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fever-fluff · 5 months

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Take my Hand

Synopsis: Azriel really wants to hold your hand, but he's afraid that he'll hold it too tight.

(I've been obsessed with writing something that focuses on Azriel's hands. Because of how it was too late to save his hands when his brother's burned him, I'm wondeirng if he ever had to relearn things when they finally healed himself.)

Word Count: 2k(Not Proof Read)

Sometimes he had wished he had burned in the blaze of heat centuries ago, that the months of relearning how to make a fist with his fingers and then splay them wide again hadn’t tunnelled itself so far into his memory that he could still feel the anger, pain and frustration of not being able to do what infants could. But the years had rolled on, one into another and even with all the Illyrian healing in the world, Azriel would never be able to go back to a time where his hands were just… hands.

He was supposed to meet you today, outside the little bookstore you and Nesta frequented so many times you knew it better than your own rooms. That was an hour ago. But the pains that sparked from his fingers up through his arm had left him twitching so uncontrollably that he couldn’t even lift the cup from its saucer this morning without the tea sloshing over the sides.

He could hear Madja’s hum of disaproval in the back of his mind as he changed his hands from the almost boiling water in one bowl to the icy cold in another. He’d been slacking on the regiments she’d given him all those years ago. With the dexterity he needed to wield his blades, Azriel was supposed to vigilantly keep up with the hot and cold baths and rigorous stretches and ointments so he wouldn’t lose their complete cooperation, but in the past few months he’d avoided them to no end.

If he were being honest with himself, it had started much earlier than that. Seeing so many round him now that didn’t fail in menial bodily functions had left him feeling lesser than, so he’d reduced his routine week by week, then day by day, until he’d relied solely on what his body could do to stop his hands seizing up. What an idiot he was.

The twitching had finally ceased, but his hands had locked into a half-made fist and he grunted with frustration, asking the house to send a bowl of melted wax so he could attempt to bend his fingers back to where they should be.

Submerging one, he began to think of you. Had you left? Or were you still standing outside the sage green door with the potted plants littering the entrance, wondering if he’d stood you up? It had been too long for you to think he was running late, and he cursed himself to Hel.

He’d imagined your first outing over and over again since you’d said yes a week ago. How he’d fly down to you, no Illyrian leather in sight, instead complimenting your dress his shadows had described perfectly with the slacks and shirt he’d chosen after tearing at his hair all morning. He wouldn’t bring any flowers, remembering your distaste for uprooting harmless fauna and instead he’d offer you something hot to drink to keep you warm in the crisp air of the afternoon. You’d smile and thank him, asking if he was ready to go inside and he’d grab you hand, giving it a kiss as he hummed his yes. He wouldn’t let it go the entire time you scanned the bookshelves. Until you’d finally begin choosing your reads for the coming days and he’d offer to carry them for you, holding them securely imaging it was you instead. Once you were finished, he’d hold the bag of books in one hand, while reaching with his other and lacing your fingers together. The day would carry on much the same, and his hands would always be there, either at your waist or your own, always making sure you were still by his side – that he was not imagining any of it.

But that’s all it was in the end – his imagination. His hands were no good for soft touches. He was always grabbing things too lightly or too tight, never just right. They showed him for the brute he was, that he was not meant for delicate things like you.

Slowly bending the first of his fingers back, Azriel heard the slightest rap of knuckles on his door, and he announced himself before he even thought to check who it was. But the soft footsteps he had become so used to picking out over the rest of his loud family had his head snapping up to face the opened door and see you, a small smile on your face with sad eyes. “Is this a bad time?”

His wing barely missed tipping the bowl of wax on the floor as he spun to face you, hiding it and his once again shaking hands behind his back as he called your name in surprise. Shadows flitted around him, making for your figure in the door and swirling at your feet. Their movements displaced the fabric of your dress, the skirt of it flowing with the black tide. You looked so much more than beautiful, blowing whatever his imagination had conjured up earlier out through the open window. All Azriel could find himself thinking of was how soft you looked when you filled the stretching silence once again with your voice. “I was worried. You didn’t show and I thought Rhys might have called you away. But when he said he hadn’t seen you since breakfast, well… I really didn’t know what to think.”

“I -” Gods, why did his own words have to fail him now? “I have no excuse for leaving you to wait. I’m sorry.”

You nodded, “Apology accepted. But Az, if you didn’t want to join me this morning, you could’ve told me. I didn’t want to make you feel like you had no choice but to hide away in you ro-”

“I wasn’t hiding! I – I wanted to come, truly, I just…” Azriel sighed as he placed his hands back in front of him, the shaking and curling fingers on full display in front of you. “I’ve tried everything, but none of it’s working. I just, I wanted today to be perfect, but I should’ve known it would be me that ruined it.”

There was no gasp of surprise as he’d imagined when you inevitably found out about his lacking. Only Rhys and Cass were privy to his condition, Feyre, her sisters, even Mor had been left in the dark for years now on his request. But you had slowly walked toward him and now reached for his hand to peel the hardened shell of wax back, dropping it into the rest.

Guiding him to the bed, he sat and watched as you silently picked up vial after vial of oil on his dresser, putting them down as you read each label until you found what you were looking for.

He said nothing as you tipped some of it into your hands, rubbing them together to warm them after being out in the biting cold for an age, all thanks to him. You reached for his, only stopping to ask him a simple ‘may I?’ before he agreed, and you took his right hand in between your delicate fingers.

Slowly, you pressed and kneaded the aching skin and muscles, setting the fingers that refused to move back with careful movements. It was tediously long, one of the treatments that he avoided almost all of the time because his own could never fix the problem. But you never complained, never tired from the repetitive nature of it once. When the shakes had finally eased, and his fingers could once again flex and move with little stiffness, you moved to his left; using the same care and diligence on it as you did the first. It must have been a couple hours before you finally retracted your hands from his, resting them in you lap as you smiled up at him. “There. Any better?”

Azriel felt the first drop hit his cheek and roll down until it fell, the rest soon following. “Where did you learn to do that?” He couldn’t tear his eyes form yours, even when his vision blurred from the tears. You had done something no one ever had. After everything he had done – leaving you to wait, sending no word of why, then sitting here with you like a buffoon as you tended and cared for him as no one else had. How could you still look at him like that, with so much warmth?

You blushed under the question, “I asked Madja to show me, in case you needed help when no one else could do it.”

He bristled, no no no no no. “Did Rhys tell you? Did Cassian?!” He’d kill them, he’d kill them both for putting you here. But you waved you hands in denial of his words. “No. No! I – I just thought that it would be something you might need… you know? I know that Illyrian healing is one of the most potent there is, so for your hands to be so scarred, I just thought that maybe it wasn’t all surface level…” Your voiced had filtered out as you finished explaining, but Azriel couldn’t even believe the words that had reached his ears.

You had gone to Madja, or your own choosing, to ask for something no one else had thought of in the time they had known him. “You did this for me?”

“Well, yea. You’re always taking care of me. I just wanted to take care of you sometimes, because I know its nice to receive it. So why shouldn’t I return the fav- ”

Azriel hadn’t even let you finish before he’d moved to place his lips on yours, stealing the intake of breath you’d taken in surprise. He was right, you were soft, and delicate, and just, everything. He moved his now still hands to hold you as he wanted to this afternoon – wrapping one round your waist as the other placed itself to cup your neck. You preened as he pulled you closer, legs tangling slightly and your own hands, the ones which had cared for him so wonderfully, reached for the front of his shirt and pulled on the fabric to bring him impossibly closer. You were incredibly open to him, inviting everything he gave you with warmth and just as much delight as he did. it was impossible to pull away from you, and even as he gained the strength to do so you had chased his mouth with a slight nip to his lower lip. His hum swallowed by you, tongue teasing the seam of his mouth until he opened up just as much as you had, and he became engulfed by you once again.

This time it had been you who pulled to break away from him. He forced himself not to follow as you had done earlier, opening his eyes and finding yours already looking at him. Your cheeks had flushed, and he noticed that somehow you had come to sit on his lap, legs tossed to the side while your dress pooled around you both. He supposed he looked no better, even less so with the grip he had on your waist and neck. But you didn’t seem to mind. Not at all as he worked the skin underneath in a silent apology to sooth whatever pressure he had inflicted.

“Thank you”

Your eyes closed at his words and touch, leaning forward to peck his lips one more time. “Anytime, Shadowsinger. Anytime.”

He should ask to redo your missed outing this morning, should apologise one more time for leaving you to wait. But with the way you had curled into him, Azriel pushed his thoughts back. He’d make it up to you later, he promised himself. He just wanted to hold you for a little while longer.

#acotar #azriel angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x female!reader #azriel x you #azriel imagine #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff

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castiwls · 25 days

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king of my heart - d.w

Paring; dean x reader

Prompt; 'Drinkin beer out of plastic cups. Say you fancy me, not fancy stuff. Baby, all at once this is enough'

Requested; @nix-rose

Notes; tysm for the request! I think I might have gotten a little carried away lmao. Requests are open!

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

You moved your wrist in a circle watching as the beer sloshed around the cup. Looking up from your cup your gaze settled on the man in front of you. A small smile grew on your lips as you watched him slowly drink from his own cup. You could tell by the look in his eyes that his mind was elsewhere currently.

Dean Winchester was a relatively new character in your life. You’d met him on a job a few months back and your relationship had quickly developed from friends into lovers. You’d always told yourself that you wouldn’t get involved with anyone in this way, your job was too risky and you knew you weren’t prepared to deal with the pain that came with losing a loved one.

But you’d thrown that all out the window the minute Dean Winchester had waltzed his way into your life. To say you’d been swept off your feet by the man was an understatement, in the short time it had taken you to complete the hunt you’d found yourself falling into his bed at the end of the day instead of your own.

“You okay?” You nudged his foot with your own, placing the cup on the table. Dean let out a small noise of surprise before he turned his attention back to you. “I’m fine sweetheart, just thinking.” He sent you a grin before taking another drink from his own cup. “Thinking about what?” You leaned forward slightly to capture his free hand in your own. “You looked like you were thinking quite hard.”

“About us. I mean are you sure you really wanna do this with me of all people.” He let out a quiet laugh squeezing your hand slightly. The look in his eyes was something you hadn’t seen before. It was vulnerable. He stared at you, his lip between his teeth. “I mean, I’m far from Prince Charming, i can’t give you that white picket fence.” He trialled off his gaze falling back onto the table as he picked up his cup and finished off the last of the beer.

You sat quietly for a moment as you processed his words. “What makes you think I want any of that?” You tilted your head frowning slightly. “Because…” The word came out harsher than he intended. Taking a breath he leaned forward, his face only inches from yours now. “Damn it… because it’s what you deserve alright.”

“But that’s not what I want.” You said softly. Pulling back you swung your legs over the bench moving to sit beside Dean. As you sat beside him he turned his body to face you, his hand finding yours again. “I promised myself that I was fine alone. That I didn’t need anyone but then I met you and all that changed. All that changed because, for the first time in my life, I saw a man that I could picture a future with.” You reached up to gently run a hand through his hair. “I don’t want anything fancy, I don't want a house with 2.5 kids. All I want is you.”

You heard Dean’s breath hitch slightly at your words. “You're enough,” you gestured to the room around you. “This is enough.” Dean was quiet for a moment before you felt him gently place a hand on your cheek. A small smile graced his lips as he simply stared at you for a moment. “I love you.” His voice was barely louder than a whisper as he spoke.

Before you had a chance to respond he leaned forward pressing his lips to yours. After a moment he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you too.” You whispered.

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deathbecomesthem · 12 days

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got caught staring at my male coworker's hand tattoos today (there's script on one of his hands and I couldn't figure out what it said lol) and it made me think of linecook!eddie and if the reader has ever been caught staring at his hands (while he's cooking/prepping) while thinking..impure thoughts lol

This is so incredibly relatable. I have spent too much time thinking about what it would be like to be Eddie Munson's co-worker - there's no way I wouldn't be caught staring at him on a regular basis.

Here's what I've got for you. It's not exactly what you asked for, but this is what my brain said to write:

Eddie Munson x server!reader - there's a bit of smutty fantasy at the end.

+18 ONLY - MDNI

---

The new guy - Kenney? Karl? Keith? Shit, you can't be bothered to remember when you know he'll be gone in less than a month - sloshed vegetable oil on the floor as he made is his way from the storage room back to the kitchen. He knew he spilled the oil, but the head cook, Eddie, intimidated the hell out of the new guy. He didn't want to keep him waiting.

You, of course, had no idea about the oil spill. It's 11:30, and your usual set of lunch tables have just been seated. You're dancing the familiar steps you have memorized - wipe table, greet guests, fill drink orders, greet next guest, get more drink orders, and so on - making your way to deliver the first lunch orders to the line when the heel of your right foot finds the vegetable oil.

It's a slow motion movement. Your arms being to flail as you lose your footing completely. You can feel the impact of the hard tile floor on your tailbone even while you're still mostly upright. You're bracing for impact. There's no way to stop the inevitable, you just hope the damage is minimal. You clench your teeth just as you're about to feel the pain of impact when -

-you're buoyed by a firm grip on your forearms. Behind you, he clocked the sound of the rubber of you sneaker skidding along the tile. He saw the way you lifted your arms above your head, and moved instinctively. Eddie's hands grabbed your forearms hard enough to leave a mark - a small pain to save you from anything worse.

"Woah there. I got you." You can feel Eddie's breath on your neck as he allows your back to fall into his chest. An unexpected embrace that makes your knees weaker. His arms wrap around your center, holding you close. Holding you upright.

You look down and see his hands, strong and capable, holding onto you. You let him hold you, help you back firmly on your feet. You let a hand hold the small of your back, keeping your close, while you both investigate the ground in front of you. You watch those hands as they work the scrub brush against the tile to clean all traces of the offending oil. You watched those hands held out in front of him with he berated the new guy - Keith, you're almost sure of it - about kitchen safety and not killing your co-workers.

And when you climbed under the covers of your bed that night, you thought of those hands. You imaged they were pinching your nipples instead of your own. You imagine his thick fingers, rough fingertips running along your sensitive button. And when you fall asleep, you dream of those fingers inside your mouth while he's fucking you against the diner counter.

You'll never be able to look him in the eyes again.

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #asks #aud💜#linecook!eddie munson

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1800-fight-me · 6 months

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Dark Devotion

Vampire!Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader

Rating: E (Explicit) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: Once again, gothic horror romance vibes. The monster gets the girl. Fear, horror, and explicit PiV sex. Slightly non-con as Aemond compels reader, but reader definitely consents (you'll understand when you read it).

Word count: About 5.2k

Synopsis: Running from your old life somehow leads you directly into the arms of a monster, one that shows you pleasures you never could've dreamed of.

Author’s note: I know I have been completely MIA and inconsistent but tbh my life has been incredibly stresseful and I lost all motivation to write for a while. This is the first thing I've written in months that I am genuinely proud of. I even made a whole ass moodboard for it! I truly hope y'all enjoy. Happy Halloween! P.S. Comments will make my entire day and earn you a kiss on the forehead!

I am no longer using a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on!

Aemond Masterlist

There was a phrase you heard quite a few times in your village as a little girl, ‘the night is dark and full of terrors’. Your mum would always roll her eyes and mumble something about ‘religious fanatics’. You were always inclined to agree with her, that is until this night.

This night truly was dark and full of terrors.

Thunder cracked loud enough that your ears rang as rain poured something awful. The harsh droplets pelted at your skin and the sky split in half as a lightning bolt landed merely a stone’s throw before you.

Your horse neighed in panic loud enough that you could hear him over the bellowing wind as he reared back on his hind legs, causing you to slip and fall off and land directly on your backside in the mud.

You gasped in shock and did not even have time to call out before your horse bolted away, leaving you drenched and muddy on the forest floor.

Instead of crying you merely turned your head up towards the sky, embraced the pain of the harsh rain against your cheeks, and screamed at the heavens in frustration.

You managed to pull yourself up before the mud sucked you in below the surface of the world, adjusted the hood of your cloak once again over your head, and trudged forward.

Your boots sloshed through the dampened forest floor and you thought that perhaps the naysayers in your village were right. Maybe the gods were punishing you for your promiscuity.

When you laid with the soldier passing through your village and allowed him to take your maidenhood, you were convinced there would be no consequences.

You were no one, nothing, and not having your maidenhood intact changed nothing other than the subject the gossipers in town clucked about.

It seemed it also changed the gods’ vengeance towards you.

This night was dark and full of terrors, that much you could sense as fear shot down your spine.

You increased your pace, fearing the creatures that could be lurking in the woods, desperate for some sort of shelter. The feeling of eyes watching you from time to time during your journey became steady and unceasing. You felt uneasy, the hair on the back of your neck stood straight up, and you knew it had nothing to do with the cold in the air.

Eventually you had no other choice but to ignore the feeling, having looked behind and around you dozens of times in search of your stalker to no avail.

You trudged along for what felt like hours, not once finding anything that could serve as a temporary shelter. That was, until you somehow stumbled upon a near debilitated castle.

As it came into view, you shuddered at the feeling the crumbling building invoked in you, but any shelter was better than none at this point.

Stone walls with vines nearly overtaking them towered over you as you rushed forward towards the large wooden doors. You looked up and thought you saw a pair of gemstone blue eyes glowing in the dark from a window at the top of the tower, but you blinked and they were gone.

You shook your head, sure your tired eyes were playing tricks on you, and reached for the handle of the door.

You took a shuddering breath and pulled the heavy door open. Shock filled your very being as you were overcome with warmth and light.

While the outside of the building was shabby, the inside was magnificent. It was well kept and well lit. A home fit for a king, with a grand staircase was directly in front of you and an elderly man in a servant’s outfit was walking down it.

“Young lady! Who are you and how dare you come into this home uninvited?” the man chided as he descended the last of the steps and stood before you.

“I-I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t know anyone lived here, I was merely searching for shelter from the awful storm,” you said, eyes wide- portraying how stunned you felt.

The man’s stern facade crumbled and he smiled warmly at you, you let go of your held breath and managed a small smile back at him.

“Ah, yes, I tend to forget the master’s illusion on the outside of the building. He does it to keep the unwanted away,” he said.

“Illusion? Like magic?” you asked.

“Well, yes, of course. Come in, let’s get you out of the cold. You must be miserable,” the man said as he ushered you inside and closed the door behind you.

“Alfred,” you heard the voice of a man call out from another room. His voice caused a shiver to go down your spine.

“Yes, sire,” Alfred, the man before you replied, and the man with the shiver-inducing voice came into view as he rounded the corner and came into the entryway where you stood.

Your breath caught once again as you saw the most striking and beautiful man you’d ever seen in your life.

He was tall, nearly impossibly so, with long silver hair that fell nearly to his waist. He moved with the grace and control of a lethal killer. His facial features were sharp, as if he was cut from marble. His skin of pale white only emphasized his most distinct feature, an eye of sapphire that covered part of a scar that cut across his forehead and cheek. His remaining true eye was also a distinct blue color, nearly matching the sapphire one perfectly.

Ethereal was the word that arose in your mind as he strode towards you, amusement twinkling in his eye as he took you in.

“And who might you be, lovely?” he asked.

After entirely too long of a pause, in which his amusement appeared to only grow as his beautiful lips curved into a smirk, you managed to stutter out your name.

He repeated it back to you, leaning closer towards you, and your heartbeat sped into a gallop. He titled his head, almost as if he could hear it. You dismissed the thought, deeming it absurd.

“My name is Aemond. Welcome to my home. Tell me, how exactly did you manage to find your way here?” he asked curiously.

You leaned in closer with him, not realizing that your face was merely inches from his at this point, utterly drawn in and intoxicated by his presence.

You were filled with a desire to please him and as a result you began rambling. “I was attempting to move away from my village. Take off and find a new life, but then there was a series of unfortunate events including running for my life, becoming irretrievably lost, and then becoming something I’m certain looks similar to a drowned rat after my horse was startled by the storm and I stumbled around for hours attempting to find shelter.”

“Oh you poor sweet thing. Let us take care of you,” he purred and rather than set you at ease, something in the words made you feel as if your misadventures were far from over. And yet, you were entranced by his gaze and could not so much as force yourself to look away or take a step back.

His smile grew wider as you nodded meekly.

Finally, Aemond released you from his gaze as he turned to Alfred and asked him to fetch the maid Portia to assist you in cleaning yourself up.

Before you knew it, you were being ushered up the stairs and into a room you could only assume was a guest room by an elderly woman with a sweet round face.

She helped you to remove your muddy sodden clothes and you groaned in relief as you slid into a warm bath. You smiled warmly at her as you scrubbed your body and she cleaned your hair, all the while chattering to you about her love for her husband Alfred and their happiness working for Master Aemond.

“Can you tell me about him?” you asked curiously as she helped you to dress.

The dress she helped you into was of crushed velvet, sapphire blue like the gemstone in Aemond’s eye that had so caught your attention. The dress had a corset and plunging neckline that emphasized your curves.

Portia hummed as she led you to sit down and began working on your hair.

“He is a bit odd, yes. Intimidating and perhaps even scary to some, but he has a good heart. And is loyal and protective to those he cares for. He has treated my husband and I very kindly,” she said with a caring smile.

Her words put your heart more at ease, still slightly worried about the new surprising circumstances you had found yourself in.

“Does he typically extend that same kindness to visitors?” you asked, nervousness coloring your tone a bit.

“It depends on the intentions of the visitor. A sweet thing like you? You’ll be well taken care of,” she said.

“Does he often have ill-intentioned visitors?” you asked curiously.

“It does happen from time to time, those in the nearest village hold hate for him in their hearts. Old prejudices I suppose, but no matter!” she said, changing the subject and her tone as she turned you around to view yourself in the floor length mirror.

“Take a look at yourself, my dear. You look stunning, see? All the horror of the day washed completely away,” she said soothingly as she ran her hands up and down your upper arms.

Your breath caught in your throat as you saw yourself. She was right, you’d never seen yourself look so beautiful before. You actually looked fit to reside in such a lovely home, unlike before, unlike any other time in your life. You’d never worn such a beautiful and expensive dress. You ran your hands across the soft fabric, up your torso and thought that it was the perfect inviting dress for someone else to touch you in.

Images flashed in your head of the soldier you allowed to touch you, never while you wore something so pretty, but pleasurable nonetheless. Romps in the hay, literally as the two of you would often meet in your father’s barn and he taught you the art of a pleasure you’d never known before.

You were not disillusioned about it, you knew there was no love between the two of you. You knew he would one day have to move on without you, but when he left town just as others found out about your affair, you were frustrated at being left alone with the consequences of a choice the both of you made.

The townspeople, the people you grew up with, turned on you and called you a whore. Even your own father fell victim to their hateful whispers about you and kicked you out of his home. Only your mother helped you, sneaking you out in the dead of night and gifting you her horse to aid you on your journey into another life.

You shook your head slightly in an attempt to clear those thoughts, the memories of both pleasure and pain, and smiled at your reflection.

“Thank you, Portia, your efforts are greatly appreciated,” you said as you turned and embraced her in a warm hug.

She squeezed you before releasing you and leading you out of the guest room and back down the grand staircase.

You followed her into an elegant dining room, a fireplace lit - the fire crackling and warming the spacious room. The table was large enough to seat ten people, but only two place settings were set next to one another, somehow creating an intimate dinner even in such a large room.

Aemond sat at the end of the table, and stood as he saw you.

“Good evening, you look magnificent,” he said, voice as velvety as your dress.

You did your best to hide how his words flustered you as you smiled softly and curtseyed.

“Thank you, sire. But, this is too much. I did not mean to interrupt your your evening so and I-I’ll never be able to repay you-”

He reached a hand out and you placed your hand in his. At the brush of your skin against his, your words fell off.

His hands were cold, and yet- the mere brush of his fingers against yours filled your body with heat.

“There is no repayment necessary, the pleasure of your company will be more than enough if you would please dine with me,” he said.

“Of course,” you breathed out as you allowed him to guide you to your seat.

Your nose was filled with the aroma of a hearty stew in a bowl before you and your stomach growled in anticipation.

You gave Aemond a sheepish look even as he chuckled.

“Eat, of course. You must be near ravenous. I’m familiar with the feeling,” he said, and his voice dipped lower. His eyes appeared to flash at his words, causing your heartbeat to jump, but you were far too hungry to think about it and played it off as a trick of the light, a reflection of the fire in his gemstone eye.

You tucked in and struggled to hold in your groan of satisfaction at the taste of the soup.

Aemond poured you both glasses of red wine and you thanked him as he handed you yours.

“Are you not going to eat?” you asked him, suddenly feeling self conscious that you were shoveling mouthfuls of stew and bread into your mouth while he merely sipped on his wine and watched you.

“Oh I intend to. Just not right now, I had what you might call a late afternoon snack,” he said and something about his words had a chill run up your spine, despite the warmth of both the room and the soup in your belly.

“You told me of your journey here, but tell me about yourself. I find myself fascinated by the entirety of you,” he practically purred, and you immediately forgot your apprehension at his previous words.

“I feel the same way about you,” you replied breathily.

He smiled, a full glorious smile that made you feel as if the storm had ended and the sun had come out. But there was a glint, a sharpness, and with a start you realized his canine teeth were elongated.

He must have seen the fear in your eyes as he reached over and grasped your hand gently. You felt that on fire feeling in your skin once again, but also felt all the fear wash out of your body.

“Tell me about you,” he requested again, voice soft and low, a tone that caused you to wonder if that was how he spoke to his lovers late at night.

You were filled with compliance, with a desire to please him, and so you did as you were asked, and told him everything about yourself. You told him of your childhood, your parents, your likes and interests, your dreams for a better life.

He watched you with rapt attention, murmuring questions to prompt you to further share with him about yourself. And, oh gods, when he looked at you that way, his sapphire gaze so intense, you wanted to share yourself completely.

“What had you so desperately searching for a new life?” he finally asked.

So you explained, shamefully, how you laid with a man and became the village whore for merely choosing your own pleasure over mediocrity for once in your life.

You looked down at your empty bowl, toying with the spoon, while you waited for his reaction, for his disgust and dismissal of you.

Long cold fingers gently grasped your chin and lifted your head up to meet his gaze.

You were enraptured by his undivided attention.

“There’s no need to listen to the opinions of small minded individuals. Pleasure is nothing to feel guilty about. Especially when there are so, so many pleasures in life to discover,” he said and the soft lilt of his voice along with the dark tone made your toes curl.

You wanted to experience unknown pleasures, you wanted him to teach you, to explore with you.

You bit your lip, nodding slightly in agreement, and his hand slid up from your chin to curl around your jaw. His thumb stroked the apple of your cheek and you shivered.

He pulled your bottom lip from between your teeth and you waited, nearly shaking with anticipation, for him to press his lips against your own, to replace the pressure with some of his own, and he smirked as if he knew what you were thinking, but pulled back.

He sat back in his chair, far enough from you that you no longer felt intoxicated by his scent and presence, and you let out a soft breath of disappointment.

Amusement and desire both seemed to dance in his gaze. You took a sip of wine, looking away from him to clear your head, and took a breath to steady yourself.

“Will you tell me about yourself as well, sire?” you asked.

“Aemond,” he corrected. “Please call me Aemond, sweet one.”

“Aemond, I’d love to hear about you,” you requested once more.

It seemed he had the same response to hearing his name drip from your lips as you had when he said yours, for his eyelid fluttered closed and his hand clenched into a fist, but the next breath he had composed himself once more and nodded.

“My life… it feels as if it has been an eternity. A lonely one at that,” he said and this time you reached over and took his hand, holding it in support.

“I was treated as if I were unwanted from the moment I was born, my eye taken hatefully when I was merely a boy, and then as a man I was deemed a monster. I was driven out of my home, my family did naught to protect me, and it took me far too long to find a place to call my own. Still, others that encounter me call me a monster and I find myself alone most of the time,” he explained and your heart hurt for him.

“Why do others call you a monster? Your gemstone eye?” you asked as you leaned closer to him once again.

This time you leaned in and placed your hand on his face, tracing the length of his scar with your thumb as you gently held his cheek.

“Hmmm,” he hummed in a noncommittal sort of agreement.

“I think it’s beautiful,” you said, your voice so soft it was practically a whisper.

It was evident he heard you as he practically nuzzled his face into your hand. He gripped your wrist and ran his nose from the palm of your hand to the inside of your wrist, breathing in deeply.

His actions, though gentle and loving, caused an inexplicable feeling of fear to drip down your spine, particularly when his lips pressed against your skin. You’d never realized what a vulnerable place in the body the wrist was, a bundle of veins, until Aemond pressed his perfectly curved lips against it.

But as soon as it came, the fear was gone as Aemond looked up at you and you met his gaze once more.

You reached out and pushed his silver hair out of his face where it had fallen and tucked it behind his ear.

His long gorgeous hair was so soft you yearned to run your fingers through it and learn of his response, learn of the noises he would make when in pleasure.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, appearing as entranced by you as you were by him.

You could do nothing to hide the way his words flustered you, as the weight of his attention had you pinned down and unable to move.

He caught your hand and held it in place against his hair.

As he leaned closer to you, his movements were slow and deliberate, like a predator trying not to spook his prey.

Your heart began to sprint and you were certain you would never be able to slow it again.

His sharp nose brushed against yours, and the anticipation was so strong you forgot how to breathe.

Aemond hummed softly before he finally, finally pressed his lips to yours.

As his lips moved against yours you felt inherently changed, different. It felt as if a shadowed hand with sharp talons dripping with blood had reached through your chest and gripped your heart and claimed it.

You were his, his, and you were prepared to swear to him your utter devotion, your life. You didn’t quite understand what you were experiencing, but you didn’t care as he deepened the kiss. As he claimed your mouth you gasped, letting out a small whimper. This gave him the in he needed to slide his tongue against yours.

You shuddered, gripping his hair tighter as he lifted you with an ease that should not be possible and sat you atop his lap.

Your dress prevented you from straddling him like you wished, but you could not complain as he gripped your waist tightly. You ran your hands from his face and his hair to his shoulders, down to his arms, gripping him tightly and kissing him deeply, with everything you had, with utter devotion.

You let out a small yelp of surprise as your tongue explored his mouth and brushed against something entirely too sharp.

He tore his lips from yours and met your gaze. Your chest brushed against his as it heaved while you attempted to catch your breath.

Fangs, you recognized. Those were fangs in his mouth, made for sinking his teeth in.

You could not discern how you felt, what you thought, for the utter fire for him burned through you.

He traced your jaw, then the line of your neck down to your collarbone, slowly, achingly slowly as you wanted nothing more than for him to kiss you again. Then, his lips followed the same journey his fingers had just taken. You shivered, your head falling back as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Tell me you are mine,” Aemond ordered, and his breath against the sensitive skin of your neck made you shiver.

“I’m yours,” you replied breathily and you could feel his smile against your throat.

“Tell me you want me,” he ordered.

“I want you,” you whined, and his grip on you tightened nearly to the point of pain, but you could not focus on that. No, not when you felt those fangs graze against that most sensitive spot on your neck.

The night is dark and full of terrors, the words rang through your head once more and your breath stopped as you realized you had fallen into this beautiful monster’s trap. Fear shot down your spine and made your body tense and freeze.

“Hmm,” he hummed in reassurance as he pressed a kiss against your vulnerability.

Your body responded immediately, you relaxed completely, becoming nearly ragdoll like in his arms. He lifted you, holding you as he stood, and walked into the next room, a sitting room of sorts, and laid you on a chaise.

“Aemond,” you breathed out.

He kneeled next to where you laid.

“I care for you,” he said as he brushed a hand across your cheek, “I don’t wish to compel you.”

He kissed you once more. At the feeling of his lips against yours, you were reborn. You had control over your body once again and you yanked him atop of you, deepening the kiss.

He groaned into your mouth, and pulled back slightly, causing you to whine in protest.

“You truly want me?” he asked, his tone sounding surprised.

Your survival instinct had long since gone quiet as a result of you continuously ignoring its protests.

“Yes,” you said and pulled his lips to yours again.

“Perhaps we can make a deal then,” he said, trailing his lips down once more to his favorite spot on your neck, where your veins were most vulnerable.

“If you give me what I want, I will reward you with everything you desire and more,” he said and you again felt the sharpness of those fangs.

You let out a shuddering breath.

“Yes,” you agreed, all logic disappearing as desire overtook your very being.

And you knew. You knew and he knew, that his compelling magic was gone, the desire you felt for him this entire time was real and true, not due to compelling whatsoever. There was something more, something deeper at play here, and your choice was your own as you chose him, completely.

And with that, he groaned lowly and sank his fangs into your neck.

Sharp indescribable pain is what you expected but instead it was like a dull buzz of pain nearly overwhelmed by pleasure.

He ran his hands down your body, ensuring he paid special attention to your breasts and you gasped his name.

Aemond’s hand slipped up your dress, inching up your burning hot skin, and finding the wetness between your legs that awaited him.

You whimpered softly as he brushed your panties aside and finally touched you where you wanted him the most.

His nimble fingers spread your slick and quickly found a rhythm circling your bundle of nerves as he continued to drink your blood.

As the heat inside you built, he pulled his teeth from your neck and slowly dragged his tongue up your neck, licking up every last drop of blood from your skin. His fingers moved in perfect time with his tongue, and with no notice your release hit you, overwhelming you completely as you moaned loud enough to echo through the room.

“Absolutely exquisite,” he said as he pulled back from your neck and looked deep into your eyes.

He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, and you stared at him as your chest heaved, absolutely entranced. He then replaced his thumb with his bloodsoaked lips.

He groaned as you kissed him eagerly, your blood in his mouth not causing any hesitation whatsoever.

“I need you,” you gasped.

“I have needed you for an eternity,” he replied as he began untying the corset of your dress.

You moaned as the cool air hit your skin and he slowly and gently removed the beautiful dress from your body, leaving you completely bare. You turned and looked at the pile of sapphire velvet on the floor.

He gripped your chin, turning your head to look at him once more. You helped him to remove his shirt, and then watched eagerly as he unbuckled his belt, beginning to make himself just as bare as you.

“I must admit something to you,” he said and your mouth ran dry as the hard length of him sprung free.

“Yes,” you asked breathlessly as you reached and wrapped your hand around him.

He let out a sound low in his throat, something similar to a growl, as you began to move your hand up and down his length.

“It is not happenstance that you found yourself in my home. I must confess that I have been watching you for a while now. I needed you. I needed to taste you, to make you mine. I influenced your journey here, guided you, so I could finally show you my devotion,” he said.

“Then make me yours, completely,” you pleaded and guided his length to line up with your wet heat.

With a groan he nodded his head and pushed himself inside you.

He filled you, inch by glorious inch, and you could do nothing but gasp for air as you felt fuller than you’d ever felt in your life.

You reveled in the press of your naked chest against his, as you pulled him close enough that you couldn’t tell where your body ended and where his began.

You were one with the vampire atop you, and you’d never felt more intense pleasure in your life.

When he was certain you were ready, he kissed you, surprisingly tenderly, before he pulled out nearly all the way, and pushed back inside you, sinking to the hilt.

His tempo was slow and deep, as he gazed deep in your eyes and told you how beautiful he found you.

“Perfect, so perfect,” he praised as you mewled for him when he tilted your hips up and hit a spot of pleasure inside you that had never been found before.

Aemond continued his pace, holding you tight, as your nails dug into his back.

“Come for me, darling, I can feel how close you are,” he purred in your ear.

He slipped his hand between your bodies and found your bundle of nerves once more, stroking it and you nearly screamed as your release wracked through you.

You felt you had reached heaven, somehow, in the arms of your ethereally beautiful monster lover and it took you several moments to come back down.

So lost in your pleasure, you had not even felt a sting of pain as he sunk his teeth into your wrist. He gulped your blood, moaning in pleasure, as he continued to pump himself in and out of your tight wet heat, chasing his own release.

You tangled your other hand in his hair, and gripped tighter around his cock, urging him on, encouraging both his release and for him to continue to drink from you.

He groaned as his release found him, sinking deep inside you, bringing ecstasy to you both.

You shuddered a breath as his movements slowed and stopped. He pulled his teeth from your wrist, and murmured your name, like a praise- like a prayer, with utter devotion.

As he looked at you, you reached up and wiped your blood from where it had dripped down his chin.

He brought your wrist to his lips once more, and before you could protest that you were beginning to feel lightheaded, he surprised you by licking the wound clean instead of sinking his teeth back in, just as he had with the wound on your neck.

You watched in fascination, as his saliva magically closed your wound, leaving only a small scar.

He looked up and grinned at you, your blood coating his teeth, and you whimpered and pulled him into another kiss.

He kissed you languidly, tongue moving against yours, as if he had all of eternity with you.

“I have never tasted anything so divine,” he purred against your lips.

“I have never felt so wonderful in all my life,” you said back as you pulled back enough to look upon him once again.

“I can feel it. Can you feel it? You are to be my eternity, my everlasting, my one true mate. I give you my utter devotion. You said you wanted to start a new life. Start it with me. Let me turn you and we can be together forever. Stay with me,” he pleaded.

And so you did.

Yes, this night was dark and full of terrors, but this terror had wrapped himself around you, sunk deep inside you, and devoted his entire being to you, offering you pleasure and love unlike any you’d ever experienced before.

And so, later, when Aemond fed you his blood and turned you and you opened your eyes into this new life, becoming a terror yourself, you grinned and kissed your vampire mate, prepared to spend forever by his side.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #hotd

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agoodroughandtumble · 3 months

Text

Can You Be Good For Me? - Zoro x F!Reader Oneshot

Status: Complete

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x F!Reader

Summary: Drunken confessions

Warning(s): 18+ Language, alcohol

“Can you be good for me?” The words sloshed in your mouth just like the sake that had caused them to slur out. Half-lidded eyes searched Zoro’s, too drunk to care about the implications of the meaning but too sober to allow him to brush it off.

Zoro’s eyebrows furrowed, “I’m always good to you.”

You rolled your eyes and took another drink. That wasn’t what you were saying and he should know that. A frustrated groan left your lips. “You know what I mean.”

His look of confusion slowly melted into one of amused affection. It was obvious you were at least tipsy which usually meant this was one of the few times you not only acknowledged emotions but actively sought to discuss them. Perhaps some other man would be annoyed at the slightly inebriated confrontation and the fact you could never really day what was on your mind without the inhibition breaking alcohol. But Zoro welcomed it. He knew you well enough to know that this wasn’t malicious – keeping your guard up and youe emotions at bay had kept you safe. Allowing yourself to drop your guard, allowing yourself to be vulnerable only told him how much you trusted him, how much you trusted him to be your safeguard.

He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him, thigh touching thigh. And although you were still annoyed at his lack of a solid answer you were quietly relishing in the close proximity and physical contact. You mentally stopped yourself. That was the entire problem. You were becoming far too comfortable and far too physically reliant on someone who your drunken state of mind would describe as having the emotional capacity of a brick. Maybe that was being too harsh, or maybe Zoro had been fucking you for a month without ever venturing further than “I like you, you know I do.”

the first two weeks had been fine. Just sex. Just really fucking good sex. Just scratching an itch and indulging the obvious tension between the pair of you. And then your stupid heart had to get involved. All of a sudden you were craving his attention, desperate to be near him, to understand him on na level no one else could. You got jealous and needy and fantasised about all of the things he could, should say to you. You were fucked.

So of course you had done what any sane person would have done – ignored, repressed, kept fucking him even though every time broke your heart but fuck the way he looked at you in those moments. The way his hands clung onto your hips, your waist, your thighs as he came inside you. The way he whispered into your ear, telling you to let go, he’s got you, just show me, as you came completely undone around him. The fucking eye contact, the fucking moans because you were so clearly made for his cock, and his alone. You let yourself endure the heartbreak. You let yourself fall completely in love with him if it meant those stolen, secret moments could last forever.

But, as there was always a but, the alcohol in your system was giving you a rare sense of confidence and you wriggled out of his grasp slightly – albeit not enough that your thigh no longer touched his – you would allow yourself that much. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Zoro wasn’t entirely sure what you getting at, “I said I’m always good to you.”

You let out a loud sigh, “Yes, but are you good for me?”

His hand cupped your jaw, feeling you automatically tense against his touch. His heart hurt at your reaction, even more so because he didn’t know what he’d done wrong. God, he fucking loved you but you weren’t half infuriating sometimes. “Y/N,” his voice softened as he tried to soothe the tension by caressing your jaw with his thumb, “Stop being cryptic and just tell me what’s wrong.”

You gulped. Selfishly you had been hoping Zoro would be annoyed. That he’d accuse you of being too drunk, too emotional, too hard to deal with and you’d talk about it tomorrow. You could deal with that. Arguing and confrontation would be a hell of a lot easier to deal with than actually saying what you meant – admitting it out loud, making all of the thoughts and feelings real. You could take anything over that. You could handle his rejection if it was because you were being an argumentative arsehole. You couldn’t handle the rejection if it was because he just didn’t love you back.

You bit your lip, the confidence the sake had given you long gone. If it wasn’t for his hand burning against your skin you would have run away but fuck when we was looking at you so fucking earnestly how could you say anything but the truth. “I want you to be good for me not to me because,” you screwed your eyes shut but delaying the inevitable was nigh on impossible, “Because I love you. I’m in love with you, Zoro.”

A pause. An agonizingly long, heart-breaking, soul-crushing pause. You clenched your fists trying to mentally prepare yourself for the “gentle” let down. And then … Zoro laughed. Laughed.

You jerked away from him. A rejection was expected but laughing at you was just fucking cruel. You felt sick. How had you let yourself be to stupid? How had you allowed yourself to fall in love with someone so heartless? You were such an idiot. You stood up to walk away but Zoro grabbed your wrist. Tears threatened to spill. What more could he want now? How much did he honestly want to humiliate you?

“Where are you going?” His voice sounded sincere but you weren’t blind to it any more.

“Away. Where do you think?”

Zoro pulled you back and infuriatingly you stumbled into him. His arms found your waist again to steady you. “You can’t say that and run away. Not to me.”

You wanted to hit him or the table or yourself, anything to get rid of even the smallest fraction of your anger. “You laughed, Zoro. You laughed at me so, and I mean this nicely – go fuck yourself.”

“Hey! Hey…” the hand on your waist started rubbing circles along your spine. Despite yourself the sensation was managing to calm you down. “You’re being an idiot and-”

You tensed again, “So I’m a joke and an idiot? Thanks.”

Zoro sighed and used his other hand to brush your hair behind your ear. “You’re not a joke.” His hand moved down to linger against your neck. “But you are an idiot if you think I laughed at you. I laughed at the ridiculousness of this situation.”

Against your better judgement you relaxed against him, knowing full well you were going to regret this in the morning.

“Y/N, look at me. I laughed because it’s …” he sighed and leant forward to press his forehead against yours, “It’s a cosmic fucking joke that everyone else can see how much I fucking love you except you.”

Another pause. Only this time the onus was on you. “Oh.”

Zoro’s eyebrows raised in amusement, “Oh? At least laughing is more than one syllable.”

A blush rushed across your cheeks and you pressed your lips together to keep from smiling too widely. “Maybe we should forget talking for now, lest it leads to any other misunderstandings.” With that you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. And didn’t stop kissing him.

#apparently i can write all of the zoro i want apart from the end to the wip #opla #one piece #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #one piece x reader

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dhorrl · 6 months

Text

NNN-Katsuki Bakugo

Katsuki/Reader

Content/Trigger warnings: Edging, fingering, oral, cursing, NNN

Enjoy the fic? I made a bot to go with it!

17 days… he had made it 17 days without touching or even so much as looking at you in any sort of sexual way, though that was slowly becoming more and more difficult.

That's how you ended up here, sprawled beneath him on the couch, still fully clothed, though his hands gradually made their way under everything, fingers splayed out over every inch of your skin. You had tried and failed to push him off you as he ripped off your most innocent pair of pajamas, a baggy and overworn pair of Dynamight-themed pants that you deliberately put on to dress more modestly.

"I'm not gonna cum, just wanna touch on you. Maybe, put the tip in… I promise I'm not gonna cum." His voice was ragged, trembling with barely contained desire. He was already aware of the consequences of his actions but couldn't help himself.

"Kats… we both know it won't just be the tip, and we both know you'll cum. Come on, babe, do you really wanna lose this challenge to Denki? That pervert is still going strong!" You knew the only way to attempt to reign him in at this point was to attack his ego, his need to be the best at everything.

Katsuki grumbled, a fresh wave of determination washing over him; there was no way he would lose to that dunce face. However, that didn't stop him from leaning forward and capturing your lips with his own, growling into them.

"Fuck, babe… why do you have to be so irresistible?" His cock strained against his boxers as he tried to push away the urge to sink into you, reminding himself again of this damned challenge.

"Fine! I won't fuck you, at least not tonight," he smirked, his red eyes burning into your own. "Just let me touch you." His hand slipped back under your shirt; his release might be off the table, but there was nothing in the rules about pleasuring you.

You covered your face, stifling the moan that slipped from your lips. You had been abstaining as well in support of Katsuki, but his hands always worked magic against your skin. He pushed your shirt up over your bare chest, latching onto your nipple, swirling his tongue aggressively while his free hand pinched the other, trying to pull more of those delicious sounds from your lips.

Katsuki was thoroughly enjoying the torture he was putting you through despite his own hunger for attention. Hearing your moans did things to him, brought out those inherent primitive desires that he'd be more than keen to act on any other month. Suddenly, Katsuki had an idea, one that could potentially help him get through the rest of this hellish month or be his complete undoing.

"How 'bout this... I'll get you off as many times as you want, and in return, I get to feel your mouth on me?" He proposed, his voice husky as the image of you taking him into your mouth flashed in his mind. "It doesn't count if I don't cum, right?"

You let out an almost pained shudder, mouth watering at the thought. "Fine… if you wanna edge the fuck out of yourself, then it's your fucking funeral."

"Deal." With an animalistic growl, he pulled your panties down, his gaze falling on the glistening pool of arousal coating your cunt, fluttering around nothing as you felt his hands sliding up your thighs.

He was so fucking hard it hurt, his cock begging for release - a release that he knew he couldn't afford. Once he felt you relax into his touch, he slid two of his fingers inside you, enjoying the wet sloshing sounds your pussy made around his fingers.

"Fuck, babe. You’re so fucking wet." His voice was low and husky, trying to keep his breathing under control. A groan escaped his lips as he felt you clench around his fingers - he really was teetering on the edge, but he was determined. His thumb started rubbing against your clit, his rough thumb flicking over the sensitivity bud.

"Fuck... you're gonna cum for me, aren't you babe?" You were panting under him, legs shaking violently as he pushed you over the edge. Your hand reached down to grab his wrist, fucking yourself against it as you came undone, screaming his name.

“Kat-su-ki!” Your eyes rolled back as the mind-numbing orgasm hit you hard and fast.

"Fuck, baby... you look so fucking hot when you cum," he growled, pressing a sloppy kiss to your neck.

He continued to thrust his fingers in and out, relishing the wet squelching noises around them. Those sounds, along with the sight of you squirming beneath him, were enough to drive any man insane, and Katsuki was already teetering on the edge. But he had to hold out. He had to finish this thing, no matter what.

Once he was sure you had come down from your high, he withdrew his fingers, bringing them up to his lips to taste. The taste of your arousal was nothing short of intoxicating, quickly replaced by the feeling of emptiness as he realized he couldn't have you the way he wanted. With shaking hands, he unbuckled his pants, his massive length thudding against his stomach. "Your turn, babe, now get to fucking work."

You grinned sadistically as you switched positions, pushing him onto his back. You had never seen him this hard, cock like solid steel. Your lips eagerly descended on him, taking him to the hilt, tongue swirling around to suck down all of the endless amounts of pre-cum dripping down.

His groan echoed through the room, hands instinctively entwining in your hair as he gripped it firmly. Every nerve in his body was on fire as you took him in, your warm mouth enveloping him, causing him to buck up involuntarily.

"Shit, babe…" His hips twitched, desperate to thrust in time with your motions, but he refrained. His hands were twitching, every instinct in his body screaming at him to shove deeper into your welcoming mouth, take what was rightfully his, and paint the back of your throat with his seed. Despite the heavenly feeling, Katsuki was teetering on the edge of an explosion he couldn't afford.

The sight of you between his thighs, his length disappearing into your mouth and then reappearing, slick and glistening, was enough to drive him crazy. He was pulsating, so close to the edge. He had never felt anything this intense; the feeling of your warm lips enveloping his cock, not to mention the torturous pleasure of being so close to climax without the release, was a new experience to him, and he had to admit he was enjoying it – at least a part of him.

"Fuck..." Barely able to keep his self-control, Katsuki tightened his grip on your hair and pulled you away with a groan. "Stop... I'm gonna fucking...ugh...."

You grinned, dragging your lips off his shaft with a satisfying pop, chin dripping with saliva. "Alright, babe, you got what you wanted, right up to the edge. Since when are you such a masochist?"

"No fucking comment, princess," Katsuki grumbled, a blush creeping onto his face. Pulling you against him, he shoved his tongue in your mouth to claim the lingering taste of himself. On any other day, Katsuki would have flipped you onto your back and fucked you into the cushions, giving you both the release he so desperately craved. But for now, he'll have to bide his time and bite his tongue.

He huffed, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead as he stared at you with wild eyes, his chest rising and falling with every shaky breath he took. His was still hard as a rock, but the moment had passed, and he somehow managed to retain control. He reached down, adjusting his painful cock into his pants. "I'm going to take a cold shower; I fucking need one now."

#bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugou #katsuki bakugo mha #katsukibakugou #katsuki x y/n #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki smut #bakugo smut #no nut november #nnn

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bradshawssugarbaby · 1 month

Text

Girl, You're My Angel - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley Bradshaw's a down on his luck first baseman in the MLB, struggling to find his stride in the game he loves so much. A wedding invite from his ex-wife is enough to convince him to go for a drink, trying to forget about everything going on. He wasn't banking on meeting you though.

pairing: baseball!Bradley Bradshaw x reader (nicknamed Angel)

warnings/content: baseball au, mentions of divorce, smoking, alcohol, reference to drunk driving, bar fight, mentions of blood, Bradley having a dirty mind.

word count: 3k.

taglist (also tagging those who were interested in Take One For The Team since it's a similar vibe and explains the lack of updates lol): @avengersfan25, @jessicab1991, @atarmychick007, @b-bradshaw, @nouis-bum, @mamachasesmayhem, @floydsmuse, @kmc1989, @dckweed, @katfanfic, @nerdgirljen, @whatislovevavy, @mrsevans90, @averyhotchner, @yuckosworld, @tgmreader, @allepaula, @lourd-ita, @mariaenchanted

The booming bass drum of a classic rock song thumped in your head as you gripped the cocktail glass in your hand. The liquid sloshed around in the glass as you danced, swaying to and fro with your best friends, trying your best to enjoy yourself on your girls’ night out. Your finals had just wrapped up, and you were this much closer to earning your masters, the only thing standing between you and getting that embossed sheet of paper, was your grades. To unwind after the cram sessions you’d mustered your way through for the past month, your friends dragged you out to some new amusement bar in the Gaslamp Quarter.

Across the bar, on the other side of the room, stood Bradley Bradshaw, a once promising baseball star who now, had earned himself a reputation as the MLB’s resident asshole - unable to take criticism or a loss without lashing out at someone. His recent stunt involved hurling his baseball bat across the diamond when he struck out in practice, frustrated with his sudden lack of skill, a skill that once came so naturally to him when his mind wasn’t preoccupied.

The invitation had come in the mail two days before the bat throwing incident. His ex-wife, the one who left him two and a half years ago, was remarrying the fucking prick she cheated on Bradley with. The invite had come completely out of the blue, and when Bradley opened it, he felt all of the air leave his lungs as his fingers traced over the gold embossed lettering, donning her name and the name of her new fiancé. He’d never admit it to anyone, but that single piece of cardstock had been enough to reduce him to tears, slumping down the kitchen wall as he hugged his knees to his chest, crying loud enough that it made him thankful he had no neighbours near by.

Bradley had pulled himself together, lit a cigarette from the pack he’d been nursing for the last few months, reserved only for social events and times of pure stress, and got in his vintage Ford Bronco, his first purchase when he signed his first contract. Taking a drag from the cigarette, his brown eyes scanned over San Diego’s downtown core as he cruised past a few of the typical nightlife spots - each one a little too public for what he wanted. All other options exhausted, he pulled up outside of a newer bar that had opened the previous week, neon lights advertising an arcade on one side and drinks on the other.

He figured if nothing else, a couple of rounds of Pac-Man on an old video game after a handful of beers might do him good. He could leave the Bronco parked there and walk to the hotel around the corner, and forget about how his ex-wife’s wedding was coming up in six months, how she’d had the audacity to invite him to see her marrying the guy he’d walked in on her with.

He sidled up to the bar, nodding his head to the bartender in thanks as he ordered himself a beer. Standing across from him was a group of women, not much younger than him, gossiping and giggling together. He sized the group up, thinking to himself that maybe a one-night deal was what he needed to take his mind off his ex.

You were the tallest girl of the group, with bright eyes, and hair brushed back in a sleek, high ponytail, sporting a form-fitting cocktail dress that made Bradley’s heart race when he saw you. He pounded back the rest of his beer, trying to find his confidence in himself once again in the comfort of the drink.

Bradley set his empty bottle down on the bar top before walking his way around the circular counter. He rested his elbow on the bar, leaning in with a broad smile as you looked in his direction. He offered a polite wave of his hand, chuckling awkwardly as he felt his confidence wavering as he spoke to you.

“Hey, could I buy you a drink? He said simply, his Virginian accent dropping into a thicker drawl than usual.

“I’m good, thanks, still got one,” You held up your half-full glass and shook your head politely, not wanting to reject him too brutally.

Bradley nodded his head once at you, his smile faltering for a second. He quickly regained himself, smiling once again politely before grabbing himself another beer and heading over to the arcade, resolving that a couple of old-school video games might make his night a little better.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to rejection - he’d been turned down almost as often as he’d been accepted, but for some reason, your rejection stung just that little bit more. Maybe it was the wedding invitation still making things sour, or maybe it was the fact that the mere sight of a girl hadn’t been enough to make his heart accelerate like this in a long time. He shook his head once, trying to focus his train of thought once again on something, anything other than what was currently occupying it.

Baseball? Too stressful, his game was starting to slip up on him. Buying a puppy? No, it’d just be one more thing he could let down. Hitting the gym? He already went 6 days a week - if he went any more frequently, he’d have to consider moving his bed in there.

His mind raced as he pressed the buttons on the video game, moving the small yellow circle across the screen, collecting points between sips of beer. Behind him, he heard a couple of guys shouting at a tv screen, the sound of the latest sports highlights blaring out in the background.

“This Bradshaw asshole needs to get his shit together. Twenty-nine and he plays about as well as my ten year old. Drop him down to the minors or get rid of the bastard. He shouldn’t be missing plays like this.” One of the voices shouted at the tv, his friends nodding their heads in silent agreement with his rant.

Bradley felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention as the insults about his playing continued to spout from this guy’s mouth. He couldn’t have been much older than Bradley was, one of those armchair commentators who probably hadn’t swung a bat since Little League. As the criticism continued, each jab focused directly at Bradley’s game performance, missing one play that cost a game - one that he’d already been feeling pissed off about - it became harder to ignore.

“I bet that hot little piece of ass wife of his left him because she knew he was a dogshit baseball player.”

Bradley spun around on his heels so fast that he swore the room was spinning. He turned to face the group, crowded in a corner in front of the tv, faces all glued to the female commentator. Bradley could practically hear the derogatory thoughts they were having about her and it only fuelled his anger more.

“Hey, man, if you’ve got an issue with how I play the game, I’d like to see you get off your ass and go play nine innings against Boston. Keep my ex-wife’s name out of your mouth.” Bradley scoffed, narrowing his dark brown eyes at the trio.

“You got a problem, jackass?” The other man growled, raising an eyebrow at Bradley as he slammed his drink down on the table. “She probably left you for that rookie because even she knew you weren’t good for anything.”

“That so? Your wife would probably like to go a couple rounds with me though.” Bradley retorted, a devilish smirk forming on his face as he folded his muscular arms across his chest.

Before Bradley had time to blink, the man drew back his arm and landed a hard punch to Bradley’s jaw. Bradley quickly delivered a stronger hit to the man’s face, watching him stumble backwards for a second. Bradley turned around and walked outside, getting ready to light another cigarette as he ran his hand over his jaw, assessing if he had any damage to worry about.

The man returned, practically running outside after Bradley. More heated words were exchanged, insults flying between them both before the man delivered another hit, this time to Bradley’s nose. He shook his hand off and headed off down the street with his friends, disappearing off to the next bar. Bradley held his nose, blood dripping down from his nostrils and onto his hand.

You and your friends had heard the commotion when it unfolded inside, and decided to head out, having enough excitement for one night. As you stepped out, you saw the man who’d hit on you earlier, this time with his nose bleeding onto the pavement under him. You ran over to him, raising an eyebrow.

“What did you do, hit on a girl who had a boyfriend?” You asked playfully as you rooted through your purse for something to help clean his nose.

“Called a guy out for saying my ex-wife was a “hot piece of ass”, actually,” Bradley nodded once, gratefully taking the tissues from you and using them to clean his nose.

“Stick your hand out for a sec,” you instructed, squirting a dollop of scented hand sanitizer into his large palm before raising an eyebrow at him, “You don’t have anything I could catch from helping you without gloves?”

“What the hell is that suppose to mean?” Bradley scoffed, trying to laugh but wincing instead, “And why the fuck does my hand smell like a flower?”

“Lavender hand sanitizer. It’s not as good as washing your hands, but it’ll do while we’re outside. And I’m going to hold the tissues in place while you rub it into your hands, but I don’t want to catch something. I’m just fresh out of latex gloves.”

“Good thing. I’m allergic,” he laughed, shrugging his shoulders as he tried to brave through the pain, “I’m clean. You’re fine. I get drug tested and physicals through work constantly.”

“What kind of a job provides those? Military?”

“Professional athlete.” He nodded as you pinched the tissues to his nose, applying pressure to help with the bleeding. “Fuck, that hurts.”

“Your nose is broken, it’s suppose to hurt.”

“What are you, a doctor?”

“No, just wrote my finals for a masters in nursing.”

“Close enough,” Bradley nodded slightly, cringing as you continued to apply pressure to his nose.

You rooted through your purse, laughing softly as you pulled a tampon out of your bag. Bradley raised an eyebrow at you, not quite registering what the item was until you pulled the plastic wrapping off of it, stuffing the garbage back into your purse.

“What the fuck do you plan on doing with that?”

“I need to stick it up your nose on the left side. It’s bleeding more than I’d like to see, and a broken nose should probably be set in a medical setting. This way, you won’t bleed all over my car.”

“Your car? You’ve been drinking.”

“Half a vodka-cran over the span of three hours? I think I’m probably not gonna blow over the limit.”

“You are not sticking that up my nose,” he replied stubbornly, arms folding over his chest like a petulant child.

“Look at your shirt,” you laughed, gesturing to the white floral print button down he was wearing, its collar now tinged with red and pink splotches.

“Fine,” he said with a reluctant sigh, “but if anyone finds out about this, I’m denying it.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you nodded as you offered him the plastic applicator.

Bradley rolled his eyes and reluctantly pressed the bottom of the applicator, pushing the tampon into the edge of his nose. He looked at you with another dramatic eyeroll and shook his head before walking down the street to a garbage can. He discarded the applicator before turning to face you, sighing.

“I can take myself to a hospital, you know.”

“I’m already here, I may as well come with you. Besides, I feel kinda bad about turning you down.”

“Oh, so you’re taking care of me out of pity?” He teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe. Even more so with a tampon hanging out of your nose.”

“It’s quite the fashion statement, isn’t it?” He laughed softly, unbuttoning his dress shirt. He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, revealing a clean white t-shirt.

You unlocked your car, the familiar beep as the doors unlocked causing Bradley to stifle a laugh.

“What is that?!”

“My car,” you responded matter-of-factly, “What does it look like?”

“One of those cars for a Barbie doll that my goddaughter plays with,” he said as he flourished his hand, gesturing to your pink steering wheel cover and coordinating seat cover.

“Listen, I like pink. Now are you getting in, or do I have to make you?”

Bradley’s eyes widened for a moment, your playful threat of making him get into the car sending his mind into a frenzy again. He eyed you up and down again, and found himself shaking his head as he wondered what colour underwear you had on under your dress. He bet it was probably a coordinating pink set - the kind that Victoria’s Secret mannequins would model in the store window, with delicate little bows or lace or something adorning them.

Focus, Bradley. She doesn’t want to sleep with you. Stop thinking about her.

He sat down in the passenger’s seat, watching as you hopped into the driver’s side. As you pulled away from the curb, he raised an eyebrow at your choice in music as Taylor Swift started blaring from the speaker.

“You can change it if you want to,” you nodded. “You can put on whatever.”

“No, no, It’s fine. I actually like this song.”

“You said you’re a professional athlete? What sport do you play?”

“Baseball,” he said, slowly nodding his head, “my headshot’s on a flag outside of Petco Park.”

“I thought I recognized you, you’re that player everyone always talks about, right?”

“Unfortunately. It’s rarely good things.”

“How come?”

Bradley sighed, raising an eyebrow, “You know they talk about me but not why?”

“I don’t follow baseball, I've actually never even seen a game, live or on tv. I just know my friend does and she told me everyone talks about you. Bradshaw, right? Number 10?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Bradley Bradshaw. First baseman, used to have a promising career, then, you know, wife cheats on me with a rookie from a rival team, catch her in a hotel room that I paid for with him, and then, despite me stupidly telling her I forgave her and you know what, I was pissed, but I loved her anyway and I blamed myself for her cheating, she served me divorce papers. Said I was incapable of loving anything but baseball. Says the woman who refused to do anything with me when I tried to be loving and affectionate. My friends swear she only married me for the status and the paycheck. Her new fiancé just signed a multi-million dollar contract that’s being talked about as one of the highest in the league, so it sort of checks out.”

“Jeez,” you whistled, shaking your head, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It was two and half years ago. I just, I haven’t found my stride again yet, I guess.”

“Is that why you got defensive about her?”

“They said she left me for this other guy because she knew I was a dogshit ball player. I mean, it’s probably not far off. But, I got an invite for her wedding in the mail today, and I was already on edge, so I sort of…snapped.”

“She invited you?!”

“Yeah, like that, huh? She probably thought I have someone new I’m seeing and that we could still be friends or some shit.”

“So you need a date?”

“I’m not going,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “I’m not going.”

“Why not? Free drinks for a night, you can wish her well while secretly hoping her husband’s ball career washes out on him in a year or two.”

Bradley chuckled, shrugging his shoulders as he gestured his hand towards you, “I like your thinking actually, but I’m not going alone.”

“I’ll go with you,” you offered, shrugging your shoulders, “When is it?”

“In six months, you don’t need to come with me though. I’ll send her some cheap gift and call it a day.”

“No,” you insisted as you pulled into a parking space at the hospital’s urgent care clinic, “I’ll come with you. I love a good revenge story. Besides, it could be fun. I’ve never partied with a bunch of baseball players before.”

“You’re…you’re something else, you know that?”

“You mean, you don’t have dozens of women offering you a tampon to stop your nosebleed, driving you to the hospital and then offering to accompany you to your ex-wife’s wedding date?” you challenged.

“Can’t say that I do, no.”

“Well, I’m honoured to be your first.”

Bradley couldn’t help his ear to ear grin as he followed you into the hospital. Despite his bloodied, battered nose, which was hurting more than he cared to let on, and his fledging career, falling apart around him as he stood there, he felt genuinely excited. Excited to get to know you better. Excited to see where things went with you. He felt a promising sense in your words - like maybe, just maybe, he might be able to be done with one-night-stands and empty beds in the morning. He felt giddy, like a teenager going on a first date with his high school crush. He wasn’t sure if it was the pain from his nose or the alcohol talking, but he was almost convinced you were a guardian angel of sorts. Refusing to believe that someone like you could be anything but.

First things first though, he needed to bring you to a baseball game.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw au #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw au #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x y/n #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw au #rooster bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x y/n #top gun maverick au fic #baseball au

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escarlatellie · 1 year

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here with you ; ellie williams. (4.5k.)

⤿ f!reader, college!au, drinking + kissing, fluff fluff fluff <3 lowercase is on purpose , was blasting ceilings by lizzy so excuse the title

⤿ you're invited to another one of dina's off-campus parties not long after finals, where you meet a pretty girl who miraculously knows your name. away from the hustle of the actual party, where people are plastered out of their minds and making a ruckus, you and this pretty stranger get to know each other a little and earn yourselves a place in the other's heart.

“if you want anything just let me know, okay?”

dina’s hand is warm, splayed across your lower back as she guides you away from what had to be the noisiest place at the party. it’s no surprise she attracts such diverse groups of people, given her gregarious personality and hard-to-overlook kind of beauty.

you would be lying if you said you hadn’t had a crush on her when you first met her; it’s dina, how could you not? thankfully, over maybe a year of getting to know her, you realized she wasn’t exactly your type and that she was far too head-over-heels for her on-and-off partner to even think about you. honestly, she never shut up about the guy.

“got it. thanks, dina.”

you definitely were not going to mention the almost completely assured possibility that you wouldn’t see her at all for the rest of the night. thing is, when you’re the host of parties like these, you tend to get thrown around a lot. though she doesn’t really seem to mind, since this is, at the very least, the fourth party you’ve been invited to since finals ended (which was around a month ago).

she hums passively at the acknowledgement, then gestures fluidly towards the rest of the room. there are a few people situated on her couch, a couple of them already putting on a show for the others while a few sit alone, sipping their drinks with reckless abandon. you’ve never gotten completely plastered at one of dina’s parties, always the type to stay back and help her clean up if she hasn’t passed out or gotten herself sick, but unsurprisingly, there are always those who’ll take any chance they can get.

“mi casa, su casa.” she sings, then she’s gone.

left alone, you can handle yourself. why the hell would you come here if you couldn’t? you head towards what you remember to be the kitchen, but right now looks like a completely unprofessional bar complete with its own bartender—who you belatedly recognize to be jesse, dina’s on-and-off partner—in search of booze.

said bartender nods at you when you catch his eye, pouring whatever’s on the table for tonight into a very typically red party cup—on the house, since you get special privilege—and sliding it over to the edge of the counter. whatever’s inside sloshes dangerously, threatening a mess which’d only add to the ugly stickiness of dina’s countertops, but you grab and take a whiff of it before it can tip over.

“what, don’t trust me?” jesse ribs over the music—he speaks of your tentative sniff—, which is, as you’ve just realized, getting progressively louder.

“if i say anything,” you mutter, which gets you his typical jesus christ, these people, kind of laugh and he leans back against the counter, right next to you.

head crooked to the side slightly, you look him over. objectively, you can see why he and dina mesh so well; they’re both unbelievably attractive and complement each other’s personalities perfectly (from what you’ve seen, at the very least). their pretty much daily arguments aside, you can tell they love each other and only want the best for one another. that said, you can only imagine what’s running through his head right now.

“she’s not going to get shit-faced drunk,” he mutters, and that’s your cue to leave. you know he’s trying to console himself more than anything.

“no, she’s not.”, you respond in kind, patting his shoulder with just as much care as one would handle a two-hundred-pound gorilla, before pushing yourself up off the edge of the counter and walking out of the kitchen. god knows he could spend an hour sitting there talking about her; you’ve had enough of that for, quite literally, the rest of your life.

the sole of your left shoe sticks to the ground a little as you walk, and you thank your past self for owning a strictly-for-parties pair of converse which were, sadly, a little too worn in for your own good. sneaking a glance into the main hall, you catch a glimpse of your best friend seated halfway up the stairs chatting with someone—maybe a senior? junior, at the very least—who’s got a guitar case slung over her shoulder and the most unruly head of short, auburn hair you’ve ever seen.

dina’s gesturing wildly at the front door, likely having gotten into an argument with said stranger (except it looks far too fond to be serious), when the two of you make eye contact. her eyes are a strikingly pale kind of green, piercing through whatever weak defenses you’d put up for the night in a very relaxed fashion. she’s got this look on her face that screams uninterested, which is quickly swapped out for a look of rapt attention at your own once she realizes you don’t actually plan on looking away.

because man, she’s hot.

it’s just then that a presumably tanked freshman crashes into you and spills the contents of whatever it is they were drinking all over you, effectively shattering whatever that was. really, you would be grateful for it—something to spare you the embarrassment of looking too interested in someone way out of your league—had there not been the undeniable presence of cool, once-iced liquor spilling down the front of your printed tee.

“oh, fuck,” you curse, nearly missing their hurried apology before they barrel out the front door.

this wouldn’t be the first time. you sigh, reluctantly slipping away from all the noise, away from the pretty stranger, to deal with your problem. usually, you’d have an extra top shoved haphazardly into dina’s closet, something you could throw on in the worst-case scenario, but laundry day was just yesterday and all of your stuff was piled on your bed back home. already you could feel the liquor causing the shirt’s fabric to stick, leaving an icky, gross feeling that was begging to be cleaned up. the humidity from everyone’s breathing was not helping.

you set your cup down on a random table (never to be seen again) as you make your way to the bathroom. you wouldn’t be surprised to find the door locked, having been an unsuspecting party crasher one too many times in your first and some of your second year, but luckily the room’s unoccupied—not for long—and you slip in and lock the door behind you after waving off a concerned glance from jesse, who’s very slowly making his way to his girlfriend. no surprise there.

“oookay, fuck.” you curse, flipping the light switch and nabbing a couple (a lot) of the mini towels out of dina’s probably way-too-expensive towel rack and pressing them to your front, hoping they’ll soak up some of the leftover moisture, at least save you from the mortification of showcasing to everyone your chest and abdomen.

it doesn’t really help.

again, not an irregular occurrence, so you’re not too worried; dina’s typical party etiquette has ensured that everyone here will leave you be and mind their own business. that doesn’t help your pride, but you concede to stepping back out and flipping the light switch off behind you as you make your way to the front.

this time, when you cross the main hall, dina’s gone and so is her friend. accompanying disappointment comes the ponderance of whether jesse found dina or not and if the pretty stranger has left, but you remind yourself you’ll find out later—probably near midnight when people start to filter out for the night and you’re tasked with cleaning up—, however frustrated that makes you, given the fact you’d lost a chance you probably never had in the first place.

you pass a group of what look like sophomores playing beer pong against seniors—or maybe even graduates?—on your way out, and silently curse the growing pool of booze dripping on the floor right next to the table on your way outside.

the door is wide open, so being engulfed in cold air on your way outside is no surprise. luckily, the weather is calming down a little after a gruelling winter, so there’re only a couple of piles of leftover snow and the breeze doesn’t serve as an immediate freezer. however, your damp tee is anything but a savior and causes an eruption of a ton of goosebumps across the pane of your chest, stretching as far as your shoulders, which are only covered by the loose fabric of your top.

you’re not sure what you expect to see when you turn the corner to dina’s garage, but seeing her and her boyfriend sucking face is absolutely not it. dina’s got him pressed right up against the garage door, and you’re pretty sure that if jesse weren’t sober out of his mind he’d be giving into every single one of her wordless demands.

you slip past easily, far away enough to go by soundlessly and completely bypass the two’s freaky-ass sixth sense. the back gate is just as well-managed as the rest of the house and opens quietly, in no contrast to the backyard itself, which is empty and well-kempt. you know only you and a select few people are actually allowed into dina and her parents’ pretty backyard, so peace is expected and welcomed. the breeze is also blocked by the house, which is nice.

there are a couple of flowers blooming already, and their scent wafts through the air, bringing a natural sort of calm. the yard is illuminated by the house—light dances in beautiful patterns against the greens and greys that make up the garden—, but so is the relaxed silhouette of the same pretty stranger you saw less than ten minutes ago. this time, she’s hunched over in one of dina’s ugly bright-green lawn chairs with a guitar seated in her lap.

you consider her privacy and the fact that maybe she doesn’t want company right now or that she’s too busy with her music as you make your way over—aside from those ugly lawn chairs, really, there’s nowhere else to sit—but then banish your hesitancy with the acknowledgement that this is just as much a space for you as it is for her.

the chair scrapes against the patio as you pull it out, just far away enough from the brunette to make yourself seem open and friendly, but respectful of her space. you worry the cheap plastic is going to snap beneath your weight as you sit down, but it holds well and serves as a final, much-needed resting spot for your already sore feet. once your rustling stops, you hear the gentle strum of a guitar and realize the girl hasn’t stopped playing.

you relax further into your seat.

closer up now, you have the chance to really look at her. her hair’s pulled back now, half-up half-down, a lot less dishevelled than she’d been when you’d last seen her.

looking lower, she’s wearing a low-cut short-sleeve and an unbuttoned flannel long-sleeve. skin-tight, ripped jeans line what look like toned thighs and spread legs, stained black and white converse completing the look. her fingers move deftly between frets, over strings, and you just barely catch the edges of a black and white tattoo peeking out from beneath her sleeve. she’s got really nice hands, you think, just as pretty as her face.

“i can feel you fuckin’ staring.”

her tone is accusing, but not necessarily malicious or irritated; she doesn’t even look up at you when she says it, adjusting her guitar in her lap as she works at whatever she’s trying to play. her voice suits her, too, you think, and shift a little where you sit at the thought.

“sorry. you’re really good at guitar.” you mutter, earning an amused chortle from the girl across from you. it’s a pathetic excuse—you’re well aware of your own unsubtlety—but there was something there, something between you two, not long ago, and you’re not just going to let it slip away. the alcohol’s got you pleasantly buzzed, and you’re sure that if you were a little soberer, you’d be embarrassed.

“you think so?”

she looks up now, a brow raised. you catch the slit in her right eyebrow, cocked slightly as her gaze rakes over you. she’s got this lilt to her voice that feels like it means trouble, however, it does nothing but pique your interest a little more.

your response of “mhm. you play real nice.” earns you another glance over.

“i’ve seen you around a couple times. you’re a friend of dina’s, right?” she questions, looking between you and her instrument as she tunes what she seems to think is an out-of-tune string. her leg—the one which has the least contact with her guitar—bounces gently against the patio floor, and it takes you a second to realize she’s seen you around before and remembers you.

“yeah. best friend? i think? she likes to call it that.”, you joke, shoulders trembling slightly at the very unwelcome entrance of another breeze, carrying in the temperature from the front into the back. the sound of the stranger’s laugh is already addicting, especially when it feels genuine. that’s sometimes hard to come across, and you’re already starved for it even though you’ve been speaking to this girl for like, a minute.

“i’ll tell her you said that. shouldn’t she have an extra top for you or something?”

“she does, usually. kinda forgot to leave a couple here.” you hum, pointedly ignoring the third glance over the girl’s given you since she’d first laid her eyes on you. her lips are pursed slightly, gaze trained wholly on your face whenever you speak yet it wanders when silence stretches between you two. her eyes are locked on something behind your head when she speaks again.

“are you two a..?”

“thing? no, have you met jesse?”

“dina’s got a ton of other people that aren’t jesse, babe.”

your cheeks warm at the pet name, and you realize she’s right. dina’s had a couple of other flings outside of jesse; every time the two of them break up, she runs off to someone else before realizing she doesn’t want anyone but him. then, suddenly, without your permission, your mind wanders at the idea of someone wanting you the same way those two want each other.

“no, we’re not,” you shake your head as she looks back at you. briefly, so momentarily, you question whether she actually likes girls or not—and if it seems like you do—so add a quick and easy-sounding, “think i liked her a year or so back, though.”

the stranger nods, and you’re suddenly hit with the fact that you don’t know her name.

caught in your own head, you don’t register her leaning back in her seat, guitar following her movements, pressed right up against her abdomen. you do though, notice her shrugging her long sleeve off and balling it up in her free hand before it's carelessly thrown your way. your rapt attention towards her movement is pretty much the only reason you were able to catch it; it’s warm from her own body heat in your cold hands. it’s pretty obvious what she wants you to do with it, but you wouldn’t want to impose so you just stare at it.

“put on the damn sweater. it’s cold.”, she mutters, and you can’t help but bite back a smile at her tone; what was likely intended to come across as gruff and demanding sounds pleading and mildly concerned. you unravel the garment and pull your arms through the sleeves, a clean, earthy scent enveloping your once-shivering form.

“thanks, uh..”

“ellie. williams. ellie williams.” she stutters out, which is pretty cute.

“ellie. thank you.”

that only gets you a grumble of acknowledgement before she’s back to her guitar. strands of her hair are slowly slipping out of her half-updo, and it only makes her that much more alluring. you’re well aware of the fact that you’re staring again, but she doesn’t seem to mind all that much as she starts up another tune. this one sounds far too smooth, too practiced to be something she even needs to go over, and belatedly you wonder if she’s trying to impress you.

you two sit together quietly for god knows how long, accustoming yourselves to the other’s presence with ellie’s music writing over any awkward silence, and you drown in the admission that you could sit like this forever. the party inside is dying down, with a good chunk of attendees deciding to turn in early while the rest are either still on adrenaline highs or settling down for a couple of drinking games.

“where’d you learn how to play?”

you find yourself speaking before you can even think about it, and she doesn’t give you room to regret the interruption with the soft, loving little smile that breaks out on her face when she considers your question.

“old guy. his name’s joel.”

you can’t help but smile at that; whatever harsh exterior she’s going for really isn’t working for her right now. almost every time she’s spoken to you, it’s either been with a smile, a laugh, or some poorly-concealed interest. joel, you think, taking that name and storing it for later, if there ever is a later with this girl. ellie.

“his guitar, then.” you hum, because it can’t be that much of a secret if a signature that deeply resembles his name is etched into a spot just above the pickguard. “you mind teaching me someday?”, you add, because there won’t ever be a moment where you don’t want to be talking to ellie; what you aren’t expecting is for her to look up at you with the same fond look that she’d looked at her guitar with just moments before, and nod. christ, you think, she’s so..

“we can start today, if you wanna.” she offers, and you try your very best not to seem too eager when you say yeah, for sure, but realize you’ve failed and that the pretty stranger–pretty girl sitting across from you doesn’t really care. she’s taking her guitar off her lap and making her way over to you before you can even second-guess yourself, crouching in front of you and raising an inquisitive eyebrow on her undeniably attractive, stupid fucking face.

you kind of want to kiss her.

you’re already imagining a future where you and ellie are, at the very least, friends—if not more, but you don’t want to get your hopes up—and are out like this every day, hanging out, being comfortable in each other’s presence because there’s no way this feeling of security is normal with someone you’ve just met unless you’re soulmates of some kind.

ellie makes a gesture, lifts her arms as a means of telling you to lift your own, and you swear its the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen. you lift yours and her hand snakes its way forward, pressing against your right shoulder so you’ll lean back a little. she’s strong, you can tell that much—as if the muscle lining every inch of her visible skin wasn’t enough—, and her touch is searing hot, leaving fire in its wake.

she sets the guitar in your lap, spreads your legs gently by the knees, and waits expectantly with her hands out for you to offer up your own. you find yourself staring as she takes your hands, lithe, strong fingers beneath your own, lips parted slightly in both concentration and excitement as she positions your left hand under the neck, fingers splayed just slightly against the frets. she realizes you already have your other arm around the body, but reaches over to ghost her fingertips against the skin of your elbow anyways.

she smiles. “try it. use your thumb. don’t break my guitar.”

the look you give her prompts another huff of laughter, but she seems to have enough faith in you to believe you won’t. it doesn’t seem like she plans on moving, though, since she’s still crouched in front of you and when you mutter a retributive “it’s joel’s,”, the pretty girl in front of you leans forward and rests her open palms on your knees, effectively cutting off any sly remarks.

you’re probably never going to forget the way her eyes light up when you strum it the first time, and use your very limited guitar-playing knowledge to press against a couple of the frets in succession and play what sounds like a semi-well-practiced harmony.

“holy shit,” she breathes, and you find yourself feeling bashful regardless of the fact you were only, like, thirty percent sure you could pull that off again. however, you manage to contain any sighs of relief and only exhale a chuckle in response.

her eyes are still on you, you know, and you start absentmindedly fidgeting with the neck and its frets; her attention is everything you could’ve ever wanted, but her gaze is weighed and it’s making you feel a little self-conscious. you’re not starved for it by any means but it has been a while since someone has stared at you like this, awestruck out of their mind. it’s funny because for some reason ellie’s making this seem like such a huge deal when she’d spent the past, what—you’ve lost track of time—thirty minutes? an hour? playing a bunch of fucking songs on this old guy’s guitar, and—

“i had no idea you could play guitar..”

her voice tears you out of your own head, and suddenly she’s closer to you than she has been all night. you lock eyes when she mutters your name, alarmed at the fact she knows it—you reason that she knows dina and you must’ve been mentioned in passing at least a couple of times—, and feel chills go down your spine, butterflies erupting in your stomach. i definitely want to kiss her.

“i can’t,” you huff, desperate to ease out the tension, “you outplay me by—”

“can i kiss you?”

her cut-off is abrupt and unexpected, and you swear your heart has never stopped like this. it’s such an innocent question, a plea of consent laced with insecurity, something the girl you’d seen in the main hall earlier into the night hadn’t even seemed like she possessed, but it’s so inherently ellie you don’t know what to do with yourself. so you nod. a quick tilt to your chin, up and down; you can’t trust your voice to work well enough for a yes.

but ellie needs to hear it.

“say yes. i gotta hear you say it.”

you stare at her, and she stares back. the need to actually kiss her is growing unbearable now that you know she wants it too, but the mortification of knowing this pretty girl could hear the desperation in your voice—you haven’t even tuned into the fact that she sounds just as desperate as you—, the hitch of your breathing if you were to say yes, makes it hard to voice what you want.

so you don’t. she’s close enough, hands having slid upwards, her sweaty palms against your thighs in a subconsciously innocent gesture; any stray hair’s been tucked messily behind her ear, her lips are a little chapped and you see her throat constrict in a swallow when you reach forward with your right hand and thread your fingertips through the hair at the base of her neck.

and when you lean forward—as much as you can, with the guitar situated between the two of you—, ellie meets you halfway, semi-pulled in by your touch and mostly leaned in of her own accord.

it’s a kiss. just that, a gentle press of the lips, but the glorification fiction has given it hasn’t been for nothing. maybe it’s just because it wasn’t with the right person, but you’re far from unfamiliar with it and it’s never felt like this. ellie kisses like she never wants to stop and you’re not complaining. you feel her grip tighten around your thighs, and you’re already running out of air even though you’ve only been doing this for a couple seconds. when you part, it’s with an unspoken promise of more.

“i’ve seen you around,” ellie starts, whispering against your lips. it sounds like a confession, something she needs to get off her chest, so you urge her to continue with your silence and the gentle circling of your thumb against her scalp. “with dina. or jesse. on campus. during those stupid presentations. or the social events. and i’ve always wanted to talk to you, you know? especially that one time, when you,” she inhales, smoothing her hands out against your legs. “when you corrected jesse on a fucking dinosaur name at the group’s museum outing.”

you stare at her, shuffling through images of every event you’ve ever gone to for dina’s sake when it hits you. a couple months back, before finals, probably when dina and jesse had gotten back together after a huge blowup, she’d found some stupid exhibit at a museum close to campus and presented it to you. she’d asked if you thought it was a good deal, especially because her friend, ellie, liked dinosaurs, and fuck, what is wrong with you?

“shit, you remember that?”

her silence is enough of an answer, gaze flitting between your eyes and lips nervously.

“oh my god,” you exhale, keeping her still with the hand you have around her neck as you press your foreheads together. to think, if you’d been a little less ignorant at the time, you could’ve already known ellie. the two of you could have been friends, possibly more—which now, doesn’t seem all that ridiculous—, had you tuned in a little more to what dina was saying, had paid more attention to the rest of dina’s group when you’d gone out with her, had asked simply, back then, who’s ellie?

“is that weird? tell me that’s not weird. i kinda feel like a creep now, fuck. i swear i wasn’t, like, stalking you or anything,” ellie starts rambling, something you doubt you’ll ever get tired of.

“you said you’ve seen me around a couple times. are you a creep?”, you tease.

“no! i mean, no. i just kinda, i only heard about you and saw you that time, and, shit–”

you smile at her, let her go on as you lean further over the guitar, left hand reaching out to tuck a couple strands of her unruly hair behind her right ear, effectively cutting her off without saying a word. this awestruck look on her face is something you really, really want to get used to, and the feeling of her breath ghosting over your lips is far more welcome than anything else will ever be.

“god, i wanna kiss you again.”

“do it.” you hum, and then ellie’s lips are on yours again and you swear this pretty stranger with the auburn hair is going to be the death of you.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams drabble #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams prompt #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #tlou x reader #tlou2 x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fluff #tlou ellie #college au

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colourstreakgryffin · 7 months

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Can you do a s/o that has been raped by a demon and the s/o is a civilian ? Hashiras that I want are Shinobu, Obanai, and Sanemi and the s/o is a baker as well

Oooh! Fuck, that’s very tough but I’ll try my best with this! God prayers and my love goes out to all r**e victims~!

Kocho Shinobu

You rely on her. You rely on her to feel safe since before that god awful incident, you could walk freely in the streets of your town with zero worries and without clinging onto somebody. Now, you can’t traverse those streets without shivering and frantically looking around for a tinge of a another living breathing being, defensive over your life

A single demon. A single demon took away all chances of having a normal life and sexually abused you on the floor of a alleyway, completely obscured by general shadow and crowds. Nobody heard your cries nor the sounds of wet sloshing, well. Nobody but Shinobu. Your savourer, she came to the rescue and disposed of the demon forcing himself on top of you in a flash, she felt intense sorrow and guilt for what happened to you

Shinobu was truly disgusted with the scene she saw with her very own eyes. Of course, demons would snoop this low for that ridiculous high of sadistic pleasure. She wasn’t going to deny, she was furious and outright kicked the demons’ dissipating body when she did melt it down to a pathetic liquid clump. The Demon Slayer Corps acted quickly when Shinobu reported the incident, providing you with Wisteria Trees all around your home

You two fell in love with each other after Shinobu took the time out to escort you every night, over the months. You own a cute popular little bakery so you have to travel home, late at night. Shinobu will always protect you, first out of requirement and now out of pure, uncontrollable love. Smiling sweetly and dressed in the cutest kimono you have ever seen, Shinobu patiently waited for you at the front door of your homely bakery for you to finish up cleaning

You gently beamed at the fancy katana attached to her hip, you just felt so safe merely in her presence

“Hold my hand, my love. Let us go to my home together”

Iguro Obanai

“Dokusha, take your time. We got all night” A familiar, comforting voice rung out from the entrance of your homely little bakery. You knew exactly who it was and you smiled at the sight before you, Iguro Obanai. Your beloved boyfriend and 24/7 savourer, what you called a soldier that guarded you at night to prevent the traumatic incident from ever happening again.

The incident where a demon cornered you, late at night and forced himself on your body. In a cruel, monstrous way, that sadistic beast took a massive bite of your mental health and will end up riddling you with fear for the rest of your life. You would have been doomed for eternity if a certain somebody didn’t come to your rescue. Obanai, he leaped into action immediately and winded the demon’s now fading body into the wall aggressively

Your heart fluttered for Obanai, he saved you. He protected your life without you even needing to cry out for him, despite the fact you did. Obanai just couldn’t leave you alone afterwards, he needed to provide you with protection and he has lots of strength himself so he continued to walk you back to your home at night, never coming to you without his katana

It seemed that your love rubbed off onto him, he fell for you in little time and now, he just couldn’t leave you alone. He refuses to return to his own Estate unless the door is locked shut and the gate is locked shut, that way that you’ll be safe once again. Obanai has been planning to bring you to his Estate so he can protect you 24/7 but with all the Wisteria Trees guarding your house, you’ll be just fine

You couldn’t see his mouth, due to those bandages but you knew he was smiling, so comfortingly

“Always stick with me, my angel. I’ll protect you, no matter what”

Shinazugawa Sanemi

The pitch black night on this very hour would have scared the living hell of you if you weren’t without your savourer, a man with snowy white hair standing before your exit doorway and a katana on his hip. You adored that man, Sanemi. He, singlehandedly, had saved your whole life over and over again without fault and for his unconditional kindness, you devoted your heart to him. No man could compare to the one you won over a horrifying situation

Being a victim of forced intercourse weighed heavy on your heart and weighed heavy responsibilities on the all-so-kind Sanemi too. The second he saw a terrifying but strangely aroused demon having his way with you against your will, Sanemi swore he saw blood red and woke up to blood splattered everywhere. He went feral, out of his anger and concern. No human should suffer this horrible offence and he rushed you to safety with zero hesitation

Sanemi always watched over you afterwards. He felt such shame and guilt for not being around for you sooner, he could have prevented that demon from even approaching you but then again, he is thankful that he is supporting you through it all. He would have never met the woman of his dreams if he didn’t, that didn’t take away the intense pain. It just dulled it for you

And with him around 24/7, half-neglecting his other missions to make sure you arrive safely at your Wisteria Tree-skirted home was his new priority. Both as your savourer and as your boyfriend, he won’t let anything hurt you again. He truly didn’t mind walking with you at the dead of night after you finish with your homely little bakery and it’s list of requirements, it was really nice to get to know you even more

Unsurprising, Sanemi was chasing away the flood of pain in your heart by just standing there

“Are you ready? With my katana here, our trip home will be safe and sound as it’s always been”

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starryeyedadmirer · 4 months

Note

Could you make a stuffing story about this?

✨Y’all, don’t hate me, but this has been in my inbox since July of last year. I’m so sorry I’ve been sitting on it for that long… but, I’m in the process of writing a full story for it. I promise. Also, thank you to @nvtwhalk07 for this amazing edit you’ve done! Anyway, here’s a snippet of what I’ve got:

_________________________________

Kit stood in the kitchen, doubled-over against the bar counter, his massive stomach stretched to its limits... the aftermath of yet another epic stuffing session, orchestrated by his adoring partner, Joe. His elbows resting on the cold granite, Kit struggled to keep his balance.

The couple's stuffing sessions were typically hot and intense, never failing to push Kit's body to its limits. He was accustomed to the extreme bloating, feverish sweats, and unrelenting gassiness that plagued him after each trial... but this time, Kit had eaten more than he ever had before, and his digestive system wasn't prepared to take on such a hefty load.

Large chunks of solidified food and pools of sloshing liquid made their presence known inside his swollen belly, turning and shaking inside of him as though his stomach were a compact tumble-wash... but, in spite of his intense discomfort, Kit tried to play it cool, putting on his best pokerface, in an attempt to conceal his agony.

With a strained smile, he turned on his charms, concealing his discomfort. "Wow." He sighed, taking a moment to catch his breath. "That stuffing session was amazing. Look how big and round I am right now."

Joe looked over at him, a mix of amusement and concern on his face. Kit had become much larger than he was the last time Joe had attempted to make his gut burst, having consumed an excessive amount of food. "Are you sure you're okay, Kit?" Joe asked, genuinely worried about his well-being.

"I'm sure." Kit replied, his voice strained. "You've really outdone yourself this time, sweetheart. I'm massive!"

It was true. Kit had greatly surpassed his previous threshold, having gulped down the better portion of Joe's large feast during his feeding, which left their refrigerator almost barren. He had indulged in a bounty of homemade dishes, savoring every mouthful... but now, faced with his oversized belly, in the wake of his gluttonous feat, Kit longed for some relief.

Still maintaining his facade of nonchalance, Kit continued, his voice a seductive whisper. "Once I find the strength to move again, I expect this belly to be showered with love... the way you always do it. And... I think my belly button deserves some attention too, this time. I've earned that much, don't you think?"

His navel had been overlooked for far too long, having gone completely untouched for months. Joe used to adore his belly button — the way it looked; it's funny smell; the bitter taste of his flesh; the way that the tight hole would hold onto his fingertips — but, for some unknown reason, he'd simply stopped looking after it. Kit missed the days when he'd wake up to the feeling of Joe's tongue burrowing it's way down into the deep pit, and eating it out... all of the thorough shower cleanings, and sensual fingerings. Having fervently devoured his grande meal, he felt as though he'd proven himself worthy of receiving that kind of affection once again.

Joe, still gazing at Kit, with a mixture of pride and desire, rose from his stool. Like a cat, he tiptoed around the stretch of the bar — his wool-socked feet hardly making a sound against the tiled floor — and approached Kit from behind. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around Kit's body and placed his hands on his lover's engorged stomach, feeling the gravity of it's weight, and it's radiating warmth beneath his touch.

Slowly, he began to circle Kit's navel with his fingertips, applying a slight pressure to the area around the hole. Kit felt like he might burst — still doubled over, his breath labored — and yet, the feeling of Joe's hands against his skin sent a shiver of delight down his spine. His eyes fluttered closed as he relished in the euphoric sensation... the heaviness of his belly all but disappearing in his partner's firm grasp. Joe's fingers worked into his flesh, as though he were a large lump of clay — his hands gliding smoothly over the expanse of Kit's bloat, molding it. With each gentle stroke, he felt his discomfort fade away, replaced by a growing sense of pleasure.

Keeping a tender hold on Kit's midsection, Joe lifted him up from his slump against the countertop and turned him around, so that he could rest his back against the cool surface, and draw some of his tension away of his aching spine. Desire gleamed in Joe's eyes as he slowly knelt down and gave Kit's belly a shower of loving kisses, his hands massaging either side of his lover's bulging abdomen. Kit watched with excitement, his discomfort a thing of the past. Joe's tongue delved deep into the crevices of Kit's belly button, exploring every nook and cranny that the had been etched into the walls of the dark hole during his infancy. It was absolutely filthy, having gone unwashed for months — each wrinkle bearing a new bitterness.

The sensory overload only amplified Kit's pleasure, causing him to squeeze out a small, pungent fart, in a moment of heat. "Oof! Sorry." He muttered, acknowledging his accidental emission as he fought to catch his breath.

Instead of reacting with disgust, Joe encouraged him, his lust unwavering. "No... don't apologize." He murmured, his voice filled with adoration. "You're so tight. Make yourself comfortable."

Joe's worship continued, his tongue swirling in large circles, exerting a immense force against the edges of Kit's belly button. Kit writhed in ecstasy, moaning like ghost, with the occasional accompaniment of yet another unapologetic fart. Time seemed to stand still as he surrendered to the moment, completely lost in the revelry. Joe's tongue reached every filthy nook and cranny, with a sloppy motion, leaving no pore untouched.

"Aahhh." Kit sighed, reveling in the rapture of that familiar tingling. "That's nice. I... missed this."

Feeling as though Kit was sufficiently primed for further pleasures, Joe removed his tongue from the depths of his navel and invited Kit to join him on their bedroom. "Why don't we take this... elsewhere?" He proposed. Urging him to follow, Joe inserted his finger into the slimy, warm crater, giving him a taste of the joys that lay ahead, and bent his knuckle — pulling Kit up from the counter like a fish on a hook.

"Mmm. Okay." Waddling behind Joe like an obese penguin, Kit eagerly followed him.

It was clear to him that Joe had further plans to cater to Kit's desires, setting the stage for an intimate and fulfilling evening. Both men, enthusiastically embarking on the intimate adventure that awaited them on the other side of the open door, made their way into their private quarters.

#starry eyes #thanks for the submission!#kit connor #kit connor belly/tummy #kit connor navel #joe locke #smut fic

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 6 days

Text

IT'S NEVER OVER - PROLOGUE (sept. 2005)

summary: if anyone asked sid, he wouldn't say that he liked pittsburgh more after meeting nat. no, that would be absurd.

warnings: short and sweet! (none)

a/n: hi, hello! am i posting this without having finished it? yes. i don't know how long it's going to be but i'm slowly chipping away at it and i'm pretty excited about it. it might even be my favourite series thing i've done so far, and weirdly my first one? i've had the entire thing outlined for months but i've been too busy to even think about posting it, so...here you go! i can't promise posts for this will be regular because the chapters are so long, but i'll try my best to keep you posted! hope you enjoy (a series mastrlist will be out soon too so you can get the gist of where i'm at in the entire process) xo

sneak peak | pinterest board

(It started with music, but Nat didn’t know that.)

It was a total accident, a random encounter that Sidney couldn’t possibly have predicted – one that, without exaggerating, changed his life to an extent. On a whim, he’d decided to go into that coffee shop he’d walked past everyday for the past three weeks, and it was also on a whim he actually made it to the counter to order an uncharacteristic coffee – he was newly eighteen, being pulled in all sorts of sports-diet directions, the confinement of which kind of irked him, so to him, buying that coffee was a subtle rebellion.

It was also a complete accident that he’d wandered off to the right after taking his coffee from the counter, instead of left, or forwards, or even backwards.

Sidney wasn’t one to believe in fate or destiny: he believed those terms were too magical – they alluded to some other worldly forces coming into play, and he liked to stick to facts. Coincidences. Accidents. Nevertheless, he did find it almost inexplicable, the way that his life hurtled into a completely different route after a mere forty minutes inside a coffee shop that he’d just spontaneously decided to make a trip of. He couldn’t quite get his head around it all.

To him, it was a coincidence that he’d walked past her table. A coincidence that she happened to be blaring the only song he’d been able to listen to for the last four days. He’d barely made it three steps past her before he froze.

She was wearing those over-the-ear headphones, the ones with orange sponges from the 80s, plugged into the iPod that had come out a few years back. He recognised it because everyone that had one in his high school before he left never shut up about it. Sidney admittedly did own one at the time, but he never really felt the need to show it off – it was much easier than lugging around a cassette or CD player with songs burnt in.

The song still had him halting in his tracks and turning around, his body much further ahead than his brain because he had to steady his mug of coffee; his sharp actions had the liquid almost sloshing over the edge, but he managed to catch it just in time.

He wouldn’t have done either of those things: stop and turn, if it had been any other song he’d heard. He was just so taken aback by it – the exact, precise song.

The girl at the table didn’t pay him a single dime of attention when he froze, despite the fact that his hip was practically nudging her table. She wasn’t even looking in his direction, her eyes gazing out of the window on her right, skipping over empty faces as people walked past. It was clear she was supposed to be doing work of some sorts: there were textbooks, novels, and flashcards scattered across the entire table, a pencil case half emptied with pens strewn all over. She had a pen clutched in the fist she was resting her chin on, not caring for the study cards at all – entirely enamoured by the view.

Sidney followed her eyes. There wasn’t much to look at, just a street, and her chair was directly facing the side of a retail store, clothes and mannequins displayed in the window.

In hindsight, Sidney didn’t really know what compelled him to do what he did next.

He couldn’t tell if she was bored and just looking out, not paying attention to the music flowing into her ears, or if she was just so absorbed in what she was hearing that she couldn’t physically bring herself to think about her work – that she’d tuned out the outside world entirely.

What caught his attention the most was the crease between her brows. It drew him to look straight at her; an alluring combination of chestnut hair and pale eyes – though not too pale that they made him uneasy. She was also probably the only person in the establishment that was around his age.

She had impeccable music taste, if he did say so himself.

Yet, he couldn’t shake the inkling that this girl was wholly feeling the brilliance and soul-crushing heartache of Jeff Buckley’s genius – and he found himself hoping she was.

That was why he cleared his throat and took a small step to the other side of the table. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder, noting that the cafe was pretty busy, so he knew he could at least try to get away with what he was about to do.

He made sure to tilt his head up, because the hat covering his face would be nothing short of slightly suspicious in a public setting, and it wasn’t until he purposefully knocked into the chair that she flicked her eyes to look at him.

He held his breath, a moment when all they did was look at each other, until the crease in her brows disappeared and she reached to pause her music on her iPod, slowly sliding her earphones off so they rested around her neck.

“Hi.”

His assumptions had been correct. She was around his age – her voice was deeper than he’d originally anticipated – and when he found himself slightly closer than before, he was able to make out that she was studying for her SATs.

It was September.

“Hi.” He replied, forcing a smile that he hoped would convey the apology he felt for intruding on her personal time and in her personal space. Her clutter was all over the table, and he knew that if she was hopefully as kind to strangers as he hoped she’d to be, that it would be somewhat of a hassle to shove some of it away, “I’m really sorry, but there aren’t any other tables free. Would I be able to–”

“Oh, sure.” She interrupted, immediately going to reach to sweep a space clear for him over the other side of the table. Sidney watched with a mildly amused gaze; she didn’t seem to care for the way her flashcards seemed to mix themselves up, or the way her textbooks snapped shut and she lost her page.

She flashed him a welcoming, slightly embarrassed smile as she piled the books on top of each other, and before Sidney knew it, he was sitting in the chair opposite, accidentally knocking their knees together in the process, and sipping from his coffee mug. He fought to maintain the thankful smile on his face, despite the utterly bitter taste of the coffee that seemed to fester on his tongue.

No wonder he’d never tried coffee before, it tasted like dirt.

The girl broke a small chunk of a muffin off, a smile breaking out on her face as she fought a small laugh.

Sidney blushed, “I’m not a big coffee-fan.” He reasoned, shrugging.

“I can tell.” She pressed her lips together momentarily, looking down at the plate before turning her attention back to him. Sidney felt stunned at the colour of her eyes. He’d never seen grey eyes before, but hers seemed to balance more on the green side – only when the sun struck the side of her face, they turned a watery, clear blue. There was also a tinge of brown thrown in there.

What was that called? Heterochromia?

He felt his mouth dry, and before he could stop himself, he was taking another sip of his coffee, this time managing to control the urge to wince, “Thanks for letting me sit here.”

She shrugged, gathering the flashcards and lining them up, “It’s no problem. Sorry for the mess.”

He let his eyes wander over the books once more, the green ‘SATs’ letters jumping out at him, “You got an important date?”

The girl swallowed, not entirely understanding what he meant. That crease formed between her brows again, and she opened her mouth to question him, but Sidney beat her to it, a finger pointing at her stack of books.

She sighed, “Not entirely, they’re at the end of the school year, but one of my teachers gave us an assignment to get some study material done early.”

Sidney couldn’t say he understood her stress – it was something displayed across the planes of her face; evident when she looked rather tiredly at the stack of books, and hesitated at the flashcards, before throwing them to the side. She folded her arms across the table, then switched so that her hands were interlocked in front of her.

She looked as though she didn’t quite know what to do with herself, and Sidney couldn’t tell if it was because of the presence of a stranger, or if she was already feeling some sort of academic guilt for throwing her attention away from her studies for a couple of minutes.

He saw her jaw clench, and at that observation, the thought that maybe he was paying a little bit too much attention to her crossed his mind, so he turned his focus to the cup of coffee. He was beginning to feel its effects; his knee was shaking softly under the table and he could feel an influx of energy spark at his fingertips. Or maybe it wasn’t the coffee at all.

He hadn’t thought about hockey for five minutes.

He saw her turn her face towards him out of the corner of his eye, and he looked up, “What about you? Are you in school, or…?” She trailed off, her eyes skimming over the logo that had flashed itself from the safe and unzipped confines of his hoodie.

He felt his heart quicken at having been caught, worried that perhaps she’d shout out who he was – if she knew – across the entire cafe. He remained optimistic; she didn’t seem the type.

He cleared his throat, “Not anymore.” For some reason he hesitated. He could play off the logo as merchandise – he could be someone other than Sidney Crosby, the New Rookie of the Pens – or he could be honest. When he looked back at her, there was a challenge in her eyes, and Sidney knew then that she already knew who he was. “I just got drafted to the Pens for my first NHL season.”

She sighed, “Can I tell you something?”

Sidney furrowed his brows, his mouth tilting down in a smile. He was new to the whole ‘local celebrity’ deal, but this by far, is probably one of the least impressed reactions he’d ever had. She clearly knew he wasn’t in school, but had still taken the kind courtesy to ask him the question, despite the futility of it.

He nodded.

“I only know one Pens player.” Then she pointed to something out of the window, “That banner has been staring at me every week for the past three months.”

Sidney huffed a laugh, thinking she was joking, but followed her finger anyway. He was immediately faced with a street corner, tens of people walking past each other – he could even make out their voices if he concentrated hard enough, and it took a while to figure out what exactly she was pointing at, until his eyes settled on a billboard at least a block down.

He’d been told that for press reasons, the Pens had come up with the idea of a way of promoting him as a player, and a ‘person of Pittsburgh’, by plastering some action shots of him – still staged – around the city. He’d neglected to look up lately, fearing that if he did, he’d be faced with some images of himself, but he hadn’t escaped that entirely.

The billboard was small, and he wasn’t the only player on there, either, but he saw it nonetheless.

When he spun back around to look at her once more, the only thing that came out of his mouth was, “There’s two other players, not just me.”

She shrugged, “I was talking about Sergei Gonchar.”

Sidney felt the blush colour from his chest to his cheeks as he slowly put his hands over his face, consumed by humiliation. He felt himself smile into his hands when he heard the girl huff a snicker. He’d had quite a few people as of late kissing up to his ego, and apart from his teammates, she was the first one to really deliver a considerable blow – and he was thankful for that; that at least someone still had the ability to look past who he was and tease him like he was a normal person. He was aware of the irony that lay there.

He gathered himself, unabashedly removing his hands and displaying the creeping blush for her to see, and sticking his hand between them, “Sidney Crosby, rookie center for the Pittsburgh Penguins.”

She rolled her eyes, not commenting on the state of his cheeks, her smile fading slightly but still remaining, “I was joking, I know who you are.” She took his hand in hers, gripping it tightly, “Nat Brooks. Student.”

Sidney swallowed, his blush remaining for other reasons, and pulled his hand away, flexing it under the table, “Is Nat short for anything?”

“Natalia.”

“‘S very pretty.” He mumbled, and she smiled sweetly.

“Sidney’s very pretty, too. It suits you.”

Something clenched in his chest.

#sidney crosby x oc #sidney crosby fic #it's never over prologue #nhl fic #nhl series #sidney crosby imagine #sidney crosby oneshot #sidney crosby x reader

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forever-rogue · 1 year

Note

I absolutely adore the nurse Steve fics being in nursing school myself and idk if anyone else has asked about it but how did nurse Steve propose or was in Y/n that proposed

AN | Stevie definitely proposed to his girl. And he was absolutely a nervous wreck 🥺 This can be read as a companion piece to the below but also as a stand alone!

Warnings | None

Pairing | Nurse!Steve x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.8k

Masterlist | Steve, Main, Nurse Steve

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Steve felt like he was going to explode from nerves. He was so worried and nervous that he couldn’t even control the shaking of his hands. Everytime you came into the room he’d yelp in surprise; he was so on edge.

Tomorrow was a special day; maybe the most special of his life - so far at least. Tomorrow was the day that Steve Harrington was going to ask you to marry him.

Finally. He’d been wanting to do this for literal months, planning and rehearsing it over and over in his mind. But every time he got ready to propose, he talked himself out of it. Was it too much? Was it too soon? Did you even want to marry him?

So many questions - they would all be answered if he asked you that one little question. But he wanted this so badly. He knew he wanted to marry you after your first date - let’s be honest, Steve was a huge romantic - which seemed crazy but he was sure about you. He wasn’t sure there was anything he’d ever been more sure about.

“Stevie?” you poked your head into the kitchen, finding him standing at the counter and staring into his cup of coffee. You’d just come out of the shower, all wrapped up in nothing but a fluffy towel, hair still wet, and barefoot. You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He snapped back into attention and offered you a sheepish smile, “what’s wrong, love?”

“N-nothing,” he stammered nervously, picking up his mug and almost sloshing the coffee over the side with trembling hands, “just…standing here…d-drinking coffee.”

“Hmmm,” you hummed softly as you padded over to him, standing behind him and wrapping your arm around his middle as you rested your chin on his shoulder. You felt him relax into your touch as you pressed soft kisses to his shoulder, “whatever you say. You’ve been awfully jumpy lately, are you sure everything’s okay?”

This time it was your turn to tense as you anticipated what he would say. Part of you was worried that he might break up with you. That would have been the worst thing ever…now that you had him, you couldn’t imagine life without him. He turned around so he was facing you, the gentle, fond smile on his face, “everything is perfect. Really, angel.”

“Are you going to break up with me?” you looked at him with wide, nervous eyes as his mouth dropped open. He blinked, almost as if he was trying to figure out if you were joking or not. He shook his head, cradling your face in his hands, “Steve?”

“No, no, no,” he kissed you sweetly on the cheeks, forehead, and nose before stopping at your lips, “never, angel. Absolutely not - why would you even think? Did I do something?”

You visibly relaxed and let out a small sigh of relief, “no, you didn’t. I dunno, I just…worried. ‘Cause you’ve been nervous lately, and I was wondering if it’s because you were going to break up with me?”

“That is the last thing I ever want to do,” he insisted sweetly, “I’m sorry that I did anything that made you feel like that. I’m just…tired?”

“Are you asking or telling me?” you joked, leaning into his touch as he wiped away the few tears that had welled up.

“Telling you,” he insisted, although he still didn’t sound too sure. You’d caught him so off guard that he was frazzled with trying to come with an excuse that didn’t sound too fake or like he was actually going to break up with you. It was literally the exact opposite of that - he just couldn’t tell you quite yet, “promise.”

“You’re right,” she laughed lightly at your own worry, completely misplaced, “I’m just being silly. I love you, Stevie.”

“I love you too, angel,” he promised, his hand on your neck as he tenderly brushed his thumb over the apple of your cheek. It was becoming increasingly hard to resist the urge to rip your towel off and have you then and there. But he collected himself and tried to play it cool, “h-hey, we’re still on for dinner tomorrow, yeah?”

“Of course,” you agreed happily, “why wouldn’t we be?”

“I-I dunno,” he shrugged. Alright. He was not making himself look good at all…now you were only going to be more suspicious if anything, “just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget.”

“I’d never forget a date night,” you grinned, “especially not when I was promised a fancy night out!”

“And that’s exactly what you’ll get,” he bit his bottom before gently pulling on your towel, “and if you’re not busy now…”

“I have to leave for work in half an hour….”

“Give me fifteen minutes,” he beamed and now it was your turn for your face to warm, “hmm?”

“O-okay,” you looked at him with eager eyes as he pulled the towel off completely, “Steve-”

“Bedroom,” he was already all over you, ushering you down the hall, “now.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You smiled at your reflection, admiring the pretty velvet dress that you were wearing. It was new and you’d purchased it just for the occasion, hoping that Steve would like it as well. You knew he would - you could be wearing a potato sack and he’d still think you looked beautiful. The finishing touch was your lipstick, a pretty shade of red that you often favored.

“Honey, are you almost…” he trailed off as soon as he saw, his smile only growing as you turned around to face him. You wished you had a camera with you because the look on his face was priceless, “you look…stunning doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

“Steve,” you bit the inside of your cheek as you looked him over. He looked so incredibly handsome in his suit that it was almost ridiculous, “you look amazing too.”

“Still nothing on you,” he tenderly brushed a lock of hair behind your ear, “this dress is beautiful. Is it new?”

“Mhmm,” you felt shy all of a sudden, like this was the first time you were meeting him again, “I got it for tonight! I was hoping you’d like it.”

“I do,” he brushed his fingers over the soft fabric on your shoulder, “I like the girl wearing it even more.”

“Stop,” you grinned, a teasing lilt to your voice as you reached for his hand and tenderly squeezed it between yours, “c’mon handsome, we’re gonna be late if we don’t leave now. I don’t wanna miss our reservations!”

“Baby-”

“Steve,” you put your hand on his chest, trying not to get too lost in his warmth and scent, and the way he was looking at you with hunger in his eyes, “we have to leave now or we’re just going to end up having sex.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s absolutely not,” you promised, “but we can do that all night, if we want, but we’re not missing these reservations. I didn’t get all dressed up for no reason!”

“Alright, alright,” he held up his hands in mock surrender, “that’ll just give me the excuse of getting to show off my girl.”

And ask you to marry me, he almost blurted out. It would come soon enough - Steve Harrington was not going to chicken out today. Today was the day.

“Yeah?” you melted into his touch as he nodded, “well, that’ll let me show off my man. Now c’mon!”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The restaurant might have been fancy, the food delicious, and the wine perfect, but Steve was too nervous to notice anything. The man could barely pay attention to what you were saying, almost blurting out his question and ruining the surprise he had planned. If you noticed that anything was off, you didn’t comment on it.

“What do you think about that?” Steve blinked a few times before looking back at you with a sheepish expression. You gave him an expectant expression, wondering if he’d even heard a word of what you said, “Steve?”

“Hmm?” he snapped back into attention and cleared his throat before downing the rest of the wine. You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep a serious expression on your face, “o-oh. Yeah, I think that’s a great idea.”

“Really?” you leaned in and decided that you might as well mess with him a little bit. He nodded, his shiny hair flopping slightly, “interesting. Well, that settles that.”

“S-settled what, exactly?”

“We’re gonna get married and have like five kids at least,” you said it all with such a straight face that he almost choked on the bite in his mouth. His cheeks turned a pretty bright red as you just stared at him down, “that’s what we both want, huh?”

“I-I-I, yeah…?”

“Relax,” you grinned softly at him and he grew even more confused, “Steve, I’m just kidding! That’s not what I said at all. I just wanted to see if you were paying attention. Which, I see, you were clearly not. What’s on your mind, love?”

“Nothing,” he insisted and you wanted to believe him. Not that you thought anything bad was going on, but you couldn’t deny that your curiosity was piqued, “just zoned out. It’s not you, angel. I just…long day.”

“You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?” your voice almost dropped to a whisper and he was quick to reach over and put his hand on top of yours, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Of course I would,” he promised, his heart almost dropping into his stomach, “there’s nothing wrong, I swear it.”

“Okay,” you nodded. Steve had half a mind to just propose then and there.

But not yet - the moment wasn’t quite there yet. He had this all mentally mapped out; he just needed you to hang on a little longer.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The sun was setting, casting the horizon in a pretty haze of oranges and reds. You couldn’t keep the smile off your face as he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. Your free hands were finishing off ice cream that you’d gotten from the same ice cream shop you’d gone to on your first date.

“It’s beautiful out tonight,” you smiled sweetly, staring up at your boyfriend. He looked back at you with nothing but adoration in those caramel eyes. You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning up and pressing a kiss to his lips. It was sweet and tasted like the chocolate ice cream he had been finishing off.

“Still not as beautiful as you,” he cheesed back at you, as you playfully rolled your eyes, “you’re the prettiest sight in the world.”

“Alright Steve,” you dragged him towards the park, and you had unwittingly beaten him to it. He couldn’t have planned it any better himself…not it was just a matter of popping the question. The small velvet box was practically burning a hole in his pocket. You stopped in front of the bench where you’d shared your first kiss. You threw the wrapper from your cone away and turned to him, a saccharine smile on his face.

He mirrored your action and the two of you stared at each other softly. He let out a wistful little sigh before taking your face gently in your face in his hands, brushing his thumb over your cheek. You leaned into him and gently kissed him, letting your lips linger against his. You must have kissed him a million times by now, but it always felt so wonderful and knew each time.

“Angel, I…I have to say something before I lose the nerve,” your face dropped but he quickly shook his. He took your hands in his, before motioning for you to sit on the bench. You sat down and made room for him to sit next to you, but he didn’t. Your heart broke for a moment before you realized what he was doing. He got down on one knee in front of you and your mouth formed a small o in surprise.

“S-steve?” his name was a mere squeak as he reached for one of your hands, “what’re you…what’s going…Steve?”

“Listen,” you already felt tears welling up as he began to speak, “I think that this is going to be eloquent at all. I had those whole speech planned and now my mind feels empty but I’m just going to do it.”

“Stevie…”

“This is going to sound crazy but I’ve known you were the one for me since our first date,” he breathed nervously but there was a pretty smile on his face, “you almost killed me with that sundress, and how sweet you were, and that smile. God, you have the most beautiful smile. I know how we met wasn’t the most conventional and it feels weird to say it but I’m so glad you came into the ER that day.”

“I’m glad I broke my ankle,” you laughed softly, brushing away your tears with the back of your hand.

“I know it really wasn’t appropriate of me to ask you out,” he admitted, “but I’m glad I did. And now that I’ve had you had in my life, I can’t imagine my life without you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you and have our own family and everything. I don’t know if this is too soon to ask, and honestly I don’t really care. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. And I guess, angel, I just want to know…will you marry me?”

“I…” you were trying to keep it together. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring box, popping it open to reveal the prettiest ring you had ever seen. Your breath caught in your throat and you couldn’t help but throw your arms around him as you hugged him tightly, “oh, my love. Yes - yes. Of course I’ll marry you. Nothing would make me happier.”

“Really?” he sounded so genuinely surprised that it caused you to laugh softly as you nodded at him. He kissed you, a messy, sloppy little kiss of pure joy, “that’s amazing. I-I can’t wait to marry you either. You make me so happy, clumsy girl.”

“Stop,” you watched in awe as he slid the ring onto your finger. You admired it for a second, and even though it was beautiful and you loved it, you loved nothing more than the man in front of you, “you’re going to make me cry even more. Steve, this past year with you has been better than anything. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Beautiful,” he kissed your newly ringed finger before kissing your lips, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Steve,” you put your hand on his neck, leaning in to press your forehead against his, “is this what’s made you so nervous, love?”

“Yes,” he admitted sheepishly, “when you asked if I was breaking up with you, I almost gave it up. I had the exact opposite on my mind. I never want to break up with you, angel. All I want to do is spend forever with you.”

“Forever sounds good,” you agreed, “can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“How long have you been planning this?” he laughed nervously, his face growing warm, “you can tell me anything.”

“A long time,” he sighed softly as you beamed at him, “pretty much from that first night. Is that crazy to admit?”

“Nope,” you took his hand in yours and held it tightly, “I’ve known since then too. When you know, you know.”

“I can’t wait to call you my wife.”

“I can’t wait to call you my husband,” this all felt like a dream; a beautiful, wonderful dream. But his warm, gentle touch told you that it was all very real, “I love you.”

“I love you, angel. Forever.”

“Forever.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #joe keery #joe keery x you #joe keery x reader #st #nurse!steve

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 10 months

Text

Playing Pretend (Part 5)

The wedding rehearsal brings more opportunities to show off a fake relationship with real feelings.

Roy Kent x Reader

1.7k words

Warnings: Language, mentions of champagne, tiny jealous moments, lots of fluff and pining

Series Masterlist

Dressed in his black slacks and button-down shirt, Roy sat on the bed, scrolling mindlessly though the pictures on his phone while you finished getting ready in the bathroom. He loved going back through pictures of the two of you; childhood photos your mum had found and sent to you both, posed photos with his sister or Phoebe or friends at parties, drunken selfies at pubs, Snapchats he’d saved, not caring that you could see. His favorite picture was taken a couple months after Jim had broken up with you, and Roy had taken you out to try to get your mind off things. You’d allowed yourself to get completely sloshed, knowing that, as always, Roy Kent would take care of you. After another shot of whatever you’d been drinking, you’d snatched his phone out right of his hand and brought him close for a selfie, planting a big kiss on his cheek as you snapped the picture. When he sent it to you the next day with a simple smiley face emoji, you were mortified, but he loved it. He even set it as your picture on his phone, so he could see it every time you called- which was never often enough.

“Is this too much?”

Roy nearly dropped his phone when he looked up. He’d seen you dressed up plenty of times over the years, and each time made him fall a little bit more in love. But this time he was caught off-guard by the way this dress- one he’d never seen- hugged every curve he’d spent far too much time thinking about. The sight of you in that tight dress was more than enough to make Roy forget to care about closing his dropped jaw.

His clearly impressed reaction made your heart slam against your chest. “Roy?” you asked, more of a nervous squeak this time.

The sound of your unsure voice brought him back. “Oh. No, no, not too much at all,” he rasped, shaking his head, as if that would somehow erase the million thoughts running through his mind. “You look fucking perfect.”

Your smile made things even worse. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” You held out your hand to him, letting yourself imagine, just for a moment, that this was real. That you and Roy were home- your place? His place? Maybe somewhere you shared?- and heading out to some sort of event. Maybe another wedding, one for people you actually liked. Maybe an awards ceremony. Maybe that big charity event his team held every year, the one you always secretly hoped he’d invite you to. And that the two of you would go out, and be exactly the way you were this weekend, and that you’d go home together at the end of the night, laughing and kissing behind closed doors, so in love.

Instead, you’d have to settle for your gorgeous fake boyfriend holding your hand as you headed down to the wedding rehearsal of your sister and ex-boyfriend.

You instinctively tightened your grip on Roy’s hand once you were out the doors and headed into the garden. For the millionth time, his warm breath was in your ear.

“I’m right here.” He punctuated his promise with a soft kiss to your temple; you let yourself melt into him, wishing you could just freeze time and stay right in this moment-

“We’re over here.”

Your sister’s blunt voice interrupted your moment of bliss. Roy let go of your hand in favor of wrapping his arm around you as you walked to the space set up for the ceremony, with white chairs and endless flowers and a lilac runner down the aisle. Somewhere in the back of your head, you thought about the way you’d envisioned your wedding: this same garden, those same chairs, maybe a soft pink runner, less flowers, more greenery. The pit in your stomach grew when you caught sight of Lauren in her pretty white dress, the one she’d sent you lots of pictures of, clutching Jim and beaming up at him triumphantly.

A soft “Oi” got your attention. Roy was smiling down at you.

“Today and tomorrow,” he started softly, “I will be sitting right there. And I will have my eyes on you, and only you, the entire fucking time. So, if you start to feel like you need an anchor, something to keep you steady, you just look at me. And I will make this fucking face at you.” He crossed his eyes and bared his teeth, an exaggerated scowl you’d often seen him share with Phoebe when they played.

The giggle that escaped your lips relaxed you. “Thank you,” you whispered, leaning forward to kiss his lips, the tips of your fingers tingling when he kissed you back.

He pulled back with a tiny, growling sigh, as if letting you go was killing him. “Right. Fucking go on then.”

With the feeling of Roy’s kiss still on your lips, you had to resist the urge to skip down the aisle where most of the wedding party was already assembled.

Paul winked when he saw you. “Yours is next, right?”

“We’ve only been seeing each other a couple of months,” you mumbled, trying to play cool.

“So?” Jen asked from Paul’s side. “You’ve known each other your entire lives and have been in love with each other forever. I can’t see the two of you wasting time with just dating.” She turned to Paul. “They’ll be engaged within six months.”

You let out a scoffing laugh, pretending that the idea didn’t sound like a dream come true. “You two really need to stop betting on my love life, okay?”

Before either of them could tease you further, Lauren called for everyone’s attention to start rehearsal. You snuck one more look at Roy, who sat about halfway back and had his eyes already glued to you, as promised. The moment your gazes locked, there was that silly face; you didn’t know you could fall any harder for Roy Kent, but, in that moment, you absolutely managed.

Even if he hadn’t made you a promise, Roy would not have been able to keep his eyes off of you at the rehearsal. It wasn’t just the dress you wore (though he wasn’t fucking complaining); it was you. It was knowing that after this he’d have an entire evening with you by his side, where he could kiss you all he wanted. Sure, he knew it wasn’t real, but did he really care? He’d worry about the aftermath on Sunday when he dropped you off at home, back to your normal lives where you were just friends. Where you saw him as just your best friend’s big brother.

He watched as you laughed at something your older sister said, pleased that you had at least a couple of people who made you feel comfortable up there. He tried his best to not feel some sting of jealousy when you locked arms with a groomsman, some friend of Jim’s who smiled a bit too big when he saw you and whose eyes wandered a bit too boldly. But any feeling of envy disappeared when you locked eyes with Roy and shot him a wink, an assurance that, at least as far as all the wedding guests knew, you were all his.

Once Lauren was satisfied with everyone’s ability to walk in a straight line and stand perfectly still while she and Jim exchanged vows, you practically ran to back Roy so you could head in for the rehearsal dinner.

“Fair warning,” you said in a light voice as his hand found its home on your waist. “Because everyone came up for the polo game, this thing is going to be as big as some people’s wedding receptions.” Your eyes wandered to one of the other bridesmaids, one of Jim’s cousins, the one that made you nauseous with how pretty she was. Especially when her eyes lingered on Roy’s handsome face for just a moment longer than was necessary.

“I don’t think I’ve said it often enough today, but you look fucking gorgeous,” he murmured as you entered the rehearsal dinner, where most of the other guests were already milling about with drinks in their hands as they waited for the bridal party.

Following your gaze as he often did, Roy noticed too. He also noticed the way your cheeks turned pink at the sight of another woman looking at him. He couldn’t resist feeling just a smidge of pleasure at the idea that you were, maybe, just a little bit… jealous?

Not that you needed to be.

Desperate for something to distract you from the butterflies in your stomach, you grabbed a glass of champagne from the large table of drinks and mostly picked over appetizers. “Oh stop,” you huffed, giving the inside of your cheek a small bite to keep yourself from beaming too widely.

Roy shook his head, grabbing himself a glass. “No, I’m fucking serious.” He took a long swig of champagne, craving a bit of courage. “Not saying it as your ‘boyfriend’ or your best friend’s brother or even your friend.” He averted his eyes, knowing he was crossing into dangerous territory as his growling voice went soft. “I’m saying it as someone who always thinks you’re the most stunning woman in the room.”

Your cheeks had never felt so warm. “Roy-”

“You two should find your seats.” Jim had appeared out of nowhere; he spoke to you both, but his eyes were glued to Roy’s hand on your waist. “Dinner’s starting in a moment.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Roy buried his face in your shoulder, his breath warm on your bare skin. “Yeah, thanks, Jim. We’ll get right on that.”

Jim simply rolled his eyes and turned away, quickly slaloming around the other guests who were still wandering around, until he was at Lauren’s side, at the ready, the ever-obedient fiancé.

“Come on, then,” Roy grumbled, urging you to the table where your family was seated. Everyone smiled- that knowing, mischievous smile you’d been seeing all weekend- as Roy pulled out your chair for you.

As annoyed as he’d been at Jim’s interruption, he willed himself to continue his doting boyfriend act- wondering if maybe, just maybe, in agreeing to come to this wedding, he’d accidentally stumbled upon the perfect opportunity to tell you how he felt.

He'd just need a lot more than one glass of champagne first.

#roy kent playing pretend #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fluff #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction

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beansmack2021 · 9 months

Text

Scrambled Eggs [Winchester!Sis!]

TW: Mentions of death, child abandonment/neglect, basically Sam completely abandons the reader after Dean's death (ignoring canon quite a bit, mb)

Dean didn't know where he was. He'd walked half a mile in every direction to see if he could find anything that'd give him a clue about his location, but there was nothing. He didn't have his phone on him, probably directly related to the fact that he had to claw his way up from underground. Unless some sick bastard decided to bury him alive (unfortunately more likely in his field of work than you think), then he'd died. He'd died and his younger siblings were left to bury him.

He probably would've been burned, but Y/N/N and Sammy were probably holding onto the fact that he'd come back before, so maybe he would this time, too. Y/N... he had no clue how long he'd been gone. She was only 15 when he'd apparently gone belly-up, she could be in her early twenties by now. He had no way of knowing until he saw her for himself.

He'd been wandering around for probably an hour or two, and he'd finally decided to just start yelling. "Cas!" Nothing. He cupped his hands around his mouth as if that'd make him louder. "Cas!" Still, absolutely nothing. 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘵, 𝘊𝘢𝘴. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶?

As if that was all it took to summon the angel, a bright light appeared behind him and he turned to see Castiel, still clad in his brown trench-coat. "Dean." He seemed relieved, not hesitating to embrace him, even though Dean was covered in dirt and grime. Dean gave Cas a look that told him to give him nothing but the truth. "How long have I been gone?"

"Six months. It's October 14th, now." Dean nodded. He hadn't been gone too long. He briefly considered that he may or may not have missed his little sister's sixteenth birthday. "You wanna give me a lift home?" The angel grabbed his bicep and there was a flash of light before they were standing in the main entrance to the bunker.

"Y/N?" Cas called. "I'm in the kitchen! Dinner's almost done!" Dean quirked his brow, following the angel down the stairs. "Since when does she know how to cook?" Cas glanced at him, trying to steel his expression, but Dean could tell something was up when he'd said "a few months ago" and left it at that.

"Wait here," Cas said when they were just out of view from the stove, where Y/N was making... scrambled eggs? "Eggs again?" Though Cas was posing it as a question, it seemed like he knew the answer. There was an uncomfortable silence before he heard a soft "it's all we had."

All they had? Sam hadn't taken the kid grocery shopping? "Might need more milk soon. There isn't too much left in here." She shakes carton of milk, and Dean can hear that there isn't much sloshing around in it. She tried to smile, but he could see that it was just a facade. He knew her tells, he could read her dejection. He didn't understand. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘴 𝘚𝘢𝘮?

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a small thud and a whispered "Shit." He watched as Y/N grabbed some paper towels and dropped to her knees, sniffling as she started wiping up a puddle of milk. Before he knew what was happening, he was in front of her, taking the wad of wet paper towels from her hand. "Hey now, kiddo. No use crying over spilled milk." She stumbled back, startled, her eyes widening as she took in his face.

She stared at him, stunned, not saying anything for several heartbeats. She opened her mouth to say something, closed it, opened it again, and still said nothing. "It's me, baby. It's me. I'm here." Tears welled in her eyes as she dove at him, tightly wrapping her arms around his middle. They stayed like that for a minute, before Castiel said "Y/N, your eggs are done."

She sniffed, wiping her nose with her sleeve. "Oh, right." She stood up slowly, grabbing the pan and turning off the stovetop. She scraped some eggs onto one of the two plates she'd set out, looked back at Dean, smiled to herself and scraped some eggs onto the other plate. Cas sat to her left, and Dean moved to sit at the chair on the other side of the plate she'd set before she stopped him. "What are you doing over there? This one is for you."

Dean looked at Cas for a second, then back at his little sister. "Isn't that one for Sammy?" She shook her head, shoveling some of the food into her mouth. She ate as if she were starving, the fork barely passing her lips before it was scooping up some more egg. "She, uh, set a place for you every night." Castiel was still awkward, more than he can tend to be usually.

"For a while, it was just me and Cas. It's nice to have someone else who actually eats to sit with me. No offense, Cas." Dean dropped the fork he'd just picked up. He snaps his head between Cas and Y/N. "Just you and Cas? Alright. What the hell is going on? Where is Sam?"

Y/N swallowed, wiped her mouth and shrugged. Dean's eyes bored into Cas's skull as he waited for an answer. "He's tried to stay off-the-grid. He doesn't want to be found. He said he needed to get-" Dean cut him off. "Where is he, Cas?"

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

Dean was pissed. He didn't have his car (Sam took it with him), so Cas had to transport the three of them to the dingy apartment complex his brother was supposedly staying in. He saw Baby, got even angrier, and stormed into the building to find Sam. He banged on the door and felt Y/N's hand slip onto his own. He glanced at her, and could see that she was unsure about meeting Sam. That made him even angrier.

The door was yanked open and they were met with Sam rubbing his eyes and squinting. He immediately dropped his hand. "Dean?" Dean snapped, letting go of Y/N's hand and grabbing Sam's collar.

"What the hell, Sam? You just up and leave her the minute I'm gone? You take the car, leave her with basically nothing, and you come to this piss-shack? Did you know that she was running out of food? Probably not, you didn't bother to check on her yourself. All she had left were some God damn eggs. Cas doesn't have actual money, and she didn't have a car to go out and try to hustle whenever she was alone."

"I kept the bunker clean." She mumbled from next to him. "What was that, sweetie?" Dean turned away from screaming in Sam's face to give Y/N his full attention. "I kept the bunker clean. I know he doesn't like messes. I thought maybe he'd come back so I'd didn't want it to be messy." Dean let go of Sam's collar, and Sam rubbed his neck. "Y/N, listen-"

"No, you don't talk to her. Right now, you're talking to me. What if something got into the bunker? Something she couldn't take on alone?" Sam was sinking into himself, looking truly guilty for the first time since they'd gotten there. "You fucking left her. She was alone other than when Cas visited once every, what? Three days? I died, you bastard. I didn't get a choice in whether or not I'd leave her. You did, and you chose wrong. Fucking apologize."

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I just couldn't-" Dean grabbed his collar again. "Did I ask you to explain yourself to her? No. You'll be explaining to me, later. Let's try this again."

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I shouldn't have left you. I'm sorry."

Y/N just stared forward for a minute. "I know."

#supernatural x reader #supernatural #spn #castiel #hintsatdestiel #sam winchester #dean winchester #john winchester #winchester sister #sister reader

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donteattheappleshook · 3 months

Text

(not so) young, drunk and alone 1/1

“Swan, it’s me. ‘M so sorry I ‘avnent called for… September, October, Nov… three months. Shit that’s too many months. ‘M sorry but I need your help. The sherrffeff won’t let me leave. He says you have to pick me up - well not you but ‘ynow someone. I don’t know anyone else. Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.”

(We'll give this a light M)

Oh hey, it's me, neglecting all the WIPs for something new.

This fic is a little birthday present to myself. It's completely ferral and I had very little control over it but I listened to Dial Drunk on repeat for 3 days and then this happened. This fic is unbetaed but thank you @the-darkdragonfly for answering all my texts and rambling calls while I was writing it!

A Silver hook story because apparently everything I write is now...

Read it on Ao3 (where my italics work)

******

(not so) young, drunk and alone

She shouldn’t be allowed to look at him like that. Not with a smirk caught between her teeth in a way that makes his throat dry and his pulse race. Not with the barely restrained promise of a laugh he’s sure would come out in different company that makes his face burn and and his eyes unable to meet hers. He can’t look at her when she looks like that, and she’s looking at him like that, and he looks - he assumes not great.

So he focuses on the floor instead. The floor is safe. The floor doesn’t stir up conflicting and confusing feelings he’s managed to ignore for the better part of a year. The floor doesn’t make him question every terrible decision he’s made in his life that led him to this exact moment. The floor is… moving. It’s not supposed to do that. Although that’s likely the booze, he rationalizes. But the floor isn’t interested in being rational so Killian lets his forehead fall against the bars he’s already holding onto in an attempt to stay upright. The bars are nice, they’re cool and solid and it slows the spinning in his head a fraction.

“Big night?”

He takes a full ten seconds, counted slowly, and a few deep breaths before raising his head again and facing that smirk. It doesn’t help. The absolute delight in her eyes delivers the same gut-punch it always does - even if it’s at his expense - and the soft blonde curls that have fallen from her probably hastily pulled up bun make him ache to reach out and brush them away from her face just so he can feel the strands between his fingers.

He shouldn’t have called her. He knew it was a mistake when he did it. He should have just let the sheriff keep him in this bloody cell. It’s not as if he hadn’t slept it off a night or two in another cell in another town throughout his youth. But he’s not so youthful now and the sight of the cold, hard bench, the thought of his aching back and the copious amounts of rum still coursing through his blood had been enough to send him over the edge into madness apparently. So he’d pressed the blurry little “absolutely not” in his contacts and called the only person he knew in this whole bloody city.

“Swaann.” He attempts a smile but it turns into a wince as he manages to slur the single word. When he works up to meeting her eyes again - so green, like the sea glass he used to collect on the beach when he was a boy and that takes his breath away every time - there’s a bit of pity mixed in with the amusement.

He feels pretty pitiful. Forty-five and so stumbling drunk that he’d been tossed out of the pub and into a police car, only to be forced to face the one person he’d hoped the rum would chase from his mind. He’s too old to be acting like this. Even with his wits sloshing around in the drink he’d tried to drown them with he knows he’s too old to be acting like this. When you’re young, it’s funny, an anecdote for another time - spending the night in the drunk tank. When you’re his age, it’s just pathetic.

“Alright, let’s get you out of here.” Her voice is sweet, with a laugh still hiding somewhere behind it, and it’s the first sound since he was brought here that hasn’t made his head feel like it was being scratched at from the inside.

“You shouldn’t’ve come here. S’the middle of the night,” he tells her. She doesn’t belong in this sad little room in this sad little jail with the lightbulb that keeps flickering in and out. Still, he can’t stop the stupid smile that finds residence on his face whenever she’s near - because she is here. She came to get him.

Emma raises a brow in a way he thinks she may have picked up from him. “You called me three times.”

He blinks. Fuck. He doesn’t remember that. He looks at the sheriff waiting a little ways back who nods in confirmation, giving Killian his own pitying wince like he tried to stop him. Killian sighs. “‘Mm usually much more charming.”

She rolls her eyes but smirks again as the sheriff slides a key into the ancient looking lock. “Yeah, I know. Come on, Graham’s going to let you off with a warning -”

He nearly falls flat on his face when the door he’d been leaning against swings open.

“You sure you’re gonna be okay with him, Em?”

Oh great, they know each other. He’d be more annoyed at her cozy relationship with the unreasonably attractive sheriff if he wasn’t a little bit grateful to the man who caught him and is still holding him up now. If he can just get his legs to go back under him where they belong…

“I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

Killian feels himself being passed from the man who smells strikingly of the forest, to the woman with the irreplicable scent of honey and drugstore soap that overwhelms him with the memory of every time he’s had his mouth or his hand on her skin. The fingers of his one remaining hand burn with the urge to feel her under them again so he balls them into a fist as she drapes his arm over her shoulders. “What about you?” It takes him a moment to realize that he’s who the question is directed at. “You going to be okay to walk out of here?”

Sheer determination not to make an even greater fool of himself than he already has in front of Emma Swan is the only thing he can attribute to both not falling right over with the nod of his head, and the steadiness of his first step as she leads him out the door.

He stumbles three times between the building and her car. She catches him every time with a hand on his chest, her head turning so that her hair brushes his cheek and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t do it on purpose after the first time - though he can’t really trust his own thoughts at this point since they have to be yelled at him through an ocean of rum.

“It’s your bug!” he beams at the old, yellow car. “I love your bug.”

“You hate my bug.”

Oh, right. He does hate the car that broke down every other time they drove to his hotel in the middle of the night, the one that had broken down the night they met. ‘I swear I’m not trying to stand you up. It’s just my car is literally on the side of the road right now and the tow won’t come for another hour at least and there’s… smoke.’

It had been an interesting night, getting an Uber in a strange city to go pick up a stranded woman from a dating app who'd been on her way to his hotel for anonymous sex - a woman he found out had lied about her age when she pointed out that the 1993 beetle was older than she was. ‘I didn’t think you’d swipe right if you knew there was a whole high school senior between us.’ ‘Anything else I should know about?’ he’d teased when they were back at his hotel room where she’d managed to get him out of his shirt with impressive speed. ‘Is Anna even your real name?’ ‘Uhhh, about that…’

She leans him up against the aggressive yellow of the door as she fishes in her pockets for her key. Her cheeks have gone red from the cold and it reminds him of the flush that would sometimes come over her skin if he found the right words or the right touch.

“You’re so lovely.” His thumb is tracing over her cheek though he doesn’t remember raising his hand or reaching for her.

She snorts. “Yeah, okay, Jones. So not gonna happen tonight, but nice try.” This time her smirk is wicked and if he had any real control over his body or his brain he would kiss it right off her smug mouth.

“I wasn’t trying to do anything!” he swears, prosthetic on his heart as she unlocks the passenger side door. “I’m just grateful you came all the way out here to rescue me. My knight in awful yellow armour.” He gasps. She rescued him from a dungeon. “Bloody hell, Swan -” He speaks slowly, managing to get almost every word out coherently. “I’m the princess.”

He’s waiting for her to come to the same mind-blowing realization as he has, but she just shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Get in the car, your highness.”

It takes an impressive amount of self-control for him to sit still and keep his hand to himself despite his racing heart and thoughts as she leans over to help him secure his seatbelt. Because he’s not supposed to have those thoughts. And his idiot heart can keep its cruel reminders to itself. He shouldn’t have called her. He hasn’t called her - not in months. Not since he realized his mistake and knew this thing between them had to come to an end.

He’s missed her so bloody much.

“Killian.” She’s beside him now in the driver’s seat and saying his name like it’s not the first time she’s asked him this question. “Where are you staying?”

“Oh, I…” Shit. He knows this. He’s got this. Think. There was a hotel. A big hotel with really good room service. Maybe they could go there and he could buy her room service. She always liked that. ‘Listen, I know I came over here for sex and that was great and everything, but there’s a freaking lobster grilled cheese on this menu so do you think I could be here for sex and room service tonight?’ She’d looked at him with that same wicked, eager smile and he was already reaching across her for the phone. ‘I feel like I should be concerned that you seem more turned on by this sandwich than you did by anything else tonight.’ ‘Well, it’ll probably take them a little while to deliver it if you want another go at out-seducing bread and cheese.’

“A hotel,” he tells her finally.

“Yeah, I kind of figured. Which one?”

“Which what?”

“Which hotel, Killian? Which hotel am I driving you to?”

“Oh.” He knows this one! “Mine.”

She sighs, forehead falling against the steering wheel for a long moment. He waits, not sure what he did wrong but positive that he did something. “Okay,” she says, sitting up and starting the car. “It’s late. You can sleep it off on my couch for tonight and I’ll drive you back in the morning when you’re less… wasted.”

She sounds frustrated and he thinks it might be his fault. He looks at her carefully as she turns out of the parking lot, really looks at her for the first time since she walked back into his life a moment ago. Holding his breath against the eyes and hair and skin that always try to steal it away, he takes note of her messy hair, the lack of any makeup, the grey sweats he knows she likes to sleep in. He looks at the clock next, the late - or rather early - hour shining angry, bright and orange. He can figure this out.

“I’m sorry.” He’s an idiot. She glances at him before turning back to the dark highway ahead of them.” “I shouldn’t have called you.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” He hangs his head, hoping he looks sincere and not just as pathetically pissed as he is. “I woke you up.”

“Really, Killian, it’s fine. I was just going to bed.” He looks at the clock again and he envies her youth not for the first time since meeting her. He supposes he’s up this late as well, but that wasn’t by choice. That was the rum’s decision. The rum always makes bad decisions.

“But it’s cold.” She must be cold. She’s always cold and he made her go outside. She hates outside. She probably hates him now. ‘Listen, I’m all for this whole hooking up when you’re in town no strings thing.’ She waved a hand in his general direction. ‘Big fan of everything you’ve got going on here. But it’s cold as balls outside, so from now on you can come to mine and I can stay inside where it’s warm, or I’ll see you in the spring.’

The smirking curl of her mouth tugs at her cheek but he doesn’t reach for it again. “Yeah, it’s November.”

November. The last time he saw her it had been the dead of summer, both of them hot and sticky and barely dressed, stretched out in front of the single standing fan by the bed in her little apartment with no bloody air conditioning.

He misses that apartment. Misses being there with her and letting her make him boxed mac and cheese while he complained about her eating habits. Misses the ridiculous sheets with little Millennium Falcons on them that she’d found when he was running late to meet her that one time. He’d made her wash them before putting them on her bed - ‘fine, mom’ - and then listened to her make Star Wars puns from between her thighs until they tightened so hard against his ears he couldn’t hear anything at all.

And he misses the way she would smile at him when she opened the door, just before she dragged him inside, asking about his flight between heated kisses and frustrated hands. ‘I hate your stupid ties’.

He’s a bloody idiot and he should have never stopped calling. Or he should have stopped calling a long time ago, before there was anything to miss. They had a good thing going, an understanding, no strings. He’d reach out when he was in town for work and they would meet for one or however many nights he was staying. No expectations or dates or sleepovers, none of the complicated stuff. And he’d screwed it up.

His feet slip dangerously against the icy ground - at least he’s pretty sure there’s ice, or the ground isn’t staying still again - as Emma practically hoists him out of the car. “You remember the stairs right?” she asks, ducking under his arm again to steady him. She fits well there with her arm wrapped around his waist.

He hadn’t remembered the stairs. Though he should have, he’d complained about them enough times. ‘What’s so wrong with an apartment with an elevator?’ ‘Aw, can your old knees not handle it?’ He’d caught her as she bolted up the last few flights at his glare, laughing the whole way, and he’d spent enough time on his ‘old knees’ to make her take it back. This time, he’s not so sure he can handle it as he looks up at the rotating stairs that seem unable to settle on a height.

“It’s either that or you’re sleeping in the lobby, Jones.”

He considers it. “Is that David guy still your landlord?” The one who was particularly hostile to the man in his forties coming over at random hours of the night to visit his twenty-eight year old tenant. ‘Give him a break, he still thinks I’m the sixteen year old kid he illegally rented to when I first moved here.’

In fairness, Killian would probably judge himself too if he were in the landlord's shoes. He has judged himself many times for becoming a stereotype of Dicaprio-sized proportions. But the alternative would have been resisting Emma Swan, something he’s incapable of doing - or at least had been until that morning he ruined everything.

“Okay.” The stairs are still moving.

“Hold on.” She takes out her phones - there’s definitely two of them - and holds them in front of his face. “I just want to get you on camera saying that I’m not liable if you fall down these stairs and break your neck.”

“Is that really necessary?” He got that whole sentence out in one try.

“I know you have a lawyer.” ‘You have a what? Wow, I knew you were older but I didn’t know you were like, old old.’ ‘I don’t think it counts if you’ve stolen from parent’s liquor cabinet.’

“Fine. Don’t sue Emma if I die. She’s very nice and doesn’t have any money anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“It’ll never hold up in court.”

“That would be way more convincing if you could pronounce all your consonants.”

The climb takes twice as long as it should and he’s forced to stop once when he makes the mistake of looking down and his stomach rolls violently. ‘I swear to god if you puke in my hallway I’ll leave you here to sleep in it.’

“I don’t remember there being this many floors.”

“It’s four floors. You’ve done two.”

He might die.

He doesn’t die, but just barely, and when Emma leads him through the door and into the studio, she practically drops him onto the old couch. It’s not her fault; he’d made himself very droppable in the last few minutes. At least he landed on the couch and not the collection of wooden crates she’s glued together next to it. ‘That’s not a coffee table, Swan.’ ‘Oh, I’m sorry, is that or is that not your coffee cup on it right now?’

He doesn’t see her for a few minutes, his head too heavy to lift, but he can hear her moving around the apartment and he can picture her, walking through the kitchen on her toes. ‘It’s not weird, shut up.’ ‘I just thought you’d like to know that most people use their whole foot.’

When she finally comes back, he forces his eyes open, unsure who exactly glued them shut or how they did it without him noticing. Fuck she’s beautiful. Even through the boozy marinade he’s made of his head he can see that, and he wants to tell her. He could. He could blame it on the rum. But that would be a bad idea. Complicating things between them would be a bad idea. They’d already gotten complicated enough. God, he’s such a fuck up. Things were good, they could have stayed good. He just had to go and ruin a good thing with his stupid, greedy heart.

“Here.” Two little pills and a frighteningly large bottle of water are set down in front of him. He’s not sure what the pills are but he’s also pretty sure she wouldn’t try to poison him even if he is an asshole who called her in the middle of the night after ghosting her for months. Pretty sure. The water sounds like a good idea.

“Have you eaten anything or did you have rum for dinner?”

“There were peanuts at the bar,” he tells her after guzzling down enough water to drown himself with. She shakes her head and walks out of his line of sight again. This time she comes back with a bag of crisps and he thinks maybe she doesn’t hate him as much as he thought because they’re the kind he likes most.

“Eat that, drink that, and take those,” she orders, pointing to each with a stern look. “And then lie down on your side so I know you won’t choke to death in the night, and get some sleep.”

“Yes ‘mam,” he salutes.

“Don’t get cute with me.” He wasn’t trying to be cute. But it makes him unreasonably happy that she thinks he is. She rolls her eyes at his probably once again dumb smile and repeats, “eat,” before disappearing where he can’t see her again.

When she comes back this time her hair is down, falling over the shoulders of her oversized Jonas Brothers t-shirt she’s apparently had since she was twelve, and he wants to whine or cry at how desperately he wishes he could reach for her and what an idiot he is for being the reason he can’t. She’s carrying an empty garbage can, a blanket draped over one arm.

“Do not puke on my rug. It’s the only new thing in this whole apartment and I love it more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life.”

Killian leans over from where he’s stretched out on the couch that’s too small for him, running his fingers over the blue and white pattern and nods. “It’s lovely, very soft.”

She’s silent for long enough that he looks up again, only to find her with her lips pressed so hard together against a laugh that he can see her chest lurch with the force of containing it. He frowns, looking from her to the rug and back again before realizing that he’s been stroking the rug with his prosthetic hand.

“Emma… I might be drunker than I thought.”

The laugh that bursts out of her is loud and horrible and obnoxious and it’s the best sound he’s heard in a long time. He’s missed that sound, the one that had shocked him so completely the first time he heard it that they’d both ended up on the floor, stomachs hurting and eyes tearing, neither able to remember what had set her off in the first place and unable to stop giggling like teenagers.

“Aw, babe,” Emma crouches down in front of him with a pitying look before beginning to work the straps of his false hand loose. Her hand settles soft against his cheek once it’s free, smirk still lingering on the corner of her lips. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been as drunk as you are right now.”

Her face is so close to his that his heart forgets how it’s meant to work, stopping and racing of its own accord. He wishes she would close the distance, that he could feel her mouth against his for the first time in months, or that she’d simply stay here with him for the rest of the night because the distance and the silence between them has been more than he can take. He doesn't know how he ever convinced himself that staying away would eventually make the ache for her fade.

She smiles at him again, giving his cheek an affectionate pat before draping the blanket over him, the soft one he knows had been her prized possession before the rug. “Get some sleep, Killian. I don’t think anyone’s ever been as hungover as you’re going to be tomorrow either.”

He’s not sure whether or not the way his fingers close around hers before she can pull away was his idea or the rum’s, but she’s looking at him, waiting for him to say something and he doesn’t know what he was going to say or what he was thinking. He just knows that he missed her and he screwed it up - and then he screwed it up again, possibly beyond repair the second time.

Being in this city that he managed to avoid for months in the hopes that he could forget about her has been one of the worst decisions he’s ever made. To think he really believed that he could live here, that he could take the job that was offered and not be haunted by her every waking moment, not dread and hope to see her around every corner.

Being naive enough to think he could ignore the draw of her is how he ended up in that bar tonight. He’d tried to figure out how many shots of rum it would take to make him forget that he loves Emma Swan, but it seems there isn’t enough rum in the world for that - or at least not enough in that bar.

She’s still looking at him and he wishes she wasn’t watching him with a hesitation and a carefulness that hadn’t been there before. It had always been so easy between them; he’d never felt less self-conscious with another person in his life and now it’s all consuming. She’s lost the carefree warmth he used to see in her eyes, like he took it with him when he left that morning and didn’t come back.

“I’m sorry.”

He can’t tell if it’s relief or disappointment in her sigh. “I already told you, it’s fine.”

He shakes his head. “Not for calling you tonight. For not calling you. Every other night. I’ve been an ass and I’ve been a coward. You didn’t deserve that.” By the grace of whatever gods might be listening to his poor apology, he doesn’t slur a single word.

Her pause is long enough that he worries he said the wrong thing, and he can’t read her expression through the haze of booze and exhaustion swimming around in his head. He should let go of her hand, but he’s painfully aware that this could be the last time he gets to touch her and she’s not pulling away.

She sighs again. “Why don’t we talk about this when you’re feeling better?”

He lets go. “Aye, Swan, whatever you want.”

She walks away. Beyond repair then.

***

Killian jumps, heart pounding. He feels like he’s woken from a coma, body so heavy with sleep that parts of it aren't responding to him and never having been more confused than he is in these first few moments. It’s daytime, but it’s not morning, the light is too dim, and he’s asleep but not in his bed or in his hotel room, on a couch he recognizes but can’t really place. He has a vague recollection of things that may or may not have happened while he lay here; the sound of someone moving around the room, someone saying his name, a door shutting, an angry car somewhere far off and the bark of a dog somewhere close, the sound of keys and the strange sensation someone poking him in the face - hard.

All of it feels like a fever dream now as he looks towards the tinny sound of the belligerent man’s voice coming from the phone in her hand.Oh no. Oh god what the hell had he done last night? He recognizes the room, the soft blanket he’s under, the long legs clad in grey sweatpants perched on the table in front of him. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to look at her.

“Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.”

If you’d like to save this message, press - there's a loud beep before another message begins to play. Bloody hell. He remembers the pub, and the cop - sort of - and he remembers that little line on his phone screen. ‘Absolutely not’. From the looks of it, he absolutely did.

“Heey, isme again. I don’t think I told you where I am. Is’not great, Swan. They put me in the jail.”

He winces, sitting up carefully, head still light and disoriented. “Did I…”

“Mhm.”

Another wince. “Are they all-”

“Oh yeah.”

“‘M not even that drunk. The sherfs just got a commpelex or something.”

“Swan, we really don’t have to -”

“Shh, this is my favourite part.”

Killian hangs his head. “I - Oy, I’m on the phone, sherirff! Don’ they teach you manners at cop school? The cops in your city are rude, Swan. Hey! No - iss my phone. I can call whoever I want.” There’s a shuffling sound that stirs up a faint memory of trying to back deeper into the cell, then a small shout and he remembers why his ass hurts and that he’s probably got a bruise on his hip the size of the one on his ego. Emma has her lip caught between her teeth again, flashing him the same look she had when she arrived at the station.

“Hello? Swan? Oh, right. Yur prolly asleep. You should be asleep, that’s good. I jus’ called ‘cus I…” For a blissful minute he thinks he might have had the sense to hang up, the silence on the other end dragging on and he almost breathes a sigh of relief. But then the message rings out again. “I can't remember why I called you. I think somethin’ made me think of you.” His voice gets softer and so does her expression for just a moment.

“That happens a lot. I been thinking ‘bout you a lot, all the time, really. And not just in a sexy way and not just yer face.” Killian hangs his head. “Even though I’m a fan of your face. And all your other parts too.”

He wishes he could just perish right here and now, wishes the dull ache in his head would become an aneurysm and take him out without a fuss.

“I been thinking about those ridic’lus tiktoks you used to send me and when I was in meetings ‘n I jus’ wanted to be with you. I don’t know anything about Taylor Swift anymore, Swan - I don’t know how to find those myself.” There’s another pause but he knows better than to hope this is over, much of this coming back to him now in mortifying waves.

“I’ve too many shirts in my closet now - It’s so many shirts. I always brought extra ‘cause I knew you’d steal ‘em an’ then you’d walk ‘round your kitchen in ‘em with no pants like yur a sexy Winnie the Pooh or somethn’ and I had to watch you climb yur counters while I had a heartattack ‘cuz you wouldn’ jus’ let me get things off the top shelf for you. Bloody stubborn.” There’s a sigh over the machine. “I don’t want this many shirts, Swan…

‘Anyway I - What? Who does? Sorry, Swan the sherf is being rude again. He wants to know if yur picking me up. Are you picking me up?” There’s so much hope in his past self’s voice that he almost feels bad for him. But he also knows what a bloody idiot that man is and it’s hard to feel anything but the overwhelming urge to disappear into this couch and not have to listen to any more of his drunken rambling. “That would be nice. But it’s okay if you don’t want to. I’d understand. Gnight, love.”

To delete this message press - She hits a button. Message saved.

Killian braces himself for the next one. Gods, how many of them are there? But this time it’s not his voice that comes out over the speakerphone, it’s another man, Irish and vaguely familiar through the sleep and the unfortunately returning memories.

“Hey, Emma, it’s Graham.” Killian’s heart drops into his stomach at the sound of another man calling her in the middle of the night. Of course she wouldn’t have sat around pining like he did, not for a man who treated her as carelessly as he had. Of course - “Listen, I don’t know who this guy is but he says he knows you. I thought maybe he was one of your clients but when I asked him how he knows you he just asked me if I’ve ever been in love...”

The brow Emma raises at him is equal parts question, challenge and amusement and he feels the blood rush from his face. Fuck. He wonders whether four floors would be high enough for him to end this misery if he just went out the window.

“Anyway, just let me know if this is another Walsh situation and I’ll make sure he stays in here, alright? Goodnight, love.” Killian can’t even begrudge the man or the endearment he adds to the end of his message when he’s only looking out for her. Probably a good thing she has someone to keep old, drunk dickheads away from her.

He hears another beep of her mailbox and braces himself for whatever’s coming next. “Hi, love, ‘m sorry for calling so much. I know I made too many ms’takes to be ‘loud to say this, but… I miss you, Swan… And I’d jus’ really like to see you again.”

End of messages. To -

Emma shuts the phone off, setting it down next to her on the coffee table. She tilts her head to see his face which he’s currently trying to bury in his hands. “Sounds like you had quite the night.”

“I thought I’d be more hungover.” His head hurts and he’s tired and his mouth is dry but he expected to be near death after the way he threw them back last night.

“It’s four in the afternoon.” Oh. He does the math of how long she’d let him sleep in her apartment after everything he’s done - after she picked him up.

“At one point I had to make sure you were alive. But I figured if you were able to leave such eloquent voicemails last night that you probably weren’t in danger of alcohol poisoning.”

“Swan, I…” He’s fully aware that he deserves her mocking but he’s too humiliated to even begin to try and explain his behaviour last night. How can he without explaining everything right down to that morning in July where he messed up the best thing in his life.

She takes pity on him, giving a small shrug. “Forget about it. Everyone says stupid stuff when they’re hammered. Everyone calls people they know they shouldn’t.”

“No, Emma -” He finally lifts his head to look at her. “That wasn’t…” He needs her to know that wasn’t what this was, she wasn’t just some drunk dial in the middle of the night. He thinks of how many times in the last three three months he’s looked at that contact in his phone, her name replaced with a reminder that he should not and absolutely could not go there. She mistakes his hesitation.

“You okay?”

“No.” He needs to talk to her, to apologize and beg her forgiveness. But he can’t find the words in his tired, muddled head to tell her without telling her everything. “I’m a bloody idiot.”

Emma smirks. “Yeah, we established that last night - a bunch of times.”

“I mean it. It wasn’t -” He rubs at his eyes, trying to clear the sleep and avoid looking at her. “I didn’t just call you because I was drunk. I’ve wanted to call you. For months. Last night just gave me an excuse.”

“You needed an excuse to call me?”

He sighs. “I was coward enough to convince myself I did.”

When he finally forces himself to face her, he finds her watching her phone, fingers wrung in her lap and lips pressed together tightly the way they always are before she asks something that’s answer matters to her.

“How much of last night do you actually remember?”

“Most of it, I think.” It’s been coming back to him in increasingly horrifying details since she played that first voicemail.

“You said a lot of stupid stuff.”

“I know.”

“How much of all of that was true?”

“All of it.”

She raises a brow. “All of it?”

“Aye.”

“Sexy Winnie the Pooh?”

A smirk tugs at his mouth. “I stand by what I said.”

He wonders which parts of what he said she’s focusing on as her silence stretches between them, heartbroken when he sees a little wall go up. This is why he stopped calling. He knew this would happen.

“It’s fine. It’s not like you owed me anything. We weren’t -”

“Don’t do that.” His hand reaches out for her, fingers playing carefully with the fabric of her too-big sweatpants. “We may not have been in a relationship but we weren’t nothing.” He won’t let her excuse his behaviour, not after they spent over a year in each others’ lives only for him to disappear from hers. “I shouldn’t have acted like we were.”

“So then why did you stop calling?” It’s the most vulnerable he’s ever heard her sound even though she hides it well and he can’t bring himself to look at her. “I liked what we had going. I liked spending time with you.”

“Aye, so did I.” Too much.

“I guess I thought - I guess I thought we were friends at least.”

“We were.” His fingers dance along her calf through the fabric he can’t stop fiddling with and he feels the muscle tense but she doesn’t pull away from him.

“So then what gives?” The anger in her voice makes his gaze snap up to hers. Finally. He’s been waiting for her to be angry with him, she deserves to be angry and he deserves it too. It gives him that small flicker of hope he’d been unable to find until now, a hope that if she’s angry, it’s because she cared enough to be hurt. “Why did you just…” She gestures vaguely with her hands. Disappear.

“Because I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Do what? Hook up? Jesus, Killian, I’m a big girl. You didn’t have to run away because you were over the benefits part of this friendship.”

“I wasn’t. I left because I broke our rules.”

“What rules?”

The ones they’d so carefully established when they decided to continue this arrangement beyond the first and second time he saw her. The ones that were meant to keep either of them from getting hurt like they both were now.

“The last time I was here, we fell asleep and woke up in the morning still in your bed and I…”

“That’s why you freaked out? Because you accidentally slept over? That’s a bit dramatic don’t you think?” He can hear the disbelief in her voice and also the relief but he’s not done. “It wasn’t like a hard and fast rule -”

His fingers curl around the back of her knee, squeezing as he draws her attention. “That’s not why.” He traces his thumb over the fabric covering her shin and he knows he has to tell her because he can’t do this anymore without telling her and he can’t go back to how things were.

And he thinks that just maybe, she’ll want to hear it. Because as small and insignificant as it may seem, those aren’t her sweatpants, they’re his, lent - stolen - after a rather frantic afternoon in his hotel room six months ago where he may have torn her skirt in his haste to get it off. ‘You need better quality clothes, love.’ ‘Is this you finally offering to be my sugar daddy?’ They have his bloody initials on them - a strange gift from his lawyer friend. And she hasn’t gotten rid of them, didn’t toss them away when he did the same to her. She still sleeps in them.

“I freaked out because I liked waking up with you, and I started thinking that I’d like to wake up with you every morning.” He’d been hot and sweaty and sore from sleeping on her old mattress but he’d looked down at the woman wrapped around him despite the stifling heat, her cheek pressed to his chest and her hair in his mouth and he knew that he wanted this, wanted her, maybe forever. He hears her small intake of breath, his thumb still stroking her skin though the fabric as though it’ll give him the strength he needs. “And I hadn’t felt that way about anyone since…” He can’t finish and so she does for him.

“Milah?”

“Aye.” His reason for never wanting anything more, love lost in the same instant that cost him a piece of himself. He’d told Emma about her, one night when they’d lingered a little too long entangled in the aftermath. He didn’t know the details of her reason, only that she’d been far too young and that he’d hurt her deeply enough to make her wary of anyone who claimed love or devotion.

“I hoped that if I stayed away for a little while that it would fade away and that we could go back to how things were because I knew that if I told you I would lose you. But the longer I stayed away, the more I missed you and the more I wanted you and I realized it wasn’t going to go away - because I loved you.”

Killian watches her for a reaction as he tells her the truth he’d been hiding from her for months and from himself for far longer, but she remains unreadable, fingers still wringing nervously in her lap, breathing a little shaky. But there’s no abject terror in her gaze as she waits for him to finish.

“And by then I’d avoided you for too long and it was too late to tell you or try to go back to how things were and I lost you anyway. Then I managed to convince myself that it was for the best because this wasn’t what you wanted and you deserved better anyway.” Better than an old widower with a used up heart who’d run the moment things became real. “But I thought you had the right to know that I didn’t leave because I didn’t care about you. I left because I cared too much.”

Fabric slips from his hand as she stands, circling the coffee table and leaving him feeling untethered without her and with a barrier set between them. He focuses on the rug, her reaction expected but no less painful, as she paces the length of her glued together crates a few times.

“Okay two things.” Her tone snaps his gaze up to where she moves anxiously and restlessly in the small space. “First of all, that’s the last time you make a decision for me.” He hadn’t expected this reaction. “I don’t need anyone to decide what I do or don’t deserve or what I can or can’t handle. If you want to know what I want, you ask me. You talk to me like the grownup you keep pretending that you are.” That one hurts but he nods. It’s all rightly earned.

“You’re right.”

“Good.” She stops, shoulders squared as she faces him from across the table. “Second.” He waits, the anger from before no longer sustaining her as he sees the wall she hides behind slip just a little. “You said you loved me.”

He’s not sure what answer she wants, but he gives her the truth. “I love you, Swan.” Try as hard as he did not to, he knows it’s not going away. And he’s not willing to attempt another eight shots of rum a second time to make sure.

She nods. He waits, or she waits, he’s not sure who’s supposed to speak here only that he needs to know how she feels and he’ll wait as long as he needs to.

“Well? Are you going to ask me what I want?”

“What do you want?” He’d give her whatever she asked for at this point as he watches her bite her lip and definitely doesn’t wish he was the one biting it.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Fair enough.

“Look, I get running away from feelings - I’m very familiar with the concept. But the way you did it was really shitty and -” Her voice goes quiet, arms wrapping around herself in a move so full of self-preservation that it breaks his heart a little. “It hurt, okay?”

Her words, thick with betrayal and rejection, pierce sharp through his chest, painful and deserved as she avoids his gaze as determinantly as he’d avoided hers. God, he’s an ass. He’d pieced together enough about her past from the small glimpses she’d given him late on those nights where they were still tangled naked in her sheets and the dark lent them the boldness to be vulnerable to know that she’d been left before.

He joins her on her side of the table, reaching to touch the soft, golden waves that he’s spent months wishing he could tangle his fingers in again. “I’m sorry.” He pushes them behind her ear, thumb stroking over her cheek like her skin could break beneath his touch.

When she looks up at him her eyes are red and wet he pulls her to him without thinking. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, Emma feeling fragile in his arms for the first time since he met her. She’s a force, his Swan, a tempest that could devour a thousand ships and it hurts to see her storms wane.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter, pressing a kiss to her temple as he brings a hand to stroke the hair at the base of her neck, feels her lean into him. “I’m sorry,” he speaks against her brow. “I’m so sorry, love.” His lips brush over the crown of her head and he feels her arms slip around his waist, holding tight to the back of his shirt. He holds her just as tightly, nose settling in the crook of her neck where he presses another kiss and whispers a thousand more apologies. “I’m an ass.”

“Yeah, you are.” Her voice comes muffled from where her face is pressed against his collarbone and he laughs in relief to hear her tease him. He pulls back enough that she can lift her head to face him, eyes still red as he wipes at the dampness left on her cheeks. All he wants is to kiss her and spend the night and the next day and every day after that making this up to her, but he knows better than to push her.

Her hands slide from his back to his chest as she meets his gaze and takes a steadying breath. “I still don’t know what I want. You’re not the only one who’s bad at dealing with feelings and you just put some pretty big ones out there.”

“I know.” He doesn’t expect to hear the words back, not after three months of silence. But if she gives him the chance to stay and try to win her heart then he’ll spend forever earning back her trust.

“But maybe, if you’re still in town for a bit, you could stay for dinner.”

It takes everything he has to contain the ecstatic smile that wells up from his chest, afraid he’ll scare her off. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.” He’s not leaving her again. Not unless she sends him away.

***

“When do you go back?” she asks when they’re sat at the kitchen island. ‘What, exactly, do you have against real furniture? Especially tables. They seem particularly discriminated against.’ ‘Do you see any room in here for a twelve-piece dining set?’ He swallows the bite of the boxed mac and cheese she’d made him cook ‘Because I’m still pissed at you and I’m going to enjoy watching you suffer through this.’ ‘Sadist. Can I at least add -’ ‘No.’

Killian looks at his watch. “My flight was an hour ago.”

“What? You should have said -”

“And miss all the delicacies that Maine has to offer?” he asks, lifting his mismatched bowl. “It’s fine, Swan,” he adds when she looks genuinely concerned. “I’d rather be here.” He can get another flight at the last minute before he’s due back in New York on Monday. Getting his things back from the hotel, however, may be a tad more difficult.

“That’s sweet and all but I think you’d also rather be employed.”

“Aye, well, I may not be employed there much longer anyhow.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh god, don’t tell me you left them voicemails too.”

Killian snorts. “No, I’ve just… had another offer.”

His heart pounds frantically as she asks, “where?” terrified that he’ll scare her off.

“Here.”

“Here?”

He nods. “I wasn’t going to take it, not after realizing how much I’d miss you if I was here. But, well, that was before I drank a full bar. And this town does have its benefits.”

She gapes at him and he can see the thoughts racing behind her eyes. “You’re not moving for me, right? You want the job? Because I told you I don’t know what I want or if I can even do… whatever this maybe is and I -”

He reaches for her hand, calming the rambling that had started. “I do want the job, but of course I’m moving for you, Swan. And I know you’re not ready to decide anything, and I’m not asking you to. But whether you do or don’t decide that what you want is me, I’m going to be right here while you figure it out. I’m not going to leave you twice, Emma. I don’t want to miss you like that again.”

Emma just stares at him, mouth opening and then shutting with questions that don’t find voice and he sits, stewing in the worry that he said too much, asked for too much. He swallows as she jumps out of her seat, his turn to ramble now as she rounds the island.

“I mean, I will have to go home and get my things and resign but I -”

“Shut up,” she tells him, hands sliding into his hair and mouth colliding with his.

He’s more than happy to do exactly that, wasting no time in gathering her up in his arms and pulling her close, returning the kiss he’d missed so damn much all these months, missed the feel of her soft and warm against him like this, for the little sound she makes when his own hand tangles in her hair just hard enough that he can keep he there a little longer.

“Wait,” he breathes and her hands pause where they’d been working the buttons of his shirt free. “Maybe we should slow down.” There’s a part of him screaming at his stupid mouth right now for the words falling out of it. “You said you don’t know if this is what you want. So maybe we shouldn’t rush things.”

She barks out a small laugh. “You’re moving to another city for a ‘maybe’ and you don’t want to rush things?” He doesn’t really have an answer for that.

Her brow and mouth quirk up in one devastatingly attractive motion that has him ready to go back on everything he just said. “This was never our problem,” she reminds him, fingers tugging the buckle of his belt loose. “We’re good at this part. Everything else is where we get messy.” She works the button of his jeans open next. “So just try not to make any more big confessions while you’re inside me…” She runs her teeth over the skin below his ear as she slides her hand into his jeans and he nearly chokes. “And we should be fine.”

“Bloody hell.” His rational self may judge him later, but his current self has Emma Swan with her hand around his cock trying to get him out of his clothes and he’s already established that he’s not a very smart man. “I promise.”

***

It’s a strange feeling to be laying here, wrapped up in an old duvet and Star Wars sheets with Emma’s head on his shoulder and her fingers drawing patterns over his chest. They’ve never done this part, never lingered beyond the time it took them both to catch their breaths before untangling themselves from one another and going about their day - or tangling themselves again. He likes it, but it’s strange, new, something he hasn’t done in a long time. Not with anyone.

“This is kind of weird right?” she asks, breath warm against his neck.

Killian laughs. Bloody mind reader.

“Aye, a bit. I think I’m out of practice.”

“I never practised in the first place.”

He presses a kiss to her hair. “But, it’s not bad, right?” She can probably hear his stupid heart racing as he waits for her answer.

“No,” she shakes her head, sliding her arm around his waist and fitting herself more snugly against his side. “It’s not bad.” He can feel her smile against his skin, glad she can’t see the absolutely ridiculous one stretched across his own. They lay there a little longer, the room darkening with the earlier and earlier nights as he begins to dread the fast approaching hour where he’ll have to leave, until Emma shifts. “My neck hurts.”

“My arm’s asleep.”

She sits up and his arm is flooded with the sudden relief of no longer being squished, but he misses the warmth and the closeness of her immediately. He has two arms. Who really needs both? He’s done fine with one hand. “Where are you going?” he asks when she rises from the bed, reaching for his shirt that she tossed on the floor and he made himself leave there. ‘Do not fold your clothes while we’re in the middle of having sex or I swear I’ll put mine back on you fucking weirdo.’

“Thirsty,” she says as she finishes buttoning it. “You?”

“Aye, thanks.”

“Water? Or would you prefer rum?”

“Hilarious.” His stomach rolls, not finding her so funny. She certainly seems to think she is, smirking as she fetches two water bottles from the fridge. “You know you’re going to have to give me my shirt back this time. It’s the only one I’ve got.” At least until he finds out if the hotel hung onto his suitcase when he missed his checkout. “Unless you have the others squirrelled away here somewhere.”

“I thought you had ‘too many shirts, Swan,’” she reminds him in a poor imitation of his accent and he rolls his eyes. She hops back onto the bed, climbing into his lap to sit astride his hips. His hand and wrist settle on her waist, the shirt in question riding up and making him groan at the feel of her pressed against him.

“Aye well I’ve only got the one to wear out of here tonight and while you look infinitely better in it than I do -”

“Like a sexy Winnie the Pooh, would you say?”

He sighs. “I’m never living that one down am I?”

“You want to show me your hundred acre wood?” Killian lets his head fall back against the headboard as she laughs herself silly. “I have another solution,” she tells him, hands wringing nervously in the sleeves of his shirt. “I was thinking, maybe, since you’ve already missed your flight, and you probably don’t have a hotel room anymore, that you could stay here tonight. And maybe we could give that whole waking up together thing a shot.”

Her cheeks are flushed, freckles bright against the soft pink as she looks up from her hands to catch his eye. He kisses her hard enough that she’d have fallen right off his lap were it not for his arms holding her steady and close to him.

“That a yes?” she asks, mouth curling against his and he catches that smirking bottom lip between his teeth like he’s wanted to since she showed up at the station.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

She nods and it’s him smiling against her mouth now. “For tonight at least. But I think there’s still a lot of grovelling in your future before it becomes a regular thing.”

He kisses her again, rolls her onto her back beneath him. “Then I’d better get started right away,” he says, lips finding the length of her neck as he begins to work free the buttons of his stolen shirt.

“Well, you did promise you would write poetry about my boobs.”

“I what?” He looks up only to see her wearing the same confused frown as himself before her eyes widen with laughter and she covers her mouth with her hands.

“Oh my god. You haven’t seen your texts have you?”

Fuck.

*******

Tagging the usual people but let me know if you want to be removed or added!

@kmomof4 @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @undercaffinatednightmare @jennjenn615 @dramioneswan @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @kazoo5480 @lfh1226-linda @csalltheway @xsajx @xarandomdreamx @onceratheart18 @ownedbycaptainswan @teamhook @pirateprincessofpizza @lostintheskyfaraway @zaharadessert @thejollyroger-writer @ultraluckycatnd @justanother-unluckysoul @spartanguard @jonesfandomfanatic @deckerstarblanche @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @wefoundloveunderthelight @sailtoafarawayland @tiganasummertree @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @superchocovian @snowbellewells @xellewoods @sals86 @karlyfr13s @ouatpost @skairipakomtrikru @lonelyspectator12 @anmylica @alexa-fangirl-forever @inspiredbystardust @marcella2727 @paradiselady19 @koryandr @killiansprincss @goforlaunchcee @motherkatereloyshipper

#captain swan #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #cs angst #but also just a lot of funny drunk Killian #killian jones #captain hook #emma swan #this thing is ferral guys #I don't even know what this is but I hope you like it #silver hook #silver killian

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