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borkunlimited · 1 month ago

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Take Your Time, Miss Deer (Sylus x Reader) - Ch. 9

In a tailor shop tucked in the calmer side of the N109 zone is a little room where all clothes of many different designs come together under the delicate hands of an unassuming deer living in the den of all sorts of beasts and sitting on them is the dragon who wears your clothes.

Your many interactions with Skye, Mr. Sylus’ messenger or-

-Sylus is waiting for you to finally figure out he is playing his own messenger.

A Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus Fic

Tags: Sylus x Reader, Hybrid AU, Suggestive Themes, Fluff, Angst, Predator/Prey

Chapter Summary: Do dragons dream of wandering deer?

Author's Note: There is a reason why I wrote him falling asleep at the end of Chapter 8 hehe

I realized I work well during night. Very very fun sewing (and working) because no one bothers me so sometimes I stop and write when inspiration hits. Also, they are selling White Rabbit Milk Tea Sea Salt here and its very very good drink.

Enjoy reading! As always, thank you everyone for the support and because of this fanfic, I found a friend I can yap about lots of stuff!

Tagging: @phisen @wrimaira

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10 / Side A / Side B

9: My Dearest, Awaiting

“What do you think?”

A brief giggle escaped your lips while you watched your reflection in front of the mirror, raising a branch with snow crocus blooms tied around it on the top of your head.

Daisy gazed at your reflections, the small chirp coming from it echoed across the small bathroom. In its feet are used bandages and medical supplies you used to clean up the wound left by your remaining antler shedding.

It shook its head, shifting through the branches with flowers tied on them laid in front of you then dragged a branch of red camellias to you, the same choice it always proposes to you every day.

“I am starting to think these are your favorite.”

It tilted its head, watching you inspect the petals and it let out a beep, pleased, when you tied the red good luck ribbon around it and then taped the branch on your head.

It is as if you never shedded your sole antler at all.

“What do you think?”

Your crow friend did a spin, letting out a caw then resting on your shoulders. It tried to perch on your ‘temporary antler’ as you called it once but it can never hold its weight so it settled on the next best spot.

“Let’s go check on him before we start the day,” you said, closing the bathroom door behind you and walking through the winding halls of your dragon’s many homes. Your steps are easy now, and sometimes you skip towards one of the many interesting things on display but careful enough to avoid spilling the tub of water with you.

A rare vinyl record.

(You ask if you can listen to it and the twins said it would be better if it is the boss who will put it on for you when he finally wakes up.)

An empty flower pot with an intricate design.

(Your crow friend scolded the twins before when they pretended to bump on it while they were showing you around.)

A snow globe.

(The little dragon doesn’t seem to mind the snow falling on its scales, asleep on top of the blanket of white powder.)

They said that your dragon is dormant.

It is a very kind term to use for someone who has been asleep ever since the beginning of early winter, for over half a month, and even the best doctors that the twins and everyone in Onychinus managed to find only shook their heads, his kind already a rarity making them difficult to study but their theories are almost the same after hearing what happened-

-His body was so exhausted that it decided to put him in a deep slumber.

Were you terrified? At first, before the doctors came in, especially when he had not woken up even when a day had already passed by.

Are you still terrified? It bothers you when you don’t see him that your father had you take a vacation, taking over the full operations of the shop after hiring temporary help.

Even then, you still find yourself sewing, to pass time while waiting.

“Good morning, Mister Dragon,” you greeted softly, opening the door to where your dragon is fast asleep, then announcing your name, “Your tailor in a holiday break is here.”

It took you five strides to reach his bedside and Daisy perched on top of the headboard, watching you set down the basin at the side table before pulling your chair quietly.

It is routine at this point, waking up, getting ready, checking if he is still fast asleep, and then doing chores before returning to his side when the sun sets.

“You must be having a wonderful dream,” you spoke softly, dabbing the warm cloth on his head, cleaning him up. Every now and then, he would stir and you noticed stray droplets bother him so you make sure to squeeze excess water from the cloth harder first, “I hope you remember them when you wake up so you can tell me.”

Of course, you never expect an answer from him but you were told speaking to him would help and from there, you and the twins explore creative ways to interact with him, hoping your words will reach your dragon soaring through the wide skies of his colorful dreams.

How many vinyl records have you put on?

You are almost through the first box but more are waiting to be played at the foot of his bed.

How many tapes of films have you watched?

Too many, sometimes you fall asleep halfway through and sometimes you don’t, pointing at the clothes of the characters you love to him.

How many times have you winded up your music box?

More than ten, every morning and evening and you wonder if he is also in the same field of red wildflowers, gazing at the blue horizon after a tiring flight.

“Are you having a long journey there?”, you continued, and you smiled when water clung on his hair and on his eyelashes, “I am sure you have many friends there. Dragons just like you.”

He never gave away his dreams, only soft breathing escaping his lips, sometimes a smile and then his slumber continues.

You always made sure to change the bandages wrapped around his shattered horn after, setting the used ones beside the small flower pot in the bedside table where you planted the antler you have shed but you haven’t quite decided yet which flower to grow beside it.

If you had enough time, you believe you would have been able to salvage those pots with your and your father’s antlers before the fire of your old shop.

Those plants would be taller by now and they would have been very lovely to look at once work day ends, towers of greens and colorful blooms thriving together with your old antlers.

Once your dragon wakes up, you will give him the choice which seed you should plant for this one.

A tradition among deer hybrids commonly reserved for close family and-

Just the thought of calling him your mate is making you blush.

“You should wake up before spring, at least,” you hummed, a lopsided smile on your face from your earlier silly thought while making sure the new bandages are secured and then fixing the good luck ribbon tied around his remaining horn, “Every creature wakes up when winter ends.”

The morning routine ends with you pressing a kiss on his forehead after brushing his hair and you make sure he is covered by his blankets and the curtains are closed before leaving with Daisy to continue your work.

The twins and a few people from Onychinus are too kind when they give you a room where you can continue projects you have brought with you, ones where your clients are very specific that you should be the one making and not the temporary help your father hired.

You always start working on the request of the man you had always held close to your heart, his form always hidden from the shadows.

Mr. Sylus.

He has been very clear from the start that he wanted you to be the one tailoring his clothes when he requests a set from your shop and of course, you still abide by it.

Saying his name with an honorific sounds strange.

It was supposed to be a shot in the dark, a guess where your favorite visitor will just laugh off and pinch your cheek after.

“You should consider being a comedian, sweetie.”

Those are the words you were expecting to hear from him but even then, the red good luck ribbon that tied the wreath said otherwise, as if it was intentionally left there.

A clue.

A hint.

An answer already spelled out.

The man you clothed to shape the image he wants with your own hands.

(He is always the man of the hour in every party, your clients recount.)

The man who answered your notes with gifts, all wrapped in perfect bows.

(He doesn’t spare a single penny, does he?, a voice in your head whispers while you pull the ribbon to reveal the latest surprise.)

The man who sat beside you until the late afternoons, holding the spool while you gathered the yarn that Daisy accidentally toppled over.

(His lips seemed to always quirk slightly in amusement every time you called him ‘Skye’.)

The game is nearing its end and you can still recall your reflection on the mirror of your small vanity table the morning after your little adventure in the museum when you hang the crown of flowers together with all your trinkets.

Curiosity.

Surprise.

Finally, realization.

The last piece of the puzzle to complete the picture.

The events after confirmed everything. How every hybrid in Onychinus tended to him, tended to you .

A bodyguard wouldn’t get that much special treatment.

Sylus.

Two syllables. Easy to say, easy to remember. A sharp inhale for the first and a continuous release for the last, a decrescendo, a dropping beat. Sy-lus: A soft sigh ending with a hiss, reminiscent of a kiss, and of a postponed promise. Foreign to your tongue, yet rolls quickly for the rest. A name for a face, a name to be unique, a face to recollect.

To others, he had always been Sylus.

Over his business meetings and the coat on his shoulders barely moved by the cold breeze, on the dotted line, an elusive creature that will show its face when called by its name and even then his appearance is a gamble, he will always be Sylus, distant, watchful, untouchable.

To you, he had always been Skye.

Over his visits and his sleeves rolled up, his coat left hanging on the armchair, he is simply Skye, under the warm sodium lights of each sentries by the road that herald his come and go that reached your little paradise through the windows, your antlers grazing against his horns, he has always been Mister Dragon and you will always be his Miss Deer.

His real name ricochets through every four walls of every building you have stepped inside and even in this room where it is just you and your crow friend putting together clothes, his true name stayed, your mind repeating it, trying to overwrite the one syllable into two and every attempt, never a success, only one question stood.

Why?

“Oh, I didn’t realize-”, you blinked, the urgent beep coupled with the flapping of wings from your crow friend cut your thoughts short and you noticed that the bobbin had already been refilled.

Your gaze moved at the fabrics, already cut, waiting to be joined together and become a suit for the incoming Spring Festival that your dragon will attend but maybe, today is not the day their wish will be granted.

It's not good to use Mister Sewing Machine if your mind is wandering.

“How about we just do our wolf plushies today, Daisy?”, you suggested and you picked up the basket where your project is waiting and that’s how your day went, your crow friend plucking the polyester filling for you while you rolled it in your hands, the two wolf puppies finally taking shape.

“Do you think he will wake up soon?”, you asked the twins when you set the two wolf plushies near your sleeping dragon.

It was already evening when they have arrived back to check on you and the boss and even with your gentle smile, they always caught the scent of sadness-

-Of longing.

Slightly wilted wildflowers, waiting for the sun, for the rain, and of cotton gathering dust.

“He probably gobbled up so many bad humans that he needs to sleep to digest them,” Luke joked and that earned him a slap in the arm by his brother and a sharp peck from Daisy.

“I think we just need to give him more time,” Kieran answered, and if you ask him, the boss does stay up for days, perhaps this is also his body’s way of forcing him to rest, “He will be fine, miss.”

A warm embrace, and the two of them sit near your legs while you knit scarves for all of them until one by one, you all have closed your eyes, drifting off until only the embers of the fireplace and the sound of the vinyl player remain in the dragon’s chamber containing all of his dreams he is keeping for himself.

On Sylus’ bedside, his odd family awaits.

────────────────────

He was a very lonely dragon.

A sudden crash through the forest, ungraceful, and maybe that is because of the arrows and spears that managed to lodge themselves between his scales that he is very wary of every forest creature that tries to approach him, snapping at them, all of them cowering back in fear.

As they should, everyone does with his sharp teeth.

“Mister Dragon, that’s not a nice way to make friends,” a voice came in, gentle and polite, and his eyes immediately landed at you.

The only thought that came in his mind back then were three words.

“You are beautiful.”

A soft laughter escaped your lips, a sound he wanted to hear more, and he realized he might have blurted it out loud when he noticed the used to be frightened forest creatures giggling, whispering among themselves that this mean dragon isn’t so mean at all, making his large tail swished in annoyance, and maybe slight embarrassment.

It was an unlikely friendship.

You who almost look like a human but not really, not with antlers growing on your head, your soft deer ears and short tail, and he relished how you leaned against his body during your afternoon naps, after sewing little clothes for those forest creatures.

A cat wearing a bow tie.

A fox with a cape around its neck.

A goose with a bandana on.

These forest friends of yours frolicking about in human clothing.

“How can we make you friendly, Mister Dragon?”

It was a question you asked him once during those lazy afternoons and his snout pressed against the side of your neck, sighing softly as he took in the scent of cotton and wildflowers, before he answered.

“Are you saying I look hideous, little doe?”

Sylus does enjoy teasing you and you always misinterpret his words as you are quick to apologize, kissing his snout and he knows it is a very underhanded but effective tactic because you always grant him these little gestures.

“I think you are very good-looking.”

If you leaned closer, his body grew extra warmer on your words and he only chuckled at your compliment then you continued.

“Yet, I think a crown would be fitting for a magnificent dragon who worked hard in protecting our forest.”

“Precious metals would only weigh heavy in my head, sweetheart. It will make the knights who always mistake you for a missing princess more determined to cut my head off.”

“Oh, I have a different idea in mind.”

A flower crown worthy of his name, as you said.

Every forest creature brought the best flower across the land to your forest after you announced your plan, all of them unique, and you braid the wreath with him, day and night.

It is almost done with one flower remaining to be picked and only him can bring it back to you.

“Take care, Mister Dragon.”

“I’ll be back before the first flower blooms, little doe.”

His wings shook the trees, the flowers that spread across the grove as he pierced the skies with the air gradually getting thinner, the region becoming colder and colder but he is one to always push through all odds.

Relentless.

Determined.

Unwavering.

The flight was only half of his journey and Sylus had finally landed on the highest peaks of the harsh mountain ranges of this land. With his claws, he had scaled through the rough terrain and his sense of smell is useless for this particular flower native only to this land but his vision is certainly helpful, his eyes darting back and forth looking for the bloom his precious deer described to him before he left.

“Woolly, like a sheep,” you said, and you held up a sheep wandering close to you for him to see and the lamb let out an indignant huff before you let her go then you pointed at the twinkling night sky and the moon, “And silver, like the stars.”

The star of the glacier.

The lion’s foot.

The mountain flower, Edelweiss.

It was fragile, small, and when he was about to slowly uproot it with his large claws, he was met with blinding light and a surprise.

In place of his claws are hands.

Human hands.

The same hands he used to quickly check his face and then his body.

He is not very impressed with this prank but at least his horns and tail stayed, even when they seemed to also shrink to accommodate this new form and oddly enough one thought came to his head even if he should be certainly alarmed at the fact the journey back to your forest will be more perilous and longer.

You and him are almost the same.

With these arms, he can pull you closer.

With these legs, he can tangle them with yours every time both of you call it a day under the night sky in your endless field of red wildflowers.

With these hands, he can hold your face and brush his nose against yours.

A window of opportunity.

He can do so much with this body and with the flower he put inside a makeshift pot he had crafted from the rocks nearby he only then made his descent, his thoughts filled with you and him, dancing together, rolling on the grass together, and-

-He had to stop himself from his train of thought after a particular image came to mind, not when it drifted to the shape of your lips when you laugh, not when he remember the many times humans who passed by your forest often pressing theirs together under the cover of the tall trees when they thought they are alone.

Greed.

Sylus is all too familiar with what greed is and he knows he is one when his desire was also to do the same to you especially when he found out you do those gestures to people close to you.

Surely, you wouldn’t mind if he asks nicely, right?

He is already reciting his question, revising it many times while he follows the path down the cold mountain and the travel that should take him a week or maybe longer was cut in half, not when he is too eager to see you soon.

“Sweetie, we should do what the humans do.”

(No, that doesn’t sound polite.)

“I am home and I brought it back, sweetheart. Can I have a reward?”

(Not that one either. He doesn’t want it to look like he does these little favors just so he can get a treat after.)

“Your kisses always land on the wrong spots, little doe.”

(That will just make you confused. Not like you can directly kiss him before when he was a dragon.)

His thoughts were cut short when he heard a sound nearby. It was faint, and he can say that he is fortunate he was able to keep his sharp senses because he can clearly recognize the sound a few distant away from the foot of the mountain he is currently standing.

He should have turned away but he chose not to, not when he heard barks, laughter and-

-Music.

You love those and since you do, he also loves it as well.

It should have been a quick look, just to see what the ruckus is all about only to be met by the most surreal sight.

If he looked closely, did the sky above him have a ceiling with a faint fracture?

Two wolf cubs, each covered with a white blanket and their pointed ears and tails poking out. Whoever made these little alterations, they kept in mind that the fabric will not drag to the ground every time these two rowdy cubs run around chasing butterflies or walk by the lake to take in the scent of freshwater and paw at unsuspecting fishes.

These two wolf cubs, running around, playfully snapping at each other’s tails, and-

-A wooden box with a spinning large disc on top and a golden horn that produces a pleasant sound yet, a voice, certainly his, points to him it is called a vinyl player.

Why does he know what it is called?

“Hey, what are you looking at?!”, one of the wolf cubs barked at him, his tail puffed upon noticing his presence.

“Mind your own business, mister! We found this first!”, the other cub exclaimed, and Sylus doesn’t need to see what is under the blanket to know they are baring their teeth at him.

Luke and Kieran.

Why did those names come to mind when he gaze at these annoying wolf cubs who accused him of stealing their loot?

Sylus doesn’t need that wooden box with a spinning disc (The same prideful voice corrects him again that it is called a vinyl player which he ignores) when you love his singing voice anyways.

“You can keep your box,” he answered and he turned around, a clear sign that is supposed to mean that his curiosity is satiated and he is done with the conversation but the two wolf cubs said otherwise.

“Hey, why do you look like that, mister?”

“That’s not how good and cool boys ask questions, Luke.”

“Right, Kieran. Hey, where did you get those horns and tails, mister?”

“That’s better,” the other wolf cub responded and Sylus doesn’t have to check that these two, who oddly wear the same names that came to his head, is following him-

-No, stalking him.

“Did no one teach both of you manners?”, Sylus answered, and one of his eyes twitched when one of the wolf cubs tried to snap at his tail, the sharp teeth almost grazing his scales.

“Manners? What’s that?”, the more energetic of the two asked and Sylus shot that one a glare when he noticed he was midway on biting his tail again.

“Oh, I know that one, Mister,” the calmer of the two replied, and he seemed to get the hint that the odd human is not pleased with his brother’s antics so he gently shove his body against his twin chasing the tip of Sylus’ tail, “Those are set of rules good and cool boys follow.”

Why are these two very set on becoming something they don’t even exactly know how to be?

Sylus chose not to answer, his eyes forward and that should have been a clear indicator that he wanted to be on his way alone but these two wolf cubs have decided that he is more interesting over the wooden box they found earlier.

“So, mister, what brings you here?”

“Did you also come here to see the miss’ dragon?”

“We have been waiting for him down here but it looks like he is taking his sweet time up there.”

“We are planning to ask him if he can teach us to be good and cool boys!”, Kieran piped and every time they say those last words, their goal, Sylus noticed both of them seemed to vibrate in excitement just at the thought of becoming one, their tails wagging harder.

“Go find another teacher,” he said instead, making his strides longer but that didn't seem to deter the two despite their short legs who somehow managed to catch up on him.

“Hey mister this isn’t a contest. I am sure he can teach all three of us,” Luke huffed, keeping up with him.

“Yeah, no need to be so selfish,�� Kieran added, who was panting as Sylus increased his walking speed.

“Teach the two of you,” Sylus corrected them both, rolling his eyes, “I don’t take students.”

He doesn’t have time for that, not when he has the entire forest to look after that needs him back as soon as possible, not when he has a lovely deer who he will devote his remaining free time to.

That made the two wolf cubs halt and they both looked at each other at this odd human with horns and tail of a dragon carrying a flower.

He was about to sigh in relief when he heard them bursted into laughter behind him.

“What’s so funny?”, Sylus asked, annoyed and his eyes narrowed at the two wolf cubs now rolling on the ground, their laughter mixed with barks.

“Just because you have horns and a tail doesn’t make you the miss’ dragon!”

“Yeah, who are you trying to fool here, weird human?”

“You aren’t her dragon. We’ve seen him!”

“Liar!”, they both said in unison.

Liar.

That word shouldn’t hurt as much but it did.

It certainly did when your face was the first that came to mind, your delicate hands with a bandage around one of your fingers, and your clothes rustling, the soft orange light bathing you in a room filled with the humming of machines and colorful fabrics.

“What brings you here today-”

Skye.

Why are you calling him by a different name?

“I am her dragon,” Sylus said, each word punctuated with his stride and he picked up one of the wolf cubs by the scruff of the neck gentle but firm, “I have never lied to anyone and never will so take that back.”

“Hey, put him down!”, the one still on the ground said, pawing at his leg and if he isn’t holding a flower, he would have lifted this one too just so they both get the point.

“T-the blanket!”, the one in the air exclaimed, horrified when the white blanket slowly slipped away, and his paws reached up to cover his snout, anything that would reveal his face.

“We take it back!”, the other twin cried together with his brother, “We take it back! We believe you!”

Scars.

Clearly inflicted by someone with something sharp.

Wounds that never healed, hidden by white blankets so both of them will still be identical.

Maybe he has been too harsh at these two wolf cubs without a pack.

“Now, Mister Dragon, don’t forget, we have small friends living here too.”

Your soft reprimand echoed in his mind when he accidentally toppled over a rabbit, breaking their leg by accident during a brief scuffle with bandits who thought they could come into your home and take you away.

Right, you wouldn’t be too happy when you see him being too harsh with these wolf cubs.

Sylus put down the sniffling wolf cub beside his twin, the two were quick to lick each other’s tears, and just so they understand that he is sorry , he tugged the blanket and made sure it covered the face the twin was so ashamed to show.

“Go home,” Sylus sighed, and he gave their ears a scratch, hesitant, trying to mimic what you do to your forest friends who end up crying over the simplest things.

“But we don’t have a home.”

“We just followed you here.”

Would you leave them here?

No, he doesn’t think so, not when you welcome every animal that finds your forest, no matter how fearsome they are, with open arms.

“I don’t want to hear you two complaining on my way back,” Sylus answered and their ears perked up, their tails wagging and suddenly, the little incident earlier is forgotten at the fact that the dragon turned odd human is letting them tag along.

“Really?!”, Luke asked, he and his twin back on their feet, “Does that mean you will teach us too?”

“No.”

“If you won’t teach us, then we will be your henchmen, boss,” Kieran piped in, matching his stride. “Learn on the job!”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Come on, boss, we’re really good at a lot of stuff! Sniffing, biting, you name it!”, Luke added and his brother joined in, listing down their other abilities (Peculiar ones too. Fixing burnt rice?)

Perhaps Sylus is wrong.

This journey is going to be more than long.

────────────────────

“This is really difficult to do.”

Luke complained and you chuckled softly when he let you take a look at his progress, his brother hard at work beside him, focused on knitting the cuff of the sock he is working on.

“It doesn’t look promising at first but it will all come together,” you smiled, adjusting the slight gaps between his stitches before handing it back to him who eagerly examined your fix before picking where he left off.

It is getting colder, the neck scarves that the twins used to wear for you are now replaced by red woolen scarves you have knitted yourself, the fabric tied around their necks like a bow and every person who dare tell them they look silly always earn a good shower of threats from them, not when it was you who put it on to them before they leave during the mornings.

You watch over Luke and Kieran huddled together, sitting on the floor by the foot of the bed where your dragon is currently sleeping, all three of you opting to come closer to the fireplace to have a better view of your little projects.

The usual energy they brought with them becomes more tamed when they are focused, only speaking when exchanging notes over their progress or asking for your help. Maybe, winter has a special effect on hybrids like you with all of you being at your most docile self, conserving energy once spring arrives.

The red yarn you are using stretches through the entire mattress, moving by a centimeter every time you put one loop through your knitting needles and then repeat. There is still one last scarf you are working on and its owner is right beside you, still in a deep slumber.

Every now and then, the chimes you and the twins hang on his bedpost sway gently, making faint little notes and earlier, it was an orchestra with Daisy pulling all of them in rapid succession, a little mischief recently it does believing your dragon would wake up due to annoyance.

Anything, just to wake him up before spring arrives.

“Feeling sleepy, Daisy?”, you asked, noticing that your crow friend is huddling near the plushies lined up on the other side of your favorite visitor, and if it stayed still, it is almost similar to the crow plushie it is sitting next to.

It only lets out a beep and perhaps mechanical crows also need to rest when its eyes slowly close but you watch it stand up, fixing the yarn for you and you know it doesn’t want to miss out on anything especially when the twins are around.

“That’s right, fall asleep so all the kisses supposed to be yours will go to us, bird.”

“All the pats, all the hugs, hey-”

Your odd little crow was quick to retaliate, their words waking it up and it tried to peck at them, chastising them and the twins ran around, ducking across all the furniture and jumping over boxes scattered inside the room while you clap, cheering for both sides, the projects you are working on set aside.

Does your laughter reach him in his dreams?

The list of your questions grows as day turns into night, the twins making themselves comfortable at the foot of the bed, tired, all curled up and you set aside the socks they are working on in your basket of yarn.

“Perhaps we should make yours longer,” you mumbled, still awake even when the rest is already asleep, wrapping the scarf around his neck to check.

This silly, silly liar.

This silly, silly dragon.

This silly, silly hero.

Making plans with you, bringing maelstrom upon those who hurt you, and then falling into a deep slumber, here but not quite.

“You lie so gently,” you laughed softly, brushing your nose against his and your tears began to fall into his cheek that you are quick to remove, remembering stray droplets of water bothers him, your fingers grazing his cheek.

Nice and friendly dragons don’t lie yet maybe they do, if that is what it takes to be held close, to be loved and maybe it was greed, selfishness, that drove him to wear such a flimsy mask that took you time to see through.

“Wake up soon,” you said, and this time, perhaps it is longing, a sadness, that you nuzzled your nose against his hair, taking in the scent of fresh blankets and faint cinder.

“I’ll forgive all of your silly, white lies.”

Your soft sobs slowly quiet down, all of you falling asleep at any space around him and you hold the almost finished scarf close to your chest and it might be a cause for celebration but everyone has fallen asleep at this point, failing to notice the subtle sign that the dragon soaring through the skies has finally heard your voices all the way down.

Still unconscious, Sylus’ finger gently hooked itself around the thin red thread of the yarn.

On Sylus’ bedside, his odd family awaits.

────────────────────

He was a very lonely dragon.

At least, that was before and this journey isn’t so bad with two little wolf cubs following you around, making interesting observations and watching them come up with different ways to entertain themselves is something he is looking forward to telling you when he sees you again.

“I spy with my little eye,” Luke hummed, his gaze roaming up towards the sky and then added, “A sheepie!”

“But I don’t smell one right now,” Kieran answered, his snout raised up in the air to take in the scent of the forest.

Good noses.

These two have ridiculously good noses that actually impressed him.

They also make for good compasses, being in this form made Sylus realized that the terrain is much more different on the ground than up in the air and there are many times he almost made a wrong turn but the two are quick to steer him back to the right direction.

“Hey boss, that way is going to the desert.”

“The world is a bit different now that you aren’t flying, huh?”

“I’ll map everything out once I get back,” Sylus answered, giving them a brief nod and their tails wagged faster because of the acknowledgement, the game they were playing earlier now forgotten.

“Can we help?”

“We will carry your things for you!”

He doubts those small bodies can take on much weight and again, you wouldn’t be too happy when you see two wolf cubs used as horses.

If anything, he had a foresight that these two will always be at your side any chance they get.

“Come on, boss, say yes,” Kieran said and the two started to do this tactic again where they would weave between his legs.

“We’re very strong.”

“You’re still way stronger than us though.”

There they are again with this self-promotion that would have worked if they weren't unintentionally making him trip and he secured the flower pot on his arms closer to him, the woolly petals still vibrant despite the long journey, its color brighter under the sunlight passing the leaves of the tall trees scattered on the borders of your forest.

Every now and then, small creatures pass by, barely making a sound, and even the breathing of larger ones are overwhelmed by the rustle of the fallen leaves carried by the gentle breeze, the chorus of birds, all familiar except a particular faint sound.

No, collection of sounds, resounding.

If he looked closely, did the sky above him have a ceiling with a growing fracture?

“Hey boss, that’s not the right way,” Luke pointed out, noticing Sylus turning in a different direction but they followed him, curious why the dragon who is very insistent on getting to you as soon as possible is deviating from the road where you are waiting.

Sylus just had to check, every unfamiliar sound is a cause for action. A ringing, tinkling, even harmonious as it could be, means swords being sharpened from a distance.

Did those humans think they could come for you just because he isn’t around?

Only, he is met with the strangest sight.

Chimes, hanging on every branch, and they all grow in number as they venture deeper, the road leading to a cliff and at the edge, a small belfry.

Of course, the two wolf cubs did not find this odd at all when they are sounding each chime they can reach one by one and with all this ruckus, he is sure that all the forest creatures are making their way to you already to file a complaint, even if they have to take a long journey to the heart of the forest.

“Must you two ring every single one of them?”, he asked, slightly exasperated, and two wolf cubs wagged their tails, the wet snowflakes from the trees’ branches falling on his cheeks but faded away just as fast.

“Not really, but they make the nicest sound!”, Luke said, jumping over his brother’s back to pull the rope of a chime hanging on a particularly higher branch.

“You should ring the ones you can reach, boss,” Kieran suggested, and this time, he rang one of the chimes beside him, “We might get a prize!”

Then, he knew that the small belfry certainly is the most enticing among all of them because the two immediately went for it, running towards it and he had to put the flower pot aside just so he could hold both of them under his arms.

“Oh, we get it!”

“You want to ring the most important looking of them all!”

“All yours, boss!”, they said in unison.

Sylus rolled his eyes but it only took him a few strides until he was standing in front of the small belfry and while turning away is indeed an option, he knows the twins would pester him with all their might.

“I wonder what that bell would have sounded if you rang it.”

Your possible words echoed in his head if he recounts this story to you after his return and he would hate to disappoint that one of his stories doesn’t have a definite conclusion.

“Fine, let’s see if this one will get you both a prize,” he sighed and he reached out to ring the lone bell by the edge of the cliff.

If this grove of chimes is an ensemble, then this bell is certainly the conductor because the rest stop making a sound, the toll of this one resonating across the trees and further beyond the boundaries of your forest.

It continues its solo, the clapper hitting the lip in an equal interval until finally, it comes into a halt.

Then, silence.

“Where’s the prize?”, Luke asked.

“Maybe the prize is the friends we make along the way-”, Kieran replied only for his words to be cut off, the ground shaking, and Sylus stepped back further from the small belfry, closer to where he left the flower pot.

Might as well see this until the end.

A rumble, the finale of the bell’s overture, and then-

-A loud aria akin to a songbird.

The singer perched by the edge of the cliff, a giant crow carrying a red thread on its beak that it dropped to caw at them loudly, certainly annoyed at being summoned.

“Since when did Mephisto grow so large?”

The same prideful voice, certainly his, mused in his head (and thoroughly finding the strange sight hilarious) and the crow tilted its head side to side, studying him and the two wolf cubs before letting out a loud caw once again, shaking the trees and sounding all the chimes at the same time, as if telling them it is clearly busy and if they need anything, they should get on with it.

“See, I told you!”, Kieran exclaimed, wagging his tail and still under Sylus’ arm.

“I never thought I would see such a large chicken,” Luke said, awed and Sylus had to take another step back because clearly, Luke’s way of inspecting new discoveries is by snapping his teeth at them.

The crow let out a series of beeps and caws that oddly enough, Sylus managed to piece together, begrudgingly telling them if they need a ride to the home of the deer and her dragon living in this forest, then it will give them just that.

“She is clearly busy knitting a scarf for her beloved but if you want to disturb her like the rest, then go ahead.”

Yet, those words lingered in Sylus’ mind and his eyes landed on the red thread that the giant crow was carrying.

It was helping you put together the scarf you are making for him, expecting him to indeed return before spring, at least in the last days of winter.

“I am her beloved,” Sylus corrected the crow, letting the two wolf cubs hang on his shoulders while he picked up the flower pot, the mountain flower swaying gently against the cold breeze, “And I intend to fulfill my words to her.”

The giant crow just cackled, letting Sylus hold on to its feet before picking up the red thread on its beak.

“Right, odd human, try telling that in front of her dragon.”

With its large wings that almost covered the winter sun, it took flight and the two wolf cubs hanging on his shoulders huddled closer to him for warmth against the cold breeze, howling in excitement.

This journey is finally nearing its end.

────────────────────

“Sylus.”

How many times have you repeated his name in front of the bathroom mirror of this home only to end up blushing?

Addressing him without the honorific sounds impolite despite you and him spending so much time together.

You mostly do these little ‘practices’ as you called it by the balcony, not by his bed because it would be embarrassing for your favorite visitor to wake up and see you using the deer puppet to talk to the dragon puppet acting as his stand-in.

There were already hints, breadcrumbs left behind just for you.

Expensive watches with various designs.

Leather shoes crafted by artisans.

Vehicles with sleek exterior imported from other countries.

Every visit, they change, all of them unique but you always pass them off, convinced that Mr. Sylus is an extremely generous employer and an understanding one too because there are many times that your favorite visitor stayed longer than he should inside your studio.

“You’re a funny man, Mr. Sylus,” you sighed, gazing at the dragon puppet sitting on a chair across from you then you shook your head, correcting yourself, “I mean, Sylus.”

The two syllables tumbled out of your mouth haphazardly, not when a lopsided smile is forming in your face every time you say his real name.

His intentions had always been pure, his actions are clear and you can never harbor anger towards the man who started this charade.

Mr. Sylus’ life has been foreign to you but you are aware he is a very powerful man and he could have everything in the world and more, his tower of treasures reaching the heavens yet your simple question of ‘why’ is much complex.

Why choose an ordinary seamstress?

(You only know how to sew clothes. The fabric scissors are a tool to cut through clothes, not enemies. The needle to repair tears, not inflict pain.)

Why did he lie?

(Afraid. Perhaps predator hybrids are all too familiar with all kinds of fear, the fear of rejection always so common, and he, the strongest of them all, is most likely expecting you to flee if you know his real name.)

Why is he afraid?

(He has always been brave in your eyes but his request, no, a plea, for you to close your eyes on that fateful day says differently.)

“Miss Deer, we’re back!”

Luke’s voice carried all the way to the balcony from the entrance hall and you stood up, brushing your apron and then pointing your puppet at the dragon puppet.

“Let’s talk more later,” you said and then you added, the syllables as always, a little lopsided, “Sylus.”

You picked up the dragon puppet, removing yours and walking towards the living room to find the twins setting down all the shopping they have brought with him the usual stack of papers pending your dragon’s signature, the pile growing larger as each day passes by in his deep slumber.

“Your husband is still asleep?” Louis greeted you and you immediately grew red, covering your face with the two puppets and looking away.

Aside from the twins, a few select members of Onychinus, the doctors, Louis, and the older lion hybrid are the only people allowed to come by and visit this place, dropping off important items, often for him, but sometimes for you.

“Now, Louis, Mr. Sylus wouldn’t be too happy if you are the one making the miss blush and not him,” the older lion hybrid chided the young male deer hybrid who only rolled his eyes, and your eyes darted at the familiar package he left at the counter.

That package is certainly from your favorite bakery and you are also sure your father had them sent it to you on his behalf.

“What do you think the two of them are doing when alone in her studio?”, Louis pointed out while you slowly inch closer to check the contents of the box, recognizing the scent of strawberries, not minding his remarks.

“Hey, our boss is nothing but a gentleman!”, Luke exclaimed.

“They talk, that's what they do!”, Kieran added and Daisy also beeped in agreement.

“Right and oddly enough they both carry each other’s scents,” Louis replied and then you only halt your step when he turns his attention to you.

Maybe you should retract your newest impression of him because you are finding him quite rude.

The male deer hybrid had been counting days, of course, and while N109 zone is still in the same state (A state of chaos that’s its default by now) several of the prey hybrids expressed concerns to him that Sylus laying dormant means a temporary power vacuum and while everyone is still cowering on the dark, he is sure they will step out one by one and fight over his empire.

That dragon really had to wake up soon because all of his allies can only handle so much.

“You,” Louis said, looking at you as if you hold the key to this current dilemma.

“Me?”, you asked, tilting your head.

“Yes, you,” Louis started, frowning, “Who else? Anyways, have you exhausted all of the possible options of waking your husband up?”

Why does he keep referring to your favorite visitor as your husband? You can’t even call him by his real name yet.

“I-”, you opened your mouth but the twins were quick to intervene.

“She talks to him day and night if that’s what satisfies you.”

“She’s taking care of him and even the doctors said to wait it out.”

“Louis, you are putting unnecessary pressure over the miss here,” the older lion hybrid added, standing at your side but the male deer hybrid shook his head, in thought.

Talk. These two are claiming you talk to Sylus but he believes that the dragon hybrid might need a more potent medicine than that.

“I also sing to him,” you said softly, looking down on your feet and your ears drooping slightly.

Perhaps there are other options you haven't tried but your favorite visitor’s room is overflowing with trinkets at this point with the number of ideas you and the twins are coming up with.

“Hear that?”, the lion hybrid chuckled when he saw Louis sighed in frustration while the twins comforted you, telling you to not mind the grumpy deer, “Everyone is doing their best. The next step lies with Sylus.”

These people throw around his real name so easily it is making you slightly envious and your eyes lingered at the package with a handwritten note clearly from your father.

Once your favorite visitor wakes up, you and him should have tea and cake just like you always do.

“If all options fail, perhaps you should take a page of how fairy tales are written,” Louis grumbled, setting the rest of the boxes with your name in it on top of the counter, clearly gifts from your neighbors.

“Fairy tales?”

“I think the boss misses your voice. It is time for his evening music anyways,” Kieran is quick to cut, shooting a glare towards the male deer hybrid before he and his brother guided you gently towards the room where your dragon is sleeping.

Your eyes lingered at the pastry box but followed them anyway and you hope they don’t forget to put it in the refrigerator later or else the icing might not be as good if left out overnight.

“Don’t mind him,” Kieran said when you stepped inside the room, always very diligent as he already pulled the usual chair for you to sit, “You shouldn’t be forced to take unnecessary measures.”

“We can still handle it even without the boss,” Luke added.

They don’t need to tell you but you count the number of tears their clothes have every time they return here, steadily increasing, how their sleeps are deeper, how they stayed longer than usual inside the bathroom fixing their wounds, and you know that the N109 zone will need more than two wolf boys to keep everything at bay.

“You’re nice boys,” you smiled, your hands reaching up to pat their heads. “Both of you have always been.”

Their tails wagged in delight, stooping slightly so you wouldn’t strain yourself.

Your approval is more than enough for them to keep going.

“You think so?”

“I think so.”

You scratched their pointed ears and they hugged you tight around your waist, their tails wagging faster and your eyes wandered to your sleeping dragon.

His eyes still closed, yet every now and then it flutters.

His remaining horn, pointed as ever, and you look forward where you and his grows back.

His forehead, his cheeks, places where you have gifted him many kisses hoping he will receive it in his field of dreams.

And then, his lips,-

-You have finally understood Louis’ suggestion.

Naive as you can be, you know there are kisses that shouldn’t be granted without the other person’s permission.

In Sylus’ bedside, his odd family awaits.

────────────────────

He was a very lonely dragon.

Hitching a ride with a giant crow certainly cut his journey short and in the distance, he caught a glimpse of the clearing, the endless field of red wildflowers now covered with a thin layer of snow.

An oasis, a paradise and ahead is his precious deer, always so patient.

Dealing with the two wolf cubs was bearable but a bird who constantly pokes fun of his identity? If they weren’t so high up and if it wasn’t helping you knit, he will certainly show this bird he is indeed your dragon who went on a journey.

All Sylus wants to do now is to hand you the mountain flower, take a long rest with you in his arms, and-

-Right, the question .

These three have been bothering him that he hasn’t even been able to reword his request, aware that he can’t hold your face and press his lips against yours.

He is a fiend but he is better than that.

“You live here, boss?”

“There are so many new things I don’t know which one to sniff first!”

The moment they landed, the two wolf cubs already had their snouts pressed against the ground, taking in the new scents and it is not difficult to miss them even when they are wearing white blankets because of their dark tails poking above the snow.

The giant crow cawed at him for one last time, snobbish before it wagged its tail feathers in a flourish, before picking up the red thread it was carrying, looking for you.

Even with the different surroundings, Sylus knows where to look for you and with the mountain flower but perhaps the long red thread of the scarf you are knitting for him helped.

That scarf could have been a blanket now considering he isn’t technically a dragon anymore.

Snowflakes clung on his hair, his lashes and those that fall into his cheeks melt quickly and it is home.

Home is where the red wildflowers grow.

Home is where you and him stand in the field of flowers, listening to the voices of this land.

Home is where your soul is.

There you are, huddled against your forest friends, bears, deer, foxes, and even that giant crow managed to beat him on finding you first, your arms already wrapped around it.

Your deer ears flick the falling snow, and your breathing was easy.

The sacred deer of the forest, waiting, always waiting, for her dearest to return from a far-off land.

He is home.

His hand, his human hand, reached out to brush the small braid you always wear by the side of your face and you stirred, leaning against the warmth of his palm.

Then, he leaned down, brushing his nose against yours before pulling back, gazing at you fondly as you slowly opened your eyes.

There was a moment of silence, your eyes studying his face and you smiled.

“Now, why are you going around with a new face without telling me?”

“You are the one person who is yet to call me your false dragon, little doe.”

His eyes lingered on the shape of your lips when you laugh, soft and careful not to awaken your friends as he helped you stand up, on your hands is a scarf certainly for him.

“You came home just as you promised.”

Of course he did, and he reached out to hold your hand while you walked through your grove. From a distance, he can hear the two wolf cubs running around, barking happily.

Contented.

Secured.

Safe.

He has always been at peace here and yet-

-The sky above him has a ceiling and slowly, the fissure grows larger.

Was the horizon always like that?

Yet, you were so calm as you examined the mountain flower he had given to you, your delicate hands brushing against the petals.

“Darling.”

He called out softly, and his eyes did not move from you when you tuck the bloom, the prize he had brought all the way from the mountains, behind his ear.

“Yes?”

It was your voice, he is certain and yet when you wrap the thick scarf that pooled on his feet around his neck, your hands lack the certain familiarity when you guide his hand when cutting the fabric.

No words formed, not when he is slowly coming into terms that this is but a distant dream, one of the many, longer than usual and he had overstayed.

All the fragments, his wishes, his desires, his emotions, always converge in one place and in his mind, they always take form of-

You.

“I always have to remind you many times that I am not her.”

You held both of his hands, laughing softly and even with the realization, hearing such a sound always brings a smile on his lips.

“You can’t blame me for that, sweetie, you always make the wait difficult sometimes.”

“You have told me several times.”

“Even then, I can never be angry at you. Not when I am too selfish to end the game.”

“You have always been scared that I would look at you differently if you do.”

A pause.

A hope.

A longing for reassurance.

“Would you?”

“You simply need to hear my answer.”

He was never the guardian of this forest.

Yet this dream, this dream is the most pleasant he has that it convinced him so well, so well of the role he never took and then, perhaps it was the long journey that when you lead him back to the rest of your forest friends, still asleep, he knew he only had a few moments to say goodbye.

The wolf cubs, tired from playing, finally have friends.

The giant crow, content, rests its body beside you.

The dreaming dragon, on your lap, is now ready to return to his true home.

For the finale of his dream, a pleasant awakening awaits.

────────────────────

Was it that Sylus always longs for?

You have never been in his bed, you have never stepped foot on any of his many houses, yet the scent of cotton and wildflowers had always followed him, subtle, gentle, comforting.

When he opened his eyes, everything almost overwhelmed him.

The colors, the sounds, and the scents, all blending together that he had to close his eyes to steady his breath and his heart racing too fast, not when your scent had taken reign among the rest.

“Sy-”

He froze.

“Sy-”

It was a second attempt, trembling but he will always recognize the gentle pitch belonging only to one very special person.

“Sy. Lus.”

A third attempt and he turned around to the source of voice who is once again, trying to pronounce his name, to be more continuous this time.

There you are, sitting by his bedside, clearly aware now that he is awake and you are holding on your apron too hard.

The red dusting your cheeks has always been a wonderful color on you.

His precious deer, too sweet, always trying her best, and his sunrise, the light above your head like a halo.

“There’s my darling.”

Perhaps he had held on your arm too hard, only wanting to look at you closely and maybe brush his nose against yours, just to check if this is the waking world but you stumbled towards him, your chair falling against the floor and were you always this light? Yes, you have always been and only the sense of parting with you, even for just a few hours, have made everything too heavy, too hard to let go.

Here you are, finally taking the place he had reserved just for you.

You were quick to lift the hem of your apron near your face, not when he is too close, hovering above you and the first thing you have thought about is you certainly have not practiced for this outcome with the puppet.

Yes, Sylus is certain this is real and even with his mind still hazy, he knows he still owes you an appointment.

“You sounded almost confident there, sweetie,” he laughed, his voice slightly hoarse, and he rested his forehead against yours, “Let’s try again.”

“Sy-”

You paused, looking at the chimes above his head and lowering your apron.

Your lips have never been this inviting.

“Come on.”

He gently coaxed, his tail flicking in excitement and his smile grew.

“Sylus.”

You said softly and you gasped when he pulled you close, hugging you tight and perhaps his laugh was so infectious that you can’t help but do the same, both of you rolling against the white blankets.

There are many things you want to say, questions you want to ask but with him wide awake, all you want to do is also make sure he is here, talking, laughing.

“Mister Dragon?”

He didn’t say anything, playfully smiling at you as he took your wrist, taking in that familiar scent and the warm touch, making sure this isn’t one of his too pleasant dreams.

“Sylus?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Will it be too much to ask if you keep your eyes open for a bit longer today?”

“Was I asleep for that long?”, he asked but he doesn’t need a confirmation, not when the clock by the bed already answered it for him.

Midnight.

Here you are, still clinging to the waking world, not wanting to miss a moment if he wakes up.

It was a weak nod but Sylus knew you have been waiting patiently, and the many trinkets scattered in the room finally explained the odd elements of his long dream.

“I’ll keep them open for you, little doe.”

“Thank you. I would like that very much.”

“Are there any requests my precious deer wants to ask from me?”

Your deer ears perked up upon realizing you might be imposing on him especially he just woke up but maybe, there is nothing wrong being selfish for once, just for a little favor.

“Will you keep them open even if I fall asleep?”, you asked slowly, trying to keep your eyes wide open, “I am afraid you might take a long nap again.”

“You’re so silly, sweetheart. I had a long rest. I’ll be awake before you”

“But why?”

“Well, I can’t have a guest in my home starving when she wakes up,” he answered, pulling the thick blanket above your heads, “She might not come back anymore to an inhospitable dragon.”

“Oh-”

How could you forget? He was asleep for so long that you haven’t thought that he might be hungry right now.

His eyes widened, watching you slowly unbutton your blouse.

“Now-”, he chuckled, strained when he held your wrist gently to stop you and his gaze may have lingered at the slope of your exposed neck and then at the strap of your bra barely covered by fabric of your blouse, “You don’t need to offer yourself up to me, sweetie. I feel just fine.”

He carefully buttoned your blouse again, taking one last look at the fading mark he had left on that fateful night.

Even with your clothes slightly crumpled, you were true to your word and he has a suspicion you dress up nicely everyday, waiting at his side.

“Are you sure?”

“I have never been sure.”

You hummed in thought and he pressed a kiss on top of your head, chuckling softly.

“You can rest easy now, sweetie.”

“Then you will still be here?”

“I couldn’t fall asleep now, not when you are here beside me, little doe.”

The soft exchange, the little reassurances that he won’t be taking a long nap anytime soon, and all it took was a pinky promise sealed with a kiss when your eyes drooped slowly, tired from your vigil.

His thumb brushes against your bottom lip but that is the closest he can have for now.

When you wake up, it might be his turn to be a little selfish in the morning.

Afterall, would it be too much to ask you to repeat his name a couple more times?

In Sylus' bedside, his family waits no more.

────────────────────

Author's Note: I honestly wanted to write a dream sequence ever since with a mix of surreal undertones (You know how trippy dreams can be.) and I wanted those parts to also be a reflection of Sylus' perspective of this odd game of charade he started between our Miss Deer and him. Did lots of foreshadowing prior to this and here we are!

I am now off playing BG3!

As always, see you in the next update!

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10 / Side A / Side B

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #hybrid au #lads hybrid au #lads #lads sylus

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deminetly · 18 days ago

Text

⊹ ࣪ MY WAITING ROOM

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

⊹ rooms / places

room with portals to every dream ive ever had so i could revisit/finish the dreams

rage room

therapy room

corridor of my drs

character customizing room (i can try out different hairstyles, make up looks, styles, etc)

massage room

no gravity room full of bubbles I can pop

nature pool

copies of all of my dr bedrooms

craft room

perfume workshop (I can create perfumes for my drs)

───────

⊹ extras

I recieve a package with a cool trinket + a riddle/puzzle from a crow every morning

mirror that shows me from each dr + I can edit my appearance

website that generates any movie/show/game based on any prompt I put in

Im good at drawing + very creative

TV that shows moments from my drs + edits made of me and people from my drs (even if Im not famous in that dr) I can also watch my favourite movies and shows again for the first time

fairy scripting+shifting assistant who gives tips and ideas

remote for controlling the weather

fairy band that often performs concerts for the whole village

unicorn who will take me anywhere (she can fly + shes very fast)

a book of ideas for scripting (things to script + guides to scripting different drs + questions for developing drs, etc)

photobook of memories for each one of my drs (my digital camera that I have in each dr is connected to it)

fashion design journal (any item I draw will appear in the wardrobe of a dr of my choice)

my fyp only has useful shifting content in it

there are clouds I can rest on in the sky

a view to the moon from my glass roof

my cr cat

I have those asmr tools like soap so I can crush it

snow globes of each one of my drs

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soullumii · 2 years ago

Text

stranded | joel miller x f!reader

pairing: joel miller x afab!fem!reader

summary: you get stranded in the middle of a blizzard. joel comes to your rescue. you share a bed for warmth. things escalate from there...

warnings/tags: 18+ content, MDNI!, smutttttt yurrrr (vaginal fingering, unprotected piv sex, dubious consent, lil bit of somnophilia, joel is packinggg), no outbreak!joel, modern au, implied age gap, soft!joel, pet names (peach, baby, darlin', sweet girl, sweetheart), lil bit of joel being jelly, cuddling to keep the cold at bay, fluff, NO USE OF Y/N

word count: 7.6k (idk what the fuck happened)

“Damn it!”

You press down hard on the gas pedal, grimacing when your engine revs but the car doesn’t move an inch.

Your tires skid uselessly over the snow and your headlights reflect into a white wall of nothing—the snowfall so thick you can’t see anything in front of or around you, as if you’re trapped in a snow globe. The road is practically gone from existence.

The only thing you can hear is the wind whistling and the staticky sound of Carrie Underwood’s ‘Jesus Take the Wheel’ going in and out on the radio.

Yeah, you wish he would right about now.

“Fuuuck,” you whine, eyes stinging with unshed tears. You hit your wheel in frustration, dropping your forehead onto the horn. It honks pityingly.

Of course, the one time you were actually going out, you had forgotten to check the weather.

You’re probably going to die out here on this back road through the woods. There’s no one around, not that you can tell, and you’re low on gas. You were going to fill up once you got out of the woods and back into civilization, but the blizzard had other plans.

Your stomach rumbles, crying out for the dinner you had skipped in hopes of having a hearty, post-sex meal with the hook-up you are—or were—on the way to see. Though, that’s certainly not happening, and the snacks you usually had stuffed into the glovebox are gone, your sister having stolen them last week after you dropped her off at school.

(Darn that growing goober!)

You don’t have anything that might prove useful in this situation besides the long, slim heels on your pumps (which could be used in defense), and the thin peacoat wrapped around your shoulders. You check your phone to see if you can call a towing company, but of course, it has zero bars.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whimper, pressing the heel of your palm to your watering eyes.

“It’s gonna be fine,” you say to yourself, picking your head up and rubbing away the tears in your eyes. You take deep breaths and put the car into park. “You’ll be fine.”

The sudden sound of a knock on your window startles you so bad you yelp, jumping in place as ice cold terror rises up your spine.

You can hardly see who had knocked, only their gray silhouette in the white blizzard.

The stranger knocks again.

“You alright in there?” The shadow asks, a hint of a Texan accent curling their vowels. Shit. It’s a man.

You slowly grab your shoe from your foot, holding it so the heel faces the window, and snow blows into your face as you carefully roll it down an inch or two for precaution, because who knows if it’s a fucking cannibal-axe-murderer who preys on unsuspecting women stranded in the snow. Maybe he does this every year—maybe this is his prime harvesting place and time.

Your eyes are wide as you peer through the opening warily, heel at the ready.

He’s close enough now that you can make out a prominent scowl, hard brown eyes, salt and pepper hair…

…wait a minute. You’d recognize that glower anywhere.

“Joel?”

Your lungs suddenly remember how to work again, and you inhale on a shaky breath. The hand holding your shoe drops to your thigh in relief.

His brown eyes narrow. “Peach…? The hell are you doin’ out here?” He asks, and Jesus you forgot about that stupid nickname he gave you. It sends butterflies loose in your stomach. “It’s a goddamn blizzard.”

You scowl in exasperation, though, at his obvious observation. “Yeah, I think I know that, Joel. What are you doing here?”

“I heard a honk, figured someone needed help.” He looks you up and down, his gaze lingering on the circles of mascara around your eyes. “Guess I’m right.”

You straighten in your seat, the gratitude you feel at his presence is overshadowed by the need to look self sufficient and capable, because you are. You’re a grown ass woman! So…

“I don’t need your help,” you huff.

He arches a brow. “Really.” It’s not a question.

You glower. “Maybe.”

Joel leans an arm on the frame of your car, and taps your window once more. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

God, this is so embarrassing!

“Fine.” You roll up the window and turn off the car. Joel tugs the car door open as far as it can go and offers a gloved hand to help you out. You wobble a bit when you step out in your heels, grateful that Joel is there to steady you. Though, the feeling sours a bit when he huffs in disbelief at your shoes.

You send him a glare, “I had plans for tonight, okay?”

“In the middle of a blizzard?” He deadpans.

“It wasn’t that bad when I first started driving.”

“Riiiight,” he drawls, “Well, I’m sorry to say, peach, but you ain’t driving in this mess anymore. You can stay with me tonight.” He says, closing the car door behind you.

Stay? With him?

“Joel, I couldn’t bother you with—“

“I wouldn’t offer if it was a bother.”

Joel’s as stubborn as a bull, more so than Ellie. And she is stubborn. You don’t argue, because it’s fruitless to argue with a brick wall like him. And, faced with freezing to death out here or staying in a well-insulated building, choosing the latter is obviously the right thing to do.

“Okay,” you relent and point to your trunk. “I have a bag back there.”

He raises a brow. “Heels and a bag…What kind of plans were we talkin’ about here?”

A hook up, Joel, you mentally drawl. Because…that’s exactly why you were out.

Like hell you’ll tell Joel that, though, he’d disapprove. He’s always been the protective type. You’ve known him since your junior year in college, after your families practically merged. But you’ve never seen Joel as another dad. He’s always been…something else to you.

“A trip to Nunya.” You supply instead of the truth, crossing your arms over your chest to try and conserve some heat.

“Nunya?” Joel’s brows furrow.

“Yeah. Nunya business, Joel.” You give him a sardonic smile.

He shakes his head and sends you a look you’re quite familiar with, the one that makes you feel inches smaller. And ten degrees hotter.

Joel sighs in exasperation and wordlessly wrenches the trunk open. He slings your bag over his shoulder as if it weighs nothing.

(It weighs a lot. You’d know, you shoved five different erotica books in there, just in case your date failed to make you orgasm.)

(Though thinking about Joel probably would’ve been enough.)

You lock your vehicle with a bemused glance. “What are we gonna do about my car?”

“I’ll tow it out tomorrow,” Joel says. “Roads are a fuckin’ mess right now.”

You trudge behind Joel to his quaint cottage sleeping cozily between tall pine trees and chubby evergreens. The porch light is on, and the windows glow a comforting orange. Puffs of smoke drift up from the chimney. It looks warm and inviting, like straight out of a Christmas movie.

You’re impressed at how close you managed to strand yourself to his house. Maybe Jesus really did take the wheel.

Joel kicks the snow off his boots on his front porch, then opens the door, gesturing for you to enter first.

When you breach the doorway with Joel at your heels, warmth settles over your cold-bitten cheeks along with an alluring aroma of meat and tomato and spices that hits you in a wave. You’ve never seen Joel cook anything other than Chef Boyardee Beefaroni, or burgers on Tommy’s rusting grill before, so this is certainly a surprise. It could be Sarah or Ellie’s cooking, but last time you checked, Sarah could cook eggs and Ellie could cook, well, nothing.

“So did you hire a personal chef to make whatever smells so good?”

He sets your bag down in the foyer with a grunt and shrugs out of his coat. “I made it.”

You can’t help the disbelieving laugh that bursts out of you, and the slightly offended look on Joel’s face only makes it harder to stop. You cover your mouth with your hand, but you’re absolutely positive he can see the mirth lighting in your eyes.

Though he’s offended, there’s a twitch to his lip, as if he’s trying not to laugh. “I’m perfectly capable of cooking.”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry,” you try to stamp down your giggles. “Yes, you’re capable but… is it edible?”

Your stomach decides in that moment to start rumbling, and he smirks.

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

You take your coat off and follow Joel towards the kitchen. As you follow, you take in his aggressively Texan decor and furniture. Paintings of cowboys and horses and mountains are hung artfully on cozy, beige walls. The Eagles’ discography drifts merrily in the air from an old record player. There’s a guitar stationed in practically every corner. It’s all so very Joel, though the random space ornamentals and butterfly drawings sprinkled about are so very Ellie and Sarah. It makes you smile.

“Where are the girls?” You ask, because usually those little stinkers would be stationed at the dining room table, bickering over the answer to a ridiculously difficult math problem.

“At Dina’s,” he answers, taking off his gloves and dropping them on the table. “They wanted to play in the snow.”

Oh. So you’re here alone with him. Anxiety prickles at the edges of your mind, sinking in your stomach.

“I guess I was the only one that didn’t know about the blizzard, then.”

“You must be livin’ under a rock to not know about it.”

You grumble in protest, but your grievances disintegrate on your tongue as you enter the kitchen and near the simmering pot. You breathe in the aroma, the smell so powerful it's almost like you’re actually tasting it.

You look over your shoulder at him. “Is this chili?”

He nods. “Want some?”

“Absolutely.”

He comes up beside you to open a cabinet. “Go ‘head make yourself comfortable on the couch. I’ll bring it out to you.” Your mouth dries at the sliver of skin that peeks out beneath his flannel as he reaches up.

You force yourself to turn around. “Wow. Such a gentleman, didn’t realize you were capable,” you say, your saccharine sweet tone doing well to mask how flustered you feel. You can breathe easier the second you exit the kitchen and enter the living room.

His voice follows you. “A simple ‘thank you’ ‘stead'a this attitude would do you some good, y'know?"

"I know," you sing-song, grinning as you settle yourself down onto his couch, grabbing a blanket from a basket on the way. A fire crackles in the hearth and you study the flames with fascination as warmth spreads across your skin. You tug the blanket around you, pulling it up to your chin.

Joel emerges a minute later and your gaze darts from the fire to the bowl he holds out to you. “Here.”

“Thank you, Joel,” you say emphatically, accepting the bowl and cradling it in your hands.

He smiles, “There we go. Guess you do have some manners.”

You give him a half-bow. Joel just smiles in that familiar way, like you’re just so ridiculous he can’t believe it. It makes your stomach curl giddily.

Having rolled up the sleeves of his flannel to his elbows, Joel’s forearms are on display, muscles flexing as he tosses another log into the hearth, and you drop your gaze to your chili, as to not get caught staring. He sits down in the armchair adjacent to you with his own bowl.

You blow on the steaming chili before taking a bite, an involuntary moan releasing from you the moment it hits your tongue—paprika, peppers, tomato, cumin. It warms your stomach pleasantly. Who knew Joel could cook so well?

“This is so good,” you mumble around your bite.

He swallows his own chili down, pupils large as he watches you. “Edible enough for ya?”

You nod enthusiastically, “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

“Mmhmm,” he hums, unconvinced, but he’s smiling at you again, and you can’t help but return it.

Comfortable silence lapses between the both of you as you eat your meals. Joel finishes first, of course, setting his bowl on the coffee table and leaning into his chair with a satisfied groan. He throws an arm over the back, spreading his legs. You watch him while he watches the fire, heat licking through you.

Eventually, after you slow down, you speak again.

“Thank you, Joel, seriously, for letting me stay.”

His eyes find yours and he nods. “‘Course, peach. Wouldn’t’ve let you freeze out there.”

You nod and glance around, taking in his cabin. A large, stone fireplace is set in the wall, a tree trunk coffee table stationed in the center of the living room, some handmade wood carvings of horses and other animals scattered about. There’s a drawing of himself sitting on the mantel, “To: Joel, From: Ellie” signed at the bottom. Your heart swells.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been here,” you remark.

“I know,” Joel says. “You should come around more often. The girls miss you.”

Your smile turns shy and you feel a spike of bravery. “What about you? Do you miss me?”

He takes a moment to answer, a veiny hand coming up to rub at his beard as he leans on the arm of the chair. Onyx eyes drag down your figure. “‘Course I do, darlin’”

Heat pools hot and thick between your thighs at that look, and you’re about to press him about how much he really misses you when a buzzing in your pocket captures your attention. Your phone. Guess you have some bars now.

marcus: where r u?

Oh right, the hookup!

you: blizzard blocked the roads. won’t make it tonight.

marcus: ok.

You scoff at the lack of depth in his response. Not even a “stay safe out there”? Jesus. You settle into the couch with a frustrated sigh, head thumping against the cushions, eyes falling shut as exhaustion creeps into you.

Boys always thinking with their dicks. Why do you even bother?

“What’s that about?” Joel asks. You peek an eye open at him. Firelight dances across his tan skin. He gestures to your phone. “That gotta do with the real reason for your trip tonight?”

You rub your temple, “Yeah.”

He hums. "...Listen, I know it's none of my business but—“

"It was a hookup, Joel," you interrupt, already knowing where he was going with that. He tends to do that, beat around the bush so much until you’re desperate to just say it. More desperate than he was to know it. You’d rather just skip that whole process.

"Oh,” his brows furrow.

"Yeah," you repeat dumbly, fiddling with the blanket.

"There, uh, ain't no shame in that, darlin'."

You quirk a skeptical brow, "I know."

"Alright," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact with you. Awkwardness settles between you.

"Things are just a bit dry," you supply, though you have no idea why you're still talking, or why you described yourself and the state of your love-life like that because Joel doesn't need to know that. Nobody needs to know that

But it captures his attention, because he's looking at you again, though this time annoyance is written on his features, along with something else you can’t name, his eyes practically black. Damnit, you knew he’d disapprove, even if he claims there’s no shame in it.

“And you went to some random boy for that?"

You straighten on the couch. "Who else am I supposed to go to, Joel? You?” Sarcasm drips from your words.

What the hell is he implying?

His gaze jumps to the fire, the muscles in his jaw clenching, his fingers flexing on the arm of his chair. "Never mind I said anythin'."

Your arms cross defensively over your chest. "I don't need your judgment, Joel.”

"I ain't judgin'."

"Sure sounds like it."

He stands abruptly, running a hand through his peppered locks. "I'm not, I just—listen, it's gettin' late. You should sleep. I didn’t have time to get the girls’ room ready, do you want my bed?”

You shake your head, "Couch is perfectly fine, Joel. Thanks."

“You sure?”

“Yes, Joel. I’m a grown woman who can handle her decisions.”

"I know that.” Frustration laces his words. He sighs, hand coming up to rest on his belt. “Just... let me know if you need anythin'."

“You got it.”

He turns the living room light off on the way to his bedroom down the hall. You don’t watch him leave.

Once he's gone, you change into your pajamas and settle yourself on the couch beneath a blanket or two. The crackling of the fire and the howling wind outside lulls you to sleep faster than you expect.

-----

“Fuck.”

The aggressive shivers that wrack your body are what wake you up in the middle of the night.

Your blanket is wrapped tightly around you, but it’s a thin, furry thing. Nothing like the down comforter you have at home. The fire has also gone out in the hearth, low flames flickering in the ash.

You pull the blanket up to your chin, curling in on yourself as the cold permeates your skin.

Aside from the chattering of your teeth and the squall outside, it’s eerily silent in the house. You realize, now, that the whooshes from the heating system you had grown accustomed to before are gone

Shit.

You reach for the lamp on the side table, pulling down on the chain. It doesn’t turn on.

“Shit.”

You sit up, blanket wrapped around your waist. The power is out. The snow storm must’ve knocked out a power line. It’s too cold to stay out here with only your thin blanket and the clothes on your back. And Joel had said…

Let me know if you need anythin’.

You really don’t want to bother him, but the goose flesh rippling across your skin and the pathetic way your lips are quivering, along with the shudders that wrack your body as it attempts to maintain homeostasis are not something you can just sleep through.

You tightly wrap your blanket around your shoulders and tiptoe down the hall. You can see a warm light from Joel’s bedroom, the flicker of a flame on the cream walls.

You slowly push the door open but hesitate at the sight of Joel buried comfortably beneath his comforter. You don’t want to wake him… but his room is awfully toasty from the fire crackling away in his own hearth. And his bed looks absolutely heavenly.

You steel yourself and pad to the side he sleeps on.

“Joel?” You whisper. He doesn’t respond.

You lean over to gently push his shoulder. “Joel.”

“Mm—“ His brows furrow, and he scrunches further into the blankets, reminiscent of a cat curling its paws over its head when woken up.

You push his shoulder again, a bit harder this time. “Joel. Wake up.”

He swats at the air, as if your hand is a fly buzzing around his ear. “‘M awake,” he mumbles against the pillow.

“Joel—the power went out. I’m freezing.”

He’s silent for a moment, eyes still shut. He’s no doubt rolling the words around in his head, trying to make sense of them through a sleepy haze.

Then, when he does, he wordlessly scoots back and reaches for the comforter. He lifts it, offering the space next to him to you.

“C’mere.”

You splutter, taken off guard by the invitation. “What? Joel—“

“‘M not askin’, peach. C’mere.” The last word leaves his lips like a command, and you straighten reflexively, apprehension holding your limbs hostage as want curls dangerously low in your abdomen at his tone of voice. That should be enough warning to not climb into bed with him.

You debate telling him to get his ass up and give you another blanket along with a couple more logs in the hearth so you can avoid any kind of proximity between you (lest you feel those capital-f Feelings), but you can practically feel the heat radiating from the bed and his body beckoning you in.

Oh fuck it.

You let loose a shaky breath and hesitantly slip beneath the covers, facing away from him. You stay glued to the edge of the bed, careful not to let any part of you touch him. Your legs curl into your chest for extra measure. Immediately, it’s so much better. So warm. So comfortable.

And it smells like Joel.

You inhale the earthy and spicy scent of him that lingers on the linen as your head sinks into the soft pillow, but your inhale chokes off as Joel’s strong arm snakes around your waist beneath the comforter, his large hand burning like a brand when it settles hot over your stomach.

He pulls you into him, the sheets swishing as he tucks you into his body. Your back slots against his warm, broad naked chest. His bare legs intertwine with yours, his pelvis almost flush against your ass, only covered by a thin pair of briefs.

Holy shit.

You can feel everything.

“Joel?” You question, voice quivering at the sudden closeness. “What are you doing?”

“Keepin’ you warm,” he mumbles against the nape of your neck.

You do feel warmer, though it might not be entirely because he’s holding you, but rather because of how he’s holding you. He’s curled around you, like a koala around a tree, thighs bracketing yours.

You can feel his beard scraping at the nape of your neck, breaths puffing against your feverish skin.

His thumb is rubbing softly along the pudge of your tummy, palm branding your skin, his fingers dipping innocently beneath the hem of your shorts.

You can barely breathe, or even think, heartbeat stuttering as arousal pools liquid hot and heavy between your legs. Every unknowing twitch from Joel’s fingers makes it worse. Every touch of his calloused fingertips against your skin is pure agony. Every brush of your ass against his pelvis has you throbbing. You stare wide-eyed into the darkness, gaze roaming the pitch black, as if something out there could make you forget about the ever-growing desire you feel for Joel.

You can’t sleep like this.

It seems like Joel can though, appearing to already be deep in slumber. He hasn’t moved in a few minutes, his exhales even and slow against you.

You try to ignore the wetness between your legs, ignore the instinctual urge to roll your hips back against him. You should just go to sleep. But this ache you feel, pounding and deep and relentless…You have to do something about it, even with Joel holding you close.

He won’t mind…right?

But how are you supposed to touch yourself with Joel’s hand in the way?

You could just move it. That’s the right thing to do, but it feels too good, so hot and heavy on you that you just don’t want to, and as a result, an idea so absolutely fucked worms its way into your mind, lust and desperation destroying any last semblance of rational thought. You could…

No. No. You can’t do that. He’s a human fucking being, not a hand shaped vibrator.

But… you really want to, and he’s asleep so…he won’t even know…right?

You make up your mind and slowly curl your fingers around Joel’s deadweight palm, biting your lip in concentration and shame as you carefully urge his hand further into your shorts. After each nudge of his palm, you wait to see if Joel gives you any sign of him being awake. But he’s dead asleep. After a moment, you keep going.

This is so fucked, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you finally feel his thick fingers brush over your clothed folds.

“Shit,” you whisper, breathlessly, holding back a whimper. You manipulate his hand so that his palm is resting large and warm over your aching clit, while his index and middle finger are placed heavily above your heat.

And then, you really say fuck you to your morals.

You give an experimental thrust of your hips into his palm, shuddering at the contact against your clit. Then you wait to see if Joel reacts, your head tilting a bit to look over your shoulder. But Joel hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a word. Good.

Confident he won’t wake, you rock your hips again and again, holding onto his hand with your own, pressing it down with each thrust of your hips to get that sweet contact. The heel of his palm bumps your aching clit with each thrust, and you bite back moans and whimpers well enough, but you can’t hide the deepening of your breaths as you climb closer and closer to your climax.

Everything else fades away as you just focus on that one goal. On crawling over the edge. You hardly feel the growing smirk pressed to the back of your neck, or the way Joel’s cock is now hard against your ass as you grind against his palm.

“F-fuck,” you huff, eyes tightly shut as you ground yourself in his presence behind you, the beat of his heart thudding against your spine, the rise and fall of his chest, the light, unconscious brush of his lips on your neck. Closure is on the horizon as you imagine him lifting up on his arm and leaning over to actually get you off, his teeth biting down on your shoulder as he thrusts his fingers into your aching cunt.

“Joel—“ you quietly moan.

The moment his name slips from your lips, his hand suddenly pulls back, and you let out a frustrated groan (he can’t do that!), which quickly turns into a squeak of mortification (oh yes, he absolutely can!).

Because Joel is awake.

He. Is. Awake.

And he knows what you were doing, his chest rumbling against your spine as he—is he fucking laughing at you?

“Needy girl, aren’t you, peach?”

Mortification ignites in your cheeks, nausea pooling in your stomach. “Joel, oh my god, I’m so sorry—“

His hand gravitates to your thigh, curling around it. He pulls it up, inserting his knee in between your legs and he griiiinds it into your clothed cunt. Your desperate apology is cut off by a reflexive wanton moan, your back arching as pleasure reverberates inside you.

“‘S okay, baby, I understand. So fuckin’ desperate you had to use me while I was sleepin’, huh? Didn’t get what you wanted earlier so now you’re searchin’ for somethin’ else, hm?”

His large hand finds your waist again, sliding down your stomach to inch beneath both your shorts and your panties now. You gasp as his fingertips find your clit easily.

“I’m just a ‘lil offended I wasn’t your first choice,” he chides, fingers slipping through your soaking folds. “But I like this much better than you findin’ some boy to get you off. You need’a be fucked by a man, darlin’. Ain’t that right?”

His words send heat straight to your core, thighs clenching around his knee as he ruts it against you while simultaneously stimulating your clit with his fingers.

“Yes, Joel,” you moan. “Need you.”

His teeth scrape against your throat when he growls, “Goddamn right you do.”

You can’t believe this is happening.

Joel slides his hand further into your panties, his middle finger curling in to sink into your soaked cunt. You choke on a gasp.

“Who’s the guy?” He asks, randomly, while his finger rocks into you.

You can’t think as Joel inserts his ring finger alongside the other, stretching you so deliciously. “W-what?”

“The boy you were gonna see tonight. Who is he?”

Who was it? Mark? Matt? And why does he care? You don’t know, you don’t care, only thoughts of Joel Joel Joel consume your waking being.

“I—I don’t know, Joel. Please, oh my god.”

He hums pityingly. “Poor thing can't even remember his name.” His other hand comes up to slide through your hair, gripping the locks at the nape of your neck. He tugs, and you melt. “I’ll make sure you don’t forget mine.”

He doesn’t need to worry about that.

Joel moves his thumb to circle your clit as he thrusts his thick, long fingers up and into you, curling them to hit that spot that has your heartbeat dropping between your thighs, desperate and loud and begging for release.

“Hhhoh— Joel!”

“Tha’s right, baby. So goddamn wet. You’ve been dealin’ with this for awhile now, huh?”

You nod into the pillow on a broken moan as his fingers withdraw and sink into you at a steady pace, his thumb circling and circling and circling.

“Words, baby.”

You cry out, hands gripping the pillow. “Yes, yes. Joel. Been wanting this f’so long.”

“Should’a come to me first. Would’a helped you out a long time ago,” he drawls.

Yes you absolutely should have, based on how quickly you’re approaching your orgasm.

Your cries are so loud, but you don’t care, focusing only on your pleasure and the feel of Joel’s mouth on your throat.

You’re finally getting what you want. And fuck, is it amazing.

Your eyes roll back as it all builds up inside you, Joel’s hand unrelenting as he fucks you closer and closer to the edge.

You’re scorching, everything hot and intense, your stomach tightening, your legs stretching out as the pleasure builds and builds.

Fuck, you’re gonna cum—

It rips through you violently, eyes prickling with tears, your thighs clenching as your walls bare down repeatedly around Joel’s fingers, making him groan.

“Good girl,” Joel murmurs, hand eventually inching out of you and your shorts to squeeze your thigh appreciatively as aftershocks run through you, thighs quaking and clit throbbing. “That’s what you needed, huh? S’it feel good, cummin’ all over my fingers?”

His fucking voice!

“Mhmm,” you hum in agreement, sinking into the sheets, eyes drooping shut as pleasure lulls you to sleep.

He tsks, “Wake up, darlin’ I ain’t done with you yet.”

His beard scrapes against your neck as he moves to your ear.

“It’s my turn to use you.”

Your eyes shoot open. Fuck.

Joel pulls your panties down your legs as far as he can, and you squirm to wriggle them off of you.

He pulls away for a moment, but when he’s back, the bare, hot, thick length of him is pressed between your ass cheeks, and a full body shudder runs through you.

Holy shit, he’s big.

He grips your thigh again, but this time he throws it over his own. And then you feel it, the slick head of his cock as he guides it through your folds.

Oh fuck.

“You okay, peach?” He asks, laying a gentle kiss on your shoulder. Now you have tears in your eyes for an entirely different reason. His hand slides across your waist and up beneath the hem of your shirt, palming your breast. Your nipples tighten.

Your mouth feels dry and you swallow down a lump of lava. “Y-yes, Joel.”

“Good. Wanna give you all of me, how’s that sound, darlin’?”

You will take whatever, anything you can get from Joel.

“Good, Joel. Yes, please, oh my god.”

“There are those manners.”

A desperate whine slips from your lips as he directs the head of his cock into you, slowly and carefully, his hand running up and down your thigh in comforting strokes. God, he’s stretching you so much, hot and thick and pulsing inside you. It’s almost painful, but it’s a welcome pain.

“Jesus, Joel,” you moan when he stops to let you breathe, “You’re so big.”

“I ain’t even halfway in yet, darlin’.”

“W-what?” How is that even possible?

“You can take it.” He says, sliding in some more and fuck you don’t have much of a choice. but you can, and you will because he feels too fucking good, and you’re ready for him to make you feel it into next week.

“Is…is it all the way in yet?” You ask, thoroughly stretched and filled.

“Almost, sweet girl,” he breathes. “Goddamn, you’re tight.”

That makes you clench down even more, and he releases a pained groan behind you. “Relax, darlin’, c’mon.”

You do your best and let yourself sink into the bed, taking deep breaths and concentrating on the crackling of the fire.

And then, he thrusts fully into you, filling you up completely, and your mind is right back to him, a soft cry slipping from your lips into the pillow.

“There we go, tha’s it. Good job. Taking me so well,” he croons, stroking your side.

“F-fuck me, Joel, please move.”

He squeezes your ass in his large palm in retaliation to your command. “You use me, I use you, remember?”

But he listens anyway, likely desperate to move himself, because then he’s gripping your hip with a large hand and pulling back just to sheath himself fully into you once more, his cock head bumping against your cervix, and holy fucking shit.

“Joel!” You cry, and he leans over to kiss you, teeth biting at your plump lower lip as he thrusts into you again.

And again.

He rolls into you at a steady, bruising pace, and you’re practically boneless as you just take it. Cries and whimpers and moans spilling out of you like a gas leak as he mouths down your throat, sucking and biting and oh my god this is way better than just getting yourself off on his hand.

Then Joel shifts, pushing at your side to press your stomach into the mattress. You whine as he pulls out of you to situate himself behind you. He grabs your hips with both hands and pulls them up and backwards, easing himself back into you until your ass meets his skin, then he rolls his hips, driving his cock deep from a brand new angle.

All you can do is sob into the pillow.

He’s so fucking big, so fucking deep you can’t think of anything else besides him and his wonderful cock, or the filthy things he’s whispering into your shoulder blades.

His large hand plants itself on your spine, and your hands scramble for purchase on a pillow.

“Sweet girl, taking me so fuckin’ well,” he purrs. “You were desperate for this cock, huh? God, I wish you could see yourself. Split open on me like this. Your little boy toy wouldn’t be able to fuck you like this, ain’t that right?"

You shake your head. God, why did you even make that dick appointment in the first place?

You hadn’t even realized what being fucked by a “real man” meant until now.

Joel knows how to fucking deliver, you guess that’s why he’s so successful in his contracting business. He’s delivering you straight to that blessed release.

You clench around the girth of him, the filthy sounds of your arousal echoing in his room along with the cracks and snaps from the fire burning steadily in the hearth.

If you couldn’t sleep before, you definitely will be able to after this because you’re mindless as he fucks you into oblivion.

“Joel, fuck—mmph—!”

“Yeah, that’s right. Can’t say anythin’ but my name.”

His breathing has become more labored, desperate grunts escaping his lips as his cock twitches inside of you. He’s getting close, deep and gravely moans falling out of him as his thrusts become harder and more sporadic.

His hand sneaks around your front, spanning your entire stomach as he slides down to your soaking folds, his middle and ring finger finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and giving them a gentle tap before circling, using that same method from before that had you squirming.

You writhe on his length, legs falling out beneath you as your orgasm swells within you.

“Please Joel,” you whimper into the pillow.

“I’ve got you,” he promises.

It’s there, filling your body, building and cresting and searing white-hot through your limbs.

And then he thrusts a certain way, hitting that spot within you, and his fingers are circling and—

Yeah.

You fall boneless to the mattress as you come apart, your arousal coating Joel’s cock as he continues to fuck you through your release, stroking your spine. Pleasure floods through your body as the tension releases, and tears freely fall as you cry into the pillow.

Because goddamn it!

How can something feel so good?

And then Joel’s pulling out of you and letting loose a long, satisfied moan as he comes all over your back, hot stripes painting you.

He collapses next to you, groaning something about his back.

And you can’t help but laugh, delirious and soft, and Joel’s laughing too, brown eyes sparkling. His calloused hand comes up, runs his thumb along your jaw, and he’s smiling at you, soft and unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

“You alright, peach?”

“Ohhh yeah,” you giggle, sighing with contentment.

You’re gonna be feeling this for days, just like you wanted.

Joel’s lips brush against your forehead gently, and you’re too tired to acknowledge it, slumber pulling you under far too quickly. You think you can feel the gentle swipe of a wet washcloth on your back before you pass out.

-----

“Fuck…”

The bed is empty when you wake, and a spike of anxiety shoots through you as you sit up. A fire still crackles in the hearth, a fresh log dropped in the ash. On the night stand is a note, beneath it, one of Joel’s t-shirts, your jeans, and a pair of your underwear.

Mortification climbs through you as you read:

Peach,

My bathroom’s on the left if you’d like to shower. I hope you don’t mind, I went through your bag to get you some panties underwear. Lot of books in there. You sure like to read.

Oh god, he found your erotica stack. The covers are not misleading, either, he definitely knows what kind of books they are. You force yourself to keep reading through the humiliation.

I’m out picking up Sarah and Ellie, I’ll be home soon. There’s pancakes on the counter. We’ll tow your car when I get back.

Also–about last night…we don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. But, I want you to know that if you ever need something like that again, I’m here. And for anything else. I’m here. Always.

See you soon.

Warmth fills your body and you reread those last sentences over and over.

Always. Does he really mean that?

You check the alarm clock on his nightstand–it’s eleven fucking a.m. Holy shit, you haven’t slept that late in a long time.

When you stand, an ache radiates through you, and memories of last night flit in your mind and along with them, a fresh new wave of arousal. You scramble for the shower.

You emerge fresh and clean twenty minutes later, smelling like Joel, having only his body wash and shampoo to use. Each inhale is practically torture, and the ache between your legs is just another reminder. Seeing yourself in his shirt makes it worse. You try and push it away.

You descend the steps, halting when you hear the sound of Ellie’s voice from the kitchen.

“And I was like, pew pew! And I got both of them out!”

Sarah’s scoff of disbelief follows. “Nuh-uh! You didn’t even hit me!”

You creep down the steps, smiling a bit at Ellie’s outcry of “Yes I fucking did!”, and then you hear it–Joel’s low laugh, the Texan drawl.

“You kiddos are gonna drive me crazy. Just eat your damn pancakes.”

“Why’d you make these in the first place? You don’t even like pancakes,” Sarah teases.

“Uh…”

You decide you should probably help him out. “Hey girls.”

Three heads snap in your direction. The eyes of one skirting down your body, a blush creeping across his cheeks. The other two brighten in shock.

“What are you doing here!” Ellie gasps.

“We haven’t seen you in forever!” Sarah adds.

You enter the kitchen and come up behind them to pull them in for a hug, your arms hooking around their necks. You smush their cheeks against yours. Ellie grumbles, Sarah laughs.

“I know! I’ve missed you guys so much. I’m just super busy with being an adult and all that shit,” you say, letting them go so they can breathe. You round the island, grabbing a plate and stacking two pancakes on it.

“Well, stop being busy. We miss you,” Ellie says.

“If I could, I would.”

“Why are you wearing Dad’s shirt?” Sarah asks, eyes narrowing, a mischievous smile pulling at her lips.

“I–um–” the question catches you off guard, and you scramble for an excuse, eyes flicking to Joel desperately. He clears his throat and crosses his arms over his broad chest, now covered in yet another, dark flannel. How many does he own?

“Snowstorm stranded her here last night, and she didn’t have any clean clothes,” Joel says, definitively.

It’s not a lie at all, and yet, it feels like one.

Sarah and Ellie exchange a look that says, yeah fucking right. You shovel pancake into your mouth to try and cool down the blush in your cheeks.

“Speakin’ of,” he continues, “I’ve got the tow dolly all hooked up so when you’re done, we can tow your car out.”

“Great. Thank you, Joel.”

His brown eyes flick between yours, his hand coming up to rest large and warm on your shoulder. “‘Course, sweetheart.”

You finish your pancakes without any more embarrassing questions from the girls, thank God, and then you’re out in the snow wearing a pair of Joel’s boots stuffed with socks (they’re too big, but they’re better than heels) and bundled up in one of his coats, watching Joel tow your tiny car out of the snowbank.

It’s just as cold as yesterday, though the dreary sky has cleared into a baby blue, the sun bright and high above the clouds. The roads are clearer, the snow plows having come by not too long ago.

You grimace as you hear your car groan and creak as Joel pulls it out of the snow, big puffs of it falling off the roof in clumps. Eventually, it’s on solid ground once more, and he tows it back toward his cabin.

Back in the driveway, Joel hops out of his truck and double checks your car. He pats the roof of it when he deems it accetable. “All good to go, sweetheart.”

You sigh in relief, “Thank you so much Joel, seriously.”

He nods, though he looks…nervous for some reason. “‘Course, darlin’. Glad I could help.”

You don’t really want to leave, but you’ve bothered him long enough, so you stroll to the driver's side and go to open it, but suddenly Joel’s hand comes down to keep it closed. You look up at him confused.

His expression is hard, serious as he looks down at you. “Do you regret last night?”

Well. You were not expecting that. You thought that, maybe, it would just remain undiscussed. A blip. Something you both shared, but never spoke of again. You know your answer, though.

“No. I don’t.”

“Good,” he says, eyes dark, “me either.”

He opens the door for you, pauses for a second then shuts it, voice desperate. “I just need to say this, before you go.”

You nod, encouraging him to go on.

He takes a deep breath, rakes a hand through his graying locks. Pinches the bridge of his nose, and shuts his eyes tight. When he opens them again, there's a hard determination in them. Your pulse quickens, your legs turn to jelly.

“I like you, peach,” he says. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me because of the whole single father thing. And, also because I’m me. But I just thought I’d tell you how I felt, because,” he huffs out a laugh, shakes his head, “I’m thinkin’ you might like me, too.”

Your hands are shaking, and not because of the cold. Maybe you should buy a lottery ticket with how lucky you've been these past fifteen hours.

“I’ve liked you since the moment I met you, Joel," you confess.

“Oh,” he says, breathless, and a smile pulls at his lips.

“Yeah,” you breathe, your own grin forming to match his.

The breeze shakes the evergreens, drifting flakes of snow onto Joel’s graying hair. His nose is reddened by the biting cold, but his eyes are warm as he smiles down at you.

“Not gonna lie to you sweetheart, I’m kind of glad you got stranded here.”

"Yeah, me too," you laugh, and then you pull him down to you, pressing your lips against his, smiling into the kiss.

This kiss is the exact opposite of the one he gave you last night. It’s careful, sweet, tentative. He reveres your mouth, rather than ravishes it. You’re both bundled in multiple layers, standing in the freezing cold rather than lying naked in a warm bed.

And yet, it’s just as perfect, if not more.

Eventually Joel pulls back, hands heavy on your waist. He’s still grinning. His hands frame your face, his thumb running softly along your cheekbone.

“Peach,” he says. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou #tlou fic #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller

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dazzlerwriting · 5 months ago

Text

let your heart be light

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x reader

prompts: Caught under the mistletoe

song: Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas by Frank Sinatra

summary: after 8 months of pining, fate works in your favor to get you and the shy WSO together. or maybe it was rooster who got you two together? who’s to say!!

warnings: no use of y/n, but there is the nickname “Mouse”so much fluff you’ll get a cavity. there are switches between you and bob’s pov, but its shown with a divider! mentions of alcohol and food. no descriptors besides she/her pronouns! no smut but as always 18+

wc: 3.1k

a/n: wow i have been stuck with this. but its pushed me to do new things and i had so much fun! i absolutely love the holidays. i hope you love mouse and bob<3 this is for @lewmagoo ‘s holiday celebration. thank you for letting me be apart of it, and i hope you have the happiest of holidays!

“Shit! Mouse can you hand me another piece of tape? This piece of garland will not stay up.” With a laugh, you jog to where Penny is standing on the pool table, a dejected look across her face.

For the last 8 months, you've been working at the Hard Deck as a bartender for Penny, your mom’s wonderful best friend, who knew you needed a job to help with school. This week though, Penny asked if you could put down the cocktail shakers for tinsel because TOP GUN is having its annual holiday party.

Tinsel & a dried orange garland is hung in between the coffee mugs hanging from the ceiling, a table by the fireplace has been replaced with a Christmas tree with fighter jet ornaments, the warm-toned string lights hung around the entire inside have been replaced with multi-colored Christmas lights, and mistletoe is placed sporadically per request of Bradley & Natasha. The outside of the bar has also been decorated to look like a Hallmark movie. You two spent multiple days after work putting Christmas lights around the outside of the building, an inflatable snow globe that says “Happy Holidays” outside by the nautical ship wheel, and getting garland strung along the railing on the side deck.

After putting the finishing touches on decorations, you take a step back & take it all in. You’ve been struggling this year, as it is your last full year of your master's degree program: so many appointments, meetings, critiques, and an abundance of schoolwork. You’ve barely had the chance to live this year. This last week of decorating has allowed you to breathe, despite it being considered work. Being at the Hard Deck, around people you consider friends always fills you with warmth, especially when you see a certain sandy blonde, bespectacled WSO.

Over the 8 months of working at the bar, you and Bob have become somewhat friends, always making conversation whenever he needs a break from the other members of the Dagger Squad, learning about each other a little bit more each time he comes to get some peanuts. You would be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t harboring feelings for him, in fact you think it’s pretty obvious to maybe everyone besides Bob. Penny, Natasha, Jake, and even Maverick calling you out on your crush. They took to calling you “Mouse” because you scurry away so fast after interacting with Bob, like a mouse who just got some cheese. Always leaving the conversations so fast when they’re done, filled with warmth and a bit of worry that maybe you said something embarrassing.

With a sigh and a slight smile, you walk out to your car and head home. The moment your head hits your pillow, images of the quiet WSO pop into your head, dreams of a life together surrounded by love

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Bob has spent the past two hours trying to make these chocolate-covered marshmallows, look like the cutest reindeer and grinches anyone has ever seen. He knows he shouldn’t be putting this much effort into something people will be too tipsy to notice. He wants to impress you though. When he first saw you behind the bar at the Hard Deck, he became smitten. He remembers stumbling over his words while ordering a ginger ale, and the blinding smile you gave him, which showed no judgment. Since then, you have consumed his thoughts, dreams, and even conversations with Natasha.

Every weekend, he would gaze across the bar longingly at you, until Natasha inevitably forced him out of his seat to talk to you. She always tells him you like him back, trying to get him to make a move, but he never fully believes her. The conversations he has with you, flow like you two have known each other for years. They leave him with a warmth that could rival the warmth of a hot chocolate. He wants them to last forever, but he just cannot work up the courage to make a move.

So here he is, the night before the party, putting tiny details on little chocolate-covered marshmallows, in the hope that maybe it will start a conversation with you.

When he finally finishes the little snacks, he gets ready for bed. He finds himself thinking about you and what a life with you by his side would look like. Bob falls asleep with a slight smile on his lips, the nervousness about tomorrow replaced by a feeling of love.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The next day, you wake up and feel excitement rush through your veins. Despite having to work for half the party, you can’t wait to be surrounded by some of your favorite people. You put on your holiday playlist and hum along to Frank Sinatra’s Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas while you get ready for the night. You have to be at the bar a bit earlier than usual, the holiday drink menu takes a little time to prepare, and you also want to help Penny with any last-minute things she might need done. After putting the finishing touches on your makeup, you slip on the red velvet dress you bought for the occasion. The white lace on the cuffs and neckline give it the look of Mrs. Claus, which you thought was perfect for tonight. Slipping on your shoes and grabbing your keys, you make your way to the bar, the joy you felt from this morning never dying down.

Once at the bar, you immediately rush to where Penny is carrying a box of holiday glasses.

“Oh my, hold on Penny let me grab those from you!” Once she sees you, she immediately lets out a sigh of relief and a little huff of a laugh, “Thank you Mouse, I thought I was going to have to sit out here and wait for someone to help.” She grabs the door for you, and you both walk in, stopping for a moment to take in the sight of the lights and decorations. “We did a good job with this place, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it look so… joyful,” She said with a loving look. Looking over at her, you can’t help but be extremely thankful for her, and glad to be in the presence of someone so strong and lovely.

You put the box on the bar and start prepping drinks for the party, a variety of alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages the two of you made the day prior. After getting the pitchers of drinks from the back and to the fridge under the bar, you help Penny set up the food station with what you two already have, knowing that some of the TOP GUN members planned to bring their own dishes. Finally, when the prepping is over, you hear the door open and see Bradley, Jake, Mickey, and Javy walk in with bright smiles. You smile back at them as they make their way up to the bar, “Happy Holidays gentleman! Coyote, Rooster, you can sit the food over on that table over there!” Pointing to the table near the jukebox, you turn towards Jake and Mickey with a cheerful smile on your face, “What can I do for you?” Looking over the holiday drink menu, Jake turns back to you with that permanently plastered smirk on his face, “Happy holidays Mouse, can I get a nice cup of the spiked eggnog?” You nod, listening to the others tell you what they want, you move to get it all out of the fridge. As soon as you do you watch Natasha and Bob walk in.

Stopping in your tracks, you take in Bob’s look for the night. He’s ditched the khaki uniform for a red velvet jacket over a white shirt, and a nice pair of jeans, which is doing wonders for his legs. You realize then, that the two of you are matching. You also notice he’s got a plate of what looks like really cute marshmallows, jesus as if he couldn’t get more endearing. Standing mouth agape and eyes wide open, you hear someone clear their throat, and you’re snapped out of your thoughts. Blinking rapidly, you go back to what you were doing and get the drinks ready for the guys while Natasha and Bob make their way up to the bar.

While you're handing the guys their drinks, Natasha takes in the sight of your outfit, looks at Bob’s outfit, and then turns back to you with bright eyes, a smirk making its way onto her face, “Happy holidays Mouse! Looks like you and Bob here are matching tonight!” Before Bob can notice, you shoot her a sharp glare that drops as soon as you meet Bob’s eyes, a smile that reaches your eyes replacing it. “Happy Holidays Mouse,” Bob says while fidgeting with his hands. He seems to have a slight blush across his cheeks, and for a minute you think he might be just as flustered as you.

“Happy Holidays you two, see any drinks that catch your eye?” You make eye contact with Bob as you ask the question, but soon you break it if only to hide the obvious affection shining in them. Bob and Natasha look over the little menus put out, and he asks with a gentle smile “Can I get a cup of the non-alcoholic punch?” You nod your head and wait for Natasha to give her order, and as soon as she does you’re getting the drinks ready and put in front of them.

With one last shy smile shared between you and Bob, you let him know where he can put the snacks he brought, and you watch as they make their way over to other members of the Dagger Squad. Wistfully sighing as you watch more members of TOP GUN start pouring in, the Christmas music playing drowned out by laughter and friendly competition. Tonight will be busy for sure, but the love and joyfulness that surrounds the bar is worth the exhaustion you know you’ll be facing at the end of the night.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When Bob walked into the Hard Deck, he was sure his heart was going to jump out of his chest at the sight of you. You look so gorgeous in the red velvet dress, that shockingly matches his outfit and a cheeriness that put a smile on even Tom Kazansky’s face. It wasn’t until Rooster snapped at him, that he realized he was staring. After the formalities at the bar, he knew he was going to be counting down the minutes until he could talk to you again. He watched as you talked to those coming up the bar, and made their drinks with skills he couldn’t even imagine. He daydreams about days of cooking your food while you finish school work on the couch, and spending the rest of the night cuddled up watching movies together. Natasha only makes a few comments about his staring, she already knows he plans to ask you on a date tonight so she doesn’t feel the need to push him too hard. Soon he watches as the last of TOP GUN piles into the bar, and as you finally get to take a breather.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

After the last member comes in, Penny nods, letting you know you can enjoy the party. Walking out from behind the bar, you go to the snack table to grab a few things. Once you have a bit of food on your plate, you make your way pool table where the Dagger squad has taken up their usual spots. You greet them all with a wide smile and stand beside Bob.

“Hi Mouse, you look lovely tonight.” You look down at yourself and fidget with the plate in your hands before looking back up at him, “Hi Bob, you look handsome tonight, I mean not that you don’t every night but the jacket is a nice touch.” You realize you’re starting to ramble so you let out a huff of laughter, “Sorry, you also look lovely tonight Bob.” You look at him and his features have softened, and his smile is so wide you wonder if it hurts. “Thank you, so tell me about your week,” the two of you fall into the flow of conversation. You tell him all about setting up the bar for tonight, and he tells you about teaching the new TOP GUN recruits this week. While he’s talking you take a look at the little snack you saw him bring in, realizing all the little details put onto the marshmallows.

“Bob did you decorate these??” You ask with wide eyes, realizing he must have spent hours on them. “I did, are they good? I wanted to make sure they were at least cute enough, despite them being eaten,” he says with a bashful smile. “They’re amazing! I mean the little hat on the Grinch? It’s so so cute!” You take a bite and let out a little moan at how good it tastes, but when you look back up that blush is back on his face, pupils dilated, and the tips of his ears are red.

Once you finish eating the plate you brought over, you set it on the table and turn back towards Bob. At that very moment, Bradley has decided he needs a lot of space for the pool game he’s taking part in. You and Bob are shoved a bit over, and he grabs your arms to steady you, and you gaze into each other’s eyes for a minute. The spell is broken by Natasha coughing and pointing up. You both look up and… oh. You’re standing right under the mistletoe. Looking back at Bob, he’s already staring back at you, then to your lips, and back to your eyes. You feel a shiver run down your spine. With a shy look, he begins to speak, “Mouse is it alright if I kiss you?” You can barely hear him over the chattering and music, but you do hear him. You nod your head and lean in.

When your lips meet it’s like everyone else in the bar has disappeared, the chattering and music are far away, the twinkle of the Christmas lights illuminate your closed eyes, and you taste the holiday punch he had been drinking. The tension in your body leaves, and you feel like you’re dreaming. The only way you know you are not is you can feel his hand on the back of your neck lightly massaging there.

Once you two pull away, the sounds of the squad cheering fade back in, and you hide your face in the crook of his neck. When you hear Natasha snap at them, you pull your head out and look up at Bob.

“Hi,” he says with a slight giggle, which seems to be contagious because soon you’re giggling as well. “Hi,” you reply when the giggles seem to die down. Your eyes trace his facial features and you fix his glasses back to their original position, a nervous smile playing on your lips.

Bob looks into your eyes and he seems a bit nervous, “I feel like I'm doing this backward, but I really like you, and I have since I saw you working behind the bar for the first time. Do you think maybe I could take you out on a date tomorrow?”

You tilt your head to the side, a kind smirk playing on your lips as you play with the hair on the nape of his neck, “Of course Bobby. Seeing you every week has been the highlight of my year, and you make me feel like the only person in the room whenever we talk. So of course, I would love to go on a date with you.”

Right as you finish speaking, you hear Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas carry through the bar. You two look into each other’s eyes, your breathing has slowed down, and you start to sway to the song. You know it’s not the most conventional thing but with Bob holding your waist, and a smile on his face, it feels right.

As the song plays you decide to think back on this year.

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas, let your heart be light”

Smiling softly, you decide this might be the best Christmas you’ve had. You feel as though there’s only you and Bob in the room. You feel like a weight is off of you as you lose yourself in the dance.

“From now on, our troubles will be out of sight”

Next year, you will have your master's degree and you can finally rest. You think about how with Bob by your side it doesn’t seem all that hard. You’re excited for what the future holds for the first time in forever.

“Here we are as in olden days, happy golden days of yore”

Being surrounded by these people who you have come to cherish, you get thrown back to your childhood and the warmth you felt with family at Christmas. How Christmas felt so carefree at the time, and so full of love.

As the song continues, you and Bob slowly move to holding hands and standing next to the rest of the dagger squad, who seem to all be feeling the song. They’re all singing and swaying while holding onto each other.

“Faithful friends who are dear to us, gather near to us, once more.”

Looking around you’ve never felt so surrounded by love. You’ve come to find a family in the best of the best.

“Through the years, we all will be together if the fates allow.”

You look at Bob and see a future of more holidays spent wrapped up in each other and the love of friends, you trust their skills as pilots, and trust that fate will keep you together.

“Hang a shining star upon the highest bough and have yourself a merry little Christmas now”

The lights in the bar twinkle around you all as you all gather around each other saying goodbye and happy holidays. The star on top of the tree in the bar reflects on you all and leaves you feeling warm inside. The smile on your face never goes away as you look at Bob with his friends.

When he comes back to you, you’re fiddling with your dress and you look at him with adoration, “Would you like to come over and watch a movie while we drink hot chocolate?”

He leans in and gives you another kiss, and it’s just as breathtaking as the first one. “Of course,” he says with a hint of breathlessness. When the two of you walk out holding hands, you look up to the night sky and realize this will be the first Merry Christmas you’ve had in a while.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

tagging: @floydsmuse @sometimesanalice @lunatygerqueen

#the holidays with lewmagoo #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd #lewis pullman #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #top gun maverick fic #tgm #tgm fic #top gun maverick #top gun bob #top gun fanfiction #robert floyd #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd fic

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wikiangela · 5 months ago

Text

swept completely off my feet, this snow globe scene is turning me

written for @bucktommywinterfest prompt: December 8-14: hallmark movies/movie night and/or “I've actually never seen snow before.

rated: G word count: 2.5k

[also on ao3]

“You know,” Tommy’s voice is quiet, barely a whisper, almost drowned out by the sounds of the TV. It’s some kind of Hallmark movie Buck’s half-paying attention to, half-dozing off after the gruelling shift today. “I’ve actually never seen snow before.” “What?” Buck raises his head from where it’s been resting on Tommy’s shoulder to look at him, immediately more awake. Tommy looks back, almost surprised, as if he didn’t mean to say anything. His fingers keep moving in soothing motions over Buck’s knee, where his legs are thrown over Tommy’s lap. They’re cuddled up under a blanket, and it’s almost too hot – it’s a combination of the blanket, hot chocolate, and the quite warm early December LA evening. It’s far from a true Christmas-winter atmosphere Buck grew up with, but he got used to the warm weather a long time ago. He still misses snow sometimes. He’d never think his boyfriend never saw snow, though. “Never?” Buck asks, trying to keep his shock out of his voice. “I mean, I’ve seen it in movies or pictures.” Tommy gestures vaguely to the TV screen. Buck glances at it to see the characters walking through a snowy landscape. Ah, so that’s what prompted the confession. “I just never had the opportunity to see it in real life.” “In all your forty one years alive? Not once?”

“Evan.” Tommy levels him with a look. “You know I’ve lived in LA my whole life.”

“Yeah, but- but you’re a pilot! You can fly anywhere! And you’ve never travelled?” Buck asks incredulously.

“Nowhere where there’s snow.” Tommy shrugs. “And I’m a pilot for LAFD, honey, not a lot of travelling outside of California. Why is this so shocking? There’s plenty of people who have never seen snow.”

“Still, it’s Christmas. Don’t get me wrong, I love LA, this is my home. But Christmas with snow? That’s a totally different atmosphere. Like in those movies,” he nods towards the screen, now presenting a cozy-looking room, snow behind the window. “The air smells crisp and fresh, you can actually curl up under a blanket with your hot boyfriend and a hot chocolate and not feel like you’re burning ten minutes later,” he says and Tommy laughs, “and all the decorations look so much better with snow – why do you think some people put fake snow in their backyards?”

“We’re not doing that, by the way.” Tommy is quick to add, because lately they’re in the middle of discussing decorating his house, which Buck thinks needs to be much more festive. He already started putting up decorations as soon as December rolled around. Tommy has been indulging him with everything so far, all the lights and garlands and a wreath on his front door, and stockings – Buck ordered custom ones, one with ‘Evan’, the other with ‘Tommy’ on them. There’s also little figurines, like Santas and Christmas trees, and reindeers and whatnot all over the place. They’re only missing an actual tree and decorations outside. And mistletoe, that’s a must. Buck has plans for everything, but there’s still time until Christmas, so they’re taking it slow.

“Of course not.” Buck rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying, it looks better with snow. Also, snow is just fun! You’ve never been sledding? Or ice-skating? Or made a snowman? Or angels in the snow? Or had a snowball fight?” He can feel his eyes get wider with each question, as it’s just settling in how much Tommy’s missed out on – and a plan is forming to remedy that.

It’s not that Buck loves snow so much – he likes it just fine, but he prefers the hot LA weather. It’s just that it’s Christmas, and as un-festive as his holidays at home usually were, some of his favorite memories are when Maddie took him to play in the snow as a child, and how much fun he had with his friends, skating over frozen lakes and having snowball fights.

“And Santa!” He continues, eyebrows raised high. Tommy looks amused now, looking at Buck’s outrage with a grin. “Santa travels by sleigh!”

“Baby, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Santa doesn’t exist.” Tommy says teasingly, mock-concerned, and Buck lightly slaps at his chest. “Besides, he’s magic, he doesn’t need snow.”

“We’re getting off-track here.” Buck shakes his head. “You’ve never seen snow.”

“Never.” Tommy nods.

“Well, you’re gonna.” Buck says decisively, moving to get off of Tommy’s lap, but Tommy’s strong hands keep him in place.

“Where are you going?”

“To grab my phone. I need to find someplace to take you this Christmas to see snow.” Buck says simply, a plan already forming in his head, a thousand ideas coming at once. It suddenly becomes one of the most important things that he makes sure Tommy sees snow this year.

“You wanna go away for Christmas? Really?” Tommy asks skeptically, frowning.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Because you’re the biggest family guy I know. Don’t you wanna spend it with your family? I thought we were going to Maddie’s.” One of Tommy’s hands is moving softly along Buck’s back, the other still resting on his knee. Buck sinks into his touch again, relaxes against him.

“Right, we are.” Buck nods, thinking intensely. “Well, we can go away for New Year’s Eve?” He suggests. “We could take two days off, make a trip out of it. And if we can’t get time off then,” he adds, because it is a very busy time, and people usually take time off well in advance. They might need all hands on deck, and then they won’t get time off – or even spend it together, unless by some miracle they run into each other at a call. “We can take a random weekend in January. Or maybe even now, way before Christmas. And we’ll go see snow.”

“Where? You gonna take me to meet your parents or something?” He asks with a teasing smirk, knowing full-well that’s not what Buck meant. He’s on good terms with his parents now, they get along much better, but he’s not taking Tommy to meet them. He already has met them, but also he doesn’t feel the need to go back to his childhood home. Though he hasn’t been back there in years, they could get a hotel room and visit his parents for an hour or so, since they always visit him and Maddie lately… Hm, maybe. It’s a thought, for much, much later. Right now, all he wants is to take Tommy somewhere with snow.

“Ha, you’re so funny.” Buck shakes his head, leaning forward to press a kiss against Tommy’s smile. “No, I’d take you somewhere nice. To one of those towns in your rom-coms.” Buck grins, turning back to the TV and gesturing at the screen, the movie evidently ending, the main couple currently kissing in the snow. He wants to kiss Tommy like this, too. In a quaint, quiet Christmas town, snow falling into their hair, melting on their hot cheeks as they smile into each other’s lips. He wants to give Tommy the most Christmas rom-com kiss he’s ever had.

“Not sure those exist in real life.” Tommy chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest where Buck’s pressed against him. He loves the sound of Tommy’s laugh, but he also loves feeling it vibrate through him, it’s always so nice and soothing, Buck could fall asleep to it.

“Well, I’ll find one.” Buck says decisively. Tommy laughs again, presses a soft kiss to Buck’s forehead, right on his birthmark.

“If anyone’s gonna make it happen, it’s you, baby,” he whispers against Buck’s skin. Buck feels his cheeks warm up, a shiver running down his spine, a dopey smile on his face.

“Yeah,” he smiles smugly, “so if you just let me grab my phone-” He tries to move off of Tommy again, but his man holds him in place, one hand sliding down his back to his hip, the other still on his knees, his grip tightening.

“Later, I’m too comfortable like this.” Tommy pouts, and it’s so adorable Buck can’t not relent. He leans back again, head back on Tommy’s shoulder, Tommy’s fingers resuming caressing Buck’s knees thrown over his lap.

“Okay,” he mutters, his hand settling on Tommy’s chest, right above his steadily beating heart. “I can think of places now, and do my research later, when you’re asleep way before me, like always, old man,” he teases, and gets pinched in his side for this, accompanied by his boyfriend’s laugh.

“Oh, really?” Tommy quirks an eyebrow. “Remind me of that next time you want me to hold you up against a wall for a long period of time.” He says with a teasing smirk, then huffs. “I’ll show you old.”

“Shut up.” Buck laughs. If he wasn’t as tired as he is, he’d try that right now, he loves riling Tommy up, and there’s a good chance they would end up against a wall, his legs wrapped around Tommy’s hips; or on the floor, or in bed, or even just naked on the couch, or just about anywhere in Tommy’s house. Alas, he’s beat, and all he has the energy for is cuddling. Maybe he could use a quick nap during the next movie before he tries to start anything. “Are we watching another one?”

“Of course we are.” Tommy grabs the remote. “You wanna choose this time?”

“No, it’s fine, you choose, baby.” Buck sighs snuggling against his boyfriend, as he watches Tommy scroll through the movie options. All of them Christmas-themed, snowy, perfect for this time of year. And normally it might not be Buck’s first, or even tenth option, but with Tommy, he really finds those movies enjoyable. Or maybe that’s his boyfriend’s presence making everything better, as always.

They can’t find time to get away until mid-January, but as soon as they both get time off at the same time, Buck books a little resort in some small snowy town he found on one of his research binges. As soon as they exit their plane, he can’t take his eyes off Tommy’s face, wanting to see even his smallest reaction to snow. It’s silly. He’s seen snow, on TV, in movies, in pictures. Still, seeing the real thing must be different. Besides, Buck will use any excuse to get away with his boyfriend for a few days.

Especially once they get into the town center, the cab driving them to their resort. There’s still leftover Christmas decorations, there’s a thick layer of snow on the ground, it looks like it’s sparkling in the early afternoon sun. It looks magical. The look on Tommy’s face is even better.

When they exit the car, their feet sinking into the snow, Tommy takes a deep breath, inhaling the icy, fresh air so distinct for snow. He bends down to touch the snow, childlike wonder in his face. Buck is so happy to give this to him, as simple and silly as it might be. He loves Tommy so much, he wants to give him everything he ever dreams of. He’s also very happy to be able to give him some firsts, even if they’re not as groundbreaking as the firsts Buck’s experienced with Tommy so far.

Tommy’s still looking at the snow, now melting in his hand, probably freezing. Buck pays the cab driver and takes their bags out of the trunk, but before they go inside, he gives Tommy a second more. It’s adorable how awed he looks.

It’s starting to snow, too, and when Tommy looks up at the sky, snowflakes dotting his cheeks and getting caught up in his hair, his smile could light up the darkest night, all scrunched up nose and crinkling eyes – the most gorgeous smile Buck’s ever seen in his life. He looks like an angel. It really looks like a scene straight out of Tommy’s favorite cheesy holiday rom-coms. They’re basically alone on the street, surrounded by so much snow, the town really quiet and serene, some vague sounds of life reaching their ears from a few streets over.

Tommy’s so entranced by his first time touching snow and seeing it fall in real life, he doesn’t notice Buck bending down to pick up some snow himself. Buck grins wickedly.

“Hey, baby,” Buck gets his attention, and is almost sorry to ruin the mood, but getting hit with a snowball is a crucial snow experience, and he won’t deny his boyfriend that. So, he throws, gentle enough, the soft snow basically falling apart – fortunately, because he hits Tommy’s face. Tommy yelps in surprise and Buck laughs – and then starts running when Tommy retaliates.

That’s how they end up in a snowball fight, turned wrestling in the snow, turned making out in the snow, right at the entrance of their resort, not caring who sees or judges them, just full of pure, unadulterated joy, happiness, and so much love.

They’re both soaking wet and freezing when they get the keys to their room, giggling any time they glance at each other like a couple of teenagers, the elderly woman at the front desk smiling at them amusedly and fondly. Buck grins at her, and puts an arm around Tommy, kissing his temple. He can’t stop smiling.

They take a walk in the evening, fingers intertwined, snow softly falling, the town looking so peaceful and beautiful and picturesque, like from a postcard. But all Buck sees is Tommy’s face. His sparkling eyes and wonder in his face, and that amazing, wide, happy smile.

“So, you’re having fun?” Buck asks, swinging their hands back and forth. Tommy turns to look at him with a grin.

“Yeah. A lot. More than I expected.” He nods, brings their hands up to his lips to kiss Buck’s knuckles – and as always, this move makes Buck violently blush. “Thank you.” Tommy adds softly, squeezing his hand tighter. “For bringing me here, for being here, for being you. For every day since we met. I’m so grateful to have you. I-” he stops, turns fully towards Buck, his face serious but still so, so fond. And oh, Buck thinks he knows where this is going. His heart starts beating faster. “I love you, Evan. I love you so much sometimes I can’t believe it’s possible.” He shakes his head, his eyes shiny, the gorgeous smile on his face melting Buck’s heart.

“I love you, too, Tommy.” Buck whispers, not wasting even a second once Tommy stops speaking. His heart has been screaming those words for weeks, if not months, and it feels like the biggest relief to finally voice them. “So, so much. I’ve been dying to tell you, I love you. I love you, I love-”

He presses the rest of the words into Tommy’s lips when Tommy puts a hand under his chin and brings him in for a kiss. It’s soft and gentle, both of them not able to stop smiling, as snowflakes fall all over them, catching in their hair and on their eyelashes, small specks of cold on their skin, Tommy’s cold nose pressing into Buck’s cheek. It’s perfect.

He’s standing in the middle of a snowy little town, kissing the man who’s his everything, who’s his entire future, while snow falls around them, and it might just be the most perfect kiss of his life.

[also on ao3]

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deliquesaint · 3 months ago

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The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some would consider to be unnatural...

umm AU where Obi-wan is made minature somehow... heres some random Thoughts 😵‍💫

I like to think Anakin would bully Obi-Wan *just a little* by pushing him over with his finger then standing him back up again...

...until Obi-Wan gets fed up and brandishes his itty bitty lightsaber which only succeeds in making Anakin burst into hysterical laughter..

Only after the initial shock wears off, when Obi-Wan starts feeling vulnerable rather than annoyed or frustrated, would Anakin apologise and start treating his Master gently, so gently that it surprises Obi-Wan cos he isnt used to thinking of Anakin, who is a literal force of nature in battle, as gentle, but he cradles Obi-Wan in his palm with the same careful concentration he used to wear when fixing tiny mechanical circuits on the floor of their room as a Padawan and somehow Obi-Wan understands a little of why the astromech is so fond of him...

also Anakin would be very protective of mini Obi-Wan. Maybe even put him under a glass jar...for his safety...totally for his safety... though a snow globe obiwan would be very pretty *shakes him*

#low-res obi-wan kenobi #inspired by that one scene in crystal crisis arc where anakin looks at the mini obi-wan display screen #obikin #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #starwars #starwars art #feel free to interpret the idea however you like i just needed to get that out of my system screeches

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lascvitae · 4 months ago

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♯┆ in my head .ᐟ

synopsis. ‎⸝⸝⸝ you didn’t realize how detrimental the saying ‘with fame comes great responsibility’ until you realized on christmas eve that your girlfriend stopped considering you a priority.

pairing daniela avancini x gf!reader genre angst, fluff if you squint, actually nvm this is just very angsty warnings established relationship, daniela kinda doesn’t care about reader’s feelings, reader just misses her girlfriend sm she feels like she’s lost her but she doesn’t wanna give up

word count ‎⸝⸝⸝ 1.3k.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ katty ᥫ᭡: i wanted to write smth for christmas 😞😞

masterlist.

it was the most wonderful time of the year.

for everyone else, at least. you had the ‘wonderful opportunity’ of working at your parent’s business while they traveled out of the country. they were truly in love, those two.

obviously, you agreed to watch the store. they wouldn’t be open on christmas day but they needed someone to monitor for the few hours they would be open on christmas eve.

so here you were, playing with the snow globes on the shelves of the retail business.

you hadn’t decorated for christmas yet. you were saving it so that you could do it with daniela — you had all sorts of ornaments and cute decorations that you couldn’t wait to show her.

but whether you admit it or not, the lack of decor really got to your mind. christmas was your favorite holiday, and your neighbors claimed that they could never tell if you were home or not — or they would have invited you to have christmas dinner with them earlier.

you didn’t want to decorate anyway, is what you would tell daniela when she told you that she didn’t have time.

but on the bright side, she had promised that she would come home to celebrate the holiday with you. it would be your second christmas together, but you had a strong feeling that nothing could ever top the first.

you two had visited her hometown and you had the opportunity to meet the two people that had shaped your girlfriend into who she is now.

they accepted your relationship with open arms, treating you as if you were their own. they were the exact opposite of your own parents.

this was around the time dream academy had finished airing, && the world already knew katseye’s lineup — and the love of your life had achieved her biggest dreams yet.

while you two made gingerbread cookies, daniela told you all about her time at dream academy. the way her eyes lit up as she decorated the cookies, the carefree tone in her voice and the way her contagious smile only made you feel like you were on cloud nine.

you were completely & utterly in love with her.

you had the honor of seeing her dance during high school and as you two cuddled up to each other with hot chocolate, you had the privilege of witnessing it through dream academy. her commentary only made the moment ten times better.

you had felt so much love & admiration for the girl — she was born to be a star.

she was your star. the way she held you close in her arms told you everything that you had needed to hear. no matter what she got you for christmas, the gift of her company was all you asked santa for.

smiling as you recalled the memories of simpler times, here you were, completely drained as you closed up your parent’s business on christmas eve. you checked your phone, seeing multiple invitations from your close relatives, as well as some distant ones, but the one contact you yearned for the most never appeared.

you clicked on the messages, only to be met with the main reasoning behind your loss of energy & lack of motivation.

you tried your hardest to understand. to put yourself in daniela’s shoes.

katseye’s popularity was increasing more and more every moment. their mama performance was phenomenal — and you made sure to text your girlfriend so she knew how proud & awestruck you were. the energy didn’t seem to be reciprocated once she texted you the next morning.

you were tired last night too, is what you would tell daniela when she said that she hadn’t seen your reply.

even if you saw that she was active on instagram.

you would wait. no, you are waiting for her, heartbeat matching the swift tapping of your thumbs as if it was a routine.

hey, dani <3 i’m otw home rn, i can’t wait to see u!!!

your expression betrayed the excitement of the message completely as you stepped into the uber, frowning at the sight of the christmas decorations.

you felt like the grinch. everyone was in the christmas spirit, and it just couldn’t seem to find you.

you were surprised that he even came on christmas eve, so you sucked it up and fixed your face. until le sserafim’s holiday remix of ‘perfect night’ had begun to play through the car’s stereo speakers.

you didn’t hate the song at all. but the correlation to katseye left a sour taste in your mouth, burning your heart as if lemon juice had been poured onto the scars of it.

your uber driver must have been embarrassed because he skipped the song and played snowman by sia instead. you couldn’t decide if that was better or worse.

finally, after what felt like ages, the not-so-soothing car ride had finally come to an end. after the driver kindly wished you a merry christmas & happy new year, you struggled to get your key into the doorknob correctly. this little action only fueled your growing frustration.

after carelessly tossing your bag onto the couch, you wandered into the kitchen. when dani wasn’t around to soothe your distress with cuddles and kisses, you baked to your favorite songs & danced your troubles away.

without thinking, you put your playlist on shuffle and fixated all of your attention making your cookie dough.

with some properly needed karaoke and choreography to your favorite song, you formed the cookies on the baking pan with a smile. perhaps you could salvage this christmas after all. you tasted the batter to see if it was right.

your vision had begun to blur as katseye’s most recent song, touch, played through your bluetooth speaker.

you were singing along happily. why wouldn’t you be? this is your girlfriend’s song, is what you told yourself when you didn’t want to face the reality of why your heart was breaking.

you tasted something salty on your lips, and it wasn’t the cookie dough. you were crying — desperately wiping at your face so no tears would fall into the baking mixture. the song had felt so personal now.

you would hate for daniela to eat salty cookies, is what you told yourself as you clinged onto last year’s memories.

you hurriedly skipped the song — similar to the uber driver.

you were two different souls. though you weren’t feeling the christmas spirit like he was, you were two strangers experiencing the same feeling of embarrassment.

just like how you and daniela were now two strangers experiencing the same feeling of falling out of love.

she was just better at hiding it than you were.

the next song that played was needy by ariana grande. had spotify been playing with you now?

you reached out for your phone again, fingers trembling as you saw a notification from the person you were currently falling apart over.

my love 💖

hii y/n

my love 💖

i actually won’t be able to make it until after new years ): i’m really really sorry

my love 💖

i love u so much, baby. call me tomorrow

my love 💖

ur gift is in my bottom drawer

your heart broke into a million pieces. you didn’t even want to bake the cookies anymore. you didn’t even want to celebrate christmas. you didn’t even want to open her christmas present. it wasn’t what you wanted.

you wanted to go back to 2023, to last christmas when you and daniela were recording yourselves making snowmen in her parent’s front yard.

you wanted to go back to 2023, to last christmas when daniela spent the first 12 days of december proving herself to you.

you wanted to go back to 2023, to last christmas when you were safe in daniela’s arms after telling her how your parent’s didn’t even bother to celebrate christmas with you.

still, you responded as you usually do. it’s okay, i understand, is what you would say when you never truly did.

you felt like you weren’t asking for much. you were just a person who missed her person.

you had missed her so much that you hadn’t even realized you were full on sobbing now. everything had hit you at once. frustration, loneliness, anger, desperation, sadness, and guilt. you felt guilty for trapping her in this relationship with you. sadness because you had the worst day ever. desperation because you hadn’t seen your girlfriend in months. anger because you felt like she had abandoned you. loneliness because you only saw the love of your life through a screen. frustration because you just couldn’t figure it out. were you not enough for daniela?

yet another part of you felt like you were too good to her.

but there was always new year’s, right?

and that was the cycle of you and daniela’s relationship.

taglist — @saysirhc

#₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ in my head — d.a #daniela avanzini #daniela katseye #katseye #daniela x reader #angst #one shot #i can fix her #christmas #christmas one shot #kpop imagines #katseye imagines #katseye x reader #kpop gg #kpop gg x reader #divider © to fairytopea #divider © to gigittamic

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perlelune · 1 year ago

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Training Wheels | Coriolanus Snow | iv.

Your mother's macabre work never appealed to you as you always preferred the comfort of your books, but when her apprentice takes a special interest in you, your safe, quiet world is flipped upside down.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Gaul!Reader, Shy Reader, Manipulation, Parental Neglect, Drinking, Peer Pressure, Hazing, University set, Loss of Virginity, Dumbification, Insecurities, Abusive Relationship, Degradation, Suicide Attempt

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

“Oh, do you mind if we take a little break?” Clemensia asks almost as soon as you’ve begun working on the task she gave you. You blink, a little confused as your gaze roams across the table. There’s still so much to do. You’re not sure if the girls are just that slow but it’s clear that it will take at least a few hours to get all of it done.

But Clemensia is in charge of the ball committee. You don’t picture yourself telling her what to do or how to do it. After all, you are an outsider. A foreign element infiltrating their ecosystem. You have to play by their rules.

If they want to take a break, who are you to argue with that?

You begin to rise.

“Oh, a break, sure…”

Clemensia’s lips pinch as you try to follow them. “It’s just that…we’ve been doing this for so long, all by ourselves. I even broke a nail.” She pouts, showing you her hands. “But it needs to be finished today.” She nibbles her bottom lip and sighs, eyes pleading yours. “If no one stays behind…”

You mull it over. While you’re not thrilled over the idea of working on the decorations by yourself, you did just get here. You suppose you could hold the fort while they stretch their legs…or whatever Clemensia and her friends like to do when they hang out.

“I guess I could stay,” you concede.

Clemensia flashes you a broad grin.

“You’re so sweet,” she chimes. “Thank you. We won’t be long, promise. Ten minutes tops.”

You shrug and return to your chair. Ten minutes. That sounds reasonable. You pick up the scissors and start cutting more of the tree shapes.

“No problem.”

But one issue arises.

The promised ten minutes expand into thirty. Then an hour. Then two. At first, you don’t let your mind dissect it too hard. It’s a stupid thing to overthink, isn’t it? A silly thing to chop into pieces until your mind bleeds with doubt and insecurity. You surmise it was more of an approximation. People do that all the time, say something while meaning another. At least you believe they do. Besides, you find ways to keep yourself busy, even getting started on the sparkly globes lying on the side of the room. You figure out how to use most of the tools on your own and get wrapped in your own bubble of quietness.

Silence is a familiar companion, the one constant that never judged you, never asked for more of you. In your Silence, you get to be you. Nothing more; nothing less. So you let yourself sink in its warm, snug embrace.

Still, somewhere in the back of your mind, thoughts meander passively… What is taking them so long? You steal a glance outside the window. Orange and purple hues are already bleeding into the sky, a sign of the evening nearing its end.

You retrieve your pocket watch from inside your skirt. A frown wrinkles your brow. At a time like this, you would usually be home, curled up with Walter on your bed as you go over your notes for the week. It often takes you hours just to decipher the course transcripts.

“Wow, you did such a great job,” Clemensia whistles from behind you.

You gasp and whirl. All smiles, the girls fill your sight.

They approach the table and examine some of the decorations you put together on your own. Realization sweeps through you as the fog of your thoughts clear. It didn’t hit you before, not until you absorbed the current state of the crafts table, brimming with the results of your solitary labor. You’ve been busy. Spinning crystal balls, pine cones, silvery garlands and a heap of snowflakes meant to hang on the walls and ceiling. Clemensia admires your handiwork, seemingly impressed.

A little peeved, you point out, “I mean…had you guys even started? Most of the decorations needed to be cut, glued or assembled…”

“I have delicate hands,” Livia sighs, examining her manicured nails.

“I’m very slow, sorry,” Ivy says apologetically.

Your frown deepens. Was this whole thing a setup? You sacrificed precious time to be here and you shudder to think the entire purpose of your presence is some kind of childish prank.

Coriolanus’ words echo in your mind. He argued the girls weren’t like that and that they left the immature tricks back at the Academy. You truly want to believe that none of this is designed to embarrass you, that perhaps, again, all of this is in your head. But your aching fingers, sore from doing crafts most of the afternoon, suggestotherwise.

Unleashing a sigh, you gather your satchel and head towards the exit.

Clemensia obstructs your path, holding up her hands in apology.

“I know we should have been back earlier. I’m so sorry. We ran into the Dean and it turned into a whole thing.” She seizes your hands, remorse twisting her pretty features. “I feel so horrible. I invited you so we could do it together as friends.”

Your shoulders slump. As you soak in the look of genuine contrition on her face, doubts lurk inside you. Your confidence about being the victim of some prank wavers. Perhaps, you overreacted. Incidents happen. Besides, the chances of you joining Clemmie’s committee are slim, as you’re already swamped with assignments. A promise was made and you kept it. But this likely will be a one time thing. School dances are at the bottom of your priority list right now.

So you discard it all with a wave of your hand and a contrived smile.

“It’s okay. No apology needed. It’s not your fault.” You note how much darker it’s gotten outside. “I should go back home though. It’s already so late-”

Clemensia stops you again, her hand tightening around yours as she offers excitedly, “Wait, you should come to game night at Liv’s.”

“What?” Livia snickers. Clemensia shoots her a withering glare and the blonde clears her throat, correcting herself, “I mean…yeah, you totally should come.”

You fidget and adjust the strap of your satchel. You may have heard whispers of those game nights. Mystique surrounds them as only a few chosen people are invited to attend. You, of course, were never invited. And it isn’t hard to gather how Livia feels about you coming from her reaction. Why force your way into places where you aren’t wanted?

“I’m already behind on my revising for the day. If I don’t go over my Molecular-”

“Boring,” Ivy sings sarcastically.

“Don’t be mean, Ivy,” Clemensia scolds, elbowing her in the rib.

Clemensia tilts her head, her tone turning beseeching.

“Please…I really want to get to know you better.” She huffs out a long breath as she seems to sense your hesitation. The brunette leans closer, hands clutching your forearms. Sympathy twinkles in her onyx orbs. “You know, I used to be a lot like you. Always striving to be the best at everything I do.” A hollow giggle slips through her lips. “It’s how I got in trouble with your mother actually…I wanted to win so badly and she decided to teach me a lesson.” Sadness pinches her delicate features. “But by always striving for greatness, you miss out on life. I learnt that during the Games...”

“...Surviving isn’t living.”

She studies you before saying, “And it’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Surviving.”

Eyes on the ground, you chew on your lip. You never imagined someone like Clemensia Dovecote - the most beautiful, popular girl at the University - could feel this way…let alone relate to you.

“Clemmie…”

She hunkers a little so your eyes meet.

“Come on, I really want to make up for today.” She laughs. “Show you I’m not a bitch.”

“I don’t think you’re a bitch,” you say.

She places her palm on your cheek. “See? You’re so nice. That’s why I want us to be friends.” She bends over your ear, the words she mutters almost too quiet to be heard, “I can barely stand those two on most days, but appearances must be kept.”

Your gaze swings upward, shock pulsing through you.

She beams at you. “It’ll be an intimate gathering of just a select group, close friends. We play cards, chat, and have a few drinks. That’s it.”

Your forehead creases.

“I don’t drink.”

Squeezing your shoulders, she assures you, “Then I’ll make sure not a drop of alcohol passes your lips. Promise.”

“It’s casual, I swear. You can even leave early if you want.”

This grabs your attention, as you aren’t sure you’ll make it through the night without craving to return to the safe, familiarity of your apartment. The potential for escape makes the offer far more enticing.

Obviously, Clemensia cares about you showing up. While you don’t fully grasp why, you also never had anyone go out of their way to spend time with you. During the Academy days, everyone avoided you like the plague, either finding you odd or fearing you were as terrifying as your mother. The University doesn’t seem much different so far, groups having already formed from previous camaraderie. Bonds that were forged years ago and cemented over time while you endured in the back of the class. The forgotten one. And you always figured it is the most you can aspire for. Being ignored and left alone.

Until now.

“Really?”

Clemensia’s smile widens.

“Yes. You can stay as long as you want and leave.”

“I don’t have anything to wear to a party,” you muse, pursing your lips. Your tiny, limited wardrobe has always prioritized function over fashion. There are your Academy uniforms, a few loose, unflattering clothes you rotate between. A single formal dress more suited for a funeral than a game night. Nothing impressive because you never had anyone to impress.

You also have no sense of fashion, the trends shifting too quickly for you to keep up. So you’ve stopped trying to.

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out,” she chimes. “The girls and I always get ready at each other’s house anyway. And you’re one of the girls now.”

You peer down at you and Clemensia’s entwined hands. One of the girls. No one’s ever spoken about you that way. As if your mere presence made something better, uplifting it instead of leading it to its ruin. As if you were solid, more than a wisp of air, a waste of breath. As if you mattered. So, despite the sizzling weight of Livia’s blue eyes on you, you smile back at Clemmie and give a bashful nod.

Your eyes feast on every detail of Clemensia’s living room as you enter her home. Her parents’ apartment is every bit as large and opulent as you imagined. Every exquisite detail screams wealth. The unabashed, showy kind that stoked the embers of bitter unfairness in the Districts, leading the Capitol to where it is today. A city risen from the ashes. Your attention lingers on the expensive artwork exposed in glass cabinets. A lot of it appears to be memorabilia from before the war. You’re willing to bet the combined value of every overpriced trinket in the house could feed an entire District. Paintings of Clemmie’s illustrious ancestors hang over the damask walls, their stern stares seeming to follow you. Almost as if they were ready to leap from the eroded gilded frames and berate you for being an intruder in their family home.

Clemensia tugs you along.

“What are you dawdling for? Come on,” she urges.

You trail behind her as she takes you to her bedroom. You smile when you see it. The somber, tasteful hues are so very her. The hinges of her wardrobe whine as she opens the large, wooden doors. A vertiginous row of clothes crowd your sight. You gawk, a little amazed but also slightly terrified. Who needs this many clothes? A sour expression scrunches her features.

“I know,” she sighs, placing a hand on her hip. “This is a little embarrassing. Most of these are soo last season.”

You tilt your head at her dizzying collection of shoes, clothes, accessories…the kind a legion of girls would kill for.

“Right,” you blindly agree. Nevermind you can’t even tell the difference. You glance around. “Shouldn’t Livia and Ivy be here too?”

Her brow twitches as she sits on her massive canopy bed. She pats the spot next to her and you awkwardly plop down. The plush silk and soft mattress dip under your weight.

“We decided to meet later,” she reveals. She pauses, a heavy sigh fluttering through her painted red lips before adding, “Besides, I told them to be nicer to you and they got upset and pretended not to know what I was talking about.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

She waves her manicured hand dismissively.

“No, don’t be. This isn’t your fault.” Clemensia licks her lips, her face etched with reflection, as if she were assessing the weight of her words before releasing them. Her hand settles on your arm.

“Look, here’s the thing. Livia’s had a crush on Coriolanus since he returned and they had a sort of fling.” Your mouth drops open. This is news to you. You didn’t catch any hint of lingering longing between the two back at their lunch table. But now that you’re mulling it over, perhaps…Perhaps, Livia’s eyes kept seeking Coriolanus’, while his treaded their own path, never crossing hers. “Things were going pretty well...for a little while. But then, you came along.”

Your brows furrow. “What does this have to do with anything?”

Clemensia’s bell-like laughter resonates in the room.

“God, you’re a sweet thing…just like Snow said.” She beams at you. “Don’t worry. Liv will get over it. She’s all bark and no bite, trust me.”

Her attention travels to the dark fabric peeking from your bag.

“What’s that?” she asks, pulling out the garment.

“The only dress I have.”

She inspects it with a displeased frown.

“Were you planning on wearing this?” She shakes her head as your mouth clamps shut. “Oh, this will not do.”

She takes your hand and drags you to her wardrobe. Brow wrinkled in concentration, she rummages through a numberless heap of garments.

“I have some clothes that my cousin left,” she explains while frantically searching. After a while, victory flares in her orbs. She unhooks a sleek, crimson dress with a tight bodice and flowing sleeves from a hanger. She holds it against your body, chiming, “She’s about your size so they should fit you.”

“I can’t accept this, Clemmie.”

You attempt to push her hands away but the brunette shoves it in your arms, insisting on you at least trying it on. You press the soft fabric between your fingers. It’s more revealing and form-fitting than you’re used to. You gather it would cling to your body like a second skin…one you aren’t used to wearing. Still, you must admit that it’s a lovely dress. One that could look good even on you. Temptation claws at your resolve, digging deeper and deeper grooves, right into every insecurity you ever had. That thing other girls had that always eluded you. That little secret you were never privy to. The key to that door that never opened. The dress is the key. And you find yourself unable to resist turning the lock to find out what secrets lie beyond that mysterious door.

Beneath Clemmie’s eager stare, you remove your clothes and slip on the dress.

Smug satisfaction hovers on her lips as you peer at your reflection. Words fizzle out on your tongue. You are looking at a complete stranger.

Clemmie rests her chin on your shoulder. “See? I knew it.”

She then has you sit at her vanity to help you do your makeup. Do your makeup…The words sound alien even in the private confines of your thoughts.

As she draws a neat black line over your eyelids, she says, “It hasn’t been long since makeup’s returned to the Capitol again. It used to be near impossible to find.” When she’s done, she turns you towards the vanity mirror. “Those colors will bring out your eye shape and color.”

The air leaves your lungs in a quick rush. You lean closer to the mirror, once again in disbelief that you are truly looking at your own face.

Fingers twisting the delicate fabric of the dress, you pivot to Clemmie.

“Why are you so nice to me?” you blurt out.

Her eyes widen briefly before her expression softens.

“You remind me of me.”

Confusion surges through you. There is an ocean of glaring differences between you and Clemmie, one you couldn’t swim through if you tried.

“What?”

“Believe it or not, I wasn’t always this confident.”

Your brows knit, Clemmie’s statement making little sense. If confidence wore a face and had a name, it’d be Clemensia Dovecote’s.

Gripping your shoulders, she turns your focus back onto your dolled-up appearance.

“Alright. Look in the mirror, what do you see?”

You blink. You see a girl playing dress-up, pretending, but you don’t utter those words aloud. They sound lame, even in your own head.

“Nothing,” you tritely respond, dipping your head.

She lifts your chin, moving her head to disagree.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Her eyes twinkle. “I see infinite potential. So stop selling yourself short.” Covering her mouth, she laughs. “His jaw is going to drop.”

“Whose jaw?”

She smirks at you. “You know whose jaw.”

Heat sneaks inside your face.

You fidget in the chair. It’s not like what he thinks matters, right? He is no one to you, just that boy with the unsettling blue stare who won’t leave you be for some strange reason.

So why is there a tiny shiver of excitement coursing through your veins when the thought of him seeing you like that permeates your brain?

A vigorous gust of common sense sweeps away your wayward musings.

You don’t care what he thinks. Of course you don’t.

“I-It’s not really my style,” you stammer as you get to your feet.

The sparkle in her onyx orbs doesn’t waver.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have a style yet…so how would you even know?”

“Shouldn’t we be at Livia’s already?” you ask, hoping to steer the conversation in another direction.

She considers you as if you were the most endearing thing in the world. She grabs your hands. “Here’s another rule. Never be on time for anything.” A haughty smirk creeps upon her red lips. “Make them wait for you, not the other way around.” She cocks her head. “One of the things about confidence is knowing that you are the sun, and standing in your orbit is a rare privilege.” She scoffs, “People should feel lucky you even bothered showing up.”

She approaches you and touches up parts of your hair, visibly elated with the result.

“Perfect,” she trills. “Like I said…potential.”

She herself finishes getting ready. As you absently meander about her room, the doorbell chimes.

Clemmie pauses as she applies powder on her face. She sets aside her makeup tools and escorts you to the lobby, arm threaded with yours.

“Must be our chauffeur,” she states.

Your eyes round. “You have a chauffeur?”

She cloisters herself in cryptic silence, humming as she drags you along.

When the brunette swings the door open, a towering, familiar figure darkening her doorway, time hangs still for a few seconds.

Your mouth opens wide enough to catch flies.

A smug smile unfurls on his lips.

“Angel,” he greets, gaze locking with yours as he completely ignores Clemmie.

Her sharp irritated tone shatters the spell.

“You’re late, Snow.”

Coriolanus snickers.

“As if you’re ever on time.”

You trail behind Clemmie as she and Coriolanus keep bantering, his presence still swaddling you in sheer shock. When she tries to take the passenger seat, he drapes a placating hand over hers.

She rolls her eyes and begrudgingly heads to the back of the car.

He opens the car door for you. Recalling the fruitlessness of arguing with him, you climb into the seat. Still, saying you feel awkward riding in the front while the brunette is sulking in the backseat would be a massive understatement.

Few words can accurately describe how peculiar all of this is for you.

“You look surprised,” Coriolanus notes as he takes his own seat and slams the door shut. Your heart misses a beat when his hot breath caresses your earshell. “I did say I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

You look down at your lap. Breathing is laborious, the air in the vehicle coated with the lingering smell of his pricey cologne. You are literally choking on Coriolanus Snow with every breath you take.

“Will you just drive, Snow?” Clemmie snaps, crossing her arms.

“Relax. Patience is a virtue,” he says, not sparing her a glance, zeroing in on you instead. The drumming of your heart swells to an uproar in your ears when he reaches across your body. You hold still while he ties your seatbelt for you. Blue eyes rake over your form in brazen appraisal, his deep voice lowering. “And good things come to those who wait.”

#dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #tbosas fanfiction #dark!coriolanus snow x reader

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little-pondhead · 1 year ago

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Who Will Be Danny's Universe?

-happy 20th anniversary!!-

[special close-ups and details below cut]

Sputnik 2's launch date: 3 November, 1957

Sputnik 2's time of launch: 02:30:42 UTC

Chronicles of the Last Starman is a comic book written and illustrated by Gio Nostra. Signed with the message, "Thanks for your support, Danny! Remember to keep stargazing! -Gio"

[This is a fictional title and author I made up for the sake of the story. The original first two pages of this comic are based on an actual comic seen in the episode Kindred Spirits. I redrew them in my style, and the last panel shows that Danny put down the comic book to continue reading at a later date.]

A collection of books and a snow globe. The snow globe has a piece of the Andromeda galaxy stored inside, and the label says ANDROMEDA in canon ghost speech.

The green book is titled Native Plants of the Gardens and is written in canon ghost speech.

The purple book is titled Time Travel: Don't Fuck It Up and is written in fanon ghost speech developed by @five-rivers

The yellow book is titled People and Their Choices and is written in a font called Galaxia (I forgot where I found it)

#danny phantom #doodles from a pond #this took less time than I thought overall #was supposed to be finished and posted on the 3rd but then my grandma died and I had to put it in the backseat #the first two pages are based off an actual comic you see for half a second in the show #the tiny details took me a hot second but I like how it turned out :)#hope y’all enjoy #imma go pass out now it’s midnight

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merxcywritesthings · 4 months ago

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𝐴 𝐷𝑖𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤

A/N: This thought popped into my head after my boyfriend and I looked at engagement rings today, which has been stuck in my head for hours. I couldn’t help but write about the Poly!Task Force 141 with reader! I hope you guys enjoy.

Word Count: 2.0k

The glow of twinkling holiday lights reflected off the fresh blanket of snow that adorned the base of the towering evergreens, casting a magical ambiance over the secluded safehouse. Each individual light shimmered like a tiny star, illuminating the crisp winter night in soft, ethereal hues. The snow itself was pristine, untouched except for the faintest traces of footprints leading to the door—evidence of a quiet arrival long past. The air carried a profound stillness, broken only by the occasional whisper of wind through the branches, rustling the needles and adding a gentle symphony to the night. Somewhere in the distance, a lone owl hooted, its call echoing through the frosted forest.

The safehouse stood as a haven amid the wilderness, its rustic exterior adorned with garlands of fresh pine interwoven with crimson ribbons. Candles glimmered in the windows, their flickering light hinting at the warmth and life within. The faint scent of burning wood mingled with the crisp winter air, creating an intoxicating blend that spoke of comfort and serenity. Icicles clung to the edges of the roof, catching the light and refracting it into shimmering rainbows that danced with every movement of the breeze. It was a scene that could have been lifted from the pages of a holiday storybook, yet it carried an unspoken depth that transcended its picturesque beauty.

Inside, the transformation was even more profound. The safehouse had always been a place of refuge, a temporary escape from the chaos of missions and battles. But tonight, it had taken on a life of its own. Strings of lights were draped along the walls, their soft glow accentuating the wooden beams and casting a golden hue over the room. The fireplace roared with life, its flames crackling and sending warmth radiating outward. Stockings hung from the mantle, their cheerful designs a stark contrast to the tactical gear piled neatly in the corner. The scent of freshly baked cookies mingled with the aroma of mulled cider simmering on the stove, creating a sensory tapestry that was both comforting and nostalgic.

The living room was the heart of the transformation. A towering evergreen stood proudly in one corner, its branches laden with ornaments that glimmered in the firelight. Each decoration told a story—a tiny snow globe with a miniature reindeer inside, a silver bell with a faintly tarnished surface, a handmade star crafted from bits of foil. Some were new additions, while others bore the marks of years gone by, their significance known only to those who had placed them there. At the very top of the tree, a delicate angel gazed down with an expression of serene joy, her gown of spun glass catching the light and casting it into tiny prisms that danced across the walls.

Seated on the couch, Price leaned back with a rare look of contentment softening his features. A glass of whisky rested in his hand, and his usual air of command was replaced by a quiet ease. Nearby, Soap and Gaz were engaged in a lighthearted argument over a board game, their laughter filling the space and blending seamlessly with the holiday music playing softly in the background. Ghost sat in the armchair closest to the fire, his posture relaxed in a way that spoke of trust and comfort, though his sharp eyes never strayed far from the room's occupants. It was a moment of peace, fleeting but cherished—a sanctuary carved out of the tumult of their lives.

In the kitchen, you stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up and hair loosely tied back, focused intently on icing a batch of sugar cookies. The cookies were shaped like snowflakes, their intricate patterns reflecting the meticulous care you had put into each one. Flour dusted your hands and cheeks, a testament to the hours you had spent baking and decorating. The task was both a labor of love and a welcome distraction, a way to channel your energy into something tangible and uplifting. The soft strains of holiday music played from a small speaker, the familiar melodies weaving through the air and adding to the sense of warmth and tranquility.

As you set the icing bag down to stretch your arms, a sudden thought struck you: the boys had been unusually quiet for some time. Normally, the living room was alive with their banter—Soap’s boisterous laughter, Gaz’s sharp wit, Ghost’s dry humor, and Price’s steady interjections to maintain some semblance of order. Yet now, the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the faint hum of the music.

“They’re up to something,” you murmured with a wry smile, wiping your hands on a dish towel.

Curiosity piqued, you left the cookies behind and made your way toward the living room. The warmth of the fire grew stronger with each step, and the soft glow of the holiday lights beckoned you forward. As you approached, the faint sound of muffled movement gave you pause. “Alright, what are you lot scheming this time?” you called out playfully, your voice tinged with amusement.

No response.

Frowning, you stepped into the doorway—and froze.

The living room, bathed in the soft glow of the fire and twinkling holiday lights, held a scene you could never have anticipated. Soap, Gaz, and Ghost stood shoulder to shoulder near the tree, each holding a bouquet of vibrant red roses. Their expressions were a mix of anticipation and warmth, with just a hint of nervousness. At the center of it all was Price, standing tall and steady. In his hands was a small velvet box, its lid open to reveal a breathtaking ring.

The diamond was unlike anything you’d ever seen. It was an oval cut, its elongated shape elegantly reflecting the firelight in brilliant, kaleidoscopic flashes. The facets seemed to dance, catching every flicker of the room's glow and transforming it into a dazzling display of light. The band was crafted from platinum, its silvery sheen perfectly complementing the icy brilliance of the stone. Intricate filigree detailing traced along the band, forming delicate, swirling patterns reminiscent of frost on a windowpane. Small, round-cut diamonds were embedded into the filigree, creating a subtle shimmer that added depth and elegance without overpowering the centerpiece stone.

Your breath caught as your gaze fixed on the ring, its beauty almost surreal. It looked like it had been plucked straight from the winter landscape outside, its design as timeless and magical as the snow-covered world beyond the windows.

Soap broke the silence, stepping forward with a grin that was unusually tender. “We were tryin’ to be subtle, lass,” he teased, his Scottish brogue soft. “Guess we’re not as sneaky as we thought.”

Gaz chuckled, stepping up next to him. “We figured if we’re going to do this, we had to make it perfect. You deserve nothing less.”

Ghost shifted slightly, his gloved hands gripping the bouquet tightly. “You’ve been through hell with us,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. “You stayed. That means everything.”

Finally, Price’s deep, steady voice filled the space. “You’ve given us something we never thought we’d have,” he said, his blue eyes holding yours with a quiet intensity. “A home. A family. Let us show you how much that means—for the rest of our lives.”

Your heart thundered in your chest, tears welling in your eyes as the weight of their words sank in. This wasn’t just a proposal—it was a declaration of love, unity, and the unbreakable bond you shared.

“Marry us, bonnie,” Soap said, his grin widening but his voice soft, almost hesitant.

Tears welled in your eyes as you took in the sight of them—these men who had faced countless dangers and carried the weight of the world on their shoulders—now offering their hearts to you. Your hands trembled, and a sob escaped your lips as the overwhelming emotion spilled over.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice thick with tears. Then louder, with uncontainable joy, “Yes! Yes, of course, I’ll marry you!”

The tension broke as the room erupted with cheers. Soap was the first to reach you, scooping you up into a giddy embrace that made you laugh through your tears. Gaz followed, his hug warm and grounding, while Ghost’s was firm but careful, his whispered “Thank you” carrying a weight that made your chest ache with affection. Price took your hand last, sliding the ring onto your finger with reverent care before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

As you looked at the ring now adorning your finger, you marveled at how perfectly it captured the moment—brilliant, timeless, and irreplaceably yours. It wasn’t just a symbol of love; it was a promise, forged from the resilience, loyalty, and devotion that bound you all together.

⋆⁺₊❅.

That night, the safehouse was filled with more than holiday cheer—it was filled with love. The bond you shared with these men was unshakable, a light brighter than any star on the tree. And as you curled up on the couch with them later, watching the fire crackle and feeling the weight of the ring on your finger, you realized this wasn’t just a safehouse. It was home.

The celebration carried on well into the evening, the living room transformed into a space filled with laughter, warmth, and joy. Soap’s mischievous streak resurfaced as he popped open a bottle of champagne, the cork flying across the room with a loud “pop” that made Gaz duck and Ghost roll his eyes. “Watch it, MacTavish,” Ghost muttered, though there was no mistaking the faint smirk beneath his balaclava.

“Just addin’ some excitement to the night!” Soap retorted with a wink, pouring champagne into mismatched glasses that had been hastily gathered from the kitchen. Price handed you a glass first, his hand brushing yours in a gesture that felt both grounding and electric.

“To family,” he said, raising his glass. His voice was steady, but the emotion behind his words was unmistakable. The others joined in, their glasses clinking together in a toast that felt as binding as any vow.

The night unfolded in a tapestry of moments that would linger in your memory forever. Gaz took over the music, switching the playlist to a mix of holiday classics and upbeat tracks that had everyone—even Ghost—tapping their feet. At one point, Soap coaxed you into an impromptu dance, spinning you around the room until you were both breathless with laughter. Ghost, ever the observer, eventually joined in, his stiff movements earning playful jeers from Soap and Gaz but making you smile all the same.

Price, true to his nature, stayed close, watching over the group with a quiet contentment that seemed to soften his usual commanding presence. When the dancing subsided, he pulled you aside, wrapping a warm blanket around your shoulders and guiding you to the couch by the fire. The others followed, settling in around you like pieces of a puzzle falling perfectly into place.

Stories flowed freely, each tale punctuated by laughter and the occasional teasing remark. They spoke of missions gone awry, moments of triumph, and the camaraderie that had carried them through the darkest times. When it was your turn, you shared memories of quieter moments—the times you’d patched them up after missions, the late-night conversations over cups of tea, the small gestures that had solidified your bond.

As the night stretched on, the safehouse seemed to embrace you all in its warmth. The fire crackled softly, casting a golden glow over the room, and the snow continued to fall outside, muffling the world beyond. You leaned against Price, your head resting on his shoulder, while Soap and Gaz argued over the last cookie, their voices a playful counterpoint to the serenity of the moment. Ghost sat nearby, his posture relaxed, though his sharp eyes never strayed far from the group.

The ring on your finger caught the firelight, its brilliance a constant reminder of the promise you had made. It was more than a symbol; it was a testament to the love, trust, and unwavering loyalty that bound you to these men. Together, you had faced the unthinkable and emerged stronger, your bond forged in the crucible of shared trials and triumphs.

That night, as you drifted to sleep surrounded by the people who meant the world to you, a profound sense of belonging settled over you. This was more than a safehouse, more than a temporary refuge. It was your home, your family, and your future—a future as bright and enduring as the diamond on your finger.

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢! ❄️

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 @𝑜𝑚𝑖-𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑠

#poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #poly!141 x you #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john price x reader #poly 141 x reader

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zepskies · 2 years ago

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Love Actually - Part 1

Paring: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

Summary: Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system.

AN: Here’s my last entry for the TGWRC: Christmas in July event! It’s set in the same world as “Break Me Down,” and set before “Checkerboard.” But this can be read as a stand-alone! Hope you enjoy…

Theme: Christmas movies Prompt: “That’s a poor excuse for a tree.”

Word Count: 3,100 Tags/Warnings: SB being himself, wee bit of angst, potential fluff overload!

Part 1: "Humbug"

He was late.

It was Christmas Eve, and your boyfriend was late.

With a large bowl of popcorn in your lap, you sank further into your favorite corner of the couch, drumming your nails on its arm.

Your favorite Christmas movie played on the ridiculously large flatscreen Ben had insisted on when you two moved into this apartment. But you couldn’t get into the story like you normally would.

It was the first Christmas you and Ben were spending together since he’d started working with, instead of against Supe Affairs and the CIA. In fact, he was on an extended mission—hunting down a rogue supe in Idaho, of all places.

Freakin’ Idaho. Goddamn potatoes, you thought irrationally, shoving another handful of popcorn into your mouth.

While he’d been gone, you went all out in decorating the apartment: red and white candles, stockings, various ornaments, multicolored string lights, and poinsettias. You’d even found a nice little tree that fit in the only free corner of the living room.

Well, you’d had to rearrange some furniture to make that happen, but in the end you’d succeeded. It felt like you were living at the bottom of a snow globe.

You hadn’t heard from Ben at all in over two weeks. The day he left you outside your office in the Surveillance department replayed often in your mind.

Two weeks ago…

“Don’t give me that face, baby doll.”

Ben quirked a smile at your concerned frown, and he propped a gentle fist under your chin. You crossed your arms.

You knew he had to go. Butcher and the rest of the guys were waiting outside the S.A. office. And you were proud of him for what he was doing, genuinely trying to put in the work on this “hero” thing. But you didn’t have to like the timing. It was only two weeks until Christmas.

“Fine,” you agreed. “Just get this guy quick. I don’t want to hear my aunt’s shady-ass sniping. Every time I show up to a family gathering by myself, she starts plotting my arranged marriage to her fucking pediatrist, her divorce attorney—mind the irony there—or even the guy who packages meat at the grocery store—”

“All right, Christ. I’ll be back in fucking time,” said Ben. He grabbed your arms to stop your verbal flapping. Then with a grin, his hands moved to the curve of your waist, down to get a healthy grip of your ass.

“’Sides, I’m the only one flingin’ meat around here,” he said with a deepening smirk.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile threatened to take over your frown as he pulled you flush against him, trapping your hands against his broad chest. You found purchase on the hard fabric of his uniform.

“You’re so gross,” you said. But you pulled him down for a searing kiss. If you weren’t going to see his handsome face for a while, then you were going to make the most of this moment.

And it seemed your boyfriend felt the same way; his arms wrapped around your frame like steel bands. Your fingers swept through his hair as your tongue slipped into his mouth, making his grip on you tighten with a pleased hum.

“Oi! Sid and fuckin’ Nancy,” Butcher called from down the hall. “Got a fucking job to do. Today, if you don’t mind.”

Ben broke away from you, just enough to frown in irritation over your head.

“Calm your fucking tits, Churchill. I’ll leave when I’m good and damn ready.”

You couldn’t help but giggle into his chest.

Now, it was quite literally hours away from Christmas Day.

You would be seeing your family tomorrow, regardless. You and Ben were supposed to go to your mother’s house for dinner. But you were starting to think that he might not make it tonight, let alone tomorrow.

And if you had to deal with your aunt nosing into your personal business again, your hand might just “slip” while pouring yourself a rum-filled eggnog, so you wouldn’t be held liable for your actions when you inevitably snapped on the bitch.

Sighing, you continued munching on some popcorn while you focused on one of your favorite parts of Love Actually. Hugh Grant was shaking his ass to “Jump In” by the Pointer Sisters.

The music was infectious, and you found yourself doing a little shimmy yourself on the couch in time with one of your favorite rom-com Brits.

With the TV volume as loud as it was, not even the door of your apartment unlocking could stop your mini-jam session.

And the door soon opened, revealing a dusty, soot-covered Benjamin, still in his supe suit and tactical gear. He took a small step back when the gaudy Christmas décor assaulted his eyes, but he blinked through it as he turned his head.

His lips curved at the familiar sight of you—bundled up in your pajamas and a fuzzy blanket on the couch, bopping to the beat of some shitty ‘80s song he actually recognized. You were alternatively mouthing the words and eating fistfuls of popcorn.

Shaking his head, Ben stepped into the apartment and shut the door with some force. You finally perked up at the sound, your smile alight with happiness when you realized he was home. That alone made him soften a bit.

“Ben!” You paused your movie and bounded over to greet him with a warm hug and a deep kiss.

He brushed your hair back and allowed himself to revel in the familiarity of you in his arms.

“Aren’t you a fucking sight,” he murmured.

Ben was still getting used to having someone to come home to, but it was grounding. This place was his home now, mostly because you were in it.

“You okay? How did it go?” you asked, wiping off some soot from his cheek.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Ben offered you a cocky smile. “We smoked that pyro bitch.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You what?”

“Relax, the supe’s alive,” he said, rolling his eyes, as if it grated him to admit it. He wouldn’t tell you that the supe had two broken arms and probably a crack in his skull. “Being shipped off to prison as we speak.”

You nodded with a smile. “Good. I’m proud of you.”

His lips pulled at a grin. But then you took his face between your hands with a hard slap (though it didn’t even sting, the point was made in your annoyed frown).

“You’re late,” you said. Ben raised a brow.

“Excuse me?” he said.

“You heard me. You’re fucking late,” you repeated. “Go take a shower. I already started the first movie without you.”

You tugged him by the hand and all but pushed him into the hall that led to your shared bedroom.

Ben wasn’t one to be manhandled though. He dug his heels in obstinately.

“Christ, I just got home. All I want to do is sleep…unless you want to give me a proper fucking welcome.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder with a more than suggestive smirk. He turned around and pulled you into his firm chest. His hands smoothed down your back and squeezed your hips, with his thumbs dragging under the hem of your pajama top.

While your lips threatened a smile, you had to wonder how he had enough energy for reunion sex, but not enough to watch a simple movie.

Still, his offer was all-too tempting, making heat prickle along your skin wherever he touched. Nonetheless, you managed to remain stubborn and pushed gently against his chest.

“Down, boy,” you said. “If I let you get your hands on me now, I’ll never get through my list.”

First it was Love Actually, then Christmas Vacation, followed swiftly by Home Alone and its sequel, Lost In New York.

Ben frowned at you. “So? Watch ‘em tomorrow.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, it’s Christmas Eve.”

You gestured to all your hard work in the form of the decorated apartment.

“Tomorrow, we have dinner at my mom’s house. So tonight, you’re gonna go shower," you said, pointing at him. "I’m going to make some more hot chocolate, and we’re watching all manner of cheesy, romantic, and downright silly Christmas movies until your Grinch-ass gets some holiday spirit.”

Ben released a tired sigh and dropped his hands away from you.

“I haven’t slept in three fucking days," he said. "I’m not staying up all night again for some corny bullshit.”

You frowned in disappointment.

“Ben, come on. Please?” you tried, but he just waved a dismissive hand and continued his way to the bedroom.

For a moment, you watched him go in disbelief. Was he really going to be like that?

With a flash of hot annoyance, you huffed and decided that you weren’t going to let him ruin the night for you.

So you went into the kitchen and whipped up some hot cocoa, breaking out the actual Godiva chocolate bars you bought just for this moment. You poured out one mug initially. But you listened to the old water pipes working, knowing that Ben must’ve been taking a shower.

You knew he wasn’t just tired. He didn’t seem to be looking forward to tomorrow either, and was going along with it for your sake. Which, to be fair, could just mean he still wasn’t totally comfortable around your family. (Your sister Luisa still hadn’t totally warmed up to him.)

You also had a feeling that he just wasn’t into Christmas.

The question was why…

But you poured a mug for him anyway, adding some mini marshmallows into each one. You brought both mugs with you back to the living room and set them down on the coffee table.

Getting comfortable on the couch again, complete with your blanket, mug, and the popcorn bowl, you pressed “play” and continued watching the movie…even though you felt just a bit lonelier.

But then, a weight dropped on the other end of the couch. You flinched and looked over at your now clean and pajama-clad boyfriend, who eyed you begrudgingly with his arms crossed over a soft plain shirt.

You smiled at him warmly. “Hey, baby.”

His grouchy face was the very picture of “humbug.” Biting your lip, you set down the popcorn on the coffee table and handed him the spare cup of hot chocolate.

“I made some for you,” you said. He gave you a brief nod and took a dutiful sip. But not even rich, chocolatey goodness could curb his sour mood as he stared blandly at the screen.

You knew that face. That was his, I’ll do this for you, but I’m not gonna fucking like it—face.

When he stifled a yawn, you knew that he hadn’t been lying. He really was tired. Sometimes you forgot that while Ben was all but indestructible, even he had his limits. Chasing that rogue supe across the country must’ve taken it out of him, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

So you reached over and plucked the mug out of his hand. His brows knit together as he watched you set it down on the coffee table with yours. Then you grabbed his hand.

“Come ‘ere,” you said, tugging him toward you.

“What now?” he groused.

“Just come on. Don’t bitch,” you teased. You guided him to lay across the couch, with his head pillowed in your lap. You grabbed an extra throw blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over him, making sure that it covered him up to his chest.

“What am I, a damn kid?” he said. But you knew his griping had no real weight. Already he was humming deep with pleasure as your fingers carded through his soft brown hair. You let your nails drag lightly over his scalp, massaging his head. Your free hand stroked his cheek.

Ben closed his eyes for a moment and let out a sigh through his nose. The movie continued to play, but you were no longer paying much attention. This was more important.

When he opened his eyes again, they were drawn to the small, four-foot Christmas tree in the corner of the room, next to the TV.

“That’s a poor fucking excuse for a tree,” he said.

You frowned and followed his gaze.

“I think it’s adorable,” you replied. And it was the only one you thought would fit in this cozy, but very narrow apartment.

Ben’s arms crossed over his blanket.

“I’ll go tomorrow, find us a real fucking tree,” he said.

Your frown deepened a little. “But I already decorated this one. All by myself, I might add.”

He eyed you then, a bit softer.

“All right, we’ll get a second one for the dining room,” he grumbled. “Getting the tree up is a man’s job anyway.”

You rolled your eyes at that. But you tried to see if there was anything deeper to read in his words. Not for the first time, you wondered how he’d spent his holidays in the past. No doubt with a lot of fanfare and celebrity parties during his hay day as Soldier Boy. You were more interested in his life before that.

“I remember, my mom would run the show at Christmas,” Ben said.

You blinked down at him in surprise. Without knowing, he’d opened up on your exact curiosity.

Or maybe he just knew you better than you thought.

“She’d have all the help in a damn tear around the house. Cooking, decorating, the whole nine yards. It was a perfect scene, like something out of a catalogue,” said Ben. “But getting the tree was always my dad’s job. His only job, really.”

You smiled and continued to listen with rapt attention. Your thumb continued to stroke along his neck.

“One year, he got this massive one. Must’ve been…I don’t know, twenty feet. I don’t even know how he got it through the door, but he was mighty fucking proud of himself,” Ben said.

His gaze trailed beyond you, lost in faded memories. They played in his mind like a reel, wordless, but bright and warm.

“Who decorated it?” you asked. Your voice drew his attention back.

“Me and him,” Ben admitted, surprising you yet again. “Meanwhile, Mom baked up a storm for the Christmas party they threw every year…”

It was a rare moment where Ben recalled what seemed to be a nice memory of his father. But soon enough, the nostalgia dimmed from his eyes.

He cleared his throat and swiped a hand over his mouth, as if that could erase his moment of vulnerability.

Then he turned to face the TV screen.

“So what’s even happening here? Seems like there’s four goddamn movies playing at once.”

You cracked a smile and continued brushing your fingers through his hair. You also rewinded the movie so he could actually follow the story.

“Yeah, that’s what makes this movie so classic. See, there’s Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman. They’re married, kids, the perfect life, right? But he’s actually cheating on her with a younger, sluttier woman.”

“…And this is a fucking Christmas movie?”

“Yeah, you’ll see. Then there’s Liam Neeson.”

Ben perked up at that. “The Taken guy?”

You nodded. “Yep! He’s a widower, but he has a stepson who’s got a sweet little crush. So he’s gonna try and help the kid impress the girl by helping him learn the drums.”

Your boyfriend nodded.

“Musicians get plenty of pussy, that’s for damn sure,” he said. And with a knowing grin, “Actors get more though.”

You snorted and pointed to Hugh Grant next. “He’s my favorite. He’s playing the Prime Minister, who falls in love with his assistant, Natalie. That’s her right there.”

Ben raised a brow at your choice of “favorite.” If nothing else, he noted your type for older men.

But he smirked when Natalie kept verbally fumbling in Hugh’s presence, then stared along with the Prime Minister at the woman’s ass when she walked away at the end of the scene.

“Hmm, I’ll admit. She’s got a juicy peach,” Ben remarked. You laughed and hit his shoulder playfully. It worked an amused smile onto his face.

He took your hand from his shoulder and pressed the back of it to his lips. You blinked down at him, and you warmed with a smile at seeing his more relaxed face.

He kept your hand on his chest, his thumb drawing back and forth over your wrist.

So you proceeded to explain the various angles of the movie until he was all caught up.

You two watched the rest of it together. Like always, you cried when Colin Firth poured his heart out to his housekeeper, Aurélia, half in his mangled Portuguese and half in English. You cried again when Emma’s character finally confronted her cheating bastard husband.

And you held your breath when Hugh and Natalie kissed as the stage curtain fell down, revealing their relationship to the world.

By the time the credits rolled, you were an emotional mess. You were happy though. Typically you’d watch this movie with your sister, but it was nice to share the holidays with someone…

Someone who loved you enough to curb his Grinch attitude about cheesy romantic things, like tree decorating and watching rom-coms with hot cocoa.

You glanced down, and sure enough, Ben was asleep. He had turned onto his stomach. His head still rested in your lap, his cheek pillowed by your thigh, and he had a hand curled around your leg. Your big, growling bear of a man had a gooey center that sometimes surprised even you.

For one mischievous moment, you considered sticking a piece of popcorn up his nose.

He looked so damn peaceful that you didn’t want to ruin it…yet now you couldn’t get up either.

Shit, you thought, but your grin was soft. Oh, whatever. Sleep is overrated.

You queued up Chevy Chase’s Christmas Vacation next in your movie marathon and settled in. You laid a gentle hand on Ben’s back, between his broad shoulders.

And his story about his parents returned to the forefront of your mind.

Maybe he didn’t hate Christmas. Maybe it was just difficult for him to remember the genuinely good ones. Maybe he missed his parents; both of them, despite how contentious it had been between him and his father.

You could certainly understand that. But now, you would make sure he would remember this one for the “good” column.

You only startled a little when your cell phone chimed on the coffee table. The screen read 12:00 a.m. It was officially December 25th.

You then felt Ben’s warm hand squeeze your leg. His eyes were still shut though, his breathing deep and even in sleep.

With a smile, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

And you whispered in his ear, “Merry Christmas, Ben.”

AN: Yay! I hope you liked this fluffy one for SB. 🎄❤️

Did you like Ben's little day trip down memory lane? Let me know in the comments! 😘

**Note: There will be two more parts to this due to popular request!

Keep Reading: PART 2

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