#and a finish at a decent hour to boot

[peachygifs]

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[marvelwitchergilmore]

Longing Looks to Something More

Summary: Tyler Owens x Fe!Reader -> You and Tyler have been friends for a long time, but one day things begin to change.

Disclaimer: Steamy moments, swearing, fluffy moments, oblivious idiots in love, love confessions (kinda), lots of pining. Not Proof Read.

You heard his boots scuffing the barn floor before he pulled out a chair next to your desk. 

“Here.” Looking up, you found where he’d placed a fresh cup of tea beside you. “It’s too late for coffee, and Cathy said it’s good for sleep.”

“I don’t need sleep.” You lifted the mug. “But thank you.”

Tyler sat back in his chair, watching you as you went back to your work. You’d been sitting at that desk since four o’clock in the afternoon, and that hour was long gone. 

“When was the last time you got some decent shut eye?” Tyler asked, picking up a folder you’d finished looking at so he could make the conversation feel less like an interrogation. 

He smiled as he saw the small scribbled in the margins. 

“Before college properly.”

He shut the document. “I’m being serious, Y/n.”

“So am I,” you said, holding in a laugh. But then he gave you the look. 

Sighing, and relaxing your shoulders, you leaned to look at him. “I appreciate your concern, Ty, I really do. But I’m okay. I promise.”

He watched you for a moment before taking half of the scribbled notes from you and using the folder as something to lean on. 

“What are you doing?” You asked, watching him. 

“Helping.”

“Tyler-”

He looked at you. “You need sleep and I’m not leaving until you do. And that won’t be until you finish. Twice the people, half the work.”

You would have fought him on it, but in truth, you’d spent so much time looking at the calculations and data you thought you were starting to think in them, instead of words. 

And he was right. 

Whatever work you’d been distracting yourself with was as wrapped up as it could be until you gathered some more data. And by the looks of it, the tea was working. You’d been giving into your yawns rather than trying to fight them off. 

Tyler had seen you do this for years. He was just glad they had Kate’s barn to work out of when chasing. You all finally had a home base now. 

“Right, come on.”

Tyler practically hauled you from your seat. 

“Bedtime.”

It was easier than previous nights to get you to move away from your work and head down to the farm house. There were three places to sleep on the farm. Inside the main house, which was where Kate stayed with Cathy and someone else would take the guest room. Then there was the guest house, with a couple different rooms which everybody had slept in at least once. Whoever fell asleep first, got the first pick of a room. Then there was the smaller guest house. It had one bedroom, a kitchen, a bathroom, a small sitting room and enough of a wooden stand in the back to be considered a porch. 

That was where you and Tyler would be tonight since you were the last to go to bed. 

“I brought your stuff down here earlier. I’m gonna brush my teeth.”

“Okay,” you yawned. 

By the time you’d gotten dressed in your pyjamas, these days consisted of a random t-shirt which you were sure had belonged to one of the boys at some point, and cotton shorts. You joined Tyler in the bathroom, brushing your teeth whilst he washed his face. 

Turning off the bath tap, he wrung out the face cloth before throwing it over the towel rail to dry. 

“Come on.” 

Finally rinsing out your mouth, you heard the clink of your toothbrush in the cup and wiped your mouth. 

Tyler’s hand hovered by your hip as he led you out of the bathroom, turning the light off behind him, across the small living room and into the bedroom. 

By that point, Tyler had practically wrangled and tucked you into bed before laying down beside you. For years, you’d shared a bed. You’d both shared a bed at least three times with each member of the crew. There was always a motel somewhere that didn’t have enough space. 

So it didn’t freak you out to think you’d be sharing a bed with Tyler. 

By the time the lights cut out, it wasn’t long before you were fast asleep. 

When you woke up, you felt secure. Like you’d been wrapped in a weighted blanket. Only when you opened your eyes did you realise it was Tyler’s arms. With your back against his chest, his arms held you securely against him. He was fast asleep. His breathing even, soft snores coming from him as he held onto you for dear life. 

It took you a minute but you eventually pulled yourself from his arms and headed for the bathroom. By the time you’d finished, you could hear him walking around the place before you heard the pans being moved around. 

He was making breakfast. 

“Hey.” 

Tyler looked over his shoulder as he scrambled the eggs. “Hey, how’d you sleep?”

“Good. Better than college.”

Tyler smiled. “Good. Eggs’ll be done soon.”

“Thanks. Want some coffee?”

Tyler nodded and you started brewing it from the pot, grabbing two mugs and setting them beside each other. 

After breakfast and coffee, Tyler headed for a shower and you got changed into some fresh clothes. You’d also found his inside one of the closets so, after pulling back the bed covers, you laid his clothes out at the foot of the bed. 

“Hey, Ty? I’m gonna head up to-”

You’d been focusing on tying the bottom of your shirt up as you walked the short distance out of the bedroom and past the sofa, ready to call through the door to him. However, without looking up, you ran into something. 

At first, you figured it was the door, but when the door suddenly grew arms, steadied you and spoke, you realised what had actually happened. 

Stood, his waist wrapped in a towel, his hair still dripping a little from the water, Tyler had opened the door. 

And there you stood, suddenly dumbfounded, in his arms, unsure of what to do. 

“Uhh, sorry. I-I didn’t.” Your mind seemed to take a mental picture of the Tyler that stood in front of you in that moment, and for the life of you, you couldn’t understand why. 

“You okay?”

Clearing your throat, you stepped back and out of his grasp. “Yea-yep. Yes. All good. I was just gonna…”

You forced yourself to look at his face before he thought you were checking him out. 

“I was gonna head up to the barn. I’ve, uhh, I’ve left your stuff in..in the bedroom.”

You started to make a break for it towards the front door and Tyler remained in his position, watching you. 

“Sure you’re okay?”

You nodded firmly. “Just peachy.”

Tyler couldn’t help but smile a little as he watched you leave after getting so flustered. But, shaking his head, he turned back towards the bedroom. He hadn’t meant for that to happen, but something inside of him was glad it did. 

The rest of the day, you tried to keep your mind focused on your tasks rather than constantly replaying what had happened that morning. Tyler. His arms. His grip. His body. His eyes. His voice. Him. 

None of that was helped when you saw him walking up the small hill towards the barn, his wranglers being filled in all the right places. 

“Stop it.” You told yourself over and over and over again. Even more so when he leaned over you from behind your chair, asking about the data collection. How was it that a man could still smell so good hours after taking a shower? Immediately, your mind projected the towel-wrapped image of him from that morning. 

“Stop it.”

Tyler hummed a response, not having heard you. 

“Nothing,” you brushed it off. And he just shrugged. 

However, you weren’t the only one confused by your sudden replay of the morning going over in your head. 

“Stare at her any longer and somebody might think you’re in love.” 

Tyler turned and looked back at Dexter. “What are you talking about?”

Dexter smiled. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at her. If you’re not looking around this barn for her, you’re looking at her.”

“No, I’m not.” Tyler tried to laugh it off. But then he found himself looking back at you. Your reaction to him coming out of the shower kept playing on his mind. As did the feeling of you being in his arms this morning before he woke up again. 

Standing and leaning behind you as you sat at your desk allowed for your shampoo to fill his senses. And it took him right back to being in bed with you after ushering you to bed. He’d woken up just a little before the sun had come up. His arms were already around you, but he wouldn’t have moved in fear of waking you considering you were holding his arms to you. 

Calming himself down, your shampoo filled his senses and imprinted the feeling and image of you in his mind. So, when he stood with you, that feeling came right back. 

He must have fallen back to sleep, too, because when he woke up, he heard the sink running in the bathroom. 

“Dex, can I ask you something?”

“Sure. So long as it’s not how to read Y/n’s handwriting. What does this even say?”

Leaning over him, Tyler read it. “Continued on page five.”

Dexter nodded, a little shocked. “What’s your question?”

“When…” He looked back at you for a moment before tearing his gaze away. “When do you know something is changing?”

“Is this about you and Y/n? Because I have to say, I think you might be the last to know.”

“What?”

Dexter started listing things off. “The way you look at her? The way she looks at you? The fact you’re the only one she’ll listen to, or you’re the only one who can read her handwriting?”

Tyler shrugged. “You get used to it after a while. But, I…”

“Did something happen?”

Tyler shook his head. “Technically, no.”

“But you wish it had?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know if I did or not. We’re friends. We’ve only ever been friends. Why would things start changing now?”

“Maybe now is the time.” Dexter said. “It’s like you say, a tornado is part science, part religion. Some things, or at least part of them, can’t always be explained. You and Y/n have a deep connection. You’re friends. Maybe now it’s time to explore things further.”

Taking one final look over at you, Tyler didn’t know what to do. 

“Maybe.”

Tyler wrestled with the idea for a week or more. You’d both been friends for a long time. And, sure. Maybe he’d checked you out once or twice over the years. He wasn’t blind. You were beautiful. Why you were still single baffled him. And, yeah, maybe he’d felt a little jealous when someone from a bar would ask you to dance with them. But that didn’t mean he was catching feelings, did it?

Except, the longer time went on, the more he could feel them becoming more noticeable. He kept catching himself looking at you throughout the day, His heart and stomach kept doing a weird ‘hop, skip and jump’ thing every time he saw you. Except, it had started to be whenever he even thought about you. Whenever he saw you in one of the guy’s t-shirts that wasn’t his, he felt a pang in his chest, but when he saw you in his…he had to leave the room for fear of the extent of his emotions showing up in front of everyone. 

And just when he thought he was getting better at hiding his feelings, Boone asked him a question. 

“When are you gonna ask her out, dude?”

Tyler, who had been on the roof of his truck since you got back from another tornado chase, stopped what he was doing and looked down at Boone. 

“What?”

Pausing where he was in the book you had given him only a few hours ago to keep him occupied, Boone looked at Tyler. “You’ve been watching her all day.”

Tyler looked back at his work, rather than back at you. You were a short way across the farm, helping haul some bags of feed from the truck and into the barn. 

“No, I haven’t.”

Boone just laughed. “Come on, man. We all see it. Hell, I’ve seen it since you first met her. D’you know you get this funny look on your face when you look at her? Had it then, have it now. Just louder.”

Tyler just shook his head and mumbled; “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

This time, Boone stood up. “You’re my brother, Tyler. So I’m gonna tell you straight. You’re in love with, Y/n. So rather than sitting here, thinking about her. Go over there and do something about it. Or else Me and Lily are gonna have to start watching Parent Trap to take some more notes.”

Tyler looked back at Boone. “More notes?”

Boone cleared his throat and shook his head, scuffing his feet on the ground. If Tyler or you knew the lengths they’d gone through to get either one of you this far…

“Dude, just ask her out.” 

As he went and sat back down, he watched Tyler look back down the field towards you. Except, that was interrupted by Dani and Dexter heading up the road. 

It was from their announcement that everyone found themselves getting dressed up to head to the local bar for a night of country dancing. 

However, that caused one problem. 

Tyler. 

Smelling just as he did a few weeks ago when you ran into his freshly showered, towel-wrapped body. 

Filling out his jeans in all the right places. 

With a crisp white t-shirt. 

And you caught him from the moment he’d taken his backwards cap off his head, throwing it onto his dash and pulling his cowboy hat out, fixing it onto his head. 

And the way he was looking at you as you walked down the steps of the house, dressed in your only pair of denim shorts that didn’t need washing, a t-shirt you’d borrowed from Kate since the one you planned on wearing still had motor oil on from when you were helping Dani with the camper, and an oversized checked shirt, along with your cowboy boots; it was giving you more ideas than you needed in your head when it came to Tyler. 

 “Ready to go?”

Tyler had to look away from you, letting his gaze land on his feet as he nodded and opened up his passenger door for you. “Yep.”

For a moment, you could have sworn he looked nervous. But considering you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him any longer than a second and a half in fear he’d see exactly what you were thinking when you looked at him, you couldn’t be sure. 

And when he grabbed your hand half way through the night to bring you onto the dance floor, holding you close to him as you both two-stepped across the old wooden floor, those feelings that had been bubbling inside you for weeks; you could feel them pouring over whatever container you tried to shove them into. 

The feeling of his hand on your lower back, the feeling of his hand in yours, the feeling you got when he looked at you, and the way his voice sounded, so close to your ear. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” 

“It’s kinda personal.”

You were confused. “Okay?”

Now he just had to find the last shreds of courage to ask you. “Is something…has something…between you and me…is there…”

Each time he said a word, your head rushed around the million different things he was trying to ask you. 

“Just spit it out, Tyler.”

“Do you like me?”

No. I love you. 

“How’d you mean?” You asked. 

Tyler had a few seconds to think how to phrase his question as he spun you out before pulling you back. 

“Like, more than usual.”

Now he was starting to confuse himself. “I just…am I imagining things here, or is something…different? Between us, I mean.”

It was your chance to think. Had he been feeling it too? The way the room felt a lot more claustrophobic, in the good way, when it was just you two? Did he feel your touch as strongly in his bones as you did? Did he…did he love you the same way you did for him?

“It’s just…I feel like I woke up one morning and…I don’t know. You’re the person I’d talk to about this kinda stuff, so…I just thought I’d ask you about this, too. Is there…Is there something changing between us?”

The song slowed and you were completely against Tyler, standing in his space as he stood in yours. Looking up at him and meeting his green eyes, you told him the truth. 

“I think it already has.”

From the table in the corner, the others watched you and Tyler slow down and just simply look at each other. 

“Think he finally told her?” Lily asked, turning to the other hoping they saw what she did. 

“I think she told him.” Dani said, grabbing a handful of chips. 

“I think they’ve just told each other.”

Everyone looked at Dexter before turning to look back at you and Tyler on the dancefloor. 

You watched as Tyler registered everything you said and after an eternity, he looked up and around the room. You didn’t know what or who he was looking for, but after another moment, he grabbed your hand. 

“Come with me.”

You led you towards the back of the bar and out of the doors, the cold air hitting both of you all at once. The sound of the music and people drowned out as the door swung shut behind you both. 

“Ty, where are we-”

Swinging you around, you felt Tyler stop you in your tracks before he looked at you. Really looked at you. 

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

From day one of meeting Tyler, you knew you could trust him. And you knew you always would. 

Brushing the hair from your face, he seemed to finally breathe. And you slowly leaned into his touch. “Y/n…”

He swallowed nervously before asking the question that had been on his mind since the first time he’d woken up with you in his arms. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Drawing his eyes from your lips, he looked into yours. You knew if you said no, he would walk away. He wouldn’t question you, he wouldn’t push. 

But you wanted him to. 

“Yes.”

“Are you su-”

You cut him off, standing a little higher on your toes, you took his face into your hands and pulled him in to kiss you. His hands held you steady at your hips before snaking around your body and holding you flush against him whilst your own arms did the same around his neck. 

Parting for a breath, Tyler’s hands were quick to lift you up and you locked your ankles around his hips before your back was up against the cold brick wall. 

A small moan left your lips which forced Tyler to pull his lips from yours for a moment. 

“Are you okay?”

“Shut up and kiss me, Cowboy.”

Tyler smirked with a small chuckle. “Yes, ma’am.”

One hand holding you under your ass and another pushing through your hair, Tyler kissed you as if your life depended on it. 

You died with his kiss, and he brought you back with the next. God, you never wanted it to end. 

However, it was forced when you both heard the back door to the bar swing open and crash against the wall before a pair of drunk laughs getting closer. 

Thankfully, it wasn’t anyone on the team. Otherwise you and Tyler would have been caught in a very compromising position considering you could feel all of Tyler against your body at that moment. 

Looking back at you with a half drunk smile, which you were sure you owned the other half to, Tyler kissed you quickly once more. Before giving you another, and another and another as you slowly unhooked your legs from him and he lowered you to the ground. 

“We better get back inside.”

You smiled. “I think the others already have an idea on what we’re doing out here.”

“Still. If we’re gonna go any further, I’d rather make love to you someplace that isn’t behind the back of a bar.”

You blushed. “Make love?”

Tucking a stray hair behind your ear, Tyler leaned down and kissed the shell. 

“Would you prefer for me to fuck you? Because I can do that, too, Sweetheart.”

Tyler watched as your cheeks heated. He didn’t have to look at you to know what you were thinking about. Because he was thinking about it, too. 

“Come on. We better get inside.”

Pressing a final kiss to your lips, Tyler took your hand and led you back into the bar. You were pretty sure after his question, your brain had been completely fried with thoughts of Tyler fucking you. 

Not helped by the fact that when he walked you back inside, he pulled you to stand in front of him, his hands on your waist. “I’m gonna get a drink, you want one?”

You still couldn’t speak so just nodded. 

Tyler smiled a little and kissed your temple. “You keep thinking about my question, Sweetheart.”

You felt his hand tap your ass lightly before he walked away and towards the bar and you were left to walk back to where the team had been sitting in the corner. Thankfully, most of them apart from Dexter were up dancing. 

“You two finally talk?”

You felt yourself blush. You were glad most of the lights were directed onto the dancefloor or behind the bar. “A little more than that.”

Dexter smiled before taking a sip of his drink and handing you a small sketch. 

“Dexter, you’re the only person I know that brings a pad and pencil to a bar.”

He smiled. “Never know when inspiration will strike. Plus, I think you’ll like this one.”

From his pad, he pulled a small piece of card, no bigger than a beer coaster. In the middle stood the outline of two people. 

You and Tyler. 

Just moments ago, when you were standing on the dancefloor together. 

“Dex…”

He smiled. “You keep it. I’m gonna go to the gents.”

Standing up, Dexter walked away just as Tyler reached the table and handed you your drink before sitting beside you with his arm over your shoulders. 

“Look at this.”

“It's us.”

You smiled as you watched Tyler take hold of it and examine it for a moment. You could hear the cogs turning in his head but you weren’t sure why. But then he removed his hat and fixed the picture in place on the inner band. 

He fixed the hat back onto his head. “Well?”

You smiled. “You look handsome.”

Tyler smiled before leaning in to kiss you, and as he pressed his lips to yours, you both heard the hollering and whistles being blown by the rest of your team on the dancefloor. 

You felt yourself blush and chuckle, Tyler doing the same except as you hid your head for a moment on his shoulder, he waved his hands at the other to get them to stop. 

Looking back to you with a rested smile on his face, he leaned down and kissed you once more. 

“Ready to go home?”

You nodded and went to stand. 

“The offer still stands, Sweetheart.”

This time, as he remained seated, you turned back and pressed your knee into your chair, leaning over him as he looked up at you. 

“I want both,” you told him. Then you leaned in closer. “But if you’re gonna fuck me, you better fuck me like you mean it.”

It was his turn to blush, but you didn’t get away with not for long because Tyler’s hand came to your hip holding you steady when you kissed him. 

“Think you can take me, darlin’. Might need to get you ready first.”

You felt yourself smirk. “After those words and everything that happened outside, I’m already halfway there.”

Considering another tray of drinks made their way to the table in Dexter’s hands, Tyler told Tyler the others wouldn’t be leaving for a good while.

Tyler pressed one last kiss to your lips before he stood and took your hand in his, leading you back through the bar and towards his truck. 

“We’ll have to see about that.”

[cumikering]

John Price x reader

2.5k | tw implied sui ideation, angst, comfort Thank you for being here today

John smiled to himself as he watched from the end of the bar. A few feet away, a group of three women chatted. The pub was packed, but it didn’t escape his notice that one in particular laughed so bright. The life of the party.

It was the same woman who ordered for the group, round after round. In fact, for other groups too. She’d sent rounds to random tables the past hour.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, but what caught his eye was how his battery was at 4%. A stupid idea to be out on such little juice, but the outing wasn’t planned – it was no more than an escape.

His thoughts were interrupted when the barman placed a pint next to the bourbon he’d been nursing. He opened his mouth to clarify-

“Courtesy of the lady,” he gestured to the very same woman.

John nodded at her, the corners of his eyes crinkled. She raised her own pint in acknowledgment. He finished the last of his bourbon and made his way over with the gift.

“Noticed you’ve been buying people drinks. What’s the occasion?”

“It’s Saturday night. No one should be drinking alone.” She sipped her beer.

The corners of his lips tugged into a smile. “But aren’t we all fundamentally alone?”

“Correct, but not here-“ She shrugged, teasing. “If you can help it.”

“Honest, is it your birthday?”

“Nah. Just happy.”

“Wanna be like you when I grow up.”

Her laughter was crisp yet warm. It caressed his ears despite the rumble of the establishment.

“Cheers, love.” He clinked his glass against hers and took a swig.

“Enjoy.” She followed suit before turning back to her friends.

He lingered, leaning against the bar as his gaze wandered across the room. Framed photos of vintage rugby and football stills crammed the wooden walls as they glinted under the deep yellow glow. The pub had seen better days, but from the size and chatter of the crowd, it didn’t seem like anyone cared.

He didn’t either. He didn’t pick pubs for their looks.

Behind his glass, he smiled again at the way the woman laughed so easily. She reminded him of a certain someone, a blue-eyed Scot who never stopped soaring despite his clipped wings. The one with the sun roaring in his boundless heart.

The one to do things because he was happy.

She downed her beer, and gave each of her girls a tight hug. She was leaving, but not for a short time it seemed. She turned to the barman to tap her phone on the receiver before handing him a thick wad of bills. The grin cracked his face in half as he thanked her profusely.

John took a step towards her. “Leaving already?” he asked, a little louder this time due to the swelling noise.

“It’s almost 12.”

“Are you Cinderella?”

She laughed. “Wish I was.”

“You can be. I’ll just have to make sure to find you again.”

“No, don’t think so. It’s my last night here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m moving away.”

That explained the lengthy hugs. “Oh, where to?”

“Middle of nowhere. You wouldn’t know.”

John knew a thing or two about faraway places. He spent the entirety of that day in one.

“You’re really Cinderella,” he concluded and downed the rest of his pint. “Have you got a pumpkin chariot waiting outside?”

“It’s nothing that interesting.” She grinned. “Want to enjoy my walk before it’s terribly late.”

“I can walk with you, if you’d let me. You did say no one should be alone Saturday night.“

He was nosy, clingy – not himself. But after managing to crawl out of the hellhole he called his mind, this was his first conversation of the day and he wasn’t ready to wallow in his flat again just yet.

She shrugged. “Alright, why not.”

Once more, she hugged her friends, rubbing their backs. They were teary eyed, but she wasn’t - her smile as lively as ever. He tucked a few notes under his glass before following her out.

On the pavement, she took a lungful of fresh air in, chin tipped up towards the sky. He supposed the weather was decent. At least it wasn’t raining.

His boots thudded as he walked next to her. With her hands tucked in the pockets of her light jacket, she strolled with a little bounce to her step as she looked up at the stars. They were easy to miss, but they were present, and it was enough to bring a curve to her lips.

“I’m sorry, I just have to ask,” he said in amusement. “Why are you so happy?”

“Don’t have a reason not to be.”

Could you really be happy for no reason?

He chuckled. “You make me want to dance, and I don’t even dance.”

She glanced at him teasingly. “You should. Dancing is fun.”

“You know how to?”

“No, but you don’t need to know how.”

“Want to show me?”

She turned to him with a laugh. “What, now?”

He shrugged. Her joy was contagious.

“Well, first of all, you need music.”

“Lucky you, I got the whole world in my pocket.” He pulled out his phone and clicked the power button. Once, twice. It wouldn’t light up. “I take that back,” he said with a sheepish chuckle. “Your phone then.”

“If we find a busker.”

He barked out a laugh. “What are the chances at this hour!”

“Slim to none, but you’re probably luckier than me.”

John thought of the close calls he’d had: the gunshots to the shoulders or the bullets ricocheting off his helmet that sent his ears ringing, or the desperate jumps he’d executed from cold-blooded heights. But despite everything, the gift of life was still his. Still beating and fluttering in his rough hand, stained with blood that hadn’t washed off.

He hummed. “I like to think I’m pretty lucky.”

With wonder in her bright eyes, she continued to admire the sky.

Was the secret etched onto its darkness, behind the fading clouds and dying stars? Perhaps he could find out if he squinted, even that he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to look at.

Midnight London was nothing close to the desert skies he’d witnessed; the marbled ones with a handful of diamond shards splattered and swirled across them, the ones that made him feel like he was nothing but a speck of stardust waiting for its inevitable dissolve.

But perhaps the answer wasn’t in the beauty, but rather in what you made of what you had.

John glanced at her again because, well, a smile was a smile. If the unassuming sky could inflict something so beautiful, maybe it would work on him too. Even if just a tiny bit. If he’d just give it a chance.

As they entered her neighbourhood, she pointed out the establishments. This flower shop, the owner stopped her one day to give her a stalk of red orchid. That one cafe around the corner had amazing coffee and croissant, but she couldn’t bear waiting over an hour for them ever again. The chippy across it used to be her favourite kebab shop.

She chuckled. “I came in every week for years. It’s been three years and I still miss them.”

“You reckon they know how much their kebabs are loved?”

“Probably not. People never love enough until it’s gone.”

He considered.

“What does it matter anyway? The world runs on the width and height of love, not its depth.”

He shrugged. “True.”

He’d never taken the time to sightsee. It wasn’t really his thing, but a little tour of the city - the city she was leaving - made him feel nostalgic, like he too was leaving. Was he?

It didn’t feel like it took any time at all before she stopped at a building.

She turned to him with a wince. “Sorry, I’m not inviting you in.”

“I know. That’s fine.” John smiled, like the weight had been lifted off his chest, even if temporarily. “Today wasn’t the best for me, but you’ve made it better. So I wanted to thank you.”

She let her gaze drop, and for a second she looked… distraught, before recovering. “Well, you can come in for a bit.”

“Oh, don’t- I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad,” he quickly said, but she’d headed towards the stairs. He didn’t stop her.

She pushed open the door to a studio apartment, tiny even when it was nearly empty.

“Tea?” she offered, making her way to the kitchen.

Her bed was in the far corner, a small table with two chairs by its foot. Across it, stood a dresser with a guitar leaning against it. The walls and surfaces were bare. There was no clutter apart from an empty carboard box on the floor.

“Sure.”

He didn’t judge. He too barely had enough to fill out a box, but that was his room on base, not his flat.

“You’ve got everything packed, it looks like.”

She hummed, filling the kettle up.

“Can I use your charger for a bit so I can order a ride later?”

“Of course. It’s on the nightstand.”

John made his way over, but the charger wasn’t there, nor on the floor. Nor was it in the ajar drawer. It was empty, safe for one thing. He whipped to her, chills running down his spine.

“Actually, why don’t you keep it. I don’t need it anymore,” she said lightly, flicking the kettle on.

“S’not there,” he muttered.

She scanned the room. “Oh, sorry. Then it must be by the table,” she pointed.

Wordlessly, he strode over and plugged his phone in with shaky hands. He swallowed, his throat going dry as his heart drained. He stared at the back of her head as she opened the overhead cabinet, only to chuckle to herself.

“I’ve only got a mug left. A bowl would have to do.” She set them on the counter and opened two tea bags.

He was going to be sick. He blinked rapidly, searching for something to distract himself with. His eyes fell to her guitar. He swallowed once more before he croaked, “T- That’s a gorgeous one.”

She looked over her shoulder and smiled fondly at what he was pointing at. “It is. But one of the pegs broke and I never picked it back up.”

“Can I play?”

She frowned. “You can’t. It’s broken.”

“I’ll make do.”

“But it’s useless. I was going to give it away, but no one even wants it.”

“It’s still a guitar. And it’s not broken forever. Nothing is ever broken beyond repair.”

She paused before turning back to the counter. “Feel free then,” she said quietly.

He sat crossed legged on the floor, back against her bed. He strummed and tuned the dusty instrument as best he could. As expected, it didn’t sound right because of the jammed string.

His heart continued to beat out of his chest as she poured the hot water into the mug and bowl. She set them on the table before settling next to him.

The lump in his throat only swelled, but he turned towards her. His fingers trembled as he picked the strings. The first chord. A beat. A bar and two.

He let out a long, steady exhale. On any other day, he couldn’t have endured the disharmony, but today the ringing in his ears was far louder as he inhaled.

“Love of mine, someday you will die, but I’ll be close behind. I’ll follow you into the dark.”

John’s blue eyes stayed on hers as a smile blossomed on her lips. The sight pained him. His gaze cut to the fretboard.

“No blinding lights or tunnels to gates of white. Just our hands clasped so tight waiting for the hint of a spark.”

The metal strings buried themselves further in his fingertips. He drew a sharp breath, eyes shut, wishing the tears wouldn’t spill. Not now.

“If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied. Illuminate the ‘no’s on their vacancy signs. If there’s no one beside you when your soul embarks,” he heaved, trying his best to calm his voice, but a tear finally slipped. “I’ll follow you into the dark,” he rasped.

When he looked up at her, she had turned away, wiping at her tears.

He set the guitar aside and inched closer to her. “I saw…” he started, even when he wasn’t sure what to say. “In the drawer.”

But he couldn’t help himself when he wrapped his arms around her. She clung onto him, face pressing against his shoulder.

“It hurts,” she choked between sobs, her tears seeping into his shirt. “I keep telling myself to hold on for another day… But it’s been too long, and it hasn’t stopped hurting.”

“I know. Thank you for choosing to be here, no matter how hard. Thank you for trying. Thank you for giving it a chance, every day. Thank you for letting the world love you, because it will never be the same without you.”

“I don’t know how much longer,” she mumbled into his shirt, shaking in his arms.

He rubbed her back as he let out a breath. Another tear ran down his cheek. “It might not be now. Might not be tomorrow or next week or next month, but I swear it will be okay in the end. Always. Even if the worst has happened.”

John didn’t know how long, but in the silence, he held her until her tears and its tremors dissipated. Her grip on him loosened.

“If you… Tonight…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. “Would you?”

She nodded. It was tiny, but it was all he needed.

He wiped his own tears with a shaky sigh. “Come on then. It’s your birthday. We can do whatever we want.”

“What?” She pulled away with a chuckle, her voice still hoarse.

“Let’s go out.”

“Where to?”

“Anywhere you want. Are you hungry? There’s waffles. Or chippy, pizza or kebab. The birthday girl can have everything.”

“What about the tea? It’s not even hot anymore.”

“Lucky me. Never been a fan of hot tea.”

She laughed through her drying tears as he chugged it down.

John Price considered himself pretty lucky, but he wasn’t lucky enough to find a busker in 2 a.m. London.

But he was lucky enough to spend hours on his tired legs walking across the city with her. They bought food - whatever that still looked appealing enough at the hour, until they decided to rest at a park. At the top of the stairs as they looked upon the rousing city, they basked in the remainder of its slumber.

At the break of dawn, in the distance, the blush of gold crept over the horizon.

She turned to him. It might not have been as wide or bright, but that smile carried something else. An empty field with the faintest sprout, stained with a tinge of hope.

“I’ll get my guitar fixed.”

It looked good on her.

Thank you for being here today. I’m so happy to have you here. Please stay safe and take care

Masterlist Ex bf Price Formula One Price

[salternateunreality2]

AGSZC Deep Cleaning the Biohazard that is Zack’s Apartment

From the @strayheartless vault <3

—

Zack: It’s not a biohazard, that would mean nothing’s living there, and look, my pets are fine! *opens a drawer with a new litter of mice in it*

Genesis: AAAAAAA! Ahem. I mean to say: Zachariah McKinley Fair, a biohazard means it is unsafe for humans, and often involves dangerous non-human organisms. SUCH AS WILD MICE.

Zack: They’re not wild, they’re my fri-

Genesis: Zachariah. If you finish that word, I will firaga them immediately.

Zack: NO! *Hides the mice with his body*

—-

After Genesis’ 5th childish scream, Angeal’s 3rd round of dry-heaving, and Sephiroth and Cloud being found twitching near the entrance, Zack concedes that maybe he has some work to do.

—

Cloud decides to body-double for Zack by riding him like a backpack.

Zack: Maybe this sock is salvageable!

Koala Cloud: Nope, put it in the bag.

Zack: But I wanna- 

Cloud: IN THE BAG, FAIR.

—

Sephiroth is in full-coverage PPE to protect his hair and senses, and is excavating the fridge with gloves. 

Zack: But my pasta is in that tub of whipped cream! 

Angeal, working at the sink and dry-heaving: I MADE THAT FOR YOU LAST MONTH.

—

They have to set up a rotating schedule of visiting Zack's apartment so he's motivated to clean everything at least weekly, but Zack is really grateful.

He never means for it to get this bad, it’s just…he makes friends with the critters! And, well, sometimes he forgets things. And…and sometimes he just gets overwhelmed. He looks at the pile of dishes and knows he can’t do them all today, so he doesn’t do any.

Or he tries. He starts by picking up the dishes in his bedroom, but trips over a shirt along the way. He sets the dishes down to take the shirt to the laundry, but his eyes catch on the dusty blinds, so obviously he has to clean them, but then he looks up and it’s 3 hours later and he’s dismantled the whole window dressing and is cleaning the grooves with a q-tip and everything is worse than when he started.

Zack breaks down trying to explain it, and Genesis is the first to tell him he understands. Genesis and Angeal sandwich him between themselves while Sephiroth puts a hand on Zack’s shoulder and Cloud starts worming his way into Zack’s arms.

—

Zack cleans for each of them all the time, but for some reason, he can’t understand why they’d help him too.

It surprises him when Angeal comes over and just. Does all his dishes. Or when Genesis comes over and "purifies this hellhole of a bathroom" (gives it a decent clean and fills it with good soaps/battery operated candles/fresh towels). Or when Cloud obsessively sorts and folds his laundry, or when Sephiroth puts everything through the wash when he's working from home one day.

Zack doesn't GET that he's done the exact same things for them, like the time he scoured Angeal's pots for half a day, or polished every metallic surface in Sephiroth's apartment, or dusted Genesis' place so thoroughly it gleamed, or put fresh sheets on Cloud's bed, bundled him up, and did all his laundry while he was dissociating.

He doesn't realize the insurmountable task of addressing The Chair is easy for Angeal (it all goes in the wash. It's all dirty enough.), but the same man finds throwing out socks with holes hard (but acceptable when Zack does it for him).

Zack forgets that he folded all of Gen's towels into swans when Gen’s parents were coming into town and is blown away when Gen leaves a simply folded towel on the rack.

He thinks the work he puts into adding color to Sephiroth’s spartan apartment is nothing, not realizing Sephiroth’s heart is warmed by each and every little splash Zack sneaks in.

Zack doesn’t realize that Cloud would rather do all of Zack’s mopping than address the sensory hell that is washing monster gunk off his own boots, which Zack does for him often.

[reds-writings]

the first of many and the start of something new

(pairing: rust cohle x fem!reader)

a/n: heyyy! another fic in the jealousy, jealousy universe! this is based on the mention of when the reader's left without a car after an accident and rust offers her a lift for the time being. just some more background building between the two and giddy feelings! hope you enjoy!

word count: around 2.8k

warnings: a smidgen of workplace sexism and mentions of reader having longer hair. that and cursing.

Today had been one shit day. Shittiest of shit days you’ve had the displeasure of encountering in a while actually. The power had gone out sometime in the night from some short burst of a storm so your alarm clock had gotten reset, resulting in you waking up nearly an hour later than your usual start time. It also meant that the dryer hadn’t finished drying all your work clothes for the week ahead leaving you to throw on whatever attire you had on the day before from your hamper that was decently wrinkled come this morning. The best you could do for your messy tresses was throw it up haphazardly into a banana clip you rummaged for in one of your bathroom drawers. You barely managed to slap on some blush to look a bit more lively and wipe any remnants of caked mascara from beneath your eyes you hadn’t bothered taking off last night. 

God, you were gonna be so late. 

You managed to keep a clean attendance record at work, rarely allowing yourself the opportunity to slip-up knowing you’d get chewed out more than anyone else by Quesada just cause. Yanking on your work boots and grabbing some of your gear you nearly managed to eat shit on the way out, not bothering to grab a bite to eat or even scrounge up some coffee. You prayed today was one of those days where Rust carried out his ‘secret’ routine of setting out your coffee before you’d show up to work. Your weathered bronco was low on gas but you’d have just enough to make it to work and hopefully back to whatever gas station nearby on the way home. Peeling out of the driveway like a bat out of hell and settling yourself on the main road your eyes kept flying nervously to the dashboard’s clock. Each ticking minute caused the buzzing anxiety in your gut to sink deeper and deeper. 

You checked your frazzled appearance in the rear-view mirror, failing to notice the intersection coming up ahead. Your heart just about leaped into the next state over when you barely managed the time to notice the rapidly closing gap between you and the car stopped in front of you. Slamming on your brakes, your car tires squealed to a stop and your front bumper found itself barely a hairsbreadth away from ramming into the vehicle ahead. Your relief was short-lived when the car behind you, unfortunately, didn’t have enough leeway to break at your sudden halt and collided with your car, causing you then to bump the car in front of you. The force of it had you near-whipping forward like a ragdoll, making you bump your head on the steering wheel. The separate trilling of respective car horns only added to your steady-growing headache. 

You could just about cry. 

By the time you actually made it the department after the mess that was trading insurances and getting your car towed to whatever repair shop that was in close proximity to the area of the accident you looked like you’d been dragged to hell and back. On top of taking one of the worst bus rides of your life, someone managed to spill their coffee across your lap at a harsh stop. The defeat weighing on your poor bones was apparent to everyone on the floor that took in the sorry state of your figure. You mustered up a mumbled greeting to the receptionist, feet dragging their way towards your desk. The small bruise on your brow throbbed increasingly, especially when that prick Geraci decided he’d make a snide pass at you as you trudged in.

“You’re gonna give folks around here a mean fright walkin’ around lookin’ like that, girl.” 

“Do me a favor and go dine on some dick, Geraci.” You snapped without even looking at the now angrily flushing man. Rust and Marty sat in their respective spots, one eyeing you with slight shock and the other with something unreadable as per usual.

“Now just what happened to you, missy?” Marty started in on you as you tossed your stuff down. 

Eyeing the anticipated presence of the daisy mug on your desk, you reached for it to take a sip of your awaiting coffee only to grimace at the realization that it was well cold and stale by now. Price of being late. Before you could grumble out a response your other consequence in the form of Quesada barked out your name to order you into his office. 

You just couldn’t catch a damn break. 

Closing your eyes and exhaling slowly to steady your spiking nerves, you set the mug down harshly before turning on your heel and stalking over to the Major’s office. The door promptly slammed shut behind you both, leaving everyone on the floor frozen for only but a moment before they resumed their individual tasks.

Marty let out a low whistle, shaking his head before turning back to some files, “Guess we should head on out now. She ain’t going anywhere anytime soon.” 

Rust didn’t say a word as he sat fixated on you getting reprimanded to no end by your fuming superior. 

The dusky hues of oranges and violets had long since burned in the sky by the time you finished with the deskwork Quesada had relegated to you for being late as well as your snappish attitude aimed at him while he had lectured you. The most grating forty minutes of your life that you’d never have the luxury of getting back. Your spine ached from being hunched over for hours on end and your retinas stung from overused strain. The slow steps of Rust's shoes sounded on the linoleum floors of the department, causing you to glance up and notice that Marty wasn’t by his side. Your gaze flew to the clock to see that it was nearing 7:40, shit, it was time to get going.

You’d have to walk back if there weren’t any other buses in service. Fuck. 

“You done for the day?” Rust rasped out as he fiddled with a cigarette. 

“Just about. Have half the sense to wanna throw these all over Quesada’s office for him to have to organize his damn self but that won’t do me no good after today.” You leaned back to release a few cracks in your vertebrae. 

“Probably not, no.” He eyed your tired form.

“You guys find anything useful today?” You came back forward and got up to collect all your things. Mind busy with hoping and praying there’d still be a bus around this time. 

“Just a whole bout of nothin’. At least for right now that’s what it’s seeming like.” 

“Bummer. Sorry I got held up and couldn’t come with ya.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

A pause. Then,

“Your car ain’t out front.” His acute observation caused your shoulders to slump.

“Yeah. Part of the day's neverendin’ woes. Got into one hell of a fender bender.” 

“Reckon that was the causation of that nasty bruise. How’re you gettin’ home?” It came out more as a slight demand than a curious question, making your head snap towards him. Your face was starting to feel hot in embarrassment.

“I was just gonna see if there was a bus or somethin’. Seems Marty rushed on home otherwise I would've wrangled his ass for a ride. I might just have to walk I guess…I dunno.” You shrugged, feeling yourself shrink under his calculating gaze. 

“You ain’t walkin.” 

Rust grabbed his keys and waited for you to finish fixing up your desk. It took you a second too long to realize he was implying you’d be getting a ride from him. The thought of being with him in his truck alone had you feeling all sorts of funny. You’d never really spent time together one-on-one and you were terrified of acting like some bumbling fool in his presence without Marty there to break the ice. 

You wordlessly gathered up the rest of your things and made the move to follow him out of the building. The balmy air did nothing to ease the growing tension you felt in your body. You smiled at him shakily in gratitude as he opened the passenger door for you. Once you’d wobbled your way up into the truck he shut the door then rounded the vehicle to get in on his side. The rumble of the Ford’s engine was the only saving grace of the awkward silence that had settled between you both as he drove the somewhat lengthy distance to your house. 

“Thank you. For drivin’ me. You didn’t really have to.” Your unconfident tone broke the quiet. You cringed slightly at how you sounded. Most people didn’t have you as nervous as he did. Whether that be because of the sheer power he carried with him at all times or the sharpness of his personality you didn’t know.

“It wouldn’t necessarily be wise to have you out walkin’ in the dark for some odd amount of miles. I wouldn’t trust anyone around this wasteland to leave you be.” 

It did feel silly now thinking you’d be able to make it however many miles out by your lonesome. At night no less. You would’ve been a walking target and then some.

“What happened today? You don’t strike me as the…unorganized type.” Rust continued, gaze flitting over you in slight caution. If you had half the mind you’d be plenty self-conscious to be caught looking this unkempt around him. Your raging exhaustion just so happened to save you from the ridiculous notion as you rubbed your bleary eyes. 

“That storm last night had my power go out so my alarm clock was fucked this mornin’. Same is to be said for my dryer that didn’t finish its job with what was supposed to be all my work clothes for the week. Then the accident. Banged up my car pretty good so it’s gotta sit in the shop for God knows how long, they couldn’t give me an estimate. I took the bus then got shit spilled on me. The rest of the sad third act you saw yourself.” 

“Can’t say it wasn’t amusin’ seeing Geraci’s punk ass go bright as a tomato.” His chest vibrated with a dry chuckle and it had you feeling even warmer. 

“I ain’t ever liked him. Ass kissin’ piece of shit. Likes shittin’ on me every chance he gets just like most around there. I could’ve thrown somethin’ at Quesada’s thick ass skull with the way he spoke to me earlier.” You huffed,  

Rust shook his head slightly, “If it’s any consolation he don’t like me much either.” 

“For different reasons. You’re more…prickly- forgive me for sayin’. I bust my ass and I ain’t ever gonna be respected like I should.”

“In a place like this, can’t say that’s much of a promised future.” He didn’t seem to take offense to the ‘prickly’ comment. 

There was another pocket of silence before you sounded again.

“I’m gonna be honest, if it weren’t for your truck parked outside everday I wouldn’t think you were able to drive.” 

His responding look was that of slight incredulity but let you go on anyway, “I’m only sayin’ because anytime you, Marty, and I have to drive out somewhere you never really get behind the wheel. I was convinced you couldn’t operate a vehicle the first month or so in.” You snickered at the ridiculousness of the previous thoughts you'd conjured up involving the man next to you. It was far-fetched that one as serious and experienced as him just couldn’t drive. 

“Glad to see how little faith you had in my capabilities.”

“Nawww, it wasn’t like that, don't worry.” You grinned at him.

“It’s my synesthesia mostly. Why I don’t drive. Sometimes it’s too overwhelmin’ to where I don’t always trust myself behind the wheel.” He gave his explanation and you felt that familiar twinge in your chest you’d had been feeling in his presence over the passing weeks. You weren’t too familiar with his condition but from what he’d mentioned here and there it didn’t sound all that pleasant. 

“Makes sense. Seems scary to have from what you’ve said.” 

“You find yourself getting used to it after a while. I’ve built up the sense of knowing what’s really occurrin’ versus what ain’t.”  He sniffed, sounding nonchalant at the confession. It fascinated you just how we went about handling the cards he’d been dealt so far in life. If it were you in his shoes you were sure you would’ve gone AWOL by now. As you pulled up to your address, you felt the sting of disappointment that this had all swiftly found its end. It surprised you at how quickly time flew by during the car ride, realizing this was the most semi-lighthearted and continuous conversation that had ever flowed between you two. It wasn’t much of a chore to listen to him speak as Marty made it out to be. The difference could also be found in the fact you just regarded Rust in a different light than others happened to. 

The engine cut and the only sounds offered were that of the cicadas and frogs somewhere out in the lush foliage surrounding your house. 

You brushed some hair from out of your face and met his eyes again, “Thanks... again. I appreciate it a lot.”

He just nodded, “What time d’ya usually head out of here in the morning.”

You froze. Was he really offering up himself again? Completely and willingly? For you?

“You don’t have to! I’ll bug Marty about it or see if my sister can help me out-”

“What time?” The finality of it had you even more stunned. It was a disorienting sensation to think that Rust Cohle just might tolerate you more than he did most.

He more than just tolerated you but you didn’t need to know that just yet. 

“6:30ish. I can pay you for gas o-or-”

“Just be up and ready to go.” Was all he said and that was it on the matter. After a moment or two, you brought yourself out of your awe and collected your stuff. You opened the door to head out of the truck but not before turning to him and placing a hand on his forearm lightly, the first time you’ve ever acted on any affectionate inclinations in regards to him. He stiffened almost imperceptibly but didn’t jerk away. 

“I’m serious. Thank you.”

“Like I said, don’t worry about it.” Steel blue stayed focused on the windshield ahead. 

“That ain’t like me. Coffee or breakfast’s on me tomorrow. Whatever my savior wants he’ll get. It’s the least I could do. My poor legs and I can live to see another day thanks to the benevolent nature of Rustin Cohle-” You were cut off by the scoff of your partner, inciting a small fit of laughter from yourself. 

“Sorry, can't keep things too serious. You could use that every once in a while, y’know.” You patted his shoulder before hopping out.

His sights were then set on you as you shut the door and you let yourself bathe in the feeling of it for just a hair longer than you should’ve. Yeah, you were beyond flustered from the day’s events. Hair in a severe state of frizz, bruise having bloomed a bit further along your browbone, and clothes in a state of mess he’d never seen on you before. But it just made you all the more endearing. Especially with that ever-blooming smile of yours. It was becoming more evident that there was little you could do that would have Rust judging or turning you away. He didn’t know what to make of it but he's sure now that he’s offered up himself as your chauffeur for the time being he had to settle with the fate that things wouldn’t be getting any easier for his withered soul. 

“I’ll be seeing you tomorrow mornin’.” 

“That you will.”

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

“G’night, Rust.” 

The turn of the engine had the spell you’d been enraptured in dissipating and you stepped away from the truck. He lifted a palm signalling his departure before making his way back down the road and out of sight. A heavy exhale escaped the tightening prison of your chest as your mind swam at the whole interaction. Every little detail about him had you becoming increasingly attached much to your distaste. A cold shower and ridding the smell of his addictive cologne from your memory sounded like more than a good idea right about now. Anything to run these thoughts of your very emotionally unavailable coworker out of the recesses of your brain. 

This was going to be a lot of work. 

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Clothes make the man

AN: There is no plot here. This is just porn. I have nothing to say for myself other than this is Kai's (@lovelyhan ) fault, and this outfit has haunted me for three years now. I had to get this out of my system. I resisted with the Daddy kink this time around but, this is still me largely pushing my 'Joshua is kinkier than I feel like people give him credit for' agenda so. Now I'll disappear in shame and embarrassment *finger guns.*

Synopsis: You don't expect to feel so strongly about one of Joshua's stage outfits.

Heads up: Joshua Hong x Fem! Reader, established relationship, Dom! Joshua, Sub! Reader, mentions of previous thigh riding, Reader mentions boot humping in passing once, scent kink if you squint, hand and arm kink of sorts (Reader is really into Josh's hands and arms), praise (f. receiving), pet names, Reader has an oral fixation, Reader sucks on Josh's fingers, hints of a size kink, dirty talk, mirror sex, nipple play (f. receiving), degradation (f. receiving), risky sex/public sex (they fuck in Josh's dressing room and are vaguely worried about being caught), vaginal fingering (f. receiving), mostly clothed sex, me pushing my big dick! Josh agenda, unprotected piv sex, Reader sucks on Josh's fingers post fingering, it's insinuated that Reader is a masochist, rough sex, dacryphilia kink, creampie and Reader being plugged afterwards.

Word count: 3499

I will block you if you are a minor and have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

The cool air from the air conditioner prompts you to tug your cardigan closer to you as you continue to catch up on your scrolling for the day while you wait for Joshua. He texted you that he'd likely be finished with his group shoot for the day in the next half an hour or so and, that you could just wait in his dressing room before the two of you head home.

He finds you completely engrossed with your phone when he does eventually finish up for the day. His lips ticking up in amusement since you still haven't registered his presence.

"Is what's on your phone really more important than your precious boyfriend? I'm hurt," he says with a faux pout to catch your attention. Leaning against his dressing room door.

You pointedly choose to ignore his chuckle when his voice quite literally causes you to jump in your seat. You turn to face him sheepishly, "Hi, Josh. I'm sorry I didn't realise-"

The words die on your tongue in an instant when you take in what he's wearing.

His shirt accentuates his shoulders in a way that is wholly unnecessary. Worse still, his arms are on full display for you to drink in. Muscles flexing and veins visible while he stands there with his arms crossed. And god, his pants. They all but force your eyes to focus on how they flatter his thighs, and you're suddenly hit with a barrage of memories. Memories of Josh flexing them underneath you while you hump them in an attempt to cum. An amused gleam in his eyes as he watched you because you both knew you'd never cum the way you wanted to.

Is it horrible to admit that even his boots are so attractive? In the very deep, private parts of your mind, you think he'd like the idea of watching you grind against them to get off. Maybe if you ever find the courage, you'll ask him.

"Are you okay?"

You're broken out of your thoughts by Joshua's concerned voice. Blinking, you focus back on him only to find his handsome face twinged with confusion and worry. The way his inky hair sticks to said handsome face isn't helping your conundrum, but you do feel guilty for worrying him when you're spiralling over him in one of his stage outfits.

"Yeah, I am. Sorry, I just got a little in my head there."

"In your head? About what?" Dread coils in your gut at the question. You're determined to look anywhere but, directly at him. Fiddling with your phone in your hands while your mind races to think of a half decent answer.

"Um- just school. You know, this semester's been pretty busy. Plus, I have a few assignments due in the next month, so I've been trying to figure out how to schedule my calendar around them. Then it'll be the holiday, but you know never too soon to start preparing -" You're rambling. You know you are, and so does Josh, but the words continue to tumble out of you.

"You're a terrible liar," he interrupts, and you can hear the smirk in his voice clear as day. To your absolute horror, he's moving closer to you until he's intimately in your personal space. Oh, this is worse. So, so much worse. Because his scent invades your senses too and, embarrassment warms your face when it dawns on you that you're wet.

His large, warm hand cups your jaw and gently nudges your face up until you meet his intense gaze. His thumb strokes your cheek gently when and, you so badly want it in your mouth instead, but your mouth feels as though it's been stapled shut.

Dread, anticipation and desire form a lethal concoction in your veins when Josh's face shifts from concern and confusion to understanding. The corners of his plump lips lifting up in way that muddles your mind further and causes more of your wetness to trickle onto your panties.

"Oh, I get it now," he rumbles with a laugh that's far too amused, "If you wanted me, you could've just said so." You suddenly find his face mere centimetres from your own with hold on your face keeping you from shying away. Even after being with him for all this time, you still find it difficult to meet his gaze head on occasionally. Maybe you're afraid he'll see just how truly far gone you are for him. Maybe his eyes will finally devour you whole and, you don't know if you'd ever be able to come back from that.

"Where'd you go? Come back to me," he coaxes gently, his face softening momentarily while his thumb drags along your bottom lip. Blinking up at him you finally find your voice again and the words rush out of you, "I'm here. I-I want it. Want you."

Kissing Josh is perhaps one of your favourite activities to partake in with him. His lips are so soft and, even as his tongue teases its way into his mouth, he takes his time. Determined to rile you up just with his mouth and his firm grasp on your face. Your hands reach up for him, feeling like you'll be driven to madness if you don't touch him somehow, somewhere, anywhere. Your hands find purchase on his massive biceps. Hisses pressed against your lips when your nails bite into his skin.

A whine leaves you before you can stop it when he pulls away from you, looking down at you through dark bangs and lidded eyes. "Can we go home?" You ask, your panties starting to cling to you uncomfortably just from this godforsaken outfit and some kissing. You're not sure how much longer can take not having him.

"What's got you so riled up?" He asks instead, genuine curiosity colouring his tone. You elect not to give him a direct response, "Can't I just think my boyfriend is hot?"

"Oh, you absolutely can and, while I'm flattered, we both know me being just hot doesn't get you nearly this worked up," he retorts, leaning down once more to lightly kiss along your neck. His hands shoving your cardigan from your shoulders until it pools around you. You bite back the whimpers that so desperately want to fall from you with every brush of Joshua's lips against your sensitive skin. Your thighs rubbing together in search of any semblance of relief.

"Come on, be a good girl and tell me," he mutters, one of his large hands dragging down your body until it rests a little too high on your upper thigh. "Or do you want me to get it out of you another way?"

"Your outfit," you blurt out immediately, you know Josh's mind is always coming up with frighteningly inventive ways to punish you and, you don't think you could handle that today. Not with how you're barely keeping it together as it is, "You- You look good. Really, really good."

That makes him take pause, "Really? That's it?" He doesn't sound judgemental or as though you just told him the most idiotic thing the world. Just... genuinely surprised.

"Yes," you whine, "Now can we go home please?"

You nearly choke on your spit when he resumes his assault on your poor throat, and his hand finds itself between your thighs, automatically spreading for him because of course they do. Something guttural and from the depths of his chest hit your ear when his fingers brush against your slick panties. Prompting your hips to chase the friction, tightening your hold on him as well.

"Fuck. Fuck, you weren't kidding," he breathes as though you've completely knocked the wind from him. However, he's gone from your body in instant, "Shua, where are you-"

Your question is answered when you see him lock the door only to stock back over to you, his erection testing the durability of these pants and somehow making them look more appealing. Saliva pooling in your mouth while your walls clamp down borderline painfully around nothing.

"My poor baby. I don't think you'll last until we get home," he says, his thumb dragging along your bottom lip. His eyes darken further when he eases it into your mouth, and you suck immediately. Just happy to have anything occupying your mouth.

"I'll just take care of you here. Up," he commands, stepping away from you to give you space to rise to your feet. You blink up at him but when you're only met with an eyebrow raise, you stand up immediately. Letting your cardigan, phone and bag rest on the chair as your boyfriend looms over you. The intent in his eyes more than enough to quicken your heartrate and stiffen your nipples under your casual dress.

"So you do know how to listen," is all the warning you receive before you're all but, shoved against his vanity. One of his hands fondling your breast over your dress while the other drags you by the hip until there's no space between the two of you. His erection burns against your stomach even through the layers of your clothing. Just as heavy with intent.

You moan into his mouth with every brush and squeeze of his hand over your breast, electricity shooting straight down your spine to your clit with every one of his touches but, it's not enough. You want to feel him.

Before you can comprehend what's happening, Joshua has always had a knack for being six steps ahead of you, you find yourself facing your reflection in his mirror. You already look like a mess. Eyes glazed and a little watery with your lips bruised from how thoroughly he's been kissing you. The straps of your dress barely cling to your shoulders, and your breasts jiggle with every heaving breath you take.

A gasp flies from your lips and you hold onto his vanity when Josh presses himself, more specifically his erection, against you once more. You think you may lose your mind if he doesn't just fuck you. You're sure you're more than wet enough to take him by now. You're not quite sure whether you want him to keep his clothes mostly on or, touch his soft skin.

"You're distracted again," he tuts against your shoulder before pressing featherlight kisses to all of the skin he can reach there. A stark contrast to the way his hands roughly tug down the straps of your dress, your breasts free and goosebumps rising when they're met with the cool air of his dressing room.

He meets your gaze in the mirror as he touches them once again. A choked whimper gracing his ears when he barely drags the tips of his fingers over your nipples, "Maybe I'm doing a bad job keeping your attention," he pouts but, that look is in his eyes. Your knees nearly buckle when he tugs on them more harshly this time, soothing them with gentle rubs that make you feel dizzy.

"Is this why you didn't wear a bra today?" The drop of a few octaves in his voice significantly worsen how empty you are in this very moment, "So I'd touch and play with your tits?"

"What a slut you are."

His words coupled with his stupid, stupid, skillfull hands force a drawn out mewl from your throat. Your foggy mind desperately trying to find any words to respond to him.

"Josh- Shua, no I- I didn't think I'd take long to pick y-you up. So, I didn't wear one," you whimper in response after a particularly harsh tug. He puts on a show of humming in thought as though he's not still pinching and toying with your nipples, tears building in your eyes with ever minute he's not inside of you.

"I don't know," he drawls, the air in your lungs stopping as one of his hands snakes its way down your dress until it reaches the apex of your thighs, "Something tells me you didn't wear one so I'd just have to bend you over and fuck you."

If everyone could only see their sweet Joshua now. Spilling filth against your skin while his hand assesses how wet you are and his hips shallowly grind against the swell of your ass for a bit of friction. They'd likely have an aneurism.

A moan far louder than you intended bounces off the walls of his dressing room when his fingers find your clit over your ruined panties. His eyes shutting briefly as if to collect himself before he continues drawing steady circles. You've never been more grateful for the table in front of you because you're sure you would've collapsed into a heap on the floor if you didn't have it to support you.

"Not too loud," he mutters into your skin with a self-satisfied glint in his eyes. His hand slipping into your panties to touch you a directly, his throaty groan combining with the moan that you couldn't quite bite back in time when as his fingers tease your wet folds. Your eyes screwing shut as they shallowly dip in and out of your neglected hole.

His hands still, and that prompts you to open your eyes, confused as to what made him stop. "None of that. I want you to see. I want you to watch," he says, his reflection holding your gaze once more. His other hand drifting to hold your jaw in place. Not too harshly but, with enough pressure that you know better than to move.

Whether as a reward or because he simply wants to, eventually sinks a thick finger into you. The stretch prompts a jumbled mess of gasps and whimpers from your chest. Your eyes barely remaining open with the relief of finally having something inside of you.

"There you go," he groans against your neck, his teeth ghosting over your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake, "That's my baby."

The angle is a little awkward but, your hips chase the curls of his finger regardless. The need to shove down all of your noises of pleasure becoming increasingly challenge with every exploitation of your weaknesses Josh uses against you.

You don't receive much of a warning this time when he eases a second finger into you, this time the stretch is a little more than you can handle, "J-Josh," you choke out, your wetness dripping down his palm.

"My slutty girl you're doing so good," he coos, kissing the back of your neck while he grinds his erection against your ass, "Taking my fingers so well. Can't wait to feel you on my cock."

That causes a more visceral reaction from you. Your walls clamping down on his long fingers as one of your hands grabs his forearm, "Please. Pl-Please. Shua please. I-I want it please," you couldn't feel embarrassed if you tried. Joshua tended to have that effect on you.

He rests his head against your shoulder briefly, "Gimme a second," he says, the dip of his voice sending shudders down your spine. You cringe a little when he pulls his fingers out of you, your wetness coating them generously. You watch him unbutton and unzip his pants with baited breath, "Can you- can you keep your clothes on?"

Joshua meets your gaze with his eyebrows raised before that knowing look returns to his face. He laugh would sound beautiful if you his cock wasn't minutes from being inside of you and you weren't dripping onto his dressing room floor, "Sure."

Your gratitude comes out as a strangled whimper when the fat head of his cock prods at your slick entrance, "I don't know if I should be offended that you're this wet because of some clothes and fingering," he mutters. You couldn't respond to him even if you tried. Your mind just occupied with the idea of finally being filled by him.

"Cock drunk already huh?" He muses, meeting your gaze briefly before glancing down to watch himself split you open. His quiet moans being drowned out by your much, much more vocal ones. You're not sure you'll ever quite grow accustomed to his first thrust. Especially given the rush and your impatience, his slow push into you stings a little bit more more than usual but, the pain only fuels your arousal.

"Fuck," he groans and you're inclined to agree with his sentiment, "Always so wet and tight for me." If you could find the words you'd tell him the reason you're so tight is because of how big he is but, you're too preoccupied with trying to remain standing.

He's nestled so deeply inside of you when he finally bottoms out. His hips flush against yours and his tip kissing your cervix, quieter whimpers leave you with every throb and pulse of him inside of you. "Open," he grits into your ear, his fingers still slick with your wetness resting on your bottom lip. You open your mouth without much of a second thought, the slightly salty taste of your wetness flooding your taste buds and you realise very quickly why Joshua shoved his fingers into your mouth.

He pulls back only to thrust back into you without much mercy, your moans fortunately being muffled by his fingers. His heavy, lidded gaze takes in the way your drool around him, some of it dribbling past your lips while he continues to fuck into harshly and quickly. He's not sure how much time he has left before someone comes knocking so, he'd rather make this quick. He can take his time with you when you're at home.

You gag around his fingers slightly when he angles his thrusts marginally, smirking when he hits that spot inside of you that causes you grip him like a vice and nearly go limp in his arms. Joshua supports you through it all. Hitting that spot over and over again until overwhelmed tears trickle down your face and you're sure you could cum from this alone and, his muffled groans and grunts with every unforgiving intrusion.

"You know what your tears do to me, baby," he moans hoarsely, his thrusts stuttering slightly when he drinks in the combination of tears and spit smeared on your gorgeous face. All you can do is nod hurriedly. Telling him without telling him that you want it. You want him to cum.

"My precious cumslut of a girlfriend," he laughs breathlessly and without much humour, his pace picking up considerably and the sounds of your wetness and his heavy balls slapping against you ringing out obscenely throughout the room. "Always so greedy for my cum," he moans against your shoulder, his other hand hurriedly reaching between your thighs to rub frantic circles against your neglected clit.

Now you really are happy he had the foresight to make you gag on his fingers. You're not sure you could've silenced yourself even if you tried your utmost. The symphony of your choked noises of pleasure and Joshua's muffled ones join the increasing noises echoing throughout the room. Your walls tighten around him viciously, your toes tingling and even more tears springing forth from your eyes.

Josh cums first. A throaty groan of your name and a few curse words your only warning before you feel him pulse inside of you. Ropes and ropes of his warm cum flooding your awaiting pussy, his hips jerking into you sporadically and his hold on you almost bruising. His attempts to keep rubbing your clit proved fruitful because it doesn't take you long to tumble over the proverbial edge along with him. It takes a significant amount of conscious effort not to bite down on his fingers as your orgasm rocks your system. Josh moaning again as your walls spasm and clamp around his softening cock.

Once you'd ridden out the more intense parts of your climax, Josh removes his fingers from your mouth. Your shared, laboured breathing the only sounds that could be heard.

"If I knew you'd react like this to my outfit, I would have worn it sooner," he says with a chuckle that sounds far too full of himself. Not that he doesn't have a right to be but still. "You just look really good okay, god," you mutter once your voice finds you again. Cringing both from the scratchy quality of your voice and, Joshua slowly pulling out of you. Quickly putting your panties back in place. A surprised gasp flying from your lips when he pushes the fabric into you with two of his long fingers.

"Wouldn't want you to waste it," he says, his eyes heavy with want once again when they they find yours, "After all you worked so hard being my little cumslut. Who knows, maybe if you manage to not leak a drop I'll fill you up again."

You resent the way your body shudders but, you nod all the same, "I won't spill a drop, Shua."

Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Do not repost, edit, copy and/or translate my work. I do not give you my permission to do so, nor will you ever receive it.

[mustainegf]

hiii can we do a kirk story but they have kids and yk just a cute story (this is so random 😭sorry if it doesn’t make sense! i love ur stories with a passion!)

AWWWWW YOUNGER KIRK WITH KIDS IS SO CUTTTTEEEEE

𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖-𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 ¹⁹⁹³

The first snowflakes began to fall well before dawn, dusting our yard with a blanket of white. I wakened to the sound of giggles and whispers from our bedroom doorway. I blinked the sleep from my eyes to find Nicola and Flynn already dressed in their pajamas, all wrapped up warm, staring out the window with wide eyes.

"Mommy, Daddy, it's snowing!" Nicola, out 6 year olds, voice trembled pure excitement. Her dark curls, which she inherited from her father, bounced as she swung to face us.

Flynn, our 2 year old, was less verbal but equally excited and jabbed his chubby finger at the window, saying, "No! No!" His adorable attempt at saying “snow”

Kirk, my fiancé, stretched beside me, his lips curling into a smile. "Looks like it's time to build a snowman, huh?" he said, his voice still thick with sleep. He reached out to tousle Nicola's hair, earning a delighted squeal from our daughter.

It took the next half hour to get everyone dressed. Nicola insisted on wearing her favorite pink mittens, the ones with little kittens on them, and Flynn wiggled in his snow boots, more interested in the fuzzy lining than the actual snow outside.

Kirk and I wrapped scarves and hats around both of them, making sure they were warm enough.

The whole world outside in a winter wonderland. The snow was thick, powdery, all perfect for making snowballs and building a decent snowman.

Nicola ran ahead, her boots leaving behind small prints in the fresh snow. Flynn toddled behind her, his balance still not quite steady, but his overruling.

Kirk and I locked eyes, and in that one glance, we felt every ounce of love for our little humans.

Nicola took charge immediately, the leader in her coming to the fore. "Daddy, we need a big ball for the bottom," she ordered, already rolling a large snowball across the yard. Kirk giggled and followed her, helping her shape the snowball until it was nearly as tall as she was.

Flynn sat engrossed in his own project, taking handfuls of snow and letting them fall apart in his mittened hands. His giggles were contagious, and soon I was kneeling beside him and showing him how to pack the snow into a firmer ball.

"Mommy, look! Flynn's making a baby snowman," Nicola called out, eyes sparkling with pride for her little brother. Kirk hoisted Flynn onto his shoulders so he could have a better view of what we were working on.

"Alright, let's get this middle part on," Kirk said, lifting the second snowball onto the first. Nicola and I began packing the snow around it, making sure it was secure, like the snowman professional she was.

Flynn, still on Kirk's shoulders, leaned over to pat it with his mittens, adding his own unique finishing touches.

It was now time for the head. Nicola insisted on doing this part herself, though Kirk got to help a little. They heaved the smallest snowball carefully into place, and our snowman was complete.

Nicola clapped her hands delightedly as the cold flushed her cheeks red.

"We need a face!" she said. I had sort of been expecting that one and had a sack of things ready. Nicola and Flynn watched with rounded eyes as I pulled out a carrot for the nose, some stones for the eyes, and an old scarf that kirk used to wear. Kirk pulled Flynn down, and our little boy toddled over to hand me the carrot.

"Here, Momma," he said, in his voice high pitched adorable voice. I kneeled down on my haunches to his level and took the carrot from him, giving him a big squeeze.

"Thank you, sweetheart," I said and bent down to kiss his cold little nose. Flynn and I set the carrot into the middle of the snowman's face, his tiny hand resting over mine. Kirk and Nicola added the stones, and our snowman was soon sporting a friendly, if somewhat lopsided, grin.

Kirk leaned over, gently grabbing the carrot nose and snapping off the small end. “Daddy! What are you doing!” Nicola whined, her eyes wide as saucers.

Kirk giggled, quick to calm her. “Just wait, you’ll see.” He then split that piece in two before carefully plunging the tiny carrot pieces into the snowman’s mouth, giving him faux carrot fangs.

“Now he’s a monster snowman!” Kirk marvelled, looking back at Nicola for her reaction. She jumped up and down, her face exploding into a smile.

“Snow monster!” She squealed.

The rest of the morning we spent playing in the snow. Nicola and Kirk were having a ball with a snow fight, snow exploding in the cool air with Nicola bursting into fits of laughter every time she managed to get one on target. She even managed to aim straight for his face, leaving Kirk with his mouth agape and face full of snow.

Flynn and I made snow angels. His little arms and legs were flailing in the snow, trying to mimic mine.

Everyone by then was both cold and tired once we had gone inside. We took Nicola and Flynn out of their wet clothes and wrapped them into warm blankets to snuggle up with on the couch. Kirk made hot chocolate, complete with marshmallows, the little ones, which were the kids’ favourite.

Nicola climbed onto Kirk's lap and snuggled close in to him, his arms wrapped around her. Flynn sat between us, his head resting on my shoulder.

"Can we do this tomorrow?" Nicola looked up at Kirk hopefully. He smiled down at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Of course. As many times as you want," he promised.

Flynn, half asleep already, grunted his agreement. "No-man," he whispered, his eyes fluttering shut.

[arcane-apathy]

Chapter 11

Prologue | Previous | Next

AN: Firstly I'd like to apologize for teasing y'all in April. However family and my mental health always come first. Turns out that planning a funeral, attending said funeral, and grieving one of the most influential people in your life sucks. Again thank you all for your patience and support. And I hope you'll enjoy it! 🌻

Warning(s): Self Mutilation, Blood Ritual

  The morning came too quickly. For once you weren’t the first awake, as Kurakh shook your shoulder. “Come on Odmili, it's morning.” You groan in protest but still sit up, knowing well enough you asked for it. The fire was barely lit, meaning Kurakh mustn't have been awake long. As if he read your mind, “I still have the sand in my eyes.” 

  “Would you like me to tend to the fire?” 

  “If you feel so inclined,” he yawns while slowly standing up. You follow behind him, quickly slipping on your boots to protect your feet from the cold stone floor. Fabric rustles behind you as you feed a new log to the fire. The flames were now high and illuminating the small room well. You quickly glance over your shoulder to make sure Kurakh was decent enough for you to tolerate. With a sigh of relief, you turn around. "I don't know how you can function in this cold." 

  "Years of training," you chuckle while pulling your stay over your shoulders. You didn't even bother to look while you re-laced the front, muscle memory taking over. "Besides, this isn't the worst of it. Wait until the snow is above your knees." 

  "Only when you say things like that, I regret coming north," he sighs and slips on a furred vest over his tunic. 

  “I doubt that is true,” eyes rolling at his antics. 

  “I speak this truth. I have yet to lose a warrior, Moltschab’s horde is too scared to travel this far north, I have gained allies… And I met you.” 

You pause in the middle of tying the final knot, fighting to ignore the fluttering of your heart, "that is the most saccharine thing I've ever heard you say." Surprisingly you were met with silence, making you pivot on your heel. Kurakh's confusion was written all over his face. Again the fact that the two of you come from completely different worlds dawned on you. "Saccharine means something is very sweet," you explain while stepping into your habit.

  "Oh, I couldn't tell if it was good or bad," he chuckles a little and stands. Retrieving his cloak from a hook on the wall. "If Mazna asks, please tell him I'm out hunting." 

  "Of course, he should still be asleep, right?" 

  "Yes, and hopefully for a few more hours. For Roldza's sake." 

  "Indeed, bless that woman," you smile and begin to re-lace the habit. "Should I assume it shouldn't take long, considering our numbers have grown?" Your smile quickly disappears as a knot forms in the laces. 

"Correct," he smirks and approaches you. He gently moves your hair aside, breath fanning across your neck. "You said our numbers."

  "Yes, and," you counter while a blush starts to make its way up your neck.

"You're no longer considering yourself an outsider," he carefully takes the laces and undoes the knot. His fingers gently graze along your back as he finishes lacing the habit for you. "That is good." 

  "Oh... And you don't have to do this for me. I can lace this thing in my sleep."

  "I know," his voice didn't give room to argue.

  "Then why are you insisting on doing it?"

  "Why must you be suspicious of everything I do?"

  "Well, we didn't start on the right foot."

  "Fair point," he lightly tugs on the laces to signal he's finished. "Would you like me to tuck the laces?" You only nod, trying not to tense up as he tucks the laces into the habit. Kurakh's hand finds its way to your hair and moves it back to how it normally lays. "There. Save for that blasted headcover you look like a proper Maid of Eia." 

  It felt like you could finally breathe as you stepped away from him, "I'm also missing the pin... But that's the last of my worries right now." 

  "I'll be fine." 

You smack him in the chest playfully, "and what made you so sure I was talking about you? I'm more concerned about Schelura cutting my hair!" 

"Right," he smirks, "don't worry, you'll be in good hands. Schelura's family has been hairdressing for generations." 

  "I thought she was a beadmaster?" 

  "Most beadmasters are also hairdressers. The work goes hand-in-hand." He hovers in the middle of the room, contemplation written all over his face. "I suppose I should go to the main hall." 

  "I believe so, Otoschlibt. I'll be right behind you, I just need to fix my stockings." He nods and slowly walks to the door. Taking a deep breath before he opens it, bracing for the cold air of the hallway. "The faster you do it the sooner it'll be over with," you tease. With a quiet laugh, he opens the door and enters the hallway. You watch as he goes, kindly closing the door behind him so you can have more time to savor the warmth. 

  It didn't take long for you to deem yourself fully dressed. With your cloak fastened you step into the hall. The cool air hitting your face, properly waking you up. The halls were lowly lit with glimmerstone, and eerily silent. As you stepped into the main hall it almost felt like a different world. Warriors bustle about as they prepare. The sound of blades on whetstones surrounded you as you made your way to the center of the room. Kurakh and the commanders surround a table covered by a makeshift map.   

  Eteos seemed to be the mastermind of the attack, effortlessly explaining as he pointed to the map. No one seemed to pay attention as you sidled up to Kurakh. “We will attack from all sides. Dogar and I will lead the larger group attacking from the south. Kalos will lead the western group and Aren will lead the eastern. Kurah and Galta will lead the northern group to capture the lieutenant and the maid.” 

  I lean in closer to Kurakh, trying to keep quiet, “the maid I understand, but the Lieutenant? Have you gone mad?” 

  “We need leverage, and Eteos says the winter will work in our favor by slowing rescue efforts.” 

  “It could also lead to our slaughter.” 

  “The council has already voted,” the finality of his tone kept your mouth shut. You could see a hint of doubt in his eye as he refocused. His fingers tapped on the table absentmindedly. Usually, Kurakh was able to keep still, but within the last week, you’ve caught him fidgeting more than usual. Hopefully, it was only his secret project he was worried about. 

  “Alright everyone, ready your weapons. We must leave before dawn,” Eteos calls to the crowd. Kurakh gently moves you away from the table as he also leaves. 

  “I'm unsure what we should do for the new Maid, should she stay with us?” 

  “I don't see why not, but it depends on who she is. It's usually the newly ordained Maids that get drafted.” 

  “Except you?” 

  “There might be some marks on my record.” 

  Kurakh laughs, “So I'm not the only one who's dealt with your attitude?” 

  “The Elders didn't appreciate the fire in my eyes like you have,” you scoff as you follow him outside. The wargs were already lined up waiting for their riders. Sukkori wags her tail at the sight of you and Kurakh. “With all seriousness, please try to be gentle with this Maid. She is likely not even twenty years old.” 

  “I'll make sure of it,” Kurakh mounts Sukkori swiftly. “I’ll task Galta with her care. She’s the gentlest option.” 

  “Gentle is not a word I would use to describe Galta, but it is the better option.” 

  Galta scoffs from a few steps away, “I heard that!” Even with the lack of sunlight, you could make out the warpaint on both of their faces. The dark red paint dripped from their foreheads and onto their cheeks. While the design was simple it got the point across.

  “You’re lucky we don’t have any more to say Galta,” Kurakh laughs before returning his attention to you. “We’ll be careful.” The rest of the warriors make their way towards the gate around the two of you. “I must go.” 

  You grab his hand, causing Kurakh's breath to catch in his throat, “come back in one piece.” 

  He brings the back of your hand to his lips, “I promise.” He gently squeezes your hand before joining the group as they speed past the gate. Save for the guard closing the gate you stood alone in the yard. And you stood there until you could no longer hear the centaur’s hooves hitting the frosty ground. Once you made yourself go back inside you began to mentally scold yourself over your lovesick antics.   With your mind so distracted you didn’t notice someone walk into the main hall behind you as you set up your triage. 

  “Didn’t want to go back to sleep I see,” a soft voice startles you from your work. When you looked up there was an Elven woman merely a foot away. Of course, you didn’t hear her coming. 

  “There was no point, I would’ve just laid awake with worry.” 

  “I’m the same way when my brother goes out on those missions. I’m Artenna,” she extends her hand. You first noticed the delicate and glowing tattoos that littered her pale hands. It was difficult to pull your eyes away from the faint pink light as you shook her hand. “Sorry, I probably should have given you a warning.” 

  “You’re a hypnotist?” 

  “Yes, I promise I’m not as scary as the King makes us sound.” 

  “It’s not that, I’ve never met a hypnotist before. It’s a niche field of magic, even before the decree.” 

  Artenna shrugs, “it depends on where you are. My mother also said it used to be more common when she was a child. Can I help you with anything?” 

  You glance around to see if there is anything left to do, “not at the moment. I already sped through everything I could do. Unless you wouldn't mind keeping me company until they return?” 

  “It would be my pleasure,” she smiles and sits on a bench across from you. Thankfully Artenna proved to be pleasant company as you exchanged stories, jokes, and camp gossip. After some time passes you both venture outside. The sun was finally over the horizon, signaling for you to continue preparations, and for the rest of the camp to rise. Artenna helps you break the ice and carry water from the well. The luxury will only last a few more weeks until the ice is too thick to break. Then the camp will have to rely on melting snow. 

  With the last bucket you were willing to carry in hand, the sound of hooves began to echo through the valley. It was urging you to hurry back into the main hall. Setting the bucket beside your tools, hoping no one else will try to use it. As much as you didn’t want to be scolded by Schelura, you quickly shove your hair into your linen cap. Infections are always worse to treat in the winter. 

  You didn’t know what you expected when the warriors returned, but it wasn’t the Lieutenant being carried in by Kurakh. “What happened?” Kurakh quickly sets him on a table before you. 

  “He poisoned himself, and we don’t know what he used,” Kurakh grumbles. Galta quickly approaches beside you, with a vaguely familiar shadow cloaked in blue. “Their Maid also doesn’t know what he could’ve taken. The officers are cowar-” 

  “It’s new, all high-ranking officers are supposed to take it if they get captured,” a meager voice interrupts. 

  “What is your name,” you glance at her as you roll up your sleeves. Her fair skin was red from the wind and her deep blue eyes were wide in shock. 

  “Yulla.” 

  “Cut off his armor and enough of his shirt so I can access his neck,” you reach for your satchel with determination. “Kurakh we’re going to need charcoal, and more wood added to the main fire.” He thankfully didn’t question you and made haste. It didn’t take you long to find your most treasured tools. A tiny iridescent blade that was easily the size of your hand, and almost as thin as your fingers. And a cast iron press of Eia’s true sigil.  You carefully set it on the table before searching for other ingredients and bandages. 

  Yulla sees it and immediately stops in her tracks, “is that a Kisarvuhevstabler?” 

  “Yes, is he ready,” you didn’t even look up as Kurakh returned with a small bowl of charcoal. Muscle memory takes over as you begin to mix your ingredients in a brass bowl decorated with ancient runes. Before Kurakh gets comfy you push the cast iron press towards him, “this goes in the fire. Long handle facing out obviously.” 

  Before Kurakh could take it, Yulla attempted to smack his hand away, “Elder, are you insane?” 

  “I beg your pardon?” 

  “Blood magic is forbidden!” 

  You couldn’t help but laugh, “it’s only been forbidden for the past six years. While Maids of Eia have used this magic for centuries. I’m not throwing centuries of tradition down the drain, simply because our King gets nauseous at the thought of it. Now you are going to watch and learn a technique that can no longer be taught in the temples, or Commander Galta can find you something else to do. He doesn't have much time left.” Yulla doesn’t respond or leave, conflict written all over her face. You spare a glance at Galta who looked as equally concerned as Yulla. “Galta we’re going to need a bucket that we’re not afraid to get dirty.” 

  When Galta steps away from the table, Yanna takes the opportunity to stand beside you. You place the bowl on the table, “the potion is made with crushed unicorn horn, charcoal, and stinging nettle. I’ll tell you the exact amounts later.” With a deep breath, you pick up the blade and remove it from its sheath. “It doesn't have to be a Kisarvuhevstabler for the spell to work. They are more a sign of status, to show you know the magic.” 

  You take a second to examine the disheveled Lieutenant laid before you. His skin was paling, a mysterious gray forming around the mouth. And his veins looked as if his blood turned black. His breathing was ragged, but strong enough to tell he was alive.  It appeared as if he wasn’t able to finish the full dose of the poison considering he survived the journey from the battlefield. By now a crowd has formed around the table, and you try your best to ignore them. The sound of an empty bucket hitting the floor signaled it was time to begin. 

  With the iridescent blade in your right hand, you turn to Yulla, “I will need you to turn him towards me when I give him the potion. But first, the bucket should be closer to where he will vomit when he is turned.” 

  “Understood,” she quickly moves the bucket before getting into position. You take a second to scan the crowd, surprisingly unable to find Kurakh anywhere. With a deep breath, you move the blade closer to your left wrist. 

   The blade pierces your skin, immediately stinging. In the ancient tongue, you pray, “Noble Eia, hear my prayer as I spill my blood as a testament of my conviction to thy doctrine.”  As you drag the blade up your arm diagonally, blood pools atop your skin. As soon as the first drop hits the bowl the runes carved inside begin to glow. “Hear my prayer so I may rid this soul's vessel of poison. Hear my prayer so I may heal in thy name.” The pain finally catches up to you, causing the blade to fall on the table. 

  You steady yourself by leaning on the table, “hear my prayer so this blood is not wasted.” You force yourself to push through the pain, picking up the blade and using it to stir your blood and the ingredients together. The room was silent around you, and every eye was focused on you. You gently lift the bowl to the Lieutenant’s lips, coaxing him to swallow the potion. Once the bowl was empty Yulla tilted him towards you. Luckily for him, it didn’t take long for the potion to work. 

  The visible darkness in his veins crept up his chest and into his neck as the spell expelled the poison from his body. It was almost like tiny black snakes were writhing in his veins. At this point, you knew he would be saved, and now it was time to save yourself. Weakly you raise your left arm, keeping your wound above your heart, and turn towards the main firepit. The crowd quickly parts for you as you step away from the table. No one said a word to you, mostly staring at you in disbelief. With the silence, it was easy to hear the Lieutenant retch the poison into the bucket. 

  It was a struggle to move your body through the pain and blood loss. But you've done this before. As you neared the fire it felt like the world around you was spinning. Within the blink of an eye, you were on the floor. Crawling instead of walking to the fire. Many voices were shouting your name. But nothing could shake you from this trance.  And none of them could save you from this, there was only one with that power. And you couldn’t help but mutter apologies in the ancient tongue, hoping for a sliver of mercy. 

  The world around you was slipping away, and all you could see was the hot iron in the coals. It felt like someone was kneeling beside you, trying to talk to you but there wasn’t much time to listen. You grab the handle of the hot iron, determined to prove yourself. With no hesitation, you laid the flat end decorated with sigils and runes onto your wound. The scream that escaped you would be considered unholy by some, but to the clergy, it was one of obedience and understanding. The pain was blinding, no matter how many times you've done it. Perhaps that was the point. The iron was lifted from your arm, most likely not by you. And despite how much you fought it, the void consumed you.

[pascalpvnk]

Pour Choices // You & I

pairing: bartender!joel x f!afab!reader

summary: Austin, Texas was never a dream destination for you, however your work trip there might’ve changed your perspective of the Lone Star State, and it absolutely was not work related.

word count: 6.6k words (oops…)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fluff, smut (dubcon [both drank alcohol], handjob if you squint, oral [f receiving], fingering, unprotected p in v sex [wrap it up!], Joel has had a vasectomy, premature ejaculation, double creampie, alluding to aftercare), possibly ooc, no outbreak AU, Joel is 36 with no specified age for reader, reader described as a woman, use of she/her pronouns, minor body descriptions (reader described as having curves, reader has hair long enough to grasp/pin up, reader is shorter than Joel, he picks up reader for like half a second), time jumping (indicated by solid orange divider), religious euphemisms (?) from Joel (i know that man has religious trauma), alcohol consumption, food consumption

a/n: hello! I know this is a long time coming but she’s finally here. thank you for being patient with me during this writing process and thank you to those who helped and encouraged me! a special thanks to @delicaatefl0vver for beta reading and supporting and adding to my thots. welcome to the rebirth of my fanfic writing. I hope you enjoy xx (dividers by @/saradika)

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Sat in the corner of the rustling bar, you were sipping on your Manhattan. The drink tasted medicinal, not how you’d usually prefer it. You had watched the young bartender pour heavy on the vermouth, but chose not to say anything. Red lipstick stained the rim of your glass with each sip of the cocktail. The whiskey mixed in and the maraschino cherry garnish were its only saving graces.

A low hanging light illuminated a warm hue across your features. You were surrounded by classic Texan bar decor and architecture; high ceiling rafters, support beams strung with fairy lights, the walls packed with framed posters of all varieties, the occasional beer branded neon sign, and license plates tacked up behind the bar. Two televisions sat flush against opposing walls, both playing a pregame show of Rangers highlights as they counted down to first pitch. The air was thick as the feet of the patrons shuffled around and chair legs scraped against the wood finished floors. Groups of friends, couples, and everyone between flooded through the doors, ushering themselves to an empty table or stool at the bar. Being there on a Friday night right as the outside rush hour died down was a bold choice, but you had one goal in mind.

The moment the music changed from country to rock and roll, you knew it was time to set yourself out to accomplish it.

The click of your high heels contrasted from the stomp of sneakers and cowboy boots. Glass in hand and head held high, your heart was pounding so hard in your chest, you felt it in your throat. You sure as hell weren’t living up to your stoic, stone cold hearted reputation back home. It’s almost as though your heart thawed in the Texas heat. Though your heart changed with the state, your attire didn’t. You stuck out like a sore thumb among the other consumers in your black maxi dress and perfectly pinned up hair. Some eyes gazed towards you, but you were set on finding one pair in particular. The set of eyes that were darker than the coffee he brewed, but the same ones that looked like honey when the sun was setting. The eyes that were facing away from you at the bar as you found a stool. The ones that snapped up towards you with one word.

“Texas.”

You called for him like a melody. Your throat immediately felt dry as a lump formed. He either felt the same way you did or it was a one off fling. You were hoping it was the former. But…it had been two years since you met, so there was a decent chance he was the one that got away.

The way his muscles tensed under his tight Henley gave away that he recognized you simply from your voice. Those beautiful eyes met yours, and his jaw went a little slack, the corners of his mouth curved.

“Evenin’, Miss New York,” Joel drawled, leaning against the counter. “How are ya, darlin’?”

Joel’s mind was preoccupied before he had seen you the first time, filled with important nonsense that about drove him up the wall.

Gotta make the next schedule. What time is that birthday party Sarah wants t’go to? Wonder if Tommy would be willin’ to take her. No, he’s workin’ on a job site out of town. I need to find someone to cover part of my shift so I can take her. Gotta pay the rent for this month. Can’t keep running the bar if s’gonna be slow like this and that bastard won’t cough up his half of it. God dammit.

“Welcome in, what can I get for ya?” The southern man drawled absentmindedly, tossing a rag over his broad shoulder. The moment his eyes caught yours, his worries washed away. He was only interested in you and your big, beautiful eyes and bright, red lips.

“Whiskey on the rocks. Make it a double please,” you practically sang to him…or at least it sounded like music to his ears. Your ID slipped out of your billfold with ease, and you slid it across the bar as you took a seat. Joel examined the horizontally wide piece of plastic, deciding it was real, especially for a lady ordering a whiskey. A lady from New York, no less.

Joel took in your features for a moment, noticing the difference in your attire and even your accent compared to the other bar patrons. Your beauty was striking to him, making all of the women he’s seen come in flee his memory. He repeated your name over and over in his head, wanting to know how it felt on his tongue. To say he was intrigued would be the understatement of the year.

“You got it, sweetheart,” he said, his voice deep and smooth. He poured a generous portion of whiskey into a cut crystal glass and added several cubes of ice, then slid it over to you with a smile. He leaned forward to rest his arms on the bar, eyes lingering on your curves. "So, what brings you in here tonight? The Big Apple too small for ya?"

“Work,” you responded simply, taking a sip from your drink. He watched as your eyes raked down his frame. There was no visible emotion behind them, so he was unsure if you were checking him out or simply giving him a once over.

Joel’s eyes on the other hand drank in your features, not even attempting to hide his gaze. It lingered across your chest and the way your dress contoured your breasts so perfectly. He was damn near drooling at the sight of you taking down your whiskey better than he would. Your face remained expressionless, zero signs of your mouth twisting in distaste. The simple action had him hooked.

He cleared his throat and began polishing some glasses as he continued to have small talk with you.

“Care to elaborate?” He asked, lining the cups along the bar as he shined them one by one.

“Flight just landed. I checked into my hotel and dropped off my stuff. Wanted to take a walk around to see what this city has to offer and I landed here,” you shrugged, taking another drink of your whiskey. “Nice place, are you the owner?”

“Co-owner, yeah,” Joel chuckled. “So I take it, your work stuff starts tomorrow? Or are you drinking on the job?”

“The former,” you smiled softly. “I’m not trying to get fired, they barely trusted me to come out here in the first place.”

His head nodded gingerly. He couldn’t quite tell if you were shooting him down or just quiet after a long day. He wanted to know more. Wanted as much information that he could get from you without coming off as a creep. Deciding to take a minor risk, he continued conversing with you.

“What kind of work are ya doing all the way out here, hm?” He asked politely, restocking the freshly polished glasses back on their designated shelves.

“My uh…my peer, I suppose, is on maternity leave and she represents most of our buildings in Texas. I’ve been doing most of the work over the phone but one of the Austin buildings required a visit. A lot of incident reports to go through.”

The whiskey in your glass was almost gone and he could tell it was opening you up a little bit. First time in the whole conversation you said more than what his question asked for.

“Darlin’, that’s some big wig stuff, and yet you make it sound so inconspicuous,” he drawled, a low rumble of laughter rolling from his chest. “What field are you in? Or is it top secret?”

“Oh! I work in HR,” you let out a small laugh. “Probably should’ve started with that.”

He smirked at how you fumbled over yourself, admiring the way your smile folded the skin around your eyes and exposed a dimple. He could definitely tell he was breaking down your stone wall. His eyes took you in once more. Your lip prints stained red on the once clean glass, immediately grabbing his attention. Arousal shot through his body, directing into his pants. That’s not something he knew he was attracted to.

“Need another, ma’am?” He asked politely and swallowed hard, attempting to look anywhere but your chest. You accepted his offer and opened a tab. Joel was thanking his lucky stars that the universe brought such a beautiful woman into his bar that night. Thanking fate for having him cover this shift.

“Well, I’ll leave you alone, miss. Just holler if you need another drink or y’wanna close out. My name’s Joel,” he smiled with his boyish charm, flipping his towel back over his shoulder before reluctantly diverting his attention to another customer in need.

You stuck around for a bit, snacking on peanuts and watching the baseball game running on the television. Joel felt your eyes burn into the back of his head as he worked.

It was innocent to start. He popped tops off of beers, poured shots, and shook cocktails all while his cheeks burned pink under the heat of your gaze. Then he intentionally reached up to the top shelf more often, flexing his muscles and letting his shirt ride up his back to grab your attention again and again. It became increasingly difficult for you to peel your eyes off of him the more you drank.

And he noticed.

A couple hours passed, and before you knew it, the clock was nearing midnight. Joel walked around the bar, going to each empty table and wiping them thoroughly. He restocked everything as most of the small crowd filed out. He took a look at you from the front door, admiring the curves that were hardly hidden under your snug dress as you watched the TV mindlessly.

“Well darlin’,” he began as he approached the bar again. “I don’t know what time you have to work in the morning but it’s getting late. Wanna close out your tab?”

“I s’pose so,” you chuckled, copying his accent a little by accident. Your tired, drunken smile made his heart flutter.

A small smile plastered itself across Joel’s face as he ran your card. He let it process, grabbing both receipts and scribbling something on them.

“Can I call you a cab, sweetheart? They aren’t driving around all the time like they do back home for you,” he offered, handing you the merchant copy receipt. He crossed out all of the options to tip, just requiring your signature. You tried to protest, but he silenced your argument.

“Yeah,” you hiccuped. “That would be nice, thank you.”

Joel examined you cleaning up your peanut shell debris as he called for the cab. You signed the receipt, and slid his copy back across the bar. He noticed your subtle smile as you noticed ten digits written neatly on the customer copy.

The line went dead when the conversation concluded, and Joel put the phone back on its charger. He noticed how you folded the receipt paper and tucked it safely into your clutch along with your debit card.

“Cab should be here in ‘bout ten minutes. Um,” he cleared his throat. “If ya need someone to recommend restaurants or if you want a tour of any sort, I hope that’ll come in handy.”

Joel gestured towards your clutch, the current home of his phone number. He wanted to ask you out, so so badly, but you were intoxicated and he didn’t want to give a bad impression. If it was meant to be, you’d take the initiative, at least that’s what he told himself.

“I bet it will,” you openly flirted. Joel knew better than to return the sentiment, but it was so damn difficult. His mama would’ve smacked him upside the head if he had, and that was enough to stop him. All he offered was a smirk before turning away and gathering dishes to be brought back to the pile of other used utensils.

“D’ya need a water or anything?” Joel asked, already reaching for a clean cup. You nodded and he filled the glass first with ice, followed with water and a straw. Laying a napkin on the counter, Joel gently set your water down with a close lipped smile.

“Thanks for stopping in, darlin’,” he said just loud enough to be heard over the rock music he had playing. “Get back to that hotel of yours safely, alright? Don’t wanna hear about Miss New York on the news. They never show anything positive nowadays.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” you chuckled, gathering your things to leave after drinking most of the glass. He took these moments to really take you in, dramatically telling himself that this could be the last time he’d ever see you. Last time he’d witness your cherry stained, stunning, yet intoxicated smile, your soft skin, and those gorgeous eyes.

His admiration was interrupted by the honk erupting from the impatient taxi driver’s vehicle outside. You turned on your heel, offering a ‘goodnight, Texas!’ before walking out the door. Joel scrubbed a hand across his beard, huffing a self deprecating laugh and a muttered ‘shit’ before continuing to close up shop. He beat himself up internally while cleaning the dishes until his phone buzzed. He dug the device from his pocket, flipping it open to see a text from an unknown number.

“Didn’t end up on the news. What a bummer! Maybe next time ;)”

Joel smiled to himself, tucking his phone back into his pocket. He finished his closing tasks and made a little to-go Shirley Temple mocktail for his daughter. Before exiting the building for the night, he turned off the glowing ‘Pour Choices’ sign and locked the door behind him. His smile faded as he left his bar behind, remembering his life’s reality and his responsibilities. Those stressors sat heavy once more upon his shoulders until he fell into a deep slumber that night.

Your first full day of work was exhausting to say the least, and the small hangover you suffered did not help one bit. And whoever decided you should come to Austin in August had become your own mortal enemy. You’re used to your mild summers back home, not sweating so much that your clothes stick to you uncomfortably. But the thing that bothered you the most was the imminent, distracting thought of Joel, especially as the sun retired behind the horizon. The way the fabric of his shirt pulled taut around his thick biceps and how they flexed every time he mixed up drinks. You had watched him use his charm to get tips practically thrown at him by the other patrons, he really put that handsome grin to work. 

You were alone in your hotel. There wasn’t a scheduled dinner with your team, so you sat in bed watching Scrubs reruns and eating what constituted your dinner: cheese, crackers and pepperoni slices you picked up from the grocery store. A little disassembled charcuterie board if you will.

Beckoning your attention, your phone buzzed against your nightstand. The caller ID had your heart pounding against your chest. Joel. It was almost like he could read your mind.

“Hello?” You started, wiping the crumbs off of your fingers and lowering the volume on the show. 

“Evenin’,” he drawled out your name. His voice came across gruffer and frankly hotter over the phone than in person. The way it fed directly into your ears had a chill running down your spine.

“Night off?” You asked nonchalantly, a sad attempt of remaining mysterious, knowing if he was sat next to you, you’d melt into a puddle.

“Mhm,” he hummed, pausing for a moment and chuckling quietly. “Sorry for callin’ late. I’d text but that would’a taken me a decade. How was today? Hope that whiskey didn’t ruin your morning.”

The smile you sported grew in size. It felt nice having a normal conversation that wasn’t work related…even if it was with someone you just met.

“It was good! Busy but good. I had a headache but nothing I couldn’t handle. It’s stupid hot here though, didn’t appreciate that,” you hummed to yourself in thought. “Nothing much happened, lots of meetings. Now I’m just hanging out in my hotel. How about you?”

“Same here, nothin’ much. Are ya doing anythin’ or just wallowin’ in your loneliness?” He teased, testing the waters a little. You wish you could see his face. See whether he was sporting a shit eating grin or if he was gnawing on his lip nervously.

“Ha-ha,” you shot back, pressing your cell between your cheek and shoulder to stand up and settle near the window. “I’m watching TV and eating my nutritious dinner of cheese, crackers and pepperoni, thank you very much.”

“Dinner?” He scoffed. “Now I think you need'ta hustle on over here and have a real meal. You can’t possibly be callin’ all ‘f those HR shots with that diet, hm?”

You gotta give it to him, you aren’t that smooth on a whim, that takes practice. Looking out at the Austin skyline, you snickered to yourself and leaned against the window’s frame. 

“C’mon, I have almost all of my food groups in front of me, I don’t think that’s too horrible,” you retaliated jokingly. “What do you have to offer, huh?”

“Well you got me there, darlin’. I do have wine if you wanna round out your meal,” he offered. You could hear faint tapping coming from the line. He was nervous. 

Considering the proposal, you decided to take it, despite your early morning and full day approaching. Joel offered to pick you up so you didn’t have to pay for another cab and you gratefully accepted. You quickly got changed back out of your sleepwear into something almost equally as comfy and perhaps a bit more revealing. 

So you find yourself sat on Joel Miller’s couch. The ride was fine, you chatted like before, but with a bit more direct flirting. You observed his spaces. His truck was simple, a little, beat up pickup, but you were sure it got his work done. There were scuff marks from tennis shoes on his dash. Your mind wandered as you imagined if they were from a friend or former lover, but you didn’t let it bother you.  

There was a little pine tree air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. The smell of its woody scent combined with his warm, leathery cologne and a hint of Irish Spring all flooded your senses. And god, he didn’t just smell good, he looked so good.

Joel looked perfect in the driver’s seat, his biceps straining against his smooth skin as he gripped the wheel, prominent veins popping through his forearms. Looked so cozy in his small kitchen, pouring both of you a hefty glass of rosé. His hands enveloped his cup entirely as he brought it to his plush lips. The way they framed his teeth when he smiled down at you gave you heart palpitations.

And even sitting comfortably in the corner of his L-shaped couch, Joel continued to look amazing. His leg was crossed over the other, creating the perfect shelf on his knee for his wine. Those arms stretched far across the back of the couch as he fidgeted with a loose string stuck on the cushion. Everything about him screamed disciplined. The way his spaces were mostly neat, organized and decently decorated added to your observation. He belonged here, and it seemed like he worked hard to get the things he earned.

The casual facade you had faded away the longer you chatted about your lives and sipped on your glasses. Topics like work and hobbies came into conversation, and you learned that Joel liked to play with guitar and sing a little—only when he was alone of course. Then you began talking about more personal matters, like your relationship statuses. 

“You’re kidding!” You exclaimed, feeling warm from the wine in your system. “You don’t have a girlfriend or anything?”

Joel chuckled and shook his head down at the couch. You watched as he observed the cushions-worth of space between you two. By that point, you were fully turned ninety degrees to face him in conversation, your legs tucked comfortably under you. Your face felt hot as you wielded the half empty, stemless wine glass.  

“What about the kid in your pictures? Is she your niece or something?” You were referring to the framed photos both nailed to the wall and decorating the table in his entryway. Most of them contained himself and the child, whether she was celebrating with a soccer ball and a trophy or blowing out candles on a cake, her wild curls spilling every which way from her party hat.

“Nah, she’s all mine. My Sarah turned fourteen a few weeks ago,” he smiled to himself, making your heart clench and pound against the confines of your ribcage. The proud look he had on his face told you about everything you needed to know about his relationship with his daughter.

“Fourteen? You don’t seem old enough to have a teenager,” you chuckle. “Where is she tonight? Seems like you got the house to yourself.”

“Why I'm flattered. She’s got a friend’s birthday party sleepover thing. That’s why I had to take the night off. I’m her personal chauffeur, of course,” Joel offered a curtsey jokingly.

Your smile widened as you brought your now second glass of rosé up to sip once more. You don’t care to ask about Sarah’s mother, it was a personal matter and possibly a sensitive subject. 

A comfortable silence fell between you as you looked at one another. You watched the automatic rise and fall of his chest and the way his cheeks burned from your gaze. His chocolate eyes bore into yours, melting your heart without even trying. His exterior was gruff and masculine but he had proven time and time again that he was probably one of the kindest men you have met. Must be that southern charm and hospitality, but man was it addicting. 

“What?” He barely asked above a whisper, copying your actions with his wine. His attempt to hide his smile behind his clear cup obviously failed. His blush spread down his neck and you could only imagine if it went any farther down. Your thoughts of Joel were beginning to become tainted by your blooming arousal. You wanted him. On top of you, under you, you’d take anything and the growing wetness pooling in your panties was evidence of that. 

“Can I be blunt, Joel?” You grinned as you sunk a bit further into the cushion against your side. He responded with a hummed ‘mhm’ so you’d continue, bringing his hand back into his lap. The fabric of his joggers barely contained his strong thighs, making it more and more difficult to contain your urge to see what else lied beneath his pants.

“I really wanna kiss you,” you admitted cheekily, fairly certain that he was thinking the same thing. 

“Oh, do ya now?” He smirked, leaning over to pluck your glass from your grasp and put it safely on his coffee table along with his own.

“I think you’re a little mind reader,” Joel continued. “‘Cause I was thinkin’ the same thing. Bet those pretty lips are real soft.” His hand found your waist after you confirmed he had consent as he guided you onto his lap. You hummed contently as you draped your arms over his shoulders, toying with the stray, chestnut curls at his nape. 

“What happened to Mr. Shy Guy, huh?” You teased, letting his calloused hands explore the expanse of your back as your lips ghosted over his.

“Not shy, just polite, sweetheart,” he rasped before closing the gap between you two. His palms were flush against your lower back, radiating heat through the thin material of your shirt. 

You melted into him, bodies pressed as close as possible without your knees sinking between the couch cushions. Lips slotted together and hands wandered as you filled all of your senses with Joel. His tongue was stained with a familiar smoky taste, which was definitely not coming from the wine

“Why do you taste like whiskey?” Your mouth formed a smile against his matching one. His hand cupped your cheek as a chuckle rumbled deep in his chest.

“Had some before I called ya,” he admitted bashfully. “Doesn’t matter now.”

In an instant, he was kissing you once more with increased passion, making you completely forgo the subject. His tongue flicked into your mouth, teasing the delicate skin on the inside of your lips. He gripped at your hips, trying to pull you closer to him but your legs protested against his furniture.

“Scoot forward,” you mumbled against him. And he did what he was told. His hips shifted forward, granting you more room to sit directly on his lap. Sighs were drawn from both of you as you settled back into each other, his cock already half hard under you. Your fingers messed with the hair behind his ears, earning a pleased moan from him.

“This doesn’t have to go anywhere if you don’t wan’ it to,” he panted between kisses. Just above a whisper, you uttered, ‘I want it,’ and Joel’s hands took it as permission to explore further down your body, palming at your ass through your shorts.

A whimper slipped between your lips into Joel’s, and he swallowed it whole. He pressed your body closer to his, your clothed sex dragging over his sweatpants. His cock twitched up in response to your mouth finding his jaw, his short beard scratching against you.

“Lemme take care of you,” you mused, bringing your hands up the sides of his face. He relaxed back into the couch, his blunt nails pushing under your shorts into the meat of your bare thighs.

You started by kissing his lips once more, then the two prominent patches of missing hair on his chin, and made your way down to his throat. His adam's apple bobbed under your touch as pants grew tighter on him.

“Knew you’d have the best lips, fuck,” he mumbled as you licked up the side of his neck, his pulse racing under your tongue. “Can’t wait to feel your pretty pussy ‘round my cock, sweetheart.”

“Patience, handsome,” you whispered into his ear, your breath sending chills through his body. He let go of your legs as you bunched his shirt into your palms, sitting up to help remove it. Hair scattered sparsely on his chest, pausing on his upper stomach only to come back thicker as it disappeared into his boxers.

Your palms dragged down his torso, skimming over his nipples and ribs as he naturally recoiled from the stimulation. You gently kissed and sucked at his collarbone so it could be hidden away under his shirt. Color rose to the surface of his skin the more you worked at it, flattening your tongue against it once you decided your mark was left properly.

Joel was breathing heavily under you, his hands snaking under your shirt to your breasts. Your nipples were already pebbled through your bralette, becoming unbearably hard the moment Joel started running his thumbs over them. He gently pushed your shirt and bra above your tits, leaning forward to bring one to his mouth as his hand toyed with the other. His tongue lapped your skin, rounding the hardened nipple and sucking it back slightly. An image of him doing the same to your clit had your eyes rolling back with pleasure.

“Joel,” you mewled as he switched breasts. He spread his saliva around your areola as he picked up his ministrations on the other. A groan vibrated against your skin as your nails raked down his happy trail.

“Wanna suck your cock,” you continued, holding onto the waistbands of his pants and underwear. His unused hand covered yours entirely, pushing it down to free his throbbing cock from its confines, the tip weeping with precum. Never in your life had you seen a dick so big before, and you couldn’t wait for it to split you in half.

“I won’t last a minute in your mouth, sweet girl,” he drawled, reaching back up to leave a chaste kiss on your lips. “Don’t wanna come before you.”

Spitting onto your fingertips, you mixed it with the slick seeping from his tip then dragged it down his shaft, squeezing it in your palm on the way back up. Joel groaned into your neck. He wedged his hands back under your top, lifting it over your head and forcing your hand to leave his cock.

“Need’ta taste you first,” he muttered, his amber irises completely eclipsed by his pupils. Joel removed you from his lap and laid you down onto the couch. You watched as he settled between your legs and hooked his thick fingers into your bottoms, licking his lips. Raising your hips, he pulled everything off of you, leaving you bare. Cool air hit your glistening pussy, sending a shiver up your spine. You whined out his name after he stared at you for a moment.

“What?” He cooed, smoothing his hands over your inner thighs. “Wan’ me to touch ya, hm? Fuck you with my fingers ‘n stretch that pretty pussy out? Maybe suck on your clit. S’that what you want, darlin’?”

You nod your head furiously, dying with anticipation to have his hands, mouth, something on you. Wordlessly, your foot hooked around the back of his leg as you attempted to pull him closer to you.

“Ah ah,” he tsked. “I think ya gotta ask for it, honey. Ask for it nicely.”

“Fuck,” you whined with desperation. You could feel your arousal dripping down your ass and ultimately onto the couch. “Please fill me up, touch me, taste me, whatever you want.”

“Good, so good f’me. Open up,” he encouraged, slotting his first two digits between your lips. He spread them on each side of your tongue. Saliva collected on his thick fingers as you swirled your tongue around them in figure eights. A groan rumbled in Joel’s chest.

“Yeah I’m gonna put my cock in this pretty mouth next time, baby. Feels perfect on my fingers,” he grumbled. His fingers came out of your mouth with a pop, a string of spit connecting him to you. 

Joel finally slipped his fingers through your swollen folds, teasing your entrance and collecting more slick. His fingertips circled lightly around your clit, drawing a broken moan from your throat. His free hand tapped against your hip, signaling you to raise them with an ‘up.’ He grabbed a throw pillow and positioned it under you. You relaxed your already trembling legs, and he had barely even touched you.

He settled onto his stomach, spreading your legs apart as far as they’d go. A pointer finger breached your entrance as he kissed the seam where your thigh and pussy came together. Soft moans escaped you as you carded your fingers through his curls. His smug eyes met yours as his tongue moved everywhere but your clit. He looked better than ever between your legs, and you didn’t know that could be possible. His teasing was deserved for what you were doing previously, but it was agonizing.

“Please, Joel,” you groaned. “Please gimme more, I need you.”

Obliging to your request, Joel added another finger into your cunt, curling them both and stroking your g-spot expertly. All of the air left your lungs the moment his flattened tongue finally found your clit. Joel’s groan vibrated throughout your entire pussy, adding to each sensation deliciously. It didn’t take much more for your legs to start shaking and squeezing his head between your thighs, a hot sensation bubbling in your lower belly.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come, don’t stop,” you cried, grasping Joel’s hair much tighter than before. He suckled your clit and flicked his tongue over it with a moan, sending you flying over the edge. Your walls fluttered around his fingers and he rode you through your high. He kissed your trembling thighs until they relaxed, his unmoving fingers still stuffed inside you.

“God, you’re even sexier when you come, sugar. Taste even sweeter too,” he hummed, shifting himself up your body until his lips found yours again. He tasted still of whiskey but with a mix of your arousal.

Joel brought his now soaked fingers back into your mouth to replace his tongue, urging you to suck all of your spend off of them. You hummed around his digits and wrapped your quivering legs around his waist.

“And you were preachin’ to me about patience,” he teased, removing his fingers and stroking his cock a couple times. He was sitting up and resting on his heels, looking like pure sex. His proportions were perfect, he was broad and you’d happily let him crush you under his weight. 

“It’s hard to be patient when you look at me like that,” you muse, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. Joel snickered quietly, dragging his nails over your inner thighs. Goosebumps followed behind his light touch and your legs twitched when he got close enough to your sensitive core.

“So,” Joel began, settling comfortably on top of you and kissing your jaw. “I haven’t been with anyone since I was tested last n’ I’ve had a vasectomy. But I’ll gladly get a condom if ya want me to.”

“Hmm, a gentleman,” you grinned, your fingers finding their way back into his hair as you enjoyed his affection. “I’m clean and more than okay without it.”

Joel slotted his cock into your slit with a smirk, groaning at the new sensation. His tip nudged at your clit with each pass, earning moans from both parties. 

“Almost came all over this couch with you clenchin’ ‘round my fingers like that, honey,” he drawled. “Fuck, ‘m not gonna last long.”

You gave him a reassuring kiss as you wedged your hand down between you two. Lining up his tip with your entrance, you watched as he disappeared into your welcoming cunt. His face pressed into your neck as he slowly sank into you, anchoring himself with his hands planted on your waist and thigh. Strings of profanities left him as he stretched you out, the pressure you felt quickly morphing into pleasure. 

“Shit,” you hissed when he bottomed out. “Feels so good, Joel.”

You urged him to continue, and he complied. Starting slow, he pulled out halfway and pushed back in to test the waters. The drag of your core had his toes curling. He wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t last long. His cock swelled in you after a few minutes as he panted into your neck. 

“Fuck, fuck I’m sorry,” he grunted.

“S’okay, come for me, Joel. Please,” you consoled him, wrapping your legs around his hips tighter. He spilled into you, the sticky fluid coating your inner walls. Your nails dragged along the expanse of his back as he caught his breath.

His face emerged from the crook of your neck, flush and sweaty. He tried apologizing once more but you shushed him. Your lips met again as you grasped his dampened curls, pulling at his locks harder than before. Cock stiffening up again, Joel resumed thrusting into you slowly. A squelching sound emitted from your pussy as his pace quickened.

“Joel,” you gasped, tangling yourself around him tighter. He took it as an opportunity to scoop you up and change positions, sitting on the couch and giving you the freedom to ride him. 

“Wan’ you comin’ on my cock, beautiful,” he moaned. His calloused fingertips circled your clit as he fucked his load deeper into you. You bounced on him, his cock spearing you. The tip hit your g-spot with each thrust. Stars sparkled in your vision as you clenched down on him hard.

“C’mon, use my cock, make yourself come. That’s it, fuck.”

His hips bucked up to meet yours halfway, the sound of skin slapping echoing throughout his living room. You were a moaning mess, chanting his name haphazardly. Your walls clamped down around him and milked any remaining cum from him as you both reached your second peaks.

“Christ,” he groaned, stilling inside of you. The mixture of your fluids seeped from your fluttering hole. Joel smoothed his palms over your sweat slick back, peppering kisses along your shoulders and collarbone. Praises flew from his mouth like a prayer and you were his goddess, all his to worship.

Joel used his sweatpants to catch any leakage as his softened cock slipped out from you. He took his time with you, helping you regain your composure with more kisses and lingering touches. You followed him to his room where he properly cleaned you up and gave you a Texas Longhorns shirt and boxer shorts.

“You’re more than welcome t’stay,” Joel offered. “Or I can drive ya back. Your choice, sweetheart.”

Your arms snaked up and around his shoulders, stretching yourself up on your tiptoes. A smile crept onto your face as Joel held you steady by your ass. You peeked over at his unmade bed with only two measly pillows, one of them crumpled up in the middle of his bed. A shy smile adorned his face as you refocused on him. He was going to be the death of you.

“Set an alarm and take me to bed, cowboy.”

Late into the following evening, you found yourself back in Pour Choices. A lingering soreness twinged between your legs the entire day. You weren’t there to drink. You wanted Joel.

He started his usual greeting until he realized you had stepped through the doors, another black dress clinging to your body and lips stained a deeper shade of red than before.

“Hey, darlin’,” he smiled breathlessly. You sauntered over to the bar, leaning in close and cutting to the chase in a seductive whisper.

“I’m gonna sit in the corner and wait for you to close up. Wanna return the favor from last night.”

Joel can confidently say that was his quickest close of his career, and you can just as confidently state that you successfully returned the favor, covering that poor man with crimson lip prints. He’d never complain about the physical reminder of you, using it as inspiration on the nights he craved you while you were away. He never thought he’d go from having everything from you for a couple weeks to having nothing for over a year.

“Wasn’t sure if you were gonna remember me,” you smiled softly, a twinge of sadness in your eyes. He chuckled and shook his head, grabbing a new glass and some ice.

“I could never forget you, sugar,” he smirked, grabbing a top shelf whiskey and pouring it into the glass. The crackle of the ice drew your attention. You were always a sucker for whiskey. He remembered.

“On the house, darlin’. Want me to take your other drink? Doesn’t seem like you enjoyed it,” Joel pointed to the condensation lined cup with the half dranken Manhattan. “I know you’re not the sipping type of gal.”

“Yeah, thank you,” you smiled brighter as he took away the used cup. “Y’all don’t make Manhattans like they do back home,” you jabbed, taking a big gulp of the chilled whiskey. Those familiar lip prints stamped on the glass.

“But,” you continued, glancing at his bare ring finger. You observed the sprouting grays in his sideburns and deepened creases on his face, seeing the effect that the last two years had on him. “Y’all have something that New York doesn’t.”

You traced the rim of the glass, trying to pick up any emotion from his expressionless face. He did however crack a small smirk at your comment and leaned against the bar with both hands. Suddenly it felt like everyone else disappeared and it was just you and him in the moment.

“Hm, and what’s that, sweetheart?” He leaned closer and replied softly, but just loud enough for only you to hear. 

“You, Joel.”

to keep up to date on upcoming parts, follow @pascalpvnk-writes and turn on notifications. thank you for reading!! <3

[factorydefaultlu]

You're Not In Control

Strade x GN! Reader

TW: force feeding, starvation, vomit, torture, fingernail pulling... Strade is a warning in of himself.

A/N: thank you to my beautiful wife for the German translations, I hope I used them right. Also this is the first thing I've ever written for Strade and I'm still not super confident I got him right so... Be nice please.

Thinking about being held captive by Strade.

You had earned the privilege of leaving the basement. (with the shock collar on of course)

You were defiant and he liked that, he liked that he hadn't entirely broken you.

Strade noticed that you didn't eat much, and slowly you started eating nothing at all.

He didn't care at first, Ren didn't eat much when he was first brought up from the basement either.

As it continued he got irritated and realized that it wasn't just anxiety keeping you from eating. You were starving yourself intentionally.

Strade didn't like that. For many reasons, but mainly because he didn't have control.

He acted like a stubborn dad at first, telling you that you couldn't leave the table until you finished your food.

"Alright, schatz. We're going to sit here until you can behave and eat." his voice dripped with venom.

Your defiance struck a fire in him when you just sat and stared at the plate.

It was decent food, steak that'd been cut up for you, green beans and potatoes. By all means it was a good meal.

But you were stubborn and refused to relenquish total control to that psychopath.

Strade sent Ren off to bed, and sat at the table all night with you. Trying to break you.

It didn't work.

The next night, he started to try and beat you into eating.

"Wenn du es nicht anders willst, bitte. We'll do it your way then." You should have been scared, and part of you was, but all that bubbled up was anger.

He removed his belt and struck you all along your back.

Dark welts formed underneath the thin shirt you were wearing, and you dropped to the floor after a few minutes of endless beating.

He kicked your ribs, the steel toe of his boot slamming into your fragile bones. You tried not to cry out, but sobs tore through your throat despite the effort. The final kick to you stomach was so hard that you threw up bile.

"Kleine Zicke! You fucking brat!" He barked, and you spent the night in the basement.

That didn't break you either.

The third night he tied your wrists and ankles to the chair and tried force feeding you.

"Mund auf. Open." he spoke like a steel knife.

Each time you spit it out, he stabbed the fork into your arm. You still didn't break.

He then put a ring gag in your mouth and tried to force a protein drink down your throat, you threw that up as well.

On the fourth night, he tied you to the chair again, but this time brought a pair of pliers up from the basement.

Each time you spit the food out, he'd pluck a fingernail from your hand.

He ran out of fingernails to remove, and you still hadn't swallowed a single bite and there was blood all over the floor.

A needless mess.

The fifth night was the final straw.

Strade had you and Ren sit at the table, he placed a plate of food in front of you and said that Ren wasn't getting food until you eat.

The look in your eyes excited him, it was defiant as always but it held a look of pleading.

A look that said "this isn't about him, leave him alone"

The three of you sat for hours, and it wasn't until you heard the sound of Ren's stomach growl that you finally gave in.

You took a bite of food, then looked to Strade. He just motioned for you to continue. By the third or fourth bite you realized that he was going to make you finish the whole plate before feeding Ren.

Once the plate was polished off, you dropped the fork abruptly. The sound of the metal clanging on the porcelain made Ren jump, and Strade just laughed then clapped his hands together.

"Sehr gut. That wasn't so hard now was it?" The smile on his face made you want to lash out.

You gave him that same fiery look as usual, but at least Ren got to eat.

[drabblesandimagines]

Careless

Clive Rosfield x female reader Minor FF16 spoilers as per, Gav says a swear or two

The boat ride back to the Hideaway is silent – odd considering the cargo onboard is a reason for celebration. Obolus is at the helm as usual and hasn’t dared to grumble once at the additional weight. The rescued Bearers – eight adults, one child – are curled up under blankets and sack cloth, the gentle bob of the water having lulled them to sleep. Gav is sat near them, keeping his eyes cast down in his lap. Torgal is fast asleep at your feet, snoring lightly after the exertion of the day. A number of Cursebreakers had stayed ashore, but there are a few onboard who are either admiring their boots or keeping their gaze on the horizon.

You’ve kept your eyes anywhere else but the two stormy blue ones that have been fixed solely on you since boarding the vessel. Clive is sat opposite, arms crossed, legs spread wide and you swear you can feel his glare burn.

Making any sort of prolonged eye contact with the outlaw before had done little else but cause your cheeks to flush. He was attractive, there was no denying that – even enemies had commented on it in fights, for Founder’s sake. The two of you had always got on well since he joined the Hideaway over five years ago and you’d been a liar if you hadn’t entertained the possibility of something more.

Not now, though.

Not with how furious he is with you.

It wasn’t even meant to have been a mission. Gav had accompanied you to Northreach for a supply run. He hadn’t been out scouting for a few days and had itchy feet, so he’d jumped at the chance to leave the Hideaway for a couple of hours, even if it meant acting as your pack chocobo. There were requests in from the Tub & Crown for spices and always an endless request for more herbs for the infirmary, so you’d headed to Northreach for the market there. The two of you had been walking down a less travelled path towards Clairview when a unique accent had caught your ears, heading your way.

Royalists.

Gav’s eyes widened and the two of you ducked back into the undergrowth, thankfully free of fiends. For a couple of weeks now, there had been unconfirmed intelligence that the Royalists had been abducting Bearers and shipping them out to Ash at an alarming rate. A couple of Cursebreaker groups had been out trying to scout possible docking locations, but nothing had ever been confirmed.

But what else would a small group of Royalists be doing in the Empire? From your hiding place, three soldiers quickly march by, a Branded child of no more than eight in their grip. Tears streaked the young girl’s face and it broke your heart, flinging your mind back to when you’d been young and sold between master and master…

“Do you think…?” Gav doesn’t finish his sentence as they walk out of earshot.

“It must be. Come on, we need to follow them.”

Gav’s hand grabs your arm and holds you in place.

“Look, I admit we’re decent with a blade but we have no idea what we’ll be walking into.”

“This could be our only chance – this is the first concrete evidence we’ve had.”

“I know, but there’s two of us. There might be a whole battalion of soldiers where they’re headed.”

You bite your lip – you agree, but there must be something you can do. The terror in the little girl’s eyes will haunt you the rest of your life if you don’t. Maybe, if one of you could go and get back-up, the other follow the Royalists and leave a trail… Gav. It would have to be Gav.

“Go get back-up, then follow the scent.”

“Wait, you’re not-“

“They want Bearers. I’m a Bearer, aren’t I?” You swiftly take off your leather armour and sword belt, handing them over to scout who is staring at you in disbelief.

“Aye fucking right!”

“Clive had a missive from the Dame early this morning, so he should be in Northreach by now. There’ll be more Cursebreakers there too. Fetch them and then put that scouting nose to good use. I’ll leave an excellent trail for you to follow.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am. Trust me, Gav. I trust you.”

“Oh, pile the pressure on, why don’t you?” Gav sighs.

“You’re the best scout in Valisthea, no such thing as pressure. See you soon.”

You jog off before Gav can get another word in, leaving him in disbelief. It doesn’t take long to catch up with the Royalists ahead on the path and, without much thought of what you were doing, you dash past, stumbling on purpose and crashing to the ground in front of them.

They curse, two drawing their weapons immediately and the third keeping a tight grip on the child already in their custody. You hold your hands up in front of you, looking up at them, and begin to draw aether in deliberately slowly before a blade is pointed towards your chest.

“What’s this – a Bearer without a Brand?” The sword-wielder sneers, leaning down and pulling you up to your feet by your collar. “I’d say what a pity, but you’ve stumbled straight into our lap.”

“No,” another blade is held against your chin, forcing your head to the side. “She’s had it removed.”

“Isn’t that clever?” The first soldier circles you in interest. “Doesn’t matter if you’re Branded or not to us, though, you’ll still do.”

He grabs you by the back of the neck and forces your head down, his other hand twisting your arm around your back and pushes you forward in a march. It’s hard to see where to walk so your footing is clumsy as you try to remain upright. It helps in a way as you’re trampling the plants underfoot  – hopefully enough for Gav to follow easily.

Eventually, you step out into a clearing and although your neck is still held, they allow you to raise your head at last to allow you to see a small carriage and a Chocobo waiting, with more Royalist soldiers mulling around. The carriage itself is tiny – it’s not one for passengers but for a small trader pedaling their goods. The doors are open, revealing a number of Bearers crammed already within its confines.

There’s a soldier with a pile of shackles and metal collars at his feet, waiting to prepare his cargo. You and the child are marched forward before you’re spun round and your hands are shackled tightly behind your back, swiftly followed by a metal collar fastened around your throat. A chain is then linked between the two, taut enough that it’s uncomfortable to find a balance. If you let your hands hang behind you, the chain goes tight and the collar presses tightly against your windpipe. You’re then pulled forward and shoved into the dark carriage, trying to shuffle yourself upright around the other captives.

The little girl is shoved in next and, as the doors close, plunging the carriage into darkness, you consider that this maybe wasn’t the best idea.

--

It’s hot – too many bodies crammed together in this cramped space. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth – what you’d do for a sip of water. It’s hard to try and get comfortable or anything resembling that. If you lean wrong the chain between the collar and the shackles tugs at your throat. The carriage is silent besides grunts of pain, gasps and soft sobs. One of the adult Bearers is doing their best to comfort the little girl, at least.

You want to reassure them, tell them you have a plan, your friends are coming… but you can’t quite find your voice in the moment.

After an unknown period of time, the carriage eventually sets out on its journey, rocking you and your fellow captives from side to side. You can only hope Gav picked up the trail you left, desperate as it was.

No – you know he will. There’s nothing you can do now you’re within the carriage, but you take solace in the fact the Chocobo and carriage wheels will leave trail – the amount of Bearers crammed in the small space will definitely gouge the earth underfoot.

It's hard to tell how long it’s been, but you’re hungry and even more thirsty by the time the carriage comes to an abrupt halt. The door is swiftly unlocked before the arm of a soldier reaches in, grabbing a Bearer at random by their shirt and pulling them out, causing them to wheeze as the collar presses at their throat.

The process is repeated until it’s your turn and you find yourself in a small cove at sunset, where a vessel bobs besides a dock far too small for it. The dock is obviously meant for fishing or rowing boats, but the Waloeders have improvised a narrow gangplank to board.

It’s a small merchant ship, shipping out Bearers right under the Empire’s nose.

You’re penned in by a group of soldiers and pulled forward one at a time to go up the narrow gangplank. Bearers are shaking and sobbing at the sight of the vessel – some know they aren’t going to survive the journey over and those that do will surely face a worse fate the other side.

Your stomach flips – you’re scared. The procession of Bearers continues at a pace. You are only a small group and the Royalists are obviously well-practised – it’s a professional operation. You dread to think of the numbers of Bearers they’ve shipped over so far.

You’re one of the two left on the cove when you’re yanked forward again by your top with such ferocity you nearly fall, being pushed towards the dock. If you get on that ship, it feels like it’s over.

Come on, Gav.

You’re only one step up the gangplank where there’s a yell from further up the cove.

Without warning, a cyclone of fire envelopes a group of soldiers standing guard, filling the air with the smell of scorched flesh and pained screams. As the fiery vortex dwindles, Clive emerges, sword aloft and looking mad as hell.

From behind him, Gav swings his own sword before the other Cursebreakers run into sight, engaging the remaining Waloeder soldiers. The guard escorting you on the ship pushes you forward, shouting something in an Ashen tongue to his brethren on the shore.

Green tendrils of light wrap around your captor and yank him back with the strength of Garuda onto the beach where Clive slices him down. You can see that the Cursebreakers have made quick work of the rest – the sand of the cove now stained a rusty red.

“You found us.” You breathe out in relief, walking back cautiously onto the dock and the sand where Clive stands, panting slightly in exertion. He sheathes his sword quickly and places his hands on your shoulders, his eyes scanning you.

“Are you hurt?”

You go to shake your head but then decide against it, worried about the collar pressing against your windpipe again at the movement.

“I’m fine.” Your voice is a little hoarse from the thirst and constriction. “There’s seven on the ship, including a child – we need to…”

“On it!” Cole calls, darting past onto the ship.

Clive looks relieved for a moment.

“What were you thinking?” He growls, frustration etched all over his face. “No, you can’t have been thinking because if you had been, you would’ve realized this was irrational.”

“It was our only chance.”

“No, it wasn’t. This was reckless, foolish-“

“I, er, found these keys on one of the bastards.” Gav interrupts, holding them out in evidence. “Thought you might want those off, like.”

Clive grunts in appreciation, taking them from Gav’s outstretched hand and stepping around the back of you. He makes quick work of the shackles around your wrists and you immediately bring them round to your front, rubbing the feeling back into them. Despite Clive’s obvious frustration with you, he gently brushes your hair out of the way and places a firm hand on the back of your head as he inserts the key in the collar. The relief at the sound of the lock releasing is indescribable as the metal ring is finally removed from your neck. You imagine it had been to keep the Bearers compliant on the journey across the strait.

“Thank you.”

Clive steps back round to the front of you, mouth open, obviously ready to continue with his lecture but Gav gestures behind. ��You should get the others out of those chains, Clive.”

“Right.” He nods at you, though with how high his shoulders are you know it’s not the end of it. He turns and meets the first Bearer cautiously walking back down the gangplank, speaking to them in a gentle tone.

Gav flings his arm around your shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you some water, eh?”

--

“Sit.” Clive points at the bench and you obey without hesitation. You thought you’d be sent off to the infirmary with the other Bearers, but as soon as you were on the loading dock Clive had placed a firm arm around you and escorted you directly to his chambers without a word.

You’re not sure you’ve ever sat on the bench before – any business between the two of you was conducted standing at his desk, hovering over a map or a missive.

He removes his sword from his back, leaning it against the wall before detaching his sheath and cape. He then starts to pace back and forth, obviously wrestling with what to say. You want this over with already – your mind is already thinking of how nice it’ll be to lie down in your bunk - so you decide you’ll break the silence.

“Clive,” you start cautiously, “I understand it wasn’t a well-thought through plan, but it was the only option.”

That makes him stop in his tracks and he meets your eyes, his fists clenching by his sides.

“You could’ve died.”

“Aren’t we fighting for a world where Bearers and Dominants can live and die on their own terms? I knew what I was doing, I knew the risks.”

“That ship was moments from setting sail.”

“I know.”

“What if we hadn’t have found it in time?”

“You did, though.”

“What if we didn’t?” He growls.

“I did what I had to.”

“You did not have to do that.”

“I couldn’t stand by and watch them ship those poor people off, especially that little girl. And I knew Gav would be able to track them-“

“What if he didn’t?”

You sigh, exasperated. You’re going round in circles. “It’s foolish playing these ‘what if’ games! I’ve already admitted that, yes, it wasn’t the most solid of plans, but I did what I had to do. You go out there every day and risk your life, the Cursebreakers do the same.”

“You could’ve been shipped off to Ash.”

“So could’ve all those Bearers.”

“That is not my point.” He growls again in response, turning his back to you and placing his palms flat on his desk.

“Then what is your point, Clive? We do this every day.”

His palms curl up into fists once more.

“My point is that I would’ve never seen you again!”

He slams his fist down on the desk – not in anger, but frustration.

“That you would’ve been stolen away to Ash and Founder knows what would become of you there. That…”

His voice cracks.

“That I would’ve spent the rest of my days chasing what happened to the woman I love!”

There is a long pause as you digest his words. You must’ve misheard.

“Did you… did you say love?”

His shoulders sag in the moment.

“I’m in love with you.” He’s still talking to the desk. “I have been for months, maybe years – I don’t know.” His fists uncurl again.

“But when Gav told me what you’d done, I couldn’t breathe. It took all I had in me not for Ifrit to come out there and then and destroy every being in my path until I saw you safe and unharmed.”

He turns then, strides over to you and drops to his knees, taking your hands in his own and looking up at what you can only imagine is your shell-shocked expression.

“I cannot lose you. Not you.”

“Clive, I…”

“I have tried to contain my feelings.” He continues. “I promise you I have tried, but I cannot do so any longer. Not when you are being so careless with what I hold most dear.” His eyes are watering, unable to hold his emotions within. “I understand that you do not feel the same but, please, do not break my he-“

You lean forward and cut him off, placing your lips on his own in a quick, chaste kiss before pulling back, leaving him speechless.

“You’re wrong.”

Clive does not need another word, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you almost frantically, like it might be his only chance. You run your fingers through his hair as you nip his lip, slipping your tongue in his mouth and matching his relentless pace. He stands, suddenly, bringing you up to stand with him. Barely another moment passes before he slides his hands down to your thighs, hoisting you up in his arms. You wrap your legs around him and he takes a step back…

The doors to Clive’s chambers fly open.

“Whoa!”

You and Clive pull apart, stunned. Gav is stood in the doorway, covering his eyes with his hand at the scene before him. “Sorry, I should’ve knocked. Erm…” He takes a blind step back, trying to find the doorway again to exit. “Tarja wanted to see the two of you for a check-up, like, but I’ll… I’ll tell her you’re taking care of that yourselves.”

“Thank you, Gav.” Clive nods, smirking, as he drops you gently back down to your feet. “I owe you a drink.”

“Many drinks.” The scout turns swiftly, and the door clunks shut behind him.

“Now, my lady,” he grins, placing a hand on your cheek, “where were we?”

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

[heejayy]

Shuri U. || Liar

Warning • swearing, suggestive

Genre • lil angst, fluff

Pairing • Shuri x black Fem! Reader

Word Count: 1.4K

A/n: no this isn’t a toxic Shuri fic I’m not good at writing those so don’t get ur hopes up 😭 also I think i broke my tumblr 🫤

You lay on your bed completely heartbroken. Shuri promised you months ago she’d clear her schedule for a full weekend to come visit you on your birthday, but where is she no where to be seen.

[2 hours ago]

“Sooo” you giggled giddily “you still coming for my birthday?” You smile wider knowing the answer.

“Uh about that usana…I can’t make it, there was an emergency outside of the borders with traffickers and they need me.” Well that wasn’t the answer you were hoping to hear.

“Oh- well are they alright?” You asked sadly but still concerned for their wellbeing.

“They will be. We’ve tracked down the hostages and we will rescue them tonight”

“Well I know you’ll get them home safely, but still I want you to stay safe-“

“Ok sthandwa i have to go love you.”

She’s gsaving lives doing something important and I’m moping over her, was all you could think as you drifted to sleep.

She’s gsaving lives doing something important and I’m moping over her, was all you could think as you drifted to sleep.

She’s gsaving lives doing something important and I’m moping over her, was all you could think as you drifted to sleep.

You woke up exhausted feeling like absolute shit, your eyes were red and swollen and your head ached from crying yourself to sleep but hey it’s not a birthday if you don’t cry at least once.

You checked your phone noticing you slept in late- really late. Your eyes flickered to the date reminding you it was your birthday, the big two-one. You wish you were more excited but you weren’t. You were going to cut class and work to hang out with Shuri but oh wait she wasn’t here.

You lazily put together a decent outfit for the day and finished your morning routine even though it was evening time.

As your mind was preoccupied with other things you walked right out of your dorm room down the hall completely missing Riri.

“Damn I was gonna tell you happy birthday but you act like you didn’t even see me” startled you shook your head turning around.

“Ah shit my bad my mind was elsewhere” she frowned, you guessed she knew.

“Yeah she told me she wasn’t gonna make it I’m sorry boo” you waved her off sighing.

“It’s ‘ight” she nodded taking a second to observe your outfit.

“The fuck are you wearing? It’s your birthday not a damn funeral” she said wearing a disgusted look as she stared at you. You frowned looking down at your outfit, you had on black flared leggings, a black long sleeve shirt with red and black vans.

“What I’m just going to class?!” You whined slightly offended. I might as well try to make it to my last class you thought.

“What the hell?! CLASS?! Y/n we’re going out…like now so go change” she spun you around by your shoulders pushing you to your dorm room.

“But what’s the point of going out? My plans are ruined” you sulked stomping down trying to stop her.

“Just because your lover girl isn’t here” she spoke between grunts trying to get you to budge “doesn’t mean you’re having a shitty birthday. No ma’am not on my watch.”

“Ooh yup I like this one- oh yes this one and…oh that’ll look absolutely amazing together!” You sat on the floor picking at your fur rug watching Riri put together your birthday outfit. As much as you appreciated this you still couldn’t bring yourself to celebrate without your girl.

“Come on y/n/n stand up get ready we don’t have all day!” She yanked you up by your arm throwing a bunch of clothes you forgot you had into your arms.

“Ok so I paired that white body con mini dress you had with that beige coat along with those white thigh high boots… oh my-“ she took a pause placing her hand on her chest pretending to cry “you’re gonna look so fucking good” You rolled your eyes slightly laughing at her being dramatic. As you watched her wonder around your room looking for other accessories a concerning thought popped into your head.

“Ri how’d you even get into this building- wait let alone this campus there are no visitors allowed?” she peered at you puckering her lips.

“I might’ve hacked the security system- but it was only to see my favorite girl for her birthday don’t judge me” She rolled her eyes turning back around to finish finding accessories.

While Riri was in her own little world singing, you stared out the window watching all the street lights blends together.

“Oh my god are you gonna wear that long face all night? Y/n cheer up you’re twenty one you’re finally allowed to drink!” You shook her head at her liveliness.

“I don’t drink” your comment was met with a drawn out ‘Lame’ from her.

She swerved into the parking lot behind a moving line of cars out of curiosity your peered out the window reading the bright lit sign.

“Nobu?! NOBU?! Riri we’re two broke college students you think we can afford Nobu?” She rolled her eyes “just get out” You huffed following her lead as she gave her keys to the valet.

She strutted up to the lady behind the reservation desk “excuse me we’re with Ms. Udaku” the hostess nodded smiling “right this way ma’am”

You followed behind them thinking you’ve lost your entire mind, did she say Udaku? Like Shuri Udaku? My Shuri?!

Your questions were quickly answered when you came to a secluded area of the restaurant, and there waited Shuri sitting with a smirk in her face.

“Surprise!” Riri grinned giving you a big hug, you were so out of it you barely hugged her back.

“Wha- I- Shuri!” Shuri’s smiled grew wider as she stood to greet you. “Sthandwa you’d think I’d truly miss your birthday?” She brought you into a tight loving hug. You missed her hugs, so warm, they felt like home. You wrapped your arms around her loving the feeling of being in her arms again. As she pulled away you caught a scent of her perfume, god you could sniff her all day. She smelled like heaven.

“You know I absolutely hate you guys I can’t believe you lied to me” they both shrugged giggling evilly.

“I can’t lie though Shuri, it was hard I almost gave in a few times I mean she was just so hurt” Shuri pouted at Riri’s confession.

“Awe my usana” Shuri cooed pecking your lips, that peck turned into a full kiss and then Shuri found her hand creeping up your thigh.

“Well that’s my cue love birds, I’ll see you at the hotel we can gift give there. Also thanks for the dinner Shuri” Riri said scurrying away before Shuri could say you’re welcome. You giggled watching her leave, but Shuri gently grabbed your chin bringing your attention back to her.

“Don’t look at other women you’ll make me jealous” she gazed at you with sultry eyes as her thumb grazed your bottom lip. You rolled your eyes not even bothering to fight back a flustered smile.

“Don’t think you’re in my good graces cutie, your sweet words and this tennis bracelet isn’t gonna cut it” you said referring to the gift she gave you when you first arrived. Although you couldn’t lie it was beautiful, it was a vine tennis bracelet from Tiffany and Co. and you were positive it costs a pretty penny.

Shuri tilted her head fake pouting “maybe this’ll make up for it?” you felt her place her slide closer up your thigh, the more it crept closer to your heat the wetter you became. You could feel it soaking through your thin panties you wore. “God you look so sexy tonight” she whispered near your ear sending chills down your back. You haven’t seen her in so long you almost forgot how her touch affected you. As your lips were inches apart, you could feel her breath hitting yours and the more you leaned in the more she pulled away. What a tease.

“Would you like dessert to go?” You snatched back looking up at the waitress. She wore a small smirk holding a tray as she piled your dishes on. You blinked rapidly feeling your entire body heat up with embarrassment, damn you forgot where your were.

“Yes please” Shuri calmly answered as if nothing happened. The waitress gave a smile nodding “I won’t take too long.” She winked leaving.

“Oh I so hate you” you muttered still flustered from her.

She chuckled “No you don’t.”

Shuri Masterlist

©heejayy 2023 — any reposts outside of tumblr or translations of my works are strictly prohibited unless granted permission 🤍

Borders- @firefly-graphics

[dorminchu]

in this twilight

Rating: T Genre: Angst/Romance Summary: Through the blood in his mouth he said, "I'm sorry."

Read on ao3

a/n: Because @lunarcrystal's VC!Annie AU is a lot of fun to write for.

From the start, Leonhardt was powerless to stop what was coming, despite the Titan in her bloodstream. A fine-tuned weapon who promised her father she'd return home without expecting to live up to her comrades' achievements.

Her first chance to stop Eren Jaeger had been a wash, and now, as Vice Captain, here was another. Her final test of loyalty, to dispose of the only Eldian she'd trust with her vulnerability. He'd have made a decent Warrior, a great captain in the Scouting Legion.

Thus far, he'd refused to answer any of Zeke's questions during his internment. As Leonhardt took over, the War Chief's silence was his grant to settle the score.

Each time her boot connected, Krueger winced or grunted, accumulating bruises. Some visible and some obscured under clothing. But he wouldn't give up a name. Not Grice's or Braun's or anyone of interest. 

No matter if she slit his throat. No matter if the firing squad took care of it or another Titan ingested his remains. The next Attack Titan would be reborn, and she'd sooner give up her life than see his eyes in the shell of another.

Two hours ago she was at his apartment. On a warrant, she told him when he opened the door. She'd only be a moment.

Krueger didn't ask for papers. He simply opened the door wider for her to step inside.

The kitchen decently-kept. A few dishes on the table, on the counter. The old Marley tenements didn’t have running water or electricity, so the wood stove in the center of the room was the only source of heat in winter. Her eyes flickered to the half-empty bottle of alcohol on the table, glittering in the sunlight. Krueger stopped. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.” She said nothing. “You’ll want to see the other rooms?”

“Lead the way.”

He was so tall, even on crutches, that he had to bend down to clear the doorway into the next room. 

There was a bed against the wall. Not much furniture to speak of beyond a beat-up wardrobe and a closet. If he were writing regularly to an outside party he’d keep the letters someplace clandestine. She walked the length of the room in a few paces. A light breeze shifted the curtains in front of the only window in the room, cracked open.

Krueger loomed in the doorway. Face-to-face, she came up to his breastbone. “Something else you want to look at?”

“I need to look at the dresser and wardrobe.”

Krueger shrugged. “All right.”

The wardrobe had only a few ratty suits and a pair of boots, bottle of shoeshine. In front of the dresser she got down on her knees to rifle through a few shirts, rolled-up pairs of pants, old socks. The linen smelled faintly of mold. She shut the drawer and said in a tight voice, “The mattress, then.”

“It’s pretty heavy. I can help you with that.”

She ignored the obvious lie and walked over to the other side of the room with the window behind her. She lifted it herself, but the light of day revealed nothing but a decrepit mattress. With a tic in her jaw she let it fall.

“God, that’s terrible, isn’t it? I’d burn it now if I were able to afford a new one.”

The floorboards. That had to be it. She’d need a warrant, even in the slums of Liberio. She couldn’t go back to Magrath empty-handed. She turned and glared at Krueger as if that would solve anything.

“Are you finished?” For the first time he smiled. "I think I’ve got some alcohol left over.”

Leonhardt turned away. "You're out of your mind."

His expression hardened. “You’re wasting my time and yours. Your compatriots are going to get the wrong idea if you keep following me around.”

“You’ve been conversing with Warrior candidates when you have no obligation to do so.”

Krueger rolled his shoulders. “Did he tell you about me on his own? Or did you rough him up first?”

“I’ll be happy to drag you back to the courthouse and demonstrate.”

“Listen to yourself. You’re so sure I’m a threat, you sound just as brainwashed as the cadets.”

“I can’t let you roam the streets in any good conscience.”

"I'll be whatever you want, Vice Captain." The humor in his voice was flat and insincere. His attention on her more direct than it had been in the street, outside. She didn’t look away. He leant on the crutches and inhaled, exhaled. "There should be a clean glass."

Cheap whiskey burned on the way down. Her head spinning, she looked at him. Maybe in a different set of circumstances they would've had time to get to know one another as equals. Instead they were reduced to another stolen moment. Two lousy soldiers playing at love.

His working eye roved over her with a shamelessness she wasn't used to. She ought to kick out his leg and knock his head against the floor, if only it would make him forget whatever idiotic plan he'd cooked up. But it was his idealism in the face of the world's indifference that drew her to him in the first place.

They wound up on the sofa. She knocked away his crutch and pushed him onto the seat before pouncing on him. Her blouse unbuttoned, his mouth on her skin. Straddling his good knee in a way that had been innocuous only a moment ago, she reached to unclip her underwear from the garter-belt. 

Krueger's hands settled on her waist. Easy to picture the muscles in his tendons slashed down to bone and reknitting. Easier when he opened his mouth to croak, "You're beautiful."

Her teeth sank into his chapped lower lip. He started trembling and she licked at his teeth, moving against his leg as her breathing changed. Hand in his lank hair dragged his face aside to mouth his carotid artery. If he felt discomfort he didn't indicate it, simply raised his good leg to meet her. A terrific mistake on her part, giving him the advantage. Free to whisper into her neck all the unspeakable things he'd do for her sake.

She sank her teeth into his clothed shoulder as if wounding him would absolve her orgasm. They had always been equals in the burden of their undue circumstances. It hadn't mattered in Paradis, back when she had the luxury of playing soldier.

He glanced down at the damp spot on his leg. Leonhardt redressed without looking at him.

The circumstances that brought them together wouldn’t permit such an easy life, where they didn’t inevitably turn against each other. A timeless moment without war where the sorrows of their future acknowledged but did not loom so close upon the horizon. The hard light of afternoon through the curtains. He turned away, dragging himself over to the crutch and picking it up. It was pitiful to watch but she couldn’t make herself look away. He got to his feet and turned toward her.

“What happens if one of your Marley compatriots walks in?”

She held his gaze. "I'll have to take you into custody, regardless."

Krueger limped up to her. "What for?"

"Fraternizing with Warriors." She checked her shirt in the mirror but avoided her own eyes. "It won't amount to much."

He was looking at the chair next to her foot. “Want to elope?”

She froze. The sheer absurdity of what he had just suggested finally caught up to her. Her response was a little too hasty to be callous. “That—isn’t possible.”

“Why not? We’re both Eldian.”

She shook her head. “We just—we can’t.”

He paused. “There’s someone else?”

Leonhardt barked out a laugh. “What man in his right mind would ask to marry a Warrior?”

“If I asked you, right now, what would you say?”

Looking at her head-on. As if it were so simple. She sneered without reservation. “That you’re even more suicidal than I imagined.” It was never in the cards. She’d have to marry a Marleyan, if she bothered at all. The type to get drunk with and fuck once or twice and swap goodbyes. A loyal husband that would outlive the Curse of Ymir and visit her grave each year. “And if that wasn't what you wanted to hear, you can ask me when the war is over.”

He smiled. It didn’t touch his eyes. “I’ll remember.”

She'd been knocking him around for half-an-hour when Zeke pulled her aside. Advised her, in delicate terms, to reconsider what she was doing here. That her hopes of finding the usurper had, perhaps, blinded her to the simpler truth: Mr. Krueger was just another shellshocked Eldian. Plenty of men in the world who would fit Eren Jaeger's description. That he wasn't right to fraternize with Warriors, but this show of violence would reflect poorly on her.

Leonhardt was forced to concede. Krueger's records checked out. Just a vet. A false alarm brought on by the fear of repeating a past mistake. No doubt she'd be rebuked. Her years on Paradis had poisoned her mind, allowing space for paranoia. Just like Braun went native, just like Hoover strayed and it cost his life. She couldn't afford to be reckless and sentimental but nothing of consequence would befall her as Vice Captain. Too ruthless to be questioned outright, but no longer unshakable.

She glanced at the door. They were alone at last.

She walked over to him and took him by the chin. His broken nose would have to be cracked back into position before it could heal. He ought to have healed minutes ago, but the strain of reopening wounds wore down a Titan Shifter's stamina faster than the regeneration itself. Pressing her mouth to his, cut up and warm, shivering as he exhaled. Aside from the copper taste of him on her tongue, on her boot, it would have been tender.

Through the blood in his mouth he said, "I'm sorry."

"I know."

The next time they spoke, they'd be trying to kill one another. There was no sense in apologies.

[yayforocs]

felt awkward to tack this on the prev post so i'm,.,,,,,,,,, here

but!! i'm not just gonna like Make An OC and then only ever have one drawing and a small blurb about them and then just never acknowledge them again, no!! i gotta properly doodle and figure things about about the character and Make Them A Proper Character!!! so i doodled more of aron's helsmet :VVV

and then also. wrote about aron's helsmet. to feel out the character and explore around how she and her person interact with and feel about each other :VVVVV

Posting the one-shot under the cut!!!

It had been a good hour and a half of solid work when the redstoner, hunched over a worktable with bits and bobs in hand, realized she didn't have enough redstone to finish what she'd wanted to get done for the day. She bit back an irritated sigh, and opted to check the drawers under her work table. None there, just like there was none in her backup storage on the other side of the room, just like there was none in her inventory. She let the sigh loose as she slumped into her chair, and ran her hand down her face. Her eyes glanced to the project currently taking up her free time: while right now it was a mess of metal and circuitry, one day it was going to be a pair of glider wings. Gods and saints knew she wasn't ever going to get her hands on any elytra or her counterpart's wings, so she knew she'd have to make them on her own if she wanted them. This did mean, however, a visit that she didn't want to bother with, ever, preferably. But she couldn't afford to pay anyone else to make any sort of supply runs for her, and wasn't sure she'd even want to anyway- she felt ripped off last time she'd tried that.

Resigned, she pushed herself up to standing, and started rummaging around in her chests for supplies. Pickaxes, armor, torches, sword, anything she needed for a run. Several minutes later, she stood with a ready inventory in the middle of the room, hands on her hips as she let her eyes wander over everything. ...And keep wandering over everything.

Hels help her, she did not want to go.

But she rolled her eyes at her own stupid procrastination, and looked to the nearest light source- currently her lamp on the desk- and focused. And briefly, inexplicably, she felt traces of warmth on her skin as from the sun, and could swear a faint breeze barely rustled her hair as she caught a slight whiff of something fresh and green and growing. Trees. A forest.

Better put her armor on first, then. Feather falling would only help so much, but better than nothing. And besides, her other's competence in flying would be enough to keep them from crashing too hard, she was confident in that much. She buckled the boots on with a grim smirk.

At least she'd get to have fun with it.

Enchantment on, she again focused on the light, mentally preparing to act fast as soon as she was over. The light, and slowly, everything else in the room, fuzzed into white as she tipped over the precipice of spatial travel, and went into freefall. Her stomach flipped as new surroundings blinked into view, namely open sky, and her hand shot out and grabbed at the green blur in her peripheral.

"Ack-!"

She'd caught hold, and the two spun out.

"What are-?!"

The world somehow righted, and she silently gripped the harness strap she'd managed to nab as they awkwardly stilted through the trees down to the ground. It wasn't as hard of a landing as she'd hoped- they still both stumbled around each other and ended up on their knees at the end of it- but she'd take what she could get.

"What was that for?" her other, Aron, asked, breathless.

She didn't answer, instead looking around at their surroundings. Should be something decent nearby. She set off in a direction.

"Hey, wait wait wait-!" Aron called, jogging to catch up. "Nice to see you, too," she said sarcastically, and was again met with silence. It stuck for a second or two before Aron started again. "Really, though, like- I could feel when you were about to- I can get down to the ground before you do that, probably, just like- can you wait next time, maybe?"

"I know you can," she responded, but otherwise didn't answer.

Aron made a flabbergasted noise. "Then why- we could've both been hurt! Or respawned!"

She just shrugged.

There was the start of a reply behind her, and then it cut off with a sigh.

They walked in silence for a second.

"...So what are you doing?"

"Why d'you need to know?"

"I dunno, it's- I mean, if- I could help you with something."

She'd just tried to- why would- ugh. This was why she didn't like her. Always tried to kiss up to everyone.

Or kiss up to her, at least. Absolutely useless gesture.

"I'm gettin’ materials, if you really have to know. And no, I don't need you to come with. What part of I Tried To Take Us Both Out Of The Sky made you think I'd want help?"

The steps behind her stopped, and she relaxed a little- but then they started up again.

"Well, it's- it's just dangerous in the caves and such by yourself, so... You prob'ly should have help, y'know? Besides, I uh... I was going to get materials, too."

Great.

Perfect.

Wonderful.

...And yet, she had to acknowledge one of Aron's points. Caving was dangerous on your own, particularly when you were still unaccustomed to all of the dangers this world was only too keen to provide. Having a second person... could be useful, she supposed.

She sighed.

"Fine. Anything happens to me, I'm gonna blame you."

“Ok! Um, that- that works, you can do that. Uh… the cave I was gonna go to was over there.” She assumed Aron pointed, and a glance back showed she did, off to the left. “I’d marked it the other day, but I never went in to check it out properly. We could…?”

Well, it’d be quicker than trying to find one on her own. She pivoted, and quietly snerked when Aron just about ran into her.

She heard Aron take in a breath, but didn’t find out if she was going to comment on the pivot or the laugh because she apparently thought better of it and didn't say anything at all.

—-----

Surprisingly, Aron was fairly quiet for the trip to the cave- and even when they arrived, she was still quiet aside from the occasional callout- she needed the coal here, the iron over there would be good, she’ll grab this gravel real quick to try for flint later. It was something she reciprocated, if only for sake of not losing each other.

It was… weird.

And nice.

It almost felt like she was alone, really, but without the worries of having to constantly watch her back. She kept an eye on the front, and Aron faithfully kept up the rear.

At one point, they found a huge dripstone cavern. Even upon first glance it was clear there was a lot of loot to be had- and mobs to clear out. Aron provided a water bucket for a safe decent.

She noticed Aron didn’t use her wings to get down, instead going down the water after her.

She wasn’t sure whether she was insulted or not.

“If you don’t mind me asking, um- what’re you getting materials for?”

And there it was. Asked with the worst timing, as well, because they were reaching the bottom.

So all she answered with was, “Mobs,” and pulled her sword and shield out, to which Aron awkwardly conceded and pulled out her own weapon.

The blessed lack of conversation resumed as they circled out from their drop point, throwing down torches and clearing out what they could.

But no good thing lasts forever, and when no mobs were in sight, Aron brought it up again.

“So- since they’re all gone, what uh- what’re the materials for?”

“I’m makin’ a giant bomb to drop off at your base next time I visit.”

“I- sorry, what?” Aron squeaked, and she rolled her eyes.

“Bein’ facetious. It’s a personal project. Not for you.”

“...Oh.”

Silence, only broken by a faint skeleton’s clatter that was too far off to bother with. She spotted some iron and opened her mouth to call it, but Aron spoke first.

“Oh, hey, uh- there’s some uh- there’s some gold up there.” Aron pointed to a crevice, and they both set off towards it. She’d get the iron after.

“...Um, also, I know you don’t want- me to call you… my name.” Oh hels, this again. “But it’s… kinda weird to just like- ‘hey’ at you, y’know? Um. Is there anything that uh… you’d like to be called?”

Truth be told, this was something that’d stuck with her the last time they’d had this discussion and though, at the time, she gave no answer at all and made sure to be plenty rude about it, she’d mulled it over a bit. Eventually, she did come up with something, though it was a tad on-the-nose.

It was just Aron in reverse. Nora. Simple, but it seemed fitting, all things considered.

But she didn’t want Aron to ever call her that, let alone call her any sort of consistent name ever, so she didn’t say anything about wanting to be called Nora.

“No.”

“Like… not even a nickname, or anything…?”

“Nah. Keep ‘hey’ing me all you want. Or… um- something. Don’t call me anything. No names.” Nora reached the gold first. Aron let her have them, apparently stumped by her answer. Or stunned, either way. “Saw some iron back there,” she said after grabbing the grand total of two pieces of gold ore, and started back towards it without checking if she was being followed. The footsteps behind her told her she didn’t need to. As she walked, she looked to the side- and down. There was a whole other level to the cavern below them, and she was already attempting to take stock of what there was down there. It was really dark, so she couldn’t hardly see anything, but she thought she might could make out some redstone in the wall closer to the top.

Finally.

Clattering bones sounded again suddenly, much closer than they had been before, and she turned just in time to get an arrow to her shoulder. She gasped, hand darting to it as she stumbled back from the hit- and then all air escaped her lungs as she slipped right off the edge and plummeted. Air whistled past her ears as she somehow managed to wriggle herself to face the ground, desperately trying to get her water bucket out despite the fact that she’d never actually had to clutch before and didn’t even know if she could but she was falling too fast and couldn’t wrestle the darn thing out in time and

She jerked as her momentum was suddenly swooped to the side. Nora wheezed, the pull stretching her coveralls tight against her throat, but as they slowed to a stop in the near pitch-black, she decided she did at least prefer that to dying and having to come back again later. Aron settled them against the ground smoothly, making sure Nora was on her feet before clicking her wings back into place.

“Are you-” Groans started filling the cavern. “Right-! Right, shelter first, right yes, um-” Nora screwed her eyes shut as Aron threw a torch down, the light blinding on eyes that had been attempting to adjust. “UhhHH over here!” Aron grabbed at Nora’s wrist, but she jerked it away. Aron halted awkwardly, and glanced up, making eye contact.

Nora couldn’t even come up with anything to say, and upon realizing she didn’t have time to anyways, shouldered past Aron (on her good side, of course) and stalked towards the wall behind her. Probably, hopefully, where Aron had been planning on going anyway. She pulled out a pickaxe and slammed it into the wall, biting back a yelp as it jarred her hurt shoulder. Once her other joined her they made quick work of digging out an alcove and quickly dropping materials in front to block them in. This time, Nora already had her eyes shut when Aron stuck a torch down in the small space. Eyes still closed, she leaned back against the wall, this time wincing, and slid down it, a now emptied hand going back to her shoulder. The arrow was still in it.

“Do you need-”

“I don’t have any potions on me.”

“-Ah. I think I do, um…” Aron started digging in her bag, and after a second, triumphantly pulled out two. “Ah! I do! Um, here, I can-”

“Just give it,” Nora hissed, jerking forwards and snatching one out of Aron’s hand- and Aron flinched back, breath hitching for just a moment. Nora purposefully wasn’t looking at her, and wasn’t watching out of the corner of her eye as she tried to tear the cork out with her teeth, and definitely didn’t notice the solid second it took for Aron’s shoulders to- possibly forcefully- relax.

Except she definitely was and did, and puffed out a breath through her nose at Aron’s reaction. Good. She needed to keep Aron on her toes anyway. Or something like that.

If only the stupid bottle would-

“Um. …here,” Aron said quietly, holding out the other bottle. She’d already pulled the cork out. Nora paused, fixing her eyes on the bottle. After a second, she put the one she’d been wrestling one-handed in her pocket and took the offered one. And then promptly downed it, and before she could second-guess what she was doing, she grabbed the arrow and yanked it out as hard as she could- and it hurt.

But she wasn’t going to cry- not here, not in front of Aron, not while the healing potion was already making her want to scratch her whole shoulder clean off, not while she was gripping it in iron fingers with eyes scrunched and teeth bared and backed against the wall.

And then it was over, and she was fine.

She was fine.

Slowly, she took a breath, and then another, eyes still shut, head tilting back against the wall.

She didn’t want to have to acknowledge literally anything that happened in the past two minutes.

She didn’t want to acknowledge how stupid it had been to walk that close to the edge, didn’t want to acknowledge Aron swooping in, didn’t want to acknowledge the potions, Aron's reaction, none of it. At all.

Aron probably wouldn’t let her not acknowledge it in some form or fashion, but she still had the two of them sit in silence for as long as Aron could stand it.

…Which turned out to be a lot longer than Nora thought it would be. The silence stretched on, slowly becoming thick with awkward air that apparently neither wanted to address.

“Oh.”

Nora glanced up at the hushed statement. Aron was staring at the wall. Nora’s eyes followed the line of sight.

Embedded in the wall right above her head was redstone ore.

“Oh,” she echoed.

They stared at the redstone.

And then with a sigh, Nora pushed herself up, and then pulled her pickaxe out.

It turned out to be a decent-sized vein. Still not as much as she wanted, but at least it was something to work with. She could pull out now if she wanted to.

She glanced back at the torch.

…She didn’t want to have to come back for a while. She took in a breath, and looked over at Aron.

“I need more.”

Aron nodded, and then pushed herself up as well. After a moment, they broke the wall down and began clearing out mobs.

—-----

Too much time passed before Nora blinked back into her home. Aron had tried to say a goodbye once she realized Nora was leaving, though she hadn’t managed to get it out quick enough. But it was enough that Nora could tell what she was trying to say.

She wandered into her workroom, and looked around.

Despite her looking at everything in the room, she wasn’t really seeing it all, almost looking past the room as her mind sat and dwelled.

She really shouldn’t have accepted the help in the first place. She knew it was good that she did, in the end, and she knew she would have been in a lot worse of a spot if she hadn’t, and things would have been a lot more frustrating in different ways, but.

No matter how much she tried.

No matter how much she tried, Aron still tried harder. And it was so frustrating, because it was working.

Everything, everything- from the open lack of hostility despite everything Nora threw at her or didn’t, despite Nora trying to take them both down from the get-go, despite the words and the pushing and the anger- Aron still tried.

And the kicker was that it was genuine. Aron could be a tad idiotic going about it, but the genuine friendly intent was still there.

Nora inhaled for a long second, and then released slowly.

She walked to her desk, and pulled redstone out of her inventory, then paused when something shifted against her leg.

Her hand dug in her pocket, and pulled out the other health potion.

…This was why she didn’t like her.

Because even though she grabbed her mid-flight, she knew they wouldn’t crash.

Because even though she was rude, Aron wanted to help.

Because even though she shouldn’t, Aron wanted a name to call her by.

Because even though the universe pitted them against each other, Aron cared too much to let her fall.

Because even if their positions were swapped, Nora would have done the same.

Because even though Aron startling was good, she still felt guilty about scaring her.

She didn't like her because no matter how hard she tried not to, she did anyway.

Nora stared at the health potion.

She put it down.

She took a breath.

She got to work.

[sgiandubh]

Gooooodnight! Did you manage to finish watching the movie after all? What do you think?

Dear Ford v. Ferrari Anon,

Just finished it, after four failed attempts to get into the right mood - local time, 1:45 AM, Thursday morning. As you might know, Cancer people are very stubborn (even pertinacious) people and I am no exception to the rule.

I now totally understand why so many people wondered if I was really watching it, or confessed they could be remotely interested in doing so for about ten minutes, tops. The start is horrifically lackadaisical and I hit stop four times in a row, increasingly frustrated and feeling like a brain scattered idiot. But if you persist, this little movie, eons away from my world, could actually surprise you for the better.

Three tiny things redeemed it from the scrapheap for me: a) the Sixties, b) that Mad Men aesthetics and c) Lee Iacocca. Once this very familiar guy hit the screen, I knew I would be glued to whatever shite happened on it for the duration. Mind you, not the actor (entirely forgettable), but the business honcho whose Autobiography I read by complete accident at around 16. My brain could finally relate to something and start to make sense out of a completely alien, bloody mess. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, things began to emerge: the script is so fucked up, I couldn't help but wonder what possessed someone as discerning as C to go for it. Other than a ferocious will to be there (anywhere, really), for further consideration, of course.

This is an underdog story through and through, and with a little bit of luck it could have been Oscar material. The reason it isn't so relies entirely on the writer's frail shoulders: I can't be arsed to check whodunit, but that person clearly bit more than they could ever chew. No Christian Bale and no Matt Damon could have dragged that script to Premier League, no matter how hard the effort. And the same person who wrote that Bale presented himself at the TIFF as a sociopathic boor has always deeply appreciated his past stellar performances (Empire of the Sun immediately comes to mind, of course). Seriously, I did and this movie is no exception: he is way better than I would have expected, especially when compared to a disappointing Damon.

What about C, then? In this very Anglo-Saxon sports stew, let's say she is an indispensable condiment, despite the absolute lack of chemistry with Bale and the sometimes formulaic presence, allowing for simplistic and expected dramatic solutions to complex situations. As in S's case, she sometimes drags along her Claire Fraser mannerisms, although less conspicuously than in Belfast elsewhere (or was it because we really don't get to see her a lot?). This particular script left me hungry for more, and not in a good way. She was very much there, she clearly worked very hard for it and yet, it feels as if she were obliterated, for some reason. That film didn't do her justice and scenes like the car tantrum could only give you a sort of nostalgic 'what if' idea:

Easily my favorite C scene of the whole movie (spoiler: there aren't many at all). But let's be blunt, here: if you have no idea about who C is, no OL mystique to boot and you just watch that movie leisurely, you'd blink twice and miss her. And not remember her at all, perhaps.

Would I recommend it? I am not sure, despite Bale's Golden Globe nomination and two rather technical Oscars (for Film and Sound Editing). It could be me, after all and sports movies have never been my jam. It's a decent way to fill in two hours and a half of emptiness, but not nearly good enough for a re-watch. I'd be merciful and give it ⭐⭐/5. For the Sixties, my Paradise Lost.

Happy, Anon?

[docholligay]

Dr. Holligay Tries Things That Aren't Running: Oula One

So, continuing with my very sexy and respectable journey to win a high-priced and totally unnecessary kitchen item, I come hot off the heels of my hilariously and gloriously slow three mile run to the noble choice of: Whatever class is available to me at 9 am and in a decent spot on my bingo card.

That's Oula One, babes! Do I know what Oula One is? Not even fucking REMOTELY. Do i know that it is a stepping stone to winning really stupid kitchen appliances? Oh fuck yes. Let's go.

An incredibly kind woman greets me by introducing herself, shaking my hand, and explaining that it's a yoga dance fusion class.

Excellent! I hate yoga! I scream with my entire mind.

She must have heard me with her third ear or somethinking, because she's smiling and telling me not to worry, because it's all about doing what feels good in my body. Great! I hate doing what feels good in my body! Part of the reason I hate yoga is it is neither fun nor punishing. I LOVE to be taken to the end of my tether. One of my favorite activities of last year was our 24 hour run, where I ended up with cactus spines through my toe. Running lets me take myself to the redline and see if I can cross the finish line before the engine explodes. Boot camp tells me that I'm fucking weak, and I can drag myself in a full plank across a gym floor, can't I? Work harder, it screams. This is great for me! I love feeling like I could not possibly have given one more inch.

Yoga, on the other hand, is both very difficult, and not punishing. I can't touch my hand flat palmed to the floor, but neither do I feel broken by pushing to it. I am just bored! I am an extremely hyperactive human being and sitting cross legged grounding myself is probably against the Geneva Convention. I want to crawl out of the classroom like an inchworm.

But here I am! In a dynamic yoga class, sitting on the floor in my damn booty booty ass ass running shorts, which are very practical on a track but less so here. I was wearing sloth underwear today and everyone knew it. You're welcome. Since I'm here, I am going to give it my best try, and I am going to go in with an open mind.

Twist ending for me most of all: I actually sort of enjoyed it! It moves much faster than a normal yoga class, but you repeat the moves a lot and can get deeper and deeper into them. It's extremely hippy-dippy, which I absolutely am not, and I had to muffle my laughter when she was like, 'This song is about keeping our shadow self near us" but...I am somewhat older than y'all so i don't know if you have this experience.

So picture a party, and there's a lot of weed at this party. Now, you don't smoke weed because it makes you strange in ways you don't like, but you do like partying, and there's some extremely suspect but deeply alcoholic Homebrew "mead" and you're making the best of it, and besides you need a favor from the guy you came with because you want to buy shrooms for the meteor shower backpacking trip a few weekends from now (I realize I have touched the absolute heart of tumblr right now, and you all are nodding in agreement at this very relatable scenario) This person is like a lot of the people who always had weed before everyone did, and so there are dyed silks hanging from her walls, and Loreena McKennitt is playing in the background, and you're definitely a little buzzed, and getting kind of a contact high, and then people start to dance. They dance with these big, open swirls of their body, and almost certainly someone is wearing moss green.

That is how I would describe the yoga-dance fusion at this class. Easy to follow, very vibes-based, and heavily based in big, open moves that give good stretch. Seeing as it takes an act of God and Congress for me to stretch, forcing myself to go do it every week or ever every other would not be the worst thing.

I cannot BELIEVE I am saying this, but I would go again.

Definitely without the ass shorts though.