#overstuffed chairs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peachesofteal · 3 months

Text

The Acheron

An Ichor Veil (of Flower Kings) masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 10.6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Modern retelling - Greek mythology AU. Hades and Persephone. Two Kings of the Underworld. Abuse (by reader's mother). Bad BDSM etiquette. Dom Simon Riley. Switch John MacTavish. Impact play, spanking. Ichor (blood) play. Non-con voyeurism. Kidnapping. Submissive reader. Reader is named Persephone but has no physical characteristics. Alcohol. Praise kink. Biting. Anal play. Subspace. Dubious consent. First they're sour, then they're sweet, then... they're sour. Tags are for your health, not mine. .A meeting, a trick, a meal.

Hebe’s is humming.

You nod to her through the crowd, a gaggle of mortals waiting at the counter, the line of them moving swiftly as they order their pastry-coffee duo for this dreary, rain slogged morning.

Her perpetually young face lights with exuberance once she spots you, and you can’t help the smile that fights into place at the sight of her. Hebe is a cherub. Soft, curved for ages, like she had been sculpted by her father himself. Today, she’s dolled up in tones of pink; pink lipstick, fuchsia stained cheeks, magenta streaks in her otherwise dark, tightly coiled hair that sits at her shoulders.

For a while, before you were brazenly corrected, you wondered if maybe your mother wanted Hebe as a daughter, instead of you. A perfect picture of untouched purity and power, an eternal cupbearer, worshipped as the goddess of Mercy. She was sweet, like her famous Portokalopita, orange syrup cake that drew a group of wanting mortals at the door every morning. She’s a stunner. A mountain of sunshine, a ray of positivity.

Sometimes, you hate her for it, even if she is one of your best friends.

Something about her cheerful demeanor can dig at you, scrape along the sticky matter of your brain, gnaw at the soft bits that you’re still trying to protect, tender pieces that match your heart.

You follow the hall to the back room, where bookshelves taper off and large floor to ceiling windows flank the east and west sides to allow as much light in as possible. There are others here, a few mortals curled in overstuffed armchairs, books and cappuccinos in hand, light jazz soothing the atmosphere through a few hidden speakers. Healthy clematis blooms along the stair rail, purple blossoms disappearing into the second floor, where more reading rooms wait, books and plants boundless inside Hebe’s.

A place for everyone.

You feed the clematis a little spark of magic, enough that the vine stretches, shivering and sprouting more flowers. “Aren’t you stunning this morning?” The plant curls around your fingers eagerly, imbued with the essence of power, drinking up the magic drops you encourage into its cell structure. “So healthy and strong, you’ve recovered so well.”

“Good morning.” A wraith of a voice whispers, and you catch the iridescent flicker of a cloud, of Nephele. The clematis will need pruning soon, probably next week, or maybe you can make time in the next few days, you don’t really have too much going on, just your birthday, and that delivery to Hera-

Ghostly fingers stroke the inside of your elbow, and the cloud nymph regards you with an insightful expression. “Earth to Seph.”

“Sorry.” Your apology is meek, and she shrugs.

“I asked what you’re doing tonight?” Oh.

“Dinner… with my mom.” She nods, and says nothing, jaw clenching, apologetic grimace lining her lips.

“And Friday… Aselgeia?” The club. Your muscles tighten. It’s been over a year since you’ve been to Aselgeia, the club of many vices, the ones where mortals and creatures and gods all mix interchangeably, chasing their own pleasure. The memory of last time heats your spine: A private room. A black chair. A stranger swinging a paddle towards your bare-

Nephele coughs.

“Yeah, definitely.” You put the box down that you’re carrying, twelve small pots containing strings of pearls, all crossbred to produce different colors, emboldened by their proximity to you in the Greenhouse for these past few months. They’ll sell well, you have no doubt. “I’ve got a few more boxes to bring inside. Don’t supposed you could do something about this slag weather we’re having?” You gesture, and she snorts.

“Hebe says they’re fighting. Probably looking at weeks of storms.”

“They’re always fighting.” You whisper it, even though most know the truth. Zeus and Hera were explosive. Tumultuous. Which is fine, you suppose, for a private life. A public life, however, one that belongs to the Golden King and Queen, should probably be a bit more… restrained.

After all, why should you and everyone else have to suffer because Hebe’s mom and dad can’t get along?

“I’ve got a lot of cataloging to do, so I’ll catch you around. Text me after dinner tonight, if you need to talk.” She finishes quietly, kindly, but without encroaching, and you squeeze her hand with affection.

“Thanks, Nell.”

The final two boxes stack comfortably for your dash inside. You're eager to get all the plants settled so you can get back to the Greenhouse, slink away to your personal temple, your place of refuge, somewhere quiet to prepare for your dreaded birthday dinner in peace.

“Hello.” A male voice calls, accented so strangely it’s impossible to place. He waves, trying to flag you down.

“Hello?” You turn, nearly stumbling back at the sight of him.

Who is this?

He’s stunning. Brilliant blue eyes study you from a mountaintop, taller than you by more than a head or two. His hair is short on the sides, but long in the middle, a fashion of mohawk you’re unfamiliar with except for in Hoplites, warriors who sacrifice themselves for the sanctity of the state. He’s broad, built like there’s a Herculean amount of muscle underneath his immaculately tailored midnight black suit, and his cheekbones complement the razor edge of his jaw, framing a full set of dark, plush lips.

He looks like a dream you’ve never had. A fantasy that failed fruition.

Fairer than Adonis. Brighter than Apollo.

Butterflies kick up a fluttering frenzied in your belly.

“Sorry to bother ye, I’m looking for Hebe’s?” Ah. You smile.

“You’ve found it. This is just the backside. Front door is around the walk to the left.” He steps closer, and you’re about to introduce yourself when you hear the whinny of a screech owl’s tremolo, a tinned melody that whistles past your ears.

Olympus tilts. Axis trembles. And so do you.

The stranger is keen, and glances around.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I um… it’s just that owl, I swear I saw the same one a few days ago… I didn’t think they were too common around here.”

“Dinnae think they are.” His eyes twinkle, celestial light that has you drifting, floating through time and space into starlit irises. The air turns heavy, hot- fresh fired bricks weighing down your chest, and everything spins, day turning to night, night molting black, deep hues of purple and blues streaking past your vision, spinning like moon, twisting you up until your balance is faltering, and you sway. “Whoa, hey.” Fingers fold over your arm, surprisingly cool, chilled, and it pulls you back into your body, spine uncurling, brow smoothing.

“Sorry, I…”

“Ye alright?” He’s still holding your arm, directing you to a bench, relieving you of your box in a swift motion.

“Yeah, sorry… I… I skipped breakfast.” There’s no other explanation, right? The handsome stranger tsks.

“Can I get ye somethin’? Maybe from inside?”

“No!” You blurt, horrified. Hebe would have a cow if she thought you were feeling faint or had skipped a meal. She takes caring for her loved ones far too seriously. “No, I’m almost done, and then I’ll be on my way home. I’ll eat there.” He raises an eyebrow, completely skeptical. “I swear.”

“Alright then. Let me help ye with the rest at least?” He’s standing with a hand extended, and you track the veins on the inside of his wrist until they disappear beneath his t-shirt, golden, tawny skin just barely allowing them to be seen. You wonder if it’s mortal blood that catapults through his body, or the rich, golden ichor that also spills from yours.

“Sure.” He lifts the box, gesturing for you to grab the other.

“I’m John, by the way.” John. It simmers in the front of your mind, stitching itself into the fabric of your magic.

“Persephone. My friends call me Seph.” Bold. Too bold.

“Ye’re Demeter’s daughter.” He comments, and you blink, fresh wave of regret curdling the sourness of your stomach.

“Yes.” Fool. Give your name to a stranger, and this is what will come. “Do you know-“

“Only in passing, dinnae worry.”

“Who said I was worried?”

“Ye wear yer emotions plainly.” Your cheeks burn, embarrassed at the blatancy of his statement. “It’s refreshing. So many of us, we play too many games, hide our true selves.” Us. Golden ones. Gods.

“You’re Cloaking.” You intend it to be a statement, an observation, but with a tight jaw and frowning brow, it’s an accusation.

“Aye. Wouldnae want to scare ye away, would I?” What? Your steps slow, gait pausing in concern. “Sorry, ah. Bad joke.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” He carries the boxes to the door, setting them down carefully, and then rising back to his full height. You swallow the lump in the back of your throat.

“Well, John,” you say it with a hint of sarcasm, and it conveys your doubt. That’s not your real name, is it? “It was nice to meet you.” You extend your hand, expecting a shake, but he holds it with both of his, back bowing, lips softly pressing the skin of your knuckles, tender touch making your knees weak, your heart swooping and swooning.

“The pleasure was mine, Persephone.”

“Have you given anymore thought to your role in the coming year? Your presence at harvest, or planting, would do-”

“I haven’t.” The wine is too oaky, so earthy it takes like dirt, the opus of your mother’s existence, and you swallow it down in silence.

“Persephone.” She chides, like she has a million times before. “If you just tried, a little harder-“

“I am Spring, mother. Life. Rebirth. Fertility.” You ignore her wince. “But that doesn’t mean I’m well suited for crops, and grain, and harvests.”

“It means exactly that. Otherwise, the Greenhouse would not exist.” Her knife slices into a bloody piece of meat, red dripping down the sterling to her fingertips. “Why must you fight your destiny?” Your mind wanders to your visitors the other day, the sisters. The Moirai. Does she know? Is that why she’s saying this? Did she send them? “You spend so much time actively trying to deny me, holed up with your flowers and silly little house plants-“

“It is you who denied me.” Her eyes narrow. “You who didn’t want me to become a fertility goddess, who wanted me to be some weapon of green light, to be the spitting image of you. You raised me to be a threat!”

“Is it so wrong, that I did not wish for my daughter to become a common whore? That I had hoped to prevent her becoming such a failure? That I dreamed of her becoming so much more than… what sits before me now?” The words do not shock you anymore. You’ve grown to expect them.

That does not mean they do not sting.

“It is wrong that you kept me locked in this house, away from the world, until I was too strong for you to control.” You spit, fork clattering against your plate. Rage sears white at the edge of your vision, overflowing bouquet of flowers in the center of the table blooming into massive blossoms, edges of petals beginning to curl inward.

“Control yourself.” She warns. “Or I will do it for you.” Your pulse thunders. The air in the dining room crackles.

You do not relent. Rationally, you know you should. You know this will only end one way, that this will sever another tie to your past, to your mother, one you won’t be able to repair… but you can’t stop. The magic itches under your skin, screaming.

The ivy that covers the outside brick shatters a windowpane above her head, springing through the opening like a virus seeking a host, sticking to the inside wall. Glass falls to the floor, rain pelts the roof.

“Persephone.” Shining silver spools, churning across the table, through the air until it takes form-

The Whip.

Your mother’s favorite.

It licks your skin, your fingertips, your knuckles. A different touch, from the reverent kiss you received only hours ago. It cracks through the air like the lightning.

“That’s enough.” She vows.

You will not cry. You won’t. You won’t let her get to you like this anymore. You’re a woman now. An adult. You’re not a child, you’re not, you’re not-

She sighs. Your fingers clench the stem of the wine glass so firmly you think it might shatter.

You finish your meal in stiff silence. Its heaviness droops all around you, blanketing the entire table, your fork, the distance between you and your own mother. It’s an eon. A millisecond. Never enough because you always crave more. More space. More time. More distance. Her eyes spark, anger burning hot behind them, but she says nothing.

When she’s finished, she rises from the table without another word, disappearing down the hall.

Happy Birthday, you guess.

In the middle of the night, the Greenhouse is quiet.

Even the plants slumber, most of the daylight seekers, pistils, stamens, all covered by their petals, lying in wait. In the back, you pad along the floor of moss, allowing the tiny tendrils of green to skim along your bare skin, pulling opulent, indulgent specks of power into themselves. Wisteria lines the walls, tiny blooms of purple and white falling like curtains of stars, only parting for the archway that leads to the spring, a small freshwater lagoon that spills from the crust of the earth as hot as tea, bubbling eternally, waiting for you.

Tonight, the water is ethereal. Steam rises from the pool, slicking its stone home, and you bask in it, muscle and bone turning languid, supple in the roiling spring. It’s nearly sublime, almost perfect.

Your mother’s voice still echoes. Even now, hours later, you can hear her.

A failure. A disappointment.

Your knuckles sting from the salt of the Whip, the silver crust that slices so effortlessly, just as it has since you were a child.

You cried a lot, then.

Now, it’s few and far between. You’ve grown, rebelled, retaliated. You’ve become a lost cause.

Ungovernable Persephone.

The pain still sits so heavily in the bottom of your soul, a wretched, tangible thing that sprouts blackened vine from the earth and a whole manner of other things.

You eye the marble encasement, the walls that harbor the spring. They too, are black. Born from your rage, your sorrow. Your uncontrollable, ungovernable power that grew from the depths of your despair and built you a temple.

The Greenhouse. Your home.

Everyone called it a wonder. A feat, proof of your power. Trees and vines and branches all twisted together, building a harbor, solidifying your presence, your Golden light.

You took your first offering in this place, the glass for the windows and the roof, the final piece of your shelter from the storm, the first stake of your life as a goddess, your life of freedom.

You left your mother’s house that day, only returning now on occasions. You never looked back.

Though, you can still feel the Whip, can still hear it whirl through the wind against your supine form. Can still feel the ridges of scar tissue that never fully healed.

You could have called Nell. Or Hebe. Or Melia. Anyone of them would be here for you. Would listen. Understand.

Outside the window, an owl hoots.

You sink beneath the water line, magma rushing over every inch of your body, washing you clean of her, of the Whip, of the wounds on your knuckles.

A trembling fawn. Still to this day.

A wicked daughter to have, they tell her. A vengeful soul. Rotted to the core.

Ungovernable Persephone.

Olympus is buzzing, even on its ninth day of rain. It’s a vibration that all manner of beings can feel, creatures, gods, even humans. The ground rattles like there’s a lightning bolt shoved into the center of the rail system, electrifying the wires and tracks, zinging from pole to pole between the buildings and above the streets where cars putter alongside those who walk to their destinations.

When you were a child, the name of the city was almost dirty. It made your mother’s nose turn skyward, disgust and disdain clear as the day on her delicate features. “The golden city is anything but.” She promised, on her knees before you, gentle hand at your back. “Those who live there are heathens, and naught else. They would seek to destroy you if they knew the truth.”

For many, many years, you never step foot here.

Not until University. Once you graduated, the rope around your neck, the bit in your mouth began to loosen, and you had already lost your taste for the expanse of metropolis, more interested in your own space outside city limits where you could feel your connection to the earth, where you could indulge your power in privacy.

“It’s not the city she fears.” Melia told you one night. “But Aphrodite. Demeter’s worried ‘Di will knock you right off the whole bloody planet.” She peered over your shoulder, catching the gleam of Apollo, his bright eyes tracking her from across a crowded bar. “Trust me. She’s a jealous bitch.”

Tonight, the city is waterlogged, soaked to the bone, raindrops splashing as you slide from the car to the black door tucked inside a black wall, a soft faced Harpy standing in front of the passage.

“Hebe. Persephone.” She greets, turning to your other companions. “Nephelle. Melia.” You pull your power through the earth that sits beneath cracked concrete and heavy asphalt, spinning your Cloak up and over your body, adjusting your appearance just so. Your mask slips into place, obscuring nearly all your face, both Nell and Melia pulling together something similar.

“Ocypete.” Hebe pauses. “Is there a riddle tonight?” The Harpy grins, flashing rows of too sharp teeth, fine points that can cut the flesh from bone in a clean bite.

“No riddle.” The door creaks wide, and she steps aside. “Enjoy your evening.”

You don’t notice the way her eyes linger after you’ve passed.

Aselegia is one of the safest places in the Olympus. Here, Golden ones must be Cloaked, mortals must be masked, and creatures must go to great lengths to hide their identity. All intermingle with one another, safe in the anonymity. Gods and Goddesses usually choose to mask as well, a practice, you believe, stemming from common occurrences of violent jealousy, an effort to prevent becoming the target of one’s wrath.

The club itself is big enough to get lost in. The first floor houses the lobby, and a set of elevators. The walls are covered in shiny waxed mahogany, red wine rich carpet covering the floor, and it smells different, sweet and smoky, cigars and finely spun sugar. Intoxicating.

The elevators will take you anywhere you have access, and most can visit three floors. There’s a dancefloor on the main level, with a giant bar, private rooms in the wings, bottle service, tables. Very standard. Other floors have gambling tables, quieter music, even a dimly lit pool and sauna.

It isn’t until you get above level three that things change. Endorsements or sponsors are required. Waivers need to be signed. Negotiations begin.

Pick your poison.

You start on the main level tonight. Melia insists, and you agree, grateful to the Oceanid for suggesting starting slow, the low rumble of nerves still present in your magic, your body. The music thumps, high to low song and symphony synthesized into something electronic, and it draws you into a sway, shoulders against shoulders, hips moving in time with the melody.

“Shots?” Hebe brightens, waving over a cocktail waitress, a pretty thing who eagerly does her bidding, enraptured with the way she moves in the skintight, cornflower blue dress. Her Cloak has disguised her well enough that no one would know who she is, but she does not ever manipulate her body. A cherished rule of her own, you’ve learned.

“You’re beautiful.” The girl coos, and Hebe nods, singing over the explosion of Nephelle’s laughter.

“I know, sweetheart.”

A slick sheen of sweat coats the space between Melia’s breasts. You’re both on the dancefloor, moving with the music, Melia perfectly in time, like she was born to it, and you pull her close, slinging an arm over her neck to whisper in her ear.

“He’s here.” A god’s dark eyes glint in the night, between the passages of writing bodies. He wears a white mask, stitched with the threads of glowing sun, but his obsessive gaze gives him away. He’s transfixed, focused solely on the Oceanid in the middle of the dance floor, and she giggles, turning so that her ass is pressed against your pelvis, her head tipped back on your shoulder.

Her hand extends, an invitation. A request.

He’s by her side within a second.

“Apollo.” You nod, and he barely spares you a glance, too busy cradling his Oceanid’s face.

“You have been ignoring my calls.”

“I’ve been busy.” He tenses.

“You’re still angry with me.”

“Of course, I am.” She rolls her eyes. “We’re here for Sephy’s birthday, not this.” He peeks towards you, sliver of regret flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry, Persephone.” You wave him off, not wanting to be in the middle of… this.

“It’s fine, we’re just… out. It’s not for anything special.” You look away from them, casually glancing around. You look, but you do not see. Not until…

There’s a male, wearing a pitch-black suit. A god? A mortal? He’s taller than anyone else in the room, broadest shoulders and proud posture, everything about him drawing you in, like blood in the water.

The room stands still. Silent. Empty, save for two.

Tempered water like glass, undisturbed. An undertow vicious beneath the surface, unknown to all.

“Hello.” The pitch of his voice is familiar, almost dreamlike, something that’s never been real, yet startling all the same.

“H-hi.” You stammer. His hand reaches, a magnetic force pulling yours from where it’s clawed against your thigh, and he grasps it like he’s cupping a dahlia bloom, a fragile collection of so many petals that make up an entire beautiful blossom, a universe unto itself.

Black leather caresses your skin. Clear, golden-brown eyes pin you in place, anthracite spiking around his pupils in a halo. You cannot see his face, or his skin, only what’s barely visible of his eyelids and dark spun lashes.

Still…

His beauty is terror. It’s the throat of a lamb, freshly cut. The mutilated carcass of a doe, feeding a forest. Dark. Dangerous. A wolf, circling a kill.

It drags you out into a river, where your feet no longer touch the bottom. It sings to you from the depths.

You cannot tear yourself away.

He does not let go. Even when that same voice fills your mind.

“My darling. You shall rule all that lives and moves, you shall have the greatest rights among the deathless gods: those who defraud you and do not appease your power with offerings, reverently performing rites and paying fit gifts, shall be punished for evermore.” *

Warmth slips from your hand, sand flitting through your fingers, a fleeting touch of comfort and confusion fading into the night.

My darling.

My darling…

When the light comes back to you, the male is nowhere to be found. Only Apollo and Melia stand to your side, still in their own world.

“Will you let me take you upstairs then?” He croons, and your heart dances, nerves and anticipation all spiraling together like a sailor’s knot. You know what comes next.

“Only if the girls can come.”

You try to forget the strange encounter on the main level and focus on your needs instead; you’ll know what you’re looking for when you see it, and you say the same to Hebe, too, when she disappears with a male who seemed much too large to not be the son of a giant, leaving you alone on a small, velvet couch, Nell and Melia already long gone. Your second martini sits untouched, and you keep yourself from looking at any one being too closely, lest you get caught staring.

That’s when you see him.

Light blue eyes. Handsomely styled mohawk. Even with a Cloak and mask, he’s hard to forget.

John.

His mask is a red skull, covering nearly all his face, the sculpted brow severe, almost angry.

His eyes glow behind it, locked on yours.

Oh. Shit. You vibrate like a live wire, hanging onto yourself for dear life.

“Hello.” Your mouth doesn’t work. “I’m Soap.” He extends his hand, and you blink. Oh, right. The alias. Because what is the point in all this, if you give your real name?

“K-kore.” You manage to stammer, and the corner of his eyes crease.

“Why are ye here?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What are ye looking for, little goddess?” He still has not dropped your gaze, and you can almost taste him on your tongue, feel him in your mind, your body.

Myself.

Your teeth dig downward, pressing hard before you whisper the truth.

“Pain.” His eyes flash, and then he tugs.

John- Soap, takes you to a private room. You follow, numbly, shivering with a million emotions, stumbling through the chances, the possibilities of seeing him twice, when before he was a stranger.

A coincidence, you decide, putting it out of your mind. You’re dwelling on it too much, picking it apart, riling yourself up… over nothing. Over a handsome god, existing in the Golden city? Like you’ve never seen those before… like it’s so unbelievable.

“Are ye alright?” He murmurs, stepping up to your back. You can feel the heat of him, his warmth bleeding from beneath the suit to your exposed skin, the dress you chose wholly exposing your spine, your skin.

Your nipples tighten. Your heart races, and your thighs press together inadvertently.

“Yes.”

“Dinnae lie.” He’s gentle in the reminder, and you fill your lungs.

“I’m just… nervous.”

“Ye’ve done this before?” He’s assuming. You nod, quickly, and he motions to a very comfortable looking lounge chair, where you perch on the edge of the cushion. “What would make ye happy tonight?” Anxiety unsettles your posture, and you choke down the embarrassment that tries to claw its way up your throat.

“A… a spanking.” You whisper, pushing flimsy confidence forward. Far away, a piece of your mind, your magic, pleads. It cries, it begs for release. It urges you forward, and you lift your face to his, seeking approval. Comfort.

Reassurance.

The cold hand of doubt rears. It snickers at you. It laughs.

Reassurance from someone, anyone but yourself? Comfort?

No.

“Do ye-“

“My safe word is flower.” You spit, motioning to the stool that waits between you.

It’s an act. A song and a dance, something fake and forced. But he doesn’t know that.

He freezes. Thick tension runs the gamut, heavy and exhausting, and you smother yourself, your emotions, your reactions to this very moment.

Pain. The desire burns. It pushes you to the zenith, until you’re down on your knees, folding yourself forward.

Pain, to turn it off. Pain, to make it all stop.

Pain, to release you into yourself.

What matter of creature are you, that you can only feel whole, when parts of you are carved away?

“Up.” John commands, and you lean back, confused. “Ye’ll do this over my knee.” He bends you, with grace, back towards the soft cushion, laying comfortably, your palms flat.

A hand coasts over the swell of your ass.

“Ye’ll count.” His voice has shifted. Gone is the feather’s edge, now replaced by steel. His accent still rings true, but there’s a firmness to it, a finality. Dominance.

“Yes.”

“Ye’ll tell me yer name, and today’s date, when asked. If ye cannae answer, we’ll stop. Immediately.”

“Okay.”

“I need a yes.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll go to ten, then.” We.

“I can take more.”

“We’ll decide what ye can take, when we get there.” You acquiesce, fingers digging down into the cushion before forcibly relaxing. “Big breath.” He coaches, and then-

The first slap stuns you. Only with his hand, and yet still so much stronger than last time with a paddle. It punches air from your lungs, the noise that rockets out of your throat a mix between a scream and a moan.

“F-fuck.” You croak. “One.” He doesn’t hesitate and rains the next one down on your opposite cheek. Again, it robs you of oxygen. “Two.”

“Good girl.” The praise is very small flame at the bottom of the darkest well. It barely lights the path ahead, desperately trying to catch, to grow, but it’s too easily snuffed out. His palm rubs the base of your spine to the tops of your thighs.

Crack.

The sting sizzles outward from impact, and you gasp. “Three-“ Another, same cheek. “Four!” The whistle of the swing alerts you a second before the next, and when you shout “Five!” it sounds off kilter.

“What’s yer name?”

“Seph-Persephone.” Raw warmth simmers beneath your dress and underwear, and the fire at the bottom of the well starts to rage, growing larger, eating what it’s been given, hungry, seeking, trying to build momentum. He asks you the date, satisfied at the lack of delay, and swings so high, you can see the shine of his palm from the corner of his eye. Your toes curl.

Whack. Two, too quickly.

“Six!” A choked cry. “Seven.” Your face is wet, saltwater tracing the plush swell towards your mouth and chin. You sniffle.

“I know, I know. Ye poor thing.” He bunches the fabric of your dress, scratching it across your scorched cheeks. “Ye’re doin’ so well, almost there.” The words barely register, only the sentiment cuts through the haze. Your thighs are pressed so tightly together, slick dripping from your cunt, the aching throb of your clit rubbing against your panties. You’re desperate… to be touched, to be hurt, to be whole. You need it. Crave it more than anything else.

He delivers two more strong, healthy, swift blows. Eight. Nine. They enflame you completely, fire burning in the pit of your soul, encasing you in a coffin where no one can hear you, or see you. Safe and tucked away, floating into a dark cocoon of eternal night.

At the tenth, the room changes. The air grows colder, nearly frigid, shadows clinging to the walls, and you barely register being moved, held like a child, tucked into a chest. There’s talking, somewhere, in your mind or maybe behind you, two pitches at war, a dance of wills.

“Beautifully done, darling.” Somewhere far, far away, in the last sliver of your sane mind, you realize it’s a different voice, a voice echoed in gemstones, ruby and emerald and pearl, before that too, slips into space, and you drift deeper inside the luxurious praise. A warm bath. A sunlit meadow with thousands of Narcissus dotting the hill, soaking up every ray. A golden fawn, taking her first steps to freedom.

John’s face looms into your line of sight, maskless, no Cloak.

“We need a yes.” He murmurs, cupping your cheek. “Persephone.”

“Hmmm?”

“Need ye to say yes, so we can take ye home, take care of ye.” The words don’t match. They don’t click, they catch, they bump against each other, trying to lock into place, failing over and over.

“Supposed to go… home with my friends but-“ Your tongue is heavy, weighted beneath a giant sequoia, and you shiver. The chest that your head bobbles on catches, an arm securing you in place. It’s warm, and firm, heavier than a tree. Who…

“Little goddess.” He prompts, and you sigh, already wistfully unaware.

“’kay, yeah. Yes.”

You’re already slipping away when the world goes dark.

Your eyes open to a strange place.

You don’t recognize any of it, from the massive four poster bed with lithe, gauzy curtains drawn closed on three sides, to a fireplace the size of a giant, roaring, sizzling flame burning endlessly in its hearth. You don’t recognize the room, the black marble floors, polished to a brilliant gleam, one that you can nearly see your reflection in, or the vanity, dark oak housing a hand carved mirror. You’ve never seen the ornate stained glass window before, stretching from floor to ceiling, the size of ten men. You don’t know the bed, sized for a king, emerald silk sheets and a matching duvet, with a million pillows that were just cradling your head. The robe you’re wearing matches, the green only a shade lighter, and you tuck it tight across your body, realizing you’re fully nude.

The fire pops. It pushes a gasp from you, caught off guard, and at the sound, another being in the room stirs from the plush rug just beneath the bed.

A three headed dog.

It, they, stare at you, tongues wagging, eyes wide. Jet black fur, darker than midnight, white teeth so sharp they could rip your throat free in an instant.

You’ve seen this dog before… in pictures. Schoolbooks. You know their name.

Cerberus.

Panic races through your veins, ratcheting your heart rate higher and higher, your body and mind separating, all synapses dizzy with fear.

Oh gods. Where… where are you? What happened? You were just… you were just having some fun, at Aselegia, with John… weren’t you? Where…

Are you dead?

You reach for your power, digging deep, trying to drag as much as you could to the surface-

Nothing.

You bleat, a scared lamb, in panic. It’s a cry. A scream. An awful sound. You need your rage now, but all you find is fear. You cannot reach your power. There is a blackened lock around it, a casing that holds it away from you, out of reach.

Cerberus whines. They hold their position, tail swishing back and forth, and you scramble towards the middle of the bed. Your ass protests, skin warm and tender against silk. Your knees tuck to your chest, and you force your eyes closed, trying to take long, measured breaths without success.

You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re-

The door clicks. John appears, two palms out, hesitant, and cautious. Your voice shakes, no matter how hard you try to reinforce it with iron will. “G-get away from me.”

“Ye’re alright, Persephone. We’d never hurt ye.” We?

“We need a yes.”

“Need ye to say yes, so we can take ye home, take care of ye.”

Something flickers behind him. A figure, a shape of shadow, shifting.

Dark. Dangerous. A wolf, circling a kill.

The male from the dance floor. He wears no mask now, but the feel of him, the threat of his power, is unmistakable… and familiar. You sputter on it, choking on him and John, the threat of their power combined looming, suffocating. “Oh gods.” You clutch the robe tighter. “Wh-where am I?”

“You know where you are, darling.” The other one says, and you moan.

“N-no. I… I can’t be. I can’t dead. I can’t be here… I-“

“You’re not dead, Persephone.” He cautions. “You’re very much alive.” And shaking, alive and trembling so vigorously you can hear your teeth chattering, chest heaving up and down, desperately trying to suck air inward. Cerberus whines again, and he rubs a thumb behind one of their ears. “Easy, Cerberus. She’s alright.”

“I ca-can’t be here. I have to… I have to go home.” The room seems wet, dollops of tears falling from your lashes, sticking to your skin and the sheets. Reality slams forward, rushing right up against your nonsensical mind.

It takes one gentle pulse of their power, to realize the truth.

Hades. They’re… Hades. They’re Hades and you’re… you’re in the Underworld.

Beg. Beg them for mercy. Whatever it is you’ve done, you must try.

“I’m s-sorry. I don’t know… I don’t know what I did but I swear, I’m sorry, I-“ John tries to reach, seeking your hand, but you curl up into a tighter ball.

“Shhh. Ye hae nae done anythin’ wrong, sweet Persephone. Ye’re alright. Ye’re safe.” Safe? Safe in the Underworld? With them?

Oh gods. You let Hades spank you.

“You… you tricked me.” You whisper, raw betrayal and pain weeping profoundly in your heart. You trusted him and…

You are a fool.

“We did what was necessary.” The wolf-like one says solemnly, gaze heavy.

“Necessary?” You squeak. “What’s… necessary about this?”

“We will explain everything, after we’ve eaten. Or maybe had some more rest? It’s the middle of the night, for you.” What?

“No… I can’t… I can’t stay here. I have to-“

“Go home? So, you can hide away in your temple, kept company only by your plants and the occasional friend you let inside?” You blink, stunned, mouth dropping open.

“How do you... have you been watching me?” The stained-glass window on the far side of the room shifts, drawing your attention, morphing slowly from a tawny blur to a… screech owl.

“Oh, my gods. Oh…” The room shudders. “You can’t keep me here, I have to go…” Wolves circle, flanking where you sit, precarious and hopeless, a hand in front of your body like it will save you. “Please.”

“It’s alright, darling.” The dark one moves, blurred in shadow, magic blanketing you in a warm, comforting hold, heating your bones, encouraging your eyes to slowly shut.

The last thing you see is the ceiling, your body cradled in the embrace of a stranger.

Morning comes slow.

At first, you don’t open your eyes, even though you’ve been long awake.

If you open them, your fear will be real. It will be valid.

So, you keep them closed. Keep them shut long enough you drift in and out of twilight, until someone clears their throat.

Fuck.

“Are you going to open your eyes?” His voice is ruby and velvet. You shudder.

“Hades.”

“Technically. One half of a whole, but my loved ones call me Simon.” Your brow flexes at that, and there’s a soft chuckle in response. “Will you wake? It’s well past morning now.”

“Are you going to render me unconscious again?” you hiss, cracking an eyelid. He’s sitting in a posh armchair, oiled black leather beneath his black suit, eyes steady on yours. His face is a map of scars, but instead of seeming rough, or out of place, they naturally suit him, complementing his broad jaw, severe expression, perfectly sculpted bone structure. His nose is crooked, like it had been smashed and rearranged once or twice, but still sits as if it was meant to be, and you wonder how anyone could do anything of the like to Hades.

He's handsome, in a way you expect to die from.

“Only if you cannot behave.”

“Perhaps I could show you how I behave.” You smile with a full set of teeth, words ending in a snarl, and he huffs another gentle laugh.

“I have seen the victims of your wrath, Persephone. I have no doubt you’d strike me down if you could.” You swallow the nausea in your stomach. Your magic.

“I want my magic back.” You blurt the demand, not even pausing to consider a more tactful way.

“We did not take it, only… bound it, for the time being. It’s still within you, we would never separate you from your power.” He sighs, a golden pearl rocking in his palm, glinting in the fireplace’s gleam. “Contrary to popular belief, we are not a monster.”

“Then let me go home, if you’re not as they say you are.” His eyes harden, face twisting sour, and then… sad.

“I’ll give you some privacy. There are clothes in the closet. Johnny and I expect you for breakfast, and then a tour… if you’re good. Cerberus will show you the way when you’re ready.”

If you’re good.

Cerberus leads you through a maze of decadent marble and arches.

You follow behind them hesitantly, cautious, and they mind you, slowing when you’ve lagged too far behind.

You can’t help it. You’re mystified.

You expected the Underworld to be dark, and dingy. And while maybe it is on the dark side, with glossy, polished marble, giant onyx columns that blot of the sky, and black stone everywhere… when you peek out the windows, you’re gob smacked.

Beneath wherever you are, which you’re beginning to suspect is Hades’ palace, is lush greenery. A verdant, fertile field lays to the south and the east, wrapping around to the edge of a forest, where you can just barely make out a large variety of deciduous trees. To the North, a river winds, separating the palace from a large meadow and… a town? You shake your head, as if to clear your addled mind and cloudy vision. Is that truly… a town?

“Asphodel Meadows.” Someone says from behind you, nearly jumping you from your skin.

“Fuck.” You gasp, hand clutching your chest. It’s a man, not John, or Simon, but a stranger, clad in all black.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s… okay. I- what did you say?”

“The town. It’s Asphodel Meadows. A place for mortal’s souls.” He bows. “I’m Thanatos.”

“I’m… Persephone.” He smiles, just slightly.

“I know who you are, my lady.” My lady?

“What do you…” words nearly fail as you grapple. “What do you do here?”

“I am a child of Nyx. The god of Death.”

“I thought Hades…”

“They are the Kings of the Underworld. I am the personification, the embodiment of Death.” Oh.

“You reap.” You whisper. His jaw tightens, and then smooths.

“Your escort is impatient. I think he’s probably ready for his bacon.” He eyes Cerberus, who whines, tapdancing on slick marble.

“Bacon?”

“Yes. He’s very spoiled. Eats better than the Kings themselves.” He motions down the hall. “It’s just that way. Lovely to meet you, my lady.” He gives you another bow, and then turns down a corridor, one that had not been there before, leaving you and Cerberus alone in the empty hall.

“I- you too.”

The Kings, as Thanatos called them, are both seated when you push the incredibly heavy door open. At the sound, John rises, Simon behind him, and the three of you stare at one another for a minute, until Cerberus barks.

“Please, sit.” John motions to the only other place set, a third chair between them. You swallow.

“Uh…”

“We don’t bite.”

“Not unless ye want us to.” John smiles, sinfully handsome in the morning light. It streams into the surprisingly cozy dining room through a group of five windows, all facing east, capturing the light of… a sun?

“Is that a sun?”

“It’s a sun of sorts.” Simon offers. “We have a sky, weather. A sun, a moon. Clouds. Everything that exists in Olympus.”

“Are ye hungry?” You hesitantly lower yourself into the chair, surprised at the array of food displayed. “We ah, weren’t sure what ye liked so, got a bit of everything.” Meats, yogurts, sweets, cereal, fruit, anything you could want laid out in front of you, but it’s something so near to your heart that catches your eye. Portokalopita.

“They are Hebe’s.” Simon murmurs.

This is a trick. They kidnapped you. They’re holding you hostage. You have to convince them to let you go. The warning resounds, and your stomach thrashes.

“I want to go home.” You push the plate of orange cakes away, disappointment flickering across John’s face, exasperation on Simon’s. “Please. I… I appreciate your hospitality and you… you bringing me home for… aftercare,” you grit the word, shame rocketing up your spine. This is what happens when you trust. You let Hades spank you, for fucks sake. And then they abducted you. “but I need to go home. The plants, they need me. My friends-“

“Your friends are used to going days on end without contact from you.” Simon cuts you off, and the blood drains from your face. “Are they not?”

“N-no. They’ll know I’m missing, they will.” Lie. He knows. You know they both know, just by the way the regard you. Half pity. Half amusement. It makes your blood boil. “Fuck you.” You hiss, shooting up in the chair.

“Seph-“ John tries to soothe you, calm you, using your nickname like he knows you, and it only makes you more irate.

“Don’t call me that.” You whirl on him. “I trusted you! I don’t even know you and I let you-“

“That is the nature of Aselegia, is it not?” He counters, cutting you off. You gape like a fish. “The anonymity. Dinnae turn it on me now.” His tone melts from ice to warmth, sympathy bleeding from his irises. “I assure ye, we are more than trustworthy. We would never, ever hurt ye. We would never let anythin’ happen to ye. Ye’ll see.”

“Then let me go home.” He shakes his head sadly but says nothing, and rage snaps in your heart like the drawback of a rubber band, stinging and sharp. “What do you want from me?” John opens his mouth, and then abruptly closing it, deferring to Simon.

“You are our guest. We’d like to get to know you. I promise, just as before, you will not be harmed in our care. We will never hurt you."

"How do I know that?" You’re incredulous. “You expect me to take you at your word?”

“Let us strike a deal then.” He declares, and John nods supportively.

Don’t, your good sense screams. Don’t be an idiot.

“What kind of deal?”

“You will stay here for two days, forty-eight hours exactly. We will show you this realm and get to know one another in that time, and at the end, we will reveal the doorway that leads back to Olympus.” You raise an eyebrow.

“Two days? And then I can go home?”

“Two days.” John echoes. Sapphire eyes gleam, and you carefully, quickly, try to pick apart every word in the proposal.

“My magic.” You demand, and they both answer immediately with a resounding,

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Your power is wild, Persephone.” Simon tells you, not unkindly. “We do not know how the Underworld will react to it, and we must think of our residents, all the souls we care for here. We cannot let something upset the balance that is so delicate.” Your mouth goes a little dry. You were expecting more of an answer about control, domineering you, your magic, keeping you contained. Not… care for souls.

“Yer mother raised ye to be her weapon.” John says softly, kneeling before the chair where you sit. His hand rests on the cushion, and you wonder if he means to touch you. “We dinnae regard ye as such, but until we understand ye better, we need to protect-“

“I understand.” You cut him off. You don’t need some forced sympathy, pity, thrust upon you by Hades, of all gods. They exchange a long glance, one that gives you a small peek into their lives, layers on layers of words and sentiment, communicated with a single glance.

Simon reaches for John, pulling him to his feet and into his body, chest to back.

“Do you agree?” Two days. Two days and you can leave. You can do two days of anything. You certainly cannot fight them, or your way out. What choice do you have?

“Sure.”

“We need a yes, darling.” Darling. The pet name makes your toes curl. You take a big breath.

“Yes.”

The valley outside of Asphodel Meadows is one of the most stunning places you’ve ever been. It’s lush and lively, covered in Narcissus and Asphodelus, like a meadow one could only dream of. You're not sure why it feels so familiar, like the cusp of another life, or a nightmare, but it takes root inside you. You lay in the field of flowers, letting them cover your body, wishing so desperately to touch your magic, so you could truly feel them, the grass and the dirt and the stems here, all things that seem like they’re so full of life, so opposite your expectations of the Underworld.

“Shall we continue?” Cerberus perks up at the sound of their master’s voice, head popping over the flowers to spot both Kings standing on the path, a good distance away. They peek at you, heads tilted, and you sigh. It seems you’ve been assigned a minder, in the form of a three headed dog.

You join them on the road before long, walking silently, sullenly, John sneaking glances at you nearly every chance he gets, and you can pinpoint the heat of his gaze every time, the throbbing intensity of his focused power nearly bowling you over.

“So, there are two of you?” What are you supposed to talk to the Kings of the Underworld about, anyway?

“Aye. It’s a little-known secret. One realm, two gods to rule.” You frown, perplexed.

“But… you haven’t always been that way?”

“No.” Simon answers. “We were once Golden brothers in battle, long before your time, before becoming this. When we fell in love, our souls split. They merged with our magic, tied us together eternally. Now, we rule as one.”

“So, you’re married.” You deduce.

“In the most permanent way you can think of.” They stop short of a bridge, one that crests high over a roaring river, and Simon gestures broadly. “Persephone, this is the Acheron.”

The Underworld is a place of rivers, you learn. Waterways that hold power, that possess the ability to cleanse you, free you, burn you, punish you. There is a river of fire, a river of weeping, a river to forget.

The Acheron is the river of woe.

Fitting, you think, standing on the bridge. Below, bright turquoise water rushes by, crashing into rock and boulder, each sound more akin to a scream than the thunder of a tributary. Mouths, long and full of despair, wail beneath the current, wraith like creatures with bone white skin and eyes skimming along the top.

You get lost in them. Lost in the irreversible cycle of woe, desolation creeping up inside your own self as you peer down into the depths. Are you not like them? Despondent. Bleak. Isolated. Is that not what you’ve made with your life, what was chosen for you? Hidden away, sharpened like an axe never to be used. Are you not alone, like them? Trapped, like them?

You don’t even realize you’re leaning forward until pressure rests at your back. “Easy. Dinnae want ye fallin’ in.” John murmurs, stepping away the edge, bringing you with him. Your limbs feel shaky, and you wonder if it’s because you just almost went over… or because you didn’t eat earlier.

“Sorry. I uh-“ you don’t know how to explain it, that feeling. The agony that bubbles up in the back of your throat.

“We know.” Simon regards you with empathy, understanding, and you shake the attention loose, pushing ahead of them, down the bridge and into town, into Asphodel Meadows itself, eager to leave the river and its woe behind.

In town, the Kings are well received. It surprises you, to watch them in the street, welcomed by the souls who live there. They take you on a tour, introducing you to residents, explaining the structure, the magic and the infrastructure that makes it all work. Souls take their preferred form in Asphodel Meadows, allowed to choose for themselves, whatever they feel most comfortable in, and you’re shocked that such benevolence would be bestowed upon anyone in the Underworld.

Why are they showing you this? Why go to such great lengths? What is the purpose?

“Hi.” A small voice breaks you from your confusion, and you find a small girl at your feet, bouquet of Narcissus clutched in her tiny hands. You crouch.

“Hello.”

“I’m Phoebe.” She giggles, cheeks round and rosy.

“I’m Persephone.” You incline your head. “Phoebe is a beautiful name.” Your heart pangs. She’s so small, so… fragile. How did she die? Where is her family? Is she here alone?

“Thank you, my lady.” She tries to bow, and you rush to stop her, stilling her with a hand.

“Are those for me?”

“They are. Johnny said they’re your favorites.” Johnny? You glance over to where they stand, both turned your way, something unreadable in their reflections.

“Well, thank you. They’re lovely.” She wishes you well, skipping off in another direction, and you meander across the street, unable to hide your quizzical expression.

“Johnny? Not Hades?”

“Ach. The kids they’re… they’re usually a wee bit scared, first thing. It’s better for them, if we’re friends.” He shrugs, but Simon watches him in reverence, pure love and light beaming from his gaze, adoration in every slow blink.

Your heart skips.

Fuck.

“Are you not hungry?” Simon muses, walking beside you and John in the castle. Your shoes tap along the way, echoing, and Cerberus barks. John glares at them.

“I… I am afraid to eat here.” They both stop short.

“Why?”

“I have always heard… a myth. That if you somehow find yourself here and you eat, you’ll become trapped, stuck here forever.” Simon chuckles, dry and warm.

“No, darling. Please, we do not wish for you to starve.”

“The legend isnae true. Only by eating whole pomegranate seeds that ye pluck from the flesh of the fruit yerself, can ye become bound to the land. And we dinnae serve those.” He winks, stepping a little closer. “Ye can eat, little goddess. Please. Join us for dinner, we insist.”

“Okay.”

Simon is not at dinner.

John makes no mention of it, and only when you’re halfway done does he offer an explanation, something important that needed to be tended to.

“Ye look stunning.” He hums, and you have half the decency to smile. You chose a dress from the never-ending closet, black to match their suits, for fun. Its back is open, and the front offers a generous view of your breasts, but not quite enough.

You felt like sin. Johnny has been staring like you are. And maybe, you didn’t want sex, but you did want to punish them for their treachery. If only a little bit.

For making you a fool.

“So, no Simon?” He swallows a mouthful of red wine.

“He apologizes. Somethin’ came up.”

“That’s alright.” You shift, legs crossing. The transition is unintentional, but it draws Johnny’s eyes to your knees, and up. You lift your glass, the largest goblet of red wine you’ve seen, and allow a small river of red to run from the corner of your mouth to your neck. It traces the valley between your breasts, and Johnny growls.

“Persephone.”

“What?” You ask, innocently.

“Ye’re playing with fire.” He grits, the gleam in his eyes one of a predator.

“I’m not playing with anything,” you hiss, slamming the glass down. It shatters, it sloshes, it spills onto the table and into your lap. “You’re the ones playing with me. Kidnapping me, holding me hostage.” Your anger builds, overflowing inside your soul, clawing at the locked box of your magic. Cerberus whines, galloping across the floor and out the main door, but you hardly notice, too focused on spitting as much fire and venom at your captor as you can. “Touring me around the Underworld, making yourselves look like some benevolent, beloved rulers when really all you are… are gods of death and decay.” John stares at you, wild eyed. Your chair clatters to the ground as you stand, fury rocketing through every vein in your body, ichor pulsing beneath your skin. You’re so, so close to your power; you can taste it. Can feel the way it screams, how it howls to you, churning in the depths of your being, rattling the cage it’s trapped inside.

Trapped. You’re trapped. Like always.

Your vision blurs, and you take a step towards John. It all happens so fast, so lightning quick that it doesn’t even register until your hand is swinging through the air and across his face.

He does nothing. You feel the rumble of his power, pushing and pulling at the seams of your very being, waiting to tear your apart, but he holds himself at bay.

Only watches you with cold, wrathful eyes.

The air chills.

“That’s enough.” Simon stands between your bodies. Power, so potent, so strong, wraps tight, shoving your wrists together, Golden cuffs immobilizing you, holding you still. “You want to be a disobedient little brat, is that it?”

“YOU STOLE ME!” You scream it, raw and agonized. It tries to burst through your skin. Tries to explode your vessels. Your very heart. Your chest heaves, eyes wide, and John flanks you, coming closer and closer until you can feel his heat against your side.

He’s hard.

“What did ye think ye were doin, sweet Persephone? Did ye really think you could strike me?”

You don’t have an answer. Words die on your tongue. Guilt burns. Did you want to hurt him?

Did you?

The cuffs yank you forward. They singe your skin, dragging you to the table. “What’re you doing?” They drag you across the food until you're climbing on top, until your whole body is prone, feet dangling above the floor, bent at the waist.

“Is this what you wanted?” Simon mocks. Hands grip your hips, and your traitorous body clenches. “This what you need, little goddess? Need to be punished?” Your dress is shoved up around your waist, exposing your skin to the frigid air, and you force away a small moan. “You need your pain, darling?” Yes. Fingers pinch the back of your neck. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” You snap, darting daggers with your eyes over your shoulder. His answer is a chuckle.

“Turn your head.” He hisses, hand on the back of your skull. When you do, you come face to face with Johnny’s hips, the length of his cock freed from his suit pants and bobbing right in front of your mouth.

Oh, gods.

He strokes it slowly, the pink- nearly red tip oozing pre-cum, long and thick in his fist, his size enough to make your thighs press together, cunt throbbing with delight. Traitor.

“Open, darling.” He smears it against your lips. You tuck them in tight, trying to keep them closed, and he looks over, to the god who stands at the curve of your ass.

Simon takes a handful each of your cheeks, spreading you wide. He kicks your feet too, knocking your legs into an A-frame, fully exposing your weeping cunt.

“She’s dripping.” He announces, a finger sliding through your folds, body jolting with his touch. He circles your clit, barely, not enough, and you whine indignantly. It’s enough to loosen your lips, enough for Johnny to grasp your jaw, shove the tip of his thumb between your teeth, and then pry you open.

Once he gets the tip of his cock against your tongue, it’s over. Salt and earth dab along your tastebuds, and you drool on the table, trying to breathe through his rhythm, trying to focus as Simon tucks a finger into your hole, slowly pumping in and out, occasionally pulling free to swirl it around your untouched rim.

One finger inside you is enough to burn, heat rising through your belly, walls clenching tight, and John groans, pressing into the back of your throat, cutting off your airway.

“So good, all day.” Simon grits, stroking your clit in tiny circles. “Sweet Persephone, and now,” he’s building you closer, so close to the precipice, to the top of the mountain where you’ll hope he’ll throw you off.

But it’s not enough.

“I know darling, don’t worry. I’ll give you your pain.” He croons. John thrusts hard, drives into you vigorously, head thrown back. There’s a sheen of sweat on his neck, and you watch a slow rivulet dip beneath his collar. He’s so… they’re so…

A hand cracks across the tender skin of your ass, rippling out like a shockwave. You choke.

You clench. The tide rises.

“Fuck. There you go.” Light dances in front of your eyes, small pinpricks of stars, and you gurgle on the dick that shoves down your throat. Another strike, the same side, and you cry out, gasping for air. The tip of his finger gently pushes against your rim, and then it’s replaced with a mouth, a hot, intrepid tongue, swirling around as your hips buck and he plays with your clit.

You’re going to die. You’re going to explode. You need more.

You try to tell him, try to choke it out around John’s shaft, but it’s like he knows, like he’s reading your mind, and he pulls away to dig his teeth into the plump swell of your ass, biting down so hard you think you’re bleeding.

No. You are.

You scream.

Rivers of ichor paint your skin. The next spank comes directly over the puncture wounds, and instead of screaming in pain, you moan in pleasure, head held in Johnny’s hands, your face a tool for him to fuck, your pussy squeezing down around the single finger stroking in and out of your body. He swings again, and again, fire lighting behind your eyes, explosions going off one by one, your orgasm cresting, rising in the swell of an enormous wave, and just as you’re about to come, Simon plunges a finger deep into your ass, shoving you off the mountain.

To where they catch you below.

The rest is a blur. John finishes down your throat, salt and sweat and tears all mixing in your mouth, and he moans your name as he gives you a belly full of seed.

You’re limp, floating, drifting higher and farther than you ever have before, not in your body, not even in your own mind. Hardly cognizant when you’re picked up, tucked away in the shelter of a chest and carried down the hall. You close your eyes.

You come back a little bit when you’re placed in shallow hot water, a steaming, rocky pool, your face settled in Johnny’s neck. Cloth and deft fingers rub your shoulders, your waist, anywhere you might feel sore, even the bottoms of your feet.

All the while, they talk.

It starts simply, sweet words that fills you up until you can’t take anymore. “Did so well, darling. So good for us.” John murmurs in hushed tones as Simon shifts you, turning you on your belly to run the cloth between your legs and over your ass. It stings, and you hiss, but you’re soothed with an apology, gentle kisses down your spine, each one pressed with praise.

It’s not long before you’re tucked into bed, turned over on your side, some sort of magic and salve being applied to the bite in your skin. You’re gone now, barely aware, barely awake, but with it enough to catch the little bits here and there.

“-talk about it tomorrow.”

“If they’re from Demeter, I’ll-“ No. Not this. Anything but this. Distress catches in your chest, and fingers stroke your cheek.

“Shhh, sweet one. Rest now.” There’s a little touch of magic, a barely there pulse of power, and you let it take you into the soft comfort of sleep, bedded down like a fawn, cradled between two Kings.

*Hymn 2 to Demeter, line 347

#peaches writes #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley #ghost x soap #soap x reader x ghost #AIV #ghost x reader #hades and persephone #AIV(OFK)#modern retelling

855 notes · View notes

my-castles-crumbling · 30 days

Text

spring - @jegulus-microfic - word count: 301

Regulus hated the heat. He hated the outdoors and the sun and anything that wasn't sitting in his dorm in a cozy overstuffed chair, reading a good book.

So when the weather started to become more mild and his friends started to request that they go outside, he was in a foul mood more often than usual.

Why did they have to sit in the annoyingly warm air? Why not in the cool castle, sheltered from the sun?

But he tagged along anyways, scowling all the while, curling at the base of a tree with his book, rolling his eyes when Barty made fun of him. Soon, he'd settled into his book well enough, though he wasn;t happy about it.

"Damn, Potter's looking fit."

Barty's comment made Regulus look up curiously. And, only thirty yards away, there he was: James Potter, loping over the ground with his friends, laughing and throwing a disk back and forth between himself and Sirius.

Of course, the disk was not what drew Regulus's attention.

In the heat, Potter had shed his cloak and his button-down shirt, leaving only his thin white undershirt, the tank top revealing his muscular arms as he caught and threw the piece of plastic.

Horribly, tantalizingly, the shirt slipped upward as Potter threw, revealing a thin sliver of tan skin, a dusting of hair on Potter's lower stomach drawing Regulus's eyes in a direction he had not meant for them to go.

And the think sheen of sweat over Potter's muscles made him almost shine in the sun, his smile and shouts of laughter making Regulus's stomach flip-flop even more than it already had been.

"He's...not bad," Regulus muttered, looking back down at his book, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

Really, he realized, Spring wasn't all that bad.

505 notes · View notes

love-and-pastries · 3 months

Text

I have this friend that I haven't seen in a year. Last time I saw them, they were skinnier than me and barely ate when stopping by. They didn't ask for snacks or anything to eat unless I was already planning on eating something. That's all fine and good, but I saw them again after about a year...

They had clearly put on at least 100 pounds, potentially 150, and I know it sounds like I'm exaggerating, but I assure you that I'm not. When the couch barely made a sound before, it creaked and groaned against their weight. When they had no issues getting around, going up the stairs left them out of breath. When the floorboards were silent with their footsteps, they now stepped heavily around the house with the boards creaking loudly underneath them. Even their clothes, which had to be new, were struggling against their overstuffed belly.

The first thing they did was ask me for something to eat, so I gladly made them ramen. They requested two packets and a soft-boiled egg, and I gladly provided. After their meal, they asked for snacks, so I willingly gave them whatever they wanted - all that I had. They finished an entire box of cheezits and a half of a second box. They also finished half a box of cookies. They wanted hot chocolate to go with this, so again, I provided, making sure to add extra whip cream and small marshmallows. As much as I tried not to, I found myself sneaking a glance at their shirt that was now riding up on them slightly as their belly hung over their pants.

They told me they were still hungry and somewhat reluctantly asked if I had anything left to eat. I happily agreed and made a full pizza, not expecting to eat a single bite of it myself. I brought the pizza over to the kitchen table, and they took a seat, the wooden chair creaking loudly as they did so. After I added some extra cheese on top, they took a slice and quickly devoured it. Then they took another, and another. I kept them talking as they ate, somewhat of a distraction, and before they realized it, they had eaten the entire pizza. I could tell their pants were barely clinging to them, and it was clear their shirt was riding up much more than it had been before. They looked stuffed, and I could see a look in their eyes that said, "If I eat any more, I'll pop."

Their stomach, however, disagreed with their comfort and growled. Clearly embarrassed, they tried to play it off, but I knew better. I grabbed them a dessert - a tub of strawberry ice cream, a small slice of chocolate cake, ice, extra sugar, a bit of cinnamon, and a half pint of heavy cream. I pulled out my blender and made a delicious and thick milkshake. How many calories it was, I can't exactly say, but I had to be a good host to my starving friend, no? I couldn't let them go hungry.

I handed them a glass of the drink, and, hesitantly at first, they started politely drinking, but as they continued, their polite sips turned into desperate gulps, as if they hadn't drank anything in ages. They chugged the drink down - one glass became two, and two became three, and so on until the drink had been finished entirely. Their breathing was a bit more labored as they sat, seemingly pinned to their chair by their weight, and with one final gulp of their glass, the button on their pants flew off, and their belly spilled out of the far-too-tight jeans. They were extremely embarrassed, but of course, I reassured them, letting them know that it just meant there was more room to eat their fill.

As their belly hung out, filled to the brim with food, it growled, begging for more. My friend's expression said that they could barely handle more, but their stomach clearly had other ideas. With a polite smile, I asked, "Are you still hungry?"

#wg #wg story #wg writing #wg text #wg scenario #feeding kink #queer feedism

422 notes · View notes

slytherinslut0 · 6 months

Text

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twelve-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Jealousy, Possessive Behaviours, Manipulation, Sexual Aggression, Angst, Emotional Manipulation, (slight) Knife!Play, Teasing, Alcoholism, DubCon, CNC, TomRiddle.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

Under the veil of night, Saturday descended, and despite the persistent sickness that weighed you down, you refused to succumb to the confines of your bed for even a second longer. The piercing ache in your head and the relentless runny nose served as mere whispers against your willpower. Ignoring the protests of your body, you ventured out, guided by a flickering determination.

The castle, shrouded in darkness, seemed to echo with your footsteps as you moved. A hushed, mysterious atmosphere enveloped you as you made your way through the dimly lit corridors. Your steps were purposeful, leading you to the heart of intellectual refuge: the library.

As you entered, the soft glow of the lamplights revealed a haven of knowledge, where ancient tomes and modern texts stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting to divulge their wisdom. The familiar scent of aged parchment and ink filled the air, soothing your senses.

Amidst the quietude, you found a secluded alcove, a sanctuary within a sanctuary. The soft light bathed you as you settled into the embrace of an overstuffed armchair, its fabric worn by countless readers before you. The weight of the books in your hands felt both grounding and exhilarating, as if the knowledge contained within could lift you from the heaviness of your illness.

The hours slipped away, the silence broken only by the occasional shuffle of pages and the distant ticking of an ancient clock. Lost in the world of words, you found solace, momentarily escaping not only the physical discomfort but also the emotional turmoil that had plagued you since your clandestine encounters with Mattheo.

Gods, why the fuck were you always thinking about him? Regardless of what you did, that man was in your head--there was no escaping his ghost. Every thought of him wrapped around your mind like a suffocating vine, an inescapable plague that refused to release its hold. His touch, a lingering memory etched into your skin, haunted your senses--the way his hands roamed your body, the warmth of his breath against your neck.

His eyes, a deep, intoxicating brown, transformed in the sunlight, creating ripples of amber like liquid chocolate. The memory of his lips, plush and knowing, ignited a storm of conflicting emotions within you, a potent blend of desire and resentment. Your stomach churned with a strange concoction of yearning and frustration, especially when you recalled the sensation of his messy, curly hair brushing against the sensitive skin between your thighs.

Damn him, you thought--the intensity of your emotions amplifying with each passing moment. You loathed him with a passion that had become entangled with an inexplicable longing. The line between hatred and desire blurred, leaving you entwined in a web of conflicting emotions, unable to escape his ghostly presence in your thoughts. You knew you hated him, you just couldn't really remember the reason why anymore.

Deciding to finally call it a night, you pushed up from the chair, moving back into the shadows of the library as you meticulously returned the book back to its designated shelf, the profound words of the author echoing in your mind. Just as you were about to spin around, a sudden shift in the library's atmosphere sent a shiver down your spine, and an all-too-familiar presence seemed to materialize behind you.

The scent of whiskey filled the air, its subtle aroma enveloping your surroundings, and before you could react, a pair of unsteady arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into an unexpected embrace. The touch was rough, not a huge departure from the usual Mattheo, but enough to be entirely noticeable--and his warm breath brushed against your ear as he spoke, his words slightly slurred but not entirely incoherent.

"Raven," he purred, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "What a delightful surprise to find you here at this hour...how utterly unexpected."

You inhaled sharply, his hands snaking around your waist, pulling you back against him with surprising force. Instinctively, your fingers gripped the edge of the bookshelf in front of you, the polished wood cool against your skin. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving you breathless and lightheaded, the overwhelming scent of Mattheo's cologne mingled with a hint of alcohol surrounding you.

Your voice trembled as you tried to keep it steady. "Mattheo...what the hell are you doing here..."

"Why so shocked, princess?" He breathed, his warm breath sending goosebumps cascading down your neck. His teeth grazed your earlobe, sending an electric jolt through your body. "Can't a man of my caliber simply grace this library with his presence whenever he pleases, without arousing suspicion?"

His voice dripped with a mix of confidence and mischief, his hands tightening their hold on you, making it clear that he had no intention of letting go anytime soon. A familiar knot tightened in your stomach, signaling the imminent loss of control. If you didn't gather your composure swiftly, you knew he would once again reduce you to powerlessness, just as he always did.

"Oh, pardon my ignorance..." you responded, your voice thick with sarcasm. "I just never thought I'd witness such a rare event...it's not every day we see a man of your 'caliber' roaming the library, never mind past midnight on a Saturday..."

Mattheo's deep, rumbling groan resonated in the narrow space between you, his hands abandoning your sides to pin you against the shelf. His lips, warm and demanding, brushed your ear with a possessive hunger.

"There's that mouth," he growled, his voice laced with raw need. "Fuck, I've missed that mouth...”

"Matt-" a soft, involuntary whimper escaped your throat, but your protest was abruptly stifled by an unfamiliar sensation. "What-"

Something cold, unyielding, and metal pressed against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. Panic clawed at your senses, urging you to gasp for air, but his palm closed around your throat, silencing you with a ruthless grip. Desperation flickered in your eyes as you tried to make sense of the situation, your gaze fixated on the glint of the blade he was dragging up your arm.

"Mattheo-" you managed to croak, fear and disbelief mingling in your voice. "Is that...a fucking knife?"

Mattheo's silence hung heavy in the air, his warm breath ghosting over your ear as he loomed over you, pinning you forcefully against the shelf. Your hands clung desperately to the wooden edges, the pressure turning your knuckles a pale, ghostly white. With deliberate intent, Mattheo tugged you back against his chest, only slightly, as he directed the switchblade toward your bust and pressed the sharp edge against the fabric of your shirt--the metal biting into the soft material as he cut a precise horizontal line just above your breasts.

"Fuck," the word was almost a guttural moan as it left his inebriated lips. "I've definitely missed those more..."

"Mattheo-" you stammered, your voice catching in your throat. There were a thousand questions swirling in your mind, but the words refused to escape. "What on earth...what's gotten into you? This...this is sick, even for you."

Mattheo's movements were swift, almost serpentine, as he seized your shoulders and spun you around. Before you could react, he pressed you back against the shelf, your hands instinctively finding his chest for support until he captured both your wrists with one hand and pinned them firmly above your head. Speechless and utterly bewildered, you were paralyzed, unsure of how to process the situation.

He smirked, the expression predatory, leaning in closer. With deliberate slowness, he placed the flat edge of the knife beneath your chin, tilting your head back to meet his eyes. The cold steel against your skin sent a chill down your spine, and in that moment, you felt an overwhelming sense of vulnerability, trapped in his intense gaze and the menacing glint of the blade.

"I thought you were the sick one, Raven..." he purred, his eyes darkening with a mix of amusement and intensity as he observed your reactions, his grip on your wrists tightening. "Isn't that why you bailed on me last night, hm?"

Any semblance of control you had tried to maintain had now entirely crumbled, dissipating like smoke in the wind. Pinned against the shelf, your hands held captive above your head, and a cold blade pressed against your jaw, you felt a surge of exhilarating helplessness wash over you. You knew, at this moment, your sanity was hanging by the thinnest thread, and you questioned your choices more profoundly than you ever had in your entire life.

If you allowed him do this to you, what else will you allow? Anything?

Anything...

Speechless, you nodded in compliance, unable to form any coherent words. Mattheo's huff of satisfaction sent a shiver down your spine, and his sadistic tone remained as sharp as ever.

"Yeah?" he purred, a cruel glint in his eyes. "Poor thing...let me take a look, hm? Stick out your tongue."

Before you could fully comprehend the situation, your lips parted involuntarily, and Mattheo deftly slid the cool blade between them, tugging down your jaw with a chilling precision. An electric surge coursed through your entire body, every nerve ending tingling under the intensity of his gaze. His eyes darkened, and his lips parted, both of you suspended in the charged atmosphere.

He pulled the knife away, and as if in a trance, you slowly extended your tongue, the tension between you crackling like static in the air.

Mattheo's jaw tightened, his eyes locked onto your face with a relentless focus, not a blink daring to interrupt his scrutiny. With a steady hand, he pressed the blade against your tongue, his gaze piercing, as if he were a meticulous doctor inspecting a patient, peering down your throat with unsettling precision.

"Seems fine to me, Raven..." he murmured, a flicker of something unsettling dancing in his eyes, sending a twist of unease to your stomach. "But perhaps you're right...perhaps I am sick..."

With deliberate slowness, he lifted the metal off your tongue, tracing it along your jaw before withdrawing it entirely. The blade disappeared into his back pocket, his unwavering gaze never leaving yours, leaving you with a lingering sense of dread and confusion.

"I'm sick and the only cure for my illness are those sweet fucking lips of yours..." he confessed, his free hand caressing the side of your face, the other maintaining a firm grip on your wrists. He drew closer, his eyes fixated on your mouth. "And I'm not talking about these ones..."

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart thundering so fiercely it echoed through your entire body. Your thighs ached with a desperate longing.

"Although..." Mattheo leaned in further, his thumb brushing gently over your bottom lip. "They could certainly help..."

With an excruciating slowness that felt like torture, Mattheo leaned in, his lips tantalizingly close to yours. The lingering aroma of whiskey swirled around you, intoxicating your senses and making your head spin. Despite your attempts to resist, an involuntary whimper escaped your throat, the sound echoing your helplessness in the face of Mattheo's relentless seduction.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the rhythm almost deafening in your ears, as Mattheo's lips finally met yours. His hand slithered under your jaw, his touch both possessive and electrifying. His lips moved over yours with a devouring hunger, as though he aimed to consume not just your mouth but every ounce of your being, leaving you breathless and utterly ensnared in his kiss.

When he drew back, just enough to lock eyes with you, his gaze glinted with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Your entire body thrummed with anticipation, yearning for his touch.

He blinked. "You still want to call this off, Raven?"

"We really fucking should," you whispered, your voice barely audible amidst the charged atmosphere. Your heart raced, the tumultuous conflict within you mirrored in your eyes. "But...I..."

Your words trailed off, swallowed by the intensity of his gaze, his eyes resembling swirling depths that threatened to drown your resolve. A smug smirk played on his lips, his arrogance palpable as he anticipated your next words, relishing the moment. He leaned in closer, releasing his grip on your wrists and bracing his hand against the wood next to your head. You hesitated, caught in the mesmerizing pull of his gaze, a fleeting battle of wills that seemed impossible to win.

"You...?" he prodded, his tone dripping with confidence and challenge, as though he knew he had already won.

"But...I can't," you admitted, your voice a fragile whisper, barely audible against the backdrop of your thudding heart.

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of your desires and the weight of what you knew was right.His smirk deepened, his eyes narrowing with amusement.

"Can't, or won't?" he challenged, his tone teasing and infuriatingly confident.

His hand on the wood beside your head tightened slightly, a subtle reminder of his strength, his dominance. The proximity between you crackled with tension, the air thick with the unspoken, the moment hanging in the balance like a fragile thread stretched to its limit.

"What we're doing is sick, Mattheo..." you murmured, glimpsing his lips. "I...I never thought we'd be this close...I still smell you on my clothes..."

His eyes flickered with a mix of amusement and desire, his lips curving into a devilish smile. "Sick, perhaps," he admitted, his voice a low, seductive purr. "But you know it's pointless to try and fight it..."

Your eyes involuntarily dropped to his chest, tracing the outline of his shirt straining against his powerful shoulders. A shuddering breath escaped you as you felt the undeniable pull, the magnetic force that seemed to bind you to him. With a huff, he gently lifted your chin, forcing your gaze back to meet his intense eyes. The proximity was suffocating, electric, and he leaned in slightly closer, his warm breath mingling with yours, until your lips brushed in a tantalizing whisper.

"Every time you meet my eyes...we both know that you're mine..." he murmured against your mouth, hand falling from your chin and trailing down the front of your chest, slipping through the cut in your shirt he'd made just a few minutes earlier. "I think it's about time you admitted it, princess..."

You gasped at the skin on skin contact, goosebumps raising on your skin, and Mattheo hummed, lips trailing toward your jawline and softly nipping at it.

"Am I all that you think about, Raven?" He whispered, and you could tell that his question wasn't really a question, more of a rhetorical statement. "Did it get too loud, and that's why you tried to shut me out?"

You winced in wake of his words. You wouldn’t be surprised if this man could read your mind at this point.

"You're a constant thought," you whispered, your words hanging in the charged air between you. "It’s fucking overwhelming, Mattheo...I can't keep allowing myself to be consumed by this..."

"Just let go, Raven..." he murmured, his voice a velvet caress. "I've got you..."

Your mind buzzed with irritation, his seductive tones grating against your patience. The audacity to believe he could ever truly possess you sparked a simmering anger within. He didn't have you, he couldn't, and his delusions only served to fray your nerves to the brink.

"No, you don't...you can't..." your voice trembled, a fragile protest as his breath caressed your ear, your fingers clinging to the fabric of his shirt. "Stop manipulating me with your pretty fucking words, Mattheo...you're only making everything more difficult for both of us."

Mattheo's demeanor shifted, tension hardening his features. His hand found your jaw, gripping it tightly as he pulled back, locking eyes with you.

"Do you want me to stop, Raven?" he said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "Tell me to stop right fucking now, and I'll walk away, won't bother you until Wednesday's session." He drew you closer, his jaw clenched. "Just one fucking word, princess...that's all you need to say."

Your silence hung in the charged air, a battleground where your desires and your convictions clashed. Every fiber of your being screamed for his touch, the magnetic pull between you undeniable, yet your mind raged against the chaos, yearning for simplicity and an end to the torment.

Mattheo's eyes searched yours, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. He held your gaze, his grip on your jaw tightening imperceptibly. The unspoken tension hung heavy, the weight of your unspoken words suffocating in the charged space between you. The choice, the power to end this dangerous dance, rested on the tip of your tongue, yet you found yourself unable to utter the one word that could bring it all crashing down.

"And that's what I fucking thought..." he husked, the words flowing from his lips with a dangerous poison, one that you wanted, more than anything, to get a taste of. "Don't pretend like you're some meek, innocent little girl when I see that vicious mind working behind your eyes, Raven...you've never been afraid to use that mouth before..."

"You're right," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I'm not meek, and certainly no longer innocent...I left my fucking innocence on your stupid lips..."

"And my hands...my cock..." he purred, his voice low and husky, Mattheo's lips curled into a wicked grin, his eyes ablaze with desire and triumph. "...let's not forget my tongue..."

That tongue--infuriatingly adept and unforgettable. How could such a maddeningly skilled tongue ever escape your memory? Curse him, you thought, curse him to the depths of hell.

"All I have left is my virginity, Mattheo..." you said, fingers tightening their hold on his shirt, tremors rumbling through your limbs. "If I give you that, too...I'm scared of-"

"I don't want it, Raven..." he cut you off, leaning closer, his voice holding a rare gentleness, the smallest flicker of humanity under his suffocating power and arrogance. "Don't feel like you need to give it to me."

Your pulse leapt, throat constricting. "Then what do you want?" You struggled to keep your gaze on his eyes, resisting the pull of his delicious lips. "What do you fucking want from me?"

"I want you to need me like I need you." The answer was quick, almost involuntary, as though he needed absolutely no time to think about it.

Your brows pinched, your lungs hitching, oxygen fleeing you. "Like you need-"

"Wet, breathless, and moaning my name..." he murmured, his lips tracing a path along your jawline, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His free hand mapped your curves, finding solace on your hip. "That's how I need you."

Your eyelids fluttered uncontrollably as his wet lips trailed down to your neck, assaulting the sensitive skin. His tousled curls brushed against your cheek, setting your flesh ablaze, an uncontrollable fire sparked by his touch. Gods, he was fucking infuriating, in the best way possible. This man possessed a way with words that felt unparalleled, a skill that left you defenseless against his magnetic pull.

His hand started to inch lower, tracing a path down your thigh, and a surge of panic shot through you.

"Not here, Matty..." you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper, urgency coloring your words.

"Who's around, princess?" he murmured against your skin, his lips ghosting over your neck, finding the hem of your skirt. "Just be quiet for me, pretty girl..."

Your lungs sputtered, nails digging into his skin, his hand slowly trailing upwards on your inner thigh.

"Please, Mattheo...someone could-" you whispered urgently, your words catching in your throat as desire and fear collided within you.

"Walk me back to my dorm," he said sharply, a plan forming in his eyes. "I'll pretend I'm plastered, and you can sling me over your shoulder. If anyone sees, it'll just look like you're doing me a favour..."

Your jaw fell open in incredulity, but before you could utter a protest, Mattheo took charge. He let go of your waist, pulling you off the shelf with a swift motion. His arm encircled you, feigning a drunken stumble, as he leaned heavily against you, weaving a convincing facade of inebriation.

You took a second to button up your cardigan, hiding the cut in your blouse that Mattheo had made with his blade--and without waiting even a second more of time, he urged the two of you down the isle and into the heart of the library. Fear gripped you like a vice as you made your way through the silent library, Mattheo pretending to be completely intoxicated, his weight bearing down on you with every step.

Every creak of the floorboards felt deafening in the silence, and your heart raced with the dread of being caught in this reckless charade. With each step, you prayed that you would go unnoticed, your mind wrestling with the gravity of the situation and the potential consequences of your impulsive actions.

As you tiptoed out of the library and stepped into the silent corridor, the nighttime air flowed through the stone walls, cooling the fevered heat in your cheeks. The tension in your shoulders lessened, but the fire in your core raged on, fueled by Mattheo's intense proximity. His cologne, intertwined with the scent of alcohol and cigarettes on his tongue, seemed to possess a hypnotic allure, drawing you in with an inexplicable pull.

You shot your head around, ensuring no one was within earshot, before stealing a furtive glimpse at Mattheo. Your voice emerged as a mere breath, carried away by the night breeze as it left your lips.

"How did you know I'd be there?" You questioned. "In the library."

Persisting in his flawless portrayal of the world's most inebriated wizard, Mattheo barely cracked his eyes open at your question, his response delayed as though he were lost in his own haze. For a moment, it seemed like he might not answer at all, leaving you hanging on the edge of anticipation. Then, a sly smile tugged at his lips, and your stomach twisted with a mix of curiosity and unease.

"I asked your friend," he drawled, glimpsing you with the worlds most fleeting glance. "Emily."

Your heart stopped. "No you-"

You began, but your words were abruptly cut short as the sharp click of polished shoes echoed through the corridor. Your gaze shot to the source of the sound, and there, with an unsettling glint in his eyes, stood Tom Riddle himself, adorned in his pristine prefect attire. His darkened narrowed eyes bored into you, suspicion and sadistic amusement flickering in their depths.

"Evening my dear witch…Mattheo," he purred, his voice dripping with sinister charm as he advanced, each step deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey under the moonlit night. "What might be going on here, if you don't mind me asking..."

Your heart seemed to freeze, its rhythmic beats replaced by an echoing silence that engulfed you. Time slowed to a crawl, every second stretching into an eternity, giving you ample opportunity to feel the weight of the situation sinking in. The world blurred at the edges, leaving only Tom's penetrating gaze fixed upon you, like a raptor locking onto its target.

Under the burden of Mattheo's seemingly unconscious form against your shoulder, you let out an irritated grunt, trying to maintain an appearance of nonchalance. You met Tom's eyes with a forced composure, your every movement calculated to appear casual despite the storm of emotions swirling within you.

"I found him passed out on a bench outside the library as I was leaving..." each word hung in the air, carrying the weight of a carefully constructed lie, a fragile facade concealing the complexity of the truth beneath. "He's bloody wasted, I couldn't just leave him there..."

Tom's eyes flickered with disappointment, his sharp scrutiny never wavering as he glanced over Mattheo's apparently intoxicated state. There was a subtle sigh of resignation, as if he had expected nothing less from his wayward brother.

"Very well," he said, his tone holding a hint of exasperation. "Take him back to his dormitory, I trust you can manage that. And do remind him that his actions won't go unnoticed, even in the cover of darkness..."

His gaze drilled into you, a silent warning echoing in his eyes, before he turned on his heel and disappeared into the shadows of the corridor. With a lingering sense of foreboding, you guided Mattheo toward his dorm, the weight of the night's events pressing down upon you like an invisible burden.

——————-

Chapter thirteen->

746 notes · View notes

rebelfell · 6 months

Text

The Third Date

Eddie Munson x Anorgasmic!Reader

It’s finally the night of your date with Eddie and everything is gonna be fine. Great. Fine and great. Right?

Part One. Part Two.

cw: childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, making out, fingering, sexual anxiety/panic attack, discussion of difficulty climaxing, eddie being sweet and reassuring, fluffy ending.

I was kinda in my feelings and needed Eddie to tell me all the right things. Sue me. 18+, MDNI 6k

You’ve barely finished knocking on the bright red door to Eddie’s when it swings open to reveal him grinning back at you. He ushers you inside, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet as he shows you around his place.

It’s a small apartment, but for two young guys living together it’s surprisingly tidy and well furnished. That must be Steve’s influence, you muse, noting the plushness of the sofa and an overstuffed armchair. Shelves piled with books and board games sit off to the side and next to the screen door is a plant that could do with a little water, but ultimately is surviving fine. It’s bordering on cozy in here, cast in the glow of a couple lamps and a candle flickering on the coffee table. The warm, sweet smell of some nonspecific baked goods filling the room.

“So, this is my castle,” Eddie says, bowing slightly and brandishing his arms.

“I like it,” you nod as you glance around. “It’s not quite what I expected.”

“What? You were thinking empty liquor bottles, a couple camp chairs, a half dozen posters of babes in bikinis?” He quirks his brow at you, seemingly reading your mind.

“That may be exactly what I was picturing,” you reply with a knowing smirk. “Though it is you, so maybe a dragon in a bikini instead?”

He laughs at that and bobs his head a few times in agreement as his eyes drift to the overnight bag you’re clutching. “Here, let me put that in my room for you,” he says with a sweet smile.

You hand it over and your eyes follow him as he heads down the hall. He pushes open the door at the very end and you catch a glimpse of his old Corroded Coffin banner hanging on the wall that brings a smile to your face. Below it is his bed, nicely made up with a navy duvet.

Just the sight of it makes your heart race and every thought falls right out of your head.

When he re-emerges from the room, you realize he’s been talking to you and you have to force yourself to focus on his voice rather than your deep contemplation of his sheets.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered dinner already,” he says. “There’s this Thai place that’s seriously incredible, but it takes a while to deliver, so I wanted to be sure it got here on time.”

“That sounds great,” you say, still milling about to take in the rest of Eddie’s place.

He rattles off all the dishes he ordered, each one sounding better than the last, and you pause by the fireplace. A row of knick knacks interspersed with framed photos sit on the mantle. Some are his figures from Hellfire and you delicately touch a fingertip to the top of each one until you reach a photo in a frame made from popsicle sticks.

It’s a picture of you and him—one of the few in existence. You think you must be six or seven based on his buzzed haircut and your braces. Instinctively, you run your tongue over the front of your teeth, almost expecting to feel the thick metal wires there. Eddie moves silently to stand at your side and peers over your shoulder at the picture now held in your hand.

The two of you are at Forest Hills, sitting on top of the dome climber across from he and Wayne’s trailer. You must have spent all summer on that thing, pretending it was a deserted island where you’d been marooned after refusing to marry the merchant sailor your evil father had betrothed you to. The picnic table nearby played the role of Eddie’s pirate ship where he spotted you climbing to the top of the island’s mountain to signal for help. He would oblige, rowing an imaginary smaller boat to your island and bravely scaling the mountainside to sit beside you at the top. He offered you passage on his ship as a member of his crew, assuring you it would be hard work but that your new life would be filled with riches like the freedom to sail the seas and explore worlds unknown you could not even imagine.

Wayne must have interrupted your epic play to snap this photo. Eddie is in his signature pose. He’s got his hands raised to the sides of his head, fingers pointed to resemble horns and his tongue flicked out with his eyes wide and wild. You’re not even looking at the camera, enamored gaze unable to tear away from him.

“It’s like you had a crush on me or something,” Eddie says teasingly.

“Yeah, clearly I wasn’t hiding it as well as I thought I was.”

You chuckle, but Eddie’s brow furrows and his voice loses that playful edge as he dips into pensiveness. He takes the frame from you and carefully places it back on the mantle.

“Did you really?” he asks. “Did you really like me all that time and I was too stupid to know?”

The question catches you off guard. You’d sort of just assumed he had to know that was the case, given how things had progressed between you, seemingly overnight. Well, overnight plus five years. It's the first time you’ve stopped to question what had inspired his pursuit.

“I’m not sure,” you say slowly. “At the time, I don’t think I knew the difference between how much I liked having you as my friend and how much I liked you. Eventually, I figured it out.”

You pause, summoning the strength to ask the question you’re dying to know. The one you’ve been wanting to ask practically your whole life.

“Did you ever think of me like that? I mean…before now?”

Sadness flickers in Eddie’s deep brown eyes and he takes a steadying breath. He moves into you, slipping his arms around your waist and holding you by the small of your back. You feel yourself tremble as he tucks his chin down and gently rests his forehead against your own.

“All the fucking time,” he whispers. “I liked you so much, but I…I couldn’t imagine you’d ever want me back. I guess I was too scared to find out.”

“Oh, Eddie,” you sigh mournfully. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” he mutters. “Trailer park loser. Criminal. Freak. Who would want me?”

You shake your head at his disparaging words and overwrite them with your own. “Honest. Fearless. Kind. Trustworthy. Genius.”

A bashful smile spreads across Eddie’s face and he tries to look away, but you surprise yourself with your own boldness as your hand comes up to catch his face and turn it back towards you.

“I wanted you,” you confess softly. “I always have.”

He leans in and captures your lips with his. It steals every speck of breath from your lungs and you think you could fly apart into a million pieces if it wasn’t for his hands gripping your waist. It feels like the kiss goes on forever and yet it’s not nearly long enough. You instantly miss the feeling of his mouth when he pulls away, but he keeps his face close to yours.

“Sorry I wasted so much time,” Eddie whispers. “We could have been doing this all along.”

When dinner arrives, you guffaw at the array of food before you. It seems entirely possible he just ordered one of everything on the menu. You dutifully sample a little of each dish and have to resist stuffing your face full after one mouthful of this roasted duck Eddie asserted was the best thing they made. Delicious as it is, your nerves have made your stomach too jumpy to eat much and before long you’re helping Eddie box up the absurd amount of leftovers.

Guilt pangs in your chest thinking how much he must have spent, but Eddie chatters excitedly about how it only gets better the longer the flavors have to sit and meld together.

“Are you sure?” you ask, handing him the last container.

“Absolutely,” he says as he pushes the fridge closed. “You can take some home with you, too.”

His hand finds the small of your back as you walk back into the living room. His touch is gentle and reassuring as you head to the couch, but it does little to quell your nerves.

“How about a movie?” he asks. “Steve brings home a bunch of different stuff. We’ve got some horror, some comedy…”

There’s a knot in your stomach as he bends in front of their entertainment center, rifling through the rentals piled up next to their VCR. The lingerie under your clothes rubs raw against your skin as you shift in your seat on the couch, threatening you with the stinging humiliation of wearing it all night long only to never be seen.

What if he’s changed his mind? What if he doesn’t want to anymore? What if he thinks you don’t want to? Is there some signal you should be giving him? Some move you should be making? Ears now ringing, you clear your throat and he glances back at you over his shoulder.

“Maybe later?” you say softly.

Eddie smiles and nods in agreement before returning to his spot on the couch. He sinks down next to you and lays his arm across the back of the cushions. His eyes stay fixed on your face, taking in every inch. It makes your breath catch as you study him back, his features as mesmerizing as always.

You hurl yourself at him, realizing just a second too late his head is dipping down to kiss you at the same time. His face knocks against yours and you wince as you pull back, a dull aching where his chin connected with your cheek.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you mutter frantically. “I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he laughs. “No permanent damage.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely,” he says, his head tilting to the side.

He reaches out a hand and cups it against the side of your face, his thumb stroking your jaw. You have to resist the urge to ask again if he’s sure, he’s sure. You know you ask it too often. It’s not even conscious at this point, it just comes out. Are you sure? Are you sure?

“Hey…are you okay?” he asks. “You’re shaking.”

“Yeah, I-I’m sorry,” you stammer out your response, heart still pounding in your chest. “I don’t know, I thought maybe I was supposed to like…make a move.”

Eddie’s brows raise and smiles impishly. “What kind of move?”

“Like a…a hook up move.”

Eddie chuckles, his dimples deepening in his cheeks as he scoots closer and leans in so close you can feel the warmth coming off his skin and smell the light, fresh scent of his aftershave.

“How about you let me worry about the moves?”

You inhale sharply, his words zinging straight to your core and making you squirm in your seat from the need to be closer to him. His eyes flit down to see your thighs pressing together and a knowing smile curls up the corners of his mouth. His beautiful, perfect mouth…

He helps you climb onto his lap and wraps his arms tight around your waist, squeezing you against him. He stares up at you, the tip of his nose bumping against the bridge of yours and then mashing into the softness of your cheek as his lips cover your own.

The kiss ignites everything inside of you. Years and years of built up feelings for the boy beneath you begin to smolder—a pile of kindling finally stoked into a flame.

Experimentally, you shift your hips and begin to rock back and forth in a slow, deep grind. You can feel the effect you have on him in his stilted breath and the prodding of the hardness growing in his jeans. He kisses his way along your jaw and when his lips ghost over a sensitive spot on your neck just behind your ear, you give an involuntary thrust forward.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, tightening his already firm grip on you. “Do that again…”

You oblige him happily. Enthralled by the need in his voice and spurred by his gritty tone, you grind down on him again and squeeze your thighs around his hips. A strained gasp bursts from his lips and he fumbles to grip the back of your neck and hold your mouth against his.

He’s wearing another button up tonight, dark hunter green this time that sets off the rich brown hue of his eyes. Your fingers find the hem of his shirt and begin to unbutton it from the bottom, revealing inch by inch the clingy white tank underneath. It does little to nothing to conceal the solid muscled form of his chest and it makes your heart pound imagining it bare. But sitting down, there was still that soft roundness to his belly you’d always liked. It made you want to scratch him like he was a stray mutt from the junkyard, scraggly and carefree.

When the last button is pulled open, you help him shrug off his shirt, revealing corded arm muscles that twitch and flex as he reaches out to wrap you back up in his arms.

“God, Eddie, I need you—please.”

Your voice is plaintive and desperate in a way it’s never been before. He groans into your neck and you feel your hips take on a life of their own. The seam of your jeans catches perfectly on your clit and the feeling makes you rock harder, sliding back and forth on his lap and despising every single layer of clothing separating you.

“Hang on, hang on,” he pants, breathless as he sits up and slips his hands up your back to hold you in place. A chill runs down your spine and you sit back on his thighs, body going rigid.

“What is it? D-did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” he laughs, his pale cheeks tinging pink with embarrassment. “But if you keep that up, I’m gonna come in my fucking jeans.”

Heat rises in your own face, his words filling you with a mix of excitement and shyness. And you know he has to be able to feel how it causes you to flutter. He smooths his hands firmly up and down your back, bringing one of them up to the nape of your neck and beginning to massage your hairline with his fingertips.

“How about we…slow down a little?” he asks, his voice gentle but still husky with need.

You nod wordlessly and let your eyelids drift closed, rolling your head into his strong fingers as they continue rubbing your neck. Shivers ripple down your back and your mouth falls open with relief when he finds a knot in your shoulder and presses down on it. A heavy, resonating moan releases from deep in your chest and you immediately stiffen.

Panicking at the realization the practically pornographic sound you just heard came out of you, you slap your palm over your mouth and stare wide-eyed at Eddie. He just smiles.

“Don’t hide it, sweetheart,” he hums. “I wanna hear you.”

He pulls your hand from your mouth, bringing it to his own instead. Warm lips and hot breath caress your fingers and the pad of your thumb brushes over the impossibly soft skin of his lip. You tug it down gently, letting it spring back up.

“Your moans are so pretty,” he sighs. “Will you make some more for me?”

The words are lilting like he’s writing lyrics for a song. He looks up at you with those pleading eyes and you bury yourself in the crook of his neck, hiding your face in his curls. His lips and teeth nip at the skin behind your ear, causing you to release breathy sighs and moans just for him. He shivers beneath you and the evidence of his pleasure throbs, unable to be ignored.

Your mouth seeks his blindly, messily, desperately. Your own hands slide up his chest and around the back of his neck, raking your fingers into his curls until the heels of your palms meet the base of his skull. Firmly and slowly gripping the hair close to his scalp, you guide him deeper into the kiss. He moans into your mouth and relaxes his whole body, giving you the control to put him exactly where you want him.

So much for slowing down, you think.

His hips suddenly jerk upwards, lifting you with him, and you moan again. It’s not as loud as before, but its enough to make your lips break from his. It all feels too good, too overwhelming. The anticipation is killing you now. You’ve spent your whole life waiting, you can’t waste another second. It’s time. It has to be. It’s now or never.

“Can I, um…freshen up?”

Eddie looks up at you with a dreamy expression, his eyes a little glazed and pink lips puffy from kissing. He nods down the hall to the door adjacent to his bedroom, his eyes never leaving you as you slip off his lap.

You don’t enter the bathroom, though.

Instead you push open the door to Eddie’s room and slip inside, leaving it just ajar enough to spark his curiosity. You place yourself at the end of his bed to wait for him, half sitting up leaning back on your elbows. The mattress dips as you sink into the softness—a far cry from the lumpy thing he slept on in Wayne’s trailer. Your heart races hearing the soft clinking of his belt as he comes down the hall and pushes the door fully open.

He leans against the frame and smiles.

Eddie looks at you like a kid on Christmas Eve—not feral and wide-eyed like he’s ready to tear through a mountain of presents in an early morning frenzy, but serene and reverent like he’s looking at the tree bathed in the soft glow of twinkle lights strung on its branches.

“Hi,” he whispers.

You smile and tuck your bottom lip behind your teeth. “Hi…”

He gently pushes the door closed behind him and moves towards you where you sit on the bed. But rather than climbing onto the mattress, he sinks to his knees on the floor in front of you and rests his hands on the tops of your thighs.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he says, voice still hushed like he’s afraid this is a dream and you’ll twist into smoke if he speaks too loudly.

You nod back at him. “Me too.”

His hands move steadily up your thighs to your waist and he gathers your blouse to lift it gently over your head. Lit only by the lamp on his bedside table, the blue of your bra looks even more like the night sky and the light catches on the silvery threads, making the stars sparkle. Your whole body shivers with excitement as he takes you in, his eyes drawn to the swell of your breasts and your nipples standing rigid, pushing out from behind the unlined mesh.

“Fuck…”

His voice is soft. So soft, you think he might not even realize he spoke out loud. You smirk at him, a little disbelieving even as he sounds genuinely awestruck. His eyes dart back up to yours and he grins, chuckling with mirth at his own reaction.

“Sorry,” he says. “I just…you’re so…god, you’re gorgeous.”

Eyes falling to your breasts again, he reaches out to cup them gently and lets his thumbs brush over their stiff peaks. You hum softly at the feeling of him flicking your nipples with calloused pads worn that way from years of guitar playing. With a soft kiss, he continues on—his hands reluctant to leave them, but eager to touch you more places.

He slides them downward, relishing every inch of the curve of your waist until he finds the top of your jeans. “Do you want these off?” he asks, voice wavering slightly.

Your own breath is getting uneven itself as the beginning flames of nerves start to flicker and nip at your ankles. Eddie’s eyes parse your reaction, but you divert his attention by unbuttoning your fly and helping him shift your pants over your hips and down your legs. He tugs them off until they sit in a heap on the floor and he can take you in fully, the reveal of your matching set clearlying having the desired effect.

“Wow…” He stares, eyes soft with awe. His strong hand flexes to extend his fingers and he reaches out to gently stroke the navy material. “I like this a lot,” he says.

“That’s good,” you say, peering at him shyly. “I got it for you.”

His eyes light up at that, brows raising in disbelief. Not that he thinks you’re lying, but that he can’t possibly fathom how he got this lucky.

“Seriously?” he breathes. “No one’s ever…”

He clears his throat, trying to choke back the incoherent stream of words threatening to spill out of his mouth. And his mind scrambles to say something that doesn’t sound completely idiodic. He feels like a caveman seeing fire for the first time and trying to think of a word for it.

He’s just so fucking happy.

Cupping your face tenderly in his hands, thumbs brushing the apples of your cheeks, he gazes deep into your eyes. “You’re so special to me,” he says. “I want to be sure I do this right.”

“So far so good,” you whisper.

He’s left his button down in the living room, leaving him stripped down to only his white singlet. The muscles in his shoulders ripple as he lifts his arms and you whisk off his tank to unveil his bare chest. A couple new tattoos catch your eye. A black widow spider now sits over the demon head on his left pec, just beneath his collarbone. There’s a sword etched into his ribs and as you follow the point down, you spot two pale nicotine patches in the usual spot on his hip.

It makes your heart swell thinking of how he’d explained it that night you played pool. For when I’m really nervous, he’d said. It still seemed so silly that you could make him nervous.

“Can I kiss you more?” he asks.

You nod and close your eyes to wait for the feeling of his mouth on yours, only to gasp softly when he goes to your neck instead. His lips vibrate with a gentle groan as he kisses down the column of your throat, sucking at it lightly and listening to how it causes your breath to hitch when he finds a particularly sensitive spot. Shivers cascade down your back as he continues on his path, kissing over the mounds of your chest, down your belly, nudging your legs apart.

“Eddie, you don’t have to—ohhh…”

His mouth trails over your hip and they flex upwards, seeking more. He smooths his hands over your legs and every inch of your skin he touches buzzes with anticipation.

“Please, sweetheart?” he says, baring his teeth in a sinful smile from between your thighs. “Been dreaming about this so long…I just want to make you feel good.”

His lips ghost over your heat, the tip of his nose brushing against your sensitive button through the thin barrier of your underwear. Your breath hitches in your throat as he starts to slowly nod his head, giving a preview of the motions he’s dying to use on you. Warm, broad palms coast over your hips and ringed fingers curl around the elastic band circling your waist.

“Can I take these off?” he asks. “I want to see you.”

You hum a noise of approval, so dizzy with need you can’t even form a real word. He glides your panties down your legs, nails raking over your skin all the way down to your ankles. Fighting the urge to cringe at how exposed you feel, you bring your focus back to Eddie—back to his eyes and the way they drink you in. The tip of his tongue ekes out between his lips to wet them and he turns his head to make a path of delicate kisses along the inside of your calf.

You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay, you chant internally. God, you want this so much.

Excitement pools in your belly and the feeling mixes with your nerves into a lethal cocktail. As he kisses up one leg, your other begins to tremble against his ear. You feel as though you’re about to float away and drift untethered into the ether.

“Eddie?”

His kisses pause at your knee joint and he looks up at you. “Yes, princess?”

“I…I need you closer,” you admit meekly.

He obliges instantly and slides up onto the bed, cradling your body against his. The hardness in his jeans prods against your side and you almost black out thinking how he could be inside you any minute now. Except Eddie seems perfectly content taking his time.

He skims his fingers from your navel up your sternum, relishing every quiver of your body. His touch follows the graceful lines of your collarbone and neck up to your jaw. With his other arm under you, head resting securely in the crook of his elbow, he traces more of your outline.

At last he begins his descent, teasingly light touch weaving back and forth across your tummy in swirling patterns down to your mound. He tenderly spreads you apart and strokes your center, fingertips brushing ever so gently over your clit. His eyes stay fixed on your face as he applies more pressure, seeking your reaction.

“That feel good?” he asks, his breath warm on your cheek.

“Yes,” you gasp softly. “Keep going.”

With a little more intention, he dips a finger into your entrance and his chest rumbles with a moan. “You’re so wet,” he whispers. “Is that all for me?”

You can’t answer, your eyes falling closed and your head tipping back—almost wanting to cry because it feels so good in a way it never has. He slides further inside, gently massaging your warm, wet walls. With his thumb pressing on your clit in time with his thrusts, he adds another finger, stretching you open further. Your pussy positively blooms for him, enveloping his fingers and taking him in eagerly.

“Oh, god, Eddie…”

“That’s it, beautiful,” he husks, his digits expertly curling inside of you as his thumb swirls outside. He lowers his voice further, a heated whisper in your ear. “I wanna hear you come…”

His voice sends a jolt straight to your core, but the words cause your mind and body to diverge. You try to stay present. You try not to dwell on it, but his statement echoes. It fills your head and ricochets around the inside of your skull, taking over everything. That’s when you feel it.

Suddenly, it doesn’t matter what he’s doing down there or how good it felt just moments ago. That rigidness you know all too well permeates your body and stills everything—a boulder at the bottom of a frozen lake kind of stillness. You can’t believe you let this happen. You can’t believe you’re ruining this. You can’t believe how stupid you were for thinking it would be any different. Your heart races, pounding like a battering ram behind your ribcage like it’s trying to burst out.

“Eddie,” you croak. “Eddie, stop!”

He pulls back immediately, his eyes round with concern at the sudden panicked tone in your voice. He stares at you, his own expression descending into remorse.

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry,” he says. “Does it…did it not feel good?”

“No, no, it—I mean, yes, it did, I just…”

Your chest gets unbearably tight, the pressure crushing your windpipe. You try to inhale, but it feels more like sucking air through a pinhole. You sit up, hands fumbling for the sheets to cover yourself. Your whole body is on fire. Blistering, burning, searing pain replacing every speck of the pleasure you’d been feeling. And Eddie…poor Eddie is looking at you like he’s about to cry.

“Hey,” he soothes, timidly reaching to touch your knee. “Talk to me, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know,” you gasp, still struggling to get air and failing. “I-I-I feel…”

“It’s alright,” he says, voice steady but urgent. “Look at me, yeah? Take a deep breath in and blow it out quick like you’re blowing out a birthday candle? Okay? Do it with me.”

He locks eyes with you as he demonstrates, sucking in a breath and holding it in his chest until you do the same. Once you have, he blows out a big puff of air and begins breathing steadily in through his nose and out though his mouth. You mimic him, remaining held by those deep brown pools until you feel your heart rate slow and finally steady.

“That’s good,” he says, shifting so he can rub his hand in wide circles across your back. “You’re doing so good, just keep going.”

You can’t decide if he’s patronizing you, praising you for breathing of all things. But his words are calming regardless and his hand on your back has a comforting weight to it. He keeps up with rubbing small circles across your back until you swallow hard and open your mouth to speak.

“I have to tell you something,” you say.

“Okay. What is it?”

“I can’t, um…I’m not going to…I don’t…finish.”

He frowns, brow furrowing as they knit together. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve never been able to get there. And I-I guess I panicked. I didn’t want you to spend all this time on it when it’s not going to happen.”

“Oh,” he exhales softly. “So…never?”

You shake your head, hugging your knees to your chest. “No,” you sniff. “Never.”

“But what about with Carl? You guys were together for like years.”

“Yeah, but he never…” You sigh and pinch your eyes closed. “I mean, I never—”

“He never made you come?”

Shame radiates in your chest like heartburn and you feel the sting of tears that threaten to spill over your eyelids. “I know, okay?” you whimper. “It’s humiliating.”

“No, no! That’s not what I meant. I mean, it should be humiliating for him. Isn’t it?”

“I don’t see how,” you shrug. “It’s not your food’s fault for being cold if the microwave is busted.”

“You’re not busted,” Eddie insists. “He’s got to try. He should have helped you get there.”

“He did try. We’d have sex and it would feel fine, but we’d always get to this point where I knew it wasn’t gonna happen. And it…it was just easier to get him taken care of.”

“But what about with his fingers? Or his mouth? Or a toy?”

Your face burns at the memory of similar past conversations. Bringing up things you thought seemed obvious only resulted in Carl feeling insulted, like you were saying his dick wasn't enough for you.

“It, um…it took too long.”

“What’s too long?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble. “It felt like an eternity. And I’d get all wrapped up in my head kind of…kind of like I did just now. And it didn’t make sense to waste all that time—”

“It’s not a waste of time,” Eddie scoffs. “Did he actually say that to you?”

Anger flashes briefly in his eyes and you quickly shake your head. It was true, Carl never outright called it that. He just didn’t disagree with you when you apologized for taking so long. And when you started to feel him getting tired and frustrated, it only added to your stress.

“How about like…on your own?”

“I mean, I-I’ve tried.” You look down again, your body still prickling as you try to answer without crying. “I don’t know why, but I can’t relax? I start thinking about, like, f I’m doing it right or if I’m doing it wrong. And I wind up laying there for hours trying and I feel like such a failure. Like I can’t experience this thing everyone else can and I don’t think I ever will.”

A dark, wet splotch appears on his sheets as a tear falls from your eye. You brush furiously at your cheek, smearing the trail it left behind.

“I guess I get close. I think? I don’t know, it feels good up to a point, and it feels kind of, vaguely, like something, but then it just starts to hurt and ache. And I guess that could be it, but…like, the way people talk about it? I can’t imagine what I feel is what they’re referring to. You know?”

Eddie’s head hangs low. His expression churns with a myriad of emotions like he can’t decide which one to feel. Sadness for you. Anger at Carl. Disappointment with himself.

“I’m so sorry,” you sigh. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Furiously, you wish you’d just faked it. How hard would it have been to breathe sort of heavy and writhe around a little bit? It would have been worth it to avoid all this. But even as you’re thinking that, something tells you Eddie never would have bought it. He was too attentive, too attuned to any shift of your mood, of your body. He would have seen right through you.

“Don’t apologize,” he says calmly. “I’m glad you told me, I just…I wish I’d known. I wouldn’t have rushed you. I wouldn’t have said that…”

He hangs his head again and rubs his hand across the back of his neck. You sneak a glance at him, the sadness in his eyes that you caused making your heart ache. This is all your fault, you think. You don’t deserve someone like him. You don’t deserve anyone.

“I, um…I’m gonna get out of here,” you say quietly, scooting towards the other side of the bed. Eddie’s head jerks up at your movement.

“Wait, what?”

“I should just leave, I’m…I’m really sorry.”

“Hang on, hang on, don’t go—” He lurches forward, reaching for your waist to stop you and then abruptly pulling back when he realizes what he’s doing. It breaks your heart a little, the look in his eyes like he’s afraid to touch you now. Again.

“Eddie, it’s okay—”

“It’s not okay,” he says. “Please stay? This is my fault, I shouldn’t have pushed so fast, I was just excited for you to stay over. And I thought this was what you wanted.”

“It was,” you say solemnly. “It is, I mean. I do want this. I’ve wanted this for so long, I just…I don’t know what’s wrong with me and now I’ve ruined the whole night.”

“No, no, not at all.” Eddie shakes his head emphatically. He lifts his hands and cups your face, calloused thumbs rubbing the smoothness of your cheeks. “Absolutely nothing is wrong with you,” he says. “You’re perfect. The only thing that could ruin tonight is you leaving.”

“Are you sure?” you rasp.

He smiles and chuckles at your refrain. “How about from now on, you assume when I say something—anything—it means I’m sure?”

“But are you…” You catch yourself mid sentence. “…certain?”

Eddie rolls his eyes at you and chuckles as your lips finally quirk into a small smile. “I’ll give you that one,” he says begrudgingly. “But no more.”

You give a reluctant nod and he grins.

“And yes, I’m very certain,” he says. “I bought all these snacks for breakfast. And I found this little basket we can put them in. I thought maybe we could drive out to the lake and read like we used to? And then go to that diner way outside of town? With the great milkshakes?”

Tears threaten to spill over your cheeks again, but now it’s from happiness burgeoning in your chest. “That sounds really nice,” you whisper.

He grins back at you.

“Okay, then. I tell you what…why don’t we table all this for right now? Neither of us is gonna make any moves for the rest of the night. We’re going to get in comfy clothes and watch TV, or smoke, or play cards, or talk…whatever you want. And whenever you’re ready, we can go to bed.”

Reactively, your shoulders stiffen and his eyes go wide.

“No, no, no! I didn’t mean—” He slaps his hand to his forehead and sighs at his own flub. “I meant sleep. I…I really just want to sleep next to you. And wake up with you in the morning. And spend the rest of the day together. Is that okay?”

He gives you those eyes again, round and open and vulnerable. Hopeful. It makes it easy to nod at him with a gentle smile. Because it’s more than okay, it sounds perfect. He smiles back and reaches for your hand. You let him lift it to his lips and his breath is warm as he kisses your fingers.

“I just want you here,” he murmurs to your knuckles.

You bite your lip to stop the Are you sure? already queued up on your tongue. Eddie lifts off the bed and pulls a pair of sweatpants and a clean t-shirt from one of the drawers in his dresser. The fresh smell of his detergent wafts towards your nose and you inhale it deeply.

“I’ll change in the bathroom,” he says. “Just come back to the living room when you’re ready.”

Still smiling as he leans over you with ease, balancing on his fists pressing down into the mattress, he kisses you. It’s not a messy or desperate snog, but not quite a chaste peck either. It’s deep and yearning. Full of wanting, but asks for nothing.

He heads into the hall and his bedroom door clicks as he pulls it shut behind him. When you hear the bathroom door also click closed, you creep out from beneath his sheet and reach for the panties bunched up at the foot of the bed. You strip off the matching bra and stuff the pair into the bottom of your overnight bag. To replace them, you exhume a simple gray pajama set of an oversized shirt and loose, flowy shorts. The light material is cool against your skin, soothing for the first time the existential itchiness that had consumed you all night.

In the living room, Eddie sits on the sofa, comfortable and casual as can be in his soft sweats. There’s not a speck of disappointment or frustration on his handsome face as he flips through the channels. His mouth splits into a grin when he sees you, eyes dancing as he takes you in, just as dazzled by the sight of you in plain pajamas as he was by your lingerie.

He pats the cushion next to him and jerks his chin up to beckon you over. From the TV, the eerie tinkling theme of The Twilight Zone begins to play and you all but scamper over to the couch. He chuckles as you pad across the carpet and nestle into his side, folding your legs under you.

He reaches behind your head to pull down the knit blanket draped over the back of the sofa and proceeds to tuck it securely around you both. “Comfy?” he asks, still smiling down at you.

You nod and his arm curls securely around your shoulder. It rests there naturally, like it’s the one place in the world it’s always been meant to be. “Thank you, Eddie,” you whisper, stretching your neck to press your lips against his.

“Of course. Anything for you, sweetheart.”

His voice is tender and rumbly and you can feel his chest vibrate with the words as you lay your head against him. The softness of his t-shirt on your cheek and the warmth of his skin you can feel through it fills you with contentment. You mold yourself into his side, already thinking how nice it will be when you inevitably fall asleep right here. Right where you belong. Eddie’s head dips and he rests his cheek on the top of your head as he begins to recite along with the narrator,

“You’re traveling through another dimension. A dimension not only of sight and sound, but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination…”

Thank you for reading/interacting - love you, mean it (◕‿◕)

tags: @vintagehellfire @mygirlchaos @autumnleagues @valerievortex

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie stranger things #stranger things fanfic #tw: anorgasmia #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst

356 notes · View notes

marvelfanfn2187a113 · 7 months

Text

Cuddle Day

Sam and Dean Winchester x little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: You’re sick, and you only want one thing—some tlc from your two big brothers

Sam stiffened in surprise when you dropped down next to him on the couch and leaned heavily against his arm.

“Do you want something?” He asked.

“Nope, I’m good,” you yawned, and Sam didn’t miss your scratchy voice and pale face.

“Are you sick?”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, closing your eyes as you got comfortable against Sam’s shoulder. “My head hurts and my stomach feels weird.”

“Ok, yeah,” Sam said, and you whined when he stood, dislodging you from your position. “I don’t want to get sick, so how about we try personal space.”

“I don’t want personal space,” you huffed.

Dean chuckled from his spot on the overstuffed armchair. “Come sit with me, baby.”

“Ok!” You hopped up, coming over to Dean’s chair before climbing into his lap. Dean grunted as you made yourself comfortable, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“Look, just don’t cough on me and we’ll be good, ok?”

“Deal,” you closed your eyes, smiling contentedly when Dean wrapped an arm around you.

“Hey, I think I might have a job,” you hadn’t realized that you dozed off until Sam’s voice woke you up.

“Alright,” Dean said.

“Hey!” You protested as Dean started to move under you. “You can’t leave me when I’m sick, it’s mean.”

Dean thought you were kidding until you grabbed onto his shirt and wouldn’t let go.

“Kid, I need to-“

“Eh, actually it’s ok,” Sam insisted. “The job looks pretty straightforward. She’s looking pretty sick, you take care of her, I got the case.” Dean was about to protest, but Sam just turned and walked away.

“How you feeling?” Dean asked after Sam was gone.

“My stomach hurts,” you sighed. “Thanks for staying.”

“You kidding? Hey, down time is ok by me.”

You spent the afternoon fading in an out of sleep on Dean while he watched various television shows on his laptop. You couldn’t help but smile sleepily every time he laughed at his show, and his chest rumbled under you. With how crappy you were feeling, spending the afternoon curled up with your big brother was about the best place to be.

“Baby,” you stirred when Dean shook your arm. “Honey it’s getting late, I think you should try to eat something before bed.”

“Don’t go,” you pleaded, holding onto his arm.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Dean chuckled. “Sammy can get you some food, alright?”

After you finished as much of Sam’s soup as your unsettled stomach could manage, you held out your arms to your big brother.

“Sammy, can you carry me to bed?”

“What part of me not wanting to get sick did you-“ Sam froze when he turned to look at you. When did you get so good at the puppy eyes? “You’re gonna be the death of me,” Sam groaned as he walked over to where you were still sitting with Dean. He reached down and pulled you into his arms, and you smiled and leaned against him.

“Thanks Sammy.”

Dean smiled as Sam turned and carried you out of the room.

“Where are we going?” You asked as Sam turned down the wrong hallway.

“My room,” Sam said. “You wanna sleep in there?”

“Really?” You grinned. You hadn’t really wanted to ask, but Sam seemed to have read your mind.

“Your germs are all over me anyway, I figured it can’t get worse,” Sam grunted as he slipped into his room and set you down on his bed. You scooted over immediately, making room for him.

When he finally got comfortable under his blankets, he laid one arm out in an open invitation, and you responded by coming in closer to lay against his shoulder.

“Thank you, Sammy,” you whispered sleepily, smiling when Sam pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Feel better, kiddo.”

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean and sam #dean winchester x you #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #supernatural dean #the winchesters #winchesters x reader #winchesters x sister #sam and dean #dean winchester x sister #dean winchester x sister!reader #spn sam winchester #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x you

546 notes · View notes

hd-junglebook · 1 month

Text

On Thin Ice

Word Count - 3657

I love this man, thank you and goodnight. For anyone reading this post please refer to the new And cute Jack Hughes masterlist i made for new post and series

prev ... next

Two weeks had gone by in a flash, The warm late morning sun filtering through the trees cast a dappled glow across her face, prompting y/n to squint slightly behind her oversized sunglasses. She hitched her leather tote bag higher up on her shoulder as she approached her favorite shop.

Pushing open the cafe's door with her free hand, y/n was enveloped by the rich aroma of cinnamon and vanilla accompanied by the soft murmurs of conversation. She made her way to the counter, offering the barista a friendly smile.

The barista behind the counter caught her eye and waved. "The usual brown sugar latte?" she called out over the hushed murmurs of conversation. Y/n nodded yes with a small smile.

“Morning Claire,” she greeted. Y/n approached the counter slowly, absentmindedly tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear as she waited.

With her order carefully cradled in both hands, she surveyed the mismatched sofas and overstuffed armchairs before choosing an aged floral-print loveseat in the back corner.

She reached into her tote bag and retrieved a well-loved paperback, its pages dog-eared from countless readings. Cradling the book in one hand and her latte in the other.

The bell tinkled merrily above the door, announcing the arrival of another customer, as a gust of cool breeze swept through the café, ruffling the pages of Y/n's book. With a distracted frown, she reached out to secure her novel, her fingers brushing against the smooth paper before the wind relinquished its grip.

Y/n glanced up just in time to catch sight of a figure weaving through the bustling café, murmuring apologies with each step. “Excuse me, sorry,” he whispered. She arched an eyebrow, curiosity piqued as she observed the man make his way toward the counter, effortlessly navigating the sea of tables and chairs.

His tousled, light brown curls were unmistakable, bringing a small laugh to Y/n's lips as she recalled their last encounter – a near-toppling of the counter in a clumsy mishap at the bar just two weeks prior.

She watched with mild amusement as he flashed a charming smile at Claire, the barista, and engaged her in conversation. The universe certainly had a knack for weaving unexpected connections, Y/n mused, her gaze lingering on the familiar face amidst the bustling crowd.

A few moments later, a voice cut through the quiet hum of the café, drawing Y/n's attention back to the present. "Mind if I sit?" the voice asked, its tone casual yet inviting.

Y/n blinked, momentarily taken aback before managing a nervous smile. "Yeah, um, that's fine," she replied, her heart fluttering with a mix of surprise and anticipation.

With a soft thud, she settled back against the plush cushions of the couch, her latte forgotten on the table as she made room for her unexpected companion.

Luke settled into the seat next to Y/n with a grin, his gaze warm and his demeanor relaxed. "Thanks for letting me crash your cozy corner," he said, flashing her a charming smile.

Y/n couldn't help but return the grin, feeling a wave of amusement wash over her. "Well, I figured if you managed to survive the near-disaster at the bar, you can handle a coffee shop," she teased, her tone laced with humor.

Luke chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Ah, that’s where I remember you from. I still have nightmares about that," he joked, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Sorry again. I've never been known for my gracefulness off the ice."

Y/n waved off his apology with a laugh. "No harm done. It was pretty entertaining, actually.”

He glanced around the café, taking in the cozy atmosphere before turning his attention back to her. "So, mind if I ask what you're reading?"

Y/n shrugged, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "Just some book trying to teach me how to adult properly. Not sure it's working though."

And so the conversation continued, effortlessly weaving between jokes and shared laughter, as Y/n and Luke exchanged numbers. Weeks passed after that day in the coffee shop, Y/n was around more than Jack would like to admit.

Every day Luke would come back to their shared apartment with something new to tell or another story about with his new friends. Being rejected wasn’t something he dealt with often, but it never ended with the girl he liked befriending his little brother.

…

Inside the cozy lakehouse retreat, Y/N was going stir crazy, tapping her foot incessantly as she tried and failed to focus on her book. "Luuuuuke," she whined loudly. "I'm dying here! Let's go swimming before I shrivel up like a raisin."

Luke glanced up from his phone, rolling his eyes at his melodramatic friend. "Chill out, you drama queen. It's just a little heat wave."

"A little?!" Y/N squawked indignantly. "I'm sweating like a hostage negotiator at this point. We need to get in that glorious lake ASAP!"

Chuckling at her over-the-top antics, Luke set his phone aside. "Alright, alright. But you're not dragging me in until I ask if anyone else wants to witness your awkward pool dancing."

"Ugh, you're the worst!" Y/N stuck her tongue out, already stripping off her shirt to reveal her bathing suit underneath. Before Luke could protest, she grabbed his arm and started tugging him toward the backdoor. "No time for your lame humor, let's go!"

Luke stumbled after her, laughing at her total lack of chill. As they burst outside into the sunlight, Y/N let out a whoop of pure joy, pulling Luke into an excited jumping hug before taking off at a sprint toward the lake's edge.

Y/N pushed open the door, and the fresh piney scent and glittering lake hit her like a revitalizing splash of water. "Last one in is a rotten egg!" she hollered, already stripping off her leggings, revealing the light blue bathing suit underneath with reckless abandon.

Luke watched in amusement as shirts and pants went flying, soaking in her infectious enthusiasm. "Geez, calm down there, Strippy. Leave a little something to the imagination." Y/n paused for a moment, savoring the feeling of the sun on her skin and the cool breeze ruffling her hair.

"Oh hush, you prude." Y/N stuck her tongue out, she struck a silly pose, jutting out her belly. "Nice beach bod, am I right?"

Luke snorted. "The beachest and the bodest."

Wiggling her eyebrows, Y/N took off at a sprint towards the dock. She flung herself off the edge, tucking her knees to her chest as she sliced through the cool water.

Luke was right behind, his form more of an ungraceful belly flop. He surfaced sputtering water. "Ugh, why did I let you talk me into-" A wave of lake water cut him off as Y/N splashed him gleefully.

"ha, you should see your face!" She kicked away, laughing at his drenched scowl. "Race you to the buoy and back? Loser gets their swimsuit filleted with a fishing knife!" Shaking the water from his eyes, Luke grinned. "You're on, weirdo. Prepare to be pantsless!"

The two friends took off, alternating between furious strokes and splashing cada other relentlessly. Their laughter echoed across the serene lake. "I think I changed my mind, Lukey. It's really cold," she admitted with a laugh.

"It's fine, I'll keep you warm," he reassured her with a chuckle, the warmth of his smile dispelling any lingering doubts as he joined her in the water, swimming up next to her but keeping a playful distance.

Y/n narrowed her eyes at him, a playful scowl on her lips. "No, go away, you're evil. You're gonna mess up my hair," she protested, swatting at him with feigned indignation.

They both laughed, the sound echoing across the water as he deftly dodged her playful swats. "Awww, is someone's hair gonna get messy?" he teased, winking mischievously before splashing her again, sending a cascade of droplets flying through the air.

Y/n let out a squeal of protest, her laughter mingling with the sound of splashing water as she retaliated, sending a playful splash of her own in Luke's direction.

The air was filled with the sound of their laughter and the gentle lapping of waves against the shore as they engaged in their impromptu water battle.

With a mischievous grin, she reached out and playfully mushed his face away, sending him sputtering and spluttering as he struggled to regain his composure. She dove gracefully into the water before he could retaliate, the surface swallowing her up in its depths.

Y/N broke through the surface, spluttering slightly after her unexpected underwater encounter. "Jack! Jeez, you nearly gave me a heart attack." She pushed her damp hair back from her face watching his lips quirking into an amused grin at her startled expression.

Jack was rooted at the end of the dock, arms crossed tightly over his bare chest as he watched her tread water. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as Luke paddled up beside Y/N. "What're you doing cannonballing around with Sideburns McGee over here?" Jack's tone was light, but Y/N could detect an undercurrent of something else.

Y/N blinked up at Jack in surprise, taken aback by the sudden intensity behind his words. She exchanged a puzzled glance with Luke, who seemed obliviously unconcerned as he floated beside her.

"Uh, swimming?" she answered slowly. "You know, that thing people do in lakes during the summer?" she replied with a casual shrug, though she could practically feel the jealousy rolling off Jack in waves.

Jack's jaw ticked, but he forced a tight smile. "Right, right. My bad. I just thought maybe you two were..." He trailed off, gaze flickering between them meaningfully.

"Were what?" Luke piped up, scratching his damp curls. "Racing? Cause Y/N's totally cheating with those froggy kicks."

Y/N snorted, sticking her tongue out at the oblivious Luke before turning back to Jack. She couldn't resist a teasing smile, sensing an opportunity to ruffle his feathers.

"Aw, is wittle Jacky feeling left out?" She batted her lashes exaggeratedly. "Don't worry, I'll save you a spot right between me and Lukey to make it a real party."

Jack's nostrils flared at her mocking tone. "Real cute, Y/N," he bit out, fists clenching at his sides. He opened his mouth, surely to unleash another scathing retort, but then seemed to think better of it. With a frustrated huff, he spun on his heel and stormed away from the dock.

Y/N rolled her eyes at his petty tone. Luke watched him go with a confused furrow in his brow before turning back to Y/N with a low whistle. "Someone's got their boardshorts in a twist today. What was that all about?"

…

It was later in the night after y/n and Luke had separated, her figure was drenched in rain and the heels she had worn to the dinner were long discarded a few blocks ago now found their place back on her feet as she trudged forward.

Her ex's cruel actions lingered in her mind, fueling her steps as she navigated the winding streets, rain pelting down upon her with unrelenting force. With every drop that soaked through her clothes, she pushed forward, her resolve unyielding despite the storm raging both within and without.

Finally reaching the entrance of the apartment building, Y/N pushed through the heavy doors. The elevator ride felt like an eternity, each floor passing by in a blur as she ascended to Luke and Jack's floor. The doors slid open, Y/N stepped out into the familiar hallway, her footsteps echoing against the tiled floor.

Y/N hesitantly rapped her knuckles against the door. Doubts clouded her mind as she double-checked the house number, hoping she had found the right place amidst her emotional haze. After a few moments, she heard shuffling from inside, followed by the metallic creak of the door opening.

Jack's tired face emerged from the crack in the door, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in Y/N's disheveled appearance.

Meeting his gaze, Y/N felt a wave of emotions threatening to spill over. Tears welled in her eyes, betraying the turmoil within her. Jack's expression shifted from confusion to concern, mirroring her own tumultuous state.

Y/N stood before Jack, her hair damp from the rain, streaks of mascara running down her cheeks, and her eyes red from crying.

"Um, uh," Jack stammered, struggling to find his words in the face of Y/N's unexpected appearance. His voice wavered as he attempted to articulate his thoughts. "W-why are you... Are you okay?"

He opened the door wider, silently inviting Y/N into the warmth of the house. He stepped aside, allowing her to pass, his eyes following her every move with worry.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before stepping over the threshold, her eyes adjusting to the soft light within, her steps light against the wooden floorboards as she kicked off her heels. "Where's Luke?" she asked, a sniffle punctuating her words.

She glanced around, taking in the familiar surroundings with a mix of longing and uncertainty, her gaze finally settling on Jack.

Jack's gaze softened as he watched her, a pang of empathy tugging at his heartstrings. This was not the confident, vibrant Y/N he was accustomed to seeing.

"He's not here right now, but I can call him if—" Jack's words faltered as he took a hesitant step closer to Y/N, his gaze locking with hers.

"Can I ask you a question?" he inquired, his voice soft. “What happened?”

As Jack spoke, his eyes scanned Y/N's face, noticing the subtle details that spoke volumes about her ordeal. A red mark on her cheek, the telltale sign of a recent impact, caught his attention. His gaze flickered to her puffy eyes, evidence of the tears she had shed.

"I... I just... I thought we were just gonna talk things out," Y/N began, her voice trembling with emotion as she recounted the events.

Jack listened intently, his concern growing with each word she spoke. Taking a step closer, he instinctively searched for any other visible signs of harm that wasn’t visible to him yet.

"And when I told him I didn't wanna be with him, he attacked me," Y/N continued, her voice faltering.

Jack fell silent for a moment. "A-attacked you? He hurt you??" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, disbelief etched across his features. He took another step closer to Y/N, his hands reaching out to gently rest on her arms. "Are you hurt anywhere else? Did he hit you?"

His fists tightened involuntarily, as he fought to keep his emotions in check. Y/N gingerly peeled off the jacket she was wearing, revealing her bruised arms to Jack.

He studied the bruises, the urge to confront her ex simmered beneath the surface, but he knew that giving in to his anger wouldn't help Y/N in this moment.

“He did this to you…”

He backed away, pulling the jacket tighter around herself, he felt a pang of regret at the distance between them. “Jack please I just want to forgot about it. I didn’t mean to involve you in this.”

"Okay, let's get you cleaned up first," Jack suggested gently, his voice tender with concern as he took Y/N's hand and led her to the bathroom. Closing the door behind them, he made sure it was securely locked.

With utmost care, Jack guided Y/N through the process of washing up, his touch gentle and soothing as he helped her cleanse away the remnants of her ordeal.

“Thank you, Jack,” y/n whisper, voice barely audible over the running water. She watches him carefully squeeze out water from the washcloth. He comes closer to dab the cloth against her lips, then moves onto the leftover makeup.

With each stroke of the washcloth, he took a moment to appreciate the delicate curve of her lips, his gaze lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

As he finished cleaning off her lips, Jack let the washcloth fall into the sink with a soft sigh. Meeting Y/N's gaze, he searched for any hint of what she needed next. "What should I do now?" she asked softly.

He hums in thought, wanting to give her a hug but the only thing that’s stopping him is the awkward tension between the two of them. He opens his mouth to speak, not quite sure on how to answer the question, but she beats him to it. “Can we just watch a movie?”

A buzz emanated from the countertop where Y/N's phone lay face down, a flicker of unease crossed her features. Before she could reach for it, Jack was already there, deftly flipping the phone around and declining the call with a swift movement.

“Your ex?”

Y/N nodded silently at Jack's question, confirming his suspicion. With a heavy sigh, Jack glanced down at the declined call notification, a pang of frustration coursing through him. Jack pocketed Y/N's phone, a silent vow to shield her from any more unwanted contact.

"I'll find something for you to wear." Turning away briefly, Jack rummaged through a nearby closet, searching for suitable attire.

After a moment, he returned with a soft sweater and a pair of comfortable sweatpants, offering them to Y/N with a reassuring smile. "Here, these should be more comfortable," he said, his tone gentle yet comforting.

As Y/N accepted the clothes, Jack couldn't help but notice the frown that tugged at her lips. With a gentle touch, he reached out to smooth down the wrinkled and wet fabric of her dress. She can smell the faint scent of Jacks cologne as it mixed with the scent of the laundry detergent.

Her confident movements drew Jack's gaze, his eyes tracing the graceful arc of her movements as she pulled her hair back into a bun and began to peel down the straps of her dress. For a moment, he stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat at the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

They locked eyes and y/n laughed lightly, her cheeks flushing with a rosy hue, Jack couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through him.

Chuckling softly in response, Jack's own cheeks tinted with a hint of color as he met Y/N's gaze trying really hard to not look down. “Woah- uh” he remarked playfully, his voice warm with affection.

The fabric pooled around her, the sleeves hanging past her hands, and she couldn't help but chuckle nervously at her own appearance. Jack forced a smile, his attempt to lighten the mood evident in the twinkle of his eyes. "Looks comfy!" he remarked with a chuckle.

With a grateful nod, she stepped further into the warmth of the apartment, the familiar scent of home enveloping her like a comforting embrace. her eyes were drawn to the soft glow of candles scattered around the space, the flickering flames danced in the dim light.

Jack closed the door behind him, his gaze lingering on Y/N as he noticed the subtle shift in her demeanor. With a gentle smile, Jack settled onto the couch, patting the seat beside him in invitation. "Come, sit," he urged softly.

couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through him as he watched Y/N get comfortable on the couch, wrapped snugly in the blanket he had provided. Her small form seemed to melt into the fabric, a picture of coziness amidst the expanse of the living room.

he turned on the TV show he had overheard Y/N mention liking, he couldn't resist stealing a glance at her. The small smile on her face tugged at his heartstrings, filling him with a sense of contentment that he hadn't felt in a while.

Y/N felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck, she couldn't resist the urge to turn her head and meet Jack's gaze.

Caught in the act, Jack quickly averted his gaze from Y/N's direction, his heart racing slightly at the realization that she had noticed him staring. He forced a nonchalant expression onto his face and directed his attention towards the TV, pretending to be engrossed in the show playing on the screen.

A rush of embarrassment washed over him as he mentally scolded himself for his momentary lapse in composure. He should have known better than to let his gaze linger on Y/N for too long, especially given the circumstances.

Y/N watched with a mixture of amusement and exasperation as Jack forcibly averted his gaze, letting out an overly dramatic yawn in a sad attempt to play it cool. He sank back into the couch cushions, eyes determinedly fixed on the TV even as she caught the faint blush tingeing his cheeks.

Just then, the apartment door flew open with a bang as Luke came barreling in, nearly tripping over the shoe rack in his typical whirlwind entrance. "What'd I miss?" he boomed, obliviously taking in the awkward tension.

Jack visibly startled at his brother's abrupt arrival, cursing under his breath. Y/N had to stifle a giggle at the palpable mortification radiating off him now.

Poor guy just couldn't catch a break. "Nothing much, Wreck-It Ralph," she quipped, smirking at Luke. "Jack was just giving me a very passionate rendition of a yawn. Riveting stuff."

Jack shot her a murderous look, but she just winked back teasingly. There was something undeniably entertaining about getting under his skin like this.

Flopping onto the couch between them, Luke furrowed his brow in confusion. "Ooookay then. You two are being weirder than usual." His eyes bounced between their strained expressions before realization seemed to dawn. "Oh man, please don't tell me you two are screwing.”

As Jack grumbled inarticulately under his breath, Y/N flashed Luke an innocent look. "Me? Never." Her gaze slid sideways to meet Jack's stormy blue eyes, holding the contact for a heated moment before he huffed and looked pointedly away again. Y/N bit her lip to smother her laugh.

Oh yes, this was very fun indeed.

170 notes · View notes

auteurdelabre · 15 days

Text

A Little Sun part 6 Dieter!Bravo x f!Reader

rating: 18+ words: 8.4k pairings: Dieter x f!Reader

tags: pregnancy, details of body changing with pregnancy, insecurity, mention of family death, mutual pining, idiots in love, soft dieter, fluff, lurve, angst, miscommunication trope, female masturbation, male masturbation, dirty talk (thoughts). summary: You move in with Dieter after the fight with your mom and things get... complicated. a/n: Y'all this thing has turned into such a fuckin' beast. Remember when I wanted it to be a one shot? Anyway, we're nearing the end with these two idiots in love but I think this one ends pretty damn sweet.

Also I think I'm in love with Dieter Bravo?

SERIES MASTERLIST

REBLOGS, COMMENTS, ENGAGEMENT ARE WHAT KEEP US FIC WRITERS GOING. PLEASE REMEMBER THAT IF YOU ENJOYED THIS.

Dieter doesn't even let you step fully into his home before he's got you in his arms, wrapping you in his warm embrace. Your suitcases clatter to the floor as you cling to him, burying your face in his neck and fighting back tears.

"You can stay as long as you want," Dieter promises you as one hand cups the back of your head. "Stay forever."

You give a watery chuckle into his shoulder, not quite ready to let go of him. You only break apart when the smell of European cigarettes wafts into the room.

You swipe at your damp eyes while Dieter turns to greet the tiny woman with a shock of white curls. She wears an oversized green t-shirt and loose khaki pants. She shuffles from place to place in her oversized moccasins.

"You remember Magda, right?"

"I think we've met a few times," you say extending your hand. The old woman gives you a look before shuffling over and placing her hand on your belly. You're in too much shock to pull back.

"A healthy boy," she tells you through a thick Eastern European accent. You and Dieter exchange looks of surprise.

"Uh yeah," you peer down at her shriveled frame, "How did you know that it was a boy?"

"I can tell."

She says it with a sage nod and then with that revelation she shuffles off to the kitchen, the feather duster still firmly lodged under her bony arm.

"She's the best," Dieter says says fondly before turning back to you with a look of expectancy. "Lemme show you where you're staying."

He takes both of your suitcase handles and jerks head to the left indicating you should follow.

You follow him out into his garden beside the pool. A place that you've never really visited much before. Most of your business has been conducted inside in his kitchen or in his office. You've heard about his guest house, how he had so many decorators come in over the years.

When you enter into it now, you're surprised at just how normal it seems. You were waiting for whips and chains and other strange memorabilia to line the walls. But instead it looks like something out of a Martha Stewart magazine. Crisp White's and Blue wainscotting. Overstuffed chairs and couches surround the coffee table from the photo he sent you. It's strangely tasteful.

It doesn't suit him at all.

Dieter must notice your surprise because he smirks before he rolls your suitcases towards the kitchen bar.

"Remember that Danish woman I dated for a couple months right after you started working for me?"

"Yeah, Lyda something.'

"Right. She wanted to start a career as an interior designer. I let her run the show in this place. Not really my taste."

"Not really mine either," You admit looking around the space. "It is beautifully done but I prefer the place we stayed in Ireland, like, that aesthetic. Old wood and big windows."

"I like that too," Dieter agrees. He sees you yawn and immediately feels guilty for keeping You up after such an emotional day.

"I'm going to have Petra whip you up something for dinner."

Petra is Dieter's chef who stocks his fridge with high end

"Dieter you don't-"

"You gotta take care of you and little Bravo remember?"

Dieter feels something in his chest bloom when instead of rolling your eyes you smile at him, nodding.

"Thanks Dieter."

You wake up the next morning in the plush duvet with your arms stretched above your head before rolling an absent hand down your swollen belly.

"Morning little boy," you whisper to the tiny being there beneath your fingertips. You give a groan as you gently roll yourself off the bed sliding into your slippers and pulling on your robe. Despite your devastation of what happened with your mother, waking up in this beautiful space on this gorgeously sunny day has you feeling hopeful.

This feeling is dampened slightly when you glance at your phone, looking to the calendar and seeing a date in the coming week starred. A date you have been dreading for months. Your birthday. The first one of yours since your father passed. Without your mom around this seems especially painful to consider. You close your phone, not wanting to think about it.

You spot a tall figure out the window and feel your cheeks flush. Something has shifted since Ireland. Something that terrifies you. The whisper of feelings that you're having a hard time repressing when you think of how he supports you.

But you push it from your mind. Your worlds don't match up. You’re serious, you take life seriously, you want to dedicate yourself to science. Dieter wants to fuck and party and grab life by the balls.

Plus he's with Mia and she makes him happy.

Dieter saunters across the backyard, narrowly missing the pool as he heads to the guest house. He's wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants under tattered robe, his eyes hidden behind his sunshades. He's carrying a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a smoothie in the other.

"Dieter it’s ten in the morning," you say as you open the sliding door to greet him.

"I'm still on Ireland time," he says giving you a waggle of his brows before setting the pale

pink smoothie down on the kitchen counter. "Breakfast when you're ready for it."

He sees you eyeing the smoothie warily and gives a deep rumbling chuckle.

"Petra made this one so you're safe. You like strawberries right?"

You take a tentative sip, before giving a soft moan of approval and drinking down the rest.

He rocks back on his heels a moment and despite the dark of his glasses, you can feel his gaze lingering on you.

"So... What're you up to today, Bravo?"

"You mean you don't know?"

"I'm officially no longer part of team Bravo remember?" You remind him with a sad chuckle as you place the empty glass back on the counter. "Diane cut my access to work emails and calendars."

"Shit that's right, I forgot." He looks at you with such a guilty expression. "I'm sorry."

"S'okay. I'm looking at this like a real non working vacation," you tell him honestly pointing out the window. "I figure you have a pool, there's a chef, a housekeeper, I brought books, what more could I ask for?"

"Plus you have a recreation staff," Dieter grins, taking you by the hand and twirling you gently towards him. "Dance lessons by the pool, movie nights, anything the customer wants."

"Hmmm an end to global warming?"

"Sorry that's only with the premium package."

You let out a loud laugh as Dieter joins you, spinning you into a hug. His mouth is only inches from yours and when the two of you realize this your mutual laughter ebbs.

Dieter wants nothing more than to press his mouth to yours, to taste you, to fuck you here in his home. But he knows it's not what you want. You don't want that from Dieter. You want somewhere safe to stay and he'll provide that to you.

Besides there is someone who does want his affection, his touch: Mia.

You swallow, your body poised and mouth slowly tilting towards Dieter before he seems to realize himself. He slowly extricates his arms from around you before reaching into his robe pocket, clearing his throat.

"Here's the key," Dieter tells you, holding it out to you. You take it, looking at the tiny Jameson keychain on it. The one that matches the one Dieter got you in Ireland that you wear on your own keychain. You smile at the sight of it before looking puzzled.

"A key?"

"For the guest house."

"I don't need to lock it," you chide even as you take it from him and toss it into your purse. "It's just you and me here right?"

"Yeah," Dieter hides the broad of his grin behind his whiskey glass. "Just you and me."

For the next several days Dieter tries to give you as much space as possible. He brings you a smoothie every morning citing that Magda is too busy. In the evenings he texts you to invite you over to the big house for dinner. Sometimes you join him, sometimes you’re just too tired.

You always go back to the guest house feeling a little bit down. You didn’t realize you missed sleeping in the same house, how Ireland made it almost feel like living together. Dieter’s place is so large it’s like you’re in separate neighborhoods.

Dinners are starting to be hard as well. Knowing you’ll be leaving to go back to the empty guest room. It’s a luxury, that’s for certain with its tall ceilings and plush bed. But it feels quiet without Dieter’s music or loud laughter.

And so you can admit to yourself that every morning he comes by with the pink smoothie and a big grin, your heart leaps a little bit. Like now, seeing him rushing over more frenzied than usual. He smiles, pushing the drink into your hand hurriedly.

“Here. Drink fast, I finished the nursery and want you to come look.”

“When did you have time to do the nursery?” You ask amazed as you follow him to the main house, smoothie almost drained by the time you reach his place.

“I’ve been in touch with this guy Diora from Albania over email since Ireland. He’s all the rage, super hard to get but he was really excited about trying his hand at a nursery. He just finished Criss Angel’s man cave and James Franco’s bedroom.”

Dieter sweeps a hand to the middle of your back, guiding you down the hall. When he opens the door with a flourish it takes everything in you not to gasp in horror. Your hand still rises to your mouth, though when you step into the room.

It looks like a sex dungeon.

Black and white striped walls, a beautifully ornate crib painted a ghastly red.

"Contrasting colors are good for baby’s retinas," Dieter says confidently. "I read it somewhere."

It takes you a few moments of staring at everything before you can speak.

"You have whips hung on the walls."

"Those are vintage skipping ropes," Dieter tells you aghast at your misunderstanding. You turn slowly, taking everything in. Finally you shake your head slowly.

"Dieter, this is totally inappropriate for a nursery," you say. "What baby would be happy here?"

Dieter takes a moment to glance around the space, his previous elation dimming with every word from you.

"This is what Diora suggested. He's the hottest designer right now."

"Of millionaire bachelor pads," you say as you look at a particularly ugly piece of metal hanging from the ceiling. "Not for a baby’s room."

"I'm not gonna have some tacky nursery with stuffed bears and shit,” Dieter defends. “I can't do it. Anyone who comes over and sees that'll think I've lost my edge."

The thought of being a father is immensely appealing to Dieter. The thought of being a loser Dad is not.

“Mia said it was cool,” Dieter shoots out. “I sent her photos.”

Mia is also in her early twenties, you want to snap. But you hold your tongue, trying to see the upsides to this nursery. Unfortunately you can see none. Everything is a safety hazard.

Dieter paces around the room, suddenly sour at the whole thing. He thought you’d be excited to see where the baby will be. Instead you’ve come in with your judgments and frowning face.

"Please let me... Dieter let me help you with this," you almost beg. "I just.... I know he's not mine but I can't stand the thought of him being in this... Baby prison."

I know he's not mine.

This hurts Dieter to hear it. He knows that you face no interest in being in this baby's life or his the week after you've given birth. But he can admit he's fooled himself with you being here.

But this? This is a project the two of you can work on. A potential to have more reason to have you in the house, not in that fucking guest house. He can only think of so many reasons to knock on your door apart from smoothies.

"Okay, sure."

“Okay,” you say looking relieved. “How about a pale blue or green? Then we can get a nice crib and some rugs and gauzy curtains.”

“That’s so boring.”

“And safe,” you emphasize. “You have to think of his safety, Dieter.”

Dieter pouts slightly in thought, trying to see the nursery through your eyes. He has to concede that perhaps this is a bit much for a newborn.

"Actually, you know what would look really beautiful on this far wall here?" You muse, looking at the space. "That painting you bought me for my birthday."

You think of the artwork hanging in your bedroom. The one of the woman looking out over the ocean, her hair whipping in the sea air. It’s the one thing you didn’t bring from home that you regret. There was something about that painting that made you feel relaxed.

"I didn't buy you that," Dieter says with a furrowed brow.

Your stomach sinks at this admission from Dieter and you wish you could take back everything. The intimacy of the moment, the vulnerability. He never even fucking bought the thing himself. Diane probably did and here you are pouring your heart out about it.

"Oh, uh-Or Diane or whoever-"

"I painted it for you."

All the animosity that had been brewing behind your sternum drains from you. A smile blooms immediately, your body tingling as you roll onto your side to fully face him.

"You did?"

"Yeah," Dieter is smirking at you from the shadows. "I love painting. You think I'd buy you a fucking painting?"

“I think I just assumed that you got Diane or whoever to ship it to me."

"Maybe if you were someone else," Dieter muses, his gaze wandering around the nursery. "Someone who doesn't do everything for me." He falls silent a moment. "You really thought I bought it?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't you think it was weird that the girl in the painting was you?"

Now you're stunned and it must show on your face because Dieter is chuckling softly now.

"You've had it hanging up your room for how long? Did you even look at it?"

"Of course I did, I do," you say in a rush, feeling embarrassed. You look at it every night you’re in your bedroom. "I just ... I never thought..."

"What?"

"I never thought you saw me."

Dieter blinks back at you, his dark eyes searching your face.

"I just mean you never even said thank you before this whole baby thing," you explain. "I've worked for you for a while and you kinda just expected I'd be at your beck and call all hours of the day and night, even on my days off."

"I'm sorry," Dieter whispers. "That was shitty of me."

"Why do you do it?

“I went through so many assistants I just assumed you wouldn’t be sticking around long.” Dieter looks ashamed as he says it out loud. “But then the longer you stayed the more I depended on you. I think… After a while I think it just felt weird to not message you.”

You both lapse into a thoughtful silence.

“You’ll manage just fine without me when I leave,” you tell him, needing him to know. “And if you’re ever feeling really lost and like you just need to talk to someone, you can always call me. Not as an employee, but as a friend.”

“Really? We’re friends?”

“Yeah,” you nod, heart hammering. “Friends.”

Dieter wakes up hard every morning for the next two weeks. He doesn't try to; he actively tries to think of other things before he goes to sleep. He watches documentaries, he reads art books, he meditates. He tries to push you from his thoughts so he can wake up normal.

But he always wakes up aching with the head of his cock weeping, flickering remnants of his dreams still floating around his subconscious. And those dreams are always of you.

Today he wakes up with the memory of his dream still lingering. You on your knees, his cock in your mouth and your eyes heavy lidded. As he shifts in bed Dieter realizes his boxers are sticky with previous release. A fucking nocturnal emission? How old is he?

And what's worse is that he's still fucking hard. Throbbing, actually He groans low in his throat and tries to ignore it.

You're here at his home. You're practically living with him. You're only a few steps from his back door. You're so close and yet so frustratingly far from him. He misses being in the same home as you, like the rental in Ireland. He misses the feeling of coming home after a long day on set and seeing your sweet face on the couch.

He wants that again.

Dieter rolls onto his belly to try and squash his current erection against the mattress. But that doesn't help, it just gives a delicious friction. He shifts again experimentally, groaning at the shiver that travels from the base of his spine to the tip. In his sleepy arousal he imagines that it's not the mattress but you that he's fucking.

"You like that?" Dieter murmurs, eyes closed as he rocks against his bed. "Like feeling me like that, baby?"

He pushes his hips into the bed, starting to rut when the pleasure increases.

You're so big, Dieter.

And suddenly he's thrusting against it, picturing your body writhing under him.

Need it, Dieter. Fuck me harder.

"Yes," Dieter groans into his pillow, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress. He thrusts furiously into the soft fabric of the bed, hips bouncing up and down on the mattress.

Need your big cock, daddy, your dream self moans. Need it deep.

"Fuck yes, baby. Take Daddy's cock. Take it and-"

His phone chirrups loudly on the table next to him, breaking him from the immersive fantasy.

A name and photo flash up on the screen.

Mia.

Immediately he feels guilty. Here he is humping his mattress to thoughts of you as his gorgeous, talented, funny, sexy girlfriend is calling.

He breathes rapidly through his nose, slowing his grinding movements. He rolls over in the bed, reaching for the phone.

"Hey babe," Dieter says, panting as he answers. He flips onto his back, willing his cock to go down.

"You okay? You sound like you've been exercising and I know that can't be true."

Dieter barks a laugh at that. He's about to reply when he hears a splash outside his window. Mia starts chatting in his ear but he's completely taken with the view outside his window.

You're in a bikini, gliding through the clear water of his pool. Dieter feels his mouth run dry at the sight, especially when you roll over onto your back, your belly protruding from the water like a beacon. Your hair dances around your head, your eyes closed, face tilted towards the sun. You have the sweetest little smile on your face.

You're so fucking beautiful.

"Dee? You there?"

"Huh? Yeah, sorry babe what?"

"I wanted to know how you're getting on? I've been staying off socials for the last little bit of the shoot trying to stay focused. I finally saw the photos from the airport. How is the poor thing holding up?"

"Stressed, but better."

"She must be happy to be at home away from all that madness."

Dieter feels his stomach clench. He knows he has to be honest with Mia, she's his girlfriend, she deserves to know. And yet he hesitates because he knows how it sounds.

"She's staying in my guest house, actually," Dieter offers in what he hopes is a nonchalant voice.

The warmth from Mia's voice is immediately gone.

"Pardon me?"

"She's, uh, in my guest house for the time being," Dieter adds, closing his eyes and bracing himself.

Mia shuffles on the other end before her voice reaches out to him confused.

"I thought you wanted a relationship with me, Dieter. Otherwise why did your agent go to so much trouble to confirm it? To do a splashy roll-out?"

"I do want it."

"But you have the employee you got pregnant living with you?"

"Not with me. In the guest house."

"This is weird, Dee."

He hears the concern in her voice and he feels his stomach drop. He doesn't want to lose Mia.

"Her mom kicked her out," Dieter explains quickly. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Pay for a hotel?"

The answer is so clear, so obvious. Why didn't he offer a hotel? He has the money. Why had it been so important for him to have you here?

Because then he could see you every day.

The answer is immediate but he won't admit it. Not now.

"The paps have been relentless," Dieter says finally. "They'll camp out outside of wherever I put her up. Not like here where I know she's safe away from the public eye."

"But-"

"She's not like us, Mia," Dieter insists. "She doesn't want fame and all that shit. She's just a regular person who's pregnant and alone. Her mom kicked her out, she's got no one else."

He can almost hear Mia softening over the phone.

"It's just hard, Dee," she says finally. "Especially when I haven't seen you in weeks."

Dieter feels a flutter of panic at how sad she sounds. He wants to make it up to her and has a great idea of how.

"Prague!"

Dieter bursts out with this, wincing when he hears how loud he is.

"Sorry, what?"

"What do you think about Prague?" Dieter corrects himself, rubbing nervously at his beard. "You're flying to LA next week for our magazine spread, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you've always wanted to go to Prague, right?"

"Yes."

"So let's do it. After the shoot let's get away from everyone and everything for a few weeks just us two."

"You'd really want to do that?"

"Of course."

He hears Mia weighing the choice on the other end of the line. He holds his breath until he can almost hear her smile.

"Okay Dee, let's do it."

“Amazing,” Dieter says grinning. “I’ll get Diane to send you the details. See you next week.”

He hangs up quickly, undressing and pulling on his swim trunks.

You’re floating on your back, sunglasses on your face, your body most submerged in the cool water. You hear the sound of a door opening and crack one eye open to see Dieter approaching.

Dieter never uses his pool. He got the house on a whim and didn’t even notice it had a pool until he officially moved in. But right now seeing your tits overflowing out of your bikini cups has him so utterly thankful to his former self.

He shrugs off his robe, sliding into the chilly water with an exaggerated brrrr. He swims over to you, sunglasses perched on the end of his nose.

“Looked so refreshing I had to join.”

“It’s so nice,” you sigh, your arms and legs out as you soak up the sun and enjoy the lack of strain on your lower back. “I never want to get out.”

Dieter paddles near you for a moment, wanting to remember this moment before he recalls his conversation with Mia.

“Well you’ll have the place to yourself the next couple of weeks.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Mia and I are going to Prague like you suggested.”

“That’s so great," you say with a tightness in your voice. “When do you leave?”

“Next Thursday.”

Next Thursday.

Dieter stars to drone on about how Mia has all these restaurants and museums she wants to go to but all you can think of is that you’ll be alone on your birthday. The first one since your father passed. No mother to turn to. Nothing. You’ll be completely alone.

A sudden flutter begins in your abdomen and you give an absent smile, hand slowly sliding over your stomach.

Well, not completely alone.

From where you stand in your guest house kitchen you can see into the main house. Specifically into the dining room. At night when the landscape is dark and the lights are on inside you can see it very clearly.

Like tonight.

You can see him pacing inside the house, his tall frame gesticulating wildly. He's obviously going over some lines. He asked you to have dinner and run through them but you’d texted back some feeble excuse.

The truth is you need to separate yourself as much as possible from Dieter because you’re convinced that what you’re starting to feel can’t be explained away by hormones. This desire to be with him.

But he’s leaving with Mia in a few short days on some whirlwind romantic escape. You even showed him the best way to pack his fucking suitcase! The sight of a box of condoms at the bottom of it hidden by the toiletries bag made your throat tighten.

Despite this your eyes sail over to Dieter’s house again, watching him make a note on his script before running through the lines. He looks so sexy when he does it, totally lost in the moment. It reminds you of the character he played in Ireland.

Fuck, that insatiable need is coursing through your body again. The hormones kicking into overdrive as you feel your thighs press together at the memory of Dieter and that regency costume. He looked so good in it. You can almost hear his husky voice in your ear.

It's okay if you want it, baby. Lemme give it to you.

You throw yourself into your plush bed, your hands sliding down under your panties and working frantically against your straining clit.

Uh huh. Just like that. Gotta come on my fingers before you get this cock.

You throw your head back, thighs squeezing as you rut against your fingers. This phantom Dieter plays in your mind, his husky voice full of dark, delicious promise.

Gonna fuck such pretty sounds out of you.

"Dieter," you groan, unable to help yourself. It's pathetic how quickly and easily your orgasm overtakes you. It leaves you shuddering and whimpering, rutting into your fingers and then finally collapsing back as you stare at the ceiling.

What the fuck are you doing?

Despite everything Dieter is still your boss in some ways. He’s still the man paying you to have a child. Yes, he’s sort of a friend, but at the end of the day he still holds some authority over you.

You wish that last thought didn’t turn you on so much.

You’re still groaning when you hear the light tap of knuckles on glass and you jerk up in your bed, face flushed.

You wipe your damp hand on the sheets before slowly stumbling out of the bedroom. Dieter is standing there at the glass door, giving you a stiff wave. You move quickly, tugging the door open. The sound of cicadas and LA night traffic punctuate the formerly peaceful space.

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m really sorry to come over here so late but Magda just told me when she was cleaning this place this afternoon she saw a roach.”

“What?”

Immediately you’re moving towards him, glancing behind you in disgust. Your eyes sweep the floor and counters for any trace. Strange, you haven’t noticed anything and this place is kept perfectly clean.

“Yeah,” Dieter nods, looking tense. “So I gotta get this place fumigated ASAP.”

“Of course.”

“But the fumes are bad for the baby so you’ll have to move your stuff into the main house until it’s finished.”

“For how long do you think?”

“Dunno,” Dieter shrugs, motioning to the room airily. “I was gonna call a guy in the morning to get some quotes. Might be a couple weeks before they can get someone out here.”

A couple weeks? Dieter has enough money to have the place fumigated tonight if he really wanted to. You gaze up at Dieter about to say as such when you see the searching nature of his eyes and suddenly the shoe drops.

There’s no roach.

You note the tense way he rubs his fingers together, the way his brows rise and eyes go owlish the longer you stare at him.

“I’m terrified of roaches,” you finally tell him as you start to throw your stuff into your suitcases. “Can I move my stuff in tonight?”

“Would be the safest,” Dieter nods exaggeratedly helping you to pack. It takes no time at all before he’s helping you carry the suitcases across the yard and into his home.

The guest room is just as nice as the guest house with tall ceilings but slightly less homey. Dieter prefers marble floors and gold accents. Things he was taught as a child meant rich. The bed is lovely, but minimalist. You are however very impressed with the large bathtub and even bigger rain forest shower. You put your suitcases to the side, feeling Dieter watch you from the doorway.

“It’s still early you wanna watch a doc or something?”

You bite back the delighted smile that threatens to bleed over your features before you turn to face him.

“Sure.”

“Okay, you got your passport, the tickets are on your phone, your bags are packed,” the young man’s reedy voice lists off things from his checklist as the three of you stand in the kitchen the following week. Dieter is sitting on one of the stools dressed nicely and looking nervously from the paper to you, completely ignoring Rupert.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

“Dieter.”

“What if you go into labor?”

“Almost three months early?” you force a laugh from where you stand by the fridge. “Then we have bigger issues than you not being here. Now c’mon. Mia’ll be here any second.”

Today is the photo spread for the movie Mia and Dieter starred in. It’ll run late so the lovebirds have decided on spending the night in a fancy hotel before shuttling off to Prague the next day. Dieter is always nervous about trips away but he realizes this is especially daunting since he’ll have no PA with him.

Diane has sent him someone new over during the week. A young man with bloodshot eyes and a nervous countenance named Robert or Roger. Dieter can’t remember. All he knows is that the kid does his job decently but he isn’t you.

But he promised himself that he would plan this trip for he and Mia. He researched the restaurants and hotels with her and booked it all. He got them the best seats in the plane and the nicest suite in the hotel.

But all he can think is that he’s going to be away from you for two weeks. Away from his son nestled safely in your body.

“I made a new tape for him,” Dieter says, suddenly snapping. He reaches into his pocket and slides the tape towards you. “Make sure he listens.”

“Yes, yes,” you say rolling your eyes.

The doorbell rings and Rupert immediately goes to answer it leaving you and Dieter alone. He watches you peering into the fridge trying to find something to satisfy your current craving of salty vanilla pudding.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

His voice is a quiet hum. Your mouth tries to form the words but all you can think of is Dieters warm eyes, his hands caressing your belly, the sweet timbre of his voice when he reads to you when you can’t sleep.

“I’m going to be okay,” you promise him softly as you glance over to him. “Now go say hello to your girlfriend.”

Dieter nods resolutely before bolting around the corner to see Mia. You hear his excited greeting and you try not to feel upset. Instead you dig around in the cupboard for something salty. You hear your name being called and you turn to see Dieter and Mia entering the room.

Mia’s eyes go round with shock at seeing you waddle towards her. You give a bright smile, despite the pang that goes through you at the sight of them hand-in-hand.

"Oh wow," Mia says when you waddle into the room holding a bag of chips.

"Weird right?"

"A little," she laughs. You join in, knowing how strange this entire scenario is. You feel like a baby hippo meanwhile Mia looks like she just stepped off the runway.

“So nice to see you,” she says, giving you an awkward hug as she avoids the bump. “I brought a little something for the baby,” she hands a wrapped gift to Dieter, “and one for you.”

Dieter unwraps the package, bringing out a first edition copy of Winnie the Pooh. Your eyes widen at the sight. That must have cost her a fortune.

“Thanks babe,” Dieter says warmly, kissing her. You look away, unwilling to watch and unwrap your gift from Mia which turns out to be a delicate crystal flower vase. Arguably one of the most useless things on the planet since you hate flowers. Dieter knows this and you think you catch a curl of amusement in his face.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you falter.

“I know,” she says sweetly. “I just saw it and thought of you.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say, careful not to exchange amused looks with Dieter across the room. You shoot a soft smile at Mia. “Thank you so much. I’ll go pop it in my room so it doesn’t get broken. Magda tends to be a little chaotic when she cleans.”

You turn, about to go down the hallway to the bedroom when you feel something like tension in the room. You don't know why you pause but you do.

"I thought you were staying in the guest house?" She asks you but her eyes are scanning Dieter’s face.

“She was,” Dieter explains, hoping his cheeks aren’t red. “But there were roaches.”

Mia’s face scrunches. “Roaches?”

“Yeah,” you finally fumble, rubbing absently at your stomach. "The guest house needed to be fumigated and that’s not safe for the baby. That’s the only reason I’m in the guest room. I’ll be out in the guest house as soon as the fumigation is over."

Mia nods, but you don't miss the lingering look there in her light eyes.

With Dieter in Prague for the next few weeks you have a lot of free time to yourself. The only problem is you have no one to spend it with. You can't be seen in public now without a bodyguard save for your short walks through Dieter's Calabasas neighborhood. Phone calls with your mom are no longer an option. So you spend most of your time scrolling through social media, watching movies and swimming.

Dieter has always been annoying but he's the kind of annoying that brings you comfort now. Without his loud presence in the house you start to feel lonely. A strange feeling you've never really experienced due to your busy lifestyle.

It makes you long for the sound of Dieter's record player in the art room. Makes you long for his brash laughter during a funny commercial. Makes you long for the way your voices worked against one another when practicing lines, the sound of him muttering to himself when he reads something that interests him in the paper, the way he rasps your name when he’s just woken up.

All the sounds of Dieter that you realize have come to be their own comforting symphony to you.

But he’s with Mia and that's how it should be. They're on the same level. And you know that these feelings are from your hormones. This warmth will fade the second this child is taken from you and is likely contributing to this lonely feeling that arises with you each empty morning.

He’s only been gone four days but those days seem to stretch into eternity. Your mind is usually so full and your schedule packed. But you’re almost annoyingly free right now. Dieter has made only one request of you and that is to update the app every day at least once. He says it makes him feel less guilty about leaving, even though you're the one who encouraged it.

So you do.

29 weeks

Cravings

SALT

Vanilla

pie filling

chips

peanuts

Missing

the ability to see my feet

Baby is size of butternut squash

The only thing that tethers you to Dieter are the sporadic text messages he sends you. Where you once found his constant need to stay in touch annoying, now you crave his random messages, re-reading them with a smile.

[1:44pm] D: I hate not speaking Czech. I feel like everyone is making fun of me and I have no proof. [1:44pm]: You're being paranoid. [1:44pm] D: I'm not!!! [1:46pm] D: Okay maybe a little. Mia and I did an edible. [1:46pm]: Dieter! [1:46pm] D: Diane said no hard drugs! Edibles are natural.

You roll your eyes.

[1:47pm]: Whatever. Hope you're having fun.

You wish you could see his face when you recall Mia's instagram. You forgot you follow her. The second you click on her story you wish you hadn't. It's her and Dieter in a gorgeous spot in Prague chatting with the caption: Czech us Out! @BravoitsDieter

Your loneliness hits you on the fifth day quite acutely. And instead of turning to television or swimming you lay on your back in bed and stare up into the ceiling before your fingers fumble for your phone and you type hurriedly.

[6:08am]: I think he has your hair. [6:12am] D: Huh? What?? Why? [6:12am]: They say if the mother has lots of heartburn then the kid will have lots of hair. Right now I feel like my heart has been dropped in acid. [6:13am] D: No way. I thought babies were always bald. [6:13am]: Not always. I wasn't. Were you? [6:13am] D: Dunno. Never saw baby photos of myself. [6:14am]: Why not? [6:14am] D: My mom cared about stuff like that. When she died my dad just put everything in the attic and tried to forget.

You didn't know that about Dieter. You've heard snatches of information from other staff that Dieters dad is a low life, but to not save photos of your kid? That seems cruel.

[6:14am]: I'm sorry. [6:15am] D: NP. [6:15am] D: Mia is taking me to a museum so I gtg ttyl

You frown at the phone.

"What a bitch," you murmur before stopping yourself. You think about how your baby can probably hear sounds outside the womb now and you feel guilty.

"No, actually, she's not a bitch. She's really lovely and she's so good for your dad."

Your hands drift over your belly slowly, subconsciously as you speak and soon your eyes follow suit.

"Strange to think you're just in there all snuggly," you tell your belly with amusement. You gasp when you think you can feel a slight flutter within you abdomen.

"Is that you?" You wonder aloud. "Can you hear me?"

The fluttering continues and you feel something in you shift. Your heart squeezes pleasantly. He rarely moves around for just you. It seems he's most active when Dieter is nearby.

"You're really in there," you laugh to yourself. "And you can hear me."

The lonely feelings begin to dissipate. You're not alone - you have your son to keep you company. You talk to him through the day. You make jokes about bubble having Dieters hair. You talk to Bubble about the book you read on the porch. When you watch a documentary you narrate for the baby.

You update the app with a cheerful photo of you making a heart over the bellybutton with your fingers. You think Dieter will get a kick out of it.

When you go to bed you put the headphones over your belly and hit play on the walkman.

"This is a new one from your Dad," you tell your belly wryly as you position the foam on either side of your bump. "So I apologize now if it's fucking annoying."

With a serene smile you go to sleep with his muffled voice against your skin. And when you wake up on the sixth day you feel good. It's not until you look at the calendar that you're reminded of Friday's date.

Your birthday.

The first one without your father. It makes your stomach drop.

As if all of California has gotten the memo the day is grey and drizzly. You spend most of the day napping and eating whatever Petra has put together. But by mid afternoon you’re feeling restless. You try walking around the block, but the weather drives you back inside. You try to distract yourself but nothing seems to work.

Petra and Magda have gone home for the day. It’s just you and bubble and right now it feels like it’s just you. You decide to order a pizza for dinner, and as you wait for your Hawaiian Delight to arrive you can’t help but reach out to the one person you wish was here.

[5:48pm]: How is Prague? [5:50pm] D: Boring. [5:50pm]: Only you would say Prague is boring, Dieter. [5:51pm] D: In the airport now. Gonna go to Germany for a couple days. Mia really wants to see Cologne Cathedral and apparently they’re doing some once-in-a-decade tour event thing. I dunno. How’s the bubble? [5:51pm]: Still here.

You don’t know why you’re both still calling him Bubble. The tabloids have made it impossible not to be aware that you’re pregnant after all. But there’s something sweet about referring to him as your little Bubble.

[5:52pm] D: airport is so fucking noisy and I'm so tired. found coffee though.

[5:52pm]: Make sure not to drink too much. You won’t sleep on the plane. [5:52pm] D: U didn’t update the app today. [5:53pm]: Sorry, been distracted. [5:53pm] D:??? [5:53pm] D: How come?

You have no desire to get into this over text. Besides it’s not Dieters problem, it’s yours. And it’s not a problem it’s just. . . life.

[5:55pm]: Doesn’t matter. Here, this will have to do.

You attach a picture of your hand over your swollen bump and send it over.

You’re surprised when you see Dieter calling.

“Hello?”

“Why are you distracted?”

“Dieter don’t you have better things to do than call me about this?” You say rolling your eyes, but still delighted to be hearing his raspy voice. “Aren’t you in the airport?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t Mia with you?”

“She went to get another magazine for the flight. You gonna tell me what’s going on? Is it the Bubble?”

“No,” you say grunting as you lean back against the sofa.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine!”

“Cmon,” Dieter cajoles. “You know I’m just gonna keep calling and texting until you tell me.”

“Its pregnancy brain,” you throw out, hoping this will satiate him.

“Liar. Your voice always does that clipped thing when you lie.”

You can’t help but feel a small smile cross your features. You hear the distant boarding call for his flight and you decide you might as well tell him. It’s not like he doesn’t already know that your dead is dead.

“It’s just… It’s my birthday. The first one since my dad died and ...."

You trail off. You hear silence on the other end of the phone and then a soft fuck.

“Dieter?”

“I thought it was next month,” Dieter is murmuring and you can hear him tapping on the phone. “Fucking calendar. Fuck. I thought it was next month same day. That’s what I have it as. Fuck. This is why I don’t program my own fucking electronics. Fuck.”

“Nope. Today,” you clarify, amused at how frazzled he sounds. “But it’s not your problem. It’s just this is my first birthday without my Dad and, my Mom isn’t talking to me and I realized I’ve worked so hard so long I have no real friends and…. It’s just…”

You break off when you feel tears starting.

“Anyway, not your problem,” you say forcing your voice up an octave. “I’m only telling you because you asked. I hope you and Mia enjoy your trip! I can’t wait to see photos.”

“Hey, wait-“

“I gotta go,” you say, brushing the stray tears that have escaped. “Pizza guy is here. Bye!”

You hang up the phone and then place it on silent. You don’t want to talk with him anymore. You don’t want to talk with anyone. You just spoke to Dieter but that doesn't stop you from missing him. It gets to the point where you pull up old interview footage with him on YouTube just so you can hear his voice and see his smile.

When the pizza arrives you pay the guy delivering it, but then you just shove the box in the fridge. You take a shower, letting the tears mingle with the steamy droplets before pulling on a new nightdress. You grab the walkman and headphones, about to put them on when you pad t the kitchen for a glass of water.

You walk back, about to retire to your guest room, walking past Dieter’s bedroom. You’ve rarely ever been inside it and never when he isn’t at home. But something about today compels you into it, something make you push open the door and walk to his bed.

The room is recently cleaned by Petra, the bed freshly made, the floors sparkling, his clothing put away. The fireplace is off but you switch it on, noticing his tattered green robe freshly washed and hanging on the back of the bedroom door. You don’t even think about it, you just pull it on over your sleep dress and stumble into his bed.

Dieter’s bed is so comfy, even better than the one in his guest house and room. You curl under the sheets, burying your face in his pillow. It smells like his expensive shampoo and the cologne he sometimes wears. It brings tears to your eyes.

You wish he was here.

You turn onto your back, tummy swollen and resting heavily. It makes you long for Dieter in all aspects. Not just to fuck, but to spend time with. He's so different from anyone you know. He doesn't follow rules or social norms. But when you're with him you feel calm and not judged. It makes you feel like you can let go.

"Your daddy really is wonderful," you murmur to your belly, stroking it. "You might hear bad stuff but you need to know what a good heart he has. He's so generous and funny and he loves so deeply. You're not even here yet and he's so in love with you."

You look at the walkman resting beside you, and instead of putting it around your abdomen something inspires you to put the headphones on yourself. You’ve never listened to the message before but tonight you do.

You slip the cheap foam over your ears, rewinding the tape and smiling when his voice sounds out over the tape.

“Hey little Bravo, this is your dad speaking. I just found out you’re gonna be a boy. Woah. My son. Uh, I need you to know that you are so special and that when you’re born we’re gonna have so much fun. I’ve already made a list of places we’re gonna go. And-“

It goes on like this for several minutes with Dieter excitedly detailing all his future plans for he and his son. You hang onto every word, enraptured with the life he has in store for his son. You imagine a future with Dieter holding a baby with his same wild hair. And in this future you see him reach for a woman, but she isn’t you. It’s Mia, and she looks so happy with them. The perfect family.

Dieter’s voice draws you back in.

“You need to know that your Mom loves you just as much as me. I watch her patting you and whispering to you all the time. She told me last week that you were the size of a head of cauliflower. Then she started humming a song about her cauliflower son.”

You laugh out loud at the memory of you swimming a few weeks ago humming a tune about a cauliflower son. You didn’t even realize Dieter was paying attention. You turn your attention back to the recording.

“I just want you to know how much I love you. I love you so so much. I’m so excited to meet you.”

You stop the tape, rewinding it.

“I just want you to know how much I love you. I love you so much.”

You sniffle, rewinding the tape again.

“I just want you to know how much I love you. I love you so much.”

Again.

“I love you so much.”

Again and again you rewind to hear that section. And as you finally drift off into sleep it’s to the gentle sound of the man you desire whispering how much he loves you.

Dieter arrives at home late, toeing off his sneakers as he yawns, scratching his belly before heading for his bedroom. The suitcase is left at the front door, tomorrow’s problem. He’s exhausted from the flight and he needs to get some sleep before he talks to you tomorrow morning.

He opens the door to his room, preparing to throw himself into bed when he notices the fireplace is on. He pauses, seeing you in your bed lying on your side sleepily soundly. A small smile curls onto his lips when he sees the bright yellow walkman in your hand, fingers loosely around it. What strikes him is that you're wearing the headphones; you don't have them around your belly.

Dieter is quiet, looking down at your peaceful sleeping face illuminated by your bedside table. One of your hands is splayed over your belly protectively and this makes him smile. He gently pulls the earphones from off your head, sliding the walkman from your grip and placing both on his nightstand.

He figures he’ll sleep in the guest room tonight, musing that you’re playing musical beds tonight.

You murmur something sleepily, something be doesn't catch. He takes a minute longer to look at you and then his face hovers over yours. He kisses you softly, an innocent press of his lips to yours.

"G'night baby mama."

You shift partly awake, arms reaching out to wrap around his neck. He grins, allowing himself to get pulled into the bed next to you. You’re so warm. You don't say anything; you just snuggle up against him, face nuzzling against his neck.

"Go back to sleep, baby," Dieter tells your sleepy frame. "Just turning the light off."

He presses a ginger kiss to your temple before his free hand clicks the light next to the bed.

"Okay, love you, g'night," you murmur, still mostly dozing.

Dieter is silent, unmoving as your words rattle around in his head. He waits until you're snoring before he finally replies.

"I love you too."

TAGLIST: @getitoutofmymindwrites @manuymesut @whirlwindrider29 @mostardentlypascal @lu62 @missladym1981 @heareball @sptbear @drewharrisonwriter @lizzie-cakes @daddy-dins-girl @moel-jiller @tammythr @guelyury @lilyevanstan1325 @lu62 @sptbear @staywildflowahchild @whirlwindrider29 @pedropascalsbbg @cherrycosmos392

#dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo #dieter x reader #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #series #a little sun

185 notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 1 year

Note

Hi Bee🐝 I hope you’re having a nice weekend❣️

I had a Joel fic idea I wanted to send you in case you are looking for inspo? If not just ignore this lmao.

I thought it would be kind of cute to have a fic where r likes to read even after the world went to hell and whenever she goes with Joel somewhere and he luckily finds a book he knows she hasn’t read he picks it up for her as a gift😭 and r reads out loud for them when they’re camping, oblivious to Joel’s feelings until one day he gives r a book she mentioned she loved when she was younger and she’s like oh, you feel the same way 😭

AN | I love this, this is so soft and I love this concept! I hope you like it too 🥰

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | None

Word Count | 3k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Always buried in a book," his tease was accompanied by a warm chuckle as you looked up and found Joel strolling into the makeshift library. Your smile was beaming as you marked your page and set the book down to give him your full attention, "what are you readin' now?"

"Nothing terribly exciting," you confessed with a huff, nodding in the direction of your latest selection, "the Hobbit. I think I've read it a dozen times by now. As a matter of fact I think I've read all of these books at least twice."

"Hard to expand a library when people aren't writing anymore," Joel rubbed at his beard thoughtfully as you nodded sadly, "its a shame."

"I never thought I'd see the day when I couldn't go to the bookstore or library for a new book," you looked away, blinking back your tears. It wasn't just the book thing - it was everything, "but here we are. I like to write my own stories sometimes but it's not the same. I already know the beginning, middle, and end and all the plot twists when it's all in my head."

He hummed in understanding as you felt him study you intently. Your face warmed up under his intense gaze as tugged at a loose thread on the sleeve of your sweater, “is there a reason you read the same thing multiple times?”

“I’ve always read a lot,” you tucked your legs up and under yourself on the overstuffed chair. You focused on the fire that was crackling away merrily, knowing that you had his undivided attention, “it was always a good form of escapism when I was younger and turns out it also works these days with all of…this. I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, I always had a hard time fitting in. When things got bad, there was always a book to turn to.”

“Did you have a favorite?” you huffed in amusement as you turned to him with a no duh expression. The look on your face made him laugh as well, and he reached over to give your shoulder a gentle squeeze, “what was it?”

“You’re going to laugh…”

“I promise I won’t,” he insisted, accompanied by a silent shake of his shoulders which led you to raise your eyebrows at him, “I’ll do my best not to.”

“A true man of honor,” you rested your chin in your hand as you looked over at him, “prideandprejudice.”

“Come again?” he was teasing you, the question filled with tender affection, “didn’t quite catch that, sweetheart.”

“You’re the worst,” you groaned softly, hiding your face in your hands, “you heard me loud and clear - Pride and Prejudice. I know it’s silly but I’ve just always loved it.”

“I don’t think that’s silly at all,” he promised as you relaxed slightly. It wasn’t that you needed his approval or hoped he felt the same way, but there was something about his response and how tenderly he watched you that it made your tummy explode with butterflies, “it’s nice to have something familiar to hang onto - it’s nice to have a friend.”

“I agree,” oh. He really had to stop looking at you like that before you melted into a puddle on the floor, “I haven’t read it in forever.”

“Haven’t found a copy or just haven’t had the desire to read it?”

“Haven’t found it,” you sighed dramatically, before smiling back at him, “maybe one day I will, and if I do, I’m going to make you read it as well - I’ll even read it out loud for you.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?”

“Umm…I dunno,” you mused as he shook his head fondly, “both? Which one is worse?”

“I don’t think I’d ever feel threatened by you,” he began as you gave him a mock-hurt little expression, “you’re very tough, but I’m sorry sweetheart, you’re too soft. Which isn’t a bad thing. So, tell you what, you ever get your hands on a copy of Pride and Prejudice, I’d love to have you read it out loud for me.”

“Yeah?” you looked at him with soft doe eyes that made his heart constrict.

“Promise.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel liked your smile; it was pretty, even if you shied away from it at times. It always worked to make his heart constrict with emotion, and he’d long formed his own little plan to make you smile as often as he could. You weren’t privy to that just yet, but that was okay. As long as you were happy that was all that mattered.

His favorite way, as he’d found after that afternoon in the library, was surprising you with a new book. Realistically, it wasn’t much, but it was the meaning behind the gesture, and the fact that even though he was out in the big, bad outside, he was thinking about you.

Book after book he found for you, some almost new, perfectly preserved in time, and some already aged and loved before everything fell apart. But it never mattered, it was all about the face that he did just for you. The old, rickety bookcase in your small apartment was soon filled with new titles, some you’d already and others you’d never even heard of, all lovingly placed and organized. One of the many reasons you didn’t mind these small tokens of affection from Joel was the fact that it gave you more reasons to spend time with him.

As the months passed, you got to know Joel more and more, learning about his life from before the Outbreak to present. You shared just as much with him and in a way it felt like the two of you had always been friends, like two wandering souls that had found their way back to each other. You never would have thought that someone like him would ever even want to spend time with you, but you fit together like perfect puzzle pieces.

On this particular evening you found yourself in his backyard, along with Ellie and a few other friends that you’d made in Jackson. Some moonshine had been passed around, and lots of exciting stories had been exchanged. You were listening to everyone, mostly staying more on the quiet side when you realized you didn’t have much to contribute to the current conversation at hand.

“What about you?” Joel was sitting on your side and leaned into your space, gently nudging your leg with his. You blinked a few times, tearing your attention away from the fire and turning it to him with a confused look on your face, “what’s your best camping story?”

“Oh,” you grinned sheepishly as you looked around the circle and found nothing but friendly faces looking back at you. Your cheeks warmed up as you shrugged innocently, “I’ve never actually been camping. So I wouldn’t know….unfortunately.”

“What?” Joel seemed surprised but quickly caught himself and slipped into the soft tone that he often adopted for you, “I knew there had to be something wrong with you - there had to be a flaw somewhere.”

“And never having been camping is my flaw?” you teased right back, unaware of the knowing smiles that were being exchanged all around.

“That’s right,” he insisted, leaning in even closer, causing your heart to skip a few beats, “but don’t worry, there will still be time to fix that.”

“What a gentleman,” you down the rest of your drink, shaking your head in amusement.

“Would you look at the time…” Ellie almost jumped out of her seat, pointedly looking around the circle and motioning with her head that it was time to leave, “it’s late and we’re all tired, so we’re gonna…go.”

“All of you at once?” Joel raised an eyebrow as he looked at the girl, knowing better than anything by this point. She nodded with narrowed eyes as everyone said their goodbyes, leaving just the two of you. Joel let out a long sigh as he leaned back in his chair and smiled at you, “very subtle.”

Your mind started to reel with possibilities as to what he meant. You knew what you wanted him to mean, but you also weren’t about to flatter yourself like that. Joel wouldn’t ever like you as more than a friend, right? Right.

The way you looked at him with such wide, gentle eyes made him want to pull you into his lap and kiss you until there was no mistaking what he was saying. The two of you stared at each other for a few moments before you cleared your throat softly.

"I guess I should get going too," you whispered, still unmoving, "it's late."

As soon as you stood up but before you could go, you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist as he gently held you back.

You turned around to face him, neither of you speaking, just studying each other. He had lovely eyes, soft despite all the years of hardness, his lips pulled into a soft smile.

Before you could stop yourself with too much logic, you leaned in and kissed him. You wondered if it was all a huge mistake, but to your surprise, he kissed you right back. His hands found purchase on your waist and yours on his shoulders as you let him kiss you

Until you came to your senses and realized what you were doing. You gasped in surprise and pulled back, looking at him worriedly as Joel dropped his hands from your waist. You blinked back the tears that had immediately threatened to well up, panicking that you had crossed any remaining boundaries that either of you had remaining.

"I-I am so sorry," you whispered, touching your lips without thinking about it, "I have to go. I'm sorry."

You were gone before Joel could even process what had just happened.

When he did, he hung his head and sighed heavily. He hoped he hadn't just fucked everything up.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

In the following week, you weren’t actively trying to avoid Joel…but you were definitely making sure you weren’t around whenever he was. You just had no idea how to broach the subject or if it even needed to be discussed. The idea of going up to him and saying anything made you want to curl up and wither away - it might have been dramatic but you were willing to allow yourself a little bit of theatrics.

But…you realized later on, Joel hadn’t fought off your advances. He’d actively kissed you back, and taken control. Maybe he’d wanted it just as much as you had. Or, or, you’d taken advantage of him, because you’d both been drinking. That made it all worse, and made your stomach churn.

Either way, your plan was to avoid him - if not forever - for as long as you could.

Unfortunately, Joel was a stubborn man and wasn’t about to let you go without any explanations. And you weren’t exactly particularly sneaky; he found you in your usual spot, perched on the window seat with a book open in your lap as you stared out the window.

“Hey,” you startled at the sound of his voice, but turned to him with a shy smile. He approached you slowly, almost as if he was afraid that he was going to scare you off like some sort of wild animal, “figured you’d be here.”

“Well,” you waved your hands around dismally before tucked your book away, “I’m not exactly hard to find if you know me. I’m a creature of habit.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with that,” he came over and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his broad chest, “I have a surprise for you.”

“O-oh, Joel,” you swallowed thickly and wondered what on earth he could possibly be referring to, “I-I don’t need anything…seriously.”

“I didn’t get you anything technically,” ah. Joel and his little technicalities, “more of a ‘we’re doing this,’ type of thing.”

“And what is it that we’re doing?”

“Camping,” he stated with a grin as you just blinked at him in shock.

“Pardon?”

“We - you, Ellie, and I - are going camping,” he stated again as if that would clear everything up, “just a little something I’ve been planning since you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I-I have not been avoiding you,” a lie. You both knew that much, “just…busy.”

“Whatever the reason,” he insisted, “we’re goin’ camping. We’re leaving bright and early in the morning so make sure your things are packed.”

“Joel-”

“We’ll be ‘round at eight,” he gave your leg a gentle pat before heading out, not letting you get a word in edgewise. This man.

You watched him go, feeling so alive and nervous at the same time, but more importantly, you were excited to go.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As it turned out, camping was a lot more fun than you thought it would be. You were pretty sure a lot of it had to do with your present company. Ellie and Joel were always fun to be around and this was no exception.

Joel had scouted out a remote but safe location near a river where you made camp. There was something rewarding about putting up your own tent and making a fire to cook your dinner on. It was definitely a welcome change; it almost made it seem like the world had never fallen apart.

One particular evening, Ellie had crashed early and was already in the tent sleeping. That felt you and Joel outside sitting next to the fire. When the conversation hit a natural lull, Joel stood up and walked over to his backpack. You watched him curiously, a smile dancing on your face.

"Close your eyes," he called back to you. You playfully closed your eyes and put your hands over him. He chuckled as he pulled something out of the pack before zipping it closed.

He made his way back over to you, gently placing something in your lap. You made a small sound of surprise but didn't dare to open your eyes. Instead, you waited for him to give you the go ahead.

He sat back down next to you, groaning slightly at his stiff bones. You felt him pull your hands away from your eyes, "alright, you can go ahead and open your eyes."

"Joel, you really didn't need to get me anything!" You gasped as you looked at the object in your lap, trying to hide back a squeal of delight, "Joel. This is amazing."

"You like it?" He asked, nervous as he watched you inspect the small object.

"Pride and Prejudice," you opened the cover and flicked through some of the gold leafed pages. It was still in impeccable condition, "oh my god, I can't believe you found this - you remembered."

“‘course I did,” any nerves he had remaining quickly dissipated when he saw the look of pure joy on your face, “I remember a lot of things.”

“I mentioned it like one time,” you flipped through some of the pages, touching your fingers over the worn but love pages, “I can’t…this is wonderful, a-and so kind. Thank you so much, Joel.”

“You mentioned how much you used to like it,” oh no. He felt like he could melt into a puddle at how sweet you were, “and I wanted you to have it again. So I’ve been keeping my eye out for it.”

“You’ve been looking for it?” alright, you were about ready to cry at that point. He nodded, trying to make it seem like less of a big deal than it actually was, “you’re amazing. I can’t…this is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.”

“It’s not that big of a thing-”

“It’s everything,” you clutched the book to your chest, “this means everything to me.”

“You mean everything to me,” his voice was gentle. You gasp inwardly at the revelation, “I thought it was only fitting.”

You moved closer to him on the log, shifting your body so you could face him. Your eyes locked onto his; he could see the hesitation on your face and in your body language. He decided to answer your silent question by putting his hand on your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

Joel leaned in and kissed you, so quickly and delicately that you were almost convinced you might have imagined it. Judging from the expression on his face, you knew that it had definitely happened. You hadn’t just dreamed it last time - he wanted this too. You leaned into him and pressed a few more kisses to his lips, the two of you lingered but neither of you pushing.

“There’s something I have to ask you,” he tucked a few stray locks of hair behind your hair as you felt your face grow warm again. The effect he had on you was palpable.

“Anything.”

“Will you read to me?” the way the smile on your face was intoxicating and Joel was hooked, “I’ve never read Pride and Prejudice.”

“Shocker,” you teased softly, “are you sure though?”

“Positive,” he promised as he took your hand and led you over to the nest of warm blankets that were near the fire, “nothing would make me happier.”

“Okay,” you made yourself comfortable and pulled out the book, “get comfy and let’s get started.”

“Okay.”

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #pedro pascal #tlou #tlou hbo

1K notes · View notes