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daechwitatamic · 4 months

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The Price || MYG

banner by @/itaeewon

The Price

Rating: NSWF - minors do not have my consent to interact Genre: Snow White and the Huntsman!au, angst, smut, unhappy ending WC: 8k

Summary: The Queen is responsible for everything you call yours: your home, your job, your freedom. You live without laying claim to anything else, lest the Queen leverage more in exchange for her grace. But the Queen has just named her latest price: the life of the young blacksmith, Min Yoongi.

Warnings: language, drinking, there’s a plague and it’s a problem, reader’s parents died (see the previous warning lol) and there are scenes of her grieving process, reader is a hunter so there’s mentions of animal carcasses and hides, lots of mentions of reader’s big fancy knife, a murder attempt, kissing, nip stim, groping, fingering, clit stim, penetrative sex (protection not mentioned either way), reader on top, angst, unhappy/ambiguous ending

A/N: Part of the Make Me Your Villain collab! Please give the other authors a lot of love!!! Huge huge huge thank you to @/here2bbtstrash for beta-ing!

Mirror, mirror - look and see. Who might take this throne from me? Mirror, mirror - who's the threat? Show me which boy's blood to let.

There are pros and cons to living outside the village. The pros are that you’re mostly left alone - you live by your own laws, most of the time. It’s better this way; you come and go as you please, you don’t worry about latest fashions or gossip, you aren’t under the thumb of any societal niceties or norms. You concern yourself more with what the forest tells you. Bad weather, humans who don’t belong, sickness on the horizon - the forest knows it all, and you know how to listen.

You knew about the plague - in a vague, something isn’t right here kind of way - days before the first villager fell sick. You didn’t see anything bigger than a possum for three days - you knew something was in the air. It was the baker first, then his wife. Now it’s made its way into the castle, the guards and servants falling like flies.

Another pro - you won’t pick up illness from the baker if you make your own bread in your tiny cabin in the woods.

The main con - the only con, really - is that when you make your weekly trek to the castle to present the King and Queen with your scores (deer, mostly, but usually a few fowl too) it takes so damn long to get there.

It would be faster on foot, much faster, but you have to load your kills onto a cart and take the dirt road, which winds and twists and takes its time. Today your cart is loaded: venison, fowl, a few rabbits, even a fox. That had been a good score. The Queen likes furs - she’ll pay you well for it.

But the trip into town once a week is a fair price for your freedom, you think.

A few vendors through the heart of town wave hello as you pass. You lift your hand in response but don’t stop. You’ll shop after, when your cart is empty and your purse is full. For now, you stay on the main road until it changes over from tamped-down dirt to cobblestone to, eventually, flat stone that leads to the bridge over the castle’s moat.

The usual guard, the one who knows your face and always waves you through, isn’t there. You wonder if the plague reached him, if he’ll recover or if they’ll send his body to the sea like all the others.

You show identification, the card nearly illegible due to how many times it’s been folded and stuffed into your shoe for safekeeping, and this new guard waves you on.

As usual, you stop in the courtyard just inside the first set of walls. You hop down and start undoing the straps of the fabric you have over the top of the cart. Two guards join you, and they begin moving your scores down from the cart. Each is weighed and given a quick once-over as a scribe stands to the side recording it all.

“Make sure you mention how nice that hide is,” you tell him, pointing at the fox. “I got that one special, for her.”

The scribe rolls his eyes a little, but you see him peer at the fox and scribble something on his little parchment. When they’re done, your cart empty, the scribe rolls his paper up and leads you up the steps towards the main doors to the castle. You flip one of the guards a silver coin and follow the scribe. As you head up the steps, you hear the sound of your horse’s feet moving across the stone, the cart creaking and groaning behind him, as the guard you paid takes him to be cared for.

Inside, you follow the thick, red carpet into the throne room. You’re surprised to see only the Queen present, but you school your face and drop into a bow anyway, your forehead brushing the soft carpeting.

When you rise, you see the scribe has handed her the parchment, and she reads over the report of your goods. You wait, knowing better than to speak until she has.

“A good week,” she observes.

“Yes, your Grace,” you say, eyes on the carpet. “I was pleased as well.”

“Are you well?” she asks as she signals for her Chief of Coin, who scurries close to the throne and lowers his head to hear her whispers.

“Quite well,” you say automatically, though you’re not sure what exactly she’s asking. Does she mean your health? Your home?

The Chief of Coin makes his way to you and you pull your practically-empty purse from your back pocket.

“You have need of nothing?” she asks.

This would be your opportunity to ask after anything major - repairs on your home, medicine, anything you couldn’t get during your walk back through town.

“No, your Grace,” you say. “I had need of a new blade, but the local smith took my request.”

The local smith and your new blade are one of your stops on your way home.

“I’ve heard from the citadel,” she tells you, and you pull your eyes away from the Chief of Coin to look at her. “They say your brother is doing well. He’s applying himself to his studies.”

When you’d lost your parents, you’d begged to keep your brother yourself, desperate to keep him away from the citadel’s orphanage. You were of age, could handle yourself. You could handle him, too, you’d argued.

The King had considered this. Your family was well-known in the village, and your father had hunted for the crown for many years. Your brother was only about five years out from finishing his schooling.

You were investments, you and your brother.

In the end, the deal had been struck - the crown would see to the rest of his education under the condition that when he finished he’d work for the crown, pay back his debt, begin to build his own name.

And, in the meantime, you’d take over the hunting. You could keep your family’s little cabin out in the woods, away from town. Your brother wouldn’t be apprenticed off to a stranger.

It was an easy deal to agree to.

“We’re grateful for the opportunity,” you say to the Queen. “If the report said anything less, I’d travel there to knock sense into him, myself. He’s at that age. You know.”

You try to bite back a cringe. The Queen might not know. She’d never been able to bear a child for the King.

She smiles at this, thinly. “Very well,” she says, and you take back your now-heavy purse from the Chief of Coin. “Then I shall see you next week. I wish you continued health in the upcoming days.”

You nod your head. “I wish the crown health and longevity,” you say. Head bowed, you miss the way her eyes tighten.

–

You pick up the goods you need - eggs, flour, and the like - on your way through town. You eye the tavern, tempted to stop for a pint. Alas, you are embarrassingly excited to get your new blade, so instead you carry on down the road towards the smithy.

After tying up your horse - though he’s a lazy thing and probably wouldn’t wonder anyway, not with the cart hitched up - you head inside, following the sounds of a hammer striking metal.

You wait until there’s a break in the noise and then shout a hey back towards the open door to let the team know they have a customer.

There’s the sound of a heavy instrument being dropped to the ground, and you catch yourself smoothing your hair back. Stop it, you scold yourself, scowling.

That’s the face that greets the youngest of the smithing team, Min Yoongi, as he steps into the shop, blinking as his eyes adjust to the light.

“Ah,” he says, lips curling into a smirk. “Is it Thursday already?”

“Is my blade ready?” you ask, ignoring both his self-satisfied grin and his question. “Park Jihoon said I could get it today.”

At his boss’s name, Yoongi’s smirk fades until he’s all business again. He turns to the wall, where special orders are tacked. He searches until he finds yours.

“It’s ready,” he grunts, reading the slip of parchment. “Wait here.”

He disappears into the back again, returning with a hefty-looking blade, sheathed in a leather case.

He places it on the counter between you, pulls the blade from its case and turns it over so you can see each side.

You frown. “I didn’t order engraving on the case,” you say, jutting your chin towards the delicate design at the top. It curls in and around itself, all the way around. “I’d better not have to pay extra for that.”

“Ah, but he worked so hard on it!” Park Jihoon says cheerfully, appearing out of the back and clapping Yoongi on the shoulder. You keep your eyes on the knife; Yoongi looks steadfastly at the wall with the orders, a pink flush working up his neck.

“It’s not extra,” he mutters.

“I’m heading to Bridgeport,” the senior blacksmith tells Yoongi. “I’ll be back before sundown. You’ll be okay here?”

“Of course I will,” Yoongi says, disgruntled. Jihoon nods goodbye at you both and moves through the door, leaving you in silence.

“What’s the price?” you ask, placing your purse on the counter and digging for coins. He turns the paper over so you can see what his boss wrote, and you slide him the payment. You work on attaching the blade’s sheath to your belt, ignoring how Yoongi watches you through heavy-hooded eyes.

You know that look. You are ignoring that look.

“Lovely,” you say, once you’re situated and ready to go. You swipe up your purse and toss it once, catching it deftly. “Have fun pounding on metal, or whatever.”

His grin is razor-sharp. “I’d be happy to pound something else, if you want.”

The laugh rips out of you, unbidden and unwanted. “Disgusting,” you tell him, but the laughter takes the bite out of the words. “My God, you ought to throw yourself down the well for that.”

He lifts a brow, his smile turning less dangerous and more open.

You laugh again, shaking your head. “None of that today, thanks. I’ll be off.”

“Come on,” he cajoles, coming around the counter to follow you to the door. “You know you want some. It’ll be such a long ride back here when you change your mind later.”

“Keep dreaming, blacksmith,” you tell him, lips pursing in amusement.

He lays a hand over his heart like he’s wounded. “Blacksmith? You remembered my name just fine last week when you were -.”

“Well, I seem to have forgotten it again!” you blurt before he can finish the thought, pulling the door open. Over your shoulder you call, “Good day!”

His laughter rings out onto the street, following you home.

Regretfully, you have to admit that out of everyone who lives in this village, built out from the castle’s western gate, you know the most about Min Yoongi.

You knew him in passing, of course - before. When you’d ride through this same village on this same cart, your little brother squeezed between you and your father. When you’d stand silently, peeking around your father’s side, while he took payment from the King for his scores. When you’d greet the peddlers and the shop-keepers politely before climbing back on the cart and riding all the way back home.

Yoongi was just an apprentice then. You hadn’t paid him any mind. He was quiet, a bit scruffy, stayed close to Park Jihoon. He was no more interesting to you than the apprentice for the bakery, the tannery, the copywrite. Wasn’t even the best looking out of the bunch, honestly.

He was just there, unassuming. He was there when you’d pass through town on the cart full of your father’s scores, there whenever your family had business with the blacksmith, there when the holidays rolled through and your mother dragged you into town in a dress you hated and shoes that pinched.

There the day your parents’ bodies, along with six others, were loaded onto a barge headed for the sea. There the day your brother joined four more young people from the village as they climbed into a deep blue carriage headed for the citadel.

Yoongi’s dark eyes, cool and undemanding, had been on you as you stood fully alone for the first time in your life.

You hadn’t paid him any attention then, either. You couldn’t pay mind to anything then except dragging yourself through dark day after dark day until, finally, the clouds seemed to part and your new life seemed bearable. And bearable turned into decent. And decent turned into enjoyable.

The seasons turned. The hurts faded.

And you began to pay mind to Min Yoongi.

You began to learn things about him, then - after.

In your time around town, you learned first that he was good at his work - his blades were made well, easily as well as his master’s blades. You learned that he scowled and grunted but hardly ever meant it. You learned that he had a good reputation around the village - was known for helping his neighbors without being asked, known for being polite and keeping to himself. You learned that he had no family either, that the master blacksmith who’d taken him as an apprentice had more or less raised him, too.

Alone with him, you learned that his smile could be razor sharp, one side lifting and eyes glinting in a way that made your pulse sing. You learned that when he meant it, his eyes squeezed shut and his gums showed. His shoulders shook when he laughed. He made the funniest faces when someone said anything he didn’t agree with or didn’t understand. He’d grown strong, his craft shaping his arms and roughening his hands.

You learned that he took whiskey neat at the tavern when he was done working for the day. You learned that he had a smart mouth behind his quiet demeanor, and opinions about everything. You learned what he was willing and able to do with that mouth when he pressed you against the rough wood of the tavern’s side alley, and then later, back in his rooms behind the smithy.

You learned that he fucked rough but loved soft.

And that was where it had to stop.

Because it couldn’t be - but this you knew the whole time.

When he pressed his mouth to yours sweetly, stretching to reach you, brushed one lovely finger down your cheek and whispered, I want you, you knew this: it couldn’t be.

There was no life for you in the village. There was no life for you as someone’s wife. There was no future for you as someone’s homemaker.

Even if he could somehow give you partnership and love without taking away the wildness of your lifestyle - there was no love ready to bloom and grow behind your iron ribs. You had nothing you could give him back. You knew only survival. Only killing and coin. Only the forest and its secrets.

“You can’t have me,” you’d whispered back. “I am not to be had.”

You were surprised when he didn’t fight it. He hadn’t pushed back. He hadn’t held it against you, hadn’t been wounded. He’d accepted exactly what you were willing to give him and asked for nothing more.

You know this, above all else: he’s sweet, and conscientious, and good. Yoongi is good.

You - forest-dweller, hunter, orphan, unmannered, uneducated - don’t deserve him. You aren’t enough for how good he is.

The royal physician’s face says it all.

The Queen purses her lips, her eyes on her husband’s prone form. He meets her gaze weakly, too far gone to mask any of it.

“How long?” she asks, the words clipped.

The physician spreads his hands before him. “Impossible to say, your Majesty. Days, maybe. Weeks, if he can be strong.”

She scoffs. “Days it shall be, then.” She dismisses him with the wave of a hand.

No one is surprised, she thinks. The plague would breach their walls eventually. Only the strong survive - of course it would be her husband who would succumb first, and quickly. He’d never been strong, not like her.

After all, she was the one who tried all these years. She looked and acted the part of a partner. She was faithful. She focused on the crown, on the realm.

Not like him.

He coughs as he shifts on the bed, and she looks at him again. Weak, she thinks again. She can only feel disgust for him, for everything he never gave her.

“You’ll finally get what you always wanted,” he croaks.

She turns to look out the window. The day is grey, dreary.

“It seems I shall,” she agrees. Then she turns and walks closer to her husband’s sickbed - deathbed, perhaps. She drops delicately into the chair at his side and takes his clammy hand in hers.

It might look as if she doted on him. It might look as if she mourned.

“What became of him?” she asks, voice even and unbending. “The boy.”

Her husband’s eyes crinkle with amusement, and the chuckle that rumbles from his chest is accompanied by pained coughing.

“You truly are something, my Queen,” he says, shaking his head. “The boy doesn’t even know.”

He will say nothing else.

The Queen is delivered two things at once, not a week later.

The first, a gilded mirror, promised to possess magical ability.

The second, the expected news of her husband’s passing.

The realm begins its period of mourning, flags lowering, shutters closing. The Queen begins her incantations, alone in the southernmost tower of the keep.

The frame is made of ornately twisted gold, so heavy it takes two of her men to hang it for her. When they pull the dust cover off, she steps back to appraise it.

“Pretty,” she observes, watching her own reflection in the glass - unmagical, unextraordinary.

The swirling, green-hued mist doesn’t appear before her reflection until her men are dismissed, the door closing and leaving her alone.

Your Majesty, the mirror intones, the voice coming from the depth of the mist. Your wish is my command.

The Queen pauses, considering. The throne, the throne - hers, finally, only hers.

Unless.

The King’s last words to her ring through her head - the boy doesn’t even know.

She raises her chin and chants,

“Mirror, mirror, look and see…

Who could take this throne from me?

Mirror, mirror, who’s the threat?

Show me which boy’s blood to let.”

The mist, green and growing, takes over the glass. The Queen’s fists clench tightly at her sides.

The mist clears. The Queen lets out a laugh, short and bitter.

The blacksmith’s boy smiles shyly in the glass, one hand coming up as if to hide his face.

The blacksmith’s boy. The king’s bastard. Her only threat, the only other claim to her throne.

Your next trip into town isn’t with a cart full of venison and fowl. Instead it rings more true to the holidays of old, with your mother in charge. You wear black and a scowl, just as you did then.

The funeral services for the King threaten to last the full day, maybe into the night. You wish you could abstain, but if ever there was an event you were obligated to attend - this would be it.

You’re not sure what the King’s death means for you - for your brother. Will the Queen uphold the bargain? Does she still want your brother’s counsel, someday, when he’s of age? Without the King’s affection for your father, will she continue to allow you to live freely as part of the arrangement?

You sit alone in the church pew; rather, you’re surrounded on either side by strangers. You know Yoongi’s in the crowd somewhere - you can feel his eyes burning holes in the back of your head. You don’t turn to look for him. What good would it do?

It’s well after dark when the town begins to file out into the night. Your stomach growls, and you ponder if you should stop for a hot meal at the tavern before making the trek back through the woods or if you can hold out until you’re safely back at home.

You’re stopped on your way out the door by a guard reaching across you, blocking your path.

“Her Majesty requests your audience,” he says gruffly, and you feel the hairs on your neck stand at attention. Your audience?

It can’t be good. You’re sure of it.

You don’t meet her in the throne room as you have in the past. Instead, the guard leads you to a small chamber off the chapel, a nondescript little room with no decor, only a table with a candelabra lit in the center.

She’s seated, and it’s so cramped in the room that it’s hard to properly bow, but you do your best.

“Is my brother well?” you blurt out as soon as the guard has closed the door behind you. It was the first, biggest concern you had - you couldn’t hold it in. Had something happened in the citadel?

She inclines her head, shrouded in darkness. “I asked you here because I need something done. You seem, somehow, to be my best option.”

You duck your head, flooded with relief. “I’m at your service, as always.”

And you are. You owe the crown everything - the home you were allowed to keep, your brother’s education, your income. Your freedom, as conditional as it is.

The Queen seems to think before she speaks, and when she does each word is short and deliberate.

“There’s someone I need gone,” she says, her voice giving away no emotion. No sign of grief from the widow, no sign of trepidation from the new ruler, no sign of regret from the human asking you to take a life. “A threat to my throne. I’ll pay five times our normal scale. And I’ll pay you for your discretion, as well, on an ongoing basis.”

You respond with silence. You can’t process quickly enough - you don’t know what to tell her.

The only thing you can tell her is yes. She holds your whole world in her hands.

But if you tell her yes, then you have to do it. Can you kill a person, can you pretend it’s no different from cutting a rabbit’s throat?

Could you tell her yes and then leave? Vanish into the forest? What would become of your brother, if you did? Would he be responsible for your sins?

Five times your normal price could do a lot for you. You could send finer clothes to your brother, help pay for his books, maybe even a little spending money. You could fix up the cabin - patch the roof where it leaks, reinforce the cellar the way you’ve thought about for years.

And payment for your silence - ongoing? For how long, forever?

None of it matters. You can’t say no to the Queen.

“Yes, your Majesty,” you hear yourself say. Your stomach is a block of ice, turning over and over with the tide. “I am yours to command.”

You know it. She knows it.

“The blacksmith’s boy,” she says coolly, and you aren’t even surprised. It’s like part of you knew, somehow. Part of you has been waiting for this ending all along. Isn’t this exactly why you’d never let him get too close? There was never a happy ending in the stars - not for you.

She accepts your silence as acquiescence and adds, “Tonight.”

“Tonight?” you repeat, voice coming out too wispy.

She meets your gaze, still cold. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” you say, the only correct answer. But your mind is scrambling far away, getting ahead - what weapons do you have on hand, how will you do this -

“You didn’t strike me as softhearted,” she says, full of disdain.

“I’m not,” you defend. It’s just that it’s Yoongi. Yoongi, who sees your sharp edges and smiles because he knows firsthand how much sharp edges are worth. How - how - how can you? How can you pretend it’s just a hunt, just a necessity, when you know how his mouth tastes, how he looks at you like you’re something?

Her even look turns darker, a shade closer to a frown. “I know you have the stomach and skill to kill. And I know you dally with him. He’ll follow you - take him to the woods and be done with it.”

You haven’t been as discrete as you thought you had. You wonder who else in town knows about whom you dally with.

Not that it will matter, after tonight. Not if you follow orders.

Not when you follow orders.

“Yes, your Majesty,” you say, head bowed.

There’s no other correct answer. Your freedom had always had a price.

–

There’s some poetic irony, you think, in killing Min Yoongi with the blade he made just for you.

Your mind is stuck on this, circling it, unable to let go, as you approach the smithy.

The lights are out - there’ll be no late-night projects, not during the official mourning for the King. You hope Park Jihoon, whose quarters are above the smithy, just across the yard from Yoongi’s tiny cabin, sleeps deeply.

You know Yoongi keeps a key in the eaves above his front window; you’ve seen him retrieve it no less than a half-dozen times - usually he’s reaching for it, his shirt rising and showing a slip of belly that you can’t help but run your hands across as he laughs and tells you to be patient.

You reach it on your own, tonight. You let yourself in as silently as possible, closing the door behind you, placing the key gently on his tiny, wooden table. His bed is in the far corner of the room, and although the fire in the hearth has gone out, you can see the lump of blankets through the darkness that show you his form.

You approach quietly, as you would approach a potential score, letting yourself slip into the mindset of surviving the forest.

You hesitate when you stand over him. He sleeps on his back, the light from the streetlamps outside casting flickering yellow over his delicate features. His eyelids flutter. Next to his head, his fingers twitch.

If you strike true, this could be over in an instant.

His eyes slide open, and a hazy smile drifts over his face. “Am I having a very good dream?” he murmurs. His eyes trail down your form and freeze on the knife in your hand. The smile fades, and his eyes meet yours again, a question in them. “Or perhaps a very bad one?”

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. Then, you move at the same time - you lunging and plunging the blade into the spot where his heart lay, and him rolling sideways and hitting the floor with a thud.

You yank your blade free from where it pierced Yoongi’s empty mattress and wheel to follow him as he scrambles upright and towards the door.

You should’ve locked it. You shouldn’t have apologized, your voice and your regret giving him the split second to bolt.

You follow him at a sprint, panting hard, as the fool runs barefoot through the smithy’s yard, heading for the forest.

Your forest.

It’s overcast tonight, threatening rain. No moon or stars to guide you, you follow Yoongi as he zigs and zags blindly through the trees. You have the advantage. You know where you are, even in the dark.

It’s primal, as you forge deeper and deeper through the underbrush, just sinew and silence as you run. Wind whistles around you as you focus on breathing, focus on following the crunch of Yoongi’s wild path. The earth seems to rise up to meet each footfall with a jolting slap. The darkness seems to spur you on like it knows you need this, pressing you onward, telling you, hurry, hurry.

If you can herd him towards the east, you can cut him off at the ravine - he won’t be able to do it barefoot, not without stumbling, not without cutting those bare feet on the sharp rocks. You pick up the pace, emboldened by the plan, knees and elbows pumping as you close in.

Without warning, Yoongi stops short and wheels around on you, feet skidding a little on the loose needles that coat the forest floor. It’s so unexpected that the inertia carries you to him before you can tell your legs to quit. Before you can slow, before you can turn, he grabs you by the arms and slams you backwards into the thick trunk of an oak tree, hard enough to knock the wind out of you with an audible gasp.

You’re surprised enough that the knife drops from your fingers, and he wastes no time gripping you even tighter and throwing you to the ground, instantly dropping his body over yours and holding you down as best he can as you struggle. The blade lies just out of reach, taunting you, and you reach up and stretch as hard as you can to wiggle your fingers closer, but Yoongi roughly jerks your arm away.

You’re gasping for breath as you struggle beneath his weight, trying to keep your vision clear. This wasn’t part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to have to chase him, have to fight him. You aren’t used to this - the deer don’t fight back.

“Why?” he pants heavily, his whole body heaving with each inhale and exhale. Sweat runs down his neck from the curled, damp edges of his hair. His eyes are wild, confused above you.

“Do you know who your father is?” you respond in answer, and the question surprises him so much that he leans back, like he’s trying to get a better look at you.

It’s all you need. You use your feet and your core strength to stretch just past where you couldn’t reach with his full weight on you, and your fingers close around the blade’s handle. In a flash, you have the sharp side pressing to the pulse point on Yoongi’s neck, hard enough that you know he can feel the sting, your other hand curling in his shirt and holding him still. His eyes widen and he freezes, straining to hold himself up and away from you.

“If you move I’ll do it, and it won’t be quick,” you hiss, teeth gritted so hard you’re sure they’ll crack. Your heart slams in your chest, adrenaline sending tingles clear down to your toes. You’re dizzy with fear. You aren’t sure what’s scarier - actually doing what you’re meant to, or having to report that you didn’t.

You’re both stuck there - a tableau, an oil painting, frozen for eternity, never moving on from this moment. A million possibilities stretch on as Yoongi’s pulse beats visibly against the knife he’d sharpened for you just days ago.

You feel like you’re floating outside your body; you can’t feel any of it - not the knife’s handle against your palm, not Yoongi’s hips still pinning yours, not the sticks and stones beneath your spine, not the sticky humidity of a night on the precipice of storm. Not your own thrumming, frightened heartbeat.

You know you can’t do it - not this way. Not like this, not with his eyes on yours, steady, as if he’s not staring down his death. Not like this, looking into his face and remembering the first time you were under him this way, remembering every time after that. Your hand trembles as you will yourself not to pull the blade away.

But he knows. Yoongi’s always called your every bluff, has always been perfectly capable of shooting you a knowing half-smile and pushing right past your blustering, always able to find the person on the other side of the facade - the person who’s scared,confused, alone.

“No you won’t,” he murmurs, low, and there’s nothing accusing or mocking in it. He’s simply telling you what he knows.

Slowly, carefully, he lowers his face closer to yours, so deliberately that the knife slides harmlessly along his skin until he’s clear of it. He presses his lips to yours, uncertain at first, then with more insistence when you don’t push him away.

The fear and adrenaline crash through you in time with a not-so-distant crack of thunder, blinding you, rendering you thoughtless and animalistic. You drop the knife with a thud, barely aware that you’re doing it, your hand coming instead to tangle in his loose hair, clutching it tightly at the base of his neck and pressing his head closer to yours, kissing him deeper, needing to absolutely drown in his kiss.

He grunts at your enthusiasm, nipping at your bottom lip before diving into you again, licking deep into your mouth and pressing his hips down into yours in rhythm with the kiss. You move with him desperately, the quiet of the woods scattered by your combined gasping breaths, tiny sounds of pleasure slipping through the cracks in your armor, the wet sounds of your mouths coming apart and meeting again hungrily. Despite the earth solid beneath you, you feel like you’re spinning. You clutch him tightly, one hand in his hair and the other arm coming around his shoulders, tethering him to you.

He’s the only thing keeping you here, in the present, not skittering off to somewhere safe inside your head.

You let him hold you there, pressed between him and the unyielding ground below you, channel all the rushing adrenaline into how you meet his fiery kisses, pressing your mouth hard back against his like it’s a battle, into how you roll your hips against his, thrilling at feeling him hard and ready for you. But for all the intensity, for the dizziness sweeping over you, neither of you rushes - you kiss for so long that your lips tingle, your core throbs, the night grows blacker, the thunder tiptoes closer.

You swipe your tongue over his familiar lips, whining in your throat when he opens for you again, welcomes you in, rocks against you and closes his eyes against the sting as you unconsciously tighten your fingers in his hair.

Then he breaks the kiss, pulls himself free of your grasp, nudges his nose to the underside of your jaw until you lean your head back, breathing hard, giving him room to attach teeth and lips to the skin of your neck.

He gathers a bit of skin and worries it between his teeth, muttering, “You won’t kill me. No one else can make you come undone like I do.”

The sound that tears out of you is half laugh and half desperate groan. “Prove it, then,” you goad, fingers finding the hem of his shirt and pulling the edge towards you. He releases the spot on your neck long enough to let you pull the material over his head. Then he sits back on his knees between your legs and looks you over, one hand absently sliding down the front of his trousers, pressing relief into his waiting cock.

“Yours,” he says, tone steely. You find your own hem with shaking fingers. Distantly, there’s a flash of lightning, illuminating the canopy of tree branches above you before plunging you into darkness again. You pull your top over your head and drop it next to his, leaning back on your elbows.

All thoughts of what you’re supposed to do here have left you; there’s only hands-shaking adrenaline and instinct driving you to give in to your desires and pursue what you want - Yoongi, Yoongi, more of Yoongi.

“Trousers, too,” Yoongi tells you, voice quiet. His fingers are on the string of his own trousers, but his eyes are on your exposed chest. Hungry.

You do as he says, untying your bottoms and pushing them away with your feet and waiting for his next move. The night isn’t cold, but you shiver. The forest, your forest, feels like a sanctuary, like it’s wrapping around the two of you and keeping you safe from everything outside. Like if you stayed in here, together, you might be safe from her after all.

But you know that’s a lie.

You push the thought away by coming up on your knees and approaching Yoongi, who’s still kneeling, too. You press your chest to him with a shudder as you reach to kiss him again. He gives a quiet, happy noise low in his throat and you answer with a hum as you lick into him again.

You slip a hand between your bodies and find him heavy and leaking. He presses into your touch with a nearly-silent keen that you manage to catch, and you trace your fingertips up his length, playing in the wetness you find waiting for you at the tip, then pulling that wetness down to the base again. You repeat the motion, touch featherlight, and listen to Yoongi’s breathing hitch and catch and sigh as he closes his eyes and enjoys it. He’s silky against your fingertips, skin like satin even here.

Yoongi trails kisses down your jaw, making a clear path towards your neck, and he skims a hand up your side and past your ribs, cupping one breast and rubbing his thumb roughly over your hardening nipple. You gasp, fingers twitching against his length, which spurs him on. He runs his knuckles lightly over the bud, then takes it gently between his thumb and forefinger, giving it an experimental roll. Your gasped ah turns into a liquid moan and he does it again, harder. You keen, a note of complaint in it, as he repeats the movement that is somehow both too much and not enough.

You wrap your hand fully around him, done teasing him with barely-there strokes, and roll your wrist once, twice, three times, his low grumbling reply music to your ears. He’s still mouthing at your neck and he switches hands, igniting sparks as he gently pinches the other nipple instead. Then he reaches and bumps your wrist out of his way as he cups your sex and spears you on his middle finger.

“Fuck, Yoongi,” you whine, rocking into his hand, trying to take the digit just a little deeper.

He must hear the desperation in your tone or sense it in the way you clench around his single finger, because he takes mercy on you and presses a second finger in beside the first. You sigh, still rocking against his hand, as he fucks into the spot in your front wall that makes your eyes drift closed and your toes curl up. You abandon his cock, bringing your hands to his shoulders, hanging on to keep yourself upright. When he presses his thumb against your clit you groan, loud and long, no one to hear you, and let your head fall back.

“That’s right,” he murmurs, plunging his fingers in and out of your wet heat. You can hear it each time he pushes them back in, the sound ringing in the silent woods, the only competition the approaching rolls of gentle thunder.

He works you up until you’re panting, your forehead dropping to rest against his collarbone, your hips in constant motion as you seek more. Your arms are looped around his neck, though you don’t remember starting to hold him, and your fingers find the ends of his long hair, tugging lightly in time with his motions. Occasionally his thumb circles your clit, causing your hips to jerk, but the angle stops him from keeping it constant. He pulls his hand away, and you take a bracing breath, coming back to your senses as the sensations fade.

He drops back from his knees, one arm behind his head as he lays back. He locks his eyes on yours as he strokes himself, his teeth toying with his bottom lip.

“Come on, then,” he prompts, his hand languid and lazy on his cock. Your body buzzes as you climb over him and sink down, letting him fill you, stretch you, break you into pieces. You ride him hard, one hand splayed on his flushed chest for balance, as around you the wind picks up, the leaves on the trees fluttering.

Yoongi’s eyes screw closed and his head tips back, even as his hands continue to guide your hips through each rise and fall.

You slow, savoring the drag against your walls, savoring his pretty skin beneath your fingers, savoring the grunts and hitched breaths he’s trying to hold back.

You could have loved Yoongi. In another life, where you had chips to bargain with. In a life where you fit into place within the village, where wild wasn’t as necessary to you as air. Even if the Queen had never called for Yoongi’s head - this life never meant for you to love him.

This is what you think about as you lightly rake your nails down his chest, watching him squirm beneath you. You think about all the times he’d been on the edge of saying it.

You think about all the times the feeling had risen up in you, as warm as a patch of sunlit floor, and you’d had to blow it away like an errant dandelion seed.

Maybe you do love him. You just can’t forget - not for a second - how little it matters.

The knife sits where you’d dropped it before undressing, just past Yoongi’s head.

You could probably reach it now.

Yoongi seems to sense the change in your motions and cracks an eye open, his fingers on your hips loosening.

His gaze follows yours. A flash of lightning makes the metal shine for a split second, and then you’re surrounded by the sudden patter of falling rain.

“Guess we better hurry,” Yoongi mutters, reaching up to grip the back of your neck and pulling you down so your chest is flush with his.

All thoughts leave your mind as he hammers into you from below - the knife is forgotten. Your feelings are forgotten. The rain, starting to muddy up the ground around you, forgotten.

You cum around him in silence, jaw clenched, fingers digging into his biceps. The groan he lets out as you squeeze around him in waves is drowned out by a growl of thunder that feels like it’s right above you, all around you.

Yoongi pumps into you with abandon, suddenly losing the rhythm he’d created. He gives two more shuddery thrusts and then lets his arms flop to the ground with a contented sigh.

For a second, you both lay there, sweat-slick and panting. Another lightning splits the sky, and the rain comes harder. He slides out of you and you wiggle until you’re laying just next to him instead of on top of him.

You can’t stop looking at him. He seems determined not to look at you.

The rain washes everything away - the smell of sex, your sweat, your affection, your sadness, your pride.

“My father,” he murmurs beneath you, and you go deathly still. “Yes, I knew.”

You swallow, brush rainwater from your brow. “So does the Queen,” you say back. An explanation, and an answer to the why he’d leveled at you an hour ago.

He nods slowly, expression clearing with understanding.

You feel no absolution for it.

Finally, he leans his head back again, his bangs flopping heavily now that they’re saturated with rainwater, and eyes the knife.

You sit up. He brings his eyes to you and watches silently - as if he accepts whatever move you make. As if, should you reach for the metal, he wouldn’t fight you this time.

“Go.” The word tumbles roughly onto the inch of mud between you. You don’t remember making the decision to say it.

He sits up, elbows and shoulders caked with mud. But all he does is watch you, wait for you to change your mind.

“Go,” you repeat, meaning it. Now that you’ve said it once, now that the decision was made, you know it’s the right one. “I’ll tell her it’s done.”

You could never kill him. You both knew it all along.

He dresses wordlessly, and you do the same, pulling your top back over your head and tying up your trouser string. When you look up, he’s standing in the rain, watching you.

You stoop and grab the knife he’d made you. You grip it tightly in your hand, refuse to meet his eyes.

He’s not challenging you, not questioning you - and that, in itself, feels like a slap.

“You can’t come back,” you say, as evenly as you can muster. When he just looks at you, infuriatingly silent, you add, “You can’t. Okay? If she - she can never know.”

“I know,” he says, and then he gives you a long, searching look. He’s drenched now, and your hands itch to push his set hair away from his face, to use your thumbs to chase raindrops - you think - away from his lashline.

Then, choked, he offers, “You could -”

“Don’t,” you bite out, stopping him before he can make you any kind of offer. You can’t. You can’t go with him. You can’t disappear into the night. Your brother is counting on you. You won’t let him pay for your sins.

Yoongi shakes his head. He takes another step closer. Your fingers tighten on the knife’s handle.

“Y/N, I -”

You raise the knife above your head in a flash, eyes going wide in fury.

“Fucking go!” you bark.

He holds up his hands, takes a few steps backwards, giving up his quest to make this harder than it needs to be. Lightning illuminates him and above your head, the blade shines for a split second before everything is cast into inky darkness again.

When your eyes adjust to the darkness, trees around you forming a shape again, he’s gone.

You don’t follow him, and you don’t return to your cabin. You sink to your knees in the mud, dropping the knife onto the ground, and sob into your hands, the noise swallowed by the flurry of rain and the intermittent cracks of thunder.

—

You sleep. You hunt. When the time comes, you bring your scores to the Queen atop your wagon.

She doesn’t ask you about Yoongi. You don’t offer her anything, just thank her for her grace routinely when she orders your purse to be filled.

You don’t stop at the tavern on the way back home. You don’t stop at any of the shops - not this time. You don’t trust yourself to act right if Yoongi’s disappearance gets brought up. You don’t trust that no one will do the math that he vanished four nights ago, and now you’re a hollowed shell who can’t form words.

The townspeople have seen you grieve before. They’d know what they were seeing.

The next trip is easier, and the one after that even more. The Queen never thanks you, not that you expected it, but you start finding an extra purse of coins in your wagon each time you return to it after bringing in your kills.

The price for your silence. The price for what she thinks you’ve done.

It hurts the most when your wagon passes the smithy, but you keep your eyes on the cobblestones and your hands on the reins and eventually the hurt fades along with the village as you get farther and farther away.

The seasons turn. The hurts fade. You send extra money to your brother. You sleep. You hunt.

Eventually, you stop waking up from nightmares that feature the glint of metal. You stop waking up trying desperately to cling to your dreams as fruitlessly as clinging to smoke, left with only damp places on your pillow and the memory of a low, throaty chuckle ringing in your ears.

Eventually, you can ride past the smithy without the pang in your chest. You can stop for a pint without watching the shadows for the appearance of a gummy smile. You can laugh when the bartender cracks a joke, can sound like yourself when you ask the baker’s daughter how she’s been faring.

It is after one of these trips, deep into color-saturated autumn, that you return to your cabin with wagon empty and purses full.

Something isn’t right. You freeze, casting your eyes around the forest, but it holds its secrets tight.

On the ground in front of your door, illuminated by the late afternoon sunlight, is a brand new, shining blade.

thank you so much for reading!!! i really really like this one and i hope you do too!! <3

#bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #min yoongi fic #min yoongi fanfic #min yoongi smut #min yoongi angst #fairy tale au #fic: the price

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luveline · 1 year

Note

can I request more bodyguard James? he’s just the cutest and I’m happy to read anything about it!!

thank you for your request! you and James go shopping and get mistaken for a couple ♥︎ fem!reader 1k

James looks like your boyfriend, sometimes. There are moments that he deems low risk in your life where he won't wear his radio or his utility belt, opting instead for plain black civilian clothing. In those moments, you aren't proud of yourself for doing so, but you like to pretend he is your boyfriend.

He's looking through broccoli's for you. You hadn't asked him to. His hands sift through huge trees until he's found the most vibrant, holding it up for your inspection.

"Perfect," you praise, opening your small paper bag so he can drop it inside with the rest of your hand-picked veggies.

The only thing left on your list is extra virgin olive oil, but you don't want to go home yet. You like the way people look at you and James when you're together, awed and a little jealous. They might wonder how you nabbed a man like him, and of course you haven't nabbed him at all. That's your secret to keep.

You meander down the vegetable aisle, your eyes skipping over snap peas and cabbages, bags of wonky carrots and parsnips. James grabs a bag of rooster potatoes before you can stretch over the crates for them.

"Gotta wake up earlier in the morning to beat me, angel," he says.

"I don't think I could."

James wakes up at 3AM every morning, if he's to be believed. It makes sense. He wakes up, does bits around the flat, works out, has breakfast, and is waiting smiley and bright-eyed when you emerge from your room at 6:30. You're never as put together as he is, usually in your nightgown or one of those matching pyjama sets that make him look you up and down (though you both pretend he doesn't).

No matter how bleary your vision is, it's impossible to miss the way he smiles at you every single day, like you're the sun coming up over the horizon. His pretty brown eyes squint, his thick crop of eyelashes threading together at their corners, and he says some warm variation of, "Morning, princess. Is it me or did you get prettier while I was gone?"

"We could try it out. Of course, if you wake up at three, I'll have to start waking up at midnight," he says now.

"I don't know how you do it," you say. Your voice is softened by genuine admiration.

"I get to see you. Makes it easy."

He's flirting, but with James you can never make out where the line is. Does he want you to flirt back? Does he want you to want him? You'd say without hesitation that James is your best friend in the whole world. He'd say without hesitation that his best friend is actually a duo, Sirius and Remus. That makes it hard.

But it's okay. You don't need anything more than this: his hand on your shoulder guiding you across the aisle to the fresh fruit punnets, the smell of his cologne a familiar treat.

You pick up a couple of things you like, mostly stuff you know you can convince James to share. He likes oranges best, so you grab a bag of huge ones and drop them in your basket with the veggies. It's getting heavy. You can practically see James' holding in an offer to carry it for you.

You're somewhere in the spreads and grains aisle when an older lady approaches you, or rather James, tapping him on the elbow gently.

"Hey, hun, you couldn't help me reach something?"

"I'd be happy to!" he says cheerily.

"Thanks so much. I've never been very tall, and every year I seem to shrink. It's just over here."

James legally isn't supposed to stray from your side, so he threads his hand under your upper arm and pulls you with him.

The elderly woman points to a box bragging organic, dehydrated strips of applesauce. "It's those right there if it's no trouble for you, hun."

"No, of course not."

James grabs her box with little to no effort expended. He doesn't even need to go on toes.

"God, he's so tall," the elderly lady says to you.

"He's super tall," you echo, your sunny talking-to-strangers voice in play.

"And very handsome. You're a lovely couple."

You fall into silence with your lips parted, not sure what to say. It isn't worth correcting and potentially embarrassing her for a harmless assumption, especially when you like that she thinks it, but you don't want to embarrass yourself in front of James by looking to eager.

"She's the lovely one," James says, offering the applesauce with a huge beaming smile.

She presses her hand to her collar, basket proffered until James places the applesauce carefully on top of a punnet of plums and a TV magazine.

"Thank you," she says. "Getting old's no fun when you're short. And my husband was even shorter than I am! You hold on to this one, love, you never know when you'll need something from a tall shelf."

You and James laugh in a mirrored delight at her easy-going joking, his hand falling against the top of your shoulder, fingers spread and clasping. You swear, heat radiates like the sun from his touch alone.

"I'm holding on about as tightly as I can," James says, "she couldn't get rid of me if she wanted to."

You look at him, startled, and meet his earnest gaze. "I don't want to. I don't think I'll ever want to."

James smiles.

The elderly woman nods like this is something she'd suspected.

"Good. You're a perfect pair," she says.

James rubs the space between your shoulders affectionately while he finally steals the heavy shopping basket from over your arm. You're too flustered from his touch to kick up a fuss.

"I've been thinking the same thing," he says.

#bodyguard!james #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter x fem!reader #james potter fanfiction #james potter imagine #the marauders x reader #the marauders fanfiction #the marauders fanfic #the marauders #marauders era #marauders #james potter fluff #bodyguard!james potter

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bloodlust-1 · 2 months

Text

The Consort ₊⁺જ⁀➴

Ascended Astarion x fem Tav

Chapter: 2 | Red Is Traditional

Summary: In a tumultuous tale of love, power, and betrayal, Tav finds herself entangled in a complex relationship with Astarion, a heartless vampire lord who will stop at nothing to maintain control over his newfound spawn. As Tav witnesses Astarion’s transformation and descent into darkness, their love is put to the ultimate test amidst love triangles, drama, and the pursuit of world domination. Redemption seems like an elusive goal while Tav grapples with the realization of who her lover has truly become.

UPDATED EVERY MONDAY

AO3 LINK | MASTER LIST

Lovely photo by @aristenfromwarsaw

"Wake up." Tav was shaken awake by Astarion. She rubbed her eyes and looked up at him, confused.

"What's going on?" she asked. Her eyes darted to the window and the sun was slowly settling down into the horizon. Astarion was usually in the palace by that time, with no intentions of leaving.

"Don't question me, just get dressed," Astarion said, passing Tav an embroidered black cloak. "We must hurry before it gets too late and the shop closes."

Tav's eyes widened. "oh - okay." She sat up from the bed and hurried to put on the luxurious cloak and slippers. "Is there something going on..?" Tav stumbled as her finger got snagged while trying to slip on her flats.

"Wait," Astarion held Tav by her shoulder as she fixed herself. "You need to drink this first." He reached for a glass cup sitting on their bedside.

The thick liquid of blood filled the brim of the cup. It was darker in color than Tav's freshest pint of the slick, but he was right. She needed to eat before starving herself.

As Tav gazed at the glass in front of her, a look of disgust crossed her face. With a swift motion, she pushed it away, “I don’t want it..”

Disgusting.

Astarion’s expression shifted into a frown, his eyes reflecting a hint of anger, "You can eat all the food you want, but we both know it'll never give you the proper energy your body needs."

With a subtle yet commanding gesture, he pressed the glass against her lips, his tone firm yet strangely alluring. “Drink.”

She held the glass lightly and sipped the thick dark slick. It coated her mouth in a bitterness that turned Tav's face sour.

"It's bitter," she coughed, dabbing away the excess spill from the corners of her lips.

"It's old," Astarion continued. "But it'll give you some energy."

Astarion had to bottle animal blood for Tav, and not every day was a successful catch.

Tav took another sip and forced it down. It tasted awful, but it did give her a little energy.

"Okay," she said. "I'm ready."

Astarion studied Tav's face, his dark eyes glittering with amusement. He cupped her cheek, pressing his thumb against the smeared blood on her lips. "You're a mess," he chuckled, his voice low and playful. "But you look so beautifully delicious."

He leaned over and licked the traces of blood left on her skin, pressing his lips into hers in a small kiss. Tav willingly opened her mouth, her heart pounding. She could feel his tongue against hers, and the taste of his kiss was intoxicating.

Astarion pulled away, his eyes still locked on hers. "Now we can go."

Tav nodded obediently, her mind still reeling. Her chest pounded with a heat that burned from the absence of Astarion's touch. She had never felt so alive.

They left the palace and headed to the market. Tav held onto Astarion’s arm as they walked down the familiar streets of the lower city.

"Where are we going?" Tav pulled her cloak's hood over her head, shielding her from any light left in the horizon.

"Fabrics. The party is formal attire and I wanted you to wear only the finest material." Astarion guided Tav up the ally ways and she gazed up at him, face flushed.

"Are you going to...sew me a dress?" She tried to peek up at his face, and when his eyes caught hers, he nodded once with a smirk on his face.

The rush of warmth squeezed Tav's chest and her smile beamed brighter than any star in the sky. Tav knew Astarion was a skilled sewer, but she had never seen it for herself. This felt special.

The city was still under construction from the Netherbrain and it was kinda sad to see all the rubble piled up in front of destroyed buildings.

Astarion tugged on Tav's arm as she got caught between her feet staring out at the ruins of what was once a grand city.

“Come now, my dear," he said with a stern lilt to his voice, "We're almost there." He too looked at the rubble, remembering how weak and helpless he had felt back then. But now, he was stronger than ever.

With a small jingle of the door, a wave of natural fibers hit Tav and Astarion. The countless rows of material covered the walls and the store clerk greeted them,

"Good day!" The clerk's eyes sized up the couple and his eyebrows perked up. They looked expensive. "Looking for something as flawless as you two?"

Tav cracked a shy smile, her elf ears dropped with reddened tips. She waited for Astarion to speak, "Yes. I want nothing but the best."

The clerk's smile widened and he guided them to a section of the shop with a wave of his hand, "Of course! I have the finest material all available to the likes of you. Here - take a look."

Tav eyes trailed down the rows of fabric, and one caught her eye. A purple velvet material. It was soft to the touch, stretchy, and rich in color.

"Astarion, look how pretty." Tav rolled out a piece of the velvet from the roll, face flushed with amazement.

Astarion’s face turned bitter and he shook his head, "No, darling. Just feel how heavy it is. Do you really want to drag this dress around?" He scuffed, how foolish.

"I suppose..." Tav rolled the velvet back with a sigh. "I thought it just looked pretty."

"What you thought and what is true are two different things. Now - let us take a look at this." Astarion rolled out a silky red fabric with a glint of approval in his eyes. "Now this is something worth our attention. Red is traditional after all."

Tav hummed with a nod, yes it really was beautiful. Maybe he was right, the velvet would be a heavier material.

"That is our mulberry silk. It is made from the cocoons of silkworms. It is one of my finest materials in all of Faerun, everyone will know its worth just by its look and feel."

The feel? Tav would be wearing it and there's no way he'd let anyone touch her under his watch. Astarion frowned, "No one will be touching this material except me." Jealousy blurred his vision for a moment before clearing his throat, "This will be all."

The clerk's worried expression landed on Tav. It was like he was trying to telepathically send red flag signals to her, but alas, she knew this side of Astarion too well. And sometimes it was very abrasive.

To cut the tension, Tav spoke out with excitement, "Well! it's very beautiful. Thank you for your time, sir.

As they walked home, Astarion noticed the admiring glances from other prying eyes as they passed by, and a flicker of jealousy crossed his face.

It wasn't Tav's fault she was unique in beauty. She was definitely foreign in appearance compared to the city’s people. She bared clear crystal white eyes, that were eerie yet captivating. Growing up, the wood elves thought she was born blind, but it was just genetics. She looked ghastly with dark glowing skin like licorice and had long messy locs. Her hips were fuller than most, with petite shoulders. Even in a cloak, she shined in the crowd. Nothing could mask her beauty.

She was Astarion's vision, his muse.

He subtly tugged at Tav’s arm, a gentle yet possessive gesture that didn’t go unnoticed. Tav turned to him with a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling mischievously, "Jealous?"

Tav shrugged, she was used to people staring at her.

“Tav,” he murmured, his voice laced with possessiveness, “When people stare, they'll know your mine.”

Tav stopped in her tracks, turning to face him fully. She reached out to gently cup his cheek, her gaze unwavering. “You have nothing to worry about, my dear vampire,” she assured with a grin. “I have eyes only for you.”

Astarion’s expression softened at her words, a rare smile escaping his lips as he shook his head amusingly. “You are daring, my dear spawn. But I suppose I am reassured by your words.”

There’s no need to be jealous when he consumed so much of her already, mind body and soul.

Tav tried to pull his face into a kiss, but she was stopped mid-gesture. Astarion grabbed her wrist, and he loomed over her with dominance, "Now, now. We must save our energy. I still have to take your measurements."

Tav yanked her arm away from Astarion, slightly rubbing her wrist, "I really don't like when you grab me like that, Star." She felt a little crossed.

He leaned in closer to Tav, his voice low and seductive. "On the contrary, you do. It's Just when you're not on your knees is when it is a sudden problem."

Tav raised an eyebrow, looking slightly offended but also amused. She crossed her arms and scoffed.

“Oh, is that so?” Her tone teased. Despite the provocative comment, she refused to let Astarion’s charm rattle her composure. She met his gaze head-on, unflinching and bold.

“Well, if you think that’s a problem, maybe you’re just not used to someone who can stand tall in your presence,” Tav batted her eyelashes in amusement.

Tav took a step closer to Astarion, their faces merely inches away. “But don’t worry, I’m sure we can find a way to work around that little issue,” she added with a wink.

Astarion’s lips curled into a smirk, “That mouth is going to get you in trouble.”

He was entertained and impressed by Tav’s cheekiness. Without missing a beat, he reached out and grabbed her hand, intertwining their fingers. “Come now, Let’s not keep the night waiting any longer,” He appreciated her daring nature and found himself drawn to her fiery spirit.

But in the back of his mind, Tav would have to suffer punishment for speaking so rashly to her master. In all due time, of course.

Next part here

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!

See ya next Monday ( for a smutty chapter! ;p)

I'm posting chapter 3 NEXT NEXT Monday (March 4th) since I couldn't wait to get this out. and then I should be able to stay consistent every Monday since I have a few chapters already written up :D

#The Consort #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 tav #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion bg3 #astarion acunin #astarion x tav #astarion angst #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion series #ascended astarion #spawn tav #Spotify

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cheolism · 1 year

Text

his reward

➳ boo seungkwan x reader

➳ summary: after a long day, seungkwan decides to seek relief between your legs

➳ wc is approx 4.3k

➳ warnings/tags: minors do not interact. idol au. dom! seungkwan, service top! seungkwan, bottom! reader. pet names (baby, angel, good baby, good angel)(kwannie). mentions of video game-typical violence. oral (bsk giving), fingering, praise. pussy drunk seungkwan. spitting. face-riding. masturbation & cumming on body. intentional lowercase

➳ request: "no rush but it would be great if u could write something abt dom seungkwan cause there’s a drought of seungkwan fics esp dom ones . . ."

➳ note: i tried to fit dom! kwannie, and i hope this was what u wanted plus still fits and suits him!! thank u for the request, and i hope it fulfills what u wanted !!!! <333

night had fallen on the city, the only light in your bedroom coming from the streetlight directly across your apartment building and the television. you had long tuned out the show you had put on, eyes narrowed in on your phone.

the shower squeaked, drawing your attention away from your pubg game for just a moment. you listened as the shower door squeaked as it slid open, signaling the end of seungkwan’s shower.

then there was a sound of a bomb from your game, and your eyes were back on it. you and seungcheol made your way around the building, crouching, your eyes on the horizon.

“still playing that game?”

you hummed in response, eyes darting up. seungkwan was running a towel over his hair, wrapped tight in a bathrobe. your bathrobe, to be honest, but the two of you had long dropped any attempts at organizing your wardrobes. especially after an incident where you wore a hoodie to meet with soonyoung and jeonghan at a grill, only for seungkwan to turn around and wear the same hoodie the next morning to a group practice.

the robe, due to it being yours, was short on him. while it went to your calves, on seungkwan it brushed against the back of his knees. the fluffy sleeves revealed his fine wrists, seemingly framing them as if they were a masterpiece, drawing all your attention to the way he held his hands, the way his long fingers tousled his hair back and away from his face.

“we’re gonna beat wonwoo for good,” you returned, looking back at your game. seungcheol’s character hopped into a jeep, the border that surrounded the map closing in. you quickly followed, letting him drive away. “we got mingyu right away.”

seungkwan snorted, turning and going back into the bathroom. “good. that jerk needs to be knocked down a few pegs.”

you grinned a little, biting down on your lip. feeling warm, you kicked off the comforter. you had already taken off your pants for the night, leaving them at a heap at the bottom of the bed. the weather had taken a turn for the better, to the point where you could now open the windows during nighttime, letting a gentle breeze fill the room.

seungcheol drove the jeep next to a cliff. you both jumped out of the vehicle, spinning your characters around to try and see if you spotted any enemies.

you shifted, setting your feet flat on the bed and raising your knees up.

there was a gunshot in the game and both you and seungcheol were turning towards it. you began firing in the general direction, offering a distraction for seungcheol to get the chance to snipe the enemy.

the bathroom sink turned on and off. seungkwan began singing, his sweet voice filling the apartment and making your heart flutter a little.

he always sang with such power, always commanding the stage. so you treasured the moments where he sang in his lower register, his voice sweet and honey-smooth, full of sincerity and making you feel as if you were the only person in the world.

the approaching enemy defeated, you and seungcheol turned back to watching the horizon for more enemies.

a sharp gust of cool spring wind filled the room, making your curtains flutter and your body shiver. you could feel the cold air against your clothed cunt. you stuck one of your feet back underneath the blanket, tempted to grab it and cover yourself again.

seungkwan continued to sing as you and seungcheol shot down another enemy, the lovely lyrics to one of the group’s ballads filling your ears. absentmindedly you began to sing along, albeit quieter than seungkwan. while you constantly boasted your boyfriend’s many, many talents, you were conscious where yours were lacking.

you didn’t notice when seungkwan stopped singing, your own voice carrying on the tune. it wasn’t until the bed shifted, his weight displacing it, did you stop and glance up.

seungkwan was watching you, eyes sharp. his hair was still damp, sticking up at odd places. his face was slightly red from his skincare routine, and you could smell his orange blossom lotion.

“kwannie?” you looked back down at your phone. you and seungcheol ducked into a house, the faint song of gunfire disrupting the overwise quiet bedroom. “why’d you stop singing?”

your boyfriend sighed deeply. you steered your character onto the roof of the building, laying flat on the top and watching as two enemies neared it.

“today was really stressful,” seungkwan began in that coy voice of his that told you that your boyfriend had something in mind. so you stayed quiet, eyes still on the roaming players. “it was long and never-ending. but i endured it.”

you grinned a little, glancing up at seungkwan. he was looking at you still, body turned completely towards you. you dropped your legs, letting them splay out, knees against the sheets. “it’s hard sometimes to tolerate days like that,” you agreed, wiggling your toes. “i’m proud of you for sticking through it.”

“thank you,” seungkwan said, moving. you could see the figure of his body as he stalked up the bed, nearing you. “i think i deserve a special something for enduring it. don’t you?”

you nodded, shooting down one of the players as they tried to walk up the stairwell that led to your roof. “you do! do you wanna go to the cafe tomorrow? that little one that has the bread shaped like fruit?”

seungkwan hummed, one of his hands settling on your foot. he tapped his finger against your foot thoughtfully. “that’d be good, baby. but i was thinking about a reward more accessible, something i can have now.”

“we can have some of that frozen yogurt in the freezer,” you suggested absentmindedly. seungcheol’s character walked up the stairs, jumping for you to follow. “i think it goes bad in a week anyways.”

“frozen yogurt does sound good,” seungkwan drawled out. he wrapped both of his hands around your ankles, clenching slightly. “but i was thinking about something even better than that.”

brow furrowing, you glanced up at your boyfriend in confusion. you didn’t keep many treats in the apartment, finding that one of your boyfriend’s groupmates would sneak in at some point and eat all of them before you could even have a first.

seungkwan liked it when you did his nails, liked it when you pampered him. maybe that’s what he wanted?

then a sly grin overtook seungkwan’s features, his eyes getting an impish glint. before you could question him he was yanking your ankles, pulling you flat on the bed.

you squealed out his name in shock, phone dropping on your chest. you could hear gunfire from your game.

seungkwan wedged open your legs, shouldering his way between them. he grabbed your phone, turning off the sound before he exited the game and tossed your phone down the bed.

“seungkwan!” you gasped, eyes wide. you and seungcheol were in the top five and wonwoo was still alive and you still had to get him -- what on earth was seungkwan doing? seungcheol was going to be so pissed, wonwoo was going to win, and the two of you would have to endure another week of wonwoo silently teasing you. “what are you doing?!”

“having my special something,” seungkwan replied, hooking his arms around your thighs and pressing them to the bed, baring your pussy. seungkwan pressed forward, shoving his face into your clothed cunt.

you were mortified, even moreso when you could feel seungkwan take a deep, shuddering breath against your cunt, breathing it in. he nosed against it, your cunt shamefully clenching and fluttering in response.

you could practically feel the heat pool in your cunt and turn into fluid, could feel as it leaked out of your hole and stained your underwear.

“that’s it,” seungkwan murmured, taking another deep breath as your arousal soaked your panties. he hummed a little, pressing his closed lips to your cunt. you could feel the vibrations of his mouth through your panties, your toes and fingers curling in response.

“getting so wet for me already,” he said, pressing a closed-mouthed kiss over your cunt. you let out a gasp, your hand coming up and muffling the tail end of the noise. if you couldn’t control the way your cunt acted, couldn’t control the fluid that gushed from it as if you were at a damn waterpark just from your boyfriend sniffing it, then at least you could try and be quiet.

“kwannie,” you breathed out, still keeping your mouth trapped behind your hand. “what are you doing --”

“my reward for being good,” seungkwan responded, burying his nose into your cunt again. all he was doing was smelling it like some sort of depraved man, as if the two of you didn’t have sex multiple times a week, as if he had been waiting all day just for the chance to smell your cunt.

“how --” you broke off, closing your eyes and throwing your head back. you counted to five in an attempt to gather yourself. “how, seungkwan, is smelling my -- how is this a reward?”

“your pussy smells so good, baby,” he murmured, angling his head. he brushed his nose against your clit, and even though you still had your underwear on, the sensation sent a jolt through you. “i think about it all the time, you know. your pussy, how it feels around my cock. how it feels around my finger, how it tastes. fuck, how your cunt tastes.”

then seungkwan’s tongue was running up your cunt, from the bottom to your clit, sticking your underwear against your pussy. you couldn’t help the loud moan that left you, nor could you help how your back arched up into the air in response.

“just stay there,” seungkwan said, pulling back. his hands went to the ties of your robe, pulling them undone and shrugging it off. seungkwan pushed it off the bed with one hand, the fingers of his other hand going to your cunt. he dipped his fingers around the fabric, letting his nails brush over the warmth of your cunt. “just sit still, baby. please? let me take my reward.”

you shot him a look, fingers flexing on the sheets. “kwannie --”

“please,” he whined, making his way back between your legs. he tugged at your underwear, pulling it lopsided. “lemme taste your cunt, baby. been thinking about it all day, been thinking about it since i woke up. please let me eat your cunt.”

your heart stopped, mouth dropping open at the frankness in his voice and in his words. seungkwan pressed forward, his mouth kissing your cunt through your underwear once more.

“okay,” you gasped, hand shooting out to still him. “okay. just. just let me taking them off before --”

“before i rip them?” seungkwan finished, the mischievous smile on his face so at odds with his normal personality. he looked smug, watching as you slowly brought one of your legs up towards your chest, hooking your fingers through your underwear and guiding them down. “good baby,” he praised, eyes intently watching as you revealed your cunt. “good baby.”

seungkwan moved up to his knees again, coming to rest beside you on the bed. he cocked his head at you when you were still, patting his chest. “well? are you going to sit on my face or not?”

slowly, more aware of the way your pussy juices were leaking out and onto your thighs at a constant rate, you moved your way up the bed. you straddled his chest, standing on your knees to reach up for the headboard.

seungkwan’s hands settled on your hips, guiding you up the rest of the way to stand over his face. he maneuvered you to how he wanted you, and when you could feel his warm breath against your bare cunt you couldn’t help the little moan that escaped you.

“that’s a good angel,” he praised you, voice low. he lowered you until you were properly sitting on him.

“kwannie,” you sighed, nails lightly scratching into the wood of the headboard. “don’t -- don’t get carried away, okay? remember, two taps if you can’t breathe.”

“i remember, angel,” he murmured. his fingers pressed into your skin, his touch lighting you aflame. you’ve begun to wonder when his imprints would finally sink in, when his fingerprints and hand-shape would leave a permanent mark on you. it was so often, after all, that seungkwan was touching some part of you, as if he wanted to leave his touch branded on your skin.

seungwkan nudged his nose against your clit. immediately your muscles were tightening, your hips bucking up a little. seungkwan chuckled against you, and you could feel his arms flex against you as he tightened his hold around your middle, keeping you seated on his face.

seungkwan ran his tongue along your cunt in one long broad stripe, the slurp that accompanied the action so lewd that it made your toes curl and nails dig into the headboard. he dug his nose into your cunt, next to your clit; his chin bumped against your cunt as he shoved his tongue inside of you, gathering your juices and sucking them.

“kwannie,” you moaned, squeezing your eyes shut. he ran the flat of his tongue over your hole, causing a wild shiver to wreck your body. “seungkwan, seungkwan.”

your boyfriend responded by wrapping his lips around your hole and sucking, causing your cunt to clench and your back to arch. helplessly you grinded down, subconsciously seeking relief; seungkwan, ever the giver, provided, shoving his tongue back inside of you.

seungkwan ate you out like a man parched, sucking your juices into his mouth and reverently searching for more. he ate you like a glutton, seemingly never filled, his tongue rolling along and inside your cunt endlessly, never relenting.

your hips were constantly moving, rolling down onto his face. seungkwan’s nose kept bumping against your clit, every nudge causing your nerves to jump and your body to sink further on top of him, seeking out the electricity that only seungkwan seemed to be able to provide.

his arms relaxed for a moment, moving to hook around your thighs. seungkwan shifted you up and off of him. you glanced down.

your boyfriend was absolutely covered in your cunt juices, from his nose to his chin. his face was a deep red form the effort he was putting into devouring you, lips gleaming and puffy. seungkwan’s eyes were dilated, trained on your pussy still. he brought one of his hands to his face, wiping at his nose.

his fingers came away covered in your juices. seungkwan hummed, sticking them into his mouth and suckling.

“seungkwan,” you groaned, brow furrowing. you released your hold on the headboard to reach down and tug at his hand, drawing it from his mouth with a crude pop. “don’t. ‘s dirty.”

“no more dirty than eating out your pussy, baby,” he replied. nonetheless seungkwan hook his arms back around your thighs, squeezing as he tried to coax you back into sitting on him. “i’m not done, angel. sit back down.”

slowly you returned to your -- in seungkwan’s opinion -- rightful spot. immediately his mouth was on your cunt again, acting as if your hole was your mouth, kissing it and making out with it. he was worshiping your pussy, eating from it, ravishing it.

seungkwan moved his arm from around you, his fingers skimming down the curve of your ass. he slid his hand between your body and his face, fingers poking at your hole.

you couldn’t help the loud moan of approval that left you, nor could you help the way you immediately grinded down on his fingers. he slipped one inside your hole, and you were quickly overcome with the feeling of hunger.

you clenched down on his fingers, searching for some sort of relief from this famine that was coursing through you. his name was a mantra, your chants filling the room as his finger filled your cunt.

“‘nother, kwan,” you gasped, lifting yourself off of his face and dropping back down on his finger. you repeated this, hips searching for something to satisfy your craving. “please, kwannie, another.”

seungkwan hummed against you, his lips busy mouthing at your clit. for a moment nothing happened, his tongue rolling over your clit and slurping at your pussy juices.

then his second finger slipped in beside his first. you moaned, quickly moving so his fingers pressed against your core. seungkwan began curling his two fingers inside of you in tandem with the movement of his tongue on your clit, trying to coax you into an orgasm.

but you were hungry now, and it would take more than just two of his fingers and tongue to satiate you.

“more, kwannie,” you begged, bracing yourself on the headboard. you continued to move your hips along the length of his fingers, your cunt so wet that they practically glided. “another, kwannie. another, another, please.”

seungkwan the arm wrapped around you to lift you, shifting his hand beneath you, then he hooked three of his fingers against your hole, tugging, and you couldn’t help the cry that escaped you.

“that’s it,” he praised, pulling you back down so his nose was bumping along your pussy. “that’s a good angel.”

your whole body seemed focused on your cunt, concentrating on these points of contact between you and your boyfriend. you couldn’t think anything other than him, couldn’t sense the headboard you were grabbing or the blankets beneath your knees. you could only feel his fingers sliding along your walls, pressing down on your core, his tongue flicking at your clit.

then seungkwan adjusted, moving and wrapping his mouth around your clit. he sucked once, twice, three times, your loud moans music to his ears, and you were collapsing against the headboard, body sagging as your orgasm finished.

seungkwan tapped your thighs, reminding you that he was still beneath you. you shifted, moving throwing out your leg so you were no longer straddling him. you leaned back against the headboard, eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving as you fought to catch your breath.

a dirty popping noise had you opening your eyes. seungkwan was perched on his knees in front of you, his erection red and straining against his stomach. he was wiping his face with his hand, pressing his fingers into his mouth and sucking your juices off of his digits.

you watched, weary, as your boyfriend noticed your gaze and stopped sucking. a slow little grin overtook his face, and then he was grabbing you.

seungkwan pulled you flat against the bed, wrenching open your thighs. you gasped, eyes wide, as seungkwan pressed himself back between your legs. “seungkwan, what are you --”

“‘m not done yet, angel,” he promised, pressing his face back into your cunt. he immediately latched his mouth around your hole, suckling and tonguing.

still sensitive from your orgasm, your back arched and your legs flail about. seungkwan growled against your cunt, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pressing them down to the bed.

“be still, baby,” he said, his mouth pressing against your pussy, his every word sinking into you. your cunt gushed around him in response, and his tongue quickly began lapping up your juices.

you couldn’t do anything other than toss against him, body wriggling as overstimulation set in. you were aware of the blankets twisting around your body, of how your hands were constantly scrambling against them in an attempt to get some sort of hold. you were aware of how his tongue plunged into you rapidly, how his fingers flexed against your thighs and pressed into them, tattooing his mark onto your skin.

seungkwan lifted his head from your cunt. he was drenched once more. he ran his tongue around his mouth, gathering your slick. you watched as he swallowed your juices, watched as his throat worked.

then he leaned back over your cunt, pursing his lips. a wad of spit dropped from his mouth to your pussy, mixing with your juices.

your eyes flew shut and you threw your head back, the image of your boyfriend spitting on your cunt replaying. the way his bangs obscured his eyes, how his lips, red and puffy from his devotion to your pussy, curled before he spat.

his hands went to your body, kneading into your thighs. seungkwan’s mouth pressed a kiss to your stomach and then he was trailing a path of kisses down, lips gentle as he returned to your cunt.

seungkwan pressed more spit from his mouth to your cunt, using the wetness to slide three of his fingers back in. your body accepted them greedily, and it was only a matter of time before another orgasm washed over you, his fingers eagerly drawing it out.

you couldn’t do much more than lay there as seungkwan pressed a final kiss to your clit, your body jerking in response. he sat up, leaning back. seungkwan reached between your thighs and gathered your slick on his hand. he then wrapped his hand around his leaking dick, hissing at the contact.

even though you were exhausted, you couldn’t help but watch as seungkwan jerked himself off. he pressed his lips together, trying to muffle his moans, trying to keep his climax at bay.

you splayed your legs. “kwannie,” you called, beckoning. “here.”

seungkwan shuffled to kneel between your thighs. he collected more of your juices and returned his hand to his dick. seungkwan then pressed his other hand next to you, using it to guide his body down so he could rest his stomach on your breasts. you wrapped your arms around him, holding him, fingers playing with his hair.

you didn’t see it when he came, but you felt it. his entire body stiffened save for his hand, which was working furiously over his dick. seungkwan’s moans and groans were loud, just as loud as yours were.

when he was done, seungkwan pressed a kiss to your chest and pulled away. his cum had joined yours between your thighs, thick white stripes painting your skin and the blanket between.

seungkwan laughed breathlessly, his hands skimming over your thighs. “angel, your cunt --”

“no more,” you begged, flinging your head back against the bed. seungkwan’s laughter was loud this time, and he pitched forward to press a kiss to your throat. “seungkwan, you’ve wrung me dry, i swear.”

“we both know that’s a lie,” he chuckled, kisses chaste against your skin. “but i’ll ignore it for tonight.”

seungkwan settled into your hold, your skin sweaty and sticking to his. you were content like that for a few moments, holding your boyfriend, brushing his hair back away from his face and gazing into his honey-sweet eyes.

“i love you,” you murmured, hand holding his cheek.

“i love you, angel,” he returned, turning and pressing a kiss into your palm.

seungkwan’s phone ringing pierced the air, and your boyfriend was muffling a whine into your body. you laughed, pushing him away. “better go answer that, kwannie.”

seungkwan sighed, flopping to the side. the phone stopped its ringing, only to pick up again. he swung himself off of the bed, movement sluggish as he crossed into the bathroom. you watched his legs as he walked, watched them flex; your eyes then caught sight of his ass, and immediately you felt your mouth water.

“fuck,” seungkwan’s curse brought you out of your daydream. you went to your elbows, concerned. he exited the bathroom, eyes wide and frantic, phone still ringing. “it’s seungcheol! he’s worried because you aren’t picking up your phone and you quit the game suddenly and he texted and said he’s on his way and he’s going to take one look at us and know!”

you sat up completely, wincing at the mess between your thighs. “know what? that you’re some pussy hungry demon?”

seungkwan flew about the room, grabbing the discarded towel he had used for his hair. he went about drying off his body, trying to get as much sweat off of himself as possible. “this isn’t funny, y/n! holy shit, fuck, fuck, fuck --”

“i’ll get dressed --”

“no!” he whirled on you, pushing you back onto the bed. “you look like -- well you look like you’ve just been fucked. you just stay here and pretend you’re not here.”

“ah, yes,” you began dryly. seungkwan hurried to the closet, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and hurriedly pulling them on. he stumbled a big, falling against the wall. “i’m totally not in my apartment that i signed the lease on at ten at night.”

“you’ve got it!” seungkwan praised. he launched himself across the bed, reaching out for you and pressing a kiss to your lips.

then someone -- seungcheol -- was knocking at the apartment door, and seungkwan flew off of you. he fell of the bed, the noise loud and thunderous.

he was out of the bedroom in a flash, his feet slapping against the hard floors as he ran for the door. you could hear him, his voice high and frantic and not at all concerning, as he greeted seungcheol.

you could hear seungcheol’s voice, as deep as it was, all the way from your bedroom. “is everything okay, seungkwan? i was playing with y/n and suddenly they disappeared. i tried getting a hold of them, but there’s no answer from their phone.”

“ah!” seungkwan shouted, voice shrill. “they’re just uh -- they fell down the stairs and dropped their phone and it smashed!”

well, you thought, flopping back on the bed, you could either have a boyfriend who gave amazing head, or you could have a boyfriend who was a good liar. you couldn’t have both.

#svthub #my writing #svt #seventeen #seungkwan #boo seungkwan #svt x reader #svt oneshot #svt fic #seveteen x reader #seventeen oneshot #seventeen fic #seungkwan x reader #seungkwan fic #seungkwan oneshot #boo seungkwan x reader #boo seungkwan fic #boo seungkwan oneshot

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iamthecomet · 6 months

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Kinktober Day 17 - Nipple Play

Guys, it's just 900 (ish) words of Swiss playing with Dew's nipples and ruining his life. A little lactation kink thrown in because that's what happens when you leave me unsupervised.

“Bet you can cum like this.”

Dew shakes his head. Vehement. Sweaty golden hair cascading into his face as he does. He leans back, body arching head dipping away from Swiss even as Swiss holds him firmly on his lap with an arm around his waist. Fingers digging into his hip to keep Dew exactly where he wants them.

It’s early morning. The sun just starting to peek over the horizon. Dew is undercaffinated and still sleep warm in Swiss’ arms. And that means that Dew is basically defenseless. Dew’s still shaking his head like he’s trying to chase the thought away entirely.

“No.”

Swiss doesn’t respond to that. Doesn need to. Instead, he seals his lips around one of Dew’s swollen nipples. He sucks hard, tugs on the ring through it with his teeth. Dew’s back arches deeper as he presses his body closer to the heat of Swiss’s mouth.

He uses his fingers on the other one. Plucking, twisting. None too kind. But Dew loves it if the way his cock spits between their bellies is any way to judge. Swiss could help him out. Hitch Dew a little closer on his hips, rub their dicks together. Tips sticky and wet. Could have Dew cumming all over him in a matter of seconds like that. But this is better. The aborted little rolls of Dew’s hips. Stutterin when he realizes there is nothing to grind against. The broken noise he makes when Swiss really digs his teeth in.

Swiss pulls back. A string of spit connecting his lips to Dew’s nipple as he tips his head up. Leans back against the mahogany headboard and looks at Dew. Really takes him in. Dew’s red down to his throat. His hair damp with sweat. Fingers clenching and releasing against Swiss’ back. Jaw slack, mouth glazed.

“They always get so puffy for me,” Swiss muses, and Dew whimpers at the words. Swiss gives his nipple a cruel twist and Dew jolts. Somewhere between trying to pull away and push closer. Hips jerking forward.

“Swiss–fuck–please.”

“Please what? Firefly?”

“Touch me.”

“I am.” Swiss drives the point home with another sharp twist. The press of the flat of his tongue over the other sensitive bud. Dew growls. Frustrated, desperate, needy in a way he only gets when Swiss does this to him. Torture that Dew has learned to beg for. “How much longer until they let down, huh?”

“Fuck–don’t say shit like that.”

Swiss ignores him. “Get them all swollen, nice and full for me? Huh? You’d like it.”

Dew shakes his head again, but Swiss can feel the way his cock kick between them. He hears the whine Dew tries to hide with clenched teeth. . “Bet it’s real sweet.”

“Satanas, Swiss. What the fuck?”

“You’d look so pretty like that too,” Swiss cups his hand around the non-existent swell of Dew’s pec. “Puffed up, aching. Cute little tits. Bet if I work at them enough it’ll happen. Does it hurt?”

Dew nods without any hesitation. Blush deepening. Spreading down his chest now. . "Y-yeah, please. Come on. Just touch me already. Make me cum."

"I'm trying." Swiss grazes his teeth over Dew's nipple and Dew thrashes.

"Can't cum like this, Swiss. Can't. Fucking hells, need you to touch it. Need–"

"No you don't," Swiss kisses him over his heart. Sweet. A bitter contrast to the tone of his voice. Dew is falling apart in his arms and Swiss is insane with it. Stomach clenching. Cock kicking. He'll bury himself in Dew's body soon. Fuck him until his eyes get misty. But first–

"You can do it, Dewy. For me. I know you can."

Dew's near panic is so sweet. The way he whines. How he tries to scoot his hips closer so he can rut against Swiss' belly. Anything to make it happen, anything to please Swiss. To give him this. It’s an impossible task. But Swiss isn’t about to let up. Not until Dew’s nipples are red and raw. Not until he’s had his fill of sweat slicked skin.

He rolls a nipple beneath his thumb and basks in the way it makes Dew gasp. Barely a touch. Swiss looks down and finds the tip of Dew’s dick flushed so dark it’s nearing purple. Sticking straight out from his body. Kicking wildly as Swiss toys with him.

“Swiss–please,” Dew voice is a pathetic whine. Another few minutes and Swiss knows Dew will promise him anything for a chance to cum.

“Not yet.” Swiss mumbles, sucking hard on the pebbled bud. Rock hard and swollen beneath his tongue. Dew bows in on himself. Hiccups on a moan. Body shuddering beautifully in Swiss’ grip. He wonders what they have to do today. Rehearsal probably. Mass later. He can’t wait to see Dew wince when his guitar strap shifts the wrong way. Can’t wait to scurry across the stage and touch him through his uniform. Drag his fingers over those bruised nipples while Dew fumbles through a solo.

Maybe Dew will fuck him about it later.

“Come on, Swiss.” Dew begs so beautifully. Swiss could listen to it forever.

“Not until they let down. Not until you give me a taste.” Swiss’ mouth descends again, worrying abused flesh with his teeth. Dew sobs, Swiss has never heard a sweeter sound.

#comet writes #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #ghostober #ghostober 2023 #someday I'll get my days back on track (as in I'll write the ones I haven't yet) but it is not this day #swiss army ghoul #swiss ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #dew/swiss #swiss/dew #dewdrop/swiss #swiss/dewdrop #ghost fic #ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfic #ghost band fic #ghost band fanfic #ghost band fanfiction

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tightjeansjavi · 7 months

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Slow Hands | Chapter 5

“be still, my foolish heart”

A/N: so originally I was going to write more for this chapter, but like @morning-star-joy says, sometimes a story tells you how it should be written so I’ve decided to end the chapter where I feel it felt most natural. The slow burn is still slow-burning but there’s definitely some development happening! 🤎🤎

~word count: 6.0k~

Pairing | Joel Miller x f! reader

Summary: you meet Joel’s horse, Tex while Joel opens up to you about his past further. Your connection begins to develop as you grow more comfortable with one another

Warnings: angst, anxiety, trauma, mentions of death, stress induced thoughts and feelings, fluff, awkward flirting, internal thoughts/dialogue, slow burn, mental health, remorse, forgiveness, soft! Joel, protective! Joel, in his feelings! Joel, readers nickname is beanie (coffee beans) ends on a bit of a cliff hanger, no age gap, +18 minors dni! Let me know if I missed any warnings please!

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Joel Miller was fast asleep on your couch. In your home. He felt comfortable enough to doze off at your kitchen table. Well, of course he was exhausted. He was out at the late hours of the night patrolling with Tommy, and then he spent the early morning hours with you on your rooftop.

Nonetheless, he was asleep on your couch.

You couldn’t help but feel giddy like a little school girl that was developing her first crush at recess. Joel was handsome, ruggedly handsome and there was no denying it. He reminded you of a pearl. Something so beautiful, yet hard to obtain as a pearl is always guarded by the outer shell of an oyster. You couldn’t help but wonder what he thought of you as you stepped outside of your home. The air was still brisk and there was a fresh layer of frost coating the ground. Spring was on the horizon with the sound of chirping chickadee's that gossiped in the treetops above. New life was beginning to sprout and blossom through the frost. Soon Jackson would flourish in green.

You triple checked your front door lock as a forced habit. When you felt relieved that the door was in fact locked, you quietly walked down the wooden steps that were far sturdier now as Joel insisted on replacing some of the rotted planks.

As you started the short walking distance to the stables, you remembered Joel telling you that he would often count his steps as a grounding system. In turn, you found yourself doing the same. There was some innately comforting being around the horses. The barn smell didn’t bother you, in fact you relished in it. From the sweet smelling grain, the earthy scent of Alfalfa, and the horses natural aroma. All of these scents permeated your senses in an indescribable warmth. There was no sign of Ellie or Dina when you stepped into the stables and you were greeted with soft nickers, and curious expressions before the horses returned to their breakfast.

Tommy’s horse, Timber, was a leopard spotted appaloosa that truly had the goofiest human-like personality. Sometimes you wondered if there was actually a human trapped inside of his four-legged body just from the way he would look at you. You stopped in front of his stall and reached into your coat pocket to pull out a handful of sugar cubes that laid flat in your palm.

“Hey, pal.” You softly cooed as Timber lifted his head from his grain pan. “Did you see anything exciting last night? Any stories for me?”

Timber snorted softly as his velvet soft muzzle rested in your palm. He wasted no time to gently snatch up each of the sugar cubes before he was nuzzling your pocket for more.

“Wow, five racoons? How exciting.” You giggled as you playfully and gently nudged his muzzle away. “Were you scared?”

Another snort and a hoof pawing at the ground. “Oh, alright. Just one more, okay?” You snuck him one last sugar cube followed by a gentle pat on his neck before you strode away from his stall. Your mare, Tess, was a flea bitten gray QH. Shortly after outbreak day, you found her wandering through your abandoned neighborhood and you were drawn together like moth to flame. She was your special girl, your beacon of light through the darkness. Her darker counterpart, Tex, was always at her side. He was always at her side, brooding like a shadow but he had the most gentle brown eyes despite his rugged demeanor. Tex was a jet black mustang, and unbeknownst to you, he was Joel’s horse.

You stopped outside of Tess’s stall first and your mare already had her neck outstretched over the stall door to greet you. She nickered softly as you gently wrapped your arms around her fury neck in a tender hug. “Good morning my special girl.” Your tone was so soft-spoken, sweet like the sugar cubes that laid in your coat pocket. Sometimes you felt a bitter-sweet melancholy thinking about how much time you had spent with this mare and the trials and tribulations you went through together. Maybe one day when your mind and heart were calm, you’d be able to go outside beyond Jackson’s towering walls on her back once more.

You wiped your brewing tears along the sleeve of your hoodie as you fed Tess a few sugar cubes. Your fingers gently twirled the soft tendrils of her forelock between your fingers as your forehead came to gently rest upon her own.

You were torn from your present mourning thoughts by the sound of Tex’s hoof pawing at the ground. His ears were attentively flicked forward in your direction.

“Do you want some sugar cubes too?” You softly asked the jet-black mustang as he pawed at the ground once more.

Your forehead slowly dropped from Tess’s as you reached into your pocket once more and pulled out a helping of sugarcubes. Despite Tex’s brooding nature, he was incredibly gentle as he ate the sweets from your tender palm. His velvety soft muzzle and wispy whiskers tickled your skin. His eyes held so much warmth, so much kindness, and you swore this horse was staring into your very soul.

Joel had awoken shortly after you had departed for the stables. He vaguely remembered the handwritten note nestled in the worn fibers of his flannel pocket. He slowly swung his legs over the side of the couch with a heavy grunt. His hand reached for the mug of coffee that he downed in one gulp as the muscles in his back strained tightly. He let out a grumbled sigh as he carefully folded the quilted you had laid upon him. He grabbed both the empty mug and plate and brought them back into the kitchen. He’d be damned if he wasn’t a respectful house guest. He couldn’t help but feel that warm tingle in his heart creeping through the morning chill as he stepped outside. How sweet you were to leave him a treat and a note.

He headed off in the direction of the stables and the sight he saw warmed his heart even further as he observed Tex gently nibbling on the lapels of your coat as you were braiding individual sections of his charcoal black mane. Joel and his horse counterpart were very similar in the sense that they had a protective brooding nature. Hardened exterior yet soft in the middle. Weathered and mysterious, yet docile and gentle.

“Y’know darlin, if y’keep feedin’ me’n Tex sweets like this, you’re gonna fatten us up.” Joel softly chuckled as he stepped further into the barn. He hoped that he had not frightened you, or ruined the moment you were sharing with his horse entirely.

You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks as Joel leaned up against the side of Tex’s stall with one of his broad arms leaning against the side of the wooden stall door. His expression was playful in nature as your eyes finally met his softened gaze.

“Tex is yours I presume?”

“Mhm. He’s got an apparent sweet tooth jus’ like me as well. Think he’s taken a particular likin’ to ya Beanie.” He murmured silkily.

“I have to admit..you do look alike. Tess has taken a liking to him as well.” You responded with a smile tugging along your lips as you finished braiding the last section of his once unruly mane.

“How so? You’ve got me intrigued now darlin.’” He paused momentarily as his eyes flitted over at your mare. “Tess is yours? I had..no idea.”

“Your eyes. They’re the same as his..that same deep shade of brown..like cinnamon. Tess is mine, yes. I found her after the outbreak day, after the government bombed the major cities. She was wandering through my abandoned neighborhood and were just drawn to each other.”

Tex and Tess.

Joel could feel a newfound sense of emotions wash over him as he cleared his throat against the sleeve of his coat. “Well, she’s..a real sweetheart. I can see why Tex likes spendin’ time with her. What about my eyes now? They’re like cinnamon? Wish I could see the world from your eyes darlin,’ cause to me? My eyes are just brown. Like the dirt. Ain’t nothin’ special to ‘em.” He rolled his shoulders into a half shrug.

“She is a sweetheart. She’s my special girl. Joel, brown eyes are beautiful. Have you ever seen them in the sunlight? They melt into golden rays, like sticky warm caramel. There’s nothing boring about brown eyes. They’re extraordinary.” You murmured as your eyes casted downwards to where Tex was still gently nuzzling his face into the warmth of your coat.

Unbeknownst to either you or Joel, Dina and Ellie were up in the hay rafters laying on their stomachs as they eavesdropped.

“Why don’t you ever talk about my eyes like that El?” Dina softly teased as she lightly poked Ellie’s shoulder.

“Because I'm not a poet, Dee.” Ellie whispered back with a smile tugging on her lips.

“Well, Beanie sure is. I don’t think I've ever seen Joel blush like that before. He’s as red as a tomato.” Dina whispered as her and Ellie quietly peeked over the rafters to get a better look.

“That’s cus’ Joel likes her. Isn’t it obvious? He’s always spendin’ time with her. I can’t blame him honestly because she's like really really pretty.” Ellie murmured as she rubbed her hands together to keep them warm. “Not as pretty as you of course.” She quickly added feeling heat rise to her cheeks. Dina and Ellie were just friends but lately there was something else there that was beginning to simmer between them. The last time Ellie felt for someone in a romantic sense was Riley..and now? Well, only time would tell what laid ahead for the two teenagers.

Joel was unable to find the words that he could respond with to your generous compliment. His brain felt like it was re-wiring as if the circuit had been cut through. He didn’t want to leave you hanging like a stray leaf on a dead branch that was holding on for dear life as a ferocious wind tried to tear it from the stem. He blinked, cleared his throat as his thumb swiped across the tip of his aquiline nose. “So, I take it that you like my eyes then?” He mused with a slight arch of his brow as both of his broad arms came to cross against his chest.

“Yeah, I suppose you could frame it that way.” You responded a bit sheepishly as you peered up at him through soft lashes.

“Well, that was a mighty fine compliment t’give me. I never thought of brown eyes in that mindset. Maybe I outta start tryin’ to see the world through your eyes, huh? Anyway, I didn’t get much’of a chance to give Tex a proper groomin’ after patrol..you wanna help me out?”

“If you’re looking to live life with your head up in the clouds like me, then I recommend you adapt to my mindset. See the small beauties that what’s left of the world has to offer. Like the changing of seasons for example. Winter is so cold, so dark, yet it is beautiful. The way that the snow hugs the branches on the trees and the jaw dropping sunsets that paint the sky.” You trailed off before responding to his question, “Sure, I'd love to help you out.”

Joel was in awe to say the least. For someone who had been through so many unspeakable horrors, you truly did see life in all of its beauty. He could listen to you shamelessly for hours if you’d let him. He pushed himself off of the side of Tex’s stall as he maneuvered around you to bend down and pick up the grooming box. “I never really was all that a fan of winter. Holds a lot of bad memories f’me. I do see what you mean about the beauty in it. I love fall the most. When the colors in the sky begin to change and the leaves transform into all of these brilliant shades of orange, yellows, and reds. It was always Sarah's favorite time of the year as well. She’d drag my ass to the nearest pumpkin patch as soon as the first leaves began to fall.”

“I’m sorry that winter holds bad memories for you..but i’m a firm believer that everything heals with time. I think out of all the seasons fall is probably my favorite as well. Was Sarah a big fan of Halloween? She seems like the kinda kid that would go crazy over getting to dress up.” You wanted to nurture this conversation that Joel was openly having with you. You could only imagine the emotional toll it brought upon him when talking about Sarah.

“Oh, she absolutely loved Halloween. She’d have her costume pretty much planned out months in advance. We watched all of the movies together as well. Beetlejuice was her favorite. What can I say? My kid has some damn good taste.” He chuckled softly as he quietly unlatched Tex’s stall. “I’d take her trick-or-treating and then when we’d get home I'd help her sort through all of her candy and make her pay the ‘dad tax.’” His eyes crinkled in the corners when his mind encapsulated an image of a ten year old Sarah in her Lydia Deetz costume. “Daaad. You can’t eat all of my candy! You have to save some for me!” “Yeah, yeah dontcha worry, kiddo. I ain’t gonna eat it all, but you gotta pay the dad tax, baby girl. That’s the rules.”

Joel had just slipped Tex’s halter over his ears when he felt your hand gently grasp his bicep through the material of his warm jacket. He had zoned out after recalling the memory and you were just trying to bring him back down to earth. “Joel?..” You attentively asked as he looked over his shoulder at you. “Sorry darlin.’ Didn’t mean to zone out like that. Jus’ y’know get a little emotional thinkin’ about her is’all.” He murmured.

“Hey, it's okay. Sounds like you have a lot of wonderful memories of her, Joel. I have to ask..what the hell is the ‘dad tax?’”

Joel felt a warm chuckle creep up his throat as he latched the metal clip around Tex’s halter. “Oh, the dad tax? S’jus’ a silly thing I came up with after she made me carry all of her candy bags for hours. Felt like it was only fair if I got a few pieces of her loot.” He responded with a casual shrug as he let Tex out of his stall so it would be easier to brush him down.

“Oh, I agree. That sounds perfectly fair. Man, I'd absolutely kill to have a Reese's peanut butter cup or a kit-kat. Did you end up being persuaded to dress up with her as well?” You picked up the curry comb from the grooming box before gently rubbing soothing circles into Tex’s furry coat to lift up any dirt or debris.

“Fuck.” He nearly groaned. “Reese’s were my favorite. I used to stick a few of them in the freezer and eat them after they got nice and chilled. It was like my guilty pleasure midnight snack. Oh, yeah I dressed up with her alright. Used to go all out with my costume as well. Whatever was gonna make her happy, y’know?”

“Oh my gosh, I used to do the same thing too! I’d stick an entire roll of them in the freezer. That was really the only way to eat them.” You softly giggled as Tex let out an appreciative grunt when you had found an itchy spot near his withers. “Was there a favorite character that you dressed up as?”

Joel pondered for a moment as he flipped through the memories in his mind of all the Halloween costumes he had dressed up in with Sarah. “Damn, that’s a good question darlin.’ There was one year we dressed up as Iron Man and the Hulk. Sarah insisted on being the Hulk of course. We did Sherlock Holmes and Watson for one year as well.”

“Wow, I would have definitely given y’all all of my candy if you trick-or-treated on my block. All the neighborhood kids had some lame costumes I swear. The best one I ever saw was a trio of girls dressed up as the Sanderson Sisters. I nearly gave them my whole goddamn bowl of candy.”

“Woah. The Sanderson Sisters? Those chicks are wicked.” He chuckled warmly. “Although, Binx was my favorite character out of the entire movie.”

“Oh, I loved Binx too. Dani was my personal favorite. She was such a cool kid.” You peeked over the top of Tex’s withers as you finished currying the dirt from his coat. You felt the heat rise to the highest point of your cheeks when you found that Joel was already looking at you. He looked away quickly of course and cleared his throat.

A comfortable silence washed over the two of you as you got into a groove with brushing down Tex.

Joel broke the silence a few minutes later after he had finished picking out clumps of dirt and rocks from Tex’s hooves. “So, now that the weather is changin’ and Spring is gonna be here soon..I won’t be on patrol during the late night shift. So uh–we can..spend some more time together if you’d like? M’sorry that I've been absent for a while. Maria told me that you were wonderin’ about me.”

You paused your present actions with a soft sigh as you dropped the brush into the grooming box with a soft thud. “Sometimes I struggle with having a rational thought. I–assumed that maybe you were blowing me off or something. Or that maybe you didn’t want to be my friend. It was so fucking silly for me to think that way, but my brain is a warzone a lot of time. It plays tricks on me..Maria told me that she assigned you, Tommy, and a few other men on the late night patrol because..you found something disturbing in the woods?..”

Joel could feel his jaw clench inwards as his fist tightened around the brush that he was holding. Images of those charred women sprung into his mind as he shook his head tightly. “Darlin,’ i’m sorry that it seemed like I was blowin’ you off. I would never do that to ya. I don’t think it is silly for you to think that way. My brain does shit like that too. S’okay that you were feelin’ that way. I jus’ genuinely felt bad, but it was out of my control y’know?” His head drooped slightly as he let out a slightly agitated sigh. It wasn’t directed at you, it was just his present frustrations. He and Tommy had lost track of the raiders and where they were headed. He felt like he had failed you, and the town.

“Joel, Maria wouldn’t tell me what you and Tommy found in the woods that night. Can you please tell me? I know it was out of your control, and when Maria told me the reason why I genuinely felt terrible. I can only imagine how exhausting these past couple of months have been for you.”

The energy seemed to take a drastic dip as Joel met your gaze once more. His jaw unclenched from the tight position it was currently held in. He wanted to tell you what he saw. He really did, but he promised both Tommy and Maria that he would not disclose the details to you. His lips parted as a sigh slipped past. He looked defeated as his shoulders slumped inwards. “Beanie, I'm sorry but I can’t tell you what we found.” He uttered softly.

“Joel, why can’t you tell me? I know I shouldn’t pry, but Maria told me that it was concerning and that–”

He cut you off with a gruff response as he raked his fingers through his salt and pepper dusted hair. “Beanie, I can’t tell you. Please don’t ask me again.” He nearly pleaded as his eyes bore deeply into yours.

“Okay.” You meekly responded. “I–won’t ask again. I’m sorry.” You sounded just as defeated as he did.

Fuck.

This is where Joel struggled the most in conversations. When every fiber in his being could sense the mood shifting and churning, he didn’t know how to bring it back to a calm place. This was usually the moment where he would snap and say the wrong thing. He could feel the word vomit pulsating on his tongue like bile. He didn’t want to keep secrets from you. Not when your friendship was just starting to bud like new sprouts through the permeating frost.

“I’m sorry too. I don’t want to keep secrets from ya darlin.’ I jus’ hope you can understand.”

Please. Please understand.

“Joel, it’s okay. I understand, and I'm not going to hold this against you or anything I promise.” You responded reassuringly.

He let out a visible sigh of relief as he dropped his hand from tugging at the roots of his hair to his side. “Okay, good.” He softly rasped.

After you finished brushing down Tex, Joel led him back into his stall before latching the door shut. “I take it you never found Ellie or Dina? Maybe they’re at breakfast already.” He set Tex’s halter back on the hook alongside his stall before he shoved his hands deep within the pockets of his worn out faded jeans.

“I didn’t see them when I came in. Maybe they are at breakfast like you said? Regardless, I appreciate you suggesting last night that I go and spend some time with the horses.”

“Of course darlin.’ I jus’ know what it’s like to struggle n’feel like you ain’t have no one there to support ya. Horses are good listeners. Better listeners than I am.”

“I disagree. You are a good listener, Joel. You didn’t make me or my feelings feel small or insignificant last night. You’re a good friend.” You meant every word as a small smile tugged on the corner of his lips.

“Well, thank you. Guess I can do somethin’ right huh?” He chuckled softly.

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, okay?”

“I won’t darlin.’” He seems the least bit convincing as his eyes are averting from making contact with you. You’d accept his response, for now.

After leaving the stables, Joel accompanied you to your shop. He could have gone home, but after not seeing you for quite some time, he felt like he could sacrifice his sleep a little longer. So while you were whipping up two lattes, he was rearranging your back storage area so that there was no chance that a sack of sugar would potentially fall on your unsuspecting head.

“Hey, Beanie?” His voice sounded slightly strained from the heavy lifting he was doing.

“Yeah, Joel? Everything alright back there?”

“Peachy.” He grunted softly as he set the sack of sugar down. “Got a question for ya.”

“Shoot.”

“Your horse, Tess. Did ya name her yourself or did she have that name previously.” He was curious. It was evident in his tone as he wiped a bit of sweat that had beaded upon his brow.

“I named her myself. Why do you ask?”

“Jus’ wonderin.’ I uh–had a partner named Tess. Tommy and I met her after outbreak day. The three of us became a ruthless team. Anyway, we were together for as long as I can remember. We relied on each other heavily. ‘Specially after Tommy up n’left me for the fireflies. She was my partner n’crime. The brains of our operation and I probably wouldn’t have survived very long if it wasn’t for her. Your horse..just reminded me of her s’all.” He missed Tess. He missed her more than he liked to admit and even though time had passed since her death, he still wished that she lived. He imagined that she would have found ultimate peace in Jackson. She deserved that and more than what Joel thought he could offer her.

His voice was less strained and sounded closer in proximity as you turned and faced him with a mug outstretched towards him. “Did..she die?” You softly asked.

He somberly nodded as he gently grasped the mug in his hand. The steam slowly rose from the top and kissed his skin as he leaned back against the counter. “She went out a goddamn hero though. Saved me and Ellie from a hoard of infected. Sacrificed herself so that we would live. She was g’nna die anyway. Got bit. Still feel like sometimes I failed her. Coulda done more to keep her safe. She deserved fuckin’ better.” He bitterly sighed with a shake of his head.

“Hey, I'm sure Tess wouldn’t want you to be feeling like this Joel. She doesn’t think that you failed her. She doesn’t think that at all. She’d want you to forgive yourself Joel.” You reached over and gently touched his bicep as he choked back a strained laugh.

“Yeah? Maybe. Jus’ never was able to give her what she truly wanted.”

“What couldn’t you give her, Joel?” You softly prompted him.

“My heart.” He uttered just above a whisper as his gaze slowly fell upon your face. You could see the glassy look in his irises as his lower lip ever-so slightly wobbled under the soft glow of the fairy lights dangling above.

You could feel your heart straining against the figurative strings in your chest cavity as you looked upon his sunken features. “Joel, it’s not too late to tell her how you feel.” You murmured.

“What?” He looked puzzled as his brows furrowed. He let out a soft sniffle as he dragged the tip of his thumb across his nose. “How can I do that?”

“Write to her. Write her a letter straight from your heart Joel.”

“How’s that supposed t’work? She ain’t ever gonna see it.”

“You just have to believe that she will see it. If you write down how you feel, and all the things that you wish that you could have told her, you’ll be letting that part of yourself go. That part where you feel like you’re to blame for her death. Pen and paper. Write it all down.” You softly encouraged him.

“Will you read it..after I write it?” His tone was timid, unlike his natural gruff nature as he picked at the skin around his cuticles out of a nervous habit.

“If you’d like me to read it then I will.”

“Pinky promise?” He softly requested.

You were already offering him your pinky as he slowly wrapped his thicker weathered finger around your own and gently squeezed.

“Pinky promise, Joel.”

Spring was in full bloom now as the earth turned green and sprouted new flowers and life in every corner. Joel was only having to patrol in the early mornings with Tommy. The sun was warm on his skin as he was hunched over in the tall grasses with a leather notebook and pen resting in his lap. Both Tex and Timber were peacefully grazing a short distance away as Tommy was cleaning his rifle. He glanced over at his brother with a curious expression on his face as he watched him scribble something on one of the blank pages.

“Whatcha writin’ in there big brother?” He asked with piqued interest.

“A letter.” Joel murmured.

“To who?”

Joel let out a sigh as he closed the notebook on the pen before looking over at his younger brother.

“Tess.”

Tommy had an unreadable expression on his face as he tightly nodded. For a moment Joel thought his brother had nothing else to say until a hand reached out and gently squeezed his shoulder.

“Say hi to her for me. Will ya? Miss the hell outta her.” Tommy mumbled softly.

“Me too. I miss her a lot. I just hope she’s with her husband and son. Hope they’re all together.” Joel responded mournfully as he opened the notebook once more.

Tommy felt a tear slowly roll down his cheek before he quickly wiped it away.

Godspeed Tess.

Joel found himself getting lost in his present thoughts and emotions as he poured his heart out onto the parchment. His words bled like the ink from his pen that was clutched tight in his fist. His knuckles transformed to a stark white shade.

Hey, Tess. It’s Joel. I’ve never fuckin’ written a letter in my goddamn life, so I apologize if this is absolute horse shit. I’ll salvage what I can. It’s the least I can do for you Tess. Anyway, lately i’ve found myself doin’ a lot of reflectin.’ Can ya believe that? Me? Joel hardass Miller expressing his emotions? Ellie and I made it to the fireflies. I’m sure by now you know what happened so i’ll spare the details. Do you remember when you told me to save who I could save? Well, I did. I saved her. I’d do it all over again if I had to. Man, I used to think of that kid as cargo. Now, I think of her as if she was my own daughter. They were gonna kill her, and I couldn’t let that happen so I did what I had to do. Ain’t proud of it, but she’s alive and that's all that matters to me even though she hates me. I couldn’t live without her. The truth is, I wish you were here. You’d love Jackson. This community has it all figured out. We coulda lived a life at peace together, you and me. You deserved the world, and I'm sorry I could never give that to you. You never asked anythin’ of me. Never begged me to feel for you back, but fuck, I loved you. I loved you Tess. I think you knew. It was unspoken between us, but it was there. I should have told you when I had the chance. Well, I'm tellin’ ya now. I know one day I'll get to thank you for savin’ Ellie and I. You went out a fuckin’ hero. You’re the reason why I'm alive. I know I need to forgive myself for your death. I know I can’t go on livin’ and blamin’ myself. It’s hard. It’s so fuckin’ hard, but i’m going to try. I hope that you are at peace. Y’know I ain’t believe in there bein’ a Heaven, but I hope that’s where you’re at. I hope your husband and son are there with you. I hope you get to hug them tight. Sarah too. Bill and Frank. I hope you’re all together now. If you see my baby girl, can you please tell her that daddy loves her? Keep her safe. Hold her close f’me.

I’ll see ya again one day. Till then, I'll do better. I promise.

- Your Texas

Joel let a few tear drops drip along the paper before he wiped them away. He felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders as he was releasing the burden that weighed him down. It lifted from his being, floating like a cloud in the sky as it dissipated to dust. Tess never blamed him for her death. She never held it against him. She only wished that she had more time with him in this cruel unforgiving world.

When Joel returned from patrol in the late afternoon, he found himself in your shop. The door was propped open with a heavy ceramic pot as a warm spring breeze drifted past his covered shoulder blades. Your shop was peacefully quiet sans the record player crackling to the tune of Queen. The song playing was ‘You’re My Best Friend’

How sweetly fitting.

He could hear your soft humming through his good ear as he walked around the counter. “Beanie? Y’back here darlin?’” His voice traveled like the breeze as you looked up from the mug you were currently painting. Normally you’d paint in your shed at home, but today you decided to kill some time and paint at the shop.

“I’m back here Joel.” You softly responded as your paint brush delicately dragged across the ceramic.

The first thing you noticed was Joel’s bare arms in your peripheral and the way his hair had one stray curl that dangled over his forehead in a soft swoop. His cinnamon brown eyes landed in a soft gaze across your face as he leaned his arm up against the wall. You liked to call this stance the ‘Joel lean.’ Although, this information was kept private.

“What’re you paintin’ today?” He asked intriguingly.

“Vines and tiny little flowers.” You held the mug up in his direction so he could observe what you had completed so far.

“Beautiful.” He rasped. “Listen, you got any plans this evenin?’” He was fidgeting with his fingers now as he awaited your response.

You gently set the mug down on the little drying table before wiping your hands on your paint stained apron. “I was going to head home in an hour or so to make dinner and then settle in with a good book probably. Why do you ask?”

“Come with me to the Tipsy Bison.” He blurted out suddenly, catching you off guard.

“I’ve never been.” You murmured sheepishly.

“S’okay. You ain’t even have to drink. Jus’ would love to share your company. There’s music n’dancin.’ There’s no pressure or nothin’ but it would be fun.”

Was..Joel Miller asking you out on a date right now? An unofficial-official date?

Am I askin’ her out on a date right now?

Yes, you are.

No. I ain’t.

You are.

“Won’t I stick out like a sore thumb if I'm not drinking?” Truthfully you were looking for a way out of this. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go spend time with Joel. You were just intimidated by the thought of having to socialize with other community members of Jackson. You could already feel your anxious thoughts creep up and stain your mind with self-doubt.

“Darlin.’ everyone there is g’nna be too drunk to care. If anyone has somethin’ to say, they can say it to me. Again, no pressure. I don’t wanna stress ya out or anythin.’”

Be still, my foolish heart.

You chewed down on the inside of your cheek, gnawing on the soft flesh as you could taste copper beading along your tongue. How bad could it really be? Besides, Joel wouldn’t let anyone fuck with you. Maybe he would even share a dance with you?

Be still, my foolish heart.

“Okay.” You finally responded. “I’ll come with you, on one condition.”

“Name your price darlin.’” He was holding back his grin that was threatening to spread across his lips.

“You have to dance with me at least once.” You requested.

“Deal.” He didn’t even falter on his response as he outstretched his hand towards you to grasp. “We’ll dance the night away.” He shot you a subtle wink.

His hand was warm in your grasp as he gently eased you up from the chair you were sitting in. You could feel the rough ridges from years of scarring, but despite this, his hands were beautiful. The ridges reminded you of mountain peaks that would nearly touch the clouds. His scars were littered about like constellations in the night sky. Some were deeper than others and you could only imagine how many times the skin on his knuckles had been split open. How many times they bled, how many times he’d hiss under his breath as the healing scabs would flake off.

How would he react if he saw your own scars? Would he shy away or would he trace them delicately? Kiss the pain away with gentle words. Promise you that no harm would come upon you again. Would he hold you close? Murmur into your hair an oath kept against his heart. Would he protect you? Kill for you?

Of course he would.

You just hadn’t a clue what this night would bring.

One thing was for certain, you were eager to find out.

Banners made by the lovely @saradika 🤎

Tex, Tess, and Timber:

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pullhisteeth · 9 months

Note

Prompt: taking a road trip with eddie and maybe he wakes you up because he’s pulled over to see some stupid roadside attraction

I saw this and fell in LOVE so I had to write it immediately. thank you so much for the request!!! inspired partly by Nomadland, a film I love very much. <3

fluff, fem!reader, mention of Eddie being bad and doing (petty) crime, a lil somethin suggestive, 2.4k

The pads of four firm fingers and a firmer thumb push into either side of your shoulder. His grip is eager, impatient, but never rough; even in excitement, he’s the gentlest a man has ever been with you.

You can hear him, just about, calling your name softly. He repeats it like a chant, close to your left ear and then further away, and somewhere in the fuzzy distance of consciousness you can see him, an image conjured by the thousands of times you have committed his face to memory. He’s grinning, you can hear it in the way his words curve up, and turning his head back and forth. Your lovely excitable boy.

You’re slow to wake, groaning softly at the ache in your neck. You’ve been lying, or rather curled up, against the window in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van. There’s light seeping through your eyelids and dying your vision blotches of orange and then his fingers dig further, and he says your name again.

“C’mon, baby,” he’s saying, restless but still soft as ever. His grip relents a touch as he feels you come to, squirming and rubbing your eye with the ball of your fist. You try to ask him what’s wrong but the letters come out jumbled like alphabetti spaghetti and you hear him chuckle beside you.

“C’mon,” he says again, even softer this time, and now his other hand’s on you, too; it paws at your arm, the one furthest from him, prying it from where it’s squashed between your body and the door.

“What’s going on?” you ask him, voice thick with sleep and delirium. You finally prise your eyes open and just for a moment you’re blinded by the low sun.

“There she is,” he says as your eyes find him. He’s smiling at you in a way that makes your insides ache, rotten to the core from the fondness in it, and his hair’s lit up golden from the orange sky. You could stare at this forever, Eddie looking at you like he is, pretty and bright under the sun.

“Where are we?” you ask, looking around. Somewhere in the distance you can hear the familiar rush of cars on a highway, but you’re not on it anymore. The van’s still, parked somewhere off a quieter road.

The sun’s setting ahead of you, so you know you’re still heading west. It lights up the dusty, flat landscape in a way that feels unreal, like a mirage.

“I wanna show you somethin’,” he tells you, tugging gently on your wrist. You sit up at his beckoning, unfurling your stiff legs and rolling your shoulders back with a wince.

“But-”

“Just come with me, would you?”

He’s being playful, and you love entertaining him when he’s like this. You look at his face, at the happy grin spread across it and the crinkles by his eyes, and cave once again.

Yawning, you twist in your seat and push the door open. Outside it’s warm, though not as warm as in the van - you always chastise him for it, but Eddie turns the heat up for you, knowing you sleep better that way, even if he’s a little too hot because of it. There’s half a fluorescent sun on the horizon and sand kicks up as you hop out and onto the ground. You step around the front of the van just as a car passes quickly, and grasp firmly onto Eddie’s outstretched hand.

He pulls you along to a small building set back from the road. It’s nothing special - you’d probably have mistaken it for a run-down home had you not been paying much attention - but behind it sits something that makes you bark a laugh and stop walking.

“Eddie, what the fuck.”

He turns back to you, still grinning. “Isn’t it wicked?”

You look at him, and then back up.

Between the building and a small, unassuming playpark is a ginormous model of a dinosaur.

It towers over the building and you’re not sure how you didn’t spot it from the van. It’s in dire need of a paint job, but what remains of the odd turquoise shade covering it is dazzling. And up high, its wide, white eyes stare over at the desert.

“It’s fucking crazy,” you breathe, stepping with him again. Though it’s clearly late in the day, the little building, which you see now is a visitor centre, is still open. Eddie pulls on the door and steps aside, free hand coming to rest on the small of your back as you walk in before him.

A fizzy, artificial bell sound announces your arrival, and a reluctant lady comes out from the room behind the counter. She’s clearly sleepy, and you wonder how soon the place closes, but she greets you with a smile and a wave regardless.

“Hi, kids!” she calls to you over the aisles of snacks and long-life food.

You wave back and Eddie gives her a polite nod. She settles happily on a stool behind the counter, and Eddie takes your hand again.

He pulls you down the first aisle, grabbing a shopping basket on his way, and you giggle at how eager he is. One of your favourite things about him is how quick he is to get excited; he’s so handsome, and has grown into himself so gracefully, but underneath it all he’s just a happy kid in a 24-year-old’s body.

“So,” he says, bending over slightly to whisper in your ear, “game plan: snacks, obviously a fridge magnet-” At this, he looks from the shelf in front of him to you, face serious. “-And a picnic with a dinosaur.”

You giggle, squeezing his hand. “Why are we whispering?”

“It’s a covert operation,” he tells you, smiling again.

“Eddie,” you hiss. “We are not shoplifting.”

“No,” he says, rolling his eyes, smile lingering. “How fucking dare you?”

You jab him in the chest playfully. “You can’t fool me, Munson, I’m holding onto all your petty theft secrets.”

“Hey, I’m grown now. You don’t gotta pay a thing, ‘s’all on me, sugar.”

The two of you are still whispering, faces close, and you can’t help the giggles that keep coming. He dips his head even further to kiss you at the corner of your mouth, and then stands up straight, eyes back on the shelf.

You weave up and down the aisles, pulling bags of chips and a jar of salsa into the basket, followed by packets of cookies, bags of chocolate buttons and even a box of Pop Tarts (in Eddie’s words: for the road). At the fridges, you raid the shelves, stocking up on bottles of cherry cola, your favourite, and orangeade, Eddie’s favourite, as well as three litres of water. You let him head to the counter, lingering behind to peruse the souvenirs.

You can feel his eyes on you as you slowly spin the rack of postcards around. He’s standing by the counter as the lady kindly takes each item out of his basket and keys prices into an ageing cash register. She eyes him as he watches you.

“How long’ve you two been together?” she asks, keeping her voice quiet.

He takes a moment to take his eyes off you. When he turns, he can’t quite look at her, and instead looks down at his hands, watching his fingers fidget with an old receipt in his wallet.

“Three years,” he tells her, biting back a smile.

She prods some more keys on the register. “She’s real pretty,” she says. “Y’better be lookin’ after her.”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I do- I mean, I hope I am.”

Just as he lifts his head to look at you again, you turn on the balls of your feet and skip over to him, hands full and smile wide. He can’t help but return it.

“What’cha got?”

You lay out your treasures on the counter, beside a full carrier bag.

A postcard of the dinosaur, decorated with corny lettering and sparkles; a fridge magnet, as is your tradition, of said dinosaur, painted badly; a small snow globe, in which the dinosaur is swamped by sparkling white debris; and a necklace.

You snatch the jewellery up almost as quick as you put it down, gripping it in your fist and hiding it behind your back. When Eddie leans to catch a glimpse you step back and scrunch your face up, sticking your tongue out at him.

“Suit yourself,” he says, chuckling and turning back to the clerk. “What’s the damage?”

After checking your souvenirs and keying more numbers into the register, she tells him a number and he hands three bills over. You’re still a few paces away, swaying side to side impatiently.

He watches you out of the corner of his eye as he takes the bag and puts your stuff inside.

“Meet’cha outside,” you tell him, side-stepping to let him past. He laughs, and you lay the necklace on the table as he leaves through the chiming back door.

The lady rings it up for you, asks for four dollars, and you hand her a five and tell her to keep the dollar. She thanks you and drops it into the tip jar. You take the necklace in your hand again and slip it into your back pocket.

Outside, the sun’s almost disappeared behind the horizon. The desert’s settled under a fuzzy twilight, and in the pretty light you spot your pretty boy sitting at a picnic bench across the lot.

You look up at the dinosaur as you walk over to meet him, and catch a couple of stars around his head. A little halo for your new friend.

At the table, Eddie’s laid half the bag out: a cola for you and an orangeade for him; a bag of chips, the jar of salsa, and a pack of cookies opened and ready for greedy fingers. You round the table and sit beside him instead of opposite, and though he groans sarcastically, you relish the feeling of his arm coming around your waist. It pulls you in and you let it, leaning into him as much as you can.

“Looks delicious,” you tell him, muffled slightly by where your face is so cozy with his sweater.

“Dig in, sweetheart, ‘fore the dinosaur gets it.”

You laugh and reach over the table for a chip.

The two of you sit in quiet, save for the crunches of snacks, and look out at the barren landscape as the sky turns indigo. Eddie’s hand never leaves your waist and you never leave his side.

“My compliments to the chef,” you finally say. The chip bag is empty, weighed down by the also-empty salsa jar to stop it blowing away in the breeze. There’s half the pack of cookies left, but you’re all snacked-out and drifting slowly back to sleep at Eddie’s side.

He laughs and you feel it, vibrating through you, and you smile. He twists and kisses your forehead, lips lingering for just a moment. You move, too, leaning back so you can kiss him properly.

He tastes like salt and sugar, and you’re sure you taste much the same. You love kissing Eddie, and here, under the domineering presence of a giant model dinosaur, you’re very happy to keep kissing him, but something sharp digs into your butt as you shift in your seat, reminding you of something.

You pull back, not missing the huff of disappointment from Eddie, and wriggle your hand into your pocket.

“Turn around,” you tell him softly.

He watches you for a moment, but when you look at him pointedly he obeys, twisting on the bench so his back faces you. From your pocket you manage to pull the necklace, and with deft fingers you lift it over his head and do up the clasp. You pull his hair out from underneath it and tap his shoulder. “Lemme see.”

He turns back to you, already toying with the pendant.

“I can’t see it from here,” he tells you frustratedly, trying to pull it out far enough to see.

“It’s just a heart,” you tell him, fingers joining his and pulling the little silver shape from his grasp. You move it up and down the black leather that it hangs on, back and forth, admiring the way it looks against his sweater. Your cheeks flare up at your next words. “From your sweetheart.”

He watches you as you mess with the necklace. He can’t contain it, the love he feels for you. It’s like there’s a balloon inside him and it’s inflating too quickly and too big for him to contain.

“I love you,” he tells you. You smile, though you’re trying to hold it down, so he wraps both arms around your body and pulls you into a hug.

“Love you too,” you tell him into his hair at the crook of his neck.

He pulls you and your tired body relents to his strength, settling comfortably on his lap. You sit like this for a while, maybe a few minutes, before you dare to speak.

“How long’ve we got left before Lenora?”

He squeezes you, and then pulls back to see your face. “A couple hundred miles. Not long.”

You trace your fingers down the side of his face. “You sure you’re okay to drive the rest? We can stop at a motel.”

He kisses you again, softly, on your lips and then your chin. As his lips dip lower, under the curve of your jaw, he says against your skin: “Sounds like fun.”

You roll your eyes and let your fingers weave through his hair. “Just mean you’re probably tired, no? It’s late, you’ve been drivin’ since six.”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums in agreement. “Think there’s one in the next hour or so. I’ll be fine ‘til then.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s go then.”

You climb off him slowly and gather your things into the bag, rubbish and all. You walk together across the lot, to a gate on the other side, and as you reach the van you turn and wave at the dinosaur.

Eddie helps you into the van and before he shuts the door, he pulls his sweater off.

“Eds-”

“I get too hot anyway. And you need a pillow.”

“But-”

“Will you just take it? Please?”

You do, begrudgingly, balling it up and resting it between your head and the glass.

Once he’s in the van, seatbelt on, he starts the engine and pulls slowly onto the road. You’re asleep again before he gets back on the highway.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #stranger things #eddie munson x you #stranger things 4 #eddie munson requests #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson request #stranger things fanfiction #st4

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spacequokka · 1 year

Text

About Time

Pairing: Changkyun x Reader Genre: Angst, Smut Rating: M Summary: You broke the number rule of fuck buddies and ghosted him. You think you don’t have to answer for that? Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: mentions of drinking, fingering, public unprotected vaginal sex, hair pulling, biting, creampie

Arrow: Gold > Friends (with benefits!) to Lovers AU

Thanks to everyone in @kvanity-main who patiently put up with my 99 questions and requests. Extra thanks to @jinsquishes for the beautiful banner. I recommend nvrmnd, Die for You, God Damn, and Horizon for this. Happy Valentine’s Day my lovelies!

One would assume a dark, crowded club would be the best place to avoid someone you’re ghosting. How could you ever hope to find anyone through all the bodies and smoke? Now add the fact that the person you’re avoiding hates places like this, and it should be perfect. Right?

Wrong.

Because across the fucking room with a red solo cup in one hand and a vape in the other was none other than the last person you planned to see tonight. You fully expected to see the Easter Bunny before Changkyun’s molten stare. A sharp elbow to your side yanked you out of the mental sinkhole you fell into the second your eyes met his.

“What the fuck are you staring at—” Vita followed your line of sight and gasped dramatically. “Ain’t no way. I thought he hated clubs. What the fuck is he doing here?”

You sputtered something that could’ve been a response in baby talk, mind thoroughly fucked as you scrambled to get your shit together. Quickly tossing back the rest of your drink, you looked around, frantically searching for the nearest exit. You’d even jump out of a third-story window at this moment.

“I’ve gotta get the fuck out of here.” You threw your cup away. “I can’t be here.”

“Wait, what?” She pulled on your arm. “No! Don’t leave me! You swore you’d hang out with me tonight.”

“Well, that was before Korean John Wick popped up looking like he’s gonna take me out with a pencil.” You looked at her, eyes pleading for understanding. “What if he comes over? He’s gonna ask why I’m not answering his calls and texts. What the fuck am I gonna say to him?”

Her grip tightened. “Be honest with him! Just flat out say you caught feelings and the situation doesn’t vibe for you anymore. I’m pretty sure he’d appreciate you being upfront with him instead of pulling this hide-and-go-seek shit.”

“Oh, fuck you, smart ass. You dodged Taehyung for weeks before you nutted up and told him the truth.”

Shock flashed in her eyes before she let go. “Wow. Digging deep in the past, ain’t you? At least I fucking told him.”

“Right.” You looked back at Changkyun. The cup and vape were gone, but his eyes were still on you as he watched with curiosity. “So I have at least another week or two before you can talk shit. God, he looks like he’s gonna come over. If he does…”

“Jesus, _____, just spit the words out and be done with it.” She crossed her arms. “It’s better than dragging this out any longer. Trust me. What’s he gonna do? Dump you? You’re not dating. At the most, he’ll agree it won’t work and walk away. He isn’t the type to make a scene.”

As if to piss on her logic, Changkyun pushed away from the wall and headed in your direction, snaking through people without taking his eyes off you. Pure fear made your heart stutter as you grabbed her shoulders.

“Yeah, right. Tell him that, will you? I’m getting the fuck out of here.” You darted to the side. Stupid fucking heels and stupid fucking drinks made it hard to coordinate your limbs in a way that put as much space between you and the quiet storm behind you as fast as you could. Sure, it was a cowardly thing to do, but you weren’t in any shape to have a decent conversation with him. An honest one. One that formally put an end to the nights that bled into mornings where he’d cuddle you as the sun rose. To the moments you cherished while confusing you.

Not yet. You needed more time. Just a little more time.

Your eyes stung as you pushed your way through to the nearest glowing green ceiling sign. You just wanted out, away. Anything but face the truth, the inevitable hurt. The chilly night air was refreshing on your heated face when you stepped out the door. The panic softened just enough for your head to clear. Okay, you were in an alley. You just needed to figure out which way the street was so you could get a Lyft and—

The door opened behind you. Panic shot through you like shards of ice as you looked over your shoulder in horror and watched Changkyun step out. Time crawled to a stop as he adjusted his black leather jacket, pulling on the collar of his matching silk shirt. “Are you done running from me?”

Your mouth opened and closed as each train of thought derailed before making it to your lips. Running? In which sense? You turned around to face him, intent on saying something but ultimately failing because what the fuck should you say?

The longer he waited for you to speak, the more intense his stare got. “You realize the whole point of being fuck buddies is to actually fuck, right?” He pulled the door shut behind him then put his hands into his pocket, and cocked his head to the side. “And I’m not sure if you noticed, but uh, we haven’t fucked since—what—three weeks ago?”

“Something more like two and a half.” You mumbled.

His eyebrows rose. “Oh, so she does remember how to communicate.” He looked away and nodded, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “Since I’m not worth the effort of a call or text, I won’t waste your time. Just tell me why we’re not fucking anymore and I’ll be on my way.” He gestured at you with his hand in his coat pocket. “Go on. Is it someone else?”

There was something in the way his frown and grouchy words didn’t match the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Though it was brief, for a second you saw the Changkyun you wished you could be with all the time. The one who was emotionally available. “N-no. I haven’t…no one but you, Kyun.”

Confusion creased his brow even more. “So, then what is it? I give it to you good, right? I mean, the way you can’t even get out of bed after—”

“It’s not that. I promise.” You bit your lip and looked at your feet. “Please, Kyun. It’s hella stupid. I just…” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it. He was expecting some grand, logical reason when in reality it was so fucking…simple.

“What is it?” He prodded. His gaze dragged over your body before he looked away and changed his stance. “Jeez, you don’t have to overthink everything. Just spit it out.” He closed his eyes, swallowed, and lowered his voice. “Just say it.”

Maybe it was the sudden softness in his words that made your chest tighter as your throat and eyes burned. Right. Just say it. Let go and move on. You took a deep, shuddering breath. “I-I can’t do this anymore.”

His face tightened for a second as if he’d flinched from pain. For a solid minute, neither of you said a word, listening to the ambiance around you. The cars passing by on the street. The muffled bass of the music inside the club. The hum of electricity from the flickering streetlight nearby. Just when you thought you couldn’t take another moment of silence, he asked, “Why? Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” You reached out and nearly touched him before thinking better of it. “No. It’s me. My mistake. I—” You swallowed and looked around the dimly lit alley as if the words you needed to say would jump out and save your ass. How could you tell him the truth without ripping your heart out in the process? You hugged yourself and shut your eyes, willing the unshed tears to back the fuck off. You could cry it out later. Not here. Not in front of him. He’d told you plenty of times tears did nothing for him. “Fuck. When we started this, we both agreed to keep it casual. No feelings.”

He inhaled sharply and took a step forward. The crunch of the ground under his shoes made your eyes snap open. A mistake. His eyes widened upon seeing the tears lining yours. “Baby—”

You shook your head and hugged yourself tighter. “A-at first, that worked for me, Kyun. I swear it did. Sex with you is the greatest thing I’ve ever experienced so far in life. You’re amazing, so please don’t question that. But, as we got to know each other more, things got…complicated.”

“Really. Complicated, how?” He took another step closer and you took one back. “What complication justifies shutting me out?”

Your body sagged as your chest tightened to the point of pain. “Please, don’t make me say it.”

“I deserve to know the truth, don’t I? I’ve spent more time in the past six months in bed with you than I have on my own. I got to the point where I’m not used to waking up alone.” He licked his lips and exhaled hard. “Like, I get that fuck buddies aren’t as close as we are. Maybe friends with benefits doesn’t cover it either. Whatever it is, it’s good, right?”

You hated how your heart colored his words with hope and yearning. This wasn’t the same guy who swore to you he couldn’t do relationships. That you’d never catch him doing lovey-dovey couple stuff. That wasn’t him. Commitment wasn’t in his skillset. “For you.” You bit out after a gulp of air. “It’s good for you. I-I can’t separate the physical from the emotional stuff.” You looked at him through tears. “I tried so hard to keep it casual. I reminded myself over and over that you can’t give me lo—more. But you confused me! Insisting I stay each night, waking up with you. Telling me I’m beautiful and insisting we hang out for fun. How was I supposed to keep my heart out of it?”

His expression went blank, completely clueless as he stared at you. “What?”

“God, Kyun. For someone who says otherwise, you do the boyfriend thing really well.” You dried your face by dabbing at it with your coat sleeve. “For a minute, you had me imagining what it’d be like. And once I got to that point, I knew I couldn’t go on with this anymore. It hurts like hell to want someone in a way they’ll never want you.”

Changkyun blinked a few times before understanding dawned on his pretty face. “Oh.” He got a distant look in his eyes, looking down the alley at the street. “So…you caught feelings for me?”

Your arms dropped to your sides. The gut punch wasn’t as painful as you thought it’d be, but it still hurt. “I know I should’ve talked to you. I just…didn’t know what to say or how to say it.”

He bit his bottom lip and nodded then took a step towards you. You automatically took a step back so he took another. And another. And another. Your back collided with the wall of the building behind you and before you knew it, he was pressed against you, chest to chest, and looking into your eyes with an expression you’d never seen on his face before. Worse of all, it made your stomach turn with excitement in a way that only he ever could incite. His fingertips caressed your cheek before they traced down to your neck.

“Say it again,” his voice was low and warm like coffee on your tongue, “tell me what you imagined being with me was like.”

You sucked in cold air noticing how the tip of your nose was getting numb. “I—this isn’t a joke, Kyun!” You pushed at his chest. “I’m being serious—”

His fingers curled around the back of your neck and gently squeezed. “And so am I. I wanna hear it.” He pulled you close until your foreheads touched then gently rubbed his nose against yours. “You made me go weeks without hearing your voice or seeing your face over this. So, give it all to me. Every single thought. Make the pain worth it.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You swallowed hard and looked into his eyes. “I told you. It’s dumb. I just pictured stupid couple stuff like taking selfies, holding hands in front of your friends, or cuddling on a rainy day.”

He hummed as his fingertips caught the hem of your skirt. “I admit, that does sound like stupid couple stuff.” You scoffed and tried to pull away, so he quickly followed with, “But I’d do them with you if you really wanted to. At this point, there isn’t much I wouldn’t do with you. For you. To you.”

“What?” You searched his eyes, mind reeling as his words echoed in your head.

“Let me make a little confession of my own.” His free hand gripped your jaw between his thumb and index finger as the other splayed across your thigh. “Since I last saw you, I haven’t been out much. Maybe to the store. At first I thought maybe you were just busy. But then Jooheon would tell me he saw you out with your friend and each time I wondered if it was me. Maybe you were avoiding me.” He pulled your leg up on his hip. “At first, I told myself I didn’t care. That you’d get over whatever the fuck you were going through and come back when you were ready. But you never did.”

You gasped as his hand wandered between your bodies and toyed with the edge of your panties. “Kyun—”

“No, no. Shh. Listen to me. I need you to know how hard it was to stay away and give you space, baby. No one else touches this dick but you.” It was hard to focus on his words when his fingers started to stroke your clit through the sheer fabric. “I don’t even get hard at the thought of fucking anyone but you. That whole time you were gone? It was just me and my hand.” His lips brushed against yours, but he didn’t kiss you and smiled when you started to chase his mouth. “Just like you, hm? What did you use?”

His fingers pushed your panties aside and cupped your pussy, middle finger pressing between your folds. “My toys—oh, god—and fingers.” Your breath hitched as he dipped his finger inside.

He moved his hand from your chin to the wall. “Did they feel good? Better than me?” You shook your head and he bit his lip, rewarding your honesty with the rest of his finger buried to the hilt. “You look so fucking hot right now. This skirt. This top.” He leaned in and nipped at your neck, soothing the skin with a lick as he worked his finger in and out. “I saw you as soon as I walked in. Wanted you right then. Needed you…”

His words were smoke in your head, creating a dense fog of him that made you burn from the inside out. Your hips rolled on his hand, pace increasing when he added another finger. You were vaguely aware of how fucked out and needy you sounded as he pulled moans from you with just his hand. His lips caught yours and ended with a playful bite as he pulled his hand away.

“As needy as the last time we did this, huh?” He groaned in your ear, low and husky as he fumbled with his pants. You couldn’t even respond, too focused on helping him work the belt buckle and zipper. The second his dick was free, he pushed his pants down to his thighs and reached for yours. “Get up here.”

One leg went around his waist, and with a hop, so was the other. You put your arms around his neck. Using the wall for leverage, he gave you sloppy, frantic kisses as he held you up by your thighs, feeling around with the head of his dick for your entrance. You squealed when it pressed into your clit and he chuckled into your mouth as he angled his hips just right and—

“Say it, baby.” He hissed as he pushed in slowly. “Tell me again why you ghosted me.” You tightened your grip, nails digging into the sleeves of your coat, as his dick stretched you with an ache you missed. When it felt like it’d never stop, he was fully seated inside and twitching every time you clenched. “Say it.”

“B-because I fell for you.” You whimpered when he pulled back then snapped his hips once. A warning. “Ah! Fuck, Kyun.”

“I wanna hear you say it.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and hid your face. “I love you. I did it because I love you and I thought you wouldn’t feel the same.”

“Fucking finally.” He brushed a kiss to the side of your face and adjusted his grip on your thighs. “About time you came around, baby.” With another snap of his hips, he set a steady pace that he’d occasionally interrupt by grinding his pelvis against your clit, determined to get you both there as quickly as possible. “Need you to cum with me. Missed you so much. I hate waking up without you next to me. Need you th—Ah, fuck. So tight.”

Your fingertips caught the ends of his hair and you pulled on it. In response his strokes grew longer, deeper as he let you drop onto his length with a clap of skin. Every time he moved, sparks danced up your spine and through your limbs. “Oh, fuck!”

“It’s been so long, baby. Just a—just a little longer. I’m almost there.” He nudged your head back and kissed you hard, a clash of lips and tongue as he swallowed your moans while feeding you his own. You were vaguely aware of how the bricks dug into your back and hips, too lost in the pleasure you were drowning in. How had you stayed away from him for so long when he could do shit like this to you? You were crumbling to pieces in his arms, on his dick, and for once it didn’t scare you shitless. You could trust him to put you back together. You held his face and kissed him harder, trying to match his intensity. When he caught your tongue and sucked on it, you fell apart. You came hard, convulsing in his arms as he leaned back and switched to quick strokes, moaning your name as he reached his high. “Oh, shit. Fuck, baby, fuck. I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

He leaned against you with a whimper as his body rode the wave, pressing up into you as he stuffed your pussy with cum. Your lips met after a few misses and you laughed through a kiss. The kiss slowly turned to light pecks between shy smiles as he rubbed your thighs. “My back is gonna be so sore in the morning.”

He snorted and kissed you once more before helping you down onto your shaky feet. “That’s not the only thing that’ll be sore. The night is young.”

You playfully swatted his arm as you fixed your panties and skirt. “Ugh. My panties are wet and sticky.”

His arm came around your waist and pulled you against him. “My car’s not that far. We could go back to my place.”

The thought of leaving with him reminded you of what he’d said not too long ago. “…Did you mean it? Or was that just heat of the moment talk?”

He looked into your eyes. “I’ve been in love with you since the first night you stayed over.”

“What?! Kyun, that was like the first month into this. There’s no way—” He cut you off with a kiss, this one sweet and tender as if he’d break you with his lips.

“I didn’t say anything because I remembered the rules. It seemed like you were okay with the way things were so I was okay with it. As long as I knew I was the only one you went to, I could live like that.” He looked into your eyes as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip before brushing over your hair. “Then suddenly you were gone without an explanation why…and I realized I didn’t want to let you go. Not without a good reason. So, yeah. I meant it. And just in case you don’t believe me, I love you. And I’d love you even without the sex. My heart is yours…so take care of it.” He gave you a shy yet bratty pout.

You blinked and fanned your face, turning away so he couldn’t see. “I’ll do my best. Um, so to your place?”

He threaded your fingers together. “Yup.” He pulled you along towards the street. “We can take a shower, drink some water, then work on getting another noise complaint from my neighbors.”

“What are you gonna do when your landlord finally kicks your ass out?”

He looked at you and smiled. “Look for a place to share with you.”

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mangoisms · 10 months

Text

i want your hands, your future plans (to the bitter end)

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ summary: A night on the town and a first-time encounter with Tim as Red Robin — and knowing that, too.

━ word count: 3.3k

━ contains: super brief mention of stalking (within the normal canon-typical range), established relationship, suggestive content

━ a/n: technically takes place as an extension of my other tim fic, i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute), but prior reading not required! title is from this song

━ you can read this on ao3 as well

“And he just left! He left! At the first sign of trouble, he is gone and he leaves me behind! You know, I’d get it if it were out first date or something, ‘cause like, whatever, you don’t owe me anything — would still be nice but it’s not something I’d get mad at since it’s Gotham but… you know?”

You do know. And you do think it’s fucked up that Amir’s boyfriend abandoned them at their date to Amusement Mile after a false alarm about the Joker.

It’s just that… three men have been tailing you guys for the last two blocks.

You two didn’t have that long of a walk after coming out of the station; Amir lives in the Upper West Side like you, their apartment building only a few blocks from Rose Oaks, you would find out. But it doesn’t take long for others to notice an opening and take it. Not in this city.

Amir hasn’t noticed yet. You only noticed because, well, when you have a vigilante for a boyfriend, you’re guaranteed a crash course in all manners of suspicious activity and whether danger is on the horizon.

And danger is very much on the horizon.

You already pressed the panic button on your watch, though. Tim outfitted it. A standard WayneTech smartwatch configured with a panic button that sends your location to him and can also be sent to the others.

It’s just a matter of continuing on your way. Keeping an ear out. Wondering when the two of you need to start running.

A breeze flutters your sundress. You frown a little bit. You aren’t dressed for it. Not with your wedges. Neither of you are. Amir wanted to drown their sorrows in margaritas at a new restaurant in the Fashion District and you went along for moral support. They’ll probably fare better than you with their ballet flats.

You do have a taser. Voltage as debilitating as Dick’s escrima sticks. Or so Tim tells you. You’ve, fortunately, never encountered those up close and personally.

You hope it won’t get that far. You are strong and independent. But strong and independent can only get you so far in a city like this and you are secure enough to not mind relying on your boyfriend for help. Especially since he’s, you know. A vigilante.

Any of them could help. You don’t mind. Send Cass or Steph or Helena. They can save you any day.

But that’s not necessary.

A choked yelp stops you. Amir stops their rambling, tensing. You spare a glance over your shoulder and watch as the three men go down quickly.

“Woah,” they mutter, the both of you now turned, watching Red Robin step away, men down for the count, hands cuffed, pained groans escaping them.

“I didn’t hear them,” they mumble. “Shit. Shit.”

You squeeze their arm. “You okay?”

They look a little pale. Which is saying something, with their russet skin.

“Yeah. Yeah. Just…” They shake their head, watching Tim — Red Robin — straighten up. “Never seen one of these guys in person before.”

“Me, neither.”

And that isn’t a lie. Not technically. This is your first time with Tim as Red Robin for a… prolonged period of time. And it’s… not bad. Not bad at all, you think, eyeing the imposing figure he cuts with his suit, Kevlar molding to broad shoulders and a lean, muscled figure. The shadows from the nearby street lamp make the panes of his face even sharper, prettier, in the night.

But you have to remember your position here. This is Red Robin, one of the Bats, one of Gotham’s many vigilantes. Not Tim Drake, your boyfriend. Even if you saw him off tonight, helped clasp his cape to his suit and press the domino mask to his face, you cannot give anything away.

“Are you two alright?” he asks and you immediately notice the modulator, changing the pitch and tone of his voice. Most likely for Amir’s sake. You hate it but understand the need.

“Yeah,” Amir says, a little dumbfounded. “Yeah, man. I mean you…”

“You saved us,” you finish, looking at him. It’s hard to tell where his eyes might be with the white lids of the mask but the tilt of his head is in your direction.

A spark of energy skitters up your spine as a moment passes and he drags his eyes off you.

“Just doing my job,” he says, demure, something about it amusing to you, making you glance to the side, lips pressed together to suppress a smile. “Can I walk you two home?”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Amir says. “I’m sure you have, uh, other things to be doing right now…”

Even if that were so, Tim is unlikely to leave you two alone. If he won’t walk with you, he’ll shadow you. You know he will. And honestly, you’d like him to do it, too. But Amir is just being nice. Trying not to burden Red Robin, a figure that, arguably, has many burdens, especially regarding the city.

“I don’t mind,” he says, then pauses and hastens to add, “as long as you two are fine with it, I mean.”

Amir looks at you, a question in their dark eyes. You just nod at them, letting them know the decision is in their hands.

They glance back at him. “Alright. Sure. We’re not far. Won’t keep you long.”

“Like I said. I don’t mind.”

He falls into step with you, with him nearest to the street and Amir between you. For the best, probably.

For a minute, it is painfully awkward.

Well, painfully awkward for Amir.

You? You’re just trying to stave off a smile. You never quite anticipated you’d ever have to play this game of pretend with Tim but it’s… fun. A little thrilling, if you want to be truly honest. A secret the two of you share. With poor Amir caught right in the middle of it.

“Should thank you,” Amir suddenly starts after a couple minutes of silence. “Since, like she said, you saved us.”

“Just doing my job,” he says, echoing his earlier words.

You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t. It’s a monumental thing, acting normally here, pretending you don’t know Red Robin personally, intimately, but your coworkers know you’re fond of the superheroes of your world, of the vigilantes of this city, particularly Red Robin, so, you think, trying to justify it, Amir would think it odd if you kept quiet this entire time.

Even if, should they have noticed your odd silence, an entirely plausible excuse would be that you were too nervous to speak with him…

But you think his recklessness is rubbing off on you. You can’t help yourself. So —

“Doing more than that, I think, walking us home,” you say lightly, conversationally.

An electrifying tension flexes in the air between you, despite Amir’s obvious presence physically between you, and you get hit with the nearly unbearable urge to get your hands on him.

Doesn’t help that something about him being suited up like this sort of… really does something for you.

The name leaves something to be desired, that’s for sure, and you’ve teased him about it since Red Robin (the restaurant) isn’t even that good, like their whole thing is bottomless fries but, like, the fries aren’t good and it’s kind of embarrassing for them. A little embarrassing for Tim. But not as embarrassing as going by Drake, that’s for sure. And sure, yeah, Red Robin is supposed to be after a bird but… you know? The connection is impossible to ignore.

But…

Questionable naming decisions aside, the suit itself, the suit he designed, all blacks and reds with sparse accents of yellow, it’s nice. Good. Great. Flattering for the muscles you know he has.

Your face warms. The summer heat of the night edges on uncomfortable as a different kind of heat settles inside you.

He clears his throat. You bite your lip.

“It’s the right thing to do. And I don’t really have anywhere else to be right now so… might as well make myself useful. Personal escort isn’t really the worst of what I sometimes have to do. Preferred, maybe.”

You barely stop yourself from saying Preferred, huh?

Remembering your present company.

Don’t want to tip them off. And also, they know you have a boyfriend. Would look really bad if you started flirting. Even if it is with the one vigilante you admit to liking quite a bit. But your real life romantic relationship is a little more important than what is perceived as a parasocial relationship to others.

Of course, the truth allows you to stretch those boundaries. But you only like Red Robin — really like, you mean — because you know that is Tim. Your Tim. So.

“I’m sure we’re better company than a couple of goons,” Amir says.

A short laugh. “You’ve got that right.”

“Prettier, too,” they add, arm tightening around yours. A teasing squeeze.

You chuckle.

“I would also have to strongly agree there,” he says smoothly.

Amir hums, a curious note to it, but one you don’t get to look too closely at as they point ahead, at the brick apartment building on the next block, sandwiched between a bodega and nail salon.

“That’s me.”

Once you get close enough to the entrance, Tim lingers behind, letting you two have your space as you follow Amir to the door.

They dig through their tote bag, eyes on your face, barely illuminated by a dim street lamp nearby.

“I’d ask if you were going to be okay but I don’t think I need to,” they remark quietly, voice low enough to carry only to you, eyebrows arched.

You blink. “Why not?”

A furtive glance at your vigilant (heh) guardian, who looks out at the street. Surveying your surroundings. Trying his absolute hardest not to eavesdrop on your conversation even though you know he must be dying to. Being a vigilante for over a decade erodes some of the more basic social courtesies. You don’t let him get away with it on most days. Certainly not now since it seems like something is about to be implied.

“Sort of seems like he likes you,” they say, finally fishing out their key and fixing the bag over their shoulder.

“I don’t think we interacted that much to get that kind of impression. Also, boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” they say, grinning now, mischief sparkling in their dark eyes. “But Tim likes Red Robin, too, doesn’t he?”

You sputter a laugh. Then catch the most minute twitch of Tim’s body in your peripheral, head moving like he wants to look before he stops himself.

You quell your laughter, lips twitching still. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” they say very assuredly, voice still low — thankfully. “I am not. Could take him home. Have a little fun.”

You laugh again. Harder. Take him home. You will take him home. (At least you hope so. He agreed to patrol but didn’t agree to stay out as late as the others like to.) It’s just you aren’t taking him home to your boyfriend. Because he is your boyfriend.

But they don’t know that. And honestly, you’re too amused to mind this whole thing. It’s funny. Tim’ll get a kick out of it, too.

“I’m just saying,” they say, shrugging, finally moving to unlock the door. “You and Timbo are definitely a nice package together. If he had any sense, he’d take the opportunity.”

“Oh my god.”

“Just saying. Text me when you get back, okay?”

You smile. “I will.”

They wink, then slip inside, door rattling shut behind them.

It’s hard to keep a grin down. Your cheeks ache with the force of it, face hot.

God.

Take him home. Honestly.

Shaking your head, still grinning, you turn around. Not surprised when you find Tim already turned, looking back at you, head cocked. No pretenses to uphold here. Not anymore. The thought makes your heart pound, a dizzying kind of heat taking hold of you once more, frenetic energy crawling under your skin and making your fingers twitch to touch him.

But that can wait.

Instead, you gesture forward and he nods. The two of you begin your walk to Rose Oaks, which is a couple more blocks ahead.

“Seemed like you two were having fun,” he remarks a minute later. The modulator is shut off, much to your relief. Though it hardly helps your growing desire to shove him into the nearest alleyway and kiss him breathless. Worsens it, if anything, that warm, familiar tenor gliding over you.

“Amir was being very funny.”

“Oh?”

“I believe they were implying that you liked me. With the other underlying implication that I should take you home because of it.”

“Really now.”

You bite your lip, grin uncontainable. “Mmhm. And when I brought up the whole, you know, boyfriend thing, they said, Well, he likes Red Robin, too, doesn’t he?”

That startles a laugh out of him.

You can’t help but join.

It eases some of the tension. Tim drifts closer, still chuckling, gloved hand brushing the small of your back.

“They’re a riot as always, then,” he says, then sobers a bit, moving closer, until your elbow brushes his ribs. “Are you okay?”

You flash him a small smile. “I’m okay. Got a little anxious but I wasn’t alone, which sounds horrible but —”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “It makes sense. It’s worse to be on your own. I’m glad you weren’t.”

“I’m just glad you were able to get here. I wasn’t expecting you specifically but it was nice.”

“I was in the area.”

“Well, thank you,” you say, sending him a soft smile.

Fingers skim yours. “Of course.”

You walk in silence for a minute. His hand brushes yours repeatedly. Gloved, still, but you don’t mind, finally hooking your pinky with his, feeling the textured, non-slip material. Odd but not unpleasant. He gives your fingers a gentle squeeze.

You let them wander, your fingers tangling briefly, before your thumb skims the heel of his palm, fingers tracing over his palm, then traveling upward. You’re rewarded with the barest silver of warm skin from where the glove and sleeve do not meet. Your thumb skims it once, twice, then he’s moving and you’re moving, back, back, back into an empty alleyway until you’re pressed up against the wall, his arms around you, pulling you flush against him.

Though, you aren’t actually pressed to the wall. The arms that are wrapped around you save you a couple inches between the back of your dress and the brick wall. You wouldn’t care about it, too consumed with this moment, breathless as he curls around you, but Tim does, he considers it, and you love him a little bit more because of it.

Your heart pounds so hard, you’re certain he can feel it, with how close you two are. Even through the thick Kevlar that protects him.

Summers in Gotham City are hot and humid. Extremely during the day and moderately during the night. It still doesn’t compare to the heat inside you, burning for him. Your hands clutch his shoulders, fingers digging into the nearly-impenetrable material until the textured grooves of it are imprinted into your skin.

Tim breathes a little unsteadily, like you, bent close, breath ghosting over your mouth, smelling sharply of mint. On longer stretches of patrol when not much happens, he chews gum to keep awake. A special kind Bruce makes in-house and can be safely swallowed or if spit out, dissolves. Better than sustaining on coffee and energy drinks since, if they need to jump into action, most of the time, they end up leaving their trash behind, getting too caught up with everything.

They’ll go back and clean it up but you’ve heard that it’s a little annoying sometimes, having to backtrack, having to do it at the end of long nights when they’d just like to go home and crash. The gum leaves no traces and doesn’t affect them, either.

Some of them still drink that stuff, anyway, though. Duke is fond of an atrocious combination of Monster energy drinks and Takis. Cass is, too. His influence, you’re certain.

But now, you’d just like to taste that mint for yourself.

“Tim,” you whisper.

“Names.”

“I’m not calling you Red Robin like this.”

A soft chuckle. The sound sends goosebumps breaking out over your skin despite the warmth of the night.

He leans his forehead to yours. You close your eyes, basking in his presence. You can smell his shampoo. Lingering bits of his cologne. He had lunch with some WE board members today. Doesn’t hurt to stay on their good side, even if he doesn’t work with WE as much as before.

You nuzzle your nose against his cheek. He smiles. You just know it’s so terribly lovesick. Mostly because you’re wearing a similar one on your lips right now..

“So…”

“So?”

“About what Amir was saying… what are my chances of going home with you tonight?”

You can’t help your smile from widening into your grin, your cheeks aching with the force of it, heady affection and love rushing through you, unspooling in your chest like cotton candy. Insane how much you love him. How attracted you are to him. Doesn’t matter how long it’s been, you think it’ll always be that way. You’ll always want more. More, more, more. All that he can give.

Maybe because of his responsibilities to Gotham. Maybe because you know you won’t have him entirely because of that. Maybe just because you love him.

Maybe all of that.

Now isn’t the time to think on it.

“Pretty good, I’d say.”

“Just ‘pretty good?’ Not sure if I’m happy with that.”

“I could stand to be convinced.”

That’s all you need to say.

His lips meet yours in the next second and you press that much closer to him, suddenly wishing you didn’t have the thick Kevlar between you, that you could feel his skin against yours. But that’s hardly appropriate for a Gotham alleyway so you take what you get.

The mint makes your mouth tingle deliciously. His breath is almost cold when his lips part, teeth nipping your bottom lip, eliciting a shudder from you. The kiss deepens, stealing your breath, mind blanking, the drag of his tongue against yours making your knees weak, a bit too hot and heavy for right now, a bit too intense, but not unwelcome, no, not at all. He gets like this sometimes, from the adrenaline of what he does, and you hardly mind alleviating the fervent energy inside him. Although alleviating might be too kind a word. Right now, you think, your nails scratching through his hair, windswept and windblown from patrol, a quiet, wanting sound escaping him at the feeling, you two have become more like a feedback loop, endlessly repeating, his desire feeding yours and yours feeding his.

You don’t imagine he is complaining.

You’re panting when you two separate and his lips are red more than pink now, on their way to being swollen. You’d love to see that to completion. Among other things.

Tim can tell. Lips pulling upward. Smug. Pleased. You enjoy the sight too much to knock him down a couple pegs. Not to mention you’re still trying to get your brain back online. Always takes a bit when he kisses you like that. All open wanting and desire, like he wants to consume you. The thought makes your face hot. More hot.

“Patrol?” you ask breathlessly. Just a confirmation before you take the plunge.

“Wouldn’t start something I couldn’t finish, gorgeous. So? What’s the verdict?”

You take a deep breath. “The verdict is… take me home. Right now.”

“Gladly.”

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics x reader #dc comics imagine #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #tim drake x you #tim drake x y/n #red robin x you #red robin x y/n

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