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smutstationchoochoo · 9 months

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Desperate

COD Men x FemReader

Hear me out: a sex pollen fic where reader isn’t affected but he is and he is gone.

Word count: ~3.6k

A/N: It’s just the poorly written sex pollen drabble of my dreams, it’s fuck or die lads. Insert your favorite COD man here. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes and my complete lack of knowledge regarding military things, all I know is that these men are hot and I love them.

Warnings: sex pollen, unprotected PIV (wrap it up), overstimulation, dubious consent (consent is sexy folks)

Banner credit: @cafekitsune

You all had been briefed at 0200. The flight to Berlin left at 0300 where the team would be infiltrating a terrorist hideout, a suspected manufacturing site for a new chemical agent. You were told that as long as you didn’t ingest it, you would be fine.

The fact that it had been made airborne was not in the fucking briefing.

The team had been split into pairs, you and he took the North side of the suspected warehouse. The size of it should have tipped you all off. Everything was running smoothly until 3 combatants had come from the door at the end of the corridor. He called for cover and ran ahead. You dropped two before he even got a stride in. The other he disarmed in seconds and then with a deafening crack, both men slammed through a door and into the resulting room. A brief struggle then silence. You heard him start to call the ok, his voice in the comm sounding clearer than earlier, then a noise, a pop, and the sound of air. You froze, watching a gas spill from the open door and dissipate immediately. Just when you started moving again, a growling, “Don’t,” tore through the comm. Then, the sound of ripping Velcro and something hard (his helmet you realized with a sickening drop) hitting the concrete floor echoed out to you. Soft murmurs that grew into angry outbursts of fuck fuck fuck transformed into one that became a groan of what sounded like complete and utter pain. You didn’t even have to think, the severity of the situation settled in. “It’s a gas,” you barked into the comms, “Northside hit, need medevac in 30, going dark.” You waited for confirmation, seconds after getting it and receiving news that the warehouse was almost cleared, you went to find him.

You knew what it did, you all did. Jokes had been made, smirks shared, but you all knew how bad it was. You weren’t even close to prepared. He was sitting against the far wall or rather pressed into it using it to keep his now shaking frame upright, gear strewn around the room, combatant on your immediate left with a mask (his mask, the masks you all were wearing just in fucking case) gripped in a dead hand, an empty canister mockingly sitting in the middle of the room.

You gripped the combatant by his legs and dragged him to the hall, before slamming the door shut upon reentry and grabbing a near chair to jam the door. You immediately began stripping yourself of your outer tactical gear until you both matched in only your boots, pants, and base shirts and then you turned your attention to him. Now kneeling by his side you took him in, looking for any other injuries noting nothing serious. That almost made you laugh with relief until you saw the front of his pants and him frantically palming the growing outline. You swallowed and quickly looked at his face shocked back to the reality of the current situation. The usually stoic, always larger than life, incredibly strong man in front of you was reduced to tears dripping from his now blown and hazy eyes, falling down flushed cheeks and landing on the front of his shirt that clung to his hyperventilating chest. You knew he had been shot, stabbed often, and left for dead a time or two, but this…

Shiny and new neurotoxin, you remembered the brief, attacks the nervous system, causing the mark to feel intense arousal and as if they have been lit on fire, specially formulated not only to cause pain but a complete and utter breakdown of will as victims often experience hallucinations and loss of self. If left in the system, it raises the core temperature until convulsions set in, and then heart attack occurs. Do not touch it.

No one had to ask how it was worked out of the system. Then again, they all believed they were too smart to touch the shit. Couldn’t do much about breathing it in when your mask was ripped from your face though.

Your hand pressed to his slick forehead now radiating heat, and feeling as if it could burn you like an open flame. At the touch of your blessedly cool hand, he hissed a low fuck through his gritted teeth, keening into your touch. You swallowed, hand tilting his cheek to look up at you when you asked, “Can I help?” His hair was sticking up at all angles from the helmet being hastily pulled from his head, and he looked up at you and gave one weak nod, “Please.”

Upon looking at the desperation pooling in those dark eyes (those eyes you often were caught staring at) any small reservations evaporated from your body under his burning gaze. You swiftly reached out, mercifully helping him escape from the now too-tight pants, the bite of his zipper. The moment your skin brushed against the head of him he was bucking up against it. You had to reach the other hand out to steady yourself against his shoulder, another touch that jutted his hips and had him twitching into your grip.

“Is- is this helping?” you croaked out, struggling to swallow, struggling to contain the wave of arousal that was threatening to course through you. He nodded, chin slack against his chest as he watched your hand work against him, moving up and down against the veins seemingly trying to break through his skin. No thoughts went through his mind other than the knowledge that you were jerking him off and that it felt so good that he could cry in relief. But then something shuddered within him, something loud and fast like a wildfire, burning just as much, and hot thick ropes of cum spilled over your hand. He couldn’t even cry out, it happened so fast. His breath was coming out in loud pants, when a new thought, the thought that he had just come in maybe thirty seconds flashed through his mind but it was quickly replaced with the horrible realization that the feeling of being on fire wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, out of control, containment measures failed. At this, he let out a sob as his hips moved of their own volition into your still soothing grip. It wasn’t enough, he knew, you knew, it wasn’t enough.

You stood, and he whimpered at the loss of your touch but all sound stopped in his throat when he watched you decisively unzip your pants and pull them down to your ankles underwear included, kicking off a boot, and one pant leg. When you straddled his lap he desperately pulled you down onto him, your exposed core grinding down where he wanted you, where he fucking needed you, that’s when he began to talk. Begging you to help him, saying that he’s sorry over and over, that he needs your help, incoherent babbling from a breaking mind, please it hurts so bad, I-I don’t, I can’t- fuck, I need you... All cool, calm, collectedness burnt to fucking ash. Just a man reduced to pure longing and want. A longing and want that might be what was threatening to kill him, not the toxin, just the build up over the days, weeks, months he had been around you threatening to crush him. He almost wants to die, this was never how it was supposed to be. He wanted it to be good for you, you deserve that, you deserve better, he could have given you better-

But now what was he? A heaving chest under a sweat soaked shirt beneath eyes that watch you like some feral animal. Hands wanting to claw at the clothing now so heavy, hot, and itchy against his burning skin, but instead were gripping onto your hips like it’s going to save him from burning to a crisp. The broken moans tearing their way from his throat when you line up his painfully hard cock to your entrance makes you throb, and then his choking cry as you slide down on him punches the air from your chest.

“Does this feel ok?” you panted out after a moment, struggling, trying not to drown in the pleasure of him stretching you, filling you. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t even nod. His forehead falling to your shoulder in utter relief, mouth dropped open as he repeats your name over and over like an apology, a thanks, a goddamned prayer. How all he can do is sit there on the floor of some warehouse, back against a wall, the only thing resembling his usual strength is that ironclad hold he has on your hips as he helps you drag yourself up, then, accompanied by the tortuously obscene sounds of your wetness, back down. Brokenly pleading with you not to stop, don’t stop, fuck p-please don’t stop. You feel like molten heaven against his cock, your moans like angels (or devils, he’s too far gone to care at this point) singing through the blood rushing in his ears. One of your hands again steadies yourself on his shoulder, the other steadying him, an anchor point, with your achingly gentle hold on the nape of his damp neck (so gentle that it breaks his fucking heart, he wanted to give you more, you deserved more) as you ride him. Your hips rock once more, twice more, before his body seizes up with electricity that ricochets up his spinal cord and reverberates through his skull. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips, teeth grinding and eyes slamming shut, as he releases inside of you with a shattered cry. The sound of you gasping, now clutching, raking your fingers into him, has his hips continuing their rutting up into you, pushing his cum as deep as he can within your walls.

He stills for 10 seconds at most, panting breaths thunderous between you two, before pulling you into his chest, his hips slamming up into you, hard and hot as if he didn’t just fuck you until he could see every neuron firing behind his eyes. His hot open mouth finds your shocked one in a perfectly surprised “o,” more apologies pushing from his lungs and into yours between loud wet kisses as he listens (is blessed with thank you God) to you beginning to come apart. You couldn’t help it, as you ground down into his thrusts, even though you knew the threatening climax was going to be terrifying. Your breathing was ragged now as well, the air becoming harder and harder to drag into your lungs in between you cursing and moaning, and then- fucking hell- you’re at the precipice. Before you can even utter a syllable you are being flung over the edge. The pleasure rips through you, waves breaking against the rocky shore, with such intensity that it hurts, causing you to dig your nails into his skin, and bright spots to dance behind your closed eyes while the distant feeling of wetness registers from between you two. He explodes again with a gasp, feels you clench around him like a vice, his name, his real name, forcing its way from inside you and into his mouth with every pulse and it tastes so so good that he can’t stop, he never wants to stop, just filling you up until it drips from you, filling you with him because you’re his, his. Even when you both whimper and shudder with overstimulation, his arms shaking in their grip around you, he can only press his forehead to yours, rolling it desperately, as he begs for your forgiveness. I can’t stop, it won’t stop, I’ll make it good, please next time I’ll make it good.

“It is good,” you whisper to him with hitched breath from each thrust, trying to reassure him, “It’s ok, it’s ok.” You don’t know if he can hear you, his eyes are wild and don’t seem to even register that you are actually on top of him, that he’s inside of you, that he has made you yell out his name over and over and over. You don’t think he even knows what he is saying. Next time.

His own voice comes to him from somewhere far away, through the flames licking at his mind, please- fuckin’ hell please, just a little more- I just need one more, I need you, please don’t stop, I don’t want to stop nearly unrecognizable as he comes inside you again and again and again.

It isn’t until the medevac came and he was sedated that what just happened began to sink in. For a week, a fucking week, he’s in critical condition. No one talks about it, at least not in the way you all did before this. You saved him, you’re told. You don’t want to think about it, if you think about it then you think about how good it felt, how fucked it is that it felt good, and how everything is gone. If you think about all he said, you’d overthink, give meaning where there was none. He probably won’t be able to look at you anymore. You went to see him that first day. You sat next to him for mere minutes before bolting, the fear of him waking up and looking at you with disgust, telling you to get out in that icy voice you knew so well, sent you running straight to the mats to train until you wanted to scream. That’s all you did now, and that was where you decided you would stay until you died. That is until someone came and found you, told you he was awake, and that he had asked for you. The whole walk to the infirmary had adrenaline coursing through you, you wanted to run, to fight, to freeze right there in the hall and never move another fucking muscle. The thought of losing him, him being there but not wanting to be near you anymore made you feel sick. It had been so long, so long of repressing those feelings that flared in your chest when he smiled at you during sparring, the feeling of him seated next to you on a flight, his eyes catching yours just so you could stay with him. Well, you thought with dripping ire, that had literally and figuratively been fucked now hadn’t it?

You knocked, heard his gruff voice, and entered. You stopped dead in your tracks three steps into the room after mistakenly looking up and finding him staring at you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed, looking like he was about to head out on another call. You were desperately trying not to shake but your hands gave you away. You could take on a man twice your size without batting an eye but this?- you were terrified.

The moment you walked into the room, all his time that morning when he first woke thinking about what he would say to you, how he could face you, was knocked from his mind. You had saved his life. He never wanted that. He wanted to give it to you, it was yours after all. He didn’t know when it had become yours, every single part of him, but if he had to wager a guess it was the moment he found you in his life. And it might all be ruined.

The memories had started coming to him immediately after waking up, almost more clear and real now than in the moment. It jolted him awake so hard that the attending ran into the room for fear that his hammering heart had in fact given out. Once his breathing had calmed a little, he tried to sift through the fog. His recall of the smell of you, the arousal dripping from between your legs, mixed with your sweat and the familiar scent of your grapefruit and ginger shampoo, nearly pulled a groan from his chest. The soft touch of your hands, cool and strong against the fire that spread through his blood, had brought him back. The feeling of you breaking, the soft whines, the way you said his name… the things he had said, he couldn’t just shut the fuck up could he?

He had to bring his hands up to cover his eyes, willing the images to go away, just for a moment, please, he just needed some time, if only he had time- next time. Next time, he had told you. A desperate promise, a reassurance, trying to tell you that it wasn’t just the chemical coursing through him, it wasn’t just his hijacked nervous system. Did she know? Did she understand? That’s when he asked for you, without thinking, just wanting to see you, to explain. He had never been good with words unless it was biting sarcasm across comms or coolly delivering ultimatums in an interrogation. Then he remembered, the thing that sent his heart barreling through his chest for the second time, the machine next to him screaming. It is good, you had said, it’s ok, it’s ok, you had whispered.

He ripped the monitors off his chest, ignoring the doctor's protestations, found the clothes that had been brought in for him and got dressed. Now that you were standing here before him he was unsure. You looked scared, and he could count on one hand all the times he had seen you in such a state.

His staring was unnerving, more unnerving than if he had shouted, yelled, grabbed you, anything but this, this was fucking torture. You had to leave, just get off base, go somewhere, anywhere but here- the sudden sound of your name shook you from the reverie. The tone had your eyes finding his immediately.

He stayed seated, scared that if he stood, if he made his way to you, you would run, and you both knew that you were much quicker than him. If you ran, if you left, he would never catch up. Only when his knuckles began to ache did he realize how tightly he was gripping the edge of the mattress in an effort to keep himself there. It was hard to look at you and not remember the way you had looked when you pressed your hand to his forehead, when you had thrown your head back in pleasure, when you had grabbed his face when he was too exhausted to continue but thankfully no longer felt like he was burning alive. It was hard to remember and not stride across the room and hold you. He took a breath and forced his shoulders to relax in a way that he had done so many times before.

“I-,” he started, his voice cutting through the room, his normal voice, the one you recognized as him and it set you slightly at ease from sheer familiarity, “I’m so sorry.” Now he had to turn his eyes downcast.

“What?” Your response, the shock in your voice, forced him to look at you again. Your hands itched at your sides, confusion rippling across your face.

His eyes narrowed, he knew you so well. Always blaming yourself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry that happened, I’m sorry you were put in that position,” the word choice made him nearly cringe. He continued, “I never-I didn’t want it to happen that way.”

Your brain jolted, standing there in shocked silence, his words thundering through your ears accompanied by the pleading of next time.

He pressed on, desperately trying, “I know you, you’re going to think this was your fault. It wasn’t. There was nothing either of us could do, thank you for your, uh, help. Just- fuck, please just say some-,”

Shock still swept through you, the words escaped your mouth before you could think, “Did you mean it?” You figured by the way he leaned back that he knew what you were talking about. Then he held out a hand, palm up, an offering. Before you knew it, you had crossed the room, putting your hand in his and letting it gently pull you between his legs. His giant frame meant even sitting on the gurney that his gaze was level with yours, and those eyes searched your own when one word sounded through the room.

“Yes.”

This word broke you. One fucking word, one word that answered every glance between you two, every smile shared, a word you brokenly whispered into the night when you had a hand between your legs thinking about him knowing you shouldn’t. You hadn’t cried all week, but now the giant tears rolling down your cheeks felt like a release. When his free hand, warm and rough, swiped them away you couldn’t help leaning into it, just as he had done. All tension, all fear, dissipated from the room. That hand continued to just below your ear, cupping your neck, and gently pulling you forward to press his head against yours, eyes shutting, just resting there against each other in the moment.

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” you sighed.

You could feel the smirk that you knew was slipping across his mouth.

“Well, I did say next time.”

This time when you rode him with the small bed creaking beneath the movements, he stopped you any time you tried to speed up (it was your turn to beg and plead), keeping you at a languid torturous pace. That way the bastard had all the time in the world to whisper into your mouth, letting you taste each word, all the things he would do to you next time and all the times after that.

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think! :)

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cheonstapes · 7 months

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Nothing in my mind but nerd! Miguel and titties.

I'm going back to sleep.

miguel o’hara stars in… ‘YOUR BOOBS LOOK HEAVY, LET ME HOLD ‘EM FOR YOU” ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

a/n ~ i am so downbad for nerd miguel, what the fuck. titties, titties, titties, titties, rocking everywhere! thank you nonnie!!!! love you !! creds to @nymphomatique 💗

summary; you let miguel sleep over for the first time, and it definitely won’t be the last.

wc; 1.3k+

pairings; nerd!miguel x fem!reader

cw; SMUT!!, titties, body worship basically, switch!miguel, switch!reader, reader has pierced nipples, spanking, anal play, slapping, anal fingering, breeding kink/impregnation kink, cumming in pants, cumming kinda untouched?, biting, dry humping, they’re in love idc, nawt proofread - why did this take me like a week

miguel had been such a good boy for you, making sure you passed all your exams for this semester - you decided that he deserved a little treat

you invited him over one weekend to your dorm, telling him he was allowed to sleep over

he’s never moved faster with the way he packed up his bag and ran to your dorm which is on the other side of the campus

when he got there he was all sweaty n panting heavy, it was a little pathetic how eager he was but you let him in, making sure he went a took a shower asap

to be honest, you didn’t expect it to be hard for you to keep your hands to yourself, especially when your little boytoy is walking around your dorm in that combo - grey sweats and a tight wife beater, you can even see the outline of his abs

he followed you around like a lost puppy, it was cute at least. he couldn’t go two seconds without latching onto you in some way

he was just so excited! getting to spend time with his not-yet-but-almost girlfriend, seeing you in all your natural glory. you thought you had it bad? try hiding a hard-on whilst the woman of your dreams is walking around in booty shorts and a braless cami

speaking of that, miguel could just about make out your puffy, little, nipples through the fabric of your thin shirt - hello kitty barbells piercing your nipples

fuck, he was hard. and those sweats he was wearing weren’t making it any less obvious

miguel loves your tits. period. kneading the soft flesh, sucking on then, biting them. sometimes, whenever he cums inside, he imagines them filled up with milk - he would do anything to get you knocked up

you knew how horny he was, you could be wearing a trash bag and he’d still be as smitten for you as he is every second

so you made a decision - you told him to sleep on the floor.

you almost felt bad, almost

he looked like a kicked puppy, your 6’9 almost-boyfriend pouting like a child

i mean, you gave him a pillow and a blanket at least - plus, you have heated floors. it’s not that bad

he slept right on the side of your bed, making sure to face you directly so he could watch you sleep (not in a creepy way, he just loves you T^T)

you even made sure you were hanging just a little bit over the edge of your bed, an arm hanging over the side - a silent invitation for him to hold your hand

he was sleeping fine for a good while, hands still laced tightly with yours - but he was getting restless not touching you for so long

he stood up, as quietly as his huge ass feet would let him, walking round to the other side of the bed and sliding in

it creaked loudly but you were fast asleep anyway, so he moved closer

he wrapped a beefy arm around your middle, hand coming to rest on your chest

oh. yeah, your tits.

now he was hard again

he pressed himself against you, completely spooning you, large hands sliding under your cami and groping your tits

you weren’t an idiot though, you knew this was gonna happen - having calculated every possibility before he came. you would rather die than admit you were a bit nervous about him sleeping over too

you purposely wore the cami cause you knew it would rile him up, n he always took such good care of his mommy’s pretty tits

you turned to look at him, smiling teasingly - “why’re you in my bed, hm?”

—————————————————————————————————

miguel felt like he was in deep shit, he knew how easily you could flip on him despite that pretty smile. he immediately retracted his hand, stammering as he tried to sit up. “s-sorry, i just missed you. i…i couldn’t sleep, ‘n you just look so gorgeous when you sleep and i couldn’t help myself-“ god, he always talks so much. with a tight grip on his bicep, you drag him back down to the bed, pushing him down on the plush pillows as you straddle his waist.

he was so pretty beneath you. glasses laid somewhere on the floor, curly hairs framing his face. his hands gripped your ass, whining quietly as he ground up against you. “mommy…” you placed your hands on his chest, keeping him pinned to the bed as you leaned forward. he felt like he couldn’t breathe, your tits were resting just above his face, hard nipples grazing his lips. yeah, he was definitely gonna fuck a baby into you one day.

his hands moved up to your hips, squeezing the flesh before he placed a hand on your upper back pulling you down completely. miguel’s tongue snaked out to lick at your hard nipples, the sensation of the cold barbells on his tongue making his hips jerk up against the crotch of your tight shorts. “shit...when d’you get them pierced?”

you rolled your eyes, lifting up your shirt and grabbing the back of his head - pushing his mouth to your tit, grinding salaciously against his clothed cock. “none of your fuckin’ business. if you wanna suck on my tits, then shut up and suck.” you didn’t have to tell him twice.

he sucked hard, unable to resist imagining them filled up with milk, all swollen and heavy, you round with his kid- SMACK. his head whipped to the side, lips slipping off your spit-soaked nipple as he stared up at you in shock. his cheek was stinging, but his cock was straining even harder against the fabric, twitching as his face thrummed with pain. “stop thinkin’, and suck harder. you should even be grateful i’m lettin’ you sleep here, so worship mommy’s tits like you mean it.”

miguel grasped your ass once again, large hands digging into the flesh as he caressed your soft skin through your skimpy shorts, sneakily pulling the waistband down as he ran his fingers down to your cunt. ‘course you were wet, slick staining his sweats. he collected some on his fingers, dragging it back up to your puckered hole, thrusting two wet fingers inside as other hand controls your movements.

“f-fuck, wait, you dickhead.” he continued to suckle on your breasts, flicking and teasing your nipples, tugging on the barbell’s softly as his fingers sped up. your body was quivering in pleasure, his free hand spanking your ass occasionally whenever you would pull yourself away from his mouth - massaging the reddened flesh soothingly afterwards.

his mouth and tongue were downright sinful. the sensation racking over your whole body as your orgasm steadily approached, the swirling fire in your lower belly lighting up. you weren’t the only one, though. miguel was hardly keeping himself together, thick thighs trembling as he tried to keep himself from spilling out his cum in his boxers, the tip of his cock peeking out of his waistband. all he wanted to do was see you writhe in pleasure, see that beautiful face of yours glowing in ecstasy after your release.

you would always let out this adorable, whiny moan when you were close, lips parting, small breathy pants - he knew you better than he knew himself. he was more motivated than ever, fingers moving a bruising speed, tongue relentless. he tugged on your piercing hard, a hand coming to rub your engorged clit through your thong. “m-miguelll - shit, baby - ugh.” creamy liquid coated your panties, not your cum - but his. the red tip spurting out thick loads all over his stomach, the sticky mess tangling with his happy trail ‘n pooling in his navel.

“t-thank…fuck- thank you, mommy.”

you pushed him back to the floor, curling up in the blankets - cheeks heating up as you muttered. “yeah, whatever. shut the fuck up and go to sleep.”

“goodnight, sleep well p-pretty.”

“…night, miguel.”

yeah, you were falling for him - hard.

- my titties are small but he’d hold them like they weighed the world

#cheonstapes #cheonstapes films!🪷#miguel o’hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel smut #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o’hara fic #sub miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara #cheonslovelynonnies💕#cheonsshowreals 🤍

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atsuwumus · 3 months

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑.

๋࣭⭑ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : who sees the human face correctly — the photographer, the mirror or the painter? dr ratio had always had an obsession with pretty things. so when you seek his guidance for one of your artistic pieces you find yourself in for more than you bargained for.

๋࣭⭑ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : mature content, minors dni 18+ only. dom! dr ratio x fem! reader, teasing, fingering, objectification if u really squint hard enough. p-paint play??? I wrote this with my coochie okay ʕ•͡-•ʔ

๋࣭⭑ 𝐌𝐀𝐈 𝐌𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒 : nobody perceive me after writing this (๑﹏๑//) rlly messy one but wanted to get something out tonight on the new bloggie :3

"𝐌𝐘, 𝐌𝐘, 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 aren't you a pretty sight."

His voice is low and as smooth as velvet, vibrating off the walls of the empty display room and shaking you right to your core. His voice shouldn't have such an affect on you, but it creeps into your veins like a slow acting poison, tainting your thoughts from the inside out.

For weeks now you've tried to get his attention, ready to beg on hands and knees for just a slither of recognition. You see, your artwork hasn't always made the biggest impact. Many found it rather mundane and boring.

One failed exhibition after the next had led you to seek out the only person you knew would have the answers you so desperately sought, the only person who would either see your vision through strokes of paint and blurred lines — or who would be able to tell you to give it all up for good.

A shaky breath leaves your chest when the door clicks closed behind him.

Another leaves your lips when the slow and purposeful stride of his feet draw closer.

Rows upon rows of paintings of the finest details line the walls on either side of him but all he seems to be focused on is you.

Delicate strokes of paint stain your skin, spanning from one naked hip to the next. Swirls of green and blue meet in an intricate dance across your nipples and span to intertwine around your neck, a true display of intricacies and colors. You're bare to him, attesting to the advice he had given you with a shrug of his shoulder weeks ago.

"And what is this supposed to be?" he drawls, his voice coming from behind you. It takes every last ounce of your strength to scrape together enough willpower to remain still where you are, plastered on the small pedestal for him to see.

You inhale, exhale. Count to three and back again before you speak.

"You said I needed to be braver with my art," you say yet your voice still shakes. "That I needed to start taking more risks. This is me taking that risk."

An understanding hum vibrates low in his chest, a pleasant sound that eases some of the tension in your shoulders. But the closer he gets, the more he inspects, the hungrier his gaze gets. A calloused fingertip runs from the blade of your shoulder down to your hip. He taps his chin, feigning to be deep in thought.

"Risqué," he murmurs. "But not quite complete. Not to my liking."

Curiosity burns in your gaze as your eyes follow each shift and shrink of his body, watching avidly as he picks up a tube of paint, squeezing some red ink onto his fingertips. There's a half smile tugging at the corner of his lips — one that you aren't sure is entirely there — before he lets his fingers dip against your skin.

You gasp.

The paint is chillier than you expected against your heated skin as he draws long, precise lines along and around your breasts. He takes his time, idly moving his digits back and forth, keeping his gaze trained on the way the red brings your skin to life. A low chuckle follows when he runs his inked fingertips across your pert nipples, ensuring to outline them properly with thick layers of paint. Once satisfied does he pick up a deep mauve, smearing it across your abdomen, sinking lower and lower until you finally let out a whimper.

It's only when he sets the tube of paint down that he says, "Do not for a second think that I don't see you rubbing those thighs of yours together. Did no one ever tell you to not disturb the artwork?"

It should be embarrassing for you — how debauched you look right now, on the brink of being ruined, letting him paint, prod and process whoever he pleased, without any objection. You bite down on your bottom lip, pursing them together when you catch a flicker of his gaze — warm and wanting, like a predator ready to sink its teeth into his prey.

It's a weak protest but you let out a small, "Dr. —"

"Be quiet."

You swallow your words with a thick throat, chest heaving as he steps closer to you, right between your thighs, ever so slowly tilting his chin up to meet your gaze as he cleans his fingers off with a damp cloth.

"I believe I told you to bare a side of yours to me that I haven't seen before in your art," he drags out, letting his fingers smooth over your hips and thighs, admiring his work like a proud master. "But I never expected this from you. Tell me, have you put on a show like this for anyone else before?"

"N-No." You shudder with a shake of your head.

His lips curl into what you could only presume to be a satisfied smirk. "Good. It would be such a shame if I had to share something from my private gallery from the rest of the world."

His hands are definitive in the way he touches you, without hesitation or uncertainty, but with the elegance of a painter, parting your thighs with ease and running two fingers between your puffy lips, smirking when he realizes how wet you truly are.

"This is almost pathetic," he muses, continue to collect your wetness in between his fingers and using it to circle your clit a few times, always coming close enough to give you a taste of what you craved, but never indulging you. "How desperate you are for some attention. I almost pity you."

He gives your clit a smack with the palm of his hand, a deep chuckle bubbling in his throat when you yelp.

"Almost."

"P-Please." You almost don't recognize your own voice, how each syllable is painted with desperation. How your thighs shake with anticipation and you continuously clench around nothing each time he circles your entrance.

"Shhh," he chides, his voice sweet like honey but his eyes told you a different story. "I'm determined to enjoy the entire gallery. And I don't like being disturbed or disrupted. It takes away my focus."

He tilts his head up to look at you. "Do you understand?"

Your bottom lip wobbles a little when he slides two slender digits between your folds, curling them with ease and stroking along your soft walls until he heard you whine. "I do, I do!" you nod along feverishly, ready to beg and plead at this point — anything just for him to give you what you want.

"Good... Something tells me I'm going to be enjoying this spectacle tonight."

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail fic #honkai star rail smut #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio smut #dr ratio drabbles #dr ratio fic #hsr x reader #hsr smut #hsr scenarios #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #hsr drabbles #hsr fic #veritas ratio #veritas ratio smut #veritas ratio x reader

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angel-of-the-moons · 6 months

Note

Miguel being cockwarmed?

Asdhepnfonelnlfbleb I LOVE YOU???

A Lesson Earned is A Lesson Learned

Miguel x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: SMUT, NSFW, teasing, cockwarming, dirty talk, Miguel's big ass hands

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

You loved your boyfriend, more than anybody else you've ever been romantically involved with.

Whatever you would give him, he would give back tenfold. Yeah, it was a bit suffocating at times, but you knew it was only because he was afraid of losing you like he'd lost his daughter.

He'd spoil you when you let him, but sometimes you simply had to tell him you weren't a material kinda girl. Physical affection, sweet words, and cuddles were what satisfied you most.

That and... Well. His hands. You'd be lying if having your shoulders or back or whatever part of you he wanted in his gigantic hands, kneading and rolling you into utter bliss didn't get you going.

And just one of his fingers was thick enough to stretch you better than some of your toys did. And yeah, sometimes you needed toys for relief when he worked so much.

His work with Alchemax and running the Spider Society left him quite busy. You weren't hurt by this, but it did make you feel lonely and rather... uppity.

So of course when he was home you paid him back in kind, teasing him relentlessly.

You would wear next to nothing, sexy lingerie, or maybe one of his gigantic tops that you were practically swimming in, not bothering with any panties beneath.

You knew full well with his super senses, that he could smell your arousal, especially if the tent in his pants were anything to go by.

But, he stayed glued to his monitors in his office, ignoring his erection and the sweet intoxicating smell of your slick all through his house. His sense of duty was strong, focused.

It aggravated you to no end.

So, with your cheek puffed out in irritation, you marched into his office, dimly lit save for the projections of his monitors as he scoured Alchemax work and reports from the other Spiders back at HQ.

"Miggy..." You sigh, coming up next to him in his chair.

"Hm?" He said, not looking at you.

But you can tell by how his nostrils flared and his pupils dilated that your scent was starting to get to him.

His gorgeous, chiseled jaw clenched almost imperceptibly as he swiped and pinched up another monitor.

You pouted and slipped your arm around his shoulder, sitting on the arm of his chair, knowing full well your sweet sweet nectar was coating the expensive leather; the scent would linger for a while, until he completely cleaned it and sterilized it.

You placed kisses up to his ear, then back down to where his suit collar ended, just beneath his pulse.

"Muñeca..." Miguel warned. "I'm working."

"I know, but I think you're working too hard." You sigh in his ear, taking his lobe between your lips and running your tongue along the edge.

He hissed at you. "Cállate, mujer diablo, estoy haciendo algo importante."

You frowned and ignored his warning. Instead, you leaned in, your breasts squishing against the heavy muscle of his bicep, and reached down, stroking the outline of his cock that was straining his suit with your small hand.

"C'mon, Miggy. You're a workaholic." You coo playfully. "Just let me..."

He gripped your wrist when your hand went to his watch to disable his suit.

His eyes were sharp, annoyed. It sent a thrum of fear through your bloodstream as he curled his lip back, revealing his crooked, fanged teeth as he sneered at you.

"You want to annoy me? Fine." He reached out and gripped your hair, pulling your head back sharply, before his breath was hot in your ear.

"Pero recuerda que yo tengo el control."

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

You should have known.

God, but you never learn, do you? Every time you think he's going to do something you want, he does the opposite.

Just to reach you a lesson.

"Stop squirming." He huffed, reaching around you to type in notes on his holographic keyboard.

You whined, trying desperately to grind your hips down, to get his cock just a bit deeper inside of you, wanting so badly to have him just pin you to the desk and pound you until your eyes crossed.

But he kept you firmly secured in his lap. He wouldn't let you touch yourself, you had to keep your hands gripped at the arms of the desk chair that creaked under your combined weight.

He kept you from moving, his thick thighs parting your knees and keeping your legs spread open for him while he continued to work.

"Miggy!" You mewled. "Please! Sorry for bugging you, I just--"

He growled and reached between your legs, pinching your clit between his thumb and forefinger hard, a mix of pain and pleasure sparking up your spine and making your pussy flutter around the length of his cock that was currently splitting you open.

You make a sharp squeak as he snapped, "¿Qué acabo de hacer?"

He smacked your cunt that he was currently stuffed inside of, sending another wave of heat racing through you, more of your slick gushing around him to run down to his heavy balls and staining the expensive leather.

"I said keep quiet. I'm working."

He leaned in, his presence absolutely absorbing your frame, his scent swallowing you whole, threatening to devour you in one piece.

"This is what you wanted, no?" He sighed. "You wanted me inside this pretty little pussy. You got me. Now sit still."

You hiccuped softly. "Please. You know I wanted you to fuck me! Not like this..."

"Too bad, mi amor. I swear, if I had a dollar off every time I have to keep teaching you this lesson, I'd be a trillionare." He said to you, his voice a low threat.

"How many times do I have to do this before you learn patience? Hmm? A hundred? A thousand?"

You desperately roll your hips, feeling the tip of his rock brush against that gummy soft spot inside of you. "I--I just--"

He hisses, gritting his teeth as his fangs slot into their places. He brings his hand up to the lowest part your abdomen, and pressed down hard.

You all at once felt the air squeezed out of your lungs, your pussy greedily squeezing him, your heart pounding in your chest, sweat beading on your brow and sweet tears rolling down your cheeks.

"You're going to sit here and stay still while I work. And maybe--maybe--if you stay quiet and stop squirming, I'll give you what you want. Understood?"

You frantically nod your head and Miguel cruelly flicked your clit.

"That's it. Be a good little cocksleeve for me, eh, bebita?"

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #spiderverse smut #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x you

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halfmoonaria · 3 months

Text

not allowed

pairing: prof!sam carpenter x student!female reader

summary: sam does something thats certainly not allowed.

words: 2k

warnings: age gap, sexual content, language.

Sam's love life was completely dull and uneventful, it was something she's very self aware of.

It was almost tragic how lonely she was.

Although she knew she should have had an active love life; being a professor brought opportunities for intellectual conversations, networking events, and collaborative projects, which should've brought at least some kind of connections to her.

But it didn't.

All of Sam's colleagues were polite and all, but they were all so much older than her, she couldn't find herself relating to relate to any of them.

And besides, dating wasn't her thing. Since the last time she had thought she found the right person, she almost ended up dead along with her sister.

Sam could never trust anyone enough to date them. All the blame for the lack of trust rested on her previous psycho ex.

Richie had left a scar on her body, and it wasn't in the form of a stab wound.

Despite the loneliness and the lack of company, Sam loved her job.

She loved the subject she was teaching, and her colleagues were actually pretty decent.

The biggest bonus was that she got a good paycheck. She didn't have to work two jobs that could barely pay the rent for her and Tara's apartment.

And to Sam's own surprise and satisfaction, the students didn't seem to whisper about her or spread the rumors that had been on the internet ever since the murders in Woodsboro.

Most of Sam's classes were filled with jocks, party-goers or just genuinely stupid people. After all, the school she taught at had a reputation for attracting a more socially-oriented crowd rather than focusing on academic excellence.

Sam wasn't really the kind of teacher that had a big connection with her classes, sure she would crack awkward jokes in class occasionally and greet them in the hall, but no more than that.

It never felt important to her, she was there to teach, to work and to get her salary.

But then there was you.

Sam never payed attention to the people that entered the classroom, or on what place they chose to sit in for the rest of the lesson. But with you, she did.

You had caught her attention the second her eyes got in contact with your figure. It had been when she was about to introduce herself in front of the class, her first day.

The way you had looked at her when she spoke didn't make you seem like the cocky or popular type, however the outfits you chose to wear to school told her otherwise.

Skirts that were either the size of a belt or skirts that would totally show your entire ass if you bent over the slightest. And if it wasn't minimal skirts it was low waisted jeans that showed the top of your underwear.

Tiny and tight crop tops that would show the exact outline and shape of your breasts.

Sam was shocked when she found out the college didn't have a dress code, since it allowed students like you to dress like models straight out from a 90s porno.

Based on the choice of clothing you thought was school appropriate, made Sam think that you were one of those popular mean girls that she used to absolute gush over in high school.

But you didn't seem to be like that. Sure, you were popular, but that was because of your prettiness, not because you were rude or that people were scared of you. Because in fact, nobody was scared of you.

You were loyal. You were friends with technically everyone, including the teachers.

From what Sam had seen in the halls and in the classroom, you always had a smile on your face, greeting everyone you saw with a wave and the smile that looked as if the person you were talking to had hung the stars.

Sam thought it was impressive how much beauty can do for a person. The way everybody loved you because you were pretty, everybody.

Although Sam didn't think much about your scandalous outfits or the way you admired Sam every time she made eye contact with you during briefings.

Not until you had began to walk towards her desk after class had been finished.

The way you would call her 'Mrs Carpenter'. Just like you should've, just like everyone else did, yet it sounded so different.

At first it had only been a simple question about an assignment, but then you started to stop by after every single lesson.

Sam tried to act like normal, responsible. But it was almost impossible when you would slightly lean forward, basically forcing Sam's gaze to your chest. Your hushed and low voice did it for her as well. You talked as if it was secret, as if nobody else was allowed to hear.

She was starting to think that it was all on purpose, that it was all because you wanted a better grade that you couldn't accomplish by yourself.

Sam knew for a certain that she wouldn't give in, she wouldn't give in because you tried to 'flirt' with her, it might've worked with your other professors but it definitely wouldn't work with her.

Sam was stubborn and incredibly obstinate, but she was also very insecure, alongside having no self respect. Most times when she would tell herself to avoid doing something, her lack of confidence would make her do it regardless.

Weeks passed and you didn't stop. You asked Sam for help after every single class.

You spoke to her in a flirty and hushed voice, Sam had tried to talk back normally, but she would be lying if she couldn't hear her own voice sounding flirty as well.

Sam didn't know what she was doing, you were her student. But you made it so incredibly difficult for her to act like it.

You were gorgeous, model material. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was that you were aware of it, you knew how pretty you were, you knew exactly how to act around people to get your way.

She couldn't understand what was happening, but when you were with her, Sam felt this subtle flutter whenever you approached or just looked at her.

Sam had never felt that feeling before, not even when she was with Richie.

So instead of telling herself you did that with all your teachers, she began thinking that maybe, just maybe you did it because you actually liked her. Even though it wasn't allowed.

Sam was starved. Not from food starvation or hunger, but from love and touch. And she knew it was wrong to think that way when it was about you, it was so wrong.

But it was just thoughts right? Nobody could hear them.

That's what she had thought, but it was like you could read her mind.

Your attempts of trying to make Sam give in got more and more intense. You would touch her hands, standing close up to her and compliment her.

Eventually, Sam's mouth had moved faster than her mind could process. She had accepted your request for her to tutor you.

Sam knew that you didn't actually want tutoring, you were passing the subjects enough to graduate, unlike everybody else in your class. She knew that this was your attempt to flirt even more.

She knew she should've cancelled. The thought still haunted her, what would've happened if she did? Everything would've been so different.

However, Sam didn't cancel. And it turned out exactly like she thought it would.

You had insisted to sit beside her, and not in front of her. You would make sure your arms touched, that you spoke closely to her ear, you would bite your lips and toe flirt with her.

You were bold, so bold that it made you look hotter than Sam thought was possible.

Sam was desperate for something to change so she wouldn't feel the desire to be touched. Her body was craving a touch that wasn't from herself, not from anybody but you.

She felt disgusted by her own thoughts, every single thought her mind managed to convey was about you.

Next thing she knew, your lips had landed on hers. And Sam just couldn't pull away, her mind wasn't working properly. She had kissed you back.

But when her mind started to fall back in place, she pulled away, panic rushing through her as she had scanned the place, making sure nobody had seen it.

She had kissed her student, in a library. A public library.

Her mind had done this before. When she had been on top of Richie, knife going in and out of his chest, blood being the only thing that could be seen. It was like a blackout, Sam didn't know what she was doing, but at the same time, she knew exactly. But it had felt too good to stop. Just like it had been with you.

When you got the confirmation of Sam wanting the same thing, you had pulled her into the bathroom stall, where Sam couldn't help but kiss you just as hungrily as she had done in her disgusting thoughts.

Nothing mattered when your hands were roaming her body. The fact that you were her student and she was your teacher didn't seem to matter at all in that moment.

Sam couldn't understand what her mind was doing to her. This was like another one of those blackouts, where she couldn't think about the consequences of the things she was doing.

Like now, when she found herself in her own bed tangled up in the sheets, with you next to her.

Bare.

Her mind was all over the place. Thoughts racing through her mind like the traffic in New York, making her head feel like it was about to explode.

She couldn't show you the panic she was feeling about the whole situation. Because that would make you think she regretted it. And she didn't, god no she didn't.

You were so gentle yet bold at the same time. You made sure to ask for permission before doing everything, but you did everything so well.

Your touch was everything Sam's body had craved for months, it was nothing like she had done before. Your touch basically boiled on her skin.

You worshipped Sam in ways she didn't even know existed. The ways you touched her felt so good that she couldn't begin to understand what you were doing.

It had all felt so good that Sam could barely remember it. She remembered moaning, she remembered the satisfaction in it all; the warmth, the passion and the wetness.

Looking down at your figure laying against her, legs tangled up in each other, to see that your eyes were already on her. Your beautiful eyes filled with curiosity and admiration was inspecting her face, fingers smoothly running through her hair.

"What're you thinking about?" Your voice came out as a whisper, voice cracking from the lack of talking; words had not been the priority just minutes before.

When Sam made eye contact with you, all the worries faded away. She could be fired because of this, because of you, yet you were the person who could make the worries bluntly disappear.

Sam's lips curled into a gentle smile when she looked at you, bringing up her finger to subtly caress your cheek. "That this won't help you get a better grade.." She lied, a faint laugh escaping from her lips.

You smirked up at her before planting a kiss on her lips. "Please Mrs Carpenter. I promise I'll do better next time." Sarcasm laced your voice, and if Sam hadn't heard that, she would be panicking.

The fact that you had called her 'Mrs Carpenter' made her stomach twirl, sparkles flying around in it. Just like it had done when you moaned it a few minutes ago.

Although the twirls quickly turned into guilt. She shouldn't be doing this, she shouldn't be in bed with you, let alone be in her own apartment with you.

It truly didn't matter how many excuses she tried to make for herself, it wasn't right, and she should've been disgusted with herself.

She was a professor at a college who had fucked her student. And for obvious reasons, that just wasn't allowed.

#melissa barrera x reader #sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #melissa barrera #jenna ortega x reader #mabel x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #wednesday addams x reader

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starshipsofstarlord · 4 months

Text

How To Weaken a Man

Summary - you were going to get what you wanted, Daryl however was going to have to wait. He was deserving of a taste of his own medicine, after him constantly being in charge, it was time for a change (3.3k)

Warnings - 18+ MDNI, smut, brat taming, oral (m+f receiving), unprotected sex, teasing, daryl being a total boob man, hair pulling, spanking

daryl dixon + norman reedus works main masterlist

It was an obvious distraction, or at least Daryl thought; it was in fact life threatening for you to be wearing a low necked vest that accentuated two of the greatest curves of your body.

He was going to die. That much was clear.

The archer dryly licked his lips as he avoided studying your silhouette, knowing that if he aimed his eyes in your direction, he wouldn’t be able to focus on Rick’s plans to reinforce the walls of Alexandria to stop another swarm of walkers breaking through.

This was important! It was the same thing he kept reminding himself, as he listened to the chiding voices eliciting ideas, and he was consuming the words through his ears, until your own unmistakably broke in, causing the man to gulp.

He was weak, despite being one of the strongest survivors in the room, and your body was his kryptonite. Sure, it was a warm day, however he was mentally cursing your choice of attire.

Your decision of clothing was cruel, more so as you leant across the table, talking away as you watched as Daryl stared at the ground. The act made you smirk - you had clearly affected him, and whilst that hadn’t been your original intention, you were still sure as hell going to take it as a victory.

He had to look, he could never help himself and this time would be no different. The man was stuck in his ways, and whilst he was attempting to postpone caving to them, you knew his weaknesses far too well.

And you felt pride swell in your chest as your lover slowly drew his wolfish eyes in your direction, tracing the outline of your body with his intent pupils, the meeting was almost over, and he was aware that he would soon be met with his demise. And then his control would too be gone, vanquished to less than dust due to your vixen like ways.

But you wouldn’t be as kind as he anticipated, you were going to make him wait until he had turned into a completely feral man, whom would do anything to touch your flesh. It was a taste of his own medicine in which he would receive, and boy was it going to be sweet!

Blindly you plucked your bottom lip between your teeth, grazing it with the edges of the porcelain within your mouth as you maintained eye contact, for just a moment longer, until you returned your attention to Rick, brushing your tied up hair that had grown out a little longer than before across to your opposing shoulder, exposing your right collarbone.

You were a damn tease, Daryl thought, suddenly wishing that he hadn’t insisted that you had gotten your ass up and out of your house to attend this meeting. And then it clicked in his mind, this was your revenge.

He had practically dragged you here, and now he was the one suffering from the effect of his own actions. Perhaps he deserved it, he sure as hell knew that you had a tendency to be sly when it suited you, surviving had moulded you into a malleable creature who could adapt to her surroundings. And you were adapting into a distraction for him, he gruffly shuffled in his seat, adjusting his legs beneath one of the tables in the room to soothe his growing erection.

It needed to go away, sooner rather than later. The last thing he wanted was to be humiliated by his apocalyptic peers for being attracted to his damn wife. It’d be something he’d never hear the end of, and some of them such as Eugene, were annoying enough without picking fun at things that were out of his control.

And so he cast his eyes away once more, prioritising his line of sight upon the floor, and more importantly, out of your direction. “Okay.” He heard your voice speak out, and as he briefly glanced at you, he noticed how you were now stood upright, with your arms folded across your chest, pushing your breasts subtly together. “Me and Daryl will see what materials we can find, we’ll take a truck and see if we can salvage anything from nearby.”

“Sounds good.” Rick nodded at you, completely clueless to your underlining schemes, as both you and the archer had done the same previously when you were upholding yourselves in the prison. And that, now that Daryl remembered that past experience, was of a similar nature.

You had seemed completely innocent the first time you had suggested that you and Daryl trekked out to scavenge for building supplies, however that hadn’t been your only goal. Due to the ever growing population of survivors that had been allowed to thrive beyond the fences, it was difficult for you and the brooding man to ever get some alone time, so when you had seen an opportunity to, you took it.

It appeared to be brewing from the same source within this instance, considering that work within Alexandria was infinite, more so now since the walkers had effectively flocked through. There had been some makeshift barricades put in place for the time being, however there was need for it to be reinforced to the maximum security so that the parade of the dead didn’t force themselves through an encore.

He expected you to wait as the attendees of the meeting, however you left with the rest of the flock, leaving him to his lonesome as he then was in an empty room, with the exception of Rick who confusedly watched him. “Are you okay brother?” He enquired, a soft frown attuning to his features.

“Fine.” Daryl responded, thanking whatever force above that his problem had returned to its unaroused state. He clapped his palm on the table as he stood, nodding to his friend before he bid him a short goodbye in the words, “I’ve gotta catch up ter y/n/n.”

Rick was silent as he watched his friend leave the room, chasing after his wife which made the man smile. It was a strike of luck that they were both here, and that they had each other to rely on, even when it came down to something as simple as finding anything useful to reinforce the borders of the place that had become their entire group’s home.

The man however didn’t know that this was just a fraction of a drawn out game that the woman was playing, although Daryl could see right through you as you swayed your hips with every step that you took towards the gates, Daryl’s crossbow on your hip prompting the notion that the two of you weren’t going home before your trip and resolving your lust for revenge.

“Oh. You’re finally here.” You stated, practically undressing him with your eyes as you looked Daryl up and down, prior to shoving his weapon into his own hands, and picking up your own where it was laying in the trunk of the pickup.

“Yeah. I ‘m.” He responded, squinting as he looked down on your conniving form, untrusting of your avid bluntness towards him. After all, the only thing that he was guilty of was dragging your body down the mattress to ‘entice’ you to comply with your attendance of an important matter. “What’s wrong with ya?” Daryl asked, watching as you coyly cocked your head, an almost invisible smirk stringing itself on the corner of your lips.

“Nothin’. Now come on Dixon, I know a good place…” you lightly patted the side of the empty truck, swinging the drivers door open, not feigning any attention to the small furrow of his brows. “Get in, today you’re my passenger princess.”

Before Daryl had time to argue with your assumption of being the one behind the wheel, you had already slammed the door behind your figure, giving him no space to argue. Otherwise he was certain there’d be whispers among the Alexandrians if he were to haul you to the other side, as none would have the confidence to defend one Dixon against the other.

“Passeng’r princess my ass.” He mumbled as he trudged to around the front of the vehicle, making sure to slam the opposing door shut after he had seared himself. “Yer up to somethin’, and I dun know if I like it.” Daryl spoke to you, crossing his arms as he watched you turn the keys in the ignition, and without much wait, you were already steering out of the gates after they had been opened for your departure.

“You’ll like it, trust me.” You shot your husband a wink, seemingly knowing exactly the route of your journey. He silently sulked in the seat, kicking his legs slowly out as he decidedly chose to ignore you and focus his eye sight out the window. He was mildly ignoring you, and his behaviour only made you more eager to get him in the position that you wanted.

He said nothing, muting himself for the entire drive, with the exception of a grunt every time that you placed your hand on his thigh, which ended in him shrugging you off. You leant forwards, taking a risk and driving off road, which made the vehicle jut up and down, and with each disturbed movement, your chest rapidly rose and fell in a pattern of bounces.

That was what drew his curiosity, and he realised as soon as he noticed your breasts lifting out of the truck’s rocky accord, that this was all still your attempt of teasing him. His elbow rested against the bottom of the window on his side, as he brushed some of the hair that was falling in his face to the side.

“The hell ain’t you on the road?” He huffed, aware that your route of feminine prowess could cause a flat tire. As he glanced to the back seats however he noticed a spare shoved behind his chair, and so once again, you continued to be one step ahead of him.

“Told you I knew a good place, you should have more faith in me baby. It’s an old garage, we can strip the walls there,” or yourselves, you thought pointedly, slowing down the speed in which you were going as you grew closer to the coordinates that you had visited a couple times to bring home additional fixtures for his bike.

“Do have faith in yer, when ya ain’t focused on seducin’ me in the middle of nowhere.” Daryl knew that he wouldn’t be able to deny you for the entire time whilst you were alone. It was never his strong suit, and he could feel a primal pit in his stomach stirring as he imagined all of the ways that he would put you in your place and remind you that you weren’t as clever as you were convinced you were.

Most nights when the two of you had the chance for some alone time, he would have you writhing beneath his fingertips, physically drooling and being vocal in your need for more. “Seducing you?” You laughed, your mouth crooking as you contained a maleficent smile. “I hardly have to seduce you Dar.”

He felt him sinking into his seat as he grunted softly towards you, as he was all too aware that it was the truth. After all the hunts that he would return from, he would come home, and prove how much he had missed you, even if that meant awakening you from your slumber to lay some love on you.

“Whatev’r.” He replied, throwing open the door on his side when you had pulled over, and heading straight to the garage that was no doubt located to help lost travellers between towns. “Can’ blame me for findin’ ya attractive. But ya can blame me fer punishin’ ya later for this behaviour.” He threatened you, allowing you to catch up to him, before he undid the latch on the small garage, hoisting the metal door open.

He had his crossbow ready, in case there were any walkers lurking within the depths of your location of impure fantasies, noticing there being bikes tossed on their sides, numerous parts missing. “This where ya find all my parts?” He quietly questioned, as you held your own weapon next to him, eyes scanning every inch of the undisturbed atmosphere.

“Obviously.” You responded, going through the entire mass of the abandoned workplace, until the both of you were certain that there were no undead inhabiting the interior.

“We should’ get tha’ door,” Daryl gestured to the entrance that you had closed behind your entry, however you gripped his arm, taking a couple steps back until you were cornered by the benches that were decorated with askew tools. “Ya don’ think that’s a good idea, princess?”

“Not yet.” You confirmed, seating yourself up on the workbench, pushing some of the metal utensils out of the way as you lay your gun down flat on the cold side, eyeing Daryl as though he was your last meal. He looked obscurely at you, gulping as he walked between your legs, crossbow slung over his shoulder as his rough and expended hands played with the bottom of your tank top, his azure gaze now locked onto your chest.

The top of your bra was visible, the fabric of your shirt having heaved itself down as you pulled yourself atop of the unit to sit, as you swayed your legs mindlessly, brushing your boots upon the side of his legs. “And why’s that, huh?” He asked, all knowing of the reason, unfazed by the mud that was now being sketched along his trousers.

“Because I want you.” You answered him, eyes boring into his face as you blocked your vision for only a moment to bring your shirt over your head. “And I know you want me too.” His hands had crawled searingly up your sides, to your back where he unclasped your bra and tossed it onto the ground, leaving your breasts bare for him to take in.

Daryl could feel himself ignite into a state of arousal again, as he covered your chest with his palms, squeezing at the supple flesh. It had been all he tried to keep off his mind during the excruciating meeting, and now he was finally alone with you, everything he wanted right in front of his eyes.

“I always wan’ yer.” He replied, leaning forward to press his mouth against your own, circling your nipples with his thumbs, his brows shooting up as you wasted little to no time in pushing your tongue into his mouth. He released a groan, drifting his hands down to pinch at his thighs, but as he did so, he felt a sharp tug to the roots of his brunette locks.

You had just pulled his hair. “Well if you want me that bad Dixon, you’re going to do exactly as I say.” You demanded, your fingers still entangled in his hair as you pushed the man’s face down your sternum, his lips tracing every millimetre of your flesh until he reached your hardened buds, excitedly enveloping them within his mouth.

“I’ll do wha’ I wan-“ you had cut his argumentative rapture of dominance short as you once again pulled sternly at his roots, forcing a whine to escape the burly hunter. He was going to do what you wanted, and clearly your insurance of enforcing your husband was working.

“Well, what I see what you want is to make me your very happy wife.” You enticed him, holding your hands upon your partner’s shoulders to descend him to his knees in between your legs. The peripheral that you had was one that lived within your personal fantasies, and something that you had never revealed to Daryl. But it appeared that he was on board with your reversal of roles, as he pawed desperately at your jeans, and you aided him by unbuttoning them, the two of you working as a team to pull the worn denim down your legs.

“I do.” He bespoke, pressing hungry kisses along the inside of your thighs, his nose running along the damp cotton of your panties. “Want to make yer the happiest wife in the world.” Daryl slid your underwear to the side, revealing your already wet core to his glazed irises, as he hardly gave you a moment to order him around before he dove straight in, tongue first.

“Fuck, Dar.” You keened, running your hands down to have both of them gripping wantonly at his hair. “You’re so good at that.” You reassured him, pushing him between your legs further, your thighs squeezing either side of his head. He suctioned your clit between his lips, causing you to lean your back against the wall behind you, your head lightly hitting it too as you lived through the pleasure that ran through your veins.

You were growing closer to your release, however despite your body prompting you to chase it, your mind made you push Daryl away, and when he looked up at you, there was disdain written in his eyes. With shaky legs you managed to slide down from where you had been sat in your ecstasy, and pushed Daryl in your place. “It’s your turn now baby.”

He rubbed at the scratchy hair at his chin, accidentally spreading your wetness across the lower half of his face, as his chest rose and fell as he watched you until you were now on your knees. His hand ran through your hair, patiently waiting as you unbuckled his belt, and proceeded undressing his legs until all of him was on display, his hard cock bobbing on its own accord in your face. “Do-“

He had no time slot to give you commands, as you had already engulfed his cock within your hollowed cheeks, allowing the tip to hit the back of your throat. His hips followed your rhythm, chasing after the warm and suffocating pleasure that your mouth provided his length with, and as he gazed down at you, he felt proud. You of all the surviving population within the messed up world were his wife, and from before you had gotten married to the present, you always had the habit of surprising him.

Daryl knew that he could be a difficult man to put up with and understand at times, but you never needed an explanation to know what was running through his mind. He felt disappointed as you removed your lips from around his cock, however he had learnt previously from your attitude not to voice. Instead he was just going to do what he wanted, and as he watched you stand, in the midst of a second, he had you bent over the workbench, in a vulnerable position and at his famished mercy.

He clicked his tongue, as he leant over your form, one hand beneath you cupping your breast, as the other warningly stroked your ass. “As fun as tha’ was sunshine, I ain’t gonna let yer be a fuckin’ brat whenever ya please.” His voice was husky with his southern accent as he spoke dangerously in your ear, his cock pressed up against your backside, as you huffed frustratedly.

“I’m not a brat.” You rolled your eyes although he couldn’t see, however your entire body jumped in surprise as he clapped a hand firmly down on your ass, and your breathing increased. “I-“

Much like how you had been silencing Daryl’s defences, he had repeated your actions, exonerating a moan from your throat as he slid his cock through your walls, filling you up perfectly. Any confidence you had from previously having power over him had vanished, as it was all too clear that Daryl had gained back his control.

“Yeah, ya are. Bu’ you’re my brat.” Daryl grunted, finding satisfaction when he heard nothing in reply other than your moans and the sound of his name tumbling from your lips. A smirk found prize on his lips as a thought slunk into his mind, and his hand raised, tugging at your hair. “Now be a good girl and do as I say.”

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon oneshot #twd smut #twd x reader #norman reedus smut #norman reedus x reader

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moonsaver · 2 months

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You find silence to be quite fearsome, as of late.

There are many occasions Dr. Ratio comes back home in a bad mood, irritable to no end. Always passing snide remarks, commenting on the "gap" between yours and his intelligence, subtly jabbing and snipping away at your self-esteem until it's enough to pamper his own ego.

Half the times, you can only sulk away. You unfortunately had the experience of finding out it is extremely hard to argue with someone who manages to twist and make passages out of meager comments, driving you into a corner, and ultimately delivering the final blow to your ego.

The other half times, his words eventually end up getting to you, no matter how hard you try. Throat constricting painfully to hold in sobs, eyes watery with anger and vulnerability, voice shaking from the pain of his comments jabbing straight into your already bruised heart.

Sometimes, you wonder if he finds it enticing. He argues endlessly with you, droning on about how he's not entertaining this with an idiot like yourself, but still persisting and breaking down each and any arguments you have.

Until you finally break into sobs.

He huffs, almost groans, after silently watching you sob for a minute. He walks over to the bathroom, and prepares a bath. After a few minutes of tinkering sounds from the bathroom, a collusion of sloshing and the dripping on water on the tiled floor, he peeks out. He drapes his eager hand around your waist, guiding your face into whichever body part you decide to fit it in, and comforts you in a rough, coarse manner. Alright, fine, why don't you just join him for a bath? Let him take care of you just as always. You're pathetic, and he supposes he's even less than that, caring for someone as weak as you.. though he won't even deny you're quite possibly his only and favorite weakness.

Those meaningless thoughts only warp and distort and swirl endlessly in your mind, as both of you share silence in the bathtub, his arm always around your waist, snugly holding you well in place. It's almost obvious, the way his hand traces the curves of your body, occasionally tracing the outline of your collarbone, the coarseness of his hand poorly hidden by the hot water and faux gentleness, burying himself into his book, as if his skin doesn't practically crave to intertwine into yours.

And that's how things usually end. Quiet nights where he gives you commands, positions you however he pleases and massages whatever products and body oils he fancied for himself, hoping you don't notice just how needy he is, as he presses a chaste kiss to your jaw, and huffing. He goes to sleep shortly after.

Sometimes, however, it's worse.

Veritas comes home quiet.

He doesn't speak. He doesn't announce his presence with a huff or a groan or a complaint. He steps in quietly, dropping whatever things he carried near the doorstep, as he stares at you from the unlit hallway. His eyes are piercingly quiet, almost tearing through the tense silence as they drink in your silhouette, anxiously waiting for a word from him.

At night, you hear noises from the other room – one which you are completely denied access to, tightly locked to the point it doesn't budge a milimeter.

Clacking, constant clacking sounds, tinkering, tinkering, and a few coughs. A few rare moments of soundly running water, then followed by abrupt silence as the process continues. He returns to bed quietly after a few hours, even deciding to skip his shared bathtime with you, choosing to simmer alone with his own thoughts.

Of course, it still takes a while to clean the absolute ludicrous amounts of dust that emanates from the room, even if it's just a bit that leaks from the bottom slit.

He won't tell you – or rather he doesn't feel the need to. You are his muse; he had told you once already. It's your fault if you didn't pay attention. Fortunately for you.. it's not a lesson you need to remember. At least for now. His fingertips gently run along the clay face, outlining the details of your face he has felt with his own fingers, closing his eyes as he imagines it as you. A muse. A subject. A desire. Whatever it is, he plans to embed it into clay. This time.. he was working on a larger piece, the clay imitating the curve of your waist as he had felt it thousands of times before in the bathtub, the crook of your neck, the eyelashes of your pretty, pathetic, teary eyes..

Perhaps.. You'd remember what he said. Someday. For now, it's his past time, whenever he needs to blow off steam.

He returns to his usual demeanor in the morning.

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ivesambrose · 3 months

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𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔨 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𐙚

Its been a rather cold month so I decided to channel something warm to look forward to 🤍

To book a personal reading with me DM or email me at [email protected] with your name, date of birth and query

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Thank you for the tip 🌹

Picture 1

You may have been dealing with challenging situations or people who are quick to throw jabs at you or throw a wrench in your plans. This may have led you to question your own intuition and potential making you scared and hesitant to take a step forward or take any risks in the fear of failure. You'll realize that their scattered mindset and opinions aren't supposed to be your core beliefs. You're not supposed to take advice from people whose life you don't see yourself living. Rather, you should focus on what makes you bloom from within.

You can look forward to a shift in belief system that will in turn change your entire life and reality for the better.

You can also look forward to something that excites you in the form of a rewarding opportunity (especially in terms of career for most of you) that you have been wishing for or were being patient for the longest time.

You can look forward to something valuable that will grow with time and won't be a fleeting thing. You'll be able to trust your intuition and judgement again. You'll be receiving nurturing and quality connections in your life as well. People who care and support you and your dreams.

All of this comes at the small cost of slowly letting go of your self sabotaging tendencies.

Timing: Coming 21 days

Picture 2

You've recently fathomed the power of your thoughts and words and how time and circumstances are irrelevant when it comes to them materalizing. This has been happening a lot but in the past you have questioned them but now you've grown more adamant, strict and assertive. You've learnt to stand your ground. You want to fully step into your power more than anything and allow no one not even yourself to stand in your way.

You can certainly look forward to a completion and celebration. Your labour has been steady and your harvest will be abundant. Enjoy your prosperity. You'll also be embarking on a new journey in your life, ideas and outlook will expand, no one will be able to confine you.

There's a lot of passion coming your way, it will allow you to overcome any fear you may face.

That long awaited renewed hope, clarity and peace is finally yours. You can actually see your path ahead, the destination that you'll reach, so you'll choose to embrace and enjoy your journey.

You can also look forward to a physical glow up, being appreciated, being proud of yourself and your achievements. Shedding guilt. As well as connecting with people or existing friends who feel like your tribe, with whom you don't have to mask your true self to be loved and accepted.

Timings : coming 14 days, stay loyal to your end goals. (September for some of you too)

Picture 3

You can see the dots connecting in your life, maybe you don't know how exactly, you may not have the outline laid out in front of you but when you aren't overthinking it, you realize how one thing leads to another and gain momentum. Things aren't exactly as a standstill as you think. You're extremely disciplined and focused, so whatever you have set sights on is bound to happen or be yours.

You may not realize how powerful your esoteric gifts are but you will. You can look forward to your visions, dreams, written words actually coming true as though it were a prophecy. Be mindful of the people you share your wisdom and insights with. I do see you aren't as happy with your current social circle or people you interact with. You trust very few and you sometimes feel very isolated. But you excellent foresight and there's always a silver lining in your circumstances.

Life will begin to change as the days get warmer and longer.

There's so much beauty in you, you don't even realize that you're a muse to many or are about to be. You might go into hiding only to rise from the ashes as something wild and free. The transformation that you seek is ongoing and something you know is inevitable. Celebrate it when time comes or start from today itself.

Timings: Coming 12 days, summer season (July and August is standing out for some of you as well)

#tarot community #free readings #divination community #pick a card #pac #pick a picture #pac reading #tarot readers of tumblr #psychics of Tumblr

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earthtooz · 10 months

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in which: itoshi rin has never thought about marriage- until he met you.

fluff sprinkled with angst, rin is vulnerable and pathetic and lovesick, gn!reader

itoshi rin has never thought about marriage.

he thinks it's a daunting, restrictive construct that should not mean as much as it does. so much money spent on something completely worthless and non-representative of what true love can look like- two couples don't need some legal certificate to prove their adoration for one another. that's mediocre and pointless.

rin would much rather spend his savings towards something productive and not some diamond encrusted, 24k gold ring, or whatever the fuck the jewellers are on about. he doesn't need to imagine a beautiful venue, or his family dressed for a celebration, or a honeymoon in venice.

itoshi rin has never thought about marriage- until he met you.

you, unlike everything else good in his life, simply fell into the palm of his hands and proceeded to ruin everything with your arrival.

every thought he had about love and relationships being lukewarm was replaced with new visions of light and warmth, and you were at the centre of them all, brightening his previously-dull world with a simple, yet heartwarming smile.

(rin thinks it’s his favourite sight- you looking at him like he’s worth something. like he’s kind enough to be loved and cared for.)

he freely admires the outline of your features, the slope of your jaw, where he loves cradling and holding. the curve of your lips and the way his slot perfectly against them. the space between your eyebrows where he kisses you the most because it’s comforting (more for him than you), he thinks he’s most fortunate to be the only one who gets to witness you like this, to touch and taint you like this.

how did he get so lucky?

giving in to his greatest desires, rin shuffles closer to you and wraps an arm tightly around you, eliminating the space that sleep has created between you. he tucks you in where he needs you most: right beside him, and sighs contently when he feels your warmth.

he wonders what you see in him. amongst the constellation of unresolved issues, abrasiveness, and glacial attitude that is itoshi rin, you have found something in him to love, to cherish, to hold. now that he’s had a taste of happiness, he doesn’t want to let go even though he knows you’re too good for him; that you’re too lovely and wonderful for someone as wretched as him to keep.

you have lit up his world and he does everything he can to keep your fire alive.

he doesn’t want to imagine what will become of the world again when you leave. for the night will never end because there will be no sun for the moon to chase, no revelry amongst the expanse of darkness. for the waves might never meet the shore again, for the fruit will never bear again, and the mountains will shrink into the plains; leaving itoshi rin to wander in a world of solitude and destitute.

so instead, he imagines a beautiful venue, his family and friends dressed to the nines for a celebration, a luxurious honeymoon in venice, and you, the most glorious and praiseworthy of all.

“i love you,” whispers the dark-haired. you shift slightly in his grip but you don’t fully rouse, and he’s relieved to know that you have not yet woken, because his love is loudest when the world is silent. “i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you.”

rin hugs you a little tighter.

he imagines about living a life bound by matrimony. he thinks about a life with matching rings to represent the love you have for one another. he thinks about a life with you as his only forever; a life so sweet, he begins tearing up.

reaching for your hand, rin’s thumb rubs your ring finger. “it’s you, it’s only you, i’ll only ever want you.” he kisses it, not liking how empty and vacant it feels underneath his lips.

soon, rin will go. he’ll go to the most extravagant jeweller he can find and search and search until one deems itself worthy of you. if he cannot give you the world, then this will do in the meantime (because he will keep searching for a way to do the former).

with a shaky exhale, he presses his forehead to yours before closing his eyes, longing to see you in his dreams.

he hopes you never leave him, and if his (cruel) heart is not enough to convince you to stay, he can only hope that a diamond ring- the most expensive one at the store, will do the trick.

(he is yours, body, mind, and soul, all at your mercy. the only thing itoshi rin wants in return is for you to say 'yes'.)

#itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi rin fluff #blue lock fluff #blue lock rin #itoshi x reader #blue lock itoshi rin #itoshi rin drabble #itoshi rin x gn!reader

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pyro-chaos · 6 months

Text

Mike Schmidt x Reader

Sometimes

Pt. 2. to This Series

Summary: How life’s going with the new roomie!! Smutttyyy, kinda smutty

Tropes: And they were roommates. Smut fluff, and a smidge of angst

Word count: 2317

A/N: Yooo, this is my first attempt at writing something… saucy. Lol, what do you think??

At first, Mike had reservations about moving in with you.

He thought it would… change the relationship dynamic.

It does, but not in the way he expects.

“Morning, Abby’s brushing her teeth,” you hand Mike a plate of toast with jam and scrambled eggs, “I have to stay late today. Our department has a project due.”

Mike nods, “Okay,” he swallows a mouthful of eggs, “what time should I go for you?”

You put the egg pan in the sink, on top of two other plates.

“Actually, I’m going out tonight. So I think you’re good until tomorrow morning”

Honestly, it surprised him a bit, when he found out you had other friends.

Well, that sounds bad, he’s just surprised by the activity within your social life. It makes him crave something he didn’t know he cared about.

“Will you be home tonight?” He asks.

You gulp down the last of your coffee like a shot. Then you shrug, “I wouldn’t count on it, but maybe.”

Mike swallows his last bite and takes his plate to the sink, “Okay, be safe.”

You smile and finish getting ready for the day. Mike does the dishes.

To be honest, Mike loves having a roommate.

You split the bills evenly. Mike takes half the rent, you take the water bill. Mike gets electric, but you have the insurance.

It’s nice. It feels like he found an island after struggling to keep afloat.

He can afford to go way down in hours. Rather than carry the weight of two full-time jobs, Mike only has to manage one, with the odd double shift.

There’s a park within walking distance from your house. It has a tire swing. Mike has the time to walk Abby there on weekends, and the energy to give her a boost.

Sometimes, You come home smelling like booze.

Sometimes, Mike stays up past Abby’s bedtime to make lunches for the next day. Or to catch up on forgotten chores.

Sometimes, he stays up just ‘cause he can do that now; without feeling mind-crushing guilt.

Sometimes, you run into each other on those nights.

It’s Friday night, a week after you successfully completed the work project, and you stumble into the house at an odd hour.

You smell like a mix of someone else’s cologne and cheap alcohol. Your lipstick is smudged and your clothes look ruffled.

Mike watches you wobble to the sink after kicking off your shoes.

He pretends not to notice the hickeys littering your neck while you chug a glass of water.

“Rough day?” He means it as a joke, but Mike doubts the concerned tilt of his eyebrows makes it seem like one.

“MMmm nuh uh” you answer; slightly out of breath, “S-sorry, just a lil’ thirsty.”

Mike chuckles. He puts a bowl of leftover pasta in the microwave.

If anyone ever asked, he’d deny it until his tongue fell out. But Mike thinks you're cute drunk, and he likes how the curve of your breasts peek out of that top.

Nights like this make him feel kind of gross. He goes to bed soaked with guilt because he knows he shouldn’t ogle anyone like he’s ogling you.

If you ever found out about how he stared at you after you slumped into a kitchen stool, he’d kill himself.

You’re wearing a skirt, and he can see… he can see the inside of your thighs. You’re slouching too. He can see the trail of purple outline your collar bones, and lead into - No.

He sets the bowl of pasta in front of you and then sits down across from you. He’s praying you didn’t see him twitch under his pants.

You slowly eat the pasta, like you’re having trouble feeling your mouth.

Mike stirs his tea.

He tries not to think about your mouth.

When you’re finished, you look a little less, unbothered. Your eyes go a little dark, and you’re holding your head up awkwardly.

“Ready for bed?” Mike questions. He hopes you don’t hear the desperation hidden in the softness of his voice.

You nod.

He leaves an old pot by your bed before heading to his own room.

Nights like this, Mike feels how long it’s been since he’s gotten pussy.

His dick is throbbing. It’s begging, and it hurts, but he fucking refuses to give in.

Mike tries to clench his legs and think about anything, other than how you might’ve looked riding someone else’s dick.

His hips buck up into nothing.

Your tits would bounce. The other guy probably loved it. Mike bets the other guy couldn’t resist popping your nipples into his mouth. Or maybe he used his hands. Maybe he gripped your tits so hard that you saw stars.

Mike rolls over - face down - his pelvis squishes his boner into the bed at this angle. He’s glad for the pillow that swallows his groan.

He thought the new position would help, but it doesn’t, the friction just makes everything worse.

Mike can’t get those damn hickies out of his head. They’ve seared into his mind like a brand that just keeps bleeding. He wants to lick them. He wants to know what you’d do if he licked them.

Oh god, and your thighs.

It takes him a moment to realize that he’s grinding against his sheets.

He huffs, practically ripping off his boxers and gripping the base of his dick.

He gives in.

He thinks about how you’d look sprawled on his bed.

What would you do? - Mike wonders - if you woke up to him between your thighs?

Mike would go slow, he’d go so slow, and he’d make it feel good. He wouldn’t leave until you shake.

He’d spread you open first; let your legs rest open like a monument. He might indulge himself with a kitten lick along your clit.

Then, he’d slide a finger through your slit.

Would you want to sit on his face?

Mike's balls go tight, his dick jumping as he imagines your weight on his tongue.

He licks his lips, hoping to taste something he’s never had.

He finishes all over his stomach, and tries not to imagine how you’d look licking it up.

He doesn’t know how he’s gonna look into your eyes tomorrow.

It's Saturday, and Mike said he’d give you a ride to a car that you found on Craigslist.

“What happened to your car?” Abby asks at the beginning of the drive.

Mike glares at his sister through the mirror, but he can’t shush her without revealing that he’s already figured out what happened to your car.

“It’s not mine anymore” you respond. Your tone isn’t sad, or forlorn, but the mood shifts anyway.

Mike fills the awkwardness by asking what Abby wants for lunch.

You don’t end up buying the car.

The guy on Craigslist listed the car under Used, Like New but the car was definitely not, Like New.

You apologize to Mike so many times he stops keeping count, but he really doesn’t think it’s that big of a deal.

He had to look for months before he found a reliable car for an affordable price.

He’s sure to tell you as much, but he still finds extra cash in his glove compartment the next day.

Sometimes it feels like you don’t think of him as a friend, just someone you’re living with.

It bothers him.

You go out again on Sunday night, you come home smelling even worse.

Mike’s in the living room when he hears something fumble with the locks. At first, he thinks nothing of it, but then he hears a thump against the door.

Mike peeks through the peephole, and rolls his eyes after he watches you almost eat shit when you lose your footing.

You’re too drunk to stand on your own. Mike doesn’t even bother to ask if you’re okay, he just helps you to your room and puts the old pot near your bed, again.

Abby sleeps across the house, so she doesn’t hear you puke your guts out at 3a.m.

Mike does, and it makes him feel something bad. It’s a feeling he’s not used to associating with you. Disappointment? Disgust?

Something like that - there’s a bit of anger in there too - but it’s also mixed with worry. You’re not the type of person to get black-out drunk on a Sunday night.

But still, that’s two nights this week you’ve come home drunk.

In literally any other circumstance, Mike would mind his own business, but you live with Abby now.

He remembers the little furrow of Abby’s brow when he told her that you got sick. How worried would Abby get if she heard you puking in the middle of the night? How the fuck could he even begin to explain that to her?

Mike doesn’t want her to be around someone who’s drinking themselves stupid; It’s dysfunctional. Didn’t you have enough respect for Abby to understand that?

He’ll talk to you about it tomorrow night, but tonight, he checks the medicine cabinet. Just to make sure you have enough aspirin for tomorrow morning.

The next morning goes normally. You make breakfast. Abby gets ready. Mike does the dishes.

He doesn’t want to deal with the aftermath of the upcoming conflict quite yet.

Mike just picked you up from work. You applied extra makeup this morning to cover up the dark circles under your eyes, but Mike knows they’re there.

“So, wanna talk about what happened last night?” He doesn’t even bother hiding the judgment from his tone.

“What happened last night?”

Mike feels a flame of anger roll through his body. He has to take a breath before responding, “Don’t play dumb”

You stop sipping on your coffee and lean against the back of the seat. You look out the window for a moment, like you’re thinking really hard about something.

Mike’s thumbs lightly tap the steering wheel. He can feel his temper simmer under his vertebrae.

You lick your lips, and fiddle with the hem of your shirt, “Okay, but first I want to apologize.”

He stays silent, but he’s a little surprised.

“I’ve been irresponsible, and inconsiderate, and I’m really sorry. It’s not fair for you to have to deal with the fallout of my bullshit.”

Mike agrees, but he’s not sure what he could say without expressing that agreement. So, he stays silent.

You rub your eyes, “Oliver and I broke up.”

Mike knows this. You didn’t tell him, but he lives with you, it’s not that hard to put two and two together. Why does it matter?

“I thought I was gonna spend the rest of my life with him, you know?”

Oh. No. He didn’t.

“I just… I’ve been taking it kind of hard,” you sit up, and your voice gains a bit of confidence, “it’s not an excuse, though. I promise it won’t happen again.”

Mike hears your promise, and releases a long breath he didn’t know he was holding.

You wanted to spend the rest of your life with Oliver. That’s… it makes sense that you’ve been getting drunk a lot.

“It’s okay,” he adjusts his hold on the steering wheel, and keeps his tone soft; like he’s trying to caress you with words, “it’s just with Abby - you know?” he shrugs and allows his sentence to hang in the air.

“No, yeah absolutely, I get it. I’m sorry I put you both in that position.”

Your words sound genuine.

Mike literally feels the fight flood out of his nervous system. The emptiness leftover makes him want to go to sleep.

The thought of the conversation tugged on his brain all day, like he was unconsciously gearing up for a fight, and now that it’s over he feels drained.

The drive stays silent until he arrives at Abby’s school. But it’s not submissive or uncomfortable silence. Mike doesn’t feel suffocated by the lack of conversation.

He’s parked at the front of the school when you talk again.

“Are we okay?” you ask, and the softness of your tone makes Mike melt.

“Yeah,” for the first time in the entire conversation - Mike looks at you - and he’s kind of surprised to find you already looking at him, “Yeah, we’re okay.”

Mike did not expect the apology, but he’s glad he got it.

If he’s being honest, he expected you to justify why you’ve been drinking, but your willingness to take accountability came completely out of left field.

That’s not to say Mike feels the apology was unnecessary. It’s more like, he wanted a justification for your behavior; he wanted to understand why you did what you did before getting truly upset with you, but he didn’t expect you to acknowledge how your crisis affected him. But you did.

It’s like, he went into a restaurant expecting his favorite meal, but instead he gets his favorite meal plus an ingredient that he didn’t know would make the entire meal better.

It makes him feel seen.

It makes him like you more.

After that, you seem more comfortable around Mike, and you don’t go out as often.

If you do, you’re home before midnight, and you’re sober.

If you’re not sober, you call, and let Mike know you’re staying at a friend’s for the night.

You act a bit differently too.

It’s kind of strange, because Mike thought you felt comfortable around him before that conversation, but apparently he underestimated how often you try to keep a professional facade around him and Abby.

But now, you allow him to see you in pajamas.

He didn’t even know you owned pajamas.

They’re cute and baggy; fluffy sweats that pool around your ankles, and a matching sweater.

You buy a shelf for Abby’s art supplies. You put it in the living room, in case she wants to draw while she watches TV.

Mike starts to wear sweats too.

Abby’s drawings start to fill up the empty space on the refrigerator

#fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf daycare attendant #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #josh hutcherson #josh hutchinson #five nights at freddy's

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bandgie · 4 months

Text

Bath Time

bf!Changbin x gn!reader

MDNI 18+, handjob, elements of sub!bin, nipple/boob play (m!), fluff, this is totally self indulgent!

1k words

With Changbin's back to you, it's easy to wash and rinse the soap from his head. Your senses are filled with the feeling of warm water on your hands and the smell of scented soap. You told him that you wanted to give him a spa day, something to help relax your busy boyfriend from his idol life.

Your boyfriend's skin is soft under your touch and your hands travel down to his shoulders where you dig your fingers in. Changbin whines from the massage at first, a protest from his stiff muscles. You lighten your touch and add pressure to the area between his shoulder blades. It's from his continued hard work that he was able to grow such broad muscles. Your hands feel so small against it, and you doubt you're making any real difference in his stress.

That's proven wrong from Changbin's groans though. He gently rocks in the tub from your ministrations, the water sloshing quietly. A particular loud sound from him has you laughing, "Does it feel good Bin?"

Maybe it's the heat of the bath, or the overwhelming smell of lavender, but Changbin shivers at your words. It was so innocently said, but he can feel the way his lower half twitched, pulsated. Everything you do feels good to him, and you saying it only adds to the pleasure.

"Y-yes," he stutters.

You hum in response, but the vibrations in your chest echo in his mind. Changbin tries to think of every disgusting thing he can to prevent himself from getting hard, but it's nearly impossible. All he can focus on is your delicate fingers, the fact that he's completely nude and wet, how the front of your shirt is drenched to the point that he can see the outline of your chest. When your hands move to the front of his shoulders, he knows he's screwed.

You lean over Changbin to properly massage the top of his pecs, but a mere glance at the water has you halt. Even though his figure is deformed underneath, you can still make out the standing of his cock.

There's a small scoff of disbelief that leaves you and when you turn to Changbin, he's already a pretty shade of pink.

"Looks like someone's happy to see me," you muse. One of your hands runs against the softness of his stomach underwater, stopping just above his pelvis. "I thought you were being a little too quiet."

Your other hand gropes his pec, squeezing the flesh rather than massaging it. Changbin whines at the pressure, hips thrusting upwards. "I didn't mean to!" There's a small frown on his face, but his eyes are wide with desire. "How can you expect me to not when you're touching me like that!?"

His complaining only stirs you more, pinching his hardened nipple between your fingers. You pull and tug on his bud, watching how his back arches. Your other hand goes back up to grope both of his pecs. You squeeze them in your palms, kneading the flesh.

"What about Jut and Dae hm?" You jiggle them for emphasis. "Are they happy to see me?"

There's red marks from your fingers on his chest, but the look on Changbin's face is far from painful. He nods eagerly, licking his lower lip. "They are! They're always happy to see you."

He can feel how your chest purrs in satisfaction. Changbin nearly squeals in excitement when your hand finally goes down to his cock, gently gripping the base. You play with him between your fingers, running the tip over your thumb before going further to play with his balls.

"Such a nasty boy," you tut playfully. "Gonna makes the water all dirty."

As if in punishment, you squeeze his balls in your gasp. A gasp leaves Changbin's lips when you move your hand to drag the skin of his cock down to expose his throbbing head. You twist your hand as you move upwards with slow jerking movements. Your other hand never ceases from gripping his chest.

The water begins to move rather rapidly from Changbin's movements. He's humping into your hands eagerly. One hand planted at the bottom of the tub for balance while the other grips your wrist playing with his nipple. He turns to look at you, lips pouty and shiny form how much he's been licking them.

You know what he wants and you want to deny him from it. A kiss is what makes your boyfriend cum the hardest. You would love to deprive him from it just a bit longer, but the whole reason for you doing this is to make him feel good. In any way possible.

It's with tenderness that you kiss Changbin with. He melts at the feel of your lips, moaning into your mouth. Your hand rapidly moves underneath the water, stroking him with quick, tight pulls. He gives up on using his lips and shoves his tongue in your mouth. Both of your salvias mix, and you find yourself giggling.

"Impatient," you mumble in the kiss. Changbin only whines in response, upset that you're talking instead of kissing him. You let your lover ravish your mouth, teeth clashing from his neediness.

He squeezes your wrist hard suddenly, mouth going slack and eyes crossing. "Cumming! Don't stop, please."

You squeeze the softness of his chest harshly and the tip of his cock. Changbin makes a choked sound, but muffles it with a messy kiss. He jerks his hips upwards to meet your strokes, and even in the water you can feel his cock twitch when he releases.

A part of you is disappointed that you can't feel his cum run down your fingers, that you can't smear it on his belly before shoving your fingers in his mouth. Instead, you watch the strings of arousal float to the top before diluting into the water.

Changbin pants in your mouth, convulsing in the aftershocks of his orgasm. You coo at him and give consecutive pecks to his swollen lips. He puckers his lips to properly feel your kisses, but you can see the drowsiness in his eyes quickly catch up to him.

"Oh Binnie. Don't fall asleep yet! We need to take another shower, you got this one dirty."

a/n: I thought about doing this with Chan at first, but binnie's boobies were infiltrating my mind border from @roseschoices!

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oharabunny · 6 months

Text

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Say That You Love Me

Warning: soft yandere and caretaker!Miguel; some controlling behavior; shy, fem!afab!, lonely and socially awkward, inexperienced reader; relationship is not established yet; dark content if you squint; also implied chubby reader; fluff (ish); smut; not beta read

⋆✮↪ based on my nonlinear yandere Miguel series ₊˚⊹♡

You always gave people the benefit of the doubt, or rather, no matter how wrong people treated you, you gave them a pass, as long as they were dubious and vague enough with you so that you never questioned their sincerity. You were lonely to say the least and grew up alone, so you accepted whatever came your way, and worked hard to keep your ‘friends’ around since you were socially awkward.

Of course, over time you learned to filter out the good and the bad, but the elephant in the room never went away.

Living with Miguel had its perks. You could do whatever you want, as long as you never try to escape. You once had a reason to leave, but you had no place and no family to go back to. Your universe was also gone for good (or so Miguel says).

For the most part, you generally listen to him and do as he says. It’s for your own good he’d always say.

You were beginning to wonder if he had romantic feelings for you. Aside from his weird obsession of taking care of you, he didn’t make any moves on you, up until recently. Perhaps you always had an innate attraction towards him, like, he was built like a Greek god, for multiverse’s sake. His face card was serving. He could get any girl he wanted, so you had always assumed he had no sexual attraction towards you. Just that, he had this self-proclaimed obligation to be your caretaker.

One day he suggested to sleep together since sleeping on the couch was becoming too uncomfortable for him. It was a one bedroom apartment, so it wasn’t like there was a spare bedroom for him to sleep separately in. (Something you appreciated despite trying to argue with him to take his room back, but he vehemently refused for your sake.)

You didn’t think much of it, at first, since you had experience with sleeping with the opposite gender nonsexually. You were right to think nothing much of it for the first few minutes since he was turned away from you. That is…until he fell asleep. (You tend to take a lot longer to fall asleep than him, so you were able to observe his unconscious form.)

And his first instinct was to cage you in his thick, beefy arms.

Miguel drew you into his chest as if he was snuggling a childhood ragdoll. He rubbed your smaller fingers in between his own, inhaled the scent of your shampoo in your hair, all the while his long and much larger legs than yours locked you into his body. He was completely smothering you.

Your own body was heating up like a kettle on a stove. He was only in his boxers, and you can feel his cock outline through his boxers on your butt. Was he getting hard too?

You didn’t dare move because you wanted to stay like this for as long as he could. If he didn’t have any attraction towards you, this was as close as you were going to get.

Now every night going forth, he cuddled you in his sleep. He got bolder eventually and simply cuddled with you as soon as he got to bed.

You were surprised one night when he asked to kiss you. Up until this point, he had only cuddled with you, but never dared to be even more intimate. He’d usually at most rub and squeeze your tummy while he was asleep which made you self conscious. You never bat his hand away though.

So when he asked you for a kiss, your brain was like a train that braked too quickly and flew off the rails. You hadn’t realized you didn’t react nor answer him until he said, “Nevermind.”

You immediately reached for him to say, “N-No wait! I do, I…do want you to kiss me.” As you finished your sentence, your eye contact left him, in embarrassment. You basically admitted that you were attracted to him by reciprocating, and you didn’t know how to deal with that. Would he laugh at you? Would he play those kinds of games with you?

He could see you overthinking and feeling conflicted. He took your chin and tilted your gaze back up to him. “Then, look at me.”

And you do.

Everything came to a stop when his lips met yours. All your thoughts and worries melted away. His lips were just so perfect. You couldn’t remember the last time you were kissed, especially in this way. He pressed your body into his as he cupped your neck so you couldn’t escape out of his hold. He gently prodded your lips to enter with his tongue, and you had instinctively let him in. His tongue battled with yours and you willfully lost against him. He explored your mouth as if he was burning every inch and corner of your mouth into his mind. A level of desperation that you could feel from his touch growing more and more intensely.

He rolled over on top of you and broke the kiss. You would’ve whined but he quickly satiated by peppering kisses all over your face before finally landing a final one on your nose. From there, he just admired your face while he stroked your hair. You couldn’t maintain eye contact from his face being so up close to yours, and tried to hide your face as your self consciousness crept back in. You hated how your face looked when you laid down.

“Hey hey hey, don’t look away.” Miguel lightly tapped your face. You could barely look back at him as he shifted his weight because you could feel his hard cock on rubbing on your thighs. His handsome face in such close proximity to yours made your mind do flips. “And don’t forget to breathe.”

How could you breathe when the hottest person you’ve ever seen in your life is all over you?

You were taking shallow breaths which isn’t what Miguel wanted so he squeezed your tummy and tickled your sides. “Waitwaitwaitstop!!” You couldn’t help but laugh and push him off.

Your laugh was like a song to his ear. Miguel kept tickling you as he buried his face into your neck and nipped on your skin. He kissed and drew up your jawline as he stopped his tickling so he could capture your lips once more.

“Breathe.” He said in between kisses. He squeezes your sides when you still didn’t listen.

Your breath staggered from the laughter and steaminess of the kisses. He smirked at your inexperience and sensitivity. You were just so cute to him when you were overwhelmed and overstimulated.

Miguel licked your lips and planted a final kiss before tightly holding you like a ragdoll again. He laid on his back this time and you were on top of him. The weight of his arms kept you in your place, especially when his hand was placed on top of your head while you lay on his chest. You could hear the sound of his heartbeat.

Now, every night whenever he came home, he kissed you fervently as he cuddled with you to sleep.

“YOU WANT ME TO WHAT-?!”

You had been extremely lonely the past couple weeks since Miguel had gone to another dimension to catch a difficult anomaly. As established, you were not allowed to go outside. You did think to ask him if you could invite some of your Spider friends you befriended during the short period you stayed at HQ, but he refused, and seemed angry at the notion of you hanging out with them.

Instead you begged and begged him to at least let you access Discord or some kind of social media to talk to someone, other than Lyla (no offense to her), especially for your special interests.

At first Miguel was hesitant, but eventually went on board with it when considering your mental wellbeing. You had never done anything to betray his trust.

“I don’t want you spending any more time talking to them anymore. I shouldn’t have to compete for your attention.” Miguel stated flatly as he possessively held you in his arms in bed. He took your phone from your hand and placed it on the nightstand away from you.

“But that shouldn’t be the only reason why you want to impregnate me…” You backed up against him to get away from his hand that was stroking your tummy. A habit he kept up since sleeping in the same bed with you for the first time. If anything, your tummy was treated like a stress ball. (Sometimes he’ll also grab at your love handles, your ass, your thighs, and anywhere that’s fleshy.)

“It’s not.” Miguel’s hand lowered his hand and flicked the elastic of your shorts.

Your heart skipped a beat at his implication. You two hadn’t actually had sex yet despite all the sexual tension. Perhaps he wanted to wait till you were ready, or maybe he saw it as a means to procreate.

He slid his hand under your shorts and panties to your freshly shaven pussy (he shaved it for you 😥) and rubbed circles on your clit. You immediately locked your legs together and grabbed onto his arm to hold on. Your puffy pussy hid your clit, but his middle finger pushed through and found her. Your breath hitched. He didn’t stop when you gripped harder, if anything he rubbed faster and faster. You kept wriggling and squirming back, but his chest was a wall and you had nowhere to escape. Your ass pressed up against his clothed cock that sat neatly between your cheeks.

You screamed. He was directly on your clit applying hard pressure. Not even you would touch it bare. You squirted all over his hand quickly and he slowed his pace, but didn’t stop, to help you ride out your orgasm. You huffed and puffed. His hand rubbed a stripe over your entire pussy to draw out the slick so that he could lick and drink it off of his fingers. You looked back at him as he was savoring your taste, and you couldn’t help quivering at the sight of that.

Wordlessly, he shifted himself so he was on top of you and you reached out to halt him in place. “Wait, can we please talk about this?”

He raised a brow as if you just confused him. “What is there to talk about?”

You sat up with your knees to your chest, nervous for what you were about to ask, “Why do you actually want a baby? Why me? And it’s going to be a huge responsibility, and I’m not sure I’m ready for it. I…I also want to figure out my own life too.”

He moved closed and placed his warm hands on your knees. “It has to be you. We are meant to be together. You have such a kind and gentle soul; you’d make a great mother.” He paused, “And you don’t have to worry about a thing, your husband will take care of you for the rest of your life.”

“Wha-?” You were cut off when he crashed his lips to silence you. He pulled you down from where you sat and swiftly pulled your shorts and panties down in one fell swoop. He gives your clit a good rub before he leaned back to take his boxers off.

You stared at his rock hard cock, finally in full view. His size was never something you ever had before. Hell, you couldn’t even fit a regular sized dildo up inside. “I can’t fit that…”

“We can make it work. Don’t worry, just leave it all to me.” Miguel cooed and stroked his length against your slick brushing your clit along with the way. Your hole tightened from the sensation. “Remember to relax and breathe, bebita.”

Slowly, he pushed inside your fluttering hole. You hissed at the stretch. The pain was quickly replaced with pleasure when his thumb rubbed over your clit. When he saw your face relaxing, he pushed deeper until he bottomed out. You placed your hand over your pelvic region and felt his bulge.

“Mmm, you like that?” He groaned as he began to pull out slowly. You instantly moaned and nodded to that. Something about him pulling out his big hard cock dragging your walls out was tipping you over the edge.

“Keep doing that!” Everything from his pelvis meeting yours, filling you up, and his balls slapping your ass sent sparks into your abdomen and tighten your abs. His languid motion of his hips drew you insane. You didn’t know your eyes were closed until you opened them up and saw his eyes glowing red and predatory. His fangs hung out, his hair a mess, and he too was losing control.

Miguel gripped hard at the bed sheets and ripped them under his nails. He couldn’t take it anymore. He sat back up to his knees, lifted up your hips up to his, and rabbitted hard and fast into you. “God- Your pussy is perfect-!” He groaned and grunted in every push. His head flew back and bucked faster.

“Mig-Miguel- fuck-!” Right there, right there, right there. All of your buttons were hit and signals fired off in every direction. He didn’t dare stop and change course now. Your hands were searching for something to grab on for dear life. He clasped your left hand and held it over your head.

“Say that you love me. Say that you will marry me.” He began to slow by only a little bit. Your eyes flew back to him in desperation for him to speed up again. You didn’t even hear him say anything to you. “D-Don’t slow down!”

He repeated, “Say that you love me. Say that you will marry me.”

“Yes!” You practically shrieked.

“Yes, what?” He slowed down even more.

“I love you! I will marry you! Please-!” You begged and grinded your hips against his in tandem.

Satisfied with your answer, Miguel jolted himself hard into you, and went back into rabbiting. You crumbled. Your legs trembled and your body shuddered in tremors. Every muscle in your body contracted; your pussy tightened around his cock as a result.

He fucked you through your orgasm similarly to when he did so with his fingers earlier. Except, he was chasing his own high now. As your pussy tightened, his breath hitched and crumbled his resolve. He came immediately, and ensured to do so completely sheathed inside. He came at the entrance of your cervix and did not pull out until all of his cum was spilled. He gave you a couple pushes inside to ensure all of his cum was deep inside and not spill out.

Miguel leaned over to the nightstand and opened the drawer to pull out something. Some kind of clothed sticker of sorts. He took off the sticker from the paper and sealed up your pussy with it. You were too fucked out to care what and why he was doing that. You were too focused on his warm cum sloshing inside.

Your eyes fluttered closed and began to drift off to sleep as he cradled you into his arms once more, as he habitually always had. He took your left hand and slid a sparkly ring (a ring you’ve been secretly, not so secretly, been eyeing for the past few months) on your ring finger. He planted a kiss there to seal your fate.

You were finally his, and you were finally never alone.

Tags: @belle-oftheball34, @mrs-oharaxx, @crystalcrynight, @sukunash0e, @juicyprncess Additional tags: @kaoriloveskeiff, @twinklingbeautifulstars, @tayleighuh, @freehentai, @mythologicalgodsblog [I'm aware this is not the part 2 for The Grass is Greener on the Other Side fic, but I thought you might be interested as this is part of a series.]

Graphic credited to @cafekitsune

buy me a ☕?

✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮

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4st4rion · 5 months

Note

if you ever feel like it i would love to see a fic where astarion's ears are particularly sensitive + tav finds out about this and begins testing his limits !! i wanna see him lathered in love and taken care of and made to feel good + i really love your fics🤍

ao3 link!

this was SUCH a cute prompt!! I had fun whipping this up 😊 let me know if you're on ao3 and I can gift it to you there as well!

made to feel good

500ish words, rating teen to mature, ear petting and some kissing, and second person pov (so astarion x you)

It happens by complete accident.

You just... Reach out. His hair is wild, as usual, and you think it'd be cute to tuck it behind his ear, and he shivers at your warm fingers brushing over it.

Time stops; he looks as surprised as you feel, like cornered prey, and you pull your hand back quickly.

"Sorry," you say, fast. "Was that uncomfortable?"

"No," he says, also fast, and his voice cracks in half on it. "No, no, it was... It was fine," he says, looking away from you and then back, then away again.

Nervous. You haven't seen him nervous like this in a while.

Slowly, you reach out again — he has ample time to stop you or tell you not to, but instead, he leans imperceptibly closer. He trusts you, deeply and fully, and your heart swells with love being reminded of it once again.

This time, you run two fingertips over his ear with plain intent. You trace the shape of it from the base to the tip, and he shudders.

"That is... Rather nice," he admits, so quiet you can only just hear him over the crackle of the fire.

You turn toward him properly and bring your other hand to his opposite ear, and this time, you pet your thumbs over the lobes and dip into the ridges, gently massaging warmth into his corpse-cold skin.

"Is this okay?"

He nods.

You continue.

At some point, he shuts his eyes. He leans into your touch like a satisfied cat leaning into pets, and it's hard not to smile at how relaxed he looks as you pet and squeeze his ears from top to bottom.

You pause briefly to pet his face, too, thumbing lightly over his cheeks and pecking him on the lips, and his eyes remain shut as he smiles in your hands.

Gods, he's beautiful. You still can't believe you're lucky enough to be with him.

You kiss him again, fingers returning to his ears, and he makes a soft, needy noise against your mouth when you stay there and he kisses back.

You stay like that for a while, kissing while your hands idly stroke and pet his ears. You scoot closer in the dirt to hold him and he scoots closer to be held, the two of you slowly entangling as much as you can with as little movement as possible.

You don't pull away until he whines against your mouth and you can feel him squirm against you.

It's only the two of you that remain at the fire in the middle of your camp. Everyone else went to their tents a while ago.

"Would you like to go to your tent?" you ask quietly, and his eyes shoot open.

"Yes," he says too quickly.

He clears his throat.

"Yes," he repeats, in a lower, more seductive tone. "I would like that."

"Okay," you say, and kiss him one more time.

You sit there nose to nose for another long moment before his smile falters. Your smile grows wider when he stands abruptly and turns away, toward his tent, and you make out the outline of a bulge in his breeches as he does.

You wonder how he'll react when you put your mouth to work on his ears, too, an even warmer heat than your fingers and much more tactile.

You imagine you'll find out.

#astarion #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #idk what else to tag this tbh. it'll reach its audience idk lmao

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aouiaa · 1 month

Text

Reflect

Outline: When all the leads dried up, Ellie is forced to accept the heart wrenching reality that she’s never gonna see you again. Until two years and half later, the unexpected happens. People don’t come back from the dead so, How did you?

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: Tlou au + Death and a lot mentions of it + Mentions of suicidal behavior + Angst (alot of it) + Fluff + Self-deprecation + Flashback? + Mention of weapons + Mentions Harm inflicted to R and others + Torture + Depression + Mentions of blood + Mentions of grieving + Mentions of survivor’s guilt + Description of a corpse (I think that’s it, comment if I missed any!)

Previous Chapter -> Chapter two -> Next Chapter

Two and half years ago…

Five weeks after the Calamity.

Get out of bed

Get dressed

walk to…

Everything since the…incident, felt like a task. Obligations that only got harder and harder to complete each day. Shower…check. Make your bed…check. But today was the hardest.

It was your funeral, and fuck was it the hardest task to get done. But she couldn’t miss today, no she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. So here she is, standing beside Joel staring down at her shoes. And the tension being around your family was suffocating. She felt their stares, their fucking stares.

Did they blame her?

Wouldn’t blame them if they did.

The priest’s soft-spoken tone only made this feel more real, “Today we are gathered here to celebrate the life of Y/N L/N, who left the world of the living to start the journey in that of the dead. Though she lives...” his voice faded as Ellie submerges into her overwhelming thoughts.

She couldn’t believe it, you were really gone. This is the first time in weeks since she’s been outside her once vibrant, and happy room, rotting away. Replaying it over and over, thinking what she could’ve done. What could’ve kept you alive.

But if she’s in her head for too long that’s when her self conscious begins to gnaw at her and sometimes enflaming her. She hated herself for letting you down, letting you spend your last moments in fear. Not a peaceful and soft moment, but in one where the world was on fire. Where hands of the devil himself were pulling you back into the pits.

What’ll forever keep her up at night is your scream, and the look of pure terror on your face as you were pulled back before darkness took Ellie’s vision. She often loathed about if your final moments were merciful and not cruel. If it was quick and painless rather than torturous.

God she hoped not—

“May she rest easy now” The voice of the priest disturbs and elicits Ellie to look up.

As the priest finishes the last of your eulogy, One by one everyone begins throwing their roses onto your casket. And when it was Ellie’s time to let hers go, she kisses it as a final form of goodbye and watches as it falls in with the rest.

“Rest easy, angel.”

Present…

“Y/n?”

Every night before today she’d pray. Prayed, that she'd open her eyes and you’d be there, sleeping peacefully beside her—like nothing ever happened. But it never did happen, and she stupidly secretly held on to that possibility. Even if it sounded ludicrous, she still held on to that small hope.

And now that hope was in front of her, getting off a horse. She didn’t want to believe it, she couldn’t. She thought that she finally lost her mind. Seeing your face on different people.

Snap out of it.

She scolds herself, closing her eyes, and taking a few deep breaths. Feeling her face reddening up from embarrassment from how stupid she must’ve seem calling out to a dead person. She doesn’t know how long she stood in the dark, terrified to meet the disappointment that always shined at the end of the tunnel.

“Ellie?”

But there it was, your voice. The sweet sound that could only be heard in her dreams. That euphoric feeling Ellie would get just by hearing it, turned into despair, when she couldn't remember it anymore. Locked and sealed away when she woke up. Like her mind was playing against her. How torturous it felt to be humiliated by her own mind.

But she heard it, one that couldn’t be replicated.

She opened her eyes hesitantly, but in front of her was you. You weren't a hallucination—No you were real and here in front of her face. Tears welled up in her eyes as she rushed towards you, giving you the tightest hug. Not loosening the grip she had around you once because she’d be damned if she did again.

Only once to cup your tear stained face, “How—How is this real?” She stammers, scanning your features. The amount of blemishes that littered your face didn’t ravage your beauty. Her thumb lightly grazed over a scar on your left cheek, What happened to you? She didn’t question you, of course. The timing wasn’t right.

“We have to get them to the infirmary, Ellie.” A voice snaps her out of her thoughts, and looking to the side to see standing beside her was Maria with her hand on Ellie’s shoulder. Still in her frenzy state, she just stares at Maria before replying.

“Yeah, yeah—let’s go.”

She stayed in the infirmary with you for sixteen hours just staring at you as you slept. You were being supplied with the appropriate amount of nourishment via VI. And she just sat there in that uncomfortable ass chair just staring at you, scared to even blink. Because maybe if she did, you’d disappear. She had so many questions rightfully so. But she didn’t want to overwhelm you with them all. You were in a fragile state of mind.

Next morning, you woke to see Ellie already looking at you. Her eye bags were more prominent, Did she not get any sleep? Did she stay up all night just staring at you? “Hey, how are you feeling?” her voice still sounded so familiar, yet so foreign. You just stare at Ellie not knowing if this was real, your mind had to be fucking with you again. You begin to tear up which Ellie catches on immediately, and wipes the fallen tears rolling down your cheek.

As soon as you feel her touch, her finger grazing over your cheek lightly, you gasp. Your mind wasn’t playing with you, you were here. Back home? “Relax, it’s okay, just breathe. You’re home again.” her voice was so soothing, it made your stomach twist into uncomfortable knotting.

“Are—are you real?” you stuttered, not truly believing after everything you’ve been through, you’d see the one person you’ve yearned for—just in front of you. Her freckles, you'd count every night but mess up halfway and give up an hour later out of frustration. Her hazel green eyes, you’d stare into every single moment of the day. Her plumped lips, you’d kiss everyday.

If you had anything in your system right now, you’d barf it all up.

“I am, just relax.” Ellie says, placing her hand on your arm. You look down at her hand gently placed on your forearm as you feel something bubbling inside of you. Not a love feeling but a weird one. Ellie could see it in your demeanor which causes her to remove her hand away with a quiet “sorry” falling from her lips before resting that hand on her lap.

You meet her gaze again, “Are you hungry?” you take a second to respond making Ellie uncomfortable slightly before replying with a small “Yeah.” Ellie nods, getting up and returning with a tray of food. “The nurse left it for when you woke up.” You grab the tray immediately, stuffing your mouth with food as Ellie settles down into her chair.

Ellie watches you before looking away and shifting in that stupid uncomfortable chair while scratching the back of her neck. Contemplating on what to do or say, anything to relieve this tension that strangled her. For a while, it’s just her mind eating at her and when she does finally decide to, she can’t bring herself to look at you when she begins, “I’m sorry for everything...” She whispers. You stop and look at her, confused. “What?”

“I’m sorry for everything.” she repeats in an audible tone, looking at you with tears forming at her waterline.

You catch on to what she’s referring to immediately and shake your head, “No it wasn’t your fault, Ellie.” You say, watching Ellie’s walls she built so high and secure, crumpled.

“No it is all my fault, why you're even in this position. I didn’t save you—“ she says in between sobs. “—I was weak and stupid and, and—“ she stammered over her words, placing her hand over her chest, trying to desperately breathe.

You look at this girl who you called call your girlfriend just cry. You didn’t know how to respond to this random burst of emotion. But one thing was for certain, you never blamed her once. Why would you? It wasn’t her fault, it was the people who captured you. Who ruined you. But you dealt with them.

“I never blamed you, not once.” you set your tray aside and move towards Ellie's trembling figure. Cupping her face gently to make her meet your soft gaze, “never once in that hell I was in did I blame you.”

When Ellie met your gaze, It only made her want to cry more. Throughout those two agonizing years, she sat in her hatred and guilt. She couldn’t accept the fact that you were gone because of her but here you were alive and telling the opposite. It felt confusing.

“What?”

“I never blamed you, Ellie.” You repeated, “You did everything you could.”

“Ellie, no!” you screamed.

You felt your heart drop when the grip your girlfriend had on your hand faltered. But that wasn’t the only thing she lost grip of. Her footing, you could see the fear on her face as she fell off the roof. That’d be the last expression you’d see on your lover’s face.

Fear.

Without the resistance you fall on your back, and you’re met with the difficulty of breathing. Every breath is met with the same irritation of carbon monoxide causing you to cough and wheeze. The fire has already spread to the bedroom and is slowly killing you. It went at a rapid pace up the walls and to the ceiling. The smoke created silhouettes of demons, it was hell on earth. And the devil had grabbed you pulling you with him to inferno.

You wouldn't let him though, no you wouldn’t go out like this. You kicked his hand off your leg, giving you a chance to crawl towards the open window and just as you’re gonna pull yourself up. A voice behind you says in a menacing song-like tone, “You’re too slow!”, and grabbing you by the hair, slamming your head against the windowsill. Upon impact, you felt your world spinning and your ears began to ring. Throwing you on the ground he gets on top of you, wrapping his hands around your throat.

You let out a choked mewl, bring your hands to his face, scratching at him. But to no avail, it only makes him add more pressure, “Don’t fight, it’ll make this more difficult” the gruff masculine voice said. You desperately try to break free but slowly succumb to the lack of oxygen. “Yeah, there you go.” is the last thing you hear before going unconscious.

You jolt awake from a sharp pain to your cheek. “Ah—fuck..” you hissed. Instinctively, you try to lift your hand to soothe the stinging pain, but you can’t. Confused, you look down at the lower half of your body to realize both of your hands are bound to the chair, along with your legs. Your eyes shoot up to investigate your surroundings.

Where am I? Why the fuck am I tied to this chair?

Upon inspection you realize you’re in a dimly lit bathroom. There’s filthy and dry splattered blood on the walls. Looking at the ragged mirrors mounted on the wall ahead, blood splattered and dried in its crevices. The sinks below are a whole nother story by themselves. But what’s more prominent in the room is an amazon of a woman in front of you. Or to help to understand—The one who rather rudely awakened you from your slumber.

Oh fuck..

You have so many questions racing through your mind; Where’s Ellie? Did they capture her too? Is she okay? Or is she dead? Who is this woman? What is she gonna do to me? Where the fuck am I? So many questions that litter your mind like a landfill, but gets soon disrupted by the beefy woman sitting in front of you.

Clearing her throat, she says, “I need your name.” she slouches forward into her chair, placing her elbows on her thighs. Her hardening gaze set on you as she waits for your answer. Your train of thoughts abruptly stops and goes blank. “I—Uhm…Y/n” you respond.

The muscular woman seems amused by your answer, “phff—“ She blows out a breathy snicker, “We already forgot our name? What a world we live in, huh?” She sneers, standing up and walks to one of the broken sinks, grabbing something. But you can’t quite see what it is due to her figure blocking your view, but the sound of a knife slinking out of its carrier is all the confirmation you need.

Your demeanor immediately tenses as the woman turns around with a knife in hand. You begin squirming in your chair, letting out a shaky breath. “Woah—what—what are you gonna do?”

Your immediate reaction makes the woman cackle, “Here’s how this is gonna go” She starts, kneeling down, and putting the knife dangerously close against your skin. “You’re gonna tell me what I wanna know and I won't ruin this pretty face of yours, yeah?” She taunts, turning her head to the side, a sinister smirk displayed on her face.

The knife blinds your left eye from little light that shines perfectly down onto the blade making you wince, your breathing starts to become erratic, “What are you gonna do to me?” you repeat, sheepishly, now staring at the woman in front of you.

“What I‘ma do to you?” She restates your question, “What Ima do depends on your choices.” She answers, grazing the knife gently against your cheek. You gulp, watching the woman as she stares at the knife grazing over your skin, seeming fixated by it before snapping out of her sick trance and meeting your gaze once again with an ominous smile on her face, making your guts twist and turn into unbearable knotts.

“So what’s it gonna be, huh?” She asks, but doesn’t let you answer, continuing, “Gonna die for your friends and that little girlfriend of yours or cooperate? The choice is yours.” She proposes, staring at you keenly as if she could scan your facade hard enough, she’d find the answer within your expressions.

With your choices layed out, you contemplate on your next move. Your landfilled mind only returning and overflowing with more thoughts. Why were you even contemplating this? There was no way in hell, you’d rat on Jackson, on Ellie. Even if you were to, this stranger would have no reason to keep you alive anymore since you would outlive your usefulness.

It was clear what you've chosen.

And the look on your face must’ve given it away because the woman's jaw suddenly clenched. “You seriously think your friends are looking for you? That girlfriend of yours doesn’t give a shit about you.” she insinuates, “because if they really cared, they’d be here by now—“

“Shut your fucking mouth, you dont know what you’re talking about—“ Your booming voice intrudes, you don’t know what empowered you to say that, but you should’ve just bite your tongue because your ears begin to ring as you endure a powerful smack to the face causing your head to fly to the right upon impact.

Turning your head slowly to face the woman, you’re met with an enraged expression plastered on her face, “You wanna keep fucking running that mouth, Huh?!” She spits out, “Better choose the next words out that stupid fucking mouth of yours carefully or I’ll cut your tongue out.” she threatens.

Still dazed from the assault, it takes you a second before mumbling out an incoherent sentence. “What was that?” she taunts, seeming to enjoy your suffering.

“I said—“

“Didn't hear ya, What was that?” She taunts, laughing.

“I said If you cut my tongue out” you huff out, watching her laugh, “how the fuck am I gonna tell you.” you remark.

The sound of laughter turns into silence with an inhuman look in her eyes morphing within seconds before saying, “Don’t say I didn't give you a chance.” She deadpans before plunging the knife into your thigh causing you to let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Interrogate, Torture, and Repeat.

That cycle had been going on for god knows how long. You were merely unrecognizable, the blood and bruising that littered your face was disturbing. You wondered how much more your body could take before death. Every blow she gave you, you wondered, Will this be the final blow? The final blow that takes me out of my misery? You hoped it did every. single. time.

But you didn’t go down, just kept withstanding the pain.

And when she felt like it was enough, she momentarily pauses and asks, “Ready to talk?” With all the strength you managed to gather, you lift your head and speak, “Is-is that all you got?” letting out a weak chuckle that turns into wheezing to coughing. The woman jaw clenches, “You just don’t know when to shut the fuck up, do you?” she sneers before landing a blow against your swollen cheek.

It sends your face slanting to the side upon impact causing you to spit out blood. It was a dumb move to even say that, you knew that. But if you were to die right now, you weren’t gonna die showing fear. You couldn’t show the one thing you knew she wanted to see you express. No, you’re not gonna let her get that satisfaction.

Grabbing your jaw, she redirects your gaze firmly to meet hers. She opens her mouth to talk, but a knock on the door leaves her speechless. You watch her huff in annoyance and look at the door.

“Enter.” she instructs.

The door opens to reveal a blonde woman, she scans the room and her eyes immediately land on you, seeming to scrutinize you.

“What is it?”

The sudden interruption causes her gaze to set on the woman in front of you, “Oh right,” she says softly before speaking in a firm audible voice,”Ma’am, Louis and Regina are here.”

A nod is shot at the blonde,” Alright, take them up to my office. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Alright, and her?”

“Take this one back with the others, she isn’t gonna talk…yet.” That “yet” runs a chill down your spine. You watch the woman in front of you let go of your jaw causing your head to go slack. The rough landing causes you to let out a weak groan as you hear the sounds of footsteps and soft murmurs with the shut of a door following behind it. There was a lot of eerie silence that came after that, a lot of it. You wanted to lift your head up to see what was happening but you couldn’t. Your body was tired and too weak to support that action.

So you waited.

Waited and waited until you heard the sounds of muffled talking and footsteps. The sound of the door opening is when you move your head, looking up you see a different pair of people. A woman and a man, their voices became more apparent.

“Alright, be ready. Ima cut these ropes off.” the woman instructs.

You hiss at the added pressure to your sore wrists as she undoes the ropes roughly, but as soon as the aching pressure is relieved, you fall forward. But the man in front of you breaks your fall, “Shit…Liana really fucked this girl up.” he says with a grunt as he lifts you up.

Liana…that was the woman who I was with…

“Yeah…Let’s hope our little medic can fix her up.” the woman behind you responds in a condescending tone, and ending it with a chuckle.

A gruffy laugh erupts from the man as he throws you over his shoulder which elicits you to groan. They were so rough and careless with you—With that action completed, they began to walk out of the dingy room and walk down a hallway. Your world was literally upside down, you tried to see what this new uncharted territory was, but the swelling around your eyes proved it to be difficult. Every once in a while, light would seep into view causing you to wince.

You don’t know how long you were lounged on this random man’s shoulder, but it’s the sudden halt in their movements that catches your attention. “Alright everyone, step back. New arrival coming through.” The woman announces.

But to whom?

You can’t even process what just happened until you’re on the rough concrete floor. The impact causes you to wheeze and turn on your back. The blinding light above begins to become fainter as the sound of multiple voices only increases the ache in your head.

But one is more prominent than the rest, “Oh my—Alright everyone—Stacy, grab anything we can use.” Her voice is strong and impactful and you begin to feel the softest hands grazing over your face, “Stay with me, sweetheart.” she directs towards you.

Such a sweet gentle voice, a voice you’d only hear from a mother soothing her offspring. It brought you comfort to the aches in your body. Only a little. You really tried to stay awake, obey what you were told to do, but soon darkness invaded your senses once again and everything went to muffled to silence.

Death is many things; Terrifying, Inevitable, Unpleasant, Unpredictable, Unbearable. But in this case for you, death felt right. The only way to stop this nightmare that you couldn’t seem to wake up from. The only way to move on, to become a form of energy in this universe, but a memory to some.

Jackson.

Your parents.

Ellie.

No, you didn’t want to leave. You couldn’t leave, not now! You’re not ready to go. Not when you have to get back to her, your lover. You couldn’t bear the thought of her living the rest of her life believing you’re dead. No, no, You wouldn’t, you couldn’t let it happen! You’ll do anything in your power to get to her, no matter the cost. So wake up.

Wake UP!

A sharp gasp leaves your throat stinging, you shoot up in bed, drenched in sweat. Every inhale you take, you feel the windpipe becoming more and more tight. You place your hand on your chest, and desperately try to breathe. It’s until you feel a hand on your back that snaps out of it.

“Breathe, Y/n. Breathe.” The familiar voice says.

No, It couldn’t be.

The drumming in your chest only becomes more erratic as you hesitate to look beside you. This can’t be real. Until you do and see the face you thought you’d never see again.

“E-ellie.” you stammer, tears forming at the waterline.

“Yeah, I’m here baby. Just breathe.” She says gently as she wipes your tears away, “You okay?”

You’re not…how?

“How…how are you real?“

She looks at you, confused, “Real? baby, you just had a bad dream.”

“No, no, This isn’t….no because in my dream—“

“We got separated.” she answers for you.

How the fuck?—Was that all just a nightmare? No, It felt so real. This couldn’t be the reality. You immediately look down at your arms, No scratches, no bruises. You let out a gasp upon seeing clear arms then look at Ellie who’s staring at you with a worried look.

“Y/n, calm down. you’re home, okay?” she says and touches your shoulder.

God, that touch felt so…real. You stare at her with tears forming once again, “Ellie?” you say shakily.

Ellie sees the look in your eyes and immediately pulls you into her arms, “I got you.” she says softly in your ear, pressing a kiss on your head.

You sigh, Everything about this felt wrong. Part of you was screaming to wake up. That this wasn’t real, This couldn’t be, but…another part of you felt peace. Peace, you’ve been searching for your whole life before you met Ellie. Being in her arms, you felt it like you did when you were.

You need want it to be real.

Ellie gives you a gentle squeeze, “Alright, try to get some rest.” she says, letting you go to let you lay down. And you do, lying down on your side. You stare at the girl in front of you as she begins to do the same. Once on her back, she catches you staring and smiles, turning on her side to face you as well.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know…I’m just scared.” you finally admit.

“Scared?”

“Scared…scared, I’ll wake up and you won’t be there.”

“Don’t fear that.” she says softly, moving a strand of hair away from your face and behind your ear. Her touch felt real, it brought more tears to your eyes. “You know that’s just your mind talking. Rest. I’ll be here in the morning, by your side.”

Her reassurance puts you at some ease, some, “Yeah, Okay.” you say quietly.

Your response makes Ellie to move closer to you and wrap her arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You happily embrace this familiar warmth. It always made you feel so safe, so comforted, so loved. As you feel yourself drift back into oblivion, a smile adorns your face.

You’re finally home.

The soft caresses that feather your face cause you to move away and groan in response. Ellie must’ve been drawing on your face! Oh you’re gonna fucking kill her—…What. Upon opening your eyes, you’re not in your girlfriend's infamous room, You’re not laying down on her comfy bed, No, you’re still in that nightmare. Opening your eyes, you see the same older woman sitting beside you with a cloth in hand.

You didn’t wake up with her by your side.

You try sitting up, but she immediately stops you, “Don’t move, dear.” She says gently, helping you lie down once again, “You'll strain something and we don’t want that.” she says with a smile, but god it felt so creepy to you. “The painkillers have already set in so you won’t feel any of the pain for now.”

“Painkillers…Where…where am I?” You lift your hand to rub your forehead with a groan.

“Yes—You’re in Cell B.”

“Cell B?”

“Yes, Cell B.” she confirms, “You went into shock after taking that fall, so just take it easy. Your body is still fragile.”

“What’s Cell B? Where the fuck am I?”

She settles down the cloth in the bowl beside her and sighs, “If you really wanna know where you’re at, you need to know who you’re gonna be dealing with.” She has this look in her eyes that makes you shudder, but you simply nod and let her continue.

“Well, These people; They’re slavers. They stalk and capture. Sometimes go for big communities and make them no more. They…my community had that same fate.” She says the last part quietly with a glance of sadness in her eyes.

Seeing the look that this woman portrayed enraged you. How could they do this to someone who seemed like an angel sent from god himself?! To anyone for that mattered! This wasn’t right, but it also held so many questions for you.

“And why the fuck hasn’t anyone tried to retaliate?” you said in a louder tone than anticipated.

The woman’s eyes widened and she immediately put a finger to your mouth, hushing you and looking around to see if anyone heard you. As if on cue, a guard came strolling by with a rifle in hand, seeming to be perimetering the area. Your intrusive voice only seems to cause the guard to glance inside the cell and a few people inside with the both of you to stir in their respective beds.

The woman above you seems visibly shaken, but is immediately relieved when the guard doesn’t pay much mind to your outburst. Setting her gaze onto you, her facade hardens slightly, “Don’t talk like that, those types of things get you killed around here.” She warns.

You gulp and nod as she removes her finger from your lips and looks around once again before speaking in a lower tone, “People have before, but they’ve all perished or worse.”

“So….there's no way...outta here?” you say, feeling all of your hope slowly dwindling.

“Yes, but it’s almost impossible. Only way to “escape” is to fight, but everyone here is terrified of standing up against these people.”

“So we encourage them! You said it yourself, it’s almost impossible, but not impossible.” you whisper-yell, “You seriously can’t see yourself living here for the rest of your life!”

“Of course I don’t” she sighs and with her tone softening before she continues, “I have no other choice, dear. I’m getting old and my knees don’t go how they used to anymore. My chances are dismal. So I just follow the orders and avoid getting punishments.”

“Then I'll do something about it. You won’t be—“

“No.” she says sternly, “You don’t even know what you’re up against and with the state you’re in…you’ll die.”

You let out a breath, you didn’t know you were holding. She was right, and you knew it. You couldn't do anything in the condition you’re in, you’d be killed on the spot. So you had to wait. Wait for how long? You don’t even know, but you won’t rush it. Patience brings success—or some shit like that, meet the right people and resources. But for now you need to get your strength up.

“Hurry the fuck up and pass it before they catch us!” Ashley warns with a quiet giggle.

You exhale with a chuckle and pass the stick over to her, “Shut up, you’re just being paranoid.”

She scoffs, “Me, paranoid?”

“Yes, you.” you reply with a smile, watching her inhale then exhale a few seconds after, “How many times have we smoked back here and gotten caught?” you say with a cocky tone as you grab it and bring to your lips.

You watch her huff in defeat, “None…” she mumbles.

“Exactly.”

“Oh, suck my dick.” she responds with an eye roll, taking and bringing it up to her lips. “We should get back anyway, stupid ass Tammy might wonder where we’re at.”

You cross your arms and sigh, “Yeah, I don't need her squeaking in my ear.” you remark with a chuckle.

Your comment eclits a laugh out of Ashley as she throws the joint on the ground and stomps on it with her foot, coating dirt over it as if it never happened.

“Right, let’s go.” she says, beginning to walk back to the others.

It had been a year and half since the whole incident went down. And life since you’ve healed from your injuries hasn't been great. Immediately after you were cleared for work, you were put on the job. It wasn’t light work to get you used to it, No. It was rough, blazing sun hot work.

Forced to work in insalubrious conditions with others plucking various fruits and vegetables. It was the same greenery that would be poorly rationed to you and those around you. Rationing it as if they didn’t have an endless supply of it, just sitting in their pantry. It was one of the many cruel acts these people did.

But you had to consider yourself fortunate, lucky even. That you haven’t gotten a punishment like those unlucky few. Because every single time they'd blow that “death horn” as you called it. You knew someone was either gonna be dead or left to die, bleeding out.

It was a sick guessing game.

And everytime someone initiated that heart dropping tune, a shudder would run down your spine. But what was strange about it was that everyone knew what to do without even being instructed too. Like machines, everyone would drop everything they were doing and make their way to the courtyard.

As if it put them under a trance.

You remembered the first time you heard it. Just after you dropped the last apple into your basket. That twisted melody aired through the establishment causing you to freeze in fear. The ambience of everyone’s demeanor changed from lighthearted to stoic in a blink. It was terrifying to see it without context. But now knowing the meaning behind it, you understood why they acted that way.

You weren’t gonna lie, seeing people die so savagely, it scared you. Made you lose hope of actually trying and planning an escape. You could see it in everyone's eyes; despair and hopeless. And you were starting to get that mentality too.

Hopeless.

Mallory was the only hope you truly had. Just seeing her every single day after a long and rough day working in fields brought a smile to your lips, even if you had no reason to smile that day. She didn’t just earn that title, “medic” she owned it. She taught you the ropes of basic and advanced medical care.

It wasn’t the lessons you loved—well of course you loved it, but you loved hearing the woman talk about her past and dreams as a child. You never knew why, but every conversation you had with her felt like a mother and daughter bonding over fresh cookies, they baked together.

You loved her.

You want better for her.

You knew she wouldn’t get it here—no…with the way they treat her.

It’s impossible for her to live a peaceful life for when she grew too old and can’t move around without complaining about joint pain.

Because the truth was, she was getting older. Time wasn’t stopping for her. And you could see it. And you’d be lying out of your ass if you didn’t say you were worried about her. The endless nights of caring for wounded people, was taking a toll on the old woman's body.

That sweet old altruistic woman who nursed you back to health and still does. Scolding you like a little girl who tripped over a rock from being unaware of her surroundings. But you knew she loved and worried about you—all the time.

Parents say they know everything about their child, and in this case. She definitely knew something was up when you started to act weird. Suspicious.

But of course, she never questioned you—mostly because she thought you were grieving. And she’s never questioned the way you grieved—even if your ways of grieving could get you killed or worse.

Now why were you grieving? Omid, it’s one of the biggest burdens you’ll ever have to carry. He was one of your closest friends. One out of the many people you knew, you could truly trust. He was actually one of the people you confided in with your ideas of escaping.

And he encouraged you.

He told you, he’d help you for as long as he could because he had an advance. An advance, so little had, but honestly so many that people wouldn’t want to have. He was Liana’s personal maid, or pushover. He would take you the amount of bullying he’d take from her and her fucking goons.

And he was such a good person, he didn’t deserve any of it.

None of it.

Liana would threaten to kill him in brutal ways in front of everyone if he fucked up—even if it was the little mistake. And of course it was all talk—never bite. Until she did bite, and hard. Hearing from friends, you heard that Omid was tripped on purpose by one of Liana’s members while holding a tray of drinks during a meeting. Spilling all the drinks over Lianas fresh plans for future establishment builds.

It wasn’t pretty finding his body, strung up like a pig, gutted. It broke you, left you in a depressive, guilt trip state. Because you weren’t quick enough. He gave all the information he could find on layouts, patrol routes and more. But you were slow, it was hard finding people who were brave enough to help.

And now your lack of being effective payed it’s price.

Now, you sat in front of his makeshift grave that everyone pitched in to make, watching the dirt falling from your hand as you continuously kept playing with it.

Should’ve been me, not you..

I was slow..

I’m so sorry…

You. Should’ve been, you. Staring at the ground, unable to stare at your friend, even now in death. Your mind is tormenting you for being incompetent. Wiping a tear away, you get up from your kneeling position and finally look at your friend's grave—for the last time.

“I’m sorry, O-Omid.” you say quietly.

It was a mistake that wouldn’t be made again. Because walking away, you leave with a sense of determination—and maybe honor, too. You were gonna escape this fucking nightmare in honor for him. Because the truth is you were scared of losing everyone you loved and being alone.

And that was happening—slowly.

You couldn’t cower in a corner in hopes of a person with more bravery to rise and lead you to freedom because the truth was everyone was just as terrified as you.

So, You had to.

And the following months to now, have been twisted to worse to good. You manage to sum up a large number of people to join. Thanks to the help of a black sheep. Or to be less cryptic—a traitor.

Ada, a rat willing to ruin everything that benefits her, seemed fishy. Because why would a slaver ever think to help you? It smelled like hardcore bullshit—at least at first. Because when she pulled you to the side and began begging you to reconsider—made you feel indifferent.

But it shocked you how alike the two of you were, both what did whatever the two of you needed to do, to survive. Just that she joined a cause that wasn't a good one. She hated every single time that happened to these innocent people, but pretended to be okay with it for the benefits that came with being a soldier.

And now having someone from the enemy side on yours was one of the best things to happen to you, from Omid and Ada’s little hideout she found, it made the process much easier.

From mapping areas to keep stolen supplies, to finding weak spots on the high walls surrounding the facility, to locations after the operation of “Where to go if separated.” You had everything set into motion. Expect one thing, getting Mallory out of here, and agreeing to everything—or some of it. Whether you had to drag her out of here, you’ll be getting her out of here.

She was the only thing that was holding you back.

“Look, I know, this is gonna be hard to understand sigh but—please just hear me out, okay?—Fuck ughh” you groan, running a hand through your hair. You’ve been standing in front of a mirror for minutes—which felt like hours, just rehearsing what you’ll say to Mallory. And every single approach you try to go through with, you couldn’t see the outcome. It felt useless, you went through every sentence starter in your book!

“Still working on what'll you say to Mal?” a voice interrupts your daily rehearsal.

You huff and look back to see Ada who’s walking through the door, “Yeah…”

A laugh flows through the girl's windpipe, “Why don’t you just tell her?—without all this rehearsal bullshit.”

You roll your eyes and face the mirror once again, “Because you don’t know her like I do—She's gonna freak out if I just say; Oh hey, Ima gonna be doing the one thing that you warned me not to do!” you say sarcastically.

“Yeouch…” She breathes out, sitting down and contorting her body forward, looking down at the carefully configured plans.

You sigh in defeat, deciding to try again later, and walk over to Ada to view the plans as well, “Anything new?”

Ada shakes her head, “Nope, but the lady boss is losing her shit over the dropping percentage in food..”

A smile blooms on your lips, “Alright, well, I think we should be set then. I just have to tell Mallory and we’re good!”

Ada just nods in response—weird, “What? You’re not excited to be leaving this shit hole?” You inquired.

“Of course I’m ready to leave this place—just..when?”

You try laughing it off, “What do you mean, ‘when’?”

“I mean when are you gonna tell Mallory?” she restates bluntly, her gaze turned to set on you firmly, “Because it seems like we’ll never leave with the way things are going.”

You’re stunned as you look at the girl below you as she continues, “You tell her today or tomorrow or—“

“or what?” You interrupt, becoming defensive, “you’re gonna leave me?” you accuse.

Your accusation leaves Ada speechless for just a moment before arguing back, “No, I wouldn’t leave you. I’m talking about leaving Mallory behind if it comes to that. We can’t save everyone—“

“Oh fuck you, I’m not leaving Mallory behind! She deserves a shot at a better life!” You remark.

“And the others don’t?” She emphasizes, standing up from her chair, “—‘cause it seems like you've only cared about yourself more than the people around, depending on you.”

You felt every word hit your gut one by one because she was right, you were being selfish. Only thinking about Mallory and not the hundred lives at stake. You’ve been careless as of lately, wasting time and for what?—because you were scared? You’d be the reason if this whole operation doesn't go according to plan.

But you never could think rationally when angry, if it wasn’t you that got yourself in trouble, it was always your big mouth that did.

Just never know when to shut up, do you?

“Right because it’s totally not your fault why I’m here.” you chide sarcastically while pointing your finger in her face condescendingly. The look Ada relays when those words leave your mouth sends waves of guilt throughout your body. Staring at the woman’s expression in front morphe from anger to disbelief in the matter of seconds.

“Fuck you.” She spits out before walking past you and out the door.

You sigh upon hearing the door slam, soaking into your overwhelming guilt. What went through your head to think that was right to say? Oh right—none. You throw yourself onto the now vacant chair. Your head goes slack and is only caught by the palm of your hand.

You stay in this position trying to justify why you say that. You could blame it on sleep, but who the fuck says that? On what?—Two hours?—Three? Shit..when was the last time your head hit a pillow?

With a sigh, you get up from the chair and begin to look over the written plans. Instead of worrying about your recent actions. With every minute passing, you start feeling the fatigue finally catching up with you. Take a break, you deserve it—right? Despite the opposing side of your conscious saying otherwise, you stand up and pace around the room to stretch your aching muscles.

Waddling around the room like a chicken with its head cut off, you stop in front of the mirror once more and just stare at yourself. What’s wrong with you? You feel that guilt creeping up and looming over your shoulder as you stare at yourself. Scrutinizing what’s more prominent to you; the scar on your cheek, the rough and dry spots on your skin, the recent bruise you got as a warning, scaling up and off your imperfections and landing on your hair.

You never really took it into consideration, but your hair was a hazard. Pulling open the drawer, you see the solution to said concern. Scissors. Without any hesitation, you pick them and cut a large portion of your hair. You watch in the mirror as the hair cascades down and on the floor. You don’t stare for long and cut until there’s nothing left to cut.

Hair grows back anyway—it’s no biggie, you continue to repeat over and over in your head as you stare at your reflection. Setting the scissors down, you brush any stray hairs off of you when you hear it. That bone chilling sound—or “The death horn” as you call it, blares throughout the building and through the walls into your eardrums. You wince upon hearing that deafening sound that pumps fear through your veins.

Who is it this time?

In a blink, you’re gone and flying down the winding hallway to the courtyard.

Ada?

Tears blind your sight as you rush towards the end of the hallway and make a sharp right turn.

Mallory?

You make it to your heart-wrenching destination and are met with a crowd surrounding the podium where there’s five people standing on it, whom you immediately recognize—well at least the first three. The leader's voice, Liana, is more prominent as she speaks to the vibrant crowd. And the two behind her on each side are guards, but the last two aren’t identifiable, only seeing the top layout of their heads as the crowds block the rest of their body. You have—No, need to know who the last two are.

They have to be okay—it can’t be them!

Your body is tense with anticipation of finding out as you rush towards the crowd, pushing your way through. The crowds’ voices only intensify the momentum in you. Just as you see an opening to the front and try to make a move for it, you’re hindered from doing so when a hand wraps around your forearm.

The grip is strong and pauses any planned sudden movement which elicits you to glance back at the person. It’s Ashley, her facial expressions covered in worry as she stares at you with tears rolling down her cheeks, “Don't go—Y/n stay here please!” she begs.

Her pleads only feed into your curiosity, Stay?—No, you can’t stay!—oh but you can—“Ashley, let me go!” you began to try to loosen your arm from her grip, but to no avail. Your struggles only are met with Ashley tightening her grip, “No! I won't let you see—Please!” she begs once more.

All her desperate attempts to make you stay are futile, because with one harsh pull, you're released from her grip and stumble back. A bystander catches you before you can truly fall on the ground and once on your feet, you run. Run as fast as you can from Ashley—your protruding thoughts to stay with her. To not look at what lies before you.

Until you do, and god did you wish, this was just a bad figment that your brain made up. That you’d wake up in the comforts of your dirty mattress beside—Mallory. She’s one of the final pieces to the stressful puzzle, a damaged puzzle piece. She’s on her knees, Hands bound behind her back, and blind folded. And beside her is the final puzzle piece—the final nail in your coffin.

Ada, she’s in the same position as Mallory, but not badly beaten as her. Her lip tremors in fear as the woman behind both of them continues to speak, “These two have been selfish and are a danger to our thriving community here.” What?—No…,”Therefore, they need to be dealt with accordingly.” This statement only riles up the crowd and you, “N-no! Mallory! Ada! No, no, please!” You try to proceed forward, but stopped once again when arms wrap over your body.

It’s Ashley's voice that can be heard behind you telling you to stop and how you’re gonna get yourself hurt or worse going up there. But you don’t care—No…not when the two people you let back into your heart are gonna perish in front of you—No, you need to do something—Anything!

“Get the fuck off of me!” you scream, thrashing around her arms.

You try and try but to no avail—you’re not successful. You watch the gun in Liana's hand aim towards the back of Mallory’s head. And with every amount of breath in you—you scream out “no” just maybe…it’ll do something.

“Please, no!” You cry out, but at that moment everything is in slow motion for you. You watch as with no hesitation from the carrier, the gun fires and the bullet goes flying. Your body feels weak—unable to look or stand anymore so you fall on your knees letting out guttural sobs as you hear the sound of her body dropping to the ground and losing all its vitality.

As quick as life came, so did it go.

You couldn’t feel or hear anything—nothing. Not the voice of Ashley or her actions of trying to get you up again—nothing. Well actually…you did feel one thing; Anger. The feeling of it coursing through your veins, but wait…Ada! No, not again! You can’t lose her too—

The sound of a gunshot pierces your eardrums and plays havoc into your trance instantly. The familiar thud of another body falling on the ground causes the crowd behind you to lose all control and sets fear into you.

Who is it this time?

Please look at these links for palestine!! — How you can help Palestine, Why you shouldn’t support tlou/ buy the remastered, Educate yourself, #FREEPALESTINE. Please look at them, if you could read this entire fic, you can take a few moments to learn and support palestine!

a/n; Woah what a journey it was from January 8th to now, and I wouldn’t change any of it. I genuinely wanna thank and send love to everyone who send nothing but love and support, you are the highlight. I am so sorry it took me so long so long to post another chapter, but holy shit we are! As always, thank you sydney and ami for being here to listen to me yap because holy fuck, there were many scenarios that were cut and left it and blah blah. I don’t wanna yap for so long because it is currently four in the fucking morning where I live and I need to go to sleep 😭 BUT I’d like to thank you as always for reading and showing me unconditional love and support. Thank you and I truly appreciate it. So with that out the way, MAKE SURE TO LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE SO YOU NEVER EVER MISS A BANGER FROM MEEE 💯💯💯💯‼️‼️‼️🔥🔥🔥

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chenfleur · 6 months

Text

the long way home

summary. in which park sunghoon decides that nothing is more important than having you in his life.

pairing. sunghoon x y/n ft jake

genre. high school au, fluff, angst

word count. 4.8k

released. 11.05.2023

author's note. feedback is appreciated! experimented with writing style so sorry if this is bad and makes no sense 💔 enjoy 🙏

masterlist

"Two cotton candies, please."

The first time Park Sunghoon speaks to you, you're dressed head-to-toe in a blinding, neon pink.

The fundraiser uniform was your co-president's idea. She'd suggested it offhandedly in a delirious, late-night planning session, and in a rather unserious fashion, you'd agreed. It's hilarity overruled any embarrassment bundled with it.

When Park Sunghoon is the one standing in front of you, embarrassment crashes into you with the force of an eighteen wheeler.

His presence is overwhelming. It looms over you as you prepare his order. It sends a shiver down your spine, which is absurd when you've never even met him.

Someone could tell you that Sunghoon lives on a completely separate plane of existence and you'd believe them without thinking twice.

He's the basketball team's star player. He adorns the number twenty-three with poise and grace. He's the principal actor in people's dreams and fantasies.

To you, Park Sunghoon is like the moon.

Beautiful, and so, so far away.

The two cotton candies you hand him are less than perfect. Without much thought, a mumbled apology falls from your lips. He still accepts them with a polite smile. It sends a nervous jolt to your chest.

You watch him as he walks away and joins Jake Sim's side, handing him one of the cotton candies.

You know Jake Sim from your physics class. He catches your eye and sends you a friendly wave. You shoot him one back before hastily turning around.

A second later and you would have noticed Sunghoon's gaze, lingering.

Tuesday after school, Sunghoon agrees to meet with Jay and Jake in the East Wing.

He leans against a locker, watching his two friends bicker with each other. Occasionally cracking a smile when one of them says something particularly nonsensical.

Someone rushes past him. His breath hitches. Gaze flickering. When they stop in front of a classroom door, Sunghoon realizes it's you.

You knock on the door. While you wait, he takes you in.

The way your yellow sundress hugs your body in all of the right places. The way the pearl barrettes clipped to your hair reflect the afternoon sun. The way you tug the sleeves of your cardigan down over your hands. Sunghoon has the urge to roll them back up and interlock his fingers with yours.

Each second Sunghoon spends taking you in, his chest grows tighter.

The metal behind him is suddenly freezing to the touch. It bleeds through the fabric of his shirt. Pierces his shoulder blades. Is he shivering? He doesn't know.

The classroom door is opened. Another girl appears in the threshold, an easy smile on her face. The two of you exchange words before breaking out into giggles.

Park Sunghoon takes notice of you.

There’s a part of him that finds it unbelievable that he hadn’t done it earlier. There’s another that is deeply unsettled about it happening at all.

Either way, he takes great care in memorizing the outline of your figure. Grasping onto each note of your laughter.

Sunghoon bails on this week's team outing. His reason is that he has an important language arts assignment due at 11:59PM.

He isn't lying. His teacher had carved the words ‘no excuses’ into the very core of his being.

When the words on his page start looking like globs of nonsense, Sunghoon’s mind drifts.

The basketball season begins soon. Who is the first game against?

He searches up the school website intending to find the season schedule.

He pauses when he sees a photo of you.

It’s from the other day. The same day Sunghoon saw you in that pretty sundress. You’re watching the other people in the photo strike funny poses with a soft, tender smile on your lips.

The list of names goes left to right, top to bottom. Sunghoon’s eyes dart around.

L/N Y/N.

That night, Sunghoon has an important language arts assignment due at 11:59PM. His teacher had carved the words ‘no excuses’ into the very core of his being.

That night, Sunghoon spends his time learning about you.

Curiosity spared no mercy for the cat. You pray it's kinder to you.

There are three other water fountains located around the school, all perfectly capable of refilling your water bottle. Yet, their existence escapes you when you realize the person using the one you'd chosen to go to is Park Sunghoon.

You try to leave. You can't. His presence binds the soles of your feet to the tiles of the floor.

The first game of the season is a few, short weeks away. The air is full of the distant screeching of basketballs. Sunghoon's hair is damp with sweat. His arms and nape glisten under the fluorescent lighting.

Sunghoon's lips leave the jet of water. A loud exhale follows. You watch as he wipes harshly at the corners of his mouth.

When he turns around, his eyes widen. He looks surprised to see you.

Why wouldn't he? The two of you are strangers. Mutuals, at best.

Yet, he doesn't move from his spot. He doesn't cast his eyes away or walk past you.

His stare is heavy. You feel like he's peering into your soul. Judging it. Tearing it to shreds.

He silently moves to the side. You realize he's making way for you to use the fountain. Embarrassment floods your system.

The sound of running water ceases when your foot lifts off the pedal. A double twist ensures the cap of your bottle is screwed shut. You're set to leave.

But a hand encircles your wrist, stopping you. Spinning you around.

You're inches away from Park Sunghoon.

You're shocked.

You don't tug away.

Your eyes dart around his face, searching for an explanation. His expression is indecipherable. He suddenly won't meet your gaze, only unravelling your closed fist with gentle fingers.

You notice a slip of paper clasped in his hold. You watch it as he places it into your open palm.

His voice is near silent. Words evaporating when they leave his lips and hit air. You manage to catch them before they're completely gone.

"Call me."

When Sunghoon is sure the slip is securely slotted in your hand, he leaves.

There is an unfathomable amount of things Sunghoon's worried about. You throwing his number away. Laughing at him. Thinking he's a freak.

But in the deepest part of his brain, where he keeps his muscle memory of how to ride a bike or snap his fingers, the voice of his first ever coach resounds; something about missing one hundred percent of the shots he never takes. Sunghoon thinks he's heard it more in his lifetime than he's heard his own name.

It dawns on him that you being in his life, as even just the smallest of features, was not a shot he was willing to ruin.

You call Sunghoon at a quarter past midnight.

The clock on your wall ticks loudly, mocking you for taking so long.

You don't expect him to pick up at all. You don't need him to. Hearing his voicemail would be enough to assure you that what had happened was real. That it wasn't a figment of your imagination.

Park Sunghoon had left you paralyzed. All of your work had been neglected because of that crinkled slip of paper.

It's been on the edge of your desk for hours. It taunts you.

When you will yourself to call him, you had climbed onto your bed. The slip of paper stayed on your desk, untouched.

You didn't need it to call him. The digits of his phone number were already engraved in your head from how many times you thumbed over them on the way home from school.

The line rings. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Hello?"

You finally breathe.

"Sunghoon?"

A pause. Shuffling sounds from the receiver. "Y/N?"

"You told me to call you."

"I'm happy you did."

You hear the sound of birds singing.

You wonder if it's coming from outside or the other end of the line.

"Sunghoon?"

"Mm?"

"It's nearly six. We have school soon."

A huff. "Shit."

You break out into a smile.

Sunghoon makes hours feel like seconds. Conversation flows between the two of you with the ease of changing seasons. You don't think you could ever grow tired of listening to his voice.

There's a certain playful lilt to it. Teasing, yet kind. Each syllable spoken with a gentleness you can't quite grasp. Each boyish laugh that leaves his lips sweeping you off your feet. When periods of silence dotted your conversations, his slow breaths filled them in.

He had yawned, here and there. You told him to go to sleep. He refused. You didn't protest. Selfishly, you wanted to have him for a bit longer.

You can't discern what about him makes your insides turn upside down. He makes you feel vulnerable. All he'd have to do is ask and you'd be willing to bare your soul to him.

You decide you're okay with that.

"Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"Talk to you soon?"

"Yeah."

Your friendship with Sunghoon is a quiet one.

It's found behind small actions that seem to communicate everything.

Candies slipped into lockers. Split-second eye contact in the halls. Candid photos of each other in the courtyard. Your eyes searching the cluster of players during games from above, his searching each row of the bleachers from on the court.

It's hidden away from prying eyes, and that makes you cherish it even more.

At the first game of the season, Park Sunghoon scores a tie-breaking basket just as the countdown hit zero.

The gymnasium erupts into a thundering ovation. His teammates roar with victory. Tackling him to the ground. Clapping him on the back. Hoisting him into the air, tossing him up. Your heart lurches at the absolutely radiant smile on his face.

Chants of his name fill the entire venue. The commentator's voice booms through the speakers. Ladies and gentlemen, number twenty-three: Park Sunghoon.

You silently watch the scene, a ghost of a smile on your lips.

The difference between the intensity of a crowd and the stillness of the night air is jarring.

Park Sunghoon confuses you. You don't know how he has the opportunity or the desire to meet you after the game. He should be out with his teammates celebrating.

Instead, you receive a message to wait by the West gate.

Tonight is colder than usual. Icy wind grazes your bare knees. As you wait, anticipation knocks at your front door. You let it in when you catch sight of Sunghoon making his way towards you, a golden medal dangling from his neck.

He's glowing. Victory looks good on him.

A gasp escapes you when your feet leave the ground. Sunghoon spins you around in his arms, adorable giggles falling from his lips. Blissful warmth sprawls across your chest, seeping in every crevice.

"Tonight's MVP and you still have time to spare for me?" you tease, eyes shining.

"I have all the time in the world for you."

Sunghoon recounts the game with fervor. Galaxies swirl in his irises. You wonder if you'd ever feel as elated as he looks.

When he embraces you again, head slotting into the crook of your neck, holding you like he never wants to let go, your wonders are answered.

Park Sunghoon does not idle.

He walks with a destination in mind. He gives courteous greetings to those who he passes by in the halls, but his movements never stop.

The only thing Sunghoon willingly stops for is the sunset.

On days where he leaves school late, he takes the long way home. Down a street lined with yellow ginkgo trees, a left turn too early. Across the bridge bound for the city centre.

The long way home never really takes him home.

Sunghoon ends up on a pier in the harbour, letting vermillion and marigold rays of warmth soak into each pore of his skin. Unwinding with a low puff of air.

Recently, Sunghoon stops for you, too.

Whenever he sees you, there's a stutter in his strides. A stiffness in his fingers. A clog in his airway. The world around him starts to spin, yet he himself freezes.

The next time Sunghoon takes the long way home, he stays with the sunset for longer than usual. He sits instead of standing, letting his feet dangle off of the pier's edge. It makes the sloshing sound of the water below him even clearer.

Sunghoon closes his eyes. He inhales the salty, sweet air. Feels his teammates hugging him. Hears hundreds of people chanting his name.

Sunghoon closes his eyes, and sees you.

It takes ten games for defeat to seize Sunghoon by the throat.

Under the dim light of the locker room, Jake eyes his friend warily. He searches for any sign of emotion in the lines of his stone cold face. If he didn't know him any better, he'd believe he's simply reserved.

But Jake Sim has spent too much time uncovering Park Sunghoon to be ignorant to his character.

He’s torturing himself.

"Jay," Jake whispers. Caution laces his voice. "I feel like we should do something."

Jay's eyes flit over Sunghoon's figure. The air is heavy before he responds.

"I think it’s best we don’t pry."

When the sound of their steps fade away, Park Sunghoon drives his fist into a locker door.

He knew something was off. When their score plateaued while the opposition's climbed. Frowns painted themselves on his teammates' faces. Shots kept getting fumbled. Intercepted. Rolling off the rim.

Sunghoon feels his knuckles throb as he lets his hand fall to the side.

Anger and guilt are a dangerous pairing. They swirl in the pit of his stomach like a storm and render him feeling weak.

He hates how badly he's taking this.

"Sunghoon!"

Peace of mind reaches out to him in the form of anxious footsteps.

From around the wall, you appear. Worry taints your features. It's a blow to the stomach for him. "I- I was waiting for you outside but I heard a noise-"

In two urgent strides, Park Sunghoon's lips are on yours.

Time pauses. Uncertainty hangs in the air. Sunghoon is racing at a million miles an hour.

When he feels you kissing back, he crashes.

Anger and guilt are a dangerous pairing. They join forces and leave desperation in their wake.

Sunghoon kisses you harder. He wants you to fill in all of the parts that feel empty. He wants you to help him feel whole.

You're pliant under his fingers, back slightly arching whenever he squeezes your waist. Sunghoon revels in the gasp that leaves your mouth when his hands slide under your shirt and paint landscapes on the expanse of your back. It's music to his ears. He records it in his mind before drowning it out with another searing kiss.

When you part to catch your breath, your forehead instantly presses to his. Chasing his touch, craving more of his skin against yours.

You look up at Sunghoon. His eyes are downcast to the floor. He feels your hand travel up to his hair, gently pulling on it. A silent plead.

He doesn't meet your gaze. He's floating. Adrift at a lawless sea. His palms continue to rub up and down your sides.

Sunghoon doesn't know how long the two of you spend in each other's arms. He doesn't want to know. Knowing would define a beginning and an end.

Sunghoon never wants this to end.

Seven days.

It's been seven days since Park Sunghoon last spoke to you.

With the way he walks past you without a mere glance, you wonder if what happened was even real.

But, you can still feel it. You can still feel him.

He had kissed you in that locker room. He had stolen the air from your lungs and never returned it. His scorching hands had burned themselves into your skin.

You pass him in the hall wordlessly. That's how it's always been, except there's no more eye contact that asks silent questions of 'How are you?" and speaks delicate words of "I'm happy to see you today."

Every one of your waking hours is spent wondering what went wrong.

You begin to neglect assignments and reject invitations to go out. Teachers eye you with concern. Friends ask if you've been feeling off. Everyone spares you a glance and a hushed whisper, except Sunghoon.

A frustrated hand cards through your hair.

Do you consume his mind as much as he consumes yours?

The hateful part of you prays it does. Prays that he's getting a taste of his own, cruel medicine.

When you lie in bed, you peer out of your window. The moon glows as brightly as ever. Oblivious to your broken resolve.

To you, Park Sunghoon had always been like the moon. Beautiful, and so, so far away.

Except, for once, he didn't.

He didn't feel so far away when his lips were on yours, hands roaming your bare back, rough fingertips grazing your sides. When your breathing had mixed into one exchange. He'd felt so, so close.

If only you knew he was going to be out of reach again so quickly.

For someone who's ranked 230th out of 239 students, Jake Sim is exceptionally sharp.

With a gentle tug aside to an empty classroom, he asks you the question you've lost nights worth of sleep over in a single, easy breath.

"What's going on between you and Sunghoon?"

You shift uncomfortably in your spot. The straps of your bag were suddenly too tight, suffocating you.

You take your time loosening them. Jake only watches you silently.

You're exploiting his patience. Trying to dodge the inevitable. But, what can you do? Confrontation frightens you to no end.

You choose the easy way out: you tell a bad lie.

"Nothing's going on between Sunghoon and I. What business could I possibly have with Park Sunghoon, of all people?"

Jake subtly rolls his eyes. He can tell that you don't even believe your own words.

"I might've believed you if I hadn't seen the way you look at him in the hall, Y/N. I can tell Sunghoon's been off, too. He's all tensed up."

For a second, you rejoice. You haven't been the only one losing yourself to blurred lines and longing.

When that second is over, emptiness settles back into you. "I see."

"I didn't know the two of you knew each other," Jake muses innocently.

It takes all of your strength to turn away from him and grasp the door handle.

"We don't."

Desperation doesn't overpower fear. Fear is still there as you march up to Park Sunghoon's table in the cafeteria.

You just simply cannot take it anymore.

Jake notices you before Sunghoon does. He isn't any closer to discovering what had happened between the two of you. Your entire relation leaves him at a loss.

But, he can tell by the way the smile you flash him in greeting doesn't reach your eyes. The way your gaze immediately falls back onto Sunghoon with melancholy.

You're tired.

Lightly, he kicks Sunghoon in the shin. Jake ignores the glare he receives, only nodding his head towards you. He's praying he's done you a favour.

For the first time in weeks, Park Sunghoon looks you in the eye.

His silence stifles the rest of the table. Their attention weighs heavy on your shoulders.

Fear looms much closer and higher than before. Fear is about to pinch your nose until you pass out cold.

"Sunghoon."

His name is already bitter on your tongue. Is it from all the times you've cursed it in your head?

He stares at you before redirecting his gaze to his food. Like you're some sort of eyesore.

Fear drops to the ground, dead.

"Park Sunghoon, what is your problem?"

Whispers surround you. Chills travel the length of your spine.

You think back to your brief conversation with Jake. How you had said there was nothing happening between you and Sunghoon, and how evident it now is that all of that was bullshit.

But now, you couldn't care if the whole universe is privy to you and Sunghoon's relationship.

All you want is to know is what realization he had. In this moment, you're desperate to realize it too.

"When will you cut the shit?"

Silence. A fork scraps against a plate.

"You know, Sunghoon. I've thought many things of you. How could I not? The school's star athlete who has everyone at his feet."

A dry laugh, a nervous glance to the side.

"You had me, too."

Sunghoon's knuckles turn white from how harshly he grips his fork.

"Never did I think of you to be a coward."

The sound of your steps bounce off the walls. Every pair of eyes in the room trails behind you, this time, including Sunghoon's.

His brain is a broken record machine. Replaying your words again, again, and again.

What is Park Sunghoon so... afraid of?

What is he so defenseless against that it's worth seeing the lights in your eyes die?

Sunghoon doesn't know what compels him to ignore you. To walk past you each day, as if you didn't convince him that happiness doesn't exist anywhere except for in your arms.

Perhaps, it's that you are a whirlwind of unfamiliarity. An onslaught of foreign emotions. You make him unsure of what to do with himself. Perhaps he finds it easier to avoid that than to approach it.

He's been so adept at pushing it away, that he doesn't realize you're slipping through his fingers until his head is an echo chamber of your words.

He had you.

"Sunghoon..." A voice cuts through the fog. Sunghoon isn't sure which of his friends it belongs to. From the intonation, he assumes that it's Jake.

"Whatever this is, you've got to fix it."

Sunghoon has listened to your voicemail play six times. He's been trying for an answer, yet he doesn't mind dialling for a seventh.

You sound happy in your voicemail. He never wants to forget what you sound like happy.

"H-Hello?"

Sunghoon's been lingering at the summit of a cliff. Carefully composing himself to avoid slipping off the edge.

When he hears how utterly broken your voice is, suddenly, he's plummeting.

"Sunghoon?"

Falling, falling, falling—

A sniffle, followed by an impatient sigh. "Sunghoon, if you're just going to waste my time-"

"I'm outside."

Sunghoon closes his eyes. He sees the ridges and lines of your front door. He thinks they're permanently printed into his eyelids from how long he's been standing on your doorstep.

Don't hang up. Don't hang up.

"What?"

Sunghoon opens his eyes.

"I'm outside your door."

In his peripheral, the curtains of a window crack open. His heartbeat reaches his ears. You don't question him any further, but he hears distant footsteps from your end of the line.

The front door opens, then stops. Ajar. Hesitating.

Sunghoon knows you're on the other side. He prays you don't retract your movements.

You don't. You push through.

When you appear in the doorway, his breath dies in his throat.

Slightly bloodshot eyes. Strands of hair astray, haphazardly held together with a claw clip. A large sweatshirt swallowing your frame.

Sunghoon doesn't think he's ever seen anyone as beautiful as you.

He should've spoken by now. He'd planned on speaking by now, yet all he can do is look at you. Eyes trailing over every delicate curve. The slope of your nose, the moles on your hands.

When he hears the small sigh leave your lips, he knows you're slipping away.

His brain goes into overdrive. He needs to act fast.

Frantically, he clears his throat.

"Come watch the sunset with me."

A breeze blows by. The neighbour's wind chimes knock together, playing a soft jingle.

"Please."

The only words you speak to Sunghoon on the bus are to ask where you're going.

He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, remaining silent.

You close your eyes. Surrendering. You're so sick of his silence.

You shouldn't have come. You're stupid to have believed otherwise—

"Don't."

Eyes snap open.

You turn to look at Sunghoon. You find that he's already looking at you.

"Don't- don't regret this," he pleads. Desperation pours from his voice. You would've scoffed if he wasn't wearing the rawest expression you've lived to see.

Park Sunghoon leaves you in despair.

No matter which lens you look at him through, he has no solution. He's wrung you dry of hope, yet you don't find yourself objecting when he brings your head onto his shoulder. His hastiness screams craving for proximity. Craving for reassurance.

Deep down, you know you're just the same.

You let Sleep take you.

It's the soundest you've slept in weeks.

You've seen the sunset thousands of times in your life.

From every place you've ever been. School grounds. Your bedroom. The drive home. Through the eyes of others.

And yet, none of those thousands of times hold a candle to the sight from the pier.

"It's beautiful," you breathe out.

A small hum in agreement. You smile weakly.

You know he isn't looking at the sunset, but you don't face him just yet.

"Sunghoon?"

He steps closer.

"What happened?"

You can feel him stiffen. Your eyes never tear from the vermillion sky. You're not sure if you're paralyzed by beauty, or by fear.

A head drops onto your shoulder. Its weight is comforting. Slowly, he readjusts himself to stand in front of you. Face pressing into your neck. Hands wrapping around your waist, holding on like you'd disappear if he let go.

His body shakes with each breath. It takes every bit of your resolve to not wrap your arms around him.

You let Park Sunghoon cry on your shoulder.

You don't think you'd ever deny him of it.

The sun doesn't budge from where it sits in the sky. It seems to be waiting for the two of you.

When Sunghoon peels his face away from you, you finally look at him. You can feel your heart fall apart in your chest.

Park Sunghoon is more beautiful than any sunset you'll ever see.

A careful hand reaches up. It barely rests against his jaw. You nearly chuckle at how he instantly leans into your touch.

He's staring at you through half-lidded eyes. Slightly parted lips. A gaze filled with longing, remorse, and a million unspoken words.

He leans in, nose brushing against yours. Before he can mouth the words he wants to say, you meet him half way.

The kiss is slow. Delicate. Fragile. Sunghoon is too scared to treat you as anything less.

It lacks the hunger of the one before. Your body is pulled flush against his. He's trying to convey thousands of apologies all at once. Hoping his sincerity can penetrate your skin, travel through your veins, and reach your soul. The way he's kissing you is heart-wrenching.

"I-" he gasps when you part. "Please. Please forgive me."

"Come back to me," you croak. "Why did you shut me out?"

He presses kisses to your jaw, then to your cheek. His hands slide up to your cup your face.

"Because I love you."

You close your eyes. Soaking in each sacred word that falls from his lips. Shuddering.

You feel like crying.

"I love you so much that I don't know what to do with myself. With you, nothing feels real. Time stops ticking. Everyone else fades into oblivion, and I feel like I'm on top of the fucking world," he whispers, voice wet and rushed.

Your forehead connects with his. A gentle rhythm is tapped onto his nape with the intention of calming him down.

"I've never felt like this before. I- I just-"

Sunghoon's face twists. He's fighting against his emotions.

You watch as he deflates.

"Please... find it in your heart to forgive me."

A small smile graces your face.

Under the glow of the setting sun, everything is okay.

"Stop staring at me like that."

Sunghoon peers up at you from your lap. His face glows golden.

A mischievous smile appears on his face. It infects you like a virus.

"Is it illegal for me to admire my girlfriend?"

"Yes." You shoot him with a finger gun. "Hands up."

Soft laughter fills your ears. You let Sunghoon pull you down into a gentle, loving kiss.

You'd let him do it for all of eternity.

To you, Park Sunghoon is like the moon. Beautiful, and so, so far away.

Now, you think Park Sunghoon is more like the setting sun.

Beautiful, and just on the way home.

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