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dsybouquet · 5 months

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welcome home ⋆·˚ ༘ * - ellie williams

genre: post santa barbara! ellie x fem! reader, fluff fluff fluff, little angsty ? idk wouldnt call it angsty decide for yourself, comforting ellie, reuninion, crying, mentions of smoking, no baby !, mentions of panic attacks (kinda)

ellie came home with the burden of what has happened just to find you still waiting.

w.c: 1.9k

Breathing heavily, Ellie climbed up the last bit of the woods. Her limbs were heavy, her body weak. The way back to the farm was the most gut wrenching trip she ever had.

Not just because of the infected wounds on her lost fingers or the unsterile stitched up hole on her stomach. The uncertainty of what will happen, of what she’ll find when she’s home made her sick to her stomach.

Every step she took, every mile she got closer to your shared home made her want to throw up and not keep going. She wanted to run, to not return. But she couldn’t. Not before she went inside. Not before she could see what you left.

She approached the gate. The flowers still blooming although fall was slowly coming along. The colourful leaves of the trees which started to fall off - it all was so beautiful, it was just how she left it.

Oh, how she wanted to run. She felt the panic creep up. It was suffocating.

With her hands shaking, she unlocked the gate, entering the property. Slowly, she was walking towards the house. The garden was filled with pumpkins and other vegtables and too her surprise, it looked as if someone was taking care of it. Still, the chance was high that it wasn’t you.

Maybe someone else took over the house, took over the property. Maybe you were long gone and she would meet her end by someone shooting at her when she enters the house.

Or maybe it will be empty with nothing left and someone else from Jackson occasionally stopping by to feed the animal and take care of the garden. After all, you are still part of the Jackson community.

Her body was trembling when she went up the steps to the front door. She was shaking, not being able to control her breath. Her vision was blurry, like when she had panic attacks after waking up from the horrific nightmares after Joel's death.

Slowly she opened the front door. To her surprise the house was.. lively. Pictures still on the walls, the decorations still up. A slight scent of sage burning in the hallway crawled up her nose. Could it be you were still here ?

She looked around. Everything was unchanged. Just like she remembered it. Ellie silently made her way upstairs. If you were still there, she would not want you to shoot her because you thought an intruder came in. After all, she knew how you could be. Impulsive and holding a gun to the head of everyone that entered your comfort zone too quickly.

Behind a closed door, Ellie could hear a record play. 80s rock, just the type of music you loved, the type of vinyls that Ellie would happily give to you when she found them during patrol. The shine in your eyes when she handed you the The Cure record she found in a random store while being on patrol.

How come exactly this record was playing right now?

Her stomach dropped and she was about to pass out. “Fuck.”, she whispered under her breath, with her hand coming closer to the doorknob of the room. Ellie's breathing was short, she couldn't take deep breaths to prepare herself of what she'd find behind this door.

Maybe it was you. Maybe someone else. Maybe, you'd be sitting there with someone else, being happy, finding the peace you've been seeking for.

After a while, she finally got herself to open the door.

The light of the room illuminated the hallway while tears formed in her eyes. There you were, sitting on the floor in front of a canvas. A cigarette in your mouth and the brush between your fingers. You were paining, just how you used to back then. You were so focused you didn’t notice the door opening.

And you looked breathtaking. Your hair hugging your face as well as the faint smoke of the cigarette. Your eyes were piercing the canvas as you moved your brush on it. Somehow, Ellie felt like she just fell in love with you - again. Like she‘d seen you for the first time. Butterflies had formed in her stomach. You looked godsend, ethereal even.

Ellie eyed the painting. It was her. You painted her. It almost seemed like you were scared of forgetting what she looked like. On your painting, she was standing in between the sheeps, like she used to before she went on her final revenge trip. Petting the little lambs, giving the sheeps names.

She looked happy on the painting, smiling.

Suddenly, she remembered that your brain was very photographic and that memories lasted with you forever. She wasn’t surprised to see you painting this scene exactly how it was.

“Hey baby.”, she silently said, a knot forming in her throat. You dropped your paintloaded brush to the ground and blew out the smoke of your cigarette. You couldn’t look at her, too scared that it was your mind playing tricks on you.

Maybe you were daydreaming. The loneliness must have gotten to your head. You are imagining her. Shes not really there.

But then you had to take a look. Curiosity took over. You just had to know if it was really her.

And when your eyes met hers - your heart skipped a beat. Her sad green eyes which looked so tired. The scars in her face, the smile filled with sadness. She was back.

You put your cigarette in the ashtray before covering your mouth with your hands while tears formed in your eyes. “Fucking hell.”, you whispered trying to hold back tears.

“You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

Ellie didn’t approach you and you remained seated on the floor, trying to control your breath. She looked at you. You didn't change a bit, you just looked.. consumed. Dark eyebags, eyes as tired as hers. You lost some weight, noticeably even. But overall, it was still you.

You still looked like her pretty woman. The woman she left behind to seek revenge. The woman she loved ever so dearly.

Tears escaped from your eyes, staining your cheeks and hands with themselves. “You’re alive.”, you whispered after you put your hands to your head. “Fuck! Ellie you are alive.”

You got up, slowly, still scared that all of that was just imaginary. Scared that if you get too close, she’ll vanish. But she wasn’t. Even when you stood right in front of her, she didn’t dissolve into nothingness.

“Come here.”, she whispered, opening her arms for you to fall into them with a sad smile. And you did.

You held her so tight, Ellie was scared she’d suffocate. But you couldn’t care less. The longer you hugged her, the more tears escaped. You were sobbing in her arms, scared to let go. Scared that if you did, she’d leave again.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m here.” Ellie herself had tears running down her cheeks by now. Her hands slowly rubbed your back. She was relieved to see you were still here, but heartbroken to know you waited for her. And you would have waited there until your life meets an end.

All the months, you took care of the house, the garden, the animals. All by yourself just fueld by the hope of her returning. If only she could go back in time to prevent this. To stay here with you and accept the things as they were.

“I’m so glad you’re still alive.”, you whispered against her shoulder, before removing yourself from her grip to look at her. One of your hands found its way to her cheek, smudging away the falling tears.

She nodded, her heart feeling heavy as she pressed her lips together to not let out the most heartbreaking of sobs. She failed, hard. Ellie started sobbing and looking to the ground, feeling sorry and relieved at the same time.

“I’m so sorry. I should have never left. I couldn’t kill Abby. I had to let her go. And I left you alone for so long for something that was not even successful.”

Ellie broke down entirely, falling to her knees and sobbing in her hands. “I failed Joel, I failed Tommy, I failed you.” The way she was crying broke something inside you. You‘ve always wished to take this off her, to help her let go, but you have always failed.

There was no way of helping someone so deeply driven by trauma, by bloodlust. You had to let her do this and come to the realisation.

You wrapped your arms around her, comforting her silently. “Revenge is bittersweet. Let it go. Joel wouldn’t want you to risk everything just to seek revenge.”

She nodded, crying in your arms.

“I’m sorry I left you this way.”

“I promised I’d wait forever for you.”

You did.

Back in the days, back in the town of Jackson, the two of your were outside, drinking some mulled wine while staring at the stars. Nobody was by the campfire at this point. It was just you and Ellie, in the most romantic setting. You looked at her. Her freckled face illuminated by the fire, her eyes shining ever so beautifully. “I love you.”, you thought out loud, not looking away.

Ellie blushed, shooting her head into your direction. “Huh?!”

Quickly, you noticed what you just had said. “Fuck.”

Ellie looked away, not saying anything.

You felt horrible, like you fucked up the best friendship you’ve ever had. “Sorry I didn’t mean t-“

“Give me some time, ______. Please. I like you too, but I just need time.”

It was right after she found out Joel betrayed her, right in the time she was most vulnerable. And you respected that. But god, you felt stupid for saying it.

Nevertheless, you nodded.

“I can wait, no worries.”

Ellie sighed. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “I’ll wait forever if you’d want me to. Promise I’ll not go anywhere.”

She smiled slightly. “I give you that promise too.”

“Let’s get you in a warm bathtub and then to bed.”, you whispered, helping her stand up. Ellie went entirely non verbal, like she was only a puppet of herself with tears rolling down her cheeks.

You helped her get undressed and enter the bathtub. Although you wanted to ask about Abby, about the two fingers missing, about the new wounds and scars, you put it aside. You knew better, you knew Ellie needed comfort - your comfort.

So you slowly help her clean up, washing her Hair, softly scrubbing the dirt and dried up blood off her limbs, off her face. You took care of her like you always did, like you did after Joels murder, after Seattle, after bad days and trauma flashbacks. You were always there, and she left you behind like this.

“Come.”, you whispered and helped her get out of the bathtub, wrapping her fragile body in a towel. After putting fresh clothes onto her, you took her in the bedroom, helping her get into bed.

“I’m sorry I left you like this. I love you so much. I never wanted to hurt you.”, she quietly said, looking at you with tired eyes. You caressed her cheek, planting a soft kiss on her lips. The first kiss you shared in the past months. And you stomach felt like you’d freshly fell in love. You missed her so much.

“I love you too.”

Ellie closed her eyes, almost falling asleep immediately. The weight of Santa Barbara was still so heavy, she felt like she could sleep for weeks straight.

You just watched her silently, tucking her in, happy that she’s home, that she’s safe.

When you pushed yourself off the bed to brew yourself a tea, she held you by the wrist. “Don’t go.”, she mumbled, drunken in sleepiness.

So you stayed and placed yourself next to her. Your arm reached for her waist and you moved closer.

Quietly, you watched her drift of to sleep. She looked so peaceful and as beautiful as ever. Her auburn hair, still wet from the bath you gave her, was tucked behind her ear, giving you a view of her pretty face.

She was even more beautiful than how you remembered her. You noticed how you almost forgot her freckled cheeks, her little scar in her eyebrow. All these details about her were only a vague memory of yours, but now shes back. You missed her so dearly and it felt like a dream to have her back in this place with you and you were scared that if you fell asleep and opened your eyes again, it would only be a dream.

You missed having the person you loved the most next to you. Softly, you placed a featherlight kiss on her forehead.

“Sleep well, my love. Welcome home.”

#tlou ellie #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie fluff #ellie x fem reader #ellie tlou2 #the last of us #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x female reader #the last of us part 2 #tlou part 2 #tlou2 ellie #the last of us 2

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wynnyfryd · 5 months

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Trailer park Steve AU part 36

part 1 | part 35 | ao3

cw: hot girl shit

Steve practically yanks Eddie off stage the second the show ends. Eddie stumbles into their cheering group with a happy, startled oof, and Robin squeals, “You were so good!!” and amidst the circle of people pressing in to give Eddie a congratulatory group hug, Steve hooks a thumb over his shoulder and lies his fucking ass off.

“They said you need to move your van.” He points to the nearest employee he can pin this on and starts dragging Eddie from the fray, saying, “It’s parked in a fire zone.”

“Oh, no shit? Uh- okay.” Eddie’s breathless and fluttery from the excitement of the show, hands trembling a little as he pats his pockets down to find his key. Steve tugs him by the wrist and leads him out the side door — a dirty, dark brick alley, the walls soot-soaked and dim.

The street lights barely reach down the snow-covered path behind the dumpster, and when Steve’s sure they’re in a secluded enough spot, he slams into Eddie with a full body hug, arms wrapped tight around his middle.

“What the fuck?” Eddie laughs.

“You’re so hot,” Steve mumbles into the fabric of Eddie’s shirt. His face is pressed against his chest, hot and damp from exertion, and he breathes deep; hugs him harder. Splays his palms over his ribs just to feel how they move when he breathes.

Eddie’s arms come around his shoulders, a sly smile in his voice like he’s got Steve all figured out. “There wasn’t shit wrong with my parking job, was there?”

Steve looks up from his hiding spot and shakes his head no.

“Oh, you’re fucking cute,” he smirks. He shuffles them around until Steve’s back hits the wall, and he brings his hands up to either side of Steve’s head. Bracketing him. Caging him in.

Steve licks his lips; loses the rhythm of his breath. The moon’s a crescent overhead, obscured by heavy clouds, and it’s dark and it’s cold and undeniably nighttime, but Eddie’s eyes are shining — the first rays of dawn through the edge of the deep woods.

“Is it morning yet?” Steve whispers.

“Yeah, baby,” Eddie says.

He tilts his head and leans in, lips hovering close enough for Steve to taste him, but he doesn’t kiss him yet. “You had something you wanted to ask me?”

“Eddie, please,” Steve breathes in the dwindling space between their mouths.

Eddie presses in harder; sets their hips flush, cocks brushing through their jeans. “Please what, sweet thing?”

“Please kiss me.”

Eddie groans and devours him, the brick rough against Steve’s back as Eddie licks over his mouth. Steve whimpers and lets him in, lets their tongue meet in the middle, and it’s hot and rough and perfect; breaths fogging up between them, kisses wet and messy and deep. Their bodies smash together like two colliding stars, heat and destruction and pressure and—

“Let me- let me-” Steve pants, pushing back against Eddie’s hold. Eddie stays close, gives him just enough space to adjust where his clothes are riding up and his skin is scraping against the brick, and then he sways back in, hips lining up, cocks hard between them. They moan at the same time, and Eddie kisses him deep, kisses him wet, hard enough that Steve’s teeth carve indents into the inside of his lips.

When he finally pulls back, he takes Steve’s bottom lip with him; lets it go with a soft pop, and Steve’s blood burns inside him. Begs to be let out, to boil with filthy friction, to birth a new universe.

“Fuck me,” he pleads softly, leaning in for another kiss. Greedy for more: for Eddie’s tongue down his throat, for his hand down his briefs, everything wet and warm and wanting.

Eddie moves just out of reach; cat and mouse and he’s the cat. “Yeah?” he teases, moving his mouth to Steve’s good ear. “You sure, baby? Right here? Right now?”

His hand slides between Steve’s legs, cupping him through tight denim, toying with the zipper. “You want me to take these off? Fuck you right here in the alley where anyone could see?”

“Oh, fuck.” Steve’s head knocks against the wall, his throat convulsing as desire floods him, because he wants he wants he wants. Wants to make commotion; wants to cause a scene where anyone could see. Where Nancy could see.

“Yeah,” he pants, writhing against Eddie’s hand. “Want it. Want whatever you’ll give me.”

Eddie surges forward again; kisses him like he couldn’t wait anymore — licking hot into his mouth and behind his teeth, choking him on his tongue — and Steve bucks up into it and moans into his mouth. He doesn’t need oxygen. He doesn’t need anything but this, right here, for the rest of his life until his fucking lungs give out.

The door to the alley creaks open just a crack.

They both turn to look, wide-eyed and panicked as they pull apart, and when the door shuts again without anyone stepping through it, they look back at each other and burst out into laughter. High, hysterical peels of it; giddy and nervous at having almost gotten caught.

“Shit,” Eddie snickers into the crook of Steve’s neck. “That was- that was—”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, breathless as he rests his hands loosely on Eddie’s lower back, willing himself to calm down before he gets himself in trouble. “Think the idea of getting caught is way hotter than the reality.”

“Goddamn was the idea hot, though,” Eddie says. “Jesus.”

He adjusts himself in his jeans and moves to Steve’s side, leaning his shoulder against the wall. “Can’t believe you let me rough you up behind a dumpster.” He’s smirking, but there’s a twinge of concern beneath it, a tightness around his eyes as he brings a hand up to Steve’s jaw. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Steve smiles. “I’m great, actually.”

Means it, is the crazy thing, despite the cold and the scratches on the tender skin of his back.

He gives Eddie a reassuring nudge. “Sorry I took six days to ask you to kiss me.”

“Thank you,” Eddie huffs. “I was going fucking crazy over here.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he admits. His pretty cheeks go pink. “Pretty sure I drove Jeff nuts all break. But hey, at least now I can tell him Operation Woo Your Man was a success.”

Oh, my god. “Robin told you about that?”

“…Yeah?” Eddie gives him a cute, confused look. “I mean, it was her idea. Wait, did she tell you about it?”

“Uh.”

“Aw, son of a bitch!” Eddie kicks a crushed can down the alley. “Damn it, Buckley, the song was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Hold on; hold on.” Steve pushes off the wall, has to pace a bit, because, “Operation Woo Your Man was my thing. I’m supposed to be wooing you.”

“Oh, baby, I’m wooed,” Eddie licks his teeth, and Steve would find it charming except-

“No. Dude.” Oh, that conniving little— “I think she played us. Like- like I think she called both of us to—”

“Oh, holy shit,” Eddie barks a laugh, hopping in a tight circle and clapping his hands as he catches on to what Steve’s saying. “Wow. You think she’d want to join a Hellfire campaign some time? That’s goddamn diabolical.”

He’s smiling so big, and his teeth are chattering a bit from the cold, and Steve drags him in by a belt loop; wraps him up in a warm hug. “I’m sure I could get her to,” he says softly. “She owes me one for this.”

“Oh, yeah?” They’re about to kiss again.

“Yeah.”

“Hey, dinguses!!!” the diabolical woman herself shouts down the alley as she throws open the side door with a heavy, metallic clang. “It does not take this long to move a vehicle! How much longer do I have to guard this door?”

Steve hollers “fuck off, Robbie” at the same time that Eddie answers “five to seven business days!” and they fall against each other laughing, Eddie’s shoulders shaking as he giggles into Steve’s chest.

“Seriously!” Robin hisses, risking a peek around the edge of the dumpster. “Wrap it up, you two; I’m cold.”

Steve gives Eddie one last peck and leads them back inside.

—

part 37

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #my writing #my fic

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darkbluekies · 7 months

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What kind of partner will Dr kry be if darling were dating him?

Dr Kry headcanon: as a boyfriend

Doctor!yandere x reader

Warnings: mentions of sexual themes, yandere behaviors, making murders look like suicides, isolation, drugging

Dr Kry is a very cold, modest man who doesn't like much small talk, or people in general, and everyone around would say that they don't fully know him since he doesn't like to talk about himself or anything else besides his job.

To you, he's a completely different man — he would talk for a whole good ten minutes about the weather, if only to start up a conversation with you.

However, behind that, he's a violent man who doesn't have anything against killing for you. People die every day, so what's the difference? Although, he never wants you to see him like that, he tries to make his murders look like suicides.

He's professional, so it would take a long time for him to be able to have you in the way he fully wants, but when the timing was right, he would move you from the hospital to his villah in the woods.

As a boyfriend, Dr Kry is just as controlling as he is your doctor — always treating you like you need help — but he's also a bit softer since he doesn't have to hold up a facade.

He is not a big fan of physical contact since it invades his personal space and can contain germs, but he can let go of most of his reluctance for you.

He will not let you leave the house and will continue to keep you somewhat drugged, just to make sure that you never try to leave, because Kry has the only antidote to his selfmade poison and he has made sure that you know that.

You'll spend a lot of time in your shared bed in the bedroom upstairs, so Dr Kry makes sure to get the best sheets, blankets, and pillows so that you'll have a comfy time (of course he'll get them at IKEA)

As a boyfriend, he is quite jealous, but not in a "you’re-going-to-take-my-partner-away-from-me" type, but in a "you’re-not-going-to-take-them-away-from-me-type", but he will get rid off people if they ever try to — how clean or messy depends on what they dared to do.

If you cry, he will sit beside you and wipe your tears, building up courage to give you a hug — he so desperately wants to, but it's unnatural for him, so it takes a bit of time — while whispering how much he hates to see you cry.

He's not a very needy person; he sees sex more as a form of reproduction rather than an enjoyable act, but he will always be down to have it if you suggest it, because the closeness he feels is one of the few human contacts he actually loves — he is with you in a way neither his words or his actions could ever describe.

If you argue (which I think would happen quite often with his stubborn personality) he would never blame you, never ever; how could he? You're sick, you don't know any better. It's his fault for even bringing something up.

Loves in-house dates!!! Movie nights, baking, cooking, reading together, gardening, picnicking in the garden, maybe even taking the few steps down to the lake to go on his motorboat.

In conclusion: Dr Kry is a very nonsocial yandere who goes out of his comfort zone to make you his special someone♡

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere headcanon #yandere headcanons #yandere doctor #yandere boyfriend #yandere male

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undercoverpena · 29 days

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8. dark olive

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter eight of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.9k chapter warnings: frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. frankie being a good dad. bad tool names. frankie has a little panic attack as he shares canon things. an: this one would be called the revelation.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Rounding the corner, hands pushing the cart, you spot him immediately. Hands busy, comparing two types of tape in the middle of the aisle he’d left your side for.

Fuck, the tape looks so small in his hands.

A thought you're quick to shake out, eyes glazing past items on the shelves as you wander to him.

This store is so different from the one you met him in—the one he works in. Even if the circumstances feel oddly similar. Him, down an aisle; you, hopelessly and completely out of your comfort zone, still struggling to understand what it is you're here for.

It also smells different here. The place is a lot brighter, the lights above gleaming—newer, more LED than bulb—and the floor has little to no stains. You’d also noticed that the paint tins live across several aisles, with more colours than you thought possible.

Mostly, you miss Harold.

Oddly, for saying you’d rarely been there, you feel like you’re cheating on him. Almost betraying Harold's Hardware by being inside this larger, more fancier store.

A thing which tugs at the corner of your lips when you come to a stop near him. Finding Frankie turning his chin, wearing a puzzled look across his ridiculously handsome face. One that almost makes you break out into a smile, instead choosing to drag your tongue across your bottom lip as you inhale—trying not to let your eyes drop from his loose curls to his dark jeans.

“Do you feel like you’re cheating?” you ask, voice dropping as you come to a stop next to him, watching as he simultaneously places one tape back and one in the cart as he moves around to where your forearms are resting. “Because we’re shopping in a store that isn’t yours.”

Sliding his fingers under your chin as you straighten, making it easier to slide his mouth over yours.

Smirking, you bite your lip. “I feel like he’s going to know—Harold. He’ll smell it on you.”

“He’s not a vampire.”

“Could be. Instead of blood, it’s wood chippings and—”

Fingers crawling up your cheek, you catch the whisper of shh before he kisses you.

An attempt made to steal your breath, a thing you allow him to take willingly, practically handing him all you have in your lungs as your smirk and thoughts fade. At the feel of his hand sliding around you, you melt. Hands sliding from the cart to his face, feeling the fuzz of his hair against your palm, the smile that adorns his face against your mouth as you do all you can to hold back a moan in the middle of a tool and supplies aisle.

“Morales,” you warn as your mouth parts from his, catching the sound of him groaning—even from the back of his throat.

Tongue peeking through his teeth he snorts. “Morales? Ay?”

“Butterscotch in the sheets, Morales in the streets.”

Even if he shakes his head, you spot how soft his eyes are—all adorned with mischief, love. A sight you can't get over as it does a good job of making your heart flutter, especially as he continues to stroke your cheek—his calloused thumb dragging back and forth in gentle movements.

One he woke you up with the other day; one he does when he can tell your heart is racing quicker than your worries.

Fuck, you like him.

A lot.

His thumb still drags along your cheek as you think as much, as he sighs—all faint, with ease. As though he’s thinking something similar. Or maybe, you're just hoping.

“I think it's our little secret,” he murmurs.

His hand slides down, brushes down your body before he reaches for another item on the shelf. Not even looking—just knowing.

And, for the third time since being in here, it makes you warm. Makes you hot. It makes you want to drag him back to his truck and ask him to park it somewhere out of sight.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you smile, hands finding the cart again. “I just…”

“You just?”

Running your tongue over your teeth, you lift your chin. “I don’t know how you just… do things, sometimes. You’re so—”

“Handsome?”

“—Competent.”

Narrowing his eyes, he tries not to smirk. You can tell. Giving you that look—the one he gave you in your kitchen, in the aftermath of when he almost choked on his juice, when you said you had breakfast he could eat. Meaning eggs. Even if the two of you burnt them doing something far more fun.

“Do you like that, Rainy?” You try not to warm at the pet name, at the nickname that’s grown to have more meaning than your own. “That I’m competent?”

Grabbing the cart, you nudge it into him. “Stop.”

Smirking, he winks, adding a noted before he begins leading you. The two of you weave through the aisles, mundane items ending up in the cart—the mess of things all rolling around the metal frame. On occasion, he mumbles something before scratching his forehead with the back of his hand, while you hover, not at all sure if he's naming a product or just making up words.

And, you just admire.

Completely in awe as he calculates something and then looks at you—like you’re the answer. Or because he knows now that it somehow turns you on.

“Have I told you how pretty you look today?”

Rolling your lips, you shake your head, watching him add more things to buy.

“Twice, actually.”

Pulling a face, and moving closer, he hooks a finger around the loop of your jeans. “Doesn’t feel enough.”

“No?”

Shaking his head, you stare at him—right into his eyes, falling into them. “We should go pay.”

He smiles at you, the corners of his lips curling into something more as he nods his head and leads you to pay—joining an empty checkout.

"Same time next week?" he asks.

“Are you making these hardware dates with me a regular thing?”

“Why not? Maybe we can visit them all—I know some guys take girls to new cities or towns, but I wanna show you all the hardware stores.”

Laughing, you watch him empty everything, shooting you a grin each time he grabs something else from the cart until it empties.

Then, you bite the inside of your cheek when he goes to grab his wallet, fumbling for it. Your eyes spot it, that line—the one you love to smooth out with your palm—and how it begins to deepen. Moving from your place as you slide your phone out, ass brushing against him as you mumble that you’ll get this one.

It’s only when you hear the distinct beep of the payment, that you look over your shoulder. “You didn’t lose it,” you announce, watching him pause, face smoothing out. “Your wallet.”

Hands pause on the back of his jeans, he stops.

“It’s here,” you continue, patting the pocket of your jacket, “But, I’ll let you buy me lunch if you want?”

The cashier chuckles, hearing it, distantly, something about your girlfriend is funny—even if you’re focused on him, on how his eyes soften and his lips have curled into a grin.

We should think about constructing your shelving soon.

Good afternoon to you too, baby. That sounds fun. How do we do that?

Hello baby. I’m thinking, as it’s entirely bespoke that we get some drawers from IKEA, but the shelves above we make ourselves.

Does this mean you’re going to show me how to use power tools?

Yeah, sure. Probably be safer at mine, then I can transport them over to yours when we’re done?

Sounds good to me. So, an IKEA date?

Yeah. That can be next week's Hardware trip.

Oh, how you spoil me.

You know it, hermosa.

I still need to pick a paint, right?

Yes, you thought about any of the swatches you’ve done?

Frankie answers in record speed, your back leaning against the wall—staring at the now smooth wall the two of you had gotten pristine.

“Thought this would be easier.”

“Admit you missed my voice.”

Fighting a groan at the sound of the way he lowered his voice, you flex your toes in your socks. “You’re getting awfully big-headed, Butterscotch.”

Snorting, you hear a crash from his end of the phone, and the distinct sound of the phone being brought away before he shouts to Luca.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s building the equivalent of Jurassic World in my living room.”

Smirking, you lick your lips. “You sound thrilled.”

“Tim and Vinnie needed a home. And, it’s cruel of Daddy to make them homeless—”

Nodding, you glance at the swatches as you listen. Eyes flicking over taupes and golden yellows, over soft pinks and sea blues, but you keep being drawn back to one shade each time.

One that makes you linger, before gazing away from it—hesitant, somehow. The reasoning is half-known, yet you don’t want to unfold or unravel it properly.

Because you know why you like it—why you’re drawn to it.

Why it makes you want to smile, why it makes you feel at ease and calm, safe—

“—Is that your friend, Daddy?”

“Luca—”

“Hello, Daddy’s friend!”

His voice, all little and high-pitched—almost out of breath, as you imagine him running—makes your heart flicker, managing to croak back a, “Hi there.”

“My name is Luca and I’m—Daddy no—”

Your hand comes up to your mouth, grinning behind your fingers as you hear giggles and little screams. Frankie’s voice jokingly calls out that he’s a little monster—the phone clanging and clattering before the most joyous sound of two laughs blending into one before you’re picked up from whatever place you’d fallen to.

“I’m back.”

“Hi, baby.”

Sighing, he apologises, “Where were we?”

“Olive green. I like olive green.”

He makes a noise, one that you can’t help but think he’s surprised by.

“What—green is growing on me,” you add.

And he makes a different noise, one you suspect is married to a smile—a grin. One you’re pretty sure you’re mirroring neighbourhoods away, as you hear Luca in the background cheer at the sound of another crash.

So, I know you mentioned us going out for dinner tonight, but I wondered if I could interest you in something else.

I’m intrigued.

Well, you said you were still sore from training yesterday with Ben and I know you’ve been doing extra at the store, so how about UNO and pizza?

Baby, I promised you I’d take you out.

And you are. From my kitchen counter to my living room.

Is this what you really want?

Yes. Please.

I'm starting to think you don't like going out.

Why would I want to share you with more eyes, Morales?

Let me bring pizza then.

I guess I can agree to that.

Throwing down the last card, cheering, you watch him scowl—the few UNO cards he had left thrown down onto the table as you grab another slice of pizza. Wearing your win on your face, letting it descend like mist to your shoulders, hips as you do a little wiggle—all cross-legged on your living room floor.

He, on the other hand, huffed in faux annoyance, a glint in his eyes—the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “Best out of three?” he proposes, already reaching forward and shuffling the deck with a smirk.

“You know you’ve lost two already.”

“Best out of seven then.”

And so, the game continues. Frankie on your sofa, leaning forward over the coffee table—surrounded by the remnants of pizza and scattered UNO cards. The glow from your lamp cascaded over the room, his curls teased and pulled on as he lost another game.

“Alright, cheat. Last round,” he declares.

As the game unfolds, you can't help but feel so incredibly happy. Just being here, with him. It's a simple night, nothing fancy, yet it feels more special than any other night with any other people.

You don’t even mind that he wins the last round, rolling your eyes at the triumphant grin on his face. “Told you I could beat you,” he gloats, gathering up the cards.

You roll your eyes, but there's a smile on your face. "Alright, alright, don't let it get to your head," you tease, unfolding your legs as you stand, grabbing the plates and napkins.

After everything is tidied up, you both settle down on the couch, snuggling into each other. His arm wraps around you, pulling you close to his side. You rest your head on his shoulder, letting out a content sigh.

“Thank you for tonight,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You look up at him, a soft smile on your face. “I had a great time.”

“Because you won?”

“Because I won.”

He swallows, shaking his head lightly as he stares at you—as you purse your lips and think about throwing your legs up over his. Heart doing a steady skip, the longer you stare, mouth opening to ask if he wants to stay when his opens and beats you to it.

“I want you to meet Luca.”

Face softening, your eyes widen to match the smile spreading over your face. “Yeah? You do?”

Nodding, he runs his knuckles over your chin. “I talked to Sam—Samantha. ‘Cause I wanted to make sure she was okay with it, y’know?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t want to do it without her being okay with it.”

Smiling, his hand drops to your knee, drawing a square. “You’re also… the first person,” he adds, nose scrunching as the words wash over you.

“Oh. Well, Frankie, I’d love to meet him. When you’re ready.”

His eyes drop, and you feel it—the air shift, something changing—before he clears his throat again. Retracing his hand, the heel of his palm runs across his forehead, and your heart’s pattern changes, and alters.

A dread falls out, sliding down over your skin, cooling the warmth that had been steadily growing all evening.

“But,” he swallows, fingers brushing over your knee. “I need to tell you something first.”

It’s quiet, the okay that escapes. That slithers out and spreads its fingers towards him. A panic rising in you, twisting—knotting. It makes you want to clear your throat, swallow, and do all you can to make it shift, but you can feel it pulsing, waiting.

Swallowing again, you spot Frankie’s hands twitching nervously. "Remember I told you about when I helped a friend—the dangerous thing?”

Eyes flicking, watching his hand lock over the other—fingers moving back and forth, scratching, eyes on you like a hawk as you nod, bracing yourself.

“Well…”

And it falls out of him. Listening, even over your racing heart—taking it in, as much as you can, more than bits and pieces, but not confident the full thing is reaching your brain.

You match the names of his friends to the ones you met, two shadows forming in the picture he paints—briefly wondering if they were in the photo at his, if they were people you’d heard about before, and never known. Hearing names like Ironhead and Pope, not realising until a second later explanation of who they were.

The more he spills, the more panicked his voice becomes—the more breath he attempts to take in. As though it's been shoved somewhere inside of him, crammed in a space too large, it bursting out of him now. All visibly affecting him, making his hand continue to scratch, nails digging deeper into the other. Red lines appear, clawing into the back of his hand as he continues on, and on—

“Frankie, you don’t have to tell me.”

“I do, baby. I do because—” he chokes, a sob there—likely bubbling and unwilling to burst in his throat, eyes shimmering, swimming in unspent tears, “—I made a rushed call, and… and my friend—“

“Frankie.”

“He died.”

It feels like you’ve been hit in the chest.

A hand reaching in, twisting in past your ribs. A tightness that had been turning and shifting, suddenly explodes, leaving you breathless. Your mouth falls open, thoughts empty as you simply stare, blinking.

Not because of what he said, but because you knew it before he said it. Before he confesses the next thought, which you had a feeling had been eating him alive since he first began—

“And it was my fault.”

Your heart breaks, shatters for him.

Worsened by the way his words catch on his teeth as he shakes his head, as a tear falls down his cheek—as his nails continue to scratch, and scratch, more words tumbling out from his tongue.

The weight of his confession presses down on you, a suffocating force that threatens to crush your spirit. The air is heavy in the room, charged with sorrow and regret, his eyes encased in torment as his skin begins to peel apart—a raw wound laid bare, both metaphorically and literally.

“—and if I hadn’t crash landed, if I hadn’t taken the shot, if I hadn’t—“

If I hadn’t. If I hadn’t.

If I hadn’t.

The words are balled up, dropping out—followed by other things. Failings, all of them. Ones that have rippled inside of him for longer than you care to think about; them all likely rotted, become a mass of heavy regrets that have clung to the inside of his chest.

You whisper his name, but it’s like calling out a person in the centre of a stadium full of noise.

It’s swallowed, smothered. Barely reached his ears as you want to reach out and touch him, to centre him, bring him back to you. In all the ways he does so with you.

“—It's why I couldn’t fly, why I took the job, why… she left me.” His eyes snap to you, all clear, focused—unlike they’d been a moment ago. “You deserve to know—to choose, to know who you're with. ‘cause I fuck up. I fucked up and I took a man from his kids. I lost my head, I just needed to get out and I—”

Eyes flicking to his hand, you stand up, all suddenly, forcing his voice to trail off as he stares up at you. The room falls quiet as big, brown weeping eyes watch you shift your weight from side to side.

He looks lost, floating in a sea of pain that’s drowning him, that he can’t kick up from as he tries to keep swimming.

And he says your name. All broken, the edges of it chipped—cracked and fractured.

It’s quick, the way you mumble one minute before moving into your kitchen. The way you scramble for the green box, knocking over bottles of cleaning products and bleach as you hear him crumble, as the sound worms in your chest and cracks you. Hearing it, the distinct sound of shit and the way he curses himself for fucking up.

You barely shut the cupboard behind you when you’re moving back to him, seeing him panicked, gasping for breath between sobs. Sorries echoing, vibrating out. They're all a mashing of words and syllables, yet you can discern every single one as you drop back beside him.

Watching him try to shift away, your hand grabs his—quicker, smothering out over the one that sits on top of the one he’s scratched.

“Breathe. In, and out.”

Your name slithers out, between gasps and shakes.

“In for four, that’s it—then we hold for seven, like me—and exhale. Good. Again.”

Watching him come down, settle—ease falling out over him as you hold his hand, grip it, hold him so tight so he knows you’re not going anywhere.

“You don’t have to—”

“I just needed to get this,” you soothe, grabbing the first aid kit, placing it between the two of you. “You… you’ve cut yourself, baby.”

Swallowing, he blinks—either at the name, or the softness of your tone—before he glances down.

“Fuck.”

“It’s okay,” you say, a double meaning.

Opening the kit, pulling out antiseptic and bandages, feeling him watch you as you gently clean his wounds, his breath hitching when the antiseptic stings, but he doesn't pull away. Not even when you ask if he's talked to someone, or when he nods, when he explains that he had to, that he hadn't been able to sleep and he was worried about having a baby overnight.

Frankie doesn't move even after you’ve cleaned it, or when you softly bandage it. Your fingers move with precision, all the while careful not to press too hard.

When you're done, you let your hand linger on his, your thumb gently rubbing over the bandages. You meet his gaze, seeing nothing but pain—wishing you could light a flicker of hope, do something to ease it.

“I need you to hear me say something, Frankie. Can you do that or would you prefer I wait?" you ask, voice steady, even though your heart pounds in your chest.

Waiting. Waiting.

Waiting.

Swallowing, he averts his eyes. “Yeah. I can hear it."

Your heart falls in your chest. “Frankie, I'm not ending it." You reassure, thankful his head shifts to face you. “Baby, whatever happened, it happened. It doesn't—it doesn’t change things for me. Doesn’t change the person I know. I know it’s a part of your story, a thing I can never heal for you, and I know there's likely more there, but you don't need to tell me. I don't need to know the whole thing.”

His eyes don't leave yours, and you see them fill with tears again. But this time, there's relief in them, too. Your hand lightly brushes over the bandage.

“Because what I do know is how much I like getting to know you. I know how Ben talked about you—how good Will said you were, are. I know what person I’ve been seeing, so, I don’t feel any different, about you—about us. Okay?”

Nodding, chewing his tongue for a moment, he slowly pulls you into a hug, burying his face in your neck. And, you hold him just as tight—hand stroking his back, feeling his tears on your skin. How his breathing steadies, and becomes more regular.

Only when he loosens his grip do you pull away slightly. Seeing enough to catch his face, how he's looking at you with such raw gratitude and vulnerability that it makes your chest ache. Pressing your forehead to his, closing your eyes as you take it in, you lay a soft kiss on his mouth, taking a moment, letting it all settle.

And then you clear your throat. “But, you are really bad at UNO.”

He snorts, eyes closed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Like really bad—maybe the worst person I’ve ever played UNO with—”

Grabbing you, almost tickling you, he half-smiles, somehow having shifted himself to be above you, pressing you into your sofa cushions. “Yeah, alright”

Smiling up at him, you flick your eyes from his to his lips. “Do you want to stay and make me eggs in the morning?”

Rolling his lips, he takes a deep breath, before slowly nodding. "If that's okay?"

"I'd like you to."

Baby, you were fast asleep when I had to get up for work, so I made you a thank-you-for-listening-to-me-omelette. The recipe was complex, with lots of various thanks woven into it, so I hope you like it. I also spotted my brand of coffee in your cupboard, I’m trying to stop grinning at that, so I’ll try and call on my break if you want—so you can remind me how bad I am at UNO.

I just woke up, so I’m going to hunt down this omelette that definitely didn’t need to be made from thank-you-eggs.

Okay, first report, your omelette is almost as good as your coffee. Which yes, I bought.

Starting to think you really like me, Rainy.

I might do, Butterscotch.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

AN: hope we're all doing okay

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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tinykonig · 1 year

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𝔠'𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔪𝔢

könig has really pretty hands... you think he deserves to know {reader has a major hand kink- don't we all-, könig has a praise kink and is absolutely obsessed with reader. this is very obviously nsfw 18+ only please and thank you ~this will also be cross-posted to ao3} intentionally lower-case

he is just so intrinsically captivating- everything about him. you never stop noticing him.

the second he walked into base, your throat ran dry when you realized the sheer size of the man. he could swallow you whole. you wanted him to.

you don't wanna say you had ulterior motives when you befriended him- you truly like the guy. he's funny and extremely sweet, and hanging around könig had other benefits. no one dared to mess with you when he was around. the usual chatter of men hitting you up or questioning your position melted into peaceful quiet and the soft sound of könig's voice.

like right now.

"did you hear me?" his voice comes from the edge of your mattress where he has perched himself, undoing the laces on his boots.

you are sitting at the chair to your desk and watching his long, strong fingers work around the dark strings to loosen them from the complicated knots. his hood was flipped back over his helmet revealing his concerned expression

your head snaps up, "no, sorry, big guy. zoned out," you respond, and you hope to god it sounds casual.

"oh, okay." he says awkwardly, pausing his movements to look at your face- slightly rosy and pupils blown- but if he notices he doesn't say anything. "i said i got something for you while i was gone."

your face brightens and you grin at him, his expression quickly mimicking your newly excited one.

he reaches into a pocket on his vest and pulls out something small, then he encases it in his large fist and holds it out in your direction.

“i actually made it,” he clarifies, chuckling at you as you begin to make grabby hands towards him, like an excited child.

you have to hold back a gasp when both of his hands wrap around your much smaller ones. it felt like pure electricity surging from his palms straight to your core.

he drops the object in your open hand and draws away, suddenly looking shy again.

it’s a tiny wooden figurine of your favorite animal. incredibly detailed and tiny and you turn in over in your hands in awe. a lump takes root in the base of your throat. könig never fails to take you by surprise with his thoughtfulness.

“könig i love it,” you whisper, not quite trusting your voice not to break at a normal volume, “it’s so fucking cute.”

“you like it?” you can hear the smile in his voice as he fully takes off his helmet and hood and sets it on your nightstand. he must have worked on taking off his boots fully along with his tac vest because they are now sitting in a neat pile beside the foot of your bed, left now in only his long sleeve black shirt and combat pants. he is visibly more relaxed now as he leans against the headboard.

“of course i do. how did you even make it? its so detailed.”

you love the proud grin that adorns his face.

“i was on night watch. cut out a chunk of wood from the windowsill, and carved using one of my knives. it took like 8 hours.”

you find an empty space on your desk and set the figurine there, shaking your head in disbelief as you turn to look at könig again.

“i accidentally cut my finger when i was carving the eyes,” he said, holding out a hand to you and showing you a superficial nick on his ring finger.

you scoot your chair closer to the bed so you can take his hand into yours and examine the tiny cut. you pout up at him and coo, “awww~ poor baby,”

and then without thinking you raised the finger to your lips and press a soft kiss to the cut. könig’s eyes are open wide and his breathing picked up considerably.

“all better now, right?” you ask teasingly, gaining confidence based off his reaction.

you carded your fingers through his and wait for his response. he surrenders his other hand into your lap as well, almost like he was in a trance

“yes,” he answers breathily.

you hum in response, still toying with the hand you hold in your possession. his hands were warm, you trace some of the scars that litter on his knuckles.

“sorry,” you mumble out the apology, “your hands are just really pretty.” you feel a little embarrassed, but not enough to let go of his hands.

könig makes a noise like he was stifling a cough and shakes his head, “ don’t apologize.” it sounds like a plead, and he makes no moves to remove his hands from your possession.

you make eye contact and recognize the want that pools in his light eyes. you are sure he sees it mirrored in yours as well. it gives you the courage to continue on the precarious path you found yourself walking.

“very pretty hands,” you murmur, “and they are so big,” holding his hand up to yours to display the ridiculous difference in size. he groans ever so lightly, his eyes now hooded under your gaze.

you knew he would never make the first move. it had to be you, and it had to be now.

“i think about your hands a lot, könig.”

your confession hangs in the air like a raincloud before a storm. filled with the promise of something more.

“tell me,” he whimpers lightly, tightening his grip on your hands for the first time this entire time you were holding them.

this is gonna be fun, you thought, grinning while you maneuvered yourself to sit on top of his thighs. you see his adam’s apple bop as he gulps in surprise.

you are still toying with his hands when you glance up at his eyes, “i think about how they would feel when they touch me,” you whisper, knowing he could hear you. he is hanging on to every word.

“touch you…” he breathes in deep, “where?”

you bring his hands under your loose t-shirt and rest them on the bare skin of your waist, keeping your hands on top of his- like you were scared he would move if you didn’t.

“here, for starters,” you respond, and you laugh a little when he presses his fingers into your skin there harder.

“are you ticklish?” he asks, smiling softly.

“just a bit,” you say, moving your hands to bring your shirt up over your head and you throw it on the floor next to the bed, messily in contrast to his perfectly folded pile of gear.

he is trying not to stare, and he is failing miserably. his hands seem to move of their own accord as they trail up your body to your bra-covered breasts.

“mmm,” you hum contentedly, “yes, i think about them touching there too,” reaching up to gently rake your fingers through his slightly shaggy hair. “although im not usually wearing this when i imagine it.”

“can i take it off?” he asks, doe eyes looking to yours for explicit permission.

now you stroke his cheekbone, along a very faint and fading scar. you grant him a nod.

quicker than you expected, he was sliding the straps down your arms and the back was unhooked. you were suddenly feeling extremely exposed, given he was still fully dressed. you tug twice on the front of his own shirt and he pauses his movements on your body to reach for his own shirt.

his torso is so long and sculpted, littered with raised pink scars, a few deeper white ones too that had healed for longer. the freckles on his face continued down his chest and arms you note, extremely pleased with that fact. he was so, so pretty. you wonder if he knows.

while you admire him, he raises his hands back to your now bare breasts and softly cups them. his touch is so gentle, and you can see in his eyes an expression of pure awe and trust.

tentatively you arch into his touch, just to have him press into your skin more. he comes out of his trance and desperation starts to take over. he tweaks a nipple between his two fingers and you moan at the unexpectedness of the action.

“that feels good, könig,” you whimper out, and he does it again. it’s so lovely to see him gain confidence from your words and your reactions. you decide to test something else out, “thats my good boy.”

the reaction is immediate. one of his arms moves to hook around your middle and pull you fully flush to his hips. you gasp at the feeling of him hot and hard under your clothed center.

“can i put my mouth on you?” he asks, and his voice still sounds so innocent and unsure but theres a hint of need creeping in as well.

“you can do anything you want,” you answer, loosing all composure and control you previously had.

he keeps his one hand on your waist, the other playing with your nipple. he brings his mouth to the other one, and you throw your head back and groan at how warm and wet it feels. he gently rolls his tongue around the nipple, biting lightly every few seconds. you’ve never felt so close to cumming from nipple play before, but with könig? everything was heightened.

you grip his hair harder and pull his mouth off you, looking into his eyes and breathily saying, “i haven’t told you where i think about your hands being the most.”

he groans. it’s a sinfully wonderful little noise.

“please,” he chokes out, “please, please tell me,”

you conjure up all the confidence left in your body under his gaze, and stand up and unbutton your pants. his eyes are heavy on your body as you slide them down your legs, and it’s like he cant help himself when he reaches out and runs his hands up and down one of your thighs.

“so soft,” he says, in complete reverence.

you almost feel bad for him when you see how painfully hard he is in his pants. you wonder for a second if his hands were so big, how big could he be there, too…

before sitting back down in his lap, you reach for his own pants to let him know that you wanted those off as well. he obeys you so easily, so eagerly.

he almost looks like he’s been hypnotized when you take your seat back on his lap, less barriers separating you two now. you are sure he can feel how wet you are, its soaked through your thin panties.

he just whimpers, and waits. waiting for you to tell him, like he so kindly asked you to.

so you do.

you grab one of his hands again, and he watches intently as you bring two of his long, thick fingers into your mouth. his jaw goes slack as you slide your tongue over his digits, coating them with your saliva. he lightly thrusts up, like he can’t control himself but he’s trying.

you hum again and release his fingers from your mouth and guide them down to your heat hovering over his clothed dick.

when he slipped past the band of your panties, he broke free of his trance. feeling your wet, throbbing pussy broke something in him and he was on a mission to make you feel as good as he possibly can. he slid his fingers back and forth over your clit and drank in your moans as his kissed you for the first time.

you whisper praises against his mouth, telling him how good he was doing. “better than i could have ever imagined,” you manage to breath out as he strokes you towards your orgasm just by massaging your clit.

every word you said went straight to his core, and it was a need- an absolutely feral need- to feel you cum on his hand.

“inside me,” you moan out, “please, put them inside me.”

his chest and face are burning red with want, and you start to feel bad that you’re the only one being pleasured as he slips two fingers into your pussy. through a bubbling moan in your chest you manage to ask him, “can i touch you, too?”

he looks at you like you just gave him his own personal star from the sky, “god, please” he says, his accent growing even thicker in want.

you pull him out of his boxers and gasp. if you thought his hands were big- this was just unfair. his cock stands tall against his stomach, pale pink and leaking. he is the most beautiful man in your universe, and you tell him.

he moans at your words and bucks his hips into the air. having mercy on him you wrap your hand around him. he rewards you by stroking the spongy part inside you with his two fingers. you start to roll your hips into his hand, and that spurs him on even further.

“c’mon, use me,” he mutters into your ear, “use my hand to make yourself cum. please, i need it so bad.”

you were already embarrassingly close, and his desperate words brought your orgasm crashing over you. your hand strokes his harder and you vaguely register his free hand grabbing your throat to pull your forehead to rest against his as he cums all over your hand and his stomach. you ride out your release on his hand until you can’t take it anymore and stop your movements.

the only sound in the room is heavy breathing. you whine as he removes his hand from you, which makes him chuckle a little. you open your eyes to meet his and he looks so blissful.

you smile back at him tiredly, “later, i’ll have to tell you about how i think about your mouth,” and he laughs his regular, loud laugh that you love. he pulls you into his chest to lay down fully.

“yes, i think you should.” he agrees.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #könig #könig x reader #konig #konig x reader #this is. bad im sorry i hyped it up

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holylulusworld · 1 year

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Little Red Riding hood lost in the woods

Summary: You knew it was a mistake to go into the woods at night.

Written for: This is my dark and mordern interpretation of Little Red Riding Hood for @boxofbonesfic 𝒪𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒰𝓅𝑜𝓃 𝒜 𝒯𝒾𝓂𝑒…challenge. Congratulations on your milestone again.

Square G2 filled for @allcapsbingo: Claim fuck

Ship: (Alpha) Werewolf!Bucky Barnes x Omega!(LittleRedRidingHood) Reader

Tags/Warnings: angst, chasing, fear, dark!fic, werewolf trope, a/b/o, scenting, marking, mating, huge cock, dub-con, non-con due to monster fucking (yes, you heard right; we will get the big bad wolf this time), smut, unprotected sex, implied breeding kink, biting, blood, transformation, manipulation, implied kidnapping, the reader is an adult and at age, this story is 18+

Words: 1,8+

A/N: Please consider I stepped out of my comfort zone and wrote something dark this time. Head the warnings and read at your own risk. Don’t like, don’t read.

Little Red Riding Hood.

That’s what people call you. You found it cute when you were younger, adorable even. Now that you are a grown woman, a feisty and stubborn one, it’s not adorable anymore, it’s an offense.

You’re still wearing a red hooded cloak in honor of your grandmother. She passed away some years ago, and you just can’t forget about her, or the fairytales she told you.

About wolves lurking in the dark. Finding their mates by watching, searching, and sniffing around humans. She warned you not to go into the woods after dark. You could only visit her cabin nestled deep in the woods during the daytime.

All your life you listened to her warnings. Never enter the woods after dark. All your life, until tonight.

Grief held your heart in such a tight grip that you had to visit her cabin.

It’s not too far from your home, and you believe nothing will happen to you if you follow the path you know by heart. The one framed with wildflowers and the sigils your grandmother carved into the trees. For protection – she always said, while mumbling words you didn’t understand.

If only you listened to her.

Now you are on the run, chased by a man-sized beast. You only got glimpses of the beast hunting you, but it was enough to know it would kill you if you let it get closer.

“Omega,” it snarls in your direction, knowing that you are hiding behind another tree. “Come to me.”

You gasp as the large wolf-like creature stops in front of the tree. It looks directly at you for a moment. The wolf throws its head back and howls loudly.

“Go away,” you whisper more to yourself than the creature. You place your hand on the tree trunk, praying that the sigils your grandmother carved deep into the tree will protect you from the beast.

The sigils are faded, but the beast won’t get close.

“Omega.”

The wolf snarls at you. It waits and waits as you remain behind the tree. You hold your breath as it steps toward the tree.

It whines, and you swear its features are twisted in pain for a second before the wolf steps back again.

“No.”

“You’re mine,” it says. Or at least you believe the wolf speaks to you as it moves back. The wolf sits down, waiting patiently for you to come closer. “Come here.”

You violently shake your head. “Go away, beast,” you reply. You’re still out of breath from all the running and try to find a way to escape the wolf without running again. If there is a way.

“You’re scared,” a deep guttural noise leaves the beast’s throat. You still have no idea how you can understand its words. “Good.”

Your eyes widen as the beast stares back at you. Up close it looks even taller than before, and you know you won't stand a chance.

“Come here,” it insists.

When you don’t move a muscle, the beast stomps its forepaws on the ground. The ground shakes violently. You scream in terror as the tree protecting you from the beast splits into two halves.

All you can do is jump out of the way to avoid being hit by the tree’s branches. You land on your back, crying out in pain as the beast purrs in your direction. “I will tame you, feisty omega.”

You’re shaking in fear. Whatever the beast is after, it’s not its next snack. That wolf wants something else, so you fear.

“Go away.”

You stare at the beast, watching it tilt its head. It listens to your ragged breathing and silent whimpers. Whatever the beast in front of you is, it knows you already lost this fight.

“Go away…just go away,” you chant. “Please let this be a nightmare.”

The wolf watches you for a heartbeat, and another before howling again. This time, the beast straightens its back. It keeps its eyes on you.

It rolls his shoulders back, whining low as you hear bones crack, and muscles tear. You can’t look away, you can't run as the wolf turns into a human-like beast.

The beast stands on its hind feet and clenches its fists. Even though it looks more human now, it’s still a beast ready to devour you.

“No.”

You stand up and go for a sprint. Panic rises in your chest as you hear the beast follow you close behind. You look over your shoulder, screaming in terror as the wolf chases you again.

Its speed is inhuman. You can’t compare. While you aimlessly run through the woods, praying you’ll find one of the trees your grandmother marked, the beast is right behind you.

“Stop now," it calls for you. “I’ll be kind to you. I won’t hurt you.”

You keep running, but the beast won’t have it. It stomps his left hind foot again, shaking the ground. You fall to your knees and crawl away.

“These woods belong to me and my kind. Our ancients walked these grounds ages before your kind was born. Soon you will be one of us, my omega and mate.”

“Leave me alone. Please just go away,” you sniffle as you scramble to your feet. “I didn’t do anything to you.”

"I smelled you from a mile away."

He stalks toward you, chuckling darkly. “I like the cloak, take it off and put it aside. We don’t want it to get dirty when you are on your hands and knees for me. Be good, and I won't hurt you.”

You’re frozen to the spot. It feels like your body obeys the beast’s orders. “Do it now, omega.” You unclasp your cloak with stiff fingers. “Good girl. Now put it aside and come here.”

It’s a struggle not to scream as the beast pounces on you. You end up underneath the enormous beast, trembling as it's nose buries into your neck. It inhales your scent, snarling and purring as its claw-like hands rip your clothes to shreds.

“You’re mine.”

You sniffle silently as the beast manipulates your body. It runs his furry hands all over your body, as you try to let your mind wander. One of its claws pushes your upper body down and holds you to the muddy ground.

You struggle to not lose your mind. The last thing you want is to feel the beast spread your legs or his face buried in your cunt. Its long tongue teases your folds, making you whimper at the odd sensation. This monster forces you into submission with every swirl of its tongue.

“No,” you whine and scream, hoping someone stops the beast. It’s no use. The wolf slips its long tongue into your cunt, slowly fucking you with the skilled muscle. “Oh god, no. This can’t be…no.”

Its hot breath fans over your exposed ass while his tongue slides in and out of you. You have never felt so helpless before. A beast pushes its tongue inside of you, and all you can do is drool and moan.

You writhe on its tongue, hips rolling on their own as you chase a high you didn’t ask for. The beast growls against you, greedily drinking your juices when you gush over its snout.

“Good omega,” the beast purrs as you feel like in limbo. A boneless body, getting lifted by the beast. You feel it shift behind you. With its enormous, dense body, it covers your trembling form. Its fur tickles your skin as the wolf wiggles its hips. “Have all of me now.”

Your eyes snap open the moment you feel something bigger prob at your entrance. You took a big cock before, even a knot. But the thing slowly pressing into you is far from normal. “No…too much…stop.”

“You can take it, omega,” it purrs in your ear. “Take me. All of me.”

The fight is over. You must surrender.

The beast slowly inches its way inside your body. You cry as the wide stretch is painful. It's too much of the beast, and it still pushes further in. “Almost.”

Tears spill from your eyes as the beast snaps its hips into your ass. You are entirely at the beast’s mercy. It covers your body and presses you into the ground. Its huge cock is nestled inside your body, and all you can do is let it have whatever it wants from you.

“So good.”

The beast starts to move, and it feels like it tries to be careful. It doesn’t make sense. The wolf was chasing you, and now it forced its cock inside of your body. “Relax, ‘mega,” you hear his voice turn softer. “You are doing so well for me, Y/N.”

You gasp. How can the beast rutting into you know your name?

“How…?” you choke out a moan as the beast angles his hips, now hitting that spot making you see stars. Your vision becomes blurry as the beast on top of you starts to slam into you in abandon.

“You’re mine.”

Your body surrenders first. Your walls tighten around his thick cock, and you feel slick run down your thighs. It’s over. The beast got what it wanted and will kill you after it’s done with you. You’re sure of it.

“Mine.”

A scream tears from your throat when the beast’s teeth sink into your neck. It breaks your mating gland, growling against you as you pass out.

The last thing you feel is the blood running down your neck and its cum filling your abused cunt. “Mine…”

You wake. It’s odd, but you wake.

After what happened last night you didn’t expect to breathe another day. But here you are sleeping on a soft mattress.

“You’re awake, good.”

Your eyes widen in shock. You recognize the voice from last night, but it's not the wolf standing in front of you. It’s one of your regulars from your library.

He often comes to town to borrow books. His name is James or Bucky.

“What?”

“You must be very confused,” he bares his pearl-white teeth while speaking to show off dominance. “You will adapt soon, doll. I had to mark you before anyone else got the chance. You were ripe for harvest and I’m alpha prime, the one who can choose his mate first.”

“I-I don’t understand,” you whisper as you touch your neck. There is a scar in form of human teeth, but nothing else. “What happened…it must’ve been a dream.”

“Not a dream.”

Bucky morphs his face.

“No! No!” you scream as the beast looks back at you. “This can’t be…why?”

“Because you are mine and this is your new life. You never have to go back to town ever again. Soon my pups will grow in your belly. We are going to be a big happy family.”

Your blood runs cold as you press your hand to your belly. “No…no…”

“If we didn’t make it this time,” he grins wolfishly, “I love trying…”

I won’t do tags for this story because it’s a dark story. I don’t want anyone to read a story which isn’t their cup of tea.

#bucky barnes x reader #werewolf!Bucky Barnes #allcapsbingo #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #tw: dubcon #tw: noncon #tw: a/b/o #alpha!bucky x omega!reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!alpha Bucky

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gingerjolover · 7 months

Text

Sleep it off - Julien Baker x Reader

Sypnosis: Julien has had a rough few weeks, resulting in some conflict with her soft!gf :(

G's notes: I am so sorry I am flaky, I hope this long one makes up for it :') Also I'm sure Julien is a great partner, this is in no way meant to be taken as the truth

WC: somewhere around 5.7 k (i'm not sorry)

Warnings: RPF, angst, fluff, some anti-cig comments, smoking, mental health struggles, light arguing, mean/stressed!julien, light touching, kissing, no fundamental physical descriptors besides hair that can be pushed away from your face?

Julien sits outside; the darkening sky and pre-spring chill surround her. The porch stairs are cold under her jeans, goosebumps on her arms as she strums absent-mindedly; her ¾ sleeve shirt provides little comfort from the breeze.

She’s been in better moods before, that’s for sure.

The impending album release and subsequent press tour put pressure on every bone in her body, her chest tight. She’s stoked, obviously, to be able to release another project with her best friends in the world. The project that gave her a voice ignited her will to live, pushing her further out of her comfort zone and simultaneously pulling her into a warm embrace.

Even in her gratefulness, she’s annoyed. The lack of sleep, an upcoming busy schedule, and the numerous cigarette butts on the ground contribute to her sour mood. She’s happy, happier than she’s ever been. To finally be home, her dogs padding across the floor, and her beautiful partner cooking dinner in the kitchen should be reasons enough to forgo the attitude, but it rises quickly and sticks to her bones like the chill.

“Babe?”

Julien can hear you call from somewhere in the house. The front door is wide open, and the mesh of the porch door allows the breeze to filter in and cool down the warming house. Julien can hear the dog's nails tapping against the wood floor.

She turns her head in your direction, fingers still moving on the guitar. “I’m outside,” she calls, humming a melody.

“Jules?” you call again, obviously not hearing your girlfriend’s response the first time.

A loud sigh escapes Julien's mouth before she can stop it, rolling her eyes at the second inquiry of her location. Her hands pause on the guitar, grumbling as she holds it in one hand by the neck and stands up, leaning against the column on the porch, making no effort to go inside. “Yeah, baby, I’m out here,” she responds, her tone dripping in annoyance.

“Oh, there you are!” you say brightly, trying to ignore your girlfriend’s obvious irritation.

She’s been snappy since she got home a day and a half ago, the stress building up in her body, crawling out like a monster; her first instinct recently is to direct her frustration at the closest uninvolved party.

Your hair was messy, eyes sleepy, and cheeks flushed, causing Julien to relax her face, a crooked smile appearing softly. She feels at peace staring at you. Her obvious agitations calm momentarily, her guitar heavy in her hand. “What did you need, baby?” she asks softly, the guilt of her previous irritation already creeping in.

“Pasta or rice with dinner?” you ask, standing in the doorway, the porch too cold even for your fuzzy sock-clad feet.

“Pasta… I’m in the mood for pasta, babe…thank you,” she says gratefully. Leaning against the porch’s railing, her eyes look up and down your bare legs, the oversized boygenius crewneck falling mid-thigh. Julien is thanking the universe for the misprints of the crewneck, your lack of pants leaving little to her imagination, cheeks heating up staring at you.

“Okay,” you respond softly, leaning out of the porch door, puckering your lips towards Julien.

She chuckles lightly, stepping towards you, one hand on your cheek and leaving a sweet kiss on your lips. She presses a few more pecks before pulling away, eyes closed.

“Hey baby…”

“Hi?” you whisper back, watching Julien’s eyes flutter. She stares into your eyes lovingly. “You’re so cute,” Julien murmurs, her hand running down your leg, caressing your knee softly before kissing the corner of your mouth.

“I love you… you know that, right?” Julien asks her tone almost a little pleading.

Your eyes soften, seeing the conflict in her face. “I know…I love you too…” you whisper back, kissing her nose.

“Can we just…lay down? You, me, the dogs… just cuddle in bed, watch shitty tv or read or… whatever. I just…need some grounding,” she asks, practically a plea to rekindle some normalcy.

“You okay?” you ask, rubbing the lines between her brows, her face in a slight frown. “Dinner first, then I’m all yours, deal?” you suggest, keeping the tone light.

“Deal! Now let’s go inside; I’m freezing my ass off out here,” she says dramatically, opening the porch door wider.

“I told you to put on a hoodie!”

“I don’t need a hoodie, I have your body to keep me warm… my lil space heater,” she teases, pinching your ass as she pushes you inside and shuts the front door.

"Babe, can I ask you something?" She asks, her voice becoming a little more serious.

“Yeah?” you call from the kitchen, stirring dinner in a Dutch oven.

"You know how you always feel better at home... do you ever think we make each other too comfortable? Like, you know, we get into a relationship slump almost when we're at home together because we feel comfortable enough to be ourselves... does that make any sense?" she pauses, stepping away from the door and making her way into the kitchen, leaning against the wall as she stares at you. She was still nervous about the answer she would receive, but she figured it was at least worth starting a conversation about.

“Hmmm, I mean… maybe? But you’re touring most of the year anyway, so I guess… I don’t know, I kind of relish when we get comfortable… because I know it’s not forever, and I try to enjoy it when I can,” you say softly, the direction of this conversation slightly worrying.

"You're happy, though? I make you happy?" she asks, a hopeful look in her eyes, the answer being the most important thing in her mind. It was almost an anxiety-inducing question for her, as if she needed you to tell her without a shred of doubt. She needed to be satisfied with where the relationship was, needed to know that you were actually happy and in such a good place mentally and emotionally. It was the most important thing to Julien.

“I— yeah… I’m happy, I’m— I’m really happy…” you say, turning around. “Are you— not happy?” you ask nervously, fearing Julien's bad mood indicates something deeper.

Julien quickly shakes her head, "God no, I'm incredibly happy, babe. I just want to make sure you're happy too..." she quickly closes the space between you two, holding your hips. Julien plants a sweet, quick kiss on each of your cheeks, her hand moving to rest on your head as she speaks. "You're my girl, I love you so much..."

You nod, smiling nervously as you relish the normal affection from Julien, having missed it the last 36 hours. “I love you too,” you reassure.

"My baby..." Julien murmurs before she pushes her mouth against yours. She wraps around your torso, pressing her body flush with yours, lips connecting and tongues meeting. Julien felt her hands wander as she continued the kiss, running her left hand under your crewneck and back. It was a passionate kiss of desire and love; she wanted so desperately for you to feel how much she loved you.

“Hmph,” you pull away, breathing heavily; there’s a stale cigarette taste as you pull away. “How many cigarettes did you smoke out there?” you murmur teasingly.

Julien broke the kiss to answer your question, looking you straight in the eyes as she did. She was caught. Of course, Julien would never admit to it, but she couldn't hide it from you. You are the one person on the planet who could read her like a book, and Julien felt no shame. "Five... not even kidding."

“Babe!” you exclaim softly, typically finding it hot that Julien smokes, but combined with her exhaustion and bad attitude, it's worrying. Julien playfully sticks her tongue, mistaking your worry for banter. "Babe, you try being outside in practically a t-shirt and jeans in 30-degree weather for more than five minutes with the wind whipping around you and tell me you wouldn't have wanted to hit a cigarette to calm your damn nerves!"

“You could’ve come back in!” You sigh, chuckling at her excuse, ignoring that Julien said, ‘Hit a cigarette,’ alluding to just one.

“Babe, I— never mind,” you say softly, rubbing your temples, pulling away from Julien, and starting to stir the pot on the stove again.

Julien rolled her eyes, "No, no, you can't pull the 'never mind' thing on me; I know you, I know what you're about to say, so please, give it to me straight... I've been smoking too much lately, haven't I?"

“Among other things,” you mumble under your breath. “You’re supposed to tour in just a few months. You’re about to go on a press tour and do all these acoustic sets, and I’m worried about you and your voice,” you say, her voice firm and worried.

Julien quickly interjected, the frustration seeping into her tone. "What other things? What the hell is going on, babe? I feel like I'm missing something, so please just be blunt. I want to work on these things, but I can't if I don't know what I'm doing wrong. Please tell me." Julien knew what was wrong, but she didn’t like being called out on it. She subconsciously ignored that her agitation was why you’re off in the first place.

“You’re just snappy, Jules, like you get so annoyed with me so quick, and I’m not even doing anything,” you breathe out, unsure how your worried comment pushed her so far so quickly.

Julien laughs, exasperated at your comment, placing her hands on your shoulders and looking into your eyes. "Babe, you can't be serious... I have been working my ass off on my album; I'm stressed, I haven't seen you in weeks, and I am quite literally physically exhausted. I'm sorry that my attitude has been shitty, but let's take a second to think about where it's coming from, okay?"

“I’m not attacking you, Julien, you asked what was wrong, and I told you. I know you’re stressed. I never said that you weren’t, but it’s not fair to me,” you say quietly, surprised by her outburst.

"It's not fair to you? You haven't seen my ass in weeks, and I come home stressed and worried about my career and how I will be able to juggle this new album with a tour, and suddenly I'm the bad guy for being snappy? That sounds like an issue with you, not me! If you know I'm stressed and you know why, then you should understand that this is a part of my career, babe. It's just the way it is." Julien says, her voice harsh and defensive.

“Okay, I—“ You say, taking a shuddering breath, holding your head in your hands, breathing for a moment while trying to formulate your thoughts and figure out how this went so south so fast.

"No!" Julien snaps, interjecting before you can even start to respond, your shuddering breath setting her off. "Don't try to do that thing where you turn it all on me and make me the bad guy because you start crying because you don’t like what I said. I love you, I love you so goddamn much, but…”

“I didn’t even say anything!” You interrupt, exasperated. “I was literally thinking, I don’t know where all this anger came from; I’m not trying to fight with you,” your voice thick with emotion, not understanding why Julien is acting like this because it’s not her normal behavior.

Julien sighs heavily. Suddenly, she knew her anger was irrational, and she felt terrible letting it get this far in the first place. She could only blame her worries and stress for how she behaved. She wanted to push every ounce of it onto you because you were an easy target at the moment. The only issue was that you did not deserve to be treated that way, and she needed to apologize.

"Baby, I... I..." A pause filled the room for a second before she spoke. "I'm sorry, baby. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."

“Just— go cool off, Jay,” you say, wiping your tears and turning to the stove.

"Babe, you know I can't just leave mid-fight, not when I'm in the wrong. Yes, I was being an ass; I have been an ass for a couple of weeks now, and I'm realizing that now. So please, just let me apologize properly, okay?" Julien asked, now standing behind you, feeling very guilty about her words and tone.

“Julien, I love you, but I really don’t want to talk to you right now…” you say, voice shaky.

"I understand that, babe, but I need to talk to you. I'm struggling, okay? Not just with my work, but I know I'm pushing you away, and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of it, and I just want everything back on track because I've felt like I've been out of control lately, and I feel like I've lost sight of what's really important, and that's you, baby, you're what's important." Julien murmurs, speaking from her heart. She doesn’t know where her harsh words came from; watching your face fall and seeing you turn around breaks her heart.

“Just go,” you dismiss her harshly.

Julien was quiet for a few seconds, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. The silence that filled the kitchen was deafening as Julien felt like part of her heart had just been crushed. She didn't want to leave like this. She needed to make this right.

"Honey... please..." Julien pleads.

“I just need a minute to myself, okay?”

Julien sighs heavily and takes a step back. She knew she had to respect your wishes in this moment, as much as she desperately needed to be close to you. "Okay. I'm going to go for a walk, okay? Please... I don’t want to go to bed like this," she whispers, her eyes filling with tears as she realizes at that moment what a toll all of her behavior and stress had taken on your relationship. She hated it.

“Take the dogs,” you whisper.

"Okay..." she responds softly, opening the door quietly and leashing the two dogs out before looking at you briefly. She didn't need a verbal response to know you were mad. She would make this right, but not now, not when you needed space. She had finally noticed her wrongs and would do anything it took to make things right. "See you soon..." she whispers before closing the door behind her in defeat.

When Julien leaves, the dam breaks and your sobs are loud; unsure how everything escalated so fast.

As soon as she was outside, Julien let out the breath she had been holding in, her whole body trembling with emotion. She knew she had pushed a lot and never wanted to get to that point with you. After one or two more deep breaths, Julien began to walk down the road, the cold air hitting her almost immediately. Her mind was reeling from the entire conversation; the conversation that should have been a playful banter just turned harsh before she realized it.

Julien facetimes Phoebe and Lucy, the dogs tugging at their leashes, expecting Julien to speed up walking through the small suburban neighborhood. She explains the fight, both of them siding with you, not so much about the cigarettes but about how Julien has been quick to anger recently.

Julien's voice was shaky with emotion as she spoke with her friends. The cold night air was not helping as she sucked in deep breaths between sentences, trying to level her breathing. Both of them ask the same thing. "Have you told her you're sorry?” and “What were you thinking?!”

“You act like an ass post travel babe,” Lucy says, without remorse. “Have you been sleeping?”

"Look guys, I— it's just... I was in a bad mood, and I took it out on her, which is totally not okay, and she's in her right to be mad at me; she's been putting up with my bullshit for God knows how long, and I'm just..." Julien trails off. “Sleep has not been coming easy…” she sighs.

“Look, she loves you so much… we know she’ll forgive you, but maybe hear her out, don’t get angry… you’re usually so well-spoken and eloquent,” Lucy says on the tiny screen, only visible from her nose and above.

"I— I know I'm just-- I'm a massive fucking idiot. I don't understand why she puts up with me sometimes. I can only imagine what she's thinking about me right now. I need to fix this; I just... I hope she forgives me. She deserves better, so much better, man." Julien's voice wavered with emotion.

“She doesn’t put up with you, JB. You’re in a relationship, and she’s like…so down to have a conversation, and I’m sure it can’t be easy for her to see you struggle, and she probably empathizes– you just got all on her ass about it,” Phoebe says, her tone soft but firm.

"I know... I know this... you guys are right. I'll go back there and talk to her, apologize, grovel, and do whatever it takes to make this right. She loves me. I know that. I know, and I love her even more, and I've been taking that for granted, so I just— I need to make this right, even if it means I have to kiss her ass for the rest of my life, yeah?” She says, breathing heavily, feeling slightly less terrible at this time.

“Let us know how it goes. Or if you need anything?” Lucy says softly, Phoebe agreeing.

"I will, yeah... I love you guys; thank you so much. I feel a little better. Can you just tell me that I really am a dipshit right now?" she asks, laughing.

“You’re a fucking idiot, JB,” Lucy laughs loudly. “But we love you!” Phoebe concurs.

“Go get your girl!” Phoebe says. “And kiss her for me,” Lucy teases.

"Oh my God, Luce, shut your filthy mouth… and I will," Julien teases back in response. The laugh that escaped her lips was relieving.

Julien says goodbye to the band and starts the walk home. Wiping the dogs' paws before taking off their leashes, she lets them into the house, following them into the kitchen where you are cleaning the kitchen, seemingly finished cooking dinner.

Julien pads into the kitchen, still feeling very emotional. Your demeanor tells her what she needs to know. You’re definitely upset, maybe angry. She would just have to continue working on things and hope for the best. She wasn't going to push it tonight. "Hey..." she says meekly.

“Hi,” your voice is as meek and quiet as Julien’s, avoiding eye contact as you praise the dogs, giving them treats.

"Listen, I'm sorry, I know I was an absolute jackass today. You didn't deserve any of that... None of that was aimed towards you. Everything built up and poured out of me, and it was just a shitty day." she pauses, moving closer to you. You can feel her staring at you with glassy eyes. "Can you please look at me?"

Looking at Julien post-sobbing proves to be more challenging than the fight itself; showing her how badly her words affected you almost brings…shame? And for what you’re not sure. Your nose is wet and your eyes puffy as you have a hard time looking at the love of your life, usually so gentle and articulate.

Julien feels even more guilt-ridden at seeing you upset. She hadn't seen you this upset in such a long time, your relationship so well-rounded, and your communication skills top-tier regardless of conflict. Julien immediately goes to you, pushing your hair away from your face. Julien pulls you into a hug, kissing your cheek softly over and over.

"I am so, so sorry... For everything, I love you, you know that?"

“Mhm,” you nod, only half leaning into Julien.

"Do you love me?" she asks, her voice quiet. The last thing she wanted to do was push you further away, but she needed to hear the words out loud. She now needed reassurance, although she knew she didn't deserve it.

“Yeah,” you say softly.

"Do you love me enough to forgive me for being a jackass?" she asks, tears sliding down her cheeks as she looks at you. Julien did not want to sleep anywhere but in your arms tonight, her skin prickling at the thought this fight to cruise you both into uncharted territory.

“Mhm,” you barely nod, sniffling and looking at the floor.

"Honey..." Julien's voice was a plea; she genuinely felt like a terrible girlfriend, and the one thing she needed right now was to make you feel better; forgiveness and reassurance would come at some point. She needed to know that you still loved her, even if you were mad. "Please... talk to me, baby, we can make this right if you let me fix it. Please say something."

“I don’t like that you blamed me for being upset that you’ve been snapping at me… that hurt my feelings,” you sniffle. “I don’t like this new thing where you take stuff out on me. I— I don’t deserve that. I know the last few weeks have been hard since we were apart, but you’re not the only one struggling when you’re away, Jay,” she sniffles again. “I wasn’t attacking you, I didn’t want to fight, I did what you asked me to, I told you what I was feeling, and you threw it back at me and said ‘it’s part of the job’ and that’s not fair, and frankly that’s bullshit because we’ve never had this issue in the years we’ve been together,” you say firmly, faux confidence seeping your tone as you lay everything out before your partner.

"Wow... I feel like an absolute ass hearing you say it like that... I am so sorry. I don't know what came over me today... I'm so used to you giving me some playful smart-ass remark, and I know you're worried, but for some reason, it just ticked me off. I couldn’t stop from getting so angry… and I’m not blaming you right now. This isn’t an excuse; I just– I don’t know– regardless of what happened, you didn’t deserve me snapping at you," she grimaces, looking at you now with a sad and conflicted look in her eyes. " I feel terrible about blaming you for your own feelings about my actions. I'm an absolute jerk. I was stressed and took it out on you, which was incredibly unfair and unnecessary. I need to learn to cope with this better. You deserve a partner who does not let themselves take out stress and anger on you, and I've been letting myself do that with my bad moods." she places her hand on your cheek, now leaning your foreheads together. "I am so sorry… you know this isn’t me, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t wrong."

“I just— I don’t mean to lecture you, but you haven’t toured in over 6 months, and the number of cigs can’t be good for your voice, and I know you smoke a lot when you’re stressed, but it hurts that you don’t even talk to me about it you just immediately turn to cigarettes and then you get mad that I’m not aware of how you’re doing or what you’re going through,” you sigh, rubbing your eyes.

"I know... God, this sounds terrible when you put it like that. I have not been myself at all, baby. I've been lashing out for no reason, blaming you for things out of your control... I've been so selfish and shitty, and you do not deserve it, and I am so sorry." she continues, looking at her love with a look full of longing and regret.

“I just need some space, I think,” you conclude sadly, a little unsure.

Julien looks at you and nods. It was hard for her not just to scoop you up and run away with you, but she would give you the space you needed. She loves you too much to risk pushing you too far and was already walking on thin ice.

"I love you, okay? If you need me, I'll be in my studio, and you can come get me anytime you're ready." she kisses you on the forehead affectionately.

“Here,” you say, pushing the tray on the counter towards Julien, her dinner, some Advil, her favorite drink, and her meds on the tray. You were hoping to leave it on the counter for when she got home, but her returning sooner messed up your plans.

Julien notices now the kitchen is clean, the dinner put away beside her plate.

"Wait, is this for me?" Julien asks, a sad smile on her lips. The gesture's thoughtfulness was sweet, but it was apparent she had hurt you tonight and didn't deserve such love right now. “Did you eat?”

“Yeah, it’s for you…I had a few bites, but I’m not hungry,” you breathe out. (Don't be skipping meals, babes x)

“I’m gonna go shower… can the dogs stay with you in your studio until I’m done?” you ask softly, changing the subject.

"Yeah, yeah... I've got the dogs. Are you going to be in bed soon?" she asks, still wanting nothing more than to have you in bed with her tonight, but she figures it would be better for them if she just slept on the couch. That was the consequence of being a jackass and hurting the most important woman in her life.

“Maybe… just need to shower and stuff,” you say meekly, your usual soft behavior even softer now.

"Okay babe... please... just come say goodnight to me once you're done..." Julien asks quietly, looking at you with pleading eyes. She wanted nothing more than to hug you and make this right but now wasn’t the time. She had to earn your presence again, and she knew that.

You nod, walking upstairs to their bedroom and jumping in the shower.

Meanwhile Julien goes to her studio, the dogs lying on the couch in the room. She eats her dinner, picks around it before taking her meds and an Advil, and drinks water to alleviate the deep pain in her chest.

After about an hour, you pad downstairs to Julien’s studio, her dinner and meds long gone. When you knock softly, Julien is watching a video and working on a song. “Am I interrupting?” your voice whispered, still respecting the studio's rules, in case Julien was working.

Julien pauses the video and turns around in her chair, looking at you with tired eyes. "No... No, not at all. I'd actually really appreciate the company right now, babe…”

“I just wanted to say goodnight… and grab Winnie,” you say meekly, still needing some space, leaving Blue, your bigger dog, with Julien.

Julien felt a little sad, but she knew that was just one of the consequences of her actions tonight. She nodded and looked at you with hope in her eyes, wishing you would come closer. But she knew she was asking for too much right now. She stays in her chair and lets a small smile form. “Okay... goodnight, babe. I love you,” she whispers, feeling defeated.

“Love you,” you whisper, grabbing a sleeping Winnie, your smaller runt of a dog, and head back to your room.

Julien listens to you climb the stairs and close the door. A silence she wasn't used to settled in the room. She hated fighting with you, and she hated herself for having no self-control tonight. She would have to give you room to breathe, the two of you never navigating conflict like this.

Blue looks up at Julien, tilting his head as if he could sense that his moms were fighting.

Julien takes a deep breath and lifts Blue into her arms. The dog's comfort was something she desperately needed right now, even though he was too big to be cuddled like this. She felt her emotions rising as warm tears fell down her cheeks.

Blue happily nuzzles into Julien, licking the tears off her cheeks, wiggling a little, not fitting in Julien’s lap or her chair.

Julien let out a little laugh as her legs and the edge of her desk were assaulted by Blue's wagging nub of a tail. She hugs him closer to her body and lets out a few more tears. This day was a mess; she just wanted to curl up in bed with you and forget everything. But that was off the table for the night, at least. She sighed and closed her eyes as Blue did his best to comfort her.

A few hours pass, and Julien eventually takes Blue outside, watching him go to the bathroom. The cold hair helps ground her momentarily before they both climb back up the stairs.

Walking through the kitchen and towards the office, she sees you standing with your hand up near the door as if you were going to knock. She freezes up, not expecting to see you for the rest of the night. She smiles softly, your messy hair and sleepy eyes drooping. “Hi, sweet girl,” she says quietly. Blue runs up to your legs, headbutting you gently.

“Hi,” you gulp. “I can’t sleep, can you… can you come to bed,” you ask anxiously.

Julien feels her heart swell as you ask her to come to bed. She nods, biting her lower lip in relief. She was so afraid that you were going to reject her now. She takes a step forward, closing the space between you both. "Are you sure, babe?" she asks, her voice soft and nervous like yours.

“If you don’t want to, it’s okay… I’ll be fine,” you say sheepishly.

Julien can’t believe you would say that. Of course, she wants to go to bed with you. "No... I want to... I want to go to bed with you more than anything. I just... I'm worried that I'll hurt you tonight. I'm worried I will lay there and overthink all the shitty things I did tonight, and that will somehow make me say something mean to you again... and I don't want that tonight." she replies honestly. She knew you could sense her genuineness, even regarding her insecurities.

“We don’t have to talk tonight… I just, I already sleep so many nights alone, and I just… I want you next to me,” you respond, the distance already hurting, the thought of sleeping in the same house but not next to Julien cracking your heart despite the harshness from earlier lingering like a bad perfume.

Julien's mouth spreads into a little smile. She was still anxious, given your conversation earlier, but she wanted nothing more than to hold you in her arms. It was all she needed right now. She steps closer now, kissing your lips before responding. "Then let's go to bed."

You nod, whistling for Blue to follow you as you head upstairs, leaving Julien to close up her studio and clean her plate.

Once she enters the dark bedroom, Julien closes the door behind herself and undresses, leaving only her underwear on. Her eyes were focused on your body lying in the bed. She honestly couldn't get over how beautiful you were. Her heart clenches in both love and sorrow all at once. Looking at you overwhelms her, and knowing she made you cry is worse than a punch in the gut.

"Can I hold you, pretty girl?"

“Mhm,” you hum, turning over, another oversized misprinted boygenius t-shirt riding up your legs, boyshorts hugging your hips.

Julien moves closer to you, hooking her leg over yours, now lying in an intimate 'C' shape.

"Did you... did you know that you hum when you're nervous... or when you're happy?" Julien whispers, pulling your body closer as she kisses your clothed shoulder.

“Do I?”

"Yeah, you do... You did it in the kitchen tonight, which almost broke my heart." Julien whispers. The love she feels for you bubbling up, overwhelming her chest, spilling out of her mouth.

“I didn’t notice that I did that.”

"You do it when I hold you in your sleep, too. You hum and mumble in your sleep." Julien explains, voice soft. "It used to keep me awake, but now I look forward to it. I just... I love you so much it hurts."

"You smell so good..." she whispers, burying her nose into the back of your neck, relishing in the closeness.

“It’s that new body wash… something with rose or ginger or something,” you try to recall nonchalantly, your skin heating up at her chest flush your back, goosebumps rising on your arms and legs.

Julien snickers softly. She doesn’t care what the body wash is, she just loves the way you smell. It was intoxicating, filling her with a sense of security and safety at the end of a long day.

“Whatever it is, it’s amazing,” she says quietly, burying her face back into your neck. You hum again softly, eyes fluttering shut, finally comfortable and warm in bed.

Your little hums continued to play in Julien's mind as she tried to fall asleep herself, her eyes growing heavy as the day's events finally catch up to her. She knows there is work to be done in the name of forgiveness. The impending distance looming over her head, there’s only so much time until she’s traveling again and leaving you behind. But for now, you’re in her arms, and the best she can do in the middle of the night is sleep it off.

#julien baker x reader #anon cutie requested #julien baker angst #julien baker #gingerjoelover #boygenius

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wzrd-wheezes · 15 days

Note

sirius black has pretty hands, especially those long fingers he adorns with rings, one wonders how they would feel like stretching them out with them-

in which sirius catches reader zoning out while staring at his fingers then shows her what other type of magic they can do 🤭🤭

Pretty Hands - Sirius Black x Reader

AN - thank you so much for requesting. I'm SUCH a slut for a man with nice hands lmao.

764 words

warning: smut under the cut

Sirius’s bedroom was basked in a soft glow. He wasn’t one for having the overhead light on, much preferring the intimate warmth of a small lamp and a few candles dotted around. His guitar was cradled in his arms, his back hunched slightly as he leaned over it, fingers moving deftly across the strings. Every couple of minutes, he would glance up, blow his hair out of his eyes and scribble something in the notebook that lay open in front of him.

Just opposite from where he was sat, Y/N was sprawled out on his bed. Though a book rested in her hands, she had long abandoned its pages, instead watching in awe as Sirius plucked at the strings of the guitar.

His hands were slender yet strong, his fingers long and nimble, each movement deliberate and purposeful. The rings that adorned them caught the low light, casting delicate reflections that danced across the wood of the instrument. Y/N sunk her teeth into her bottom lip as she watched.

Sirius’s finger faltered momentarily on the strings as he felt her gaze on him. He glanced up, his eyes meeting hers with a knowing look.

“Enjoying the show?” he quipped, smirk evident in his voice.

“Something like that.”

He set the guitar down on its stand and made his way over to the bed. His armed caged either side of her head as he climbed on top of her, propping himself up.

“Can practically see all those thought whizzing around that pretty head of yours.” he murmured, kissing up her neck, “Care to share them with me?”

“You have pretty hands.” she said softly, leaning upwards to catch his lips with hers.

“Oh yeah?” he smiled cheekily, sitting up straighter, and dragging his fingers down her torso.

“Yeah.” Y/N replied breathlessly, suddenly feeling flustered as Sirius kissed his way down her stomach and settled between her legs. With ease, he slipped her trousers down, dropping them in a pile at the bottom of the bed.

He grabbed Y/N’s hands and put them above her head, removing the rings from his fingers and sliding them onto hers.

“Look after these for me, will you?”

Y/N didn’t get time to respond as Sirius was already buried between her legs, drawing a gasp from her as he slid his fingers inside of her.

“This what you were thinking about, baby?” he asked, cocking his head as he pressed his fingers up inside of her. Y/N nodded frantically, her mouth falling open.

“Hm?” he pressed, “Answer me properly.”

“Y-yeah.” she let out a ragged breath, “Was thinking about having them inside of me.”

Sirius smiled cockily, withdrawing his fingers momentarily causing the girl to whine and buck her hips up at him.

“Needy girl.” he tutted, tapping his fingers against her clit, “Been waiting all night for this, haven’t you?”

He slipped back inside and she groaned, grinding down onto his fingers. His thumb circled her clit as he slipped another in, stretching her open.

“Take me so well, don’t you?”

Sirius enjoyed teasing her, he loved making her breathless and needy and then asking her questions knowing full well that she couldn’t form the words to respond. He found joy in the way that she would stumble over her words as she would try to reply to him, her voice becoming whiny and frustrated as he would increase the pace of his fingers every time she spoke, her words being rendered useless every time.

“Are you getting close, gorgeous?” he taunted, once again, removing his fingers. They were slick with her wetness and he slipped on into his mouth, “Why don’t you ask me nicely if you can come?”

“Please, Sirius.” she whispered, “Please can I-”

A moan fell from her lips as he thrust back inside of her, smiling at the way her face screwed up in pleasure.

“Try again, you can do it.”

“Please, Sirius, please let me-”

Another firm press of his fingers had cut her off again as she threw her head back against the pillow, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Aw, you were so close that time, baby.” his voice was laced with condescension, “C’mon, ask me again.”

“Please can I come?” she panted. Her brows were furrowed, her lips red and bitten as she looked down at him with glassy eyes.

Sirius nodded and she clenched around his fingers, finally coming undone. Her hips jutted upwards frantically, her mouth hanging open as she let out a shaky breath.

“Atta girl.” he grinned, “Wasn’t so hard after all, was it?”

#sirius black #sirius black smut #sirius black x reader #sirius black x reader smut #marauders

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chelseasdagger · 1 year

Text

Alone And Forsaken

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: After a close call with infected, you and Joel return to your safehouse and try to stay warm during a cold night

Warnings: smut (18+!), sex (unprotected), cockwarming, cursing, gun mention (briefly), smut with very little plot, Joel hasn’t cockwarmed in over twenty years

Author’s Note: This is my first Joel fic so I'm a little nervous but I love the idea of him cockwarming/having sex again after so long and he's desperate oops. Much thanks to @chellestrash for supporting me through this fic! Feedback is greatly appreciated! :)

Word Count: 5.2k

Joel mutters in his sleep. Most nights, it was whispers of his late daughter’s name; the sorrowful memory of that night replays in his mind even after twenty years. Other times it was restless grunts and warnings of clickers as he tossed and turned on the small mattress. It doesn’t matter whether you were in a somewhat protected military zone or in the uncertain darkness that lies outside of those sanctioned areas. When the sun sets and the anxiety dies down just enough to finally slip into unconsciousness, you’d hear the distressed mumbling beside you that made your chest grow tight all over again.

The two of you have just returned home—or, whatever you could call the four walls that were miraculously still standing. It was more of an improvised safehouse while you traveled beyond the patrolled Fedra walls to make your drop offs. The house was small but dependable, especially once Joel had gone and fortified the decaying wood that was barricading the doors and windows shut. Perhaps you could consider it safe in comparison to the rubble and debris surrounding it, not to mention the absolute luck that there were no cordyceps in the immediate area.

Smuggling isn’t exactly your favorite job when it comes to ways of earning supplies, but you suppose it’s better than the depressing things that Joel does for a few ration cards. He’s the one who got you into helping him after showing you just how good the payoff was and, if you’re honest with yourself, you enjoy the time alone with him. He isn't easy to read and his rough voice comes across harsh to others but the longer you’re around him, you begin to pick up on his true intentions behind his sometimes cold front.

Your name rings through your ears, pulling you to the present and away from your abandoned train of thought. It sounds nice to hear Joel speak it, despite his deep, rough shout. You quickly stand and make your way over to the wooden bookcase that’s lying diagonally over the back door to the house. Planting your feet on the ground, you push it so that it’s standing upright again and twist the small lock on the doorknob.

You open the door and the sounds of the thunderstorm grow louder, a flash of lightning illuminating Joel’s silhouette. His back is facing you as he checks the surrounding area once more, gun in his hands as he slowly turns before entering the house.

“It’s clear,” he holsters his gun, “no signs of clickers or infected,” he sighs heavily, closing the door gently behind him. He steps past you and into the house, immediately moving furniture in search of cracks in the floorboards. He often forgot exactly where he left his supplies due to the different safe houses you two frequent on the smuggling route. You watch as he knocks the toe of his boot into an area of the wood underneath the dusty rug. The sound is hollow and he immediately kneels to the ground to start removing the slotted wood.

“You’re sure?” you ask uncertainly, your voice a whisper in the otherwise quiet room. It was rare that you questioned him, but your fear got the better of you. The way he freezes with the floorboard piece still in his hand has you worried you overstepped, and you hurry to explain.

“I-I don’t mean to—it’s just that, well, I wanted to be absolutely certain,” your words come out faster once he looks over his shoulder. He stares up at you, glancing over your features while resting his hand on his knee. You pull your lip between your teeth, nervously thinking of his potential reaction to your words.

Your expression gives your anxiety away and he sighs gently, his eyes scanning over your face. His own features soften and you watch his shoulders begin to slouch before he’s standing up and silently walking towards you.

“Tonight was too close and I’m…” he trails off, his eyes focusing on something behind you, his mind going elsewhere. After a moment he looks to your scared face again and continues, “I’m sorry I made the wrong call.”

Joel hangs his head in defeat and you wish you could take away the guilt he feels. The rain patters gently on the roof but you still hear his frustrated exhale over the noise. He brings a hand to the back of his neck, scratching at the grey hair brushing his skin there. After clearing his throat, he continues, his southern accent wound around his words.

“I thought it was clear I… If I hadn’t gotten there—”

“But you did,” you cut him off before his mind has time to spiral. Joel always takes responsibility for every mission no matter the importance. There’s been times in the past where he thinks back on what went wrong and makes a mental note of how to improve next time, but not without holding some resentment for his flawed actions. You know tonight was more serious, what with the clicker’s gnashing teeth nearly grazing your neck, and you wanted to try and spare Joel some of the self loathing.

A shiver suddenly works its way down the back of your neck. The icy touch runs along your spine and spreads throughout your body, causing you to shake slightly. He watches your involuntary movement and looks down at your hands that are balled around the cuff of the wet jacket you’re wearing.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of those clothes,” he speaks up again before turning away. His wet footsteps echo out on the wooden floor as he steps towards his backpack. You wind your arms around yourself as he slings his bag over his shoulder, walking back to you and leading you to one of the unused rooms down the hall.

The both of you typically would stay in the main space of the house, with access to windows and a kitchen within close distance. But in moments where some privacy was needed, you’d have the extra rooms of the house to change or get some time alone. He entered the small bedroom first, quickly scanning it with his flashlight. Once deciding it was clear, he gives you a small nod before dropping his bag, leaving the room, and pulling the door shut behind him.

Crouching down to his bag, you open it and find two thick flannels folded at the bottom beneath the few cans of food and extra boxes of ammo. Discarding your wet jacket and soaked shirt underneath, you pick up a dry one from his bag and hold it in front of you. You think of the last time Joel wore this one and how the blue plaid pattern brought out the tan in his skin.

Slipping your arms through the sleeves, you pull the material closer to your body. It’s a lot softer than most of the shirts around nowadays, most likely the material being worn down by all the years Joel has been wearing it. There’s a small tear under the arm on your right side but other than that it’s in great condition.

You untwist the collar of the shirt as you make the fabric sit smoothly against your neck. Your fingers move down the lapels of the flannel and you pause for a second before raising it to your face. The collar smells so deeply of him and you shut your eyes as you inhale his scent.

His heavy footsteps sound out through the house and you hear them from the other side of the paper thin walls, pulling you from your thoughts. You quickly straighten the edges of the shirt before slipping the black buttons through their holes and making your way back to the living room.

Joel is back in his position on the worn couch. His back is straight as a board, a physical display of his alertness. He’s squinting his eyes as he peers between the slotted wood boarding up the windows, watching the outside area nearby. You’d often find him like this, making mental notes of the surrounding environments or how many exits a building had. It makes you feel safe, but you wish there was a world where he didn’t feel the need to do that instinctively.

You notice he’s wearing only his denim button up now, having ditched the soaked jacket. The heavy bookshelf is back in place as well, blocking the only entrance to the house that isn’t boarded up. Your eyes fall to the ground and notice there’s no makeshift alarm. Checking the other door in the living room, you notice it’s clear of any liter as well.

“No glass?” you ask quietly, stepping deeper into the room. Joel turns at the sound of your voice, watching from his spot on the torn couch cushion.

“Just clickers and infected for the next few miles. If we don't make a fire, we can’t draw people in. So yeah,” he’s cut off by his groan as he places his hands on his knees to stand up, “no glass.”

“Right…” you trail off, trying to ignore the excitement in your chest as he steps towards you. “So no fire tonight? That’s going to be a little rough,” you let out a bitter chuckle.

The weather had been unkind as of late and it was taking a toll on you. Joel saw the shakes your body gave under the unforgiving wind, despite him lending you extra jackets to wear under a thick winter coat you happened across. The past few nights in particular he had been burning low fires as you two were in the woods; he assured you the tree line helped disguise the smoke. But you know the risk of shedding light near open streets, even if you desperately wanted the heat anyway.

“Well, ‘m sorry,” Joel begins, his hands working their way to their usual spot on his hips. “We can’t—“

“We can’t run the risk, I know,” you sigh heavily, finishing his sentence for him. “I just wish there wasn’t a risk—“

The sudden crash of thunder catches you by surprise, making you jump away from him. Distant sounds of clicker screeching fills the air next and you don’t have enough time to fix your confident facade that slips. Joel notices it, and he sees the fear in your eyes despite the smile you flash at him and the dismissive laugh that follows.

“Jesus, you’d think I’d get used to that by now,” you chuckle, folding your arms across your chest. He sees through the act you’re putting on and sighs quietly. Wordlessly, he takes another step towards you, closing the distance and pulling you into him.

His body is warm and his strong arms feel gentle as he embraces you. This was a first between the two of you, even the smallest moments of intimacy being somewhat of a struggle for him. He’s never said it aloud but you’ve picked up on the signs after months and months of knowing him. The one thing you never do, however, is force him to open up to you. Not even after hearing his broken whispers as he recalled the events he’s had to witness.

You don’t realize how much you need his touch until he’s giving it to you, and now you don’t want to go without it. His arms around you feel like they’re holding you together enough that you can allow yourself to relax completely. It’s the first time in, well forever, that you feel like something else is barring the weight for you. And you can’t help yourself from unwinding in his hold.

You let yourself sink into his chest, your head resting below his collarbone as you inhale shakily. His heartbeat sounds out rhythmically into your ear and its predictable, repetitive pattern soothes you instantly. Slowly but surely, you’re able to bring in deeper breaths of air as your hands grab at his large back tightly. Everything else in the room fades as you squeeze your eyes shut—everything except for him.

A few moments pass and Joel begins to loosen his hold on you. His hands leave your back and begin to pull away, but you don’t let go. It must’ve dawn on him that you needed him more than he realized, because he goes back to holding you after clearing his throat gently.

You don’t want to push his boundaries or make him uncomfortable, so you bring in two big breaths of air before untangling yourself from him. He stares down at you, his eyes scanning both of yours quickly, and you feel as though you could melt under his gaze. Your feelings for him had always been there, but after that display of affection? You know you’re wrapped around his finger now.

Joel looks as though he’s about to say something; his lips part as his eyebrows pull together, but you speak before he can.

“So…” you trail off as you swing your arms awkwardly. You don’t have anything else to add; your fear of what he might say overpowered any ideas you had before you opened your mouth. His eyes fall to your hands, which are still moving, and you become painfully aware of how odd you’re acting.

“So!” you wind your arms around your chest, “What’re we thinking? Living room or one of the beds?” you ask with a joking laugh. The confusion on Joel’s face is plainly there in his rough features, but thankfully he drops it. He clears his throat once again before nodding his head towards the hallway you left just a moment ago.

“Figured we’d use the beds, since they’re there. Those sleeping bags have been killing my back,” he rasps out as he places his palm over his lower spine. He shakes his head gently, almost as if he’s reliving the pain of the sore muscles the next morning. When he glances back up at you he lets out a small chuckle, muttering, “‘M gettin’ too old for that.”

The fact that he chooses to laugh off the awkward moment has your heart tightening in your chest and a genuine smile finds its way back to your face again.

It takes only a few minutes for you and Joel to move your bags and other supplies into the new room. He doesn’t bring up the extra seconds of comfort you relished in, or the slightly embarrassing aftermath of the moment—which you’re immensely thankful for.

The mattress is, unsurprisingly, stiff and you swear you can feel the springs each time you move to get comfortable. It’s silent other than the shuffling of your clothing and Joel’s quiet breathing. Your back is facing him but you can faintly feel the warmth radiating from his body. You want more than anything to pull him closer, to spare you both from the drafty walls of this old house, but you aren’t sure you can muster up the courage.

The minutes slip by as the rain patters gently on the glass of the windows. The storm is finally settling down now and you catch the shadows of the rain through the glass; the image is projected on the wall as the droplets roll down. It’s times like these where the world seems so peaceful, you almost forget about the threats of this new world.

“Are you asleep?” your whisper cuts through the silence like a knife. There’s a pause, and for half a second you think he might’ve drifted off.

“‘M too cold to sleep,” his raspy voice sounds out, and you can’t help the chuckle that falls from your mouth.

“Yeah… yeah me too,” you admit to him. The silence that falls after you speak feels thick, and you’re once again regretting your choice of words.

You do though find comfort in his presence. Having him close makes you feel safe, but it does nothing to help the chittering of your teeth. You let out a long sigh as you rub your hands over your arms, attempting to use the friction to warm up.

“Do, uh… Do you want me to help?” he speaks up out of the darkness.

“How?” you ask with sincerity. There’s only one thing you could think of that could fix this situation at all, and you doubt he’d do it.

“I don’t…,” he trails off, trying to rack his brain for an answer. “‘M not sure. We can’t have the fire—,” he begins to explain, but you cut him off.

“No, I know, Joel, it’s okay,” you sigh. There’s a long pause after you speak and you just wish he would get the hint already. As the seconds pass the shiver in your bones grows tiring, and you finally cave in.

“C-could you… hold me?” And again you’re met with silence. Joel doesn’t say anything and you clammer to explain. “Just, y’know, it’d be warmer if you… We’d share heat that way.”

He lets out a deep grunt and you can’t help but worry that he’s hating the idea. You feel paralyzed, too scared to check over your shoulder to see his reaction. The pulsing grows in your chest and you fear you’ve overstepped again.

Joel’s arm lightly curls around your waist, and you nearly flinch from the contact. Your entire side lights up and you inhale shakily, his touch feels burning hot as it spreads through your body. The next thing you feel is his chest pressing into your back, his scent filling in the air around you.

You bite down on your lip, determined to not spoil the moment with your clumsy words. You’ve never been this close with him before, despite your crush that’s developed over the months. He’s so much warmer than you could’ve ever pictured all of those nights under the fire, longing to be in this exact situation.

Joel moves his hand down to hold your lower stomach instead but you feel his arm tense up. He begins to speak but cuts himself off, opting to move his hand back to its original place. It’s slightly reassuring to see him acting stiffly as well. It reminds you that you’re not alone in the newness of it all.

“Is that… Does this feel alright?” he mumbles, uncertainty clear in his voice.

“It’s good. It’s uh, it’s warm,” you chuckle lightly, moving your palm to cover the back of his hand, “thank you.” Your fingers wrap around the bruises on his busted knuckles. He doesn’t say anything else, but he nestles his fingers between your ribs and the mattress.

You try your best to focus on his body and not on the cold, but your brain has other ideas. Each rise and fall of his chest has him pushing against you and he’s so close you can feel his breath on your shoulder. Every second that passes makes your awareness of him worse and worse.

A shiver runs its course through your body again, a sign of the chill still deep in your bones. He doesn’t mention it but wraps his arms tighter anyway. The close grip does nothing but make you crave more of him. An idea pops into your head suddenly, and you don’t give yourself a chance to second guess it and back out. You push your ass back into his crotch and his hand immediately leaves your ribs, trying to stop you from doing it again.

“Don’t,” he grunts behind clenched teeth. His fingers dig into your hip tightly and your breath catches in your throat. He’s never sounded this rough with you but the rasp in chest makes you grow hotter between your thighs.

“C’mon, Joel,” you nearly whine, “it’s so cold.” You roll your hips back again, pushing yourself against his bulge once more. His grip on you tightens and you immediately stop.

“That’s a bad idea,” he whispers gravely. The air around the words ghost over your neck and goosebumps start decorating your skin. The gruff tone of his voice does nothing but add fuel to the fire in your lower stomach and you press your thighs together to try and get some relief.

“We don’t have to—not, not all the way, I mean.” You sigh defeatedly, knowing you’ve probably ruined your chance at sparking more than a friendship between the two of you. Each bout of silence feels worse than the last, but this time you feel like if you speak at all you’ll destroy everything.

A weary sigh comes from behind your shoulder, the breath blowing your hair lightly. You swallow thickly as you feel his hand move and hear his belt buckle sound out a second later.

“Shit,” he mumbles, and the sound of denim shifting grows louder. His jeans are kicked off and tossed onto the floor as he presses his lower half against you again. You can’t believe it’s actually happening, that he’s truly considering this.

“Are you sure about this? We don’t have to do this, any of it, if you don’t want it,” the words leaving his mouth are barely audible. You finally turn your head over your shoulder to look him in the eyes, nodding gently before whispering, “Please.”

He swallows heavily and glances down between the two of you. You follow his gaze and see his cock, still mostly soft, and you reach down to hold him. The groan doesn’t quite leave his chest as you wrap your fingers around him, gently pumping him in your hand twice before lining him up with your entrance.

Joel slowly guides his hips to follow your movements, pushing inside of you. Even when he’s soft you can feel the decent size he is, and as the seconds pass, you feel him grow bigger inside of you. He doesn’t speak during it, but you hear the way he’s breathing through gritted teeth.

“Sorry, I can’t help—,” he cuts himself off as his fingernails dig deeper into your side. You’re not sure how much bigger he’ll get, but you’re beginning to feel the stretch of his thickness. Feeling him slowly fill you from the inside is a sensation you’re not used to, but you let out a pleased hum from how much warmer you are.

His cock continues to get harder and his fingers let go of you just to grab you tight again. It’s almost as if he feels guilty for his body’s natural reaction, but he can’t fight it either. You feel him give a faint twitch and you clench around him instinctively. His forehead presses against your shoulder as he sighs loudly, his now swollen tip pressing into your lower stomach.

“I don’t think either of us will fall asleep like this,” you speak up in the silence. He’s hard and heavy inside of you and you can feel each vein along his cock. He groans again before pushing himself up, changing positions so he’s on top of you. He doesn’t pull out, however, and now that he’s moved he’s somehow slipped even deeper inside of you.

He’s staring down at where you two are connected as he pants lightly, still trying to get used to the new feeling. You reach out for his cheek, cupping his face in your palm as your thumb drags along his bottom lip. His desperate eyes search for yours in the dark and you notice the shaky breath he lets out. His fingers curl around your wrist gently as he squeezes his eyes shut. He looks as if he’s in pain, but the twitching you feel inside of you tells you otherwise.

“It’s okay, Joel. You can move,” you instruct him, pulling his lip down. Those words snap something inside of him and he plunges forward, kissing you deeply. Your heart races in your chest as he begins to move forward, pressing himself deeper inside of you. His tongue glides along yours and you moan into his mouth before he breaks the kiss.

He glances back down to where he’s buried inside of you and you watch how he takes it all in. You can hear the sounds of your slick each time he pushes in, the noise so loud in the otherwise quiet room. His hips rock forward torturously slow but pull back before he can bottom out; you can’t help the frown on your face as he does it repeatedly.

“Joel, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you…” you’re not sure how to finish the sentence, but thankfully he understands. His groans fall from the back of his throat as he sits back on his calves, stilling inside of you.

“I haven’t—it’s been so long,” they’re the only words he can think of to explain. It clicks for you then that the reason he’s being so hesitant must be because of how it feels for him. You can’t help the fond smile you flash at him before reaching for his neck to pull him back to you. His lips are soft as he kisses you back and you let your hand fall from his neck to cup his jaw again. You brush your thumb along his cheek, feeling the scratchy beard tickling your palm.

He rocks his hips inside of you faster now but still, he doesn’t go as deep as he can. You try telling him it’s okay, coaxing him with little praises, but he still holds himself back. You can feel yourself craving more and an idea pops into your head.

You wrap your legs around his sides, crossing your ankles and dig the heel of your foot into his lower back. You pull him down onto you as close as you can and he lets out a shuddering moan. Rubbing your hands over his broad shoulders, you give him time to adjust to the feeling of his entire length inside of you.

Joel sniffles after a moment and you feel his hips buck into you. The head of his cock nudges that part deep in your stomach where the pleasure nearly hurts because of how full of him you are. You clench around him and he lets out a strangled cry, letting his face fall into your neck.

His lips suck on the sensitive skin below your jaw, grazing his teeth along you before biting gently. He continues to rut inside of you, never pulling back, not wanting to leave your warmth. He licks over your skin as he soothes the mark he just left on you before unbuttoning your shirt, his hand cupping your breast. The wet stripe on your neck grows cold as the air hits it and you let out a moan of his name.

“Oh, Christ,” he curses quietly, squeezing your chest under his palm. The reflection of the rain on glass illuminates his face now as he stares at you. You watch as the droplets roll down his cheeks; they glide over the lines and scars decorating his face that tell a thousand tales. He bites down on his bottom lip and you catch the way his throat tightens, the veins tensing, like he’s trying to stay quiet.

“It’s okay, Joel. I wanna hear you,” you whisper as if it’s meant for just him to hear. He looks into your eyes as his own are filled with uncertainty. Nodding your head, you watch as his composure slowly breaks down and you finally hear the guttural groan that comes from his chest.

His moans fall freely now, as if your words were permission for him to express himself. Every sound that escapes his lips turns you on even more now that you hear just how good he’s feeling. His hand drops from your chest as his fingers glide down your stomach, lighting a fire on your skin as they move. He reaches for the underside of your thigh and he pushes your knee up to your chest. With the new angle his cock pushes impossibly deeper and you gasp, your fingers tugging on the silver strands at the back of his head.

“You feel…” he groans, dragging his hips back until just his head is inside of you. “You feel so fucking good,” he chokes out before thrusting again. His fingers move to your clit, rubbing your slick over where you’re most sensitive and his touch has you clenching around him.

“Oh, fuck, Joel!” you cry out as you buck your hips, squirming under his touch. Hearing his name falling out of a broken moan, his hips stutter forward and the tempo he sets begins to falter. You feel the heat quickly growing deep in your stomach and you know neither of you will last much longer.

“C-C’mon, honey, I need you,” he grunts out louder, his southern accent coming out thicker as he rubs his thumb over your clit faster. His opposite hand squeezes your hip tightly and you feel as though he might bruise the skin from how tight he’s holding you. Your voice shakes through your whimpers as he moves faster, your body bouncing underneath his hard thrusts.

Joel thrusts inside one last time before stilling, his cock twitching as he comes. The warmth filling you while he lets out a growl of your name is the last thing you need to push you over the edge. You clench around him repeatedly, drawing out his own orgasm as you two fall apart in each other’s embrace.

He doesn’t move after that, only hides his face into your neck again as he nuzzles his nose along your collarbone. His lips cover the markings he left just minutes ago, tending to them with gentle kisses. Neither of you say anything as you let your bodies relax into one another and it’s the most relief you’ve felt in months.

Your hands find their way to his broad back, rubbing over his shoulders absentmindedly while you listen to the rain lightly patter on the roof. His weight presses into you still as he lies on top of you, the feeling grounding you as you notice the kisses have stopped for a few minutes.

Looking down at your shoulder, you see his face is completely peaceful. The regular furrow of his eyebrows is smoothed out and the nearly permanent frown has left his face. All those worried lines have disappeared now and there’s not a single mutter disturbing his sleep.

You’ve never seen him this calm and you feel an overwhelming sense of pride that you were able to give him this—the first night where he doesn’t force himself to stay awake despite his heavy eyes, or wake up in a sweat from awful nightmares.

You decide right then and there that you want to give him this one perfect night. Slowly slipping out from underneath Joel, careful not to wake him, you pick your clothes up off of the floor and dress yourself. You grab your bag and weapons before kneeling beside the mattress on the floor. Running your fingers through his hair, you press a kiss to his temple before making your way out of the room.

With one last look over your shoulder at his sleeping face, you pull the door shut silently. You take watch that night, sitting in the living room until the sun rises between the gaps in the boarded up windows, giving him one night of peace.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #every time i write a fic it gets longer than the last help #chelsea writes

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forsworned · 14 days

Note

That Keegan post you made had me clutching my PEARLS! Your use of words was so masterfully done! I really loved the new vocab I learned while reading your work.

Your depiction of the relationship was also so so nice. Very loving and attentive and just so sweet. I could tell they loved one another and had already established boundaries that they knew they shouldn’t cross. The ending was lovely as well, a great way to tie things up.

Thank you for writing it! I’m excited to see what else your lovely brain comes up with!

-🧢

Whispers in the Woods: A Stranger's Shelter ft. OfftheGridCowboy!Keegan Russ

Sypnosis: When Keegan finds you petrified, running for your life from creatures unknown to you in the Haunted Appalachia trails after sundown, he takes you in for the night. Things get a bit crazy...

Warning(s): Mentions of Sexual Content, Violence, Petnames (?), Blood, Supernatural Horror (?), Eventual Smut, Barely Proofread, Reader is 28 and Keegan is 30, Reader is also AFAB

Word Count: 7.5k (enjoy keegan lovers ;)

Author's note: Blue cap anon thank you so much for inspiring me to write for Keegan. Honestly, I really love how this fic turned out and I hope you do too. I am so sorry I took so long to reply to you but you seriously warmed my heart so sosososo much when I read your message. I did not mean to put you on the back burner for this long/ Just know I have put so much effort into this to provide you a solid work so I hope that is a good enough excuse to have such a delayed response. Also so glad that you learned some new words LOL that really tickles me tbh, but I want to work more with the relationship that reader builds with Keegan in general or with any character x reader I write. So please enjoy this :)

edit: i think it's lowkey not living up to my expectations but ummm fuck it we ball

Sparks fly as the firewood in the pit crackles, casting an orange ember over you and the stranger sitting in front of you. His eyes, reminiscent of the cool, blueness of winter are lingering on you, and his heavy, leather jacket drapes over your shoulders to shield you from the chilliness of the early April evening. With his black cowboy hat slightly tilted upward, you note the black bandana covering most of his face, adding an air of mystery to his appearance.

"You really shouldn't be out here." His voice edges a precarious tone, though you cannot determine if it's toward you or whatever lurks in the abysmal woods. Maybe it was both. Your fingers curl around the distressed tanned hide, fiddling with the stitching of the material. A shudder careens through the columns of your spine, goosebumps trail over your skin, and the fuzz across your neck rises briefly.

"Don't look. Don't even acknowledge it." He instructs, steadying his gaze on you as he tinkers with the butterfly knife in his gloved hand. "W-what?" You gasp out, eyes reaming as your quivering vision sets on the embers of the pyre. A sinister presence harks over your convulsing body, heart palpitating out of your tightening sternum. But as soon as it arrives it departs and you're left heaving for the oxygen that was stripped from your lungs.

"I'm not gonna ask you again, what are you doin' walkin' around aimlessly in these mountains?" He repeatedly latches and unlatches the metal object in his hands, his gaze fixates on you. Truthfully, you were lost. When the engine of the old Dodge that you inherited from your grandfather abruptly cut out as you passed through a dead zone, it was all hauling ass from there on out. Classic damsel in distress situation.

Your father and he had both warned you about the Appalachian mountains. How apex predators inhabited the woods, preying on the innocent, ripping flesh apart on sight, or disappearing into the ghastly woods to never return. But, of course, you wrote it off as fearmongering. Never had you experienced the soul-crushing, harrowing existence of unidentified, cryptids lurking within the lacunas of the evergreens.

"My truck it—" You start to say, but the sound of him exhaling loudly cuts you off and you glance up at him with misery strewn across your features. Doe-eyes glimmering from the wetness that was welling in your oculars as your lips tremble. He outstretches his arm to the lantern on the perched log, "I've heard enough."

He begins to get up, extinguishing the flame, smothering it with what seemed to be a bag of salt and you felt fear creeping back into your system.

"Come on." As the pyre's embers fade, the lantern's switch emits a squeak, coaxing the oil flame to life, while the blood-curdling shrieks send shivers down your spine, ringing in your ears. And as if on cue, you cling to his side and he lets out a soft huff, feeling your arm coil around his.

The inferno acts as a bulwark from whatever is skulking around the both of you in the obscurity of the night as you move through the forest. You catch glimpses of shadows trekking about, seemingly running away from you now. A stark contrast from the previous frantic sprint through the woods in your petite, white frilly prairie dress that was now tattered at the edges and puffy sleeves. Now, you were safe. At least you certainly hope so.

A tiny light enters your line of sight in the distance, and you can only assume that that is his home. But you were still heeding the noises and images being molded in front of human eyes. It was as if the veil was lifted here, a supernatural existence in the vast mountains and woods of the Appalachia. You don't know whether to be terrified or fascinated, but you keep quiet as he silently leads you down the desire path to his home that is etching itself a little more into the horizon.

Approaching the home, you begin to notice the clandestine features of the house. A zephyr sweeps past you and the distinct smell of lavender and sage gently brims into your senses. You visibly shudder as the steps creak under your weight, your arm remains tucked into his own as he fishes out his keys and unlocks the door. Like a gentleman, he gestures to allow you in first and he follows closely behind, shutting it behind him.

"Shoes off at the door." He directs, treading past you as he tosses another piece of firewood into the lit fireplace.

What the fuck?

Is he just not going to acknowledge the paranormal manifestation that incurred upon them just now? The shadows of unearthly skinwalkers who infest the woods, who are prowling out there now as they barricade themselves from the outside? What is stopping them from forcefully intruding into his home?

You finally catch your breath for a moment, still feeling your heart hammering against your chest before you speak. "Are we not going to talk about what we just saw?"

"Nope." He simply replies, from another room and you blink back in surprise. Then it sinks in.

Of course, how could you forget? How can you forget the rules of the Appalachia, that were engrained into you as a child?

If you see something strange in the wilderness, no, you didn't.

If you hear something call your name, no, you didn't.

If you hear screaming in the Appalachian mountains, especially a woman's scream, no, you didn't.

If you feel something stalking you, do not run.

Never, ever, whistle at night.

Never go into the woods at night.

Never leave your windows open at night, even in the summer and honestly, the list dragged on and on and on.

Most of it falls on deaf ears never believing in the legends, and yet, here you are shaken up by things you never thought existed in a stranger's home who found it in his heart to shelter you until what you suppose would be dawn.

A wavering breath escapes you as you take a long gander at the well-maintained colonial home. The timeless and heirloom quality of the home becomes evident upon analyzing the vast array of paintings and framed photographs adorning the walls, each depicting individuals with strikingly similar features—dark brows, thick lashes, and mesmerizing steely blue eyes that seemed to penetrate your soul. You can't quite make out the framed artwork through your muzzy vision, but it's eerie the way you can't quite pinpoint why the face was so recognizable to you.

Exposed wooden ceiling beams motion your eyes to the inherited items and the mounted deer skull above the hearth. The warmth emanating from it felt different, soothing, lulling your quivery limbs. You oblige and kick off your boots, padding behind him as he draws out his gun from his holster and places it on the mahogany table. He removes his cowboy hat, hanging it on the horseshoe hat rack adjacent to the fireplace revealing his tousled short black locks. As he begins to unmask himself, a small gasp leaves your lips, fixating on his newly exposed features. And he was goddamn handsome and unusually reminiscent of someone from your childhood embarked into the backlogs of your memory, but of course, you brush it off.

And although he hears it, he does not acknowledge it as one hand grips the wooden chair and the other runs over his dark stubble. He's pensive. The last thing he needed was some heretic woman living under his roof for Lord knows how long. At this point, he decides that you are his responsibility and he cannot shirk from that for that would be unbecoming of a man like himself and he was raised better than that.

He glances up at the painting of his father above the hearth and you take note of the reflective state. His daddy was the embodiment of a Cowboy. Gentlemanly, charming, nifty, and always genial, providing the best hospitality a person could provide. No way, he'd accept Keegan kicking you to the curb, leaving you out for those creatures to rip you apart. Plus, his father would simply rise from his grave and kick his ass.

"You hungry?" He pays no mind to your lingering, bewitched eyes as he moves to the kitchen and you like a lost puppy trailing behind him. "Got some leftover potato leek soup."

And as if on cue, your stomach growls and he glances at your hand over your tummy. You flush from the embarrassment of your stomach being that raucous. He cocks a brow at you and you can't tell if he's amused or annoyed. Probably both. "Go sit." He points his chin to the table by the fireplace and you pad back to the living room, the tempering sensation of the flames causes you to become drowsy. You loll your head to analyze his stature. His figure towers over all of the antique appliances in the kitchen, muscles flexing as he prepares to reheat the soup on the stove. Rolling up his sleeves to reveal his taut, tanned forearms to open the cabinet and pull out the loaf of handmade sourdough, slicing it evenly and efficiently before tossing it in the toaster.

His form becomes a bit hazy as you lay your head against the top rail of the chair, mesmerized by the allure of his broadened shoulders, and soft pink lips that all by hide the peeking tongue indicating his concentration in preparing you a homecooked meal. Keegan never has guests over, in fact, no one is ever daft enough to come running around this way anyways because locals know better and tourists are too scared shitless to even enter this part of the Appalachia. He likes it like that, away from everything and everyone, being able to maintain his family's ranch that was inherited by him at the ripening age of 18.

His mother moved out to the suburbs because the death of his father was far too devasting on her already weary soul to continue living her days out on the farm. But Keegan doesn't mind it. He handles the livestock with ease, providing care to the birthing cattle, and maintaining the operations of the facilities as a whole to keep his honest living thriving. It's all in a good day's work for him. So caring after you shouldn't be too much of a hassle right?

You're suddenly awoken to the soft clatter of the bowl being set on the wooden table, the savory aroma of potato leek soup, and freshly toasted sourdough bread. He sets a glass of water beside you before he pulls his seat adjacent to you with his food.

"Eat." He orders, waiting for you to take a spoonful of thick soup. You hesitantly lift the spoon before glancing up at him. He blinks back at you, realizing the weight of his indiscretion, and whisks the soup with his spoon before noshing on it as if to tell you that is not poisoned nor drugged. Your other hand takes the bread in between your fingers and he mirrors your actions, claiming a bite from his own and you visibly relax.

The soup is scalding to the touch, but you welcome the sensation when you get a taste of the heavenly whipped soup. Not a single lump, just the smoothest, most savory supping of such a simple hearty soup instantly heartening your disconcerting body right down to your unsteady hand.

"I'll fix your truck as soon as dawn breaks." He flashes a glance before breaking his bread and scooping it into his soup. "Make yourself comfortable in the guest bedroom." He gestures with his hand to the upstairs.

"Oh, I couldn't—" You begin to say, but he will have none of it.

"You're not going out there until the sun's out." He replies simply, as he lifts his glass of water and sips from it. You observe the way his Adam's apple oscillates under his stubbly throat and you swallow thickly when you realize he's gazing at you keenly.

Warmth spreads to your cheeks and your eyes are now following the pattern of the wood grain. "That's…very kind of you."

"'s just the human thing to do." And there is an emphasis on the word 'human'.

You begin to play with your soup, scooping it up and letting it fall back into the bowl. "Right." Your voice is soft as you try to block out the memory just moments ago.

He narrows his eyes as if to study you. "What's your name?"

You glance up at him, and you're almost a bit hesitant to tell him. You almost want to lie, but you decide otherwise. "[Name], and yours?"

"Keegan."

"Keegan what?" You press. He raises a brow at you as he chews on his bread.

"Russ."

Russ. An esteemed surname that was echoed throughout your household during your adolescence. Presley Russ was a handsome and genial man who appeared at your father's porch steps every so often, tipping his hat at you with that charming smile and those glacial hues that made your heart jump. He'd invite your daddy out for nights at the rodeo or sipping on Highland Gaelic Ales on the porch from the afternoon til midnight, biding his time between Maryland and North Carolina.

You never quite caught glimpses of his son when you were living out on the ranch before you moved out for college, but you did remember a time when you ventured out past sunset in the abandoned village in the Black Hills you knew better than to be in when your daddy had to travel to Wheaton for the grand opening of his old buddy, Presley's restaurant accompanied by his reclusive son who you never remembered the name of. But for God's sake, who was stupid enough to go treading alone around the same location as the filming of the Blair Witch Project?

But you were a skeptic at best until you heard the unrelenting repetition of your name being called which led you astray, causing you to stumble over your own feet and ultimately collide with a rock that rendered you unconscious. Soon enough, you felt yourself being carried back to your home in the arms of the Russ boy with the hardened steely gaze that intently stared down at the knot forming on your forehead. You had never shut your eyes so quickly and the sound of his soft chuckle, caused you to be even more embarrassed as you were being handed off to your worried parents who were more than relieved and thankful to have retrieved you.

Of course, you had to act like you were unconscious. It was already humiliating enough that you were old enough to know better, but being ferried by a cute boy like you were some helpless damsel in distress was just mortifying.

But that was long forgotten by you in hazy summer days during your teen years before you went off to college and moved out into the city. In reality, you had written it off as a dream, a hallucination concocted by that vivid and graphic imagination of yours. That was always the case with you and the Appalachia. Always the non-believer.

But part of you was hoping that maybe he didn't recognize you after all this time, and yet the way he is staring you down is beginning to feel like otherwise.

"Blair." He suddenly says matter-of-factly as he taps his finger at the table and nods again. "Blair." A small toothy grin creeps on his lips before he chuckles.

Your eyes reaming as your heart drops to your stomach. "What?"

"Black Hills, you're the daughter of the farmer right up in Garrett County."

You feel the warmth blooming on your cheeks. He knew. "I—How do you remember that?"

"Knew you looked familiar." He dives back into his steaming soup. "Was tryin' to figure out where I'd seen that necklace of yours." He juts his chin, pointing to the family heirloom that kisses your clavicle. It had been passed down for generations to the women in your family as a symbol of health, wisdom and longetivity. You feel for the 20k gold pendant with lilac and sage engraved into the soft metal.

He looks as if he's stifling another snicker. "Think you pissed yourself a little when I found you unconscious."

Now that gets you real flared up. The abrupt change in mood was beginning to wrack your nerves. You sigh knowing that at the very least you were in good hands. Familiarity begins to set in as he breaks the ice, creating a more comfortable atmosphere between you two.

"I did not!" You puff your cheeks out at him and he's tickled pink by your endearing, agitated reactions.

His gleeful grin only grows to his eyes. "Now, who willing goes into the woods by themselves when they know damn well what kind of activity breeds over there, hm? Gotta death wish if you ask me, kid."

You open your mouth to say something, but it clamps shut. You don't know whether to be abashed by the way his face lights up like the stars in the heavens above, or by the fact that he remembers that you pissed yourself a little through your favorite pair of khaki parachute shorts in a known marked area where people have gone missing. The stark realization of it being a tangible memory was mussing at your trepidation towards him. But he's teasing you now and it stirs a strange kind of desire in your lower belly as you uncomfortably shift in your creaky wooden seat.

Pushing your bowl away, you avoid responding by guzzling down your water and then calmly placing it back down.

"I'd like to get ready for bed now, if you don't mind."

He jovially raises his eyebrows as he munches on the last of his bread. The smirk still curled up on the corners of his pinkened lips.

He wipes the crumbs off his hands and thumbs either side of his mouth before he gets up, gesturing to you. " 'Course not."

You stand up and politely push your chair in as you track behind him up the croaking staircase. Your body is practically heaving with every step and by the top of it, you're feeling a bit winded. Keegan decides to keep his comments to himself as he ushers you down the grandiose hallway. The walls are painted ivory, and wall sconces are tapered candles on held-up aged tin nailed into the parapet. Hardwood floors are well kept, but the small divots in between the grain quickly reveal the age.

He jingles the knob to what you suppose is the guest bedroom, but it seems to be locked. His fingers fish into his pocket and you watch as he phalanges through the set and then finally picks out the antiquated rusty skeleton key. It's honestly a bit jarring that it requires a key to fasten the door, but at this point, if you're being kept away from the monsters lurking outside you'd be happy to be his little prisoner for now.

He pushes the door and it moans open, though much to your surprise it's polished and orderly. In the middle of the room is a wooden four-poster queen-sized bed, with a princess-like sheer white canopy that surreptitiously envelops the bed. The furniture is a bit more romantic with detailed carved patterns on the bookshelves that line up against the wall to the vanity that sat adjacent to the bed. The carmine curtains that drape over the large window, easily maneuver you to the balcony, and the soft calling of your name beckons you to open it…

A sturdy hand clasps over your shoulder and you jolt as you turn to him. He's shaking his head as he towers over you and you look so goddamn feeble with those damn bambi eyes of yours shimmering in the tiny sliver of moonlight that peeks out from the window. He tears his gaze away to tread over to the window, squeezing it shut with the velcro he sewed into the fabric and reinforces the window shut.

A sharp exhale leaves his nostrils and his eyes are on you again. "I totally can see why you ended up the way you did." He glimpses over your dirtied and frayed dress, skinned, bloodstained knees, and contusions running up and down your legs. God, he makes it so easy to feel self-conscious.

He licks his lips as he hovers his hand over the knob to his right, and signals you over. You begrudgingly stride over and you're just as impressed at the bathroom. From the massive mirror above the traditional wooden undermount double sink vanity to the wine-red clawfoot freestanding bathtub. Little golden trinkets pinstripe the rosy walls with the soft warm lighting of the hanging flowery ceiling light fixtures. You squint your eyes when he adjusts the radiance to a white glow with the dimmer light switch before he opens the drawers one by one.

"Towels, robes, spare clothes, toiletries. Gimme a shout if you need anything else."

You open your mouth to say something and his eyes playfully narrow at you. "—within reason, missy."

Your bottom lip reflexively juts out. You hate to admit it, but you were quite the spoiled child. Never receiving more than a gentle chide from your parents and always silver-spooned to the nines by your grandparents. The truck was an exception. More of a parting gift from your grandfather that was left to you for the sole purpose of memorabilia scored into every inch of the tarnished vehicle. You hope that Keegan is capable of fixing it since most parts were made by discontinued distributors and they were definitely not easy to come by as they were expensive.

"Christ, spoiled rotten, weren't ya?" He ribs, nudging you a bit and you frown at him.

"Was not." You childlessly retort, but the small smile on your face betrays your feeble attempt at contempt.

Fuck, she is so cute. Keegan thinks as he assimilates your hilly yet winsome appearance. Just as cute as he remembers when he was seventeen, ignorant of the malignancy that poisoned his father's lungs.

"Not as much as your daddy spoiled you." You shoot back and cover your mouth with your hands as his brows lift in half surprise and half revelry.

"Blair's got jokes now, huh?" The elicitive nickname indicative of your former years sends another rushing warmth to your face and you begin to shoo him out.

"I'd really like to be clean now, thank you." You cast a scowl his way and he's putting his hands up in surrender as he backs out of the bathroom followed by the bedroom.

"I take it that the lady needs her privacy now." He leans against the doorframe with his hands stuffed into his denim jean pockets that are dusty and darkened with wood ash and the smell of the campfire lingers on his skin.

"And her beauty sleep." You add on, folding your arms. His jacket is still resting over your shoulders and he chuckles at your Hello Kitty print socks. The way your hair was mussed up in the soft glow of the lantern lamp on the night table was starting to arouse him a bit.

Fuckkkkkk, you were so adorable. It might have taken every atom in his body not to bend you over the mattress and spank you for being such a dotty woman before pressing his cock past your velvety folds as he makes you apologize in the form of incoherent, dirty little whimpers.

But the thought is quickly dismissed as it's formed in the sullied cogitations of his mind.

"Good night, [name]." He murmurs in his husky voice yet there is a hint of mischief in his tone that sends a frisson up your spinal column.

"Good night, Keegan." You susurrate, as you slowly shut the door and his expression remains the same as your view of him narrows until it disappears behind the threshold.

"Christ." You mutter to yourself as you begin to get ready for bed, as you feel the rush of collywobbles in your stomach start to well up a craving for the cowboy. The time on your cracked phone screen reads 2:03 AM and a wave of exhaustion crashes over you at the realization. Had you really been out there for seven hours?

The warm water soothes your aching bones and forming scabs scattered across your body as you gently exfoliate your skin. Thankfully, Keegan had enough sense to drop off a first aid kit by your door before you slipped into the bath. You weren't looking forward to the sting of the antiseptic, but you were more than grateful to be alive and have all your limbs attached. As you close your eyes and let the sudsy bath take away your worries, a coaxing voice is entrancing you. At first, it begins as a hushed lull intermingled with what sounds like your name and a bit of white noise that makes your brain all fuzzy and warm, but it becomes audible. Forming coherent luring words that resemble Keegan's deep, raspy voice.

Drown, drown, drown.

And you promptly find yourself submerging into the tub and the stillness of the water is subduing, but something is instigating you to open your eyes. You push away the thought, taking in the tranquility, settling into the comforting sensation of weightlessness. And yet, the feeling is not leaving you. You internally sigh as you move your body to the surface, but you remain dormant. Your eyes shoot open and your blood runs cold.

Above is one of the most fear-inducing creatures that you have ever laid your eyes upon holding you down on either side of your shoulders with slender claws digging into your flesh. It resembles a caribou skull with elongated antlers but its eyes were a violent vermillion that penetrates your soul. Its body was dark, rickety, and harrowing. Bones astute against the matted onyx fur and its tongue hanging out of his jaw like it was ready to devour you. Panic surges through your veins as you thrash about but it drives its talons further into your skin and you shriek out in pain. Water enters your lungs, your heart is stammering at cardiac arrest speed and you're choking out for dear life. This is it. This is how you die and the worst part about it is, you couldn't even call out for hope from the man who saved you just moments ago.

But just as you're accepting your fate, the muffled sound of a gunshot pierces through the air and within seconds the skinwalker is incapacitated and then dead. Soon enough, you're being hoisted out by Keegan's strong hands, as you cling onto him naked, wet, and heaving for oxygen.

Water expels out from your esophagus and you're trembling even harder than you were before when he found you, grasping to him and he's immediately talking you down.

"It's alright, you're okay. You're okay." He soothes, one hand tenderly caressing your soddened hair and the other is gripping your body tight as he pulls you out of the tub. He wastes no time unplugging the drain and wrapping you in a large towel to cover your naked body. In all seriousness, Keegan didn't even take a second to gander at your naked form when he was gathering you out of the tub and he makes that clear that his sole objective was to eliminate the wendigo that trespassed into your sanctuary.

He could've sworn that he had locked up every single opening in the house as he does every single night. It was like clockwork to him ever since his father had shown him the ropes to the place.

"…Kee-keegan." You splutter out as you continue to clutch onto him and your body is saturating him with water. He doesn't care though, that was the least of his worries. Your eyes are reaming and glossy as you dare to peek down at the creature that was seconds away from letting you meet your maker, but there's nothing but ash on the tiled floor.

"It was—" You begin, peering up at his harking steely eyes and his jaw tightens.

"It's gone."

"I don't understand." You shake your head, trying to make sense of what just happened, but the soft clatter of the rifle hitting the bathroom counter delineates your scattered mind. "Oh. But—"

"Get dressed." He softly prompts and you shakily let go of his t-shirt and he hands you an eggshell-colored peignoir as he averts his gaze. He's cognizant of the post-distress and panic you're in, so makes no indication of reallocating himself away from you as you slip on the fabric nor does he provide an explanation for what just occurred.

And to be honest, you didn't want to know. There was nothing more disturbing than the encounter with death in the form of a mutated caribou that leaves you shaken up. Everything just seemed too difficult to wrap your little head around, so let him take care of you.

A fresh towel is on your head, soaking up the wetness tangled into your hair and you relax at his balmy touch.

"Thank you." You mutter as your eyes are cast downward, eyeing the imbued, darkened spots on his nightshirt.

He delicately hooks his index finger and thumb between your chin and lifts it upward as he dabs at your features with the towel. And then it lingers. His intense yet pensive gaze, his stout calloused thumb that is now brushing against your jaw shortly followed by your quivering bottom lip. His jaw ticks.

"I'll sleep in here tonight."

Your heart jumps rampantly against your chest. "What?"

"You almost died if it weren't for me."

"Yes, but it's not—!" You fall short of words yet again and you're tearing your gaze away from him. As dire as the situation was (and it was), Keegan cannot help himself from being just the tiniest bit entertained by your endearing little mannerisms.

"I'm not gonna sleep next to you in bed." He deadpans. Normally, he would let you stumble over your words, but exhaustion is seeping into his bones and even as a noceur himself he was in desperate need of some z's. "The armchair over there quite comfy."

You follow his eyes to the brown leather recliner that was beside the bed and then back to him.

"I'm tired, Keegan." You profess, leaning your head against his chest and he's absentmindedly rubbing circles into the small of your back.

"I know."

Typically, you wouldn't be this comfortable with a stranger but given the unusual circumstances that were currently trying to slaughter your ass, you found yourself seeking solace in him.

"Let's get you into bed."

And soon he's leading you back to the bedroom, his hand is still on the small of your back as you walk on wobbly legs. He peels off the comforter and you sink into the mattress feeling like royalty in your crisp, clean nightgown, in your large princess-like bed, surrounded by plush pillows as the light in the lantern flickers. It casts shadows over his dashing features. The flame turns his glacial eyes into a soft apricot and an expression flickers over his visage—concern.

He's harping over your safety and the intruder that happened to bypass his heavily guarded home. No tripped wires, no movement detected on his cameras, and not to mention not a single sound was made until he heard your thrashing in his room across the hall. If he hadn't been there in time—

"You saved me, though." You drone, shutting your eyes as you tuck yourself into the cotton sheets.

His hardened glare softens at your words and how you look at ease now. A testament to your full, unshakeable faith in him. God, you were so quick to trust, it honestly scared him a little for you.

He scoffs. "How can you be so sure that I wouldn't hurt you?"

"Because your father would resurrect and beat the absolute shit out of you if you even dared to think about harming me." You state with a sly smirk on your face.

Keegan's expression briefly falters before he lets out a snicker, acknowledging the truth in your bold proclamation. "Crafty little critter, aren't ya?"

You giggle as shift under the sheets. It's almost a bit disturbing how you are seemingly fine and brushing off the situation. "Maybe."

He peers down at you for a moment and the welcoming feeling of your radiance starts to crawl into his chest. Almost like you were right where you needed to be, in his home, in his bed under his safeguarding. He wants nothing more than that. It's almost a bit perturbing how you are seemingly fine.

"Go to sleep." You mumble.

"You go to sleep."

"No, you first,"

"Who else is going to shield you against creatures of the night?"

You pause for a moment. "Good point."

He smiles as he walks over to the armchair, gun propped up against his left leg as he sits to face you. You're already curling up in a ball, and your chest rises and falls at a tranquil pace.

"Good night, Blair." He feels his eyes drooping as his vision becomes bleary.

You chuckle at the idiotic nickname. "Good night, Cowboy."

The remnants of tiny, foolish smiles are left on your faces as you drift off to sleep in your respective spaces. The last passing thought that crosses your mind is Keegan's tender gaze and his fingers brushing against your lips. Keegan wonders what is making you so giddy before the world around him fades out.

As morning breaks, sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on the room. The spring breeze wafts into the wisps of your hair and your eyes flutter open. The seat in front of you is now empty and the balcony door is wide open, and yet you're calm as you rise out of bed. Birds are chirping and the incessant droning of cicadas buzzing loudly against your eardrums is merely white noise when you recognize the low rumble of your truck's engine pulling up. There is an urgency that surges within you and soon you're sprinting out the door, and the heat of the cobblestone stings at the soles of your feet but you don't care.

The engine cuts and Keegan climbs out of the truck, sleeves rolled up in his army green henley, and he's wearing a clean pair of relaxed, light-wash jeans that skim the leather of his Tecovas. He peers up at you with wintry hues, tipping his hat, and in that instant, you're transported back to your childhood—Mr. Russ, tipping his hat with those same eyes and that glorious smile that always made your heart race.

The resemblance was both striking and uncanny, but damn, you were totally not complaining.

"Mornin', little lady. You're up quite early." He puts his hands on his hips and he's no longer the stone-faced, vendetta-filled Cowboy that you met last night. He's your friendly Appalachian Cowboy who provides you the sweet, sweet southern hospitality with a charming smile and a bit of a North Carolinian twang that sets your groins on fire.

"Mornin', Cowboy. Fixed my truck, did you?" You lean against the French iron wrought railing with your ruffled hair and white nightgown, rippling in the slight draft that carries the healing scent of sage and lavender. The fabric forms around your body and Keegan notices how it traces the outline of your curves and how the sun is hitting you just perfect enough for you to look like a literal angel.

But it's still the unrelenting, disconcerting feeling that creeps up on him when he looks up at you so unbothered, airheaded with that buoyant grin on your face. Was it really just a facade?

"Fixed it good enough for you to get back on your way." He turns from you to the truck and then back to you. "By the way, where were you headed?"

"Back to the old man." You cross your leg over the other, waiting for his response. He watches as the skin of your legs peeks out from under the peignoir and it's a bit enticing.

"I didn't contact him if that's what you're askin'" His hand acts like a sun visor to block the light out of his sensitive eyes to take a good gander at you.

"I would hope not. Don't need to send him into cardiac arrest." You joke and you see his shoulders shaking a bit, suggesting a chuckle.

"Made you breakfast."

"Yeah?" You simper, leaning a little more against the railing.

He can't help the way his grin broadens as he peers up at your flirty form. "Careful now, can't have you comin' back home with a broken neck, can we?"

Shit. Shit. Shiiiiit.

Goddamn him and his pretty face. He's already heading inside as you're locking in on him, but Keegan isn't one to give you the satisfaction. He'll play the long game and he'll enjoy every minute of it. From the way you're sitting next to him at the table with your dress bunched up to your thighs to the way you sensually lick your spoon covered with cream and he's internally chuckling at the mess you've made on the corners of your lips, feigning gullibility to get a rise out of him. Admittedly, it's hot. He wants nothing more than to lick your fingers clean and sloppily kiss your sweet cream-laden lips.

Mmmm.

He doesn't say anything. Just enjoys his breakfast and keeps his gaze lowered like a gentleman. The company of a beautiful woman is enough for him on a fine Sunday morning like this.

You can only wonder what he's thinking as you act like a giddy schoolgirl who's trying to get the attention of her professor. Not that you had a significant age gap with Keegan, but in his original line of work there was a massive lapse. Being a retired Marine had probably mentally aged him over give or take 10 years would have been your best guess. And leaving the farm to his cousins in his absence probably impacted him even more, well, according to your gossip girl of a father at least.

He made trips down to NC every so often to check on his favorite, reclusive cowboy, sometimes tending to his facilities when need be. You never tagged along though. In your mind, you were a city girl who didn't mind dressing up as a cowgirl if she saw fit. So coming down from your city job, in the comfort of your sweet loft that overlooked the NOVA skyline didn't exactly make you miss the Appalachia trails.

Still, it is nice being back here with a somewhat familiar stranger in a home you had only seen the outside of because, for the majority of your life, you had so desperately tried to force out the rural in you. Call it toxic, but leaving the mountains always felt like the haze had lifted from your brain. It was unsettling to be here for too long.

"You're nervous."

You glance up from the runny eggs that you have been working on for the past twenty minutes. You give him a sheepish grin. "This place makes me nervous."

"Itching to go back to the city, huh?"

That elicits a small chuckle from you. "And what do you know about me?"

"Well, according to your father," He says in a knowing tone and you narrow your eyes at him as he gives you a coy smile. "you love the city too much to move back."

"I don't think I'm too good for it. Here, I mean."

"Didn't say that. The Appalachia isn't for everyone." He butters his toast and then munches on it and soon it vanishes into his mouth. The night before is washed away from your memory, but Keegan loses track of his thoughts as he stares at the leftover jagged lines embedded into your skin from a creature that he knew you wanted to forget. A glance at his watch and he's up, wiping his hands and mouth with the serviette that was on his lap before he places it on the table. "You ready?"

"You got somewhere to be?" You raise your brows, not quite ready to leave yet.

"Matter o'fact I gotta date with an employee from Tractor Supply Co in about an hour, and it's thirty minutes out."

"New livestock?" You sip at your coffee.

A sad smile graces his lips. "Yeah, my last eldest cattle just passed away a few weeks ago."

You frown. "I'm sorry."

For a moment you swear you saw him get teary-eyed, but he quickly shakes himself out of the grief, grabbing his keys as he downs his glass of ice water. He stops himself for a moment as you get up to push your chair in and he can't help himself from tracing his fingers over the claw marks on either side of your shoulders. You shudder from the remembrance and his touch.

"[name]," He starts to express but your mood sours.

"Stop."

His expression falters and so does his hand as he lets it drop to his side. You didn't want to remember any of it. He notices how you clutch onto your necklace and he drops the subject.

"Your trucks waiting." He takes your hand and deposits the keys into your palm.

You give him a tight-lipped smile. "Thank you."

You begin to approach your truck and you feel relief washing over you as you run your hand over the tarnished, rusted hood of the Dodge before you open the driver door. As you climb in you notice that all your belongings remain untouched. Scattered cassette tapes, polaroids, and the little Hawaiian girl that swayed with every movement still plastered onto the dash. The leather seats seem to have abrasions, revealing the cushion beneath, but you write it off as a bear maybe deciding to try and access your vehicle after you had abandoned it.

"…[name], ….[name]….!"

You're snapped out of your stupor, recollecting your thoughts as you glance over at him leaning his body against your truck. "I checked the vehicle, it's all clear for you to go. Should make it back alright."

"Why wouldn't it be if you fixed the engine?"

The look you give him is blank, free from concern and any worry that may have been left on your face from last night.

He nods, pushing his hands into his jean pockets. "Right, well, it was nice seeing you all grown up."

That provokes a reaction. Heat is rising to your cheeks and Keegan is standing there looking cool as ever as he takes off his hat and wipes the sweat off his brow before putting it back on.

"Thank you." You say with more feeling, only your eyes acknowledging the horrors of last night. And that's enough for Keegan.

"You take care now." He tips his hat with a good-natured grin and you snicker at his little cowboy bit.

He waves to you as you back out of his driveway and you glance over from your rearview mirror as his towering figure disappears and so does any anamnesis from the evening prior. Or at least, you told yourself that.

And that was April. Months have gone by and Keegan doesn't exactly expect you to keep in contact. He's even surprised to hear a, '[name], says hello, by the way.' from your father during their weekly check-in.

And he definitely does not expect to see your truck in his driveway when he's coming back from milking his cows for the day with his new set of eyes that's in dog form, wagging her tail in anticipation as she sits.

"German Shepherd, eh? Suits you." You simper at him, leaning against the pillar of his home with glossy lips, and a cutesy red paisley swing dress that just barely covers your thighs. Your boots are hardly broken in as they dig into the grassy field and your hair is a little disheveled in an endearing way.

"Name's Miley." He peels off his gloves, shoving them into his back pocket. He's completely taken aback by your sudden presence, though he's not one to complain about a pretty lady showing up at his door.

"Hey, Miley." You coo, holding your hand to her and she's immediately reciprocating your energy tenfold as she jumps up and down, causing you to giggle and pet her soft fur.

Keegan doesn't even need to say anything as he glances down at the German Shepherd and she's already sitting on the ground between you two.

"Miss me?" You ask, coyly.

"Could ask you the same thing, Blair." He tilts his head to the side, eyeing you suspiciously. Something was off.

"I was just in town."

"Uh huh."

It doesn't take long before the act drops and distress is carving into your features. Lips are trembling in fear as your eyes begin to water.

"Something's been following me, Keegan." Your body naturally falls against his chest and his breath hitches a bit at your contact and the smell of your perfume wafts into his senses.

Fuck.

mini taglist: @keegansshark @soapsgf @milkteaarttime

#call of duty #call of duty imagines #keegan p russ #keegan p russ x reader #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ smut #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #cod ghosts #call of duty ghosts #call of duty smut #keegan x reader #cod keegan #keegan russ #keegan smut #eventual smut #alternate universe #cod au

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luimagines · 1 month

Text

Falling for You

It wasn't exactly out of my comfort zone. I just meant I don't know if it's out of the comfort for most of my readers ^.^*

I had... arguably way too much fun writing that for Time. But you want Warrior? I will do my best... Mostly because I’m not entirely sure how to recreate that energy ^.^*

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

Warrior was running.

He had received a report that you were injured and being currently tended to by the Traveler.

He was sprinting to find you and get to you. His heart was stuck in his throat, pounding to release itself for all that it was worth. Warrior would feel his lungs working overtime to make up for the strain that he was putting on them.

Warrior had to make it to the camp and get their quickly. He wasn’t entirely sure why he felt as panicked as he did. He struggled to gulp down the needed air to keep going. Surely, the others would have taken care of you, right?

He trips on a root and lands harshly on his chest, sliding a little on the dirt ground. The air is knocked out of his slightly but he refuses to slow down. Pushing himself back onto his feet, Warrior keeps running through the growth of the woods to make it to where he had last seen you.

Eventually, he makes it where the others are. They seem startled when he makes his appearance, taking in his no doubt dirtied and ruffled appearance.

You stand when he enters, looking over him just as much as he’s looking over you. “Warrior-”

“Where is it?” He coughs, steely eyed and dangerous. Warrior makes a direct path towards you. “What happened? Show me.”

You seems to shrink back somewhat. “Nothing major. I felt and cut my hand on a rock.”

You show him your hands. Warrior should have had more faith in the others but he can’t help himself. Your hands are indeed wrapped up securely in bandages. He can see a little bit of pink peaking behind the lower layers. The cut must have been bad.

He takes your hands in his. “How did you manage this?”

“Well you know me.” You say quietly, still on edge with how Warrior had charged at you like a raging bull. “Accident prone klutz.”

“Stop it.” He scolds gently. Warrior rubs his thumbs over your knuckles, mentally taking in the quality of the bandages and the way they’re wrapped around you. The cut must be on your palms. It must be pretty for the amount of layers they had to put it. It would have been a heavy hit.

You probably fell forward and tried to catch yourself on your hands. The rock must have had a rough edge that cut into your hands when your weight landed on them. He sighs. Stiches may or may not be a possibility, but he can’t tell. Warrior shakes his head. “You’re not a klutz. You just have bad luck.”

Warrior doesn’t want to put your hands down. Idiot, he thinks lovingly. How is it that you’re the only one this seems to happen to? You’re going to have to take it easy for a while. You won’t be able to use your hands until they’ve healed. You’re going to need help. He’s going to have to step more.

“What happened to you?” You whisper, having succumbed to his quiet contemplation.

“Fell.” He answers simply. Then he chuckles. Warrior hadn’t meant to echo your same excuse. Maybe he should calm down a little more. He relaxes his shoulders and his stance. “I heard you got hurt and came running. I tripped and virtually fell flat on my face. I’m fine though.”

“You’re covered in mud.” You point out, taking a hand out of his hold and using the back of it to clean his face from the dirt he’s marred on his cheek.

He catches your hand gently, stopping you. “Don’t. These need to stay clean.”

“Too late.” You say, moving your hand to clean up his face anyway. “You’ve already touched them with your muddy hands.”

He looks at his hands in an instant. You’re right. He looks down finally at the front of his chest as well. Warrior is in shock. He must have slid through a puddle when he initially tripped. He is covered in mud from the front of his chest all the way down to his shins. “....oh... That would explain the looks.”

You snort at his words before a beat passes, then dissolve into giggles. You deflate slightly and gently bump your head against his collar bone, just missing his shoulder plate and the mud that’s now stained his tunic.

“That’s... not going to come out easy.” He sighs, looking at the mess he’s in. At least they’re due for laundry soon anyway. Maybe he should get that started.

You try, and fail, to bite back your amused grin. “Do you need help?”

“Don’t even think about it.” Warrior pokes your forehead. “Clean those hands as clean as you can and away from water for the time being. If those bandages get wet, it not going to be good for you.”

You stick your tongue out at him playfully and Warrior feels himself relax a little more. “Promise me?”

You don’t look as amused as he feels. “...I promise.”

Warrior takes your hand one more time and kisses your knuckles. “Please try to stay out of trouble in the mean time.”

“No promises.”

#linked universe x reader #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu x reader #lu warrior #so annoyed by that mistake #guess who posted without actually saving to draft first >:(#me that's who #god- i have no idea if i did it or not #this is probably also *a lot* shorter #not intended #Apologies #I hope this is ok though #yes the title is a pun

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jahayla-parker · 3 months

Text

Made For : Finnick Odair x Reader

(Finnick Odair x Victor!Reader / Finnick Odair x Tribute!Reader / Finnick Odair x District4!Reader / Finnick Odair x Gf!Reader / Finnick Odair x fem!reader)

Descr: 5k wc, set to the time of What Was I Made For by Billie Eilish, Y/n finds herself questioning her worth and what she was made for when she finds herself in the same situation as her boyfriend Finnick Odair has been in since he won his games when his body began to be sold or given as gifts to those in the Capitol; Finnick seeks to help her through it. Hurt-Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Support, Healing, Etc.

Warnings: Hunger Games type warnings, mentions of Snow’s sex trafficking of victors (aka rape, but NOTHING explicit, everything post events), violence, trauma, bruising and injuries, crying, self-blame, and related. Please let me know if I missed anything!

I used to float, now I just fall down

I used to know but I'm not sure now

What I was made for

What was I made for?

Takin' a drive, I was an ideal

Looked so alive, turns out I'm not real

Just something you paid for

What was I made for?

Was this all there was? That seemed to be the case lately at least. To be fair, as a former victor, what else was there now? What was she made for outside of this? This had become not just a part of her life but her story, her identity. Was she really made for this? Could she be made for more? Would the Capitol even allow that?

These thoughts were on constant repeat in y/n’s head as she walked back to her house in the victor’s village. This was a routine occurrence as of late. So much so she actually debated if it made more sense to simply move to the Capitol rather than walking to the train and back every time she had a client to attend to. It would certainly save time and energy. But then again, her time was expendable and her energy was practically non existent by now. Besides, the train ride back to District 4 offered her solitude; something she had learned to equate to safety. The solitude that came with the train ride also provided her the chance to zone out, something she often resorted to after the events of the her visits to the Capitol. She also utilized the walk home from the train station as a way to try to compose herself before she returned to her boyfriend. Finnick knew what she was going through, far better than he should, given he was in the same position himself. But, that’s precisely why y/n wanted to make the most of the time they had together by not having to deal with the traumas imposed on them by Snow. She also needed the physical separation from the ever present carelessness and cruelty that was the literal foundation of the Capitol. Lastly, but by far the most important factor in her decision to not simply move to the Capitol, y/n wouldn’t live somewhere where Finnick wasn’t.

I'm sad again, don't tell my boyfriend

It's not what he's made for

What was I made for?

“Oh! Fin,” Y/n gasped, frantically wiping at her damp cheeks. Finnick had left a note saying he had some things to do in town, so she wasn’t expecting him home already. She hadn’t known he would be back from his errands so soon. If she had, she’d not have let herself break down this much.

Finnick frowned as he took in the state of his girlfriend. “Honey, what’s happened?” He asked, quickly making his way over to her. When she mumbled a quiet “nothing” in response, he sighed sympathetically. “Okay,” he nodded, cautiously taking y/n’s hands in his. “You don’t have to say anything honey, just know I’m here for you, okay?” He proposed, squeezing her hands as he scanned her tearful eyes.

“You’re allowed to cry,” Finnick commented lovingly when y/n seemed to whisper an apology before taking her hands back to resume drying her face.

“No,” y/n argued vaguely. She kept her eyes on the wood floor under her feet as she pulled the collar of her shirt up to dry her tears faster. He didn’t need to deal with this.

Finnick’s worried frown deepened. “Why not?”

“Because I should be used to this,” y/n answered, her tone laced with self-deprecating judgment.

Finnick’s chest caved in painfully as he came to understand what was troubling y/n. It wasn’t that he was truly surprised. While she was at the Capitol, he’d gone to the market to try to find some y/f/d for her for when she got home. It wasn’t much, but he was hoping it would help cheer her up slightly since he knew she’d unexpectedly had to leave two days in a row so far this week. He’d also been sure to tidy up and get some extra cozy blankets out of their closet for her. He had intended on being home by the time she got back, but the typical place he went to was out of y/f/d so he’d had tried to search for awhile. If he’d known y/n was already home, he’d have rushed back earlier.

As painful as it was to know what y/n was going through, and knowing he was powerless to stop it, this was almost worse. Finnick hated that she felt she had to become immune to the pain that came with having to attend to clients at the Capitol. She’d never expected him to do that, so why did she think she needed to? Finnick shook his head and took her hands in his once again, “no, you shouldn’t. This isn’t acceptable”.

Y/n mindlessly shrugged her shoulders. “I mean, if you ask Snow,” she commented, having actually done that herself not too long ago. “I.., this is what I was made for,” she concluded with a defeated sad smile.

Finnick felt his anger flare and he clenched his jaw to keep the tension in his face and not his hands that held y/n’s. “That’s such bullshi-”, he began but paused and sighed. His anger wasn’t going to help the situation, especially if there was a chance she might misinterpret it as being directed towards her. “Y/n,” he cooed in a much softer tone, “that’s not true”.

Y/n huffed lightly. She slowly lifted her gaze up from Finnick’s shoes until her eyes reached his troubled face. “Then what was I made for, Fin?” She asked timidly.

Finnick offered y/n a sad smile. He released one of her hands so he could use his now-free one to cup her cheek. “You were made to be you,” he said, his smile warmer now, “that’s all you ever have to be”.

“This is me,” y/n pointed out as she stared into Finnick’s attentive eyes.

Finnick’s brows scrunched together. “No”. He shook his head slowly. “This is something being forced upon you,” he reminded y/n delicately. “This is a chapter of your life, albeit a painful and traumatic one. But, you are not what is, or was, done to you”. When he noticed she was about to argue, he tapped her cheek tenderly. “Do you think this is who I am?” He asked, knowing full well despite them being in the same position, she was seeing herself through a much harsher lens than she would ever dare to see him.

Y/n rapidly shook her head worriedly. Of course that’s not what she meant! Seeing the way Finnick’s eyes and expression communicated the fact he already knew she didn’t see him that way calmed her. She slowly understood why he’d asked that question if he already knew her answer. He was right, it was ironic and hypocritical. But, she could see so many purposes Finnick had outside of this ordeal. The same couldn’t be said about herself.

Finnick silently gasped as he watched y/n close her eyes and begin to break down in tears. “Can I…” he trailed off, wanting to make sure he conveyed the message that it was her choice and he’d understand either way. “A-are you okay with me holding you right now?” Finnick questioned softly.

Finnick smiled faintly to himself when y/n gave him a silent nod in response. He made sure to give her enough time to change her mind if physical contact was understandably too much for her right now as he moved to he pull her to him. “Let it out love,” he encouraged, “you don’t need to keep this bottled up inside”. Finnick carefully let them to the couch, watching her to see if the action would be too triggering for her right now.

Y/n sat in silence in Finnick’s loving embrace for an unknown amount of time. Just listening to his whispered sweet nothings as she let his warm hands release her tension as he delicately rubbed her back. After a moment of contemplation, she leaned back to look up at her steadfast boyfriend. “How do you do it?” She asked quietly.

“What?” Finnick questioned, tilting his head down to see y/n more clearly.

“Live like this,” y/n explained. “I mean! I know you don’t have a choice either!” she corrected, cupping Finnick’s face apologetically. “But,” she sniffled. “You’re so much better at dealing with all of this,” y/n croaked.

Finnick pouted and sighed. That wasn’t something she should be trying to meet. He knew what she was seeking, the ability to get by without feeling the burden of all of this. But it shouldn’t be something anyone should have to seek. Much less something she should be ashamed for not having been able to do yet. “I’ve had a few extra years, honey,” Finnick reminded her solemnly.

Y/n smiled sadly and nodded minimally. “So,” she sniffled, tracing imaginary shapes on Finnick’s shirt. “I’ll get better at it?” She asked, her eyes moving up to meet his.

Finnick let out a long sigh. “I want to say no…” he admitted. “Because you shouldn’t have to. This shouldn’t be something you experience, let alone get used to.” He grit his teeth as he thought about the things he wished he could do to Snow for making y/n have to deal with any of this. “But, yeah…,” Finnick nodded sadly, “time will make it less noticeable. I’ll be here to help you with this too”.

Tears sprung into y/n’s still watery eyes again. She silently clung onto Finnick tightly. She knew her shaky sobs were making his shirt wet and was appreciative that he didn’t seem to be annoyed by it. “You know you don’t have to, right?” Y/n questioned in a hushed voice.

Finnick’s face furrowed slightly as he replayed y/n’s muffled voice, trying to see if “hearing” it a second time would allow him to understand what she’d said. Her face was buried in his chest, her lips pressed against the fabric of his shirt, making whatever she’d tried to say incomprehensible. “What’s that, darling?” Finnick asked tenderly as he brushed some of her hair away from her face.

Y/n slowly pulled herself off of Finnick’s chest in order to repeat herself. She needed him to hear her clearly. It was important that he knew this. “I want you to know that while I do appreciate everything, you don’t have to do all of this,” y/n told him breathily. “I know it’s a lot, and I’m needy, and I-“.

“Shhhh, honey,” Finnick whined, his face contorted with worry.

Y/n smiled faintly at her endearing boyfriend. “No it’s okay,” she promised, “I know I am, but I just…” She swallowed thickly and moved her arms away from Finnick’s torso, up to his face instead. “My worry isn’t about that. My worry is that I want to be sure that you know you don’t have to exert yourself to this extent.” Y/n once again offered him a tiny smile despite the turmoil in her mind. “You’re already going through a lot yourself, you don’t need to take me on as a burden too,” she assured him.

“You’re not a burden, my love,” Finnick argued with a soft shake of his head.

Y/n let out an airy half-laugh. “Regardless, Fin, I’m serious, you’d still be the best boyfriend, and the love of my life, without taking this on too. I need you to know that you don’t need to do this,” she explained fully.

Finnick smiled warmly as he continued to gaze down at y/n. “I do”. He leaned his head into her hand on his jaw. “I do know that, honey”.

“Good,” y/n breathed out in relief. “I don’t ever want to pressure you to do anything, even small, that-“ she began to ramble.

“I know,” Finnick nodded in understanding, his pointer finger trailing down her jaw. “I feel the same, angel,” he pointed out softly. “I want this. I want us. And, I want to be there for you, to lighten this darkness as much as I can for you since I can’t stop it.”

Y/n let out a choppy cry before she dove back into Finnick’s embrace. She held onto him tightly. “I love you so much, sweetheart,” she whimpered against his shoulder as her arms snaked around his back.

“I love you too, honey,” Finnick cooed, his own arms tight around y/n. “I love you too.” He closed his eyes and breathed in her familiarly comforting scent. “We’re going to get through this.”

'Cause I, 'cause I

I don't know how to feel

But I wanna try

I don't know how to feel

But someday I might

Someday I might

Y/n gasped as the bathroom door opened unexpectedly. She’d been staring at her bruises through the mirror for hours. Or so she suspected. She’d dissociated and lost track of time. As such, when the door opened, she had just been standing there alone in her and Finnick’s bathroom in only her bra and panties as she continued to take in her appearance.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Finnick guiltily rushed out, stepping back into the hall and quickly pulling the door shut. “I didn’t know you were home, I’m sorry,” he whispered. His brows were scrunched as he tried to keep his anger at bay over having seen the marks on her body. Whoever her body had been sold to today hadn’t followed the contractual restrictions of not marking her up. The limitation was one of Snow’s rules for the acts one could commit against the victors he sold to the residents of the Capitol. It was not for the protection or sake of the victors themselves, but rather because it decreased their worth until the marks healed; Snow didn’t take discounts, meaning injuries risked a victor being out of commission for some time.

“‘s okay, Fin,” y/n whispered. She wiped the unshed tears from her eyes. She felt bad for the way her gasp made him feel like he was in the wrong for simply opening the door to his own bathroom. But, there was a more prevailing sense of blame that she felt right now regarding what he just experienced because of her. “Sorry, you didn’t need to see that… to see… me… like….” She rambled.

Finnick rested his head on his side of the closed bathroom door. “Honey, no, please don’t apologize,” he frowned. “Are you okay?” It was a stupid question, but he found himself needing to ask it nevertheless.

“Y-yeah,” y/n’s voice trembled through the door.

Finnick winced and pursed his lips. “Y/n,” he whispered knowingly.

“I can’t…. I…” y/n huffed. “It’s just…, I don’t know how to cover them,” she choked out. “Snow’s…. Snow is going to blame me”. Despite being on the other side of the door, her worry was evident in her tone.

Finnick squeezed his eyes shut. She shouldn’t be worried about this. She shouldn’t be dealing with any of this. She was meant for far more than this. “It’s not on you,” he reminded her gently.

“It was…,” y/n began, but paused, not wanting to burden Finnick by informing him of the name of her client. It was something they both often protected the other from. Since they would have to run into previous clients at mandatory Capitol parties, knowing who they were would only cause them to be constantly be mad at those specific attendees after knowing what they had been capable of doing to their unwilling partner. It was a morbid resolution, but one the couple had settled on in order to survive.

Y/n shook her head as she stared into the bathroom mirror. She watched herself as she poked at the bruising on her side. She flinched at pain and stifled a hiss. “He…,” she paused and took a deep breath, “he’s too close to Snow”. While she wouldn’t bother Finnick with who he was tonight, she knew her boyfriend was set on understanding why she was worried about being blamed for this when it was the one thing that usually fell on the clients. “It’ll be pinned on me for not having stopped him, that I should’ve-,” y/n sighed.

“That’s not your responsibility,” Finnick quickly pointed out. Y/n needed to know that. None of this was her fault nor responsibility. She was merely trying to survive. Something that shouldn’t be this difficult. “That’s not even something you are allowed to do, don’t let them trick you into blaming yourself by pretending that you suddenly had the privilege to stop him. None of this is by choice. None of this is your fault,” he reminded her. Taking a deep breath, he pressed his lips into a thin line. “Regardless of what you have to do or not do, none of this is your fault. No matter what you did or didn’t do, do or don’t do. Okay?” Finnick practically pleaded softly.

“Okay,” y/n agreed. She stood in silence as she stared at the purplish stains on her skin. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she confessed after another moment of contemplation.

Finnick bit his lip. “We’ll worry about that later,” he promised. “For now, do you need medical attention?” He asked worriedly. He’d only seen y/n’s injuries briefly before quickly shutting the door so she could regain some privacy.

Y/n chuckled darkly. “Like that would ever be an option,” she scoffed. The sold victors, even when covered in injuries despite their clients being told not to cause any, weren’t allowed to seek medical services or treatment. No matter how small or severe. It was clear Snow feared that the victors doing so would potentially expose the villainous was he was running a sex trade for the Capitol’s most prized residents. Not that anyone would likely do anything even if they did.

“It is,” Finnick corrected, his worry increasing as he wondered if y/n had gone without help for injuries before tonight. “We might not be able to go seek it out,” he acknowledged. “But, I’ve got a kit.” Finnick bit the inside of his cheek as he prepared to hear her answer to his next question. “Do you need anything?”

Y/n sniffled. “There’s nothing you can do for bruises,” she sighed.

Finnick’s fists balled at his side as he heard y/n’s shaky breathing and sniffling. “I… there’s a… a uhhh..” he rambled, his mind spinning. “A balm in the bottom drawer, to the left of the sink, it helps with pain,” he offered. He leaned against the doorframe, his ear pinned to the door as he waited to see if there was anything he could do for y/n.

After a few moments of silence, Finnick finally heard y/n’s small voice call out his name. His head perked up against the door. “Yeah, honey?” He asked. “I’m still here, what’s happening?”

“I, uhhh…” y/n frowned, burdened with guilt. “I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I can’t… I can’t reach it.”

“The balm?” Finnick questioned. He tried to visualize where it was and what severity or type of injuries might be preventing y/n from being able to reach it.

Y/n hesitated for a moment, uncertain how to answer without sounding weak and worrying Finnick further. “No, the… the handprint on my back,” she choked out.

Finnick winced, his fists clenching together and eyes screwing shut tightly. “Do you want some help?” He asked once he’d regained some of his composure.

“Do you mind?” Y/n whispered.

Finnick opened his eyes and frowned as he stepped back slightly from the door. “No, ‘course not, honey,” he promised. “Let me know when you’re okay with me coming in, alright?” Finnick instructed tenderly.

“Uhh yeah..,” y/n agreed slowly. She gazed at her exposed body in disgust. “How much… uhmmm. How much do you want me to cover up?”

“What do you mean, love?” Finnick wondered.

“I…,” y/n sighed. “How much should I cover up? Like… just leave my back exposed?” She asked as she eyed her discarded pile of tainted clothes in the corner of the bathroom.

Finnick frowned at y/n’s worry. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, love,” he advised gently. “As much as you need.” Finnick quickly tried to find a better response, knowing that a direct answer would help her since she was feeling sorta out of it right now. “If you prefer, I can blindly apply it to your back under your top,” he offered.

“Okay so you want me fully dressed?” Y/n asked rhetorically as her slow mind thought through her next steps. “One moment,” she agreed, turning to her pile of abandoned clothing.

Finnick’s brows furrowed. “It’s not about what I want, honey.” He sighed silently to himself. He hated how much she was worrying about him right now when she was the one needing help. “I just want you to be comfortable… as much as you can,” Finnick explained.

“So, I…” y/n began as she made her way back to the bathroom entrance. She cracked the door open lightly. She held it in place, forming just enough of an opening to stick only her head out of it, the edge of the door pressed into her neck. This way she wasn’t exposing Finnick to the sight of her injuries just yet. Y/n hesitantly looked up and met his patient eyes. “You’re okay with me not putting my shirt back on yet?” She clarified.

Finnick nodded, “I’m fine either way”. “This is about you, y/n”.

“Okay,” y/n said with a weak nod since her head was pinned. She offered Finnick a small smile, “thanks”. “‘Cause the fabric hurts right now,” y/n confessed.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Finnick reminded y/n lovingly.

Y/n pulled her head back in through the slightly opened door. “I know, it’s just, I know how ugly my body looks right now,” she explained as she slowly opened the door for Finnick.

“Hey, hey, don’t say that,” Finnick scolded softly. “You’re beautifully breathtaking, honey, always,” he promised. “Of course I don’t want to see you like this, but that’s not because it changes your beauty, only because I hate that you’re in pain, that someone hurt you,… I mean, I know it always hurts… I don’t like that either… I just meant.. right now with it being… more than…” he rambled.

Y/n nodded in understanding. She grabbed Finnick’s hand tightly. The warmth from his palm helped soothe her some. A shiver went through her as her body began to release some of the tension she was holding in.

Finnick stared intently into y/n’s eyes. “You’re in charge here, okay? You control where I look or touch, okay?”

When Finnick finished his scan of y/n’s body for any more injuries to attend to, he sighed with the tiniest bit of relief. “I promise you,” he said as he stood before her and took her hands in his. “I’m going to see to it that we find a way to make this end, to take our lives back, because you’re made for much more than to be used for Snow’s cruel plans”.

“We,” y/n corrected lovingly. She smiled softly at him, temporarily forgetting about the painful bruises that had led them to this tender moment.

Finnick smiled back. “Yeah.” He stepped closer to y/n, never breaking eye contact. “We are made for much more than to be his pawns. And I vow, one day it won’t even be something we have to worry about ever again”.

Y/n stared deeply into Finnick’s calming and beautiful eyes. “Maybe I was made for loving you, Fin,” she commented dazedly.

“Wh-…What?” Finnick stumbled breathily. “What, honey?” He asked. He couldn’t have possibly heard her correctly.

Y/n smiled tenderly at Finnick. She pulled his hands towards her, pleased when his feet followed and brought the rest of him with. “I said, ‘maybe I was made for loving you, Fin’,” y/n happily repeated.

“I.. I don’t…,” Finnick gasped with a timid shake of his head.

Y/n smiled up at Finnick as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “It’s never even been a choice,” she admitted admiringly, “although if it were, it’d have been the easiest decision in all of Panem history”. “It’s just so easy and comfortable to love you, Finnick. It’s just so right”. She shook her head lovingly as she continued to peer into his sea-green eyes that felt like home.

Finnick knew he was undoubtedly a blushing mess. But he didn’t care. “Well,” he mumbled and cleared throat. “If that’s something one can be made for, then I was made for loving you, my dear,” he hummed. Finnick smiled lovingly at y/n before bowing his head to kiss her forehead.

“One day everyone will know that’s all we’ll ever have been made for,” y/n hummed, returning Finnick’s encouraging sentiment from earlier. She leaned into his kiss and cuddled up in his arms.

Finnick was careful in his positioning due to y/n’s bruises, but he nevertheless returned her embrace. He cautiously held her to him with a soft sigh. “One day, honey, one day”.

Think I forgot how to be happy

Something I'm not, but something I can be

Something I wait for

Something I'm made for

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ijwrsmff · 7 months

Note

One Piece requests are open you say!? I'm going absolutely feral over Mihawk, as always, then I saw him in the live action and foamed at the mouth. If you're okay with it, can I please get domMihawk with his wife nsfw🤌

I. Got. So. Into. This. I am so weak for Mihawk. And I could never think of him as anything but a dom XD I picture him as a pleasure dom, so the story revolves a bit around that. I was a bit out of my comfort zone with this, since I haven't written much smut. So I don't know if it sounds weird, or isn't up to par with what I usually write, so any feedback or constructive criticism is welcome ^~^ feel free to send in your thoughts and opinions in my ask box! I'd love to hear it!

Word Count: 2,732

It was a relatively stressful day, trying to clean up the majority of your mansion you shared with your husband. It was massive, but so many rooms needed a good makeover. Dust and broken wood, just anything really. Some rooms were so bad it took hours to completely clean it. But if it meant making Mihawk smile, you’d do it all over again. All he had to say was redo it and you’d oblige without any hesitation.

When he came home, you were laying in bed just staring at the ceiling and trying to relax. You didn’t even get out of bed when you heard the front door open in the room beneath you. You were nearly falling asleep, and when he came in you just rolled over and smiled. One hand holding your head up as you laid sideways, just taking in his appearance. It never got old, and you were convinced you were married to the most handsome man in the world.

“Dear, I appreciate all the hard work you did to make everything look so…nice.” He walked over to the bed and played with your hair. “I haven’t seen every room, but seeing you so exhausted has me convinced you worked on the whole mansion.” He smiled fondly, and eventually removed his coat and laid down on the other side of the bed.

“It’s no problem, really! You have pirates to hunt, I’m sure you don’t have too much time for much of anything. Especially cleaning all that mess.” You laughed a bit, and rolled over to lay your head on his chest. He was always so warm, it was welcoming every time. His arm wrapped around you as the other rubbed your shoulders, making you sigh. Just feeling his touch was enough for you.

His hand wandered, rubbing up and down your arm to shoulders and back down again. It felt so nice…and as he moved to face you, he had that look on his face. That look that meant trouble…or even something more. Your theory was confirmed when that hand slowly traveled to your neck. Just one finger traced over your sensitive spot on your neck. His mark he left the other day was barely visible anymore.

Mihawk moved closer and lips were mere millimeters away from yours. “You know…I can show you how much I appreciate your efforts.” He waited for you to make the first move, or even signal you weren’t opposed to the idea. He knew you weren’t always in the mood, as everything he did was being considerate.

You leaned forward and gave him a peck on the lips, closing the gap between you. Knowing he would take the lead from there, it was no surprise when he rolled his body over yours. He remained close, biting your lower lip as a teasing gesture. You could feel the heat of his chest on your breasts and stomach, as he deepened the kiss.

He pulled back, making you whine, as he whispered “You’ve worked so hard…now allow me to take care of you.” He tilted his head and leaned back into the kiss. All you could do was nod and hum, and before you knew it his hand traced around your neck. He pulled back, but only for a short time as he trailed his tongue down your neck, to where the mark was over the most sensitive spot on your neck.

You let out a small moan as he kissed, sucked, and even bit it. Never hard enough to draw blood, just enough to make the previous mark turn a brighter and more defined color. He did love to mark you, and you loved it just as much. Sometimes, when he was feeling territorial, he left marks all across your body. You had the feeling he was about to do just that.

Once the mark was properly defined, he trailed kisses down until he reached your shirt’s edge. With little effort, he tore through the shirt and discarded it to the side, along with your bra. His lips got closer and closer to your nipple, until he swirled his tongue around it, never touching the stiff peak. It made you whine once more, and you could feel his smirk on your chest.

“Baby…please don’t tease me!” You wanted to feel as good as possible, and him being such a tease wasn’t helping. He tended to do that, but it only helped you reach your climax faster once he finally got you to it. You didn’t really WANT him to stop teasing, but you wouldn’t tell him that. Even if he already knew, being the perceptive man he was. You loved that about him.

“Darling, I plan to take my time. I’ll make you feel better than you ever had before meeting me, and treasure every inch of your body.” His smirk turned into a genuine smile, before returning back to a smirk. “I will take care of you, for as long as we live. My beautiful wife, always so eager to spend time with me…to love me…to let me show you pleasure whenever possible.”

With that, he finally used his tongue to make your nipple become even more stiff, loving the feeling of his mouth on one of your most sensitive parts. You couldn’t stop the moan that came out, and it only got louder when he softly bit at your nipple. When he removed his mouth, you even whined out a small noise, already missing the feeling.

With one hand, he moved lower on your body, until it was cupping that sweet spot between your legs. He moved his hand ever so slowly, but enough to make you feel that burning pleasure you loved so much. His thumb traced over your clit, before removing it to get rid of your pants, leaving your panties on.

You whined, and moaned, craving more. When you reached out your hands to feel him, he used his free hand to pin yours above your head. “Don’t worry about me, your pleasure is far more important.” Was all he said, grabbing the rope from the drawer next to the bed. It was softer than most ropes, as he didn’t want to risk a rope burn on your arms and wrists.

He skillfully used his hands to attach the rope to the headboard, before lowering himself so you could feel his hot breath on your thighs. “Be good for me…make as much noise as you can, and tell me how good you feel. I want you to tell me how much you love it. How much you love me.” He nibbled at your thighs, leaving a few marks with his mouth and teeth alone.

He took both his hands, and spread your legs as much as he could without causing you discomfort. Sliding your panties to the side, he slid his tongue along your lips, never touching your clit or where you wanted him most. “Aren’t you my good girl? My lovely wife, and the one I love more than anything else. Each time I touch you, you must say thank you, understand?”

You nodded, but that wasn’t good enough for him. “I need to hear you say it. Use your words, darling.” Everything about the situation made you blush more and more, it was always extremely difficult not to blush. He was good at what he did, and you loved nothing more than to let him take complete control. He refused to use his tongue anymore on you until you agreed.

“Yes sir…” It sounded pathetic, but that was good enough for him. When he slowly eased his tongue into you, all you could do was let out a moan as you yelled “THANK YOU SIR!” It felt so good, and your voice dissolved into a series of moans, as you repeated the words as much as you could.

He used one of his hands to rub your clit, which only made you moan louder. You were lucky no one else was in the mansion right now, it would be too embarrassing to let someone hear you like this. Not that Mihawk cared, if anything he loved knowing people could hear at any moment, and show them that you were his and his alone.

He rubbed circles on your clit, and slid his tongue in and out of you for several minutes, until he removed both his tongue and finger. Your voice was pathetically needy, and you made sure to vocalize your wants. Even if you could barely get words out, when you went from pleasure to nothing. You tried to close your thighs and rub them together, but his grip was too strong to allow that to happen.

“Don’t worry, love. I’ll make you feel even better.” He then did the opposite of what he was doing before, and used his mouth to suck on your clit. He pulled back momentarily to ask, “How many fingers would you like? You have to speak up, I can’t hear you enough.” He used one finger to trace up and down your slit, never entering.

“I…I want three, sir. But not all at once!” You knew your limits, and he needed to slowly ease you into it. His hands were large, so both of you knew three right off the bat was too much for your body. Even if he was already aware, you knew he wanted to hear you say it. He always made sure you vocalized anything and everything you wanted.

“As you wish, darling.” He placed his mouth back over your clit, toying with it with his tongue before sucking on it. He then slowly eased a single finger inside of you. The actions made your moans get much louder, and you could feel him smile against you. “Good…you're such a good girl for me. Keep going, I know you can be louder.” He began thrusting his finger inside of you slowly, before speeding up just a bit.

As he commanded, you moaned so loud that you knew your throat would be sore later. It wasn’t difficult to put everything you had in your moans, since he was making you feel so good. Even without all three fingers, you felt yourself getting just a little bit closer to ecstasy. When he inserted the second finger it only got harder to keep that edge away.

When he inserted the third, you practically screamed. As he spoke lowly around you, you could barely contain it. “So good for me…doing exactly what I want you to. Aren’t you being such a good girl for your sir.” His thrusting fingers sped up, and you were so close already.

“S-Sir please let me cum! I want to so badly, please I need to!” All you could do was beg. “You make me feel so good, I want to reach there! I love you, only you! Always going to be you, I want to feel this good every day, please!” You could feel yourself quivering around his fingers, as you screamed louder in wanting to reach your climax.

“Hm…Have you earned it? I want to hear you say why you deserve it.” He continued his motions, making you scream and shake trying to hold it in. “I want you to feel good, baby. But I need to know you’ve been good today.” He already KNEW why you deserved it, but the jerk you loved was making you say it. As he always did.

“Please sir! I worked so hard today, I cleaned every room, I ate three meals, I’ve drank so much water, I didn’t even touch myself without your permission! I need to cum so bad, please sir I can’t hold it in much longer!” If he continued with this, you really wouldn’t be able to prevent it from happening. You would try your best, but feeling his fingers inside you and his warm mouth around your clit, it would get more and more difficult to hold it back. But you knew better than to cum before he said you could.

“You were so good today. Cum. Cum on my fingers, you can do it love.” He moved his fingers even faster, and used his other hand to rub your clit so he could talk to you through it. “I’m so proud of you, my good, good girl. You’ve earned this and more, show me how good I make you feel. How much you love me, and everything I can do for you.” His pace was relentless, and as the greatest swordsman in the world, he was capable of going harder and faster than most people in the world.

“THANK YOU SIR!” You cried out as you did as he demanded. You came hard, and could feel your fluids coating his fingers. You screamed, and thanked him repeatedly. Declaring how much you loved him, and saying how much you loved everything he did to and for you. Your words became a jumbled mess, and you felt yourself go limp as you spasmed and twitched from the pleasure.

Mihawk smiled, and slowly removed his fingers. While he made eye contact with you, he put those fingers in his mouth and tasted everything you could give him. It made you blush, just seeing the lewd expression he made while he licked and sucked at his fingers until there was nothing left. He moaned at the taste, never removing his eyes from yours.

When he was done, he untied you from the bed, and laid down on his back next to you. You were completely spent, and he lifted you to lay directly on his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, and how it raced. “I didn’t get to make you feel good…” Was all you said as you closed your eyes, coming down from your high. His response was as expected.

“My pleasure matters far less than yours. Just knowing how good I make you feel is enough for me.” He rubbed your back, and muttered, “You were so good for me today…you make me so proud. I fall even further in love each time I see you.” Aftercare was always important, and for you, being in his arms for a while was always refreshing.

“Thank you sir…I love you so much.” You could feel yourself getting closer to falling asleep, worn out from how good you felt. He was always so kind and gentle with you…when you wanted him to be. He could be rough when you felt up to it, but he was more of a “pleasure dom” than anything else. Being his sub was all you wanted, and knowing he cared so much made everything worthwhile.

As you fell asleep, he muttered, “Don’t worry, love. Rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” He wasn’t really tired, but he was one to keep his promises. You knew he would be there. He never left you when you were coming down, knowing it was far more comforting when you were in his arms.

He always took great care of you…and you knew in your brain and heart that he would continue to do so. Mihawk was there for you, your loving husband. Knowing he loved you made the world of difference, and you would continue to love him for the rest of your days. Just as he would to you. There wasn’t a man in the world you would rather be with than him. He would love you, treasure you, be there for you, listen to you, whenever you needed or wanted. That was all you really needed. To know he would never leave you, and travel the world just to come home to you.

You loved him with all your heart, and would risk everything just to be with him and make sure he was safe. Your husband…the words were familiar, but made you smile every time. So as you fell asleep, you smiled, just knowing he would be there when you awake. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind he would love you as much as he could. His soft spot, his soft side that only you saw. He was perfect in every way.

You would love him in life, and as your vows said, even loving each other in the world beyond. Whatever awaited you in the future, you knew it would be a future with him.

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