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imfinereallyy · 10 months

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celebrate softly

it my birthday today so here’s a lil gift from me to you (yes I know that’s not how this works haha) I made a bunch of little things is celebration, i probably won’t post these till later in the day so sorry if you get a bunch at once.

Steve wanted to like his birthday.

No, really, he truly did. He knew that birthdays were the one time of year you get to be a little selfish. The people you loved gathered around you to celebrate another year of you.

It was just that Steve was also used to disappointment.

Over the years, his birthday has consisted of either his parents parading him around at business dinners or the empty silence of a house that wasn’t ever a home.

His old friends were never around. It was a holiday weekend; he didn’t expect them to stick around. Even if they had, Steve was almost sure they would have made him throw a party, where they would have pressured him to get drunk and sleep with someone, and…

Yea, Steve wasn’t interested.

The one birthday he spent with Nancy had been okay. She had to go on a family trip, her parents attempt at getting their kids to cheer up over the loss of their friends, and she was going to leave the morning of his birthday. But at midnight of July 2nd, she had snuck into his window even though she could have walked through the front door. Nancy had brought him a cupcake, a small present, and a soft smile. Steve had wanted to kiss her, but he knew it wasn’t what she wanted then. He wanted to be respectful, so he held her hand instead.

Nancy hadn’t brought a candle, said she didn’t want to risk burning the Harrington Household down. Steve had laughed, saying that would be the best birthday present ever, but she hadn’t laughed back.

The present had been a book. Which wasn’t a terrible gift per se, Steve liked reading it was just he had difficulty doing it. He couldn’t focus long enough, or he would have to reread sentences over and over again.

It just didn’t feel worth the frustration.

But it was sweet of her to get him something, so he tried reading it. It took him months to finish it, even though it was small. It was boring, and Steve had found the main character whiny, and Steve had begun to wonder if Nancy was trying to tell him something.

Then the Upside Down round two had happened, Steve got his ass kicked again and learned that Catcher in the Rye was Jonathan’s favorite book.

Steve had thrown out the book amongst his bloody bandages.

Steve was only slightly hopeful to have a good birthday last year. He had good friends (sure, one was his ex, and the other were children, but he still counted them); Dustin would be home from camp, and even though he had work, he got to spend the whole day bothering Robin, which brought him a special kind of joy.

But then they were cracking Russian code, getting tortured, and watching Max’s Stepbrother die, all within the days of his birthday.

So Steve didn’t have high expectations this year. Sure, people knew it was his birthday, it was hard to hide when he was friends with the nosiest people, but most of them were spending the entire weekend staying with Max, and he would have been too if Max hadn’t thrown a remote at him when he suggested it.

So Steve had conceded to having a quiet but lonely July 2nd.

But then at 7 am there was a knock on his front door.

A knock was putting it lightly, there was pounding echoing in the Harrington Household.

When Steve walked up to the door, he was prepared to drive away some bigots who had been trying to “repent Hawkins.” They had been going around the richer neighborhoods recently, saying we needed to clean up the streets of the sinners and the queers.

Yea, they were knocking on the wrong door.

Steve hadn’t expect Eddie Munson, notorious night owl, to be crowding his doorway at 7 am.

“Harrington, have I ever told you how absolutely ugly your house is? Like for how wealthy your parents are, they chose an absolute nightmare of a layout! It makes no sense.” Eddie budged his way past Steve with his arms full of bags.

“I’ve been telling him that for a year, Eddie, and every time he just shrugs!” Steve turned to find Robin bullying her way through him as well. She had a handful of videos in her hands.

“Sure, come in, I guess,” Steve mumbled. He shut the door and turned toward his intruders. “Not that I don’t love a surprise appearance at—“ Steve checked his watch “—7:03 am, but is there a reason why you are awake before the birds are even chirping?”

Eddie snorted and just gave him a look instead of answering. Robin shook her head, “What doofus hear is trying to convey with a noise, Jesus Eds, I know you’re not a morning, but words please, is that we are obviously here for your birthday. You, Steven Alison Harrington—“

“Not my middle name.”

“—we’re born at exactly 7:07 am on July 2nd. So we had to be here to say happy birthday officially!”

“How do you even know the time? I don’t even know that.”

“She snuck a look at your file last time Owen’s was in town.” Eddie smirked.

Robin hit him upside the head, “Don’t tell him that asshole, he already thinks I’m crazy enough. And don’t act like this wasn’t your idea!”

Eddie rubbed the back his head in dramatic fashion then yelled, “Snitch!” through hissed teeth.

Steve felt himself unthaw at the idea that these two weirdos woke up this early for him. “Ah, well, thanks, guys.” A blush rose on his cheeks, “Well, thanks for stopping by; you guys can go home and sleep if you want.”

“Stevie, did you think we brought all this to just leave? On your birthday. Oh no, no, no. We are having a whole movie and snack day! I brought weed, and chips, and we can order a pizza later in the day. And just be lazy weirdos in your fancy living room.” Eddie hopped up on his coffee table, startling a laugh from Steve.

“That sounds like a typically Friday for us, what’s so special about it?” Steve teased.

“Well we brought all of your favorite movies! Grease, Top Gun, Karate Kid, Indiana Jones...wait I think I'm noticing a theme here—“

“Robin!” Steve screeched, his blush coming back with vengeance. He didn’t want her to reveal there very obvious, and embarrassing pattern to his favorite films.

“And!” Eddie said from atop his place on the coffee table, unfazed by the two of them, “We are paying for the pizza.” His voice oozed with pride at that. Steve was sure he had come up with the idea.

“Wow I’m a spoiled prince. Maybe ever think I wanted to stay in bed?” Steve raised a single eyebrow.

“Oh but my sweet prince, we know you rather spend this glorious day with us.” Eddie was confident, with confidence came the damn nicknames, and Jesus Christ—this blush of his was never going away. “Besides what else could you wish for!”

A kiss from you. Steve thought quickly.

Steve sighed deeply before saying, “Alright. Get down.”

Eddie seemed taken aback, like he hadn’t expected the rejection. “Oh yea man, of course. We will get out of your hair.” He scrambled off the table.

Steve giggled, “No Eds. I’m moving the coffee table. This couch is a pullout. We can all just lay on it while we watch movies.”

Eddie’s face lit up while Robin yelled, “Oh thank god, I’m exhausted.”

An hour later, when the sun was still barely risen and Grease blared in the background, Robin was bundled up in the blankets they dragged from his room, out like a light.

Eddie and Steve huddled close, but didn’t touch. The anticipation and want sat between them. “I actually have something for you.” Eddie whispered.

Robin snored beside them; Steve looked at her fondly. “You don’t have to whisper; she’s a heavy sleeper. Learned that the hard way.”

“Ah well, I have a present for you.”

Steve knows he should say that Eddie shouldn’t have, or insist he returns it. He knew it was the polite thing to do. He couldn’t find it in himself to do it, though. The idea that Eddie even thought to get him something beyond the amazing day they had planned (truly Steve couldn’t ask for a better day), but Eddie had spent his time to get something for Steve.

It was nice to have someone who would do something nice for you just because they can, not because they should. So, Steve waited patiently as Eddie reached into his bag beside the couch.

“Here.” Eddie spoke, placing the roughly wrapped package in his lap.

There was a tiny notecard with Eddie’s chicken scratch on it; Steve decided to read that first.

Stevie,

No adventure is the same without you, and this is the only one I have taken without you by my side. Thought it was about time we changed that. Hopefully we are not forever partners in crime (we’ve had enough of that) but instead, adventurers taking on then great unknown.

Together.

Yours,

Eddie Munson ッ

Steve smoothed over the card and tried not to cry. The poorly drawn smiley face stared up at him from the piece of parchment. Steve tucked it into his pocket for safe keeping; he might even frame it.

Eddie looked at Steve eagerly as he tried to open the package. He does it slowly to tease Eddie; his frustrated little growl made butterflies in Steve’s stomach.

Inside the package is a worn-out book, one he would recognize anywhere, considering he saw it every day on Eddie’s bookshelf. “Eds, this is your copy of Lord of the Rings. I can’t take this.”

Eddie put his hair in front of his mouth, suddenly shy, “Well, it wouldn’t be exactly yours. It’s just I thought it would be fun to, ya know, read it together? Like we take turns reading to each other. I know the kids always bug you to read it, and I noticed that it’s hard for you to focus sometimes, and I get that, so it might be easier if we like make it a thing? I know it’s probably not your interest; it’s my favorite book, not yours, so you know what? This is stupid—“

Steve cut him off by pulling him into a hug. Steve buried himself into Eddie’s neck before saying, “Thank you. It’s the best birthday present.”

“Really?” Eddie pulled back to look at Steve’s face. Whatever he found there must settle him, because he relaxed his shoulders. “I know it’s silly, but I guess I wanted to share this piece of myself with you…and maybe spend some more time together.”

Steve didn’t mention how they spent almost every day together, didn’t think he had to either. They both knew.

Steve decided to be bold instead. He pushed Eddie back into the couch and settled his back into Eddie’s chest. He snuggled into the warmth of his arms.

Steve put the book in Eddie’s hand. “Okay, you read first.”

Eddie laughed; Steve could feel the vibrations from under his skin. It was delightful; it was delicious. “Oh, you want to start now?”

Steve made an indignant noise while Eddie laughed again at him. His hands settled at the back of Steve’s neck as he played with hair that brushed it.

“When Mr Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventyifirst birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was …”

And once again, hours later, when Steve woke up, after drifting to Eddie’s soft, deep voice, Steve felt something settle in him. He felt Eddie lightly snoring beneath him, one hand still tangled in his hair. He felt Robin’s hand wrapped around his ankle, grounding the both of them. And there, between all of them, was the fallen book with no bookmark, signaling they would have to start again.

Maybe, sometimes. Steve thinks, birthdays could be good.

***

projecting. projecting. projecting. that’s me.

I hope you guys liked this one :) I did use my own bday for him, but the time he was born at is different than mine lol. I had a lot of fun writing it, it was just the softness I needed.

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feyascorner · 3 months

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7 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. “It’s too hard to see. We need to turn back.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little bit of darkness.”

You scrunch your nose at this, and he merely grins. Before you can say anything, he’s back to pacing across the dirt without a care in the world—almost too fast for your liking. “Will you at least slow down?”

“Shall I hold your hand?”

“I’d rather cut it off.”

“A pity.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 6.9k words !!! this chapter took forever but somehow i managed!! thank you so much for your kind words and patience !!! he's kind of a silly guy in the chapter so pls enjoy this peace offering as the calm before a storm

“Are you sure this is the right course of action? Letting him ascend?” Shadowheart asks as you adjust one of the logs in the campfire, watching the other companions organize their tents from afar. You stop at this, turning to face her.

“It’s what he wants,” you mumble. “I won’t stop him if he’s sure this is the right thing to do.”

You’re still getting used to her hair, which’s now as white as a sheet, but you think it looks lovely against the fire. She seems calmer than she did when she was with Shar. At peace, almost. She casts you a sidelong glance. “Can we really trust his judgment of all people? He’s—I mean, well, him.”

“I know it sounds unreasonable," you say letting yourself sit down beside her on her bedroll. “But I want him to make his own decisions. He’s spent too many years having no choice of his own, and I’d be the worst person to take it away from him again.”

“I just,” her voice softens. “Astarion’s a complicated person, and I’m sure you know better than us. It’s because he couldn’t make his own choices for so long that it makes me think he’s lost his capability to make any choices anymore. Good ones, at least.”

“I trust him.”

“Gods knows how.”

You stifle a laugh, and she sips at her wine, eyes still glazing over the camp. There’s a kind of solemnness to them that makes your stomach churn. “You seem worried.”

“Not worried, per se,” she shrugs. “I just realize that I owe a debt to you for what you did for me against my lad—I mean, Shar. And I myself almost went down that dark path of becoming a Justiciar if it weren’t for you. At the time, I thought it was the best thing for me too, like Astarion believes ascension to be what will set him free.”

You nod patiently, urging her to continue.

“I only fear he might make the wrong choice if he doesn’t have the right guidance as I did.”

The words feel hesitant on her tongue. And although they make the voice in the back of your head, telling you to convince Astarion otherwise, louder, you ignore it, opting to smile at her softly instead. “Is this you caring about our companions?”

“Heavens, no,” she snorts, but there’s a joking tone behind her voice. “But like I said…I’m indebted to you all. Astarion also aided in my personal affairs with Shar, even if he didn’t have to, and even with his incessant complaining…I suppose this is my way of paying him back.”

Your chest warms. It’s soothing to know that even without you, your other companions have enough care for your lover to offer him bits of advice; in a way, it relieves a bit of weight off your shoulders. Even the companions who claim to detest his presence have grown fond of him over the months, and you’re sure it goes both ways. It helps because even if you’re gone, you know he’ll be okay.

“I never told you formally,” she sighs. “But thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me or feel indebted. I just did what I could for you.”

“Don’t be so humble. What you’ve done for me—for all of us—is something we’ll cherish for the rest of our lives,” she takes her last swig from her wine. “But from one messed up person to another, please, be careful.”

Your wrist feels sore.

Two days. It’s been two days since the incident at the Blushing Mermaid, and still, your body seems to burn whenever you see his closed door across yours from the hall, and all you can do is rub shamefully at the healing puncture wounds on your wrist. The bandages looping around the skin do a good enough job of hiding them, but you genuinely wish you could just ask Shadowheart to heal them for you because being able to see them does little to help with the constant thoughts of the vampire muddling the clarity of your mind.

But you’d rather not let your companions know what happened between you and the vampire on the dirtied floors of the Blushing Mermaid. You’d likely die of shame for letting him drink from you, even after your mutual agreement to specifically avoid just that. What’s worse is that you expect the worst from Lae’zel, especially after her explicit advice to do the exact opposite of what you chose to do.

You tighten the bandages again.

“Did those yourself, did you?”Alfira snorts, and you almost have half a mind to glare at her if it weren’t for the crumpled sheets of paper surrounding the legs of her chair. The ink on the discarded pages now blends into mush as they lie in the puddles forming around her—an aftermath of the recent rainy weather. You don’t tell her, though. She seems frustrated enough as it is, and you fear she might snap a string of her lute if this prolongs any longer. “How’d you get hurt anyway?”

“It’s a bug bite.”

“A rather massive bug, apparently.”

The corners of your lips quirk downward, and she finally sets her lute aside, careful to avoid the puddles as she props it against the side of her stool to focus on her notepad instead. Though most of its pages have now been torn out, the remaining few have scribbles of song lyrics that even you can’t decipher with how messily the ink splatters across the page. She, however, seems perfectly fine reading its contents aside from her glaringly obvious distaste for the words themselves. You raise your brow. “Can you really read that?”

“Oh, hush. Don’t insult my penmanship.”

You snicker, eyes continuing to scan the sheets of paper that had been abandoned on Dalyria’s desk at the Blushing Mermaid. It’d taken quite some time to take apart the pages plastered on the wall and to organize the mountain of doctor’s notes lying across the lair, but you’d managed to fish out something useful eventually. The journal was one that seemed especially important, filled to the brim with Dalyria’s so-called ‘research.’

But if the past few days have told you anything, it’s that Dalyria is a terrible note-taker.

The pages are filled with shapes. Some are curved, and others just bend and contort into odd figures that you’re sure aren’t supposed to look like letters. Each page studies a different shape on a random part of the page, leaving them scattered and difficult to decipher.

You’re starting to think this is just some odd attempt at art rather than the studies she claims to be performing.

“And? Why are you here if you’re not here to look at those lyrics I gave you?”

“I’m trying to figure out what this journal says,” you sigh, flipping another page you don’t understand. “And if you couldn’t tell, I’m rather busy trying to find the people responsible for murders around the city, so excuse me if I haven’t had the time to glance at your song.”

“I’m plenty busy myself, you know! I just got hired to sing at this fancy party for some celebration. They even said I could dress all nice for it,” she smiles proudly, and you offer her a crooked one of your own. “It’s my first serious gig—so I’m a bit nervous with how large it is…”

“How’d you land something like that before you’ve even played at children’s birthday parties?”

“Well, I’m not doing it alone, obviously,” she reasons, scratching something on her pages again. “I’m going with one of my friends. She’s a wonderful violinist, and she managed to squeeze me into the event, which I’m so grateful for…I suppose I’m just a bit worried.”

You look up from Dalyria’s notebook. “Worried? What for?”

“That my fingers will lock up, and I’ll humiliate myself,” she admits sheepishly, tucking a portion of her hair behind her sharp ear. “Lihala used to call me silly for worrying about things that haven’t happened–but I can’t help it. It’s the before-show jitters. Pesky things. It’s a bit embarrassing, really.”

Humming in acknowledgment, you look to the murky skies overhead, where dark clouds threaten to pour down for at least another few days. A shame, you think. You’ve never seen the Summers of Baldur’s Gate feel so dreary.

It’s fitting, almost, considering the state that the city is in.

The painful sound of quill scratching against paper is all you can hear now as Alfira sighs irritably again, ripping out another sheet of paper.

“It’s not embarrassing,” you finally say.

She blinks up from her notepad. “What is?”

“Being nervous. I’ve done more performances than I can count, and my hands would still get clammy in front of a big crowd,” you laugh to yourself. “But when you see how they watch you as if you’re performing sorcery with your lute, it’s like you were never anxious in the first place. The audience is what makes it bearable.”

“Gods, I hope you’re right,” she smiles fondly as you continue to reminisce in your own memories. “It’s a rather shame we never got to perform together. Not after the last time we played at the Grove–and I don’t even count that occasion with how unstable my voice was…”

“I can watch if you’d like,” you offer. “Your performance, I mean.”

Her eyes gleam with excitement, and she reaches to clasp both your hands, beaming brightly. “Will you? I’m sure if you’re there, it’ll ease my nerves, too!-”

As you shift in your seat to follow your hands, Dalyria’s notebook slips off your lap. The simple splash beneath you tells you all you need to know as your eyes shoot down to where the notebook now lies face down into a puddle, and you don’t even have to lift it to know that its pages are soaked.

But you don’t have to pick it up yourself because Alfira’s carefully holding it in an instant, her face pale as she fans her hand in a fruitless attempt to prevent the damage already done. “Dammit, I’ve done it again! I’m truly sorry…I didn’t mean for that to happen! But I’m sure if we just put it in the sunlight for a few days, it’ll–”

You gently take it from her hands, shaking your head. Perhaps it’s because you were just deep into memories you hold dear to your heart, but there isn’t an ounce of panic in your voice. “It’s fine. I wasn’t getting anywhere with this thing anyway.”

“Still…”

The pages stick together in chunks as you flip the journal towards the pages that are at least half dry. You fear they might tear off at the slightest touch, so all you can do is stare at a page you deem to be soaking up the ink from the pages behind it. Alfira groans into her hands, and before you can spare her a glance to remind her it’s alright, you spot something in the middle of the page.

“Holy shit,” you whisper so quietly she doesn’t catch it.

“I’ll grab us a wind scroll. Or maybe that’s too strong? Surely there’s some spell that can dry off books.”

“You have no idea what you’ve just done for me, Alfira,” you blurt, already halfway to stuffing the journal into your pack. She blinks up at you with weary eyes, but you quickly clamber off the stool with no time to offer an explanation. “Let me know when the performance is. I’ll be here next week as usual.”

“Don’t you want me to dry off the pages?”

“No,” you shake your head, your heart pounding. “I need to show this to the others.”

She stares at you as if you’ve grown a second head. Still, as you rush toward the stairs leading to the city streets, she calls after you.

“Don’t forget to look at the lyrics!”

“Runes? As in the ones carved into Astarion’s back?”

“I thought they were random blots of ink, but,” you raise the notebook in your hands, and the soaked pages now show the contents of the following sheets, blending to form a larger image. The placement of the shapes were not random at all, and you internally apologize for calling Dalyria a few less-than-kind words in your mind. “They’re not. They’re parts of the runes that Cazador tried to use for the ritual. There are six sets of runes in here, and each one’s slightly altered.”

“But what purpose does that serve?” Shadowheart cocks a brow, eyeing the page questionably with crossed arms. “Cazador’s dead. There’s no ascension to be done.”

“Unfortunately, just because that haunting man is gone doesn’t mean the threat of an ascension is either.” Intrigued but clearly disturbed, Gale takes the notebook and squints at what it holds. “Cazador himself never needed to be the one to execute the ascension.”

The room goes silent, leaving an uncomfortable tension in the air that keeps you from moving. You’re not sure how many seconds pass before you hear the figure who’s been awfully quiet the past half an hour mutter something under his breath from the comfy armchair beside the fireplace.

Astarion clicks his tongue, seemingly unfazed. “Ah, I see.”

The fists at your side clench tighter. The bandages feel impossibly tight all of a sudden.

“It’s for the ascension, clearly. There’s no other plausible explanation,” his eyes remain glued to the flickering flames, swirling a chalice of wine in his hand. He doesn’t sip from it, knowing that it tastes of nothing but vinegar on his undead tongue, so why he’s poured himself a glass, you don’t understand. You also can’t be bothered to ask. “Perhaps they plan to enact it. Take a piece of all that power for themselves.”

“But they can’t do the ascension,” Shadowheart frowns, turning to you. “You said there’s only six runes in there. They don’t have the last one to enact the ascension because Astarion’s with us. Cazador’s the only one who could have done it because he’s the only one who knows what each of the runes looks like. Without Astarion’s, they can’t—”

“They wanted him,” you whisper the confession, and you swear your voice nearly cracks. “They wanted Astarion. That’s why they wanted to speak with me.”

All three of your companions whip their heads to you, and you stare down at the ground. Shame burns through you, and you can practically feel the disappointment radiating off them as it dawns on you that you lied to them. You lied to your closest companions for the sake of saving yourself the embarrassment that no matter what you do, no matter what you tell yourself, your subconscious forces you to care for the bloody vampire sitting beside the fireplace. Despite the many eyes on you, you can only feel one crimson pair that bore into you like the sun beating down on a hot summer’s day.

Even now, he’s your biggest concern, and you hate yourself for it.

“Then it’s not Astarion they need,” Gale says breathlessly. “They need the marks on his back.”

“And you didn’t tell us this, why?” Shadowheart hisses. “You said they just tried to kill you!”

You blurt. “They did! They said they’d stop killing citizens if I just tossed Astarion over to them, but when I said no, they completely flipped and–”

“You declined that deal?” Lae’zel snarls, and you unwillingly flinch at the venom in her tone. “You swore, istik. You swore you wouldn't be foolish if it came down to you or him.”

The words feel like a knife to your throat.

“Well, obviously, it worked out,” you grumble, ignoring how Lae’zel’s eyes are narrowed dangerously. No doubt, she has questions of her own that she’ll demand answers to later. “If I handed him over, they would’ve had the last key to conducting the ascension.”

“You still lied to us,” Shadowheart steps toward you, but Gale quickly clears his throat.

“I know how deceived we all feel, but must we fight? What matters is the spawns can’t conduct the ascension as of now, correct?” he attempts to calm her down, but her scowl only grows deeper. “As disappointed as we all are, we must admit that keeping Astarion here is the right decision.”

“You’re too hasty, wizard,” Lae’zel snaps. “A vampire’s ascension would mean ridding of all the other spawn wreaking havoc in the city. We mustn’t throw away a chance being offered without considering it.”

Shadowheart is immediately on her feet, her eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t be an idiot–a few thousand spawn is better than a nearly impenetrable being capable of creating even more spawn. That’s asking for just as bad as we are now–maybe even worse.”

They break into a simultaneous debate, one in which two room occupants do not take part. Because even as you try to focus on what the others are saying, all you can feel is the unsettling stare of the spawn in the corner of the room, his hand still swirling the wine. You wonder if his wrist ever gets tired. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of returning his stare, but you watch him from the corner of your eye as his attention shifts to your wrist.

“Are we even sure this is what they’re planning? Do a few drawings prove that they want to go through with this ritual, again, after what it nearly did to them?” Shadowheart’s attention darts to you. “This ritual would kill them. Why in the hells would all of them agree to do it if it only means one would come out alive?”

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out in return. The hurt embedded into her expression is so glaringly apparent that it makes your chest squeeze uncomfortably, and all you can do is look away in shame. “...I don’t know.”

Her face hardens. “Do you? Or are you just lying to us again?”

Cheeks flaring, you shake your head. “I’m not lying, I swear it.”

Her eyes flicker with something you don’t recognize before they flit to your bandaged arm and then back to your eyes. She doesn’t miss how you try to move your arm behind you. A miscalculation on your part since your attempt at hiding it makes your secret that much more obvious. “Then what are those for? You’ve had them on since you returned from the Blushing Mermaid, and you refuse to let me heal you myself. Just what did you get injured from?”

The room is so silent you can hear your own heartbeat.

“I–” you stop, wavering. “There was a—”

Shadowheart clenches her jaw. “Don’t lie. Please.”

But still, no words are willing to leave your throat.

Your companions await words from you that do not exist. Like a deer in headlights, you stand numbly, unsure what to do. Fortunately, and also unfortunately, before long, Lae’zel has had enough of waiting, and she begins to march toward you in a way that makes you step away.

“Give me your arm,” she demands. “If you cannot say, then show us.”

You can feel all the blood draining from your face as she draws closer. But even Gale cannot hinder her this time because everyone in the room knows what she’s capable of with that blade attached to her hip, and she’s not against wasting a few potions of healing if she has to barrel her way through. You brace yourself for the inevitable, teeth gritting together.

Just as she reaches for your arm, someone else snatches it away.

“I drank from them,” Astarion says as you bump slightly into his chest, eyes wide at his pale fingers wrapped around your wrist. He yanks the edge of the bandage down with his free hand and lifts it for the others to see. The two puncture wounds, where the skin that surrounds it is darker than the rest, make you feel naked under the eyes of others. It’s too vulnerable. Too mortifying.

Your heart hammers pathetically, and whether it’s from the expressions of your companions or the hand wrapped around the sensitive skin of your wrist, you’re not sure. You hope it’s not the latter.

Gale’s jaw drops. “We agreed that this was the one thing you wouldn’t do.”

“If I hadn’t, I would’ve perished,” the vampire retorts in response, releasing his hold on your arm as it falls back to your side. The place where his hand had been tinges under your skin. “And there weren’t exactly a few boars lying around the damn city for me to feed on.”

You notice he fails to mention there had been more than enough bodies to satiate him, but you keep your mouth shut.

The hurt on Shadowheart’s face is no longer one that throbs your sympathy. Instead, she seems to burn with something you haven’t seen in ages.

Anger.

Her palm flickers with radiant light, and Astarion immediately flinches, hissing as he moves to hide his body behind yours. In your haste, you can’t think of anything to do besides stepping toward her, holding out your hands. Astarion releases a strained laugh from behind you. “Now, Shadowheart, let’s not do anything hilarious, shall we?”

“I’ll kill you,” she growls maliciously, the glow of her palm growing brighter. “Like I should have done the second you came back to ruin everything we’ve done without you.”

You cautiously approach her, focus never leaving her eyes despite the danger festering in her hands. “You shouldn’t, Shadowheart.”

She throws daggers in your direction with just her expression, and you can’t deny how helpless you feel. “Killing him would end all of this. If we buried him somewhere, they’d never find the runes. They’d never be able to follow through with the ascension, and we won’t have to deal with his pompous ass anymore.”

You hate that she’s right. You hate that even though she’s right, you can’t agree with her methods.

“I know he’s—not exactly a friend—but he was once. And I know you considered him one as well,” you insist, inching closer. The hesitance in her motions as you come too close to the radiant light is undeniable. “I don’t want you to bear the guilt of his death.”

Because as much as you’re wrapped up in a world of your own–a world where you fight to hate the man behind you–you know that your companions feel the same way. The sentiments gathered from months of sharing the same camp, months of saving one another from multiple deaths, and months of aiding one another overcome their own pasts don’t just disappear. You know what they shared. Being the most similar amongst your companions, forced under the influence of a power they did not want to be subjected to, you know they considered themselves friends, even if they never voiced it out loud.

You know that deep down, Shadowheart’s hatred for Astarion stems from her own feeling of betrayal when he tried to kill you. When he attempted to harm the only other person who guided her to a path outside of Shar.

“Trust me, I won’t feel guilty,” she finally forces out. “You’re a fool to trust him again.”

“I don’t trust him,” you reassure her, your hands finally reaching hers as they dim and eventually vanish all traces of magic. “But if he’s to die for nearly killing me, I want it to be under my hands. Don’t sully your own for my sake when you’ve just escaped all the bloodshed.”

Shadowheart’s brows soften, but her face turns cold. Thoughts seem to run through her mind like an endless train before she decides that thinking through each one is worth more than Astarion himself is worth. She inhales deeply and nods, allowing you to finally release her hands. She shoots the others one last glance before turning to retreat upstairs.

You’re left in a pitiful silence—one that nobody in the room dares to break.

An entire day is spent with you wallowing in your shame, refusing to get out of bed.

You hope this is just a terrible nightmare, but you know better. If this were a nightmare, you’d already be dead.

You only climb out of your covers when you have to change the bandages on your wrist. It’s a painful process now since you don’t even want to look at the puncture wounds anymore, but it’s better than risking it to get infected. A knock on your door makes you stand from your bed, kicking the bandage rolls under your bed. “It’s open.”

You expect Gale or even Lae’zel, but you’re met with piercing red eyes. You contemplate begging him to leave you alone because looking at him right now only conjures up the guilt that’s been eating away at you for hours now. Instead, you build that wall between the two of you again, your face hardening. “What do you want?”

He’s never come to you willingly before. Not unless you were positively drenched in blood, and he had no choice but to follow his instincts for what he hopes to be a meal other than stale boar blood. Much less approached you in your own room.

Astarion lifts the empty glass bottle in his hand. “A charming welcome, as usual, I see.”

“You just had a full supply yesterday,” you say, brows furrowing. “I checked it myself.”

“Clearly, now I don’t,” he shrugs, and when you shoot him an intense glare, he frowns. “You can’t possibly blame me. I haven’t exerted myself as I did at that dirty tavern since the last time I had that damn parasite swimming around my head. So, unless you decide to offer yourself to me, again…”

You think he’s genuinely lost his mind. “Right now? Seriously? After what just happened yesterday, you want to ask me for blood?”

“Just a suggestion, darling. Otherwise, we always have the other option, as boring as it is.”

Perhaps you should just toss him to Lae’zel and call it a day.

Groaning in exasperation, you march past him, slapping a cloak into his chest. “There’s 15 minutes to sunset.”

He laughs, but it only makes your face turn sour.

The forest isn’t far off from the main square of Rivington. And by the time you reach it, the sun has long gone down, and you watch as Astarion takes off the hood of his cloak, breathing deeply in the moon's bask. And as he glances back at you, you don’t bother trying to walk side by side, remaining on guard and surveying his every move from three steps behind. He comments on it even though you think he doesn’t care for what you do. “I don’t bite, you know.”

“You’re not funny.” He snorts at your deadpan and continues into the deeper parts of the forest.

The entire time, your eyes remained glued to the backs of his heels, palms growing increasingly clammy as you become surrounded by nothing but the soft ambiance of the woods. His steps are as silent as they’ve always been, and it feels like following a ghost into the darkest parts of the forest. It’s becoming hard to see more than a few feet in front of you, and if your training with Lae’zel has taught you anything, you know that you don’t want to be at a disadvantage—especially when the other party is a bloody vampire.

You halt in your tracks. He does, too, turning to shoot you a questioning look. “What is it?”

“It’s too hard to see. We need to turn back.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little bit of darkness.”

“Shall I hold your hand?”

“I’d rather cut it off.”

“A pity.”

You curse his long legs as the forest becomes darker and darker, even as each time you think it can’t possibly get worse than this. You swear his steps become quicker, and a part of you wonders if this is where he attempts to run away and whether you should cast a sleep spell before he succeeds. But the most rational part of you reminds yourself that he’s had plenty of chances to escape. Hells, he could do it even now, considering how much more easily his eyes adjust to the darkness than you.

“Astarion, I swear to the Gods above, if you don’t stop walking so quickly…”

This time, you don’t get an answer.

Suspicions rising, you break into a jog and then into a gradual sprint. Every time you think you finally caught up to him, a branch whips into your face, and you barely manage to swat it away before it manages to cut your skin. You call his name a few times to no avail, and you genuinely begin to ponder if you should’ve brought your scroll for daylight.

Finally, you stumble through a tall berry bush into what you assume to be another branch.

And rather than more darkness, you’re met with a clearing. It’s only a few long strides in width and a couple more in length, but here, it doesn’t seem like nighttime at all. The moon peers down at you in all its glory, and you think this might’ve been Selune’s pocket of the forest if she were here. You blink wide when a speck of light—a firefly—flies barely past your face. And suddenly, you’re surrounded by light rising from the green grass beneath you in fragile wings.

The tightness in your chest dissipates, if only for a moment.

Only once you’ve taken in the vast difference of your surroundings just a few moments prior do you see Astarion pulling off the clasp of his cloak. He tosses it to you, and it lands on your face before you yank it away with a scowl. “You could have just handed it to me–”

“Stay here,” he says. “I’ll return when I’ve finished hunting.”

You gawk at him. “I’m not going to let you just leave.”

“I’ve proven myself plenty,” he scoffs. “If I remember correctly, you would’ve likely perished were I not there at that tavern a few days ago. And I must remind you that I do have quite the memory. If I planned on betraying you, I would’ve done it then—at a more fashionable time.”

You don’t have much of a rebuttal to that.

While you could bring up the dozens of other times he’s made questionable decisions pertaining to his loyalty, the soothing bath under the moon’s gaze seems to calm you down. So, instead of fighting the internal urge to continue your petty quips, you drop the cloak beneath you. He cocks a brow, surely expecting more of a protest, but you just swallow your pride, plopping down on the grass with a huff. “If you don’t return in 30 minutes, I’m coming to find you.”

“40 minutes,” he tries. “30 minutes isn’t nearly enough time for anything fun.”

You scowl. “20 minutes.”

Astarion smiles wickedly just enough for his fangs to peek beneath his top lip. “Very well. I’ll expect you no later than that.”

And like a predator fading into his natural environment, he vanishes into the darkness.

Time passes slowly when all you can do is pick at pieces of grass. As beautiful as the clearing is, it’s a bit too soothing—enough to make you doze off as you lean against the trunk of a tree. Though you attempt to keep your eyes open, reminding yourself you have a responsibility to uphold, you haven’t had this sense of relaxation in ages. Especially now, in your home with an atmosphere thicker than the butter you use on your bread. It’s almost like a spell as you feel your heavy eyelids droop helplessly.

You pray you don’t dream tonight. Not when you know all you’ll think of is the betrayal you inflicted on your companions.

A rustle of leaves snaps you back awake.

And when you look up, you see two blood-red eyes staring down at you from the branches of the tree opposite of yours.

They look exactly like the spawn in the alleyway, practically a month ago now. The same ones that haunt your nightmares and the same ones that morph into your ex-lover in the ones you despise the most. And while you can’t see their face, you don’t need much more than that to break into action.

Immediately, you’re snatching the cloak and sprinting back into the forest's darkness. You don’t care about the branches flinging themselves at you anymore because you can barely breathe even without worrying about them. Twigs and thin branches flail across your cheeks as you practically barrel through the woods, your legs feeling like they could give up if you were ever to stop running. With only the cloak in one hand and a dagger in the other, you don’t even attempt to fight whoever this person is upfront–you learned your lesson well the last time you tried. So, instead, your boots crunch against whatever plants are being crushed beneath you as you frantically run from the creature chasing you.

The worst part is you can still hear leaves rustling behind you.

Your lungs hurt. Your head hurts. Everything hurts, and yet you cannot stop. You hope the forest itself swallows you whole at this point, especially as you hear the movements getting closer and closer.

Tripping over a particularly large root, you fall through a bush, bracing for impact as you curse everyone you can think of for your luck. But rather than your shoulder crashing into a pile of dirt and twigs, you plant face-first into what feels like…cloth?

“Eager little thing, aren’t you? If you wanted to touch me, you could have just asked,” Astarion teases and you instantly tear yourself away, pushing your palms against his chest with wide eyes. And as much as you hate to admit it, a flood of relief hits you. And as much as it shouldn’t, meeting his gaze makes you able to breathe again.

Gods, what is wrong with you?

“There’s something chasing me,” you say hurriedly, pointing in the direction behind you. “I think it’s another spawn, I saw his eyes–”

His face stills when you practically jump at the bushes moving in ways the wind cannot will it to. Your arm flies to push him in front of you in case something were to leap out, and while you’re sure he’d complain dramatically about this gesture on any other occasion, he’s too busy worrying about what lies behind the bush. His hand shoots to what you assume to be that blasted comb he takes everywhere while you grip your knife, and you hear both your breaths hitch when something lunges out of the shrub.

It’s a small, puny squirrel.

Astarion doesn’t even try to stifle the laugh that escapes him as he throws his head back.

“I swear there was something following me!” you hiss, slapping his arm while the squirrel scurries away back to wherever it came from. He doesn’t stop, having little care about how your face flushes with embarrassment, and instead seems to revel in it. The bastard is enjoying this.

You wish you could throw the damn squirrel at his head.

“Oh, yes, I do believe there was,” he’s barely fazed while you continue glaring daggers at him. “I’m impressed you survived an encounter with such a terrifying foe, my dear.”

“It was definitely following me...” your voice trails off, and the bloodlust that had overwhelmed your lungs is fading away, leaving nothing but the sound of Astarion and his annoyingly loud laughter.

He stops when there’s a shrill scream from across the forest. One that wails in what is unmistakenly of excruciating pain.

The two of you slowly turn to one another, and a knowing gleam flashes behind his eyes.

“Darling, the smart decision here would be to leave–”

But you’re already rushing toward whoever this victim is, forcing him to groan loudly and trail after you, snatching up your cloak from the ground in the process. You feel him close behind as you practically fly through the forest, with little care of how exhausted you were just moments before as the screams of pain seem to fuel your determination to lend aid.

Astarion, although displeased, only grumbles as he continues to follow your lead. “Is it necessary to be heroic now of all times? In a dark forest where there’s sure to be animals twice our size?”

You ignore him.

A leaf slaps into your face as you finally reach what’s now been reduced to soft sobs. And you’re not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t someone you knew.

“Berry?” you blink at the small girl, who you’re sure can barely even see you with how teary her eyes are. She watches you wearily before she gasps in recognition, and it’s then that you realize that her arm is bleeding.

“Tav!”

“You’re hurt,” you’re kneeling beside her in an instant, assessing her wounds as you reach to dig around your pockets in hopes of any medical supplies you might’ve left in there. “Did something attack you?”

“Yes,” she winces as you lift her arm to inspect it closer. “I’m not sure what it was, but it came out of nowhere, and they—-they tried to bite me.”

A lump forms in your throat. As twisted as it is, you're relieved you weren't actually imagining what you saw earlier. “Did you see if they had fangs? Did they look like a regular person?”

“I think so,” she replies in a hushed voice, wiping her tears. “I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do when it–”

A hand grabs her by the back of her cloak, yanking her in the air with her legs dangling helplessly as Astarion holds her just high enough to render attempts to kick at him useless. “I’d normally entertain tasteless tricks like this, but I’m in a less than forgiving mood, I’m afraid. You’ve cut into the time I have to fill my own stomach.”

You gasp, jumping to your feet. “Astarion, what the actual hells are you doing?”

“Trust me, you’ll thank me later, darling,” he sneers at the girl, hissing at him aimlessly. “Show them, you little imp.”

Having no idea what’s going on, you decide the best thing to do is de-escalate whatever misunderstanding he’s had about the poor girl tied to his hand. “You’ll hurt her. Just let her go and explain what’s going on.”

“Show them,” he pronounces each word harshly, glaring at Berry.

And finally, she tries to bite at his hand. This prompts her to unhinge her jaw just enough for you to see the glint of sharp teeth. Ones that do not certainly belong to an innocent orphan.

Were you always this unlucky, or was the past month just a living hell for you?

“See what I mean? You can offer your thanks to me later, darling,” Astarion smiles proudly, and if you knew him any less than you did, you’d think he’s psychotic for smiling like that in this situation. But then, again, maybe he is. “How you seem to attract so many of us is beyond me, but I believe we should refrain from keeping this one alive.”

Your jaw drops. As much as you feel appalled that the innocent girl you’ve been soothing over the death of her adoptive father for the past few weeks turned out to be one of the very creatures that nearly took your life (on multiple occasions), you can’t fathom the idea of just ridding of her. She’s still a kid—at least, to the naked eye. “Are you insane? No, we’re not killing her!”

“Gods, please don’t tell me you’ll try and make this brat see sense. She’s practically feral! Look at her!” he grits through his teeth, waving his free hand to the girl in question, who’s too busy trying to snap her teeth at him. “This thing doesn’t deserve your sympathy right now.”

Berry manages to catch the tip of his finger in her teeth, and Astarion lets out a string of curses as he drops her to the dirt. It doesn’t even take another second for her to lunge toward you, fangs bared and claws ready to sink into your flesh. You barely manage to swerve out of the way, her sharp nail grazing past your cheek.

“Berry, just listen to me! I don’t want to hurt you!” you practically yell, but she only stumbles on the ground a moment before rushing at you again. You reach for your dagger, fearing you may have to use it on a child until she’s snatched into the air again.

This time, Astarion hangs her by the cloak onto a tree branch, where she screams and grasps at the air, practically throwing a tantrum.

You gawk in utter disbelief; too many things are happening simultaneously.

And Astarion doesn’t help as he slips out the damn comb again, grinning from ear to ear. You notice that this time, he seems to have taken the time to sharpen the tips of the teeth, which nearly look akin to a row of needles.

He holds the comb in Berry’s direction. “Well? Shall I do the honors?”

As you watch him threaten a child who also happens to be a vampire, you ponder that maybe you should have just handed him over to Dalyria when you had the chance.

Tags:@ayselluna@littleenglishfangirl@bg3obsessedsideblog@iwillpissyourpants@cyberpr1m3@ukeia-uchiha@snowlotr@road-riot@spacekidnova@madislayyy@lordfishflakes@nicalysm@djarinsway@tinystarfishgalaxy@brainz00@hopeful-n-sad@ohdeerieme@madisban@chrismarium@chonkercatto@fanfic-share@bitterrenegade@sleepyred1703@miskouly@ravenswritingroom@iamlowkeycrying@deezus-roy@spiritraves@mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc@whisperingwillowxox@bdudette@misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @deezus-roy @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @marina-and-the-memes @kiwi-mansanas @woosaaghh @cminr @everybodystaycalm @divineknightmare @bangtanbecks @carolinelec @bitterbeanren @aelieknox Please let me know if I didn't add you to the list or if you'd like to be added! I needed to redo the entire taglist because it wasn't functioning, so please let me know if I missed you :)

#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #bg3 #fluff #shadowheart #astarion x you #astarion x oc

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weemssapphic · 10 months

Text

You Make Me Feel

Larissa Weems x f!reader

Summary: At 49 years old, Larissa Weems is the principal of Nevermore Academy - a successful career woman whose dominating energy demands respect from everyone she comes into contact with. She is also a virgin. What happens when she finally meets someone who wants to have sex (and so much more) with her?

Words: ~6.6 | ao3 link in title

Content/warnings: virgin!Larissa, internalized homophobia, hurt/comfort, nsfw (sickeningly sweet smut) - cunnilingus, vaginal fingering

A/N: after reading Hot Chocolate on ao3, I couldn't get the idea of virgin Larissa out of my brain so... here we are lmao

Larissa didn’t really know how it happened - the years had simply passed her by in a blur. She was a studious teenager, scoffing at her horny, unfocused peers. It’s not that she never had the opportunity, per se - there were boys who asked her out, who tried to ‘seduce’ her in that awkward, teenage boy way. They all disgusted her - she would wait until college, she reasoned, where she could find someone more mature.

So she left Nevermore behind for her studies. Here, the men - if they could be called such - were just as crude, just as unappealing. The thought of being touched by any one of them filled her with disgust.

It wasn’t until her senior year of college, when she found herself smitten with one of her female professors, that she entertained the thought of being anything other than straight. It was a thought that had only crossed her mind once before, when she’d accidentally caught her roommate at Nevermore, Morticia Frump, getting undressed. She’d felt oddly… aroused at seeing the girl’s bare skin - and immediately pushed down those feelings. Larissa Weems was enough of a freak as it was - she didn’t need the label ‘lesbian’ stamped on her as well.

But at the age of 22, Larissa had to admit that it was strange she’d never wanted a boy to touch her. She’d gotten close once, during a heavy drunken make-out session with some boy at a freshman party - before freaking out completely and leaving the poor boy squirming uncomfortably at the edge of the lake. And so, at the age of 22, Larissa finally had to confront her very un-platonic feelings for women.

By the age of 49, she’d gone through all the stages of grief regarding her sexuality: she’d vehemently denied entertaining the very thought of being anything other than straight. She’d been angry, oh so angry - at herself, at the world, at Morticia, at the boy she’d kissed. She’d gone through all the what-ifs: what if she’d made a move on Morticia, what if she hadn’t been so uptight, what if her family had been more accepting. She’d even fallen into a bout of depression, realizing how sad and pitiful she was for being a lonely virgin who hated herself for something she couldn’t change.

She’d finally settled on acceptance. Larissa had accepted that she was a lesbian. But, through all those years, she’d been too busy hating herself and throwing herself into her work to entertain thoughts of actually dating. So now she was 49. And a virgin. And who would want to be with a 49 year old virgin?

Sometimes, Larissa could ignore those thoughts, push them down. Sex and dating aren’t everything, she’d reason. She didn’t need anyone else. She had a successful career that kept her busy enough, after all - it was her dream as a teenager, wasn’t it?

Some days, though - days like today - it was harder to drown out the lonely, self-pitying thoughts. Days where she had a one-on-one meeting with you, for example.

As one of the teachers at Nevermore, Larissa found you particularly alluring - everything about you seemed to draw her in, leave her wanting more. You carried yourself with such confidence, you challenged Larissa in ways that both delighted and aroused her. You were kind and chatty, interested in what Larissa had to say - she felt she could talk to you for hours.

And you looked so delicious. In her weakest moments, Larissa imagined how it would feel to have a woman’s hands on her body - and more often than not, it was your hands she pictured, your face that surfaced in her mind as she pleasured herself. She yearned to feel your lips on her own, your body pressed against hers. How delightful it would feel to finally, finally be touched, to finally feel desired.

Today was no different - when you knocked on her office door for the start of your quarterly review, Larissa had to take a moment to compose herself before calling out “come in.” Her breath hitched in her chest as you strode up to her desk, grinning widely and taking a seat across from her.

The review of your performance took no time at all - you were honestly one of her best teachers, well-liked by the staff and the students (even Wednesday Addams had yet to cause an issue in your class). With twenty minutes left of your scheduled meeting time, the two of you began to chat about various, non-school-related subjects. Larissa found herself relaxing more and more, and before she realized what she was doing, she found herself asking if you’d like to join her in her quarters at the end of the day for a glass of wine and a chat.

“Of course, Larissa.” You beamed, sounding eager - was it Larissa’s imagination, or had a faint blush crept up your cheeks?

After agreeing to come by at 7, you took your leave to prepare for your afternoon classes - Larissa walked you to the door, which she leant against as soon as it shut behind you. Oh God, what had possessed her? An entire evening in your presence would be torture for her…

The worst part, somehow, was the fact that she knew you liked women - you’d brought up an ex-girlfriend once, Larissa had been taking a sip of coffee at the time and had nearly begun to choke. It was entirely plausible that you could… Larissa quickly shook the thought from her head. Even if you returned her affections, surely you’d hightail it out of there the second you found out how little experience Larissa had.

~~~

The afternoon passed quickly and soon Larissa found herself nervously pacing the length of her office, smoothing her sweaty palms over her dress to remove non-existent wrinkles.

Your knock sounded for the second time that day, and Larissa jumped at the sound. With a deep breath, she slipped into the persona she’d begun to adopt when dealing with the Mayor and other important figures - authoritative, even slightly seductive. It was the only way she wouldn’t crack under her nerves.

“Hello, darling,” Larissa husked as she opened the door and stepped aside to allow you to enter.

“Hey!” You’d changed out of your clothes from earlier into a low-cut blouse and a short skirt. A pair of simple black heels added two inches to your height, a fact that Larissa couldn’t help but find incredibly alluring. In your hand you held a bottle of Chianti, which you offered to Larissa. “Didn’t wanna come empty-handed,” you added with a nervous giggle.

“Oh…” Larissa’s heart fluttered at the kind gesture. “You didn’t have to.” She accepted the bottle with a grateful smile, hoping her blush wasn’t too obvious.

“I know, I wanted to.” You grinned at her, finally stepping into the office and closing the door behind you. Larissa reached past you to click the lock - and immediately paled as you smirked at her.

“My, my, Principal Weems, trying to trap me here and get me drunk?” you teased. Larissa’s panic must have been evident on her face because you burst into laughter and placed a reassuring hand on her arm - her skin burned at the contact as if it had been branded.

“I-I just don’t want students bursting into my office after hours, I…” Larissa trailed off lamely, unable to focus when your hand was still on her arm. It was so warm, so soft… she found herself imagining that hand on other parts of her body, trailing along her skin…

“Relax, Larissa, it’s okay,” you said, your face softening. “Either way it’s fine by me.”

Either way? Larissa nodded, swallowing thickly and trying to regain her composure. You’d always been very friendly, borderline flirty even, but something about being alone with Larissa outside of school hours seemed to relax you even further.

Larissa took a deep breath. A bit of teasing she could do - she was no stranger to a healthy bit of flirting to get what she wanted. Granted, her heartbeat was a bit more erratic this time, as she was actually attracted to the person across from her. Regardless - a bit of flirting couldn’t hurt. It didn’t have to be more than that.

“Would you like to take this to my quarters?” Larissa purred, plastering a seductive smile on her face and nodding in the direction of a door at the back of her office.

“I would love that.”

Minutes later, you were settled on the couch in Larissa’s living room and she was pouring two generous glasses of wine. She kicked off her heels and made herself comfortable beside you - you followed suit, taking the liberty to scoot just a bit closer. Larissa noticed, quirking an eyebrow - you laughed in response.

“Sorry, too forward?” You were still smiling as you made to shimmy back a bit - Larissa found herself placing a hand on your thigh, stilling your movements.

“You may stay,” she replied airily, grateful you couldn’t pick up on the way her heart was thundering loudly against her ribcage, seconds away from bursting. You placed your hand atop Larissa’s and she took a sip of her wine to mask the blush that was spreading across her face. Out of the corner of her eye, Larissa could see you mirror her movements, bringing your glass up to your mouth and taking a sip, watching her intently over the rim of the glass.

“Didn’t your parents tell you that it’s rude to stare?” Larissa murmured playfully, watching your cheeks go pink.

“No. They didn’t, actually,” you teased, before turning slightly more serious. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just… you’re really beautiful. Just want you to know that.”

Larissa felt butterflies erupt in her stomach and she turned to face you fully - you looked so cute, staring into your wine glass, cheeks pink… It had been so long since Larissa had been called beautiful - she was so careful not to put herself into situations where rejection could be the possible outcome. “Thank you.” You looked up and Larissa smiled.

“Larissa?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t know why you invited me here tonight. I was hoping… Well, I have to confess something, I want to be open with you.”

Larissa could feel her heartbeat in her throat, and she nodded slowly, suddenly becoming aware that her hand was still on your thigh.

“I’m interested in you, Larissa. Now maybe I’m interpreting this all wrong, and if so I’m very sorry - I promise I won’t let it affect our professional relationship. But maybe the feeling is mutual…?”

She could hardly believe her ears. Of course the feeling was mutual. Larissa felt warm and tingly all over, her heart pounding and her head reeling. All she’d ever wanted was suddenly in her grasp - it was now or never…

Larissa’s eyes flicked down to your lips. Something in her expression must have given her away, for you leaned in and pressed your lips to hers - Larissa was helpless to stop you. It was just as she imagined - better, even. Your lips were soft and warm against hers, gentle - a stark contrast to the boy she’d made out with in college.

You quickly deepened the kiss, licking at Larissa’s lips which she parted almost out of instinct, allowing you to explore her mouth. You tasted of red wine and the lipstick you were wearing - Larissa couldn’t help but let out a soft noise of pleasure as heat pooled in her core. She felt you take her wine glass out of her hand and briefly pull back to set the two glasses on the coffee table - then your lips descended upon hers once more, the kiss quickly gaining intensity.

A wanton groan escaped your throat as you pushed yourself into Larissa - it was a beautiful sound, and Larissa could feel her underwear growing damp. She squeezed her thighs together for some much-needed relief, an action which you immediately noticed.

“Where’s your bedroom?” you rasped against Larissa’s lips. Her heartbeat stuttered in her chest - this was moving so fast. She wanted to protest but with the way you were looking at her, eyes half-lidded, pupils wide, cheeks flushed - she found she couldn’t summon up the courage to deny you, despite how her stomach began to burn with anxiety.

Instead, she stood and led you to her bedroom, allowing you to guide her backwards onto the mattress. She felt your fingers toy with the zipper of her dress and push it down to pool at her hips - then, suddenly, your lips were everywhere at once. You planted urgent, demanding kisses down her chest, her stomach - your hands caressed the bare skin of her waist.

These were the touches Larissa had yearned for for so long - your soft fingertips leaving marks on her waist as your warm breath caressed her skin, your lips and tongue and teeth peppering her body with kisses as evidence of your desire. But she wasn’t enjoying them. It was too much, too fast - she was overwhelmed with sensations. The throb between her legs no longer felt pleasant - it felt daunting, dirty even. What would happen when you’d fuck her and notice how skittish she was? What would happen when you’d expect to be pleasured in return and she would, inevitably, fail miserably?

As your lips moved up her body again, Larissa knew she needed to slow this down and confess, before her inexperience became evident and disappointed you. She took a deep breath.

“I don’t have much experience,” Larissa confessed quietly - the words sounded foreign to her ears. She could feel her nerves rising further as she wondered if you would hate her for it, leave immediately and never touch her again - she waited with baited breath to see what you would say.

“A woman like you? I find that hard to believe,” you murmured playfully, your voice low and sultry as you began to trail kisses all along Larissa’s jaw, as your fingers dug into her hips.

You weren’t getting it. Larissa felt, for the umpteenth time in her life, shame well up inside her, warming up her skin and pricking at her eyes. She felt her throat begin to close as panic overtook her body, and she tried to no avail to calm her racing heart with deep breaths as her eyes glazed over with tears.

“Larissa? Larissa?” Everything sounded like she was under water, your voice was so far away. Eventually, she recognized her name and turned to meet your gaze. You were no longer kissing her - you looked down at her in concern, brow furrowed, frowning as your lips sounded out her name.

Larissa took a deep breath to steady herself. She felt foolish for getting so worked up - surely you would think she was some sort of freak. 49 years old and unable to even so much as make out with a woman without having a panic attack.

“Larissa?”

“Yes?” She tried to sound normal, nonchalant, but her voice betrayed her as it gave out, even on that one syllable.

“Where’d you go? What’s going on up there?”

Your fingers caressed her cheek in a soothing gesture and she allowed her eyelids to flutter shut, leaning into the warmth of your touch. She found herself craving it so, so badly, but she couldn’t allow herself to enjoy it - not when it would surely be the last shred of affection she’d ever receive from you. She stared at the ceiling, a hollow feeling settling in her chest.

“We don’t have to do this, we don’t have to do anything. You know that right?” You shifted off of her, lying on your side to face her and propping yourself up on your elbow. When Larissa failed to meet your gaze, she felt your fingers grip her chin, urging her to face you. “We could just watch a movie or something?”

I don’t want to watch a movie. I want to fuck you. I want to be fucked. I want my body to let me have this.

Larissa nodded numbly.

You sat up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Larissa moved as if on autopilot, pulling her dress back up and sliding off the bed, guiding you wordlessly back into her small living room. She gestured to the couch and you took a seat.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked, clearing her throat.

“Just water, thanks.” You offered her a grateful smile, and Larissa winced - she was going to need something stronger than water to get through the evening now, but she didn’t want you to think she was an alcoholic either, so she nodded and padded to the kitchen to grab two glasses of water.

When she returned you were focused on the television, flicking through Netflix. You paused to take one of the glasses out of her hand, careful not to allow your fingers to brush against hers as you did so - Larissa swallowed nervously and averted her eyes, taking a seat next to you - close enough to feel your body heat, but not touching you.

“I feel like Netflix took all the good movies off,” you whined with a slight pout - if Larissa hadn’t been so in her own head, she might have chuckled, finding you quite endearing. “Is there anything you want to watch?”

Larissa felt herself shrug. Her mind was elsewhere, replaying your interactions leading up to now, internally berating herself for letting on that she wasn’t okay. If she’d only been able to play along better… it was something even teenagers did, for fuck’s sake - it shouldn’t be a big deal. If she could just get it over with, then maybe -

“Are you more of a romcom or action kinda gal? Ooh. Maybe you wanna watch a horror movie or something? What about-”

“I’m a virgin.”

“Sorry, what was that?”

You hadn’t heard her. Larissa once again felt the sting of oncoming tears. “I’m a virgin,” she repeated, a bit louder, unable to stop her voice from rising in pitch, eyes trained on the floor in front of her.

The silence that enveloped the two of you was deafening.

A warm hand was placed on her thigh - she whipped her head around to face you, confusion and insecurity marring her features.

Your own eyes shone with care - Larissa felt her heart pound wildly against her ribcage.

“Thank you for telling me,” you said softly. “I’m sorry if I overwhelmed you earlier - I shouldn’t have moved so fast.” You looked almost ashamed, which confused Larissa further… What were you apologizing for? Clearly she was the one with the issues. She shook her head lightly, a bit dazed.

“No, I’m sorry…” Larissa hesitated, swallowing against the lump in her throat and fighting back tears. “I’ll walk you to the door, we can forget this ever happened.” As she stood, she felt your fingers gently encircle her wrist.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Larissa. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”

Larissa scoffed, but she made no move to extricate herself from your grip. Not when your warm fingertips were the only thing that could bring her comfort.

“I’ll leave if you want me to… but I’d rather stay and make sure you’re alright - if that’s okay?”

A part of Larissa was screaming, begging, pleading with her to kick you out so she could do what she always did - drown herself in her own self-pity (and maybe half a bottle of wine) and cry. But when she glanced down at you and saw the worry in your eyes, the adorable little crease between your brows that deepened at whatever you saw in Larissa’s own eyes, she nodded and sat back down.

“Is it… would you rather I not touch you right now?” you asked as you dropped Larissa’s wrist. There was a healthy distance between the two of you on the couch - it couldn’t have been more than a foot or two, but it felt like miles to Larissa, who felt the crushing weight of loneliness descending upon her again as you retracted your fingers.

“You can touch me,” she whispered, ashamed at how desperate she sounded. She felt the couch cushions shift next to her, and soon your warm thigh was pressed against hers - then your hand found her own, intertwining your fingers together. Your skin was so soft, your hand fit so perfectly within Larissa’s that it made her breath hitch in her chest, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of your small, feminine hand clasping her own. She wished her hands weren’t as clammy as they were, but you didn’t seem to mind.

“I hope I didn’t scare you away,” you said timidly. “I really like you and I… I didn’t mean to push you into anything. Fuck, I didn’t know, I’m sorry. I thought…” You trailed off, watching Larissa apprehensively.

“You really like me?” Larissa’s ears had perked up as you’d said it, she figured she must’ve misheard you. You smiled shyly then, and Larissa felt butterflies in her stomach. “Even… even now?”

You let out a low chuckle, giving Larissa’s hand a squeeze. “Even now? Is you being a virgin supposed to change my mind?”

“I’m 49…” Larissa whispered in anguish, her heart constricting in her chest as she realized she was admitting things to you now that she’d never told anyone.

“And? I mean I guess I’m curious why - it can’t be your looks or your personality, because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and you’re so easy to talk to… But it doesn’t bother me or anything.”

Larissa sighed, dropping her gaze to your intertwined hands. When she spoke, it was barely audible. “I was never attracted to men, so I didn’t want them to touch me. I didn’t realize I could be attracted to women until college and by the time I’d come to terms with that… let’s just say I’m certain no one would want to deflower someone in their 40s.”

“I would,” you said with a shrug, so nonchalantly that Larissa whipped her head around to face you. You chuckled at her bewildered expression. “Come on, Larissa. I don’t care about that. I like you as a person and I find you attractive. I want to have sex with you, if you also want to have sex with me. I don’t care how many other people you’ve been with - I really don’t care if the answer to that is zero.”

Larissa took a moment to mull over your words. They sounded almost too good to be true - she never thought she’d find someone who would be so calm, so gentle, so unfazed about the whole thing. And, well, that it just so happened to be the woman she had a crush on… she could feel herself nodding at your words.

“But we don’t have to have sex if you don’t want to. Obviously.”

“I want to,” Larissa said firmly, if a little too quickly - it made you smirk, and her cheeks turned scarlet.

“We’ll go at your pace then.” You brought Larissa’s hand up to your lips and pressed a tender kiss to her knuckles. The soft brush of your lips made a rush of heat pool in Larissa’s abdomen. “Only what you’re comfortable with. And if you want to stop, we stop. I want you to have fun, Larissa. I want this to be good for you.”

“Thank you,” Larissa whispered. The smile she received in return was blinding, and her heart felt just a smidge lighter.

“Do you want me to leave for tonight?”

Larissa shook her head no. You snuggled into her side and picked up the abandoned remote again, flicking through a few more options before finally settling on Carol - Larissa felt herself slowly begin to relax as the film started.

A few minutes into the movie, Larissa felt your fingers begin to trace absent-minded patterns on her knee. She shivered at the touch - she could feel herself start to get worked up. She wondered if there was any way to salvage the evening - her attraction to you had only grown through your show of empathy, and maybe now that you knew her secret, her body could feel safe enough to let go.

Larissa turned towards you - your head was resting against her shoulder, it would be so easy to just lean in and-

You turned your head and met her gaze. “Now look who’s staring,” you teased. Larissa’s eyes were glued to your lips as you spoke. You were such a good kisser, you tasted so good. She leaned forward, focused on her goal - your lips curled into a smile as you leaned in as well. Larissa’s eyes fluttered shut the moment your lips met and she let out a breathy moan. You didn’t deepen the kiss - you simply pressed your lips to hers, humming and gently cupping her face in your hands.

Larissa felt emboldened by your gentleness - she parted her lips slightly to lick at yours. You opened your mouth for her, allowing her to explore your mouth before gently flicking your tongue against hers. She felt a mad fluttering in her abdomen at the deepening of the kiss, a little whimper escaping her throat at all of the sensations once again flooding her body.

Pulling back once she’d run out of air, Larissa rested her forehead against yours. Your hot, heavy breaths mingled with her own, her skin tingled with electricity.

“I want to try this again,” she whispered resolutely.

“Really?” You pulled back, your eyes flicking between hers. Your expression was a mixture of concern and excitement, and Larissa nodded.

You stood, extending a hand for Larissa to take and helping her up.

This time you climbed onto the bed first, settling against the pillows and waiting for Larissa. She followed suit, lying down next to you and pressing a hesitant kiss to your lips. She could feel the affection and tenderness with which you kissed her back and quickly relaxed, allowing her hands to rest on your waist and tugging you closer. You wound your arms around her and held her tightly - she felt safe in the minutes that you spent making out, heat slowly building within her.

Larissa froze as your fingers played with the zipper of her dress, her breath quickening. Noticing the change, you removed your hand and sat back on the balls of your feet.

“Are you sure about this?” you asked - there was no judgment detectable in your voice, only sweetness and worry. “Yes, I am, I’m sorry.” Larissa took a deep breath, trying to relax again.

“What if I got undressed first?”

She considered for a moment - yes, perhaps that would make her feel less vulnerable. She nodded and you began to unbutton your blouse.

“May I?” she asked. You smiled and dropped your hands, shimmying a bit closer. She unbuttoned the blouse the rest of the way, pupils dilating as it fell away from your front to reveal your lace-clad breasts. You slid the blouse from your arms and reached behind yourself, unclasping your bra and tossing it aside - your breasts jiggled slightly as you did so, and Larissa felt her mouth go dry.

Shimmying your hips, you slid your skirt down your legs and tossed it aside, before doing the same with your underwear. There you sat, completely naked, thighs parted slightly to reveal the wetness that glistened between your legs. Larissa’s own pussy throbbed with desire at the sight - she felt an overwhelming sense of euphoria at the fact that you were so aroused, in spite of everything that had transpired that evening.

“All for you,” you purred seductively, smirking as you noticed Larissa’s eyes glued to your cunt. Larissa snapped her gaze up to meet yours and you leaned forward again, pressing a soft kiss to her lips as your fingers once again found her zipper and began to drag it down. She moved her body accordingly so you could slide the dress down her body - nodding as you cocked your head in question when the dress pooled at her hips. You slipped her out of the dress completely, then crawled up her body and settled next to her, toying with the clasp of her bra.

“You can take it off,” she whispered, almost amused at how fast you complied.

The hunger with which your eyes roved over her torso, drinking in the milky expanse of her soft stomach, the swell of her breasts, her pink nipples that slowly hardened at the chill in the air - it felt like a drug to Larissa. She’d never had anyone look at her like that - no one had ever seen her naked in such a context, and she felt her chest flush.

Part of her wanted to cross her arms over her chest, her anxiety rising at the unabashed attention - but then you lowered your mouth to her right nipple and gently soothed your tongue over the bud, and her brain short-circuited.

Arching her back off the bed, Larissa let out a strangled, breathy sound - your tongue on her nipple felt like velvet, divine and soothing, and it sent tingles down her spine. Then she felt you roll her other nipple between your fingers and groaned - it was a filthy sound, and her hand shot up immediately to cover her mouth.

Your tongue stilled and you looked up at her with a smile. “No, I want to hear you. That was a very pretty sound you made.” Larissa blushed, removing her hand from her mouth. Your tongue resumed its ministrations, slowly causing the small, pink bud to harden, and Larissa whimpered at the shocks of pleasure that originated behind her navel and rippled outwards in waves.

“Does it feel good when I do that?” you murmured, moving your mouth from one breast to the other, and Larissa nodded fervently.

“Please, keep going,” she breathed, a tightness coiling in her abdomen as your hand joined your tongue to knead at the soft flesh of her breast.

Once you’d showered each of her breasts in ample attention, your lips began trailing down her stomach - much gentler this time, much slower. Larissa almost felt embarrassed at how her body was reacting, how excited she seemed to be getting, as your lips left a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Can I take these off?” You toyed with the waistband of Larissa’s underwear - she paused for a moment, before finally nodding again.

Your fingers brushed against her skin as you tugged her underwear down her legs, then settled between them. With you suddenly this close to her pussy, Larissa began to worry whether she should have shaved. She felt her nerves rising again as she waited for you to tell her how disgusting you found her - then she felt your lips begin to press reverent kisses to the little curls, as if you could sense her anxiety and were trying to reassure her that it was okay.

“Is it okay if I use my mouth?” you asked sweetly. Her eyes widened and her face suddenly felt hot - you were being so considerate, asking all these questions, making sure she was okay with everything, and Larissa wished you didn’t have to do that - she wished she could just be okay with whatever you wanted to do to her.

“I’m sorry, this must be terribly tedious,” she mumbled, her voice dripping with insecurity that, in any other context, she simply did not possess - she hated herself for it right now, and she was unable to meet your gaze because of it. A light slap to her thigh shocked her into looking at you, however. You frowned up at her from between her legs. “Hey. Don’t say that. Making love to you isn’t a chore, Larissa. I want this. So bad. And I want you to enjoy yourself as much as I am. Understood?”

“Yes,” she replied, breathless at your display of dominance.

“Good girl.” Larissa let out an involuntary moan - she had never considered that she would enjoy being called a ‘good girl’, but she couldn’t help the way her cunt throbbed at your words. “So. Is it okay if I use my mouth? Or do you want to stop?”

“N-no, I don’t want to stop… you can use your mouth.”

You beamed up at her, before carefully hooking one of her legs over your shoulder - Larissa could feel herself being spread open at the action.

Soft lips began littering her inner thighs with gentle kisses. Larissa tried her best to stay still, not to squirm - but when your mouth finally met her cunt, your tongue slowly trailing up her slit, she couldn’t help but buck her hips into your face.

A soft groan left her lips when she felt your tongue flick against her clit - she was so sensitive, and the touch was so different than when she pleasured herself - it made every hair on her body stand on end. Your lips closed around the sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking gently and drawing little whimpers from Larissa’s throat as her back arched. She felt herself quickly getting lost in the sensation.

“Does this feel good?” you murmured, pulling back for a moment.

“Y-yes,” Larissa panted - her breathing was already beginning to get heavier.

“If anything doesn’t feel good, if you don’t like it, tell me, okay?”

Larissa hummed and you began licking at her folds, gathering her juices on your tongue and letting out a loud moan of delight. “Fuck, you taste amazing.” Larissa couldn’t help but blush again, but her embarrassment was forgotten the second your tongue circled her clit. She shut her eyes and tried to focus on relaxing.

She found herself unsure what to do with her hands - she briefly brought them to your head, then fisted at the sheets next to her. Then she felt something brush against them and opened her eyes to see your own hands blindly reaching out and grabbing for hers. She intertwined your fingers, her heart leaping in her chest as you gave her hands a squeeze.

The coil in Larissa’s stomach was tightening by the second. She felt herself growing more comfortable with every passing minute, allowing unfiltered moans to pass her lips, spurred on by the noises you were making - the breathy groans, the wet sound of your tongue lapping at her folds. When you gently circled her entrance, she couldn’t help but whine and buck her hips.

“C-can you go inside?” she asked quietly, rolling her hips against your face. You groaned in response, slowly pushing your tongue into her hole. Larissa’s walls fluttered against your tongue and she let out a guttural moan.

“Good girl,” you purred between thrusts of your tongue. “You’re doing so well for me, love.”

Larissa could feel herself getting closer, her thighs trembling - she tried to keep her legs open but the next thrust of your tongue caused her to snap them shut around your head.

Slowly she began to unravel, her release cresting like a wave as you alternated between teasing her hole and sucking her clit. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she lost herself completely in the feeling of ecstasy overwhelming her body.

She felt your tongue soothe over her folds, then her thighs, lapping up the evidence of her orgasm. You gave her hands a gentle squeeze, before gently extracting your fingers from her grip and crawling up her body. Larissa’s eyes were still closed when she felt your lips on her own. At your tongue’s insistence she parted her lips, whining at the taste of herself as you licked into her mouth.

When you pulled back and cupped her cheek, Larissa opened her eyes. She was almost shocked at the sheer amount of affection and adoration that swirled in your pupils as you searched her face - it made her heart flutter in her chest.

“How was it?”

Larissa hesitated - what was she supposed to say to that? It was everything I’ve ever wanted and more, because it was with you… She buried her face in the crook of your neck and sighed, inhaling the scent of sweat and your sweet perfume on your skin.

“Really good, darling,” is what she settled for as she contentedly nuzzled her nose into your pulse point. She felt your arms wind around her and allowed herself to be held as her breathing slowed. A chaste kiss was pressed to the crown of her head and she smiled against your skin.

You shifted next to her, wrapping your legs around hers, and Larissa could feel your slick rub against her thigh. Tentatively, Larissa allowed her hand to trail down your bare waist, over the swell of your hip. She could feel you shiver against her as her fingertips brushed against your mound.

Larissa reached between your thighs and pulled back to get a look at your face - you watched her intently, pupils blown, lips parted to let out shaky breaths. Slowly, Larissa spread your folds with her fingers, gasping as she felt how wet you were. She gathered some of your juices on her fingertips and massaged them over your swollen clit, enraptured by the soft moan you let out, the way your eyes fluttered shut and your hips twitched seemingly of their own accord.

With your eyes closed, Larissa allowed herself to admire your beauty, the way you gave in to her touches. She touched you the way she normally touched herself, and it seemed to please you - your face was gorgeously flushed, the most obscene noises slipping from between your swollen lips. When you arched your back, Larissa’s eyes fell to your nipples, hardened with arousal. She lowered her mouth to your breast, flattening her tongue and soothing it over the pink bud, drawing a moan from your chest.

“Bite,” you murmured. Larissa paused, glancing up at your face - then felt your hands on the back of her head, pushing her into your chest. She licked your nipple once more, before grazing her teeth against it and gently biting.

“Fuck, just like that,” you mewled, and Larissa bit down again, the heat within her own body building at the string of obscenities dripping from your lips.

You rolled your hips against her hand as she continued to stroke your clit. She felt your fingers encircle her wrist, guiding her to your dripping hole. “Two fingers,” you instructed breathily.

Larissa complied, first pushing in one, then two fingers, inadvertently biting down on your nipple again as she felt your walls draw her fingers in. She curled her fingers, experimenting with the pace of her thrusts until she heard your breathing stutter.

“Shit, you’re so good at this,” you praised, your thighs beginning to shake and the rolling of your hips becoming more and more erratic. Your face contorted with pleasure as you rode Larissa’s fingers - she felt your cum drip down her hand as you tensed around her, then you sighed and relaxed into the mattress.

Larissa sat up, pulling her fingers out of your cunt - the needy mewl that left your lips caused a shiver to run down her spine. Your eyes met hers, full of affection and desire, and she felt emboldened - she brought her fingers up to her mouth and licked them clean, moaning at the taste. It was intoxicating - she knew she could get addicted to that taste.

“C’mere,” you murmured, holding your arms open for Larissa. She settled into them, slinging an arm around your bare waist and tugging you closer. You pressed a kiss to her lips. “That-” kiss “felt-” kiss “incredible” kiss.

Larissa felt herself blushing at your compliment - she couldn’t have asked for a better experience for her first time. It might have come some twenty years later than she’d hoped for, but if it meant she could be here with you right now, your fingertips tracing soothing patterns on her back, your breath tickling her cheek - she’d wait those twenty years all over again.

“I’m glad it was you, you know,” she whispered.

“I’m glad, too,” you whispered back, a gentle smile tugging at your lips.

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adamstnheights · 1 year

Text

Stitches - Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Summary: You’re the newest recruit to 141 and still trying to figure out your intimidating, mysterious lieutenant. Being assigned as his partner on the field for the first time on a sniper mission, you’re unsure exactly how to act around him, especially when he has such an… effect on you. But when you both get caught in the crossfire, you’re forced to take cover with him and mend his wounds, much to his (begrudging) appreciation.

An alternative take on the Recon by Fire mission in MWII. Also based loosely around the Simon Riley ASMR video by Jim ASMR on YouTube because it was just so cute :)

Reader’s callsign is Zero (iykyk)

Content: Reader uses she/her pronouns, Sniper Reader, Reader used to want to be a medic, Military Inaccuracies, Medical Inaccuracies, Gunshot Wounds, Ghost being super soft, You taking care of Ghost, Ghost taking care of you, Gentle touches, Needles, Bandages, Stitches, Developing feelings, Ghost trusting you, Flirting, Fluff, Ghost is a cat person (REAL)

Word Count: 7.4k

“Ghost and Zero, you’ll station up at the top of the hill and see if you can take any of the cartel guards out from a distance,” Price ordered over comms. “When the path is clear, Gaz and I will move into the hatchery and clear them out, looking for any evidence of the missiles. Laswell will be out on the water on overwatch. If we need her, she can get to shore and join us in the hatchery.”

Usually, you would be standing in the debriefing room to hear your instructions for a mission, but because of the short notice and urgency, you were listening to Price’s voice over comms in the back of one of the task force’s vans. While Price continued to speak, you slowly let your gaze move over to where Ghost was sitting across from you in the back of the van, only for your whole body to seize up when you realized that he was already staring at you. And of course, you couldn’t tell what the hell he was thinking—basically his whole expression was covered by his mask. It frustrated you to no end. It felt like he always had the upper hand, not allowing the enemy or opposition to get a read on his face, which was understandable, but you wanted to know. You wanted to be able to know what he was thinking. In comparison, it made you feel extremely vulnerable. Maybe you’d look into getting your own mask.

Being the rookie made you feel extremely out of place. It didn’t matter you had five years of being a sniper under your belt; you’ve only been with them for six months, so to the rest of Task Force 141, you were still the newbie. Talk about your skill had been passed around by word of mouth, and soon Captain John Price had approached your former unit and proposed a deal to you that was too good to pass up. So a few months and a location change later, you were the newest addition to 141, thus securing your label as “the rookie.” There wasn’t really anything you could do about it.

Luckily, the guys in the unit welcomed you with open arms, although the kindness did come along with a fair share of humorous and flirtatious remarks. Soap and Gaz basically took you under their wing immediately, taking pride in teaching you new things and showing you the ropes of 141. They urged you to join in on their game nights and when they would go out to the bar after a hard day of training or a rough mission. You felt at ease around the other men, too, for the most part.

Ghost was another story. From the first time you met him, you were intimidated. He had a towering, large figure that could speak for itself, but also his voice was deep and gruff, especially when he was barking out orders. You weren’t scared of him, per se, but you were cautious. From the interactions you’ve had with him and the way you’ve observed him on missions, you definitely wouldn’t want to get on his bad side. He was mysterious—the mask and skull cover showed that the most, but on top of that, you noticed the way he expertly dodged any prying questions that Soap would ask him over comms during a mission. When you and the rest of the crew got drunk and began spewing out stories from your former lives, you noticed how Ghost would simply sit back and listen, observe, but not provide any stories of his own. You were sure he had his reasons for being closed off, but you couldn’t help but wish that he were… more approachable. Especially now that you were on your first mission with just him by your side, you felt like you knew him the least out of the other members of 141.

The van slowly and quietly came to a stop towards the top of the hill. Ghost opened the back doors and jumped out onto the ground and you followed, rifle in hand.

“Zero, on me,” Ghost said, nodding his head his way.

The fog along the coastline was thick—good for the enemies not spotting you, but not as good for you spotting the enemies. You stationed yourself about forty yards away from the edge of the uppermost hill, where the grass was thick and high. The outline of the hatchery could be seen far, far in the distance, right along the edge of the land. From where you and Ghost were crouching, you could see below where a dirt path winded slowly down the hills. It would take some time and patience to fully push forward and make it safe enough for Price and Gaz to breach the buildings down below. But you were ready; more importantly, you were counting on this mission to prove your worthiness to Ghost. It was kind of pathetic. You knew you were a damn good sniper out on the battlefield, and yet, ever since Ghost’s intense, unreadable gaze landed on you, you’d felt determined to do whatever it took to get his approval. It didn’t help that the way he looked at you kind of really made your heart race, in the most confusing way, and the periodic sarcastic jokes he would make over comms made him more endearing.

Still, you didn’t want to push your luck. The last thing you wanted was for this mission to bring you back to square one in terms of your reputation on the team. In front of you, Ghost crouched even lower to the ground, pointing his rifle outward and looking through the scope. You fell back slightly behind him, also crouching in the grass. After a few moments of silence, you furrowed your brow at him, unsure whether he was going to say something or if he was just trying to act like you weren’t even there. Maybe he was annoyed by you, annoyed that out of everyone else on 141, he was stuck with the rookie.

Finally, he nodded his head forwards, motioning you to follow him. Both of you crawled through the grass until you reached closer to the edge of the hill. You both got down, fully lying on the dirt. Through the fog, you could now make out the wire fences around the hatchery, where cartel were guarding the entrances and walking along the dirt paths surrounding it.

“I can see about ten of ’em, all ’round the entrance fence,” Ghost finally broke the silence.

“We need to take our time,” you said, “They’ll spread out, into groups of two or three. Then we can take them out.”

“I’ll follow your lead,” he replied, “Let me know who to take out.” Normally, he would be argumentative to a new recruit taking the initiative, but there was something about you that fascinated him. He didn’t mind hearing your voice walking through the plan and telling him what to do. Price had told him about your skill; he knew that you knew what you were doing.

You readjusted your rifle just so, looking through the scope.

“On top of the building, two snipers,” you announced, “Do you see my laser on your thermal?”

You could hear Ghost repositioning his rifle a couple feet away from you in the grass. “Affirmative.”

“Go.”

You pulled the trigger, hitting the sniper on the right. Mere seconds afterwards, you heard Ghost’s rifle go off and through the scope you could see the second sniper’s body fall over.

“Got ’im,” he said. “On the right side of the fence, near the blue shipping container, there’s two.”

“I’m on him,” you said, lining up your shot next to his.

Ghost shot first this time, you followed him. The two men by the shipping container dropped to the ground. You continued scanning the area.

“Three more, below, closer to us, walking by that white van,” you flexed your hand and regripped the trigger.

“I’ll get the stray,” Ghost said.

“Copy that.”

You lined up your shot to the guy furthest to the right, watching as Ghost’s laser appeared over the man next to him. Again, seconds after you shot, Ghost followed, taking out the other. He quickly readjusted his hold on the rifle to focus in on the third one of the group. As you watched through the scope, the third man immediately went onto high alert, pointing his gun around him. Ghost wasn’t worried though as he lined up his shot. Poor bloke; unlike the first two men, this one would spend his last living seconds in panic mode.

Unfortunately, in the few seconds in between, the third man shouted and seemingly alerted someone else. Immediately after Ghost shot him down, two more men came running into view, shooting upwards towards the two of you. With a few uncoordinated shots, you and Ghost took them down quickly, but the not-so-subtle gunfire from your direction gave away your position. Before you could even think about moving, a bullet sped right past your view and into Ghost’s arm.

“Fuckin’ hell!” Ghost grunted, sucking in his breath in pain. “Where the fuck—?”

You were frantically scanning the area for where the shot could have come from when another bullet came speeding towards you, and you felt a sharp pain searing through your own arm. Furrowing your brow, you struggled to look even harder through the scope. “Shit—!” You winced.

“Got ’im,” Ghost announced, pulling the trigger, “To your left, on top of that small shed. There was another one.”

“Fuck.” You noticed two more men emerging from behind the shed. Both of you quickly took them down. “We– We need to push forward, we don’t have the best view from here. I can’t tell if we cleared the whole area.”

“Copy that.”

You began to crawl forward, the pressure of leaning on your right arm not helping the gash there. Before you could crawl even a foot you felt an unfamiliar touch on your forearm. Ghost had placed his gloved hand there, and you turned to look at him.

“You okay?” He asked lowly. You nodded your head, too shocked to speak.

You and Ghost quickly moved forward, onto an area of grass a bit lower down the hill than where you were before. You could see a bit closer now, and from the new angle, you could make out the rest of the area below. There were a handful more men on guard around the building, and you gripped your rifle hard in an attempt to distract your body from the pain. You monitored Ghost’s laser and helped him take out the men accordingly. Barely any more gunfire was exchanged.

“Price, Gaz—we cleared the outside surroundings of the buildings. You should be good to go in now,” he directed over comms.

“Copy. Good work, you two,” Price replied.

You met Ghost’s eyes from between the blades of grass and you could tell that he was intentionally not letting Price know that you two got hit. You could have spoken up yourself but you had successfully eliminated everyone and neither bullet seemed to have hit anything critical. Giving the lieutenant a knowing nod, you scanned the area and noticed a stream of water by a small stone building. It wasn’t really a building, more like a small hut. Ghost saw where you were looking and nodded his head towards it, giving you the go ahead.

Crouching slightly, you both quickly snuck towards the stone shack. Ghost positioned himself to cover the rickety wooden door, which you kicked in, instantly holding your rifle up to clear the inside. He followed you close behind, checking all corners of the worn-over room. Everything inside was covered in moss or other overgrown plants.

“Clear.” Ghost stated, lowering his gun. You were already sliding down against the stone wall towards the corner of the room, grasping the side of your arm. Ghost rushed to your side, sitting next to you. “Here,” he went to look at your arm, but you expertly reached for him first.

“Show me yours first,” you whispered, “Mine’s just a graze. Yours is worse.”

“Are you defying your superior?” He asked. You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“Yours is worse,” you repeated, shaking your head, “The bullet lodged in there. I need to take a look.” You were staring at his left bicep, where the layers of jacket and shirts were ripped into by the bullet. The hole in Ghost’s skin was large, bleeding profusely.

“It’s nothing,” he grumbled, “I’m more worried about you, Zero.”

Your eyebrow raised and you tilted your head up to look at him. Behind the mask, you could see his eyes clearly. They were hazel, and for probably one of the first times since you’ve known him, they looked soft and genuine. Up close, you could see little spots where the black paint smudged and his skin was peeking through. His eyelashes were blonde, slightly covered by some black face paint, but definitely blonde. Suddenly, you were trying to picture Ghost’s blonde hair under the mask and balaclava. You weren’t as intimidated by him anymore as you were intrigued—deep down, you wished you could see more of him.

From what you’ve observed of him (plus things Soap and Gaz have said), you knew he wasn’t really as big and scary as he seemed to be. He cracked jokes over comms during missions. During downtime on base he’d join the rest of the group playing cards or drinking, still wearing his balaclava obviously, but without the skull cover and only minimal black eye black on, so you could see more of his face clearly. You would never admit it to the rest of the guys, certainly not Soap, but you found Ghost to be quite handsome. (You could just hear Soap teasing you: You don’t even know what he looks like! He could be ugly!) Between his deep voice, towering figure, and the way his hands worked around his rifle (you have stared too many times to admit), he was… hot. What more could you say? It felt like a silly high school crush; he was your superior and you barely knew anything about him. But… you wished you could learn more. You would, if he’d let you. You would.

And now, with his face only inches away from yours, his eyes looking at you intently, you felt determined to take care of him. You wanted to see that softer side of him, and you also wanted an excuse to dote on him. Already, he was acting a bit more flustered than usual with you trying to defy him. You wondered how long you’d be able to keep it up for.

“I’m not taking that for an answer,” you insisted. “Yours is worse, so we’re taking care of you first.”

Ghost raised his eyebrows, his mouth partly open in shock of your defiance, but his lips spread into a smirk, amused by your determined edge. He was intrigued by you, so he’d let you win this argument. He didn’t say anything more as you inched closer to him. He sat with his entire back against the wall, facing forward. You turned your body towards him, sitting cross-legged as you placed a hand on his arm where the bullet wound was.

“I… think you’re going to have to take this off. The jacket, at least. Sorry, Lieutenant,” you said.

“You can call me Ghost, you know,” he said as he leaned forward to unclip his tactical vest and shuck the jacket off.

“Sorry,” you said quietly, “I was just trying to be polite, I guess.”

“Don’t need to be polite with me,” he smirked.

“Okay… Ghost,” you smiled. You took off your own tactical vest and rummaged through the back pockets, pulling out your first aid kit. You opened the kit and took out the tweezers. “Sorry if this hurts.”

“S’alright, not the worst thing I’ve endured. And I haven’t had the privilege of such an… assertive patching up,” Ghost could feel himself blushing behind the mask. He was glad you couldn’t see.

First, you inspected the bullet. It had implanted inside his arm, making it impossible for any kind of extraction, especially under conditions like these. With only minimal shattering, the pieces embedded into the muscle, there were no critical places hit or at risk. Your main goal was to stop the bleeding so you could stitch the wound closed.

“It seems like… most of your muscle absorbed the bullet. No bone damage or critical areas hit, so… all I’m gonna do is stitch you up,” you explained. You held back a giggle, pushing away the urge to squeeze his arm; you weren’t entirely sure if he’d like that very much (you were almost positive he’d kill you). “When we get back to base, the nurses at the infirmary can keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn’t get infected or anything, and if not, then it’ll just heal over.”

“Aw, no trophy for me to take home?” Ghost asked.

“You still get to take it home,” you replied, taking your two fingers and tapping his arm above the wound, “just in here. Hey, now it’ll always be with you.” He shuddered at your touch.

You began cleaning around and in the wound, earning a sharp hiss from Ghost’s mouth as you wiped the area off with a small rag and some water from your hydration bladder. You poured some water slowly onto the wound, trying to flush out any dirt or debris, before placing some gauze over it and applying pressure to slow the bleeding. While your one hand was pushing against his arm, you reached your other hand back into the first aid kit, fishing around for your stitching tools. You took out a needle with thread, along with a needle driver. You placed the needle driver on your leg for the time being.

You dug into one of your pockets, brandishing a small square alcohol wipe package, which you promptly ripped open with your teeth so you wouldn’t have to set the needle down. Ghost practically had to hold back from choking on his own breath, the way you were so focused and determined was certainly making him feel some unfamiliar type of way. He had barely gotten a chance to hesitate or argue against you patching him up, he was too mesmerized in watching you and you were already grabbing a hold of his arm again, sending a tingle down his spine as you cleaned his wound.

Then, with one hand, you pierced the skin on one side of the open wound with the needle, then the other side. Your other hand held the needle driver, which you used to grip onto the end of the needle, pulling the thread through the newly made holes. With an even amount of thread left on either side of the wound, you wrapped the thread from the left side around the needle driver twice, then grabbed the other end of the thread with the driver. You pulled from both ends gently, making a first throw of the stitch. You did it again, looping the one side of the thread around the driver, grasping the other end, and pulling it tightly to make the knot. Ghost watched, almost in awe, at your expert handiwork. You made it look so easy.

“I... wanted to be a nurse, or a medic, or whatever, you know,” you rambled as you moved up the wound a few centimeters, piercing the skin to start another stitch, “I made it through undergrad and then… shit just didn’t really work out. But hey, I found out I was a pretty good sniper. So I’m good for somethin’, at least.”

Simon felt his whole body heating up from the way both of your hands were making contact with his upper arm. One hand was gently pressing down on his bicep around the wound while your other had the needle held in between your fingers. The gash you were closing up on him was large; it was certainly going to leave Ghost with a jagged scar. But for once, he felt at ease.

In all his years in the military, the marks and scars that have riddled his body only brought him more shame and discomfort. Sure, there were a few scars that were his “go-to” to talk about when the other guys began showing off about past endeavors (This one here, knife fight. I grabbed the bloke from behind and stabbed’im in the neck, but not before he got one in my side). Other than that, most of the bullet holes and jagged lines where his skin couldn’t fully heal only reminded him of the horrors and the pain. Now, though, the thought of having a scar on his arm from a wound that you took care of, he couldn’t be more elated. A mark on his body, stitched together carefully and gracefully by you. A secret moment—a memory—that only the two of you shared, forever imprinted into his arm; a scar that no one else would know the backstory to, unless he decided to tell it (he wouldn’t—he didn’t want to share this moment with anyone else).

Okay, so maybe some sort of feelings were blossoming in the cold, cold heart of Simon Riley. You didn’t have much of an idea about it, and honestly, neither did Ghost himself. Soap had teased him multiple times about a supposed “crush” that Ghost didn’t fully realize he had. But the sergeant certainly had. Soap teased him about how he always insisted he didn’t want to play cards with the rest of the team, only to grab a seat next to you and strategize how to beat everyone else. Was it an excuse to sit real close to you and exchange whispers and laughter? Soap would never get an answer because Ghost would tell him to fuck off, but he already knew the answer anyways.

Ghost’s heart was racing, suddenly and somehow nervous in your presence.

“Why do they call you Zero?” He asked abruptly, a random question spilling from his lips. He just wanted to keep hearing you talk to him.

“Isn’t that like, impolite to ask?” You smirked.

He laughed—a genuine, full out laugh. Your eyes brightened. “I’m only curious,” he said softly. “Jus’ tryin’ to make conversation.”

“Well, why do they call you Ghost?” You shot back playfully.

“Now that’s classified, love.” His eyes immediately widened as the endearing term slipped from his lips. He hoped you didn’t catch it; meanwhile, you were going to think about it for the rest of the week. You grinned to yourself, and he looked down at his hands and focused on how your needle pierced his skin—a certain amount of discomfort, but something that felt good knowing that you were right there next to him. He didn’t want to get into his callsign; however, he was willing to give you something else. “My name—my real name, I mean… It’s Simon.”

You stared at him, wide eyed. You almost couldn’t believe that he told you, you hadn’t expected him to want you to know something like that. “Simon,” you repeated, watching as he nodded his head. “That’s a nice name. Simon. So… am I allowed to call you Simon now?”

Ghost looked past you at the wall for a brief moment, thinking. “Not on the field,” he stated, “But… when we’re back on base… sure. Yeah. Call me Simon.”

You shivered at his deep voice. Simon, Simon, Simon. You wanted to say it again and again. And he wanted to hear you say it. He would like his name a thousand times better if it was coming from your mouth.

“Simon—”

“Hey.”

“Sorry. Ghost,” you giggled.

Three stitches down. You kept working, quickly and efficiently. Ghost kept watching you, wondering why Price hadn’t brought you onto the team as a medic. Not that your sniping abilities weren’t needed and greatly appreciated, but Ghost selfishly thought about how from now on, if he got so much as a small scrape, he’d go to you for help. Soon enough, you were finishing the last throw on the fourth stitch. You moved onto the next one, lacing the thread through the needle to start again.

“Don’t know how to use half the shit in the first aid kit,” now it was Ghost’s turn to ramble, “Usually just slap a bandage on ’n hope for the best. I mean, I’m not stupid, I don’t leave my shit untouched to get infected or anything. I just… don’t really follow up on any of my doctor’s appointments. But I’ve made it alright so far.”

“You should let yourself be taken care of more often,” you said softly. Your face grew hot when you realized the way that could have sounded and you added, “When you get hurt like this. You don’t have to always put on a brave face and grit through the pain. You need to take care of yourself.”

Ghost scoffed almost instinctively, but his heart swelled at your concern for him. He admired you for being so caring, not just to him, but to everyone on the team. Despite not always showing it, he cared deeply about all of the other guys on 141, he would die for any of them. He didn’t have a family, but 141 was the closest he had to one. The way his team interacted with each other was important to him, and watching how you melded with everyone else over the past couple of months, he felt happy, content. Your kindness only intrigued him more; he wished that he could be the only recipient of your sweet words and attention.

“Well, I– I don’t usually trust anyone to patch me up,” he attempted at some sort of compliment. Your eyebrow raised and you looked up at him.

“Hmm. So… you trust me then?” You asked cautiously. You heard stories about how Ghost hardly trusted anyone, and your heart began to beat faster at the implication that you had somehow made it on the list of those he did.

“You could say that,” he said. He cursed himself in his mind for not knowing how to properly talk to you, how to make you feel cared about the way you made everyone else feel cared about.

“And what’s that supposed to mean exactly?” A smirk spread across your face.

“Fuck’s sake, just take the compliment, will ya?” Ghost practically grumbled, sounding like an annoyed child.

You let out a soft laugh. Ghost put the sound of your laugh into the back of his mind, for safekeeping. “That’s your way of giving me a compliment, huh?” You teased.

“M’not very good at it, am I?” He sighed into a small laugh.

“Just a bit rusty,” you tilted your head up at him, your faces somehow closer than you had remembered, “But you can get better with practice.”

“Practice, hm?”

“Uh-huh. You can feel free to practice your compliments and pick up lines on me anytime.” You were too shy to make eye contact with him after that; you began to focus extremely on his wound.

Ghost’s right eyebrow raised slightly, unable to properly register whether you were genuinely insinuating that you would enjoy it if he flirted with you. As if he even knew how to. Suddenly, he felt embarrassed that he had no idea what to say. He thought about Johnny, and how his downright stupid pick up lines he used on people at the bar usually actually worked. There was no way Johnny would let him hear the end of it if he approached him for help with flirting, but Ghost wondered who else he would want to confide in when they returned to base.

“Almost finished,” you announced, finishing another suture. The skin was carefully pulled back together, only needing one or two more stitches. “I am fairly confident that this will heal very quickly and very nicely. Well, granted that you go back to the infirmary and get yourself followed up on.” You raised your eyebrows at him expectantly.

“Do I have to go to the infirmary when we get back?” He complained. You laughed at the way he practically whined.

You looped the thread again with the needle driver and began the last suture. In a matter of moments, you’d knotted the thread three times over and secured the suture flat to the skin. You moved your head closer to inspect your work, nodding and looking up at him.

“Well, I’m done stitching you up. And yes, you do, because you need to make sure your wound doesn’t get infected,” you said, half sternly. Soap told you probably hundreds of stories about Ghost refusing to get proper medical help after returning from a mission, and your fleeting former life as an almost-nurse made you feel very strongly on the topic. “Please, after all I did to stitch you together, won’t you make sure that it heals alright?”

His heart swelled. As much as he tried to push down feelings like this, he knew that he’d do anything for you. And you asked so nicely. However, he had a negotiation in mind.

“Well… What if I get checked up on by you? When we get back to base? You know, instead of going to the infirmary?” He raised his eyebrow and watched the gears turn in your mind. He prayed that his message would come across properly: I’d rather see you. I trust you more.

“Don’t go getting too attached to your medic, now,” you fake tsk-ed at him, but you were smiling, too. Ghost laughed. Too late for that.

“You can give me a once over when we get back. Vouch for me so I don’t have to go deal with the other doctors,” he pushed.

“You’re very difficult, Ghost,” you tutted. “But… I’d rather be the one to make sure you’re alright. That way I can ensure you’re following the proper recovery routine.” You reached into your kit again and got out a bandage roll. You reached out for his arm again, beginning to wrap the bandage gauze around his arm.

“And what kind of recovery routine would you want me to follow?”

You clicked your tongue, thinking. “You have to let me eat dinner with you in your room. And then after, I can check your wound,” you decided. Luckily, the words coming out of your mouth were far from Go on a date with me, but it was certainly the closest you’d get. Ghost hardly ever ate dinner in the common area with the rest of the task force, you assumed mostly because eating would involve him having to pull his mask up. Remembering this fact, you quickly added, “I won’t even look at you while you eat. I just… thought maybe you’d like some company.”

He stopped himself from blurting out something inappropriate, a dumb teasing line about you just trying to make up an excuse to get into his bedroom. His usual confidence to say whatever dumb, crass joke he wanted disappeared with you so close to him. He was more nervous than anything to scare you away, to say something that would make you not want to be around him.

“I’d accept that,” he finally said. “And… you wouldn’t need to do that.” He could feel his heart pounding out of his chest. “You’re allowed to take a look at me while I’m eating.” He smirked as he saw your cheeks grow red.

“I— I mean, I didn’t mean I wanted to like, stare at you while you’re—” you tripped over your words, stopping to take a breath and collect your thoughts. Slowly, you opened your mouth again, “Well, I mean, I am curious… I guess…”

Ghost was smiling proudly under his mask, finding it incredibly endearing the way you admitted your curiosity. He always stuck to his secrecy behind the mask for the most part; he was sure that the other guys had seen his jawline and mouth from the times he ate or drank around them, but they never made too big of a deal (besides Soap, who would use the mask as a prime source for his teasing). More often than not, on base, he’d retreat to his room to eat simply to avoid any annoyances around lifting the mask up and back down over and over. But now, really thinking about it, he realized he wouldn’t mind at all if you saw him eating. Maybe, just maybe, he would enjoy your company for dinner on a daily basis. He wouldn’t jump to that conclusion just yet, but in the back of his mind, he already knew.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Ghost said, “I’d rather be able to look at you and talk to you while we eat.”

“So you’re taking my offer,” you beamed.

“That I am. Now let me look at you.”

The lacerations along your own arm were stinging and bleeding, but somehow the high of the lieutenant caring about you overrode that pain. Still, you weren’t going to pass up the opportunity to have Ghost dote on you, although you had a feeling he wouldn’t be as gentle as you were with him. Either way, you let him help you take your jacket off and you shuddered at the few moments his bare hand brushed against you. He placed his hands on either side of you, on your shoulders, turning you more towards him, closer to him. He looked at your arm.

“Look, we have matching wounds,” he said, raising his own arm up next to yours. You let out a small laugh, not expecting him to say something like that. It was sweet.

“We both have something to remember this day by.”

“You want to remember this?” He asked, as if he weren’t going to think about the way you gently stitched him up and took care of him for the rest of his life.

“Of course,” you replied, “We completed our mission, quite well, I might add, and I think we make a good team. Plus, you told me your name. So of course I want to remember this.”

Ghost blinked at you, trying to decipher any evidence of disingenuousness in your face, only to be met with the exact opposite. Your expression was soft and genuine. Your eyes shimmered for him. Ghost wasn’t used to hearing such nice, kind things towards himself, and you could tell he wasn’t used to it by the way he remained silent, not even coming up with a dry joke to change the subject. You wondered how many times you would have to compliment him before you could really get through to him.

“You’re staring, Zero,” Ghost’s deep voice brought you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, “Can’t help that you’re nice to look at.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, trying to ignore the way his cheeks were flushing again. His hands were slightly shaky as he took your arm, closer to him this time. He shifted his whole body so he was completely facing you, ready to patch you up.

You had only been grazed by the bullet, but it still hurt like hell. Your whole right arm was burning up with a searing pain, not the worst you’ve ever felt, but it definitely wasn’t comfortable. The skin on your arm wasn’t torn open the same way Ghost’s was, with the bullet embedding inside, but it was like the edge of the bullet tried to scoop into your skin like a shovel into dirt. It didn’t go through or below the skin, but it was deep enough that blood was trickling down your arm. You were so focused on taking care of Ghost that you had barely noticed it.

“Fuckin’ hell, Zero,” Ghost said, his eyes widening in concern from seeing your wound more clearly. “You’re lucky the bullet didn’t lodge in ya.”

He reached next to him and grabbed a wad of gauze, dampening it with some water and placing it over you. His large hand placed pressure on you to stop the bleeding. You tried not to think about his hand pushing against you in a different context. His hands were warm on you and you couldn’t help but shiver. You hoped he didn’t notice the goosebumps along your arm.

After a few minutes of applying pressure to your wound, Ghost lifted up the gauze, inspecting you.

“Looks like the blood mostly stopped,” he told you, putting the wad of gauze next to him on the ground. He took out his own alcohol wipes, holding them up first as if to warn you This might hurt. He held your arm with one hand and wiped the wound with the other. The alcohol stung but it didn’t matter. Ghost was taking care of you. “Hold still.”

As he sanitized your wound, Ghost would wince whenever he heard you suck in a breath or make a small, pained sound from the alcohol. He didn’t want to hurt you. He wanted to be gentle with you like you were with him. Sure, maybe he wasn’t very good at all that, but he’d like to try, for you. His fingers brushed against your skin as he ran the alcohol wipe over the scrapes a few times, sanitizing the area and wiping away the blood.

“Don’t have any antiseptic,” he mumbled.

“Wait, I do,” you speak up, taking out a small tube of antiseptic ointment from your kit. Handing it to him, he put some on his pointer and middle fingers, gently making contact with your skin. He patted the ointment into the wound and the skin around it, his expression deeply focused to make sure he wasn’t hurting you. He wiped the excess on a small square of gauze and looked at you, as if waiting for approval. You blinked at him, smiling sweetly, and he turned away, always nervous when you smile at him, to reach for the bandage roll.

“I, uh, used to have a dog. German Shepherd. He got his back paw caught in a chain fence once and I had to bandage his leg and everythin’... Guess that’s the closest I ever got to bein’ a medic,” Ghost chuckled softly, unraveling the bandage and holding the end of it in place over your arm, using his other hand to begin wrapping it around you.

“A dog, hm?” Now that piqued your interest. “I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be a dog person.”

He shook his head. “Not really. More of a cat person, actually.”

“You’re joking,” you gasped. You tried to imagine Ghost with a cat cuddled up on his lap or chest.

“Cats get a bad rep,” he said. “I like that they’re independent and do their own thing most of the time. But they’re still sweet, they’ll still rub against you when you pet them and curl up next to you on the couch. They’re more stand-offish and brooding than dogs, I guess. But what’s so bad about that?”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” you whispered. Ghost locked eyes with you, and you could tell that his eyebrows were raised. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended or not. You continued, “But don’t worry. I really like cats, too. Misunderstood creatures. And cute.” You smiled at him, hoping to God he understood that you were trying to flirt with him. It was hard to tell, but you assumed by the way he chuckled softly and moved even closer to you to continue patching you up that he got it.

He placed his hand on your arm and ripped the bandage, placing the rest of the roll back into his kit. He repositioned the ending of the bandage so that it stuck on top of itself, keeping the wrapping in place without any need for medical tape. When his hands left your arm, you had to hold yourself back from frowning, already missing the skin-to-skin contact.

“Well, I think tha’ll do ya good, a’least until we get back, yeah?” Ghost said, leaning back from you a bit. Still, you noticed that the way you were sitting, your legs were still touching.

“Thank you,” you placed your hand over the bandage, moving and flexing your arm to see how it felt.

Ghost got up from the ground and began putting his jacket and tactical vest back on. He walked a few steps across the room where he had leaned his rifle up against a dusty table. Rummaging through his vest for some ammo, he began reloading his gun and humming ever so softly to himself. You watched him, your cheeks tingling with warmth. As much as you wanted to get back to base, you also didn’t want to leave this moment. You doubted that anyone else had the privilege to see him like this. In Ghost’s world, watching him reloading his gun was probably the most domestic thing you would ever be able to watch him do. When he finished, he turned and looked at you, completely catching you staring. You saw slight motion under the mask—he had to be smiling. The thought made your heart race. But you cleared your throat and scrambled to your feet, turning around to pick up your jacket and tactical vest off of the ground. You zipped up your jacket, half turned away from Ghost, but feeling his eyes on you.

“Zero.” His gruff voice sent shivers down your spine. You turned around and met his gaze. Those hazel eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Glad you’re safe.”

Your heart raced. Ghost’s heart softened.

———

The flight back to the base landed in the early hours of the morning. The sun had barely started to rise, the sky a deep pinkish red as you and the rest of 141 walked back into the building. Gaz and Price had successfully breached the hatchery, clearing it out and finding evidence of tunnels underneath the lighthouse on the island. Laswell would talk to Shepherd and figure out a game plan, but at least for one night, you would be able to relax.

As soon as everyone reached back to the barracks, everyone scattered into their rooms to clean up, unpack, and get some shut eye. Despite it being early in the morning, everyone on 141 hadn’t slept for at least 24 hours. You took a quick shower and changed into something warm and comfy, falling asleep in your bed without any tossing and turning. You awoke later in the afternoon, around four o’clock, stomach grumbling. Your face lit up, remembering your arrangement with Ghost—Simon.

You put some shoes on and freshened yourself up in the mirror, suddenly feeling nervous and yet you were so excited. Walking into the common area, you opened one of the fridges and took out a pasta dish you had made the other day. You split the leftovers in half, putting it into two bowls and microwaving them. Humming to yourself, you realized that you were actually getting the thing you’d been wanting ever since you met him: true, one-on-one time with the brooding lieutenant. Since yesterday, your feelings towards him had only blossomed further, and from the way he had looked at you and leaned close to you, you had a little bit of hope that maybe he could feel the same. You felt like a giddy highschooler as you took the bowls out of the microwave and quickly grabbed some utensils from one of the drawers. When you spun around, you almost crashed into Price who was entering the kitchen area with Gaz.

“Oh, sorry, Captain! Didn’t see you there,” you apologized but swiftly moved past them, barely paying either of them any mind.

“Where’s she going in such a hurry?” Gaz asked, raising his eyebrow as you continued down the hall. Price gave him the same puzzled look back.

“Hey, Zero!” Price called. You spun around. “Where are you off to?”

“Oh, I’m just bringing some dinner to Simon’s room!” you lifted up your hands with the two bowls of food to show them. Price and Gaz nodded slowly, and you were clearly in a hurry because you hardly waited for either of them to reply before you turned back around.

You turned the corner at the end of the hall out of their view. Both men were still staring at where you were standing seconds before.

“I didn’t know he let people into his room,” Price said, grinning ear to ear.

Gaz stood frozen in place, “I… Did she just call him Simon?”

Price choked out in laughter.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #simon riley #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty #simon riley fic #mwii #my stuff

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euphorix-moon · 7 months

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Teach Me How to Love

Ellie x Fem!Reader

Wc:1k

Synopsis: Ellie had never been one to show physical affection to other people but, when she meets you she tries to fulfill her newfound wish of showing you physical love

A/n: First post of October is a fluffy one !

Ellie had never been one to show affection often to other people .

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her friends; she did. She just never felt the need to show them through physical gestures like the rest of them seemed to need. It wasn’t that different when she was dating, so maybe that was one of the reasons Ellie never had a relationship that lasted that long. That and, of course, the fact that she had never properly fallen in love. She didn't know why, but for some reason, it was hard for her to click with other girls.

So, when Ellie met you through mutual friends, she was more than a little worried.

In Ellie's eyes, you were a ball of sunshine. You were always smiling, always happy, and always showing his love to others through soft touches. Even on the rare occasions where Ellie caught you in a bad mood, you always tried your best to remain optimistic. After some time, though, you soon noticed Ellie was not that open with the rest, so you kept your distance, finding other ways to show your care. You gave her gifts, sent her memes, called to ask if she was okay, and even sat in silence next to her just because.

The thing was: You were different from Ellie. Ellie couldn’t explain, even if she wanted to; all she knew was how much she enjoyed being near you and how she felt like she would give you the world if you asked for it. She just wanted you to be happy and smiley all the time, chatting loudly and hopping around.

But Ellie didn’t know how to show you that. She wasn’t sure how to approach you and tell you that she'd marry you right away if you accepted, of course. She wasn’t sure how to explain why she wanted to give you the whole universe, how she felt like her life was colorful now that you were in it, and how she fell deeper in love with you every time she saw you smile.

The closest she got to it was when you guys went out for a drink with a group of friends.

You were a lightweight, even more touchy when you were tipsy. You weren't completely intoxicated, per se, but you were clearly not sober. Your hands were roaming around Ellie's body, mostly caressing her back and tracing up and down on her arms. At some point, she leaned in, her face close enough to smell your sweet breath from the random drinks you chose. Although Ellie was glad to have been that close to you that night, she looks back on that night with embarrassment.

*****

She wasn’t sure how the rest happened.

Well, that wouldn’t be the truth. Ellie remembered each second, from the first heated and hushed kiss you guys shared until the way they fell into your bed, not long after. She remembered each inch of your body, each sweet sound you made, and each small touch you left on her body. She remembered everything about that night.

She thought it would be a one-time thing, but interestingly, it went on for a couple of months, both of you ending up in each other's beds and not discussing it.

Neither of you were really sure where you guys stood at this point.You guys had also started to spend even more time together, even when they weren’t naked and making out. The worst part wasn’t even the lack of communication, but the feeling that you were still trying to keep the physical distance between the two of you.

That’s why Ellie was startled when she was in her kitchen, drinking some juice, and felt arms wrapping around her torso. You allowed her to turn around, facing you expectantly.

“What is this?” Ellie asked, placing a hand on the other’s shoulder. She felt so small in your arms, in the best way possible.

“This is me showing you love.” You declared confidently.

“Disgusting.” Ellie blurted out, almost by instinct, as she usually did when all her friends started to get too touchy with her.

Your face remained expressionless as you took a step back, your arms letting go of the other’s body. The lack of warmth made Ellie frown. It was way more comfortable to be held by you. She wasn’t sure if her answer was supposed to be a joke or if it had simply been an accident because she panicked, but she knew she didn’t mean for the touch to go away.

"Wait....I didn't tell you to stop. To be honest i like the way that felt”

That caused you to search for something on her face, still unsure. The small pout on Ellie’s lips made you snort before pulling her in again, arms around the frame and face hiding in your neck. It felt different, but in a way that Ellie wouldn’t mind getting used to.

“You can do it more," she said. “You know, anytime you want to.”

"Els, if it were up to me, I’d live wrapped around you all the time.” told her, using the nickname you came up with at some point.

“I wouldn't mind it at all to be honest," she argued. “You could do it all the time, if you wanted.”

You pulled away just enough to maintain eye contact, your arms still around Ellie. “Yeah? Like, I’m your girlfriend."

“Yeah, because, you know, I wouldn’t mind that either,” she admitted, with some uncertainty. She knew she wasn’t that good with words, but she needed them at the moment.

“You wouldn’t mind it, or do you want me as a girlfriend?” You asked in a teasing tone, but there was some fondness in your smile. “Those are two different things.”

“I want it. I want you as my girlfriend," Ellie assured you, her eyes scanning your face and smiling as well as showing excitement and happiness.

“Good. Because I’d love to be your girlfriend, Els.” You declared, letting go of Ellie’s waist to cup her face and pull her closer. “Now kiss me, please.”

“To show you love.” Ellie added, making you laugh before swallowing down the chuckles in kisses.

A/n: As always hope you guys enjoyed and feedback is appreciated!

#ellie tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie x you #tlou #tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie williams fanfic #fanfic #ellie x fem reader #ellie fic #ellie fluff #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou2 #ellie x reader fluff

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csuitebitches · 1 year

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On Being Socially Accepted / Well Liked

Human beings are sociable animals. No matter the degree of sociability, there’s a part of us that wants to be loved, nurtured and accepted by those around us.

I didn’t want to make a guide of how one should be likeable, because if you think a little - from all the people you like, do you like them for the same reason? Not necessarily. You may like one friend for their humour; another for being a solid person thick and thin; a third for their extroverted personality… we’re all different and should be!

Now, you may have certain qualities that you want in all your relationships, regardless of the person. For instance, I’m very adamant about transparency and loyalty. Loyalty to me doesn’t mean standing up for me even if I’m wrong - it means caring for me enough to tell me I’m wrong. However, these qualities wouldn’t make you likeable per se - they would make you accepted within a social circle.

So how does one become likeable?

1. Ease up on the doormat culture

You’ll notice that most of the people you like are capable of having an independent opinion and thought. People pleasers may come across as inauthentic and dicey, especially the ones who change their opinion to agree with the majority. So start cutting out the people pleasing behaviour.

2. Have hobbies

You’ll generally gravitate more towards someone who seems to have their life together as opposed to someone who doesn’t. I’m always keen to talk to someone who does something a little different in their free time. I remember talking to a physicist who also wrote poetry - I was very intrigued by his work, and I invited him to my NYE party along with his girlfriend.

Now, there’s nothing wrong with not having your life together as long as you’re at least trying to make it better. Hobbies don’t have to be expensive. It’s also a better way to expand your circle- not all your friends will enjoy pottery or tennis, for instance.

3. On emotional/ trauma dumping

The worst people to guide you in life, my father always told me, are your friends. Blind leading the blind.

Your friends may have a good heart but not necessarily good advice. Keep the trauma dumping to a minimal unless your friend is okay with you sharing more. Bear in mind that even as a listener, when you hear someone’s traumatic experiences, you may feel emotionally overwhelmed.

Never share your private experiences, current situations, drama, problems, gossip with acquaintances or friends who you’re not particularly close to. Trust me, it can be tempting to engage in catty behaviour but there’s a good chance it’ll bite you in the ass.

4. Figure out your strengths

I know what I bring to the table when it comes to friendship - gentle honesty, alternative solutions and perspectives to issues and I’m always a planner.

One of my friends is a blunt critic and I always speak to her when I know I need a reality check about life.

Another friend is very non judgemental, she’s the one I open up to about the weird things I think of.

A third friend is my party friend, who is 100% the life of the party and I love his energy.

We can’t share the same relationship with everyone. Understand your strengths and hone them.

5. Likeable people don’t care about being likeable

Become detached from this idea of “I want to be liked.” Rather than that, I feel the statement “I want relationships who accept me for who I am” make more sense. As you grow older, you’ll realise that this teenager definition of popularity is nothing but inauthentic bullshit. You deserve friends who care for you and cheer you on.

The idea of “I want to be liked/ popular” also low-key reeks of desperate behaviour. It shows that you don’t really care about your thoughts or opinions as long as you’re accepted and you’re ready to modify your opinions to fit in. That’s the worst way to making friends because you literally can’t be yourself.

6. Yes, looks do matter

Looks do matter to a degree. I don’t mean that in a sense of physical features - I mean it from a sense of grooming.

I’ve noticed that people will be taken more seriously if you look a certain way. That doesn’t mean you have to buy stuff until your money runs out - it just means being at a healthy weight, dressing well, practicing personal hygiene.

7. Observational skills

Whenever I’m at an event and I notice someone feeling left out, I go and talk to them.

I remember being in the shoes long ago and feeling uncomfortable going to places. So when I see someone in the same position, I try to be the person I wanted at that point of time.

It’s important to have keen observation skills but what’s even more important is dealing with it subtly. I remember a girl at a party wearing a dress with the price tag still attached to the neckline at the back. I casually went over, put a hand on her back, discreetly whispered that her tag was out, should I put it back in? She said yes, and I put the the tag inside her dress without people around us noticing me. Discretion is a must in life. Don’t shout your good deeds- do them, don’t get flattered by compliments when people tell you that you were nice, and just play it off like it’s not a big deal.

8. Being impolite

I read a study that polite people are harder to connect with. Overly polite people can be seen as boring and that you need more energy to talk to them because the conversation only revolves around a few “polite” topics (studies, career, life in general, how nice the establishment is, the weather, common friends… surface conversation). I’m not saying don’t be considerate - I’m saying don’t be overly polite. Don’t be over accommodating to other people. You can disagree with things respectfully. You can share a different perspective or crack a joke.

9. What are you like?

Are you better one on one or in groups?

I’m a much better person one on one. I resonate with people better when we have a conversation - when it’s a group, it’s just the usual hi-hellos.

You may prefer groups, if one on one conversations seem too vulnerable.

How do you figure this trait out? Ask yourself a simple question : if you had a meet a new person, would you rather meet them alone at a cafe or at a party with your friends?

Figuring this out is important because it gives you a sense of the relationships you value and how you can take them forward.

10. A balanced ratio of talking and listening

Try to listen more than you can talk. This advice is useless if you’re talking to an introvert. With most introverts I’ve noticed that they WILL talk to you - as long as they don’t have to make the first move. Once you set the ball rolling, they’re happy to talk.

So you have to understand how and when to switch being an active listener and speaker.

A simple generalised guide:

When dealing with extroverts: ask basic/ generic/ yes or no questions, give opposing opinions (most extroverts are generally up for a challenge) and listen more in the beginning, switch to talking more later.

When dealing with introverts: again, ask questions but you can make them more subjective than objective, less generic and definitely no yes/no questions. Talk more in the beginning and then listen more later, to make them comfortable.

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wingedcat13 · 11 months

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Synovus: Siren Call (2)

[Synoverse? In the year of our lord 2023? It's more likely than you think! This one is in third person, set after Villains Never Retire. No idea what I’m talking about? Check out the first of the Synovus works here! I've still yet to do it as of posting, but both episodes of Siren Call will be on Ao3 here. Happy reading!]

A week after first arriving at her parents’ house, Minerva made the journey back to her own.

It wasn’t terribly far - a half-hour drive with no traffic, maybe - from where her parents now lived, still placed near to the coast. It wasn’t actually a ‘house’ either, more of a condo built in a line to save costs. It would’ve been cheaper to live further inland, but…

She’d had enough of that.

Besides, the place wasn’t actually hers. When she’d divorced Albion and come back to the coast, she’d also quit her job. With no contacts, no friends, and no savings that weren’t tied up in litigation, she would’ve had nowhere to go in her civilian identity. She also wasn’t sure if she was going to have to deal with a super-powered ex husband knocking at all hours, which was something most renters disapproved of, as a rule.

But where Minerva had no one, Athena had a lifeline. When she and Legionnaire had done volunteer work in the past, she’d always felt it was just part of her duty. An obligation that came with having superpowers. Sometimes you put the costume on to hit something, and sometimes you put the costume on to build something. Since neither of them had been dependent on their hero identity 24/7, they’d always declined any offers of compensation.

But that didn’t mean they’d been forgotten. Shepherd Flight was a volunteer group who specialized in organizing super powered individuals for rescue and relief operations - they mostly focused on the initial crisis, but weren’t afraid of working to help rebuild things too. Minerva had gone through floodwaters and hurricanes under their direction, and also used her strength to help hold up beams for building shelters. One of her favorite memories was helping plant a garden in a refugee camp.

Shepherd Flight was also known for its discretion. Several capes worked exclusively for them, staying out of hero or villain business in the traditional sense. Some of them maintained a separation between the mask and the civilian, but others didn’t.

So Minerva had gone to them, intending to ask if she could rest on a couch in their headquarters or something while she figured out her next move. Instead, a man named ‘Sun Dog’ had checked their records, asked her a few questions, and then handed her the keys to an address. Apparently, Shepherd Flight also aided ‘capes in distress.’

Minerva had scowled, but couldn’t really argue the point.

She’d looked into it since - the space they’d given her was most frequently used for helping move displaced persons who needed to travel, or temporary housing for other members of Shepherd Flight who needed a place unaffiliated with any identity. One of the questions she’d been asked was how she felt about potentially having a house full of strange guests on little-to-no notice. Minerva had grown up dealing with the Pacific Northwest’s forest fires, and had told Sun Dog she knew exactly how fast they could go. If refugees needed a place to stay, she’d gladly vacate.

So far, that hadn’t happened, though Sun Dog had also told her that someone would stop by occasionally with groceries, to keep the place stocked. And to check in on her.

She probably should’ve told them she was fine when she was whisked off to a supervillain’s private island. She hadn’t.

So she wasn’t surprised, per se, to open the door and see a stranger in the kitchen. Startled, perhaps. But neither of them attacked each other, so that was a good start.

“Uhm.” Said the person in the kitchen, holding a spoon awkwardly poised between their mouth and a pudding cup.

“Wrong door.” Minerva said automatically, holding the keys that had unlocked the front door and the guard mechanism.

“Is it?” The stranger asked hesitantly.

Minerva sighed, “No. I… lived here for a bit. As a… guest.”

“Oh!” The stranger lit up with a smile - and a touch of phantom flame that Minerva watched cautiously. “You must be the one who went missing! Yeah, they told me you might come back - hey, I’m Wi-Fire, by the way.”

They moved forward to offer a hand, slowing their approach when Minerva instinctively leaned away. Still, it wasn’t like she needed both hands to hold her bag, and once upon a time she’d been… better, if not exactly ‘good’ at this. So she took the offered hand, clasping it rather than shaking.

“Athena.” She returned, the introduction automatic. Instead of giving herself time to think about whether that was the right name to give, she forced herself onwards, remembering there were other details she was supposed to give on greeting. “She/Her.”

Wi-Fire’s grin broadened, and they bounced a little in place. “They/them!” They returned, even more cheerfully than before. “It’s the third bedroom that’s yours, right? I haven’t touched it, since he said you might come back, but I’ve only been here for about a week. That reminds me - have you called him yet? Sun Dog? He’s super worried about you, pun unintended.”

Minerva was, abruptly, reminded of Alexandria. “… No, I haven’t called him yet. I was just here to-“

She paused. What was she here to do? Spend a few hours staring at a wall, unobserved? Get the rest of her things and go? It wasn’t exactly much, just a few extra changes of clothes, a few books. She did want to make sure the space she’d used was clean, but given how little time she’d spent here, that shouldn’t take more than an hour. Two, if she stopped to do laundry.

Minerva had paused for too long. Wi-Fire just nodded, sympathetic. “Yeah, I feel that. I’m up in the attic - the other rooms are still empty, there’s nothing wrong with them or anything, I just.” They cut off, simply ending the sentence, as though a signal had been lost between one word and the next. They shrugged.

“Yeah.” Minerva echoed, thinking of how she’d chosen the room with the best view of the ocean, even if it was just a sliver.

Wi-Fire winces, “Crap. Sorry. Forgot we’re not supposed to really, like. Fraternize. I didn’t see anything?” Their last sentence is hopeful, as though an offering they want Minerva to take.

“It’s fine.” She assures them, readjusting her grip on her bag. “If you’ve seen me, you can pass on to Sun Dog that I’m fine, right?”

For a heartbeat, she thinks she’s pulled it off, and she’ll be able to just get her things and leave. But Wi-Fire just laughs.

“I mean, sure - but you’ll have to scram if you wanna avoid him.” They scrape at the bottom of the pudding cup. “He’ll be here in like. Twenty minutes?”

—-

Minerva is not done packing in twenty minutes. Actually, she’s not done in fifteen, which is when Sun Dog actually arrives. She can hear him greeting Wi-Fire from where she’s working upstairs, meticulously folding towels to be stored in the bathroom before she leaves.

Minerva snaps the final towel free of wrinkles, places it on the pile, and goes to meet him. Better she doesn’t get cornered.

Sun Dog and Wi-Fire aren’t talking, when Minerva arrives. No, that makes it sound like they’re in a stand off, and really, it’s more that they don’t need to be. Minerva catches the end of a fistbump-into-a-shoulder check, and an exchange of smiles, before Sun Dog’s eyes flick up and see her on the stairs.

“Ah!” In civilian clothing, Sun Dog looks like a Bay Area hobbyist come north. His reaction to seeing her is surprise, but also something positive. Joy? Excitement? Delight? “M-“

“Athena!” Wi-Fire cuts in, overriding Sun Dog with their own exclamation, and avoiding accidentally learning Minerva’s real name. Not that it matters, anymore.

Minerva’s spine could be used as a flagpole. “Sun Dog.” She replies, voice cool, as though their excitement at seeing her had been an embarrassment rather than an open welcome. It isn’t on purpose. “Wi-Fire.”

She doesn’t apologize for interrupting, or claim she didn’t mean to, because there’d be no point. Instead, Minerva meets Sun Dog’s gaze, “I’m cleaning up after myself, then I’ll be out of your way.”

“You don’t have to do that-“ Sun Dog starts to assure her, then backtracks. Minerva must have looked offended. “- but we’re grateful that you’d take the time.”

He glances at Wi-Fire, who gets the hint. They give Minerva a double thumbs-up, and another near maniacal grin, and then scamper off. Minerva is distracted, briefly, by the mental image of a young Synovus, gifted with fire instead of shadows.

Terrifying.

Still, thinking of the one problem won’t rid her of the other. Minerva descends the rest of the stairs to stand even with Sun Dog, her arms folded. Her expression must’ve shown something (or maybe Sun Dog just gauged the depths of the bags under her eyes) because instead of saying anything else, Sun Dog just tilts his head towards the door.

“How about a walk?”

—-

With the ocean not far, there was plenty of beach to walk along. It was too late in the season to hope for much sun, but again, it didn’t really bother Minerva. And, with both of them in nondescript windbreakers, they seemed no more suspicious than anyone else ever did.

She wished she didn’t feel like she needed to worry about being suspicious.

They walked in silence for a while, just the sound of sand crunching beneath boots, and the ever present roar of the ocean’s movements. The wind blew in from off the coast, sharp and cold. It whipped her hair around her face, but she mostly ignored it.

Eventually, Sun Dog broke the silence. “Did you know I didn’t actually intend to go by ‘Sun Dog’?”

Minerva glanced around, as though the wind and general absence of other people wasn’t enough to ensure they weren’t overheard. Sun Dog waited.

“Then why did you?”

“Media.” He answered simply. “I wanted to name myself Parhelion. Its the… let’s call it scientific word for a Sun Dog phenomena. They thought one had a better ring to it.”

“So you’re a scientist.” Minerva kicked lightly at the sand on her next step.

“Amateur, sure. But I don’t mind admitting that the name scared the hell out of me at first.”

Minerva hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. I can understand why.”

Sun Dog. In a world still recovering from the sudden disappearance of Sunhallow, any sun imagery was suddenly circumspect. It could be viewed in a hundred different lights, none of them favorable.

“I almost gave up being a hero entirely.” Sun Dog confided. “I was too scared that one day someone would show up, and tell me I was encroaching on their brand.”

Humor, but not enough to hide that neither of them speak his name. Minerva knows he’s dead - she’s seen the grave, spoken to his killer. But there is the thought that lingers. Just in case.

“Why didn’t you?” Minerva asked, staring forward at the tree line.

“Letters. One in particular, that told me he’d never be dead so long as we let him hold that much power over something so ubiquitous as the sun. They said they knew how much it must cost me, but that the world needed people like me to rebuild it, to heal over the scars.”

“And was that one from the Dalai Lama or the President.” Her voice wasn’t bitter so much as it was… dry. Humor. She’s learning how to use it again.

Sun Dog squinted into the wind. “Could’ve been either, I suppose. It was signed, but with a moniker. Eclipse.”

He glanced at her, shrugged. “I’ve never known anyone to go by that name.”

Minerva was silent for a step. Two. Then, “No. Neither have I.”

—-

They wind up stopping at a picnic table tucked just under the tree line, out of the worst of the wind. It’s one of those weather-worn gray contraptions, the kind someone placed years ago and forgot, leaving it for hikers or curious children.

They’ve talked about a few things, here and there. Sun Dog keeps offering small bits of himself, trying to draw Minerva out again, and slowly, she becomes part of the conversation. Childhood pets. Obnoxious commercial jingles that stick even after the company and product are long gone. Nothing pressing. Nothing political.

But after they’d spent a few minutes in a comfortable silence, a natural lull in the conversation, Sun Dog has pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket.

“Hope you’re not looking for poker.” Minerva said with barely a glance. “I don’t have anything to bet.”

Sun Dog laughed, “These aren’t those kind of cards. But if you’re willing, I’d like to do a reading for you. Tarot.”

“Wait.” Minerva raised her brows, leaning back slightly. “You don’t actually believe in those, do you?”

She realized, approximately half a second too late to stop herself, how offensive that likely sounded. Luckily, Sun Dog laughed again.

“You could use a tank as a baseball bat.” He said, corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile. “And have dealt with clairvoyants, shape-shifters, literal magic users - but ‘some cards’ is where you draw the line?”

Minerva ducked her head, submitting to the teasing. “Alright, you have a point. I don’t really know how they work, though.” “You don’t need to.” Sun Dog assured her. “You just need to shuffle and draw the cards. Three of them, face down, left to right. We’ll go over what they mean one by one.”

She felt, suddenly, unaccountably nervous. She managed a murmured thanks as Sun Dog handed her the deck, no longer stiff from newness, but not quite well-worn either. For a moment, she simply spread the cards in her hands, sliding them with her thumb, and studying the backs. They were larger than she remembered most playing cards being. She hoped she remembered how to shuffle correctly.

A few cuts of the deck, and a reassurance from Sun Dog that it was alright to bend them, and Minerva fanned the cards apart, couching them back together into a bridge. Another few cuts, another bridge. And the third time, to keep them balanced.

“Three off the top?” She asked. Sun Dog shrugged, “If that’s what speaks to you.” He laughed again at Minerva’s displeased expression, but nodded encouragingly. “Go on. Three cards, face down. That’s all.”

Minerva sighed. She pulled the card from the top, one from the bottom, and - fanning the cards again - slipped one from the middle at random, laying them each face down on the table in front of her.

“Good.” Sun Dog said encouragingly, accepting the rest of the deck back. “So, this is something of a ‘past, present, future’ spread. Go ahead and flip the first card.”

Minerva rolled her eyes, and moved to place her hand on it - then paused. This trepidation was unlike her. She had no reason to be nervous, because this was a pre-generated deck of cards. It held no personalized information, and could not reveal anything about her of substance, because it was a randomized card.

That argument wasn’t holding up the way it normally would’ve. Some part of her resolve crumbled.

Well. She reasoned, If it’s in the past, I’ve already survived it once. I can do it again.

That seemed to do the trick. She flipped the card over, and was greeted with the image of someone in what she placed as quintessential peasant’s garb… carrying a bundle of sticks? The roman numeral for ten was placed above it, and the individual’s face couldn’t be seen, buried in the bundle they were carrying as they walked away from the viewer.

“The ten of wands.” Sun Dog identified. “Wands are associated with fire. They tend to be about passion, strengths, and willpower. The ten of wands in particular is a representation of burden and responsibility. It is good to be depended on - but not to be overworked.”

Minerva shifted, but said nothing. Sun Dog gave her a moment, then indicated the next card. “The next one, then?”

This one took little effort to turn - whether it was out of a desire to get it over with or simply because she’d shaken off whatever feeling she’d had earlier, Minerva didn’t know. This time, the card was upside down, and she moved to straighten it.

“No -” Sun Dog stopped her, “I mean, if you want to flip it so you can look at it, you can, but drawing them upside down actually means something. ‘Reversed’ cards invert or change the meaning.”

Minerva pursed her lips, flipping the card briefly to get a better look at it. A figure visible only from the waist up, in what appeared to be mail and plate armor. A star spangled canopy offered protection from the yellow sky, and the numeral for seven that floated just above it. The figure had a staff in one hand, and what looked like two sphinxes in front of it - the left black, the white right, each with a different expression.

“The Chariot.” She read, flicking the card back over to be upside down again.

“Another willpower card.” Sun Dog commented. “The Chariot is triumphant - you see how the sphynxes are angled in opposite directions? They should go nowhere, but the driver manages to drive the chariot onwards. Nothing that they carry is a gift. Instead, they are rewards earned.”

“But it’s reversed,” Minerva said dryly, “Meaning… that I’m currently a freeloader?”

“Or that you feel that way.” Sun Dog countered. “The cards aren’t quite so literal as we might hope, sometimes. Go ahead and flip the third card.”

“Another upside down one.” Minerva remarked, considering the angel depicted on the card. “Sorry, reversed. Temperance.” She snorted, placing the card on the table with the others, and then shoving her hands into her pockets.

“Ah, I love the Temperance card.” Sun Dog picked it up briefly, smiling at it, before he laid it back down. “It’s a card of transitions, that one. I - is something wrong?”

Minerva hadn’t been able to hide her flinch at that one. She scowled, more angry at herself than anything - but it seemed the last few days had scraped her raw, left her open and readable. And… she did trust Sun Dog. So she forced herself to clear her throat, and spoke quietly;

“I have a daughter.”

Sun Dog made a vaguely congratulatory noise, a positive sympathy for someone speaking of their loved ones. Minerva’s hands bunched in her pockets.

“I spent most of her life convinced she was my son.” She said quietly.

“Ah.” Sun Dog leaned back, head canted so he could look up for a moment, considering. Minerva knew there was a wealth of information in that, and how she’d presented it, and the connections he could even now be drawing. But she’d refused to run from this. So she sat still, and unwavering, and waited for the judgment she deserved.

“I don’t think it means that kind of transition.” Sun Dog said finally, looking back at her again. “Not in this context, though a gender transition is a common reading of the card. My congratulations to your daughter, by the way.”

Minerva let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Then it doesn’t….” She trailed off, mind unwilling to complete the sentence.

“Doesn’t what?”

“This is the future card, isn’t it?” She said quietly, rather than elaborate immediately. “And reversed, meaning an inverse of the meaning. So if it was about - her transition, and how I pertain to it, then… I would be a roadblock to it. I wouldn’t…” She trailed off again, but Sun Dog only waited.

“... get better.” She finished lamely.

“That you’re worried about it tells me how much you care,” Sun Dog said gently, placing one hand halfway across the table. He couldn’t take hers, given she still had them clenched in her pockets, but she recognized the gesture for what it was meant to be. “But no, I don’t think that’s what the card means in this context. Temperance is the balance between remaining practical, and our dreams. Grounded reality, versus the water of our dreams.”

“So I’m… losing that balance?”

Sun Dog hummed, uncertain, “You might lose that balance, that could be an outcome.” He acknowledged. “But take the cards as they’re important to you. Water is fairly important to you, right?”

Minerva only nodded.

“Then perhaps the reversal isn’t telling you that you’re going to lose your balance. Maybe it’s telling you not to worry so much about that balance - that temperance is not, in fact, what you need to do now.” Sun Dog raised his hands, “I’m no expert. But sometimes we really do need to let loose.”

Minerva stared at the card arrangement for several more minutes. Her mind picked up on patterns, even when she didn’t mean for it to, didn’t intend to read into it. The past, hiding her face from everyone in a mask, carrying a burden she thought she was obligated to take on. The present, lost, her rules turned on their head as surely as the chariot driver was. A canopy of stars, protective shadows against a sky of light… and a being that was neither male nor female, free, offering her the opportunity to move on.

“I’m not taking advice from a deck of cards.” She heard herself say.

Sun Dog shrugged. “Then take it as advice from me. You see something in the cards - that’s what they’re for. Reflecting what you need to see, to be able to face it.”

Minerva let out a long breath, forcing herself to relax the tension that had settled into her shoulders and spine. She looked up, meeting Sun Dog’s gaze with her own.

“How much do you know about Synovus?”

---

[It's funny - I posted the first of Synovus's story over a year ago. I added onto it, here and there, but the draft to post this was started in... September of 2022? Yet, every day, I get a notification, either through Tumblr or Ao3, that someone has found Synovus, and expressed joy about it somehow. It's... remarkable. I love you all, and thank you for reading!]

#synoverse #synovus #siren call

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youfoundme-not · 7 months

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More than friends - Felix 2/8

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Felix x female Reader (Idol AU)

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: It’s your childhood friend’s birthday and he’s been really curious on trying something. Little did you know, that the two of you would then take it to the bedroom.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Vaping, swearing, drinking, nicknames (baby), mentions of masturbating, blowjob, unprotected sex, creampie

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 2.3k

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝟏𝟖+

You were all gathered in a circle on the living room floor. It was Felix’s birthday and obviously, Han decided to invite the whole K-pop industry. (Or well, it felt like the whole industry because of how crowded the room was).

You were sitting between Nayeon and Minho, enjoying your soju with Minho.

“Okay Hyunjin, truth or dare,” Mingi asks.

“Dare” Hyunjin smirks.

“Okay, I dare you to do ‘Seven minutes in Heaven’ with Soyeon”

Everyone reacts excitedly to this when we see them enter the closet but you can’t stop staring at Felix.

It’s ironic for you to say that you’ve fallen for your childhood friend but in reality, you have.

The two of you met in kindergarten when he stood up for you, and since then, you’ve been inseparable. You’ve never seen him as anything but a friend until around junior year.

The two of you both shared a dream to debut someday so you two made sure to work hard together. This also meant you’ve started noticing the way he hit the gym.

It’s been three years since and you two manage to debut but that hasn’t changed the way your stomach turns around him.

You all watch as Hyunjin steps out of the closet covered with hickeys on his neck. We all cheer for him as he comes out with a slight smile as the two sit back down.

“Um Nayeon, truth or dare?” He chuckles, still blushing from Soyeon.

“Dare” she grins

You’ve had several reasons why you’ve never confessed to Felix. Other than the obvious reason that you didn’t want to ruin your friendship. It was also because Nayeon seemed to be going for Felix too.

Yes, you admittedly think Nayeon is ‘fake’ per se, but you see how well she and Felix click and you didn’t want to ruin that. Since then, you’ve put distance between you two, and admittedly, it hurts that he doesn’t seem to notice.

You watch as Nayeon completes her dare and drinks a whole bottle of Soju in under a minute. She smiles and perks herself up as you roll your eyes getting a chuckle out of Minho.

“Felixx” she hiccups “Truth or Dare?”

“Oh um, truth” he chuckles softly.

You watch as Nayeon tries to put her cleavage a bit more on display “If you had to fuck one girl in this room, who would it be?”

Felix looks around the circle until his eyes stop at you. “I guess Y/n, we’ve known each other longest so I guess it’ll make sense”

You smirk slightly at the response as Nayeon's smile drops. “I think I need to go for a small breather” you chuckle walking onto the balcony.

You pull out your vape and take a deep breath of it until Minho steps out with you.

He’s one of the few who knows about your smoking habits. And he’s one of the little who smokes too.

“Want a cig?” He says pulling out a packet.

“Felix hates the smell, either way, Chan’s here. He’d kill us both if he found out” You explain going back to your vape.

“He’d kill us if he saw your vape as well” Minho smirks lighting his cigarette.

“Well I can pretend it’s perfume or something”

Minho chuckles a bit taking a puff of his cigarette. “Still swooning over Felix?”

You take a deep sigh “No, it’s his birthday and I respect him as my friend, that’s why I’m not smoking” you explain but the two of you both know that that’s bullcrap. Especially from how addictive the nic is.

“He likes you too,” Minho says.

“No, he doesn’t-“ “Well he talks about you a lot”

The two of you stand in silence for a bit. Deep down you hoped what he said was true.

It was becoming the end of the party and you could see people leaving. Minho, Chan, and you stayed behind to clean up a bit. After all, it was the least you could do since his gift hadn’t arrived.

“I’m going to step outside,” you say once again.

Minho rolls his eyes but continues to clean so Chan doesn’t catch on to your frequent “breathers”.

You step outside and pull out your vape.

“Strawberry?” Felix chuckles as he stands next to you. “My favourite fruit”

You watch as he walks over, resting on the balcony's railing.

“Well, I know you hate the smell of cigarettes” you chuckle softly.

He stares at you briefly, almost as if in shock.

“You know…I always wonder if vapes taste as good as they smell” he says looking back at the city view.

“And what? You just think I’ll let you taste it? Chan would kill me” You say.

He chuckles facing you. “Well, I’ve known you longest, and it’s the least you can do since you don’t have a gift for me.” He smirks, bringing himself closer.

You look up at him and roll your eyes. “I’ve told you already, it arrives tomorrow.” You explain jokingly hitting his chest.

He looks down at your face, nose almost touching. “What’s wrong with me being curious?”

“What if you get addicted?” You say, occasionally stealing a glance of his lips.

Fuck, why does his lips look so soft?

“Please?” He says softly.

You scoff, taking another hit of your vape.

He lifts your head up to look at him, smoke leaving your mouth.

“A small taste, that’s all I ask,” He says softly.

Fuck, why is he so hot? All he wants to try is your vape, but he is so close to your face you could feel butterflies build up.

“Fine” you mumble as you lift the vape up.

He moves his hand slightly behind your neck. “I was thinking of trying it differently” he smiles. “Can I?”

Shock struck your face. “We shouldn’t…”

“Y/n, you heard what I said inside” he chuckles warmly. “If there’s anyone I would do anything with, it’s you.”

Though you were growing butterflies, you also were growing more and more paranoid on what will happen next. And Felix could notice. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“Y/n, I know we can get through anything. But, I won’t force you if you’re uncomfortable” Felix expressed before mumbling a bit. “Do you…do you hate me?”

You look at him confused, “Felix, I could never hate you”

“Then why are you so distant?”

You stay silent for a moment, “I see how you and Nayeon hit it off, I was just doing a favour”

“Doing who a favour? Not me. I want you in my life Y/n” Felix says almost straight away.

You take another hit of your vape, processing everything that has just happened. “Do you still want a taste?” You ask.

You knew what would happen next, you were very aware that this could lead to a long night, but what if…what if Minho was right?

“It’s you Y/n, of course” He smirks and presses his lips against yours. At first, it was soft, gentle, almost sweet. But as both hands caressed your cheek, it only grew more profound and passionate.

His hand slowly move down and wraps around your waist. “How much further will you let me take tonight?”

You stay quiet. You’ve always thought about him, and admittedly, thought multiple times about what it would be like to fuck him. You never thought his birthday would be the day

“I mean…you are the birthday boy” You respond, getting a slight chuckle in response.

He didn’t hesitate to quickly take you to his room to kiss you passionately.

“Y/n, I’ve thought about you so much” he mumbles between kisses.

“Is that right?”

“Fuck- so much baby, so so much”

This was a new side of him that you’ve never seen. A mix of neediness and yet, dominance. He could command you to do anything and you’d do it. After all, that’s what friends do, help each other out, or whatever you’d call this.

You slowly move to the bed where you sit him down before breaking the kiss apart. His eyes followed as you sat on your knees, between his legs.

“You want this too right?” He asks, leaning forward to kiss your lips softly. Ensuring that you weren’t feeling like you had to do this.

“I want this too.” You ensure helping him unbuckle his pants.

You watch as his jeans fall down, leaving him sitting in his boxers.

“You have no idea how much I think about you” he sighs softly as you help remove his boxers, letting his cock feel the air.

“Why don’t you tell me?” You smile, moving your hand up and down his shaft, leaving a kiss on his tip.

His body shakes slightly as he closes his eyes. He nods a soft yes and you slowly place his tip in your mouth.

“Fuck- every time you come over- I-I end up jerking off” he admits shakily as your head bops on his length.

You hum softly, the vibration causing a small groan to escape. “I’ve pictured this a hundred times” he continues.

His hand finds their way down to your head where he brings you down deeper. He starts gasping at the pace, trying to keep his hips in place.

“Fuck baby, the second we debuted and I saw you in those skirts- I couldn’t help myself since” he says, slowly opening his eyes once more.

He could cum at the sight of you, and you could feel him twitch in your throat as he wiped away a tear from your cheek.

“Let me make you feel good baby, please?” He says and you slowly move your lips off him, placing a soft kiss on his tip once more.

Felix helps you sit on his bed where he starts to remove your singlet. As he slowly continues to touch your body, his hand wandering between your legs.

“So wet, just for me?” He asks

“Only you” you respond.

Felix reaches into his drawer and sighs in defeat. “I…I don’t have a condom”

You know you’re on birth control, you’ve been on it since high school. But you’ve never actually risked not having a condom on until today.

“I guess it’s your lucky day” you mumble and he looks at you in shock. “I’m on the pill, and-“

You didn’t have to say any more before he smashed his lips on you.

“Why can’t it be my birthday every day?” He grins between kisses, as his hand lowers your panties.

You were left in your skirt, and quite frankly, he loved it.

Felix’s hand comes to rub a few circles around your clit, he hesitated for a moment before sliding his finger into the wetness between your legs.

a small moan escapes your lips as you feel his fingers thrust softly into you.

“Fuck," Felix groaned as he felt the heat and wetness of your pussy against his fingers. His other hand found its way to your breast, as he pulled away from the kiss, his breathing heavy.

He removes his tank top, his body now on full display. He leaves a trail of kisses on your shoulder, laying you down on his bed as you feel his length rubbing against your clit.

“Want to feel you raw” you whisper as desire and lust flush through him.

“You don’t need to ask me twice” and without wasting time he slides his length slowly into you, letting you adjust bit by bit. A low groan escapes his mouth as he feels you fresh.

Your hips buck slightly as a soft moan escapes your lips. Felix’s eyes were focused solely on you as he took his time finding your depth, pushing into you until he was fully sheathed within your wet heat. He gripped your hips tightly, holding you still as he began to move.

He couldn't believe how wet you were, how hot and tight you felt around his length. The sensations were overwhelming, fueling an intensity inside him like nothing he had ever felt before.

You could feel each thrust grow stronger every time, letting more moans escape from your mouth. As he continues, you couldn’t help but feel your climax build up in your core.

Felix groaned as he felt your tight walls contract around him. He couldn't hold back anymore and began to thrust harder and faster, using his hips to grind against you. Feeling your body react only made him lose control even more, his own need escalating with each thrust.

He starts kissing your shoulder, becoming a blabbering mess with each growing thrust. “So pretty yeah? All mine, fuck- you like that right? I can feel you clenching-“

Your moans become to grow louder. “Felix, I’m close” You gasp, feeling his hand move from your hip to your clit, roughly massaging it as he continued to pound into you.

his tongue tangles with yours in a rough, possessive kiss. His hips slammed against you again and again, each time driving deeper inside. The room was filled with your combined moans and grunts as you reached your peak together.

You could feel his warm seed inside you slowly drip out as he softly thrust into you, helping you ride out your wave.

“You’re okay baby, you’re okay“ he comforts as his pace becomes slower and slower until he finally stops the speed.

He holds you gently, pulling himself out of you.

“Are you okay? Was it okay? Do you need anything?” He checks up on you as you rest your forehead on his shoulder.

“It was good…so good” you chuckle and he slowly joins the chuckle too.

“Let’s get you some sleep” he smiles as he brings himself next to you.

Felix pulls out his phone to check the time and his eyes grow wide at a notification.

𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚘: 𝚆𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚋𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚘: 𝙷𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚗 ;)

The two of you forgot that Minho and Chan were helping you clean the house. Though it didn’t matter now, you were finally in the arms of your best friend.

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slushiepizza · 22 days

Text

Marie and Mother Mary

Relationship : Marie & Milo Greer

Tags : Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Partum Depression, Gender Roles, Catholicism, Motherhood, Italian American Marie Greer

Word Count : 1,510

ao3

Notes and Warnings:

this fic kind of surprised me because I'm not super into the Shaw Pack. But I do find Marie Greer's presence and bits and pieces we know of her character fascinating. I wanted to explore Marie's mind and feelings about being a mother when she's dealing with a gambling husband; and for her to raise someone like Milo Greer- she must've done a great job as a parent.

I took inspiration from my own experiences growing up with Catholicism and specifically in relation to the biblical Mary as a religious figure; and how mothers often find comfort in the thought of a figure who related in their struggles of motherhood and womanhood. It also has a theme of gender roles/ alluding to rigid gender identities because of the circumstances that Marie grew up in.

This fic isn't really... religious per se, and it takes more of a neutral standing while still criticizing how religion could be used to provoke feelings of personal guilt and trauma in someone who grew up in it, while also giving comfort to anyone that needed the universe to say that everything will be okay. If any of the themes may cause distress in you, I do implore you not read this fic, as consuming writing is a vulnerable activity.

The year was 1993. Marie Greer walked into the empty church lot with her baby in her arms. It had been decades since she last stepped on its stone floors. The security guard stationed outside looked at her strangely, but let her in once she asserted that she was there to pray.

She passed the main building for a small garden in the back. There were rows of wooden benches but nobody to be found. Good. Marie didn’t want company at the moment. To call it a garden was an overstatement- it was tiny and cramped, overgrown with vines. In front of the benches, the centerpiece of all the foliage was a statue of the Virgin Mary. Mother Mary, she thought, the double entendre not escaping her.

As soon as she sat down right in front of the statue- Milo wailed inconsolably like he always did.

The baby’s loud cries echoed disturbing whatever peace that was left from the place. Marie sighed, tired and weary, of this. He was an especially sensitive child, smaller than other babies his age. Marie was used to catering to people who’d fuss over the littlest things, Colm had a particular affinity for order and cleanliness whenever he came back from blowing his month’s earnings in a night, after all. The addition of Milo to the family just added more on her plate- she had to catalog every single one of his many allergies, and make sure that the room was never dusty because he’d have a coughing fit otherwise. The replacement of their popcorned ceiling had not been cheap, either, not with Colm leaving barely anything left after his trips to Vegas.

She did this all for love. For him. For her husband. But oftentimes, she felt like there was nothing left of her to give. Dry. Hollow.

She shushed Milo and lightly rocked him in hopes that he’d calm down but to no avail. He thrashed and turned, his nails accidentally scratched her in the arm. Marie winced and tried to soothe him, lightly patting his back. It took thirty minutes of rocking and soothing Milo until the baby went back to sleep.

St. Mary’s weathered ivory-colored face looked down at her, her expression blank and unmoving. Her lips were sculpted into a serene smile. Her pupil-less eyes gazed back at Marie.

Just like any other Italian-American family at the time, church was a routine for Marie growing up. Her mother would dress them in their Sunday’s best and wrangled her and her seven unruly siblings into the building. “Quit fussin’ your pigtails, Marie. I did that real pretty for you,” she’d chide. They’d sit in the back of the church because tardiness ran in that family’s blood like a curse.

Past the twelfth and thirteenth pews, God felt distant.

Marie would follow everything diligently. She stood up when everyone else stood up as the priest lifted the circular white wafer, the body of Christ, above the altar. As a child, her height wouldn’t allow her to catch a single glimpse of it. She’d comfort her younger siblings whenever they’d make a ruckus. But the whole thing- it went one ear out of the other.

She could’ve sworn she tried her best to listen and followed whatever the adults did.

I have greatly sinned, escaped past her lips as she did the same thing she had now, rocking her baby sister in her arms. At the time, she hadn’t even lost her milk teeth.

She stopped going when she married Colm. He was the opposite of the man her mother wanted her to marry, and in retrospect, she felt that it was one of the many reasons she liked him. His mind was raucous, his eyes wild and unmoored. Like nothing was holding him back. Colm used to be an ambitious man- the thrill of being an Investigator for DUMP perfect for his unrested soul.

Marie loved that part of him, the fact that he’d question everything, unbelieving in anything unproven.

He said that he wanted to purge the world of assholes- the unjust, those who hurt others for their own sake. As he turned in empowered criminals in the pursuit of it, he became one himself.

Marie met St.Mary’s gaze- almost challenging her hollow stare. Something surged through her, from the ache in her back settling to her tight diaphragm.

After the birth of her boy, Mary couldn’t cook or clean. All she did was stay in bed. Her sister came by to help take care of the house while Colm stepped outside as usual. She said that it was normal, her body had been through hell, after all. But the heavy feeling, the heaviness that settled in her chest persisted for the next two months.

Marie hated feeling helpless- her house a mess, and her baby cried constantly. She was a woman of action, and stagnation shackled her, leaving her trapped. Her visit to the psychiatrist- and the fourth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual- had told her that it was depression with a postpartum onset. She told the doctor that she refused to accept that she was a ‘bozo who was sick in the head’ and that she will cure herself with a margarita and a sorely needed hair perm alongside a fresh coat of manicure.

And look where that got her. Crying in front of a statue in church.

She still stared at the other Mary, the statue’s size and height caused her to look like she was looking down on whoever prayed in the confined space, guiding them iin a time of need. With that, for once, Marie realized that she was angry.

She wasn’t stuck to her mattress, fatigued, and lacked energy because of sorrow- she was so angry, the weight of her job description as wife, mother, woman, wolf, dog, bitch- Marie weighed down on her like anchors. She was angry, at the fact that Colm was nowhere to be found throughout all this, angry at her mother- for making her a mother to her own siblings when she was barely a child, angry at the fact that she couldn’t even love her child properly because she no longer had any love left in the hollow of her heart.

The emotions had clawed the insides of her ribs and caused her to let out heavy breaths- she was a dog panting for air when there was none.

“When does it get easier,” she demanded to the Mother of all Mothers through gritted teeth. “Tell me, Mary,” she begged, desperate, as tears started to roll down her face. “Tell me!”

“When does being a mother ever get any easier?”

Her voice was a whisper, barely audible, as she started to sob and heave quietly.

A soft breeze blew past the branches of the trees that surrounded her. It moved the leaves and allowed them to move gently back and forth. The statue still looked down at her, hand slightly outstretched in a supposed kind, helpful gesture. Ants crawled from the crack in the marble, they moved past Mary’s dress down to the hem, circling around her exposed foot, past the head of the sneak that was crushed triumphantly under her toes.

Marie sank into her seat, tired. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, sniffling. Unbecoming of her, she thought. She’d rather die than let anyone see her like this. But there was a comfort between women, she supposed. Damage from rain stained Mary’s cheek like tears- not unlike the thick mascara that currently ran down her own. The air was comfortable, easy, and Marie felt light. It reminded her of the 80s. Of girls in the bathroom of the disco, talking someone out of calling their past lovers as they applied lipstick and passed cigarettes between one another.

“I guess,” she sniffed. “I guess you know better, right?” she stared into a picture that hung on a distant wall. In it, St. Mary cried as she held Jesus' dying body. “He didn’t give you a hell of a good time either,” her voice cracked pathetically.

Girl, tell me about it, Marie imagined the statue said. The Virgin Mary had the voice of her best friend in college. Is that not what being a mother is? The pain so bad, it feels like you’re splitting in two? Going through all seven hells for your baby’s sake?

“Why do we even put ourselves through this,” she chuckled sardonically. “If I wanted to go through pain, I’d rather just listen to Colm talk about whatever fish he caught on the weekend.”

Mary didn’t answer, and Marie understood. Milo opened his big eyes in her arms and reached up to her with tiny hands. He giggled, light and oblivious to the puffiness of Mary’s face and the swell of her eyes. She cooed at him and held up a finger. Milo wrapped his hand around it, gentle.

St. Mary’s serene smile was still plastered on her face, her hand outstretched in the air between them.

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #marie greer #milo greer #redacted milo #redacted marie #slushiewrites

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imfinereallyy · 11 months

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@henderdads posted this about domestic fluff and I realize that I love this trope and I just don’t write enough of it, and I wanted to give her a little treat to read. Mostly because her tags when she reblogs on my post give me absolute joy, I laugh every time.

Two things might come as a surprise when getting to know Steve Harrington. The first being he didn’t actually like parties. He likes making other people feel good, wants to make them happy. Hence why for years, he lets Tommy and Carol wreak havoc on his house. It makes them happy and, for a short while, makes most of Hawkins High happy. Steve, in retrospect, has learned to regret this since he has now gained a reputation for being a party king, despite not throwing one in years, but he knows all too well how hard it is to let go of a high school reputation.

The second surprising fact is that Steve Harrington hated his birthday. Well, maybe hate wasn’t the right word, but he has incredibly low expectations for his birthday. Either everyone forgets his birthday, or somehow Steve is reminded that he is an inconvenience.

“Sorry sweetie, your dad has a business meeting that day.”

“Dude, I have a baseball game in that night could we do something another day?”

“I’m late! I know, we stayed up all night playing D&D. I even forgot to call Suzie!”

Steve isn’t necessarily hurt per se when these things happen. He knows that some people, more than others, are really trying. That it’s human to make mistakes. But Steve doesn’t like to get his hopes up; that’ll be much better than that.

There is also the more commonly now known fact that Steve doesn’t like being the center of attention. And birthdays come along with a lot of that. Sure, Steve wants someone to pay attention to him, really listen to what he has to say, but he has long since out grown the desperate need to have everyone look at him.

It is why it is such a surprise the upside down crew throws him a 24th birthday party.

Steve always thought something like this would upset him, but he is delightfully warm at the sight of all his friends, all of his family, inside Robin and Nancy's apartment screaming,

“Surprise, Dingus!”

Steve can’t believe she got everyone to say that.

After the shock of seeing them all packed like sardines wearing party hats, Steve can’t help but smile.

Eddie walks up to him, placing a hat on his head and a soft kiss on his cheek. “I tried to stop them,” Eddie whispers. “I know you don’t like parties, but they just wanted to show how much they love you. It was hard to say no.”

Steve turns to Eddie, a man who knows him inside and out and knows he can’t lie to him. “I thought I would hate this, but I don’t. It’s perfect.” He kisses Eddie on the lips, just as soft as the one before.

“Good, because I really didn’t try to stop them.” Eddie smiles into the kiss.

“Ew!”

“Gross!”

“Get a room!”

Various shouts across the room cause the couple to giggle and pull apart. Eddie flips them all off, “It’s been four years, assholes! Grow up.”

Eddie runs off to particularly chase Mike, who actually hasn’t said anything but did make a face, and Steve can’t help but be overwhelmed by joy.

🎉🦇🎉🦇

Hours later, after the cake has been cut and the presents have been shared, and his kiddos are definitely way too drunk, the party doesn’t show any signs of slowing down. And Steve, who is having fun but growing antsy since he slowed down on drinking years ago, isn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

He doesn’t want to ruin the fun or make anyone think he didn’t have a good time. This is one of the best birthdays, if not the best one, he’s ever had. But Steve is getting overwhelmed and worn out. He isn’t really tired, but being social has reached its capacity for the night.

Even so, he can’t help but laugh at Robin as she tells a story about the most recent disaster of her sign language class, where kids keep accidentally swearing instead of the proper words.

Eddie catches his eye across the room; he looks happy as he talks to Hop and Wayne. But even mid-conversation, across the sea of people, he tugs his helix piercing over his right ear twice.

It’s their signal for, “Do you want me to come over?”

Steve rubs the scar over his left eye twice, “Yes please.” It means.

Eddie excuses himself and makes his way to Steve. “Hey, baby.” He interrupts Robin mid-rant, who makes a sound of drunken protest. “Did we feed Mrs. Pierson’s cat today?”

Another signal, which translates, “Do you want to go home?”

And Steve knows he can just tell Eddie yes, and they can stay at the party, and Steve will have fun, and he’ll be happy, but it isn’t what he wants. What he wants is to be at home with their own cat Beelzebub, snuggled up in their bed. So Steve says, “Shit, I don’t think we did.” Yes, please. Let’s go home.

Eddie acts quickly. They make their rounds, say goodbyes, and make their excuses. Everyone lovingly pokes at their forgetfulness. The couple insists everyone stays and enjoys themselves. Steve thanks everyone with individual hugs.

Steve and Eddie hold pinkies the entire walk home, down the streets of Indianapolis. The dark night blanket of night, and the never-ending sound of the city, keeping them safe enough to risk the intertwined digits.

When they make it home, they say nothing. They unwind slowly. Sharing kisses, delicately take off each other's clothes, hum into each others mouths. There is nothing rushed, or rough; they have time now. There will be moments for that later.

And in their journey from the front door to the bed, Eddie kisses the place where Steve’s shoulder and neck meet. It’s his signal for “I love you.”

Later, when they are tangled up in the sheets, heavy breaths slowing down, Eddie’s arms wrapped around him, Steve leans up and kisses the tip of Eddie’s nose. It’s his signal for “I love you more.”

Eddie’s smile back says, “that just isn’t possible.”

“Thank you for today.” Steve finally speaks out loud, playing with Eddie’s fingers.

“Oh, it isn’t over yet, baby.” And Eddie jumps out of bed naked, running out of the room.

Steve can’t help but cackle at his boyfriend's antics. There is a sudden thump on the bed; Steve peeks down to see their cat making his home on the end of their bed like he knows they are finally done for the night. “Hey, bee.” Steve scratches him behind his ear, earning a resounding purr from him. A little to the left, it means.

Eddie comes back into the room and dives back into the bed, bouncing Beelzebub but not startlingly him enough to move. Steve supposes he’s used to his father's antics. “Okay, I would tell you to close your eyes, but I know you’re not going to listen, so I’m just going to hand them to you.”

Steve giggles and grabs the pieces of paper in his hands and his heart stops. “Eddie.”

“Steve.” Eddie’s grin is wide.

“These are three tickets to see Madonna.”

“Yup.” Eddie pops his ‘p’ clearly proud of himself. “One for you, one for Robs of course, and one for me.”

Steve whispers in awe, “But you hate Madonna.”

Eddie brushes the hair out of Steve’s face, “Please, no one can hate Madonna.” Eddie’s eyes turn soft, “Besides, you love her, and you love me. It only felt fair to have us both in the same place. And you’d worry the entire time if I wasn’t there.”

Steve throws his arms around Eddie, squeezing him tight. Hoping he can translate how much he loves this man through it. Steve loves making other people happy, but no one has loved making Steve happy, quite like Eddie. “I love you so much,” Steve says once he leans back.

Eddie kisses the place where his shoulder and his neck meet. I love you. Eddie kisses the tip of his nose. I love you more. Finally, he holds Steve’s face and says aloud,

“I love you too.”

***

Was this perhaps inspired by the fact I turn 24 in a week and a half? Maybeee. I’m a lot like Steve in this where I have such mixed feelings about my birthday. I’m feeling a lot of anxiety about it if I’m honest, and I don’t have high hopes.

Unlike me, I don’t have a partner like Eddie, but Steve deserves the world and I wanted him to have some loving and domestic fluff. The idea that these two have secret signals is an important headcannon to me, and I would love to see others take on it.

I hope @henderdads you enjoyed this if you made it this far. It was a lot of fun to write. :)

#steddie #giving these boys the fluff they deserve #they have secret signals for everything #especially a ‘can you believe this guy’ one #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #birthday blues #stranger things #domestic fluff #happy ending #my writing #platonic stobin #Robin Buckley

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thenovelartist · 8 months

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Clipped Confidence - Honkai: Star Rail fanfiction

Back on the DanStelle train that I don't see myself leaving any time soon.

“What are you doing?”

It was a valid question, in Stelle’s opinion. Yet Dan Heng looked speechless as he stared at her.

Waiting for an answer, Stelle leaned against the bathroom door frame, her need to use to the bathroom slightly postponed for the moment as she stared at the man with scissors in one hand and a lock of his hair in the other. It had been a few days since they’d left the Loufu, and Dan Heng had transformed back into his more human appearance since then… for the most part. His hair, oddly enough, had stayed long.

Stelle had thought he liked it that way and that’s why it had stayed. But considering the scene before her, that clearly wasn’t the case.

With a sigh, Dan Heng slowly set down the scissors down on the bathroom counter. “I’m… deliberating,” he carefully answered.

Stelle gave a slow nod as she fought for words. “Which begs the question of how long you were standing there.”

“Longer than I should have been,” Dan Heng responded, snatching the scissors and preparing to walk past her. “Sorry, it was not my intention to—.”

Before he could leave, Stelle shot her arm out to slam her hand against the other side of the door jam, effectively trapping him in the bathroom. “Wait.”

He froze, his eyes wide as he looked at her.

Oh, she supposed his eyes were a little more aqua than before, as well. Not the dull almost-gray she was used to before he had transformed. The striking color captivated her more than she would ever care to admit. Her heart always skipped a beat in her chest when those eyes landed on her, but she was sure it was because of the dragon inside him.

At least that was what she told herself.

She swallowed. Now was not the time to go speechless on him. “I’d thought… er, so you don’t like your long hair?”

Wow, her ability to speak was outstanding.

Dan Heng paused, his lips pursed. “It’s not that I don’t like it, per se.”

“Sooo…”

He shook his head. “It’s unimportant. I should leave if you need to use the bathroom.”

“I do, actually—”

“Then—”

“—but!” she cut in. “I also asked a question you still hadn’t answered.”

Dan Heng looked hesitant, and several seconds passed before he sighed in surrender. “I’m just… not used to this. This long hair, I mean.”

“And you don’t think you can get used to it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then you want to cut it?”

Taking a step back, he turned back to the mirror, staring hard at his reflection once again. “I was thinking about it.”

For some reason, those words held an unfinished air about them, and Dan Heng didn’t seem to want to finish it any time soon.

With a sigh, Stelle patted his shoulder. “This is going to be a long conversation, isn’t it?”

Dan Heng just quirked a brow at her.

“Look, I want to listen—really, I do—but I’m not sure how long my bladder can hold out.”

At that, Dan Heng finally smirked. “Then I should let you go. That is if you’ll let me go.”

“I’ll hunt you down to talk after?”

He sighed. “I’ll be in my room.”

“Perfect.” Having finally gotten an invitation, she moved out of his way, allowing him to leave the bathroom. “You better have a real answer for me when I get out,” she warned him as he walked past her.

A grimace twisted his lips but disappeared so quickly she thought she’d imagined it. “I’ll do my best.”

It wasn’t exactly the response she wanted to hear, but her bladder reminded her that it didn’t really matter. She had something slightly more pressing than Dan Heng’s hair to worry about for the next thirty seconds.

~~~

Dan Heng dropped the scissors he held, ones he’d picked up more times than he cared to count in the last three days, onto his desk as he entered his room. He didn’t really know why it was so hard to make this decision. Normally, he was decisive when it came to things like this, yet he found himself floundering this time around. Worst part was that he knew exactly why he hesitated, yet despite that, he couldn’t reason himself into a decision.

And that was immensely frustrating.

Maybe running into Stelle was for the better. Maybe if faced with a force of nature that would demand a decision from him, he could finally make it.

Or maybe being faced with this particular force of nature was the worst-case scenario.

The door to his room suddenly opened, and he turned to see Stelle walking in. “Okay, I’m here. So…” She clapped her hands together, then pointed her fingertips towards him, “I got a deal for you.”

Dan Heng quirked a brow, already not liking where this was going. “What kind of deal?”

“You can either start from the beginning and tell me everything so I can help you make a decision, or I can just let you off the hook and you just have to answer my question from before: do you want to cut your hair or not.”

“I would hardly call that a deal,” he said with a sigh, already feeling tired.

“I would say it is since I was the one greeted with someone wielding scissors in the bathroom.”

“You say that as though you were in danger.”

“I was in danger of peeing my pants in surprise.”

“I… did not need to hear that.”

“And yet, that’s not even the worst thing I’ve ever said.”

Sadly, she was correct.

“So, stop stalling,” she said, walking up to him and putting her hands on her hips in a way that proved she was here to stay. “What’s your answer?”

Dan Heng sighed. “I… don’t know.”

“Then you can start from the beginning,” she said. “What even brought this on? If the length was bugging you, then you’re decisive enough to just cut it. Well, knowing you, you might have had someone help you so it didn’t look terrible.”

He hated that she knew him so well to know that. He also hated how much he loved having someone who knew him so well to know that. Finally, he hated that because she knew him well enough to know that, she would not be appeased with anything other than the truth.

Meaning he had to find the courage to put his worries into words.

“I hate that this long hair reminds others of my past life.”

Her eyes widened, clearly not expecting him to cut straight to the truth. “Then, cut it,” she said. “Why the hesitation?”

“Don’t you like it?”

Her brow knit together in confusion as her head tilted.

He sighed. “Since my return, March, Welt, Himeko… they’ve all mentioned that they like my hair like this. And… I wouldn’t…”

I wouldn’t want to disappoint them.

He didn’t want to complete that sentence because he knew how foolish it would sound. The fact his friends had vocalized their approval should not make him waver like this, yet that same approval meant more to him than he’d ever realized. So no matter how irrational he knew it to be, some part of him deep down didn’t want to disappoint them by changing his appearance. They’d accepted his dragon-esque appearance so easily, so readily. March was always commenting how cool he looked. Himeko commented how lovely his hair was. Welt himself hadn’t made a comment as much as accepting him so readily there was almost no hesitation.

But that was enough to make him hesitate. He didn’t want to lose this approval they’d given him. He reveled in it, found safety in it. Disappointing them after they accepted him would crush him.

“Nevermind,” he finally finished, pulling himself from his thoughts.

“No, you were definitely going to say something.” With that, Stelle leaned even closer into his personal space. “What’s up?”

Despite her eyes being round and imploring, there was something sharp in those golden irises of hers. Determination.

He looked away, his heart doing more flips in his chest the longer he held her gaze. “Do you prefer this?” he asked instead.

“Huh?”

“Don’t you prefer me with long hair, too?”

Forcing himself to meet her gaze once again, he found her looking at him with no small amount of surprise, her mouth slightly ajar as she processed his words.

And Dan Heng waited with a shocking amount of nervousness for her answer.

But what he didn’t expect was the way the surprise in her expression softened. “I prefer you home.”

His brow knit together in confusion. “Huh?”

She then snatched a lock of his long hair, twisting it between her fingers while an amused smile crept across her lips. “Did you think we liked you better this way? Is that why you hesitated?”

When she said it like that, lightly with almost a teasing lit to her tone, he felt so foolish that his face flushed with embarrassment.

“Pfft.”

Great, and now she was laughing at him.

“If that’s the case,” she began, snatching the scissors from his desk and snapping them together a couple times mid-air. “Then off it comes.”

Surprised, his eyes glanced to the scissors she was waving around far too flippantly for his liking before looking at the smug smile she wore. “You… prefer my short hair?”

She scoffed, thankfully aiming the scissors at the floor as she stepped even closer. “What I prefer is you here with us,” she said, her voice quiet since she was so close. “That’s what we all prefer. Whether your hair is long or short doesn’t matter.”

His face somehow grew hotter.

“And another thing,” she continued. “We weren’t commenting about your hair because we liked it better. We were trying to let you know how happy we were that you were back home, no matter how you looked.”

Despite feeling more like a fool with every passing second, Dan Heng smiled. “Truthfully?”

“I swear.”

Those two little words somehow lifted a weight off his heart.

“So!”

And in the blink of an eye, she slipped around him, pulling his hair into a ponytail before hanging her arm holding the scissors over his shoulder. “Am I cutting your hair or not?”

“Now hold on a minute—”

“Nope! No more minutes. I know you’ve made your decision already. You don’t hesitate when it comes down to it. So, what’ll it be?”

He sighed, hating that she was spot on. “Do you even know how to cut hair?”

“No, but I can look up a tutorial. It can’t be that hard, right?”

“Stelle…”

“Trust me, will you?”

Well, he did, but maybe not in this case…

“Wow,” she deadpanned. “Your silence speaks volumes.”

“I-it’s not that I don’t trust you.”

She sighed dramatically, but it was likely for effect rather than her actual feelings. “Can you trust me more than March, at least?”

“…Possibly.”

“Gee, what a vote of confidence.” She snapped the scissors open and closed in the empty air a couple more times. “So answer my question.”

Her persistence proved she wasn’t going to give him an out. His only course of action was to heave a sigh.

Behind him, she chuckled.

“I…” He swallowed. “I don’t want to look like Dan Feng.”

“Well then…” The scissors suddenly disappeared from his sight. “Say good bye.”

“Huh?”

And next thing he knew, she began hacking away at his hair.

Somehow, the surprise gave way to amusement. As a certain fiery stellaron girl continued to strain the scissors to chop off his hair, an errant chuckle escaped him. He knew it would look terrible. Logically speaking, he should have insisted they trust someone else to cut his hair. But he also knew that the girl behind him right now was more concerned with him than his looks.

And he simply couldn’t be mad at that.

“Done!” Suddenly, she flipped around him, waving his chopped off hair in her hand while she shot him a grin bright as the sun. “Alright, handsome, we should go fix the rest of it in the bathroom so we don’t make a mess in your room. Because I’m sure I’d never hear the end of it otherwise.”

Despite the warmth that flushed through him at that one little nickname that he specifically decided not to acknowledge, his own lips still held a small smile.

“And for the record,” she said, shooting him a heart-stopping smile as she walked out the door. “I like you with your short hair, anyway.”

And then she disappeared from sight.

It took him far too long to move, to follow after her, only to spy her already on her phone, likely making good on her word to look up a tutorial.

“Are you just saying that?”

She glanced up at him right as he caught up to her. “Saying what?”

“That you like my hair short after I already made a decision.”

A glimmer in her eye told him he was likely on the right track, and yet that somehow didn’t matter to him. “I guess we’ll never know.”

For some reason, the grin that she paired with those words made that answer perfectly fine with him.

#honkai star rail #honkai fanfic #danstelle #fluff #comfort

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aaabsinthe · 1 year

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Night Routines of Talon’s Femme Fatales

I have literally no idea where this idea came from but honestly this is all my personal headcanon. These are night routines for Talon’s femme fatales while living with their gn s/o.

Widow

Sleep is a little bit touchy with Widow.

It’s unlikely for her to really feel comfortable sleeping around you until she knows you and trusts you... well... with her life, considering what she did to her husband (despite the fact that she knows she herself cannot die, it’s a trauma and trust issue related thing - trust me on this).

In the beginning of your relationship, Widow would lay with you while you fell asleep but she would never fall asleep herself in the same bed or even the same room.

She has her own private room which she would sleep in with the door locked tightly.

It kind of hurt your feelings in the beginning since she was the trained assassin with the massive sniper rifle and honestly you are nowhere near skilled enough or brave enough to murder her of all people. You should’ve been the one afraid to fall asleep around her, not vice versa.

It wasn’t only to protect herself, she still hadn’t quite wrapped her head around this whole ‘falling in love despite being genetically modified to be a heartless assassin’ thing and honestly she didn’t trust herself with you laying there with your guard down. She needed time to build that trust within herself.

Eventually it was time to realise that Widow had her own shit to work through and she did get there after a few weeks.

Once she felt comfortable sleeping around you, you began to get an idea of how her sleep schedule and routine seemed to work.

Sleeps between 5-8 hours depending on a whole bunch of environmental factors including room temperature, her mood, your mood - you name it really. Her sleep is really finicky.

Very light sleeper who will wake up if you even shift out of bed to get something to drink or to pee. She doesn’t even say a word, you just feel a freezing cold hand grip your arm as you’re halfway off the bed.

Scares the shit out of you every time.

Has the coldest feet known to man. Loves to put them on your bare legs and laughs at your pain.

Honestly, I think Widow would have her own skincare routine with all her products stored in a little fridge and organised to a tee.

Would definitely enjoy sharing with you so you could do skincare together.

Widow surprisingly loves cuddles, especially when she can hold you, stroke your hair and massage your scalp while you fall asleep, humming French lullabies.

If you do the same for her on nights where she’s particularly unsettled and struggling to sleep, you will have her heart forever.

Sombra

Honestly, it’s a surprise she even sleeps at all.

Snores like a bear.

Only gets between 3-4 hours of sleep (by choice).

Light sleeper with occasional night terrors.

Needs background noise to sleep, big fan of white and brown noise.

Doesn’t have a night time routine per se, however she is more than happy to be included in your routine just for the sake of spending some time with you since it’s likely to be scarce with her line of work.

Weirdly enjoys skincare.

If you have a super intense skincare routine, she definitely won’t pick up a full routine for herself but she’ll secretly smell and trial your products when you’re not looking. She also loves facemasks and melts if you do one with her looking all goofy covered in bubbles or a sheet mask.

Those little crystal rollers? Heaven.

When you’re out for the night, Sombra forgets to care for herself at all and mostly just conks out whenever she can’t fight sleep anymore.

When you’re home however, she follows you along as you get ready for bed and as soon as you climb in to bed she’s right behind you.

Cuddle bug. Loves anything she can get but especially when you lay on her chest or she lays on yours.

More often than not, you fall asleep before her and she finds herself so relaxed just laying there listening to your heartbeat.

She’s totally creepy enough to watch you sleep silently.

She has the right intentions but damn it’s creepy waking up to her staring from her desk in the middle of the night.

Moira

Definitely has her own relaxing night routine.

I can see Moira having a night time shower or bath, brewing tea and laying in bed with the covers over her legs reading a book for a good hour or two before bed.

Needs absolute silence to sleep. Will make an exception for river or rain sounds if you need them to sleep, but it takes her some getting used to.

Anything other than those two options and she will lay there grumbling and rolling around until you eventually fall asleep - instantly switches it off.

Takes sleep very seriously and needs a good eight hours or she’s an absolute terror to deal with (grumpy pants) the whole day after.

Dead silent sleeper, only very light breaths.

Relatively heavy sleeper. Unlikely to wake up unless you shake her a bit but wakes up pretty easy to alarms.

Moira indulges a little bit in skincare routines but nothing too intense - she’s more of a moisturiser and eye cream kinda gal but really not much else.

I get the feeling any brand she does use she extensively researches the ingredients and reviews before comparing them to other products and then eventually she purchases them.

Probably has the most scientifically backed anti-aging skincare available if she doesn’t formulate her own.

Definitely has silk pajamas and an eye mask.

If you fall asleep before Moira, she’ll give you a kiss and say goodnight but she’s usually too invested in her book to really give you anything more than that.

Not really one for cuddles. She won’t shake you off if you roll over and spoon her, but she prefers to kind of have her own space and won’t really initiate consciously unless you’re upset or she knows you need it.

Latches on to you like a monkey when she’s asleep though you doubt she even knows she does it.

Drools little puddles on her pillow.

It’s so gross but it’s cute.

#moira #sombra #widow #widowmaker #Headcanon #overwatch #overwatch2 #overwatch 2 #talon #overwatch x reader #widowmaker x reader #moira x reader #sombra x reader #gender neutral reader

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gayerthanevertbh · 2 years

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mommy’s little girl: 3

pairings: older!natasha x young!innocent!reader

warnings: natasha being a little pervy, angst, and slight fluff. 18+ MINORS DNI

notes: i’m sorry in advance. also, i would like to thank @karsonromanoff for this brilliant idea! except that… the end was a—

masterlist | navigation | kinktober masterlist

There are many times that I’ve truly felt unsafe. One time when I was at the beach house, my mother decided to invite a man that looked so much like my father that I didn’t realize they were “banging” each other the minute I walked into that room. I guess that was the first time I did feel unsafe, per se. Another one is that I was at a school dance and this boy was behind me and tried groping my ass. My old friend saw this action and was furious that the next day the boy had a very bad bruise on his face – which he deserves. That was the second time I felt unsafe. And the third time was with Natasha when we first had sex, although it was a mix of pleasure considering that I wanted that to happen between us. Maybe sometimes I worry too much, or maybe I’m scared of something and I can’t figure out what that is.

“How’s it feel, Y/n?”

“Hm?” I turned my head, only to see Wanda sitting near me as we watched the other students graduating from afar.

“Graduating,” she points out, smiling at me. “I mean, you’re a college girl now! Aren’t you excited?”

“I guess I am,” I said. “But I’m a little nervous, I don’t know why. I can’t explain it.”

“Of course, you can,” Wanda replied, looking up at the skies as she let the sun radiate her face. She was beautiful, but she never caught my interest. “You just have to figure that out now.”

“What if I don’t figure it out?”

She shrugs, then takes her cap off. Saying with a louder voice, “You will, you just need to catch it.” Before I could say anything, she walked away with a whimsical smile on her face – as if she was not having a bad day, which is understandable. She was a mystery to me, a big ball of mystery that I can’t figure out.

I walked home alone that afternoon, only to see a few boxes outside my porch, leaving me curious. Are they going on another business trip again? I thought cluelessly and went inside the house. Everything looked the same, the couches were still there and the shoe rack was still filled up with shoes. Only this time, I see a note on a counter in the kitchen area. I picked it up, wishing that I had never read it.

Get out of the house, you’re free. We don’t really care much if you will be contacting us, but you’re free. Your stuff is outside, including your cassette recorder that we spent on your birthday – too expensive anyway, have fun with your life.

There was no “Love, Mom” or “Love, Dad”, it was just a note that simply said they no longer wanted me in their home anymore. Are they disowning me? What have I done to make them feel like this? Assumptions and thoughts filled up in my head, and I realized that I was having a mere panic attack. I wanted to call Natasha, I wanted her to save me from this madness. But wouldn’t that be rude? Wouldn’t I be the one causing trouble? What if my parents were joking? What if they were pulling a prank like they always did?

Except that, when I checked the boxes, they were filled with all of my clothes and cassette tapes that I’ve recorded last year. Now, I am having a panic attack – and I don’t know how to stop it.

I called Natasha and hoped that she wouldn’t pick up too soon, but she did with a skippy voice.

“Congratulations, my love! I’m so proud of you, I’m actually wondering if–”

“Tasha,” I whispered out her name with a crack in my voice, trying to handle my distress. “I-I think I need you to pick me up.”

“Baby? What’s wrong?” she asked with a worried voice, which turns my stomach into knots – not knowing if it was good or bad. “Shh, baby… tell me what’s wrong. Do you want me to pick you up now?”

“I think now is very much needed.”

“Okay, I will. What happened, little girl? Who hurt you?”

“I think my parents just disowned me,” I sobbed through the speaker, clenching my shirt near my chest. “I-I don’t know what to do, all my stuff is here and I can’t breathe… I don’t–”

“Say less, I’m on my way. Just stay there, okay sweetheart? I’m coming to get you.”

Not even ten minutes later she was at the front porch, marching towards me as she picks me up with a warm tight hug, almost as if a bear is hugging my lifeless body. I felt weak, uneasy, and most of all – unsafe. But when she hugged me (like the first time that she ever did) I felt utterly safe again, and I knew no one was going to harm me. Not even her.

“It’s okay,” she coos, kissing the temple on my face. “I’m right here, little one. Tasha is here.”

Tasha, Tasha, Tasha…

She took me to her home the minute she came to me. At first, I hesitated. But she was the one who was offering and seemed like she was a little more desperate than she ever was. So I came back to her house and noticed a few changes. The pictures on her walls – that looked like a painting – were gone, as well as the white vase that was on top of a circular table that is only meant to be a display for the vase. I sat comfortably on her couch, letting the silence consume me while she helped out bringing the boxes inside her home.

“Do you want separate rooms for now?” she asked, looking down at me with sweat on her forehead. I wanted to say no and tell her that I wanted to stay in the same room with her, but I felt like that was a little too soon. We aren’t even officially dating, so I kept that distant thought in my head.

“If you want to.”

“Sweetheart,” she sighs and kneels in front of me as she places her hands on my knee, squeezing it gently. “It’s only a yes or a no. I wouldn’t mind us sleeping together, I mean… we’ve gone pretty intimate haven’t we?”

I blushed at the fact that she mentioned that and tried prying my face away but her other hand cupped my jaw and she leans close and kissed me on the lips. It was a brief kiss, and I wished she kissed me longer than that.

“Maybe stay in the guest room for the night? And you can decide whether you want to sleep in the same room as me or not,” she said, standing up with a groan. “Come on, baby girl. I’ll show you to your room.”

The guest room was far from the guest room. Everything looked too bright and happy, which I needed today. There was a big giant brown teddy bear in the corner and on the bed, a gray blanket was folded on top of the pillows. Natasha gave me an awkward smile and closed the door behind us, the atmosphere thickening.

“There’s a bear.” I said, pointing at it with my index finger; she simply nodded, knowing that there was in fact – a bear right in front of us.

“It could be yours.”

“R-Really?” I turned around, my eyes sparkling when she said that. Ever since I was just a little girl, teddy bears were my favorite things in the world. Without one, I’d be miserable like a dying cat. I remember my “mother” giving me a white teddy bear for Christmas that I no longer have, and I still miss it to this day. I wondered where that went, my silly little teddy bear.

“Yeah,” she responded with a sigh, her hands tucked into the pockets of her sweatpants. She leaned closer and whispered, “I could be your teddy bear instead, you know I like cuddling with my little girl.”

“I’m always goin’ to be your little girl,” I whispered back, kissing her lips with my shy mouth. She smiles on my lips and kisses me back, but with tongue. I didn’t mind, I like the way she kisses me most of the time. They’re hot and sensual, like when you watch movies and think about the person who you want to hold hands with. It’s that kind of kiss that would slip away and you have to catch it or else it’ll go away – that’s how I feel each time we kiss.

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on,” she sighs into my mouth, slowly bringing her hands down to my waist. Touching me with her hot breath against my chin. “I’ll make dinner for us both, okay? You just sit here and wait for me, maybe rest if you want.”

“Alright,” I nodded, smiling. “Call me when dinner’s ready.”

“I will, little angel.”

I was woken up by her hand touching my ankle, her lips close to my thigh. I blinked twice, before realizing that she was having a moment with my slumbered self. I wanted to say I was awake, but she seemed so… focused with my leg in front of her darker shade of green eyes. She kissed my ankle again and touched my inner thigh, mumbling: “What I could do to you” on my skin, which made me shiver in an uncomfortable matter with a mix of arousal in between.

“I love you,” she whispers with a mumble once again and gives an open mouth kiss on my inner thigh. “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

“Tasha…”

“You’re awake?” she asked with her face flushed, knowing that I’d noticed her kissing my ankle and my thigh. She quickly envelopes me with her hug and kisses the side of my face, tucking her head into my neck. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I just couldn’t help myself, that’s all…”

“Do you do that often with other women?” I asked, receiving a shake of her head.

“No, only you.”

“I must be special then,” am I special to you? “How long have you been doing that?”

“Not long ago,” she whispers, cuddling me close with her muscular arms that wrapped around me like a teddy bear. Except that, the teddy bear was hugging me instead of me hugging the teddy bear. “I’ve made pasta for us both, it’s with tomatoes. Do you like tomatoes?”

“I love tomatoes.”

“Good,” she said, smiling at me. She closed the distance between our lips and kissed each other, like two hungry teenagers. How ironic. Her hands were cupping my jaw now as she deepened her tongue inside of my mouth, feeling the tip of her tongue on the roof of my mouth. We never kissed like this, but this felt more sensual and meaningful – I could barely take it all in, everything was pouring down on the table too much. “I love you so much, I’m so glad you’re with me right now.”

“I’m glad too, Tasha–”

Riiiiinnnnng!

The sound of a doorbell came rushing from the house, and Natasha bolted up to see who it was. As I imagined her with a nonchalant face, she turned to me with a look that I could not identify what face she was giving me. Was it my parents? Who was at her door? Immediately, she went out and walked downstairs, making me follow her as well.

The door opened, and I was greeted by a woman standing with a tired face. She looked like she had come home from a bad trip at work, so I offered her a smile – which she didn’t give back.

“M-Maria?” Natasha was in shock, almost as if her face fell. I wondered why she was so shocked, maybe because she hasn’t seen her friend in such a long time that–

“Natasha,” the woman, Maria, replies with a mock of her tone. Except that, her voice was a lot meaner than hers. She crosses her arms and makes a tsk sound. “You never learn, do you?”

“What’s going on?” I asked quietly. Natasha turned to look at me and ushered me to go behind her, which I did. I mean, I do follow orders from people, even from her. When the tension gets hotter and weirder, the woman said: “Young lady, this is my wife. And she hasn’t gone home for a year.”

I knew my heart had shattered the minute she said this unnecessary information that I didn’t need to know, but yet – I still had to find out in a time like this where I needed Natasha. I could imagine Natasha’s face falling, and watched as her back slumped like a defeated person.

“I don’t understand–”

“She’s my wife,” she seethes, eyeing me with a disgusting look. “And she hasn’t come back home where she belongs.”

At that moment, I had two choices. One was to leave her and never come back or to stay and figure this all out. How could I be this stupid and innocent at the same time? Why did I not see the signs of her being married? At this point, I felt like a homewrecker; knowing that I was one already. I watch as Natasha turns to look at me and furiously shakes her head.

“I’m sorry," she lets out a sob that makes my heart break even more, as she tries to reach for my hands. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry..."

That was the weakest apology I’ve ever heard from a grown up.

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#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #black widow x reader #black widow x you #a's oneshots!#mlg series #yaaay

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sacredjake · 7 months

Text

Teach Me- Part Three

pairing: Professor!Sam x 21+ College Student Reader

word count: 7.8K

warnings: 18+MDNI! cussing, fluff, small angst, drug use (weed), oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected sex, penetrative sex, nicknames, soft sammy. let me know if i missed anything!

part 3 is finally here! i apologize for the long wait, i hope this made up for it. huge thank you as always to @malany-gvf for letting me talk through my ideas with her. and a thank you to @gold-mines-melting & @ageofhearingloss for helping as well <3 love y’all! linked below is a song that inspired bits of this, and a visual of sammy :) enjoy and thank you so much for reading and waiting!!

Stars On The Ceiling

sammy visual

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The leaves outside had turned from lively green to vibrant shades of reds, oranges and yellows signifying that fall was here, and a month had passed since that day in Professor Buckley’s office with Sam. Since then things had only progressed. The… relationship between the two of you developed more into just that. A relationship.

Nothing was made official per se, but the foundation of your connection wasn’t based on just sex. Sure the sex was good. Like really, really good, but that wasn’t what kept the you tethered to one another.

Everything about the two of you just made sense. You shared almost all the same interests which lead into constant conversations about practically anything. With Sam it was just so easy. The flow was natural as if you were meant to be with one another in some way.

Sam was kind, funny, extremely smart, spontaneous and incredibly sweet. He was also just an overall goofball and sometimes a smartass, but you admired every part of him you’d come to know on a personal level. He never failed to make you feel anything less than special, and made sure to constantly tell you in case his gestures didn’t already show it.

While you avoided going out together in public, he would still take you on dates to a neighboring town. Neither of you were willing to risk getting caught by anyone who didn’t already know, which was a short list of just Macie, and Sam’s best friend Danny. You had met Danny several times as he and Sam are roommates, and you got along great with him. He was kind and funny, and practically perfect for Macie, who was dying to meet him.

Which is where you were headed right now.

When you had told Sam that Macie wanted to meet Danny he came up with the idea for the four of you to head over to an arcade in the next town over as a group. Sure it was more of a set up for your two best friends, but they didn’t really need to know that. You each had just told them that since they were the only two people who knew, that it would be nice to hang out with friends together. Both of them agreed to go almost immediately.

“Will you please stop that, you’re stressing me out.” Your eyes were trained on the road as you drove, but you could see Macie squirming in her seat every few seconds. It was driving you up a wall.

“I can’t help it, y/n! I’m nervous!” Macie exclaimed with a huff, wringing her hands in her lap. You let out a breathy laugh and set your hand on top of hers to stop the movement.

“It’s just Sam, Mace.”

You knew that Sam was not, in fact, why she was so nervous, but you were hoping maybe it would make her laugh. And it did, kinda. It was more of an annoyed laugh than a genuine one.

“He is not who I am nervous about! I’m nervous about meeting Danny!” With the movement of her hands ceased, her leg began bouncing up and down violently against her seat.

“Danny is not in any way intimidating, okay? Just calm down, you will get along just fine.” You tried to give her your best reassuring smile, but the jerky action of her leg made you falter. “And for the love of god stop bouncing your leg!”

Her knee froze and settled down on the seat with a muttered “Sorry”, unaware of the subconscious action.

When you pulled into the parking lot of the arcade you were able to spot Danny’s car quickly along with a spot in front of him. This was definitely an intentional move on your part. You knew the guys would be waiting in the car for you and Macie to arrive, so by parking in front of Danny you were able to get Macie’s immediate reaction.

“Oh. My. God…” She did fairly well at making herself look busy so that she wouldn’t be caught gawking at Danny through the windshield.

“You didn’t tell me he was a fucking greek god!” Macie exasperated in a hushed tone like she was afraid they would hear.

“Are you going to keep pretending to look for something in your purse, or are you going to get out of the car?”

You didn’t leave her the option to reply as you opened your door and stepped out of the car to greet Sam and Danny. Danny looked like the usual Danny you saw at their apartment. He was wearing a backwards cap over his gorgeous curls, a loose t-shirt, black skinny jeans and white vans. Very Danny, which was cute. Sam’s outfit was also very Sam, and was easily one of your favorites. He was wearing an oversized white button-up with pops of color on the shoulders, and a pair of fitted gray trousers. His hair was down and wavy, looking absolutely flawless as always.

“Hey toots! About time you two showed up.” Sam beamed at you, grasping your hand pulling you in for a quick kiss. When you pulled away you pushed his shoulder lightly and laughed before greeting Danny and introducing Macie.

“While you two have technically already met,” You gestured between Macie and Sam, “You’ve never met in person, so… Sam, Danny, this is Macie. Macie, this is Sam and Danny.”

“Nice to know you’re more than just a floating head!” Sam smiled brightly as he shook Macie’s hand, his comment earning a laugh from your best friend. Danny just shook his head at Sam, way too accustomed to his antics.

“Ignore Sam, he’s an idiot.” Danny muttered to Macie, his voice still loud enough for you and Sam to hear. They shook hands as she laughed, smiles stretching both of their faces.

“Hey, I happen to be working on my Master's degree right now!” Sam scoff feigning offense, a hand over his chest.

“Come on you two,” You rolled your eyes playfully and started pulling Sam towards the entrance of the building, “We have games to play and I can’t kick all of your asses if we stand out here and listen to y’all argue over whether or not Sam is an idiot.”

“Whether or not I’m not an id- Wait, did you just say you were gonna kick our asses?” You looked back at Sam briefly, shooting him a cheeky smile and humming an ‘mhm’.

“Oh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, honey, but I am quite the champ at laser tag. No way you’re kicking my ass.”

There was an unintelligible whisper from Danny behind you followed by Macie’s giggles that led you to believe he had made fun of Sam in some way. You both chose to ignore whatever he had said and continued to walk into the building.

The first thing everyone decided to do as a group was play a game of bowling. It was a nice way to talk and still play some sort of game, the conversations between Macie and Danny flowing easily as you suspected. You got to learn more about what Sam was like growing up, and they were told all about your college escapades.

Not shocking to you, but shocking to the guys, Macie beat everyone at bowling. It was a little secret you kept to yourself that she was oddly good at the game. Danny seemed quite impressed whereas Sam vowed to take her down in laser tag later in true Sam fashion.

“I’m pretty hungry, is anyone else ready to eat?” Macie dropped her ball off at the return rack, the rest of your group in tow.

“I could go for some food right now.” Danny agreed.

“I’m okay right now, might check out some of the arcade games.” You lied as you placed your ball on the rack. While you were definitely hungry, this was a great opportunity for Macie and Danny to get to know each other.

Sam opened his mouth to respond and you shot him a warning look, trying to telepathically tell him about your plan. You knew he was probably going to say that he could eat. When he caught your eyes he stopped talking and gave you a weird look before realizing what you were doing.

“Yeah I’m with y/n, I can wait a bit. You two go ahead and we’ll meet up later for laser tag?”

The four of you went your separate ways. Danny and Macie to the bar for some lunch, and You and Sam to the arcade portion to play a few games. Together you picked a few two-player games, each of you winning one here and there. Even when you played a game meant for only one person, the other would play after keeping up the friendly competition. Eventually you both decided you’d play a round of skee-ball and then grab a bite to eat.

“You’re pretty sneaky.” Sam nodded his head over to the bar area before throwing his ball up the ramp. Following his gesture your eyes landed on both of your best friends chatting away as if they had always known each other.

“I just knew they would hit it off,” You admired them a few seconds longer before returning your attention to your own game, “They look cute together anyways. I hope it works out.”

Sam hummed in approval, taking his last shot and landing the ball in one of the one hundred slots. The machine lit up wildly with lights, and bells rang making it known to everyone that he had scored a hundred points. He grabbed the tickets that spewed out of the game and walked over to watch your last throw.

“Think they know this was kind of a set up?”

“Maybe, but I don’t really think they care all that much. They seem to be enjoying each other’s company.” You threw the last ball and watched as it sank into the fifty point slot. Sam snagged the tickets that had dispensed and handed them to you.

“Should we go pick out a prize, babe?” He waved the absurd amount of tickets in his fist around, wiggling his eyebrows. You nodded your head with a smile and grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers with his as you walked towards the prize room.

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

“What is that?” Danny eyed the box tucked underneath Sam’s arm as the two of you approached the laser tag area.

When you finally made your way over to the bar for a bite, Danny and Macie had already left so they didn’t get to see the prizes you had picked out. Macie had texted you letting you know that she and Danny were going to do a quick ax throwing session while you ate and they’d meet up with you at laser tag after.

“It’s my prize!” He held the rectangular box out so they could get a better view of it, excitement written all over his face.

“A lava lamp? That’s pretty sick.”

“Hell yeah it is! Cost me all my tickets.” He beamed, looking over the box again like a child on Christmas morning. His reaction when he first saw the item was absolutely adorable and you urged him to get it. It was a pretty cool lamp too. The base of it was black with silver stars littered about, the ‘lava’ inside was a neon, lime green color and the light inside was blue.

“What did you get y/n?”

“I didn’t really see anything I liked, so I helped Sam get the lamp.”

It was partially a lie. You had seen something small that you wanted, but Sam’s reaction to the lava lamp convinced you to do whatever it took to get it for him. Even if that meant you spent your tickets on him. Seeing his joy was worth more to you than the silly item you saw.

The four of you continued to talk until the game before yours ended. Macie and Danny recounted their ax throwing experience, noting that Danny was a natural while Mace struggled a bit. To which of course Macie said that she was just going easy on him because she had already beat him at bowling and felt bad.

Finally your group was called to start your game. You entered a prep room, vests and laser guns lining the walls. The room was mostly dark, the only light illuminating it coming from black lights that reflected neon paintings on walls. Each of you stood by a vest and listened as the worker went over the rules and basis of the game. Once he was done explaining everything, he instructed everyone to put on a vest before opening the door to let you inside.

The goal was simple, you were split into two teams. You and Sam against Macie and Danny. The objective was to hit the opposite players as many times as possible with the laser from your gun. Hits to the shoulder sensors were worth ten points, the back and chest were worth twenty-five.

Each team would also have a base in which they should be guarding. Hitting the base from far away was worth fifty points and hitting the base from underneath was worth a hundred. While this particular set up was meant for larger parties, the four of you decided it would still be fun.

As soon as you entered the main room Sam pulled you through the maze of walls and objects towards your base. The clock had already started and there was no time to waste.

“Alright so here’s what I think our plan should be. I know Daniel is gonna stay and guard the base, so I think you should stay here while I go down.” From the top of the base you could see the entire playing floor, including the other team’s base. The black lights illuminated neon barriers and walls throughout the course along with more artwork.

“Are you sure? You’re wearing a bright white shirt and I’m wearing black. You’ll be an easy target for either one of them. They won’t see me coming.”

The sides of his mouth twitched up as he thought about it, amusement spread across his face. He grabbed your face in his hands and pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

“You’re so smart, did you know that?” He dropped his hands from your face and turned you around to the stairs leading into the main floor. “Now go get us that win, I’ll cover you from up here as best as I can.” His hand connected with your ass cheek, sending you on your way, but not before you threw a playful glare over your shoulder at him.

You jogged down the stairs making sure your steps were soft in case Mace or Danny were nearby. Staying close to walls and under the bases, you made your way over to the other base. You figured if you couldn’t see the other base, they couldn’t see you from the aerial view.

Out of the corner of your eye there was a flashing light that streaked by, signaling that someone was close. You pressed yourself into the corner of the wall and waited to see if whoever it was would come closer. Within a few seconds, Macie walked by. She was walking away from you, her back exposed and not noticing you were there. You took the opportunity to shoot her back plate several times before running to safety in another tucked away spot.

From this spot you had a clear shot of their base. While it wouldn’t earn you the maximum amount of points, the shots would earn fifty each time. Until you were found or could get closer, this was a great option. You were also hoping that maybe it would draw Danny out since you were so close.

You started firing round after round after round at the giant sensor on the roof of the base. Each round made the object light up with red alarm lights and an automated voice signaling that the base was under attack. You kept shooting at the base until you felt your vest vibrate repeatedly. Danny had finally left his spot and found you, shooting at your chest as quickly as possible.

Not wanting to risk him racking up more points, you ran by him and back towards your base, a new plan formed in your head.

“Alright so when you see Danny leave the base, you need to run over and shoot it from underneath. I’ll take the hits from him, but if we both shoot the base then we'd be able to outweigh whatever he scores off me.” You were out of breath from running back to your base, chest heaving and slightly bent over.

“That sounds like a great plan. We only have like ten minutes left of game time, I think we should wait a little while.”

“Agreed. Once Macie sees you’ve left the base she’ll come running over here. We can’t give her a lot of time.”

“Start with five minutes left?” You nodded in agreement and straightened back up placing your hands on the back of your head.

“Are you gonna come stay at my place tonight? We could put on a movie, order some pizza and relax? Maybe smoke a little if you wanted?” Sam asked as you caught your breath.

“Yeah, that sounds nice. We can use your new lava lamp too.” His face lit up at your response, smiling fondly at you.

“I got something else the other day that I think you might enjoy, but you’ll have to wait to see what it is until later.”

“Ooo so mysterious.” You grinned back at him, wondering what he could’ve possibly bought.

The next few minutes passed with the two of you trying to decide on a movie to watch for tonight while keeping an eye on Danny and Macie. With five minutes left in the game it was time to move.

You followed the same path as before, tucking yourself back into the previous corner. And as before you started shooting their base as quickly as the trigger would allow. It didn’t take very much time at all for Danny to find you, however, by the time he had reached you, Sam had made it underneath their base. The look on Danny’s face was absolutely priceless, realization and shock setting in.

“Son of a bitch!” He shouted quickly, turning back where he came from to attack Sam. You followed behind him, laser aimed at his back the entire way and lighting him up with each hit.

By the time he got back to the base and Sam, it was too late. Twenty seconds remained on the clock and Sam had already scored well over a thousand points. There was no catching up.

“Oh c’mon Daniel, you have to hand it to us, it was pretty clever. Don’t be such a sore loser.”

“I am not a sore loser.” Danny rolled his eyes at his best friend with a grumble, arms crossed over his chest. You were all standing out by your cars just talking shortly before heading your separate ways.

“Whatever you say, Danny,” You teased, “To be fair, I did warn everyone that I was gonna kick their asses.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Both Danny and Macie waved you off as you walked by them to open your car. Sam was following behind you to say goodbye, and give Danny a moment with Mace.

“Alright so I’ll see you around 6?” Sam was leaned in close to you, arms resting on the top of the open car door between you.

“Yeah, I think that’ll work.”

“Perfect. Let me know when you make it home and are on your way over? I’ll order the pizza when you’re headed my way.”

“I will, and you do the same please.” He simply nodded in response before leaning in to kiss you and say goodbye.

You got in your car and shut the door with Macie following not too far behind. There was nothing but silence while you navigated the beginning of your journey home. Although you definitely noticed the small grin plastered on your best friend’s face.

“Did you have fun? You and Danny hit it off pretty well?”

“Uh… Yeah,” Her cheeks pinked more and more by the second, “I had a good time. He, uh, asked for my phone number so we could hang out just the two of us.”

“Oh hell yeah! See I knew you two would get along so well!”

“Yeah, Yeah.” She rolled her eyes playfully at you, still smiling. “Thank you, though for introducing us. He’s really sweet and funny, and definitely super hot… I just hope he’ll actually text me.”

“Mace, he’ll text you. Danny isn’t the type of guy to lead someone on.”

“I didn’t get that vibe either, which is nice, but we’ll just have to see.” You nodded your head showing that you understood what she was saying while keeping your eyes on the road.

The rest of the car ride home was filled with talk about upcoming school assignments and plans the two of you had together with your other roommates. The four of you hadn’t hung out in a few weeks partially due to school work, but also because you were spending a lot of time at Sam’s. Macie had been covering for you and keeping Sam’s identity a secret for now.

Chloe and Sadie knew that you were seeing someone, but you wouldn’t tell them who. Not that you didn’t trust them of course, but the less people who knew, the better. It kind of sucked because you wanted to do nothing but gush about Sam to your friends constantly, but you weren’t willing to risk anything.

Eventually you made it home, running inside long enough to change, pack a small overnight bag, grab your backpack and freshen up before you walked back out the door. While you had spent the whole day with Sam, you were eager to see him again so soon. You were especially ready to relax and hang out with just him.

The air was chilly, wind sweeping through your hair and cutting through the thin material of your cardigan that you wrapped tightly at your sides. You walked quickly through the small parking lot to his apartment, trying to lessen your time outside. Sam met you at the door, already having it open since you texted him that you were there.

“You look a little chilly there, Bug.” Sam called out leaning up against his doorframe. He was wearing a red crewneck and a pair of black sweats with a blanket draped over his shoulders, and no shoes but fun tie-dye socks adorning his feet.

“Me? Chilly?” You chirped between chattering teeth, “Never. Not at all.” You laughed slightly, your body shaking even more due to the shivering.

“C’mon let’s get you inside. I have pizza waiting anyways.” As you walked through the threshold he pulled the blanket from his body and wrapped it around yours instead. With the door shut behind you, his hands returned to the tops of your arms rubbing up and down and placed a light kiss on your cheek.

“Go ahead and get comfy, I'll bring in the pizza and drinks.” He said, ushering you towards his bedroom. You followed his instructions and made your way to his room through the decently sized apartment.

Kicking your shoes off next to his door and dropping your bags next to them, you climbed into his bed noticing the lava lamp from earlier now sitting on his nightstand. It must’ve been on for hours already, probably since he got home, the ‘lava’ flowing to the top and floating back down steadily. The small lamp fit in nicely with his room.

While you waited for Sam to join you, you pulled out your phone to busy yourself for the time being. A text had popped up onto the screen from Sebastian, and you opened the messages app to see the preview of the text first. The text that had come through from your older brother made your heart drop to your stomach, and your stomach drop to your ass, panic flooding your entire body.

Are you at Oakridge? Thought I saw you walk into Sam Kiszka’s place as I was leaving Brandon’s.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You sat there completely frozen staring at the text, wondering what the fuck you were going to say. When Sam walked in with the pizza and drinks your eyes shifted from the screen to his face. Immediately he could tell something was wrong, stopping just at the foot of the bed with the pizza still in hand.

“Everything okay?” He sat the pizza box on the bed before moving to the side and setting down the waters on the nightstand. Your eyes followed his movement, never once leaving him.

“My brother just texted me… He asked if I was here because he thought he saw me walking into your apartment.”

“Oh fuck…” Sam ran a worried hand through his hair before it settled on the back of his neck.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck while he thought up a lie as to why you would be here. Sure you were in his class so maybe you needed help with something outside of class, but that’s still unprofessional. With each passing moment the expression you wore grew more worrisome, your face becoming more pale. He sat on the bed across from you with criss-cross legs and gently took your hands in his.

“Hey it’s gonna be okay, I can tell you’re freaking out, but it’s gonna be okay.” Sam tried to reassure you, his soft brown eyes locked on yours looking more downturned than usual. You looked like you were going to cry, eyes becoming red and shiny nearly breaking his heart.

“Daniel is a tutor. Just tell him that he’s tutoring you in one of your classes because midterms are coming up. He knows that Daniel is my roommate and does tutoring on the side for extra cash. He’ll believe it.” He handed your phone to you before placing his right hand on your cheek. “It’s going to be okay, no need to worry right now.”

You nodded your head silently and unlocked your phone again, the screen still on the messages app. Sam’s hand on your cheek found new purchase on your knee resting lightly and giving it an encouraging squeeze.

Yeah I am. I needed some extra tutoring for one of my classes since midterms are around the corner, and Danny Wagner is my tutor. I had no idea he was Sam’s roommate.

Both of you waited for a moment, watching as Sebastian read the text. The text bubbles at the bottom of the screen danced while he typed his reply.

Oh okay. Should’ve just asked me, I could’ve helped.

A sign of relief exhaled from your lips, your shoulders dropping from the release of tension. His response was normal, something he says every time you tell him about tutoring. You typed a quick reply explaining that he had enough on his plate and you didn’t want to overload him before looking back to Sam.

“He bought it, thank god. I was really freaking out,” A meek smile spread across your lips, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being calm and calming me down. For not getting angry. You have a lot more on the line than I do…” Your voice drifted off into a whisper. The Ex’s in your past would have never handled a situation where they could face serious reprimands so calmly, and certainly would have blamed you. Tears pricked your eyes distorting the vision of Sam gazing down at you softly.

“Oh, sweetheart… C’mere.” He moved to sit up against his headboard, pulling you to sit between his legs once he settled. You leaned into his chest, your back laying flush against him with your head resting in the center of his chest. He pressed play on the TV, the movie both of you had picked earlier coming to life. Sam wrapped his arms around yours and weaved his fingers overtop of your own before crossing both your arms around your waist.

You sat in comfortable silence just watching the silly romcom and let the rise and fall of his chest ease your breathing. His chin sat on top of your head, the scent from your shampoo drifting lazily in the air. Half-way through the movie and between bites of pizza, Sam spoke.

“Any interest in smoking tonight?” He looked at you with raised eyebrows and a light smile on his lips making his eyes crinkle at the corners ever so slightly.

“Yeah, just a little bit though.” Sam smiled wider and sat his pizza in the box so he could move off the bed. He moved around his room towards his closet, turning on the light and walking in. When he re-emerged he was holding a small light green hand-blown glass bong with dark green ivy leaves that ran up the sides of it, his red grinder, and a lighter.

You didn’t indulge in smoking often, but you figured why the hell not, right? Sam also had really good weed. You never had to smoke a lot just to feel the effects, and the strain he smoked never made you feel anxious like others had in the past.

He set the items down on the nightstand and began to prep the bowl, packing the finely ground weed into the bowl using the butt of his lighter. Once the bowl was packed Sam returned the grinder to its spot in the closet. He started the bowl taking a rather large hit before handing it off to you. You sealed your lips on the mouthpiece and held the lighter to the weed for a few seconds. Once satisfied with the amount of smoke you had produced, you pulled the bowl out of the downstem and pulled the air up into your lungs, clearing the chamber. Sam watched as he always did, mesmerized at your ability to inhale all the smoke no matter how much was in it.

“Perfect,” You handed the piece back to him and met his eyes staring at you with adoration, “You are literally perfect.” The smoke from your exhale drifted into the open air through the smile Sam had caused. You could feel heat crawl its way up your neck and onto your cheeks from his praise, no doubt looking rosier than usual.

Sam repeated the steps you had just taken, yet again taking a larger hit. He cleared the chamber and set the bong back on the nightstand before turning back to you, the corner of his lips lightly pulled up. The smoke never left his lungs as he beckoned you towards him with a wave of your hand. You obliged knowing what he wanted you to do.

With your face centimeters from his, Sam’s hand gently held the side of your neck, his long fingers reaching the base of your skull. His thumb stroked your jaw softly as your lips parted slightly. Smoke began to flow smoothly from Sam’s mouth into your own, sucking in the air he released. You held his eye contact for a few moments feeling the soft intimacy of the moment wash over you. Breaking away from his gaze, your eyes fell to his lips that turned up into more of a smirk the longer you looked at them. When you drew your eyes back up to him he was already staring back, the outer corner of his eyes drooping with relaxation the high brought. His top lip curled, turning his smirk into a toothy grin filled with nothing but pure affection.

The hand resting on your neck pulled you closer to him to close the gap, your lips meeting delicately. His mouth moved against yours slowly like he was savoring the feel and taste of your lips. His tongue dragged across your bottom lip with a languid stripe inviting you to open your mouth fully to him.

Needing to be closer to him you climbed into his lap hooking your legs around his waist and looping your arms around his neck, never breaking the kiss. Sam’s arms snaked around your back, his right hand tangling in the hair at the back of your head.

Like smooth velvet, his tongue danced against yours, exploring the space like he had never done so before. Each pass of tongue on yours made you melt further into him. You felt that soon enough you would surely just become a part of him. But maybe that was the weed. The tip of his tongue grazed the roof of your mouth before he pulled away, leaving slow, open mouthed kisses along your jaw.

When he finally came to the corner of your jaw finally dipping down towards your neck, his tongue swept over the skin knowing this was one of your sweet spots. His hand at the back of your head held your exposed neck to him, your head lulling backwards with an airy gasp. Traveling down the column of your neck he continued to leave sweet kisses in his wake. You needed more of him, your hands finding the hem of his crewneck at either side of his hips and pushing the fabric upwards.

Sam only disconnected his lips from your skin briefly to pull the sweatshirt over his head and toss it to the floor. While he rid himself of his shirt, you pulled your cardigan off and threw it off the bed onto the floor. His fingers lifted the bottom of your shirt and you raised your arms to aid him as he pulled it over your head before it too was flung to the ground.

Instead of returning his lips to your throat he kissed your lips, following the same pace as before. Sam pulled you closer, both of your bare chests pressed flush against one another. With his arms around your back he began to lean forward, sending you backwards slowly until your back met the mattress. Your legs were still wrapped loosely around his waist connecting his hardening bulge to your core. The thin material of your leggings allowed every bit of him to feel the growing heat between your legs as he kissed you.

His hips pressed further into yours, driving his erection slowly against your clothed heat drawing soft, low moans from your lips. Your hands threaded into his long chestnut tresses, nails lightly scraping his scalp. His hand ghosted the skin of your side, passing over your ribs like a feather as he made his way up to your breast. With another roll of his hips he took your hardened nipple between his fingers, rolling it with gentle pressure.

You could feel the high of the weed begin to wash over you, and you weren’t entirely sure that you weren’t floating above the bed right now. Every inch of your skin burned and tingled. It was one of the best feelings you had ever experienced.

Sam trailed hot kisses down your body, taking his time along the way. Once low enough, the tips of his fingers slipped under the waistband of your leggings and underwear, dragging them down. He continued to leave kisses on your body, and never stopped to tease, going straight to your dripping core.

With a flat tongue he licked a stripe up your pussy, changing to a point as he passed over your clit. His tongue passed slowly through your folds again repeating the motions from before except when he reached your clit this time he pulled it between his lips, sucking lightly. Your hips bucked upwards involuntarily, hands pressed against his head holding him closer to you. His eyes met yours, his pupils so blown that they overtook the iris making his eyes almost completely black. With his lips still wrapped around your clit, his tongue began massaging the sensitive bundle with his tongue.

“Oh Sam, fuck.” Your chest rose and fell rapidly, the words full of air.

“You taste so sweet, baby,” Sam murmured between smooth laps of his tongue, “Like fresh honey.” He returned his attention back to your clit for a moment, babying it as he did before. “Could stay here with my tongue in this sweet pussy all day.”

Instead of drawing up your core as he had been, he slipped his tongue inside you and let his thumb rub slow, tender circles over your hardened bud. His thumb moved in sync with his tongue, dragging in and out against your walls. Each motion of both pushed you closer and closer to the edge, moans and praises drifting from your parted lips.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” He coaxed you closer to your release with just his thumb and words, “Almost there.” He watched your orgasm begin to take with soft, loving eyes. Every noise he drew from you was like music to his ears, the most beautiful symphony leading to his favorite crescendo.

Your orgasm washed over you slowly with Sam talking you through it, praising you over and over again. He watched in awe simply admiring how beautiful you looked, your skin flushed and glistening, back arched, and head thrown back against the blankets with your mouth hung slightly open.

“God you look so pretty when you cum,” He stopped mid-sentence, his tongue sweeping through your wetness once more to collect the fresh nectar that dripped from your cunt, “Can’t wait to watch you cum again.”

He moved back up your body, slotting his lips into your own. He was careful to keep distance between your sensitive core and his clothed length to avoid overstimulation. You could taste your release on his tongue as it slid over your own, humming and pulling him closer to you.

“Sam please.” You begged, pushing the waistband of his sweats down his hips. His hand cupped the side of your face and lifted it to urge you to look at him.

“Easy now sweetness. I wanna take my time with you tonight,” He placed a kiss to your cheek, “Adore you,” Another one to your other cheek, “Savor you,” The tip of your nose, “Worship you.” Finally placing the last one to your lips.

“C’mon, let’s move you up to the pillows.”

You nodded lazily, completely in a daze at how lucky you had gotten with Sam. He was the first partner you’ve had that did exactly as he said he wanted to do. Praise and worship you in every way you deserve.

He moved off of you allowing you to move up the bed towards the headboard. While you laid against his pillows, he shed himself of his sweats and boxers freeing his hard erection. Your mouth watered as you took in his beauty. Every single part of him was like perfection, handcrafted by Aphrodite herself. God’s greatest creation, you were sure of it.

Sam made his way back over to you, but stopped on his knees at your propped up legs. He placed his hands on either side of your knees and delicately pushed them apart. You watched him take his pointer and middle fingers into his mouth and wet them, eyes glued to his lips as the digits slipped past them. His wet fingers began to draw circles on your clit, the small bundle growing harder with each swipe.

Never stopping the motion of his fingers Sam drew closer to lean over you, the tops of his thighs meeting the backs of yours. With his other hand he guided his length along your slit covering himself with your slick. When he reached the base, he drew back and pushed through your wetness again.

“Already so wet.” He pumped his hand along his pulsating member, spreading your arousal to coat each inch of his velvety skin.

Sam pulled his hand away from your clit and rested it on your cheek peeling your eyes away from his hand pumping up his shaft to look him in the eyes.

“Ready for me?” You nodded in favor of a verbal reply, your brain foggy from your previous orgasm and the weed.

The hand he had pressed to your cheek moved next to your head pressing into the pillow as he braced himself. You wrapped your legs around his lower back bringing you closer to one another as He lined his swollen head up with your entrance and pushed in slowly. His other hand found purchase on your waist while he sheathed himself inch by inch, the slow stretch a delicious burn. As he disappeared inside you he watched loving the way your walls sucked him in.

When he was fully seated inside his head dropped back, a shaky, “Oh fuck,” escaping his lips. He didn’t move for a few moments as both of you got accustomed to the way the other felt.

“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart, can I move?” He whispered, eyes meeting yours, pleading and longing.

“Please, oh my god, Sam please.”

He began to withdraw from you immediately, slowing himself to feel every inch of you against him. He pulled out almost completely, leaving just the tip in before he pushed back in with a steady roll of his hips. Each thrust in and out was slow, calculated and deep. Oh, so deep. With every push inside you took all of him down to the base, his tip grazing that sweet spot causing the imaginary coil in the pit of your belly to tighten.

Just when you thought he couldn’t get any deeper than he already was, Sam pushed his torso away from you, his hands reaching up to grip the headboard above you tightly. The leverage he gained from the bed frame allowed him to drive further into your core, pressing directly into your most sensitive area. He kept up the same slow, yet strong and deep pace continuing to build your orgasm steadily.

“Oh god, Sam- fuck, that feels so good.” The praise bubbled from your chest, fucked out and pitchy, your hands gripping his hips firmly. “Plea- Please don’t stop.” You whined, earning a groan from the depths of Sam's chest.

“Not gonna stop, baby. Won’t stop till you’re cumming around my cock. I can tell you’re almost there.”

He moved one of his hands on the headboard to your clit, toying with it and setting your core on fire. You could feel your walls clenching around him the closer you got to your climax. Neither of you would last much longer, both of you peering over the cliff edge.

“I’m about to cum, baby. Look at me.” You met Sam’s eyes as he asked, enamored with the sight of him above you. Wavy chestnut hair fell around his face, eyebrows pinched lightly, and his plump pink lips parted. Breathtakingly beautiful.

“Oh fuck” He moaned as your eyes gazed back into his, “You are so beautiful,” He punctuated the praise with a deep roll of his hips, “Angelic perfection.”

“Sammy.” His name drifted off your lips in a gasp, dissipating in the air.

“Let go, cum for me. Wanna see that pretty face.”

If your first orgasm washed over you, the second crashed into you. You felt it all over your body in an instant, every muscle contracting. Sam came shortly after, slowing his thrusts to work you both through the high until he became too sensitive. He collapsed on top of you pressing kisses to the inside of your neck and on your cheek while you both caught your breath.

Sam pushed up on his arms bringing his face to yours. He brushed the hair out of your eyes with his hand, a fond smile etched onto his face and eyes trailing after his hands.

“I meant it, you know.” He said softly, taking in every detail of your face like he was committing it to memory.

“Angelic perfection.”

Heat flamed your cheeks along with a goofy smile stretching across your lips. Your hands covered your face trying to hide the silly blush that inked your skin, but Sam was quick to pull your hands away.

“Hey, hey,” He giggled, matching your smile, “You’re not allowed to cover that pretty face.” He kissed your lips sweetly, humming and smiling into the kiss.

It was short lived though as he pulled away abruptly, nearly jumping off the bed.

“I almost forgot!” You sat up in his bed pulling the covers over your naked body, watching him walk around his room searching for something.

“Oh here it is!”

He came back to the bed, setting an oddly shaped light on the nightstand. It was a dodecahedron with a black stand and hundreds of different sized dots on each face. He plugged the object in and quickly turned off the salt lamp that had been illuminating the room along with the lava lamp. When he turned the new lamp on, your breath was taken away.

Hundreds of stars along with a few constellations were displayed around his room in a beautiful blue light.

“It’s so beautiful, Sammy.” You stared in awe at all the different little stars, your head whipping around. Sam climbed back into bed with you and pulled you to lay on top of him, your cheek pressed to his chest. The sound of his heart thumped in your ear, steady like his breathing.

“I thought you might like it. Pretty neat, huh?” He studied your face as you gaped at the fake stars, the smile from earlier gracing his features again.

“It’s stunning. I love it.” You drifted back to Sam’s face taking in how pretty he looked in the blue light with stars speckled on his skin.

“You’re stunning.” He cupped your face with both of his large hands, unable to tear his eyes from you. The bright smile on his face faded into something softer, his eyes following suit as you looked at one another.

“I think I’m falling for you, y/n, and I know it might be cheesy, but I wanted to ask if you’d be my girlfriend?”

Cheesy or not, your heart melted at his confession, warmth encasing your whole body.

He was falling for you.

You didn’t need to think about your answer. You knew the moment he asked.

“Yes, of course, Sam.” You beamed, threading your fingers through his that laid on your cheeks.

“I would love to be your girlfriend.”

His smile widened to match yours, and you could feel the way he felt about you just from his soft eyes locked on yours. Pulling you closer, he kissed you with happy excitement, both of you smiling into the kiss.

You fell asleep that night with Sam’s bare body pressed into your own thinking for a second time how lucky you were to have stumbled upon Sam. He was everything you had ever wanted and so much more. In such a short amount of time he had become your everything, and you were quickly falling in love with him.

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