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moondirti · 15 days

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simon sees a familiar face. (AO3 mirror) tags: darkfic. ghost x nude model! reader. (given a stage name but no discerning characteristics.) violent intrusive thoughts. objectification. rough sex. marking. dacryphilia. possessiveness. dubcon photo sharing.

It's the slip of her skin in his periphery. Moisturised, gold shimmer body glaze. Tucked up against the bar and nursing a negroni in both hands, her dress riding high up on her thigh. Sticks out like a sore thumb in a pub like this, where seedy men come to drink their woes away. Just a little too clean, prim and perfect polish. Pretty enough to make his teeth hurt.

He has to do a double take before he can be sure. Where he would know her calves, those hands and varnished nails, anywhere, he can hardly believe it until she turns a quarter angle and her face comes into full view. Lips he's seen perked up and glossed into erotic O's. Eyes so often half-cast and sultry, lined in kohl, that it's odd to see them wide like this; looking around, searching for something.

Yeah. Simon knows her. Knows her like the grip of a gun, the rip release of a hand grenade, the flat lining of barrack cot mattresses. Knows her so well that his cock chubs up in an almost pavlovian response, fat and heavy and leaking already, like a bloody sixth former seeing a pair of tits for the first time. In all honesty, this might just be the equivalent for a man like himself. Aching jowls, frothy lips. Ageing, dirty beast – thrown the most delectable fucking bone.

Because it's her. Cut straight from the centrefold of his favourite magazine and pasted a mere four feet away. Just as alluring, as provocative as she is in the poster he'd gifted Johnny on a deployment birthday. The object gracing every page not adhered together with dry cum. The one thing that gets him – and frankly, every other mutt on the task force – through long missions.

He throws back the last of his bourbon and slips his mask back over his chin. The haunt is emptier than usual. He assumes the big guy by the doorway is responsible, no doubt hired to follow her around and scare the creeps away. Simon must count as one – if his intentions, latched like filthy claws in his stomach, are anything to go by – but he's also bigger. Bolder. Probably has tattoos that outlast her bodyguard's experience in the field. So he takes his chances as he stretches up and prowls up to where she's sitting.

"Selene Harlow." It's a stage name, of that he's certain. But he has nothing else to call her by, not having fallen short of searching for her true identity. She's good at keeping herself safe from perverts like him. A good fucking girl, if not a little minx.

"Only on the clock." She smiles softly, dipping the orange peel in and out of her drink. It looks untouched, glass sweating onto the bar top. He thinks of holding her head back by her hair and knocking the concoction down her throat. "You don't look like my date."

Simon makes a sound. "No' your usual type, then?"

"I didn't say that." Her dress is low cut, bandage tight. When she breathes in, he devours the way her chest heaves out of the material. Begging to pop free, or else be ripped open right here. He can't imagine she would be opposed to being stripped in public. Not with her breasts plastered on a million different publications, issues displayed in the illicit material case behind every gas station counter.

"Well, he must be soft in th'head."

She shrugs. "Don't sound so surprised." Simon wonders, if he were to press his thumbs down onto each collarbone, how much pressure it would take to snap them in place. He's always liked the delicate arch of her shoulders, the swan-like column of her neck. With how he fixated he is on them now, he can hardly place the dejection in her voice. "Not a lot of people wanna go out with a girl who does what I do. It was only a matter of time before he found out."

"Can' be too pissed at him, a'suppose."

"Hm?"

"His loss is my gain."

"Aha." A flash of teeth. She turns on the bar stool to fully face him, and her knees knock his. Soft fucking legs, plush like a chew toy and he knows– he knows what they look like completely nude and spread open. But nothing could've quite prepared him for how different it is to see them in real life. To see her – real, fleshly, blood full – and not be able to take. Have to hold himself back despite the way he's pumped himself raw to her arse almost a hundred times now. He lost the plot some time ago. His mind must think of her as his. "Is that what this is?"

And what is this? Simon doesn't have a name for it. All he knows is the way his head itches, the tantalisation crawling in his skin. The sheer self-restraint it takes not to pocket her home and chain her to his bed. He wants to dig his teeth into her cheek.

Instead–

"Could be."

"I think that's up to me." She crinkles in a wily little smile and he chuckles because it's funny. Funny because she takes him to be a good man. But with the way her bodyguard is eyeing him from across the room (fucking muppet), he knows that's not the quality he's projecting. There's the urge to crack a sick joke, something about clipping a bird's wings, just to see her pick up on the rot he carries with him. "You military?"

"Tha' obvious?"

"Hm, no. Wild guess." She straightens her back and the vague gesture she makes with her wrist is enough to drive him up a wall. It sets a timer, ticking time bomb, in his brain that'll detonate if he doesn't get his nasty old hands on her waist. Thirty seconds on the clock. He can never be patient when it comes to sweet things. "Your... stature. And I tend to be popular with servicemen, anyway. What's your name?"

"And why do you wan' to know my name, bird?"

She flutters her lashes, pointedly looking down to where he's bulging in his jeans. Bird is right. She shines like one with pretty feathers, begs to be plucked, because why else would mother nature create things like her if not to appease men like him?

"Figure you'd want me to moan it later."

And it's like watching one fly into a cage on its own accord. His blood boils hot and thin, flooding his head until his eyes strain with something ferocious. "Why wait." Simon says. He can't wrap an arm around her waist fast enough, scooping her from her seat and wrapping her tight against his side. Tight enough that, if she changed her mind, she wouldn't be able to flap her way out of it. "Name's Simon, and there's a bathroom 'round back."

It's nasty. Depraved. Graffiti lines all four walls and it's no coincidence that the one he pins her up against looks the filthiest. Something in him craves to see her degraded (the same part that marked a picture of her in black ink, chicken-scratch body writing proclaiming her as his), brought down to the same peg that he occupies. Beasts with too much baggage stored in their marrow. Humans, men, with moral compasses that skew a tad too far left. Animals. Animalistic.

"I don– Don't usually do this..." She breathes, excuse stuttered through little whimpers as he mouths at her jaw. Maybe she's afraid of living up to her name, or whatever image Selene Harlow projects. Not a prostitute, he can almost hear her say. Tastes the fear of misconception, sour on otherwise tart skin. He hums and tugs her breasts free with one, scarred paw.

"Doesn' really matter, bird. Were fuckin' made for it." He squeezes the two mounds, pinches knotted nipples and rolls them between his fingers until she cries. Her voice breaks in little bubbled sobs – starts crying so fast that, christ, it must be some sort of record – and he aches in his trousers. Ready to burst if he doesn't bully his cock into a hole soon, just like she's been ready to be unravelled all night. "Made to be mine, yeah? Bloody 'ell, jus' look at you."

Frayed little tapestry. If he weren't so mad with lust, he'd obsess what drove her to this point. What brought her to some shitty pub in Manchester to meet a good for nothing lemon. Why she mewls and completely melts into him when he slaps her tits, just to see the way they jiggle. He's an ugly bastard, definitely punching just by breathing the same air as her, and yet she's so perfectly willing. Flaying herself open, skinned alive. Gasping selfish gulps of air when he finally pulls off his mask to sink his canines into her shoulder.

He's so used to seeing her posed, perfectly still. To have her like this, a trapped worm underneath him, feels like concentrated lightning on every artery. Overstimulating. Paralysing. He never thought he'd see the day where she exposes herself in motion: folding her dress up over her wide hips, slipping soaked panties down to her ankles.

(In fact, he vividly remembers brooding over an interview her magazine had added to the corner of a cover page, once. Selene Harlow tells all! Answers inquiries on video pornography and more!

I don't think I'm the right person for that sort of scene. Not much of an actress, I'm afraid.)

Not that her feigning was ever a concern. Simon knows the giddy gossamer over her eyes can't be artificially replicated. She's too clumsy, too amateur in the way she readies herself for him. Used to doing all this prep in a frilly dressing room with apathetic staff members directing her. Sways a bit on her heels and holds onto his thick forearms as she widens her stance. He stands until she's steady, then drops to his knees in search of the star of this show.

And the sight is as much a bludgeon to his self control as seeing her for the first time was, trigger for the feral mongrel that barks and chomps on his ribcage. Her cunt is just as perfect up close in this grimy bathroom as it is well lit, professionally oiled, and printed on coated paper. A little fuzzy, swollen enough that it flowers open for him on its own. Shyly inviting him to dig his nose right under her clit and inhale, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the scent of her, undiluted. Salivate blooms around his teeth.

When he flattens his tongue against it, she tries to find purchase in the roots of his shorn hair. Nails scrambling along the buzzcut until she forfeits and clamps her hand behind his ears, head thrown back to knock against the wall. If he were a nice man, he would spend hours buried between her legs. Sated by licking her slick from its source, like a kitten given a bowl of cream. Would make her cum until she forgets how to keep quiet, until she screams his name loud enough for the world knows their muse is off the market now.

But if he were a nice man, he wouldn't be defiling her here. He would've taken her out to the Greek place that never seems to have room for him alone, and then back to her apartment, where he'd drop her off with a chaste kiss and a promise to call her tomorrow.

So Simon combs through her lips once, twice, three times. Coats her in enough spit to be able to shove two fingers with little fuss, and scissors them apart. The little thing stretches to accommodate his ministrations immediately, clutch swallowing him up to the second knuckle and sucking around him when he spreads her hole for his leering eye. It's cute – so fucking cute how she clenches and keens and cries. Neck arched up above him. Apple of eden, blank canvas. His fingers leave her cunt as he rises to bite into it.

(Truthfully, she could've done with more prep. She wasn't lying when she said she doesn't do this often, whatever this is. But the way silver pebbles brim on her lash-line makes his chest twist, the dog rearing on its haunches, ready to pounce – and he thinks he'd like to see her babble in pain as he splits her open on his cock.)

"Gonna take you home after this, y'hear? Fuck you well 'n' good, all proper like. Fold ya over a mattress and print my cock on your guts, birdie. Never let you forget it. "

"S-Si! Simon, please. I n-need..."

Ichor beads in the shape of his teeth, streaking oxygenated red down her throat. He makes a mess of it, smearing it across the marred patch of skin, and brings the fluid up to her face to rub it into her cheek. The type of marking he'd reserve for his third or fourth going with someone – if anyone ever lasts that long – but is absolutely necessary right now. Here, with her. Technically their hundredth something time together, if he were deranged enough to count the various times he'd spent himself over her spreads.

But nothing can supersede the truth of the matter. He streaks blood along her face and licks it off in a show of merciless possession. Pretty things like her get plucked off streets and ruined everyday, despite her cynicism on her value, and he can point to at least three other men by name who would slaughter to be in his place. Best to stake his claim now, clamp a collar on the exotic fowl he pulled down from the sky.

"Need wha', hm?" His tongue laps at her cheek, laving over the contour of her nose and swiping right under her eye to catch the tears that freely fall. She winces when he gets too close, hands faltering along his waistband.

"Your... d-dick. Please, please. Just wanna be fucked, Simon."

He plants a rough kiss onto her mouth, all teeth and tongue, and finally ladles himself free of his jeans.

Just wanna be fucked.

Daft, silly girl.

She should've chosen anyone else.

It takes a bit of pressure to feed himself into her cunt, pinning either leg to the sides of his hips as he guides his cock toward the opening. If she was putty before, she's positively liquid now, boneless rag doll slumped onto him. Dead weight. Letting him take control of this fight. Content to do nothing, slack-jawed and empty eyed as her hot walls come to embrace him completely. Her breath halts, the air recalibrating to just the sound of his ragged grunts, and he considers it an invitation to wrap a fist around her neck.

"I'll do more than jus' fuck you, pretty thing. Won' ever let you out of my sight."

And he means it.

It's impossible to withdraw completely from her – vacuum sealed too tight, too good, around him. So he fucks in short thrusts instead, snapping his pelvis back, only to shove forward once her legs begin to flail about. It's brutal even by his standards, rough in a way that supplants pleasure with pain. A small pity surfaces when her lip trembles, discomfort wringing her darling face up like a dish towel. Wet and pathetic, but he sneaks his free hand down to knead at her swollen clit anyway.

Like oil, it slips and hardens, tense enough that he knows she won't last long if he keeps it up.

Simon feels his own release encroaching. Unfurling at the base of his spine to form something cruel and primal. His vision tunnels to fixate on her – not the filthy bathroom or the lewd squelch of her pussy taking him in. Not the banging on the door by a customer desperately needing to piss, or otherwise, her bodyguard concerned at the choked screams carved from her lungs. Just her. Little bird.

The howling in his head doesn't stop, but it sure as hell quiets down when she soaks the coarse hairs at the base of his cock. Squirts, off-white fluid gushing from her and trickling onto the tiled floor. His movements grow stilted, off-rhythm, at the sight. His want grows claws and scales, grows wants that have wants. Beastly. He sees red.

"N-noghonbirfcontraahl." She gasps, suffocated still by the fingers pressing crescent-shaped scars beneath her jaw.

"Don' give a shit." He growls, then cums.

(Really, he doesn't. To see her swell up with his child is just one more added temptation, carrot on a stick. He bucks like a rabid animal and bookmarks that thought away for later.)

His seed doesn't stay put when he pumps her full of it. It gathers and drips out of her, undeterred by the barrage of his softening cock. When he pulls out, it draws milky treks down her legs. There's the instinct to shovel it back into her, tape her lips shut until the spend takes; but as he pockets her panties and helps her readjust her dress (after polishing himself clean on the expensive fabric), he finds he quite likes the thought of parading her around like this.

"C'mon," He nips her earlobe. "let's walk you home."

Simon does end up making good on his promise. They hardly get any sleep that night, sweating on every available surface her flat affords. By the end of it, she's so tuckered out that he has to lift her to bed. Hardly cognisant as he strips to his boxers and sidles up right next to her.

What doesn't escape her notice, however, is when he pulls his phone out to snap a picture of her like this. Fucked to oblivion, puffy pussy oozing about three loads worth of cum.

"W-what are you–" Stuttered. Panicked, like a pet that has at last realised it's been caged.

"Shhhh, birdie. You're my model, ain't you? Let me show you off, yeah? Won' let it get into the wrong hands."

"Promise?" She whimpers, tucking into his broad chest. She isn't in the condition to give her proper assent, but he takes it anyway, kissing both eyes and carding his fingers across her scalp.

"Promise." He mutters, then sends the portrait off. "Jus' to men like me."

Sgt. Garrick: ?! Is that Capt. Price: Christ, Simon. Someone ought to muzzle you. Johnny: I don't believe you. Johnny: Pick up my calls. Johnny: SIMON.

#should've made this a proper fic #it's longer than i expected it to be #anyway.#simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley #ghost #x female reader #call of duty #fanfiction

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sorrowfulrosebud · 10 months

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𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙: 𝔦𝔫 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔥 ℌ𝔬𝔟𝔦𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔟𝔬𝔶𝔣𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔡

𝕲𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: 𝔣𝔩𝔲𝔣𝔣𝔶, 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔰𝔱𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔪𝔲𝔱𝔱𝔶

༺ 𝕱𝖑𝖚𝖋𝖋 ༻

❦ Hobie is 10000% the boyfriend who kisses the insides of your wrist. Imagine smushing his cheeks together to tease him and he turns the tables by pressing gentle kisses to each pulse point

❦ Loves to send you selfies of the villains he beats up with goofy captions and him posing

❦ Introduces you to his friends at the pub, proudly showing you off

❦ Then proceeds to drunkenly ramble to said friends, arm tight around your shoulder with a protective hand over your drink

❦ Is an incredible cook when he wants to make something special for you, but otherwise makes low effort meals

❦ He loves to tickle your sides when he’s behind you. He comes over to you from behind under the guise of wanting a cuddle, but a devilish grin appears as he presses his long fingers into your sides, making you ugly chortle and shove him away

❦ Hobie would 10000% do the spiderman kiss with you

❦ Protective as FUCK but doesn't show it outwardly. Like, you’ll be walking down the street and some guy would cat call you, but Hobie doesn’t say anything. His grip on your shoulder gets tighter, and it’s not till he comes back past midnight with a bloodied lip do you feel pride flush your chest

❦ He lets you sit on his lap in bed as you do his eyeliner for his upcoming show. Gentle fingers rub against your hip as he looks at you with hooded eyes, letting you smudge his eyeliner. He looks at you with a charming grin, “thanks babe,” he’d say as he kisses you deeply

❦ Hobie lets you pick his nail polish colour and watches you delicately apply it to his nails. He thinks it's adorable when your tongue sticks out in concentration or when you nibble on your lip

❦ He invites the rest of the spidey squad to come to his dimension to play cards and other games, having you sat in his lap the entire time. If you’re playing poker or something, he nudges you in an attempt to silently communicate what he should pick. He gives you the occasional discreet kiss as Gwen cackles at Pav winning go fish over Miles

❦ Soft, classical music is NOT his style at all, so don't expect him to start playing Ed Sheeran on a regular guitar. If you struggle to fall asleep, he sets you on his tummy and makes patterns on your back based on the way his fingers would position themselves on his guitar

❦ He loves causing chaos with you, be it spray painting a Winston Churchill poster or statue of another bigot, or blasting his guitar near MPs houses, he loves it when you’re there, smiling happily with him

❦ DEFINITELY THE BF TO SMACK YOUR ASS. I SAID WHAT I SAID

❦ Doesn't have a set nickname for you, usually a play on your name or “luv”

❦ The type of bf who gets really invested in his S/O’s drama. Like you could be sat sipping tea, rambling about how this bitch tried to make you feel like shit and he’s just sat proudly like “oh yah? Then what’d you do babe?” With the dopiest ass look on his face

❦ Really stinking cute when drunk. Full on ambling into his flat, making you take care of him. Loves when you clean his piercings and rub off his eyeliner

❦ “Mf, thanks babe. Eyeliner makin’ it difficult to go to sleep,” he mumbles as you prop him upright on the bed. You roll your eyes fondly as you clean him up and start cleaning his piercings

❦ Thinks it's funny as fuck to make you smell his crust jacket. Punks are known to have jackets and not wash them to make them look as grunge as possible and Hobie is no different (bc fuck consistency)

༺𝕬𝖓𝖌𝖘𝖙༻

ఌ Is really stand-offish at the start of your relationship. His dislike for labels put a strain on your relationship; he would kiss you and make you feel loved, and then rip your heart out by saying you’re just friends to his pub mates

ఌ Struggles to fully take things seriously. You could be arguing over something and Hobie would just smirk, making the anger boil over. He doesn’t do it to emasculate or intimidate you, he just thinks it’s cute when you’re so passionate. This has definitely caused some worse arguments and either of you storming out

ఌ Definitely struggles with time and dates. If you arrange a date and he’s Spider-Punkin’ that day, be prepared to walk home and cry after waiting so long that the owners of the restaurant have to gently nudge you away

ఌ It can be seen as angsty or horny, but if you’re trying to start a fight or fussing over him when he’s tired, he’s not above shooting his web at your mouth to shut you up

ఌ Is low-key petrified every time he can’t get hold of you if you’re apart. He doesn’t want your death to become another canon event for him, so days where his anxiety manifest into something way deeper, he keeps you either at arms length or doesn’t let you out of his sight

ఌ Can actually be really mean in arguments if pushed far enough. Man is all for communication, but days where his mental health is struggling are usually days where his temper is short. He does his best to communicate to you that he’s not doing great but is physically fine and just needs some time, but if you keep pushing then he knows where to hit deep. (This is so so incredibly rare though)

ఌ Unintentionally gives you the silent treatment after an argument. If you had a really bad fight and he is still trying to cool off, he is in no mood to talk to anyone. I may be projecting, but I imagine Hobie is the type of person to need to be completely left alone to cool off and gets really upset again if someone tries to ask. He always wants to answer your text but sometimes forgets

ఌ Doesn’t let on but sometimes he has really bad nightmares from his role as protector of London. Sometimes it’s you getting hurt and sometimes it’s him. Either way, he wakes up in cold sweats and immediately feels for you before sighing in relief.

“Hi sweetheart, are you alright? You kept making noises in your sleep,” you murmur to him. Hobie’s eyes fluttered slightly before sinking back under the duvet with a sigh.

“Ughhhh, yeah. ‘M fine babe, jus’ a stupid bad dream,” he mutters, throwing his arm around your waist and nuzzling into your chest. Your arm wrapped around his lean tummy and rubbed soft circles to the skin.

“D’you wanna talk about it hun? I’m here for you,” you whisper softly into his ear. Hobie thought for a minute before shaking his head.

“No thanks. Not now. Jus’ lemme hold ya,” he grunts sleepily. Your fingers found a steady rhythm against his back as you heard him sigh deeply into your neck.

“I love you so much Hobes. I’m always gonna be right here, waiting for you,” you promise him. Slender fingers intertwined with yours, the slight tremble being the only movement in your dark shared bedroom. Tender but firm kisses were placed along your neck in silent thanks as the two of you slip back into dreamless slumber.

༺𝕾𝖒𝖚𝖙༻

༒ Is SUPER easy to turn on. The softest of praises is enough to turn his cock rock hard, but is also a major horn dog for being degraded 🤭🤭

༒ Gets SUPER horny when he catches you wearing his jewellery and jackets. He WILL fuck you right then and there

༒ He’s more of a grunter than a moaner, unless he’s quite deep in subspace. He’s definitely not above whimpering

༒ Hobie loves to send you videos of him wanking off, angled so you can see every lustful touch and hear every choked gasp

༒ A very versatile man. Doesn’t mind whether he’s domming or subbing, or even if there’s no dynamic

༒ Some of Hobie’s biggest kinks: edging, slight overstim, light impact play, light sensory deprivation and wax play

༒ If you’re female or someone without a peeny weeny, he would definitely take some good old cock up the ass <3 the male G spot is up there for a reason!

༒ He can often get lost in pleasure if he’s penetrating you, making his thighs shake as sweat drops and he’s biting into your shoulder like a man starved

༒ Definitely skilled with his fingers 😝😝 loves to finger you until you’re shaking and crying from overstim

༒ Is such a huge brat you wouldn’t believe 🤭🤭 he doesn’t deliberately say things to rile you up, but rather small displays. Rubbing his hands up your sides, murmuring soft teasings into your ears, lingering kisses right before a mission so you end up beating a villain with fire burning in your crotch

I absolutely adore this man, send asks and thots 🤭

#hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #astv hobie #hobie x reader #Hobie x reader angst #hobie x reader fluff #across the spiderverse #atsv x reader

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yunqitv · 9 days

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THE BOY IS MINE PT 1 _ ENHYPEN _ JAKE

💜 GENRE : COLLEGE STUDENTS, FRIENDS TO LOVERS, CHEATING, BULLYING

💜 PAIRING: college!student!jake x college!student!male reader

inspired by "why r u? kr. ver"

“My M/n!” M/n perked up from his notebook at the sudden coo of his name being called out. He was sitting in the quad on campus, textbook and stationary sprawled out on the table as he set them where he wanted since he was by himself, well, not anymore.

A dark-haired male came jogging towards him, bag on his shoulder bouncing just like his hair in rhythm of steps. M/n sighed, snatching the reading glasses from his face. “Can you be any louder, Jake?” He grumbled.

“My M/n~” Jake repeated, throwing his bag on the table on top of M/n’s stuff carelessly as he wrapped his arms around M/n’s neck from behind, lifting the latter’s face as he gave him an unconditional amount of forehead kisses.

“Ugh, Jake! Gross, you fucking dog,” M/n whined, referring to Jake’s justifiable nickname, Golden Retriever.

Jake giggled, completely unfazed by M/n’s slaps and kicks as he pulled away and sat uncomfortably close to M/n on the bench. “What are you doing?”

“I was preparing for mid-terms, but I just got assaulted by a puppy and now I want to go home.” M/n huffed, gathering his stuff together. Jake reached out to M/n’s hands, taking them just for a second but M/n took them away, giving him a grim look.

Jake’s big smile stuck on his face even after rejection, “Should we go to a party?”

“Why?”

“‘Cause, I wanna drink with my favorite best friend!” Jake screeched, a little too happy to announce his title. M/n rolled his eyes, resuming his packing.

“You won’t be asking if you weren’t already planning. Who’s party?”

“May’s birthday gathering at the pub. She misses you, y’know.”

Oh, right. May. Jake’s girlfriend of two, almost three years now. You would almost forget all about her when just the two M/n and Jake were together.

M/n shuttered. “You’re not asking me to go to her birthday party with you, you’re asking me to be her gift because you forgot, right?”

Jake pouted but lowered his head and nodded, “I’ve been so busy with these sets for the theatre department, that I completely forgot to make her something.” M/n almost felt bad when Jake returned to his chipper self, “But once she sees you, no one else’s gifts will matter. So, you gotta come!”

Going to this party was M/n’s first mistake. Just a group of maybe twelve students from the university all drinking shots like a fish drinking water, causally sipping after every sentence. About a third of them were probably already tipsy by now and it was only the first thirty minutes.

M/n sat at the end of the table, sipping his beer as his eyes darted between Jake and May, who sat chatting about, close. M/n knew it was wrong not to feel a difference, but why does Jake hold May the same way he does him?

Jake was a weird kid. He’s nice to everyone and touch is his love language, but there should be no reason his touch is the same as his touch with May. That’s his girlfriend. Right?

“Hey, hey, let’s draw chopsticks, yeah? Whoever gets this red-marked one has to do something.” One of the partygoers suggested, and the table erupted in cheers.

“Ah, well how about the birthday girl chooses the dare,” Another said, pointing at May whose face is flushed red.

“Oh, well, um. I guess, I found Jake during one of these parties, right? Let’s keep the love in the air!” The table all coos, in unison. Except for M/n who’s face goes flat at the mention of the couple.

“So, how about whoever gets the stick has to kiss, um… hmm, M/n!”

M/n coughed, hand covering over his mouth. “W-What why me?”

“Well, aren’t you single? You stick around Jake so much, I hardly get to see him!” M/n chuckled, refraining with all his might not to roll his eyes.

Jake’s face dropped to a concerned one as he put a hand on May’s shoulder “Hey, maybe pick someone else. It’s obvious he’s uncomfortable, May.”

“I’ll do it,” M/n said, downing the rest of his drink. “Draw the sticks, maybe I’ll get a girlfriend today.”

M/n was being sarcastic, Jake knew this but couldn’t help but wish he hadn’t been. Because Jake didn’t want to see anyone even touch M/n in any kind of way.

Everyone put their chopstick in a glass as M/n waited anxiously to see just who was going to meet him at his demise tonight. May swivel the chopsticks around for a few seconds before everyone reached for one without looking at the bottom.

“Okay, okay, everyone look now!” May shouted in excitement.

Everyone looked at their chopstick, then at the person next to them.

“Oh my God, Jake has it!”

The table ran silent as everyone looked at the three awkwardly. Then someone broke the silence.

“Well, it’s that bad, right? It’s just a little boy’s love kiss? Nothing real, right May?”

May’s face showed it all, she was not amused anymore.

“U-Uh, never mind we don’t have to-” Suddenly, Jake rose from his seat and shuffled towards M/n, the table ooing. Jake stopped behind M/n’s chair, placing his hand under his chin he lifted his head like he did earlier and leaned forward on the tips of his feet, “Should we kiss?” He whispered.

M/n looked up as far as he could, Jake’s smiling.

“Wah, look at Jake. He doesn’t want anyone to kiss M/n but himself!” Someone squealed. The tension is cut thin as the slam of May’s hand on the table snapped everyone’s heads in her direction.

“I-I need to use the bathroom, I’ll be back. Jake, come with, please.”

The next few days at the university were different. Jake was no longer interrupting M/n's study sessions in the quad, instead just walking past as if they didn't know each other.

May believed something was going on between the two. If it wasn’t for the jabs she took at the pub, it was the drink she threw at him while he was walking to class.His books and papers dropped down to the ground, dowsed in her drink at his feet.

“I heard boyfriend stealers like to get wet. Thought I’d help you get started.” May spat. M/n hung his head low, not looking up because he knew if he looked into May’s eyes he was either going to break down crying and apologize or wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze so hard that she just might take her words back.

Either way, it didn’t matter because as quickly as a dog comes at a whistle, Jake Sim was standing in front of M/n with a paper towel, blotting his face.

“Hey, HEY” Jake shouted, smacking M/n’s face lightly as he tried to get his attention. M/n didn’t even notice it, but he was hyperventilating as tears dripped down his face like lava erupting from a volcano.

M/n didn’t remember what happened after that, somehow though, he ended up in Jake’s bedroom lying like a corpse in a casket with his hands folded on his chest. All he could do was look up at the ceiling as he recounted all the times he should’ve avoided causing problems with May. Starting with meeting Jake altogether.

Jake was leaning against the wall on his bed as well, legs crossed. “Knowing you, you’re probably thinking about how you could’ve changed all of this. You stupid Psych majors, always thinking and shit.”

Jake sighed, “But it’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

“But… Do you think it’s a crime to fall in love with your best friend?”

#enhypen x male reader #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #enhypen smut #jake enhypen #jake sim #sim jaeyun #jake x reader #jake x y/n #jake x male reader #kpop x reader #kpop x male reader #kpop x male reader smut #kpop #yunqitv #kpop boys

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

Text

Who Taught You How to Love Like That? (König x F!OC)

Part 3/3 of Valkyrie

(Part 2 here)

(Part 1 here)

Summary: König gets an order to make a female SpecGru sniper talk, but König doesn't want to hurt women.

Category: Smut 🔞, angst, fluff

Tags & warnings: Explicit mature content +18 audiences only, strangers to lovers (slight enemies to lovers), dubious consent, threats of rape, virgin!König, size kink, size difference, p in v, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, squirting, hugs and cuddles, super fluffy ending. König will be named in later chapters.

A/N: KorTac and SpecGru are rivaling military contractors, Conor is König's superior (and a huge villain), and I just wanted to write angsty smut featuring our favourite Austrian boi.

The first thing she noticed was the combat dummy in the corner of the room. There was no light in the ceiling, only a small table lamp on the floor next to his bed... Which was really only a thin mattress placed on the floor with a meticulously tucked bed sheet on it. There was no furniture to speak of except for the tall gun safe and some bland table where he had a kettle and a half-open bag of bread lying next to a toaster. There was a small fridge under the table, and deposited there on top of it, out of direct sight, a simple knuckle duster.

Piles of books lay on the floor next to his so called bed, and she was pleasantly surprised: he didn't strike her as a bookworm type of guy. She briefly caught sight of a few titles, mostly nonfiction: he had volumes on rifles and combat sports like krav maga and escrima, along with some German books about hunting, knives…— and there were knives all over the place: hanging from a lone hook on the wall, lying on the table, next to a pile of books, next to the mattress. Probably hidden ones, too, but where in all this minimalistic scarceness, she couldn't tell.

He didn't have a television. There was no computer, not even a laptop. She wondered how his officers got in touch with him, for it was dubious that he even owned a phone.

"This is where I sleep," he introduced his apartment, waving a hand in a vague gesture that said It's not much, but it's home.

She didn't know whether to feel pity or terror. She was relatively sure she was the first girl to set foot in here. The red flags were all over the place, but she only felt a tug near her heart from the realization that this guy was lonely. Like really, really lonely. Potential school shooter who grew up kind of lonely.

God, why did she have to have a soft spot for lunatics like him...

"Would you like some coffee?"

He turned to look at her, and she felt tightness in her chest from that drained, sad stare. He had been so carefree, so giddy, but all of that was gone. She had seen it in the pub already, the moment she laid eyes on him, that something was terribly wrong. She wondered who was the one responsible for making this man lose his goofiness. Shed that lovely, inculpable nature that made him singularly him. Whoever it was, she wanted to smack them in the head. Hard.

Without his gear and mask or even that black face paint, he looked more human. There were no barriers between them, no profession stamped on him: he was simply…him. But the intensity was there, always there. He was an outrageously tall, athletic man, and teeming with latent violence.

She wasn’t intimidated by that, per se. She had fired her rifle alongside dozens of big, dangerous men. Menacing men. It was something else, something essential in this man's character that made her feel a little on edge.

If her mother could see where she was now, in a dark flat filled with nothing but weapons and white bread and a towering, introverted dynamite stick of a man, she would probably deem the situation more dangerous for her than Russia and Brazil combined.

"No thanks, I'm good."

He ran his fingers through his hair, which was much longer than 8 months ago. He still had that side shave, but the light ash curls on top were unkempt and fell partly on his forehead.

"Or tea? I think I got tea here somewhere… "

And there he was: that adorable, silly man she had fallen for.

If nothing more, she would make it her mission to at least get him to smile.

She shook her head slowly before walking to him and grabbing two fistfuls of his black t-shirt. He straightened like someone had called ten-hut, making it clear that she wasn't the only one who felt like a tightly coiled spring. But someone had to make the first move. Someone had to do something.

He had shaved a day, maybe two ago, and the stubble that dusted his chin and the top of his upper lip was only a faint shadow, but still coarse enough to sting her skin as she got up on her toes to kiss him.

He closed his eyes and bent into it. He didn't touch her, wouldn't reach for her, just opened his mouth against hers and moaned. Like a tortured man about to break.

"Mh- I've thought about you every day," she whispered, still clinging to his shirt, and he finally wrapped his arms around her. "Every damn day…"

"Meine kleine Walküre…"

"I thought I would go mad at some point."

I didn't know who you were, I couldn't come back to you, I knew nothing about you.

"I know."

He knew.

He knew the slow descent into madness, the craving. The mornings that felt like waking up in a limbo. The nights that only sharpened the pain.

And of course he did.

"You kept me alive," he said as his erection pressed against her, and her mind was flooded with memories of the grey room, the bleak light in the ceiling, the ropes biting into her wrists, the way he fucked her like they were both going to die the next day.

And she realized that he was real. He wasn't a schizophrenic dream or an erotic nightmare. He wasn't even a soldier; he was a man, a person.

He was a real, actual person under that hood and face paint and tactical vest and ammo pouches. He had an apartment and dirty socks on the floor, and he drank lager, and he had toast and a toaster, and he owned relatively normal clothes.

And right now, even though her panties were soaked, she didn't want him inside her.

"I'm a bit nervous," she said, stiff and near the point of breaking into a cold sweat. He caressed the small of her back and shoved his crotch against her even more eagerly.

"König, please… Could you just… hold me?"

He stopped and swallowed, and his hands traveled back up.

"I will do whatever you wish."

"Perhaps we could lie down? And just… hug, you know?"

"I'd love that," he said, sounding genuinely enthusiastic.

His sheets smelled of him, and she felt the cold sweat intensify. Her stomach sank, and she was glad that she was lying down because her feet wouldn't probably carry her at this point. He laid himself down next to her and gave her his pillow. It was a lovely gesture, but she felt like she was lying down with a murderer. Which he was. Which she was. They both had killed, her confirmed body count reaching 23 when she had left the SpecGru. His count was probably much higher...

She snuggled closer, tucked her head under his chin, and let him hold her. His whole body was tense, but he eased into the embrace after ten or twenty breaths. Cuddling usually came after the sex; after the release of stress and tension, and right now, they were both like teenagers in an empty house with the parents gone. Sweating with the jitters of coming to know how the other person's body felt like.

She dragged a leg over him at some point, and he sank his own between hers, and they just breathed each other. She wondered how they must look, her small form and light blue jeans and white shirt swallowed by all that black he wore. A fair little lady cuddled by a dark giant. A giant who everyone could tell, just by the clothes he wore, was either an employed soldier or a crazy militarist. And she liked that. She fucking loved that he didn't disguise himself as an ordinary civilian. Unlike she did, and she felt like a liar... along with feeling tired of pretending that she wanted the next bachelor when all she really wanted was a guy like him.

Finally, her nerves calmed down, and she could hear the silence of the room, the sound of his breathing, could feel the warmth of his arms around her.

"This feels good," she told him.

"This feels better than anything," he answered.

He seemed peaceful too. All that shifting around had turned into deep breaths and a steady heartbeat. She caressed his back, closed her eyes, and pressed her cheek more firmly against his chest — how many times had she dreamed of this moment? She inhaled him, and the scent aroused different memories this time, making her feel like a balloon drifting up to the ceiling.

"I like you, König." She squeezed him against her. "Like, a lot."

He squeezed her back and announced: "I love you."

Her mind went blank and then screamed error.

She wriggled out of his grasp, propped herself on her elbow, and looked down at him. He stared at her like a dog waiting for a treat from a well-done trick.

"You can't say that, König."

His long, pale lashes batted a few times, and a vertical wrinkle appeared between his brows.

"No, you... You didn't do anything wrong. I'm sorry. It's just that..." She pursed her lips, bit her lower lip, and placed a hand on his chest. "We barely know each other."

His eyes darted from her lips to her eyes, confused. "But I already know I love you."

How could she argue with a man who looked at her like that? Who looked like a dog being scolded for things he didn’t know he wasn't supposed to do…

I went to therapy because of you.

We met in a fucking bunker where you were asking politely if I would co-operate in you raping me. Fucking co-operate…

And you looked like Death…

"König… Baby, I don't even know your name."

He wrapped an arm around her waist in an attempt to pull her closer.

"Julius."

He said it from the back of his throat, it rolled off his tongue and ended in a soft hiss, and she felt lighter in the head by the minute.

Julius, like… Julius Caesar.

Or July. June and July.

This was so fucked up…

"Can I taste you?"

The wintry eyes looked at her, begging.

"Let me taste you, June. Please…"

Oh God… Yes, please, yes.

"Umm. Sure.."

He moved immediately, and she was almost thrown to lie on her back while he reached for her jeans to take them off, his large hands clumsy and cold against her exposed skin. She raised her hips to help him as he pulled them down, trying to stifle a giggle that was bubbling inside at seeing him so keen on giving her head. The pants got stuck on her ankles, and he tugged them off one leg at a time, causing one sock to come off and the other to come halfway down. And he just left it there, being too preoccupied with getting back between her legs to reach for her panties.

She thanked herself for having put on the smaller, black brazilian knickers instead of some comfortable, worn-out hipsters. And that she had shaved...

He was much more attentive with this piece of clothing, sliding it down like he was opening a gift. And when he took the panties off and still left that lonely sock unattended, crumpled, and forgotten, she couldn't help but snicker.

"Was?"

He looked at her with a perplexed smirk, clueless as to what was so funny — but smiling just for the sake of having made her laugh. The black underwear looked tiny in his hands as he placed it next to the bed.

She remembered how he had left her socks on in the bunker, too, perhaps because he was in a nervous hurry. Or perhaps because he didn't want her to feel cold.

She bent her leg and took it off herself, throwing it somewhere behind him.

"Nothing. Except that you're officially the cutest."

He ran a hand through his hair again. That bashful, boyish attitude made her realize just how much she had missed him. His gaze flicked to her eyes, darted between her legs, flew to examine the floor… and she could see the tent in his pants even though there was little light in the room.

"And now the shirt," she rose to seated and raised her hands up, making it clear what she wanted him to do. He wasted no time pulling it over her head but froze when he was met with the black, laced bra, the only barrier left between him and her complete nakedness.

As much as she wanted to, she didn't tease him by making him figure out the mechanism. She reached for the clasp, and he leaned slightly back when she took it off with little ceremony and threw it on the floor with the rest of her clothing. When she grabbed his hand to bring it to her breast, he looked like he had stopped breathing altogether.

"Everything good?"

"Perfekt," he said, looking terrified.

"Come here," she pulled him by the neck all the way down to lay on top of her. He supported himself on his elbows while his hands came to cradle her head. He was tense again, and she wondered whether the cuddling had been a bad idea — he had relaxed too much and was now overstimulated.

The whole body on her was rigid, but his mouth was soft and warm as he kissed her — so greedily that her legs began to ride up along his sides. When he moved to wolf her neck, her weakest spot, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he finally melted against her.

"I dreamed of you," he breathed against her skin, making her eyes flutter open and her pussy clench around nothing. "Every night…"

Through the euphoria of his accent and lips, she deciphered that what he actually meant was that he had masturbated on thoughts of her. And she had done the same: stroked herself night after night on thoughts of him telling her how tight and good she felt around him. It was downright sinful how many times she had reminisced the high-pitched sighs, that vulnerable look he had when he shot his cum inside her.

"Did you ever think of me?" He asked with a frail voice.

She had gone on a few dates, had a few fucks. Ended up feeling disappointed, and even more lonely. Dirty and sad — like she was cheating on him…

"If only you knew just how much," she whispered to the ceiling above her.

He brushed a trembling thumb over her cheek and buried himself even deeper in her neck.

"Shit… Ist das dein Ernst?"

She loved it when he spoke German. And hated how most of the time, she couldn’t understand what the hell he was saying.

"June... Du machst mich verrückt."

"What are you saying, silly…"

"You drive me crazy."

He was so… present, devoted. So unlike the men who almost screamed "Score" when they got this far. He was saying stupid, lovely things that didn't sound at all like a yucky romcom, not when they came from him. He ripped her clothes off because he wanted to please her, taste her... And had no trouble pressing against her while having his own clothes still on — those black pants that would get stained if he continued to grind against her drenched pussy like that.

"You'll drive me crazy too if you don't finish what you started..."

He chuckled and resumed giving her those tiny kisses that only left her wanting more.

"Don't worry, little one." He planted a last kiss on her collarbone before diving down.

"I'm not -"

The rest of the sentence turned into a gasp as his lips swept over her sternum, her nipples, sent shivers across her stomach as he trailed down, down…

"Yes you are," he muttered against her mound, going further down still. Like a man with a purpose.

Hot air hit her as his tongue swept through her folds, first pointed and quivering, then flat and hungry. Her hand shot out to grasp his hair, those stupid, adorable curls that drove her to the brink of insanity.

"Mmh," he moaned in her pussy, pressing his lips against her and opening his mouth. She didn't have time to worry about the bite of his stubble, for he pushed his tongue out. Either he had an excellent memory, or then it was beginner's luck, but he hit just the right spot as the hot, wet tongue plunged slightly inside her.

"Oh - fuck.. "

He got the cue to the full, shoving even deeper, sweeping arms around her thighs to pull her against his face. He decoded her within minutes with a combination of flicks, sweeps, and thrusts. She opened her legs wider, felt herself open like a flower, felt the juices leak out while he was at it like a tried and true engine. So tireless that it sent her thighs quivering. They never did that — at least not with anyone else. It was his unique talent to make a mess of her. If he proved smart enough to apply fingers, she would lose her goddamn mind.

"You are dripping," he informed from among the sloppy sounds she was perfectly aware of. "Like a honeycomb…"

What was it with this man that nearly made her cry?

He kissed her with devotion, almost like he was kissing her lips. The languid pecks and slow nips soon turned into french kissing as he applied tongue again. Her fingers curled into his hair on their own accord and pulled. She could feel his mouth open into a grin before a soft huff hit her.

"Heh…" he kissed her again, "Gierig.."

"What does… ah -.. that mean?"

She could’ve cried from frustration when he slowly got back up to his knees. His lips and chin glistened with her - and he was grinning adorably. That earlier naive cuteness made such a comeback that she had a hard time catching her breath.

"Greedy." He licked his lips. "You like it?"

She nodded a few times, many times, and the impish, pussy-drunk grin of his only widened.

"Gut."

He made a move to return down there, looking like he had received the best assignment ever.

"König… Uh, Julius?" She pronounced it like July, and he corrected her immediately.

"Julius."

So husky and sweet from those soaked lips — like music.

"Julius," she rose back to seated, thighs still trembling, and grabbed the front of his shirt. "Could you take this off?"

He reached back with both hands and pulled it off, leaving his hair all tousled once the fabric was drawn over his head. She vaguely knew what to expect, but the amount of muscle still made her gawk like a goldfish.

The man was like a roman sculpture. Not an artificial, overly shredded fitness type of thing, but a man who used his body like it was meant to be used. The light brown hair between the plates of his chest was simply irresistible. She placed a hand on it, and he looked down, fascinated by what she was doing. She ran her fingers through the soft, sparse hair, trailed the breath of it all the way down to his navel. The muscles there rippled at her touch. He was ticklish… and some stupid part of her brain squealed at the discovery.

She wondered whether he had been touched before, whether he had been touched much at all. He had an ungodly shoulders to hips ratio, and a broad, toned physique, which alone should've made women want to crawl all over him. Perhaps he had walked through life half invisible because he wanted to stay that way - in hiding. And suddenly she felt special, outright exceptional... for having been chosen, having been granted access to him. His world.

He trusted her. It should've been a compliment, even a turn-on, but she felt like she didn't deserve it. And it was too late to turn back...

Looking up to his eyes which were fixed on her, expectant and dark, her fingers dropped to his pants, curled under the waistband, and gave it a tug.

"And everything else, too."

He sat back on his legs, opened the belt, undid the zipper, and stood up to take his pants off. From where she was looking, he was like a god, the muscles on his thighs bunching as he switched his weight from one leg to the other to yank his pants down and socks away. When he was finally free of those clothes, he grabbed that monster between his legs with one hand, lifted it, and stroked it absentmindedly while looking down at her, all hungry. Possessive...

Car lights flashed through the window and painted shadows on the wall, on him, painting him with blue and black just before he descended upon her. She greeted him with spread legs and open arms as he got down, carefully, like a man preparing to pray. With his hand still wrapped around himself, he guided the tip to her folds, brows knit together like he was on a serious mission that required all his attention. She reached a hand to grab him too, and it was like a dream, the way they directed him inside together.

Her inner muscles welcomed him home with a greedy pull, not bothered by the stretch that only felt fucking delicious.

She pushed him further in with her legs, wrapped around his hips like a starfish around prey. He was forced to fall on his hands, and he exhaled like someone easing into a hot bath, blowing air from the raw sensation — although he was dipping into somewhere far better than that, she presumed.

She noticed a scar on his neck as he exposed his throat, half-lidded eyes drifting closed with pleasure. Her hand rose on its own will to touch the white protrusion, fingertips caressing the spot where someone had tried to finish him and failed.

And she knew that she didn’t want to spend her life without this man.

Didn’t want to spend a day without him anymore.

He flinched at her touch, looking like he was the one being fucked and not the other way around. Her touch was a reminder that someone had gotten too close - way too close. And had probably paid the full price for their insolence.

“Baby…” she whispered, and his head dropped with a broken sigh, hanging heavy against his chest as he slid in and out of her. It was supposed to be a homecoming, a sweet reunion, but he was shaking and sobbing, grunting between the thrusts.

She knew he was repeating the words in his head, the words he thought she didn’t want to hear.

Fuck it… I love you too.

It was a deafening declaration in her head, one she couldn’t snuff out, one that only got louder as he thrust deeper, pressed against her, and moaned as he buried his face in her hair.

“You feel so good… taste so good,” he said, “smell so good…”

Having the biggest, baddest mercenary of a rivaling military contractor between her legs, sighing how good she was, might be reason enough to seek therapy — but it was also the one thing she knew would send her straight to heaven.

And it was too much.

He was too much. She didn't want to cry, and she didn't want him to hold her, to slide in and out slowly, fondly, lovingly. Just the way he was doing right now… She wanted to drown the blooming intimacy, she wanted him to shut the fuck up and fuck her.

More than anything, she wanted to escape the feeling that she belonged here, with him.

“Please… just..”

“Talk to me, Engel.”

Shit.. It was a purr.

“I need you harder.”

He only slowed down, confused.

“You don’t have to be gentle,” she said, hating herself for tearing apart the one thing she loved most about him.

But he did as he was bid, upping the tempo, going deeper, breaking her in all the ways she wanted him to. Needed him to.

"Like this?" The voice was abrupt, metallic, almost freezing. It didn't belong to a man, it belonged to a soldier executing an order.

“Yes…”

He was looking at her, and this time it was her turn to avoid the gaze. She already knew it was filled with confusion and hunger and sadness. She looked at his muscles at work, the ridiculously large cock disappearing into her, she looked at the scars... That scar, the one that screamed that not only he was lucky that the weapon had missed by an inch. That she should count her blessings, too.

At some point, he grunted in frustration and moved to throw her legs over his shoulders. He could pound inside even deeper like this, and it didn’t hurt at all, even though she felt a strange warmth pool somewhere deep in her abdomen.

He fucked her on that thin mattress and all she could think about was whether he would offer her tea or coffee after, or bring her toast to the bed.

“Harder..”

The sheet started to come off, the slick sounds bordering on pornographic, his chest getting covered in sweat.

God, she made him sweat. She wanted to wash him after, smear him with whatever stupid shower gel he had in his apartment that reeked of loneliness, a fragrance she knew more than well.

She wondered if he would want to cuddle again after they had showered together. Or cuddle before, so she could inhale his scent, the full brunt of him. If she could stay for the night. Fuck…

“Harder.”

He dared to whimper, dared to look at her all helpless. But obeyed.

Shit, he felt good. Too good. Too fucking….

"Wait..."

She was about to come, but something was different.

"Wait-"

Something was wrong and right at the same time, the thickness and length pressing onto something unusually delicious. It left her shaking, caused her to feel full to the brim. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out, and he wouldn't relent with the thrusts, but he had to soon enough, for she burst, literally, with wetness that spread through the sheets under them and caused his cock to fly out of her with a gush of moisture.

Oh jesusfuckinggod… -

He was between her legs, cock bouncing up and down. It was sheened with an insane amount of natural lube, and he was looking down at what she had done.

"What happened?"

The innocent question, the humiliation made her cheeks pang with heat.

Take a deep breath, calm down, calm the fuck down..

"It's…"

It's called squirting, you adorable big puppy. You just made me fucking squirt.

"It's a woman's orgasm but times ten?"

She wanted to add Jesus Christ I'm sorry, and it's a good thing, trust me, but she didn't need to.

"I… made you do that?"

She nodded, and another wide grin slowly spread on his face. He adored the scene, amazed and eyes sparkling like it was Christmas morning and he had walked up to see that there were presents under the tree.

He reached for his cock to insert himself back inside, but she jerked away.

"No, wait… It - it might happen again," she stuttered a warning. She wasn't sure, but she didn't want to take the risk. This kind of thing had never occurred, even if she knew what it was. Even envied those who had had the experience. But for the love of god, why did it have to be him out of all men who got to witness it when it finally happened…

But he only looked even more reckless. Almost wild.

"So let's do it again!" He was so excited that his voice spiked up a few notes.

"But your sheets…"

"Nevermind them," he huffed, ecstatic, and crawled forward. He pushed inside, fast and luscious, and she knew right then and there that it would definitely happen again.

He began to ruin her with a frenzy that was almost eerie. The rhythm of slick sounds told her enough, told her that he pistoned her with a pace that would soon drive her insane.

“You’re a fucking fantasy, June,” he groaned, the darker parts of what made him a ruthless professional soldier leaking through.

"Oh God," she breathed this time, deciding she could feel ashamed later. "It feels so fucking good…"

"I'll be good to you, Engel, I'll be good," he grunted as he continued to fuck her brains out.

She cursed and moaned and wailed, letting all his neighbours know that the big, quiet soldier boy was good at what he did. Fucking best. And she knew she should've said her prayers when her eyes rolled in her head and she started to see white.

It didn't take longer than a second or two before it happened again, this time with a force that nearly made her snap and split in half. More than a few squirts hit him as he pulled out. His jaw hung open like he was looking at fireworks.

“Huh -mh, yeah,” he wheezed, sounding dazed. “Verdammt - scheiße…”

She was writhing, crying, shedding actual tears — grabbing the sheet next to her head with one hand and beside her thigh with the other. Her legs were spread like she was on display, her thighs shaking like the muscles there had been permanently damaged. Kate had been more right than should've been legally fair…

"Gott, du bist schön," he commented on the sight while stroking himself, eased by the fluids all over his cock.

She thought about helping him, but couldn't get up, couldn't even move her hands, could only pant and shudder as he milked himself before her to a quick release.

He threw his head back and almost roared, and the only thing on her mind was the phrase saddest people cum the hardest as his seed shot out in generous spurts, hitting her almost in the face. The first gush already ran down her neck by the time the second fell, a thick rope of cum landing on her breasts, the rest on her stomach.

Something twisted in her stomach when she realized he had called her beautiful one moment and proceeded to cover her with cum the next.

Men…

But it was so fucking good that she only wanted to raise a hand and spread his seed all over her. He was breathing heavily with a softening cock in his fist, the last of the cum dripping to join the mess she had made.

"I hope you got a spare one," she looked at the destroyed sheet between them.

"Yeah," he panted still, half-lidded eyes looking at her up and down like he was piss-drunk and about to pass out.

She patted the space next to her, and he collapsed there, staring at the ceiling, probably trying to remember his name. She took his arm and raised it to wiggle herself under it and against him.

It felt good, being glued to him like this… Naked and spent and sweaty. He shifted, turned to face her, and took her in his arms as they both lay on their side, breathing heavily. She was pressed against the damp hair on his chest while his cum trailed little pathways between them.

"Please tell me you're mine, little Valkyrie," he whispered in her hair. He inhaled deeply and exhaled fully, like he had been in the thin mountain air and only now got enough oxygen again.

"June, I want you and no one else."

Oh, honey… it's just the mind-blowing sex talking.

It was pillow talk and hormones and trauma and all that shit. She was now 110 % sure that he had lost his virginity in that bunker. He wasn't the first nor the last man who thought they had fallen in love with a woman, not realizing what they had really fallen for was sex.

"I love you, June. If you don't want to hear it anymore, I won't say it. But it's true."

"Look…" she sighed.

This was so fucking awkward...

"Have you ever been in love before..?"

"No."

"Listen. I like you, you're a nice guy. And I want to get to know you, really, I do…-"

His breath had shallowed — far too much. The large chest beside her heaved, and she could both hear and feel his heart thumping. He shifted away from her, and she snapped her mouth shut. Slowly, she raised to look at him, and the sight drove a fucking lance through her heart.

She didn’t really know what a panic attack was, but was fairly positive that he was about to have one. He was laying on his back, big palms against his head, and he slid them over his eyes, trying to hide from her. His breathing was getting out of hand by the minute.

Fuck… Why did she have to fucking ruin everything?

"Hey, baby. It's alright. Everything's all right, just.. Breathe. Or talk to me…?"

He balanced on the edge of hyperventilation, still holding his head with his hands, eyes squeezed shut and that beautiful face distorted into agony and pain.

"You don't… want me."

Ice seeped into the pit of her stomach.

"Yeah, it's true I've never been with anyone. I was too shy. Ich habe nie bekommen, was ich wirklich will. Alle lachten und nannten mich Schwul… Und das war nicht das Einzige- mmh."

He was sweating from the German confession she understood but a few words of.

The only thing she caught was something about everyone laughing at him. People were horrible sometimes… or usually. People were vile, they were fucking bullies. But even if he was a bit too kind, a little too eager to please, and socially more than a bit on the awkward side of things, she had thought it a miracle that anyone would pester someone of his size. But exclusion and words could hurt too.

And she felt like an asshole.

She was good at bringing down strong, beautiful things. She liked to drag them through the mud. She was talented at taking aim at the most vulnerable parts and pulling the trigger... But he was already there. He was looking at her from a pool of blood and shit and tears. And she was not the only one who got traumatized in that box made of cement. She was not the only one who had had it rough growing up. From what she could tell, he had had it much worse.

"June, you feel so good that it hurts."

Shit…

Her stomach burst with golden fireflies, a warmth that spread to her heart, her whole chest. Ice and gold and fire mixed together, and she knew it was dangerous… He was dangerous. He was the most frightening thing she had ever faced.

She reached to brush his chest, feeling clumsy, like a child. A total amateur when it came to these things.

"You feel good too," she whispered. "So good. I'm just- I'm scared. It's scary."

She put her arm around him and pulled, then yanked when he wouldn't move. He turned, and she took him in her arms. His head pressed inelegantly between her breasts as she gave him a hug that she hoped would deliver all her affection.

He almost trembled in her arms, and the stabbing, burning feeling in her chest wouldn't stop.

"You really stole my heart, you know? Right from the start."

A breath of warm air crashed against her skin as she slowly stroked the back of his head and whispered in his hair.

"And I've thought about you ever since. It's ok if you want to say it. If that's how you truly feel. But please don't say that I don't want you. Because that sure as hell ain't true."

"...Ok," he muttered in her tits — a quiet, damped breath.

"König, could you just give me some… time? Just take it slow, if that's ok with you."

She refused to say his real name, knowing she wouldn't be able to lie anymore if she did. That she was just as far gone as he was, and having a radical acceptance moment about it. Even her therapist would’ve been proud… Or not. But she really didn't give a fuck.

She released her death grip on him a little, and he slowly raised his head to look at her. It was oddly charming that he was looking up at her and not the other way around.

"Take it slow. Ok. I promise I'll be good to you."

She tried her best not to burst into tears. She tried her very best to keep her hand steady as it caressed his hair, his neck, his back.

"You're so sweet."

She moved to kiss him, a pure cinematic kiss that was unhurried, exquisite, and just the kind of starved that told her he was the one.

"Anybody ever told you how sweet you are?" She whispered in his mouth and could feel how the muscles on his stomach contracted.

"Nein," he rasped back, voice so low that she nearly didn't recognize it belonged to him. He was getting hard again, too.

"Well, now you know," She kissed the top of his nose. She wondered if he had the kind of skin type that was full of freckles in summer.

"You're sweet," he said, the warmth of his words melting her like snow in spring, "like.. cotton candy. Or Apfelstrudel."

"Did you just call me a Strudel?"

"It's a dessert," he explained.

"I know it's a dessert, you… bear," she sputtered with her lack of words.

"Is that the best you can do?" He hummed against her lips, laughter barely a breath away.

"No. But it's your fault that my brain stops working."

He rolled partly on top of her again, his scent hitting her like a drug. The stubble scratched her skin, over and over again, as he kissed her, added tongue, sucked her lip, pressed against her like she was dying and he needed to give her mouth-to-mouth CPR asap.

When he withdrew, only an inch, she was breathless again. And he was smiling.

"Could you say it..? Please, just once. That you're my girl," he pressed his forehead on hers, his eyes betraying all the things she had no courage to show. He was many things, but he was certainly not a coward.

"I'm yours, King. I'm your girl."

"And I'm all yours, June."

She closed her eyes, savored those words, relished the feeling of commitment that was completely novel to her.

"When will you head back?"

"I… cannot tell you that."

She wondered how exactly she was supposed to go home with the knowledge that he would be out there in the field, changing mags amidst grenades and bullets.

"Soon."

"I gotta text Kate that I'm staying over. So she won't worry…"

"You'll stay for the night?"

He sounded so delighted. Excited. Like a dog wagging a tail... She wanted to crush him into another hug and cry until she felt raw.

"Yeah, if you change that sheet.”

She got up, walked to get her jacket, groped through the pockets — and her fingers caught to something small and bendy. Magical thinking or not, it felt like fate, and her lips curled into a small smile.

She found her phone, sent a text to Kate, then put it on mute, shoved it back into the pocket, and twiddled the plastic toy for a moment before closing it inside her palm.

When she returned to him, she had to do a double take. He looked so wiped out - so thoroughly drowsy and content - that it made the gold melt and spread inside her like fire.

"I have something for you."

He rose to his elbows, and she crouched beside him, took his hand, and dropped the small, olive-green toy soldier in his palm.

"It's my lucky charm. Had it on me on every mission."

It had a short key chain attached to it. She wondered whether he would tuck it inside his pocket, or if he would keep it on a table beside his bed. Or attach it somewhere, to bring him luck as it had brought to her. Even on that mission when KorTac had taken her as a prisoner. Especially on that mission…

"Can I ask something in return?"

"Anything."

She looked for it, found it on the floor, and picked it up.

"Can I have this?" She held up his black t-shirt and then brought it to her heart, grasping it tightly with two hands like a plush toy. "It smells of you," she explained, although it must've been obvious why she wanted it. The impact of her request on him was a swelling erection that twitched as he watched her, lips pursed tight, brows drawn together. He was blinking rapidly, trying to dry the tears that had started to form.

"Of course you can, Liebling."

"I can wrap myself in you even when you're away."

A miserable little groan escaped him as his lips tightened even more. She placed his shirt down and crawled back to the bed next to him.

"The downside is that it might stop having your scent in it," she pouted a lip, "but you can always bring me a fresh one when you come back, right?"

His sigh was heartbreaking.

"I can't help it, June."

"June, please don't take this the wrong way. I ask this question because you need to address it someday. Now… Is there any part of you that enjoyed it?"

She had thought of him every fucking day for the past 8 months now. She had thought of his hands, his cock, his puppy eyes, and most of all, that sad, abandoned look he gave her right before she turned and left.

"Did you like him?"

"You'll think I'm crazy."

"This is a place where you can safely say whatever is on your mind."

So what if it didn't make any sense? Who the fuck cared anyway?

Fuck it.

Just fuck it.

As if it was going to get any better by not saying it. Nothing could be worse than those months without him.

"You know what… I can't help it either. And I don't wanna take it slow."

---

"You've been kinda up lately."

Zero munched on whatever was on the menu today — König hadn't really paid mind to what it was.

"Leave went well?"

All eyes turned on him, and he was glad of the hood.

If only they knew just how well…

It had been the best leave ever. She hadn't stayed just for one night; she had stayed for three.

They had gone to see a new Marvel movie, and her kisses had tasted of popcorn and lemonade in the dark theatre. Half of the movie rolled past without him noticing what it was about. She had wanted to go to a sushi restaurant after and make him try all kinds of weird rolls — she had practically fed him with her own chopsticks, wanting to see what kind of reaction he had to each bite. They had gone to that pub for another round, and he had made her taste different types of beers, and when they got to pilsner and unfiltered witbier, she had stuck her tongue out and made a face. "You drink piss in Austria?"

They had gone to the gym, and he had taught her how to do a power clean, and she had insisted on staying in front of him when he did squats — for the purpose of giving him a quick kiss every time he did a rep, she informed him. He was supposed to do a series of 8 but ended up doing at least 12 reps, even with all that weight on his back.

He had shown her his favorite scope, detached it for her inspection from the SAKO he had in the safe. She said it was cool, but she knew a few better ones. And then she looked at him with a mischievous grin and said he should be fingering her instead of gun parts.

They had made love several times a day, just unhinged sex, until he felt soft in the head. Sex in the morning and sex in the evening, and sex at night when the other had woken up, too excited to sleep. They had showered together and done it there, too. He had dried her with his towel and carried her back to bed, all wet and giggling and soft and so sweet he had no words for her, neither in German nor English.

They had ordered takeaway on the last night, and he had watched as she ate it straight from the box, wearing only - and only - one of his shirts that looked huge on her. He had eaten her out not shortly after.

She gave him his first blowjob in the hallway of his apartment, just before he had to leave. He had almost missed the plane. Only when he was running to the gates that were already closing had it occurred to him that perhaps that's what she had aimed for.

And when the plane finally took off, he was blanketed by everything she said. That he was an adorable dumbass and her big boy and a gentleman and how good he was in bed, and that she would count the days to when they would see each other again. And that if he got killed, she would come and raise him from the dead and kill him again for daring to leave her.

"Ja, I got that pint. And the… girl."

"König got laid?" Fender nearly choked on his spaghetti.

Zero gave a hearty laugh, and König felt his cheeks grow hot under the mask.

"That's my man!"

He felt a slap on his back and Conor's eyes on him from across the table but didn't care.

They would eventually get interested in the toy soldier attached to his rifle, dangling from a key chain. The token bestowed upon him... her blessing. Physical evidence that she was real and had left with his shirt and now slept in it.

A reminder that he had a home to go back to.

#könig fanfiction #könig smut #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #könig imagine #mw2 smut #my fics #könig x oc #könig #könig x female oc

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ink-n-shadowfiction · 8 months

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Gone Bad | Simon "Ghost" Riley

pairing: mafia!Simon "Ghost" Riley x police officer's daughter!reader

word count: 770

warning: alternative universe, mentions of police, tw! for creepy guy, allusion to dark!ghost (only if you squint)

note: new au, new ideas (don't hesitate to send me requests <;3)

⤷ ever since you were a little kid, your dad was a member of the police force in manchester. you were a daddy’s girl through and through. hell, you wanted to be just like him when you were little—catching bad guys and keeping people safe.

⤷ but something shifted when you were a teenager—and suddenly, the daddy’s good little girl was gone. you were sneaking out, partying with friends, skipping school to go smoke cigarettes underneath the crumbling cobblestone bridge by your secondary school.

⤷ it only got worse once you graduated and enrolled in university. this time, though, you weren’t under your father’s thumb anymore. you were in your flat, with your own roommates, doing whatever you wanted to do. that’s how you found yourself in some dingy new pub that opened up in the city.

⤷ you had dipped outside of the pub for a quick cigarette, stepping into a dimly lit alleyway and leaning against the cobbled wall to puff away at the tobacco stick. it was almost peaceful—that was until a group of drunken men stumbled by and one of them took a liking to you.

⤷ “aye, pretty thing. y’look lonely standing there all by yourself. mind if i join you? take a little puff of that cig?”

⤷ you tried to come up with some sort of excuse, eyes frantically searching for a way out—but the alleyway you were in was a dead end. the lit cigarette fell from your trembling hand, rolling across the wet asphalt. you thought you were goner until you heard an exit door from the pub behind you screech open, a hard voice rumbling like a thunder storm.

⤷ “what the fuck’s goin’ on out here? you botherin’ this girl, eh? at my fuckin’ pub? get the fuck out of here before i bury you underneath the concrete you're standin' on.”

⤷ you caught your breath as the man harassing you scrambled off quickly, turning your head to see who the gravelly voice belonged to. he was a looming figure, dressed in a steam-pressed three piece suit and tie along with shiny leather oxfords. his fingers were covered in tattoos and rings, his neck adorning two thick silver chains. His face, however, was obscured by a black mask with a slick skull face attached to the front. he looked menacing. the gun holstered to his hip didn’t help.

⤷ “you didn’t have to—”

⤷ “don’t sit there and tell me you would’ve handled it. that fucker would’ve torn you to bits if i hadn’t stepped in, lovie. too prideful to say thank you?”

⤷ having lived in manchester all your life, having listened to your father’s rants about the organized crime running rampant in the streets, you knew exactly who the man in front of you that night was: ghost, the faceless leader of the organized crime syndicate which ran manchester under an iron fist. you should’ve expected him to be here—this was his pub, after all.

⤷ you couldn't speak, but that was alright. ghost didn't mind—he was used to people keeping queit about him. that's why he felt so comfortable leaning against the wall of the alleyway, balancing a cigarette between his lips and igniting the paper.

⤷ "next time you're at my pub, make sure you stay with a friend. pretty little things like you have a tendency to get snatched up right quick out here. can't guarantee i'll be here to save you next time, lovie."

⤷ but after that night, ghost seemed to always be there to save the day. your car breaks down on the side of the road during rush hour traffic? ghost's suv just so happens to pull up behind you. you get a little too drunk out at his pub one night? ghost has one of his men drive you and your friends home. you know deep down that it's way past just coincidences now—but that added to the thrill of it, to the taboo nature of it all.

⤷ other than that, ghost might as well have been a figment of your imagination. he never gave you a phone number, never told you an address, never really stuck around much after helping you out time after time. he was almost unreal until he came out from the shadows. it took almost an entire year before ghost finally asked you to get drinks with him.

⤷ "c'mon—you gotta say yes. y'know how rare it is for me to ask a girl for drinks? usually, the girls come crawlin' to me. not you, though. that's what i like about you, lovie."

#mafia!ghost ☠#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #simon ghost riley cod #simon ghost riley smut #call of duty smut #call of duty #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod x reader

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 2 months

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It's Who We Have | Part Seven

Summary: A cruel twist of fate has brought them together, and it might be enough to push them apart | Word Count: 5.6k~ | Warnings: mentions of terrorism, that episode of trigger point 🫣

A/N: guys we finally made it. The scene that made me start this series 😘 enjoy!

General Taglist | Billy Washington Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Despite knowing Billy had endured a rough night on the sofa, the morning revealed the aftermath in his dishevelled hair, longer stubble, and tired countenance, as if he battled a tempest in his sleep.

Surprisingly, slipping into his bed felt oddly natural, shedding only her jeans and bra before nestling beneath the sheets, enveloped by the familiar scent that wrapped around her like a tender embrace. Despite the temptation to invite him to share the bed, she resisted, though her heart tugged against her rational mind.

The tension between them simmered beneath the surface, palpable in the silences punctuated by sporadic conversation and the noisy sips of tea. The oppressive heat of the day seemed to sap the air from her lungs, despite every window cracked open in Billy's flat. And yet, each time she stole a glance at him—clad in nothing more than worn joggers and a shirt clinging to his chest with sweat—her mouth inexplicably grew drier, amplifying the unspoken desires lingering between them since childhood, heightened by the previous night's fleeting kiss.

After freshening up a reasonable amount, she gathered the things she’d bought with her, ensuring it was alright if her car was left in its spot while Billy offered to drive her to Farringdon Tube Station. It felt like they were making up for the awkward flirting and silences from when they were teenagers, and she cursed herself for how easy it was for him to make her cheeks warm without seemingly doing much at all.

She sighed as they left the street-level door, the heavy weight of humidity dragging her down to the earth with every stifled step. Billy’s car wasn’t fancy, as she’d found out the night he’d driven her home from the pub with Abi and Libby strewn across the back seat and the way the weight of them made his car scrape against every speed bump on the way home. They smiled at one another awkwardly over the roof of the battered Vauxhall as Billy unlocked his door and both slid inside, groaning once again at the air inside the car somehow even worse.

“Why don’t you put the air-con on?” she asked, sliding into the passenger seat, plopping her bag between her feet.

Billy scoffed with a boyish smile, the key needing two turns before the engine fired into life, “fucking air con. They just blow hot air at you.”

God, it was nice to see him smile.

Nothing was said about the night before. She figured he might need a moment to collect his thoughts, as Billy often did.

He was a thinker. Quiet. Always had been. And though age has wisened him somewhat to this behaviour, some things never changed.

She didn’t mind. All she had was time. And if needed she’d wait for him to broach the subject whenever he was ready for it.

It only took twenty minutes for him to pull up to a slow stop beside the tube station. It was busier than usual, but being a Saturday, it was rife with people and groups of all types, and not only that, but she furrowed her brows at the group of people gathered in the middle of the road, with signs held high, and angry expressions.

“Bloody hell, what’s all this about?”

Billy sighed, his thumb rubbing his his forehead in annoyance, “fucking protest.”

She hummed and gathered her bag from the footwell, apparently seeing Billy was in no mood to delve into the confusion mix that was his emotions.

But her hand barely brushed the door handle.

“Wait..” he practically breathed without effort, fiddling with the gear stick as if he needed something to do with his hands “Can we…at least try and talk about last night?”

She couldn’t really read his expression. And she felt her heart beating so hard in her chest she was sure he could sense it. A sort of dread pooling there at the thought he hadn’t meant any of it, and that he was too drunk at the time to speak clearly.

She still felt his hand on her stomach, fingers barely stealing beneath the waistband of her jeans.

Billy wet his lips, his sandy blonde hair falling into his face. Her heart raced with uncertainty, hoping that her not moving an inch and her hand falling from the car door was enough of a reply.

“I just…I need to know if last night meant anything to you.”

Her breath caught, emotions swirling in her gut like a hurricane. A barrage of feelings made her feel nauseous, remembering how she had slept, with his scent permeating her senses, unable to sleep with the tingling to her lips and the inescapable idea that there was no going back.

If she had known that Billy had done somewhat the same. Laid on the sofa, arm thrown over his eyes, confused and pent up in equal measure, unable to relax at the idea that the woman he’d kissed, and bared all for, was asleep in his bed.

“Of course it did,” she replied softly, her eyes fluttering with vulnerability, “but…did it mean anything to you?”

He swallowed hard, his gaze falling to the floor before meeting hers again, as if her question directed back at him had taken him off guard, “Yeah,” he confessed. “It meant everything.”

A wave of relief soared through her so much she felt weightless, coupled with a sense of longing she was now unable to suppress.

“Then what now?” she asked, her voice laced with uncertainty and yet hope.

He sighed through his nose, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, in a gesture that made her heart squeeze, “I don’t know,” he admitted, his thumb lingering to graze her cheek, “But…can we figure it out together?”

With a hard swallow of her own, she nodded sincerely, and feeling a surge of courage, she leaned in closer, her heart pounding as she leaned in to close the distance between them. With a gentle touch, she pressed her lips to his, a silent affirmation of their unspoken connection. But the only affirmation Billy needed.

Billy’s breath caught in his throat, his hand still lingering on her cheek as he returned the kiss, his lips meeting and moulding to hers with a tender urgency. In that moment, all doubts and uncertainties melted away, leaving only the warmth and promise of what lay ahead, whether it was a difficult path to pave or not.

The angry beep of the horn from a car behind them made them break apart with a stifled and awkward giggle, cheeks all warm, but a silent understanding lingering. He let out a low chuckle, “I’ve always wanted to do this with you.”

She smiled warmly back at him, her heart fluttering with newfound excitement mingled with a touch of nervousness. "Me too," she confessed softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she reached for the door handle. “Still promise?”

For a moment, he looked lost, until he remembered what he would do to break himself from the hatred and judgement of the people he was currently involved with. And he nodded, “promise.”

Her fingers pulled the clunky door handle.

“Hang on, Lana’s ringing. She’s been calling me all bloody morning.”

She looked back and waited, watching as Billy put Lana on speakerphone, already seemingly annoyed with the conversation before it had even started.

“What’s up?” he asked.

Lana sounded ragged on the other end, as if she were walking quickly, “where are you? Sound like you’re in the car?”

“Yeah was driving to meet my mates, why?”

“What mates? Anyone I know?”

She furrowed her brows. When was Lana ever protective of Billy? It wasn’t like her at all. Usually she’d want as little as possible to do with whatever Billy busied himself doing. Although she couldn’t deny, perhaps his big sister was just as afraid for what he’d got involved in as she had been.

“Just mates, Lana. Why what’s going off?”

“Listen, Billy, I just needed to call you. You’ve not been answering my calls. You’ve not been about-wh-where are you driving to?”

Billy nearly stalled the car, lurching it forward slightly and bumping one of the protestors, and all at once they were surrounding them, with angered faces and patting at the car windows.

“Billy. Billy.”

He sighed, flashing two fingers to a protester on his side, “Farringdon Tube Station.”

“Listen, Billy, it’s important, what are you doing at Farringdon Station?”

His fingers gripped the steering wheel, flashing a confusion expression to her across the centre console at how worried Lana sounded, and how his sister was doing a piss poor job of hiding it in her voice, “I was meant to meet the lads but they’re not here. Outside the tube he said, but I can’t see them. Just a load of lefty wankers.”

“Billy, why did you drive, was that your idea?”

“Nah, my mates asked me to give some of the lads a lift down. Must be some kind of joke.”

She did have a glance around, surmising that these ‘friends’ should have been here by now.

Why was dread pooling in her stomach?

Something felt wrong. Like it was pulling her to the spot she was sat.

“Yeah they’ve set me up, haven��t they? Havin’ a laugh, aren’t they? Knobheads.”

There was that little pang of sadness again. The familiar sound of Billy being let down.

“Billy, these new mates of yours, they’re not who you think they are.”

He rubbed his nose, scrunching it as if his sister could see, “Lana, what you on about?”

“Nick. Nick Roberts, he’s a…he’s a terrorist. One of the Crusaders that killed Nut.”

That dread began to mutate into fear then.

Her fingers started to shake.

“You’re winding me up, aren’t you.”

“Do I sound like I’m fucking winding you up?! Have any of them been near your car? Look around, is there anything different about it?”

“Got a mate fixing up my car.” he’d said just the day before.

She felt as if she might vomit.

“Eh?”

“For fucks sake, Billy! Listen to me! I need you to check the car for me, okay? Have a look under the steering wheel or under the footwell, anything you can see that might be unusual.”

Fear invaded Billy’s voice then, and it made her feel no better about her own, “right…yeah…”

She watched her friend. Her friend? No. The man she loved clawed about his car with shaking hands, dropping various bits onto the floor. A sponge fell from the dashboard, revealing the old, used lipstick tube that Becky must have owned. Packs of ibuprofen. Scrunched up receipts.

Every bit of Billy's daily life crumbling apart in search of danger that lingered inside.

And all she could do was watch on in horror, unmoving.

Her trembling feet shifted across as if she were cowering, when Billy lifted the foot mat and he himself, froze with parted lips.

“Lana there’s some masking tape underneath the foot mat.”

Lana's reaction over the phone mirrored hers, and she heard a hard breath crackle on the other line.

“Alright, okay, can you…really carefully lift up the masking tape?”

An acrid fear bubbled at the back of her throat.

“There’s…there’s a wire, Lana.”

A pause.

Come on Lana.

“Can you see where it’s leading to?”

The way Billy held the wire between his fingers so lightly made her want to shut her eyes right and never open them again. It lead to an opening between the glovebox and the door, such a tiny hole that nobody would have noticed unless they looked closely.

“The…the glove box…”

Their eyes met briefly. His stuttering voice made her want to weep and even more so the look of wide-eyed horror in his gaze.

Come on, Billy.

She swallowed dryly, as his fingers tugged the glovebox open with a haunting click.

Silence enveloped her, suffocating in its intensity.

Her gaze fixated on the ominous device nestled amidst the tape and wires, its menacing presence choking Billy's car in a miasma of dread. Each heartbeat echoed louder than his fading voice, each second stretching into an eternity as she grappled with fear's paralysing grip.

Her fingers, entwined around the car handle, hovered in limbo, caught between fleeing into uncertainty or surrendering to the looming threat. A call from Lana had shattered the fragile peace, leaving her teetering on the precipice of terror.

With a quivering exhale, she released her grasp, her hands trembling with a raw, primal energy. The world outside, once vibrant with life, now seemed tinged with an ominous shadow. Farringdon Tube station teemed with unsuspecting souls, oblivious to the danger lurking beneath the surface.

Dread clawed at her insides, a nauseating churn of realisation settling in her gut like vomit. These people, innocent and carefree, were now unwitting pawns in a deadly game. Families frolicked, children laughed, teenagers revelled in their youth—all oblivious to the impending peril.

A chill swept over her, a cold sweat tracing the length of her spine, pushing her seat back as far as it would go to distance herself from the danger staring back at her. Billy's panicked voice crept back into her ears, a stark reminder of the impending catastrophe that loomed ever closer.

“Fucking. Hell. Shit, shit, shit, it’s hooked up to summat…looks like a bomb” “I’ve got to get out the car, if it explodes I’m done for man, I’m gonna die-”

“No! Billy! Do not get out the car! Do not get out the car. You just need to stay calm and listen to me, alright?”

She reached out with urgency as Billy made the move, calmly pulling him back with a softened gaze, “Billy, hey, look at me. It’s alright, I’m here…”

Lana's urgent tone cut through the tension like a knife, her concern palpable even through the crackling phone connection. "Billy, who's in the car with you?" she asked suddenly, her voice sharp with urgency.

Billy was still trying to catch his breath, so she replied, “it’s me…Billy was giving me a lift to the station, I-I didn’t know-”

“Shit…”, her heart raced as Lana's voice crackled through the phone once more. "Listen to me, both of you," Lana said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "I need you to stay calm and listen carefully. Keep the line open and put it on speakerphone so I can hear everything."

"Okay... okay..." she whispered to herself, her voice a mere murmur of reassurance amidst the chaos. With a gentle touch, she rubbed Billy's shoulder, offering him what comfort she could, prioritising his well-being over her own rising fear.

He swallowed his breath, attempting to keep it in his chest as he looked over at her with glassy, blue eyes, realising he had not only put himself in danger, but both of them. She saw the guilt and dread fall in his gaze.

"Right, we're gonna go to Cranstead Fields, Billy, you know it, yeah?" Lana's voice echoed through the car, her words a lifeline in the darkness of their situation.

“Yeah…I know it,” his voice was resigned, his fingers finding the steering wheel with anxiety.

“I’ll meet you there, it’s gonna be okay.”

But despite Lana's constant encouragement, she could sense the distrust emanating from Billy with each passing moment. Doubt clouded his features, scepticism shadowing his every move. He didn't believe her.

He didn't believe her.

What almost scared her more was Billy’s erratic driving, taking corners too quick and being generally careless. His crumbling belief he’d make it out of this alive swallowed by dread.

“You’ve got to tell Mum and Dad I’m sorry, yeah?”

“Billy, tell them yourself, you’re gonna be fine!”

She pressed her legs together as if trying to curl herself into a ball of safety, hands braced on the seat, trying to calm the heavy beating of her heart.

Her eyes screwed shut at the exchange between Billy and Lana, whispering so quietly to herself for him to calm down and drive carefully.

Her eyes flew open and Billy leaned over though as something within the glovebox beeped. A light illuminated several numbers on the screen, showing all 0s, before settling and counting down with a harrowing beep from 08:00.

“Shit…”

“What’s happened?”

“There’s a timer, Lana…it’s a fucking timer.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Sanity slipped with every second. And she's ashamed to admit she jumped when Billy punched the steering wheel.

“Shit! Shit! Fuck!”

“Listen, Billy, I'm gonna help you, but you need to focus, okay? You just need to concentrate on getting to the park. When you get there, drive straight onto the field, you'll be fine. I promise.”

She exhaled shakily, wanting desperately to believe Lana on the other end, but gripping the passenger seat so hard her fingernails were digging into the material, and Billy's reddened and panicked face made it all the more difficult.

And as if it couldn't get worse.

“Fucking hell, my battery's gonna die,” Billy uttered in a tremor, watching as his phone went black screen just as Lana was about to say something.

Billy breathed through his nose loudly, chest moving with laboured breaths, he whispered, “come on, please, say something, talk to me, please.”

He begged like a mantra.

And though she couldn't trust her voice to sound at all comforting, she tried anyway, “we’ll be fine…Lana knows what she's doing, okay…she'll know what to do…”

Billy must have heard the sheer terror in her voice, and as he glanced aside, the way the tears were just starting to glitter her cheeks, he reached over and squeezed the skin above her knee in an attempt to make her feel safe and grounded.

Her hand simply joined his, interweaving their fingers momentarily. Gripping to him like he was the last thing on earth she could feel.

She shifted in her seat as Billy took the corner into Cranstead Fields, tyres screeching as he drove out onto the green, parting a friendly football game as he beeped for them to move out the way. She spotted one single police car as he passed it and felt her heart clench.

Even when they came to a stop, she caught sight of them running angrily towards her in the side mirror and immediately used both hands and all her strength to pull the door towards herself.

“Get away from that car!”

The lads surrounded them, sweaty hands pawing at the windows with annoyed grunts. Billy quickly pushed his lock down, and she closed her eyes as one particular lad stopped at her window and attempted to pry the door open. It felt as if she were breathing so loudly that blood was coating her tongue.

Only when they ran off did a man in uniform stop at Billy's window, a man she didn't recognise but he must have.

“Billy, Billy look at me, it's Hass. Stay still, okay? We're gonna work around you.”

Fuck. He spoke as if he had no clue what to do.

Lana's car grew in the distance, and she breathed partly in relief as Hass moved away towards her.

“Hass, I'm fucking losing it-” Billy started.

She shifted aside and reached out to hold his arms, “Billy…Billy, look at me,” she had to hold his face for him to finally hear her, “just you and me…it's alright…”

He shook his head, “I-I'm so fucking sorry, I-”

“Stop. Just breathe, okay…it's just you and me…”

She was almost shocked by her own words. Inside, she felt as if she were already dying and gasping for air. Only finding oxygen when Billy's eyes softened only slightly and he nodded, leaning his tacky cheek into her hand.

She blinked when Lana's dishevelled head popped around Billy's window.

Lana forced a smile, “I'm here. It's me. It's gonna be fine. Just stay really still, I'm gonna have a look around the car. Don’t touch anything, I’m just gonna check the car okay?”

Lana side-stepped wearily around it, and something changed in her gaze when she did, as if slipping right into work-mode before their very eyes. Her hand was still resting on Billy’s shaking forearm, while he leaned over her side with a mortifying sense of curiosity and foreboding, checking the numbers tick down on the display.

Lana didn’t say a word as she zoned in on the passenger window.

“How bad is it?” Billy asked, as if in desperate need of some good news.

If there was one thing about Lana she knew, it was that she was fucking horrendous at lying, “it’s fine.”

“I can tell when you’re lying, man, how bad is it?!”

If it were any other situation, she would have laughed at them both. And the brief glimpse into what would have been their normal sibling banter did make the battering of her heart slow somewhat.

She could tell by the rising intensity of Billy's voice and the way he couldn’t relax that he was slowly losing it without the comforting words of his sister. And it did nothing for her nerves either when she watched Lana disappear to the police car in the distance and she noticed with a shrill freeze of her heart, a sniper aimed towards the car, in case either of them made a move to escape.

For Billy’s sake, she didn’t say a thing. And she felt more and more powerless the more Billy’s eyes watered, face reddenned in primal fear, “Lana, fucking get me out the car!”

His sister’s expression was stern, constantly fighting a battle between having to be professional and calm for work and yet comforting and loving as a sister to her little brother who gripped the steering wheel tight, and stared at her, wanting nothing more than to open the dreaded door into false freedom.

“Listen to me! Look at me! The timer means nothing. They’ve put it there as a trick so you open the door! Can you hear me! Don’t touch it! Stay still! Listen to me, I’m your sister.”

Billy had long checked out of reason. He just began to plead ceaselessly. Lana’s constant reassurance that she was his sister didn’t seem to mean a whole lot to him at this moment.

“Just trust me”, Lana begged wearily.

She shook her head. He doesn’t.

Even with those words, she saw the way Billy pleased ‘please, please’ as a means of self-soothing, unable to help himself from glancing over at the dreaded glovebox. She felt his control fading quickly.

Beeeeeeeeeep.

Both of them froze, watching the timer disappear off the screen.

“Lana?” Billy called pitifully.

Vomit rolled in her gut when after a few moments, the timer beeped once more back to life, tauntingly counting down from 30.

“Lana, do something!”

She’s too far away, she can’t hear us. She thought.

Billy’s palm smashed against the steering wheel in both grief and desperation, “Lana!”

“Billy, look at me,” she pleaded quietly at first.

Time slowed into a slow drag as Billy’s body turned his body, fiddling with shaky fingers to the lock at the corner of the window. Both dread and panic rolled in her, glancing at the sniper primed to discharge, and felt the hasty need to save Billy from himself, as she had done before.

“Suspect is unlocking door. I repeat, sus-”

“Billy!”

Had it been different, she would have apologised for the way her nails dug into his flesh as she wrenched him away. And at first, it scared her how much he flailed and fought to escape her, until she took his cheeks in her palms and forced him to look at her.

“For fucks sake, Billy, look at me!”

His blue eyes were wide and glassy, red rimmed with tears, rosy lips parted to suck oxygen into his lungs, hands wrapped around her forearms so, so tightly. The beep of the timer only seemed to taunt them, with the reminder of how little time they had left.

And she thought with some ache in her chest, that if these were indeed her last few seconds, she would be fine with that, looking into Billy Washington’s desperate eyes as they flitted over her face. She hadn’t realised that the tears had quickly made their way down her own, emotions and panic pushing the control from her.

Time was slipping away, their fate hanging by a thread, and she could feel it unravelling beneath her fingertips.

She shook her head, eyes fluttering, “u-um…think of a nice memory, come on-”

He tightened his grip, blinking a few times, “O-okay…y-your first day of school.”

Despite everything, a smile threatened to break across her face.

“Okay…okay…” she nodded, “do you remember how you were there for me then?”

He nods, “yeah, I do-”

“Now let me be here for you…okay?”

All Billy could do was nod to her, and she took the brief opportunity his eyes were closed to steal a glance at the sniper, now relaxed, seeing through his viewfinder that there was no longer immediate danger. The man she remembered was named Hass was trying his best to hold Lana back, waiting for the inevitable.

For either the timer to go off, and the car would be filled with flame and heat. Or nothing.

She sniffled, “you remember? I was covered in mud…I still remember you blushing going into the girl’s toilets.”

He sobbed loudly, shaking, head bowed against her chest, his whole body covered in perspiration with stress.

“Mum fucking bollocked me for that you know,” she adds with a watery laugh.

He rested his head against her chest, seeking comfort in the steady rhythm of her heartbeat beneath his cheek. His hands encircled her waist, holding onto her as if she were his lifeline, and she reciprocated, clutching him tightly, her fingers tangling in his damp, tousled hair.

“It’s always been us, right? It always will be,” he whispered, his voice quivering with emotion.

“Always,” she affirmed softly, her own voice trembling with unshed tears.

“You're everything,” he confessed, his words choked with emotion, the impending threat of their demise hanging heavily in the air.

Their embrace tightened, the outside world fading into oblivion as they held onto each other, finding solace in the precious moments they had left together.

The timer continued its relentless countdown, each passing second felt like an eternity. She held her breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion. The tension in the car was palpable, suffocating them both as they braced themselves for the worst.

But as the timer reached zero, there was only silence. No deafening blast, no fiery explosion. Just the sound of their ragged breaths filling the air, mingling with the faint hum of the engine.

Confusion washed over them, disbelief etched into their expressions as they exchanged bewildered glances. Had they miscalculated? Was this some twisted twist of fate?

The bomb hadn't gone off.

They were still alive.

She turned to Billy, her heart pounding in her chest, and found him gazing at her with a mixture of disbelief and relief mirrored in his eyes.

Without a word, he leaned in, his lips pressing urgently against hers in a desperate kiss. It was a frantic, desperate attempt to grasp onto life, to affirm their existence in the face of imminent death. Every touch, every caress, was a silent plea for more time, a fervent prayer that they had not cheated death in vain.

The lingering danger remained, tucked into the glovebox as they broke free from the kiss, trying to paw back control between themselves.

For a brief moment, Billy thought, what if she hadn’t been here?

He jumped when EXPO began to surround the car, but didn't break free from her. They stayed like that for long, long moments, not wanting to part from this delicate balance.

She couldn't really even pay attention to what they were saying. It was all meaningless jargon to both of them. All they knew was that they took were clinging to the hope that two people would not die today, it wouldn't be them.

Lana murmured to Hass, “extract Billy first through the rear window, he's the most unstable-”

“No! Get her out first!” Billy protested.

“Billy, calm down, we'll get you both out, okay?” Lana replied calmly, her tone trying to diffuse the situation. Her hand gripped Billy's tighter as he argued.

“Fuck no-”

“Billy,” she whispered, tracing his knuckles with her thumb, “it's okay, I'll be right behind you, okay?”

She thought, she wasn't doing a very good job getting the shake out of her voice. But she implored him all the same to just do what she asked of him. He would be safe…

The EXPO team managed to pry the rear window without shattering the glass, and as it thunked to the floor, cooling air pooled in, making the sweat sticking to her clothes feel chilly.

“Alright, Billy, very slowly, put your seat back as far as it will go-that’s it-so it's nice and flat-” Hass instructed calmly, and she watched him with bated breath, “now slowly, if you can, climb over towards us…”

Billy licked his lips, pulling every strength he thought he had deep inside. His legs felt heavy. Body wracked with stress. And every step he took, he felt as if he was on the precipice of passing out.

Hass and a uniformed officer were the ones who pulled him free. And as soon as she saw Billy disappear out the rear window to safety, she felt that sinking feeling of loneliness once again settle in her chest.

She could even hear Billy's protest, fighting against the police officers trying to push him towards the ambulance, “I'm not going anywhere until she's out- get her out!”

She swallowed thickly and blinked quickly, trying to steady the quivering of her hands in mid air. Her eyes kept being pulled to the tightly wrapped package in the glovebox in front of her. Voices fading into nothingness.

Hass knocked on her window, and she jumped in her spot.

“Okay now, I need you to really slowly, like Billy just did, tilt your seat back.”

She nodded but it was merely out of sheer instinct. The words were scrambled.

Her legs felt like jelly as she slowly pushed the seat back, her airways feeling constricted from the force of her tears. Turning her body she gripped the headrest and rested her knees on the seat, trying her hardest to breathe deeply.

“Come on, it's alright, you're totally safe,” Hass soothed from the view out the rear window. Billy was not far behind, beside Lana, watching with a face of worry and bloomed by the harsh sun.

One leg stretched forwards, with arms on each headrest, seeing freedom, her movements were too quick, and her foot slipped between the seat and the gearstick. She tugged a few times, frustration and panic only exacerbating her grief at the last hour.

“Come on, you're doing so well, baby,” Billy's soft, airy voice was closer. She saw his face with blurry vision out the rear window, his figure bathed in warmth and light.

His hand outstretched. But she couldn't reach it. She was frozen in limbo between the swallowing darkness of the bomb behind her, and the open and safe closeness of her dear friend, and the man she loved.

Years of adorning that mask of self reliance, of building the walls high around her heart seemed to melt off of her. And when she saw Billy's face looking at her through the rear windscreen, she thought that she simply wanted to be the little girl in the green coat, even if it was just for one last time.

She nearly sobbed when Billy crawled back into the car, blatantly ignoring the protests behind him, she felt his hands around her waist and ribs, to pull her gently free.

Her arms hugged him frantically, the fresh grass and the familiar Billy scent enveloped around her. His form swamped her, his breath kissing at her neck where his head was buried in her shoulder as he lowered them to the ground.

Over his shoulder, through the clarity after her tears, she glanced at the spot where so many times Billy had done just this.

Comforted her. Kissed her. Loved her.

“You're everything to me,” he whispered lovingly. Her eyes fluttered shut at his words, a soft whimper muffled by his shoulder as she buried herself in him.

“Billy…”

Not even the urgent commands from first responders could tear them apart, their grip on each other only growing tighter as they were ushered away from the car.

And when the controlled explosion echoed through Cranstead Fields, sending shockwaves through the air and coating the grass in a blanket of blackened debris, they remained steadfast in their bond, their love burning brighter than the flames that engulfed Billy's car.

Even as the flashing lights illuminated the darkness, and the blaring sirens pierced the silence, they held onto each other, their hearts beating as one against the chaos that threatened to tear them apart.

Billy's eyes scanned the chaos, desperately seeking her familiar face amidst the flurry of activity. But she was already being ushered away, swallowed by the darkness of another ambulance, her figure growing smaller with each passing second.

With Lana's comically small stature pushing Billy gently, he saw through the sea of heads and mischief, her eyes, bright and glimmering with tears as he had always known her.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies

#billy washington x oc #billy washington x y/n #billy washington x reader #billy washington #trigger point series #trigger point itv #trigger point fanfic #trigger point billy washington #billy washington smut #billy washington fanfiction #billy washington angst #billy washington fic #billy washington x fem!reader #billy washington x female #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters

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my-soupy-brain · 2 months

Note

pretty sure ted has a pregnancy kink... can just imagine him saying “wanna fill you up, darlin’ , have you walkin round with a reminder to everyone that you’re mine” and that rare, primal, possessive side of him would be SO HOT

That's hot as hell. He loves it so much. And he'd definitely have some dirty thoughts, too. Let's gooo!

---

Relationship: Ted Lasso x reader (F)

Warnings: Smut, pregnancy

---

Now that you were married to Ted Lasso, you were eager to grow your family. Henry was begging for a little sibling.

You didn't need to hold to an ovulation schedule with Ted. You two couldn't keep your hands to yourself.

Friends at the pub stopped saying, "Get a room!" and instead said "Go make that baby!"

And one night after a pub outing, you and Ted stumble into your flat wrapped in each other. His hands groped your ass, your hands undid his belt. You were so hot for each other, it felt like the first time again.

You took your dress off, he pulled the zipper and let it drop to the floor. A trail of clothes like breadcrumbs to the bedroom.

"God, sugar..." Ted murmurs, his hands in your hair, lips on your neck. "I wanna fill you up..."

You moan his name and bite your lip, falling into bed, Ted climbing over you, his hands everywhere.

"Let's...let's make that baby, Ted..." you plead. "God, fill me up."

Ted growls as he takes your panties off, bra, tossing them needlessly to the floor. Your hand sneaks into his boxer briefs to stroke his hard, aching length and you see him moan your name.

"Baby, I'm about to burst..." he begs, pushing his underwear down, joining the accumulated pile on the floor.

He inches toward you, his fingertips tease over your clit. His dark eyes gaze down at you as he pushes in, leaning over you.

His lips kiss yours, then your neck...

"I wanna fill you up...so you walk around with a reminder that you're mine..." he says with a gravelly voice, making you shiver and moan.

"You like that? You want me to pump you full and we make a baby?"

"God, Ted...yessss..." you hiss, the need making your skin tight and hot.

He slides into you and moves deep, your lips locked together. You love making love with Ted. Is it hot and sexy? Absolutely! But also romantic and sensual.

His long, warm fingers run down your body.

"A perfect body for makin' our baby," he murmurs. "So beautiful..."

He nibbles your neck and grabs your soft curves in his hands, growling as his body works into you, your hips in rhythm. As you start to shake he knows...

"C'mon baby... let it fell good...I'm gonna come with you..."

You moan louder, crying out his name. He loves hearing that.

"Yeah baby, just for me. You're such a good girl..."

And that does it in, the cord snapping, your eyes rolling back. Ted lifts your hips with his hands, the angle so your clit rubs against his pubic bone, sending your orgasm into overdrive.

When you clench again, he comes, pumping into you, letting you milk him. His warm come soothes the throbbing of your channel. You clench around him again, and he groans.

But he sets your hips down, keeping his cock warmed inside you as you catch your breath. You pull him down to you, whispering, "Stay...stay right there."

Your hearts hammer in unison and doesn't let you go, pushing a pillow under your hips to tilt you back. You'd read that helps with conception.

And he stays. His hands coast your body... his lips, too. When he departs, he snuggles into you under the blanket, his hand drifting down your tummy.

"You think we did it?" he asks with a smile, and your cheeks blush.

"I hope we did. I'm going to say we did."

And a few weeks later, with a tiny stick holding your future answer, you find out...

You're right.

---

Might need a part two, because Ted goes wild for your pregnancy and looks for every way to cater to you...and bring you pleasure. SWOON! Thanks for the prompt friend!

#ted lasso x reader #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso x you #ted lasso smut

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axelsagewrites · 4 months

Text

Jan Maas*Buttercup

Pairing: Jan x pregnant!reader

Word count: 2479

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, morning sickness, petty arguments, mentions of childbirth but nothing detailed, Jan being the biggest girl dad ever

Requested by @hypocritic-trash-baby (sorry it took sooo long)

Masterlist Here

There were many, and you meant many, downsides to working in a pub but one of the upsides just walked in. the Richmond coach Ted lasso and beard came in pretty regularly already but recently Dani, Sam, and Jan had also become regulars with the latter being the only thing you can think about. Jan mass was tall, handsome, and his jersey number was 13 which was basically fate since it was your lucky number.

“Hello,” his adorable Dutch accent greeted you as Sam and Danni claimed a table. “Three pints please,”

“Hiya and no problem,” you grinned, already holding the first pint in your hand since you knew their order by heart not that it was hard to remember, “How are you?”

“Better now,” he smiled, sipping on the first pint you slid him. “I was wondering if I may ask you something?” he asked, his smile dropping for a second as he glanced to his friends.

You tilted your head but smiled anyway, “Course you can. What’s up buttercup?”

Jan chuckled at this, always finding your expressions funny for some unknown reason to you. however, everyone on the team knew why. The boy was absolutely smittened by you. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

You almost choked on the pint you weren’t even drinking and for a second his smile faltered before you quickly began to splutter, “Well yes that sounds I mean yes I think I mean fuck-“ you paused, sitting the final pint down before smiling, “I’d like that yes,”

“Okay great,” he said but it came out as a laugh, “Could I pick you up tomorrow? Say seven o’clock?” he asked as he handed you the money for the drinks.

“Seven. Perfect. I can meet you here if you’d like?”

“Okay,” he said, picking up the tray of drinks before adding, “Buttercup,” with a large grin.

You watched him walk to the table for a moment before turning to Mae, “Could you- “

“Yes, I’ll cover your shift you little pest,” she rolled her eyes before finally grinning, “Told you he bloody fancied you,” As she said this however cheers came from the Richmond players who were now patting a very happy look Jan mass on the back.

The first date had gone so well you woke up in his apartment the next morning before he whisked you out for breakfast and a second date. You didn’t actually sleep in your own apartment for the first four days after the date you were that wrapped up. Thank god for the off season.

Jan mass was everything you could hope for. He was sweet, kind, honest, and downright gorgeous which helped. You had been dating for 8 months now before the first problem arose. Sure, you had had petty arguments, but this was far more serious. Two pink lines stared back at you in the bathroom.

“Honey, I need to leave now or ill be late!” Jan Mass called through the flat you had now moved into with him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” you called back, wrapping the stick up in a ton of toilet paper before stashing it in the back of the bathroom cabinet behind the spare toilet rolls. You’d deal with it later you told yourself as you quickly washed your hands and pressed the cold backs of them to your eyes to try depuff them.

You ran out the bathroom with a forced smile, but Jan mass was angrily pacing the room, “I cannot be late,”

“We won’t be late,”

“We will,” you began to bicker as you both ran out the building to the car. The whole way there he complained as you drove, but you saw the way his leg was bouncing. After all each of these games were important if they wanted to make it back to the premier league but his constant petty jabs were not helping the delicate situation.

When you arrived at Richmond he basically ran out of the car, ditching you to find a parking space. Technically he’d been right but by the time you parked he was only 3 minutes late but only to the recommended early start time Ted recommended to get them ready.

After another quick cry in your car, you headed up to Rebecca’s office to meet her and Keeley. “You alright babes?” Keeley asked, her head tilting like a puppies when she saw your eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine just allergies,” you smiled. Somehow you managed to dodge the rest of their questions as you headed to the stands.

“Look at your man,” Keeley grinned, nudging you as Jan Mass ran onto the field. You smiled lightly and just nodded making her sigh. “What happened babes?”

“Nothing- its just he was being annoying today that’s all,” you tried to assure her, but she gave you that look like Rebecca screamed her team on. “He was just getting all bitchy cause he thought we were gonna be late,”

“Maybe he’s on his period,” she joked, and you felt your stomach drop as you tried to laugh along.

Richmond tied, again, which even though was technically a good thing was just starting to get everybody down. You’d decided to head home before Jan and when he arrived you were in no mood to talk to him. Especially not since morning sickness decided to hit your mid game instead of the expected 8am.

By the time you made it home you honestly just felt like crap and collapsed onto the bed. At some point you must’ve fallen asleep because when you woke up Jan was sat beside you on the bed stroking your back. “Hey,” you muttered, your head falling back onto the pillow.

“I’m sorry. For earlier. I shouldn’t have snapped,” Jan said as he moved to lay in front of you, wrapping his arms around you, “Everything has just been so stressful you know? especially with another tie,” he half laughed but you knew it had been weighing on him, “You disappeared half way thought though. I thought you’d already left but I saw you just before we finished,”

You tried your best to smile but you could tell he didn’t believe you, “Just didn’t feel very well but id never miss a game. You know me,”

“I do,” he smiled, wrapping his arms tight around you and bringing you into his chest, “My little trooper,”

You knew you should’ve told him, but you didn’t know how. As you searched online for ways to tell him you fell down a rabbit hole of unhappy reactions. He was already so stressed with football a baby wasn’t exactly going to help with that or fit into his busy schedule. What happens if he has an away match when you’re in labour? Or if he wasn’t ready to settle down? Or if it throws him off his game?

Eventually you snapped under the weight of it all and broke down and told Keeley. She came over in a heartbeat to help you hug it out and try get you excited. “We should go baby shopping!” she said suddenly grabbing your arm, “Cmon it’d be so cute! We can pick up a baby Richmond jersey or something,”

“Okay alright,” you laughed as you tried to pick yourself off the couch to get ready, “And thanks for coming over, babes. It’s just been so hard wrapping my mind around it,”

“I know babes,” Keeley said as you both got ready to leave. You sent Jan a quick text saying you would be back around 5 since he was still at practise, “But hey once you tell him it’ll be a thousand times easier,”

“I hope so,”

“I know so,”

Shopping defiantly helped lift your spirit and Keeley even agreed to stash the baby things at her place, but you did take the baby Richmond jersey with you and stuffed it in the bottom of your handbag. You came home all smiles as you opened the front door. “Honey I’m home,” you jokingly called as you tossed your keys in the bowl by the door. “You home yet?”

“In here,” Jan called from the bathroom. You sat your bag down and wandered to the open door, seeing Jan standing in front of the sink looking at something. “I was looking for bandages,” he said softly as you walked in and went to wrap your arms around him, pressing your cheek into his back.

“Oh no are you okay?”

“Yeah um. I hurt my ankle a bit but its fine. What is this?” he asked, his voice coloured in shock however when you looked past him the colour drained from your face.

You started to stutter, all the joy vanishing when you saw his blank expression. “It’s a pregnancy test,” you eventually managed to say, swallowing the lump in your throat.

You unwrapped your arms around him as he turned to face you. “And its positive?” he asked as if he wasn’t holding the literal evidence in his hands.

“Yes,” you said, your eyes falling to the floor as you felt them start to well up.

Jan sat the test down and you have expected him to push past you and straight out the door. but instead, his hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs rubbed over the tops of your cheeks, “I love you. so much. I cannot wait to meet them,” he whispered as you noticed his own teary eyes.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little as you lent up to kiss him, “I was scared to tell you,”

“Why?”

“Encase you hated me,” you confessed, seeing his face fill with guilt, “I didn’t want to ruin you career or throw you off- “

“Football is a job,” he interrupted, “one that yes, I love and yes has become my life. But you are my family. never for a second think you don’t come first,” he said before he tightened his arms around you and you allowed yourself to cry into his chest while he stroked your hair, “We’ll make it work baby. We always will,”

After a few moments you pulled away, “You wanna see what I bought?” you asked while leading him into the living room to get the tiny jersey out the bag.

You turned and showed it to Jan who’s smile somehow got even wider, “See,” he said as he took the jersey, “How could you possibly ruin anything? We’re going to have another player on the team,” he said, and you both laughed this time.

You did however make him promise not to tell anyone about the baby however keeping it a secret was hard. Jan’s birthday was coming up however and with the whole team really needing a chance to blow off some steam you both decided to invite them over and tell them at the same time.

The players had completely taken over your flat, every seat was taken and half of them were sat on the floor. Jan however made sure you had a seat. As everyone was sat around the room Ted stood up to give a birthday toast to Jan. “So, a very happy birthday to you my friend,” Ted finished his speech, all the boys giving a small cheer or a clap.

Jan stood up from where he’d been sitting next to you on the couch to take Teds place at the front of the room, “I would also like to thank you all for coming however I have a confession,” he said, looking at you with a wide smile, “I have an announcement to make,”

“Now you better not be quitting on us,” Ted joked making you and Jan both chuckle.

Keeley sent you an excited grin when she realised what was happening, “I’m not going anywhere,” he laughed, “No actually there is someone coming to meet the team. And they are very special to me, so I hope you love them just as much as I do,”

“Is it Zava?” someone asked causing a flurry of conversations and a very loud ‘shut it’ from Roy.

“Someone even better,” Jan said once he finally had their attention again. He pulled the tiny jersey out of his back pocket and held it up, “We’re having a baby,”

To say the team erupted in cheers was an understatement. You were suddenly being hugged by about 20 different footballers all at once who were all congratulating you both. Even Roy gave you a hug it was wild.

However, it was not easy being pregnant. Especially not when your stomach suddenly became the size of a large watermelon that weighed what felt like 100lbs. between the stress of Jan’s job and the constant pressure on your bladder and joints there was defiantly some struggles but some how some way you managed and now you were holding a baby girl in your arms.

“She’s so beautiful,” Jan whispered as he sat beside you on the bed. “Just like her mother,”

As you leaned in for a brief soft kiss a nurse knocked on the door, “Hi you have um some visitors?” she said making you look at Jan.

“Who did you tell?” you sighed but he just gave you a sorry smile. “How many are out there?” you asked.

The nurse popped her head out and did a brief count before giving you a sorry look, “20ish people?”

You groaned but internally smiled since you knew your daughter would be surrounded by love. You turned to Jan, “Two at a time. two minutes each. No one gets to hold her, but they get to see her,” he nodded and instantly got up to fulfil your wishes.

The first in were Roy and Keeley. Keeley instantly rushed to give you a hug on the side that you weren’t holding your daughter while Roy slowly wandered over to look down at the small bundle in your arms. “She’s fucking beautiful she is,” he said, voice choked with tears making you and Keeley chuckle.

Jan however was less than impressed, “Hey! Language,” he said rolling his eyes.

“Sorry, sorry. Effing beautiful,” you let that one slide, however. Half an hour later the whole team had finally met her and were content enough to finally leave though they all left some kind of gift for her ranging from baby cleats she wouldn’t be able to wear for months to a massive panda bear from Isaac.

Finally, though it was just you, Jan and your baby again. “Can I take her?” he asked and you of coursed passed her over, “Hi baby,” he cooed as he held her to his chest. “I love you so much. Both of you,” he added, kissing the top of your head.

You smiled up at him, watching how he awed over your daughter. “I love you too,”

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#ted lasso #ted lasso x reader #ted lasso imagine #ted lasso fluff #jan maas #jan maas imagine #jan maas x reader #jan maas fluff #jan maas ted lasso

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down-one-juice · 1 year

Text

Print and Palms - Morpheus x reader SOULMATE AU!

Summary: A little Godling finds her way back to Preston over the long years she has roamed, visiting the grave of a dear friend. Her little visit is interrupted though, as her and an endless are bound.

Words: Around 3k

Warnings: Blood, Swearing.

AN: This is the first fiction I have written since college, please be nice to me! Comments are really appreciated! Also its a Slooooooooow Burn because in this chapter, they have yet to meet. But in the next chapter, they shall!

---------

There you now stood, on the edge of the world it seemed.

Watching from the top of the old bell tower in the centre of town, you peeked beneath the awning above you. All bustle and hustle below. Rain angrily flew sideways at you, sticking your hair to your cheek, occasionally landing a drop from your brow onto your chin. Women and men dressed in their warmest clothing Scurried away towards the shelter of a pub or home. Umbrellas, gloves and heavy skirts to fight off the chill.

Your garb mimicked theirs. The woollen skirts layered over you. But you did not feel the chill, you already felt gutted and cold from the inside. For you were at this bell tower to honour a promise. You could almost see it from here, the mountains now cleared of any fog that may have been there before the rain. What was once a fresh mound of dirt a mere 300 years ago, now fell into a flat landscape.

“Hello Perrin,” you whispered towards the mountains.

A sincere sadness plagued your heart, You had missed the last visit to his grave 300 years ago. Not that you were able to say it was an accident. You had merely tried to pretend you were human. That is what they do. They mourn and move on, create distance between the one that had died. As after all, even a great wizard needed to greet his death like a well-earned slumber. But, after 50 years you realised something. Humans do not spend the better part of a thousand years with the ones they love. You needed to honour the man that picked you up when you scraped your knees running with the hounds. Or the man who had hidden you when you had torn the heart from a man the first time.

Ah, to be 13 again.

Even when you had lost control, tearing flesh from man and woman. Howling and biting for the throats of the innocent. He had taken you in by the hearth. Swaddled you and washed the blood clean. Soft and stern like only a father of a disobeying child would be. A child who did not know why they disobeyed so.

That was the time before the amulet hung by your breast. He was the reason you were in control. You had returned the favour well, helping him through 17 wives and what must have been scores of little spawn.

You wanted to be able to tell him of his descendants. Where to start? You still kept an eye on a select few, the ones that had more of his blood running through them than most.

“That small one,” you started suddenly,” with the red hair, Ronny? He found his soulmate. He was ordering his coffee, looking though his wallet for a tip for the jar when the girl asked for his name. She was sweet looking; not too tall. And then they locked eyes.”

You sighed and leaned onto the pillar beside you. A soulmate was a beautiful thing. It meant that the universe and the realms had converged in such a way that you were near enough to feel them.

Perrin had never found his, nor had you. Two with such a long life, surviving with the knowledge that the universe preferred you alone.

For those that are mostly or all human, It’s a warm feeling. They can feel what the air is like to breath from the others lungs for a brief moment. Then it turns into a warm and comforting hum. That’s the way others had described it to you.

Love was apparently pleasant and warm. Or, at the very least, human love. Kind and simple.

You watched as a print had made its burn onto the skin behind Ronny's ear. No doubt where his new loves hand would fall many times as she kissed his freckled face.

Why you had been so long without a soulmate was baffling. Most of the time, even immortals found their own. If they tended to be mortal, Death made an exception. They’re ‘record’ seemed to be lost, and they mistakenly were taken to the wrong realm it seemed.

Lightening cracked, illuminating the large manor beyond the treeline. Wind picked up as you waited for the thunder to hit. In those seconds the wind seemed to still. You looked back at what was now a grave.

“I’m so sorry.”

Tears seemed to jerk from your eyes as a single sob ripped into your chest, rattling the amulet that was tucked beneath your collar. And the flood gates opened. The next sob was met with the crash of the thunder, wind flew through the bell tower, finally warning you it was time to go.

Yet, you couldn’t. Not yet.

“Five more minutes, old friend. I owe you that much.”

Years passed.

You travelled far and wide, half a century had passed before you felt the pull back to Perrin and his resting place.

You had finally made your way back to the town that was once small and meek, now booming with wealth and prosperity thanks to the attraction that became the Burgess house. It had always made you queasy that thing, it seemed to call to you, then shun you away with the same breath.

A warning and a plea.

Perrin had often told you to not meddle in the affairs of folk that believed they had more power than they did. It wasn’t worth risking those that would bring a godling to harm.

But yet, you had always wondered about the rumours the poor folks in the pubs spouted at you.

“A devil.” They would slur. “An’ if yer’ not careful, he’ll gobbl’ you up and ne’er spit you out!”

You had felt bad for most of them, they would never know what a true devil was. Although some of the ones that were on the handsier side you hoped would taste a portion of the devils wrath. For now, you sat at the pub at the bottom of the street, as you had so many times. Every so often flitting back in when you were confident that you would not be sought after as a witch and burned at the stake.

Again.

Now you stood before the stone building, holding an old leather bag and watching the flapper women gleefully run towards cars awaiting to take them to the Magus. It was still slightly familiar, it had not been quite long enough for the building to shake the last of the century off just yet. The doorway still held those designs from the last visit, although it seemed several layers of paint had been slopped over them.

You sat by the door, shrugging off your obnoxiously large, old coat, which was by now more patches than the real deal, harshly shoving it between you and the hard seat back as a cushion. Slipping into the seat you placed your bag by your feet, pulling an old notebook bound in leather from its innards.

“’ello, miss!”

You glance up at a kindly older gentlemen, his eyebrows slightly unruly. His nose was large, almost as though a cauliflower had been plopped in the centre. Above that his glasses fell slightly askew, doubting they did much as he was still squinting at you merrily. He was dressed cosily, a vest and woollen jumper hugged him tight. Though it did nothing to hide the finger marks that peeked from the sleeve. What would have been a bright scarred colour was now a dull grey.

A lost soul, you thought.

“Just a pint of the freshest you have, please,” You answered.

He seemed to understand and cheerfully chatted to another at the bar as he poured. You went back to the notes. Reading over a few runes that you had found in some abandoned building not far from here. You could see what they were going for. A few tweaks and they may have successfully summoned something.

As you saw the movement of the barkeep turn back towards you, the sky exploded.

Blue and black shook the windows angrily. Sand and grass flew through doors that were flung wide open like mouths. A few of the lights on the streets shattered and sparked, only to blacken the streets moments later.

Chaos erupted. A few that had been holding drinks nearer to their mouths spat glass and ale mixed with red. You had been thrown to the floor, napkins and coasters flying past your head.

What was this power? This anger that you felt screaming through every part of your being. You clutched at the amulet under your shirt as your heart seemed to pick up to match the heartbeat in the wind. Closing your eyes for a moment before you managed to scramble to your feet. The wind still pushed at the backs of your knees. Almost as though willing you to bend before it. To kneel.

You watched as others started to come to a sense of realisation that the world wasn’t ending. Burgess house was probably at it again. They all did their best to close windows and doors. Bundle the injured up and out to the back where windows were less frequent. Others just continued to drink. To grumble out a harsh:

“Always knew those doors were shoddy.”

But they couldn't feel it, couldn’t grasp the absolute rage that had freed itself into the room. It was still ebbing and flowing and screaming. Even if the wind had flown on to the next victim.

You cautiously approached the ghost of what was once a window, glancing upwards at the path that was well paved and still well lit, compared to the dark streets outside the door that were missing bricks. You watched a gust pick up the leaves and branches at the entrance. Framed by beautiful arches of life that seemed to answer the call. You knew it was through there. The Burgess estate.

Perhaps it was time to venture past those borders and visit the Magus.

A small tingling on your chest made you look down. Black grains sank beneath your skin, your breath caught and you stumbled back to your chair. Hearing the kind old man calling out politely as you felt your hands go numb. Your nose felt cold and your knees fell stiff.

The necklace chain you had worn for centuries seemed to scream away from your neck as pain ripped through your back. The power you had felt just before punching through to your heart as a scream tore its way from your throat. You could barely afford to breath as a pain as hot as a branding iron slashed at the base of your throat.

You finally fell, finding the strength to open your eyes, you curled in on yourself. You could just make it out, golden sand flowed from what seemed to be the glow of fire in your neck. The tears that blurred your vision seemed to evaporate as soon as they found your lashes.

You began to question just how much more you could take, the sand felt cool on your skin as the fiery feeling raged on.

You did not know how long it lasted, nor did you wish to know, but the calls and shouts from the pub patrons were mere buzzing in your brain. You knew there were hands on you. Knew there were people clawing through the sand to clear you from it. And yet all you could feel was the presence of anger and power that ripped you to shreds.

As soon as it started. It ceased to be.

The smouldering ache left almost immediately, but in it’s stead it left a wanting. You felt as though you had ice on your throat that you would never be able to warm. For now, a welcome contrast but in the coming years, it would prove maddening.

You gasped and threw yourself away from the sand beneath you. Scurrying backwards on your hands with a new found energy. Panic induced adrenaline seemed to be a hell of a drive. When your back hit the bottom of the bar you stalled, eyes wide and panting. In the middle of the room was now a pile of sand that seemingly glowed under the light.

Dragging your gaze from a very human shaped mark on the floor you looked at the people hovering around. Concern, disgust, fear. One woman even had a hat pin aimed in your direction.

The new silence deafened you, and you found the energy to try and stand. Clumsily you stumbled to your things, attempting to grab your bag and coat before you, so gracefully, ran away. You could hear the people around you starting to move again and you wanted to be gone before some poor police officer was sent this way.

Your skin felt like ice and you just wanted to be away from here. Before you could escape, however, you caught your reflection in the window of the doors. Your eyes were red, small splotches of blood hung by your lash line and nose.

And a hand print had snugly found it’s way around your throat. The skin around it still angry and bright. Your breath caught in the back of your throat.

You needed to get the fuck out of here.

Not far away from where the pub now shook, the Endless sat, statuesque and tall. All muscle and bone, seemingly as healthy as when he first fell. Alex dared not venture past the frame of the door. Not this time. He simply peered through the bars, avoiding the light that would catch on the beings prison and cast shadows over the floor.

There he was, the dream.

Shrouded by the glass that could not quite allow him to hear well enough to make out the goings on upstairs. To hear the fact that above them, the Magus laughed and rejoiced with those that buckled beneath his feet. This was a natural occurrence for Alex, staring at the pale man whilst he heard the guards bicker about something stupid.

He was in awe of this monster, as he always had. But awe can be overshadowed by fear. As much as the Magus, his father, believed it would finally bestow him his brother back, Alex could not be so sure the creature would comply.

And that’s all he was now. A creature in the silence that seemed to breathe slower and slower as the years passed. His bird like torso almost still. Almost as though he had forgotten that he needed to to breathe.

Alex could hear a ruckus from up the stairs. No doubt another fight had broken out after too much liquor and swapping women. The old stairs behind him flew dust down at his feet. A wind that didn’t exist scraping over the ancient walls near his face. Roderick was probably up to no good again. At least, that’s what Alex had hoped.

He was not able to think on the subject any longer as he turned his attention back to Dream. He had slightly moved from his position. Now his face basked slightly upward and his eyes cast to the ceiling. Furrowed brow and pursed lips as his eyes seemed to melt into starlight.

“Always freaks me out when he moves.” One of the guards grumbled with a clink of a coffee cup. Just out his eye line he knew that the men were lounged quite comfortably. Against the Magus’ wishes.

The other let a grunt in response as he stood, footsteps edging close to the glass ball.

“’es stopped now, eh?” He could make out a shoulder coming into view, and Alex ducked up a few of the steps, trying not to crunch the stone beneath his dress shoes. The silence that followed seemed to be enough of an answer as the shoes clacked back towards the table.

Alex felt the floor seemingly fall from under him as he slipped, the guard let out shocked “OI!” as it seemed they had felt the same. Alex's’ attention immediately turned to the door again. Scrambling back to his knees he peeked back through the bars as the glass prison seemed to fill with some sort of wind. Impossibly harsh, throwing the Endless about against the walls.

He didn’t seem too phased as he let the current take him left to right, he seemed amused almost. Intrigued. The guards started to scramble, talking about Roderick and if they should go get him. Alex at this point wasn’t scared of being found, all he could do was watch.

Because the Endless lord started to SCREAM.

The first sound he had uttered in such a long time. His voice had not been used for such an age that it seemed to not quite reach it’s peak. It was hoarse and pained, Alex shot upwards, tempted to throw the gate open and barge in. Still wishing no harm onto him.

The dark hair fell over his eyes that now screwed shut as he clutched at his right hand. A golden light spreading over the palm, the muscles rippled through his chest and back. Changing what was once a relaxed canvas of skin, into a map of veins and tendon.

The glow seemed to fill the prison with warmth that the cellar had not felt in a long time. Alex could feel it on his face and hands as they clutched at the metal. But alas, the light was short lived as the glow was snuffed out by red.

Blood began pouring through his palm, by the bucket load.

The screams were higher now, more desperate as his toes disappeared into the thick warmth. By the time it had stopped, Dream had slumped backwards, trying to find footing as he tired. His feet were now gone. He sloshed as he attempted to stand, below his ankles were hidden from view.

He seemed to trip. Putting his hands out to steady himself, his right hand pressed against the glass. Alex’s eyes almost burst from his skull, his heart dropping with them. For there, in the Endless’ palm, was the print of another. Smaller, slightly more curved and delicate than his own.

I’ll be damned. He thought. Even the fucking Sandman gets one.

The riot came to an end and he heard one of the guards grunting to climb to his feet. It was time to leave. Turning on his heel, not without sparing one last look at the burn on the beings hand, and ran.

#the sandman #morpheus x reader #lord morpheus #the sandman netflix #fanfic #dream x reader #dream of the endless #x reader #slow burn #soulmates #soulmate au

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oknowkiss · 5 months

Note

Song drabbles???? 😭😭😭😭 26 please (or 10 if you can’t do that one.) I’m obsessed with this. 🥹❤️❤️

for you, darling? anything. have some pub night drarry & the gang, 595 words, rated T for language and mentions of sex.

always be my baby - mariah carey

“The line is: side canter is a feeling so strong,” Draco says, leaning victoriously back in the booth, arms and legs crossed. Everyone groans.

“No, it isn’t. That makes literally no sense,” Harry says. He’s got a point, but Draco has no interest in feeding his morbidly bloated ego.

“Go on then, Mr Recently Out,” Draco says, flourishing in Harry’s direction. “Impress us all with your homosexual expertise in Mariah Carey lyrics.”

Harry’s mouth goes flat, but Draco can tell by the creases near his eyes that he’s trying not to laugh.

“By that logic,” Harry says, leaning forward on his elbows, “Considering how wrong you are, you’re the straightest person here.”

Ron snorts into his beer, sloshing foam over the rim.

“Shall I play the song again?” Neville asks, already half out his seat, coins in hand.

“That won’t be necessary,” Harry says, “Because—”

“Too late!” Neville calls, sings practically, halfway to the jukebox, at the same time as Draco makes pointed eye contact with Harry and says, “Gaaayyyy.”

“We’re going to be thrown out if he plays that song again,” Hermione frets. “And don’t say gay like that, Malfoy. It’s rude.”

“I’m allowed!” Draco insists, eyes wide. “You can’t, but I can. It’s my agenda.”

“He’s just learned that term today,” Harry says in a fake whisper. “Act impressed.”

Draco sticks his tongue out.

“I’m going to be ill,” Pansy says from beside Draco. “Can you two fuck already, and spare us all whatever this is?”

“They already are,” Luna says, looking up from her gin and tonic with a confused expression. The table falls silent. “Oh,” she says, taking in Draco’s face. “Was that meant to be a secret? Only, you did it on my couch. And then also in your room very loudly. And also—”

“Yes alright,” Draco says primly. He adjusts the cross of his legs.

“Oh yeah…” Harry says, scratching his chin as he looks up towards the ceiling. “I knew there was something I’d forgotten.” He returns his gaze to the group. “I meant to say earlier: I’m fucking Draco Malfoy, li—”

“If you say literally,” Ron warns him, motioning with his pint. “I’m going to finish the job You-Know-Who started.”

Harry clamps his mouth shut. “No comment, then.”

A plucky guitar melody sounds over the pub’s speakers, followed quickly by Mariah Carey vocalising.

Oh fuck off you fucking cunts, someone calls from across the pub.

“What’d I miss?” Neville asks, settling back into his chair. “Has Harry figured out the lyrics yet?”

“Thank you, Neville,” Harry says, somehow managing to bow grandly whilst sitting down. “I have. It’s: the sun can’t hurt her, fellas so long.”

“Alright,” Ron says, standing forcefully. “That’s me finished.”

The table agrees, sinking their pints, grabbing for coats. The door closes behind them, firmly.

It’s begun to snow in the time they were inside and Harry, the handsome yet feckless idiot, hasn’t got any mittens. Draco grabs one of his hands, shoving it in his own coat pocket. Harry’s other hand will just have to freeze and fall off. Serves him right.

They walk ahead of everyone. It’s nice, holding hands like this, where anyone could see. Where their friends could see. Harry hums to himself as they walk, hmm hmm HMM hmm. HmmhmmhmmHMMHMMhmmhmm. Draco elbows him in the side. Harry grins, hums louder.

They don’t talk. They don’t need to. For once, Draco feels no pressure to rush. No need to force years into months, weeks. There will be plenty of time for talking, in the days and nights to come.

#my terrible confession is that draco's interpretation is what i thought the line was for a very long time #i've looked up the lyrics so many times #my brain will not remember the actual line #side canter IS a feeling so strong tbh #wrapped drabbles #drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #my fic

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thebibutterflyao3 · 4 months

Text

Day 4 - Prompt: Future @wolfstarmicrofic

January Daily Series - 698 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Remus had never been so enthralled with a man while he shared every insignificant detail of his life. Then again, Remus had never met anyone like Sirius before. This brilliantly clever, fascinating bloke who was filled with endless surprises. With every deep inhale before he launched into the next facet of his life, Remus waited intently to hear what he’d say next.

He was fairly certain that he could listen to Sirius explain the minutiae of why a wet paper bag sticks to itself with breathless wonder. This was important though. Remus was hanging on every word, storing every tidbit of information that Sirius revealed like it was a life-changing revelation, each one was a present just for him. While he’d actually enjoy mindlessly staring at this beautiful bloke for the foreseeable future, this was vital intelligence and he couldn’t spare a solitary brain cell at the moment. All of them were attuned to Sirius’s every word.

“So then, James and I moved into our flat in Edinburgh. Padfoot came a little later. I found him at a shelter I was volunteering with and just had to bring him home,” Sirius continued, grinning as he reached out to scratch Padfoot’s back. “He was so cute, I couldn’t resist. I tell James all the time that the two of them are pieces of the same puzzle.”

“That’s lucky, isn’t it?” Sirius asked, turning that blinding grin on Remus. “Finding a dog with the same personality as your best mate?”

Remus nodded solemnly. “That’s fate.”

“Exactly! That’s what I told James too.” Sirius tilted his head to the side and sighed. “Even though I’ve always imagined James as a Golden Retriever rather than a Newfoundland, somehow it fits.”

The note-taking side of his brain was furiously recording everything: Sirius lives in Edinburgh. James is his flatmate and best friend. Padfoot is James’s dog equivalent. Sirius volunteered at an animal shelter. Of course he did, he’s so fucking perfect.

“I can see that.”

Remus’s comments were intentionally brief and encouraging. He wanted every scrap of Sirius that he could get his grubby hands on. If he could breathe him instead of air, he would. He’d let the molecules of Sirius’s essence settle in his bones and cling to that little piece of him reverently.

Obsessive barely scratched the surface, but every time he tried to rein it in, Sirius would magically appear and flash that god-tier grin. At the ice rink, his favourite pub, and now the winding walking path that trailed the rocky Welsh shoreline, there was Sirius. When he opened his mouth, Remus didn’t know whether to expect a dead-panned retort, a random “fun fact,” or a quote from Shakespeare himself. The fucking range with this man.

He was so gone. Pathetically, pitifully gone for this bloke who barely knew he existed.

“I’d enjoy being a dog, I think. To just laze about and bask in adoring attention. What animal would you be? If you could pick?” Sirius asked, searching his face intently.

Remus hummed thoughtfully as he tried to find just the right animal. He wasn’t about to shrug this off when Sirius looked so invested in his answer. Lily had equated him to a lone wolf before, but that didn’t feel quite like the right answer for Sirius.

“An alley cat,” he decided, nodding at Sirius’s startled laugh. “Free to roam and explore, but happy to curl up for a lip in the sun.”

“Oh, I love that,” Sirius breathed. His eyes widened and he bit down on his bottom lip.

Remus stared at that perfect row of white teeth carving into an equally perfect plump pink lip. He couldn’t help himself. Before he’d even thought about it, he’d smoothed his thumb over the raw spot to free it. Somehow, he managed to drop his hand casually, as if it meant nothing. As if his thumb didn’t tingle from the contact.

Ffyc. Oh, I’m so screwed.

This one was going to fucking hurt. He could already feel the razor’s edge of this loss cutting into him. When Sirius went home, Remus would feel compelled to follow him. Which he couldn’t, and shouldn’t, do.

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders #wolfstar microfic

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jb-nonsense · 6 months

Note

Do you have any opinion on the companions and their singing voices, based on your poll?

In reference to this poll right here. I'll stick with Origin companions, as Halsin's already told us he's not a great singer and I haven't really interacted with Minthara.

Wyll. He has a smooth baritone from his chest. He has the ability to sustain and carry his voice well. It's very velvet and warm, inviting with his charisma to bolster it. Despite his lineage, he hasn't had that much training as Ulder doesn't think it's as vital as arms training, but Wyll did take a few lessons here and there because he wanted to serenade the love of his life

Shadowheart. I feel like she has an airy second soprano type of voice, not having the training to know to use her full capacity but it's still very sweet and nice to hear. She probably would sing quietly to herself as a comforting mechanism when she needs it. It's very ethereal to hear, if not a polished professional.

Gale. The reason Gale gets 3 is merely due to technical background. Gale loves magic and he says it's like music, poetry and whatever the third thing was all rolled into one. And he's a perfectionist, so I feel like he may have taken some singing lessons in his life. Probably in the lower tenor range, a little bit nasally but not unpleasantly so.

Karlach. A full, booming alto voice that you can hear down the street easily. She's having fun, so she's not concerned with the technical aspects and is liable to mess up a few notes, maybe go sharp or flat but she doesn't care! It's jovial! It's fun! She'll sweep you up in it with her to sing a bawdy pub song.

Lae'zel. Singing and music isn't a big part of Githyanki culture, but Lae'zel sometimes does it when she's sharpening her blade. Little hums here and there, very much an 80s rock star voice who may have had too many cigarettes or something. Not bad but definitely an acquired taste, somewhere between alto and tenor.

Astarion. He will make your ears bleed.

#Baldur's Gate 3 #BG3 #wyll ravengard #shadowheart #Gale Dekarios #Gale of Waterdeep #Karlach Cliffgate #Lae'zel #Astarion Ancunin

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ninety-two-bees · 2 months

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mí an mheithimh faoi na réaltai, an irish dorcas meadowes microfic (461 words)

@euphorial-docx made a post about irish dorcas, and i was tagged in it by @theicarusconstellation. this is what has come of that

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Dorcas Meadowes has known magic from the day she was born, long before she ever stepped foot inside Hogwarts. It lives in the long grass and the rolling green hills everywhere she looks; in the bodhrán and fiddle and harp displayed proudly in the living room; in the clasp of hands and cheers as her people twirl and stomp and sway.

She can hear it now, standing outside the pub while her friends acquaint themselves with the steps of Ionsaí na hInse inside. Even in the chill of the late-night air, Dorcas finds herself warmed by the thought of the people she loves stumbling over a dance she was born knowing. Their laughter enchants her, intertwining with the music of the band and filling the air with love and light and joy. No magic Hogwarts can offer could compare to this.

“You’re going to freeze to death out here,” a familiar voice rings out from the doorway. Dorcas turns to find Marlene grinning, face flushed from all the dancing and drinks. When she makes no move to reenter the pub, Marlene steps outside and wraps her in a hug so tight she’s not sure where she ends and Marlene begins. “What’s on your mind, baby?”

A million thoughts race to the forefront of Dorcas’ mind, but none of them pass her lips. How could she ever begin to explain it? Níl aon tinteán mar do thinteán féin, she thinks, but even that sentiment doesn’t feel quite strong enough. The love she has—for this place, for these people, for the life they have afforded her—cannot be contained by any language.

“I love you,” she mumbles, face buried in the crook of Marlene’s neck. And really, what else is there to say?

“I love you, too. But I’d love you more if we weren’t freezing our asses off right now,” Marlene insists, laughter bubbling up through her words. She lets go of her grasp on Dorcas only to reach for her hand as she leads her back inside. On her left hand, pointing outwards, is a claddagh ring. Passed down for generations in Dorcas’ family, it only made sense that it would someday be the ring she proposed with. A little bit of her past to be shared with her future.

They’ll be back in their little London flat in a few days, a couple hundred miles and a million lifetimes removed from here. No one will play her music there, and her tongue will stick on the days she tries to remember that English is not native to her lips. But they have now, and they have love, and tonight that’s all they need.

She will move and she will grow, but her roots will always be planted firmly in Irish soil.

#i've never written dorcas properly before #but i have not stopped thinking about irish dorcas #this is really just a love letter to my home and my language #but also #i really want to actually write some dorlene now #marauders #marauders fic #dorcas meadowes #marlene mckinnon #dorlene #kit's microfics

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daphnefisherofficial · 7 months

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bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN - COMPANIONSHIP AND LATE NIGHT CONFESSIONS.

The night air in London held a hint of chill, and the city's streets buzzed with the energy of a typical Friday evening. Inside the cozy confines of their flat, Marc Spector stood by the window, looking out at the cityscape that stretched before him. He was deep in thought, replaying the game plan for the night ahead in his mind. It was the night of the congratulatory party for the British Museum tour guides at the local pub in celebration of the successful Ennead exhibit opening. Steven Grant’s fellow tour guides, Aleah, and Mira, were gathering there, and Marc couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

Beside him and reflected in the nearby dress mirror, Steven Grant was going through his own preparations inside their shared headspace. After surrendering control to his British alter, Steven finally stepped forward and stood before the full-length mirror in their shared bedroom. A look of concentration was displayed on his face as he deliberated over his outfit for the evening. The two men shared a unique existence within the same body, and tonight, they had to ensure their charade remained intact. It was a delicate dance, a masquerade of identity.

"Remember, Steven," Marc said, his voice echoing within their shared headspace. "We've got to stick to the plan tonight. Recap everything to me, from the top”

“Our aunt’s sick for tonight”, Steven started, opening his closet to go through their newer wardrobe.

“Correct. And?” Marc urged, prompting Steven to recite the next set of alibi they came up with.

“I will be going early to tend to her in your stead”, Steven nodded, his brow furrowing as he further contemplated his clothing choices.

“That’s right. And after that?” Marc gestured once more as his hands circled, urging Steven to go on.

“You will be coming after I leave. To keep her company”, Steven finishes, his mind settling on a checkered navy blue blue collared dress shirt, which he paired with a chocolate brown sweater and gray chino pants.

“Very good, Steven”, Marc nodded approvingly of Steven’s commitment to their ‘twin brothers’ charade. “Let’s get going"

Steven nodded, finally placing Marc's own clothing—a gray hoodie, denim jacket, and blue jeans—neatly arranged and placed in his backpack for the switch later in the evening.

With their preparations complete, they left their flat and made their way to the local pub located within the vicinity of London's bustling streets. The pub, known as Philomena's, was a popular spot among the museum staff. It was an inviting place, with dim lighting, wooden interiors, and the comforting hum of conversation filling the air.

As Steven entered the pub, he was greeted by the warm smiles of his fellow tour guides who were patiently waiting inside. Aleah, with her ebony black hair cascading down her shoulders, was the first to spot him. She waved him over and said, "Steven, you're looking sharp tonight."

Steven smiled politely and replied, "Thanks, Aleah. Where’s Mira?”

“She just went to the loo to touch up”, Aleah nodded in understanding and gestured towards the others. "We've been waiting for you, everyone's excited to celebrate."

Just as Steven was about to engage in further conversation, Aleah exclaimed, "Speak of the devil, Mira, we’re over here!" She waved happily at the direction of the restroom doors, and everyone turned their attention to the recent newcomer.

You finally made your presence known as you entered the pub, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. All eyes were on you as you made your entrance. The latest change in your wardrobe choices has not gone unnoticed. You had opted for a one-shoulder black tank top that showcased your graceful neckline, white pull-on trousers that accentuated your long legs, and black leather sandals that gave a hint of sophistication. Your hair was tied in a high ponytail, emphasizing the elegant beauty of your facade even more.

Steven and Marc couldn't help but be awestruck by your presence along with the rest of your company. You were a vision of confidence and allure, and your transformation left everyone momentarily speechless.

"Wow, Mira!" Aleah breathed out, breaking the silence. "You look very stunning."

"Thanks, Aleah”, a flush of warmth spread across your cheeks as you approached the group. “You look lovely tonight as well."

The compliments continued to flow from the rest of your companions, and you gracefully accepted them, your smile never faltering. Steven marveled at how effortlessly you moved through the attention, and it occurred to him that you were the perfect foil for their charade.

“You look absolutely beautiful, Mira”, Steven couldn’t help but say, eliciting a sweet chuckle from your end.

“You look so dashing yourself, Steven”, Mira smiled knowingly, her eyes searching at the back of Steven’s figure, expecting to see his twin brother. “Where’s Marc?”

With everyone now present, Steven felt the need to address their situation. He leaned in closer to you and spoke in a hushed tone, "That’s actually the thing, Mira. I’m afraid I need to leave a bit early tonight. Got to tend to our sick aunt at home."

You looked concerned, your brow furrowing slightly. "Oh, I hope she's okay. Of course, go take care of her. I’m assuming Marc will be keeping me company later, yes?"

“That’s right. He looks forward to making it up to you”, Steven nodded appreciatively, while Marc heartily agrees within their shared thoughts. "Thanks for understanding. Let's not spoil the celebration, shall we?"

“Yes, we shall”, you smiled warmly, and with that, the mood lightened as you gestured to the bartender next. The group settled around a large table, and you took the initiative to order the first round of ale and beer as your welcome treat to everyone.

As the night progressed, laughter and lively chatter filled the air. Tales of the morning's successful tours were exchanged, and the atmosphere brimmed with a sense of accomplishment and camaraderie. Everyone was especially cheering for Steven and Sarah, the career shifters of the museum tour guide bunch who had taken a risk and been rewarded handsomely for it.

“To Steven, Sarah and all of you”, you raise your glass to toast your tour guides’ successes, and everybody else follows suit. The clinking of glasses, the merriment, and the shared stories created a tapestry of celebration that enveloped them all. Despite the complexity of their shared existence and the need for secrecy, Marc and Steven found solace in this moment of unity and joy together with you.

As the night wore on, the pub echoed with the harmony of shared laughter and the promise of good times to come. In this ephemeral moment, the boundaries of their individual selves blurred, and they were simply a group of people, sharing a drink, celebrating their achievements, and cherishing the bonds of friendship that held them together.

As the hours passed and the clock struck an hour before midnight, the numbers of tourists and locals alike in the pub began to dwindle. Your tour guide co-workers wished you and your fellow colleagues good night to embark on their respective weekends. Steven had also wished you a good night, promising that his twin brother will soon be here to join you and Aleah.

The evening had cast its gentle, amber glow over the city of London as Steven Grant made his exit from Philomena’s, venturing forth into the bustling streets. The cool breeze carried with it the whispers of autumn, a gentle reminder that change was inevitable, even for a man as enigmatic as him.

“Good luck, mate”, Steven whispered to himself, wishing his American alter the best of luck as he finally surrendered control of their body to Marc Spector. It was a seamless transition - one that they are both used to by now.

After his British counterpart’s quick escape from the pub, Marc made his way to the nearby hotel where he would change his own clothes for the night. With each step that he took, the anticipation gnawed at him, coiling tightly around his heart. He knew what awaited him, who awaited him, and the realization sent shivers down his spine.

In the lobby, he swiftly changed out of Steven’s attire that he had worn for tonight and into his own casual clothes - a simple grey hoodie, denim jacket and blue jeans. His hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his collar, trying to regain some semblance of composure. The weight of anticipation bore down on him, a sinking feeling that threatened to pull him under. Marc had no choice but to face this moment head-on, to confront the woman who had captured his heart.

As he made his way back towards the pub, his own nerves threatened to betray him. Marc knew that he couldn't afford to appear anxious or uncertain. He needed to be the Marc Spector that Mira Batala-Carter remembered, the confident and charismatic man who had once been her close confidant back on their last meeting.

You watched as the last stragglers bid their farewells inside the pub, currently seated on a bar stool at the front of the house. Your secretary, Aleah Santos, was the last of your evening company to be leaving you soon in solitude. The warm glow of the pub's lights illuminated her face, casting soft shadows across her features. She had been with you for years, a loyal companion who had become like family.

"Are you sure you'll be okay getting home on your own, Mira?" Aleah asked, her concern evident in her voice. "I could have Bill pick you up and drop you off."

"I'll be fine, Aleah”, you smiled at her reassuringly, appreciating her concern. “You don't need to trouble Bill, it’s the weekend for God’s sake. Besides, I need some time to myself tonight."

“Just be careful, okay?” Aleah hesitated for a moment, her gaze fixed on you as she leaned closer, making sure that only you could hear her next words. "Tonight's the new moon, and as Mayari’s avatar, you will have an especially weak physiology at this time."

“I know that, so stop fussing, okay?” you nodded, understanding the implications of tonight’s moon phase. London could be a different city on nights like these, with shadows and mysteries lurking in every corner. "I'll be cautious, I promise. And if I couldn’t afford to drive home, I’ll stay at the local hotel"

“Sure, you big spender, you”, Aleah chuckled despite her worries, pulling you into a brief embrace. With a final nod and a reluctant smile, she gave in to your wishes. "Alright, then. Take care, Mira. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to call."

“Happy weekend, Aleah”, you thanked her, and as she made her way towards the exit, you watched her disappear into the London night. Alone once more, you signaled the bartender for another round of beers, wanting to savor the solitude that allowed you to collect your thoughts.

As you took a sip of your dwindling beer, a sudden interruption startled you. Another hand reached out, snatching the glass away from your grasp. You turned, surprise and a hint of annoyance starting to paint your face, only for that expression to melt away as you locked eyes with the intruder. A familiar American man stood before you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Y'know, it's not safe to be drinkin' all alone, darling", he chided with a deep, suave Chicago accent that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Always gotta have company”

A wide grin spread across your face, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him. Marc Spector had returned, and you couldn't contain your joy. Without hesitation, you rose from your seat and pulled him into a bone-crushing, tight hug that left him utterly surprised.

"Marc!" you exclaimed, your voice filled with genuine delight. "I can't believe you're here!"

Marc chuckled softly, returning the embrace, the warmth of your body pressing against his. "Surprised, are ya?"

“Are you kidding?”, you shoved, elbowing his torso as you playfully scowled at his direction. “You still fucking owe me coffee that you’ve promised ages ago”

“Sure, sure. My bad!”, Marc doubled over at your light punch to his gut. But he couldn’t help but grin as he saw an identical one growing larger on your facade. “Lemme make it up to you, alright, baby?. How about the next round of beer, on me?”

“Suit yourself, Spector”, you chuckled, blatantly ignoring the endearment that slipped out of Marc’s mouth, feigning ignorance as you started ordering another round of ale and beers. You both settled back into your seats, and Marc couldn't help but smile serenely as he looked more closely at you. It had been far too long since he had allowed himself the pleasure of your company, and now, under the gentle embrace of the London night, he was determined to make the most of it.

The pub's atmosphere seemed to shift as the two of you caught up, the days apart melting away with each shared story and reminiscence. The laughter flowed freely, punctuated by moments of quiet reflection. It was as though time had stopped, and the world outside the pub ceased to exist. For a brief moment, Marc Spector felt like he was home.

"I’m glad to see you again, Mira," Marc began, his voice laced with a touch of nostalgia, "I've missed this. I’ve really missed you."

“I’ve missed you too, Marc”, you smiled, a mixture of emotions swirling in your eyes. "It's been too long since we last saw each other, you know. I actually thought you were actively avoiding me or something."

“Touche, you’ve been avoiding her indeed”, Steven couldn’t help but snicker at your comeback from the reflective service of the bar table, prompting Marc to lightly shake his head at his mental twin brother’s quips. “Like a plague, I might add”

“I never meant to do that”, Marc sighed, tentatively placing his palm over yours as he held your right hand, his thumb slowly circling the inside of your soft hands on full display as he meant to soothe your stormy thoughts. “It’s just… I couldn’t really find the time back then, no matter how I tried and how bad I wanted to see you. But I’m here now, right?”

“Yeah, you’re here”, Mira smiled serenely. “I mean, it’s alright if you were really avoiding me before. I know you just came from a divorce, I… I know how hard it is to form a relationship again after so much that has happened to your life.”

Both he and Steven from their shared headspace were silent as they collectively allowed you to voice out your inner thoughts. Allowing you to let them know and vocalize how you truly feel.

“I know how that feels more than anything, Marc”, you continued, mimicking Marc’s earlier actions as your soft fingers traced the inside of his palms, eliciting a soft, almost inaudible sigh of relief and longing to escape his lips. “So you don’t have to explain yourself, okay?”

“Thank you, Mira”, Marc said, the sincerity in his words palpable as his grip tightened on your joined hands, your half-full beer glasses completely forgotten as he got lost in your hazel brown eyes. “You don’t know how much your words mean to me”

His next action surprised you as he brought your joined hands to his lips, gently kissing the back of your hand as he looked deeply at you, breathing out his next words softly on your skin.

“With you, Mira”, Marc whispered, never letting go of your soft hand. “I’m willing to try again. No matter how long it might take me”

Steven Grant’s face suddenly popped in the forefront of your mind, prompting your gaze at Marc’s to briefly falter. You remembered all too well how your heart thundered beneath your chest at the intimate moment you shared with his twin brother earlier that day in the quiet confines of the staff room. Your recent recollections briefly lingered to your late husband’s as well, your heart still mourning Darius Carter’s death even though quite a substantial amount of years have already passed.

But instead of hesitation and doubt populating your entire being, a strange sense of calm and quiet realization hit you in slow waves. He wouldn’t want you to wallow yourself in grief and sorrow forever.

He would’ve wanted you to be able to find happiness.

“I know it’s too fast, I just got divorced, for Christ’s sake”, Marc’s voice briefly pulled you out of your reverie, him mistaking your silence as a refusal as he internally started to panic (to which Steven tried his utmost best to calm him down). “But I can’t really help how I feel. I… shit, I’m usually better than this–”

“Calm down, Marc. I swear, you and Steven are more alike than I thought”, you shook your head lightly as soft laughter escaped your lips. “Believe it or not, you and Steven are very important to me.”

“You’re important to me too, Mira”, Marc nodded, kissing the back of your hand once again as the rest of the evening finally wore on. The pub’s patrons slowly dwindled even further, but the conversations between you and Marc grew more intimate, the shared history between you two a tapestry of emotions and experiences. It was as though you were picking up right where you had left off, despite the short amount of time that had actually passed.

As the clock neared midnight, the city of London outside the pub seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the arrival of the new moon. But inside, in the warm embrace of the pub, you and Marc found solace in each other's company, a reunion that felt like destiny had intervened to bring you together once more.

END OF CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

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