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amandacanwrite · 3 months

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More Headcanons for the Gale Babes: Pining Edition

Tagging At Their Request: @eclecticqueennerd @jeneralmischief @thewizardhole

Tagging Because I Thought You May Want To Know I posted It: @lewdisescariot @ollypopwrites @rissi-chan @foreskinfinder87

Here are some headcanons about Gale behind the scenes as he pines for you/Tav (Goodnatured, Gender Neutral) Bear with some things that are just regular ole canon for a moment and then I will get into the headcanony stuff near the middle.

Upon Your First Meeting

"I'm Usually better at this." "At Introductions?" "Hah...At magic."

Safe to say that he was well aware of just HOW much trouble he was in very shortly after beginning to travel with you.

The words "Do NOT do this to yourself, you ridiculous, touch-starved man," may or may not have been said to the mirror...or to a mirror double of himself.

But godsdamnit, you just had to continue being...kind and courageous and well spoken and your eyes...and your lips and Focus--FOCUS GALE DEKARIOS

And hells, what a world it would be if he could stop putting his foot so squarely into his mouth.

"Gods, Gale. Really did a number with that thing you said, didn't you? They probably thing you're pompous--which you are--perhaps rightfully so, you are a very gifted wizard..."

He uh...talks to himself a lot. Old habit from the tower, you see. You only catch him doing it a couple of times though, and rarely hear what he said.

"Oh, just thinking out loud, you know!"

Once He's Gotten To Know You A Bit

"Go on, Gale. You're among Friends." "I may just be about to remedy that."

It's hard to pin point the exact moment he fell in love with you. But the realization was nothing short of devastating for him.

As a younger man, he may have been brought to tears reading a tragedy like his. Abandoned by a former lover, forsaken in a plight brought on by wishing to do her a grand gesture, falling for a simpler love...one he may never have because of the orb threatening to level a city in his chest.

Sometimes at night, he watches you asleep in your bedroll, wondering if he had met you as a young man...if he'd perchance seen you on the streets of Waterdeep or sitting at the bar in The Yawning Portal perhaps he'd never wound up in this position in the first place.

Perhaps he would have simply been chosen by Mystra, and not have fallen in love with her.

It feels wrong...even to think it. He wonders if Mystra can sense the betrayal in those thoughts--in the wish that he'd never fallen in love with her.

But it's hard not to feel that way when he has to spend every waking moment next to you.

And when he watches everyone else in camp seemingly falling over themselves to get to you as well.

He makes his peace with the fact that there is simply no way that he can compete with the pale elf who is constantly making eyes at you...calling you darling.

He remembers meeting people like that in school. He remembers burying himself in his studies to distract himself from the fact that he'd never felt particularly charming or even efficacious in matters of the heart.

Of course that all changed when Mystra chose him. Before he'd wooed her, he'd managed to have a few dalliances as a teen, even going into his early adulthood.

But you're the first he's ever wanted to have something with since Mystra had forsaken him.

He still carries the charm he'd cultivated. It's hard not to get at least a little full of yourself when the goddess of magic herself chooses you. Harder still to drop the habit after he'd committed to it, even while sequestered to his tower.

He'd been deep in thought on these matters when you checked in on him one night.

"Nothing to worry about. Just a wizard stewing on matters of the arcane and curious, I assure you."

When he finally has to reveal the truth of his affliction to you and the others in the party, he's devastated all over again. He's ready to once again be banished for his crimes, to be newly punished for his folly, however well intentioned he was in acquiring it.

But...you simply don't... It seems you never do what he expects because you hardly bat an eye. Even when Astarion tells you to kick him to the proverbial curb, you let him stay.

It's that night he conjures the image of Mystra in his hand, turning it this way and that to see if it still hurts to look upon her as it used to.

When you wander over to inquire about her visage, he is relieved to find it doesn't bother him to speak of her, and daunted by the ache in his chest that you seem to inspire in him.

He keeps trying to find a way to tell you how he feels, but he simply can't form the words without choking on them.

Until that night with the teiflings...and well...let's just be honest, the generously flowing alcohol.

He just wants to share a moment with you--a foolish idea to help you experience the weave using him as a conduit. A bit cheeky he realizes--knowing perhaps better than you might the sort of sensual, intimate nature that being connected through the weave can be. But he can't help it, it is the only relief he can find for this torturous pining. To be allowed to be of one mind with you for just a fleeting second is too tempting to refuse.

When You Imagine Sharing A Kiss With Him

"I'm sorry...I wasn't expecting...but it is a pleasant image to be sure. Most pleasant, in fact. Most welcome."

How can he convince himself that he won't immediately ruin this? Does he even remember how to kiss? God's it's been so long.

He lies in his tent, banging the heel of his hand against his forehead.

"You should have just kissed them, you damned fool. How long have you wanted this? And apparently they want it, too. And you were linked with the weave! What could have been more perfect? Why didn't you just kiss them, you blithering idiot."

When he doesn't kiss you for a while, you worry you may have made him uncomfortable with the thought. Really, he simply can't find the perfect time between all of the bloodshed and bandages.

He gets sloppy in battle, too worried that someone will take you way before he has a chance to make good on that dream you shared with him. Not the best course of action for a man who can literally implode in the event that he dies.

And then he had to go and say that stupid thing about danger and...other forms of stimulation.

"Perhaps," he tells himself one night. "Perhaps, Gale of Waterdeep, you will actually make a gesture more than a silly joke and a stammering admission of liking to kiss. Your actions so far have not hinted that you will, but perhaps there is hope for you yet."

In the end it's a night where you're near out of provisions that gives him the opportunity to close this blasted distance betwixt you.

He's having a melt down of sorts. About the lack of decent food in camp. How is he to feed all of you with nothing but a few half-eaten apples and a fish head?

You suggest a walk, not far from camp. You're sure you can scrounge up some berries, or some tubers--maybe even a squirrel or a rabbit. In truth, you're not sure you'll find anything, but you can sense that Gale needs time away. Needs privacy. Needs space to simply feel things without an audience.

After walking in silence for a while you ask him if he's alright.

"No. No I am categorically not alright. Not at all. I am filthy. I am covered in goblin blood. The orb refuses to be sated. I cannot find a way to properly feed you so that you'll have the strength to fight another day. And on top of it all--rounding out the depths of my misery--you so bravely showed me the intimacy you wanted to share, yet I cannot for the life of me figure out how to adequately stage that moment so that it is worthy of the splendor that you are."

It's hard not to be touched by his admission, but you don't want him to be miserable. So you make it easy for him. You simply stride up to him and plant a kiss on his lips.

"Is that better?" you ask him. "Now you needn't fret about the last thing."

His simply...gawks at you. Stares in utter befuddlement, his mouth slightly agape. For a moment, you're certain you've broken the poor wizard. You almost have the urge to wave your hand in front of his face to see if his soul has left his body. Then he smears his hand down his face and groans

"NO," he says. "No it is not better. That is not a proper first kiss worthy of how I feel about you. I can do much better than a first kiss like that."

You remind him that that was technically your first kiss with him. He is welcome to show you how it is properly done.

You expect the slow burn with him--expect him to have to ponder that for a few days, perhaps even a few weeks, before he makes good on it.

But he has had enough of waiting. He drops his bag off to the side and unstraps his bow from his back in a quick flurry of movement. He reaches for you, gently grasping the soft curves of your face and pulling you toward him, claiming your mouth with his own.

It is a frantic, desperate thing, this kiss. Simultaneously overwhelming and buoyant. You find yourself lifting up onto your toes and leaning against him as he tilts his head, seeking some opening to taste you, to feel you on his lips.

Your knees buckle, and his hands move from your face to catch you, crushing you against him as if he wishes to match every curve of you to every corresponding curve of his own body.

His lips are soft, though they are posessive. When you finally allow him across the threshold of your lips, he tastes like that fragment of weave you shared with him. He tastes of pure connection.

And then, just like that moment, it is over. You're left panting and weak as he holds you against his chest, his face flush, his brow gently curved with worry.

You blink dreamily up at him. "Oh." you say.

"'Oh?'" he asks incredulously. "Please tell me you have more to say than 'Oh.' Or at least specify the quality of that 'Oh.' Hells, if I'm to get any sleep at all--"

You simply lift your fingers to his lips, pressing the tips to quiet him. "Consider me properly schooled in how it's meant to be done," you say. "You're an excellent teacher."

He heaves a sigh. "Oh," he says. "I know."

I hope you enjoyed this! I'm sorry if it's not as satisfying since it's a lot of like...subtext for canon things. I have more Ideas but this is already quite long. Do let me know if you would still like to see more or if you have anything you'd like to see or expand on with an actual small fic. I have been having so much fun with these.

#writing community #writers on tumblr #writing #authors #writeblr #my writing #bg3 #bg3 headcanons #bg3 gale #bg3 gale fanfic #bg3 gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale x tav #gale headcanons

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bloodywankers · 18 days

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Trigger Warning! Implied Non-con! Forced Relationship! Yandere Husband!

Unedited | 1.26k Words

Andre was always rational, never unnecessarily cruel or emotional. That was the worst part about him, he was cold, left you feeling touch starved and alone even in his embrace. He was strict, he wouldn’t tolerate deviation from his routine or attempts to ruin the perfect image he had built for you but he wasn’t cruel. At the end of the day it felt like you only had yourself to blame for your misfortune. He wouldn’t criticise you for no reason but that meant that the instances where he did, he was probably right. He wouldn’t scream or yell but in turn left you feeling like a disobedient child.

His affection left much to be desired but you blame yourself for it rather than him, because Andre was perfect. He always remembered anniversaries and birthdays, never letting you want for anything but you had always felt so alone. There was an emptiness that he couldn’t fill no matter what he did because Andre was an actor.

Nothing about Andre was genuine because a character with no flaws is no character at all. He seemed above your childish tantrums and far too sophisticated to enjoy simpler things, lived in a world that was perfectly tailor made for him. But you weren’t Andre, you weren’t logical, or perfect, your acting was subpar at best and you didn’t fit into his world. You were emotional and living in his cold world devoid of any warmth was not something you could tolerate so despite every well planned argument he placed in front of you, you stood your ground.

“I want a divorce.” You tried your best to keep a firm tone, you were sure he would take advantage of any hesitation that you showed.

“Darling, as I’ve said already, I—.” He spoke softly, as always, interrupting you with his finely built arguments, ones that you were sure would work in any other situation. Arguments that you could reason with if you had not been as fed up as you were, filled with unadulterated hatred for the man you were supposed to love. This time you were set on getting what you wanted, you were sick of feeling like this.

“I don’t care for whatever bullshit reason you have this time, I feel miserable every day I spend with you!” You probably could have gone through with this in a more elegant manner but you were at your limit. Andre had always been rational but you couldn’t understand him this time. You were sure he wouldn’t have trouble remarrying someone better, it’s not like you lived in the Middle Ages where divorce meant your life was over. It probably wouldn’t affect his image much. So why was he so hell-bent on keeping you stuck in a relationship where both of you would be miserable?

You expected another well balanced counter argument, maybe a comment about how foul your behaviour was, how unbecoming it was. But instead he stood there, a look you had never seen before and a scowl that seemed so out of place compared to his usual poker face. You instinctively sunk into yourself, trying to avoid what you thought was his attempt at reaching for you, what for you? You didn’t want to find out. But instead he walked past you, stormed out despite still maintaining his obnoxiously elegant posture.

You thought it would blow over, that he would come back and pretend nothing happened, he didn’t seem like the type to acknowledge such arguments. But he didn’t return at his usual time, and instead you found all the exits to your house locked and your set of keys missing.

When your husband did return, he didn’t go to your shared bedroom as usual, instead went straight for his office, you just barely caught him. Slamming the door to his study shut before you said anything else.

“What the hell is your problem?! Where are my keys?! If you’re going to act like this at least let me leave!”

”You will do no such thing.” That’s it. No reason, no explanation as to why he decided on this, just a singular order. You had started to back up, this was unlike Andre. The atmosphere in the room had changed.

“And why is that? Who do you think you are to decide for me?!”

Andre himself didn’t understand. The logical thing, the right thing to do would be to let you go quietly, to not put up a fuss and part ways. He didn’t have any love in him when he chose you as his marriage partner (before you had ever officially met him), you were just the right choice, at the right place, at the right time and with the right background. It wasn’t him who was drawn to you out of all other potential candidates, you were just the best choice. He has a good memory, that’s why he remembered your birthday, and your wedding anniversary. It would look bad if he didn’t buy you the best present money could buy.

Sharing a bed was necessary for any married couple, not because he searched for your warmth, desperately clinging to it every night, whether intentionally or not.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his nose bridge, brows furrowed as he came to the realisation. Love? He had come to love you? Has he always felt this way? For someone who boasted a memory as excellent as his, he couldn’t remember when it started. But there was no denying what this was, it was love, an obsessive love that ate at his insides every moment he kept trying to contain it.

If he told you that, you would understand, wouldn’t you? You’d forgive his past sorry attempts at being a good husband and give him a chance to prove himself, wouldn’t you? After all, you’ve always been understanding, despite your recent outbursts, you would try to understand him.

“Darling, let’s try to calm down.” That’s not what he wanted to say, he wanted to say he loved you, to scream it until his voice gave out but it wouldn’t come out, this in turn only irked you more. You looked ready to leave, too annoyed to even continue talking to him. He couldn’t have that, he’d beg if you wanted so please don’t leave.

Well, if he couldn’t tell you, he’d show you. After all, actions speak louder than words. So he grabbed your wrist before you could drift further from him and dragged you to your shared bedroom, ignoring all cries and protests from you. He made sure to lock the door behind him, you looked like you were ready to bolt out the door the moment he let go of you.

“You-! What are you doing, unlock the door now!” However, your protests seem to fall on deaf ears once more.

“You asked why I wouldn’t let you go? I’ll show you why.”

Andre had never been unreasonable or cruel but that night you realised he was as flawed as anyone else, as dirty as any other and as cruel as he could want to be. You realise how much you miss his distant and unfamiliar self, before you got to know him in so many different ways.

How unfamiliar he looked to you as he kissed you in places he didn’t dare to touch before, as his smile resembled that of a madman and his eyes reflected pure euphoria.

Your husband had always been unreasonable and cruel, you just never knew.

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silversodas · 3 months

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Interesting Alastor Insights

I think I may have figured out what was up Alastor’s ass in Dead Beat Dad. On one hand it may be a deeper issue that I am missing some context for, but I actually think it’s a little simpler then we think.

Even before Lucifer arrived, Alastor was clearly not happy about him coming over, and yes Alastor was 100% full of shit in the dad off song, BUT! Something note worthy is that he was not only being possessive of the Hotel (claiming to be its host and even greeting Lucifer as the master of the house does) but is also weirdly possessive of Charlie

And right down to the “fuck you” to Lucifer’s face it was projecting “get your feet off of my damn coffee table and get outta my house” energy. At first I was wondering what crawled up Alastor’s ass and died, and then Hell’s greatest Dad starts playing and..

“Who’s been faithful as a Nun? Who’s been here since day one?”

And it dawned on me and I was like “Alastor, why are you acting like your being replaced?” And Charlie is just as confused at Alastor’s behavior, like this came out of nowhere. Apparently Alastor was determined to show Lucifer who the Genie of this bottle is. But I didn’t believe it at first, I was like “nah it has to be something else” but then Mimzy gave some VARY interesting insight

When Mimzy first arrived, Alastor has a look that says (oh this is all I need right now) but he still seems happy to see her

Like holy shit, he happily reciprocates the hug, but that’s not to surprising if you know who Mimzy is if you have been fallowing Viv for a while

When she mentioned that he frequented the club (speakeasy)that she preformed in I was like “oh! They are drinking buddies!” Drinking Buddies are someone you generally only know the fun side of because you only hang out together at the bar, but Mimzy highlights a different side to their relationship

“Put on some Jazz, and pour a few fingers of Rye, and he becomes a kitten”

This gives me insight that while they were alive, she wasn’t just his drinking buddy and dance partner, she was his comfort zone. The way she phrased this sentence, made it sound like this was something she used to do for Alastor when they were alive, maybe she was a soothing presence as well as an entertaining one in Alastor’s life. But bar friends can sometimes be pretty high maintenance friends outside the bar, actually I think a lot of us have had something close to a friend like Mimzy in our lives. Apparently she is so bad that even Husk is concerned enough about Alastor to try and talk to him about her

“You and I both know Mimzy only shows up when she needs something. That bitch is trouble, and who knows what demon she fucked with to come running to you this time”

Alastor’s response threw me for a loop

“It’s nothing I can’t handle, don’t worry Husker, who would cross me?”

So Alastor is not immune to having toxic friends? I always assumed he would just drop anyone who became to much trouble, this is an interesting surprise. And on top of that he’s…an enabler!? Huh…that is super interesting to know. Putting a pin in the rest of this interaction for another post because there is a lot to unpack with husk and alastor. Except for the being on a leash thing because it made me realize something.

What if the reason he felt upstaged by Lucifer was not because Lilith told him to keep him away (yeah I am subscribing to the Lilith theory, it’s to much to Be a coincidence) but because he is legitimately afraid of no longer being needed by Charlie? What if, if he isn’t needed by Charlie then he has to go back to wherever he was the last 7 years? Everyone assumes he is free because he acts as such, but is he? Like real question, what if he was a straight up gift to Charlie in a way? Even if it was a “look after my daughter” command I would still call that sending a gift.

And oh man, what if he was suppose to tell the whole truth to Charlie but gave the whole, “I am here for entertainment” speech instead.

And your probably thinking, Charlie wouldn’t tell him to leave. Yeah but does Alastor know that? And he probably thinks Lilith might call him back anyway if he is not needed but just hanging out. But as we have seen, he cant even except his own situation

I will unpack this whole encounter later, but for real I don’t even think he is that mad at husk, he was mad at the reminder that his soul doesn’t belong to him any more. Like look at his face, it’s the most upset we have ever seen him, and it’s so detailed. He looks enraged, but also hurt at the same time. He and Charlie are not friends, yet, but I think he does feel some what safe at the hotel and maybe that’s enough for now

I also think there is some stock in Alastor hating that Lucifer is a bad dad theory, because that contempt was so raw and he did calm the fuck down a little bit during the “more then anything” song

But those are my random insights of Alastor, there were more but this is already to long I just hope it’s coherent

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #dead beat dad #hazbin lucifer #hazbin charlie

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divinehedons · 11 months

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you're losing me.

navigation: how reader broke her ankle

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

word count: ~4.2k words

summary: at one point, you think you've found something with joel. a moment of peace, a fragment of joy. now, you're not so sure.

warnings: this is an explicit fic, minors DO NOT INTERACT! hurt/comfort fic, LOTS of angst i'msosorry, implied age gap (somewhat mentioned here and there), a play on the miscommunication trope with an uncommunicative joel, angsty make up sex, explicit p-in-v sex, oral sex (f receiving), anal sex, aftercare, occurs somewhere after the events of season 1.

a/n: i'm incredibly thankful for all the love this fledgeling little hedonist got from such a community. thank you so so much for reading!

likes, comments, and reblogs much appreciated! please let me know if you have any requests, just shoot an ask and i'm certain to see it!

Life, as you imagined it in the days that came after, was much simpler before you and Joel arrived in Jackson. It was a description you settled on, long after you’ve combed through your mind’s vocabulary, through the haze and vertigo of heartbreak. Easier was simply a lie. Nothing was nice nor easy in those autocracies from the QZs. When you look back to those days, painted only in broad strokes of inhumane bloodshed and secret dealings in the dark, he remains, nevertheless, at the center of the shell of empires you had once deemed eternal. Your gruff, quiet Joel, with bloodstained fists and sharp eyes, always strong to rage battle with the days and emerge victorious.

Perhaps life was easier pre-Jackson because you and Joel never truly defined what you had back then. You lived next door to him. You suggested he hid his contraband with you because, God, why would they ever search there? You still try and figure out when the fucking started. When you stopped sleeping in your bed and started waking up in his. Whenever it was, shortly thereafter, you followed him in his dealings, tried to look for some damn car battery that seemed to excite him so much.

You remember waking up at dawn one morning, drenched in sweat as the shadows receded in your mind, his hand on your shoulder as his eyes searched yours. You don’t remember the nightmare, you remember the panic in his eyes. “You good, darlin’?” You’d nod and watch him open a window. It was autumn, you remembered, and the breeze cooled your burning skin.

“Who’s the guy I’m meeting today?” you tried to ask, sitting up in his bed and watching the way his eyes seemed to look at anywhere but you. You tried to ignore the subtle way his brows furrowed, the grinding of his jaw. “Talk me over the plan again.” When he returned to you, his hands pull you down by your legs, spreading you wide open as his mouth kisses the questions out of your mouth.

“We’re not talkin’ ‘bout business when I can still have you for a few hours, sweetheart.”

So he’d take you, with your neck stinging from razor burn, legs thrown over his shoulders, his shirt which you wore pushed up while he bites your nipples as his hard cock dives into you in one languid thrust, moans reverberating from the both of you at the feeling.

When Joel fucks, he does so with the candour of a greedy child in a candy shoppe. He takes whatever he can get. You still remember the aftermath of when he first fucked you, one that broke a few years of celibacy, according to the man himself. You remembered the teeth marks, the broken skin, burst capillaries, and fingerprints imprinted wherever he felt the need to. He had been bashful, then, muttering about how he didn’t mean to be so rough. You remembered laughing and pressing his fingers to your aching cunt, smiling at him. You were still wet. He hardens there and then.

Even when you were neck deep in each other’s affections, he never quite lost that eagerness. You remembered that morning because you remember gushing against his cock. You remembered it because it was the morning you realised it was never like this with anyone else. Actually, you realised as his hips stutter and the familiar warmth of his spend fills you, since Joel, there had never been anyone else.

Perhaps everything was simpler then, when you look back at it. You’d fuck, wash up, go do your jobs for some rations. Sometimes he’d nod at you from across the street, and you wouldn’t see him again until he knocks on your door at night, taking you by the hand and pulling you into the night. You always stood in his corner, kicking and punching with so much vigor that he’d chuckle and mutter something about the “youth, nowadays”. He’d wash the blood from your hands, wrap you up in bandages, and tell you to not be so reckless next time. You never really listened.

Sometimes, when an exchange ends early, he’ll take you to some empty building, tell you about some renovation of one decade or another. You’d laugh and climb over him, chasing to get a taste of his cock in your mouth. You never addressed the elephant in the room, never asked what you meant to him.

It was the unspoken rule, however, that there was never going to be anything that came between the two of you. By hell or high water. He walked you home every night you did your business, even if he still had things to do. He never forgot to hand you a share of meat whenever it came his way, sometimes finding you wherever you were stationed that day just to slip it in your hands without speaking.

It was the same rule that prevailed when he woke you one night, telling you he’s leaving. You packed a bag, shook hands with the kid he was with, and followed.

No questions asked. Through hell and high water.

–

Somewhere between those days and arriving in Jackson, he does start talking more. You learn about Sarah, the worries he tries not to tell anyone, the pain in his bones.

In easy silences while the kid slept and vulnerability left you both awake, isolation made you complacent, vulnerable. It made you believe something good still existed in this world. It made you believe you and Joel could survive unscathed from the same love that had burnt others.

“Stay with me,” he whispers in the cradle of darkness, hand on the trigger as he watches you pace back and forth, trying to tire yourself enough. You look at him, blinking momentarily as you try to comprehend as to whether or not you imagined the words from his mouth. “When we get out of here–if we get out of here–promise me you’ll stay with me.”

Of course you will. That was how you ended up in Jackson, too.

Looking back, when you try and trace everything back to a singular point in space and time when the end of all things began, it began when you stand in stunned silence, watching what seemed to be a sanctuary in the midst of mortal damnation. Laughing children, playing, men lifting, hammering, building. People chattering in the street. The tipping point, however, was none of that. The tipping point was Joel recognising his brother from the crowd and embracing him with a smile you had never seen on your face before.

For a moment, you feel guilt— you knew how long Joel had wanted to see Tommy. You knew, too, that this had been everything he had worked towards for. It warms you, to finally know Joel was still human, after all. At least for a moment. Then the uncomfortable thoughts trickle in.

Perhaps, you thought once in a microsecond, perhaps you just weren't enough for him to be that open with you.

Just like that, the isolated bubble from which you had adored, and perhaps (definitely) even loved Joel, dissolves, leaving you exposed, vulnerable, and somewhat alone in a sea of people. You supposed Ellie felt it too, from the way she held on to your arm, worrying you’ll disappear too.

“I’m here, kid,” you murmur as you pretend not to see. “You’re all good.”

Even when your little group left and came back from the Fireflies, even when Joel pulls you out of a burning building and kills men for you, you can’t shake off the feeling. Can’t shake the knowledge that you weren’t as important to him. Not even a little, not even at all. You swallow it whenever he pushes aside your underwear and lets you take his fingers. You ignore that itching feeling when you take him for yourself, seating yourself on his lap and fucking him needingly, kissing him as if his lips were everything you needed, chasing your orgasms with the same greed you had in those early days.

Sometimes, you couldn’t stop it.

“Tell me you want me, Joel,” you whisper, fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, pulling, teeth gnashing.

“‘Course I fuckin’ want you, peach. This fuckin’ cunt is all mine.” He’d flip you over, lay you on your stomach, fucking up into you as your back arches and your eyes roll back in the sweet symphony of skin on skin on skin. “No one else knows how to even make you feel as good as I do.” His fingers would reach down. Thumb and forefinger. Pinching your clit until a squeal escapes you.

“Yours, Joel.” Your gasps, his grunts, the fleeting ache in your chest as these moments become less frequent, turning few and far in between. “Yours, yours, yours.”

–

It all comes to a head one evening, over some stupid argument. Even now, when all is said and done, you can’t seem to remember the trigger that set things off. When you think of that night, only a fragment of the conversation comes to mind.

“The truth is, Joel, I just don’t know what we are,” you had been saying, separating from him like shrapnel. “I used to stupidly think that maybe you wanted me to stay because you were working up some fucking courage to do something about us.” He looks at you wide-eyed, pupils blown. You could hear his thoughts from that distance. Where was all this coming from?

“It never mattered t’you before,” he muttered, leaning against the wooden table as his eyes bore down on you. A beat drops, and he is striding towards you, taking your shoulders in his gruff hands as his tired gaze met yours. ”I don’t understand, why the fuck are you tellin’ me this now?”

I know you don’t. I never asked you to.

For a moment, you struggled in his arms. The feeling of his fingers against your skin was too much. It felt too close, too intimate, too little, and nothing all at once. You whine, trying to avoid his gaze and control your tongue before it is you who eventually did ruin things.

Just tell me. What’s in that head of yours?

“Because you never touch me anymore!” Your small fists, his broad chest, hitting what you could as you finally sob and tear yourself away from me. “I’m glad for you, I really am. But you barely even look at me anymore!” When you did free yourself, your feet take you backwards by a few steps, just enough to see the quirk of his lips at your confession. “But God, it makes me feel so fucking small- like I’ve turned into some nagging bitch, the shrew at home.” You hiccup once, twice. You see him about to speak and you jump in again. “It’s like you found your life and I never had a place in it, so you forgot me.”

The last confession lay on your lips, escaping before you could stop it. “Like I was never enough for you, Joel.”

Your back hits the wall as you look him in the eye, eyes blurred from the onslaught of tears that finally stop you. “I have always stood by your side, I’ve followed you blindly across this fucking wasteland. I never asked for anything, never wanted anything but you, and yet…” You wait for Joel. As you always have. You wait for him to say something. Anything that might finally end your misery. When he doesn’t, you wait for him to do something.

You sigh. “I… I lo-”

“I’ve had enough of this,” he finally says, catching you off-guard as he moves away, grabbing his coat as he shakes his head. “Tommy’s waiting for me.” With that, he leaves. The pit in your stomach swallows you whole, remaining there, in the strange hallways of your memory, as the moment you finally understood the misery that walked hand in hand with love.

–

That was how you ended up with the singular backpack of your things, moving across all of Jackson and putting the entire commune between the two of you, and moving into the small apartment near the shops. You know the jobs he works, asked (almost begged, actually) for Maria to keep her as far away from him as remotely possible. And you did so before he returned from patrolling– some two day affair beyond the gates.

The first night proved impossible. In the darkness, you heard the arms of your watch ticking by as time moves ever so slowly. Without noticing it, you counted the minutes before he and Tommy should be back. You tried not to wonder if he ever thought of you on jobs like this. When all there is to kill is time. Did he ever touch himself in the darkness? Did he ever think of you touching yourself wherever you lay, too?

Then you remember his dining room. “I’ve had enough of this.” No. You know he wasn’t thinking of you.

You fuck yourself with your fingers until your wrist aches from the effort; and still yet, nothing. You cannot reach the places he does. Your hands too soft to mimic the sensation of his calloused fingers forcing orgasm after orgasm out of you. The sleep that comes, therefore, is uneasy,

You dream of him, lying beside you in the bed you shared back in the QZ, his gruff hum signalling he was awake. “You’re not happy, are you?” he whispers, and you look to him, hands reaching in the darkness.

“Of course not,” you whisper. "I’m in love with you and you don’t even want to see me.”

–

Joel sees the empty house first before he heard the news. It is only in your absence that he finally understood how empty his home was without you.

Without the books on the coffee table. Without the flowers you picked yourself. The bathroom felt barren without your little luxuries– the lotion you had found back on the road, the smell of your shampoo long evaporated from the room. His bed, most of all, felt inhuman without the shape of your frame imprinted on it.

Ellie rushed in when he stood in the living room, looking over in silence. “What the fuck happened, man? I tried to stop her but she was crying, all over the place. I don’t even fucking know how she left the place so pristine the way she was running around-”

“Where is she, kid?”

–

When he finally does see you, you look far worse off than he is. The apartment Maria pointed him to is nice, it’s warm. Bright, even. As if anywhere you go turns into a sanctuary. You’re reading when he sees you. With your back turned to him, you roll your shoulders in a way that tells him you slept wrong. If you even slept at all. The slight tilt in your gait tells him you overworked yourself and your ankle is giving you hell for it.

He leans against the doorway until eventually, he finds the strength to speak. “So you don’t even say goodbye? Some people would think it’s just good manners.” You turn around just enough for him to see the swooping shades of exhaustion beneath your eyes, tinged by the reddening of your nose, your sore eyes. You had just been crying. He could tell, even when no traces of tears are left on your skin.

Now, he waits for you. Attempts to weed out the silence as if it could tell him something.

“Ellie said you cleaned up. Thanks for that, darlin’.” He sighs, moving closer in an attempt to bridge the gap between the two of you. He doesn’t notice the way you tense, the way you prepare yourself to flee. “I found somethin’ for you, It’s out-”

“Just stop it, Joel.” He looks to you, sees the way the tears bead in your eyes before you look away, rising from your seat as you allow a shaky breath. “You said you had enough and I’m- I wanted to respect that.” He tries to hold you and your arms fly out, pushing him away before he gets too close, shaking your head. “But I can’t do it when you’re always around.”

He calls your name, and it stops you in your tracks. He says it again, and you realize why. He says your name with so much emotion, the teeth-gritting ferocity of the riptide. “It was never you that I had enough of. I can never have enough of you-” When you look at him, his brows furrow, eyes soften, reaching for you, hands on your wrists as he slowly brings you toward him. He calls your name, and for a moment, you feel as you did back in the old days of the small rooms in the QZ. You remember the whistling of the wind between the window shutters, white noise that soothed you to sleep.

His confession comes spilling forth in an uncontrollable gush. “I never wanted to make you go, peach,’ he murmurs, almost incomprehensible, rough hands pulling you against his chest as he finally breathes in that familiar scent of your hair. He smells of snow and pine–the same smell of the soap you bought for him last week. “I don’t know how to do this… to feel–” His thumbs cup your cheek as your gaze returns to his own tear-filled face. “Losing you is like cutting my fingers off, sweetheart, I can’t bear it.”

He kisses you, and you feel the desperation of a man starved. He doesn’t stop, does not want to stop. If this was a dream, he thinks, he’d rather consume you than wake up somewhere without the warmth of your skin on his. You kiss him, too, and it’s nothing like what you had before. When you kiss him in that quiet little apartment, it’s wanton, messy, your tears melting into his own, your whines swallowed and consumed before you can even actuate them. You only break apart when you feel his lips move to your cheek, his beard rubbing against you as you sniffle and tug him closer by the loops of his belt.

Joel continues to speak. In disjointed whispers, murmurings you try and decode. “Always wanted you to stay, darlin’. Always dreamt of you, always-”

“I thought you dreamt of ten-month summers,” you manage to tease between tears, catching his lips as his arms lift you, pressing you to the nearest wall to wrap your legs around his waist, thrusting his clothed cock against you. You remembered that dream particularly because it had been a miserable winter, one that he confessed to have felt in his very bones. How he grumbled then, in the silences when he thought you wouldn’t hear.

“Even with that summer, without you there, I don’t fuckin’ need it, sugar.”

You both make up that afternoon, slowly, lovingly, with him begging you to stay as he pushes your bottoms off and you promising that you will. The burning stretch of his girth makes you tear up again, just as he cups your face and soothes you through it. “Doin’ so good for me, baby. Let me make it up to you…” You let him do many things. You let him take you again. You let him regain control over himself again.

Oftentimes you wonder if uncertainty struck fear into him. Perhaps it was why he had always kept himself at an arm’s distance, even when you slept in his bed and wore his shirts. Perhaps that was why he had never allowed himself to feel. Never allowed himself to name that love he had for you.

“I love you, Joel.” The whisper comes between moans as his lips mark your neck in rough kisses, taking you again as he had taken you everytime. “I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.” He groans at the sound of your promises, a low guttural sound, just as his lips nip at the skin of your neck, making you whine and squeal against him.

“I fuckin’ love you, peach,” he finally manages to say, hips pistoning in and out of your weeping cunt as he makes you look at him. “I could never have enough of you… fuck!” He doesn’t care if the whole of Jackson hears you, sees the two of you locked in this embrace. As long as he had you, he knows, nothing else mattered. Gently, he lets you down to turn you around, manipulating your hips as your hands keep you balanced to the wall. He sinks so easily to his knees, tongue swiping from your clit, your weeping hole, your perineum, and even up to your ass, spreading your wetness and his precome with a low chuckle. “Tell me you need me, darlin’, come on.”

You do tell him. “I need you, sir, please,” you whisper, with such gentleness that he chuckles. He loved the way your begging sounded, the way you called him sir, like you did in those shy beginnings when you could barely look him in the eye. Loved the way you whine and try to reach down to touch yourself, only for him to tsk in warning, your hand immediately returning to the wall. “Please let me cum, sir, I just want you, please!”

Finally, he indulges you. His tongue fucking you, hands spreading your asscheeks, beard digging into your skin and his nose, his nose, just teasing your asshole enough to make you clench down in expectation. He does not stop, does not pause even when you buck against him, clenching your teeth as you feel his tongue reach there, that point that makes you fucking feral, bucking until he pushes you off the edge, and continues to push you over the edge, knees weakening and trembling in the aftermath of pleasure. You thank him, louder than you’ve ever thanked any deity for each day of survival. If you were honest, you didn’t care so much about religion, about believing. Not when everything you ever believed in knelt before you, asking you if you’d let him take your ass.

You nod breathlessly, pressing your cheek against the cool wallpaper. “It’s yours, sir. It’s all yours, and you know it.”

He smirks, kissing the small of your back. His perfect, willing girl.

He slowly draws you into it, knows you’ve never done anything like this. He starts with his tongue, helping you relax around him, helping you relax when you take one finger, then another. You had never felt so empty and yet so full at the same time. You feel the walls of your cunt stretched out over nothing, your fingers digging into the plaster as he finally stands, lips pressing kisses and assurances into your shoulders. And there, just there- you feel the head of his cock entering you, your body welcoming him so willingly, without much effort nor pain.

He fucks you with renewed vigor, your moans intermingling as his hands trail on separate directions. His left hand trails from your neck, to your chest, and quickly to your nipples, pinching, tugging, His right trails from your stomach to your wanton clit, rubbing concentric circles softly and gently prolonging your pleasure to match up with his stamina. Even as he batters your walls, his lips are so gently, praising you and kissing you. “Of course I fuckin’ love you, sugar. Always fuckin’ did.”

It’s the confession, you would think later on, that pushes the both of you over the edge. You beg him to let you, and he chuckles at how needy and willing you are in his hands. “Together, baby, yeah? Come on, be a good girl and come with me.” HIs fingers intensify his efforts, so do his cock, and it’s even more easier, You feel yourself gush at nothing, his hands the only thing holding you up now as he finds his high, rolling off with you, fucking his spend deep within your ass. “Fuck, yeah. Just like that, princess. Fuck!”

You cry for him and cum even harder, clenching and collapsing, saved only by his trembling frame. It is then that you feel his teeth biting down against your skin, guttural groans escaping and reverberating against your sweat-slick skin. You call for him, hand reaching back to tug against his hair, giving him the consent to sink his teeth deeper against your flesh.

You exchange words of love, you kiss slowly, gently. Joel carries you gently to the small cot you had been resting on, his gaze scolding you for putting your body through this uncomfortable surface every night. You whine when he leaves you, but he smiles. “I’m not goin’ anywhere again, sugar. Promise.”

He makes good on that promise, returning with something to wipe you clean, slowly, gently, not wanting to make it any worse for you. He praises you, nonetheless. So good f’me, baby. My perfect girl.

You fall asleep, slowly, gently, to the same words, your hand on his, his mouth on your cheek, kissing you all over. It’s the most peace you ever felt in a long time.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction

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avatar-anna · 10 months

Text

It's hot as shit where I live and I may or may not be sitting in front of my ac unit, so...a blurb about that.

"Babe...What the fuck?"

You looked behind you where Harry had entered your apartment without you realizing. Perhaps a little too quickly because your head began to spin, but that didn't stop the wide grin from stretching across your face.

"H! What are you doing here? You're supposed to be...you're supposed to be..."

Shit, where was Harry Styles supposed to be at the moment?

Your boyfriend looked down at you, an amused glint in his eye. "I'm right where I'm supposed to be."

Now, normally that kind of sappy, lovey-dovey language made you cringe, which was why Harry used it so much. He liked to see you squirm. But in your current state, it just broadened your smile and brought color to your cheeks.

"Stop that," you told him. "Now come. Sit with me."

Harry didn't hesitate, joining you on the plushy beanbag chair you were sitting in. The two of you shuffled around until you were both comfortable, which meant you were perched on his lap. You took the opportunity to snuggle up against his chest, breathing in the scent of his clothes and the faint remnants of his cologne—a deadly combination on a sober day.

"Baby?"

"Hm?"

"Why are we in the middle of your kitchen?"

Blinking your eyes open, you looked around, feeling a little sheepish. "Well, the air conditioning is best felt right here, and since it's sweltering everywhere else in this apartment, I made the executive decision to spend some time right where the air blows out. Might as well make the best use of the money I'm spending, right?"

Harry shook his head, more than used to your antics by now. "And it had nothing to do with the wine in that glass of yours?"

"Oh. Well that too."

Laughing, he nuzzled his nose against your cheek, and you let him, happy to be wrapped up in him after spending so much time apart.

"I've missed you terribly," he mumbled, not even bothering to move from where he was pressing kisses into your neck.

"I've missed you too. Wine nights and Survivor aren't the same without you."

Leaning back, Harry reached for the glass you offered him and took a sip of the wine in it. "Good choice," he said offhandedly before circling back to his point. "You're always more than welcome to join me on tour, you know."

"I know."

"And you wouldn't have to pay for a single thing. I would take care of every—"

"H, we've talked about this."

It was no secret that Harry had more money than you did. It wasn't something the two of you talked about, nor was it a point of contention. For the most part. You were more than accustomed to a simpler way of life, and Harry loved spoiling you, and sometimes the middle ground was murky, but you had boundaries. You didn't want him to pay for everything just because he could. You could too, it just took a little longer.

"I know, I'm sorry. Won't bring it up again. Tell me about your day. Was John giving you a hard time again?"

You took the change of subject in stride, always eager to talk about your coworkers who didn't do much work. But in the back of your mind, guilt lingered.

It wasn't like Harry was trying to throw his money at you, he just wanted to spend time with you, and you couldn't really fault him for that. Sometimes it felt like you got in the way of your own relationship, even if Harry never said that himself, nor would he ever. He wanted to help you pay for a trip that would allow you to spend more time with him, why couldn't you let him?

"While this has been fun, I think it's time we take this party to bed," Harry said a while later. You'd spent a couple more glasses of wine on the beanbag chair, but both of you were sporting droopy eyes.

"Classy, Styles," you joked anyway, standing up and offering a hand to help him out of the chair.

Harry stretched his arms above his head when he was finally on his feet, a couple pops coming loose from his back. "Ha ha. I'm not as young as I used to be, you know."

"Don't I know it. Come on, grandpa. Let's get you to bed."

Harry chuckled, but let you lead him down the hall to your room. You got ready for bed side by side, then promptly fell into bed, kicking the covers away so it wasn't so hot while you slept. Harry kissed you a couple times, holding your cheek in his hand as he slotted his leg between yours. Your eyes closed at the feeling, happy to have him beside you again after spending so much time away from each other. But that only made you feel guilty all over again.

"I know what you're thinking," he said, not even bothering to look up as he continued to kiss you.

"Oh yeah? What am I thinking?"

"I'm not upset with you for not letting me pay for your plane ticket. I never have been."

That made you freeze. It took a couple tries, but you eventually managed to hold his face in your hands so you could look at him properly. "Really?"

"Of course. Do I wish you'd let me spoil you the way I really, really want to? Definitely. Do I also love you enough to maintain your boundaries and respect your desire to be financially independent? Also definitely."

You couldn't help but laugh a little, though maybe it was the wine you'd had earlier. "You sound like my therapist."

"Yes, well, I did meet with mine before I got on the plane, so..."

You laughed even harder then, and Harry giggled with you. Leaning forward, you kissed his cheek a couple times, then said, "Thank you. I just...I don't want you to feel like I'm using you, but I also don't want to be the reason we don't spend time together."

"So we compromise," Harry said simply.

"And how do we do that?" you asked, curious to hear his answer.

"Not tonight, silly. Neither of us are sober enough for that conversation. It can wait until tomorrow."

You shrugged as best you could while laying down. Fair enough, you supposed. "Tomorrow, then."

Harry leaned forward and kissed your forehead once before capturing your lips in a kiss. "Tomorrow."

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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rosieofcorona · 5 months

Text

All We Do Not Say

Hi beloveds! I have crafted a soft little Gale fic for you because it's my firm belief that everyone's favorite wizard deserves all the warmth in the world. 😌 Also on AO3, if you prefer. As always, thank you for reading. 💕

There was a time in his life that Gale could sleep anywhere, provided he had a good book and a space to sit down.

In Waterdeep, he might wake in his armchair or on his balcony with the weight of an ancient tome still resting in his lap, or at his desk, his cheek pressed against parchment. The smell of it, of ink and lignin, would bring him back to his senses before his eyes were fully open, and he’d recall what he’d been studying, and begin reading again.

At home, in his tower, he could do this night after night and still feel mostly rested come morning.

But he is far from his tower, and farther each day.

Perhaps it is the orb that keeps him up as of late, with its insatiable, unnatural hunger, or perhaps it is the tadpole that wriggles and pulses impatiently inside his skull. Or it could, he supposes, be the simpler and less curable matter of aging– an affliction that seems, on occasion, more frightening than either of the others.

Whatever the cause of his recent insomnia, it pulls Gale into a rather distressing cycle– he cannot sleep, so he cannot focus, so he cannot read, so he cannot sleep.

Instead, he finds himself offering to keep watch over camp in the evenings, if only for the distraction. The far-off gibbering of a newborn gnoll, the crunch of foliage under goblin feet, an animal scream– each night a fresh and distant horror calls his mind away from greater threats, from illithids and tadpoles and gods.

It’s an odd remedy, he knows. But the alternative is lying awake in his tent, turning death over and over in his mind until the thought is worn smooth as a river stone.

It works well for a time, keeps his mind on the present and off of some vague, future doom.

That is, at least, until they reach the Underdark.

Deep beneath Faerûn, there is something profoundly disturbing about the lack of…well, everything. They find no grand cities or quaint little villages, few animals and even fewer people.

No trees, no light. No sky.

Most nights spent underground are so quiet that Gale may as well stay in his bedroll, staring up at a canopy of fabric, dark as the velvet earth above them.

He thinks, It is like being buried alive, without even the stars to bear witness.

On these nights he can feel the stones in his head turning over.

Even so, come the evening (or what he guesses is evening), Gale volunteers to stand sentinel for the fifth time in a tenday.

He always asks them after dinner, when his companions are most likely to agree, after his cooking has warmed them and filled their bellies and made them want nothing more than to close their eyes and dream of somewhere, anywhere else.

Tav is the only one who protests with any frequency, the only one who seems to notice that the circles under his eyes are half a shade darker than they were yesterday, when they were half a shade darker than the day before.

Even on nights when she convinces someone else to take his place, he will relieve them after Tav has gone to sleep.

It starts the same way every time.

Gale walks the perimeter in an infinite loop, looking for life in the darkness, illuminated only by the fire in the center of their camp. It makes him feel like a distant planet, nearly untouched by the sun. How strange to think that he’d once felt like the sun itself.

He continues in his orbit until the subterranean cold gnaws at his limbs. It bites down hard on his nose and ears and fingers, chases him back to the fire, back to the light.

Hypnotized by the flames and their radiant warmth, he does not hear the quiet stirring in the tent beyond his own, doesn’t hear the soft approach of nimble feet.

A voice comes to him out of the darkness.

“I hope you’re not keeping watch again.”

“Mystra,” Gale gasps, startled, the goddess’s name invoked in equal parts a prayer, a curse.

“Forgive me,” Tav says, through a laugh she cannot help. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” If it were anyone else he might be annoyed, or even a little embarrassed– but the sound of her laughter bubbles like seafoam over sand, rushes over and around him. Coupled with the relief that she is not some dreadful creature of the Underdark, he finds it difficult to feel anything besides affection.

“It’s quite alright,” he recovers, with a shake of his head. “You surprised me, that’s all.”

“Then I really hope you’re not keeping watch.”

She is teasing him now, just lightly, a familiar spark of warmth behind her eyes.

It is the same look she gives him when she brings him a new book, or when he cooks for her, or when he tells her about Waterdeep. It is the same look she gave him earlier in the day, when she had offered to brew him a tea that might help him to sleep.

Gale has trouble remembering the last time another looked at him this way, so interested and inviting and earnest.

Perhaps, he thinks, another never has.

“Are you alright?” Tav asks, when he’s been quiet for too long.

“Of course,” he says with the sincerity of a promise, offered with a smile that he hopes will be convincing. “Just lost in thought.”

There is a part of him that doesn’t want to leave it there, that wants to share his every thought with her, his every terror, every dream. She must know that there is more to it, must’ve learned by now to recognize when Gale isn’t telling her everything, but he is grateful that she doesn’t press him, never presses him.

Instead she breaks into a grin and says, “You’re lucky I’m not a bulette.”

“I’m lucky they’re not so light-footed. What are you doing up, anyway?”

“The cold always wakes me, sooner or later,” Tav sighs. “If I’d known it was so godsdamned frigid down here, I might’ve nicked a fur or two from the Zhent.”

It’s Gale’s turn to laugh, though she’s only half-joking.

She’s drawn near to him, to the flames, her palms outstretched, her fingers spread wide as if to grab hold of as much warmth as possible.

“But it’s alright,” she continues, “So as long as I’m close to the fire.”

“Any closer and you’ll be in it, I’m afraid. Perhaps I can help.”

Tav tilts her head and quirks an eyebrow in a curious little expression. “Can you?”

“If you’ll allow me.”

Gale turns to face her fully, and she mirrors him out of instinct.

“Hold out your hands to me,” he says. “Palms together, just barely. Like you’re praying.”

“Like this?” “Like that.”

The spell is one his mother taught him, among the first he’d ever learned.

He still remembers that winter in Waterdeep, when the snow fell hard and fast. When the ice in the harbor kept the ships at arm’s length and the frozen streets shone like glass. He was young then, six or seven, but even now he can feel his small hands in Morena’s, warmed by a word and a touch.

Warm and fed, she used to tell him. That’s how you show someone they’re loved.

Gale cages Tav’s hands lightly in his own, the way he might hold a butterfly. He pushes all thoughts of winter away and calls to mind the rippling heat of summer, an orchard grown fat with peaches, the silvery shimmer of sweat on skin.

The rose-petal flush of a cheek cradled in a hand, her cheek, his hand…

“Calor aestas,” he says quietly, when the image comes into clear view. He feels the cold melt from her fingers, hears the comfortable sigh that follows. “Better?”

“Yes,” she murmurs. “Much.”

She is looking at him now with an intensity he has not seen since the night he first showed her the Weave, all that time ago. The night he saw her thoughts laid bare, had all but felt her lips on his.

Had she seen them now, the visions he had conjured? Had she felt him pull her close in his own mind?

Tav clears her throat softly and he comes back to himself, his heartbeat thrashing wildly in his chest. He realizes with some urgency that he has not let her go and pulls back suddenly, but not without reluctance.

“I hope,” he swallows, trying to compose himself. “I hope it helps you sleep.”

“Do you want me to stay up with you?”

Yes, he thinks selfishly, Yes. Stay up with me, stay close to me, always.

He shakes his head instead. “You should rest while the spell holds.”

“And how long is that?”

“As long as I’m able to concentrate.”

He will think of her hands and their pull on a bowstring, their pluck of a lyre, their grip on a sword. How they weave her own magic, how they cradle a book. How they felt clasped in his, soft and cold.

A focus worth holding, at last.

“Only if it’s no trouble,” she says.

“None at all.”

Gale is grateful that he manages to stop himself, for once, from saying the rest of the thought as it enters his head. I would think of you anyway, magic or no.

Tav takes his hand in hers again, this time to squeeze it fondly.

For a moment, he feels that if he were to die just now– from the orb, from the tadpole, in the jaws of a hungry bulette– it would all have been worth it, for this.

“Thank you, Gale.”

Her smile is warmer than any summer he remembers, brighter than any star he can name.

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nelkcats · 1 year

Text

Dad War

Danny Fenton became a father and he's not panicking at all (this is a lie)

Danny should have known that asking for an uneventful week was an exaggeration. He tempted fate by saying that "nothing bad could happen now that ghosts and humans lived in peace with each other"

Of course, it was right after saying that sentence that his daughter cousin appeared in front of him with her arm melted. Having gotten used to that particular scenario he steered her into his ecto-dejecto reserves, both of them panicked when this didn't solve anything.

With no more options, Danny took her to Far Frozen, surely the Yeti would have a better idea of what was happening to the girl.

Frostbite examined Ellie just like the first time but instead of scowling like Danny had expected he looked extremely pleased, almost satisfied.

"The time has finally come" Frostbite told him happily "you must let it happen, Great One"

"Do I have to let Ellie melt down!?" Danny yelled in concern, he never thought the Yeti had a sadistic streak in him. Ellie looked just as shaken by the information.

"Not like you're thinking" The Yeti noticed his mistake and decided to explain himself "she's not melting, she's stabilizing"

"If I'm stabilizing, why is my arm goo?" Ellie groaned, the sensation of melting never failed to be strange.

"That explanation is much simpler" Frostbite smiled "how old are you, little Phantom?"

"Uh" Ellie tried to assign herself an age, she aged much slower than the other halfas "16?"

"You didn't understand the question, I didn't mean how you look" Frostbite denied affectionately "how old do you consider yourself?"

“…5” Ellie muttered in embarrassment, even if her age was a bit older than that number, she felt much younger, like a child. She didn't count her early years, between Vlad and traveling the world she hadn't begun to think about it.

Even with all the knowledge stored in her head, she wanted to experience a childhood like other children, to make friends. Something that her adolescent appearance did not allow. As much as Ellie loved talking to Val, she was one of her only friends and unlike her, Val had a whole life to live.

"There is your explanation" The yeti pointed out "ghosts take the appearance of how they see themselves, your core takes into account your wishes and therefore you are reforming into a child"

Danny remembered when he first shifted into his ghost form and Frostbite explanation made sense, but his head reminded him of a very important detail.

"Wouldn't that be troublesome? A lot of people in Amity know you as my cousin” Danny pointed out worriedly. The secret of the halfas was still closely guarded.

"Well, there is a way to leave her appearance the same as it currently is, but that's up to her" Frostbite looked at the girl waiting for an answer.

"No" Ellie denied "I want it to happen, I also...I also want to have a childhood, like the others"

Ellie had always felt bitter about being the only halfa exploring the concept of death more than life; unlike Vlad and Danny who had lived fairly normal lives before their respective accidents, she had been robbed of the possibility.

She wanted to live too.

"It's settled then," Frostbite nodded "Now, this is just getting started and someone has to look after your core while you reform. Do you have any candidates in mind?"

"Danny, can you?" Ellie asked, taking the sleeve of his suit, she wouldn't have considered asking anyone else. Even if she didn't admit it, Ellie always saw him as her father.

"You don't even have to ask, I'll be here when you get back" Danny ruffled her hair with a smile.

"Thank you, dad" Ellie closed her eyes as she let herself be carried away by the sensation of her core. It was a little strange that what she thought would kill her was fulfilling her dreams.

Before the halfa could reply to the comment, Ellie melted, and the ectoplasm was quickly absorbed into her core.

Danny looked at the green stone in his hands with concern.

"How long do you think it will take her?" he asked the Yeti.

"A couple of hours" Frostbite sat down next to him "it's hard being a new parent isn't it? I still remember when my children were born"

Danny avoided mentioning that he had no idea about his children. He wondered if he had them in life or death.

"I- Ellie is my cousin," Danny tried to tell him, but his argument sounded weak.

"She doesn't seem to see you as such" The Yeti shrugged as he handed the boy a cup of tea, but the halfa refused to take it as long as he held the stone in his hands.

Frostbite snorted while setting the mug aside, a new parent, in fact.

"Uh, looks like it's time for me to leave my parents house, don't you think?" Danny tried to joke, even Jazz had her own house in another place.

He had temporarily tried it when he was balancing his college life with his spooky duties, living with Sam and Tucker was fun but in the end he came home.

"It seems so" The Yeti shrugged "congratulations, it's a girl"

Danny laughed as he held the stone closer to his chest. He had really become a father, hadn't he?

His core purred at the thought, while an invisible thread connected the two half-ghosts.

Being a parent didn't sound bad. Maybe it wasn't even as hard as people made it out to be.

───────────────

Danny regrets that last thought, he regrets it so much.

He just had to think that, didn't he?

As usual, he called Jazz to inform her of the day's events as he held the stone to his chest (Frostbite had told him it was safe to do so).

Jazz didn't seem too surprised by the news, on the contrary, she started recommending him books on parenting, so many books.

Danny tried to tell her that Ellie probably wouldn't be a difficult child, he got a 30-minute lecture on how she'd probably regress to the mental age of 5 or 6, and therefore he had to be prepared for it.

Deciding to listen to his older sister, Danny googled for advice.

Checking on wikihow how to take care of a child didn't work, Danny could attest to that.

The halfa sighed as he looked at the "I'll bring you some books tomorrow" message that Jazz had send him. Did he really have to read?

It couldn't be that hard, right? His parents took care of Jazz and she ended well!

Danny was ignoring Sam's voice in his head saying that "Jazz is the spiders georg of children and should not be counted"

Of course, Danny was also avoiding to look at the fact that his parents also took care of him and he kinda died. Ellie was already half dead so he couldn't fucked up that part.

He put his phone aside as he stared at the stone on his chest. It had been hours, was Ellie okay? Perhaps something had gone wrong?

He frowned wondering if he should call Frostbite when he noticed the glowing core. Before he knew it he had a 5-year-old girl crushing his stomach.

"Ouch," Danny groaned in pain "fatherhood hurts"

"Daddy! Daddy!" Ellie jumped on his stomach, she didn't seem to notice the change in title "Look! Look! Do you like my new look?"

Realizing that Jazz was right, Danny pretended to think for a few minutes, Ellie looked bummed out at his lack of response.

"Of course I love it!" Danny scooped her up into his arms as she giggled "you look perfect!"

Ellie chuckled as she ran off to Danny's room where she had kept his phone before the whole mess.

"I'll be back soon! I have to tell Val!" The girl ran off, probably forgetting that she could go through the ceiling and get to the room faster.

Danny gave her a thumbs up, as soon as Ellie disappeared down the stairs he lay back on the couch rubbing his stomach. His daughter had strength.

"We're definitely moving" he muttered, closing his eyes. Not in a million years would a girl with that much energy go unnoticed.

Danny checked his phone again and saw messages from Sam and Tucker. The halfa pouted, Jazz was a gossip.

───────────────

"Are you sure you have everything?" Tucker asked, checking a list on his PDA. No matter how many years passed, he still loved his technology and refused to throw it away.

"Definitely sure" Danny yawned as he loaded the boxes onto the GAV. Ellie was asleep in the passenger seat.

"Papers?" Tucker checked the list.

"Legal and illegal" Danny held up a folder "Thanks for that, by the way"

"You're welcome man" Tucker shrugged. He had created Ellie's papers a while back, but they had never been needed. Adapting the age was a surprise.

"Food? Money? Clothes?" Tucker recited the list, to Danny's nod he continued, "materials to put together the new portal?"

"Ready" Danny pointed to the box that said "danger", there were also the ectoplasm samples.

"I still think that's a stupid idea" Sam rolled her eyes "that thing killed you"

"Yes, but we need ectoplasm on a regular basis and well, building one was the easiest way to get it" the halfa shrugged. It still made him shudder to think about the accident but the portal was necessary "Besides, portals don't measure distance in the Realms, I can build one that's only a few feet from home"

Also, having Far Frozen close to them was always an advantage and the ghosts had promised not to invade the new town without his permission. He still couldn't believe he was moving to New Jersey.

"That's the only reason I'm letting you get away with it," Jazz snorted as she bent down to kiss her brother's forehead "Remember, we're just a phone call away"

"I know, I know, you don't need to move out as well" Danny shook his head amused, he felt that if he didn't stop them they would really try to " I never thought I would have to move"

"It's been so long since the accident" Sam remembered as she placed a hand on her hip "even though it seems like yesterday"

"It feels like it happened yesterday" Danny admitted while touching the scar on his hand. The memories of the electrocution were still fresh in his mind.

"By the way dude, are you sure to leave Vlad as her biological father?" Tucker winced at the document, he could see the reason but he didn't like it.

"Of course, that idiot must pay me child support" Danny smiled "eat the rich and all that"

Having an excuse to spend Vlad's money was always fun. And if his stupid biological sex could help that, he would use it. Danny was honestly relieved that his legal documents had been changed. He wondered if Vlad knew the real reason why he was never able to create a male clone.

"You could just ask us for money" Sam patted his shoulder "Tucker and I could support your poor ass"

Both had been very successful in their respective fields. Sam had graduated in law and was getting another degree as an Environment Protection Technician, she had changed a lot in a short time. On the other side, Tucker had created his own Technology & Security company, he was currently negotiating a deal with Wayne Enterprises.

Danny had a feeling that his friend wanted to use him to close a deal and had suggested the city as an option for that reason. Bludhaven wasn't far from Gotham after all.

"Just because I'm unemployed doesn't mean I'm poor" Danny pouted "I'll get a job in the new town before you know it"

"I hope so, your savings aren't going to stretch that long" Jazz sighed. Her brother's lack of planning never ceased to be worrisome "Oh, and don't forget to take off your blinder, you need to breathe"

Danny frowned at the comment but nodded. His ghost form was more comfortable because it suited his chosen gender, he wondered if he could change the human as well.

"Okay, I guess that's it" Tucker put the PDA away "remember not to drive like either of your parents, we don't want you to get a ticket so quickly"

"Nor that the weather news announces when you're going out" Sam smirked, she remembered when Lance Thunder started announcing when Jazz and Danny were learning to drive.

"That's impossible, you know I'm an excellent driver and therefore I'm not going to get a ticker" Danny stuck out his tongue at his best friend.

"Whatever you say Danny" Sam snorted "call us when you get there, and have a safe trip!"

His friends and sister said goodbye to him as he got on the GAV. He started driving away from home. It wasn't long before he passed the "Welcome to Amity Park" sign. The little ghost drawings around it made him smile.

Still, Danny was offended by the skepticism of his friends, he was sure that he was not going to get a ticket anytime soon.

───────────────

An officer was giving him a ticket.

Danny banged his head against the steering wheel of the vehicle as the police officer asked him the routine questions.

"Does this vehicle have a license?" The officer raised an eyebrow. Danny sighed as he handed over the GAV papers, he had licensed all of his parents' inventions long ago "Okay- wait, is this a SUV?"

"No, it's a GAV" Danny growled without further explanation, he was still annoyed by the situation. Clockwork was laughing at him from his damned tower, he was sure "Do you need anything else, officer...Grayson?"

Officer Grayson looked at the vehicle with doubt, the damn thing had more modifications than the Batmobile, he really hoped the boy wasn't some future villain.

He had so many questions to ask.

Before Dick could question him further or Danny risked murder on his first day in town, Ellie woke up from her nap.

"Daddy?" Ellie yawned looking at the driver's seat curiously "Are we there yet?"

All the halfa's anger melted away and his attitude took a complete turn.

"No honey, we got pulled over for speeding but we're in town now" Danny leaned down to brush her hair out of her face "you can go back to sleep"

"You're a bad driver" his daughter smirked, she wondered if driving skills were hereditary.

"Are you new in town?" Dick leaned in curiously, the girl reminded him of his own daughter.

Danny was about to tell him it was none of his business but Ellie answered first.

"¡Yes! We're moving" Ellie smiled "That's why we brought all the boxes, I'm going to enroll in a new school and dad is going to get a job"

"That sounds wonderful" Dick smiled softly as he handed Danny the ticket along with the GAV's papers "You should be more careful on the streets, I don't think there is anywhere that accepts 120 km/hr as a normal speed"

The halfa frowned, didn't the officer have a heart!? At least he could forgive a new neighbor for a silly mistake!

"Yeah, yeah, thanks" he murmured as he put the ticket in the glove compartment.

"Well, all seems to be in order" Dick straightened up "you can follow your way, enjoy Bludhaven!"

Danny hoped that he would never see him again.

When he arrived at his new house, the halfa carried Ellie to the couch and let her sleep, after which he began to unload the things from the GAV.

He wondered if he should start unpacking everything or just sleep. He felt tired at the thought of opening all those boxes and fell asleep on the couch with his daughter.

When he woke up it was night, Danny peeked out of the window as he heard a motorcycle park next door. Perhaps he could see his neighbors?

He gaped at the sight of fucking Officer Grayson reaching down to grab a little girl and carry her into his arms.

Wasn't it enough to be physically perfect and heartless, but he also had to be a good father? Damn everything!

It had to be a fucking joke

1K notes · View notes

angellayercake · 8 months

Text

Banchetto: Contorno

Papa Emeritus III x Reader | NSFW

AO3 | Secondo Piatto | Masterpost

To avoid a soggy mess, it is advisable to properly prepare your aubergines. The stems can be removed or left on depending on preference. You liked leaving them on. This is the type of dish that could be eaten hands on, so the stem offered a good hand hold and you did favour a more rustic style of presentation. They still needed to be cut in half lengthways, however, so you could scoop out the seeds and softer flesh leaving the shell to be filled later. They are sprinkled with salt and left to sit to allow the excess water to be drawn out, to prevent the aforementioned soggy mess.

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

The next morning when you let yourself into his rooms it was almost like everything was back to normal, except it wasn’t, not really. Your stomach was filled with butterflies as you approached his rooms but it was not accompanied with dread this time. No, the urge to avoid him had well and truly left you and instead you were excited to see him. You hadn’t slept much the previous night but unlike the last time you weren’t agonising over every moment of your interaction you were relishing in it. His relieved smile, the warmth of his lips, the way his body felt pressed against you. But as much as you were revelling in the knowledge of your reciprocated feelings, a part of you still couldn’t quite believe that he felt the same. It was almost simpler before when you thought he just considered you another conquest but it was something else entirely to think that you had somehow, well you weren’t entirely sure what it was yet but it definitely seemed like more than just lust.

To your surprise he was already up when you arrived, and you hoped he had the same overwhelming urge to see you as you did him. He was curled up in one of the overstuffed armchairs in his sitting room, half drunk cup of espresso in one hand and his chin resting in the other. Still wearing his soft pyjamas and with his tousled hair he gives you a sleepy smile as you walk towards him. The change in him hit you then as you remembered the closed off and aloof man that you had encountered when you first began working for him.

‘Buongiorno Sorella,’ he greets you as you pause beside him. You want to reach out or kiss him or smooth his hair back or something but you become slightly paralysed by indecision. This is all so new you aren’t sure what signs of affection are welcome, but before things become too awkward he reaches for you pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand, his eyes dropping closed as he hums to himself. ‘Thank you for coming back.’

‘Nothing would have stopped me coming back Papa,’ is the overly honest answer that springs from you almost unbidden. You feel your face flushing at the admission but when he quirks his eyebrow at you fixing you with a faux annoyed expression you realise your slip up. ‘Terzo,’ you correct and the smile he gives you makes your heart race.

‘Good girl.’ Simple words shouldn’t affect you this much, especially not this early in the morning but you also can’t help imagining him praising you in other scenarios. Thankfully before you can follow that thought to its conclusion he continues. ‘Now mia cuocoina could I trouble you for some breakfast?’ The request comes along with wide pleading eyes and try to pull off some air of professionalism.

‘Of course Terzo. Any requests this morning?’ he barely even pauses for breath before he gives his answer.

‘Remember the ricotta pancakes?’ You do remember the ricotta pancakes. He had moaned when he had taken his first bite then asked for seconds, and then thirds.

‘The ones with the berries and whipped cream?’ He nods eagerly and you can’t resist pressing a kiss to his cheek before making your way to the kitchen. ‘Should I double the recipe this time?’

‘Oh por favore,’ he calls, twisting in his chair to watch you go. ‘And perhaps another coffee too?’

‘Coming right up.’ It was going to take some work you think, to balance everything the two of you have going on. But you felt good about it. As long as you were careful you could navigate this thing together and it certainly helped that you enjoyed looking after him like this. You have to try not to get ahead of yourself but you think that you might always enjoy it.

‘I don’t know what I did to deserve you Sorella.’ The hushed way he says it makes you think perhaps that wasn’t for you to hear so you just get to work on his breakfast.

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

The beef steak had been freshly minced that morning, still pink and juicy as you transferred it to the preheated pan. The finely diced onions and garlic were already fragrant as the meat began to sizzle. This was to be the base of the filling of the resting aubergine shells. You pinch in the seasoning as it begins to brown sealing flavour into the meat and before continuing you drain off some of the juice pooling in the bottom of the pan. Skinned and slightly over ripe tomatoes are added next, soft and sweet then finally the previously scooped aubergine, both cooking down into a rich paste. You leave it to simmer and thicken and intensify all the combined flavours.

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

You knocked on the frame of his open office door, juggling the box of coconut ice and the notes you had made from the notebook. He doesn’t even notice the first time, so absorbed in his paperwork so you try clearing your throat pointedly and when that similarly fails you just walk in. You and Copia are familiar enough that you hoped he wouldn’t be annoyed and frankly he looked like he needed a break. It was a poorly kept secret around the Abbey that a lot of Terzo’s responsibilities had been reassigned to the Cardinal, at least until the future if the Papacy was decided and looking at him it was clear to see.

‘Cardinal?’ You finally get his attention but unfortunately he almost falls out of his chair in shock.

‘Sorella,’ he gasps out, settling back in his chair and straightening his biretta.

‘How can I help you today?’ He smiles at you but his eyes look tired and you notice him massaging his hand underneath the table, which was understandable given the mountain of paperwork he had already worked through that morning.

‘I do have some questions.’ You wish you had thought to bring some coffee along with you but alas you only have your surprise treat. ‘But I have a surprise for you first.’ You place the box of coconut ice on his desk in front of him and he carefully opens the lid, eyes lighting up when he sees what's inside. You had shaped them into little rats with whiskers, ears and tails.

‘Oh Sorella, look at them!’ He lifts one out of the box admiring the details you had added. ‘And coconut ice is my favourite. Would you like one?’ He offers you the box but you shake your head in refusal.

‘No thank you. They are all yours.’ He nibbles at the one in his hand at first, taking little bites from the but after a moment demolishes it all in two bites. ‘Mmmm Sorella, grazi, grazi.’ He wipes his gloves on a tissue he pulled from somewhere on his desk and looking more alert after his sugar boost he fixes his attention back on you. You had thought long and hard about asking for help with the notebook. Since your reconciliation dinner with Terzo he had not mentioned it again and without broaching the topic with him you sensed he didn’t want to discuss it. But you were running out of recipes at least ones that made sense. It seemed to you that some of the instructions had got lost in translation and while your knowledge of cooking could fill some of the gaps your complete lack of Italian was surely holding you back.

It wasn’t any easy decision to seek someone out however. There were only a few people on hand that even spoke Italian well enough to be of any help and they all were close to Terzo unfortunately and keeping his trust and confidence was even more important to you now then it was before. The compromise you had come up with was to just copy out the parts that were causing you issues, in both the Italian and English and then with a little help you would be able to understand the recipe. However you still had to choose carefully who you approached. Even with such little context you had the feeling that both Primo and Secondo would understand more than you would like and given Terzo’s many frustrations about his brothers interference in his life you didn’t want to create more opportunities.

Which only left Copia. He was spared much of Terzo’s ire and as he hadn’t grown up with the brothers you hoped he would be less likely to understand what he was reading. You quickly explain that you have been studying an Italian recipe book but were struggling with some of the instructions. That you believed that there had been some errors in the translations as they made little sense, at least in English. He nodded along listening to your explanation in silence but helping himself to another coconut rat while he waited for you to finish.

‘Where did you get this book if you don’t mind me asking?’ His question makes you wince. You had been hoping you could skim over that.

‘I found it, already translated, Cardinal.’ It wasn’t a lie as such just not the entire truth but he sensed he shouldn’t push this line of enquiry. You hand him your notes and he flicks through them eyes darting back and forth over your writing.

‘Typically it does help when translating texts to have the full text. Context is often one of the biggest clues to finding the closest translation.’ You are starting to lose hope that you will ever get the help you seek. But he places your notes next to one of his piles of paperwork and gives you a smile. ‘I will see what I can do for you Sorrella, leave it with me. But if you could get me the full text this could be a lot quicker and easier.’

‘I can’t give you the whole book Cardinal I am sorry,’ you wince, feeling terrible to be adding to his already considerable workload. ‘I can write out some more detailed notes for you though if that would help?’

‘That would help, si. I also think a few more of these coconut rats might help as well?’ You know when you are being blackmailed but it makes you laugh. Of course you could spare the time to make him some more treats, especially as you were asking so much of him.

‘Thank you Cardinal, really.’ He gives you a warm nod before sighing and picking up his pen ready to get back to work but as you leave you see him sneak a third coconut rat out of the box. You better get working on more straight away.

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Using a clean cotton cloth you pat away the moisture released by the aubergines so they are ready to be filled. While the sauce cools you prepare the rest of the toppings. Some just stale bread ready to be crumbed will serve well to add a bit of crisp texture to the topping. Thick slices of mozzarella that will melt perfectly over the surface and help seal in the filling. And then just for the presentation some thinly sliced plum tomatoes and delicate basil leaves. The assembly is quick and easy and then all that is needed is a low, slow bake in the oven.

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

‘Mmmm,’ you hear him call from the doorway. ‘What is this that I smell cara?’ You roll your eyes at him good naturedly. ‘Surely the most delicious meal that has ever been made in this kitchen?’ He is always so enthusiastic in his praise of you but you enjoy it even if it feels unwarranted at times. He leans in the door frame just watching you for a moment before he comes closer eyeing up the food you have left to stand. ‘I am starved! Can we eat now?’ He pulls plates out the cupboard eagerly which you take from him gently and place them to one side.

‘We?’ You ask, slapping his hand from where he was reaching for the still steaming food. ‘You need to be patient, it's still too hot.’ He takes your hand before you can move away, wrapping his other arm around your waist and pulling you close.

‘We, mia cuocoina,’ he spins you both into the centre of the kitchen until you have room to sway together. ‘Because you are having dinner with me tonight.’ He phrases it as a statement not a question so you don’t bother to respond instead allowing your head to come to rest on his shoulder. He allows you a moment before he pulls back, arranging you both into a more formal dancing stance. ‘Do you know how to waltz?’ he enquires fixing the position of your arm where it is loosely draped over his shoulder.

‘A bit, the basic steps I suppose,’ you reply but with no further explanation he begins to lead you around the small space. Your pace is slow at first, giving you time to find your rhythm and stop tripping over your own feet but then you are elegantly spinning around the room to a song only he can hear. ‘I didn’t know you could dance.’ you say as he expertly spins you away from him and then back into his waiting arms.

‘You wound me cara!’ He says with a mock pout. ‘You have seen your Papa on stage, no? You have seen he has got the moves!’ He demonstrates his point, twisting you fluidly until you are looking at him over your joined hands as you circle around each other.

‘I seem to remember a lot of tripping and falling over,’ you tease and his frown only deepens. ‘And a fair amount of thrusting.’ As soon as you realise what you have said you feel your cheeks heat.

‘Ah, I see.’ A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest as his frown smoothes out and is replaced by a smug grin. ‘Too distracted by my hips to notice anything else eh?’ With a complicated tangle of limbs you don’t quite understand you end up back in his arms and being dipped dramatically. ‘Perhaps we should be doing the tango instead of the waltz.’

‘No, well I mean I don’t know the tango, but anyway,’ you take a deep breath and calm your thoughts. He flusters you so effortlessly. He eases you back upright and you pick up the basic steps of the waltz again. You fiddle with the seam on his shoulder and try and form some coherent thoughts. Finally you can look at him again, the fondness in his eyes calming you further. ‘You never did anything like this.’

‘Well there was one time with a man dressed as a nun, but that’s besides the point, cara.’ His expression seems to glaze over as he pauses. ‘My mother taught me.’ He looks happy as he delves into his memory. ‘She taught me a lot of things, mostly I don’t remember but the dancing I do.’ He begins to hum as he drifts away, you suspect it is the tune you have been unknowingly dancing to this whole time.

‘For what it is worth, you are very good.’ He smiles in spite of the sadness in his eyes but you don’t push, he will share with you in his own time. You gently squeeze his hand bringing him back to the present as the timer starts to beep.

‘I have a lot of moves I think you would like, mia cuocoina,’ His gaze is intense as you break away to finish preparing dinner. You know he is just deflecting from a vulnerable moment but that doesn’t stop his seductive drawl from drying out your mouth and weakening your knees. You quickly make up your plates as he helpfully sets the table but there is a tension simmering between you. You drop the plates onto the table and take your seat adjacent to him, his eyes following you. It feels like you are on the precipice of something and you are ready to throw yourself off the edge.

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

When time is up they have turned out just as you had imagined. Creamy cheese covering the top and even spilling slightly down the sides. Roasted tomatoes oozing juice and the slices of basil caught in amongst it all. Finally golden toasted breadcrumbs topping everything else. They look delicious but it is best to let them rest a while until they are a sensible temperature for eating as tempting as they are straight out of the oven.

• • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

He takes his last bite groaning in satisfaction as he slouches back in his chair. He rubs at his full stomach, lifting the hem of his shirt in the process that tantalising glimpse of skin catching your eyes again. In all the emotional uncertainty you had mostly been able to ignore your lust but now, now after days of barely there touches and soft kisses you needed more. You watch him stretch again and your memory helpfully provides you with the sight of him pleasuring himself, now you know deliberately just so you would find him and the feeling of his hands on you, in you, when he cornered you at the stove. You need him and you don’t want to wait any longer. When you come back to the present he is watching you watch him, a knowing smirk on his face.

‘You look hungry still, is there something else you need to satisfy your appetite?’ He questions as he rubs his slightly protruding stomach again, rucking his shirt up even higher as he watches your eyes follow his movements. You try to think of some witty response but when he pushes his chair back and spreads his legs for you you end up knelt in front of him before you can even register making the decision. Resting your hands on his knees you wait for his consent to touch him further even as you see the beginnings of a bulge growing in his trousers. You think again of the night against the stove, the shallow thrusts against your ass and his hardness pressed against you. You can’t wait to see him, feel him, taste him.

‘Go ahead cara,’ he nods down at you, as affected by your position as you but hiding it better. You hesitate a moment as you decide where you want to touch him first but then that bare skin between his waistband and his shirt calls to you and you know exactly what you want. You let your hands run slowly up his thighs, thick but you can feel the hard muscle underneath as you squeeze, over his narrow hips and then you pause when you reach his waistband. He takes a deep breath, the tension rising between you as you inch closer and closer. He nods, barely perceptible but it’s enough to end your hesitation and then you are touching his bare skin. You push your hands up his torso, his shirt bunching up around your wrists and your fingers raking through the soft hair that covers his chest. You can’t help pushing your face against his soft stomach, tracing the new soft curve with the tip of your nose and then your tongue only relenting when his huffing laughs almost cause him to double over.

‘That tickles, cara,’ he warns, weaving his fingers into your hair and trying to gently guide you away, but you aren’t quite finished yet. You press firmer kisses to him, the soft give of his flesh only encouraging you further until you are nipping and sucking marks into his skin. His laugh turns into quiet gasps and you can feel his cock straining urgently against your chest and you don’t want to keep him waiting any longer. Following the trail of hair leading into his trousers with your kisses you and when you arrive you waste no time undoing the fastening so you can free him from his constraints.

Your mouth starts to water as you finally free him from his trousers, so eager for him but first you take your time to admire his perfect cock. It’s pretty, you think, although you will definitely refrain from saying so out loud. The line of hair you had been exploring previously leads straight to a carefully groomed salt and pepper patch that his cock curves upwards from. It’s sizable, longer than it is thick and it tapers slightly towards the head, which as hard as he is is flushed a lovely shade of pink. Struggling to get to the rest of him you sit back in frustration and help him out of his trousers completely. He spreads his legs, giving you plenty of room, and you have kept him waiting long enough.

You start at the base, leaving wet open mouthed kisses where his cock meets his balls. Woking your way up you trace all the veins and ridges you can feel with your tongue taking your time to map as much of his cock as you can reach. When you reach the head you tease at his slit, lapping at the precome that had gathered there, your first taste of him making you moan as you gently suck and kiss at his sensitive head. You barely notice his hands weaving into your hair until his grip is tightening and he is pulling you up to look at him.

‘Teasing is fun up to a certain point, cara.’ His voice is low and stern, shooting straight through you. He traces your already swollen lips with his thumb, slipping it into your mouth to press on your tongue, leaning in to kiss you as he pulls it out with a string of your spit spilling out onto your lips. He has never kissed you like this before, demanding and forcing his way into your open mouth. If it wasn’t for his firm grip on your hair your legs might have given out but he keeps you exactly where he wants you as he ravages your mouth. ‘ My patience is running out,’ he growls as he pulls away.

‘I don’t mean to tease Papa, I promise,’ you rasp, voice already wrecked and you had barely even begun. ‘I’m just getting to know what you like.’ You wrap your hand around his cock, working him slowly. You spit into your fist, your attention so far not quite enough to ease the friction and you watch as his eyes flutter closed as he considers your request. ‘Please let me finish, I will do whatever you want afterwards.’

‘Whatever I want, eh?’ You can see the possibilities going through his mind as he looks between your hand on his cock and your face. ‘Ok, yes, you can continue.’ He leans back in his seat and loosens his grip in your hair until you can move again. You continue jerking him and move straight to his balls, sucking one into your mouth and rolling it on your tongue, his surprised moan filling you with satisfaction. You switch your attention to the other as you notice his breathing quicken and his cock start to twitch against your palm. Licking your way back up to the base you gently suck at the skin there, simultaneously massaging the head of his cock with your thumb, his twitching continuing and his gasping breaths becoming choked off moans until he breaks.

‘Enough,’ his strong hands bring you to the head of his cock. ‘Now I want you to swallow me. Whole.’ He gives you a couple of seconds to catch your breath and then he is encouraging you down his length. You sink down slowly, swallowing as you go and willing your gag reflex to cooperate. ‘How much can you take cuocoina? Can you take my whole cock in that pretty mouth of yours?’ You take it all, the tip of your nose pressing against him and he groans. You slide your tongue against the underside of his cock as your throat constricts around the intrusion and you can feel how he twitches, leaking down the back of your throat.

‘I’m close already,’ he tells you, encouraging you to bob your head on his cock. ‘See what all your teasing has done to me.’ You cup his balls in one hand, massaging them as they tighten against his body in the build up to his orgasm. You brace your other arm across his stomach so you can dig your fingers into the softness of his tummy, moaning around his cock at all the ways you are affecting his body. ‘Will you let me cum in your mouth cara?’ He growls, fighting to delay the inevitable. You continue pleasuring him hoping the way you look at him conveys your agreement. ‘You did say whatever I wanted, si?’ You nod as best you can with his cock lodged in your throat. When his hips start thrusting up into you and his fingers start digging into your scalp you know how close he is pulling back to suck on the head of his cock until he starts to spill his load into your mouth.

‘Ahhhh, yessss,’ he moans so loud you would be surprised if he couldn’t be heard outside his rooms. You suck him through the aftershocks holding his come in your mouth until you pull off. You take him in in his post orgasmic haze, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath and his head tipped back against his chair. You squeeze his thighs gently to get his attention and he manages to drop his chin to his chest looking down at you through half lidded eyes. Opening your mouth, you show him you have yet to swallow his cum. His eyes darken and his cock gives a valiant twitch as he realises you are waiting for his next instruction.

‘You may swallow now cara mia,’ he orders and you do as instructed, swallowing deeply then licking your lips. He holds your gaze, as if he is waiting so you open your mouth to show him how well you had followed instructions and he smiles at you warmly. He pats his thigh and you scoot closer resting your head against him. ‘Good girl,’ he sighs, raking his fingers through your hair straightening out the mess he had made of it earlier. You enjoy the shiver of satisfaction that runs through you at his praise and in your contentment you doze off resting in his lap.

#papa emeritus iii x reader #terzo x reader #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfic #terzo #papa emeritus iii #my writing #banchetto #I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER PLEASE FORGIVE ME

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givemea-dam-break · 1 year

Note

Hey!! I saw you opened up requests for Lockwood&Co and I was wondering if you could writte some Anthony Lockwood x reader, maybe with the prompt 8 from the fluff prompt list, thankss

a/n: yes of course! i tried just about a million different courses of action for this, simply because i didn't want it to be too similar to other amazing fics out there, so i hope you enjoy!

prompt: "if you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to have to kiss you." warnings: mild language, teenage awkwardness lol gn reader

As an agent, it's not very often you get the chance to relax. Most of your time is spent fighting ghosts or researching the next case, or even simply just sleeping, so you never really get time for much else, but today is different, and you couldn't be more relieved.

The most recent case Lockwood and Co have been hired for is a simpler one, one that Lucy and George opted to go on by themselves. Nothing more than a Type One, so it meant Lockwood - the face of the business - could get some actual owner work done.

Currently, he's sitting below in the basement, filling out the last few cases into the casebook, while you clean the house.

It's something you've been meaning to do for a little while now but never had the opportunity to get around to doing because of all of the cases going on. And, though most of the time cleaning was the last thing you wanted to do, there's solitude in washing the dishes and ironing the clothes. Maybe it's the fact that your friends will come home to a clean house with fresh clothes to change into after their second night working in a row. Maybe it's the way it occupies your mind, pushing all other thoughts to the side.

You've been thinking a little too much lately, mostly about things that shouldn't have been a problem or don't really matter in the grand scheme of things, but, no matter what you do, one thought always remains: Anthony Lockwood.

After working at Lockwood and Co for about a year now, it's safe to say that you've grown close to each of the members. George, you bond with over a love of knowledge, an itch to know more about things that have been pawned over since before you were even born. Lucy, well, the two of you share a room, so it would be awkward not to be close. You've found yourself lying awake together countless nights, discussing the past and your interests and everything under the sun.

But Lockwood...

He was the one to show you around London just after being hired and confused as to the layout of the city you had only just moved to. He was who you felt safest with on cases, who you fell back on when things were going wrong. Some part of you feels connected to him in a way you weren't with Lucy and George, like a little part of your soul has become bound to his and won't be separated.

There's no way of knowing if he feels the same or if he looks at you the way you look at him, and it's easier to believe that he doesn't. For your own sanity, it's much simpler to bury the feelings that plague you whenever you look at him, or when his fingers brush yours ever so slightly when you hand him a cup of tea in the morning.

Because, why would he feel the same?

You're not inherently special, not in the way that Lucy is by being able to communicate with ghosts, nor do you have the incredible research skills of George. Your talent for Touch is your only redeeming factor, but even that is nothing much beyond holding an object and watching your surroundings fade away into scenes of the past. Much good it does you when a ghost creeps up on you.

"Tea?"

You shriek, jumping and almost dropping the iron on your foot in the process. Turning, you come face to face with Lockwood, who stands in the living room doorway, holding two mugs of steaming hot tea.

"Lockwood!" you say. "Don't do that! I almost had a heart attack."

"Apologies," he says, but he doesn't seem awfully apologetic. "Anyways, do you want some tea? I did make two mugs, and you know how pissy George gets if we waste teabags -"

"Of course I'll have tea," you grumble, placing the iron down and folding the shirt laid across the ironing board. You become acutely aware of whose exactly it is. "Uh, just put it on the table, for now, please. I'll be done in a minute."

Lockwood smiles that dazzling smile of his, and your knees feel a little weak, but you force the feeling down.

It takes only a few minutes to finish up with the ironing, and you move to flatten the board to stash away, but a calloused hand closes over yours, and a tall figure towers beside you. Your heart thuds in your chest, and you dread to know how red you've become.

"Let me," Lockwood says. "Drink your tea before it goes cold."

You want to argue, but there's a glint in his eye and you know you'll never win, so you relent. With a grin of triumph, Lockwood's hand slips from yours and he nudges you over to the sofa. You sink onto the seat with a sigh, unaware until now of how much your back has been aching.

Upon sipping your tea, you pause.

"Is it alright?" Lockwood asks, sitting on the armchair just off to the side. "You've got a really particular way of making your tea -"

"It's perfect," you say, smiling. "I thought we'd run out of chamomile tea bags, though. George forgot to buy some on his last trip to Arif's."

Lockwood sips his tea, but there's something a little strange about his posture. "Yeah, we did run out. I nipped out earlier and got some."

You frown. "You didn't just go out to get me these tea bags, did you?"

"Yeah." He shrugs, smiling. "You've been stressed lately, and I know it helps calm your nerves a little, so it was no big deal."

Something in your chest gives a little flutter at that. Not only does he know your habits in trying to relax, but he also went out with the sole purpose of achieving that. You hold the mug close to your chest, looking away from Lockwood to hide the heat that's risen to your cheeks.

His presence alone is soothing, comforting in the sense that you know you're safe whenever he's around. It's cheesy, and you feel stupid for even thinking like that, but you know it to be true. There's no one else you'd rather have sitting with you.

"You get the casebook done, then?" you ask, keeping your eyes focused on the window ahead, the light from ghost lamps outside peeking in through the gaps in the curtains.

"Just about. Figured you'd need a brew and some company, though. Plenty of time to get it finished, still."

Your lips twitch into another smile. "Lockwood the sap. Never would've thought."

He shrugs. "What can I say? I like to make sure my employees are kept happy, and I've been told I make perfect tea."

"Well, thank you. I'll be sure to do the chores more often if it means I get more of this tea. No offence to her, but Lucy's tea isn't nearly as nice as this."

You look up, and he's already looking at you, dark eyes unintelligible. Within their darkness, a little reflection of light shimmers, and it's hard to look away. It's like his gaze has locked yours in place and frozen you so that you can't move, but it's a feeling you don't mind. You could look at him for days - at the way his hair falls across his brow messily, no doubt from running his hand through it while filling in the casebook, or the way his fingers tap against his mug quietly. The little details, like how his tie has been loosened slightly, or his socks are a similar lavender colour as the jumper you wear - completely a coincidence - are what entrance you most.

"If you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to have to kiss you."

Your heart stops, and you can only blink in response.

Lockwood's face goes bright red. "Did I say that out loud?"

"Mm-hm," you squeak. "Um, I, uh - yes."

"Right." He places his mug down, blinking hard and looking away. "Uh, okay. That's not - I didn't -"

"Of course!" you say. "No, obviously, you didn't -"

"I didn't?"

"You - um..."

Like Lockwood, you place your mug down, but your hands shake a little. Maybe you didn't hear him right. Maybe you're dreaming. You must be dreaming, right?

Before you can think about it too much, you pinch the skin of your arm hard, hissing at the sharp pain.

Lockwood jumps. "Why did you do that?"

"Not dreaming," you groan. "Definitely not dreaming. Why would you let me do that?"

"I didn't! How was I meant to know -?"

"I don't know!" You keep your gaze firmly fixed on the coffee table, face as hot as the fire burning over at the other side of the room. "But, uh..."

"Yeah."

"Okay."

An awkward silence hangs in the air, so thick you could cut through it with your rapier.

Did he mean what he had said, or was it just a spur of the moment? Surely that's it. There was no way it was genuine... But the way he flushed has butterflies swarming in your stomach, and you feel a little giddy. If he means it, that means - god, what does that mean?

"Sorry," Lockwood says. He still won't look at you. "I don't know why I said that."

"Did you mean it?"

Lockwood looks a little taken aback, his eyes slowly dragging from the worn arm of his chair up to you. "I mean... Yes."

A little smile plays on your lips. "Cool."

"Cool? What exactly do you mean by cool?"

"Cool as in I've gotten the great Anthony Lockwood flustered," you say, tearing your gaze from the table. "And because I wouldn't necessarily be opposed to that idea."

Usually so composed, so calm and collected, it's quite funny to see him nervous. Gone is that signature smirk of his, replaced by a slack-jawed expression of surprise.

"You wouldn't - um...?"

You shrug nonchalantly, but your heart is pounding. "I suppose not, as long as it means more tea for me."

The joke seems to shake him out of his stupor because, soon, he's standing with that shit-eating grin of confidence on his face. He reaches out a hand, and you take it, relishing in the warmth of it as he pulls you from your seat. He's standing close, closer than usual, and your heart is performing somersaults in your chest.

His hand is still closed around yours but, ever so slowly, it trails over the skin of your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and finds its way to the back of your neck. His touch is gentle, cautious, and though that arrogant gleam is back in his eyes, you know that if you told him to stop he would.

Can he feel your pulse? The way he's made your heart turn into an Olympic runner? Can he hear your shaky breaths, or see your trembling knees?

You can feel his breath as he draws nearer, his face so, so close to yours now. Your eyes meet and, for a moment, the world washes away. No longer are you standing in the living room, surrounded by decor from other countries or freshly folded and ironed clothes, but in a world of your own. Time melts away under your fingers, leaving only his chest beneath your palms.

He's breathing a little heavier now, and a smile, softer than before, plays on his lips. "Can I -?"

Words failing you, you nod.

And it's the best decision you've ever made.

His lips are soft if a little chapped, but it's as if they were made for yours. Fireworks explode in your head, and those butterflies swarming have multiplied tenfold. Slowly, one of his hands comes to your waist, gripping your jumper and the skin beneath, and the hand on the back of your neck travels down your back.

Part of you still believes that it's all a dream. There's no way you could really be standing in the living room, kissing your friend who is also your boss - which, surely breaks some sort of code of conduct - but he feels real, his hammering heartbeat feels real.

The kiss gently breaks off, but your faces remain so close that it could begin again with the slightest move. Your eyes flutter open, finding his dark gaze fixed on your face.

Fighting back a smile, you dramatically deepen your voice. "If you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to have to kiss you."

Lockwood rolls his eyes, laughing in a way that has your knees buckling. He opens his mouth, about to say something, but the front door suddenly opens, followed by the sound of Lucy's and George's voices. Quickly, you both shuffle apart, red-faced and breathing heavily.

"Oh, I was expecting you guys to be working in the basement," George said from the living room doorway. "Clean house... I expect that was (name)'s doing?"

"Mm-hm," you say, nodding. "Clothes are done, too." You point over to the separated piles of folded clothes.

Lucy catches your gaze, flicking her eyes to Lockwood and then back to you. She raises an eyebrow, and your absence of a reply seems to be enough of an answer.

Upstairs, she mouths, holding back a grin. Now.

"I - uh, I've got some cleaning to finish up on in the attic," you say, glancing back at Lockwood.

He's smiling as he usually does, but something in it as he looks at you becomes more intimate, more private, and you can feel your cheeks growing hotter.

"Tea's still warm in the kitchen," he says to George and Lucy, but you can still feel his gaze on you as you turn. "Plus some doughnuts in the cupboard."

You nod, maybe a little too enthusiastically. "Yeah! Um, well, if you guys need me, you know where to find me."

His gaze follows you out the door, and you can still feel his lips on yours as you hurry up the stairs.

It wasn't a dream, you tell yourself giddily. It was real.

#lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co x reader #x reader #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #lockwood and co #fanfiction #givemea-dam-break

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jungk0oksthighs · 2 years

Text

Stay With Me | Nausea

exhusband!jungkook, singledad!jungkook, E2L, angst, fluff, smut

Word Count - 3k

You feel like shit, and Jungkook wants to move back in. Warnings: swearing, pregnancy related illnesses and symptoms, light arguing

SERIES COLLECTION

“I’m really sorry you had to hear that…” You mumble, climbing back into bed after another violent vomiting fit in the ensuite bathroom. Your head hurts, your breasts hurt, and you’re already over this pregnancy and you’re only six weeks pregnant.

Baby Jeon is the size of a lentil this week.

Jungkook props himself up on his elbows, empathy blanketing his sharp handsome features. His brunette hair is tousled and damp from the shower he took recently, he’s wearing a pair of black boxer shorts and a pained expression. Thick eyebrows pinched together, lips ajar before he speaks.

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before… still feeling like shit?” His voice is honeyed but cautious. He pulls the white covers over your frame before sitting up in bed, slowly rubbing the spans of your back. Even the taste of toothpaste lingering on in your mouth makes you nauseous, you swallow, trying to will away the disgust.

“Mhm.” You hum, closing your eyes.

Seol is sleeping over at Jungkook’s parents this weekend, to say they’re over the moon about him spending more time there would be a huge understatement. It was Jungkook’s idea since you’re feeling so grim lately and could do with having some time away from parental responsibilities. Truthfully you’re not sure if he’s told his parents everything… As in: you’re back together and expecting baby number two. But they were thrilled to take Seol off your hands, apparently they’re taking him to Disneyland for two days. Honestly you’re a little jealous.

“I don’t remember you being this ill when we had Seol.” Kook’s voice comes out barely a whisper, still massaging your back through your shimmering lilac silk pyjamas. Your favourite pyjamas. The same pyjamas you won’t be able to fit into soon. You sigh.

You’re visibly uncomfortable when you shift on the bed, tugging on your exes heart strings. “Me neither. And I’ve got another thirty four weeks of this to go…” You groan, perhaps you’re being a little dramatic considering it’s nausea and a light migraine but you do feel atrocious. Frankly you’ve never felt this ill in your whole life.

“Mmm it’s okay, I’m here… How are you feeling now? About being pregnant?” Kook clears his throat, his thumbs now kneading your shoulders while you lie flat on your stomach. Something else you won’t be able to do soon. “…About us?”

“I mean… We’re not doing great with the whole ‘taking things slow’ situation, are we?” A wary yet slightly humorous chuckle escapes you.

Three months ago you and your ex-husband were separated, paths barely crossing each other’s save for the weekly switch over of parenthood. It was a bleak time in your life, you’ve missed Jungkook there’s no doubt about it but things were a hell of a lot simpler three months ago. Now here you are, six weeks pregnant with another Jeon baby. It’s not that you’re unhappy about being pregnant, you’re just… uncertain of what it means for your future, especially where your ex-husband is concerned.

Jungkook is nodding with the hint of a frown, fingers still working their magic on your tense muscles. “I know… But I was thinking once we tell Seol I can move back in so you’re not going through this alone.”

“Wait what?” Your eyes bulge from your skull, rolling over on the bed until you’re on your back and Jungkook’s doe-eyes are equally as wide with concern as they peer down at you. “We’ve only just got back together… I don’t want to rush any big decisions—”

“You mean big decisions like having another baby?” His brow quirks, the smile he wears fading into a thin line.

“Kook that’s not what I mean…”

“Then what do you mean by that? No,” He shakes his head, hands making their way down to your tummy, “I don’t want to miss any of this Y/N. I know it might seem a little fast but it’s not like we’ve never lived together before. Besides if you’re already this sick you could use the extra—”

“Stop. Just slow down a sec.” You place your palms atop of his inked fingers with another sigh. “You wouldn’t be considering moving back in if I wasn’t pregnant. So we shouldn’t rush into anything, we haven’t even told Seol yet.”

Jungkook looks visibly put off, his features glum and weary when he gently rubs your stomach. His hands are warm, a little calloused from lifting weights but you don’t push him away as his touch feels almost soothing in a way. All you want is for him to understand your point of view, it is too fast for him to be moving back in. Way too fast. Suddenly your whole life flashes before your eyes, brain replaying memories of the past on a loop. You can’t afford to get ahead of yourselves with this, not when there’s now two children’s feelings to consider.

“Are you saying you don’t want me to move back in?” His tone is laced with sadness that makes your chest hurt, be it intentional or not you’ll never know. But it’s enough to make you uncomfortable.

“I didn’t say that at all.” You exhale, semi-irritated. “I just think we need to hold off you moving back in for now. First of all we need to tell Seol, and god knows how he’s going to react. Especially when he finds out I’m pregnant.”

There’s a mutual discomfort between you at the mention of your son’s reaction. It’s no secret that he’s always longed for his parents to get back together, but now that it’s happening you can’t help but feel like he’s going to be displeased. Yet another change for him to accommodate. And a sibling on top of that? For a twelve year old he’s pretty responsible and understanding, but like everything else there’s a limit to how much he can handle.

Kook chews his lower lip, shifting on the bed until he’s laid next to you, keeping one hand on your belly where he traces small intricate patterns with his fingertips. “I’m sorry. Forget I mentioned it—”

“You don’t need to apologise.” You roll over to face him, guilt eroding your insides when you catch sight of his absent expression, “Let’s just take this one step at a time, yeah?”

An unamused puff of air rips from your exes nostrils, one that makes you want to roll your eyes but you refrain, “Except we’ve started from step one hundred and missed out the first ninety nine.”

You see his point of view, you do. But it’s clear as day he doesn’t see yours. A familiar occurrence, one you’ve had to deal with many times in the past. The thing about Jungkook is that he thinks with his heart, not his head. While sometimes it can be endearing and turn out for the best, you know that this situation should be dealt with rationally, not emotionally.

“Jungkook.” Your tone is stern, a warning that you don’t want to talk about this right now if he’s not willing to have a rational conversation with you.

He sighs, long eyelashes dusting his cheekbones when he closes his eyes, “You’re right. I’m sorry… I just-, I really don’t want to miss any of this. It’s probably going to be the last time it happens and I want to be here for all of it.”

“I know you do honey…” You hum, the familiar rush of sickness already crawling it’s way back up to your mouth. You swallow. “We’ll talk about it properly as a family, when Seol knows.”

At this he nods, opening his eyes to gaze at you fondly. “Okay.” He offers a small smile, and thankfully drops the subject giving you the space you need to rush to the bathroom and throw up. Again.

It’s the next morning when you wake on the black tiled bathroom floor, having passed out in here next to the toilet during one of your late night vomiting sessions. Jungkook lazily enters the room with fluffy hair and big, worried doe-eyes when he sinks to his knees. Rubbing your back.

“Y/N? How long have you been in here?” His voice is thick and groggy with sleep but you don’t miss the panic laced in his words. There are birds chirping outside, light pours in through the window and you figure you must’ve been in here for a good few hours at least. It’s a moment later when your ex scoops you up in his strong arms and carries you to the bedroom, carefully placing you on the warm bed that you welcome beneath your weight.

“We should call Dr Kim…” Jungkook reaches for his phone before you can argue with him, and truthfully you don’t have the energy to tell him to stop what he’s doing. “This isn’t right, you shouldn’t be this sick already.”

Your voice is croaky, throat sore, head pounding and stomach already threatening to empty itself again. “I’m okay…” Except you’re not. You feel disgusting.

“Hi Dr Kim? Sorry I know it’s early and a Saturday… It’s Jeon Jungkook.” His voice is calm but he’s pacing the room, nervously biting down on his free thumb with pinched brows. “Not really, Y/N’s sick. Like really sick. Yeah. I don’t know… Um okay, one sec-,” He looks over at your tired frame, visibly growing more and more concerned, “How many times have you been sick? In the last 24 hours?”

You can’t help but scoff at this. You have no idea, it’s all starting to blur into one. “A lot.”

“More than ten?” He swallows, edging his way over until he’s sat on the edge of the bed with a palm resting on your bent leg.

You nod. It’s definitely been more than ten.

“More than ten times,” He repeats, hanging onto every word the Dr says over the phone. “Yeah okay. No that’s no problem, thank you. We’ll see you soon. Thanks bye.”

Jungkook is quick to make his way over to your wardrobe, pulling out a pair of black sweatpants and a plain baggy t shirt of the same colour and places them on the bed. He gets you some clean underwear and a sports bra, presumably because you’ve been complaining about how much the underwire in your usual style of bra has been killing your sore breasts. He piles everything together and fishes through his weekend bag for his own clothes, glancing over at you with a tight frown.

“Are you going to be okay getting dressed? Dr Kim wants to see us as soon as possible.” His voice is quiet, oozing fear when he messily throws a navy blue supreme t shirt onto his frame.

“Mhm.” You groan, sitting up, head spinning.

Despite the fact you told him you’re capable of getting yourself dressed Kook helps you into your clothes with gentle hands. Soon he’s guiding you to his car before opening the passenger door for you. He even reaches over you to click in your seatbelt, all while watching you closely. And before long he’s speeding down the streets of your hometown to the doctor’s office.

When you arrive you bolt out of the car, the journey having set your sickness off even more. You barely make it to a nearby dustbin before you’re vomiting again. You’re so embarrassed, even more so when Jungkook literally sprints over to you to rub your back, car keys still in his hands. This isn’t right, you were never this bad with Seol. Is it your age? Are older women more prone to this kind of morning sickness? You’re coughing, spluttering and cursing under your breath with each massing moment.

“Hey it’s okay…” Jungkook coos, holding your hair back with one hand, patting your back with the other. “Dr Kim will know what to do. Can you walk okay?”

“I’m pregnant Jungkook, not incapable of walking.” You half-groan half-laugh, still head first over the dustbin, “My legs work fine.”

At this chuckles lowly, “I don’t mind carrying you.”

“I’m fine.” You reassure him, albeit not very convincingly.

When you finally make it inside Dr Kim’s office he takes your blood pressure and weighs you. To your surprise you’ve actually lost 8lbs in two weeks – though it shouldn’t be surprising really. Considering you can’t keep anything down. When Dr Kim advised you that you’ve lost weight Jungkook’s features washed pale and clammy, it’s clear as day how worried he is and you think back to your conversation last night.

Maybe him moving back in would be the best option after all… If he hadn’t physically dragged you here you probably would’ve still been in bed right now, it’s obvious he has yours and the baby’s best interest at heart. But what about Seol? You don’t want to confuse or upset him. Are you even ready for Jungkook to move back in yet? You’ve gotten so used to your own space...

“What you’re experiencing is HG.” Dr Kim’s voice pulls you from your daydream, both you and Jungkook hanging onto every word he speaks. “Or Hyperemesis Gravidarum in medical terms, severe nausea and vomiting. It’s really important that you take care of yourself and drink plenty of fluids, women who experience HG are more at risk of being dehydrated.”

“But Y/N’s okay? The baby is okay?” Kook finds your hand resting on your lap and grips it, lacing his fingers with yours when he tucks his hair away from his eyes to get a better view of the doctor. “Is it normal to lose weight while pregnant?”

Dr Kim nods slowly, “Women with HG do lose weight in the first trimester, but with you having this I need to make you aware that you are now what we consider to be a high risk pregnancy.”

“High risk?” You choke, instinctively holding onto Jungkook a little tighter.

“HG has been proven to increase the risks of complications within pregnancy. Preeclampsia, preterm delivery, and in the most severe cases… Stillbirth. But don’t worry, we’re going to take good care of you and make sure none of that happens.”

“Well is there anything we can do to get rid of it?!” You’ve never seen the intense look blanketing Kook’s face before, it’s an expression you can only describe as pure terror. “Or ease it somehow so she’s not as sick?”

Dr Kim looks almost guilty, “Unfortunately not… I’m really sorry. You’ll be closely monitored from here Y/N. And the symptoms of HG to tend to die down after the first twenty weeks—”

“Twenty weeks?!” You gasp, eyes animatedly wide. There’s no way you can handle feeling like this for that long, and there’s no way Jungkook can watch you go through this for that long either.

“I know it’s unsettling and I can only imagine what you’re feeling right now, but my other patients who have had HG carried to full term, and delivered healthy happy babies.” Dr Kim’s smile is apologetic and reassuring all at once, softened by the dimples either side of his plump lips.

Jungkook’s rubbing his thumb to your skin when he speaks, but his eyes are fixed to the doctor opposite you behind his desk. “…Is the baby okay for definite?”

“I’m sure baby is fine Mr Jeon, but why don’t we take a look while you’re here?”

It’s been a long time since you were lying flat on your back in a doctor’s office with clear jelly spread on your abdomen. You flinch a little, forgetting how cold it is. Of course Jungkook is right by your side, squeezing your hand with both of his while eagerly watching the small ultrasound screen next to you.

“Ahhh… That makes sense.” Dr Kim smirks, and Jungkook snaps his eyes to him instantly.

“Is everything okay?” His voice is shaky and riddled with concern when the hold on your hand tightens.

The doctor nods, moving the device over your stomach before pointing to the screen. Winning you and your ex-husband to look at it closely. Your heart races inside your chest, breathing uneven when you register what you’re looking at. A little baby lentil, so tiny yet so beautiful even if the picture quality is grainy and hard to make out… And something else.

“Congratulations mom and dad. Looks like you’re having twins.”

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redheadspark · 11 months

Note

hi! can i request #1 with druig? love your writing<3

A/N - I love this for Druig! Thanks for requesting this, anon!

Subtle

Summary - Druig doesn't know how to be subtle, even during a meeting

Warnings - Just some fluff :)

“And the next order of business, let’s discuss some of the new crops that are finally ready for harvest.”

You are of course trying to pay attention to Ajak as she was conducting the meeting with the others out on the Domo, early in the morning before you would all go off on your chores and tasks with the humans in the neighboring city. It was just like any other meeting you all would have: check in with the humans and their evolutions, discuss anything that needed improvement or fixing, find solutions to some of the simpler troubles that the humans were having together, etc. You were used to these meeting, not minding them at all since most of the time you are involved with what was needed to happen.

However, your lover across the way was not listening. He was watching you, and you knew full well the look he was giving.

Being the Mind Controller, Druig had nothing else to do but fiddle with his thumbs and listen to the consistent ramblings. He couldn’t do too much anyhow since he was not allowed to interfere with the human emotion, but he did help out with smaller tasks and helping steer the humans away from any Deviant attacks. But then again, that never stopped him from using his ability on unsuspecting humans that were acting foolish or simply just in his line of fire. You knew he meant well, and Druig had a big heart. But sometimes it was overlooked by the others.

But not by you, not by the love of his life.

You two, although not made public or official by anyone in the Eternal group, were an item and attached to the hip. It started as a friendship that began right when you two woke up on the Domo for the first time. But as time went on, just the like evolution of humans, the evolution of your love was happening before you two could realize it. Druig snuck into your heart and soul, the nights on patrol where you two talked about everything and anything on your heart, protecting one another from Deviants when they attack. He found you to be his sun and moon in times where he felt defeated or useless, and he never slowed in showing his love to you.

It was simply the fact that you two still have to be civl in front of the others, not just to hide the fact that you two were in love and committed to one another, but not wishing the others to see you two in a new light because of It. Not that you two were all about the public displays of affection, Druig was better than that when it came to you. It was simply wanting to have this relationship be between you two, no one else needing to know.

But that never slowed Druig down in holding your hand when you two were alone, kissing you early in the morning before he would leave your room, pressing his shoulder against yours when you two had a moment of peace.

Even with a meeting, just like this one, Druig would let his gaze linger a bit longer than it should.

“Alright, the last Deviant sighting we had was out east, we’ll do a patrol of the area and then another patrol around the town to make sure there’s not area of weakness,” Ajak kept going with the meeting, Ikaria and Sersi chatting with her as you looked from your spot next to Kingo to Druig who was across from her next to Makkari. His gaze on you was a bit longer than it should be, almost a small smirk on his face as you looked back at him. He looked away after a soldi second, trying to look back and pay attention to Ajak, yet his smile he gave you was still on his face. Makkari gave him a playful shove, Druig rolling his eyes at her as you heard Kingo clear his throat next to you.

“You two are cute, you know,” He whispered under his breath, you giving him a small shove. Of course you didn’t want him to anything, let alone to announce it in front of the others who might now know. Leave it to Kingo for wishing to breaking the ice and to call out what others don’t see. You looked from Kingo, who was smirking and was now gazing back at Ajak, over to Druig to see him once again giving you a kind stare. He even winked at you, making you feel like you should blush.

Sprite, on Druig’s other side, rolled her eyes a bit too dramatically. Druig, seeing it out of the corner of his eyes, leaned up to stretched his back with his arms. But he smacked her on the back of the head instead and she yelped/

The rest of the group looked, Sprite giving Druig a dirty look as Ajak cleared her throat.

“Is there a problem?” She asked both Sprite and Druig. Sprite was about to say something when Druig gave her a knowing look. She said nothing, a bit disgruntled and shook her head as Druig looked over at Ajak with a shake of his head too. Ajak eyed them both, maybe suspicious of what was going on or what could have been going on, then started talking again. You were watching her again, not wanting to cause trouble as Makkari tapped Druig on the shoulder to get his attention.

You are not subtle. You know that, right? She signed to him before she looked back at Ajak. Druig watched you as you were listening to Ajak, his own blush was there on his cheeks. Maybe he liked making you bush and smile, or to hear you laugh and giggle about some story you would tell her, or the simple press of her lips on his was enough to make his heart sing.

No, He was not subtle at all. And he had no shame in it.

The End

June Summer Prompts

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yjhariani · 1 year

Text

Insanity

Simon 'Ghost' Riley X GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.7k Summary: You spent a day scrambling your brain with research papers. [Shoutout to whoever is in need to deal with such a thing].

A/N: Dedicated to @alnautic for this post that got me inspired to write this one. Also, pardon my hopeless romantic ass for making Simon reciting more poetry.

All day, there was nothing else you did. You had been moving from one corner of the flat to another, all with your laptop in your hands. There were multiple tabs of research papers opened on the screen.

At one point, Simon found you slouching on a chair. He walked up behind you, resting his forearms on the back of the chair and pecked you on the cheek.

“Those are a lotta words, love,” Simon commented.

“I know,” you exhaled. “Half of them start to lose their meaning and I’m almost not sure what I’m reading about.”

“Maybe you should take a break,” Simon suggested.

“This is me taking a break,” you replied.

Simon lifted you and fixed your position on the chair. He put his hands on your shoulders and started massaging them.

“How ‘bout you tell me about half of those words that still have meaning?” Simon asked.

You started explaining to him what you understood of the research paper that you read so far. It was quite an attempt since all you could focus on was his hands massaging your shoulders and how good it felt. He eventually moved to massage your neck and soon after that, he rubbed your temples with his thumbs.

Simon was tempted to take your computer away and forced you to take a proper break. However, he understood that you needed to do this and the least he could do was to take care of you while you were scrambling your brain with these pages.

As you were explaining it to him, a little more complicated than you wanted, you finally grasped a little more of what you had been reading.

“Oh, that makes sense, right?” you asked at the end of your explanation and repeated it in a simpler way. “That’s what I’m trying to understand.”

“Yeah,” Simon said before pressing his lips to the top of your head. “Let me know if you need anything else, yeah?”

“Thank you, Simon,” you replied.

With that, you dwelled back into the research.

Not long after his leave, Simon returned with your favourite hot beverage in your favourite mug. He said nothing and only put the mug on the table. He returned your gratitude with a brief smile.

That happened one more time, at least, when he delivered you lunch and a lot of drinking water.

A while later, Simon was about to turn on his console to play something when he found you on the sofa across it, still with your computer in your hands. Simon prepared his console before sitting himself on the sofa next to you.

“Hey, c’mere,” Simon patted his lap with one hand whilst the other held a controller.

You only looked at him after a few seconds of still looking at your computer screen. Simon redid the gesture of patting his lap.

With that, you moved yourself to sit on his lap with your back intended to rest against his chest.

“No, turn around,” Simon requested.

So, you put the laptop aside for a moment as you climbed onto his lap, straddling him.

“Pause for a few minutes, play something with me,” Simon said.

“I’m almost done. I think,” you replied, hand reaching towards your laptop.

With your arms around his chest and meeting your laptop behind him, you rested your chin on his shoulder.

“This can’t be comfortable for you,” Simon said.

“You’re like a big pillow,” you reasoned.

You felt Simon lightly shaking his head before he got into his game.

About half an hour later you ended up putting your laptop aside and buried your face on the crook of Simon’s neck. Simon soon put his controller down and rubbed a hand up and down your back.

“You alright, love?” Simon asked.

“I keep reading that page—that paragraph over and over again and I can’t understand a single word,” you sighed.

“Sounds like the insanity Einstein was talking about,” Simon said. “Maybe you’ve had enough for the day. Turn the bloody thing off and do something else, get lazy perhaps.”

“Maybe I should,” you said. "I really need to get it done, though, preferably tonight."

“You are good when you walk to your goal firmly and with bold steps. Yet you are not evil when you go thither limping. Even those who limp do not go backwards. But you who are strong and swift, see that you do not limp before the lame, deeming it kindness. Which you are, love,” Simon recited. “Just take it easy.”

Simon moved your laptop onto the nearest table before leaning back and wrapped his arms around you. After a moment or two, he picked you up and moved you to your bedroom and laid you down on the bed with him still attached to you.

Once you were both comfortable, Simon draped his limbs over you to make sure that you would not be going anywhere. He tucked you under his chin and left a kiss on your forehead. In the end, you buried your smile in his chest.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost x reader

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allmoshnobrain · 3 months

Text

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

part 31 of 35 | masterpost

word count: 3165 | ao3 link | fic's playlist

What was the point of resisting, anyway? I wanted nothing more than to embrace the tension that had been building up inside of me for months. Ever since he’d kissed me at Leanne's party, his lips had been nothing short of sweet. If Dave was like the moon, dark, deep, and captivating, James was like the sun; warm, calm, and comforting. I needed that sweetness. I needed that warmth.

✦ on this chapter: NSFW!!!, dave mustaine x female!oc, james hetfield x female! oc, oc is cliff's cousin, +18, language, slice of life, angst, mxf sex, unprotected sex

✧ bring back to you a piece of my broken heart, i'm ready to surrender ✧

The next day was a total whirlwind for the boys, just like the one before. Getting ready for the night's gig kicked off early; they had to settle into the hotel, run through the setlist, do the soundcheck, help setting up the stage and handling all the tech stuff. Luckily, I got the easiest part; while the guys tackled all the heavy lifting, Leanne, Pat, and I decided to wander around the city, soaking in the sights of Milan. I'd been to Italy a few times with my parents, but exploring the tourist spots without them was a whole new experience, fun in its own way.

And, you know, I was kinda relieved not to be hanging with James during the day. Thinking back to the heartfelt words and secret kisses we'd shared the day before threw me for a loop of emotions I wasn't totally ready to ride. I had no regrets, but I felt a certain guilt creep in - guilt for letting myself fall for him while my heart was still on the mend from my last breakup, guilt for giving in to my attraction while he was still tangled up with someone else. So, my plan? I thought I'd let him figure things out with Pat first, and then we'd see how the chips fell. Things had to get simpler one way or another, right?

As the sun dipped low, the three of us bounced back to the hotel to switch up and hit the concert scene. When we rolled in, spotting the guys was like searching for a needle in a haystack - backstage was a total madhouse, gearing up for the show kick-off. The gig itself was killer, as per usual. Post-show, we all huddled up in the dressing room, laughs and drinks flowing like it was nothing. I kicked back, grinning a bit, soaking in the scene. Seeing my friends so pumped was a blast, and being on this tour, witnessing the band's growth, was seriously mind-blowing.

I shifted my eyes away when a hand grabbed mine, and there I was, face to face with James, his hair all wet from just stepping out of the shower, wearing a mischievous grin on his lips.

“C'mon,” He gently tugged at me, and I blinked, a bit confused, but went along with it.

“James,” I chuckled, trying to figure out what was going on, as he started pulling me through the backstage maze. “Where are we headed?”

“Just roll with it for a bit, okay?” he said, his voice giving away the smile on his face as he quickened his pace. I chuckled softly, not sure how to react, but I stuck with him, his firm grip holding onto my hand. We strolled a bit more until we hit a pair of doors, which I knew would lead us outside.

“Okay, what’s your plan?” I giggled, slowing down as we stepped outside, the cool night air making my skin tingle. He stopped, turning to face me with a grin, resting his hands on my shoulders and giving them a gentle caress.

“I don't know,” he chuckled, his cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling as he looked at me. “I just wanted to be with you. Just you.”

I gazed at him, feeling my face heat up as my heart raced. He slowly caressed my arms, his hands sliding down until they found mine, his fingers weaving through mine as he drew closer. I sighed, my eyes fixed on his lips, savoring the smile that kept showing up on them.

Oh man, I really wanted to kiss him.

I sighed, looking up and locking eyes with his blue gaze, sparkling playfully like he could read my mind. My whole body warmed, a thousand butterflies in my belly when I realized he wanted some alone time, just us, away from all the noise and prying eyes.

"I know a spot," I whispered.

We strolled for a few minutes until we hit a bustling commercial street, packed with street food stalls, small bars, cafes, and clubs that pumped out various types of music. I'd wandered through there earlier with Leanne and Pat, picturing how lively it would get at night. I was spot on; even though it was a bit late, the street was buzzing with tourists and locals soaking in the scene.

“Didn't know you knew your way around the city,” James mentioned as we casually wandered down the street, blending in with the crowd, the tempting smells from food joints and stalls making my stomach growl a bit.

“I don't,” I chuckled. “I've only been to Milan with my parents once. I took a stroll with the girls around the city today, too. Figured you might have wanted to check out a bit of it.”

“You didn’t get lost, not even once. I didn't think you had it in you,” he mentioned, and I burst out laughing.

“I guess I picked up navigating on my own after living solo in LA,” I said, a wistful smile tugging at my lips. My stomach rumbled softly again, diverting my attention from my thoughts for a moment. “Hey, wanna grab something to eat?”

We hit up a few stalls, snagging more food than I thought I could handle, but, unlike me, James had a killer appetite. I grinned watching how pumped he was to dive into all those new foods; we sampled arancini, panzerotti, and capped it off with gelato, all while chatting softly about anything and everything. James's presence made it easy to shove aside, even if just for a minute, the waves of sadness that had been my company for the past weeks. It felt good being with him; in those moments, it almost seemed like nothing in our friendship had changed.

After we were done eating, we figured a leisurely walk along the street would be the move, soaking up the glow of the streetlights dancing on the canals as boats filled with tourists coasted by. Eventually, we hit up one of the boarding points and spotted a short line forming for one of the last boat rides of the night.

“Hey, wanna hop on one of these?” James asked, clutching my hand, eyes gleaming with excitement. I chuckled.

“Sure, why not? Let's give it a shot.”

We hopped in line and snagged a spot on one of the boats, big enough for around 20 people. Despite its size, maybe due to the time, only a handful of folks hopped on for the tour. We snagged seats at the back, soaking in the city views cruising by at an easy pace. I let out a sigh, feeling my cheeks warm when I noticed the heat of James's hand in mine, our fingers intertwined. I glanced up, my heart doing a marathon as I locked eyes with his gaze full of pure adoration; if this was the way we looked at each other, it's no wonder everyone noticed how much he was into me, how much I was into him.

We strolled back to the hotel after our quick tour, talking and sharing soft laughs. James slung his arm around my waist, pulling me close, but I was cool with it. I was happy — happy and at peace. So happy that I pretty much forgot about Pat's existence until we rolled into the hotel lobby and bumped right into her. Her eyebrows shot up in shock and confusion when she saw us coming in together.

She must’ve been up waiting for us — waiting for him . We didn't get a chance to compose ourselves, to hide the way our eyes lit up when we looked at each other, the smiles full of pure adoration plastered on our faces, our fingers tangled in a way meant only for lovers. We could only freeze, too perplexed, too intoxicated by each other's presence to do anything. I could see her eyes flitting from me to James, slowly catching on to the implications of what she was witnessing, before she hightailed it out the hotel door without saying a word.

“Shit... Pat, wait!” James let go of my hand, taking two strides toward her, but she didn't halt. He glanced back at me, concern written all over his face, and said, “I'll just make sure she doesn't get hurt. I'll be back soon. I promise.”

“Okay, just go!” I blurted out, my stomach churning, not out of jealousy or envy, but pure regret. I shouldn't have tagged along with James, shouldn't have tangled myself up in his relationship. I should've held back, but in those few hours, I was so damn happy for the first time in months that I completely forgot about anything else. A wave of guilt crashed over me, discomfort creeping up in my throat and stomach. Good Lord, what a shitty person I was. No wonder Dave had fucking left me.

I headed up to my room, hopping into the shower for a hot bath to ease, at least a bit, the whirlwind of regret swirling around me. Once I was done, I swapped clothes and flopped onto the bed, craving some solace in the cozy blankets. Nestling in a bed after a night on a rocking bus made me realize how damn tired I was; I dozed off soon after, slipping into a dreamless, deep sleep that at least offered a brief escape from my thoughts.

I jolted awake with the sound of insistent knocks on the door. I practically hurled myself from the bed to the floor with a grunt, my eyes still weighed down by sleep. As I staggered up, I checked the clock on the bedside table – 3:15 in the morning. It took me three tries to slot the key into the lock, but I eventually cracked the door open, a yawn stubbornly trying to break free.

“Hi,” James greeted me. He looked more wiped out than I did, dark circles under his eyes shouting that he probably hadn't caught a wink of sleep. “Hey, what's wrong with you?” he asked as I propped myself against the doorframe, appearing on the verge of collapsing.

“I’m sleepy,” I grumbled. “You woke me up.”

“Shit, sorry. Can I come in?”

I nodded, stepping back to let him into the room and closing the door shortly after. I went to the bathroom, turning on the tap to wash my face and brush my teeth, which helped shake off some of my sleepiness. When I returned to the room, I popped open the minifridge and snagged some water before joining James, who had settled on the edge of my bed.

“Are you okay? You look tired,” I murmured, my voice still raspy from sleep.

He nodded, seeming a bit out of it, running a hand across his face with a sigh.

“I broke up with Pat,” he mumbled, furrowing his brow and glancing up at me. “Just got back from the airport; she wanted to go back home. Lars is gonna murder me when he figures I blew part of our fee on her ticket,” he tried to make it sound like a joke, but I could tell he wasn't very thrilled about it either.

“Are you sad?” I asked, and he shook his head with a bitter grin, eyes dodging mine.

“If I admit I'm relieved, will you think I'm a scumbag?” he asked. I stared at him for a moment, my face warming when his hand sought mine, holding it gently.

“Then we're both scumbags,” I replied in a hushed tone, and he swiftly raised his gaze to meet mine, confusion tinting his blue eyes. I furrowed my brow, feeling a discomforting burn in my eyes as tears started to well up. “It’s just… I just screw everything up, don't I? First, my relationship, and now yours…”

“Don't say that,” he whispered, bringing one of his hands to my cheek, caressing the soft skin slowly before pulling me closer, his lips meeting mine in a kiss. I sighed, a mix of anguish and desire swirling within me as he pressed his body against mine. “Please, don't say that.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, letting out a small gasp of surprise when he held me tightly, laying me on the bed, his body over mine. I sighed, my heart racing as he kissed me, his fingers entwined with mine while he pressed my hand into the mattress.

“James…” I murmured, letting out a small moan. “James, I can't... I can't do this. If we go through with it, there's no turning back…”

“You think there's still turning back for me?” he whispered, hoarse, his lips moving to my neck, leaving small bites that made my body shiver. “I want you too much. I can't go back to what it was before,” I sighed as his kisses slowly traveled up my neck until he nibbled my earlobe lightly, whispering in my ear, “And I don't want to.”

I sighed as I felt his lips travel from my ear to my cheek, and then to my mouth. What was the point of resisting, anyway? I wanted nothing more than to embrace the tension that had been building up inside of me for months. Ever since he’d kissed me at Leanne's party, his lips had been nothing short of sweet. If Dave was like the moon, dark, deep, and captivating, James was like the sun; warm, calm, and comforting.

I needed that sweetness.

I needed that warmth.

I buried my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as I kissed him back. He groaned, satisfied as I welcomed him, and let his tongue explore my mouth, his hands wandering under my shirt. I could barely think, just feel the weight of his body on top of mine. God, I wanted him so much. How long had that desire been growing inside me? I had wanted that, deep down, for longer than I would ever have allowed myself to think.

He broke the kiss, sitting back with his knees around my waist and taking off his shirt. I shivered, anticipation coursing through my veins, my whole body burning as we looked deeply into each other's eyes, both the same shade of blue. His blond hair fell over his shoulders as he placed his hands on the mattress, one on each side of my head. I traced my fingers over his chest slowly as he lay back on top of me, his lips crashing against mine as if he couldn't stand to be away from my kiss. He pulled down my pants, his hardness pressed against my thigh, a low moan escaping my lips.

No turning back, I thought. But I don't want there to be.

I unbuttoned his pants, quickly pulling them down. He helped me, pulling away from our kiss again as he removed them, and then his underwear; I blushed, a small sigh escaping my lips when I saw him naked for the first time, his slender body rising again over mine. He ran his thumb over my lip, slowly, and then moved his hand to my T-shirt. I lifted my torso so he could take it off. He caressed my collarbone as he looked into my eyes, my lips slightly parted as I felt my face heat up.

There was something strangely vulnerable about being naked in front of him; about letting him see me whole, about seeing and feeling his body for the first time. He looked at me, hesitant, as if asking for permission. I placed my hand on his shoulder, then brought it to his neck and pulled him closer. He kissed me again as he slid into me, slowly. I moaned into his mouth, feeling my whole body heat up.

He held onto my hair as he deepened the kiss, his tongue moving against mine as he moved inside me, at first in an agonizingly slow pace, but then faster and faster until he reached a steady rhythm. His kiss, so firm, became erratic as low, hoarse moans escaped from his lips. I breathed quickly as I felt pleasure fill my entire body, embracing him tightly, his large frame pressed against mine.

I wanted to melt under his touch, to become a part of him forever. I loved him so much right then that I could have died right there — and I would have died happily.

I moaned his name as I arched my back, pleasure and devotion filling my entire body. He pulled away from our kiss, panting as he gripped my waist hard enough to bruise my skin, pulling me closer so he could reach deeper inside me. It hurt a bit, but it was also so good that I couldn't even care. I felt the tension build in my womb, moaning loudly as he started moving even faster.

“James... I'm so, so close…” I half-moaned, half-sobbed, my legs trembling as I held onto his arms tightly, “James, oh shit, please, harder… ”

James closed his eyes, low moans escaping his lips as he lifted my legs, wrapping them around his hips, pushing into me forcefully. He buried his face in my neck as I dug my nails into his back, my whole body shaking as he moaned my name in my ear.

I couldn't hold back any longer; the knot in my belly unraveled in deep contractions that pulled him further inside me, devouring him completely. He shuddered, moaning loudly as he climaxed inside me, filling me up until there was nothing left, only our exhausted bodies, wrapped around each other as the waves of pleasure overcame us.

I let out a low sigh as he pulled out, lying on his back beside me, running a hand through his hair. I turned, lying on my side, watching his face as he looked back at me, his eyes out of focus as he tried to steady his breath.

“Can I crash here tonight?” he asked, breathlessly. The question caught me off guard, and I burst into a surprised laugh. I nodded, and he stretched with a grunt. “Oh, thank goodness. I'm so beat. C’mere.”

I chuckled softly as he pulled me closer, giving my cheek a light peck before pulling the covers over us. I sighed, realizing that I, too, was tired. I knew that soon I'd have to let myself process everything that had happened that night. That after feeling James's touch, after surrendering myself fully to him, the mourning for my relationship with Dave was about to get even more complicated.

Maybe I should've waited. Maybe I shouldn't have even hopped on this tour. But none of that mattered now, did it? I could figure out these feelings in the morning. Right now, all that mattered was the boy beside me, softly snoring as he held me close, the memory of his touch still vivid — and my heart, feeling more alive after being with him than it had in months.

✧ if you'd like to be tagged on the next parts, let me know and I'll add you to the tag list! ❤ ✧

tag list: @killazilla777 @whatsupvic @70srogah @genswine9

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wrixthesley · 2 years

Text

sin for me | h. sanzu

cw: gun play, noncon, toxic relationships, yandere sanzu, degradation(?), praise, baby trapping, stalking, mentions of drugs, intrusion, dacryphilia

a/n: please read the warnings

Your date is nice.

He works downtown, makes a decent amount of money, polite, and actually makes an effort to keep the conversation going. He asks about what you do and your likes.

He’s clean, that’s the most important part. Doesn’t dabble in anything illegal, certainly has never done drugs other than getting high once in college as if you’d even count that.

You’re relieved with him, no sleepless nights wondering if he’ll get home in one piece or if he’s going to get caught for pushing product.

His hands are gentle, they’re warm and bare. No rings adorning his fingers and no metal contrasting to your skin when he pulls you in for a kiss.

Your first kiss since him.

Your date walks you home, makes sure that you get to your apartment safely and sets up the next date. You hum in response, looking forward to it. You bid each other farewell and go inside.

You ignore the text that’s been burning a hole through your phone for the past hour. You don’t know how many numbers you’ve blocked this week, it’s too hard to keep track of but you know who it is.

“He’s a nice guy”

You don’t read the rest of the message. You swipe left to delete it before getting ready for bed.

Your second date with him is a lot more fun. It’s easier for you to distract yourself, arcade games remind you of simpler times when the only thing you worried about was whether or not you understood the homework for that night.

He’s charming, clumsy, and has an amazing sense of humor. He makes the butterflies flutter in your stomach, how long has it been since you’ve felt so innocent? He tells you you’re pretty, your personality captivating and he’s excited for your future dates.

He embraces you, safely enveloping you in his arms. You turn your face so you rest on his chest, you’ve wished for a peaceful relationship like this for a while.

You close your eyes for a moment, basking in the warmth of your date before opening and seeing pink hair and blue eyes staring at you through a crowd. His mask covers the bottom half of his face, he knows his scars make him recognizable.

Your blood turns cold and when you push away from your date the eyes that locked onto you are gone.

“Sorry.” You say, relieved that you don’t receive anymore questions.

He takes your hand and leads you to play laser tag. It’s one of his favorites, you’ll have to remember that.

You feel guilty that he’s so kind.

Friday nights are spent tidying up what you couldn’t during the week.

The dishes that you stacked up after dinner get washed, dried and put away. The washer in the background gives you an illusion that you’re not so alone in your apartment.

The floors are swept and mopped, the rugs vacuumed and everything gets a good dusting. It helps clear your head, when your space is tidy.

Your phone goes off and you think you’re getting asked for a third date. Your stomach sinks when it’s another unknown number, you wonder if he’ll ever get tired.

There’s three messages this time.

“Don’t ignore me.”

Followed by an unsolicited picture of his cock.

“Miss you, my pretty baby”

You block and delete the message thread.

Your third date is at his house. Nothing fancy, he apologizes for it but you reassure him it’s fine. You take the opportunity to talk to him more, learn about the way he lives and essentially what makes him tick.

He asks you a different question for each one of yours he answers until he asks about any of your ex lover’s he should be wary of. He says it as a joke but it’s a wound that still stings.

You can’t bring yourself to utter someone else’s name in the presence of your date. You swallow hard, your mouth feels dry and he goes back to watching his show.

He continues talking about all previous partners he’s been with. He’s on good terms with all of them, how could he not be? He has a heart of gold where you only carry guilt. You envy that about him, even though he’s been so generous with all of your dates.

“I really like you” he says, kissing you, hesitant to place his hands on your hips, “I can wait until you’re ready.” His voice is soothing, he’s pulling you into a hug.

When was the last time you felt such peace?

You walk through the rain one evening after work, cursing yourself for forgetting your umbrella. Your shoes are soaking wet and your apartment feels like its further away than what it is when it starts pouring.

You’re practically trudging up the stairs to your door by the time the rain begins to slow. Your hands shaking from how hard you’re shivering trying to get the key to turn.

“Fuck, just open” you whisper, relieved when the key finally gives and the door swings open. Your hair is dripping and your clothes are uncomfortably stuck to your skin. You’re pulling your socks off, peeling away at your pants and shirt until you’re in nothing but your underwear.

You bend down to pick up the wet clothes to through them in the washer.

You can’t wait to go to bed.

“Putting on a show for me?”

You freeze. You feel your stomach sink, the blood in your veins turns cold and nausea begins to pick at the back of your throat. You want to scream, you have to scream, he can’t be here.

“I told you not to ignore me” he seethes, clamping his hand around your mouth and pressing you against his body.

Sanzu has always been stronger than he’s looked.

Your heart is racing, pounding against your ribcage as you look around desperately for something you can use as a weapon.

“You’re gonna behave” he whispers into your ear, you can feel how warm his breath is, can feel the taut muscles of his arms through his clothes. He drags you to your bedroom, you know better than to fight back. Your dates replay in your head, you wish you would have cherished the kind words and touches more. You feel like sobbing again.

He’s quick to turn you around. Hand still clamped around your mouth, you squeeze your eyes shut. You’re hoping, praying, crying for this to be a dream. You want the safety you had days before.

Sanzu meets you with a gun to your head and a saccharine smile on his face. You immediately start to sob.

“Didn’t you miss me?” He asks, the grip on your mouth changes to a harsh one on your cheeks. Pushing them together forcing your lips to pout. He nods your head yes for you, loves that your mascara is running down your cheeks.

“I told you not to fuckin ignore me.”

He traces the barrel of the gun down your face, the metal leaving goosebumps behind on your skin.

“Sanzu, please.”

“You’re gonna be a good girl and listen aren’t you?” His kisses your forehead, “Gonna show me that that other fucker you’re with isn’t shit, that you’re mine, yeah?”

He uses the gun to push the straps of your bra down, pressing the barrel into your skin to remind you not to fight back. His free hand finds undoes the hook of your bra, letting it fall on the floor.

“God, I love these tits” his scars on either side of his mouth scrunch when he smiles. His hand is warm when he cups your breast, fingers playing with your hardening nipples.

“Did you fuck him?” He asks, releasing your breast and pressing the gun to the center of your chest.

You sob, looking directly into his eyes for the first time since he’s been here.

“Yes.” You seethe, waiting for Sanzu to pull the trigger.

Instead he only laughs.

“I fuckin’ hate liars, baby.” His voice is sickly sweet, cooing at you as he moves the gun slowly down to your navel. He tucks the barrel into your panties, the cool metal makes you jolt.

He’s closer now, his lips ghosting yours. Eyes boring into yours and burning the memory of his features into your skull forever.

“You’re only a whore for me.” He whispers, kissing you harder when you sob, snaking his tongue into your mouth to collide with yours. The kiss is desperate, needy and it’s all teeth and tongue and, god you hate when he licks at the hot tears spilling down your cheeks.

His hand slides into your panties, watching how your breath hitches when he finds your clit instantly beginning to circle it despite your cries to stop.

“Sanzu” your voice is low, breathy. It makes his cock twitch in his pants, he’s missed you so much. His fingers are so long, so warm and you curse him for knowing exactly what you like, what makes you dizzy, and what makes your jaw drop.

“Fuck, Sanzu, stop.” You breathe, head falling back when he pinches your clit.

“Yeah? Tell me to stop again, baby.”

He frees his hand, using it to pull your panties down your legs. You step out of them, watching how he casually holds the gun in his hand. You wonder if it’s the one he uses for work, if it’s the one responsible for so many people who haven’t returned home.

The muzzle of the gun is pressed to your clit, you moan, mouth falling when he begins to circle it over and over again.

“Mmm, tell me no, baby. Wanna hear you say it again”

“Sanzu, no, please, no” your legs start to shake and your struggling to hold back your moans. You can’t tell if you’re crying for him to stop or because you feel pleasure begging to bubble in your stomach.

The sound of his belt coming undone snaps you back to reality for a moment. It feels like time slowed, you watch the gun leaving your cunt and back at his side.

He lets his pants bunch at his thighs, pushing you face first onto the edge of the bed. The gun is pressed to the back of your head and you're too scared to do anything but cry.

He's switching the his hands when he slips his shirt off. Each one keeping the gun glued to the back of your head and you can feel the tip of his cock teasing at your folds.

You cry and he moans.

"Don't cry, I'll make you feel good. Better than your boy toy can."

Your body betrays you, slick coating your folds and the inside of your thighs. "I hate you." You whisper, you choke on a sob when he sheathes himself inside of you.

"I love you." He replies, his voice isn't harsh anymore. The gun moves to your temple at the same type he hits your sweet spot. You can't help or stop the moans that flow out of you. Sanzu is everywhere, his hands, his scent, god you can feel his hair when he folds himself over you to kiss the side of your head. He's like wildfire spreading and growing. His anger and love are alike, red hot, uncontrollable, and consuming everything in its path to get what he wants. He doesn't care if he has to burn the world to the ground, he'd do it. Anything for you.

"Anything for you" he moans, losing himself in the pleasure of your cunt. You're more addicting than any drug he's tried, he'll be damned if you leave him again. "I'd do anything for you." He repeats, he drops the gun on the floor. His hands come to knead at your breasts, then traveling down to the fat of your hips and one spreads on the soft of your tummy.

He knows you, he knows you so well because he's pushing down on your stomach. He swears he's so far deep inside of you, can't you feel it? Tell him how deep he is, how big he is. Oh fuck, you're so good, so hot, and so perfect for him.

"Gonna cum inside of you." he breathes, his hips slamming down on in a sloppy pace, you cringe when you can hear how wet you are with each smack of his hips.

"Gonna get you pregnant, you'll never fuckin' leave me." his hand wraps around your throat, pulling you up so your back is flush with his chest, he loves seeing your tits bounce and you realize the pleasure bubbling in the deepest part of your stomach, you're panting, crying, pleading for him or against him. You don't know anymore.

All you can say is "Sanzu,Sanzu, please, fuck-" He changes the angle of his thrusts, the ones that make you dizzy and stupid and your eyes roll back into your skull.

"Haruchiyo!" you whine, finally reaching your own euphoria as Sanzu paints your insides white. You shriek at how hot he feels inside of you, you let him slowly finish riding his high inside of you. Each thrust overstimulates you both, he comes down to kiss you.

"You're mine," he whispers, his lips pressing against your own.

He lets you climb onto your bed, watching you curl up into yourself as he joins you. The gun is back in his hand and you don't think you have any more tears to cry.

You let him position you how he wants, his cock stirring back to life when he sees his cum seep out of your cunt. He cocks it this time, the safety is off and you feel panic rise in your chest.

"Can't let this go to waste." He smiles, using the barrel to collect his seed and stuff it back inside of you.

"You'll be so pretty, my love." His eyes never leave you and you swear he starts crying.

You wonder about your date, you want to apologize to him.

After all, he is a nice guy.

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