you.

“Fuck!” Was the first word uttered by both parties when he’d done so, the tightness — even if expected — had his hips stuttering, your walls squeezing him so mercilessly he could've cum right then and there.

“Oh my go- mm, shit.”

“You’re gripping me so tight, baby.” His exasperated laughter shoots a spark down your spine, one that has your nails digging into his biceps for support.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you talking like that. Makes me far too shy.” You mirror his lightheartedness, exhaling as you speak.

“Well,” he starts, nose tracing the curve of your jaw. “Let’s fuck that shyness out of you, shall we?”

tags: @gardenof-venus, @sailewhoremoon, @okhotel, @xharia, @chubbyblackthottie, @sakinotfound, @protectpancakes, @hoohoohope, @snake-titan

#⊹ ⋆ﾟ꒰ఎ pooh’s world ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹#toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x y/n #toji drabbles #jjk toji #jujutsu toji #jjk smut #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x plus size reader #toji x you #anime x reader #x reader

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onedaughterofman · 2 years

Note

I am /begging/ for some Nihil x reader content.

Perhaps something soft with just a touch of angst.

Nihil is my bf, so yes yes yes...

This took me a while. Thanks for waiting!

Goodnight, again (Young! Papa Nihil x g/n reader)

Summary: Nihil knows how to comfort you after a bad dream.

Tags: rated T. Fluff, only a touch of angst. Nihil being a dork, kind of an lovable idiot. Mentions of nightmares and insomnia. Short and sweet.

"Uh, what's wrong?"

Nihil's voice is barely audible over the frantic beating of your heart inside your ribcage. Mouth completely dry, you struggle to reply a coherent sentence. The nightmare is still fresh in your memory, making it hard to speak.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep," you whisper. Turning around to look at him, your pupils focus on the way his messy dark hair is tousled on the pillows. He's shirtless, comfortably laying on his stomach, body partially concealed by the blankets.

The cold air stings on your skin as you sit on the bed, bare feet on the floor. Through the gaps between the curtains, a faint light sweeps into the bedroom from the street lamps. It’s most likely the middle of the night and you’re not absolutely sure when Nihil joined you in bed.

Oh, how much you missed his warmth earlier, when you got under the covers all by yourself. Lately, Nihil is always busy, having to deal with the Clergy much to his disdain. He’s trying, you appreciate it, but he’s also allergic to anything that resembles responsibility.

A part of you can’t blame him. He’s much like Dark Lord: selfish, indomitable, wild. He’s not made for office work, doesn’t find any kind of joy in expending all those hours sorting through paperwork. The Ghost project was something that made him shine, and you were happy to bask in his light even if he wasn’t yours yet.

It doesn’t matter. Tonight, he’s here. There’s still a remnant of Papal paint on his face, smudged and staining the pillowcase. You huff, having told him a thousand times to remove it before coming to bed. It's useless. Nihil is a hardhead. He doesn't listen to your complaints.

“Where are you going?” Nihil asks. His voice is a low rumble in his throat, coated with sluggishness. “Come back to bed. I miss you.”

“I need some water,” you reply. This time, the harsh tone of your voice forces him to open his mismatched eyes, white iris bright in the darkness. He sits up, shrugging his shoulders to shake the sleep away.

“I’ll go.”

Before you can argue, he’s on his feet walking away. It amazes how much energy he has, how hyperactive he is at this time of the night. On the bed, you wait for him to come back, hugging yourself to fight the cold bite of the air.

Alone with your thoughts, you drown in the memory of the nightmare. It has left you shaken to the core, mouth full of a bitter aftertaste. Your mind is lost in itself you don’t hear him coming back until his arms embrace you from behind, making you flinch in place.

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me what’s going on, but I know something’s wrong.”

Before you can begin to argue, he’s shushing you. His body sways on the mattress, making you follow the movement. “No, don’t try me. I’m not that dumb. Whatever it’s bothering you, I’m here. We’re riding this together, and that’s all that matters.”

At loss of words, you nod. Nihil plants a kiss on your cheek, smearing his already messy face paint on your skin. You softly push him away, sending him crashing on the bed in an over-theatrical display.

"I had a nightmare," you confess, finally, hands toying with the embroidery of the blankets. "I can't get it out of my head, that's all. And I haven't been sleeping well in… ages."

“I know what you need.”

It takes no time for him to run to the other side of the room, carrying his guitar to the bed. It's been too long since the last time you heard him playing, and your eyes follow the deft movement of his fingers as he tunes the instrument.

The melody is soft, acoustic. Gradually, the music fills the room, reverberating on the walls before reaching your ears. Allowing your lids to fall, you breathe deep and let the chords lull you into a more relaxed state.

Elvis, Rolling Stones, even King Crimson… Nihil's fingers play the riffs with ease, not a single doubt behind them. A smile creeps on your lips as he starts a new melody, chuckling softly to himself.

"Really? Fleetwood Mac?"

"What? They are good. I think they have a new singer now, a woman."

Your body makes a soft sound as you fall on the mattress, placing your head on his thigh. He moves the guitar in order to give you more space to cuddle into his leg. A small smile stretches your lips when you speak up. "I thought they weren't exactly your style. You're more of a Pink Floyd or Blue Oyster Cult guy."

Offering a smile back, he stays silent. Nihil's stare falls back to the guitar, long hair obscuring his factions. A new series of chords begin, that moves you to the very core.

"Wait, I don't recognize that one."

"Of course you don't, I wrote it myself." It's the reply, a proud expression on his face.

The statement takes you by surprise, an emotion that creeps onto your words. "You're still composing songs?!"

"Yes. I've got a feeling. An…epiphany? Is that the word?" You nod. "I think people weren't ready for Seven Inches of Satanic Panic yet, but one day they'll love my songs."

Laughing, you reach up to him. Your fingers curl around his neck, tips grazing his hair as you pull him down to kiss him. "Oh, shut up."

"Believe in me, okay? Trust your Papa. I'm just… ahead of my time, si?"

Indulging him, you breathe deep before laying back down. "Okay, Papa. But promise you won't forget me when you're famous."

For a long moment, he doesn't say anything. There's something deep in his pupils, a veiled emotion you can't discern. Hands going back to the guitar, he resumes the melody.

"How could I," Nihil says, but a side of you fears no amount of love from your part could ever compete with his love for the masses.

PD: I had to sneak a bit of angst there, don't come at me. I love my man but he's a slut.

Asks are open!

#ghost band fanfic #ghost band fanfiction #ghost fanfic #young papa nihil #papa nihil #papa nihil x reader #young papa nihil x reader #fluff #ask box #my writing #my fics #ghost band #ghost bc

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alasse-earfalas · 8 months

Text

[deletes entirety of previous post] you know what screw it imma just post the entire first chapter to entice you all.

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

“You know who I am, don’t you?”

Batreaux’s smile faltered. “I’m, not sure what you mean? You’re Link, the human who helped me become one.”

Link shook his head. “I mean before. Before Skyloft.”

“Before…?” Batreaux wrung his hands together nervously. “Well, I… I suppose, that, you, do resemble, someone, from, well…” His shoulders dropped. With a plaintive look he sat beside Link. After a moment of thoughtful quiet, he attempted a smile and said, “If it, makes you feel any better, I… I couldn’t recognize you.”

“You recognize me now?”

Batreaux wrung his hands some more. “Well, you’re older now, and, you were much taller then, so…” He sighed. “Link, I try to not look to our pasts. It was a dark, terrible time, and you and I both did some dark, terrible things.” He put a hand on Link’s shoulder. “We are who we are now, not then. You are my friend. You are Link, husband to Gaepora’s daughter, devoted to your wife and a loving father to your little ones. You are strong and kind and good. Charitable. A friend to those in need.”

Link swallowed. “Have I ever told you that I’ve wanted to kill myself since I was a boy?”

Batreaux gasped. “Link, no!”

Link looked away from him. “I always felt like there was something wrong with me, some inner darkness that I… just couldn’t shake. And now I know why.”

“You should be proud of that,” said Batreaux. “It means you’ve truly changed. You’re a greater man now than you ever were then.”

“Greater,” Link echoed scornfully. “Tell me, does a ‘greater man’ go to any lengths necessary to—” he faltered, “—murder his own brothers?”

Batreaux scoffed. “Hardly worthy to be called your brothers, with what they did to you. Not to mention how they treated the rest of us. I’d call your scheming against them a liberation plot, if anything.” He smiled briefly, but it faded when he saw that it had no effect. “You, do know why you changed, don’t you?”

Link shook his head. “Besides scheming to get my hands on the Triforce by any means necessary, no. Not really.”

“You did it for us,” said Batreaux. “For monsters who wanted to leave the demon tribe, but, didn’t know we could. When you didn’t kill Hylia—” Batreaux caught his misstep, but continued anyway. “—even though you could have, even though the other Demon Lords wanted you to, demanded that you do it—when you chose to spare her, that sent a message to the rest of us. We didn’t have to follow the evil that made us! We could make our own choices, become something new! Yes, Hylia’s grace made the initial transformations possible, but you’re the one who inspired us to want to become something different, to become the first humans. You’re our hero—” He choked up. “You’re my hero, Link. You’re the reason humanity exists, the reason any of us thought we could change at all. That’s who you are, who you’ve always been. Please, my friend, don’t ever forget that.”

Link chewed on his friend’s words. Leaned into the open arm that was offered him. “Thank you.”

After some time they parted ways, each returning to his home. Link walked in his front door to find Zelda wrestling with the triplets and trying (without much success) to herd the rest of them.

“Daddy!” one of the children cried, and began a stampede of little feet in his direction. Link laughed and offered himself as the family jungle gym, meeting Zelda’s grateful eyes a few times. “Have you been giving your mom trouble? Huh?” He grabbed one of them and blew a raspberry on him.

His little boy squealed in delight. “No!” he insisted.

“Oh really? Maybe I should ask your mom about that.”

“No!” he cried with a giggling smile.

Later on when the kids were in bed, Link watched his wife change into her bedclothes. He grabbed her blouse off the floor when she dropped it, his heart warmed by the way it draped over her rounded belly.

“You were melancholic this morning,” she whispered. “Is everything alright?”

Link gazed into his lover’s eyes. Brushed a calloused hand down her cheek. “I remember when your eyes were gold,” he replied.

He was surprised at her reaction. “How could… How do you know that?”

So she didn’t remember. He was relieved. He exhaled softly and kissed her forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered, for a million reasons he wouldn’t name.

“Link?”

He took her hands in his, pressed their palms together. “I don’t want you to remember,” he said. “Not until this adventure is through. I am your Link; you are my Zelda. That’s all I care about now.”

Still with a worried look, she pressed into him for a hug. He wrapped his arms around her.

“I remember when yours were red.”

Link swallowed hard and clutched her tighter. “For how long?”

“Does it matter? You’re my Link. I’m your Zelda. We don’t need our old names anymore.”

Link remembered his. “Heretic,” he whispered.

Zelda looked into his eyes. “Hylia,” she whispered back.

It was a relief to hear her say it. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers.

“Now can we forget about them and go back to living our life, as it is now?”

He nodded. Hands either side of her abdomen, thinking of their children, how much he loved each and every one of them, and how dearly he loved his wife. He thought of the friends he had: Groose, Fledge, Pipit, Batreaux, the entire community of Skyloft. This life was a happy one, and it was his. Built up over time by fate and his own decisions.

Maybe Batreaux was right. Maybe he really had changed.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They shared a warm kiss, then crawled under the covers and fell asleep.

[chapter 2]

#legend of zelda #writing #alasse writes #first hero #first link #first hero link #fierce deity link #fierce deity #skyward sword #zelink #ss zelink #hylia's chosen hero #loz hylia #goddess hylia #hylia #fierce deity x hylia #lu sky

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zoyaofthegardvn · 1 year

Note

thank you for doing gods work for the gay girlies... my lil gay heart would explode if you did a "reader gets kidnapped/hurt & love interest goes feral" trope with zoya <33

A Mission Gone Wrong

A/N: One of my most favorite tropes! And Zoya is my fave book character ever, so I'm so glad you requested this! I'm here for the gay girlies always!!!! Hope this makes your little gay heart happy! :)

CW: Mentions of violence and torture, angst and drama, blood, death threats, actual death, fire, explosions, all that fun stuff. Def violent but in my opinion nothing is super graphic, but this is darker than the typical 'who did this to you' trope! So just be aware!

---

"Are you sure you don't want me to send anyone else with you?" Zoya's voice is pleading, near begging you to accept the offer.

Her concern is sweet, but maybe, a bit overbearing. You'd completed many diplomatic trips, investigations, missions of any sort on your own several times. As a Tidemaker, highly skilled in not just the Small Science, but combat too, and incredibly intelligent, you rarely ran into a situation you truly couldn't handle. Then again, since your marriage to the Queen of Ravka, you were hardly ever sent out to do anything even resembling a challenge.

You smile softly at Zoya, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her pouted lips. "Yes, my love, I think that one Inferni and one Squaller is more than enough," her face begins to contort in skepticism, and you playfully roll your eyes at her. "It will be fine, sweetheart, you worry too much."

She scoffs, as if what you'd just said was an offense. "Maybe I should go with you, it's the only way I'd worry less."

You run your hands up and down her arms, shaking your head at the comment. "And what would the heart of Ravka do without her Queen, Zoya?" She goes to protest, likely to tell you that you're more important, as she's said dozens of times, but you give her a warning look before she can speak up. "I'll be super careful, I always am. You're just stressed because it's the first time in a long time we'll be apart."

She gives you a long look, as if to say, yes, but not only will you be gone, you'll be hours away seeking out rogue and most likely hostile Grisha who don't realize they need your help.

You grin, reading her mind, yet you're still wholly unconcerned. It's been so long since you were out in the field, working intimately with the Grisha whom you've sworn to protect at all costs.

"Zoya, baby, I've done things like this several times, I'll only be gone for a few days, and that's if we even find anyone."

"Then why go? Why you? If there's a chance it won't even amount to anything, why do you have to go?"

You can't help the agitation beginning to grow. You sigh, heavily, and level a glare at her. "Because, this is what I'm good at. It's what I love to do. You know I love the Grisha, you know I'll help them as much as I can. Please, don't try to stop me from doing that."

Her eyes flutter down, and she grabs your hands, playing with the ring on your finger. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that you aren't capable. And I wouldn't worry if I was accompanying you, the way that I used to."

You give her hands a squeeze. "I know that, Zoya, but we knew things were going to change when you became Queen."

She looks back up at you and smiles, though the discomfort is still evident on her face. "I know, I know. Just, please... promise me you'll be careful. You won't take unnecessary risks. You'll come home to me."

Your heart speeds up a bit, at the look on her face, the request she's made. "I promise, my love."

---

Hours later, you're atop a horse, riding along a dirt road. The two Grisha accompanying you, Nadine and Ilya, make small talk, inquiring about why the oppressed Grisha may be hostile towards any help you'll offer. You explain that because they've spent so long hiding what they can do, it's difficult to believe that post-war, they all have somewhere they can call home, somewhere they can learn and train. Their lack of education makes them dangerous, because their power is uncontrolled. Lack of control mixed with fear, hesitation, resentment, anger, even jealousy towards Grisha that haven't had to hide themselves since childhood can lead to explosive emotions, causing harm to anyone involved. They nod at everything you say, and eventually, the conversation dies down, and a comfortable silence follows the three of you.

Your thoughts begin to wander, thinking of how you'll approach any potential Grisha. There's been reports of physicians being able to remarkably heal life-threatening injuries in small towns, Healers. Reports of entire gardens and fields blooming back to life after years of lack of care and abandonment, Durasts. But this isn't what you're investigating, it isn't what truly concerns you. It's the reports of fires starting at random, wiping out villages and citizens in an uncontrollable blaze, Inferni. The reports of lakes and ponds suddenly flooding, wiping out travelers and livestock and crops, Tidemakers. The reports of storms occurring on an otherwise sunny and calm day, Squallers. These are the Grisha in most need of help, the ones that have to learn some sort of control before the public handles them themselves. You refuse to believe that they're truly malicious, just lacking any sort of guidance and outlet.

And then, eventually, your thoughts wander to her, your Zoya. You miss her, like a string tied to your heart, tugging you back the way you've came, hours away from home. Though you don't plan to be anymore than a day's ride from the palace, it's still difficult, being this far from her.

And the thought of Zoya makes your cheeks burn, remembering all the ways she said goodbye to you. Not just with her words, but her fingers, and mouth, and...

And then one of your partners is speaking to you. You shake your head, clearing your dirty thoughts, and look to your right where your companion is. "I'm sorry, I was a bit distracted, can you repeat that?"

Nadine, the Inferni, smiles, like she knows exactly what you're missing right about now. Or maybe, she's too worried she'll offend the Queen Consort. "I was just wondering if we should stop soon?" She glances down to a small map she's got clutched in her hands, "there's an inn up ahead, maybe another half hour ride? Then only a few more hours to the village we're needed in, after that."

You sigh, and give a tight nod, spurring your horse onward. You hadn't even noticed the sun had began to lower, painting the sky a red-orange haze. Truthfully, you wouldn't have minded continuing to the village, where reports of a possible Inferni had been made. But, you won't tire your companions out for your own selfish desire to get back home, to your wife.

The three of you continue towards the inn, and after another 15 minutes, your surroundings slowly look more village-esque. It's small, just a few houses littering the streets, a tavern. It's a commerce town, known for harvesting and trading out to bigger cities. Not many actually reside here, and anyone who does is a worker. It's not built for leisure. But, alarmingly, the place seems rather dry and dead. The grass is brown, the air feels... dusty. A few people in the streets give gentle nods, but they seem exhausted, clothes dirty and faces drawn tight. They recognize the three of you as Grisha due to your keftas, and while public opinion has mostly changed for the better, you can still sense some hesitation from them, some looking a bit worried about three Grisha coming to their little town, one they've surely worked hard to keep from becoming unneeded, one they've ensured people rely on through their trade.

But, what really stands out, is in the distance, there appears to be a large crater in the ground. A few people stand around it, speaking, likely the leadership figures in the town. One woman spots the three of you, and she waves you over.

Turning to your companions, Ilya, the Squaller, gives you a shrug, obviously curious about what's gone on here. Although it isn't the town you've been sent to investigate, something has clearly happened that is out of the ordinary. The three of you dismount and walk the rest of the way.

Before you reach the scene, the woman calls out, "More Grisha come to take from this town?" Her voice is hardened, her face in a scowl, but she doesn't seem to be telling you to leave.

When you get closer, you notice how deep the hole is. The area around it is absent of grass, though now, you suppose, it would be dead grass, and it proves what you had suspected, but dreaded. This was obviously a pond, or a lake, of some sort. And now, it's a dry, lifeless void.

You shake your head at the scene, and ask, "What happened? When?"

The woman, who you can now see is older, but a hard working woman, evident by the dirt on her skin, her messed hair, the muscles in her arms and the calluses on her hands, purses her lips and spits onto the dry ground. "Grisha, that's what happened. A few days ago."

Ilya, relatively new to these types of jobs, speaks up. "I'm sorry, that this happened. What else can you tell us?"

A young man, hardly out of his teens standing next to the old woman answers him. "Middle of the night. Woke everyone up. We all ran out of our houses, and there were these people..." he pauses, and his face screws up in disgust, "Grisha," he spits out, "killing our town."

The other villagers at the emptied lake nod their heads. So much for a good public opinion, you think.

The woman speaks again, "There were several of them, they emptied the lake. Just... picked it all up.. and.. carried it away. How is that even possible?" The last part doesn't seem directed at you, really, and your chest aches with empathy. "And then... there was another one. Th-they sucked the life out of everything. Look at it all! Dead and dry. There's no life here anymore."

Nadine speaks, "We're here because there's another town, farther south, that has supposedly been terrorized by a possible Inferni. We think it's a rogue Grisha, from Shu Han, that's fled the cities. Are you saying there are more rogues, ones closer than we thought?"

The woman nods, her face grim. "They've ruined everything. Our source of natural water... gone. We're the only town for miles. How will we survive, let alone trade anymore?"

And at that, your heart breaks. "I am so, so, so sorry this happened. We've been trying to find these Grisha, each time a new report crops up. It's our goal to find them, give them a home, train them. But this, this isn't just uncontrolled power. This was an attack, and I swear to you, they will be punished accordingly."

"And what does that do for us now?"

You flinch at her tone. "I'm a Tidemaker, and... the Queen, Zoya Nazyalsenky... she's my wife."

All of the people gathered at the empty lake pause, and stiffen. They stand up a bit straighter, their eyebrows raised. You always hate pulling that card, but in times like this, when it can be used as reassurance, you do it.

"As soon as we possibly can, we'll send Durasts, and Tidemakers, me included, Squallers, too, to bring water and life back to your town. I swear it. We won't let you be wiped away."

The old woman's face grows less concerned, but just a bit. "You're Y/N Y/L/N? The Queen Consort?"

You nod. "Yes, but please, just call me Y/N. I'm just here to help, however I can. That's all."

She sticks her hand out. "My name is Polina."

---

It turned out that Polina was the owner and operator of the inn, and her grandson was the young man you had also met, Alexei, was his name. Polina gave you and both of your companions rooms, and Alexei had given the three of you warm bowls of stew.

Before turning in for the evening, you had your Grisha meet with you in your room, to discuss how to proceed.

"I'm not sure we should even proceed to the next village. Truthfully, I think the reports were wrong."

Nadine nods, like she had also considered the possibility. Ilya's eyebrows raise, but he doesn't disagree. He says, "Do you think they were misunderstood, or lies, to throw us off?"

"I think that the Inferni either doesn't exist, or made themselves incredibly obvious to cover for the Tidemakers and Durasts that are apparently working together."

It isn't unusual for Grisha types to stick together, but it is for so many of them to be so malicious. It sends a chill down your spine.

"They've been working together a lot longer than we may even think. They seem organized, out of control, but organized," Nadine says. You nod in agreement, running a hand down your face from the stress.

"I think that our priority should be to help these people. I think we should head back, fulfill the promise we made by coming back with more Grisha. We help restore this town, and then travel onwards, with reinforcements. This is obviously more than the three of us intended to handle."

Ilya sighs. "What if they're destroying another village as we speak, what if they're at the village we had intended to go to, taking their water, killing their crops, too?"

Before you can respond, Nadine does. "The three of us won't be able to help them, not without more Tidemakers, more Squallers, and honestly, we'll need Healers and Heartrenders if this gets violent, and I suspect it will be, facing off with anyone willing to take water and food from an entire town."

You give her a nod of approval, proud of her logistical thinking skills and protectiveness of Ravkans. You make a mental note to urge Zoya to promote her sooner rather than later when you return home.

You send both Nadine and Ilya off to their rooms for a good night's sleep, as the three of you will return home at first light, eager to help this town before it's too late.

You turn down the lanterns of your room when they're gone, changing into a night gown and burrowing into your small bed. Though your brain is active with worries and unease, you eventually settle into a deep sleep, dreams of returning to Zoya there to greet you.

---

A harsh light is filling the room, and you awaken with a jump at a loud bang, several loud bangs, actually. Your eyes fly open, and immediately you see smoke filling the room. From the window, you can see the glow of a fire, and your door shakes with the force of someone trying to take it down.

"Y/N!" Nadine shouts from the other side, and you fly out of bed, ripping the door open with your face tucked into your elbow.

Her face is covered in soot, her eyes pinched shut from the smoke. "W-We have to g-" she cuts herself off, breaking into a violent coughing fit. A loud creak fills the space, and a wooden beam falls just feet behind you, setting your bed on fire.

"Where's Ilya?!" You ask, grabbing Nadine's arm and making a run for it. She's obviously been in the smoke more than you have, so you do most of the work, navigating the two of you down the burning hallway. You pass by Ilya's empty room and keep running, hoping he's waiting outside.

The two of you stumble down the stairs, the rail catching fire as you reach the landing, the both of you practically falling down the last flight.

Ahead, you can see flames licking closer towards the entrance, and you raise your hand, summoning what little water moisture hangs in the air to keep the doorframe from catching alight.

When the two of you burst out of the building, Nadine falls to the ground, clutching her chest and gagging from the coughs. You're disoriented, brain and vision fuzzy from the smoke, the heat, the adrenaline.

You look around, and faintly register that the entire town is burning. You want to scream in rage and despair, but your throat feels like it's on fire, and you break into a coughing fit. You try to find Ilya in the mess, but you don't see him, and instead, you're met with the vision of Alexei dragging Polina's body from the inn's entrance before finally, the entire thing is consumed by flames.

You land on your knees by Nadine, bracing a hand on her back, and attempt to scream out to Alexei to leave Polina, to move, before the entire thing collapses, before a sharp blow to the back of your head knocks you unconscious.

---

There's a throbbing pain in your temples, and it hurts to even move your eyes, but slowly, you peel them open. They're fuzzy for a few moments, and your ears are ringing, but eventually, you hone in on the sight of Nadine, across from you, out cold and tied to a chair. There's a gag in her mouth, and her hands are tight behind her back, her legs restrained to the legs of the chair.

Your eyes widen, but you can't move. You're restrained too, scream muffled by a gag similar to one used on Nadine shoved in your mouth. Your whole body hurts, you jerk and buck, trying to break the restrains, but they're tight, and it feels like you'd been given a thorough beating while you were under, as it hurts your ribs to even take a breath in. You can tell that your right eye is swollen, nearly entirely closed, and your lip is busted. You feel wetness dripping down your face, and you assume there's a cut, somewhere near your hairline.

Eventually, the sound of you struggling pulls Nadine awake, but the sound draws other attention, too.

A door swings open, and two men walk in, one carrying a lantern. The added light, provided by your kidnappers, provides more clarity on where you're being held.

It appears to be an empty, wooden structure. Some of the boards are loose, and through the cracks, you see a whole lot of nothing. There's light, bright enough that you can see that it's well into the next day, but not enough to really see inside of the place. If you had to guess, you're in the small barn, or shed, whatever the town called it, that you had passed by when you'd first arrived.

So, they hadn't taken you far at all, then.

Good, you thought, they're exhausted from all the magic they used tonight.

The man without the lantern steps between you and Nadine, a sinister smirk on his face. His fists are bloody and bruised, blood splattered on his white shirt. Nadine looks to you, an expression of rage on her face, and you can see that she's been beaten, too. Nadine, your closest Inferni friend, known for her red-hot rage.

Yes, you were angry, but you knew they should be terrified of Nadine.

And Ilya, he was nowhere to be seen. Though it stung to think he abandoned the two of you, you hoped it was just that, and that the fire hadn't claimed him, or worse, he had been killed by rogue Grisha, killed by the people he wanted to protect.

You snarled, as best as you could with your mouth gagged, when the man bent to be at eye-level with you.

"Well, when we lured the Grisha out here, we didn't expect to get the Queen Consort herself, but you won't hear me complaining." The man chuckled, his companion with the lantern joining in.

The comment confused you, none of the other rogue Grisha you'd encountered had ever been so malicious. Most of them wanted to be trained, wanted to stop wreaking havoc wherever they went. Most were grateful that there were people who cared enough to go find them, to take them in, rather than hunt, kill, or imprison them. There were the occasional Grisha who didn't like the idea of the Ravkan government knowing who they were, being at Ravka's whim, but mostly, they agreed to receive training in exchange for a life of peace and anonymity once they could be trusted with their power.

But this, this sheer, raw, hate and contempt, you'd never encountered it before. It terrified you.

He obviously noticed your confusion, and so he said, "Did you really think no one would realize what you've been doing? Forcing anyone with power into a life of servitude and restraint?" His eyes narrowed, and he smirked, like he'd caught you at something.

You bucked against the restraints again, and quicker than you could blink, he pulled a knife from his back pocket, holding it to your neck. You stilled at the threat, your breath coming out through your nose in sharp exhales.

"I won't let you do to them what you did to me," he hissed out, amusement turned to rage.

And then, it dawned you. This man specifically, he's not a rogue Grisha, no. He was raised in Ravka, taken to the Little Palace as a child to attend school, and then he defected.

It's rare, but it does happen. Some Grisha don't believe in balance of the Small Science, they don't believe in protection and using their powers for good. They're greedy, and power hungry, and view themselves as Gods.

Grisha aren't forced to serve, especially not under Zoya's rule, but there are the ones who view their education and the philosophy of Ravka has a restraint, a confine. They don't see it for the gift that it is, the necessity to keep not only the common man safe, but the Grisha, too. Small Science is a tricky thing, sensitive and delicate. Many rogue Grisha are found on the cusp of burn out. What you do, finding them, bringing them back, giving them a home, in many cases, it saves their life.

Clearly, this man has festered in his unappreciation and resentment for a long, long time.

He noticed the moment you figured it out.

"Yes, yes, that's right. While you were busying rallying up strays, I was busy finding the ones that don't want your charity. The ones that desire freedom and power, who won't give one up for the other."

You started shaking your head, tears of frustration welling, but he pressed the knife at your throat harder, your movements stopping at the feel of a prick at your neck, a small trickle of blood sliding down your throat.

Behind him, you could see Nadine struggling harder, her chair lifting off the ground a few times from the force of her efforts. Please, Nadine, don't give him any reason to hurt you, you thought, as admirable as your friend's efforts were, you had no doubts in your mind that this man was out to kill.

He snarled, whirling around to face her. "Stop moving, Grisha whore! Or I'll kill you first while the Queen here," he gestured behind himself, towards you, "gets to watch. Do you want that?"

Nadine, with a scowl on her face and likely a growl in her throat, shook her head 'no.'

The man, whose identity you still did not know, hummed. "Good girl."

The comment made you sick, bile bubbling in your throat. He had told Nadine, "I'll kill you first," meaning, he definitely had plans to kill both of you. You didn't know when, or how, and the panic began to curdle your stomach.

He glanced to his partner, still off to the side, lantern in hand. "Meet the others outside, take a few, spread out, look for anyone that fled during the fires. There can't be many left, but find them." The other man gives a sharp nod, sets the lantern on the ground, and leaves.

Then your captor turns to you, he smirks. "I have a few questions."

---

For hours, he questions you and Nadine. For hours, he punches you whenever he gets too frustrated, or holds his knife to your throats, or chokes you until you see stars. He pays no mind to your tears, Nadine's grunts and growls and snarls. Your gags are discarded on the ground, but the town is isolated, and no one hears a thing.

But, you're only just now entertaining the very real possibility that you'll never see Zoya again. You'll never come home to her, like you've always promised, and Zoya will forever be waiting for her wife to come back to her. It isn't the pain that you're in that makes you cry, no, it's the devastation that you will never see her again, the love of your life.

But, there is no chance that you'll give in. You won't tell him what he wants to know about the Grisha, the Little Palace, the Queen. Never would you compromise them. And so if it takes Zoya losing you, to keep her safe, so be it.

Your vision is blurry, eyes swollen, blood dripping from your mouth. Your entire body aches, it hurts to breathe. Dimly, you hear the man, who finally revealed his name to be Gregor, say, "I'm going to ask one final question, and then, you're both done."

Through the haze, you peer up at him, and spit a wad of blood at his feet. "I-I... will t-tell you... nothing."

He nods, like he was expecting it. The knife, for the millionth time it seems, is pulled from his back pocket. He flicks the blade out, and he stalks closer.

And then, in the matter of seconds, the entire space is dark.

He halts his movements, staring around the room curiously. It's like a curtain had been pulled around the barn, and the wind has picked up, whistling through the broken boards, gathering dust, whipping it around fiercely. The lantern goes out, and he grits out, "shit." He flicks his wrist, attempting to light it again, but the wind won't allow him.

A large clap of thunder makes him, you, and Nadine, who is hardly conscious, jump. A streak of lightning flares, and in the brief light, you can see Gregor's conviction falter. He casts you a long look, and then stalks towards the large wooden door, which is rattling from the force of the storm.

But before he reaches it, several screams ring out from outside. Instantly, there's a flurry of activity. The all too familiar sound of fighting is like music to your ears. You hear wind whipping around, bullets flying, water wooshing, fire igniting and soaring through the air, balls of flame creating streaks that you see fly by the structure.

Gregor looks terrified. And he should be. This isn't a few Grisha come to rescue you, no. It's the Second Army, led by Zoya Nazyalensky.

Though you can hardly see, can hardly move, can hardly think. You level a gaze at your captor, and send him a smile, it's toothy, bloody, and smug.

Rage takes over his features. He moves towards you, knife at his side, large strides carrying him closer towards you faster than you anticipated, but he doesn't make it far.

The doors to the barn fly open, breaking from their hinges. In the doorway stands her, your wife, Zoya. Never, in the all years you've known her, have you seen her look so furious.

She's mighty, and beautiful, and the relief that floods through you aches from how good it feels.

The scene that plays out behind her is vicious, but truthfully, it doesn't last long. Gregor never implied there was anyone else working with him that was trained and skilled. A fool, to do this work, while leaving the messiest players on the field. The Grisha Zoya had brought with her are cutting the rogues down with ease, showing no mercy.

And evidently, Zoya has no plans for mercy either.

"Step the fuck away from my wife." Her voice is cold, calculated. Her lip curls into a snarl, and you can see her trembling with the force of her rage. To others, her voice would sound alarmingly calm, but you can hear the unmasked terror in the tremor.

She doesn't look to you, but you know she wants to. Her gaze stays steady on Gregor, who stands halfway between you and her. He seems to genuinely consider her demand, for a moment. But then he grits his teeth, and tries to make a run for you. Briefly, so fast you think you may have imagined it, you see Zoya's eyes shift into those of the dragon.

You almost find Gregor's determination admirable, him thinking he could win against the most powerful Grisha alive. Almost.

Zoya's arm shoots up, her hand pushing forward, hardly breaking a sweat with the force she'd summoned to throw him. He hits the wall of the barn hard, and yet he tries to rise. Again, Zoya lifts him from the ground, throwing him against the wall with a sickening crunch. And yet again, Gregor, with broken and bruised limbs, attempts to rise. Zoya, like a predator toying with her prey, allows him to shakily brace himself on his hands and knees. She takes slow, measured steps forward. "What a pathetic excuse of a Grisha, such a waste of power," she sneers, and the jest hits him hard. He chokes blood, spits it out, and says, "you unworthy bitch." And, if you weren't currently holding onto life by a thread, and still tied up, you would've killed him yourself for that little comment. But Zoya merely clenches her fist, and she sucks the air right out of his lungs.

She continues moving forward, shielding you from the sight. Her face is clenched in fury, her fist shakes as she robs him of life. She holds, exactly like that, until Gregor's chokes are quiet whimpers, until he stops moving, stops twitching, and his eyes stare at her, lifeless.

Zoya doesn't pay him attention a second longer than necessary. Immediately, her rage contorts into worry, and her gaze shifts towards you.

"Y/N, oh saints..." Her voice cracks, her lower lip trembles, and she's launching herself at you.

"Zoya," you whisper, but it's gurgled and choked on blood and saliva. Tears leak from your eyes, streaking through the muck on your face.

Her hands are on you, something you never thought you'd feel again. They shake as she cuts through the bonds around your wrists. You wince at the ache in your shoulders and arms as you bring your hands in front of you, reaching out to stroke Zoya's face as she cuts the ties around your ankles. Your fingers tremble, you hardly have enough strength to graze her cheek. Once she frees your legs, she's gathering you in her arms, bringing you to her chest while she releases a sob into your hair.

She cries your name again, repeats of, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," but you pay it no mind. As much as you want her to hold you, you know you're not the most important thing right now.

You pull back, ignoring the sharp pain in your head and chest. You look up at her, into Zoya's heartbroken eyes, and give her a small smile. "N-Nadine, Zoya... h-help her..."

Her brows furrow, but she doesn't resist, knowing you'd never forgive her if she refused to save your friend, too.

She plants a kiss to your forehead, lips dry and trembling. With a last longing glance, she turns to Nadine, limp in her chair. Like she had done for you, she cuts through her bonds, and Tamar and Tolya come rushing through the broken doorway. They survey the space, anger and shock clear on their face. Tamar makes for you, and Tolya rushes to help Zoya with Nadine.

When she's free, Zoya has him take Nadine in her arms and leave, likely to find an available healer.

Don't let it be too late, please, let her live. The concern almost hurts more than any of the physical torture you'd endured.

Tamar stands you on your feet, but you don't make it far before Zoya's returning to your side, again, bringing you into her embrace. Tamar backs off, giving the two of you space.

"I'll go find a healer for her, somewhere to lay her down while they work."

Zoya doesn't respond, but you feel her nod.

She wraps one arm around your back, the other cradling her head. "My love, can you walk?"

You give her a weak nod, exhaustion beginning to take over, and you know you won't be conscious much longer. You try to take a step, but your knees buckle, and Zoya's immediately scooping you up, the arm around your back taking your weight as the other grabs you from behind your knees.

You don't even have the energy to assure her that you're fine, and besides, Zoya's already making for the exit, her steps hurried and frantic. Again, she's apologizing, you can hear that faintly. You want to tell her it's okay, that nothing is her fault, but your tongue feels thick and your mind feels foggy. You register that you're outside of the barn when the light hits your eyes, the storm Zoya summoned clearly over now that she has you in her grasp. You squeeze them shut despite the pain from the bruising, and you slowly fall under to the sound of Zoya calling your name.

---

When you come to, you're immediately confused. Opening your eyes is hard, and even as they flutter open, it's difficult to see. The pain you're in, that's clear, but you aren't exactly sure where you're at. Things are coming back to you in flashes, bits and pieces. The village, Polina, the fires, the barn, the abuse, Zoya.

There's pressure on your arm, and with a groan, you turn your head to look to your left. There, your wife rests her head on the cot you now notice you're laying on. She looks sad, and exhausted, and you want to brush her hair back from her face but she's got her hand in yours, her forehead rested against your forearm. You admire her for a moment, swallowing thickly, your throat dry and croaky. You notice that many of your cuts and injuries had been healed as well as possible, but many had been too much for healers to erase entirely. Mostly, bruises are left, but all of the soreness, the ache and sharp pains, remain. You can see that you'd been wiped down, your skin not so dirty and bloody as it had been. Settling into your thoughts, you can tell that you're undressed, bandages around your middle, others in various places across your arms and legs.

You bring the hand that Zoya does not occupy to your face, and notice a bandage around the wrist, likely where you'd struggled against the binds, tearing into your skin. You brush hair from your forehead, and wince at the nasty cut your fingers skim. The movement shoots an ache through your back, ribs, and temples, and the jostle rouses Zoya, which you had not intended. Truthfully, you knew she needed rest, and she was just so pretty while she slept.

Her head flies up, and she blinks the sleep from her eyes, her gaze settling on you once she remembers where she's at. Her blue eyes widen, and she breathes your name in a sigh of relief. She scoots closer, and holds your face in her hands.

"You're awake," she whispers, like she worried you never would be.

You give her a weak smile, and she tries to return it, but she fails. Her eyes well with tears again, and she can't control the sob that bursts out of her.

"Zoya," your voice is hoarse, "don't cry, baby, I'm alright."

She huffs a laugh, but it's humorless and bitter. "You are certainly not alright."

She reaches down, and picks up a glass of water that had been next to the cot. She cradles the back of your head, lifting it gently while bringing the glass to your lips. She pours it into your mouth slowly, the fresh water is an instant relief. You drink eagerly, and she pulls back. "Slow down, my love, you'll choke."

She helps you take a few more sips until you stop, satisfied and feeling more awake. Your head meets the pillow again, and you lick your lips with the newly provided moisture.

She sets the glass down, and you watch her closely, her face pinched, a few tears leaking from her eyes.

"Zoya, please, I'm okay. Sore, but I'm okay."

She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. "Y/N, you were nearly dead when I found you."

"Zoya..."

"Nearly dead!" She bites out, turning to face you.

You flinch at her tone, and she sighs. "Nearly dead, Y/N, if I had been seconds later..."

"But you weren't, you saved me, you saved Nadine..." Your voice trails off, and Zoya senses the question. She nods softly, "Nadine is okay, I think she woke up an hour or so ago."

You sigh in relief. "H-How long have I been out?"

She shrugs, "I'm not completely sure. I haven't been paying much attention to the time, I haven't left your side. I haven't gone outside. It may have been a couple of hours, or days, I wouldn't know. I didn't leave you."

She sounds like she's reassuring herself, not you. Your heart aches for her, at how dedicated her love is. "I don't doubt it, Zoya."

She nods, and wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand. She goes to speak, but you know Zoya all too well, know what she's about to say. You beat her to it. "Zoya, nothing that happened is your fault."

She scoffs, shaking her head.

"Zoya, I mean it. Even I hadn't anticipated this, not Nadine, not Ilya, none of us. And speaking of... is Ilya..."

"He's the one that alerted us. He was awake, when they set the inn on fire, he left and came straight back home."

You nod, relieved that he had made it out, thankful that he had done exactly as you taught him. Never engage with a threat out of your range, always get backup.

"I was so, so terrified when he got there, when he told us what happened."

"Sweetheart..." You reach for her hand, holding it tight,

"It was the middle of the night. I woke up to Tolya banging on my door, telling me something had happened, that you'd been attacked," her voice cracks, and you squeeze her hand. "All I could think about is how I was going to lose you, how I was a fool for letting you go, that I had let you leave and I was going to pay for it. I felt like I was going to be sick. I left immediately, the best of the Second Army with me. I-I thought I wouldn't get in here time, or I'd arrive and you'd have been... long dead. That somehow you would have died, been taken from me, and I wouldn't have known."

You shake your head, tears of your own threatening to spill. "Zoya, no. Stop thinking that way. You didn't let me leave, I'm a grown woman, with a duty to Ravka and the Grisha, if it's anyone's fau-"

"And look what that duty did to you!" She emphasizes 'duty' like it's a curse, leveling her gaze at you. Zoya, when upset, when frightened, masks it with anger. You know that, and so you don't take it to heart.

"Zoya, this doesn't need to be a fight. You know that I love my job. And you know, better than anyone, that what we've done has done far more good for the Grisha than bad. You can't let one incident change that."

"Incident?" She looks at you like you've grown three heads, her tears falling quickly now, distorting her voice. "You were nearly killed!"

"Yes, I was, but I survived, because of you."

"Look at you, Y/N... bruised, bloody. You can't even hold your own head up!"

Yes, it's true, you've never been this injured before, especially in front of Zoya. And you know that if the roles were reversed, if it was you waiting at Zoya's bedside, terrified she may not wake up, you'd be distraught. You aren't denying your wife's terror, but you do wish she wouldn't let it manifest into anger, into self-loathing.

You sigh, trying to keep the frustration at bay. "Zoya," your tone is sharp, "I am so, so sorry you had to see me like this. But I won't give up my job for it."

She shakes her head and looks down at your interlaced hands. "I didn't mean to start a fight, I'm sorry."

"I know, baby, it's alright." You squeeze her hand again, in an attempt to get her to look at you, but she doesn't.

"But, I can't let you go out again, n-not... not for a while."

"Zoy-"

"No, Y/N, please, just listen." Finally, she reconnects her gaze with yours.

"Clearly, something went very, very wrong." You nod your head, because yes, something went terribly wrong. "I don't know yet if it was just simple misinformation, or if someone, one of our soldiers in the field, deliberately falsified intel in order to lure you or I out, away from the palace, away from protection."

Truthfully, you hadn't considered that. It's difficult for you to fathom any of the Grisha wanting to harm one another. But your love for them isn't a universal sentiment.

You swallow thickly, but you don't interrupt.

"I am going to find out, though, Y/N. I swear it." Zoya's voice is a dangerously calm whisper, her tone sharp. "I won't stop until I find every single person responsible for this, whoever did this to you, they're going to pay." It isn't just a statement, it's a promise.

"So some escaped, then? They fled?"

Zoya flinches, as if she blames herself for anyone who had harmed you escaping her wrath. "Yes. When we arrived... it was like Hell broke loose. So much fighting, everywhere, across the whole town. So, yes, some of them... managed to escape. I'm sorry."

"Zoya, no, please, don't be sorry for anything. None of us really knew the extent of what was happening."

She nods, firm and absolute. Her eyes narrow as she looks at you. "Now do you understand why this has to end, these rescue missions? At least until we have a better understanding of what these rogues are capable of, what they want to accomplish?"

Ahhh, you thought, she doesn't know that Gregor, the man she killed, wasn't a rogue. He was one of our own. I'll tell her later, let her worry later, she's been terrified enough.

"Yes, my love, I do. I respect your wishes, you know that. I won't go out into the field for a while, but I won't quit this. If there's an investigation to launch, I want in."

She rolls her eyes, though it's playful. "Yes, yes, I figured you would."

You grin, and reach for her face, cupping her cheek. "I love you, Zoya. Thank you, for saving me."

She turns, placing a kiss in the palm of your hand. Then she leans forward, careful of your split and swollen lip, and places a kiss there, too. "I love you, Y/N, more than anything."

---

It isn't for another few days that you're able to be moved. During the first two days, Zoya fills you in on all of the details you were unaware of as you'd been held hostage. You learn that nearly every building, every home, every business, had burned, save for a lucky few. Many had died, but not all of them. Healers were able to bring many people back from the brink of death, and soothe any minor injuries sustained. Zoya told you the village people are resilient, and thankful towards the Grisha that had come so fiercely to save them.

You learn that while Alexei had lived, surviving minor burns and scrapes, Polina had died, her injuries far too grave. Zoya held you while you cried through the sadness and guilt, and she swore to you that Grisha would be stationed in the village to help them rebuild. They were already developing a plan to return water to the lake, and they would continue to provide financial support while the town reestablished its commerce. And while you knew that Zoya would never, ever, back down on that promise, you still felt miserable that it was one that even had to be made. Polina, a hard working woman, that earned everything she had, that loved her town, would never see it restored, all because you had stopped to stay at her little inn. The tears came often, and Zoya wiped them away each time.

On the third day, Zoya helped you sit up. She'd been babying you, but you couldn't complain, secretly adoring when she dotes on you. You insisted that you could stand, too, and walk around. While she wasn't too fond of that idea, she delicately wrapped her arm around you and supported you as you left the little healer's tent you'd been staying in.

You were able to finally see Nadine, and Ilya, who volunteered to be one of the Grisha that stayed behind. Nadine was promptly promoted for her intellect and, as you recalled her growls and efforts to resist Gregor, for her passion. Just as injured as you, you two weren't able to embrace much, but you did tell her how proud of her you are, and how thankful that she'll be going home, too. Though, if there was anyone more eager than you to keep working, it was Nadine, and because she isn't married to the Queen, there isn't anyone to really stop her. Ilya tried to apologize for leaving, for not trying to find the both of you first, but you quickly shushed him, telling him he had done everything right. And, you supposed he had a bright future ahead of him, seeing as Zoya was incredibly thankful to him for his swiftness.

On the fourth day, you finally convinced Zoya that it was time to go home, and that you'd survive the journey. Every night, she'd been applying ointments and medicines to your cuts and scrapes, hand feeding you food and water. She'd get a wet wash cloth and wipe your skin, due to absence of a bathing room. Every morning she'd brush out your hair and braid it, to prevent knots. She rarely left your side, only budging when the Grisha needed guidance and direction. She slept on your cot with you, declining to have her own, claiming, "I don't think I'll ever be close enough to you anymore."

A few members of the Second Army that were to return to the palace, Nadine included, sat on their saddled horses waiting for you and Zoya to join them. Zoya, ever the dramatic, had added blankets and such to your horse, for comfort. She even made a Fabrikator attach buckles to your saddle, because she was worried that if you weren't strapped in, you'd fall off.

She lifts you with ease, putting you on top of your mount, and making sure you're secure before she climbs atop her own. The trip, while able to be made in a day, was to be split into two, for your and Nadine's sakes.

Zoya sends everyone to ride a few paces ahead, so that she can trail closely next to you. You giggle at her protectiveness, but your heart swells at just how perfect of a wife she is.

Zoya watches you, noticing how every so often, you glance back at the ruins of the village you're leaving behind.

"We'll come back, love."

You shoot her a confused glance. "We will?"

She nods, she smiles, and she sighs. "I know you won't stop thinking about this place, won't stop worrying. When they've rebuilt some, and they're back on their feet, you and I will come back, we'll help with the finishing touches."

You could cry at how well Zoya knows you, how she'd do anything to make you happy and satisfied, including travel back to a village, one any other royal would have written off as insignificant and unimportant, one that is now a source of trauma, maybe even more so for her than you.

"I would love that, Zoya, thank you. I love you, so much."

She smiles, and her cheeks grow a bit pink at the sheer adoration in your voice.

"I love you, too."

---

A/N: WOW! I made this a hell of a lot longer than I had originally intended lol. I hope you liked it, anon! And thanks so much for requesting!

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