#What if you were too glass half-full and i was too glass half-empty… And together we could make a full glass………. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tonycries · 9 months ago

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Initiation!

Synopsis. “Just a small initiation, nothing too serious.” Couldn’t be too hard, right? So why are you - the all-new frat sweetheart - being pinned to the bed and stuffed full from all ends by your frat brothers?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader, Geto Suguru x Reader, Fushiguro Toji x Reader, brief Nanami x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, fratboy! JJK men, gangbang, frat sweetheart! reader, cumplay, choking, oral (male + female), anal, double penetration, cunnilingus, Suguru is MEAN - so is everyone else, some heinous things idek how to tag, unprotected, no curses! AU, marking, pet names (princess, darling, doll), swearing.

Word count. 4.8k

A/N. Am not the same person I was before I wrote this…

Art by @_3aem on X.

Tequila was your best friend when Suguru and Satoru weren’t around.

Which is probably why you were five shots deep before 9pm, heavy bass thrumming through your veins and sleek tabletop steady under your rocky heels.

Everything was a blur. The pulsing neon lights, cheers following your every sway and twirl, and the atmosphere heavy with beer and laughter in that heady Jujutsu Phi frat house.

You almost miss that familiar flash of cloudy white locks and those narrowed black eyes greedily watching your hips to the beat. Almost.

An excited exclamation of “There’s our all-new sweetheart!”. And the world tilts.

Falling down really does feel good. Especially when the ground is so warm - and smells faintly of overpriced cologne.

“Careful, there, Satoru. Wouldn’t wanna hurt the sweetheart right before initiation.”

A pair of strong arms underneath you, and a deep voice hot against your ear. “Havin’ a lotta fun without us, huh?”

Oh, you’d recognize those devastatingly handsome faces anywhere. You blink, eyebrows furrowed slightly at your best friends as you tried to focus on their words. “Sweetheart? Me?”

To your right, Suguru nods slowly, a sly smile playing on his lips. “Absolutely. Who else? No one better we can think of, darling.”

Satoru’s eager voice chimes in, “As presidents, and the only men to binge Bridgerton with you, we love you. The frat brothers love you too, especially our supervisor.”

“Mmm, I dunno. What do I hafta do?” face heating and words slurring together, in your alcohol-induced haze, you miss the devilish glance shared between the two.

Satoru chuckles, a dark glint in his eyes, “Just a small initiation, nothing too serious.”

Your laughter is infectious, and without much hesitation you raise your empty shot glass in toast, “Hmm, deal! To the newest frat sweetheart! How hard can it be?”

---

The consequences aren’t half as fun as the chaos.

Wincing at the dull ache reverberating in your head, you struggle to make sense of your surroundings in the dim lighting. Still disoriented and bleary-eyed, you sink into soft navy bed sheets.

Ah, soft. So soft. Warm, with a tinge of candied apples.

Satoru.

Slight panic setting in, and Satoru’s room swaying ever-so-slightly, you try to will away the overplayed pop pounding from the party still raging below - focusing on the whispered conversation at the foot of the bed..

“---blast at the party------”

“------frat---sweetheart.”

Head snapping up in a daze, the word “sweetheart” echoes in your ears.

Something heated and prickly pools in your stomach as fragments of memories from not too long ago begin to piece themselves together.

Your dawning realization - and sense of impending doom - is interrupted by a soft hum of delight

“Well, well, look who’s finally awake - our dear sweetheart.” Satoru teases, while Suguru, with his arms crossed, chuckles.

Liquor suddenly nowhere on your mind, your heart races - something about the suggestive gleam in their eyes doesn’t exactly ease your nerves. Your cheeks flare, the room feels suddenly smaller, the air thicker.

You sit up, rubbing your temples, and the two of them exchange loaded glances that send shivers creeping down your spine.

Satoru pushes himself off the wall with a devious smirk, taking a deliberate step closer. “How’s our sweetheart feeling? You knocked out for a good hour or two, y’know. Was almost worried you’d miss the initiation~”

“What the fuck did I agree to?” you mutter to yourself. Yet, Suguru answers anyway, his voice a dangerous purr, “Just a little test of courage, darling. But don’t you worry; we’ll take very good care of you.”

Satoru nods, his gaze intense. “It’s all in good fun, princess. You’ll see.” His warm breath grazes your face as they tower over you, inching closer and closer. “Now, you wouldn’t go back on your word, would you?”

Goosebumps erupt along your shoulders at the proximity - and the realization - all the way down to where your thighs were desperately squeezing together. Shit.

Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru. It was hard to be best friends with them for years and not hear about the whispered rumors of how they were in bed. Enough to send a woman to heaven - or the hospital - they said. And you couldn’t deny that ugly little part of you that was sinfully curious.

A beat passes in the suddenly charged air. As if they were waiting. Studying your reaction - like predators stalking their cornered prey. Will you run away? Will you fight? Will you submit to them completely?

The room is silent, except for the distant thump of the music below, seemingly miles away.

One. Two

Finally - not trusting yourself to speak - you manage a nod.

Darkened blue eyes meet Suguru’s half-lidded ones, a silent understanding passing between them before resting on you - splayed out on the bed and tight dress hiking up so enticingly.

Oh.

Oh, shit. You were in for it.

Without warning, Satoru surges forward, lips catching yours in a bruising kiss. You whine against his soft lips, the distinct taste of Baileys and Satoru completely filling your senses - you almost don’t register the slow, purposeful trail of kisses Suguru leaves down your heated neck. Almost.

Skin searing where his lips linger along your jawline, Suguru murmurs, vibrations sending a jolt of electricity right to your core. “Shhh, relax, darling. We’ll take care of everything.”

Maybe it was the way Suguru’s words were dripping in lust and something dangerous, tongue darting out to lick a long, sensual stripe up your neck.

Or maybe it was the way Satoru was sloppily licking at your lips, thumb pushing your chin down to suck on your tongue with his candy lips. But the room was spinning - and this time, it wasn’t the alcohol.

“T-Toru- Sugu-” a muffled whine you barely even recognize rips from the back of your throat - and it was like something snapped. Maybe their restraint, maybe their sanity - definitely you by the end of this.

A hand hot on your thigh - Suguru’s or Satoru’s? You don’t have the time to wonder, the sequins hit the ground before you even realize what is happening.

Skin-tight dress now in tatters on Satoru’s carpeted floor, you shudder as the cold air hits your heated skin. Large hands everywhere. Cupping your ass, tweaking your hardened nipples through your bra. Leaving your underwear in such a disarray as if it killed them to see you clothed.

“Shit. Suguru, look at this.” Satoru’s groans lowly, predatory gaze transfixed on the sight of your dripping cunt..

“Oh fuck, darling. Were you all ready and expecting this, hm? Our perfect lil’ slut.” Suguru’s smiles sinfully as he looms closer, a long finger playing teasingly with the thin fabric of your now-soaked panties.

You buck your hips, desperate for more fiction, as a manicured nail lightly grazes your swollen folds. Shit, and you thought Suguru would be the nicer of the two. “Please, Sugu.”

“Now now. Behave, darling. Wouldn’t want to get off on a wrong start to the initiation.” Suguru hums, pulling off your panties completely as Satoru’s iron-hold grip on your hips pin you helplessly to the bed. You struggle pathetically, leaking pussy aching for more more more.

And Satoru - your ever-merciful Satoru - listens to your desperate keens. Because, agonizingly slow, he drops to his knees, eye-level with your quivering pussy.

“I’ll be taking this as payment, princess.” he hums, hot breath hitting your cunt in a way that almost makes you miss the way he snatches your wet panties right out of Suguru’s hands. As if a prize to be won.

Your face burns at the humiliation - or maybe at the way strong hands wrestle your thighs open. You gasp at the burn of the stretch, tense air grazing your throbbing clit as Suguru lets out a low whistle in appreciation.

You were so exposed. So vulnerable. And these fuckers hadn’t even taken off their goddamn shirts yet.

Mouth opening to retort - or maybe beg for an ounce of friction, just anything that would-

Bang!

Dazed, you whirl your head towards where the door had now slammed open. In your lust-induced haze, you barely register the notion that someone else was going to see you so spread so shamefully and dripping all over Satoru’s sheets. Ah, they were going to scream. They were going to run away-

“Aww, already started without me?” a deep voice rumbles, raspy, dangerous. “Shit, these two brats weren’t kiddin’, you’re such a doll, aren’t you?”

Satoru’s smirk grows at the slick pooling at your core as you make out just who it was that stood so imposingly at the door.

Toji Fushiguro.

Someone you’d heard of more than you’d seen - for several reasons. Known around campus as the long-standing supervisor for Jujutsu Phi, but known more popularly amongst students as the man with a dick to die for.

The shutting of the heavy wooden door reverberates across the electrifying air inside. Your mouth drops into a soft oh as you spot the rock-hard cock straining furiously against Toji’s trousers, a dark patch of precum already pooling at the tip.

Oh. No wonder they say his dick can split you in half.

Eyes following his every purposeful step towards the bed, you absent-mindedly wonder whether your best friends were hiding a matching achingly hard cocks.

“Oh, fuck yes. Such a pretty pussy.” Toji appraises your cunt, greedily eyeing the way your walls flutter around nothing, slick pooling where Satoru was but a few inches away from where you needed him the most.

“Yo, old man. Catch.” Satoru’s voice rings in the loaded air. Muscled arms flexing, Toji easily catches the flimsy piece of fabric thrown at him, a lecherous smile growing as he realizes what it is. “M’gonna have a lot of fun with you, doll.”

“Don’t count us out now, Toji. I’ll be making sure she’s absolutely ruined.” Suguru’s slow, sinful drawl has your head spinning.

Probably for the first time in his life, Satoru doesn’t speak.

Instead, he dives nose-deep in your cunt. Pretty ruby lips meeting your swollen ones, urgently lapping up your sweet juices, as if a man dying of thirst.

“Hah- Oh! Toru!” you whine, hips bucking up into his hot tongue as he bullies past your folds and into your quivering entrance, hurried yet methodical. You could feel Satoru’s lips curling at the lewd whimpers ripping from your throat. Bruising grip on your hips pulling you impossibly deeper onto his greedy tongue.

He wastes no time - stretching you out on his tongue so sinfully, dipping in and out of your dripping hole at a merciless pace. In and out in and out in and-

“Hope you didn’t forget us, darling. I’d be heartbroken.” Suguru’s mocking words ring in your ears. Not completely present with Satoru’s dizzying abuse on your cunt, you can do nothing as Suguru snakes a hand down to your heated core.

“Don’t move, doll.”

And before you know it, two more sets of hands are unforgivingly on you.

All you can do is just lay there and take it as Suguru’s cruel, slender fingers tease your folds, up and down up and down - pointedly skipping your throbbing clit. A languid, sadistic smile spreads across his face as you whine in desperation.

Where Satoru was generous and impatient, Suguru wanted to make you cry. How could you ever have thought he’d be the nice one?

Hasty lips are on yours now, a small scar rubbing your lips in a way that so obscenely reminded you of the tongue still ruthlessly fucking into you right now. Pulling away mere centimeters, Toji murmurs lowly, “Open your mouth.”

As if on auto-pilot, you groan as Toji's steady stream of spit hits your ready tongue. Eyes rolling to the back of your head at the warm feeling, tasting of sin and everything you shouldn’t be doing.

Thick, calloused fingers squeeze your cheeks together, his spit now drooling down the corner of your mouth. “Now, show me what those pretty lips can do.” Toji grits out.

Your eyes widen as he pulls down his pants just enough for his furiously hard cock to spring free, sculpted thighs straddling the side of your face.

Thick and unforgiving. A prominent vein twirling delicately down his monstrous length. Precum leaking onto his sculpted abdomen, dripping erotically down to mix with your soaked underwear in his veined hand gripping the base.

Nervous eyes flitting between Toji’s bulging cock in front of you, to the slick dripping down Suguru’s wrist, and Satoru’s hooded eyes, miles away, and grinning devilishly around your cunt - you’re sure of one thing - you’d be damn lucky to make it out alive.

Toji’s throbbing head pokes your kiss-bitten lips, precum salty on your tongue. He spares no mercy.

“C’mon now. If you’re actin’ like such a cockslut then learn to take it like one.” Searing grip on your hair, Toji pushes his cock all the way down your ready throat, using your mouth as if it was nothing more than his favorite fucktoy. Maybe you’ll become his favorite fucktoy.

Your pathetic, wet gurgles mix with the lewd squelches of your cunt as Toji’s heavy balls hit your chin. Fat head hitting the back of your throat and your nose pressed into the tufts of thick, black hair at his pelvis. “Mmm fuck yeah.” he groans, thick fingers pressing around your neck to feel his dick down your throat.

Drawing low hisses as you tongue at his slit, you breath in the heady scent of Toji and you on your panties and Toji-

“Look s’pretty gagging on his cock, darling.” Suguru’s voice is still silken smooth, mockingly pressing a kiss to your cheek. Pooling the trail of spit and precum on his tongue, before licking a long, languid stripe.

“F-fucking freak.” Toji huffs out a laugh, relishing the way you moan so lewdly around his cock. “Oh? You like that, doll? Little slut, aren’t ya?”

A dangerous chuckle, and he’s thrusting animalistically into your poor, pretty mouth. Balls tightening each time his thick cock disappears into your mouth, lips stretching almost-painfully to accommodate him. Toji’s hand closes tighter around your throat, blocking your airway. Making you choke and gasp for air around his cock, blood roaring in your ears.

Shit, he was going to break you.

Suguru’s clever mouth was on your aching tits now, jolts of electricity going straight to your cunt as he tweaks and teases your hardened nipples. Thumb rubbing harshly over your sensitive tip the way he wouldn’t with your clit. Over and over-

“Suguru, gimme the bra.” you whine, hips bucking as Satoru’s muffled words send vibrations exactly where you wanted.

In a flash, your bra is unclasped and thrown to Satoru. Wrapping it around one large hand, it disappears where you cannot see. Yet the jerky, impatient movements of his hand below - up, up, up - and down have your walls clamping down desperately on Satoru’s tongue.

Ah, he looked so pretty when he was shut up with his mouth full of your dripping cunt. Fucked out whimpers leave Satoru’s throat at each flick of his tongue, fucking your pretty pussy with his mouth till you felt raw.

Suguru - the ever-graceful Suguru - had his brows furrowed desperately. Lips messy with spit as he bites and teases your nipples hard, making you cry out in wet, little gurgles that muffle around the throbbing erection in your mouth, fucking into you with reckless abandon. Toji’s heavy balls stinging your face as he bottoms out with each harsh shove down your throat.

He didn’t care if you could breathe - as long as you sucked the ever-loving soul out of him.

The heady air is urgent now. Hasty movements now becoming more and more frenzied. Mindless with lust. Filthy. Debauched. It was so fucking sinful.

So it only made sense that your orgasm was the same.

You see white as you cum - or maybe that was the hot, thick ropes of seed that Toji painted your face with. Moans muffled and hips bucking deliriously, you moan breathlessly as neither of the three men give up their relentless abuse.

Your head shot up blindly in pleasure, sharp teeth digging into your shoulder - hard enough to break skin. Suguru.

Wrestled down onto the bed by three sets of strong arms still groping the expanse of your body, you ride out your white-hot high on the taste of Toji slipping down your throat, Satoru’s still merciless tongue, and Suguru’s index finally pressing down on your throbbing clit. Hard.

Blood roaring in your ears, your vision blurs as you sink into the mattress. You think you’re in heaven, and it was only fitting that these demons with angelic faces were the first things that you see there.

“You alright, darling? Can’t have you go passing out on us mid-initiation, now.” Suguru tuts, sharing a glance with Satoru, who was absolutely dripping in satisfaction - and your slick, prettily glossing his lips and nose.

“Mmm- s’fucked out. Ah-” Your violent climax leaves you limp, and you feel like a fucking ragdoll with the way Suguru wraps a steady arm around your waist, pulling you impossibly close against him. You whine as your stinging tits meet his toned body, sticky with the heat of the room. When did he even take his shirt off?

Satoru isn’t too far behind, with little care for the buttons flinging across the room as he rips his shirt open - creamy chest peeking out in all its chiseled glory. Shit.

You almost miss the bed shifting as Toji sits on the edge, watching the three of you with greedy eyes as he fists his cum-covered cock with your panties. Teasing, purposeful movements up his length.

Suguru’s hand stroking your face, Satoru’s on your hips.

“After all that princess, you deserve a little treat.” Satoru purrs lowly, lips glistening with your juices and breath hot against your ear. Shivers run along your spine - right down to where he was groping and playfully swatting your ass. Darkened eyes narrowed at the way it jiggled against his large hands.

“T-treat? Wha-”

Your disoriented stammers are stuck in your throat as Suguru shoves two long fingers into your mouth. Whatever moans leaving your lips are choked and muffled as he forces you to taste yourself.

Fingers intertwining with your tongue, you’re delirious with the want for more more more - and evidently, Suguru is too, throbbing and leaking with need as he pushes his soiled boxers down. Something cold makes you flinch as your quivering thigh grazes his clothed erection.

Oh. Who knew your best friend had a dick piercing?

“Fuck, darling. Really should’ve done this sooner.” he murmurs, voice thick with lust and more to himself than you. “Mhm. You don’t know how hard it was to not bend you over and stuff you till you can’t speak, princess~” a whisper from behind you - Satoru.

Before you know it, Satoru’s lips find yours in a fiery kiss amidst it all. As if he couldn’t get enough of the sweet taste of your cunt - and probably never will.

Suguru is languid and unhurried where Satoru is impatient and starved, rutting desperately against your ass.

Every twirl of Suguru’s finger is deliberate, leaving a trail of lingering electricity in its wake. And with searing passion, Satoru’s tongue tastes you in all the ways he possibly could. The three of you tangled in an unholy act.

Fuck, it was messy. So fucking messy.

Delicate strings of saliva and slick connecting you to the two as drool drips down the corner of your mouth, eyes scrunched closed at the sinful pleasure.

“Fucking freaks.” Toji spits out, eyeing Satoru’s fingers inching closer and closer to your ass, deftly prodding at your quivering entrance. Yet, his movements only grow more urgent, fucking his fist in desperate need to cum - to cum all over you once more.

Satoru pulls away, and you shiver at the cold feeling of his saliva hitting your rim. Once. Twice. Thrice just to watch the way your hole quivers so obscenely for him.

In the haze of the pure want of the three men around you, it slowly dawns on you that they won’t stop until they’ve fucked you half to death. And you cunt clenches in anticipation.

Maybe you really were a little slut.

Suguru only has his flushed tip kissing your folds, but you already feel so fucking full. Maybe it was the way Satoru was now bullying long, pale fingers through that first, tight little circle of muscle. Scissoring you open, hooking a thumb to stretch your slutty hole till he was more than satisfied.

Through the corner of your eye, you watch Toji. Eyes half-lidded, gaze locked with yours, and looming closer towards you.

Before you knew it, a rough hand grasps yours, wrapping so daintily around Toji’s fat, leaking tip. Guiding your hand, thumbing his slit to pull his dick in harsh, mindless pulls to get off. It has your sensitive cunt so heated and dripping, slick trailing down your shaky legs.

“Suguru, think our little sweetheart is ready? Don’t think I can hold back any longer, all her pretty holes are begging me to fuck her.”

You weren’t going to make it out alive. Maybe you didn’t want to.

He doesn’t wait for a response. Your surprised yelps are gagged on Suguru’s fingers as Satoru sheaths himself in your ready hole. A low groan ripping from his throat as you clamp down on him, struggling to bear with the delicious stretch. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, despite the panic setting in, as he pushes deeper and deeper. Inch by inch. “Fuck s’tight. So tight, princess.”

Was he even halfway in? He had to be, right?

Arm now burning with the feeling of Toji fucking his throbbing erection into your fist, you risk a glance behind you, catching a glimpse of the deliciously flushed cock pressing into you. Long, pale, so pretty - so Satoru.

Chuckling at the dilemma on your face, Suguru hums. “Now, Satoru. That hardly seems fair. Don’t be greedy.” And at that last word, Suguru’s leaking tip pushes past your entrance - thick , with a long vein running down the middle, cold metal of his piercing making your walls twitch - grunting at the resistance that came with being so fucking full from both ends.

“Just getting to fucking her already. Look at the pretty doll, so eager to please. She’s begging for it.” you moan at Toji’s impatient comment, his precum coating your hand a pretty gloss. You’re fucking yourself in mindless, shallow, bounces that have you split open on both throbbing cocks.

Satoru’s hand snaking down to wildly draw circles on your clit, jolting at the overstimulation, whine deliriously as both Satoru and Suguru bottom out inside of you.

Deep moans bouncing off the walls - tight, so tight. You were going to make them pass out. Or worse, cum before you.

“S’alright hah- Fuck!” Suguru can barely get the words out, you’ve never seen Suguru - all grace and poise - lose his composure like this. A slave to desire. And if Suguru was losing control then Satoru was on the edge of absolute insanity, darkened eyes blown-out and short, broken whines leaving his mouth at each breath.

You, on the other hand, have never felt more awake.

“Oh- oh fuck. Can’t- Too much. Hngh-” Raspy moans ripping from your throat at each little movement, hips moving in a mindless tandem with your best friends’ as they start thrusting in slow, experimental thrusts.

You felt so unforgivingly full - organs secondary to the cocks splitting you apart till you could barely form sentences.

Filthy. Fucking filthy.

And the only place you wanted to be right now.

Pulse banging against your throat, sight spotty, you don’t even know if what you’re feeling is pain or pleasure. Head only full of Satoru and Suguru and Toji and Satoru and-

“Awww, look at her- hah- Cock-drunk little whore can’t even speak.”

Bruised tits bouncing as Suguru and Satoru move in sync, fucked-out, animalistic ramming of their cocks into your stretched out little pussy. Delicate tears stream down your face. Your pace on Toji’s twitching dick now jerky, desperate movements to keep your sanity. “Jus’ like that, doll. Yeah-”

You could feel the burning stretch as their throbbing cocks rubbed against each other through your walls. Balls smacking against your stinging skin and their prominent veins massaging your snug cunt just right. The slapping of skin and Toji’s squelching have your head spinning.

A wolfish bite on your exposed neck - Satoru - as he tried to keep himself together. Arching you deeper into him, thrusts stemming from a carnal, depraved part of him. Faster.

“Oh. So good, princess. Hole sucking me in so good. Ah- fuck. Could do this for the rest of my life.”

“Nasty girl. You love this, don’t you?” Suguru purrs, amusement evident in his tone.

“Y-yes! Love it! Love it Sugu- Toru-”

With a harsh slap to your clit, both men speed up their pace in your sloppy holes. Relishing in the precum and slick dripping down their sensitive lengths, and the creamy rings forming around their bases.

More. More. More more more more-

This orgasm is more obscene than the last. Supported by Suguru and Satoru’s strong arms, spread open and stuffed so shamefully by their throbbing erections. Your head is thrown back, voice-shot as broken moans leave your swollen lips. Fist moving in a mindless rhythm - no reason or rhyme.

“F-fuck, darling. Gonna-”

All it takes are your half-lucid, fucked out mewls, walls wrestling with the effort to clench around them, for Suguru and Satoru to slam into you purposefully. Once. Twice. Before spilling into you in unison.

“Hngh- M’cumming. Oh, god m’cumming, princess. Ah! Milking me so good.”

Thick, hot ropes of cum that fill your snug holes. You could feel your stomach inflating, enough to make you feel like you’ll explode.

Cock-drunk, you’re dead weight in their arms as Suguru and Satoru moan in relief, riding out their highs. Endless spurts of their seed splashing into you. It dribbles out of your overfilled cunt and ass, soiling the wet bed sheets beneath you.

Soaked in their cum, barely conscious, body aching all over. Ah, this was heaven.

“Switch. Wanna cum in her pretty hole.”

You jolt as Satoru snarks under his breath, pulling out his still-hard head with a lewd pop! A wave of his hot cum gushing out of your abused hole, pooling so sinfully beneath you.

Your knees buckle, brain not catching up yet. Too fucked out, your ready ass barely resists as Toji presses his rock-hard tip inside, pulsing with need.

“Yeah, that’s right. Take it.” Grunting lowly, veins popping out as his thick cum spurts uncontrollably from his twitching cock. Once. Twice. Thrice. Missing your hole slightly, splattering on your ass. Pushing his leaking head inside in desperate, shallow thrusts. He just needed it inside you.

Slowing to a stop, “Now, what do you say?”

“Th-thank you, daddy.”

Vision blacking, you barely even register the words. It’s all that is muttered out before Toji pulls out in one, fluid motion and you’re thrown around like a ragdoll. Suguru’s hand firmly pinning yours behind your back, glistening cock still in you, legs spread sinfully open.

He licks a long stripe down your cheek, your tears salty on his tongue. “Don’t think the initiation’s done yet, darling.”

Cum leaking helplessly out of you, Satoru’s hungry gaze - blue eyes barely recognizable - meets yours. “Oh, fuck. Just look at you princess. So defiled. Makes me wanna eat out all the cum inside you before pumping you full of mine again.”

“Don’t cream yourself just yet, Satoru. I think we’re about to have another initiation coordinator.”

What?

Sure enough, distant footsteps steadily approach. Growing louder with each passing second, thick with anticipation.

Closer. And closer.

The door is suddenly thrown open, light filtering in through the door, illuminating the stern figure standing in the doorway.

Nanami Kento.

The frat treasurer, infamous as the devastatingly handsome impersonation of a stick up one’s ass, known for rejecting any and every advance left and right.

His sharp gaze sweeps the charged room, dark eyes revealing nothing, catching on your teary, fucked out gaze, miles away. Body covered in cum and spit, marked like you were thrown to the wolves. Satoru grits his teeth with an impatient huff, looking like he’s ready to positively devour you, irritated at the interruption.

“What are you doing? This is an embarrassment to Jujutsu Phi.”

In the twinge of disappointment, you can’t help but feel a brief glimmer of hope. Ah, Nanami Kento. Maybe he will be your savior - a temporary respite from the men who seem ready to eat you alive. And won’t stop till you’re not.

“If you’re going to initiate her then show no mercy.”

The door slams behind him as he steps inside the heated hellhole. A cold shiver runs down your spine. Satoru’s burning whisper in your ear.

“Welcome to the brotherhood, sweetheart.”

A/N. Whew this turned out longer than expected. Tried a new formatting thing, how we liking it??

Plagiarism not authorized.

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mymindisneverhere · 3 months ago

Text

I can’t lie I’m enjoying writing these. 🙃 lowkey wish it was me

warnings: 18+, SMUT, edging, dirty talk, oral sex, fingering.

Summary: Aaron is having a get together at his home with his colleagues and his wife has had an attitude with him all day… he ends up fixing it tho.

30 Whole Days

He marched up the stairs and into the bedroom searching for her. His breathing was heavy, not from exhaustion but from rage. This was it, she had pushed him to the limit with her most recent emotional outburst. He understood how sensitive she was and that at times her emotions could get the best of her but he never thought she’d use this moment to embarrass him in front of his people.

Her attitude was far out of control and he didn’t know if he were to blame or if this was all on her. She had been short with him all day. Half assed answers, avoiding kisses and walking away when he’d reach for a hug. He couldn’t believe 30 days had done this to her, and had caused her to become so… bratty.

Attempting to lighten her mood, he had asked her to bring him and the guys another round of tequila shots. He knew his wife’s favorite thing to do was serve him, not only because he’d asked but because it was her love language, so he figured it wouldn’t be an issue.

She waited a few beats to respond then flashed a fake over exaggerated smile to him before heading to the bar that sat right outside on the back patio. She was over him at this moment. She was pissed, frustrated, angry and now after 30 days of holding back her emotions, she exploded.

She grabbed the bottle of tequila and took a few gulps of the warm liquor before storming back into the living room where the guests sat. They all laughed and sipped on their beverages as she walked directly to him, never taking her eyes off of him.

“Pour your own damn shots!” She stated through gritted teeth before slamming the expensive bottle onto the coffee table cracking the glass that held drinks and coasters.

The room went completely silent as they watched her walk away stomping up the stairs and slamming the door a few seconds later.

”We should get going, I think we may have overstayed our welcome.” Jamal, his colleague said, looking over at him with a worried stare. “I’ll see you later man.” Everyone stood and shook hands before departing all at a once.

Once the large horseshoe driveway was empty he immediately turned and shot up the stairs to the owners suite. She had officially lost her damn mind.

“Veronica!” He yelled, in a tone that demanded her presence right away. His voice roared throughout the whole house, there was no way she didn’t hear him. When she failed to appear in front of him, he knew she was purposely testing his patience. He walked into their adjoining bathroom to find her at the vanity casually fixing her hair and makeup.

“Have you lost your fucking mind? I have a house full of guests and you decide to embarrass me?” He asked standing in the doorway eyeing her reflection in the mirror.

“I didn’t embarrass you like I could have.” She shot back, sending a look of anger right back to him.

He paused for a few seconds before letting out a deep breath and nodding his head. “Alright, if this is what you wanna do, it’s fine with me.”

”Fine.” She responded.

As much as he loved his wife, he hated her stubborn attitude. Her need to prove a point, her desire to be right all the time, to be the winner of some game that only she’s aware of. Usually he would be the one to fold simply because he knew his wife and she’d thrown fits like this in the past to get what she wanted but tonight she had taken it too far. He decided that for the first time in the 4 years they’d been married, she would have to swallow her pride to get what she wanted.

He walked out of the bathroom and made his way to the walk in closet. He began smirking to himself wondering how long it would take for her to do the one thing that comes rare to her, beg.

He undid his tie first and removed his dress shirt right after. He kept his white wife beater on along with his dress slacks and dress shoes. After placing his tie and shirt in their designated areas, he left the bedroom and made his way downstairs to the study, making sure to close the bedroom door behind him.

She sat for a few minutes in confusion. He knew what she wanted and by now he’d be giving her just that but something was off about tonight. She got up from the vanity and went into the bedroom looking around for her husband. He wasn’t there.

She went into the closet to see if he’d be there deciding on an outfit for morning brunch with the family but he wasn’t there either.

“He really just left me in this room by myself.” She whispered to herself in shock. She knew he hadn’t left the house because the security system would have alerted her.

She looked over at the clock on the nightstand that read 9:40 p.m. in digital white font. He was going to make her beg for it but she refused to give in, not after he made her wait for 30 days. He owed HER and he was going to be the one to give in, not the other way around.

So she decided to turn on the tv and watch reruns of her favorite reality shows until he walked through the bedroom door, shirt off and dick swinging.

Two long hours had gone by and he still hadn’t made his way back to their bedroom. She couldn’t believe he’d actually decided to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms. I mean yeah she had thrown a tantrum and it may have been a bit much but he started it. How could he not expect her to react this way after going cold turkey for so long.

“I’m over this shit.” She threw the comforter off of her body and jumped down from their tall king size bed. She walked down the hall to the guest bedroom closest to the owner's suite, only to find the bedroom empty. “So now he’s playing hide and seek, how childish.” She mumbled to herself.

She made her way to the opposite end of the hall to the second guest room to find it empty just like the one before. She tightened her satin robe out of pure frustration and trotted down the stairs. She was about to make her way to the living room when she saw a light coming from under the double doors of the study.

“So he’s working while I’m around this bitch playing cat and mouse.” She said, rolling her eyes.

She opened the doors to the study and marched right over to him, locking eyes with her husband. He looked up at her, meeting her gaze, awaiting an explanation. The two had a standoff for a few seconds but the tension in the room made it feel like hours. She was waiting for him to give in, not knowing that he had no plans to do so.

“You got something you want to say to me?” He asked in a low calm tone, never taking his eyes off of hers. He knew what he was doing. He was going to get her riled up until she really snapped. When her patience ran thin, her mouth became lethal.

”You’re not funny Aaron.” She spat leaning over the large desk that separated the two.

He continued staring at her. This time bringing a glass of Cognac to his lips.

“You owe me!” She hissed, leaning further onto the desk causing her robe to slightly slip open revealing her breasts.

He sat, remaining silent.

“It’s been 30 days, stop playing with me!” She warned, pointing her finger in his face.

He finished his Cognac before placing the glass down, his eyes still never leaving hers.

“Tell me what you want.” He commanded.

She smacked her teeth. “You know exactly wh-“ She started but was interrupted.

“You throw a tantrum in a room full of people embarrassing both me and you but now you’re too scared to tell me what you want from me?” He questioned. One thing he knew for sure about his wife was that she was far from scared. He was pushing her buttons on purpose.

“I’m not scared.” She shot back.

He stood up from his chair and slowly made his way to her side of the desk. She turned around to meet his eyes, they had yet to break this intense stare down. He stood in front of her planting his hands on the desk, right by her sides.

Their faces were so close she could smell the Cognac on his breath and that made her clit throb. She loved when he’d had a few drinks, the night would always end with her cries of pleasure. But she wasn’t so sure about this night, her tantrum had really pissed him off and he was really standing his ground.

“So say it.” He said, his voice deep and impatient.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sudden command. Aaron was usually very gentle with her. He’d treat her like she was fragile, like she was a priceless piece of art that should be handled with great care.

This Aaron was a bit dark, not in a scary way but in a way that made her regret her decision she’d made hours before. She wanted a reaction out of him but she didn’t expect this one.

‘Say it.” He repeated, this time through gritted teeth.

“I want you to fuck me.” She whispered.

“You were loud a few minutes ago, why you whispering now?” He questioned. “Say it, louder.”

She hesitated for a second, looking down at his lips. They were so soft and full, she wanted them wrapped around her clit.

“I want you to eat me til I cum and then fuck me, right here on your desk.” She said in a normal tone.

He smirked at her response simply because she truly thought she was the one calling the shots in this moment.

He used his knee to part her legs and wrapped one hand around her neck, causing her head to fall back. He snatched the belt on her robe making the thin fabric to fly open. He placed wet kisses down her neck to her shoulder before licking back up to her ear.

“You enjoy embarrassing me?” He spoke into her ear causing her to inhale sharply from the warmth of his breath.

“I wasn’t trying to.” She breathed.

He ran the tips of his fingers across her nipple, still nibbling on her ear. He knew tending to her sensitive spots at once would drive her crazy. He played with her left nipple, enjoying the feeling of its hardness in between his thumb and index finger.

“Then what were you trying to do?” His voice remained low and calm in her ear.

She was in so much bliss she couldn’t think straight. He hadn’t even fucked her yet and she was already feeling her first orgasm coming. Her first orgasm in 30 days.

Aaron had decided that they should hold out on sex for a month. It wasn’t due to any mishaps in their marriage, he just wanted to build some anticipation.

He had married a woman with a high libido and with him being the first man to ever make her orgasm, she was demanding sex from him damn near everyday. They would get breaks during that time of the month but even then she still wanted more.

”I don’t know.” She barely managed. Her body was feeling so many things at once, things she hadn’t felt in a while that all she could manage to say was “I don’t know.”

She hissed from pain as he pinched her sensitive nipples and bit her ear. He wasn’t pleased with her answer.

“I was mad at you.” She admitted , “I was just pissed but I’m not anymore.”

He gently brought her face up to meet his before saying “Well I am.”

He kissed her passionately, not leaving an ounce of emotion behind. He was animalistic. He had never been an aggressive man but tonight he decided to take his anger out on his wife, the one who had caused it. He bit her bottom lip slightly before pulling back and forcing her back to lay flat on the desk.

He wrapped his arms under her thick thighs pulling her hips to the edge of the desk. He placed kisses and bite marks on her inner thighs, the bites causing her to moan in pain and pleasure. He came face to face with her pussy, placing kisses around her lips to tease her, one of the things she hated.

She rolled her hips in anticipation hoping that one of his kisses would land right on her clit. He tightened his grip on her thighs making it hard for her to move from his hold.

“Baby please.” She begged.

He smiled to himself before placing his tongue in between her lips. He licked slowly from her entrance all the way up to her clit, making sure his tongue hit every inch of her pussy. When he got to her clit he carefully rolled his tongue in circular motions, sucking it ever so often. He didn’t want her to come anytime soon so he thought he’d enjoy edging her.

“Ooh yes!” She moaned, placing her hand on his head. This was her way of telling him he was doing a damn good job.

“Yes daddy right there.” She moaned, indicating that her orgasm was near. Right when she could feel it build in her stomach, he’d slow down, making her come back down from ten. He done this a few times and she was becoming frustrated but that's exactly what he wanted.

“After what you did, you think I’d give it to you that early?” He asked, planting kisses up her body. He licked and sucked on her nipples one at a time. He carefully pushed two fingers into her pussy while still focused on her breasts. He pumped his fingers in and out of her, making sure to hit her G-Spot, sending her back up the orgasm ladder.

“Oooooh fuck!” She cried out. “Like that baby, just like that.” Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she prepared to send her wetness all over his fingers.

He felt her pussy tighten around his fingers and he slowed down, stroking in and out of her at a snail's place.

“Oh my God.” She moaned. “Why are you doing this to me?” She cried out in pure frustration.

He let out a deep chuckle before pulling his fingers out and placing them in her mouth. She sucked them, moaning at the taste of her on his hands. He undid his pants with his free hand, dropping his underwear in a swift motion. She was so into sucking her juices off of his fingers, she couldn’t brace herself for the dick she hadn’t had in a month.

He slid inside of her, giving her a quick and hard thrust causing her to let out a loud moan. He paused for a few seconds, taking in the tightness of her wet pussy. It had been so long since he’d been inside her, they both needed to adjust.

“Shit.” He managed.

He pulled out of her, slapping the head of his dick onto her throbbing clit. He needed a moment to prepare himself for this ride. If he was going to give her the punishment she deserved, he'd have to last long enough to make it worth his while.

He pushed inside of her slowly, admiring the way her eyes rolled into her head. He loved the faces she made when he fucked her, she was so fucking pretty.

He lifted both of her legs up resting them on his shoulders. He held onto her full hips as he thrusted in and out of her slowly. She frowned from pleasure, lust written all over her face.

“That dick feels so fucking good.” She moaned, her eyes shut tight.

“Look at me.” He demanded.

Her eyes fluttered open landing right on his. As soon as they locked eyes he picked up the pace. He was testing her, he knew that if he quickened the strokes she'd struggle to keep her eyes open.

Just as he thought, her eyes closed and when her eyes closed he slowed down.

”Okay baby, I get it.” She moaned in a pleading tone.

“Close your eyes again and I’ll stop.” He said, looking down at her.

She fixed her eyes on him again, her eyes low and lust filled.

He picked up the pace again, rolling his hips into hers making sure to hit her spot. He wasn’t going to let her cum until she begged him.

He was fucking her into oblivion. There’s was no way he expected her to keep her eyes locked on him when he was fucking her like they would never see each other again.

“I’m sorry daddy, I swear I’m sorry.” She cried out, her eyes beginning to roll again.

“Open!” He warned.

“Please baby.” She cried again.

”Please what?” He asked, never missing a beat. He could see in her face he was hitting the right spot. It was only a matter of time before she gave him what he wanted. He bent down, bringing his face to hers, still stroking her pussy.

“I wanna cum.” She begged.

He sped up the pace staring directly into her eyes.

“Please I wanna cum.”

“Let it go baby.” He said, giving her the okay to release her treasures onto him.

“Fuck yes!” She screamed out in pure ecstasy.

He watched as her body jerked from the orgasm it was experiencing, the way her pussy increased in wetness damn near sent him over the edge but he wasn’t done with her just yet.

“That’s right baby, get all that shit.” He said into her ear, placing kisses on her neck and cheek while she came down.

She moaned, still trying to catch her breath and relax her body underneath him.

After a few more seconds, pulled out and walked backwards until he found one of the large chairs in his study.

“Come here.” He demanded, his eyes still never leaving her. He sat down, placing his arms on the rests of the chair as he watched his wife struggle to get across the room.

“My legs are a little sore.” She whined as she walked to him.

“Come. Here.” He repeated impatiently.

Finally crossing the room, she stood directly in front of him and dropped her robe.

“Sit on this dick.”

She climbed onto him, her coffee colored skin tainted in sweat, her large breasts decorated with nipple rings that complimented her large dark brown areolas, she was a sight to see. She positioned herself right above his dick and sat down slowly, staring down at her husband.

She rolled her hips into him as she looked for pleasure in his stare. All she could find was lust and a hint of anger. She didn’t know what to expect from him, he was actually fed up with her tonight.

She rode him anyway, deciding that she’d take this moment to be selfish and get her pleasures regardless of the stern look on his face. She closed her eyes and dropped her head back as she held onto him, her hands on the back of his neck for support.

“Mmmmm.” She moaned in enjoyment, her hips rolling at a steady pace as she felt the wetness from her pussy spread to her inner thighs.

He sat back and watched his wife take control. He loved that she wasn’t afraid to take full control to reach her orgasm. He appreciated the fact that she was a sensual woman and proud of it.

But he was the one calling the shots tonight. He snaked both of his hands up her body reaching for her neck, gripping her throat.

“Yes daddy.” She moaned, still caught up in her own pleasure.

Without warning he began thrusting his hips into hers, making her eyes open in surprise. He had let her have a few minutes to come down from the last climax but it was time to remind her who was really running the show.

“Yes, fuck me baby.” She cried out. She held onto his wrists as he fucked her. Her cries became louder as he continuously hit her spot with every single stroke. She looked down at him again as he brought her face to his, still stroking in and out her pussy.

“You like making me mad don’t you?”

“No.” She replied out of breath.

“You wanna embarrass me again?” He asked, his lips touching hers.

“No Daddy.” She cried, as she felt her climax coming.

The way he was fucking her, the way he was talking to her had unlocked another level of sensual satisfaction. The hold he had on her neck, the way he caressed his thumbs against her lips, his deep sultry tone of voice and spicy smell of liquor on his breath was a combination that would send another orgasm through her body.

“You cum when I tell you to.” He barked through his teeth, daring her to climax.

“I can’t hold it anymore.” She cried, a small tear of ecstasy running down her face. She came harder than the first time.

“Yes!” She screamed out, unashamed and completely out of body. Her pussy pulsated and slightly stinging from pain due to his size. He let the tear run down her face as the rest of her emotions ran down his legs. She squeezed her eyes shut as her body responded to yet another orgasm.

“I knew you’d beg me for it.” He smirked with his cocky ass attitude.

”Fuck you.” She whimpered, taking in every moment of her peak.

”I know, baby.” He said, soothing her after ruining her. He caressed her cheek as he watched her come down from yet another orgasm. He had to admit to himself that this tantrum she had thrown earlier had unlocked a different beast inside of him. He kinda liked it.

“You okay?” He asked in a calm tone, he could never fully get rid of the gentle side of him.

She nodded her head slowly then finally collapsed onto his chest still struggling to catch her breath.

“Please don’t make me wait that long again.” She said in between breaths.

“I won’t.” He kissed the top of her head and the two laid together until night became dawn.

Please excuse any mistakes! 🩵

(Y’all ate that last one up so I thought why not write another one. Thank y’all! 🥹)

#aaron pierre x black reader #aaron pierre fanfic #aaron pierre fanfiction #aaron pierre #it should be illegal to be this fine #aaron pierre x black fem reader #black fem reader #rebel ridge #terry richmond

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crownofgildedlilies · 20 days ago

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sick days

pairing: aged up!bakugou x reader summary: Katsuki is sick, which means forcing him to slow down. wc: 1.9k event masterlist

You should have known you were in for trouble the moment you woke up.

While you were waiting until the very last second until your alarm sounded to get up, the other half of your shared bed was suspiciously empty. A box of cold medicine still sat on the bedside table where you had placed it, alongside a nearly empty box of tissues and a half full glass of water.

You frowned. Katsuki was clearly trying to go to work.

Groaning, you climbed out from under the covers and shivered at the cold air permeating the room. The winter months were only just starting, but they had already brought forth their punishing symptoms.

Ice, snow, holiday cheer, and—

“Katsuki Bakugou,” You huffed as soon as you found your stubborn boyfriend dutifully going about his morning routine in the kitchen. “You’re sick.”

And colds.

He froze, his back to you, but you knew exactly what expression he wore. He knew he was supposed to be in bed, preferably still knocked out on cold medicine that made the stuffiness of his nose and increasingly frequent cough just a tad bit more bearable. It wasn’t often that he got sick, but in all the years you had known him, it always was a fight you rarely won to get him to slow down and take time to heal.

Though, when his head had been too foggy with sickness the night before to even hold a conversation with you over dinner, you had stood your ground in convincing him to call Kirishima and swap patrol days.

“Katsu,” Your voice wasn’t going to be confused with soft, but the use of his nickname seemed to convince him that you weren’t going to chew him out for trying to sneak off to work while you still slept. Turning to face you, he copied your stance of crossed arms and firm looks, except he’s leaning back against the counter and you’re blocking the exit of the kitchen, like he’d try and bolt past you and out the front door. “We decided you were going to take the day off and rest.”

“No, you decided.” His response was quick, but he even sounded ridiculously sick, so much so that he grit his teeth and turned his head away from your glare. You could tell, just from the way he held himself, he knew that he was in the wrong.

Not that he’d ever admit it.

“Don’t do that.” Dating Katsuki meant calling him on his shit, and it was a talent you had perfected before you had even gotten together. And though the day he asked you to be official with him he had said he loved that part of you, the way his jaw ticked in stubbornness told you that maybe he didn’t appreciate it all the time. Not that you would ever set aside your beliefs to cater to his explosive tendencies. “Don’t turn this around on me because I want you to take care of yourself, instead of rushing into the next mess at half your best.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He sighs, still managing to sound exhausted despite having just woken up. And you know it’s as close as he’ll get to apologizing, and that he really does mean it, but you meant what you said, too. “You know that, angel.”

“Don’t angel me.” You snap, a little too quickly, glare mixing with a pout and Katsuki smirks. Because he knows that he’s winning you over with his stupid pet names and even more moronic face you struggle to say no too.

“I promise I can make it through the day with some medicine.” He swears, and for a moment you want to believe him, especially as he uncrosses his arms and opens them with a lopsided grin, clearly trying to convince you to come closer. “C’mere. Come kiss it better.”

You shake your head and roll your eyes, but your feet are already carrying you across the well-worn and loved kitchen floor towards him.

Except, you only make it halfway before his body shakes with the force of his cough, and any of your resolve he had chipped away comes back twice as strong.

You don’t even wait for him to finish coughing, as rude as it sounds, before you knot your fist in the front of his shirt and tug him from the kitchen. Even sick, he could easily keep you rooted to your spot and refuse to budge, but he manages to find it in him to silently admit defeat—a fact that proves to you just how poorly he felt—and shuffle along behind you.

“Stay home today and rest.” You order, still tugging him by the shirt all the way back to your shared room. You only let go when he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and that’s so you could stand between his knees and hold his face in one hand to get him to meet your eye. “Get better so you can kick villain ass the way I know you can.”

“Fine,” He grumbled, pouting, but his hands still ghost up the backs of your legs in search of familiar comfort, so you know he’s not too chastised. “But ‘m going to work tomorrow.”

Rolling your eyes, you duck down just slightly to press a quick kiss to his cheek. He finds a reason to grumble about that, too, and you’re forced to listen to his complaints that it wasn’t a real kiss while you ready yourself for the day.

“I’ll be home as early as possible,” You promise, blowing him another fake, long-distance kiss from the doorway to keep from catching his cold. Katsuki seemed to have finally accepted his fate, lounging back against the headboard with an arm behind his head as he scrolled through the various television channels to try and find one entertaining enough to distract himself.

“Yeah, whatever.”

He would have gotten away with it.

Katsuki was so close to getting away with it, that it would have been amusing, if you weren’t so royally pissed off.

He had your coworker to blame, when he no doubt looked for a scapegoat for the situation. Your poor, innocent, concerned coworker, who had ducked her head into your office and asked if you were following the incident, a live broadcast open on her phone.

It only took one scan of the headline for your annoyance to boil over into anger and you to call out for the remainder of the day.

Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight detonates on burglary ring!

You hadn’t even cared to watch the various clips attached to the article about your boyfriend’s latest victory in your race to the agency he spent his days at. No one even batted an eye at your presence as you swiped the badge Katsuki had given you for emergencies that gave you access to the building—and more importantly, his office.

Predictably, he was there, sorting through the pile of paperwork that never seemed to shrink on his desk. A consequence of being a top rated pro, you assumed. But Katsuki had a few other consequences he needed to worry about first.

“Bank robbers? Are you kidding me?” You shouted as soon as you slammed open the door. Your boyfriend’s attention shot up at the sound of your voice, eyes wide and shoulders tense, like he was a child caught stealing sweets before dinner.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” He tried, and the almost nervous, almost bashful, attempt at a placating smile was halfway to amusing. But you were annoyed enough to see right through his flattery.

“Save it.” You huffed, shutting the door behind yourself. “I’ve got half a mind to yell at Kirishima, too. He was supposed to cover your patrol, not cover for you to sneak out to patrol.”

Though, if Katsuki hadn’t listened to you about not working, then he probably didn’t even tell Kirishima that he was going in.

“I wasn’t patrolling, swear.” He leaned back in his chair, clogged nose making his voice sound nasally. Sick or not, you weren’t going to go easy on him.

“Half my office couldn’t wait to show me the newest footage of you fighting in the streets today.” It was a lie, but you felt like exaggerating.

“Really?” Confusion shot through you at the shit eating grin on his face, as if he wasn’t the one in trouble.

“Yes!” Exclaiming, you crossed his office to lean your palms against the top of his desk, desperate to regain control of the situation you suddenly felt on the losing end of.

“And you watched it?” He was smirking despite the dark bags under his eyes and the redness tinting his skin from blowing his nose so frequently, and you felt like you were missing something important.

“You really want to try bragging right now?” Narrowing your eyes, you dodged his question. You hadn’t watched the clips from the broadcast, too mad at him for effectively sneaking out from the bed rest you had forced him into.

“Angel, you didn’t watch it, did you?” His smug tone was interrupted only by a small cough as he grinned up at you from his stupidly comfortable office chair. Pursing your lips and standing tall, you crossed your arms over your chest and tried to find his angle.

“Why does that matter?”

“Because I wasn’t on patrol. I happened to be walking down the same street those dumbasses tried escaping on and just helped the pros actually on patrol get them.”

It made sense, considering he wasn’t in his hero suit like he usually was at the agency, but a set of workout clothes he frequently lounged around the house in. He smirked even wider at your frown, and you knew he enjoyed watching you piece together the fact that he was right.

“Okay,” You scrambled to find the upper hand in the conversation. “But you weren’t supposed to leave at all.”

“Right, fine.” He huffed, his previous air of superiority quickly replaced by chagrin at being called out. “But I needed to get some paperwork to bring home. I was going stir crazy by myself.”

“It’s barely lunch, Katsuki. You couldn’t just relax?”

“Not by myself.” He confirmed, managing to weasel his way back into your good graces with his charming excuses. Huffing, you make your way around the desk to lean back against it, next to his chair.

“Well. I’m still mad you snuck out,” You watched as his hands clenched into fists on the armrests at your words, managing to pull a shred of pity out of you. You should have known better than to assume he would have been able to let himself relax after so many years of relentless training to be the best. “But I took the rest of the day off.”

“I’m fine, and all,” Katsuki dropped his attention from your face, suddenly finding a spot on the opposite wall incredibly interesting. And you knew if you pressed him about it, he’d only tell you that the flush high on his cheeks was only due to his sickness. “But let’s go home.”

“You look like shit, Katsu.”

“I deserved that one.”

“Like, death warmed over, bad.”

“Alright!” He shouted, though his volume triggered a coughing fit shook his shoulders.

Snorting, you pushed off the desk and made your way towards the exit, waving over your shoulder for him to follow you. With a frown, he grumbled something akin to ‘bet you’re happy’ that had you humming your one word agreement.

“Karma.”

#bakugo katuski #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #mha #mha x reader #my hero academia

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dreamlandcreations · 2 months ago

Text

OPLA men - I licked it so it's mine

Shanks / Mihawk / Zoro / Sanji x Reader

this is @justnerdystuffs' fault idea with a little twist here and there and it has been sitting in my drafts for ages 🫣

Warnings: implied mutual pining, idiots (all of them), fluff, kissing, implied relationship afterwards and other stuff , height difference, not proofread (I just wanted to finish something finally 😭🤧)

• Shanks masterlist • Main Masterlist • Moodboards masterlist •

It's been weeks since you have had a decent meal.

After such a long time, you finally landed on an island with a nice-looking bar where the rest of the crew could celebrate whatever excuse they could come up with for drinking and partying. You couldn't care less at the moment.

You had half the menu ordered, knowing full well some of the guys would join in on the feast whether you invited them or not. And that was fine, really, until they tried to take a bite of your steak. Roux was indeed lucky not to lose a hand.

However, your dearest captain had no such self-preservation instincts. You were on very good terms with the man, Shanks was easy to get along with, but he could be such a child sometimes.

He was sitting right next to you and he moved in the moment you turned your head in the other direction to look at some stunt Yasopp was trying to pull. You turned back just in time at the sound of the fork being stabbed into meat.

You moved fast, but not fast enough. The red-haired manchild took the last piece of your steak and quickly licked it from bottom to top, grinning at you with sauce staining his cheek right from under his scars all the way to his chin.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I licked it so it's mine."

From the other side of the table Ben was watching the scene in morbid fascination, ready to save his captain from certain death once again and he didn't like the sinister grin slowly pulling at your lips.

"Hmm," you leaned closer as Shanks put down the food on his plate, reaching for a napkin to wipe his face before you grabbed his hand, yanked him closer, gripping his chin in your other hand, you slowly licked the sauce off the side of his face before you pulled away and smirked at him as you claimed, "I guess that means you are mine now."

The room turned silent, all eyes on you two, as Shanks regarded you with a strange expression, and Ben stood still right where he jumped up when you launched for the captain, while you just stared at the man before you with slowly widening eyes as you just realised what you have done.

Before you could pull further away, Shanks quickly lifted you from your chair, making it tumble back as he pulled you into his lap with his smile quickly returning but with a new warmth to it, and you already knew you were in trouble before you heard what he had to say.

"Yours, huh?" he asked, cupping your cheek gently as he leaned in impossibly close, playfully nudging your nose with his and whispered, "I think I like the sound of that."

Steak forgotten, the crew's cheering ignored, you kissed the grinning idiot and you could't help but smile into the kiss too.

Ben in the background collapsed back into his chair, grabbed a large bottle of rum, and took a big gulp, already dreading what these two will put him through together.

You didn't know how Shanks convinced the swordsman to stay for the celebration but you were having fun watching your captain get on his nerves and when you saw the opportunity to join in that fun, you just had to do it.

There was no shortage of alcohol but Dracule Mihawk has a certain taste and you knew he would go for the good stuff, so you acted as soon as he got up from his seat from next to Shanks.

You took your time to pour out the remaining wine from the last, almost empty bottle and waited until the warlord got close enough that you could tease him without too many witnesses.

He towered over you somewhat menacingly, slightly raising his eyebrows expectantly as his gaze travelled down to the glass in your hand and back to your face in a meaningful motion. You were not intimidated in the slightest though.

On the contrary, you faked innocence as you mimicked his gesture before locking your gaze with his and letting your lips pull up into a little smirk then you lifted the glass and slowly dragged your tongue around the edge of it.

"I licked it so it's mine." you stated cheerfully and shrugged at his almost unperceivable widened eyes that betrayed his surprise or anger. Definitely disbelief, you decided.

Following a tense silence, a rare smile graced his lips, and you stopped breathing for a moment as he leaned in closer.

"Is that right?" he murmured. His usually bored tone a mix between amusement, mocking and challenge.

Mihawk didn’t wait for your response but took a hold of your chin and smashed his lips against yours just as you gasped, and he took the opportunity to immediately deepen the kiss and lick into your mouth, letting you taste the wine he has been drinking throughout the night and you had no opportunity to sample because you dropped the glass as soon as his lips touched yours.

He didn't seem bothered by the pricey drink going to waste or you knocking down his hat as you desperately reached out and hang onto him by his nape while you tried to keep up with his maddening, passionate, slow, seductive kiss that made you feel like the room was spinning around you.

He pulled away just as abruptly as he started the kiss but he didn't let you go while he regarded you with a smug expression.

"I believe that makes you mine." When you failed to reply, he faked thinking about it for a second, then his smirk returned and he added, “Hmm. Perhaps I’ll have to be more thorough with my claiming.” before capturing your lips again and lifting you up into his arms to take you away somewhere private to make good on his promise.

Luffy claimed most of the food as you sat down, and he did it in the most disgusting but interesting way possible. He stretched his tongue out and licked over all the plates at his half of the table, grinning as he yelled excitedly, "I licked it! So it's mine!"

A moment of horror passed then everyone dug into (the safe part of) the feast. Everyone, except the green haired menace next to you.

Zoro collected both bottles of wine to himself opening them and storing them on his other side, even though he knew that was the only drink you'd find acceptable and it was pretty much all the same to him as long as it had alcohol in it.

He didn't react to you theatrically clearing your throat as you turned to him so you kicked his leg with a force that made him jump up a little.

He looked at you with surprise that quickly turned into annoyance then a wordless challenge. When the silent staredown didn't end with his win he sighed and reached for both bottles, and he extended one of them towards you but pulled back before you could grab it and went to lick over that bottle opening and then the other. Smiling at you in triumph as he said,

"Heard the captain. Rules are rules!"

Huffing at the audacity, you waited until he raised a bottle to his lips and hit the bottom, tipping it so he would spill the wine on himself.

He stood abruptly, making the chair almost fall over as you laughed.

The others' only reaction was a look in your way, they were used to your antics by now, they expected a fight as soon as you sat down beside the ex pirate hunter.

What no one, including you saw coming was your next move. Your eyes followed the droplets of wine dripping down Zoro's neck as he tried to dry his shirt with a napkin. It was all in vain, the fabric was soaked through.

You blinked a few times, trying to gather some sense into you, and obviously failing as you batted away his hands, produced a knife and slit his shirt open in a flash. Then, as you stood up you licked over his toned abdomen and chest, all the way up to his jaw before biting him teasingly there.

He blinked rapidly, taking in a staggering breath as he looked down at you, fixing his gaze on your now wine red lips. You licked them to savour the taste then you took the other bottle, sauntered over to the door and paused, looking back at Zoro with a challenging eyebrow raise before you left.

"Huh," was all he said before he followed you to your room.

You narrowed your eyes at Sanji, eyeing him with growing annoyance as he ate the rare bite-sized food that was gifted to you as the last creation of the chef who the cook obsessed over for the entire week. He moaned and swooned over the taste as you clenched your teeth together, trying to come up with an appropriate revenge.

Sanji looked at you with innocent eyes, smiling sweetly as he ased, "What?"

You looked down at the empty plate pointedly and then back at the thief just in time to see him shrug. "You know the rule, I licked it so it's mine."

Your body moved before you could think it through, grasping his chin with one hand, brushing away his hair from his face and grabbing him by the back of his head with your other hand as you quickly licked the side of his face and pushed him back a little as you stepped back. There, the gesture says.

Waiting for his disgusted reaction, you started to grin, satisfied with your little revenge for now, at least for a moment or so because he didn't react how you thought at all.

He seemed to be frozen in place except for his slowly widening eyes, then he gasped, giggled, and turned to you with a grin, exclaiming loudly that, "I'm yours now, no takebacks!"

You huffed at the ridiculous train of thought and turned to leave but he hugged you from behind, nuzzling into your neck, arms circling around your waist and you couldn't help but smile as you sighed dramatically but placed your hands on his, letting him pull you into an even tighter embrace that you would be trapped in for a while.

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moonstruckme · 9 months ago

Note

Hi! I absolutely love your writing and saw that your requests were open so I thought I’d shoot this over. If you don’t vibe with it don’t worry about skipping it. I was wondering if I could request a James x reader where they are living together and definitely love each other but they’ve kind of slipped into a roommate phase. Like they’re just living around each other and reader starts feeling insecure and scared and doesn’t know how to get back into normalcy. Maybe a little angsty with some fluff at the end

Thanks lovely!

modern au

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 2.4k words

When James comes in the front door, his shoes squelch. You look him up and down, dripping wet and mud caked up to his knees. You wince.

“Rough practice?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” James says, dropping his bag by the door and heading for the kitchen.

There’s an exhausted slump to his shoulders, and his shoes leave a muddy trail of footprints, and you hate to do it, but—

“Would you mind taking off your shoes?”

“Oh.” James looks down. You see him follow the trail with his eyes. “Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

You hate yourself as soon as it’s out of your mouth, because that’s exactly the sort of thing you’d say if it wasn’t fine. And yeah, you’re a bit peeved that he’d track mud inside after you’d mopped the floors just yesterday, but you know he wasn’t thinking about it and you’d promised yourself just this morning that you were going to be nicer to him and now he’s sitting on the floor looking like his day is getting worse instead of better.

You try again.

“Um, I made dinner.” You step over him awkwardly, setting a hand on his head to help yourself. James doesn’t shrink from the touch, but he doesn’t lean into it like you could swear he used to either. The stove turns off like it’s relieved to do it, having idled for close to a half hour while you waited for James to get home. You wanted to try and eat together tonight; you used to do it all the time, but lately you’ve been having too many couch dinners by your lonesome. “Macaroni and cheese, is that alright?”

“Yeah, thanks.” You jolt a little at James’ hand on your back as he reaches around you for a bowl, and he looks at you, lips quirking like you’re funny.

You find yourself smiling back by muscle memory, a reflex almost forgotten. It lifts your heart.

“So, how was practice?”

James glances up at you, then goes back to filling his bowl. “I’ve already told you,” he says. “Rough.”

“Oh, right.” You huff out a little laugh. He passes you the spoon, and you take it without really looking at him. “Sorry.”

His answering smile is weaker this time. More a press of his lips than anything.

“Don’t be.” He kisses you on the cheek, then goes, pulling out his chair at the table.

You take your seat, too. A lot of these base routines have begun to feel empty lately. They used to be an assurance for you, like if you always wore your same paths into the carpet you’d become so entrenched in this house, in James’ house, that neither he nor it could ever let you leave. You loved knowing that if he was back from his run when you woke up in the morning, there’d be a glass of orange juice waiting for you on the counter. That when the flowers on your kitchen table started to wilt you’d come home to a fresh bunch, and that if you called and told him you were having a bad day lunch from your favorite sandwich shop would miraculously show up at your work. Those things used to make your heart feel full to bursting, because they meant he was thinking of you.

Now you’re not sure what they mean. They seem like things James does because he’s supposed to, like part of a script, a routine. Chores.

As soon as he’s sat down, he’s digging into his dinner. James eats like a boy. Wolfing, like someone’s going to take it away from him. You hope it means he likes it.

“What’d you do today, m’love?” he asks through a mouthful.

And see, he says things like that. Calls you his love, asks about your day. It’s all started to fall flat. You know he’ll take whatever answer you give him, because you’ve begun to suspect he doesn’t really care.

“Nothing crazy,” you answer honestly. “Shayna’s baby came early, so I’m taking on a bit more at work until they can find someone to fill in for her. So that’s a bit stressful, but it’s not awful.”

“Mm.” James nods, but doesn’t offer more than that. His mouth seems to be perpetually full.

You fork a macaroni noodle, pretending you have more appetite than you do. Truthfully, you’ve felt weird and off and vaguely nauseous all day.

Last night had been a bit of a breaking point for you. It came on rather suddenly. You’d gone to bed long after James, but you couldn’t sleep. You couldn’t seem to tear your eyes from him, the way the moonlight snuck in through the slats in your blinds to fall across his sleeping face. He was so beautiful, and you loved him so much you didn’t know what to do with it all, and then you were crying.

You’d wept silently, wishing James would wake up, but you were unwilling to rouse him and he wasn’t going to do it himself. Eventually, you’d fallen asleep with your pillowcase damp and cold under your cheek and woke to find James’ side of the bed empty as usual. Orange juice on the counter.

“I was wondering if you might want to watch a film tonight,” you say lightly. “I saw they’ve put that sci-fi one you like back on Netflix.”

“Ah, have they really?” James swallows, forks another bite. “Wish I could, but I’m supposed to meet everyone at Spoons in a few minutes here.”

Oh. The realization hits you like a dull thud, smack in the center of your chest. He’s not eating quickly because he likes your food; it’s because he wants to leave.

“Can’t you stay here?” Your voice is small. James looks at you like he’s not sure what to make of it.

“Not tonight, sweetheart.” He offers you a smile. His fork clinks in the bottom of an empty bowl, and his chair screeches as it’s pushed back. James brushes his lips across your cheek as he goes by. “We’ll have to do it this weekend, though, definitely.”

You know by now these sorts of promises aren’t meant to keep. They come written in disappearing ink.

He heads upstairs to change, and desperation grips you. It forgets he’ll be home later and puts you hot on his heels, your own dinner left on the table barely touched.

“Jamie, wait.” He pauses with his shirt half off, looking over at you in the doorway of your bedroom. “Don’t you feel like we’ve not had much time together lately?” you ask.

The plea is naked in your tone, and James’ eyes soften. He tugs his shirt off, straightens his glasses. “I haven’t had time for much of anything lately,” he says, shrugging good-naturedly.

It’s true. He’s been busy. His new coach seems to think the team has nothing but time, and as captain James is expected to commit even more than most. When he’s not at training, he’s keeping fit on his own or running errands for his mum or sleeping it all off in your bed.

“But you should come tonight,” James goes on brightly. “Dorcas and Marlene will be there, it’ll be fun.”

He tosses his clothes in the laundry bin and makes his way over to the dresser. You cross your arms, then uncross them. Parse your words. “I don’t…I just feel like you hung out with your friends last night, you know?”

“You could’ve come then, too,” he says, stepping into a pair of jeans. “They all love you, you know that.”

“I don’t want to hang out with your friends.” It comes out sharper than you intend, though not less sharp than the look James gives you. He’s finished getting dressed but doesn’t make to leave. “That’s not what I mean. I like your friends, but it’s not…the same as spending time with you. It doesn’t count, for me.” Your voice softens on the last two words, knowing that for James, it might very well count.

For him, you’ve gathered, social time is social time. So long as you’re there, he’ll feel just as connected to you as if you were curled up on the couch together having a private conversation. You wish your brain worked the same way, but it doesn’t.

He’s looking at you with something like trepidation now, so you state it plainly.

“I really miss you, Jamie.” A blockage rises in your throat. You swallow it back down. “I feel like…I don’t know what’s going on with us lately.”

“We’re the same as we have been.” He looks confused, worse when your face pinches painfully.

“And that’s all?” You try to blink them away, but tears burn in your eyes. “This is just what we do now?”

“No.” James looks appalled, but you catch the quick glance he gives to the digital clock on his nightstand. “It’s only for now, just until the season’s over and Coach mellows out. Where’s this coming from?”

You blink hard, angling your head away from him. “Nothing, sorry. I’m just being emotional.” Your breath scrapes on the way in. You pretend it doesn’t. “It’s okay if you have to go.”

He shakes his head, and when you start back towards the stairs anyway, he says, “No, come on.” In a few long strides, he’s got your elbow. He tugs you gently back into the room. “Let’s sit down, okay? What’s going on?”

“Sorry.” Your voice is pitchy and tight. You think you hear James inhale softly before he’s drawing you into a hug. It doesn’t feel quite like it used to, but it’s still warm, still nice.

He sits you both down on the edge of your bed, arms still wrapped loosely around you. “What are you sorry for, baby?”

“I was going to try not to make your life harder today,” you laugh wetly, pulling back from him to swipe under your eyes.

“You don’t make my life harder,” James says, somewhere near to dismayed as he slides his hand to your shoulder. “Of course you don’t.”

You give him a look meant to say, Oh, come on, but you’re not sure how it comes off with your face blotchy and snot starting to run from your nose. You take in a big breath, trying to calm yourself.

“I think I’ve made it harder more than I’ve made it easier lately,” you admit, looking at your bedcover and also at nothing at all. “I didn’t even really realize until recently, but I’ve just felt so…disconnected from you lately. It’s like even when you’re here, I’m just around you and not with you, and—” Your voice catches, and you inhale again. “And I know you’re really busy, but I’m just trying to find ways to fix it.”

James’ hand drops from your shoulder, into his lap, and you lift your gaze. He looks crestfallen. “What do you want me to do?” he asks quietly, his own voice starting to sound raw. “I can’t control these things. And we live together, I see you all the time. It doesn’t seem fair to ask me not to see my mates.”

“I’m not asking you to do that.” You’re horrified. “But that’s just it, Jamie, it’s like we only live together anymore. Saying hi when you come in, waving when you go back out, those don’t count as quality time for me. And I wish I could get the same feelings from being in a big group that you do, but I can’t.”

James looks at you helplessly. You shrug, just as powerless.

“I know it’s not your fault,” you tell him, and a tear drips off your chin. “I don’t know what to do, either. I just want you to know that I’m trying, okay?”

James nods for a minute. Thoughtful, heartbroken. He lets out a big breath. Your arms come around each other at almost the same time, so in sync you can’t be sure who reaches for the other first. You’re trying not to get snot on his fresh shirt, but he palms the back of your head, pressing your face to his shoulder.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “You’re right, we should both be trying more. I think I’ve let myself get so overwhelmed that I’m not…almost not even thinking throughout the day, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with all of this by yourself.”

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat, and a little laugh rumbles through James’ chest. He hugs you tighter.

“It is a little bit, though, isn’t it? I haven’t been paying attention. But okay, let’s make a plan for now.” His hand splays out between your shoulder blades, and you clutch at the material of his shirt, both of you wordlessly trying to get closer as if you can make up for lost time. “Come with me tonight, please.” You go still, but James goes on, “I know it’s not a solution, but I can’t back out and I’d really feel so much better if you were there. Please, angel. And tomorrow, we’ll stay in and watch something. Not a film only I like,” he gives your back a teasing little squeeze, “but something we can both get into. Or we can just talk, or play a game, I don’t care. Tomorrow is our night, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sniff, nodding and pulling away slightly so you can wipe your face. James joins in, pinching your nose clean for you and wiping the snot on his jeans carelessly. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try to clear my busy schedule.”

He smiles. It’s like the sun beaming through clouds. “I’d appreciate that. Really hard to get ahold of you these days.” You let out a little laugh, and his grin spreads. “Good, so that’s for now, and at training on Friday I’m going to talk to Coach about cutting down on our hours.”

You feel your eyebrows pinch. “Jamie, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” he says. “I’ve been a wuss about it, but everyone on the team is miffed and it’s really my job to handle it. He doesn’t know everything yet, so I can at least give him some advice about how we operate best.”

James palms the back of your neck, pulling you towards him and meeting you halfway. His forehead presses against yours.

“I’m really glad you said something. Thanks for being the smart one, as usual.” Your smile is small at first, but James nudges his nose against yours until it blooms in full. “We’re gonna make it better, okay?”

You swallow thickly. “Okay. Thanks, Jamie.”

“Don’t thank me.” His voice takes on a tender quality, and you push your forehead into his. He palms your cheeks in response, stamping his lips to your forehead. “Love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too.”

That was never up for debate.

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joelslastofus · 3 months ago

Text

[SUMMARY: Trigger warning. Joel triggers your PTSD when you see him drunk for the first time causing you to have flashbacks of your abusive ex.]

Mentions of DV

“You weren’t suppose to see this, baby” he stumbled in your direction.

Joel knew how you felt about alcohol, he knew the hell you had gone through with your ex boyfriend because of it. Having known him for a year, you and him both traveled alone surviving together. Never had you seen Joel intoxicated, neither of you had come across liquor during your journey and when you did Joel ignored it out of respect for you. Of course, Joel missed the alcohol helping him somewhat sleep at night yet he never mentioned it.

Tonight the two of you had gotten lucky, after being on your feet for nine hours walking through the woods you both came across a cabin that looked as if it had been abandoned for a while now. After making sure it was empty you both claimed it as your own, at least until you had to keep moving again.

“Oh it’s nice to finally have a bed tonight” you looking at the bed at the other end of the room. Joel smirked as he looked around, peaking through the cabinets where he found two full bottles of whiskey. God it had been so long since Joel had a taste, the only thing that numbed him entirely, he craved just a glass.

“What cha find?” You asked as you began to unpack your bag. Joel quickly closing the door and clearing his throat as he moved along.

“Nothin’ uh, a few cans of food and towels” Joel knowing damn well it was nothing to mention.

“Good, I’m hungry” you spoke excitedly as Joel grabbed the cans to sit at the table.

Joel and you lay on the couch, your body slouched against his for a moment as his hand brushed through your hair.

“Oh I’d love to be able to just watch a movie now, have some popcorn” you sighed, the thought making Joel slightly smile.

“What movie would we watch?” He asked curiously.

“Hmmm…I don’t know, how about a romantic comedy?” You winked at him as he playfully shook his head rubbing his eyes.

“Oh baby, I’d watch anything with you” he whispered looking down at you before kissing you softly.

“Who knows, we probably wouldn’t even watch anything” he chuckled as you playfully shoved him.

“We should get sleep” your lips brushing against his as you spoke. He nodded before you pushed yourself up and walked to the bed.

“Are you coming?” You yawned as you dusted the bed off a bit and pulled back the covers.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a few” he called out to you before looking back at the cabinet that held the two bottles of whiskey. Too exhausted to wait, your eyes closed and you fell right to sleep.

Once Joel was sure that you were asleep, quietly he got up and stopped right at the cabinet. Looking back at you he reached for the first bottle, slowly opening it up. Without thought Joel began to drink savoring the taste he hadn’t had in so long, wiping his lips feeling the burn in his chest.

“Fuck” It’s just what he needed after not being able to sleep properly in weeks.

Closing his eyes in relief he took another chug before taking the bottle back with him to the couch. Within fourty minutes he was half way through, slowly getting to the bottom. The buzz creeping up on him as he leaned his head back and took a deep breath.

Joel began slowly walking around the cabin, reading some of the frames on the wall when he began to stumble. Reaching for a frame Joel accidentally knocked it to the ground causing you to wake up.

“Joel?”

“Shit” he whispered.

Rubbing your eyes you go out of bed to see Joel across the room.

“You ok?” He turned to you revealing the half empty open bottle in his hand, that’s when you looked at his face and realized he didn’t look like the Joel you knew.

“Didn’t mean to…wake ya..” he whispered as he noticed the way you stared at the bottle in his hand.

“Where’d you get that?” You asked softly as Joel took a deep breath with regret.

“You…-“ he began to walk towards you.

“You weren’t suppose to see this, baby” he stumbled in your direction.

“Maybe you should….lay down” you spoke nervously as he stopped right before you.

“Shit baby, I fucked up..” he whispered. The smell of alcohol making your stomach turn, the memories of the nightmare you lived with your ex boyfriend now coming back to you. Your heart racing as you felt a panic you never thought you would feel again.

“You’re mad at me, ain’t cha?” He couldn’t hold himself still as he stood before you, you took a step back feeling the wall behind you as you slowly shook your head. Mad wasn’t the word as your nerves took over. You trusted Joel yet seeing him in a way you never had…seeing him in a way your ex had his violent outbursts, you were terrified.

“Don’t be…mad at…..me, baby. Ima make this..right” he slurred.

You watched as he dangled the half empty bottle around before closing the top in a clumsy manner and placing the bottle on the table beside him.

“There” he placed his hands up showing you he was done. As drunk as he was he could see the fear in your eyes.

“Please don’t be mad at me-“ he unexpectedly reached for you causing you to step back against the wall harder than you meant to.

“I ain’t gonna hurt cha” his eyes desperate for you to trust him. Yet, his words only seemed to make it worse. It was something your ex would love to say just before he actually would hurt you.

“Fuck” Joel shoved the chair beside him causing you to jump.

“Stop it! Just stop!” You felt yourself begin to lose any control you thought you had.

“Baby-“

“Just go lay down! Go to sleep!” You couldn’t even look him in the eye. All you wanted desperately was for him to get away from you. Joel stood silent as he took a step back and did as you asked. Quietly going to the bed he lay down and let you be.

As soon as he walked away you began to silently hyperventilate. Squeezing your eyes shut you tried to fight off the memories, the trauma…you tried to fight the fear.

You knew you would no longer be able to properly sleep that night. Joel was out in a matter of minutes while you sat up on the couch watching him. Your eyes feeling heavy, it was getting harder to stay awake until eventually you fell asleep.

After a few hours Joel began to wake up. With a slight headache he slowly pushed himself up with a groan before looking up and noticing the bottle of whiskey sitting on the counter. Quickly he looked around the room to find you sitting on the couch asleep facing him.

“Shit” he whispered to himself brushing his hand through his hair. Bits and pieces of the night before flashed in his mind, one thing he couldn’t stop picturing was how afraid you seemed of him.

Joel stood up walking towards you, he could tell you didn’t mean to fall asleep. You seemed cold and so he grabbed a blanket from the bed and slowly placed it on you. The feel of the blanket covering you causing you to slowly open your eyes and when you did, you jumped not expecting to see Joel standing over you.

“It’s me-“ he tried to assure you.

“It’s me, baby I’m sober, I ain’t drinkin’ I promise” it took a moment for you to realize he actually was sober. There was the Joel you knew staring down at you with concern. Staying silent for a moment you looked around a bit confused, you hadn’t even realized you fell asleep, let alone for how long. You looked at him quietly as you slowly sat up and took a deep breath.

“You-“

“I know” he quickly spoke as he stood up straight.

“I’ve never seen you like that before” you whispered.

“and I….I thought about Cameron and-“ he noticed you begin to slightly tremble.

“I just didn’t know what you were capable of” you blurt out as you held back your tears.

“Scared the hell out of me” Joel brushed his hand over his lips before quickly getting down on one knee.

“Look at me” he spoke low looking directly into your eyes.

“I would never do anything to hurt you. Ever. You understand that?” He was serious. He meant every word he said.

“I wish I could find the prick that did this to you, I guarantee you he’d never have a drink again” you quietly nodded yet he could still see you trembling. It was getting harder for you to control.

“Hey” he placed his index finger beneath your chin and tilted your head up.

“I ain’t gonna drink again alright? I should’ve never done that” he whispered. You let out a breath of relief and threw your arms around him pulling him in. Joel held you hold close and kissed your forehead.

“Come on, get into bed with me, baby” he slowly lifted you up and carried you to the bed. You watched as he walked to the counter and poured the left over liquor down the drain. As much as Joel loved a drink, your peace of mind was more important to him. Throwing the bottle out the window he walked back to you and lay beside you pulling you close as you fell asleep..

#pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfiction #the last of us

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marysfics · 3 months ago

Text

Spinning on Vinyl

''You remind me of a song that I can't seem to skip''

Angst, Happy Ending, Fluff

The apartment feels eerily quiet without her. The kind of quiet that presses in on your chest and makes it hard to breathe. It’s not like this is the first time you’ve been alone here—Alexia has always been traveling for matches, for training camps, for endless commitments that took her far away from this small, shared space. But tonight, it feels different. Heavier.

You glance at the half-empty wine glass sitting beside you on the floor, untouched for a while now. The rich, red liquid doesn’t hold the same allure it did an hour ago when you first poured it, hoping it might numb the ache growing steadily in your chest. But wine can’t drown out everything, and it certainly can’t drown out memories.

In a slow, deliberate motion, you reach over to the vinyl record player resting on the shelf. The same one the two of you had found in some vintage shop on one of those rare days when Alexia wasn’t rushing to the next match or the next media appearance. You remember her smile when she saw it, how she picked it up with delicate hands, her eyes lighting up like a child’s. She had said it reminded her of her childhood, of Sundays spent with her family listening to old records, the music mingling with the smell of her mother’s cooking.

Now, the player feels like a relic of something lost—something you’re trying desperately to hold on to, even as it slips through your fingers. The needle touches the vinyl, and the first crackle fills the room. The static noise that used to sound comforting, like a prelude to something magical, now feels like the space between you and her. Thin, fragile, barely holding it all together.

The music begins, soft and slow, an old song that you both loved. It was the kind of melody that wrapped around you like a blanket, pulling you into each other’s arms without a word. You close your eyes, sinking into the sound, letting it carry you back to a time when everything felt simpler. Back when Alexia was yours—not just in fleeting moments, but truly yours.

The bassline vibrates through the room, echoing in the emptiness, and you can almost hear her voice in your head, low and soft, singing along under her breath as she always did. You smile faintly at the memory of it—the way she used to sing off-key just to make you laugh. She wasn’t a performer, not in that way. She saved her grace for the pitch, but in these quiet moments, she was unguarded, playful, completely at ease.

God, how long has it been since you’ve seen her like that?

Your eyes drift to the framed photos on the wall. There’s one of the two of you, her arm slung around your shoulder, both of you grinning at the camera after one of her games. Her jersey is still drenched in sweat, hair messy from the action, but her eyes—her eyes were on you. You remember the moment clearly. It was the first time she’d kissed you in public, right there in front of the cameras, after she scored the winning goal. She had pulled you close, pressing her lips to your forehead, murmuring something in your ear that made you laugh, but now you can’t remember what she said. Just the feeling it left behind, warm and safe.

But that warmth has faded, replaced by the cold void of her absence.

The vinyl continues to spin, the needle gliding effortlessly through the grooves. Each note feels like a heartbeat, each lyric a whisper of something lost. You don’t even try to stop the memories now—they flood your mind, unrelenting, filling every corner of your thoughts with her.

You can picture her so clearly. The way she used to curl up on the couch after a long day, her legs tucked beneath her, that soft smile on her face as you laid beside her. The smell of her shampoo, something fresh and clean, the way her hair would fall into her eyes when she was too tired to push it back. The sound of her laughter—low, almost raspy, but full of life. You can still hear it, like an echo bouncing off the walls, even though it’s been weeks since you last heard it in person.

God, it’s been weeks.

You glance at your phone again, your thumb hovering over her name. It feels like it’s always been there, waiting for the right moment to press call, or send a message, or do anything that might pull her back to you. But you can’t. You haven’t. The space between your last conversation and now feels too wide, too difficult to cross with just a text.

She’s always somewhere else. Even when she’s here, she’s always got one foot out the door, ready for the next game, the next match, the next chapter of her story that you’re barely a part of anymore. It wasn’t always like this, though. Once, there was balance. There was her, and there was you, and it felt like the two of you existed in this beautiful harmony, like two notes perfectly in sync. Now, it’s as if you’re playing different songs, neither of you willing to change the tune.

The music picks up, the tempo quickening, but it doesn’t bring comfort. If anything, it reminds you how things have been moving too fast. How her career is growing and expanding in every direction, while you feel like you’re standing still, watching from the sidelines.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most.

You never wanted to be a spectator in her life. You wanted to be a part of it, truly part of it, not just someone she comes home to when the world isn’t watching. But lately, that’s all you’ve been—someone who waits, who watches, who wonders if there’s still space for you in her world.

The song swells, and with it, so does the ache in your chest. You lean your head back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut, letting the music wash over you. You focus on the rhythm, trying to lose yourself in it, trying to forget the gnawing emptiness that seems to grow with every passing day.

But you can’t forget her. You never could.

The song changes, a softer melody now, and with it comes the familiar pull of nostalgia. You know what’s coming next. This was your song—the one you and Alexia always danced to, barefoot in the kitchen, her hands on your hips, your head resting on her shoulder. The first time she heard it, she’d laughed, pulling you into her arms without hesitation, spinning you around as if no one was watching. You’d laughed, too, feeling weightless, like the rest of the world didn’t exist beyond that moment.

The memory is so vivid, you can almost feel her now. The heat of her body pressed against yours, the way her breath would ghost across your neck as she whispered something silly, something that would make you giggle, even though the moment was already perfect. She’d twirl you around, her fingers never leaving your waist, like you were the only thing tethering her to the ground.

You open your eyes and sigh, the weight of it all pulling you back to reality.

But there’s no Alexia here. Just the music. Just the memories. Just you.

The room fades around you, swallowed up by the growing intensity of the music. The song on the record shifts, and with it comes a memory so vivid it pulls you in before you can stop it. It’s one of the earliest memories you have of her, back when things were new and easy. Back when every look, every touch felt electric, charged with possibility.

It was your first time at one of her games. You remember the nerves—the restless energy in your stomach, unsure of what to expect. Sure, you’d seen Alexia play on TV, heard her name shouted in crowded rooms, but watching her from a distance was nothing compared to being there in person, seeing her live in her element, where she shined brightest.

The stadium was a sea of faces, all of them there for her, but you felt like the only one who mattered. There, in the cold evening air, with your heart beating faster than it should, you found your seat and waited, the anticipation growing with every passing minute.

The moment she stepped onto the pitch, everything else fell away.

Alexia was magnetic. There was no other way to describe it. The way she moved—so effortlessly, so fluid—it was like watching art in motion. Each step was deliberate, each pass precise. It wasn’t just a game to her. It was something deeper, something that coursed through her veins like it was what she was made for. She owned the field, commanding it with a quiet intensity, and you couldn’t take your eyes off her. You didn’t want to.

For the first few minutes, you were just another face in the crowd, just another fan cheering her name. But then it happened. That moment when she looked up, searching the stands, and her eyes found yours.

It was like time stopped.

You froze, breath catching in your throat, heart hammering against your ribs. Alexia smiled—a soft, private smile that didn’t belong to the roaring crowd or the flashing cameras. It was yours, and yours alone. And in that moment, it felt like nothing else mattered. Not the game, not the people, not the pressure that came with being Alexia Putellas. Just her and you, sharing a moment that felt sacred in a sea of chaos.

You could still remember how your chest tightened at the sight of her. The way your pulse quickened as she ran down the field, weaving between defenders, her eyes sharp, focused, a silent determination etched on her face. Every movement was so deliberate, so graceful, like she was painting something only she could see. And every time she touched the ball, it felt like a promise—a promise that she would win, for you, for both of you.

As the game wore on, the energy in the stadium shifted, growing more intense with every passing minute. The crowd’s cheers were deafening, their voices rising with the action on the pitch. But you weren’t focused on the game. You were focused on her.

You could see the exhaustion starting to creep into her movements, the weight of the match bearing down on her. But she didn’t slow down. She pushed harder, her body moving with a fierce determination that was both beautiful and heartbreaking. Because you knew—somewhere deep down—you knew she wasn’t just fighting for the win. She was fighting for you. For this. For the life she was trying to balance between the demands of her career and the fragile, growing thing between you.

Then it happened.

A breakaway.

Alexia darted through the defense, her eyes locked on the goal. The crowd surged around you, their voices a tidal wave of anticipation, but all you could hear was your heartbeat, pounding in your ears as you watched her close in on the moment. It was as if the world had narrowed to just her and the ball, and then—

She struck.

The sound of the ball hitting the back of the net was almost drowned out by the roar of the crowd, but you heard it. You felt it. It was victory—sharp, sweet, and undeniable. The stadium erupted around you, people leaping to their feet, cheering her name. And amidst it all, she turned, her eyes finding yours once again, that same soft smile tugging at her lips.

It was for you. The goal, the smile, the unspoken promise between you—it was all for you.

You stood, your legs trembling slightly from the rush of adrenaline, unable to stop the grin that spread across your face. It was impossible not to be swept up in her energy, in the joy radiating from her like sunlight after a long storm. For a moment, it felt like nothing could touch you. Like you were invincible, riding the high of her victory as if it were your own.

After the game, you lingered by the stadium entrance, waiting for her. The night air was cool against your skin, a welcome relief from the heat that still pulsed in your veins. The minutes stretched on, each one a little heavier than the last, until finally, you saw her.

She emerged from the locker room, still in her kit, her hair damp from the shower, strands falling into her eyes in that careless way you loved so much. Her cheeks were flushed, not from exertion but from the glow of the win, her confidence radiating like a halo around her.

When she spotted you, her face softened, the sharp edges of the competitive athlete melting away. She was just Alexia again. Your Alexia.

“Hey,” she greeted, her voice low and a little rough from the match. There was a hint of vulnerability in her eyes, like she was unsure of what came next, even after all that had passed between you during the game. “Did you—?”

“You were amazing,” you cut her off, shaking your head in disbelief. “Like…breathtaking.”

The corner of her mouth lifted, that crooked smile that always made your heart skip a beat. She stepped closer, her hand brushing against yours in that familiar, gentle way that was more intimate than anything else. Her fingers curled around yours, and you squeezed her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin, the slight tremor in her grip from the adrenaline that still hadn’t faded.

“I wanted you to see this,” she said softly, her eyes searching yours. “I wanted you to understand…this part of me.”

You nodded, unable to find the right words to respond. Because how could you explain to her that you didn’t just understand this part of her—you loved it? You loved all of her, even the parts that scared you, the parts that took her away from you for weeks at a time. You loved the way she poured her soul into her sport, the way she gave everything, even when there was nothing left for herself.

“I’m proud of you,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. “So proud.”

Alexia’s hand tightened around yours, her eyes softening with something that looked like relief. “Thank you,” she breathed, her forehead resting gently against yours. “I’m proud of you too.”

You smiled at that, feeling a strange sense of peace settle over you. In that moment, it didn’t matter that the rest of the world was watching her, or that her life was so much bigger than you could ever be. All that mattered was this—her, you, and the quiet understanding that whatever came next, you’d face it together.

But now, sitting here, listening to the vinyl spin, the memory feels bittersweet. Because somewhere along the way, the promise you’d felt that night slipped through your fingers. The connection that had felt so solid, so unbreakable, had started to fray at the edges, pulled thin by the relentless demands of her career, by the endless distance that seemed to grow between you.

And even though you told yourself it would be enough—her love, her smiles, the quiet moments you stole between the chaos—you can’t shake the feeling that something is missing now. That maybe, just maybe, the space between you has become too wide to cross.

The soft hum of the vinyl fades into the background as your thoughts drift, wandering through the memories you’ve been holding onto so tightly. It's strange how the things that once brought you so much comfort—like the music, the photos, the laughter you once shared—now weigh heavy on your chest, like they’re relics of something you can’t quite touch anymore.

It’s been weeks since you last saw Alexia. Weeks of lonely nights spent with your phone in your hand, wondering if you should call, if you should say something—anything—to bridge the ever-widening distance between you. But every time you pull up her name, your thumb hovering over the screen, something stops you.

Maybe it’s fear. Fear that the space between you has grown too vast to close with a simple text. Or maybe it’s the nagging doubt that’s been creeping in lately—the doubt that maybe you’re not enough for her anymore. Not enough to compete with the whirlwind that is her life, her career, her success.

You hate thinking that way. You hate feeling like you’re waiting in the wings of her life, a spectator in a relationship that once made you feel so alive. But you can’t shake the sensation that you’re slowly being left behind, even though you’re desperately trying to hold on.

The apartment feels colder now, as if the memories of her have seeped out of the walls, leaving only emptiness in their wake. You wrap your arms around yourself, pulling the blanket tighter as if that might somehow fill the void she’s left behind. But it doesn’t. It never does.

She’s always on your mind. Even when you’re not actively thinking about her, she lingers in the back of your thoughts like a half-finished melody. You can hear her laugh, see the way her eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles, feel the warmth of her hand slipping into yours. But those memories feel so far away now, like they belong to someone else—someone who existed in a time when things were simpler, when you weren’t questioning every unreturned text, every missed call.

You try to tell yourself that it’s just temporary, that this is just a rough patch. After all, Alexia has always had a demanding schedule. It’s part of who she is, part of what makes her so extraordinary. You knew that from the beginning—knew that she would always be pulled in a thousand different directions. But back then, it didn’t feel like a threat. Back then, it felt like you could weather anything, as long as you had each other.

But now… now, it feels different.

The record clicks as the needle reaches the end, the soft static filling the room, pulling you out of your thoughts. You sit up, the sudden silence amplifying the emptiness you’ve been trying to ignore all night. The apartment feels too big without her, too quiet, and the loneliness presses in around you, suffocating.

You reach for your phone again, your hand trembling slightly as you scroll through the messages. Her name is at the top, of course. There are texts from her—short, sweet messages telling you she misses you, that she can’t wait to come home. You read them over and over, hoping that somehow they’ll soothe the ache in your chest. But they’re not enough.

Because you want more than just texts. You want her. You want her here, beside you, her arms wrapped around you, her voice soft in your ear as she tells you about her day. You want the little moments—the mornings spent tangled in the sheets, the evenings spent cooking dinner together, the quiet laughter that filled the spaces between words. You want all of her, not just the parts that she can give when she’s not busy being someone else’s hero.

You sigh, leaning back against the couch, the weight of it all pressing down on you. This isn’t the first time you’ve felt this way, but it’s never been this intense before. The doubt, the longing, the frustration—it’s all building up inside you, threatening to spill over. You don’t know how much longer you can keep it all inside.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, typing out a message you’ve written a hundred times before.

"I miss you."

Three simple words. Words you’ve said to her countless times, but now, they feel heavier than ever. You stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the send button. Part of you hopes that this will be the message that changes things, that maybe she’ll respond with something that will make all of this feel worth it. But another part of you—the part that’s been growing louder and more insistent—wonders if sending this message will only serve to highlight the growing gap between you.

Because as much as you miss her, you can’t shake the feeling that maybe she’s getting used to life without you.

That thought hits you harder than you expect, a cold rush of fear flooding your chest. You’ve been trying so hard to stay positive, to tell yourself that things will get better, that this is just a temporary phase. But the truth is, you don’t know that for sure. You don’t know what’s going through her mind when she’s out there, traveling from one city to the next, surrounded by people who worship her, who don’t see the side of her that you do. The side that’s vulnerable, that’s unsure, that needs someone to ground her.

And that’s the part that scares you the most. Because what if she doesn’t need you anymore?

You close your eyes, willing the tears to stay where they are. You’re not ready to face that possibility. Not yet.

But as the silence stretches on, broken only by the faint crackle of the record player, you start to wonder if maybe this is the beginning of the end. Maybe all those little moments you’ve been holding onto, all those memories you’ve been replaying in your mind, are just that—memories. Moments that belong to the past, not the future.

You stand up slowly, the blanket slipping from your shoulders as you make your way to the window. The city outside is alive, bustling with people, with life, but you feel so far removed from it all. You lean your forehead against the cool glass, staring out at the lights below. It’s strange how the world keeps moving, even when it feels like yours is standing still.

You wonder what Alexia is doing right now. Whether she’s thinking about you, too, or if she’s wrapped up in her world, too busy to notice the growing distance. You want to believe that she misses you as much as you miss her, but the longer this silence stretches between you, the harder it is to hold onto that belief.

Another message from her lights up your phone, and your heart skips a beat. You glance down at the screen, hoping for something more than the usual pleasantries. But it’s just a quick, “Training was tough today. I’ll call you tomorrow, love you.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone as you read the words. Tomorrow. It’s always tomorrow. Tomorrow she’ll call, tomorrow you’ll talk, tomorrow things will be better. But tomorrow never comes, and you’re left here, waiting in the space between promises and reality.

You type out a quick reply—something supportive, something sweet, because that’s what you do. You’ve always been her anchor, her steady ground when everything else is chaos. But right now, you feel like you’re drifting, and you’re not sure how to find your way back.

The music starts again, the same song as before, its familiar melody wrapping around you like a bittersweet embrace. You let the sound wash over you, filling the empty spaces where her voice should be, and for a moment, you allow yourself to sink into the feeling of it all—the longing, the love, the uncertainty.

Because that’s all you have right now.

The city lights blur through the window as you stand there, forehead still pressed against the cold glass, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. You’ve spent so long in this space—this liminal place between hope and despair—that it’s starting to feel like home. A home you never wanted.

Your phone buzzes in your hand again, but this time, it’s not a message. It’s her.

Alexia.

The name lights up the screen, and for a moment, you just stare at it, heart pounding in your chest. You weren’t expecting her to call tonight—not after the brief message about tomorrow—but here she is, reaching out when you were least prepared.

Your thumb hesitates over the green button. Every muscle in your body feels tense, as if you’re holding your breath, unsure if you’re ready for this conversation. Because deep down, you know it’s not just going to be small talk this time. It can’t be. There’s too much unsaid between you now, too much that’s been left hanging in the silence.

With a shaky breath, you press accept.

“Hey,” you say, your voice coming out softer than you intended, almost fragile.

“Hey,” Alexia replies, and you can hear the weariness in her voice, the strain of a long day clinging to her like an invisible weight. There’s a pause, the quiet stretch of unspoken words filling the space between you, and for a second, you wonder if she can feel the tension too.

“How was training?” you ask, trying to keep your voice light, though it feels like a thin veil over the emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

“Exhausting,” she admits with a sigh, “but that’s not really why I’m calling.”

Your heart skips a beat at her words, the air in the room suddenly feeling too thick. You can hear the seriousness in her tone, the shift that tells you this conversation isn’t going to be easy.

“I’ve been thinking about us,” she continues, her voice quieter now, like she’s testing the waters. “About…everything.”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of those words settle over you. This is it. This is the conversation you’ve been avoiding, the one you’ve been dreading but also needing. Because no matter how much you’ve tried to pretend that things are fine, that this is just a rough patch, deep down you know that something has to change. You just don’t know if you’re ready to face what that change might look like.

“Me too,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. You bite your lip, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to find the right words that won’t sound like accusations, like blame. “It’s just… it feels like we’re losing each other, Alexia.”

The words hang in the air, raw and vulnerable. It’s the truth you’ve been holding back for so long, the fear that’s been gnawing at you in the quiet moments when she’s not around.

There’s a soft exhale on the other end of the line, and for a moment, you think maybe she didn’t hear you. But then she speaks, and her voice is full of something you didn’t expect: guilt.

“I know,” she says softly, her voice breaking slightly. “I know I haven’t been around as much, and I hate that. I hate that I’ve been making you feel like this, like I’m slipping away.”

You close your eyes, letting her words sink in. There’s something comforting in hearing her acknowledge it, in knowing that you’re not imagining the distance between you. But it doesn’t erase the ache in your chest, the loneliness that’s been gnawing at you for weeks.

“I don’t blame you,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay composed. “I know how important your career is. I’ve always known. But sometimes it feels like... like I’m just waiting for you to have time for me. And it’s hard, Alexia. It’s really hard.”

“I don’t want you to feel that way,” she whispers, and there’s a heaviness in her voice that makes your heart clench. “I never wanted to make you feel like you’re not important. You are. You’re everything to me. It’s just—” She pauses, searching for the right words, the frustration clear in her tone. “It’s hard to balance everything. The games, the training, the travel… Sometimes I feel like I’m failing you, like I’m failing us.”

Her vulnerability catches you off guard. You can hear the strain in her voice, the cracks in the facade she’s been holding up for so long. She’s always been so strong, so composed, but now, hearing her admit that she’s struggling too, it hits you in a way you didn’t expect.

“I didn’t realize,” you murmur, your heart softening just a little. “I didn’t know it was so hard for you too.”

There’s another pause, and when she speaks again, her voice is quieter, more tentative. “It’s just… I’m scared, you know? Scared that one day you’ll wake up and realize that this—my life, my schedule, everything—is too much for you. That you’ll get tired of waiting for me, tired of not having me around when you need me.”

Her words hit you hard, because they echo the fears that have been swirling in your own mind. But hearing her say it, hearing the raw honesty in her voice, makes you realize that this isn’t just about you. It’s about both of you, trying to navigate a love that’s complicated by the realities of her career and the demands that come with it.

“I’m scared too,” you confess, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m scared that one day, you’ll realize that maybe you don’t need me as much as you used to. That maybe your life is easier without trying to fit me into it.”

The silence that follows is heavy, the weight of all the unsaid things pressing down on both of you. But instead of making you feel more distant, it somehow makes you feel closer, like you’re both standing on the same edge, looking down at the same uncertain future.

“I do need you,” she says finally, her voice soft but firm. “I don’t want to do this without you. I don’t want a life where you’re not part of it. But I also know that I haven’t been showing you that. I know that I’ve been letting you down.”

You sit down on the edge of the couch, your heart pounding as her words settle over you. There’s a deep ache in your chest, but it’s mixed with something else now—something warmer, something that feels like hope.

“I miss you,” you say again, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “I miss us. I miss what we used to have before everything got so... complicated.”

“I miss you too,” she replies, and there’s a rawness in her voice that makes your throat tighten. “I hate that I’ve been so far away, not just physically, but emotionally. And I don’t know how to fix it overnight, but I want to try. I need to try.”

The honesty in her words cracks something open inside you, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you’re finally on the same page. Like you’re both acknowledging the distance between you, but also agreeing to fight for what you have.

“I don’t need everything to be perfect,” you say softly. “I just need to know that we’re in this together. That I’m not the only one holding on.”

“You’re not,” she promises, and there’s a steadiness in her voice now, a determination that wasn’t there before. “You’re not alone in this. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You close your eyes, letting the weight of her words sink in. It’s not a perfect solution, and you know there’s still a long way to go. But it’s a start. A step toward finding each other again, toward rebuilding the connection that’s been fraying at the edges.

“I love you,” you whisper, your voice breaking with the weight of everything you’ve been holding back.

“I love you too,” Alexia replies, and this time, the words feel like a promise.

The next few days feel different.

There’s still the same space between you and Alexia—miles of distance, long hours, and time zones that never seem to align—but now, there’s something else. A thread, thin but unbreakable, pulling you closer together with every word exchanged. The tension that once filled the silence between you has eased, replaced by something softer, something that feels like hope.

She calls more often now. The messages come in with regularity—small updates on her day, pictures of sunsets and unfamiliar cities, jokes that make you smile in the quiet of your empty apartment. It’s not perfect. You still miss her, still feel the ache of wanting her beside you. But there’s a comfort in knowing that she’s trying, in knowing that she’s holding on just as tightly as you are.

It’s late one evening, almost midnight, when your phone buzzes again. You’re wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, the low hum of a record spinning in the background, when you see her name flash on the screen. It’s a video call this time.

Your heart flutters as you swipe to accept, the familiar chime of the call connecting filling the room. And then she’s there, her face filling the screen—messy hair, no makeup, her eyes soft with exhaustion but also warmth.

“Hi,” she says, her voice a little crackly through the phone, but it’s enough to make your heart skip.

“Hi,” you whisper back, your lips tugging into a smile. Just seeing her like this—raw, unguarded—makes you feel like the distance between you is shrinking, even if only for a moment.

“I miss your face,” Alexia murmurs, her own smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “It’s not the same seeing you on a screen.”

You chuckle softly, curling deeper into the blanket. “Tell me about it. I’m starting to think I’ve forgotten what you look like in person.”

She lets out a small laugh, but there’s a seriousness in her eyes that lingers. “Not for long, though.”

Your brow furrows, and before you can ask what she means, she shifts slightly, glancing at something off-camera. When she looks back, there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“I’ve been thinking a lot, you know?” she starts, her tone soft but full of intent. “About what you said. About how we’ve been drifting. I don’t want that anymore. I don’t want to keep waiting for ‘tomorrow’ to fix things. I want to make it better now.”

Your heart speeds up, her words sinking in. “Alexia, I—”

“I’m coming home,” she interrupts, her voice steady and sure. “Tomorrow. No more delays, no more excuses. I’ve talked to the team, and I’m taking a break for a few days. I just want to be with you.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Wait—tomorrow?”

She nods, a small, almost sheepish smile playing on her lips. “Yeah. I’ll be there by the afternoon. I know it won’t fix everything, but… I miss you. I need to be with you. We can figure the rest out together.”

The rush of emotion that washes over you is overwhelming. For so long, you’ve been holding onto the idea of her coming back, but it always felt like something just out of reach. And now, hearing her say it—hearing her make this promise—it feels real in a way that fills your chest with warmth.

“You’re really coming home?” you whisper, almost afraid to believe it.

“I am,” she says softly. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat, tears prickling at your eyes. “I think I can make room for you.”

Alexia’s smile widens, and there’s a lightness in her expression that you haven’t seen in weeks. “Good. Because I’ve missed your cooking. And I’m pretty sure I left one of my hoodies at your place, and I want it back.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a joy bubbling in your chest that you can’t contain. “I’ll think about it.”

The conversation continues, lighter now, filled with soft laughter and quiet jokes. For the first time in a long time, it feels easy again. The weight of the distance, the uncertainty, all of it starts to melt away as you talk about nothing and everything. The connection between you feels stronger, more tangible, and you hold onto it, refusing to let go.

When the call ends, the apartment feels a little less lonely. You curl up in bed, her promise echoing in your mind, and for the first time in weeks, you fall asleep with a smile on your face.

The apartment feels warm the next day, glowing with a soft light from the fading afternoon sun that streams through the windows. It’s quiet, save for the gentle crackle of the vinyl spinning on the record player in the corner. You’d put it on earlier, a song that holds so many memories between the two of you. The room smells faintly of vanilla and clean linen, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a stillness in the air that brings peace instead of loneliness.

Alexia stands in front of you, her hand in yours, as you both sway softly to the rhythm of the song. You catch her eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she pulls you closer, her other hand settling against the small of your back.

Neither of you says anything. You don’t need to.

There’s a tenderness in the silence between you now, a shared understanding that doesn’t need words. The conversation you’d had—the raw, vulnerable honesty—has left you both feeling lighter, like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. And now, with her here, the familiar melody wrapping around you, everything feels right in a way it hasn’t for so long.

The song playing is slow and melodic, each note weaving through the room like it was made for this moment, for you and her. The kind of song you’d listened to on lazy Sunday mornings, back when time wasn’t something you worried about. Before the distance.

Alexia tightens her hold on you, her body pressing close as her forehead rests against yours. The gentle brush of her skin sends a shiver through you, but not from cold—from the quiet intensity of the moment, the electricity humming between you. It’s the first time in weeks you’ve felt this close to her, not just physically but emotionally.

You close your eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of her—something warm and soft, like home. The vinyl’s soft crackle and the quiet strumming of the guitar fill the air, creating a cocoon around you both.

“I missed this,” Alexia whispers, her breath brushing against your lips, her eyes still closed. “Just being here with you. Like this.”

Your heart swells at her words, and you lean into her, pressing your face into the curve of her neck. “I missed this too,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, the emotions threatening to spill over.

For a while, you just sway like that, foreheads pressed together, hands resting on each other’s bodies. It’s a slow dance, the kind you fall into when time doesn’t matter, when the only thing that exists is the warmth of her touch and the steady rhythm of her breathing. The world outside feels distant, like it can’t reach you here, in this small bubble of peace you’ve found together.

The song shifts slightly, a new verse playing, and Alexia’s hand slowly slides up your back, her fingers tracing a path up to your shoulder before she gently lifts your chin to meet her gaze. Her eyes are soft, deep brown pools filled with something you haven’t seen in a while—a kind of certainty, a promise that she’s here, and she’s not leaving.

“I’m sorry for everything,” she says, her voice barely a whisper between the notes. “For making you feel like I was slipping away. I never meant to.” Her words are quiet but heavy, carrying the weight of all the moments that had felt so distant, so full of silence.

You shake your head softly, your forehead brushing against hers as you do. “We both made mistakes,” you reply, your voice gentle but firm. “But we’re here now, right? We’re fixing it.”

She nods, a small, grateful smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, we are.”

The music continues to fill the room, the crackling of the vinyl blending with the soft melody of the song. Alexia’s arms wrap around you fully, pulling you against her chest, and you let your hands rest on her waist, fingers lightly tracing the fabric of her shirt.

Her breath slows, and for a moment, you can feel the beat of her heart through her chest, steady and sure, like it’s syncing with the rhythm of the song. There’s something so intimate about this—no grand gestures, no need for words—just the quiet presence of being with each other, of knowing that after everything, after all the distance and the doubts, you’ve both chosen to stay.

As the song winds down, the notes fading into the background, you look up at her, catching her gaze again. There’s a softness there, a vulnerability that mirrors your own, and before you can think twice, you lean in and press your lips to hers. It’s a slow, lingering kiss, full of all the unsaid things that have been building between you for so long. A kiss that speaks of forgiveness, of love, of the quiet promise that you’re not letting go.

When you pull back, Alexia’s smile is small but real, her fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I love you,” she whispers, the words full of warmth and certainty.

“I love you too,” you reply, the weight of the words settling comfortably between you, like they’ve found their rightful place again.

The vinyl spins to a stop, the quiet crackle filling the room as the music fades. But neither of you moves. You stay wrapped in each other’s arms, swaying gently to the rhythm of a song only the two of you can hear. The city outside hums with life, but in this moment, it’s just you and her, dancing in the quiet, letting the world melt away.

Alexia leans her forehead against yours again, her eyes closing as she holds you close. “I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers softly, the words like a promise.

And as you stand there together, wrapped in each other’s warmth, you know that this is what love is—messy, complicated, sometimes painful, but always worth fighting for. You tighten your hold on her, your fingers brushing her back as you sway gently to the silence.

Right now, in this moment, everything feels like it’s falling into place. And it’s enough.

Note: I've been experimenting with a new writing style that uses a lot more words than I typically do. l'd love to know if this is the kind of writing you'd like to see more of in the future.

#woso x reader #woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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anika-ann · 6 months ago

Text

Sweet and Ours, Tonight - S.R.

Type: one-shot, established relationship, domestic... filth

Pairing: Steve Rogers x wife!reader Word Count: 5,8k

Summary: You and Steve had a long, long week.

You both deserve a reward. Perhaps an evening with undivided attention to each other... and maybe to end the endless week with a bang.

The thing is, Steve has no idea about what’s awaiting him at home. Yet, you have a feeling he will like it - and he'll be happy to show you.

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, praise kink, slight authority kink, soft dom/sub elements (with a tad dominant Steve), a sprinkle of possessiveness, potential blasphemy, lingerie kink, marriage kink (if that's a thing), mention of (tender) hair pulling, mention of semi-public sex if you squint really hard, language, FLOOF

A/N: At the time of Cum Together: Community Revival Extravaganza hosted by @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420, there were two potential stories on my mind – the soulmate AU one, which I ended up writing, and this one, which fulfils multiple prompts from the list (see the end). The extravaganza is long over – but hopefully, you’ll enjoy 💕

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @saradika; enjoy, but it's smut y'all - read at your own risk and responsibility

Setting the half-full glass of water on the counter, you smiled to yourself as you heard the keys rattle in the lock. The sound meant one of your favourite things in the world: Steve was home.

‘Home’ was your spacious shared apartment near the new upstate Avengers facility, one you and Steve had chosen not because the large complex hadn’t included living quarters, but because you had wanted a place that was truly your own.

On days like this, you were more grateful for that decision than ever. Here, the work and the weight you carried from it could be left at the doorstep, and you could enter a truly safe space, shielded by your love from the outside world. World which could be loud, overwhelming, and at times, evil.

Today, it meant that Steve would try to leave behind the exhaustion and frustration of a week-long conference of the United Nations and adjoined organisations. You, you had left behind the very same sentiments lacing the endless week of extra shifts. Sometimes it felt like the work was never done; be it patching up international relations or patching up the dumbass of the day. Be it dealing with diplomats who barely even listened, let alone acted on their empty promises; or be it repairing damage to human body made by another supposedly human being, battling to keep alive agents who not so rarely held zero regard for their own safety in the process of saving the very world for whose safety Steve was advocating in DC. You wondered where the agents could have possibly got the inspiration for their reckless behaviour – but that was not the kind of thoughts you wanted to entertain tonight, especially since you knew the answer all too well.

Tonight, you wanted to cherish your husband’s company.

You had missed Steve; even when swamped with work, you both took care to stay in contact, confiding one another on as much of your longing for each other’s company as on feeling drained.

You were glad for having had enough wits to plan ahead and be able to come home before him.

It had been no surprise to you that Steve had called you that he was about to arrive home as scheduled, but crankier than planned despite finally leaving the self-contained self-important jerks behind. The relief in his voice had been palpable; and his voice had only grown warmer when he learned you were to already wait for him at home. Your lips had twitched at the guttural sigh he released upon learning, whispering he was really happy to hear that; as were you to hear that he was coming home in one piece, which was unfortunately not a rule.

He loved you, he had said too. So damn much.

You had told him the same, wondering if that was what would leave his lips when he’d see you. Especially since he had no idea what coming his way, should he want it.

The lock barely clicked open and you were already on your way. A rapid carpet-muted staccato of your heels welcomed Steve as he entered, his curiosity clearly piqued in an instant.

He had but a second to take in your appearance – the bloody red pumps, the peek of nude nylons, the beige trench coat reaching just above your knees, your simple but effective hairdo and make-up, dominated by berry-red lipstick – or get his suitcase through the doors and close them. Before he could say as much as hi, you were already cupping his face and kissing him softly, for once not having to stand on your tiptoes too high.

There was a significant part of you which was dangerously close to jumping on him with enough force to slam him against the door and pour all your enthusiasm at seeing him into the kiss. It had taken all your willpower not to do so since your body throbbed with the need – but you didn’t want him to feel ambushed, unsure about his mood. So you revelled in the precious opportunity to touch him, in the feel of the figurative and literal warmth he was radiating, in the taste of his lips you had missed so viscerally; and with the minute mental capacity left, you tried your best to read his reaction.

It would be a shame for your plan and efforts to go to waste; but the last thing you’d want was to push thoroughly exhausted Steve who’d just want some peace into something he’d… be willing but not excited to do.

Your worries were fruitless, however. Steve’s hands came to life immediately, one reaching for your waist, the other to cradle your cheek. His lips responded in kind, even as his smile tasted of surprise. The tension you had got a brief glimpse of melted away from his shoulders, fingertips caressing your skin, nose gently nudging yours as your lips parted, forehead to forehead.

“Hi,” you breathed out contentedly, feeling the tension leaving you as well, warmth spreading through every vein and nerve in your body at Steve’s gentle chuckle instead.

“Hi, love.”

“Welcome home.”

His smile was as nothing short of blinding when he retreated just a bit to look at you and grace you with a shining gaze roaming your face, as if taking in every feature, every line, every arch, every last eyelash for the first time. Your heart thump-thumped in your chest happily as your hands slid to his neck, unable to tear your gaze away from the beautiful image he made.

A man with love.

Your man.

Your husband.

Your extremely handsome husband; every suit, be it a formal wear or his tactical one, accentuated his wide shoulders and sharply cut jaw you couldn’t but run your fingertips over, marvelling at the pure delight in his face.

“I feel very much welcomed, sweetheart,” he assured you, squeezing your waist. Despite being clearly exhausted, his smile was radiant; until it fell a fraction. “Are you going out?”

Your heart hummed with a soft ache; it was impossible to miss his effort not to look disappointed as not to make you feel guilty for having a social life outside your marriage, even if rather inconveniently timed. Bless his good, good heart.

You shook your head with your smile lingering, barely hiding a smirk. “I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Rogers.”

His expression perked up again, his arm sneaking further around your waist as he observed you with playful curiosity. “Oh? Are we going out? Did you plan something, Mrs. Rogers?”

To highlight his indulgence in calling you that – and god knew hearing him say that still sent butterflies to your stomach even after months of that being a reality – his hand moved from your cheek to take you left hand, fingers interlacing; your wedding bands made a soft clinking noise as they met, Steve’s gaze flickering to their combined light with such undiluted joy in that little action you couldn’t but brush your lips over his again, something deep inside you trembling and preening at once.

Your husband.

“Would it be a bad thing? If I did plan something?” you asked, part coy, part genuine. “It’s okay if you’re not in mood for that.”

Steve only smiled wider, dropping a kiss to your knuckles and then your lips, before pulling back just a fraction. He observed you silently and almost absently, yet seemingly with mission-level intent.

The silence stretched as you awaited his answer, encouraging him – and yourself, because the silence was growing louder with every beat of your heart – with a suddenly unsure smile.

“Steve? Love?”

He blinked, shaking his head lightly. Before you could feel your stomach drop in disappointment at this being his answer, he spoke up.

“Sorry, you… you look beautiful. Got a little distracted here.”

Your belly did a funny flip-flop that had no right to be so deep within; but this gorgeous man had no right to be so perfect either. And you loved him for it.

“I don’t mind going out or staying,” he said softly. “I’m honestly just glad to be home. With you. That’s my favourite thing in the world. Being with you… here, in the home we made together.”

Tremble. Something within you trembled and it was almost comical how those words shook and soothed your soul, a sharp contrast to how very non-poetic your intention to seduce his body was. But that was how you seduced each other the first time and did so over and over again; body, mind and soul alike, tipping the scales in favour of one and then the other and back as the situation allowed.

It was your turn to blink now, fighting the burn of tears in your eyes, threatening to spill at the profound sincerity in Steve’s voice and the adoration in his beautiful blues; they turned all the prettier as a spark of mischief lit them up and he stepped back, releasing you from his warm embrace.

“But, since you got all dolled-up and clearly made plans, it would be a waste. Want to tell me what my orders are, ma’am?”

Excitement lighting up your nerves anew, you stepped back with a hum.

“Well… actually, I made plans to stay in…” Steve’s eyebrow arched a bit, but something beautifully dark flashed in his eyes – a mute understanding that whatever you had planned, you had dolled up for him. For him and him only. “And since you said those people there were all talk, no listening, no action… I thought that maybe you’d a like a change of scenery.”

As you took another step back further into the apartment, Steve discarded his shoes in a lightning speed, his gaze never leaving your face, hanging on your lips for every syllable.

You bit back a satisfied smile, something hot stirring in your belly. “That maybe, you’d like someone who can listen very well, and is willing to… act? Would you like to tell me my orders, Captain?”

His gaze went to roam – from the top to bottom, drinking in your attire, a perfect trap you had set for both of you to tangle in. The tall red heels. The coat for him to untie. The nylons – which Steve at this point must have understood were, in fact, thigh-highs, perhaps strapped to a garter belt. The hair. That lipstick. That damn lipstick that turned his eyes a shade darker and hungrier, his voice dropping two octaves.

“Is that what you want, sweetheart?”

You raised a challenging brow, a coy smile adorning your red red lips as you toyed with the hem of your coat; Steve knew you well-enough by now to know that you wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble if you hadn’t wanted that. You wanted.

You wanted him, with every fibre of your being, lit alive and reborn divine under his searing hot gaze. You longed to be his, however he pleased. To please him however you could.

At last, he got the message. He seemed to very much revel in that message, in fact.

“Let’s go to the bedroom then.”

He led you by the hand, even though you both knew the way and had walked it many times before, even when blinded by desire, with lips never parting, frantic stumbles and wandering impatient hands. Tonight, there was no rush; steps deliberately slow, you followed his lead, standing still by the doorway when he let go of your hand in favour of stripping his suit jacket as soon as you entered.

Your eyes followed his every move, indulging in the sight of his muscles rippling under the smooth fabric of his white shirt; indulging in the shudder of realization running down his body, coming after his brief confusion of finding you obediently exactly where he had left you.

You barely bit back a smirk at the way his breath hitched.

“Alrighte,” he breathed out as he walked to the foot of the bed, turning his back to it to look at you.

You had never had a man to look at you like that before; his gaze was like the most delicious shockwave igniting every cell in your body with desire and pride.

His. You were your own woman, but goddamn, were you his.

“Alright. Come here, sweetheart.”

You did. Hooked on his burning gaze as he seemed hypnotized by your every step, by every inch erased between you, you walked to him, only stopping when he settled his wide palm over your hip, his other hand soon joining on the other side.

For a moment, he simply observed you, your parted lips, your eyes blown wide, just as aroused by the dynamics as he was. Then, a warm yet mischievous smile lifted the corners of his lips, hands squeezing your hips.

You weren’t sure what you had expected – a kiss, a toss on the bed, his hands ripping the fabric, all things you had encountered and more – but of all options, he chose the one your mind had not offered at the moment. His hands slid lower, inch by inch as he kneeled in front of you, sitting back on his heels, the heat of his skin seeping into yours the second his palms slipped past the edge of the fabric of your coat.

Sensual. Steve was most definitely in mood for sensual tonight and you were not going to complain if for nothing else than for having trouble breathing as his fingertips traced the thin ankle strap of your shoe, warm fingers delicately circling your ankle, cupping your calf, sneaking past your knee to spread over the back of your thigh, inching your legs apart so he could move the coat out of the way and press a lingering kiss to your where the lace of your thigh-high met bare skin of your inner thigh.

Your breath hitched in your throat when his free hand reached for the loose knot on your coat, dextrous fingers undoing it with ease and tugging, all while his lips brushed over your sensitive skin higher and higher towards the apex of your thigh.

“Take it off, love,” he whispered into your heat, tugging at the hem of your coat, the index finger of his other hand slipping under the strap of your garter belt, nosing along your inner thigh and inhaling deeply.

A shudder ran down your spine at the huskiness of his voice, leaving you with no space to even consider embarrassment at your husband’s need to drown himself in the scent of your arousal; you busied yourself with stripping the coat in five seconds flat and dropping it on the floor, rewarded by his warm breathy chuckle.

“So good for me…” He looked up from his spot, caressing along the line of your panties, feasting his eyes on the delicate lace hugging your breasts, at the elaborate but feather-light pattern on your garter belt, at the barely-there panties covering your sex. The smoulder in his pupils as his gaze zeroed on his price was almost too much to bear. Whether you were shy or impatient, you couldn’t tell, but your chest was heaving with every breath, your back arching just a bit at the praise that stroked something deep within you. “My beautiful, irresistible wife…”

“Steve-“

He returned his attention to your thigh, sucking a lovebite just above the hem of your stocking, soothing the offended spot with a butterfly-soft kiss you couldn’t help but sigh his name at again.

He hooked his fingers at the front straps of your garter, urging you forward, closer, as he sat on the floor, back leaning against the foot of the bed, tilting his head back and resting in on the mattress; a content smile played on his lips as if it was the most comfortable spot in the apartment, his hands roaming appreciatively. Over the curve of your hip. Following the pattern of the lace. Along the straps, along the hem. But never, never where your need for him burned, soaking the excuse of underwear over your sex.

“Didn’t have such pretty view in D.C.,” he mused, gaze trailing over the thin fabric already shining with your arousal, trailing all over your body to your face, to your red lips painted just as you knew he loved them. “Never ceases to amaze me. Like a piece of art. So damn perfect… mine to touch.”

You didn’t have timefor body insecurities with Steve. Any imperfection you saw, it didn’t bother him; he’d kiss you everywhere, claiming and loving every piece of your body and soul and mind, as he hadn’t forgotten to mention when he proposed; and then followed up with proving the first part of his claim with intense but the softest damn loving.

The memory of him getting on one knee with a glimmer of tears in his eyes quickly dispersed when his maddeningly delicate touch finally brushed over your slit, your hips instinctively bucking forward; Steve instantly used the opportunity to spread his palms under your bottom, urging you closer and closer until the front of your thighs met the mattress, effectively caging him in, mouth not more than an inch from your mound. He smiled up at you wickedly, forefinger drawing nonsensical patterns over your clothed sex.

“Steve, love-“

You lost your voice when he guided your knee to prop on the mattress next to his head, a violent tug of desire gripping at your core at the implication of what he wanted – stirring as much want as insecurity and hesitance.

You voice was shaky as your gaze found his, the question on your lips so quiet he might miss it hadn’t it been for his enhanced hearing.

“Steve, are you… sure?”

One glance into his eyes told you was more than that.

And the mere thought of him doing what he was leading you towards felt like molten lava poured into your veins, nothing but smouldering heat left behind.

You had never done that. Not with him, not with anyone else.

It was true that Steve could get rather intense when it came to love making – or shameless fucking – but he always drew significant amount of his pleasure from your own. Your husband was but a giver, even as he always coaxed you to give it to him. He had sure been far from shy or prudish in the privacy of your quarters – or in certain cases no one must ever learn about, elsewhere – and he enjoyed all kinds of things, his mouth on you among them. You had explored together, dived into depths of pleasure you hadn’t thought were possible. But you hadn’t---not like this.

Not with you basically on top of his goddamn face.

“Are you?” he asked, pressing a brief kiss to the juncture of your thighs, looking at you from under his eyelashes with a challenge and a plea.

In your exploration, he had pushed your limits; but never you. He’d never do anything that seemed even tad too uncomfortable for you. As of consequence, there was virtually nothing you wouldn’t let him do, because you trusted him to stop at the first sign of your protest.

Okay. Okay. The utter wanton in his eyes shining through the sincerity was melting your brain. No choice to make.

You nodded, rewarded by a satisfied smirk that would have earned anyone else a smack to their face. But with Steve, there was something dangerously alluring about that instead; that smirk meant paradise aligning with hell awaiting you, whispered of you soon begging him – to stop or to continue, you’d never quite know yourself.

“Well then, remember you promised to listen… and do.”

Little shit, was as far as you got in your thoughts.

Because then he was wrapping a firm arm around your leg on the bed and pushing your panties aside and after a few teasingly careful licks, he began his feast like a starved man seated at the royal table.

Your hands found purchase on his hair and the bed, knees nearly buckling under the assault of pleasure, burning through your body like a wildfire. The way his wicked tongue played with you had you gasping his name in need bordering on desperation, chest tight as you were forgetting to breathe, core clenching so soon you couldn’t quite believe it as the tidal wave of bliss washed over you, hips rocking in aftershocks, knees eventually giving out.

It was only for a split second that you worried you might smother Steve or splatter ungracefully on the floor; because Steve had you. He always had you. His supersoldier part undeniable, he caught you, manipulating your body so he could cradle you protectively as you came from your high and literal height, holding you against his chest as you straddled him with seemingly boneless legs.

You were hyperaware of every bit of praise spilling from your lips, whispered to your skin warmly, but you couldn’t form words.

Not until his lips found yours, meeting in a soft kiss spiced with the tang of your essence, the most intimate kiss between lovers. He pushed the hair from your face tenderly, eyes both hungry and soft as if you weren’t soaking his dress pants where your core met his evident arousal and you weren’t both panting as if you had just run a marathon. His hand caressed up and down your spine, over and over, as if to ground you in reality.

A peck to your cheek. To your mouth. Your lips coming back to life at least, pressing to his jaw, to his smile.

“Could stay like this forever,” he whispered, nose trailing along your cheek, leaving a kiss under your ear, drawing a breathless chuckle from you. “With you in my arms, your taste on my lips, head swimming from your sweet perfume and everything that’s you… my wonderful wife… “

Blinking owlishly, you met his gaze as he cradled your cheek, hair a beautiful messy hallo from where you had tried to hold on when he was devouring you. His lips found yours again, a gentle murmur.

“You’re my everything, you know that?”

You did. By god you did. It was impossible not to, even as that fact was but a pure stroke of a miracle. He was your everything too. Your alfa and your omega. Your weakness and your strength. Your love, unshakable foundation even on days when everything including his own hands did shake. Your home, whenever you’d go.

You ran your fingers through his golden locks, expression nothing short of tender, touch nothing short of reverent – as one should be when in face of a miracle.

“And you’re my home,” you whispered back.

Seconds ticked by in soft silence, pleasure still tingling all over your body, but it was the overwhelming love and need in Steve’s gaze that consumed you completely.

You didn’t dare to blink. You didn’t dare to breathe. You simply watched him living through a moment as precious to him as he was to you, electric tension rising and almost audibly crackling in the air.

And then he was gripping your nape, mouth claiming and devouring, one hand sliding under your bottom to lift you in a display of strength that never failed to make you dizzy and blinded you with desire unmatched despite having just come down from your high. You returned his kiss with the same fervour, hands grasping at his shirt, frantically searching for buttons to undo and then simply tugging hard until the thread gave out and sent the buttons flying, a nip of teeth to your lips accompanied with Steve’s dark chuckle like the sweetest song of victory.

He sat down at the bed with you still straddling him, helping you strip the shirt without your lips ever parting, his hands leaving you but for the fraction of second necessary to get rid of the fabric in your way and then you were both sighing in relief when your palms met the burning skin of his sculptured chest, his wide shoulders, his clenching abs.

“Need you,” you confessed as soon as you got to breathe in, back at his lips the very next second, Steve’s large palm kneading your bottom, hips thrusting into yours and eliciting a wanton moan from you both. “And I want you in my mouth-“

A delicious growl rumbled in is chest, fingers tangled in your hair pulling just a little, tipping your head back to give him access to leave a string of kisses down the column of your throat, the deliberately slow bucks of his hips into yours never ceasing.

“You’re a wicked little thing.”

You chuckled, a cheeky remark on your painfully free lips, the delightful friction between your bodies not nearly enough to sooth your thirst.

“You do say I’m wicked smart. Why this time?”

The nip of teeth on your collarbone and the way his fingers dug into your flesh had you barely stifle a gasp, but his answer was a reward for a work well-done.

“Goddamn you, woman, you know what you do to me, especially that lipstick-”

“I know what it does to you to see it smeared in certain places,” you breathed out, silenced by a bruising kiss to your lips and a light sting on the back of your thigh as Steve pulled at one of the strings of your garter and let it snap against your skin. Your wandering hands reached for his belt, almost tasting the salty tang of him already as you’d get on your knees for him.

“Wicked,” he grunted against your mouth, lifting his hips – with you still on top – to help you strip his pants, “I thought I was giving the orders tonight.”

“Oh you do, Captain,” you assured him, revelling a little too much at the twitch against your core as you blatantly used his title against him. “Just informing you I’m willing.”

“Driving me crazy. Want you to want me just as much, to need me-“

“I do. Need to taste you-”

“Jesus Christ-“ he choked out, releasing you so you could press one last thorough kiss to his mouth and then slide down to your knees, grateful for the soft carpet.

Ridding Steve of the last piece of clothing, you took great care to maintain eye-contact as you stroked him, feather-light, and licked at the tip. The breathy sound resembling your name that left his lips when you wrapped your lips around the head sent a jolt of heat down your spine, hot satisfaction pooling in your belly and making your heart thunder in your chest.

Nothing had ever made you feel more powerful and treasured than Steve looking at you with half-lidded eyes, groaning as you took him deeper and bobbed your head, closing your lips tight around him as you pulled back to smear as much of the sinful red colour down his cock, his hands gripping the sheets so hard the fabric might tear.

God, he was gorgeous; a wrecked angel-like figure made for worship and sin, they only deity you needed, sculpted to divine perfection.

His fingers tangled gently at your hair, only to twitch repeatedly as he was holding back the strength he wanted to use keep you right there, always making you want to swallow around him harder to make him lose that control; the curses, the deliciously prolonged fuuuck tasting like a victory, the fuck-- sweetheart, you feel like heaven a blessing that stirred pure lust deep within your core.

He was done for almost too soon; a little work, a hint of a sinful smile in the corner of your lips as you watched him lose layer after layer of control to reveal the primal drive that made him just as human as any. Once your hands joining your efforts, he was spilling down your throat, eyes squeezed shut in an image of absolute heavenly ruin.

You waited for him to flutter his eyes open; not having even gone soft in your mouth, you dragged your lips down his length to leave the last red and glossy mark, the string of blasphemy leaving his mouth telling you he didn’t give a damn thing about your tear-smeared mascara but cared a whole lot about the prettily ruined lipstick. When you licked your lips as if he had just given you your favourite treat, he practically dragged you back to his lap, seemingly torn between proposing all over again and lamenting you were going to be his death.

Yet, he kissed you tenderly like a precious porcelain doll and reached for the wet wipe in the nightstand drawer to gently clean the black smears down your cheek. The smudged lipstick he indulgently wiped with his thumb before his mouth slanted over yours again, the thrumming passion between you growing louder again; you were dripping down your thighs from the appreciative gaze and the taste of him alone and Steve was rarely ever sated with climaxing just once. Especially after a week apart.

With his most acute hunger sated, however, he took time to admire the view again, even with your shoes finally discarded, indulging in the delicate lace instead, in the warmth of your body, in your perfume and the scent of your skin. His voice dropped low in volume, intimate whispers of how he wanted to see you take him deep and make you his, fingers gently stretching you to accommodate his impressive size before he led you to sink down on his length at last, filling you up so deliciously and completely.

With bodies stilled, the time seemed to slow down too. Eyes blown wide and dark, but with a sweet curl to your lips as you tasted each other over and over again, you both revelled in the sensation of being connected; brushes of fingertips, kisses to your lips, to your neck, to your sternum and breasts; to his chest, to his shoulders, to his kiss-swollen lips, wherever you could reach.

“I missed you, sweetheart,” he confessed between encounters of lips, the softest voice with a husky aftertaste. “Missed this. Never going to another conference again.”

You almost chuckled at the unrealistic prospect, touched all the same.

“Missed you more… might go to a conference every once in a while. For science.”

Steve grunted in protest, palms framing your face as he observed with a slightly amused pout to his kiss-swollen lips.

“Hm. Sounds like your argument contradicts your hypothesis there, Doc.”

This time, you did chuckle a bit, raising an eyebrow even as you caressed his cheek, index finger tapping the pouty lower lip. “Well sue me, I’m a little dazed. I’m allowed. I finally have you for myself after a week, Steve.”

He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to the pad of your finger, something devilish flashing in his eyes.

“That you do. I’m all yours. My smart, beautiful wife…” he coaxed with a kiss, hand landing lightly on your waist, hips thrusting up to encourage you to roll yours. There was no need to do so twice. You rocked your pelvis, jaw falling slack at the delightful sensation. A single movement and pleasure was spreading to every nerve ending, coil in your belly forming; Steve responded in kind, urging you on to keep going and set a pace.

“So good to me, sweetheart… so precious.”

“That’s it. So damn gorgeous like that--- look at me, love.”

“Making me feel so good… love having you like this. Never gonna get enough of this, of you…”

Golden. You felt so damn golden under his touch, from inside out, caressed with every single appreciative word spilling from his lips so naturally.

God, you had needed that. You needed that more than you had realized, having pushed down all the unpleasant interactions that had piled up during the week, interactions that made you feel everything but good, precious, brilliant or gorgeous. With every word, Steve poured his faith and love into the cracks in your being and healed them, silencing every doubt, grounding you so profoundly in the pleasure you shared that every single cell in your body ignited with something divine. The coil in your belly was strung so tight you almost felt yourself falling, if you’d only--- if he’d-

“Steve, please, I need-“

“I know what you need, love. I’ve got you.”

Your climax erupted through your body with Steve’s mouth wrapped around your nipple, his dextrous fingers digging into your ass and playing with your clit.

He found his release as he kneeled behind you and caged you to his front, one hand around your throat to angle your head for a sloppy kiss, the other spread wide over your lower belly, sneaky fingertips having coaxed another Earth-shattering orgasm from you.

Somewhere along the way, your lacy attire had ended up in shreds where Steve pulled a little too hard; the remnants of garter belt and stockings were carefully stripped by Steve’s tender fingers as he cleaned you up with a warm cloth before covering you with several kisses and only then with the comforter.

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you to his side and simply holding you as close as humanly possible, living and revelling in the moment just until his stomach growled.

After a semi-serious joke about taking you as a dessert for the second time, you lazily ordered take-out for three since you had worked up an appetite, moving to the couch. A movie in the background, Steve shared some of the highlights and escapades of the past few days from the conference and DC – as much as he could anyway. In return, you shared your own – as much as you could anyway. When in each other’s embrace, the trouble seemed far away; and what had felt like a path to the next Armageddon suddenly appeared considerably more manageable.

You were practically asleep, half-sprawled over Steve’s chest, when he pressed another kiss to your scalp, this time lingering.

“I love you… and thank you. That truly was a nice welcome home,” he said, bringing a ghost of a tired smile to your lips.

“It’s our home, Steve… You should always feel welcome. Loved.”

“And I do. Coming home to you is the most precious thing,” he mused, caressing your hair when you snuggled impossibly closer to him, inhaling the comforting scent of all that was him. “But you walking the extra mile… that truly makes me the luckiest guy in the universe.”

You hummed, his words warming you more thoroughly than his body and the blanket combined. You pressed a kiss to his sternum over his sleepshirt.

“And I’m the luckiest woman. I love you, Steeeve… I’m sorry-”

His chest shook under your cheek softly as your confession turned into a yawn, but he took it as a sign. He half-carried you to the bathroom and carried you entirely by the time you were done with your nighttime routine.

You murmured another love you, sleep well as you laid your head on the pillow, cradled in Steve’s protective embrace, his words reaching your ears from a terrible, terrible distance, but tasted just as sweet as ever.

“I will, love. I most definitely will.”

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Aren't they just sweet? 🥺 Happy belated birthday, Stevie 💕 I hope you enjoyed - feedback is always welcomed💕

Prompts, as promised:

Pouncing on your partner as soon as they arrive home from a trip away

“My favourite thing in the world is being here with you.”

Kinks: praise, soft!dom, oral

Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go bath in holy water and pray to my muse that she'll let me write longfic too 🤭

#fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x you #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #sweet and ours tonight #anika ann

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shomatoriashi · 4 months ago

Text

08/24/24; 05:45pm

sung jinwoo x wallflower!fem.reader

[ the academy arc - 10 stages of love ]

{ i never met you, but i wanted to invite you to the party | and you walked in with those [...] eyes, never stolen by nobody… }

1 - first sight

the girls were being too loud again, you think to yourself, trying to focus on finishing your assignments for the day as you flipped through your notes and textbooks.

"god, he's really so dreamy!"

"i can't believe he's in our grade, but is already like, 6 feet tall!"

annoyance was felt coursing through your veins, and you swore that you felt a gentle ache beginning for form against your temple. it was currently lunchtime, and instead of enjoying lunch (or doing homework, like yours truly), these girls in your class decided to gawk at the track team from the windows. the more the girls in your class gushed over some guy, the more you quickly felt your patience running thin.

not wishing to cause a scene (or be even more hated), you slam your textbook shut, making sure the impact was heard echoing throughout the classroom as the girls let out a gasp in response. their hungry gaze looks away from the window, purposely turning their heads to glare at you.

"what's her problem?"

"honestly, if you keep acting like you have a stick up your ass, no one is going to like you."

you ignore their biting words, gathering your bags and notebooks together to head out of the classroom. feeling your strands of hair fall across your face, you blow against it, removing the annoying strands from your eyes.

being known as someone that's quiet and keeps to herself, if you had a superpower, then that superpower was to remain invisible to everyone. you were achingly...average. it seemed like you blended in with your surroundings unless you truly tried to draw attention to yourself. your grades weren't incredibly high, but you never failed any classes and just did enough to get by.

with you already finished with your lunch, you decided to spend the rest of your free time doing some homework so that you could relax when you came home. as you walked through the hallways, uproarious laughter catches your attention. with curiosity felt coursing through you, you step closer to the window, ignoring your reflection while pressing the palm of your hand against the cold glass.

several feet below you, you saw the track team finish their mock race, with some of the members laughing at the utterly exhausted boy that lay in the grass. amidst the teasing words, a single member remains silent, his smile gentle and kind as he got down to the boy's height and helps him up.

you take in the kind boy's features, lightly admiring his side profile and the way his ebony locks of hair fell so perfectly across his face. despite how he was the only one that wasn't laughing, you couldn't miss the amusement shining within his grey eyes and the way his full lips seemed to tilt slightly upwards in response to the whole situation.

as if drawn in by his features, you press yourself even closer to the glass, making the boy's expression shift when he suddenly meets your gaze. the eye contact lasted for a mere few seconds when you let out a soft squeak before landing on all fours against the linoleum floors. your heart was pounding, and you felt as though your mind was getting dizzy at the thought of such a perfect tall boy had noticed you enough to look at you.

feeling grateful that the halls were empty (for now), you crawl away from the window, making sure that your visage couldn't be seen by him-

yet oddly enough, you had a feeling that he had still noticed you.

2 - introduction

there was no way you could possibly go home when such pandemonium was occurring outside your school right now.

according to at least half of the female students, the track team was holding a competition with the rival school this afternoon, and everyone was eager to watch the ever so famous sung jinwoo in action.

after that embarrassing moment where jinwoo manages to meet your gaze, your stomach began to twist and fill with uncomfortable butterflies at the thought of his stormy, grey eyes meeting with yours again...

ah, but you digress.

here you are, someone who takes no interest in extracurricular activities, being forced to stay a few hours longer in school so as to avoid the crowd and being noticed by either your peers, or total strangers from a rival school. had your parents not been at work, you would have called either one of them to pick you up from school to free you from such an event.

knowing that you would need to wait it out for a few hours, you decide to go to the one place that brought you comfort: the library. with everyone outside, eagerly watching the track meet, you were gratefully alone, able to bask in this quiet sanctuary as you were surrounded by millions of stories printed on pages upon pages of books.

with your headphones settled comfortably within your ears, you listen to your favorite music on your phone, exploring each aisle of books with a casual hum while choosing a few books to read and pass time with.

holding the precious books within your hands, you go into the corner of the library, spreading out your chosen novels before picking one that had the most captivating cover. a tiny smile graces your features when you open the tome and began to read, immersing yourself within the story and your music.

you lose track of time with each turn of the page, your eyes completely focused on the printed words while imagining each scene within your mind. as you reached the climax of the story, a hand felt on your shoulder makes you gasp, your eyes going wide as you look back to see the track star himself staring back at you.

his hair was damp from the sweat, and you saw that he was dressed in his track uniform, donning your school's colors with his jacket. he meets your gaze in an unwavering manner, the sight of it all making your heart seem to lurch in response.

the same, tiny smile graces his features, and he takes a step back before introducing himself (as if you didn't know who he was already-)

"hey, sorry for startling you... my name's jinwoo, and it didn't feel right to leave you here when the school's about to close."

3 - interaction

his sudden appearance was enough to make your heart jump within the confines of your throat. feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, you take off your headphones and really look at the time, eyes going wide when you realized that it was close to 8pm.

"shit, i didn't realize it had already gotten so late!" you take the books with you, carefully placing them within your bag as you slung it over your shoulder. you had every intention of making a mad dash home, yet it was jinwoo's large hand felt against your wrist that stops you from going forward.

"wait, it's too late for you to walk home by yourself. let me come with you."

your mind was spinning, and your eyes kept looking down at the spot where jinwoo held your wrist. "u-uhm, well, you probably live in the opposite direction, so it's okay! i can w-walk home by myself."

jinwoo scoff, now purposely sliding his grip toward the palm of your hand as he held it all while saying your name. "don't be ridiculous, you're a girl, and it's dangerous for girls to walk out so freely when it’s so late out."

the dizzy feelings refuses to cease, leaving you a stuttering mess when jinwoo casually leads you out of the school and into the fresh air. you shiver at how cold it had gotten, looking up at the night sky as you saw the stars twinkling back at you. he stops walking and takes in how goosebumps seem to appear across your arms from beneath the sleeve of your blouse, clicking his tongue while slowly shrugging off his jacket.

"here, put this on."

you blink up at him, giving him a questioning glance, yet still, he simply holds out his jacket for you to take. you murmur a quiet thank you, taking it from him as you zipped it up, feeling his lingering warmth surrounding you.

the next 20 minutes for you were spent in a bit of a haze, with jinwoo walking you back to your place with zero complaints. as you arrive at your front door, you were ready to take off jinwoo's jacket and return it back to him, but he holds out a hand to stop you.

"keep it, you can give it back to me some other time."

the heat was felt traveling down your neck, with you only managing to give jinwoo a nod as he walks away from you with a gait that was filled with confidence. you simply stood there, not moving until jinwoo was no longer seen.

only when you unlocked the door to your house did you realize something vital:

you had never told jinwoo your name before-

yet somehow, he still knew it.

4 - attraction

ever since that night he had walked you home, jinwoo seemed determined to become your friend, remaining ever so close to you when you least expected it.

despite being in different classes, jinwoo never seemed to care. he always made time to see you, and you could never say no to spending your lunchtimes with him. in fact, he worked wonders when it came to mitigating your loneliness.

currently, it was late in the afternoon. jinwoo didn't have any track practice today, and was able to spend some time in the library with you. as you both worked on your respective assignments, you and jinwoo end up sharing your headphones together, listening to your music as you snuck glances at jinwoo.

there was something strangely... intimate about listening to music together. for starters, since jinwoo was using the other half of your headphones, it automatically puts him in a position that was closer to you. because of his proximity, you caught the undertones of his minty cologne and an even closer look at his side profile-

a side profile that was, admittedly, utterly gorgeous.

hence why you kept sneaking glances at him.

after you finished answering a question, you decide to look back at him-

only to see jinwoo casually meeting your gaze as well.

not expecting it, you let out a tiny squeak in surprise, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks as you coughed, trying to pretend that you were not looking at your best friend and taking note of how attractive he was.

his rich chuckle fills at the air, yet he makes it worse when he casually says, "what? see something that you like?"

jinwoo's teasing question makes the heat seem to deepen against your skin, as you struggled to come up with a plausible excuse.

5 - date

"i'm not going to play games with you." jinwoo suddenly says, walking up to you in a bit of an arrogant and haughty manner as he traps you against the row of lockers.

"w-what? what are you talking about, jinwoo?" you held your notebooks close to your chest, making jinwoo chuckle before shaking his head.

"i'm trying to tell you that i like you, and i won't let you say no or reject me, since i know you feel the same way about me."

blood was felt rushing to your ears, blocking out the resounding gasps coming from the girls in your class.

"you can't be serious!"

jinwoo scoffs, ignoring the girls as he was truly focused on you alone. taking a hold of your hand, he leaves the classroom and takes you to a more secluded area. your mind was unable to comprehend what was going on, repeating jinwoo's confession over and over again, seeming to play the memory in an endless loop.

was he playing a prank on you? had he been set up by one of the popular upperclassmen? were you just some bet-

the sensation of the fresh air hitting at your senses finally breaks you out of your fervent reveries, with you looking up at jinwoo as he pins you against one of the walls. you were dimly aware of how you were both on the rooftop of the school, with jinwoo's eyes seeming to flash a glowing purple briefly before morphing back to his usual grey eyes.

"i really like you... and i wish to be with you." jinwoo confesses to you once more, taking a hold of your hand before placing a kiss at the back of it, "so please, say that you'll give us a chance."

at the end of it all, you could only manage to give him a nod-

yet you swore that his smile would forever be burned into your memories.

6 - holding hands

jinwoo had taken you to a nearby amusement park for your first date-

and never once did he let go of your hand.

when he asks you what rides you would like to go on, you tell him with a shy grin, "every single one of them, if at all possible."

never one to deny you, jinwoo actually spends a little extra money on your respective tickets, giving you both a free pass to the front of the line for all the rides. you had spent some time in amusement parks before with your family, but always had to spend a good chunk of your time waiting in line.

now, however, you could skip the long waits altogether and was able to bask in all the rides. it didn't matter if you and jinwoo rode the carousel or a fast paced rollercoaster-

jinwoo still held on to your hand each time, making sure to sit beside you at every chance possible.

with the sun beginning to set, jinwoo takes you out to lunch, letting you enjoy all of your favorite foods. as you bit into a corndog, jinwoo simply smiles at you while taking sips of his soda.

even when your hands were preoccupied with food and couldn't be held by jinwoo, he still made it his life's mission to remain close to you, choosing instead to use his legs to reach out and gently caress at your calves and ankle, the intimacy of it all making you shiver. you tried to play it cool, only to have jinwoo laugh at your poor attempts of keeping your composure.

7 - first kiss

the sun had long set, and you had spent nearly the entire day at the amusement park. still holding hands with jinwoo, he asks what ride you would like to finish the day with, and you could feel the embarrassment creeping up your neck.

"w-well... i've always wanted to ride the f-ferris wheel and enjoy the night sky with s-someone special. y-you know?"

a knowing smile graces jinwoo's handsome features when he interlocks his fingertips with yours, pulling you along before leading you to the ginormous ferris wheel. cutting toward the front of the line, jinwoo flashes his special ticket, allowing you both to get on first.

with you safely tucked against jinwoo's side, the door closes, and you feel the way the cart moves, making its steady ascent while giving you the perfect view of the amusement park. all the lights seemed to sparkle like gemstones from this height, and it was difficult to hide the pure amount of joy you felt.

your giggles echo throughout the cart, with jinwoo softly saying your name. you focus on jinwoo once more, grinning widely at him when you feel him suddenly lean forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss.

the kiss was a chaste one, with only the sensation of his slightly chapped lips meeting with yours-

but it was still oh so perfect, with you closing your eyes as you pressed yourself even closer to him in hopes of deepening the kiss. with jinwoo's lips perfectly slotted against yours, you forgot all about the gorgeous scenery, completely and utterly focused on the boy who was slowly stealing your heart...

8 - relationship

you didn't think it was possible to feel such a powerful connection with another human being-

yet against all odds, fate had given you just that. ever since your first interaction with jinwoo, the seemingly perfect boy remains vigilant when it came to staying by your side.

your relationship had some bumps here and there, mainly coming from those who became envious of what you had with jinwoo, yet without fail, he would shield you from those hateful gazes and take you within his embrace, always promising to protect you even when things got tough.

somehow, jinwoo broke through all of your walls and made a secure spot within the depths of your heart, one that could only be filled by him as you found yourself constantly daydreaming about the future with him.

sung jinwoo had given you hope and a new reason to find beauty in life again-

and you wouldn't have it any other way.

9 - love

despite being with him for nearly a year, never once were you brave enough to come clean about your feelings for him.

what you felt for him wasn't as simple as just being love for him-

it felt so much stronger than that.

jinwoo fit you in every way possible-

he was like your other half-

your missing puzzle piece.

you had read about romance and the concepts of soulmates before, but never once had you believed in it until now.

you knew that love felt like an almost meaningless word with how much it was carelessly thrown around-

yet at the same time, it was the only word that you could use to properly convey your feelings for him.

as you were settled in bed with him, with his arms wrapped around you, keeping you cozy and warm despite the storm that was brewing outside, you found that you couldn't focus on the movie that was playing on his laptop. your emotions were running haywire, and the memories you shared with him were making you realize how important jinwoo was to you-

that there was no way you could live without him now.

with these thoughts swirling within your head, you clenched your eyes shut and decided to finally tell him. "jinwoo, i love you."

the change was immediate, with your heart seeming to plummet within the depths of your stomach at how strangely silent jinwoo became. tears were felt welling up within your eyes when he pauses the movie all while softly calling out your name.

your sniffles echo throughout his room, and you were ready to apologize to him when jinwoo faces you, his handsome features turned up in a smile that made your breathing hitch.

"those better be tears of joy, jagiya." he softly coos at you, using the pad of his thumb to gently trace at your bottom lip, "there's no need to cry because i love you, too... so fucking much."

jinwoo ends up swallowing your gasps with another searing kiss, refusing to move away from you for even a second as he presses himself even closer to you, becoming a tangle of limbs as he continues to kiss you passionately against his bed.

10 - commitment

your alarm was heard going off right at 5am, and despite how you still felt so exhausted, you knew you had to get out of bed.

your back aches with the sudden weight felt against your abdomen, and you quickly head to the bathroom to relieve yourself all while doing your usual morning routine. with your teeth brushed and your face freshly washed, you head into the kitchen to start making breakfast for your husband.

getting out all of the ingredients from the fridge, you settle them against the counter while switching on the light. you began with cooking the rice, then making some scrambled eggs while frying up some breakfast sausages. in the midst of your cooking, you felt a powerful presence coming from behind you.

you smile all while using your spatula to cook your eggs. jinwoo lets out a yawn before placing the palm of his hands against your swollen stomach, being evidence of the way you were carrying his and yours first child.

"how are my loves doing this morning?" you giggle upon feeling him press a kiss against the side of your neck. "no fair, your daughter and i wanted to surprise you before you headed to work for the day."

"oh? i'm so lucky, being so spoiled by my beloved wife and daughter."

you hum, shutting off the stove so that you could give jinwoo your full, undivided attention. he smiles down at you, looking as handsome as ever even in his adulthood. his hair had gotten slightly longer, appearing a bit wavy with his locks seeming to perfectly frame at his face.

unable to stop yourself, you lean up at the same time jinwoo leans down, your lips meeting with his in yet another kiss that takes your very breath away. not even caring about making breakfast anymore, you continue to bask in his sweet kisses, feeling his smile against your lips when he suddenly picks you up and holds you within his embrace.

you would never tire of your husband spoiling you with his affections, feeling like you were on top of the world the moment you caught sight of your matching wedding bands glimmering beneath the light.

end notes: i've always wanted to write a 10 stages of love story for jinwoo, and i'm so happy i was able to accomplish it today! i've been in such a writing block for the hubby, and i'm incredibly proud at how this turned out 🥹 it's currently unedited, but i'll make any necessary changes once this is posted!

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

#sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo sung x reader #jinwoo sung x you #solo leveling x reader #writings 📖

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unconventional-lawnchair · 4 months ago

Text

We'll heal together: Chapter One

Little Talks Of Monsters and Men

Harry Potter x Reader (Platonic) / Remus Lupin x Reader (Ambiguous)

Masterlist

Summary: Harry Potter sees a familiar face on the train, from the mirror of Erised. Remus Lupin and harry talk about his mother, along with {Y/N} {L/N}. (This is a lot of rehashed scenes. Next chapter will be from {Y/N}'s Perspective.}

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, Dementor attack, grief, sassy Harry, depressed bish Remus (please reach out if I missed something}

Wc- 2180

“I didn't mean to blow her up! It just sort of... happened!”

Harry once again found himself explaining the same things he explained moments ago. It wasn't that he felt guilty... not exactly, he probably should, all things considered. But that old hag's shrill voice echoed in his head, and he could only find himself having a bit of pride at the moment.

“Brilliant.” Ron snickered, the smile in his voice very prominent. Harry could almost see it with his back to the red head.

“Honestly Ron, that's not funny. Harry was lucky not to be expelled!” Hermione huffed out as she shoved her way past him to catch up with Harry’s long strides.

“I think I was lucky not to be arrested.” Harry mumbled, slowly smirking to himself. Doing his best to avoid Hermione’s judgmental eyes.

“I still think it was brilliant.” Ron chuckled as he followed them down the hall. Harry paused as he noticed the only half empty room, with a sleeping figure. His eyes narrowed, why did his presence seem so familiar? It reminded him of that night, walking back to the dorms between flickering moonlight. That comfort he felt before, returning as he once again, saw the moon through the glass windows.

“Come on, everywhere else is full.” Hermione muttered after a moment of pause, watching Harry's confused and curious expression.

“Who's that, then?” Ron mumbled as he sat down on the seat closest to the window.

“Professor R. J. Lupin.” Hermione’s self-satisfied tone filled the now packed compartment. Harry pursed his lips. Never heard that name before.

Still, he found himself sitting beside the sleeping figure, across from Hermione, as both her and Ron’s voices faded out. Harry found himself staring at the lump of clothes that covered the professor.

“Do you know everything? How is it that she knows everything?”

“It's on his suitcase, Ronald.” She snarked and he muttered a soft ‘oh.’

Harry snapped out of his daze and leaned back, frowning at the sleeping figure. “Do you think he's really asleep?”

“Yes, I do think so.” She remarked calmly. “Why?”

“I have something to tell you.” Harry declared and slid the door closed.

“Let me get this straight. Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban, to come after you?” Ron asked in a scandalized tone, eyebrows raised as he struggled to keep Scrabbers calm in his hand. Tutting before he slipped him away into his damaged cage and held his hand over the broken door he escaped from before.

“Yeah.” Harry mumbled.

“But they'll catch Black, won't they? I mean, everyone is looking for him.” Hermione declared, looking between the two with reassurance and determination in her eyes.

“Sure- Of course, but no one's ever broken out of Azkaban before and he's a raving, murderous lunatic…” Ron mumbled out in a bitter tone and Harry gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Thanks, Ron.”

Then there was a sharp piercing sound of metal grinding against the iron of the train tracks, the engine falling to nothing but a murmur from within the box.

“Why are we stopping? We aren't there yet.” Hermoine mumbled and watched as Harry stood and peaked out the door.

“What's happened?” Ron asked as the train rocked and Harry was flown back to his seat by the sheer force.

“Dunno... Maybe we've broken down?”

The lights cut out.

There was a choking silence, so low and painful Harry’s ears almost began to ring. Then the cold came, voices could be heard outside the train. They were haunting and drawn like they were in too much anguish to utter a full statement, making Harry swallowed thick, trying to clear the back of his throat.

“ ... die. One by one. Until all is... “

“I think someone is coming aboard.” Ron croaked in dread. The entire train wobbled once more, the door swinging open before slamming shut. The haunting voices now fill the halls. They were like whispers, but somehow right against Harry’s ear.

There was a moment of peace before Ron’s breath hitched as he watched black tendrils float their way down the hall in front of their door. Like a floating cloth that tangled in the very air, thick with weary and terrified silence between the three.

Ron began to bunch himself onto the bench, giving a high-pitched inhale as the creature waved its hand in a gesture like motion, willing the door of their compartment to open without once touching it.

Everyone was silent, and Harry felt his hands begin to clam up. He shuffled back into his seat as best he could, as the creature lurked into the closed space, eyes locked on the raven-haired boy. Crookshanks hissed, and Scabbers began to freak out within the cage.

The creature suddenly leaned closer to Harry, and he felt his breath hitch, his entire body lurching forward in a silent but painful gasp. Harry grew dizzy, body growing weaker and his eyes slowly rolling back.

As if on cue, summoned awake by Harry’s loss of control, the sleeping professor snapped to his feet. Waving his wand as a blip of bright blue light filled the entire train car, just as Harry slipped under and fell to the floor.

“Harry? Harry, please wake up.” Hermione’s pleading voice came, slowly rubbing his arm. His thoughts were split, As the shrill and horrible tone of screams that filled his dreams slipped into Hermione’s soft and caring voice. It brought him comfort.

Harry’s eyes snapped open wide, slowly he huffed and sat up, looking over at Hermione as she handed him his glasses, muttering a thanks as he slipped them back on his face.

“Here, eat this. It’ll help.” The professor called out to him in a stern but lively tone, holding out an unwrapped bar of chocolate. Harry didn't quite meet his eyes.

“What was that?” He mumbled out and ate the candy the stranger provided.

“A Dementor. One of the guards of Azkaban. It's gone now. It was searching the train.” He remarked before Hermione spoke up.

“For Sirius Black.” She rubbed his shoulder again and encouraged Harry as he munched the treat in his hand. Muggle candy, he would die on the hill of it being the best.

“I need to have a word with the driver. Excuse me.” Lupin mumbled and stood, Harry finally looking up at him to watch him go. When Lupin turned to nod to the trio, closing the door before him and wandering off, Harry’s face filled with shock and his jaw went slack.

“What is it, Harry? Don't tell us you've gone mad.” Ron snarked and Harry snapped out of it, looking over to Ron and Hermione, still stunned. “I... I've seen him before.”

“What? You have?” Ron pried.

“The Mirror of Erised.” Harry breathed and tried to shoot to his feet. That night, he saw his face. That man stood beside his father and who he now knew to be Sirius Black, along with another woman and the rest of his immediate family. “I saw him, he was with my parents. And... and Sirius!”

He quickly stumbled before he could even get to his feet, Hermione quickly getting him up right to sit. “You stay put; I know you're curious, but you were attacked by a dementor! You’ll see him at Hogwarts, I'm sure of it.” She tutted. Harry groaned and covered his face. He was too weak to argue.

“Well, what a fun first day.” Ron piped up with a nervous smile, eating at Harry's abandoned chocolate from his perch on the window ciel. Hermione rolled her eyes, and Ron ran his lip over his now brown stained face. “What?”

~~~

The next time Harry saw Professor Lupin outside of the classroom was when he faced his Boggart, once again, he saved him as he did on the train. He had been moping about, not allowed to go to the Hogsmeade trip, he spent his time wandering the grounds. Eventually, he ran into Lupin once more. Without a word to each other they fell into an easy and silent step beside each other, hands in their pockets as they made it out of the courtyard and onto the precarious bridge.

“Professor Lupin, can I ask you something?”

“Is this about me stopping that Boggart? I assure you; it was not out of a lack of belief in your ability to stop it. I assumed the worst, that it would take the form of Lord Voldamort.”

Harry nodded faintly before he thinned his lips in thought. “I thought of him first, yes, but... Then I remembered that night on the train.” He mumbled and Lupin nodded thoughtfully. He was so much like James, he thought, it looked like when the unruly kid he once knew was being scolded by Professor McGonagall. It brought a small sad smile to his face.

“That's quite impressive.”

Harry scoffed and gave him a weary smile. “Is it?”

“I'm being truthful.” Lupin patted him on the shoulder before leaning forward on the railing of the bridge, overlooking the lake. “It takes bravery, for one's fear to be fear itself. It’s wise of you.”

Harry slowly nodded and looked off into the distance as well, Lupin peeking at him for a moment before Harry spoke up once more. “Before I fainted... I heard something. A woman. Screaming.”

“Dementors force us to relive the worst memories of our lives. Our pain becomes their power.”

Harry took a deep breath before he spoke his next words, he wanted to give Lupin the chance to speak on his relationship with his parents first, before he pried. He wanted, no, needed to know. But he wanted to give him the choice to come forward first. “... i think it was my mother.” He admitted and Lupin took a deep breath before he sighed.

“The first time I saw you, Harry, I recognized you immediately.” He spoke carefully. “Not by your scar,” He leaned in. “As ever famous it may be.” He mused a bit of a playful tone, giving Harry a small smile and he nodded, encouraging Lupin to continue.

“It was your eyes.” He spoke next in a much more Solemn tone. “They were your mother, Lily’s.” He spoke carefully as to not provoke the frog that tore apart the lower base of his throat, begging for a sob of relief. “I knew her. I knew her better than I knew myself most days.”

He allowed himself to reminisce, thinking back on the days he spent at school, walking down the halls with Lily and her. He had known and allowed himself love, the brotherly kind that fills you with adrenaline and makes you make stupid decisions. The kind that would get you into trouble every other term for the risk of thrill with every new prank idea presented to them. He knew wild, fun, free love.

It wasn't until he met Lily Evans and {Y/n} {L/N} when he learned what gentle and quiet love could do. How powerful silence could be, how much a simple touch could mean, and how the looks shared between flickering eyes could be filled with so much more care and empathy than he ever knew. From silent study sessions to moments comforting him after a full moon, the two girls made him feel peace he had never known he could have, something he never thought he deserved. Knowing their love was the worst possible outcome, losing their love was the second. “Your mother. Your mother and... An old friend of mine, they were there for me when no one else was. I have never known kindness and power, until I met your mother. I had never known forgiveness and wisdom until she introduced me to {Y/n}.”

“{Y/N}?” Harry mumbled out the new name and looked to the professor as Lupin nodded. “Lily Evans and {Y/N} {L/N}. They were inseverable, if you spoke of one of them. the other wasn't far behind. Even their names chased each other through the halls. Much like me and... well, your father. There was no Lily Evans without {Y/N} {L/N}, and the reverse was also true. They had a way about them, a way and a sight that saw something no one else could see in someone. They saw wonders and lights in the darkest rooms, they gave forgiveness and compassion to those who deserve nothing close to it. And they saw a wizard in a monster.” Lupin muttered the last part and hung his head before he looked up at Harry’s wide curious eyes.

“A monster, sir?”

“A story for another time.” Lupin mused and sat up straighter. “Your father on the other hand, now he had a talent for trouble.” He nudged Harry before he put his hands back into his pockets. “Rumor has it he's passed it onto you.”

Harry couldn't help the small smile that grew onto his face at the remark. So, his father was a lot like him, it seemed. That made him feel warm.

He wished he could talk to Lupin all day.

#reader insert #remus lupin #remus x reader #remus and harry #remus lupin x reader #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfic rec #lily evans

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pearlywritings · 1 year ago

Text

Remarkable comparisons

synopsis: you just never seize to surprise him - your words make his heart flutter as you find the new ways to admire the parts of him.

prompt: 20

requested by: my dearest @lunargrapejuice

pairing: Diluc, Kaveh, Neuvillette x fem!reader

tw: fluff, established relationship, Diluc has thick eyebrows (because I love Rae's (@bobaboob) design of him), tiny mention of injury in Kaveh's

word count: 2.3k+ words in total

a/n: check my Token of appreciation writing event!

Diluc

“Congratulations, Kaeya,” you smile, saluting the Cavalry Captain with your drink. “Maybe this is a sign and you should really start dating someone.”

“One letter with a confession is all it took you to give me this piece of advice? Why, I am very honored to receive one,” the man teases, cheek supported by a hand and the fingers of the other drumming against the bar counter as he’s waiting for his own treat for tonight. “Not to mention, you getting together with Diluc in the past didn’t really solve the exactly same problem, am I correct?”

There is a grumbling sound coming from the bartender’s throat, and you snicker, knowing that the redhead is certainly rolling his eyes.

“Careful, Kaeya, or you might get your drink dumped into the sink.”

“Surely my brother wouldn’t do something like that to me,” your friend decides to pay your words no mind, turning to look at your husband instead, “right, ‘luc?”

“Oh, I actually might.”

“Ouch, you wound me.”

Diluc gives him a half-hearted glare, and you shake your head, too used to their quarrels over nothing. Tuning out their voices, you close your eyes and try to relax, enjoying your favorite beverage - always courtesy of your beloved - and humming the melody the bard is singing further into the room. The evening can be called unwinding, and if it continues to be so, it won’t be a hard task to wait Diluc’s shift to be over, to help him close the tavern and make your way home.

“Hey, hey, Y/n,” but of course Kaeya has to disturb your just established peace and quiet, and when you open your eyes again, there is already a full glass in his left hand. Looks like the tavern owner was convinced not to throw it away as he threatened to do.

“What is it, Alberich?”

“You decided to hurt me too,” he gasps painfully, clutching his chest and mimicking the face of a kicked puppy. “My favorite sister-in-law is bullying me with my last name.”

“I am your only sister-in-law. I get the privilege.”

It doesn’t escape you how Diluc snorts at your answer. Kaeya only grimaces.

“We’ll come back to it later. Now I am more curious, how did you handle all those love letters my brother received? I don’t believe you’ve ever told me.”

“I probably didn’t,” you agree, putting your empty glass down, only for it to end up in the redhead’s hands a minute later. “But that was fun.”

“...fun?”

“Yeah, fun. Ever since Diluc started courting me and I returned his affections, he’d come to me with every letter - sometimes with a whole pile of them - and we would sit down and read them together.”

The star-shaped pupil darts to the unfazed man and meets with the gaze of crimson eyes - it is as if he knew that his brother would question his reaction.

“I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea,” he states while pouring you another drink. “Just throwing or burning the letters without any prior explanation could leave some trace behind and cause misunderstanding, so I decided to tell her of the very first one I got when in a relationship with her. She found it so entertaining that ever since she demanded to read every single one of those.”

“You can call it my own research on the creativity of his suitors’ compliments,” you grin, thanking your lover for the new drink, leaning up to plant a kiss to his cheek. “I’ve counted around 120 comparisons of his eyes or hair to anything related to fire, a little bit more than 60 saying of his wisdom and owlishness, something like 46 cases of titling him a ‘prince’... But there were original ones too - ‘locks like waterfall of Fontaine’, ‘the dark master of my dreams’, ‘the perfect father for my children’”, Kaeya chokes, while you simply shrug your shoulders. “Yeah… I have a whole list somewhere actually. I can show you later, just remind me the next time you visit the winery.”

“You are the menace, my dear. Diluc, I can’t believe that after all those…fluttering words you were blushing over that compliment your now wife gave you about your eyebrows!”

“I mean,” Diluc clears his throat, furrowing the aforementioned brows, “They’ve just grown back after that accident with my vision…”

“And I jumped on him, kissing all over those beautiful thick bushy lines atop his mesmerizing eyes. I really missed them,” you sigh dreamily and the Cavalry Captain isn’t sure if you are serious or exasperated.

“It… it was the first time I'd heard them described that way. Or mentioned at all,” Almost unconsciously your husband reaches to move the fluffy fringe to the side. You can’t help but raise your hand and smooth the thumb over his eyebrow. Archons, your man is handsome.

“It was the first time I used such words too. I tried to be romantic. And creative. Creatively romantic.”

“I guess it worked…” Kaeya mumbles averting his eyes from the display unfurling before him. Maybe staying single wasn’t so bad.

Kaveh

“My love, you should be more careful with them, you know?” Softly caressing the bandaged knuckles with your thumb, you scoot even closer to your sulking husband. Your shoulder is immediately occupied with his golden-copper head, cheek flush to your bare skin and you can only assume that he is staring at the lock of your hands.

“Of course I know,” he sighs, turning his palm up and gently grabbing your fingers to draw the back of your hand to his lips. “My hands are basically the source of my income. But accidents happen at the construction site. It’s just that this time I am the one who ended up hurt. Thank the Dendro Archon no one else was affected.”

You want to scold him for being so dismissive of his own health, you want to scold him for not treating the injury well enough right away and jumping back into work again, you want to scold him for diminishing the role of his hands - his own role - to a simple instrument of making mora.

But you almost instantly push those thoughts away - after all, Kaveh knows all these things very well, and you are not about to ruin his mood even more.

“I hope they’ll heal soon,” you offer instead, turning your head and kissing the top of his. “Your hands are very important!”

“They are?” The blonde finally looks at you and there is an unmasked interest in them. “You mean, more than for drawing blueprints?”

“So much more! No other hand can hold mine. No other fingers can push a strand off of my face when the wind is too playful. No other palm is as perfect as yours to plant kisses upon. No wrists can compare to the work of art that yours are - also perfect for kisses.”

“I don’t know, birdie,” you are so beautiful in your pretense of playful hesitation, gleaming eyes averted and lips pursed. “What if this emotion doesn’t suit me so well?”

“But my muse,” the corners of his lips tug in a smile, akin to a shy morning sun, “all these things and so much more I can still do even with my hands bandaged.”

“I know, Kaveh, I know. But, there is something else, and, quite honestly, I might get shy if I say that outloud.”

“Oh?” Yes, that Kaveh-like lilt is back in his enchanting voice, and now he is sitting with a straighter back, half-turning to face you, but keeping your hands together on your knee. “Now I really want to know.”

“Come on, tell me~” And he is pushing his forehead against yours, gently butting, eyes full of determination staring in yours. “I wanna know what else my sweet loving wife thinks of my hands~ Or I might just attack you with kisses!”

“Wait, I joked-” and you erupt in giggles, when the architect surges forward to shower your smiling face with pecks big and small.

“...and what if I want it?”

“Then you shall receive.”

“Alright, alright! I surrender! I see your hands as the creators of our future home!”

The attacks abruptly stop. The pretty pink padparadscha eyes blink a few times, mind processing the words of your sacred confession. And while he is at it, you decide to elaborate.

“I adore the place we are currently renting. But I hope that one day we’ll build our own house - based off your blueprints, based off your vision of our home, cozy and full of light. So,” you reach your free hand to take his second one to lovingly hold them in your grasp, “for me your hands are also the creators of our future home, if you ever wish to share my idea.”

“I… Wow, Y/n, you caught me off guard,” the gaze full of wonder falls to his hands, currently wrapped in white bandages and looking imperfect in his own eyes. “It… it's the first time I've heard them described that way.”

“It's the first time I used such words too, my dear husband.”

You want to protest when his palms slide out of yours, but as they cup your cheeks and draw your lips to his - you eagerly close the distance, putting your hands on top of his.

Something tells you that Kaveh very much shares your idea.

Neuvillette

Your lover’s shrewdness has always been a well-known fact, an unprovable wrong at that. But even he at times could get stuck on a tangled case, especially in a moment of lacking some crucial details - though the public is never aware of it, because when the Iudex of Fontaine takes his rightful place in the courtroom there is no doubt that he knows more than enough to start the trial.

Only you and the melusines have ever witnessed him in a state of stalling as he is analyzing the information he has again and again until the missing piece is discovered. Today is exactly one of these days. No trials are scheduled for the day, so Neuvillette can dedicate his full attention to looking over the cases he will be taking care of tomorrow. Admittedly he never feels annoyed or discouraged when his thoughts reach a deadend, but having you in the same room always brings him comfort even though it was unnecessary in the first place.

You came earlier in the afternoon and brought him lunch, knowing that he’d barricade himself in the office till the late hours of the evening, and decided to stay, promising to handle any issue his subordinates could end up visiting his office with. The man has his full trust in you and your abilities to take care of the administrative part of his job - you’ve spent many decades by his side and involved in his field of work and possessed much empathy towards humans.

Same empathy you hold for him. It’s clear to you, as his beloved, his mate, that your partner needs a break. It’s been some hours since lunch and the desk in front of him has been getting crammed with more and more thick folios. If Neuvillette was a mek, there would be gears turning into his head intensively.

Oh!

Suddenly an idea pops into your head.

Putting away the reports Sedene delivered half an hour ago, you quietly rise from your spot on the plush sofa. The carpet muffles your steps as you move closer to the desk and round it, stopping right by the chair, putting your hand on its back. Your lover doesn’t even lift his head, too used to your presence, never questioning your actions. You admire the parts of him that are in your sight - his long, silky hair, thrown over the left armrest - a habit he developed, too tired to sit onto his own locks; then there is some of the skin of his neck is opened, transforming into the sharp jawline which you suddenly have desire to kiss; the broad shoulders that look even wider because of his coat and you put your free hand on his elbow, bending down.

And then there is his ear - pointy and delicate, it becomes the center of your plan.

Neuvillette’s whole frame shudders when you hum against the shell of it and then press the side of your head to his. It takes a moment to realize that it’s your ears that are touching and you lean into him even further, finally breaking his focus, eliciting a confused sigh out of him.

“Beloved? What’s wrong?”

“Mmm, absolutely nothing, darling,” you hum again, yet do not move anywhere from your spot. “It’s just your thoughts were running so fast in your head that I thought I was hearing the crashing of the waves.”

“...pardon me?” Now the confusion is in his voice too and you draw your face away to look at him with a glint of amusement in your visage.

“Well, you know, they say ‘a shell of an ear’. And if you press your ear to a seashell you’ll hear the sounds of a distant ocean. Come to think of it,” your finger touches the pointy edge and travels the length of it, sending another shiver - this time a pleasant one - down the man’s spine, “your ears look like the prettiest shells.”

When your digit stops its ministration it’s his own gloved hand that reaches up to touch the place you’ve just been tracing.

“It… it's the first time I've heard them described that way,” his voice is soft, inhuman eyes closing as a tender smile graces his lips.

“Well… It's the first time I used such words too, my love. I am glad the comparison is to your taste.”

“It is indeed,” the chair is pushed away and in a moment your lover is standing, fondly looking at you and offering his hand. “How do you feel about a walk at the shore?”

“Wow, if complimenting you will always result in taking a break from work I should start making more of those,” you can’t help but tease, eagerly taking his hand though. “I feel positively about it. Let’s go.”

#pearlywritings appreciation event #token of appreciation #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #diluc x fem!reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #kaveh x reader #kaveh x fem!reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x fem!reader #genshin impact fluff

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doflamingadonquixote · 11 months ago

Text

Worthy {PT 1/2}

Parings: Lucifer Morningstar x Sinner!Dom!Reader

Warnings: no one in this chapter, just a little bit of swearing and an hurt/comfort situation

Words: don’t know, more than 7000

Summary: After returning to the hotel from a day at work, you find Lucifer sitting alone and in misery. A confrontation ensues that you would never have imagined in your unlife.

A/N: English is not my first language, I apologize for any errors but I also rely heavily on a translator. Criticisms and your opinions are always welcome. I decided to divide this mini ff into TWO parts. The second will be more spicy. Let me know who would like to be mentioned for next part! Enjoy!

You rushed in through the front door, waving your umbrella and shaking off the drops of acid rain that were quickly eating away at your jacket.

It was the fourth this week. Something was going wrong with the weather in the circle of pride.

The room had probably emptied by now given the time. There were only a few little sinners left in the armchair, entertaining themselves with their phones.

Their rooms must surely be near Alastor's radio tower. After several complaints it was discovered that the closer you were to it, the more those little gadgets seemed to have problems or interference.

“Don't be too late. Tomorrow morning Charlie will set up the new program for the week.” You communicated to them, moving behind the chair and letting a hand ruffle the younger sinner's hair.

He muttered something but nothing that was too rude towards you. As you approached the staircase back to your rooms, a white-clad figure at the bar caught your attention.

Lucifer was bent with his elbows on the table, between his fingers a half-full glass of some liquor that he had stolen from Husk's supplies.

With a loud sigh he brought it to his lips but before it could reach them, your fingers blocked the advance of the glass, pushing it down by the top again.

Lucifer turned to look at you quickly but his shoulders visibly relaxed when he acknowledged your presence.

“Whatever answer you are looking for, you won’t find it in that glass, sir.” You warned him and, in the distraction of his gaze on you, you slipped the glass from his hand, brought it to your mouth and emptied the contents down your throat.

The liquid burned faintly, causing you to cough barely. Yes, it had definitely touched Husk's good reserve.

“You've been out a long time today. Any news?” He asked as he watched you set the glass down in the sink, beyond the counter.

“Not much, really. Sinners are still very hesitant.” You shrugged but turned a happy smile on him. “At least they listen now, though. They don't accept, but they listen to what you have to say. Small steps.”

You and Lucifer met after Charlie hired you while she was in a meeting with Camilla. You worked with her in the beginning, identifying potential clients all around the circle.

Charlie probably saw some salesmanship in you that she could also exploit in convincing sinners to redeem themselves.

You were not a longtime sinner. You had recently died so you hadn’t had a chance to take an interest in the royal family.

The first time you saw Lucifer you expected something more threatening, malevolent.

Instead, you had been confronted by a little jumping baked bean who made pancakes in profusion for breakfast.

You had immediately sympathized with his personality. You considered yourself a very mild-mannered fellow so his influence was a healthy touch for your motivation as well.

You had also worked together on some proposals to present to the newcomers though with some difficulty in agreeing among yourselves.

For some strange reason his idea about the duck pool exceeded yours in preference. Seeing the hotel sinners enjoying themselves in the yellow duck pile was hilarious and utterly unbelievable.

Because of that, you had grown very close to the King and respected him very much.

Therefore, seeing him in such a pitiful state as he was in at that very moment threw a sense of unease upon you.

“Shitty day for you too?” You asked, almost as if you were disinterested. If he didn't want to answer, he could have ignored you and not felt forced to necessarily say anything.

However, the soft sound of sobbing reached your ears loud and clear.

You turned quickly but his face was bent away from you on his shoulder, not allowing you to look at him properly.

The only thing you could see was the tremor in his back and how his hands had closed forcibly on his crossed arms, resting on the counter.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched the two remaining little sinners giggle over something they had seen on their phones, oblivious to what was happening a few feet away from them.

You didn't know what to do. Touching him seemed to be too much, and you weren't sure of your comforting skills at that moment. You felt you did not know him well enough to afford certain words of comfort.

So you did the only thing you thought wise.

Hide him.

Your coat slipped over him with a gentle rustle, covering him totally from head to toe thanks to your stature.

Lucifer turned in wonder at you, his eyes bright and red with unshed tears under the loose hood falling over his face.

You gave him a smile as his cheeks turned a soft rose color.

“You know, if you have any problems you can talk to me, right? I can't assure you a very good therapy session but I think it's good just to talk about it.”

The ex Angel remained motionless for a few seconds, and you read the situation as a choice to prefer silence.

You didn't blame him, in fact you were a little embarrassed that you had the temerity to propose such a thing to him.

You got up from your chair, ready to say good night to him and retreat when one of his black hands twisted around your wrist, preventing you from moving further away.

You blinked a few seconds, confused but returned with your butt to the chair, your body fully toward him.

“Today is eight years since Lilith left.”

You smiled sadly. You had to understand that Lilith was the reason. After all, she alone had the ability to make him unhappy, besides his daughter but she never made him unhappy.

“Oh, that must suck.”

“Yeah.”

You frowned. After eight whole years had the man still not moved on? And Lilith hadn't even deigned to give an explanation or try to communicate with him the whole time? What man waits for his wife for eight years without moving on with his own life? How could she refuse the love of such a pure being?

Fuck, she really doesn't deserve him! If only he were yours…

“Do you really think so?”

Lucifer's voice made you jerk.

“What?” You asked confusedly, forcing your heart to suppress that senseless anger born out of nowhere.

“What you said, that she doesn't deserve me...” his lips quivered and his eyes had reached the size of those of an needy dog.

Shit, had you said that out loud!?

“Um, I think so,” you shook your head, looking away from him. “I'm sorry, I had no authority to say that. It's just...I don't know...you're an exceptional person, Lucifer. You deserve the best.”

You bit your lip. That drink really must have had powerful effects to let you open up so much with a being who could disintegrate you with a snap of his fingers.

“I..…T-Thank you.”

Flabbergasted, you noticed how the king's pale face was slowly turning a scarlet red and stretching to below the collar of his shirt.

He was flattered by your words? Did he not intend to kill you for disrespecting him?

“I only said what I think.” You added at the end, as if to solidify that you had gotten away with it.

You went back to looking in front of you, now unsure of how to continue that conversation, and you noticed how a light complexion had been added to your own cheeks as well.

But it seemed that Lucifer had not finished.

“If I were yours...”

The lump of saliva you were trying to get down stuck in your throat and you began to cough convulsively in surprise.

“D-did you hear that too?!”

What the hell was wrong with you that day? You had never been so brazen and indelicate. But there was something about Lucifer that set off all the right points for you.

You couldn't reason with him.

“Do you mean it? Would you appreciate me if I was?”

His body language had changed. He still looked embarrassed but the way he leaned toward you, the fluttering eyelashes and a little pout on his lips clearly told you that something had changed for the better.

You didn't blame Eva for accepting that damn apple. The man was driving you crazy and you were sure he knew it.

The hood of the vest over his face brushed your forehead, awakening you from the little trance you had entered.

“I would. I would adore you as the king you are and deserve to be.” Your hand reached his neck, preventing him from advancing any further. “But you are not in the right condition, sir. I don't want to take advantage-“

He puts a finger to your lips, forcing you to be silent while, with the other, he gently supports your face.

“Show me.”

#hazbin hotel #dom reader #sub lucifer #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer #lucifer morningstar

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hazbinshusk · 1 month ago

Note

Heya! If your requests are open, could I get a Husk x fem!reader one shot? They have feelings for each other but Husk is being stubborn and won't make a move until he sees her being hit on when the group is out somewhere?

combined with a kiss prompt because they worked so well together.

prompt #5: a firm kiss

“Anyone else want another drink?” Charlie asks helpfully, breathless and bouncing on her heels out of the excitement of having a night out with friends. Husk raises his glass – still half-full – pointedly, and she nods before skipping off towards the bar.

“Do you ever have to pay for your own drinks?” you ask jokingly from beside him, and Husk’s ear flicks towards you the moment before he turns to face you, a small smirk on his lips. He takes a sip as though to prove a point, and you giggle.

“Not if I can help it.”

“Oh, so you won’t mind if I…” you take the glass out of his hand, holding his gaze teasingly as you take a sip. He doesn’t look offended; his smile widens, the multicolour lights of the club casting his golden eyes aglow. It makes something flutter inside you, and the sensation doubles when his claws brush against your fingers as you hand it back. “…Thanks. That tastes like window cleaner by the way.”

Husk snickers, pointedly finishing the drink.

A familiar baseline starts over the club’s heavy speakers and you grin, standing and slipping out of the booth. Holding out your hand invitingly, you fix the bar cat with an inviting, hopeful smile. “I love this song. Dance?”

Husk still looks amused, but he shakes his head. He blinks unevenly; he’s had more to drink than you’d thought. “I ain’t exactly one for dancin’, doll.”

You make a show of pouting, but your next words as put on hold when you feel a familiar tall, slim body drape itself against your back. Angel Dust wraps an arm around your shoulders, reaching past you to grab the glass he’d left under your care. He’d been on the dancefloor for most of the night, and you were a little surprised he’d noticed you standing so quickly.

“Ya gotta know the pussycat ain’t gonna be able to keep up with us, baby-cakes,” he says playfully, taking your hand, straightening and spinning you under his arm. You laugh, interlacing your fingers with his as you come to a stop again. Angel gives the demon in question a wink, and Husk rolls his eyes in response. Angel tosses back the rest of his drink and drops the glass back on the table. “C’mon. Let’s show kitty how it’s done.”

You laugh as he drags you out into the throng of moving bodies, spurred into happy, drunken dancing when the spider grinds against you in a half-suggestive, half-joking manner. Husk watches the two of you go, his tail twitching against the booth’s cushioned seat as he watches you roll your hips back into Angel in a way that the bartender swears he isn’t going to be thinking about for the rest of the night.

“You know, you should just ask her out, already.”

Husk’s attention is drawn away from you by Vaggie’s dry tone, his ears folding back slightly against his head. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”

Vaggie raises a brow, unimpressed. Unlike the rest of you, she’s been nursing her drink, and she takes a sip now before answering. “Neither of you are exactly subtle.”

A soft rumble plays in the back of Husk’s throat as an uncomfortable feeling settles inside him. “I got no idea what you’re on about.”

Vaggie fixes him with a pointed look before turning her eye towards you. Husk’s gaze follows hers, and his wings tuck closer to his shoulders as he watches you laugh as Angel dips you as though the two of you are ballroom dancing. “She likes you too, y’know.”

Husk feels his heart thrum against his ribs, and he picks up his glass, remembers it’s empty, and sets it down again irritably. “It ain’t your business, Vaggie.”

“It is when I’ve gotta watch the two of you pining after each other,” she shoots back, finishing her drink. Husk watches her put the glass down and wonders desperately where Charlie is with his refill. Any other royal demon would be demanding to be served first – knowing the Princess, she’d be insisting everyone else place their orders before her. He growls under his breath.

“She ain’t ‘pinin’’ over me,” he replies begrudgingly. Even drunk… or maybe because he’s so drunk, he can’t help the bitterness in his voice when he continues, “She ain’t that stupid.”

“Maybe she’s into assholes,” Vaggie shrugs, her expression softening as she glances towards the bar. Towards Charlie. “It happens.”

Husk swallows, folding his arms across his chest. His tail curls over his leg, the feathered end twitching moodily between his ankles. Still, he can’t help but mutter, “Not to me.”

“No?” she asks, leaning back in her seat and mirroring his position, wrapping her arms across her chest. A smirk plays across her features, self-satisfied. “Well, then, I’m sure you won’t mind that she’s getting hit on right now.”

Husk’s ears shoot upward, his attention flying back to the dancefloor despite himself. “What?”

Vaggie’s smirk widens behind him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The broad, firm body of the demon behind you presses against you, their claws digging into your hips. Angel grins, one hand still clutched in yours, and he wiggles his eyebrows at you suggestively. You feel your cheeks warm in a different way than the flush brought on by exertion. It feels good – the way they touch you, the line of their body against yours. They’re cute enough to have some casual fun with, and you can’t lie, it feels nice to be desired.

You feel another, larger hand close around your other wrist just as you feel the demon’s mouth graze the side of your throat. You open your eyes in surprise as you’re jerked away from them and against the soft fur of Husk’s chest. You meet his gaze with wide eyes, shudder when you feel his other paw alight on your waist. The way he’s pulled you into him traps your hand between your chests, the back of his hand warm against your breast. You feel your body tingling wherever it’s touched by his, and your breath shudders as you try to catch it.

“H-Husk?” you find your voice after a moment. He seems almost as surprised by what he’s done as you are, his eyes wide, pupils dilated. “What are you—”

Husk swallows back his nerves like the burn of whiskey and he kisses you.

His lips are soft and warm and firm against yours, and his hand leaves your wrist to slide over your cheek and into your hair. Your hand turns to slip through the soft, soft fur of his chest. Husk tastes of booze and smoke and something that makes your insides tighten with excitement; as does the way he tugs you against him insistently. Possessively.

And fuck, it feels good.

send me a prompt and either husk or blitzø

#husk fic #my fic #husk x reader #husk x you #hazbin hotel husk #husk #hazbin hotel #husk hazbin hotel #husk fanfic #hazbin husk x reader #hazbin husk #husk fanfiction

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python333 · 8 months ago

Text

glass half-full, or half-empty? — python333

— — — —

synopsis you're trapped in a coffin, then you're not, then you're questioning your whole life- basically, buried alive trope meets found family and meets age regression and they all have a super messed up baby that has the occasional good quality.

relationships caretaker! price, caretaker! gaz & little! reader (gender-neutral).

characters cap. price, gaz, others briefly mentioned.

word count 8.0k

warnings reader was buried alive, implied drugging, implied panic attack, sooo much disorientation in the first section it's crazy, british slang that only kind of makes sense, second person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of both c/n [code name/call sign] and y/n [your name], wayyyy too long.

note hey!! sorry for disappearing!!! please accept this offering as an apology!!! I've finally gotten back the motivation for writing what i actually wanna write, so now i'm back to writing fics!! enjoy this new and improved interpretation of age regression!

Someone’s ribs are encasing your own.

Well, not really, but it feels that way. Though your torso is clothed, as is the rest of your body, the defined bones of the skeleton beneath you poke and dig into your skin the same way it would if you were naked. The rotted wood around you creaks and sand falls onto your frontside from above, where the lid of your coffin is kept together solely by hopes and dreams.

Only an hour ago, you blacked out. Fighting enemy soldiers whose fighting techniques you aren’t familiar with is hard enough, especially when they happen to keep bleach and rubbing alcohol in the same place they’re fighting you in. The two mixed together, poured and soaked into a rag that was later pressed to your face, created a substance that knocked you out. You know the name of it. You know it. But you can’t think of it, because remembering is too hard, and the wood surrounding you is too suffocating.

Your limited air is becoming more and more apparent. There’s no light, no noise—well, unless you count the subtle static playing in your broken earpiece—basically, it’s sensory deprivation hell and you’ve committed one too many sins according to those enemy soldiers.

Your whole body is sore. You don’t know if those soldiers messed with you after you passed out, or if this is just the result of fighting them for a few consecutive minutes, but whatever happened caused a strange weakness to invade and overtake your body. The oligarchy in your body created by this soreness left you unable to move properly, save for the occasional twitch of your skin or the ability to move your fingers freely.

But fingers are useless when your wrists are bound. Maybe they aren’t physically bound to the floor of the coffin, but the invisible ropes made of the misuse of cleaning materials seemed to be enough to keep them down. It was irritating, and the mental ropeburn created pins and needles from your wrist to your elbow that only made you even more uncomfortable.

The static continues. It’s cold. Cold, quiet, and God, how did I even get here? What time is it? What day is it? Your uniform isn’t enough to keep you warm. The tactical gear only makes your body heavier, not in the comfortable way that it feels when you’re heavy with sleep and ready to rest, but in the out-of-body way that makes you feel both like you’re floating and being pulled down like an anchor at the same time. You recall vaguely algor mortis, the stage of death where your body begins a gradual decline into an inhumanly cold state.

Why you’re recalling it, you don’t— actually, no, you do know. The cold. That’s why. You’re cold. You’re cold. Don’t forget it. It seems hard to forget feelings, to forget the present, but you’ll find that it’s like breathing; inhale, you know that you’re cold, exhale, wait… you’re cold? How do you know? How can you feel? Inhale, you can feel things because you’re human, because you’re alive, exhale, you’re alive?

Are you alive? Have you made it this far? What have you done? Not much, honestly. Or, not much that you can remember. Though there’s an overwhelming amount of hopelessness clouding your mind, you can still make out a few moments that play like a shitty wedding slideshow at your distant relative’s wedding who you didn’t know existed until a few hours before the event. The time that you told Ghost a joke that made him laugh. That other time that you told Ghost a joke that made him laugh. Or, no, wait, was that Price?

That time that you chased after Soap while he had your unlocked phone, which, by the way, was a very normal response to that and was very valid. Yes, it was necessary for you to tackle him, even Gaz agreed with you on that. Ghost just enjoyed seeing Soap get tackled, for some very dark very strange reason that you would rather not think about too hard—assuming that you can even think any harder than a brick right now. Price, of course, disapprovingly shook his head and seemed to mentally weigh what the effect of a leash on the three of you would grant.

Static-static-static-stat— “H—o?”

You almost sit up, but your head bumps on the top of the coffin, and you groan. Oops. Thought a little bit too much there.

You’re immediately dizzy and it feels like all the blood has rushed out of your head, but you still manage to stay conscious and try to figure out how to respond to whoever’s talking.

“H—lo?” They ask again. You tilt your head ever-so-slightly so that the button on your earpiece can get pressed, and you almost start crying when you hear the small click and beep emit from the earpiece, signaling that it’s now on.

“Hello?” Your voice is hoarse and it hurts to talk but you couldn’t care less. You have an opportunity to get out. You’re desperate to get out—or, at least, you should be.

For the strangest reason, despite the claustrophobic environment you’ve been forced into, despite the sores that you know are forming along your stiffened spine from the rough wood you’re lying on, you feel comfortable in the most uncomfortable way. The fact that your memory is fuzzy and your movements are limited to twitching and stretching makes you uneasy, but at the same time, the absence of your typical nonstop stream of incomprehensible thoughts and feelings strangely lets you… relax. The lack of thinking, only lying down and staring up, puts you in a mindset that you don’t think is so bad.

The situation is awful, but for whatever reason, the results of it are— are… oh God, what’s the word? It’s on the tip of your tongue, you swear, and now you’re thinking, well, shit, maybe this isn’t the best mindset. The void that grows in your head was nice maybe a minute ago, but now you’re forgetting words and yeah, no, I don’t like this, but at least you aren’t constantly second-guessing yourself. You aren’t contradicting every other thought you have, there aren’t mental wars waging in your mind that keep you unfocused and almost lightheaded, you aren’t arguing with yourself on how you truly feel. You just feel. And hell, you fuckin’ forget what you were even feeling just a few seconds ago. Thoughts come and go, nothing more than fleeting, and a part of you wishes that there was something for them to latch onto because being absent-minded feels a little too empty but your usual mind feels too full.

You wish your mind was like that— that problem, with the glass, the… the glass… the one where everyone argues on something about it. Something about it. What do they argue about? What glass? There’s a glass, a drinking glass, that everyone argues about, and whatever side you’re on dictates how you think— what the fuck? What is that problem? God, if only you had a working phone right now to look it up.

Oh, shit, yeah, the earpiece. There’s someone talking. Only just now have you actually acknowledged their words. They sound muffled and far-away, not at all like there’s a small microphone shoved into your ear that plays directly into it.

“Private?” It’s crackly and still full of static, the sound is drowning in it, “Pr— a— —u there?”

“... Huh?” You question dumbly, sounding more confused than you ever have before. There’s a ringing building up in your ears, and the person on the other end—who is talking?―is talking again.

“Ar— —ou ther—?” They ask again, sounding… worried? Concerned? Wait, shit, those are the same thing. Damn you and your lack of a mental thesaurus. Wait, no, if you… if you use the same meaning in two different words… would that not— whatever. You don’t even care anymore. This ‘mindset’ doesn’t feel very nice anymore. You’ve been conscious for too long, you’ve started questioning yourself again, but in the worst way possible; usually, you can actually think properly when you question yourself. Now, you’re questioning your own knowledge without actually thinking about your questions first, so instead of the usual hellish loop of what does this mean? Why did I say this? What else could I have said?, you’re now stuck in the purgatory of, what was that word? What can I say? What did I just think? What? Huh?

“Yeah… genius…” You manage to scoff, despite the heaviness of your tongue and the cotton in your mouth and mind, “Where else… would I be?”

“Oh m— God,” The person on the other end breathes out, “Do y— kno— who you’re t—king to?”

You shrug—well, you move your shoulders the tiniest bit up and back down—even though they can’t see you.

“Priva—?” They ask again, like a broken record, making you groan without you even realizing it, “G—z. Sergea—t Ga—ck? Y’remember?”

“G’z,” You mutter, trying to sound out the syllables, “Giz… G— oh, shoot… Gaz? Sarge?”

“Yeah,” Gaz laughs, a little clearer now, “Sarge, sure. Y— doin— —kay?”

“Uh-huh,” You exhale, a little relieved that it’s just Gaz, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Gaz sounds like he’s smiling, it’s audible in his voice, “Y’wanna t—l me where y—u ar—?”

“Uhh…” You look around the coffin with limited head movements, “I dunno, probably… probably a, uh… one a’ those grave things. Coff— coffin. In one of those. In a grave thing. Maybe. Wha’ are those called? The things?”

You sound dazed even to yourself, and mentally chastise yourself for the usage of grave things, even though you had no better words to describe it. You swear, you know the word. It starts with an “s”, you think, there’s a whole movie with it in the title by some guy named Steve-something. It has graves, coffins, the other thing that’s a coffin but not, graves, dead stuff, all that… hm. All that swing? All that… all that jazz, right, all that jazz. Wow, go ahead and clap yourself on the back for that one— oh, that’s right, you can’t, because you’re stuck in a fucking coffin.

What a day.

“You’re in a cof—n?” Gaz asks, shocked.

“Uh-huh.”

“Underg—nd?”

“Where else?” You deadpan, even though, for whatever reason, your instincts scream at you to be a little bit nicer. For that reason only, you tack on, “Respec— …respectfully.”

“Jesus,” Gaz lets out a shaky breath, his voice growing a little more faint, as are you, “Wh—e do y— rem—ber being last?”

“I don’t…” You mumble, eyelids growing heavy, threatening to droop down and meet the waterline of your eyes.

“Don’t… what?” Gaz asks, sounding almost… scared?

“Rember— rem’m… remember,” You reply, “Woof. That was… a toughie.”

“Oh my God, th—’re lo—ng it,” Gaz whispers to himself, or maybe to someone else, “Private. Do y— know at all w— you m—ght be?”

“Uhh…”

“D—” This time, you know this is Gaz cutting himself off, because he gasps right after he begins talking and starts a whole new statement, “Is your tr—ker on?”

“My wha’?”

“Tracker, the— the th—ng, it’s a—ched to y—r earp—ce,” Jesus, how much can this thing cut out?

“I don’t… what the— what are you tryna say to me?” You ask, for some reason… censoring yourself? What? Why… huh? You don’t censor yourself, you’re not five. Well, at least, you don’t think you are, not right now. Wait, when are you five? What are you saying? Or, thinking— what are you thinking?

“The— Captain,” Gaz calls out to someone else, “The t—!”

“Tra’ker,” You mumble to yourself, “Huh. I have one a’those?”

“[c/n],” Gaz says into his earpiece, the sound suddenly louder than before, making you jump and almost hit your head on the ceiling of the coffin, “Are you h—rt?”

“I don’ think so,” You respond, looking down at the shadows casted over your body, “Can’t tell.”

Gaz lets out some kind of pained noise and you feel your eyelids growing heavier. Your lungs hurt. Your lungs hurt? Oh, shoot, your lungs hurt. Gaz should probably know that.

“Actu’ly,” You take back, sounding almost intoxicated, feeling like you’re breathing through a straw, “My chest hurts.”

Close enough.

“Your chest?” Gaz questions, the static slowly but surely clearing up, “Your lu—gs?”

“Uh-huh,” You confirm. Your breathing was already a little shallow, but now its turning labored, and it feels like there’s rocks in your lungs, more and more appearing from God knows where, weighing down and taking up so much space in your lungs that the oxygen you breathe in must search for refuge within the cracks and crevices in between the stones.

Exhale, and the carbon dioxide that leaves you seems to find a way to invite more rocks into your lungs. Inhale, and there’s less and less room, exhale, there should be more room, but instead the room— inhale, there’s no room, try to inhale again, you can’t— inhale, breathe, breathe, gasp, hold your breath, don’t exhale-don’t exhaledon’texhale—

“[c/n]!” Gaz shouting your name startles you and forces you to exhale, a low whine coming out with it, making Gaz shut up. There’s a warm liquid dripping in trails down your cheeks, reaching your jaw and chin, the feeling of it sending waves of discomfort through your body and straight to your brain.

You desperately try to breathe in, try to inhale anything, even if it’s the sand falling from the ceiling or the carbon dioxide that you’ve tried so hard to keep inside.

“[c/n],” Gaz repeats your name, in a different tone this time, something more soft, something that resonates and echoes in your empty yet full mind, “We’re close, we— almo—t there, you s—l with me?”

You continue to struggle with your breathing. Exhale, exhale, inh— exhale, inhale, ex— ex— exhale, in— in— Jesus fucking Christ, just inha— in— in—

“I can hear you,” Gaz says, uncannily clear, he must be at least… at least something klicks within the radius of… of me… of me? Where am I? “You’re gonna be okay, okay? You’re gonna be fine. I need you to stop panicking, okay? I know that— th—t sounds easy to me, because I’m not in a coffin, but if you keep breathing like that, you’re gonna make it worse for yourself.”

You finally inhale, but it feels so wrong, like hearing crunches while chewing what should be soft food. You gasp. You’re choking? What’s that other word for choking? Starts with a “c”, right? Wait, no, that’s choking. Dang it.

Gaz is yelling in your ears, and it almost sounds like he’s actually there, but the wooden walls encasing you and this stupid, very smelly skeleton underneath you tell a different story. You cough. You cough again. And again. And now you’re just forcing the bad air out of your lungs, which is great and all, but now there’s no air in your lungs, which you would like to argue is far worse but you can’t argue because you can’t think and you can’t think because you’re in some coffin with a stupid— what did you even want to argue, again?

There’s yelling. There’s commanding. There’s footsteps, heavy ones, ones that come from combat boots and men in tactical gear, the same gear that weighs you down like an anchor, that keeps you glued to this skeleton, who’s ribs encase your own.

Or, at least, it feels like they are. Even though you’re wearing tactical gear, it still feels the same way it would if you were naked. The annoyingly present bones of the skeleton dig and poke into your skin, and there’s sand falling from between the planks of rotten wood above you, where the ceiling of the coffin is held together solely by hopes and dreams.

An hour or two or three ago, you blacked out. You think you did, at least. You think you might black out again. Fighting enemy soldiers who fight with techniques you aren’t familiar with is hard enough, but fighting the invisible forces that prevent you from breathing in good air is even harder, because they don’t fight with guns or knives or fists; they fight with rocks that they shove into your lungs and vines that they tie around your already-tight throat.

There’s no light, but there’s sound. Sounds that would be useful if you could think. You don’t remember thinking. You don’t remember remembering.

But you’ll always remember this skeleton beneath you, who’s ribs encase your own.

Or, at least, it feels like they are. The tactical gear you’re wearing does you no good, serving as the only barrier—the most useless barrier ever—between you and this skeleton and this coffin and the sand that's begun pooling around you. The skeleton, who’s ribs are— why are you repeating yourself?

Gaz is yelling in your ear. Someone else is— someone else is there? Someone else is there. Talking, yelling, screaming, commanding, running, searching, above you— above you? Above you. While you exhale, gasp, exhale, choke, gasp, gasp, try to breath, fail, exhale, exhale, there’s men above you digging, digging and lifting weight off of you, you think. There’s more sand coming through. The loss of pressure must be making it looser.

Are you thinking? Are you feeling? Can you remember? What is there to remember? There’s an incomprehensible jumble of thoughts in your mind, and you think, trying to control your thoughts, I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.

It’s getting easier and harder to breathe. You can’t. You can… wait, no, you can’t.

You can keep your eyes open— you can keep them open, you can k—

“—eep your eyes open, Private,” Gaz begs you, pleads for you, his voice far but close, loud yet quiet, “C’mon, keep ‘em open, stay awak—”

—e, stay awake, stay awake, no, no, no, no—

—

You wake up to a stark white ceiling and some kind of electric beeping. Your head is clearer, fortunately, but still not clear enough to immediately remember what exactly happened. You remember a coffin, a skeleton, suffocating, talking to Gaz, and that’s about it. You shiver. A skeleton. You can still feel the phantom feeling of its ribs hugging your body, something you think your captors might’ve done to make you feel even more uncomfortable.

While you’re thinking about the skeleton, you don’t notice the sliding of a curtain and the footsteps that grow exponentially louder and closer to you.

“G’morning,” Gaz says, making you jump up and sit up instinctively, before you promptly lie right back down. Gaz snickers at you, and you turn your surprisingly sore neck to glare at him.

“Y—” You cough, furrowing your eyebrows as you bring an unstable and floppy hand to slap around your face, finding an oxygen mask nestled right on your nose and mouth. You take a few breaths, the task uncannily easy now, “You can knock that off. No laughing at the injured.”

“Oh, I’m not laughing at the injured,” Gaz clarifies, sitting down at a plastic chair he’s pulled up beside your bed, “I’m getting ready to yell at the injured soldier who gave me a heart attack about five hours ago after suffocating in a coffin buried six feet under in some cemetery in Derbyshire.”

“Derbyshire…” You muse, “What’s that? Or, where’s that?”

“‘bout forty klicks from Sheffield,” Gaz hums, before seeing your blank stare, and sighing tiredly, “The one with the cute houses and the pudding.”

“Ohhh,” You nod, now understanding, before joking, “At least I got buried there instead of, like, the bluejay one.”

“The bluejay one?” Gaz asks, confused, before pausing and asking you incredulously, “Jaywick?”

“Yeah, that one,” You hum. Gaz blinks at you, before groaning.

“Is this how you felt when I thought Las Vegas was in California?”

“Probably,” You grin at him, “It might be closer to when you thought NYC was the capital of New York.”

“If it’s not the capital, then why is it named after the city?” Gaz asks, exasperated. You shrug.

“Doesn’t change the fact that the capital’s Albany.” The room is silent for a little bit. The beeping, which you’ve now identified as a heart monitor, is loud. Your heart’s beating is fast and feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest. Gaz looks down at his chest, fidgeting with his hands, wringing them.

“I, uh,” You start, making Gaz look at you again, “When I was in the coffin…” The mere mention of it makes Gaz’s gaze sharpen and his hands still.

“It was hard to breathe, and also really hard to think,” Gaz nods along, “But I was still thinking, I guess, and I wasn’t thinking too hard. Like, jellyfish type shit, y’know? Like no thoughts, but also thoughts, but like…”

Gaz raises an eyebrow at you, and you try to explain it better, “Do you remember back in like, ele— when you were five or six and you like, just got a conscious and you’re thinking but also not?”

Gaz’s face relaxes and he nods wordlessly. You continue, “That’s how I felt.”

“I’m sorry,” Gaz frowns, putting a gentle hand on the metal bar on the bed you lie on, “That must’ve been… weird.”

“No, no, I liked it,” Gaz’s face goes right back to confusion, “It was nice. Which is weird. But I didn’t feel weird. I felt, like, really calm in that sense, for the few minutes that I wasn’t panicking.”

“You… liked it?” Gaz asks skeptically. You nod.

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“It was just…” You try to find the words to describe it, “I don’t know. I didn’t have control over it, which really bothered me. I felt, like, small, for some reason— like my mind is shrinking but my body is still the same, y’know? So it was really…”

After a few moments of you trying to find the word you needed, Gaz offers, “Disproportionate?”

“Yeah, that,” You nod quickly, “It was disproportionate and sucked, and it was obviously really scary, but I wasn’t processing stuff like I usually do. Which was great.”

“That sounds…” Gaz wrinkles up his nose, “... awful, but okay.”

“I think a lot,” When Gaz raises an eyebrow at you, you weakly slap at his knee and continue, “And earlier, when I was in that coffin, I wasn’t thinking. Everything was just going in and out just like that. It would’ve been nice to keep some of those thoughts, yeah, but when I can properly think like I am now, I keep too many thoughts and it’s like— it clutters up, and it just lingers for way too long.”

A small flash of understanding crosses Gaz’s expression. “So, you liked not thinking too much, because you already overthink too much, and being in the coffin and high on something happened to both help and not help with that?”

“Yeah, basically,” You hum, before realizing, “That’s way simpler than what I said. Huh.”

“That’s that overthinking,” Gaz muses, to which you respond with a frown.

“I’m not saying I wanna be all claustrophobic like that again,” You clarify, because you still see doubt on Gaz’s face, “But I liked thinking like that. The non-thinking-thinking. I think it would help with my stress and stuff.”

Another flash of understanding crosses Gaz’s expression, except this time, there’s a hint of something else in there. Realization? Curiosity? You’re none the wiser to it, getting a little more confused yourself.

“Oh.” Gaz’s slight frown disappears, the upturning of the corners of his lips now visible, “Okay. I get that. I actually think I know what’s happening.”

“You do?” You ask, confused.

“I gotta confirm it with the captain, though,” You’re more confused. It’s visible, you guess, because Gaz laughs at your expression.

“Don’t worry, it’s not bad,” He clarifies, still grinning, “I just have some suspicions. Y’mind if I let Price know what y’said?”

“... Sure?” You hesitantly say, to which Gaz responds by standing up and starting to speed-walk away from your bed, making you snort.

“I’ll be back in a bit!” Gaz calls out over his shoulder. You sigh and turn so that your whole back is on the mattress of the bed.

You were being honest, but at the cost of Gaz apparently “knowing what’s happening”, which is… disturbing, coming from Gaz, who you’ve affectionately titled a “D1 bird-brain”.

But whatever. It’s true, anyway, how you felt. It was uncomfortable, but it was somehow so much better than how you usually are. Or, well, not so much better, but at times when you’re overthinking or overwhelmed, you wish you could just turn off your brain, or something. Okay, maybe not turn it off, but turn off certain parts. You like thinking, and you do it all the time, but doing it all the time for you is like a full-time job on top of your already full-time job of being a part of the 141.

You don’t even make sense to yourself, but that’s okay. You make sense to Gaz, apparently, and possibly Price as well.

Speaking of—

“Hey,” Price greets you, his usual quokka-smile gracing his lips, Gaz following in right after him with the most smug look you’ve ever seen. What a bastard.

“What did you do?” You immediately ask Gaz, who only shakes his head and looks away, amused, making you a little annoyed. Price seems to know what you’re talking about as well, judging by the way his smile grows a tiny bit. I hate inside jokes. Only I’m allowed to have those with people.

“He told me what you told him,” Price hums, before sitting down into the chair previously occupied by Gaz, “And I have an idea you might like.”

“... Okay,” You look at him suspiciously.

“When I was still in the SAS—”

“Oh, so around the same time as the Trojan War?”

“Shut it, you.”

“Sure, Captain.”

Price sighs, exasperated, while Gaz snickers at his unamused look. Price, ever-so determined to explain this to you, proceeds, “Back when I was in the SAS, there was this other lieutenant who happened to be a good few years younger than me. Too young, in my opinion—”

“Look at yourself,” Gaz interrupts him.

“Bugger off,” Price sneers, “I’m tellin’ a story.”

Gaz puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture, “Keep your hair on, Captain, jus’ pointin’ out that you were younger than them when you first joined the army.”

You blink at the two. “I think that’s the first time that I’ve heard British slang that I can actually understand.”

Price takes a deep breath, “However, it wasn’t up to me to decide if or when they joined. So, I got to know them a little better, and found out that the stress they got after assignments was so bad that they had this coping mechanism that they had thought to be fairly strange. I asked them what it was, and because we’d known each other for ‘round a year now, and I was to be moved to a different unit, they told me that they didn’t really know the name of it exactly but what they did was they would sit down in their jammies, ones that reminded them of their childhood, watch some cartoons, all that and some more. And I asked them how that helped them, because back then, I was a dense little shit who couldn’t think for more than two seconds, and they said that it let them think the same way that they did when they were a kid.”

You blink at him. “So the idea is… ?”

“Maybe you two are related,” Gaz muses, “And the denseness is hereditary.”

Price groans, “Put a fuckin’ sock in it, Kyle.”

You gasp scandalously, before comically whispering, “First name after telling him to shut up? You’re just gonna let that slide, Gaz?”

“I’ll shove a sock up your—”

“My idea,” Price interrupts the two of you, preventing what could’ve been a fifteen-minute long spat, “is that you do that. You throw on your jammies—”

“Jammies,” You repeat incredulously.

“―you watch some cartoons, play with stuffies—”

“We have stuffies?” You interrupt Price again, who pauses this time.

“We should, yeah,” He nods, “There’s a bin of ‘em around here somewhere, for emergencies.”

You furrow your eyebrows, “Emergencies?”

He looks at you pointedly, “Emergencies.”

You blink at him. Blink, bl— “Oh, fuck off, I don’t need stuffies. I don’t think any of this would help me. I’m not five.”

“Yeah, but you wanna be, don’t you?” Gaz questions you, voice a little less joking, though it still has a little humor in it— a safety blanket, basically, in case you take his words the wrong way.

You stay silent. Price speaks up, “Tell you what; we’ll come back tomorrow, just me ‘nd Gaz, and you can let us know what you think of the idea. If y’like it, I’ll get you whatever you need to help you out. If you still don’t like it, you don’t like it, and we’ll figure somethin’ else out, alright?”

You sigh, “Alright.”

Price smiles at you and gets up to clap you on the shoulder, “Get some rest, soldier, up the wooden hill and off to Bedfordshire with you.”

“What the hell?” You immediately question, looking at Price like he’s gone mad, “Up the—”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s bad British representation,” Gaz hurriedly says, getting up and pushing Price lightly out of the room, talking to him in a theatrical whisper-yell, “You’re introducing them to sayings they’re not yet prepared for! Nobody says that to anyone above the age of twelve, Captain!”

Price simply laughs and lets Gaz push him away from your bed, not bothering to push aside the curtains obscuring the view of you as he pushes him out of the medbay entirely.

You blink at the swaying curtains.

“English people,” You mumble to yourself, turning over onto your side, “God damn English people. I’m never grouping Soap in with them ever again.”

—

True to his word, Price walks in with Gaz the next morning.

Price sits down next to you.

“G’morning,” He greets you softly, chuckling at the disgruntled look on your face, “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?”

“Woke up and thought I was six feet under for a second,” You mutter, making the smile on Price’s face falter.

“Sorry,” Price apologizes, reaching out a slow hand—so that you can move at any second—to grasp your own hand and squeeze it gently, “Y’good now?”

“Mhm,” You hum, nodding, your gaze shifting to Gaz, who looks as disgruntled as yourself. You snort and ask him, “Are you good?”

“Someone,” Gaz snarks, glaring daggers at Price, “Woke me up two hours before my alarm so that he could force me to search for supplies with him.”

“I wonder who that could’ve been,” Price hums, ignoring the way Gaz shakes his head disapprovingly, “Anywho, have you given any thought to the idea?”

“The idea?” You question, before quickly realizing, “Oh, right, yeah, the idea.”

Price looks at you both expectantly and patiently, while Gaz forces himself to pull his glare away from Price and put his gaze on you, observing your expressions and response.

“Uhh…” You look at Price with hesitation, and he looks back at you without a trace of pressure in his eyes, making you sigh, “I’ll try it, but no guarantees that it’s gonna work.”

“Thank fuck,” Gaz groans, “My hard work hasn’t gone to was— ow!”

Gaz takes hurried steps back after Price stomped down hard on his foot, and the latter simply smiles at you at your response.

“Great,” He gets up, dusting off his army-green shirt and pushing his chair back, “D’you reckon you’re good to get out of bed now?”

“Probably,” You shrug, testing the waters by pushing yourself up into a sitting position. You wince at your still-sore back and your stiff legs, but otherwise feel okay, okay enough to feel confident in your ability to actually stand—though, you suspect you may need to grab onto something for extra support.

Oh well. You’re sick of this bed already, and if you can stand, you’re gonna stand.

Price sees this, however, and is quick to hold his arm out for you to grab onto as you swing your legs over the bed railing and hop off the mattress way too fast, making yourself dizzy in the process. You feel his concerned eyes burning holes into the top of your head as you try and succeed in regaining your footing, keeping a firm grip on his forearm in the process. Thank God for Captain Price and his too-muscly arms.

“You alright?” Price asks, to which you respond with an affirmative nod.

“Fine,” You hum, taking a deep breath before tentatively letting go of Price’s arm. He frowns, but doesn’t protest. Gaz looks at him questioningly, and Price shakes his head, nonverbally communicating to the sergeant that it’s nothing to get worried over.

Gaz decides to lead all of you out of the medbay, with you following after him and Price right behind you. You occasionally lose your footing, slipping on nothing, but you never fall, and even if you were about you, Price would catch you. You know he would. He’s been watching you like a hawk, hands twitching every time your footing is lost. But instead of begging for you to just take his arm, for fuck’s sake, he walks up so that he’s right next to you and starts talking.

“So…” He starts, making you look over at him, “Y’want me to go over the plan?”

“The plan?” You ask, raising an eyebrow, “Sure.”

“You get changed into your pajamas, we get on the bed, cuddle a lil’, you get a stuffie, we see what happens and then see what to do from there,” Price explains simply, “Any problems with that?”

“No, sounds good,” You hum. It sounds fucking fantastic, you think, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Good,” Price smiles down at you, before saying, “You remind me of them.” You tilt your head to the side a bit, “The lieutenant?”

Price nods, “Yeah. Really sweet person. Had a whole collection of stuffies and blankets.”

You smile, “Sounds nice. They just keep all those in their quarters?”

“Yeah.” You both fall into silence again, comfortable silence, and soon enough, the three of you reach your sleeping quarters.

You all walk in. Well, except for Gaz, who is stopped by Price at the door. You turn around to question them, but Price stops you before you can even open your mouth.

“You just go get dressed,” He says, nodding over to the drawers in the corner of your room, “We’ll be outside. Just knock when you’re done.”

Skeptically, you look between the two, before you nod and close the door, leaving you inside your room alone. You try not to give too much thought to it, trying yet failing to ignore every thought that crosses your mind, busying yourself by choosing pajamas.

Soon enough, you’re dressed in your favorite pajamas—fluffy pants and a loose t-shirt, as well as just-as-fluffy slippers to replace your boots—and knocking at the door to signal to Price that you’re done. He opens the door, and Gaz is nowhere in sight, but you choose not to ask about it. Instead, you step to the side so that Price can walk in and sit on your bed, closing the door behind him.

On the bed already is a fluffy blanket—it must’ve been set up earlier, considering that Gaz was apparently woken up at around four in the morning to get everything ready.

You sit down on the bed next to your Captain, your fluffy pajama pants and loose t-shirt already making you feel relaxed, as well as your fuzzy slippers. You don’t really wear this outside of going to sleep, but after wearing a medical gown for the past twenty-four hours, you’re more than happy to make one small change in your routine. Price smiles down at you, one arm hovering around your back questioningly, before you nod and let him fully wrap it around you and pull you into his side. You’re already pretty tired, despite the fact that you got a full night’s worth of sleep, so the pajamas are honestly pretty fitting.

You sigh, turning your head slightly so that your cheek is pressed to his chest. Gaz walks in just seconds later, your gaze immediately moving to him as he sits down on the bed right next to you, sandwiching you in between him and Price. In any other situation, this would make you feel claustrophobic, but it feels oddly… comfortable right now. You notice the stuffed animal in Gaz’s hands—a small, round, fluffy cow with a black and white coloring pattern—and look at him questioningly.

“That s’posed t’be for me?” You ask, strangely drawn to the small stuffie. Gaz seems to see your fascination with the stuffed animal and smiles softly at you, a weird sight, considering that the two of you are having kerfuffles every three seconds at the very least.

“Uh-huh,” Gaz nods, offering it to you, smiling even wider when you gingerly grab it, “Y’like it?”

“It’s cute,” You mumble, looking it over in your hands, rubbing your thumb against its soft fur and black beady eyes. You know what you want to do with it. You want to hug it close to your chest, like you used to oh-so many years ago, back before you had to force yourself to stop sleeping with stuffed animals out of fear that you would need them in order to sleep forever. It only partially worked; you never slept with another stuffie again, but instead found yourself waking up with a bunched up part of your blanket or your pillow in your arms, pulling tight to your chest.

You really wanna hug it. You missed stuffed animals. You miss stuffed animals, present tense. You miss their soft fur and the baby pink of their ears, the polyester trapped safely inside the confines of the felt and fluff, the sweetness and child-like wonder that you lost with them.

Both Price and Gaz sense the conflict in your mind.

“Hey,” Price softly rubs your arm with his thumb, with gentle circles and too many yet just enough callouses, “You’re thinking a lil’ bit too much there. You wanna hug the stuffie, go ahead and hug it.”

It’s easy, you think, so easy to just… think, but let go of my thoughts when I have him to ground me.

You hug the stuffed animal, pulling it close to your chest and wrapping your arms around it, your limbs too long for what you’re trying to do but doubt and stress in your mind slowly growing small enough to compensate for the lack of a smaller body. It’s frustrating, yes, but Price’s arm around your body and Gaz’s hand that cautiously rests on your shoulder makes your body feel the tiniest bit smaller, and it makes your mind the tiniest bit cloudier.

“There y’go,” Gaz coos, his voice a type of soft you didn’t even know was possible from him. Price only chuckles, and you should feel annoyed because they sound like they’re teasing you, like they’re a part of an inside joke that you’re not, but they’re not. They’re here right now, Price’s arm is around you and Gaz’s hand is on your shoulder and they’re speaking so softly and— and you’re letting your thoughts go.

They’re coming and going, some staying longer than others, but they never pile up, never clutter up like a messy desk or a disorganized folder. They’re neat and held up by mental thumbtacks, pinned to the corkboard of your cerebral cortex, sometimes melting into the beige board and other times staying, but never getting to the point where the thoughts are stacking on top of each other or where there’s no more room for anymore thumbtacks.

It’s something you never thought you’d be able to experience, but here you are, experiencing it, breathing it in like oxygen. Like an open field, bright and clear, with your Captain’s or your Sergeant’s arms—wrapped in blood and flesh, not stripped down to the bone, not poking and prodding at you—around you and keeping you grounded. Your very own anchorage; the perfectly crafted bumps and dips in their arms that fit around you like puzzle pieces when they pull you towards either one of them, as if your Creator knew that you would find refuge in them, as if They knew that you would know how perfect it is.

Because it is. It’s perfect, in the way that a salmon knowing its birthplace despite swimming so many miles away is. In the way that homeostasis works; your body finding equilibrium, that perfect balance between your internal systems and outside forces. In the way that the stuffed cow in your arms seems to seep through your chest and go straight to your heart and soul.

You don’t realize that you’ve zoned out until Price lightly shakes you.

“Y’alright, darling?” He asks, concerned, his gruff voice more gravelly than usual. You blink and look over at him, and you’re sweet again. Sweet and loved, and loving to love. Or, at least, you think you’re loved. You might be a tad bit delusional, but there’s something in Price’s eyes, some kind of light that reflects pink and green hues, some kind of nurturing-feeling that doesn’t go away when he blinks.

“Uh-huh,” You nod, the way your head moves up and down almost like a bobblehead figure, “All… sunshine ‘nd rainbows over here.”

Price breathes out a small laugh and Gaz raises an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah? All sunshine and rainbows?” Gaz teases you, “Are you sure there’s anythin’ happenin’ up in your noggin?”

You pout and lightly swing your leg at him to kick his calf, and although you’re only wearing slippers and are kicking about as hard as a pillow, Gaz makes a show of pretending to get seriously injured by it. He gasps dramatically and brings his knee up to his chest, hugging his calf to his torso and rubbing at the spot you kicked. He pouts right back at you, immature and theatrical, and you giggle—fucking giggle—at his antics. Gaz can’t help but let up the act, grinning as soon as your laugh sounds out, the noise music to his ears.

“You havin’ a laugh while I’ve gotten hurt?” He antagonizes you, voice light and fluffy, “Brat.”

“Noo,” You deny, voice growing just slightly higher-pitched, your movements a little less controlled by yourself, “I’m never a brat.”

“You sure?” Gaz raises an eyebrow at you, letting his leg down, “I think you’re lying, duckie.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“I cannot believe you’re both still annoying, even when they’re bein’ little,” Price sighs exasperatedly, making both you and Gaz laugh, your laughter more bubbly and light while his is knowing and proud.

“Lil’ kids aren’t an exception to my teasing, Captain,” Gaz snickers, reaching over to ruffle your hair while you squeal quietly and lean back into Price to hide away from your attacker’s hand. Price snorts and pulls you a little closer to him.

“All little ones, or just this one?” Price nods down at you. Gaz hums, thinking.

“Ah, just this one,” Gaz grins, making Price sigh. The latter brings his other arm around and turns so that he can pull you to him with both arms, while Gaz suddenly frowns.

“You’re hoarding them,” Gaz whines, while Price only raises an eyebrow at him. You feel oddly joyful at the thought of Gaz also wanting a share of your attention, or at least some of your physical affection.

“Shoulda gotten here faster than me, mate,” Price simply hums. He sounds so smug, voice full of smarm and expression knowing, because he’s more than aware of the fact that Gaz quite literally could not possibly get here faster than Price had.

“You made me get the supplies!” Gaz argues, though softer than he usually does, being more mindful of your newfound mindset, you assume.

“Ehh, you could’ve refused it.” Price says, blatantly lying as he does, watching in amusement as Gaz gapes at him.

“What?”

You like the attention, but what you like even more is the conversation Price and Gaz start up afterwards. They don’t take their attention off of you, no, not one bit, but they aren’t talking directly towards you, you’re just existing and it’s amazing.

Price begins asking Gaz about something, probably his reports, and Gaz responds positively, you presume. Price is talking calmly and slowly and Gaz is nodding along, his hand making its way to your own, his fingers interlocking with yours and squeezing your hand every now and then. Your pajamas feel awfully comfortable now. What did Price call them yesterday? Jammies? Usually, you’re an avid hater of English slang, but you can’t help but feel a little warmer just thinking about the word jammies.

You can feel your eyes going half-lidded, and you can hear someone chuckling. Probably Gaz. He likes laughing at you, but it’s never in a mean way. Maybe that’s why you feel so comfortable with the laughter. It reminds you of an older sibling, someone who’s basically programmed to tease and make fun of you, but still likes you. Or, at least, is expected to still like you. You enjoy the idea of a chosen older sibling more than a biological one, funnily enough, because the expectation of liking someone is so different from actually developing a liking to someone. With the expectation, there’s almost no choice; there’s still a chance of them not liking you, but it’s expected of them to like you, so they’re gonna try anyway, and it makes it feel less authentic, less real—but with choosing, they choose you to have that bond with them, they choose to treat you the way they do, not because it’s expected of them from birth, but because they see something in you that draws them to you.

Gaz is that person. That older brother that chose you to tease, to play fight with, to argue with, to laugh with, to hold hands with—he chose you. And because of that, his laughter is acceptable, and his teasing is never taken to heart.

Your eyelids get a little heavier, and someone’s gently tilting your head so that it’s resting more comfortably against their chest. Probably Price. He likes physical touch, unsurprisingly, and shows it as much as you allow him to. He particularly likes to loosely wrap a hand around one of your wrists with his thumb resting over your veins, gently pressing inward to feel the beating of your heart. Why he does it, you don’t know. Maybe he likes the reassurance of your living. Maybe he likes how it grounds him, how it reminds him that you’re a tangible being with a beating heart and a working mind. how it might let him know that you’re real and here with him.

Or maybe it’s something deeper, maybe it goes back to that other lieutenant, maybe it goes back even further to when he was sixteen and had just joined the British military. Whatever it is, you accept it wholeheartedly, because when he does it, it reminds you as well that he’s alive and searching for proof of you being alive as well. Because you believe that living people will always search for other living beings, or at least you know that you always will, because the feeling of brittle bones and the sight of dead bodies haunts you in ways that you never thought possible.

Your eyelids droop down completely.

“I feel like I should say good night, but it’s barely no—” You think that’s Gaz.

“Shut it and let them sleep, for Christ’s sake.” That’s probably Price.

“I’m just saying—” Definitely Gaz.

“I’ll staple your mouth shut so y’stop sayin’ anything, how about that, y’muppet?” Definitely Price.

#cod #cod hcs #hcs #task force 141 #tf141 #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #john price #price #gaz #platonic task force 141 #i love them guys #age regression YIPPEE #no beta we die like soap #sorry #python333 #i'm done with tags bro #too tired for this #too tired for tags

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