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pretentious-blonde · 2 months ago

Text

finally

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: in the aftermath of everything, steve comes to one undeniable realisation—he has to let you in. he just hopes you’re ready for what he's about to give.

warnings: 18+ this contains smut, angst (what's new?), scars, crying, body insecurity, arguments, explicit smut, p in v, body worship kinda, it's so sappy guys

a/n: this is so long and was incredibly difficult to write, i swear i was struggling and probably deleted and rewrote each part at least twice. i really hope i did this justice. but buckle up because this is a rollercoaster.

series masterlist

Steve slipped through the front doors of the school before the sun had fully risen, a ghost drifting in silent halls. The echo of his footsteps against the polished floor was unnerving without the usual morning ruckus. Only a couple of bleary-eyed janitors acknowledged his presence with a nod, too occupied to question why he was there so early.

Truthfully, he hoped they wouldn’t ask—because no explanation would ever sound right. But then again, that was nothing new.

He headed straight for the gym, heart pounding like a trapped animal in his chest. He could feel it throbbing in his ears, overshadowing even the squeak of his trainers on the spotless tiles. Rounding the back corner, he found the small set of showers—an afterthought of a space once used for older students or the occasional sports camp.

He dropped his bag onto the bench, the sound echoing in the stark emptiness. Then, without hesitation, he tugged the clothes off his body—jumper and joggers, the ones he’d gone to sleep in. He couldn’t even remember how he’d managed to find his other clothes in his scramble to leave your place. His head had been too clouded with shame and panic.

But now, he wanted them off—his mind was already overstimulated, and the added fabric against his skin was only making it worse.

The steady flow of the water was comforting, constant in a life that felt like it was careening off the rails. He stepped under the stream, letting the hot spray pelt his skin. It stung at first, just a little too hot, reminding him that he was still alive—still breathing, still here. He forced his eyes shut, shoulders slumping as steam enveloped him.

He didn’t want to think about anything, yet the images came unbidden. Your face. The look in your eyes when he lost control, when he gripped you hard enough to bruise. It flickered behind his closed lids, bright and aching.

The memory of that moment—your shock at his exit—slammed into him like a punch. A strangled groan escaped him. He raised his fist to the tiled wall, teeth gritted, so close to just letting go and smashing it. So very close.

No. Don’t. Not again.

He could almost hear his therapist��s voice.

Nothing good ever comes from hurting yourself.

But what about the hurt he inflicted on you?

Because—Christ, that was worse.

Worse than any bruise he could plant on his own flesh.

Part of him wanted to hurt. He deserved it after laying a hand on you. He couldn't stomach the thought of how those marks would look on your skin now—the shape of them a perfect match to his hand. Proof of his failure to protect, to be gentle.

He was supposed to be better than this.

He was supposed to be getting better.

The water slowly turned tepid, so he twisted the knob off with a hiss, breath still ragged as steam ghosted around him. His hair dripped in limp strands around his face.

Only after stopping the shower, he remembered something vital.

No towel.

He nearly laughed—a dark, bitter chuckle that caught in his throat. Nothing like standing drip-dry in an abandoned changing room. He hated the feeling of his exposed skin, even on the best of days.

He grabbed the abandoned jumper from the bench, pressing it to his body to wick away the water. The material felt clammy and foreign, but he pushed through, feeling each drop like another reminder of how he never planned anything right anymore.

When he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he grimaced. The reflective surface was warped with condensation, but he could still see the angry marks etched across his torso—the largest slash running from his hip bone to just under his ribs. His stomach clenched at the sight. It didn’t matter how many times he’d seen them; it always felt like the first.

He thought back to who he used to be. Cocky, a little arrogant, but at least he was whole.

He used to swagger around the high school hallways, grin on his face, chest puffed out like he owned the place. Back then, he was King Steve, the golden boy—girls would practically sigh when he peeled off his shirt at the pool, drawn to his tanned skin and slick confidence.

He could remember the way their fingertips would graze along his sides, warm and curious, sometimes shy, other times bold. He lived for it—lived for the validation of their longing stares, the flush of their cheeks when they realised they wanted him.

Now, he could barely stand his own reflection.

The raised scars were ragged lines cutting across the person he once was. Each one told a story of violence, of fights he barely survived. The old Steve had worshiped the feel of someone’s palms sliding over his smooth skin; this Steve was terrified of letting anyone see the mess underneath his clothes.

He was certain no one would ever touch him like that again—not without flinching. And why wouldn’t they flinch?

You didn’t.

The thought stabbed at his gut. He pictured your reaction when he first showed you the state of his arms—the complete lack of revulsion in your eyes. But those were just his arms. There was no telling how you’d react to the rest of him.

Maybe you’d feel obligated to tell him it didn’t matter—but he knew it would matter. It was too ugly, too raw, too real. His fingers ghosted over the ridges and valleys of ruined flesh, hating every inch of it, mourning the boy who used to be so sure that anyone’s hands on him were a promise of pleasure, not a reminder of pain.

He squeezed his eyes shut, letting a shaky exhale pass through his lips.

He wished he could go back—so fucking badly.

Not just to yesterday, but to his younger self, to tell him to run and never look back. That’s what all his friends had done, anyway. Max, Lucas, Nancy, Dustin—they all left the moment they had the chance.

But then again, if he hadn’t stayed, who would have been there to protect them?

He didn’t regret that.

Staying had felt safer, clinging to the familiar. At least he had Robin. But now, all he did was look back on the life he could have lived, replaying the possibilities like a song stuck on repeat.

Back to simpler days when he reveled in stolen kisses behind the bleachers, back when the biggest problem was heartbreak or a lost basketball game. But he couldn’t rewind time. He was stuck here, carrying an inventory of scars on his skin and secrets in his soul, all of them carved by battles he never volunteered for but fought anyway.

Selfless and stupid.

So fucking stupid.

Cautiously, he stepped away from the mirror. His boxers slid up over damp thighs, sticking uncomfortably, a reminder of how unprepared he’d been for all of this. As he tugged on his jeans from yesterday, he caught another glimpse of those twisted lines on his hip, and his stomach churned.

You’ll never look at him the way the others did.

Especially after this morning.

He couldn’t let that self-hatred bloom right now, not when he still had to make it through the day.

He pulled the shirt over his head, careful not to aggravate the scar tissue. It still stung sometimes, and the shock of cool air against his wet skin made him shiver. One final glance at the mirror, and he felt that hollow ache gnaw at his chest again.

He looked so far from the King Steve of old—his hair flat, his eyes rimmed, nothing left of that youthful swagger but a faint ghost.

Clenching his jaw, he bent down to pick up his bag. The clothes serving as a flimsy barrier between him and the rest of the world. A world that didn’t know the truth, a world that would never see the depth of his shame.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, ignoring the pounding guilt that told him he’d never be worthy of touch or tenderness again. With slow, deliberate steps, he turned away from the mirror.

He was fully dressed, but it didn’t matter. Underneath the fabric, he was still raw, still marked, still broken—and no amount of clothing would ever change that. He couldn’t hide in this empty locker room forever. He had to face the day, face the kids, face you—except he wasn’t sure he was ready for that. Not after he’d left you in pieces.

Get through the day, just get through the day.

The weight of it all made his steps feel leaden. When he emerged from the gym, the halls were still quiet. Everything was tinted in a dull gray that matched the cold ache in his bones. In a few hours, the corridors would be flooded with laughter, questions, and chatter, and bright eyes would turn to him for guidance.

The thought made his stomach churn.

How could he possibly guide them?

But there was no time to linger. He had to keep moving—because if he stopped, even for a heartbeat, he’d sink so far that he might never resurface.

It had happened before. And he had managed to pull himself out once, but there was no telling if he could do it again.

The only thing you felt as you stared at the door was complete numbness.

Your body trembled, each breath catching in your chest as you try to wrap your mind around the fact that Steve just…left. Walked out without even a backward glance in your direction.

The echo of the door closing still rings in your ears, and you swear you can feel it vibrating through the room, a certainty that he isn’t coming back.

You’d called out, desperate, begged him not to go, pleaded for him to stay and fix this horrible mess that you had no idea how to navigate. He didn’t so much as hesitate. He saw the hurt in your eyes, registered the tremble in your voice, and still decided to leave you here alone.

And that’s what fucking hurt the most.

It hits you in waves: confusion, anger, aching in your chest so sharp you think it might just hollow you out from the inside. A mix of emotions tangles in your mind, and you can’t believe this is the same man who’s been so gentle, so sweet, who made you feel seen and wanted. Protected, always.

The sting of betrayal ignites something bitter—how could this man, the one who’d look at you with such warmth, so casually vanish when you needed him most?

You press a hand to your face, feeling the tears slip between your fingers. In a distant corner of your mind, you register that you’re shaking, your knees threatening to give. The memory of him grabbing you in the throes of that nightmare is still fresh, sharp as a newly opened wound.

You can practically feel his grip on your wrist, the surge of his panic flooding you as he relived some horror. As frightening as it was, you understood—or at least, you tried to. Night terrors were real; you’d seen enough to know you couldn’t blame him for something he wasn’t even awake to control.

That was all explainable.

What truly rips you apart inside is that he ran before you could even talk it through.

You would have endured the pain in your wrist a hundred times over if it meant you didn’t have to deal with this gaping sense of abandonment. You needed him here, not just physically but emotionally—to see the remorse in his eyes, to hear his voice, to feel his arms around you as he promised this would never happen again.

You wanted him to sit down with you, both of you maybe still trembling from the shock, and figure out how to handle it next time. Because you already know you’re in too deep to pretend you can just walk away.

If this was going to be part of the reality you shared, then so be it—you’d find ways to cope, to help him. That’s what people do when they care about each other.

They stay and talk and try to understand.

But he didn’t. He vanished, leaving the sharp tang of fear and heartbreak in his wake. And the one person who can stitch you back together is also the one who tore you apart in the first place.

Worse, there’s a small voice whispering in your mind that he might not trust you at all, that he doesn’t believe you can handle this darkness—or maybe that he doesn’t want you to see how deep it really goes. It crushes you. If he can’t open up in a moment like this, when you’ve already witnessed him at his most vulnerable, how can you ever feel safe being vulnerable in return?

Your eyes drift again to the door, half-expecting him to change his mind and burst back in, breathless and apologetic. But the knob remains still, the room silent except for your ragged breathing.

A profound sense of loneliness steals over you. You almost consider marching right out, driving to the school, demanding he talk to you. Let him try to brush you off in front of everyone—let him see you won’t be turned away so easily.

But common sense, or maybe just the last shred of your pride, holds you back. You know better than to cause a scene, especially around innocent kids who don’t deserve to see two adults unraveling.

At length, you retreat to your bedroom, hands fumbling for clothes that feel safe and soft. You pick a long-sleeved top, something that covers the marks on your arm. The bruises throb with each movement, a physical reminder of everything that happened. Every time you rotate your wrist, the ache spikes, and fresh tears threaten to break free.

You don’t know which hurts more: the bruises or the empty space where Steve should be, reassuring you that he never meant to cause you pain.

Downstairs, you force yourself into a routine. There’s an order on the desk, scheduled for pickup later today—simple enough to pack, something you can do on autopilot. You line the boxes, arrange the contents, trying to focus on each small task. But your wrist protests every time you bend it, and it’s impossible not to recall the panic in his voice, the wildness in his eyes when he woke.

You push through the discomfort, desperate for a distraction, but all it does is magnify the emptiness in your chest. When the last box is sealed, you exhale a shaky breath and rub your forehead, wishing you could smooth away the swarm of thoughts churning behind it.

You decide you’ll work the shop until the customer comes, feign a smile and some semblance of calm, then close up early. Maybe after that, you can collapse into bed and let yourself cry until your eyes ache more than your arm. Maybe you’ll try to sleep, or maybe you’ll just stare at your phone, hoping Steve will call.

You hate how much you want him to, but you can’t help it.

Because despite everything, he’s the only one who can stitch these pieces of you back together in any meaningful way.

You don’t want to think about it, yet it’s all that occupies your mind. He’d been terrified, and that knowledge twists your sympathy and anger together in a knot so tight you feel you might suffocate from it.

The part of you that cares for him wants to comfort him, hold him until those nightmares fade. The part of you that’s hurt wants to shake him and demand he never, ever do this again.

You aren’t sure which part is stronger.

You brace yourself for customer service mode, plastering on a polite smile you know won’t reach your eyes.

And after that, you’ll close up shop and let your thoughts spiral in circles, trying to figure out if there’s a way to mend what’s been broken.

Because, really, what else can you do?

You can’t go back to pretending everything is fine, not when you have the proof etched into your skin. And you can’t move forward until he decides to talk—if he decides to talk at all.

He hadn’t slept. Not really.

The night blurred into a half-awake haze where every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face. It was the only thing he had left since you had been dodging his calls.

He’d told you he would—call that is—or at least, he thought he did. It was all so garbled and panicked, words tumbling out in a half-choked stream as he fled, too ashamed to look at your panic-stricken form for one second longer.

At first, he wondered if you’d even heard. The confusion in your gaze suggested maybe you hadn’t.

None of this would have made sense to you anyway.

He could barely comprehend it himself.

When lunchtime came around at school, he tried. He dialed your number on the ancient landline in his classroom, pressing the handset so tightly to his ear that his knuckles turned white. The phone rang on and on, that endless tone droning in his head like an alarm. Then, voicemail. No click of your voice picking up, no hesitant greeting, nothing.

It was the first sign something was off. You’d always said it was important to answer—it could be a customer, after all.

He set the phone down slowly.

Maybe you’re out.

But that uneasy feeling lodged itself in his chest, refusing to let go. You hardly ever left during your lunch hour.

He tried again after class ended, his nerves coiled tighter than a spring as he tapped his foot under the desk. Every glance from a passing teacher through the door felt like it burned straight through him—like they all knew he’d done something awful.

And it showed, too: even the kids had been oddly subdued, their usual energy muted by the forced smile he gave them, the one that never reached his eyes. He wanted to tell them, he wasn’t mad at them. That they didn’t do anything wrong.

But he did.

He couldn’t find the words. Not when all he could think about was how he’d scared someone he cared about, even if it was an accident.

The phone rang and rang again, no answer.

By the time he walked the entire route back to his place, he was ready to crawl out of his skin. He tried once more after he closed his front door behind him, your number already lodged in his mind like a reflex.

Nothing.

Not a peep.

His heart felt like it was in his throat. You always pick up. Especially in the evenings.

He remembered all those late-night calls, you answering groggy but delighted, telling him he was being stupid for staying up so late. Then you’d laugh, that sweet, half-asleep giggle he’d come to adore, and he’d cling to the sound like a lifeline.

You’d talk until dawn sometimes, spinning stories, sharing secrets. That memory cut him now like glass—because tonight, there was only silence on the other end.

And that was the second strike.

When he tried one last time before bed—gripping the handset with both hands to his ear—and still got no answer, the panic set in.

Hard.

He could practically hear your voice in his head. But the ring trilled on, eventually sliding into voicemail again. The emptiness felt like a personal betrayal, even though he knew he was the one who’d run from you.

Maybe you hated him now.

He wouldn’t blame you.

Or maybe you were hurt and couldn’t bear to speak to him. Neither possibility let him sleep.

But that still didn’t make sense to him. Not answering when you didn’t even know it would be him.

He almost dialed Robin’s number, thumb hovering over the buttons. She’d know what to do—she always did. She’d give him some tough-love pep talk, maybe call you herself. But he pictured the horror on her face when she found out the full extent of what happened, how he’d latched onto you during that nightmare and left you with marks in the shape of his fingers.

Would she see him differently now? As a threat? A monster?

He couldn’t stomach that. Couldn’t lose her too. So he didn’t call. He just let the phone drop back on the holder and stared at the ceiling until morning.

The next day only confirmed his worst fears—still no answer. He tried you at every spare moment, hands shaking so badly sometimes he nearly dropped the receiver.

He told himself he was a coward for doing this over the phone, but the alternative was to walk right up to your shop and risk you slamming the door in his face. He couldn’t decide which would hurt more: your silence over the line or seeing rejection in your eyes.

But the silence was brutal. It chipped away at him, driving his mind into overdrive with possibilities. That unwavering habit of yours to always answer, to be available, had been so endearing. Now it had morphed into a warning sign.

No answer meant something was wrong.

No answer meant trouble.

No answer meant danger.

The more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t shake it. By afternoon, he was in his car, driving too fast through the quiet neighborhoods of Hawkins, heart rattling in his rib cage like it wanted out. Each stop sign felt like an obstacle, every slow driver a personal torment. A voice in his head whispered that maybe this was all in vain—maybe you wouldn’t even want to see him.

He had to do something. If you were in trouble, if you were shutting down, he couldn’t just sit at home wracked with guilt.

He owed you more than that. He could understand that now.

When he finally screeched to a halt in front of your place, he killed the engine in one rough jerk, not caring that the car was crookedly parked. His hand trembled on the door handle as he climbed out, the sight of your shop sending a jolt of dread through him. It wasn’t as bright, as welcoming. The windows seemed dimmer, as though the life had bled from the space.

Or maybe it’s just you that’s gone dark.

An icy wave of guilt twisted in his stomach.

He tried the door, a gentle pull at first that quickly escalated into a desperate yank when it wouldn’t budge.

Locked.

You never locked it at this hour, at least not without a sign indicating you’d be back soon. This was abnormal.

Pressing a palm flat against the glass, he peered inside, squinting to see past the faint reflections. That’s when he noticed the state of your desk—papers strewn about, boxes teetering precariously, random books flung as if you’d knocked them over and never bothered to pick them up.

His heart lurched. You hated mess, took pride in keeping everything tidy. He vividly remembered the meltdown you’d had over a weekend rush, how you’d scurried to reorganise everything within minutes.

This was not like you.

A flicker of relief sparked when he realised only that corner was in disarray—the rest of the shop looked intact. But the relief was short-lived. This still screamed trouble. If you were leaving things in such a state, you had to be upset, or distracted, or both.

Shoulders bunched, he thumped on the door, urgency mounting with each second.

“Hey!” he called, the sound cracking in his throat. He said your name once, then twice, his voice rising in panic when only silence answered.

He remembered every unanswered ring on that phone, every message he’d left that was met with nothing but static. Sanding here, it felt like the universe was doubling down on his punishment, forcing him to relive the helplessness all over again.

“Please,” he said, pressing his brow against the glass. “Listen—I know I messed up, but—”

Suddenly, he saw something move at the edge of his vision. A flash of you, stepping from behind a shelf or the back counter—he couldn’t be sure. Relief slammed through him, leaving him momentarily dizzy. He straightened, heart in his throat, eyes drinking in the sight of you like a lifeline.

He wanted to weep with gratitude that you were up. You were moving.

You were alright.

But the instant he registered your expression, his stomach knotted.

You looked exhausted—drained in a way that went beyond lack of sleep. You were wearing the clothes you usually reserved for upstairs, they felt so out of place. No shoes, just those thick socks peeking out from beneath your pajama bottoms. An oversized jumper swallowed your frame, sleeves unrolled for once, hanging past your knuckles instead of pushed up like usual.

The relief that hit him was replaced by a heavier dread. He knew why. The sleeves weren’t for comfort—they were for hiding. He didn’t have to see the damage from a few days ago to know it would be worse by now.

You look broken.

And knowing it was his fault made him wish he could just vanish.

He lifted a hand in a shaky attempt at a wave, lips forming your name in a breathless whisper. The only consolation he had was that you were here, physically okay—at least for now.

His heart lurched the moment he saw you dart for the stairs.

So this is what it feels like.

The helplessness of watching someone run when you need them most.

It gutted him. He wrenched on the handle again, calling your name, more desperate this time. The echoes of what he did—leaving you in exactly the same state—taunted him. His shame rolled over him, drenching him in guilt.

He called your name again, his voice unsteady, and caught a glimpse of you hesitating on the landing. You turned slowly, wary eyes meeting his, your expression pinched, unreadable and indecisive. You looked torn, as if caught between two instincts, sending him away for good or granting him the same chance you had begged him to give the morning he ran.

He wasn’t running anymore.

“Please,” he rasped, voice cracking around the word, “can you—fuck—can you just open the door? I—I just want to talk.”

He winced at how needy it sounded, but desperation had stripped him of all pride. You turned fully, glaring at him with an anger he knew too well.

How dare he ask that of you.

It was a grim understanding, remembering how you’d wanted him to stay and talk.

He watched you stomp to the door. As your hand closed around the lock, he could see the barely contained fury in the tightness of your jaw. The click sounded thunderous in the still of the shop.

“You want to talk?” You snapped, throwing the door open. “Now, Steve? Really?”

His chest constricted, because you had every right to be furious.

It didn’t dull the sting of your words, but he owed you this, owed you the chance to say every bit of anger you’d bottled up. He swallowed hard, opening his mouth.

No explanation came. How could it?

He deserved this.

Your eyes flicked over him and you gave a mirthless laugh, then turned on your heel and marched back inside. He followed, hands sweaty and shaking, shutting the door behind him in a soft click that felt eerily final.

“You wanna talk?” You whirled, arms crossed. “Let’s talk.”

He could feel your gaze cutting into him, but it was the exhaustion limning your features that really made his stomach knot. You looked one harsh word away from shattering into pieces.

He recognised that brand of exhaustion all too well—he wore it often.

“Look, I—I’m so sorry, angel,” he began, voice trembling. The term of endearment slipped out unthinkingly.

“No.” You inhaled sharply, tearing your gaze from his. “You don’t—you don’t get to call me that, okay?” Your breathing was shaky, tears threatening at the edges of your voice.

He swallowed and nodded, stepping back as if to physically rein himself in.

This was worse than he thought.

“Alright,” he whispered. “I won’t. But please, let me say sorry. I—I never meant to scare you like that.”

Something flashed in your eyes, a deep, wounded frustration.

He really didn’t get it.

“Steve,” you said with a weary sigh, “I don’t give a shit about that right now.”

He blinked, thrown. He expected you to rip into him for hurting you, even if it was unintentional. But you pushed on, your voice rising.

“Are you ever gonna talk to me? Like, actually talk?”

“I—” He stammered.

Isn’t that what he was doing right now?

“Of course you’re not,” you said bitterly, eyes flicking to the floor. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“Wait—wait, what?” A spike of alarm hammered in his chest. “I promise, I never meant to lay a hand—”

“Jesus, Steve!” You let out a broken laugh that cracked partway through. “I know that! I know what a fucking nightmare is, alright?”

He stared, stunned, as you raked a hand through your hair, tears brimming.

“I can deal with that,” you pressed on, your voice firm despite the weight of the conversation. “People have them all the time—maybe not to that extent, but at least I can make sense of it.”

You took a deep breath.

This was it—the question that had been sitting on your tongue for months, the one you had rehearsed a hundred different ways but never had the nerve to say aloud.

“I know something happened to you—you think I haven’t noticed?” You exhaled sharply, a weak attempt to steady yourself before pushing forward. “I see the way you act around me, how you’re always looking over your shoulder, how you barely let me touch you. Don’t you think I’ve put two and two together by now?”

A twisted sense of dread pooled in his stomach.

So much for keeping everything subtle.

He’d thought he was being careful, showing you just enough to fly under the radar, but apparently not enough.

“I don’t know the details, not really. But I’ve been patient. I’ve been letting you take your time. And that’s fine. But—God—you need to let me in just a little. Anything. Especially if it could get this bad.”

He opened his mouth, a term of endearment on the tip of his tongue, but he caught himself.

“I’ve… I’ve never done this before.”

Your eyes filled with pain.

Is he not even going to try?

“Well, you’re gonna have to figure it out. Because I can’t keep doing this—stumbling around in the dark, watching you shut me out, and getting hurt for trying.”

The fatigue in your voice tore at his heart. He wanted to grab your hands, drag you close, promise that he’d tell you everything if it meant wiping that tortured look off your face. But he knew you needed space to speak, to get it all out.

“You know…I thought about leaving.”

“What?” His eyes widened, the notion shook him.

Leave Hawkins? Leave him?

The panic roared in his veins.

“When you left, I was a wreck,” you admitted, tears quivering on your lashes. “I couldn’t do anything right. The order I had to fill? I screwed it up—completely. And the customer tore me a new one, cursing me out in front of everybody. And I stood there, thinking, ‘Why am I doing this? Why am I giving my all to this place when it gives me nothing in return?’”

It was true—you had uprooted everything to move here, determined to start fresh. And for a while, you thought you could. Especially with him. But every time you tried to move forward, you hit a wall. Resistance. Silence. There was only so much you could take.

This lack of communication was breaking you. Only intensified by the last few days.

“And—I’m not asking for your whole life story,” you said, your voice wavering as you wrapped your arms around yourself instead of reaching for him. He didn’t get that privilege right now. “But it’s like you’re not even trying. Like you don’t want to try. And—and it just—” You swallowed hard, struggling to keep your emotions in check. “It just feels like you don’t trust me.”

His throat constricted at the sight of your tears finally spilling over. He couldn’t hold himself back any longer—he closed the distance in a rush, wrapping his arms around you. You trembled against him, clinging to his shirt as sobs wracked your frame.

He stroked your hair, pressing apologies into the air around you like whispered confessions, though he wasn’t sure if you could hear them over your own grief. But none of that mattered more than holding you right now, than letting you know he was here.

He hadn’t even stopped to consider how hard this was for you—how much you had clung to him, relied on him. And maybe that was his fault. He didn’t know how to be your rock, the person you could turn to when everything else felt unsteady. He had shattered that illusion, along with everything you had given him, leaving you with nothing to hold onto.

Then, in a trembling voice, you muttered into his shoulder, something so small he could barely hear it.

"I just—" You suck in a shaky breath, but it doesn’t help. It doesn’t settle the ache in your chest or stop the way your voice wavers.

"I just feel so fucking stupid—like… like nobody even wants me here anymore."

Oh.

Oh, no.

Sweetheart, you have no idea how wrong you are.

He holds you tightly as you crumble against his chest, your tears soaking through his shirt even harder than before. Each sob you let out is a blow to his heart; your cries cut deeper than any nightmare he’s ever endured. He scrambles for something to say, something that makes sense—something that won’t come out a tangled mess of incoherent feelings.

“Shhh, that’s not true,” he says softly, his voice steady. “Not true at all. Hey—c’mon breathe with me, yeah? That’s not true—I promise, it’s not—”

He had believed shutting you out would protect you, keep his past locked away where it couldn’t taint anyone else. Instead, all it had done was carve deep wounds in the present.

For a moment, he simply stands there, letting you pour out every emotion.

He soon comes to a realisation he hates—one he’s been avoiding, hoping he’d have more time to figure it out. But the way you’re clinging to him now, begging for just a shred of honesty, for something real.

He understanfs that the only way to keep you from spiraling further is to open the door he’s kept barred. He needs to give you a glimpse of the shadows lurking behind his eyes, prove that he trusts you enough to share even the smallest fraction of his past.

He has to try.

He inhales shakily.

Hoping to God this is the right decision.

“It was…” he begins, voice raw. “It was summer of ‘85.”

He’s started now.

Something small. Something safe—at least, safer than the rest.

Something true.

Your breathing stills, as if you’re trying to steady yourself. You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, tears still clinging to your lashes.

“What?” you murmur, confused. But you don’t pull away entirely, you stay close, your fingertips still curled in his shirt.

He nods, exhaling a trembling breath.

Here goes nothing.

“I—I was working the summer with Rob. At the old mall. First real job since graduation. It’s…where I met her.”

His eyes flick away for a second, remembering the cramped ice-cream counter, the corny uniform, and how it had felt like the biggest joke in the world back then. But at least it had been something to do, a way to prove he wasn’t just a washed-up high school jock.

You study him, eyes red but full of concern. He can practically feel your pulse racing under his palms, so he drags in another breath and forces himself to continue.

“It was a crappy gig, honestly. Couldn’t’ve picked something more humiliating if I tried. But hey, it kept me busy—got me out of bed in the morning.” He grimaces, remembering the bright neon of Starcourt, the endless swirl of customers. He presses his lips together, telling himself this is good, that he’s finally doing what you asked.

Show you something. Let you in.

“Got too close to something we shouldn’t have,” he says finally, voice low. “Way too close. Put our heads where they didn’t belong, and suddenly things were…real. They were really fucking real.”

He hesitates, haunted by the memory of secret corridors and muffled Russian transmissions. A slight tremor runs through him, and your hand comes up, brushing gently along his side as if trying to soothe the ache. He wonders if you can feel how tense he is, how his heart is pounding.

Probably.

“It was my fault, really,” he mutters, guilt stabbing at him. “I—uh—I encouraged it. All of us. There were four total—Rob, me, Dustin, Erica. I swear I’ve mentioned ‘em in passing.” He catches the slight nod you give. He’s mentioned Dustin especially, and you’ve always been curious about him. “They ended up moving away after everything. It got too much, and I—I almost lost…all of them.” His voice falters, the words scraping at his throat. “We nearly didn’t make it out in time.”

At the time, he could almost see the humour in it—some twisted, detached part of him had laughed. But, as time passed, the reality of what occurred settled in, sharper than he’d expected.

Being forcibly drugged had blurred the edges of his memory, warping everything into a hazy, disjointed mess. For a while, that had felt like a mercy. But then, piece by piece, the memories began clawing their way back. His doctor called it a trauma response—fragments resurfacing at random, triggered by nothing and everything all at once.

Only they never came back gently. They came in the dead of night, harsh and sudden, a flash of something new, something he hadn’t pieced together before. And with each fragment, the picture became clearer.

He had been closer to dying than he ever let himself believe.

“What do you mean?” you whisper, eyes searching his face. Despite your own heartbreak, you’re looking at him with such compassion it nearly topples the walls he’s built. It’s that look that finally pushes him to give a bit more.

“There was something going on down there,” he whispers. “Something we couldn’t understand—still don’t understand, really. Then the whole place went up in flames. You can read about it in the papers, see how they spun the story.” His eyes squeeze shut, images flashing through his mind: the deafening explosions, the collapsing ceiling. “It was…bad, angel. So fucking bad. I just—” His breath hitches, the memory closing in, “the stuff I saw…I can’t—. sometimes it’s all I see—”

He’s on the verge of unraveling, stuck in the memory of being beaten to a pulp, thinking Robin was gone, not knowing where Dustin and Erica had disappeared to.

It isn’t even the worst of what he’s been through, but it’s all he can manage right now. The rest stays locked away, too heavy, too unfathomable to put into words. He wishes he could give you more, lay it all out in the open, but even this small piece feels like pulling teeth.

Sharing it feels like exposing a fresh wound to the air. He’s terrified you’ll recoil. But instead, you rest your hand over his heart, fingers spread so you can feel how it thunders in his chest. He wraps you up in his arms again.

“I’m sorry I can’t… give you more right now,” he says, voice quivering. “I’m so sorry. I—I thought I was better, y’know? I’ve been trying.” There’s a hollow laugh buried under his words, tinged with self-loathing. “I just—it’s hard. I’m working on it, you gotta believe me—I’m gonna work on it, I want—”

Your eyes glisten as you cup his face, thumbs brushing against his cheeks, silencing him immediately. It’s only then he realises tears have slipped past his defenses—he’s crying, and he didn’t even notice.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, trying to soothe him, nodding to emphasise your words. “You’re okay.”

With tender caution, you lean up and brush your lips against his. It’s brief, but so warm. He kisses you back, just as softly, like he’s afraid you might vanish if he presses too hard.

Pulling away, he’s trembling all over, but there’s a new resolve in his eyes. The weight on his chest feels a fraction lighter.

“I—I’ll tell you everything someday—everything,” he manages, voice husky with emotion, and he means it. Every ugly memory engraved into his mind, the ones that refused to fade—he would tell you them all. “I swear. Just…not now. I can’t. I’m sorry. I want to, but I—”

You press a gentle finger to his lips.

This is a start, you are proud of him for this. It’s not a complete story, but it’s enough. You can work with this new information.

“It’s alright. Really,” you say, voice thick but kind. “Thank you for telling me. I know it’s hard, but you did good, okay? You did really good.”

He’s struck by how your tone is almost parental, like soothing a wounded child.

Strangely, it doesn’t anger him or make him feel weak—it only fills him with a sense of safety. And so he sags against you, letting your arms envelop him, letting himself be held.

“I really am sorry,” he murmurs. “About running off the other day. I don’t—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “I don’t know what happened. I just…I panicked.”

“It was a shock, and I get it,” you say softly with a nod. “But next time?” You arch a brow. “Please don’t run away from someone who’s trying to help you.”

He can’t help the short laugh that escapes him. There’s something genuine in your tone that loosens the last of the knots in his stomach.

“No, you’re right,” he admits, bending his head to meet your gaze. “I won’t.”

“Good.” Your lips twitch into a playful smile. “I’m not that scary, am I?”

“I don’t know,” he teases, leaning down, his breath ghosting over your ear. “You have your moments.”

You roll your eyes in mock offense, but before you can pull back, he slips a hand behind your head and leans in, capturing your mouth in another gentle kiss. He loves the way you smile against his lips, the tension around you both lifting like a receding tide. When he finally draws away, there’s a lingering light in your eyes.

“You’re not actually gonna leave… are you?” he asks quietly, trying—and failing—to hide the anxiety that accompanies the question.

“No. I’m not.” You shake your head, offering a smile. “Was just being dramatic.”

He exhales, relief washing over him. Good, he never would have forgiven himself if he had been the catalyst.

“That’s supposed to be my job,” he counters wryly, and you let out a laugh of your own.

When his gaze drifts to your scattered desk, his brow furrows.

“Is that his order right there?” he asks, tipping his head toward the pile of boxes and papers.

With a sigh, you slip out of his embrace and walk over, eyes lingering on the partially emptied contents.

“Yeah, he took it all out to check it right in front of me,” you explain. “I swear I gave him exactly what he wrote down, but apparently there was a miscommunication.”

He makes a sympathetic noise, stepping up behind you.

“Want help putting it all back?” he offers, hoping the simple act of assisting you might ease some of the tension that still permeates the air.

“Please,” you say softly, and that single word settles in his chest.

This is what he can do right now—help you, make things right, one careful motion at a time.

You both settle into the couch upstairs, nestling between his legs so your back presses snugly against his chest. His arm curves around your waist, the other hand drifting gently through your hair and brushing along your shoulders in soothing patterns.

His voice is soft, almost playful, as he rambles about his old job. It reminds you of stories he’s shared in passing, but never in such detail—like he’s finally letting you peek behind the curtain.

“You know, she actually made a whole tally,” he says suddenly, chuckling under his breath.

“A tally?” you repeat, turning slightly so you can glimpse his expression. There’s a hint of self-consciousness around his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“Yeah,” he confirms, voice warm. “Wanted to keep track of how many times I struck out with girls. Really hammered home that I was ‘off my game.’” He air-quotes the last words, rolling his eyes. The self-deprecating smirk on his face makes you giggle.

“Wow,” you breath out. “Did you manage to score a date at all that summer?”

“God, no,” he groans. The memory clearly makes him cringe. “The uniform made sure of that.”

“Uniform?” you ask, curiosity lighting up your tone.

This is gonna be good.

“I didn’t tell you about that part?” He sighs dramatically, tapping the back of the couch with his free hand. “It was a full-on sailor getup. Hat, shorts—everything.”

“You…dressed as a sailor?” A snort escapes you, and you try to muffle the laugh behind your hand. “Please tell me you still have it.”

“Seriously? No. No I don’t. Think I’ll stick to sweaters, thank you very much.”

You twist around in his lap with a coy grin.

“Aw, come on. Might be a good look on you.”

He shudders theatrically, pulling you closer until you’re resting against him, torso to torso.

“Trust me, I looked ridiculous. The last thing I need is to relive that nightmare.”

You laugh and wind your arms around his shoulders. You were joking about his mishap now, that was a good sign.

“Fine, fine,” you acquiesce. “For the record, I like the way you dress. You have good style.”

He arches an eyebrow, fingers still sweeping through the ends of your hair.

“You think so?”

“Mhm,” you confirm, a mischievous gleam in your eyes. “Good luck ever getting your shirts back, by the way. I’ve already hidden a few in my room.”

He nods in surrender, before pausing as he recalls something that’s been playing on his mind.

“Wait—did you take the navy one?”

“Hmm, maybe.” You tilt your head with a sly grin.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters, though his voice is tinged with amused affection. “I was looking for that last week! Next time, at least give me a heads up.”

You feign contemplation. “I’ll think about it.”

Before he can protest, you lean in and kiss him. It’s soft at first, the way your mouths just brush and part. You can feel the subtle hitch in his breathing as he savours the closeness, smiling against your lips.

The soft noise you make against his mouth sets his nerves alight, and he inches you closer to him by your waist—like somehow, if he just holds on a little tighter, it’ll anchor him to this moment. Your fingers tangle in his hair, a gentle pressure at his scalp, and he exhales a shaky breath into you, revelling in how you get him to respond so easily.

But then your hands slip lower, down his neck until they settle over his chest. It’s a featherlight touch, nothing that should spook him, yet he tenses anyway, that automatic flinch he hates so much. It’s barely perceptible—he’s skilled at hiding it—but you notice.

Of course you do.

You always do.

You pull back, just enough to search his eyes. He reads the hint of disappointment there, though you try to smooth it over with a soft smile. It makes his stomach drop, guilt surging through him.

Why can’t he do it?

After everything.

Why can’t he just let this happen?

Frustration burns in his ribs. Even in these moments, when his guard is down, his body still betrays him.

A sigh leaves your lips, and you shift as if you’re about to slide off his lap—ready to give him space and spare him discomfort. But he can’t let that happen, not when his heart is screaming at him for you to stay.

He grips your hips, halting your retreat, guiding you back into place. You hesitate, blinking at him, confusion filling your features. You don’t push further, though. You just wait, letting him decide what comes next.

His eyes skim every detail of your face, taking in the way your gaze stills, the way your lips part in question. He cups your chin, and the resolution settles in his chest.

He wants this.

He wants you, and maybe it’s time he truly showed it—no more half-measures.

“I…” He begins, slow and steady. “I want… you,” voice low with longing.

Your lips curve slightly, if he wants to play, you have no problem humouring him.

“You can,” you murmur softly, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “You have me.”

He swallows hard, shaking his head. You need to understand his distinction.

“No. I mean…all of you,” he clarifies, his eyes flicking between yours. “I want all of you… against all of me.”

The confession nearly floors you.

This was big—huge. You could see it in the way he spoke, the look in his eyes, the subtlety behind his words. He was really trying, and that alone was a massive step.

You wanted to tell him not to push himself, that he could take his time. But, god, you wanted him to take this step with you.

You were practically aching for it.

“You don’t have to,” you whisper, your words were true. “If this is because of today, I’m okay waiting. I don’t want you to rush.”

Don’t want him to do anything out of obligation.

He exhales, some tension uncoiling in his chest. He hates how scared he is, how part of him is still so damn nervous. But he also knows he’s ready in a way he’s never been before.

“I’m ready,” he insists, voice tinged with a plea. “Please, I… I want this. Want to do this with you.”

You nod—gentle, careful not to draw attention to his vulnerability.

“Okay,” you say quietly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his mouth. “We can do that.”

Your hands rise to frame his face, your thumbs just grazing the underside of his cheekbones. You kiss him once more, and he feels your acceptance, sweeping away the last thread of doubt.

He feels safe here. He feels safe with you.

He breathes against your neck, each kiss lingers, heavy with new meaning.

It’s yearning, it’s hesitation—it’s everything at once. Every emotion he can name, and even the ones he can’t, thrumming through him like a live wire. He’s pressed so close—chest to chest, thigh to thigh—that it almost feels like you share the same heartbeat.

He’s stalling, but you understand. You sense the anxious flutter in his chest, in his movements, the old wounds fueling his wariness.

You know he needs to be the one to cross that line.

He needs to be the one to make that final decision.

At last, he tugs lightly at the hem of your sweatshirt, lifting his gaze to yours in silent question.

You go first?

You respond with a small, encouraging nod, letting him see your readiness—and your patience. Gently, he helps you sit up on the bed, his hands sliding carefully along your sides, fingertips testing their welcome at every shift of fabric.

The tenderness in his touch sends a shiver over your skin, and you watch him exhale a slow breath as though reassuring himself this is safe.

Once the garment is off, he lowers you back down with a featherlight press, settling atop of you. His palm finds yours, lacing your fingers together, a tangible tether that seems to keep him grounded. Uncertainty dances across his expression, but he keeps going, letting himself hover in that intoxicating space between caution and desire.

They say anxiety can heighten pleasure, and right now, he’s drowning in both.

He shifts, adjusting to find a more comfortable position—not just for himself, but for you too. If this was going to be the night he laid everything bare, he needed to get everything else right.

No distractions. No missteps.

He pushes himself up, using the hand still linked with yours, but the second a sharp yelp escapes your lips, he freezes.

Shit.

Your wrist.

Your fucking wrist.

Instantly, he recoils, eyes going wide.

“Fuck—I’m sorry,” he blurts out, his voice shaking with fresh guilt. “I’m—I’m so fucking sorry.”

The weight of it all crashes down on him—the intensity of the moment, the last few days, everything piling on top of him until it’s suffocating. His breath stumbles, his grip loosens, and suddenly, the bed beneath him doesn’t feel so steady anymore.

“I… I can’t do this. I—” He falters, breaking under the strain.

His voice cracks, and you can see it happening—the spiral, the shame rolling over him in waves, dragging him under. But you won’t let him disappear into it.

Not after he’s come so far.

Not after he was so close.

You cup his face in your hands, grounding him, your thumbs brushing gently over his cheeks.

“Steve,” you say firmly, your hands steady as you pull his frantic gaze to yours. “Look at me—hey, look—”

His eyes finally meet yours, wide and scared, like he’s teetering on the edge.

“I trust you,” you say, voice unwavering. “I want this. Okay?”

You soften, letting the urgency slip into something gentler, something he can hold onto.

“Please,” you add, barely above a whisper. Desperate to keep him here, to stop him from retreating into himself. To keep him from running away again.

Your words seem to slice through his panic, and he inhales shakily, forcing himself back.

He can do this.

“Yeah,” he rasps at last, nodding. “Okay. Yeah. I’m… I’m good.” His breath comes in unsteady bursts, the aftermath of an almost-panic detectable in his voice.

For a moment, he just clutches the edge of his sweater, hesitating as if every muscle in his body wants to lock up. You can practically feel the anxiety radiating off him, a pang of sympathy tightens in your chest.

He’s really doing this.

Finally letting you see what he’s kept hidden for so long.

He starts to pull the fabric up, inch by inch, and you swear you feel the tension building inside yourself, mirroring his every move.

Your heart squeezes as you watch him close his eyes, the last of his self-preservation roaring for him to stop. You know exactly how hard it is for him.

It makes you want to reach out, to still his trembling hands. Tell him how well he is doing. But you stay put, giving him the space he needs to do this on his own terms.

Once the material is off, he holds it in a death grip, knuckles bleaching white, and your stomach twists with an ache of empathy.

He’s shaking.

You want to tell him he doesn’t have to be afraid anymore. That scars or not, you’ve chosen him, over and over. But you wait, letting him find his own breath.

When he finally lets the fabric slip from his grasp, you see him glance around, as though searching desperately for a safe place—somewhere to hide the proof that he’s now so utterly exposed.

Your throat tightens, remembering every story he’s told you, every time he’s mentioned wearing hoodies in July, never taking off his shirt by the lake, being careful not to stretch too high in public lest someone catch a glimpse.

How many years has he carried that weight?

He’s kneeling there, half-naked, and the rawness in his eyes makes your heart pound. He looks at you then—uncertain, vulnerable, like he expects you to recoil.

But you don’t. You can’t.

You want him to know that in your eyes, he has never been anything less than beautiful. His scars are part of his story, and you want to learn every chapter if he’ll let you. The corners of your mouth curve into a gentle smile, and you lift one hand, offering it wordlessly. He swallows, then edges closer.

You didn't flinch, after all.

He’s shocked to find himself questioning if he overreacted. From your lack of response, this really was nothing.

The thought is an unsettling, creeping realisation. It’s painful to admit that the words he’s been told so many times might actually be true. That he is—truly—his own worst enemy.

Maybe, it really was all in his head.

What he feels is grief. He doesn’t know what to do with it, doesn’t know how to hold the weight of the unexpected emotion. He is grieving every lost opportunity, feeling dejected as he is the reason he was held back.

You beckon him closer with a simple lift of your hand. It’s a small gesture, but it speaks volumes.

Come here. He’s not alone in this.

There’s a shake in his limbs as he crawls over you, and when your hands come up to rest on his shoulders, he exhales, trying to slow the roar of blood in his ears.

“Do they still hurt?” you ask first. Your fingers ghost along one of the longer scars snaking up his side, and he sucks in a breath.

“No,” he manages. His throat feels tight, so he tries a reassuring smile. “They don’t hurt anymore.”

Not physically, at least. But the reminder of how he got them has always stung somewhere.

Your gaze fills with understanding.

“Can…can I touch them?”

Can I touch you?

He stiffens, pulse kicking into overdrive.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Of course you can.”

Even if he can’t understand why you'd want to.

You surprise him by sliding a hand to his rib cage, fingertips light but deliberate. The sensation makes him tense, then relax. It tickles into a new feeling, one he has yet to feel in an age.

Freedom.

Like some invisible chain has snapped, letting him feel your touch for what it is.

A sigh escapes him when you guide him down for another kiss, deeper this time, your free hand sneaking up to tangle in his hair.

There’s an exhilarating rush as he senses just how badly you still want him—how your hips roll against his, hands clinging to his arms, his torso, fingers curling into his marked skin.

You want this. You still want him. Nothing has changed.

It spreads through him, heating his entire form. You’re pulling him closer, practically begging for more.

It’s euphoric, familiar in a way that sparks memories of his younger self—before the world took a piece out of him. He’d felt invincible back then. And now, as you arch against him, nails grazing lightly along his spine, it’s like a piece of that bold, fearless boy flickers back to life.

Your pyjama bottoms slip off with his help, soft cotton pooling by the bed. He lingers for a second, mesmerised by the sight of you in nothing but your underwear.

He’s lucky. So fucking lucky.

A wave of gratitude swells, a fierce need to show you how seen and cherished you are in return.

His mouth travels over your stomach, up your ribs, scattering kisses like he’s leaving a trail of silent thank-yous. He finally shifts higher, he brushes his lips against your chest—hesitant at first, like he’s testing if it’s okay.

Then he grows bolder, his tongue and teeth teasing against sensitive skin, testing, exploring—soaking in every breathy sound you give him like a delicious reward. He pulls back just enough to glance at you, hair falling into his eyes.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, voice catching in his throat. His fingers find the clasp of your bra, and when he slips it free, he dips his head to kiss and taste at the newly exposed skin. There’s something liberating about the way you curl into him, spurring him on with each gasp.

“You’re… you’re so fucking stunning,” he breathes, His eyes flick up—just to watch. To take you all in.

“So are you.” You manage to speak, through the dizzying sensation of his mouth.

He huffs a laugh, he doesn't believe that for a second.

“You don’t have to lie to me, sweetheart.”

You already had him.

“Not lying,” you say, the sincerity in your flushed face makes his throat constrict.

It wasn’t a lie—he was gorgeous.

Unfairly so.

His hair, wild from your hands, framed his face in soft, unruly waves. His lips, plush and kiss-bitten, parted just slightly as he caught his breath. The sharp cut of his brow bone cast the faintest shadows over his dark, wide eyes, pupils blown with pure lust.

The marks on his body were plentiful, scattered like constellations across his skin—but so was his beauty. The slope of his collarbone, the freckle just above his stomach, the way his chest rose and fell in unsteady rhythm.

“You’re beautiful, Steve Harrington,” you insist, every syllable dripping with conviction.

It sounds so alien to hear the word beautiful tied to his name, but the affection shining in your expression doesn’t waver. A sudden prickle of tears flutters at the corners of his eyes.

You really meant it.

After you'd seen everything.

“Shit,” he mutters, voice thick, embarrassed at how easily you can unravel him. “I’m supposed to be making you feel good, not getting emotional.”

“You want me to stop?” You smile, leaning up to nip at his jawline.

“Never,” he whispers, shaking his head, pressing his forehead to yours.

He never wants you to stop wanting him.

Your underwear joins the pile on the floor, and then he moves to rid himself of his own jeans. He pauses at the button, a sliver of lingering uncertainty present.

He sees the look on your face—entirely filled with desire—it’s enough to banish the last thread of doubt. He shucks them off, letting them fall, then tugs down whatever’s left until he’s utterly bare before you.

He returns above you, his chest hovering over yours. He kisses along your throat, lips trailing heat as he cups your jaw. His fingers slip lower, skimming across your collarbone, down the curve of your waist, until they reach the soft skin at your inner thigh.

“God, sweetheart…” he murmurs, sinking his teeth gently into the spot where your shoulder meets your neck. “All this for me?”

Just at the sight of him?

He slides his hand further between your legs, groaning when he feels how soaked you are against his fingertips.

“Haven’t even touched you properly yet,” he adds, voice rough, thumb circling lazily in a way that draws a quiver out of you.

“Steve,” you plead, your legs fall open wider, begging for more contact.

It’s all he needs to hear.

“More?” He lowers his mouth to your collarbone, pressing a hot kiss there that makes you shiver. “You want more, baby? I’ll give you anything—just say it.”

“Want you inside me,” you manage, voice catching as your nails scrape lightly across his shoulders. “Please… been wanting for so long.”

Too long.

The words rip a ragged sound from his throat, a groan that vibrates against your skin. His mind swims with the idea of being inside you, everything else fading into white noise, but he resists—barely.

He’s torn, wanting to give you exactly what you’re begging for, yet desperate to watch you fall apart on his fingers first. His free hand frames your jaw as he pulls back just enough to see your expression.

After everything, he needs you to feel nothing but pleasure tonight.

No pain, no doubt, just this.

Just him.

“I can take it,” you plead, arching your back and pressing your core more firmly into his hand. “Please.”

“I know you can,” he brushes his lips over your cheek, peppering kisses across your face. “I know,” he soothes, stroking deeper, harder, careful but utterly entranced by your every reaction. “Just a little longer, baby. You’re getting there—I can feel it.”

He’s single-minded, pouring everything into his movements—no teasing, no hesitation—just a relentless focus on pulling you apart, on making you soak his hand.

Every whine tells him he’s doing it right. Every breathless whimper is his reward.

Your breath hitches, and your eyes flutter shut as you feel yourself coming close to the edge. He’s watching you intently, drinking in every flicker of bliss on your face.

It’s enough to unravel whatever composure he has left, but he’s determined to see you through this first. His thumb finds a sweet, sensitive spot inside, coaxing a sudden cry from your lips.

“Let me have it,” he begs as you clench around his fingers. “Then you can have me, alright? I promise. Gonna take such good care of you, angel.”

That final push does it. Your body seizes up, shuddering around his fingers as your climax hits. A breathless moan tears out of your throat, your face tipped back against the pillow. He murmurs your name, transfixed at how you writhe beneath him.

You cling to his wrist as the waves roll through you, and he eases you through it, pressing reverent kisses to your shoulder, your neck, anywhere he can reach.

He’s never seen anything so beautiful. It’s etched into his mind, this image of you, lips parted in bliss, your chest heaving with each ragged breath.

He barely has time to talk before you tug him into a fierce, urgent kiss, your lips parting under his as the aftershocks of your orgasm still tremble through you. He can feel it in the way your thighs quiver around him and the way you cling to his shoulders, desperately pulling him closer.

You need him as badly as he needs you.

“Ready now,” you urgently murmured against his mouth. “Need you—now—please.”

It’s almost painful at this point, having him so close.

“Okay,” he manages, voice husky. His hands slide to your hips, palms nearly trembling from how hard his heart is pounding. “Alright, sweetheart. You have me. Gonna give you what you want, yeah? Waited so long. Been so good for me—”

You have. In more ways than one, offering him patience and reassurance even when he hardly deserved it. Your fingers curl into his hair, tugging gently, and you say two words that make his stomach twist.

“Top drawer.”

He fumbles to reach over, pulling it open to find the box of condoms. He tears one packet open with shaking fingers, rolling it on before positioning himself over you again.

A groan spills from his chest as he drags the tip of his cock through your slick, letting himself feel just how soaked you are. His hips jerk involuntarily at the warm, wet pressure, a low rumble building in his throat.

His past doesn’t exist in this moment—there’s only you, wrapping your legs tight around his waist, urging him closer. The sensation of your ankles locking behind his back sends a jolt of pure desire down his back.

His eyes flick up to yours as he presses in—slow, savouring every fraction of an inch. A tightness gathers at the base of his spine when he feels the snug heat of your pussy welcoming him. You draw a sharp breath, a little gasp that sets him on fire.

He breathes hard, eyes squeezed shut as he basks in the electric bliss of being fully sheathed inside your walls. Every nerve in his body screams to move—to claim every inch of you and lose himself in the friction—but he holds himself still, chest heaving.

“Need you—” you whisper, voice hoarse. “Need you to move.”

He cups your face with one trembling hand, locking his gaze onto yours, the other hand planted by your head.

“I will,” he assures you, voice wavering on the edge of control. “I will, I promise—shit, just—gimme a moment, yeah?”

You can feel it—the way he is barely holding on, the way his breath stutters against your skin. This is a lot for him..

He just needs a second to process it, to believe it.

Your grip slides up to cradle his head, guiding him to rest against your shoulder.

“As long as you want,” you promise quietly, but you don't know how much longer you can take. His heart clenches at just how needy you sound for him.

He presses his forehead into your neck, inhaling the lingering scent of your shampoo and skin, before finally drawing back. The sensation of leaving your warm pussy and pressing back in again is everything he’s fantasised about—slow and unhurried, a deliberate, dragging friction that sends sparks dancing across his vision. A guttural moan tears from his throat at how good it feels, how perfectly you fit around him.

Christ, this was so much more than he ever imagined.

The moment he starts moving again—slowly at first, then steadily building rhythm—it’s like he finally surrenders to everything he’s been holding back.

“Ah—shit,” he exhales, voice thick with need. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, and he grips your hips more firmly. “Feels so good—you—you feel so good.”

Your fingers weave through his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. The action sends sparks skittering down his spine, and he can’t help the low, desperate moan that escapes him.

He already knows he’s gone, lost in the pleasure, but hearing you—the way you gasp and whimper whenever he thrusts just a bit deeper—only pushes him further.

“Steve,” you murmur, voice trembling with need. You tug at his hair, urging him closer, and he leans over you, chest pressed to yours. The heat of your skin against his feels like the most intoxicating thing in the world.

“Keep doing that,” he pleads. “Just—just like that—” He punctuates the words with a hungry kiss to your throat, then angles his hips in a way that makes you cry out. “So perfect for me. So fucking perfect.”

He’s never felt this drunk on pleasure before—like every stroke, every shift of his body inside yours, is rewiring his brain. It’s all he can do not to lose himself immediately, but he needs to last, needs to give you everything you’ve waited for.

His mouth begins running in a constant string of half-choked praise and filth, fueled by the steady drive of his hips.

“You… oh, baby—look at you,” he gasps, forcing his eyes open to watch your face contort with bliss. “Wanted to see you like this, wanted it so bad. God, you’re—”

A fucking dream.

You whimper again, arching beneath him as he thrusts deeper. Your nails dig into his back, leaving faint crescents that he’ll cherish like badges of honour.

Maybe if he fucks you good enough, you could leave your own marks, ones that he can look at with pride.

The sting of pain only sharpens the pleasure as he drops his forehead to yours, breath ragged.

“You feel—” he mumbles, voice disbelieving, like the words are just flowing out of him. at this point. “Like you were made for me—fuck, can feel you squeezing me—”

His hips stutter, then snap harder, like he’s trying to memorise this, make up for lost time.

“Jesus—so fucking stupid,” he groans, breathless. “Why did it take me this long? Why did I—when you—”

Your moan splinters into a soft sob of ecstasy, and that sound just unravels him further. His confidence surges, stoked by your every reaction. He slides one hand up from your waist to cradle the back of your head, gently tugging so he can devour your mouth. His kiss is open-mouthed, messy, all tongue and desperation.

“You like that?” he asks, voice laced with a giddy awe, as if he can hardly believe he’s the one pulling those sounds from you. “Tell me—tell me how good it feels.” His words spill out before he can check them, he needs to hear if you are as gone as he is.

“Feels… so good,” you manage, broken and breathless. “You’re so—God, Steve—deep.”

He laughs—he fucking laughs.

Pure, unfiltered bliss bubbles up from his chest, raw and unrestrained.

This moment, you—it’s all he’s ever wanted.

It’s fucking everything.

“Shit—you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He nips at your skin, pressing kiss after kiss along your throat.

Now that he’s had a taste of what he’s been missing, he never wants to let it go. Never wants this moment to end.

Your legs tighten around his waist, urging him deeper. There’s no space between you now, just the heated glide of your bodies. Each time he withdraws, he can feel the trembling in your limbs as you cling to him, pulling him right back in. And each time he plunges forward, a fresh surge of desire knots low in his belly.

He changes angle, dipping one shoulder slightly. The new position has him hitting a spot that makes you cry out his name, and he’s undone by it—his pace falters for a moment, overwhelmed by the sudden wave of ecstasy washing through him.

“Christ,” he mutters under his breath, the word breaking apart as he punctuates it with a sharp thrust. His voice is wrecked now, spilling over with pure need as he rambles, barely thinking, just feeling. “All for me, yeah? Fuck—show me. Let me hear you.”

His grip tightens, his movements growing rougher, deeper—chasing your pleasure like it’s the only thing that matters. Like he’ll only believe this is real if he earns it from you, if he can wring it from your body, pull it from your lips.

“Please—don’t stop,” you whimper, needing to take all of him.

His breath stutters, jaw clenched, losing himself in the way you beg for him.

“Not gonna,” His voice is wrecked, thick with heat, his control fraying at the edges. “I’ll give it to you, baby—”

He’d give you everything.

You nod frantically, hands sliding up to cup his face. Tears of pure bliss gather at the corners of your eyes, and he brushes them away with his thumb. He catches your lips in a sloppy, desperate kiss, tongue dipping into your mouth just as he drives his hips forward again in a relentless rhythm.

He watches your face, the way you bite your lip, your brows knitting as the pleasure builds again. His head spins because he’s the one doing this, bringing you right to the edge. Pride floods him, spurring him to keep going harder, deeper, until his thighs burn.

“Fuck, angel—gonna give you this whenever you want,” he can hardly believe the ragged edge to his own voice, how he’s speaking without filter, entirely guided by the euphoria coursing through him.

“Been so good for me—so fucking patient—” his words break apart with a shuddering gasp. “Not gonna make you wait ever again. You want this? You ask, alright? You fucking ask and it’s yours.”

You chase his mouth with yours, swallowing his words, your hands gripping the nape of his neck. He can’t tell whose breath is louder, whose heartbeat is pounding more fiercely. All he knows is that he’s dangerously close to the point of no return.

“That's it,” he coos, voice unsteady. “Let me see it again—you gonna show me?”

Your only reply is a shattered moan, your body tensing, then unraveling all at once as the pleasure crashes over you. Your walls clench tight around him, dragging a wrecked, guttural groan from his throat.

He thrusts again, pushing you both right to the edge and over, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. Heat coils tight, then snaps, a white-hot pulse of pleasure ripping through you, leaving you trembling beneath him.

Steve sees stars, fucking galaxies behind his eyelids as he loses himself completely. His hips stutter, his breath breaking against your skin as he buries himself deep, chasing the last aftershocks of your orgasm. He kisses you blindly, desperately, a hot, messy press of lips, as pleasure overtakes him—dragging him under, drowning him in you.

He lingers in the warm aftermath, breath coming in shallow pulses as he slowly, almost reluctantly, pulls away. His stomach lurches unexpectedly, and here’s a moment where he worries the spell might break now that he’s not entwined with you. But the blissed out smile on your face is a balm, telling him everything he needs to know.

He slips out carefully, skin still slick with sweat, and settles beside you on the bed. The rush of air against his torso feels strange—he can’t remember the last time he let himself be this naked in front of anyone. He mostly feels…peaceful.

He turns to you, propping himself up on an elbow.

“Hey, you with me?” He murmurs, voice a bit hoarse. “Was that…okay? I mean—I tried—” He trails off, cheeks flushing as if he’s embarrassed to be asking.

“Are you really asking me if that was okay?” You tilt your head, amused by his bashfulness.

“I just—” This is so lame, like a kid asking if he did a good job. “It’s been a while for me...” he admits, face reddening. “Wanted to make sure I did everything right.”

A soft laugh escapes your lips, and you reach out to trace a line down his arm.

“You did more than okay." You punctuate the word by pressing a light kiss to his jaw, feeling him exhale. "You were perfect.”

“Good,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut. He presses his forehead to yours for a moment, savouring the closeness. “I—I wanted to make you feel good.”

Wanted to prove that he could.

“Trust me, you did,” you say as you cup his cheek. “I’m probably gonna be thinking about this all day tomorrow.”

“Yeah?” His lips curl into a tentative smile.

“Absolutely. And the next week, too.”

A boyish grin spreads over his face, some tension easing from his shoulders. He eases off the bed, carefully removing the condom and tying it off, a bit awkward as he stands there stark naked. He holds it, looking around for somewhere to toss it before deciding on the small trash bin near your dresser.

Once it’s gone, he seems uncertain, his gaze shifting from his discarded clothes to you. He swallows, arms hovering at his sides.

“Um…” He gives a nervous laugh, cheeks stained pink again, unsure of what to do with himself. “I—sorry, I didn’t think this far ahead. Do I just…?”

God, he’s out of practise.

The corner of your mouth quirks up.

“Here,” you say, rolling onto your side and reaching for the closest thing at hand—his boxer briefs. You toss them to him. “Start with these.”

He catches them with a shy nod, pulling them on quickly. He’s still conscious of his body, but for the first time, he doesn’t feel the urgent need to cover them immediately. When he glances back at you, you’re holding his jumper out, an inviting smile on your face.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, stepping closer to the bed. But then he hesitates. “Actually… um… I—I’m good.”

He’d rather not put it back on if he didn’t have to—this was a workout in itself, both mental and physical. And honestly? He liked the way you were looking at him.

Your gaze lingered, hungry but soft, the way girls used to look at him when he was younger. You liked what you saw.

“You sure?” you tease, wiggling the material in your hand.

“Yeah,” he says simply. It’s a big thing for him to admit that he’s comfortable remaining bare-chested around you.

“In that case…” You slip the shirt on yourself, pulling it down over your body. It’s long enough to graze the bottom of your hips, and you can feel his eyes lingering on your legs. His warm gaze makes heat flood your cheeks.

“Looks better on you, anyway.” He laughs softly, that sweet, affectionate sound that never fails to tug at your heart.

Crawling back onto the mattress, you pat the spot beside you, and he settles in, letting you snuggle up close against his side. Your hand drifts lightly over his chest, gliding over both smooth skin and the raised ridges. To you, there was no difference.

The two of you just lie there in comfortable silence for a moment, the only sound present being the soft rustle of sheets. Eventually, you decide to break the hush.

“So…” you start, voice soft but teasing, a playful glint in your tired eyes. “You’re saying I can have you whenever I want now?”

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he nudges his nose against yours.

“Within reason, sweetheart,” he smirks, but there’s nothing but warmth behind it.“But yeah,” he murmurs, tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin. “Whenever you want.”

You lift your hand, brushing your fingers over one of his scars, tracing the mark with a gentle touch. He sucks in a breath, but his eyes stay on you.

“Thank you,” you murmur, letting your fingers linger. “I know this wasn’t easy.”

He huffs out a small, self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head.

“You say that like it’s—I don’t know—like, it’s something groundbreaking.”

“Isn’t it?” You arch a brow.

He hesitates, then exhales, running a hand through his already-messy hair.

“I mean… it felt big,” he admits, voice lighter now, like he’s letting himself tease with you instead of retreating inward. “But, y’know… it’s just a shirt, at the end of the day.”

“Just a shirt?”

After everything, his casual dismissal shocks you—but you see it for what it is.

Progress.

He’s crossed this bridge, left the fear behind. He’s looking forward. This is another obstacle he’s overcome, another weight lifted, he’s not letting it drag him back down.

He smirks, catching your thought process, and shifts beside you.

“Okay, maybe a little more than that.” Then, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Only one other person’s seen me without a shirt in—damn—must be years now.”

That catches your attention.

“Years?” You blink at him.

“Yeah. And that was—” He winces slightly. “Well, I was in bad shape at the time, so not exactly a choice.”

Your heart tugs, but you don’t let the moment get too heavy.

“So what you’re saying is you chose me?”

He groans, dropping his head against the pillow, but he’s smiling now, genuinely.

“Jesus, you love making me say shit out loud, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, nudging him with your knee. “I do.”

He turns to face you more directly, his arm slipping beneath your neck, pulling you in close.

“Well,” he murmurs, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. “If I was gonna do this with anyone… I’d want it to be you.” His fingers trace absentmindedly along your spine. "Feels right with you."

Another short silence blossoms, but this time it’s a cosy, intimate one. Eventually, he clears his throat.

“So…maybe we should think about getting cleaned up?” He rubs at the back of his neck, a hint of bashfulness returning. “I’m kinda sweaty, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you respond, pressing a playful kiss to his arm. “You’re not the only one who’s all sticky. A shower sounds nice.”

He shifts, carefully easing off the bed.

“You wanna come with?” There’s a boyish hope in his voice that makes you grin.

You stretch lazily, savouring the soft slide of his jumper against your skin, your eyes raking over him appreciatively.

“Mm, you go first,” you say, giving him a teasing smirk. “I might need a minute to recover from all that.”

He chuckles, a pink flush creeping up his neck.

“Right… okay.” He stands up a bit straighter, seemingly buoyed by your banter. “Promise not to use up all the hot water.”

“Good luck,” you joke, arching a brow.

“I’ll try,” he fires back, a spark of mischief in his eyes. Then he leans down, planting a warm kiss on your lips. When he draws back, you catch a glimpse of that smile again. Pure elation.

A gentle hiss of water filters through the door. You can’t help but smile, thinking of how different things feel compared to this morning—so much tenderness in the air, so much more understanding.

Yet a nagging itch persists at the back of your mind.

You walk over to your chest of drawers, hand hovering for a second before pulling open the top. There, tucked under a few random receipts and spare pens, is the little notebook you began after he left you that morning.

You retrieve it carefully, flipping the worn cover open to the page where you’d scrawled names and details he’d let slip in passing. Fragmented hints you’d gathered as though building a puzzle from mismatched pieces.

Now, after the night you’ve just shared, you have new pages of context to fill in. You let the pen hover above the paper, then jot down the fresh details. Every shaky mention, every half-finished explanation.

You trust Steve—God, you do. But your anxiety over that horrifying scene a few nights ago weighs heavily on you.

Never again.

Never want to see him that petrified or feel that helpless.

You pause to reread what you’ve written. A swirl of scribbles, question marks, underlined phrases.

Starcourt, destroyed in a fire?

1985.

Summer job.

Got too close.… nearly didn’t make it out??

The pen taps lightly on the page as you consider how these clues might fit together.

Your heart twists with guilt. You are unsure if this is a betrayal.

But then you recall the sheer terror in his eyes, the bruises on your own wrist, the way your chest had constricted with helplessness when he ran.

You need answers—not because you doubt him, but because you want to be prepared to care for him better, to protect him if you can.

You push the notebook back beneath the clutter, hiding it away. You straighten your posture, letting a slow exhale chase the tension from your lungs. Reaching for the stray clothes on the side of the bed, you toss them into the hamper.

You do care about him—deeply. That care drives you now.

No more blind-siding nightmares.

No more dark corners you’re unprepared for.

Whatever he’s running from, whatever secrets linger, you’re determined to understand. Because ignorance, you’ve learned, doesn’t save anyone.

And you just hoped this was the safer option.

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urcoolgf · 2 months ago

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WHAT’S YOUR DEAL? PT. 4

pairing. childhood bsf¡rafe && childhood bsf¡reader

content. fluff

summary. desperate to distract you from enzo, rafe decides to go on a date of his own—but when it backfires, he’s left feeling even more hopeless than before

SERIES MASTERLIST

he had spent all night thinking about it—about you. your smile when you talked about enzo, how giddy you got, the way he had never seen you like that over a guy before—the way he had never made you like that… it was driving him insane, even more insane than he already was. he didn't sleep much that night. he even peaked into your room around 4am to find you tangled in your comforter, the parts of you that were showing were clad in tiny pajamas barely covering anything. that image alone solidified the idea in his mind that enzo could never have you.

he didn't deserve you. enzo wasn't the one there for you when your first boyfriend dumped you—an idiot, by the way—he wasn't there that one time you got so sick you couldn't even feed yourself—he did it for you, and he did it happily (even if he gave you a hard time in the moment). enzo wasn't there when your mom died. he didn't stay at your house for weeks on end, doing anything, and everything he could to make you feel better, wiping your tears.

enzo. could. not. have. you.

you were his—everyone on kildare knew it. he wished everyone in the bahamas did, too. but, he wasn't a simple man. he wasn't just gonna flat out tell you that you were his, that enzo could never treat you as good as he could. so, he did the next best thing—he made a plan, duh. he's a proactive type of person after all.

—

at breakfast the next morning, rafe didn't speak to you—in fact, he didn't even really look at you. you knew he was probably mad, but he was 21 years old—he would have to get over it. throwing a tantrum wasn't gonna keep you from seeing enzo again. your dad hadn't planned any specific 'family outings' for the next two days, so you all were free to do what you wanted in the meantime.

usually, you would hang out with rafe—explore the area, find new restaurants, go to the beach, take walks… but he was proving to be difficult, to say the least. the good thing was, you had enzo to do all that stuff with while rafe continued pouting.

enzo couldn't hang out until tomorrow, so you decided to just chill at the beach for today. after you ate, you returned to your room to change into a swimsuit. sarah and wheezie said they would join you, but they've kind of been doing their own thing this whole time—which was fine by you, as long as they were having fun.

your bikini was a light pink (and pretty tiny)—trying to get every spare inch of your skin tan—so, when you walked back downstairs with a towel and your bag in hand, rafe finally decided to spare you a glance. his eyes widened in what seemed to be anger, but you couldn't care less.

your dad was already gone for the day. he met up with an old friend he made when him and your mom used to come here all the time, and they were going fishing today. sarah and wheezie were still eating as you walked out the back door, heading towards the beach.

rafe never said a word to you though—his plan wouldn't work if he did. as you laid your towel down on the warm sand, you felt a sense of peace. you were alone, the weather was perfect, and the sound of waves crashing was so calming it could lull you to sleep if you let it.

you pulled out your book you had brought for this trip, and began reading while you tanned your backside.

—

a few hours had passed, and you decided you wanted some lunch. sarah and wheezie had since joined you. sarah laid next to you while wheezie was playing in the water. you turned your head to look at sarah. she had her eyes closed, but you figured that was just to block the sun's rays.

"hey, sare? you want some lunch?," you asked, eyes squinting to keep the brightness out.

"i'm okay! i'll probably just make wheeze and i some sandwiches in a bit," she responded with a kind smile.

"alright! you cool if i go grab somethin' quick?," just as the words escaped your mouth, your phone pinged, but sarah replied anyway.

"alone?," she propped herself up on her elbows, clearly nervous about having you go off alone, even though you were older than her.

enzo: Hey! My afternoon freed up. Wanna get some lunch? There’s a great local place not too far from your house. It’s super lowkey :) I’ll meet you there?

y/n: sounds awesome! just send me the address

"no. not alone. i'll go with enzo," you couldn't help the smile that formed, almost giddy that he was able to hang out earlier than you expected.

"oh, okay! sounds good. have fun!," she gave you a sly smirk as if you were gonna do something your father wouldn't approve of.

"see ya later," you laughed, standing from your towel, and grabbing your stuff before walking back to the house to put some more clothes on—kind of.

you just threw on some tiny jean shorts, and a basically see through top over your bikini—when in rome, right? you put on some perfume, and fixed your curls a bit before slipping on some sneakers, and pulling your purse over your shoulder. rafe’s room was empty as you passed by it, and you realized you hadn’t seen him since breakfast. weird.

you headed out the front door. turning on your phone’s gps, plugging in the address enzo had sent you—only a 7 minute walk, not bad.

once you had arrived, enzo was standing by the entrance scrolling through his phone, his other hand rested in his pocket. he glanced up, when his eyes met yours you started almost skipping toward him. once you got to him, you wrapped your arms around his neck. you didn’t care if it seemed like too much, because he returned the hug without hesitation.

“hey pretty girl,” he flashed his perfect teeth, and you swore your heart skipped multiple beats because ‘pretty girl’? you were absolutely done for. the two of you made your way inside, which was actually still outside because the sitting area was all open. only a floor, and a roof—some railing lined the edges, but still gave the view of the ocean.

“this place is so cute! i can’t believe i haven’t been here!,” you said, turning toward enzo with a mixture of excitement, and shock in your eyes.

“it’s new. built it a few months ago, but it’s gotten great traction. people love it like it’s been around for years,” the hostess guided you to a table. enzo was right—it was super laid back. a bar on the opposite side of the railing, constant chatter, people in their swimsuits. it was nice to be somewhere so down to earth. you and enzo continued talking, totally oblivious to who was standing just mere feet away from you.

—

he was ‘laughing it up’ with some girl he couldn’t quite remember the name of. nothing she was saying was funny—he didn’t even find her interesting, but she was the first option he came across, and she didn’t have to be perfect to be part of the plan.

she touched his bicep, almost as if he had told her to act it up—he had not. her voice was honestly agitating him, but he forced himself to get over it. you were sat in the perfect position—once you glanced up from pretty boy over there—you’d get the perfect view of him and the girl hanging off of him. then you’d know how it felt to be replaced.

—

you looked around, taking in the atmosphere when low and behold—rafe cameron everybody. his blue eyes met yours, and you just gave him a quick wave and small smile. it was like you had only met him in a pass by, and not as if he’d been your friend your whole life—he was fuming inside. you turned back to enzo who was now talking about some other new restaurants around that you needed to try before you left. you listened intently, watching the way his lips moved, and how his brow quirked when he got passionate about sharing something.

man, you were so fucked.

—

a long enough time had passed where rafe was officially pissed. you hadn’t said anything to him, hadn’t come up asking who this girl was. you didn’t show the slightest sign of being mad that he had ignored you that morning only to have another girl with him later that day. rafe wrapped his arm around the woman with him, striding over to your table with a drink in his hand and a proud smirk on his face. he was gonna make you notice him.

“hey, guys. funny seein’ ya here,” he chucked a little, raising the brim of his beer bottle to his lip, still holding a smirk.

“hey, rafe,” you were nice, but you hated how he had been acting, and honestly you were really trying to just spend time with enzo.

“what’s up, man?,” enzo said calmly. he probably wasn’t oblivious to the tension between them two, but he was surely good at acting like he was. how mature—you weren’t even sure rafe knew what that word meant.

“not much, man. jus’ hangin’ out with my friend here,” he smiles down at the girl tucked under his arm, her eyes looking back up at him with clueless admiration. the waitress appeared behind rafe, ready to take your order.

“oh! i think it’s time to order… i’ll see you at the house, yeah?,” you absent-mindedly asked rafe. you didn’t really care what his answer was, or if he even gave one. you turned back to enzo quickly asking what was good there. you had been so caught up in talking you hadn’t even looked at the menu in front of you.

if you were paying any attention to the look rafe was giving you, you would swear he was burning holes in the side of your head right now. his anger evident in his wide eyes as he scoffed, and walked off with whatever-her-name-was.

“what can i get started for you guys?,” the waitress asked kindly. rafe could hear your laugh, fading as he got farther from you.

“i’ll just have whatever he has,” your giggles driving rafe mad. his envy only growing when he hears enzo laughing along with you.

“that’s a lot of pressure!,” he joked before saying his order—you even had the waitress chuckling, it was absurd.

his thoughts began to race as he walked off with some girl who wasn’t you, while you sat infatuated with some guy that wasn’t him.

rafe has never felt this out-of-control. usually he was always able to maintain a situation, but you were proving impossible to maintain. maybe that’s what he liked about you usually, but right now it was infuriating. the whole ‘vacation fling’ was supposed to be a joke—now, not only was it real, you were wanting to stay with the guy.

enzo had you… what the fuck was rafe supposed to do now?

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flowerandblood · 8 months ago

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The Price of Pride (15/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, unprotected sex, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, humiliation, sexual tension, abuse of power ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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He thought that the pain he felt in his eye socket as a child was a torture, however, the inability to take the woman who aroused his lust when she was at his fingertips proved just as unbearable.

At one moment he was furious with her for refusing him – as he pressed her against the stone walls of the Red Keep he could clearly feel under his fingers that her womanhood was leaking all over with desire – only to find later that he admired her self-denial and strength of will.

He thought that if her desire to remain his faithful and devoted wife was as strong, he would be satisfied.

The time of his greatest trial came to him in the evenings, when he lay alone in the cold, empty bed – he could feel the tension in his loins pulsing through his veins, his lower abdomen and erection, swollen and impatient, knowing that his relief was asleep a few steps from his chamber, across the hall.

He closed his eyes then, fighting with himself, not wanting her to look at him the way his mother would.

With sadness and regret.

So he waited, dying each day at the thought of her bare body, at the thought that she longed for him – he could see it in her gaze, hear it in her hitched, heavy breath as his lips brushed her neck, as he grasped her sweet breasts in his hands, wanting to feel her even for a moment.

He knew she was his, but he couldn't have her.

So that's what madness is, he mused.

He was relieved to hear that his grandsire, to his surprise, had no objections regarding his chosen one.

"She is a wise girl, bound to you with her heart and mind. Both she and her dragon will be of great use to us. With her help, we might be able to pull at least some of the Lords of the Vale over to our side – they are more likely to listen to someone of their blood, someone who knows and understands their concerns, who will not threaten them with dragonfire like Daemon." Said Otto, sitting beside him at the table in his chamber – he nodded, looking to the side with an expression devoid of emotion, not wanting his grandfather to see any sign that he felt satisfaction at his words.

She is bound to you with her heart and mind.

He felt shame and contentment that Otto thought he was not indifferent to her – he believed his grandsire was capable of seeing more than he did.

The truth was that he feared to hear something from him that would destroy her image in his eyes, deprive him of the object of trust and affection that he so desperately needed.

"The King is awake, but he is in great pain, so we have given him large amounts of poppy milk to ease his suffering." Said the Maester.

He hummed, towering over his brother's bed with his head cocked to one side.

"Mmm. See to it that he can spend the next few days in the comfort of blissful sleep." He said, glancing at the Maester, who swallowed hard and nodded, understanding what he meant.

He couldn't regain the sobriety of his mind until the nuptials officially took place.

After that, their marriage, performed in front of crowds of witnesses, united by the gods themselves, would not be able to be dissolved by anyone.

He also decided to make minor changes in the Small Council, wanting to surround himself only with people who actually wished their family victory.

His mother, though he deluded himself into thinking it would be different, was not one of them, trying to use the weakness he had for her against him, as did Larys Strong, who, true to his betrothed's words, poured poison into his ears.

Stripping Larys of his function was easy and gave him great satisfaction, with his Hand, meaning his grandfather, taking over his role.

He knew, however, that the conversation with his mother would be difficult for him and he prepared for it for a long time.

"You have served the Kingdom faithfully for many years. It is time for you to rest." He said after ordering her to stay, once the Small Council meeting was over, looking ahead with a blank stare, knowing that if he looked at her face he would feel something he didn't want to.

He swallowed hard as her figure leaned over him, as her familiar, smooth hand touched his cheek, her thumb stroking his skin.

Why couldn't she bestow such a touch on him when he needed it?

Why did he only deserve it when she wanted to soften and manipulate him, exactly like Sylvi?

"Has your loss not yet been sufficiently avenged?" She asked him in a way from which he felt a squeeze in his throat – he looked at her, into her warm brown eyes, in which he so longed to see recognition.

However, all he saw was pain.

She suffered looking at him, at her own son, at what he had become.

Was he really such a bad person?

He lowered his gaze and placed his hand on hers, stroking her skin with his thumb, wanting to remember this moment, his mother showing him something he could call tenderness, something he would be able to cling to for years to come, deprived again of her closeness and warm words.

"This is my final decision."

His mother swallowed hard and took her hand from his cheek – he seemed to feel an almost physical pain when she did so, when an unpleasant chill surrounded his skin where her familiar fingers had been only moments ago, as if someone had forcibly torn him from her safe, warm womb.

After all, it wasn't his fault that he had been born.

"Who will take my place? Another man pushing for war at any cost?" She asked with a disappointment and bitterness from which his lower lip trembled, his stomach clenched so tightly that he found it difficult to take a deep breath.

"My betrothed."

The sight of her serene, calm expression at his grandfather's side was refreshing – her gaze, unlike that of his mother, was filled with warmth and trust.

He thought with shame that he had given her a seat in his council just to look at her.

However, as he found out moments later, he had judged himself too harshly.

"Everything is ready for the nuptials and a small wedding, which will of course take place in the Throne Room. The ceremony itself will not be grand and lavish, but I think everyone sitting around this table understands that in a situation of war we cannot afford to wantonly empty our treasury." Otto said, and he shifted his gaze from his grandfather to her – she smiled lightly when their gazes met, giving him a look full of reassurance that pomp was the last thing she wanted.

He felt a pleasant warmth in his chest at the thought, the realisation that she shared his values, his love of simplicity and, of course, unabashed modesty.

His grandfather, hearing no objection, continued.

"On that day, all the guards and sentries will be on duty – such occasions are always a good opportunity for the enemy to attack, because they take advantage of the chaos that then prevails. That's why we can't afford to deviate from the day's schedule and changes – I've also appointed my few trusted men to keep an eye on the cooks and how the food and drink is prepared."

"Nevertheless, I think it will be appropriate for me to try both the wine and anything else the Prince will want to taste." He heard her voice and looked at her, shocked.

The thought that she cared for him, that she was so concerned that someone would try to take his life by trickery and poison him, touched him.

Otto smiled under his breath and nodded.

"I appreciate your concern for my grandson, my Lady, however, I will assign a person to try the dishes for the two of you. We do not wish for anyone's death during this joyous occasion." He said softly, clearly pleased as he was with her faithfulness and devotion.

"No." She said, looking at his grandfather, then at him. "My father, and for sure all of Dragonstone and their allies, think this wedding is a further part of my abduction, independent of my free will. They will continue to spread rumours and stories that I am imprisoned by the Prince and that he, in his cruelty, forced me to become his wife. Many Lords will be present during the ceremony, and word will spread through the Kingdom like the wind. Let them, as well as others present, see the two of us forming a united front that evening, let them see me try my husband's wine."

His grandfather raised an eyebrow and readjusted himself in his chair, as surprised as he was by her words and how thoughtful they were.

"It is an intriguing approach to the matter, I admit – indeed, a demonstration of unity and solidarity can only strengthen support for our cause among the Lords. I will leave the final decision to you, my Prince." Said Otto, and he mused, looking at her with a piercing gaze, playing with the gold coin between his fingers.

"I appreciate my betrothed's devotion, however, I will not allow her to endanger herself – instead, as a symbol of unity and union, I propose that we fly over King's Landing together the next day, showing our might and strength at the same time." He said calmly – his cousin merely sighed and nodded, throwing him a gentle look indicating that his rejection of her idea did not cause her any pain.

He swallowed hard, feeling his manhood pulsate aggressively in his breeches, screaming with longing, having her at his fingertips.

After speaking to his mother, he felt disheartened, and she was not by his side.

His desperation caused him to do something he was sure he would never do in his life, considering it to be behaviour beneath his dignity.

"Accompany me on my stroll through the royal gardens. I want to breathe some fresh air and take advantage of the good weather." He hummed, passing her as he, like the others, moved towards the door after the Small Council meeting was over.

He knew she was surprised, but she moved after him immediately, having trouble keeping up with him now that she was wearing a gown, making it difficult for her to move freely.

He wanted to hide between the trees as quickly as possible, so that no servants or guards would notice them, not wishing to be the cause of mockery and gossip later.

Again.

He slowed down as they finally stepped out into the part of the Keep surrounded by shrubbery that formed a plethora of alleys – he took the only one he knew, which was the main one, hearing behind him that she followed him with the quiet rattle of stones beneath her feet.

He put his hands behind his back and looked at her over his shoulder – she smiled at him, walking a few steps behind him.

He stopped and she did the same, her head cocked in happy curiosity.

"Don't I even deserve to have you walking by my side? That kind of closeness is unkind to the gods too?" He asked dryly, frustrated and dying of longing, needing her like never before, feeling rejected and alone.

He swallowed hard, feeling remorseful when he saw that her expression changed, as if he had slapped her in the face, her eyebrows arched in pain, her eyes big and sad, her lips parted slightly in surprise full of terror.

"– n-no –" She muttered, playing with her fingers on her womb, coming closer to him with a quiet rustling of her gown. "– usually outside of our quarters you prefer it when I give you space – if you desire me to be close to you, I will –"

He felt the sudden wave of rage and grief that had surged through his body weaken, leaving him with a sense of sadness and emptiness.

He didn't want to ask or beg for such things, on the other hand, in fact, when he knew someone might see them, he preferred not to give anyone reason to comment on their behaviour.

He himself didn't know what he felt and needed, and he required her to understand him and his needs more than he did, he thought with shame.

Seeing how tense he was and hearing his silence she took a few steps towards him, standing so close that he felt her wonderful scent tease his nostrils, her delicate hand touched his chest and then was joined by another, his heart beating hard under her fingers.

He dared to look at her, and it was a mistake – her gaze was filled with a heat that both terrified him and brought him to the state where he felt like throwing himself at her, pulling her skirt up and taking her like a whore, wanting nothing more than to fill her with his seed.

"– may I kiss you, my Prince? –" She asked in a trembling voice, being formal at the same time, afraid to frustrate him, not knowing what behaviour he expected of her.

He couldn't answer anything – his hands simply caught her suddenly at the waist and pulled her closer so that her body slammed against his, her sweet moan echoing in his throat as he sank into her fleshy, luscious lips with a sigh of relief.

He murmured as her fingers stroked his jaw and neck, and her lips responded tentatively to his caress, showering him with lazy, deep, loud kisses. He felt her whole body tremble as the tip of his tongue ran invitingly over her upper lip, her hands clenched on his shoulders as if she were struggling with herself.

Something between a groan and a murmur escaped his lips when he felt her slick tongue come out to meet his in a slow, wet lick.

He clasped his hands in her hair and on the material of her gown, pressing his completely hard erection against her stomach, ready to take her here, in this place, on the grass, under the sun.

However, as soon as he grabbed the ribbon tying her dress at the back, she pulled away from him and shook her head, breathing loudly, her cheeks pink with emotion, her lips puffy and glistening from his caresses, her gaze filled with nothing but desire and lust.

"– no – please, lēkia – it's only three more days –" She muttered pleadingly, and he pressed his lips together, feeling rejected.

"– don't I even deserve the embrace of your arms? – to be able to snuggle against your breasts, to experience solace now that sleep does not find me at night? –" He almost wailed, filled with grief and frustration, thinking with shame that he had acted like a small child.

He saw her swallow hard, surprised, all red with shame at his words.

"– I'll let you – I'll let you touch and cuddle against my breasts – if you promise not to take me –" She mumbled, and he nodded, desperate.

She held out her hand to him, and he grasped it, moving behind her through the grass between the trees – he blinked, surprised, when she lay down under one of them in such a place that they were covered by shrubbery on all sides, and even if someone had passed that way, he would not have noticed their lying silhouettes.

"– come –" She whispered, reaching her hands into the back of her gown, loosening its entire structure so that it slid off her shoulders.

He knelt down in front of her, feeling the aggressive pounding of his heart and the painful pulsing of his manhood as his fingers slid the material even lower, finally exposing what he so desperately craved.

She moaned far too loudly when he leaned in suddenly and his lips clamped greedily around her hard nipple, beginning to suck, his other hand closing on her other breast, so wonderfully warm and soft under his fingers.

He sighed with delight and murmured as her familiar, safe arms cuddled him into her chest and he settled comfortably between her thighs.

"– I miss you –" He muttered like a little boy, releasing her nipple from his mouth with a quiet plop, feeling ashamed that he was letting her see his vulnerability – he nuzzled his cheek against her firm bosom, watching enthralled as his fingers squeezed and played with her other plump, lovely breast.

He closed his eyes as she leaned in and placed a tender, long kiss on the top of his head, stroking his hair and back with her hands.

"– I miss you too – try to sleep and rest, brother –" She whispered, and he snorted, shaking his head.

"– with this in my hands – I'd sooner die of tension than fall asleep –" He grunted, on the other hand pleased and fulfilled to feel her so intimately again, to be able to breathe for a moment and find the peace he so desperately needed.

Despite how confidently he said it, in the end the slow, gentle rhythm in which she stroked his body made his eyelids grow heavier and heavier, and when he finally closed them, he fell into a peaceful, deep slumber amidst the rustling of trees and grass, enveloped by her wonderful scent.

They spent every afternoon like this until their wedding day.

On the day of their nuptials, he was tense – he feared an attack from Dragonstone just as much as that his brother would want to call it all off at the last moment.

Some part of him didn't believe that it could work out for them – that there was a future in which he could get what he wanted without making a sacrifice for it for once.

He had to pay for everything with blood.

He shuddered, startled, when, while his servants were helping him put on his emerald tunic, the door to his chamber opened and his mother stepped in.

"Leave us." He said coldly, and the boys bowed and left them alone.

The Dowager Queen approached him with an uncertain step, looking down at her hands, his heart pounded harder in hope, begging for her blessing and at least one tender look.

Her eyes finally lifted to his, and her hand touched his arm, stroking it in a gesture of comfort.

"I wish you, my son, to find with your future wife only the peace and understanding as I experienced at your late father's side." She said softly, and he swallowed hard, feeling discomfort in his stomach.

"You didn't love him. And I don't want my marriage to look like yours. Quite the opposite." He said coolly, pulling away from her, disappointed and dismayed that she was telling him what she thought she needed to say, rather than being honest with him.

Alicent sighed, as if his words and reaction caused her pain.

"We did not always agree, it is true. But our King was a good man, just as my son is." She said finally, and he grinned under his breath as he stood with his back to her, running his fingertips over the top of his table.

"If I remember correctly, he cut open the womb of his beloved wife while she was still alive. While I lost my eye, he cared more for the good name of his first-born daughter than for my suffering or your humiliation. I also know that he did not arouse your desire, for after Daeron's birth you spent each night in separate chambers." He said lightly as he walked over to the window, looking at the servants busying themselves, hanging ornaments and fresh flowers in the courtyard of the keep.

He wondered if his bride regretted her decision.

The thought that he would finally spend that evening sunk deep into her body filled him with fervent desire, and his mind drifted away from his mother and her attempts to salvage the image of his father in his mind.

"No one is perfect. Your father wasn't either. But I respected him and held deep affection for him." She replied finally, and he only hummed, losing the urge for her to give him anything.

Her tenderness, her warm word, her motherly gaze.

He was sick of begging on his knees for her to give him something that was real.

He had to create something like that himself with the woman he had snatched from the gods and made his own.

The tension in his muscles intensified as he stepped into the Great Sept and climbed up the stone steps to the top, standing next to the Septon – the sight of the crowd that had gathered in the temple and the knowledge that everyone's eyes were on him made him feel small and vulnerable.

What if he misspoke the words of his oath?

What if the cloak he had thrown over her shoulders slipped off?

What if she humiliated him in front of everyone, shouting in his face that she despised him?

He swallowed hard and looked to the side, feeling his heart pounding hard as cheers and loud conversations sounded outside the gates – he knew this meant her carriage had arrived and indeed, he saw his grandfather come out to meet her.

He felt his lips part involuntarily in disbelief as she and Otto walked into the temple – holding her hand in that of his grandfather's she walked with her head held high in a beautiful gown composed of blues and browns, from a distance he could see the sparkle of sapphire stones in her necklace and in her hair.

A sigh and pain squeezed his throat at the thought that, contrary to what he had thought, she had not taken on green, the colour of his faction, but his colour, blue, something only he could understand, her personal expression of affection and devotion, a wordless assurance of her fidelity and of what she desired.

He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself, feeling himself tremble all over with nerves and excitement as she slowly climbed the steps to the top, standing at last before him, looking more beautiful than ever, all flushed with emotion.

He longed to touch her hand or her face, longed to feel the softness of her body, to speak the words of his vows with his nose nestled in her warm cheek.

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." Said the Septon loudly – he blinked and looked at him, snapped out of his reverie by the realisation that this was it.

He grunted, trying to remain calm, and turned away, nodding at his uncle, extending his hand to him.

It was only when he threw the cloak bearing his family crest over her shoulders that he understood why this tradition had been upheld for centuries – there was something about this protective gesture, of a husband surrounding his wife with a cloth to protect her from the cold and danger, while also being a symbol of the fact that now what would be would overshadow what was, and his house would become her home.

He swallowed hard, thinking with tenderness that they would now truly become a family.

Their shared lie before the eyes of the gods had become truth.

"We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder." The Septon said, and he held out his hand, doing his best not to show how much it was quivering.

He felt relief when she looked at him, when her fingers touched his skin, in her gaze at once terror and warmth, the certainty of a feeling he feared was merely a figment of his imagination, her way of subduing him.

And yet, he could see it exactly in the depths of her beautiful dark eyes.

He pressed his lips together as the priest wrapped their hands several times with a long, wide, bright ribbon, symbolically entwining their fates with each other for eternity.

Are they about to hear the dragon's roar, to learn that Daemon and Rhaenyra have seized the opportunity, their nuptials to burn King's Landing?

This, her by his side, her body and her gaze meant only for him for the rest of his days could not become true.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words." The Septon said, and he swallowed with difficulty, feeling his lips dry with emotion.

They looked at each other before opening their mouths, the words leaving his throat seeming to come out of him without the participation of his will.

"Father,

Smith,

Warrior,

Mother,

Maiden,

Crone,

Stranger

I am hers | I am his

and she is mine | and he is mine

from this day, until the end of my days."

He stared at her dully, waiting for the ground to part, for him to hear screams or someone's defiance, for some guard to run into the Sept, shouting that they had been attacked.

But only silence answered him.

She was his wife.

This thought, the fact that in front of witnesses they had spoken aloud the words of this vow, that the whole Kingdom had heard and seen it with their own eyes, that neither his brother nor anyone else could undo what had happened anymore, made him cup her rosy cheek in his hand, leaning over her.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love." He whispered only to sink a moment later into the sweet wetness of her full lips, her innocent sigh of delight making his manhood throb softly in his breeches.

He broke the kiss and pulled away, looking closely at her beautiful, bright face – she blinked and smiled, so tenderly and sweetly that he felt the corners of his mouth lift upwards too, in something that was not a grimace but an expression of his genuine happiness.

They were married.

They returned to the Red Keep on horseback, upright and proud, surrounded by hundreds of guards – no one, however, thought to curse or attack them – his grandfather's trick had worked, and the food he had distributed to the smallfolk before their nuptials had made them shower them with flowers.

They did not look at each other during their journey, however, he felt her presence beside him and that was enough for him.

When they reached the courtyard of the Red Keep he jumped off his mount and approached her mare, dismissing the guard, extending his hands to her, wanting to help her get down on the ground. She welcomed his hands reaching out towards her with a sweet smile, leaning on his shoulders, jumping directly into his arms.

He managed to place a quick little kiss on her warm cheek from which she blushed, looking up at him happily, placing her hand on his.

They stepped into the Throne Room first, followed by all the guests. He remembered little of his grandfather's toast and the words of the Lords who, one by one, stood before their table, wishing them happiness and prosperity.

He merely nodded, stunned and tired, dreaming only of escaping with her to his chamber and sinking between her warm thighs.

He looked at her as he felt the fingers of her hand, extended towards him on the armrest, brush his in the air – he hummed under his breath and his knuckles ran over her soft skin in a gesture of reciprocation.

In keeping with his grandfather's desire, the servants tasted everything before it was served on their plates – still, when the wine was finally poured for him and his wife, he surprised her by taking her cup from her hand, taking the first sip from it.

It was sweet and tasted as usual, so he handed the goblet back to her – her look of affection and gratitude told him what she thought of what he had done and how she intended to reward him later.

He swallowed hard and took another sip of wine, this time from his own goblet, feeling that his erection was all swollen, throbbing with lust in his breeches.

He craved her so badly.

They all raised their gazes upwards when a guard stood in the doorway, a drop of cold sweat ran down his back at the thought that they had been attacked after all.

"King Aegon Targaryen, the Second of His Name. King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." He called out, and he and everyone around him froze.

Aegon stepped with difficulty, with one hand supporting himself on his staff, the other having thrown over the neck of Larys Strong, who was careful not to let his brother fall.

That fucking viper, he thought.

The burnt part of his brother's face was covered by the golden mask his father had worn towards the end of his life – their resemblance, their raked silhouette struck him so much that he simply sat and looked.

"– stand up – stand up, you fool –" Otto hissed and jerked him – he rose immediately from his seat, and with him his wife and all the others gathered.

His mother ran up to his brother, asking loudly how he could get out of bed while he was in such a state, whose idea it was to strain his weak body, but Aegon did not even look at her, his gaze fixed on him.

"Put a chair for His Grace right next to mine. My brother wishes to dine with us." He ordered loudly, feeling like he was a small child again, his heart pounding like mad with terror.

Aegon was brought to his seat by the guards – he himself held him down as he nearly fell over, panting heavily, pale and shivering all over from exertion. His brother exhaled loudly as he finally collapsed into his chair, and he and the rest of the room also took their seats.

"I have come to personally congratulate my brother and my cousin." Aegon said loudly, breathing hard, his words echoing through the chamber. "Though I must admit that their marriage comes as a surprise to me."

He stared dully at his plate, wanting to disappear, to melt into the ground, to not exist, feeling that his heart was about to leap out of his chest.

"However, the Kingdom cannot be left without an heir – I, because of my condition, will beget neither son nor daughter, so we must rely on my brother and his strong seed. I hope that on this night, I, as well as the rest of the court, will witness how the future Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms will be begotten." He said, lifting his wine cup – no one responded to his toast, but Aegon did not seem to mind – he drank the entire contents of it in a strangle.

That night, I, as well as the rest of the court, will witness how the future King of the Seven Kingdoms will be begotten.

"No." He hissed, their mother, trying to change his mind, took Aegon's hand in hers.

"My son, that's not appropriate, that's…"

"It is the King's command." His brother replied, not even looking at them – Otto leaned towards him from the other side, trying to intervene.

"Your Grace, I am not a supporter of this tradition myself – it is not conducive to neither marital intimacy nor the said begetting of offspring." He said, and Aegon laughed out loud.

"I don't care, you old fool."

Standing in his chamber in the company of his grandfather, Aegon, his friends, the would-be members of the Kingsguard, and the few Lords his brother had forced to watch this pathetic spectacle, he felt tears under his eyelids, even though his face was stony.

He had the impression that everything inside him froze while he looked towards the three-door screen, behind which Lysa was helping his wife undo her gown.

He thanked the gods that his mother left the chamber, unable to look at it.

He wondered whether, if he fell to his knees before his brother and begged him for forgiveness, he would take pity on them.

He shuddered, snapped out of his reverie, panicked and terrified when her beautiful, girlish figure clad only in a thin, snow-white nightgown came out from behind the screen, her long hair loose, her gaze fixed on him gentle and warm.

He swallowed hard as she reached her hand out to him, walking over to his bed – the sight of her not being as terrified as he was, of her not crying gave him strength – he moved towards her, and when he finally stood in front of her, she sidestepped him and walked over to the pillars of the bed, untying the curtains, pulling them all the way open so that they covered what was to happen behind them.

She wanted to give them a bit of privacy, he thought with gratitude.

"No. We must see that Prince Aemond has done his duty." Said Aegon, their grandfather, however, immediately protested.

"Looking at the bare bodies of someone other than one's spouse is a sin, Your Grace, and we will not be sanctioning such practices in this keep." He said in a voice cold and final, and his brother fell silent.

He felt some kind of relief when at last the silhouettes around them disappeared behind the cream curtains, indistinct and distant, seeming to him to be only a bad dream.

His wife, his hāedar approached him with an expression on her face as if she was ready for battle, and as soon as her hand brushed his jaw, his nose sunk into her warm, soft cheek, his arms embraced her at the waist, seeking refuge.

"Don't give him the satisfaction. Make it so you peak as soon as possible and don't worry about me. I've been wet for you for days and I'll take you inside me with ease." She whispered tenderly, and he felt his manhood pulsate hard, a pleasant shiver running along his spine, giving him hope.

She was on his side.

She had strength and courage when he lacked it.

His wife.

"Come." She whispered further, undoing his belt and the fastenings of his tunic with quiet clicks, while he pulled at the ties of her nightgown in one gentle motion, loosening the whole material, which slipped from her shoulders.

In some natural, affectionate reflex, they began to kiss – her puffy lips were wonderfully sweet and familiar, warm and moist, her saliva melting on his tongue.

He felt a pleasant warmth in his heart and the fact that his erection grew hard at the sight of her naked body, reminding himself of the tension he had felt for days.

He thought that by the fact that it had been so long since he had experienced fulfilment, a few sure thrusts deep into her warm flesh should allow him to do his duty and end it.

He was comforted by this and by the tenderness of her hands, by the way her fingers stroked his hair and neck, pulling off his tunic, his shirt and his breeches, allowing them both to finally remain completely bare.

As she lay on the bed on her back and gave him one, comforting, sweet smile, reaching out her hand to him, he just lay on top of her, looking at her face for a moment, their hands stroking their cheeks tenderly.

"– forgive me –" He whispered in trembling voice, wanting her to know that he was furious that they'd been forced into this, that like her he'd imagined it completely different, that as much as he'd wanted this, he hadn't been able to protect them.

He was afraid that if he resisted his brother, he would take revenge on him, or worse, on her.

"– shhh – put it inside me – make me whole again –" She gasped softly and they both sighed as she spread her thighs in front of him, her hand gently grasping his throbbing erection, directing it to her small slit.

They kissed tenderly, their naked bodies pressed against each other as he slid between her dripping walls with a soft, slow push of his hips – her cunt, true to her word was wonderfully wet and warm, offering him no resistance.

The thought that even if he didn't give her fulfilment, he wouldn't cause her pain either was comforting to him.

He thought he would make it all up to her later.

She moaned softly as he nestled his face against her cheek and began to thrust into her fleshy, throbbing core, the quiet slapping of their naked bodies against each other, her familiar arms, her wonderful scent, her sweet sounds made a pleasant wave of heat surge through his loins, making him completely hard.

He breathed a sigh of relief, thinking only of how long he had waited for this, imagining that he had taken her in the royal gardens on the grass, that she had been unable to resist him despite her determination.

"– hāedar –" He gasped as he felt her fingers clench tighter on his back, sliding down to his buttocks, her hips rolling in response to his increasingly aggressive stabs, her whimpers vulnerable and filled with pleasure as he hit her sweet spot again and again.

"– yes – yes, lēkia, right here –" She mumbled softly into his ear, and he restrained himself with difficulty not to moan, chasing his peak with the loud clicks of her little cunt.

He was so, so close, he thought with relief.

"– woof, woof – what's that supposed to mean? – I was hoping you'd demonstrate to us how the hound fucks –" He heard his brother's amused voice and froze, feeling his whole body tense up, the pleasant warmth in his lower abdomen turned into a cool wave of humiliation that ran along his back.

"– Your Grace – it's not dignified –" He heard the frustrated voice of their grandfather on the other side.

He felt himself begin to quiver, his lips parted in horror as he felt his erection become half-hard again, unsure what to do, hot tears of despair and shame gathered under his eyelids.

He sighed as he felt her hands simply press his face into the crook of her neck, giving him shelter, her lips placing warm, gentle kisses on his head, her fingers combing through his hair.

He just wanted to fall asleep in her embrace and never wake up again.

"– I'm just worried about my cousin and whether she'll experience pleasure – both she and I know how selfish my brother is – what he's capable of doing to get what he wants –" Aegon said, making heavy, burning tears run down his cheeks one by one, his eyebrows arching in pain as her arms hugged him tighter to her body, wanting to protect him from what was happening.

"– do you trust me? –" She asked so quietly that only he was able to hear her.

He swallowed hard, choking on his own tears, trying not to make a sound.

Did he trust her?

He wished he did.

He nodded and felt her arms push him away, as if she was trying to force him to change position, finally turning him onto his back, sitting on top of him with his soft manhood inside her – she leaned over him, pressing her palms to the sides of his face as if she just wanted to cup his cheeks, while doing it so hard that he stopped hearing anything.

His heart pounded harder when he heard his brother's voice again, but as if from afar, unable to understand the words he had spoken – his wife kissed his forehead and then brushed her lips gently against his, lazily rolling her hips back and forth, teasing him.

His hands rose to her body, to her back, her waist and her hair, stroking her bare skin as if it were something delicate and precious, her sweet breasts pressed against his torso.

Her insides were wonderfully warm, her lips moist and full, her gaze tenderly fixed on his – her thumbs stroked his cheeks, but her hands stayed in the same position, keeping him from listening to what was happening around them.

A pleasant shiver ran down his spine again as the tip of her slick tongue slid invitingly between his lips, licking him in a way from which his cock pulsed aggressively inside her.

She moaned, feeling it, rocking her hips with quiet clicks of her moisture – he bent his legs at the knees, responding to her movements with tentative thrusts, feeling her walls growing tighter again, a quiet sigh escaped his throat as his hands clamped down on her firm breasts.

"– yes – yes, just like that, my sweet husband –" He heard her voice, her face pressed against his neck as her spine curved into the letter s, allowing him to admire the shape of her plump buttocks.

He clamped his hands on them, imposing a fast, rough pace on her, panting hard, trying not to think or be, only to take what was familiar and desired, what he had waited so long for.

He pulled himself up and sat down, wanting to feel her from a different angle, and she put her arms around his head, again covering his ears – he heard them both moan loudly as he began to thrust into her anew, his face snuggled between her beloved, soft breasts, making him feel at home.

"– Aemond – ah, g-gods, yes, yes, yes –" He heard her whimper, her thirsty, leaking cunt soaking him completely every time he slammed into her again and again, opening her violently on the fattest part of his cock, all throbbing with pain.

He was wonderfully close, he knew that – he looked at her, at her beautiful, sweet face, and she kissed him so tenderly and softly that tears ran down his cheeks – he felt the familiar tightness in his stones and breathed a sigh of relief as, with his groan of pleasure, his seed finally spilled inside her, her fleshy walls giving him a few more squeezes, sucking his spend deep inside her.

He heard her breathe a sigh of relief as she placed small, soft kisses on his hair, as if to tell him wordlessly that she was proud of him.

As her hands stroked his head and back, he heard someone's slow footsteps and hisses of pain – he exhaled loudly as the door to his chamber opened and those gathered began to leave.

And then there was silence.

"– are we alone? –" He muttered at last and felt her kiss the top of his head, cuddling him into her body.

"– yes, my love –" She whispered and wanted to say something else, but she didn't, because he burst out in a loud, childish sob.

He snuggled into her, choking on his own tears, feeling them flow and flow and flow, unable to stop it – he heard her hush him tenderly, pressing his face between her breasts, hearing how much he was suffering, how humiliated and weak he felt.

"– shhh – I know – you were so brave –" She whispered, and he wept loudly, thinking that he wasn't a man, that surely she herself would now look at him with pity.

"– forgive me –" He mumbled wearily, and in response her lips kissed his forehead, sweaty from exertion and stress.

"– I have nothing to forgive you for – the King put us in an impossible position, we couldn't behave any other way – your task was much more difficult – a woman can just lie down and wait it out, but it is the man who must desire her despite what is happening around him – Aegon wanted to humiliate you but he failed – calm down, brother, breathe – there is nothing more he can do to us –" She said and he just listened to her, panting hard, needing her words, her reassurances like air.

"– he did it again – mocked me again –" He blurted out with difficulty.

"– he heard that what you were doing to me gave me pleasure, and that's why he said all those awful things – he is jealous, brother, because he knows that no woman will ever desire him again – that it is your children who will sit on the Iron Throne –" She said tenderly and he swallowed hard.

"– ours –" He corrected her and heard her smile, stroking his head tenderly.

"– ours –" She hummed and he nestled closer to her, brushing her bare back with his fingers, his soft erection still deep inside her.

He didn't want to slid it out of her yet, because he felt safe in her warm, fleshy body.

"– I ruined our wedding night – I didn't give you fulfillment –" He whispered, and she shook her head.

"– we both know that our wedding night was the night before you flew out to Rook's Rest – that's when I lost my maidenhood and became yours – my fulfillment can wait, just as you patiently waited for me for many days –" She said softly, and for some reason he felt relief.

He sniffed with his nose and let her go when he felt her wanting to get up from his lap, gently sliding his warm, soft manhood out of her – he immediately turned away from her and lay on his side, curling up so that he lifted his knees almost under his chin, embracing his legs with his arms.

He was not a man or a lover, he was nobody, he thought, whooping with tears again, unable to calm down.

Woof, woof.

He pressed his lips together when he felt her soft body lay behind him, her breasts pressed against his back, her arms embracing his waist, stroking his musclar stomach – he closed his eyes as her mouth placed a moist, loud kiss on the back of his head.

"– iksan kesīr, valzȳrys (I'm here, husband) – aōha ābrazȳrys iksis ondoso aōha paktot (your wife is by your side) –" She whispered, and he exaled, gently taking her hands in his, entwining their fingers together.

He swallowed hard when he heard her open her mouth, her fingertips stroking his skin soothingly.

Sleep my baby on my bosom

Warm and cozy will it prove

Round thee mother’s arms are folding

In her heart a mother’s love

There shall no one come to harm thee

Naught shall ever break thy rest

Sleep my darling babe in quiet

Sleep on mother’s gentle breast.

He felt that this time it was a tears of emotion that ran down his hot cheeks – his chest was rising and falling in heavy breaths, hearing how warm and melodious her voice was.

He wasn't sure if his mother had ever sung lullabies to him, but the fact that she did it now to soothe and comfort him, made a wonderful, warm feeling spread through his heart.

He swallowed hard as silence fell around them – his thumb brushed the soft skin of her hand, only three pleading words leaving his mouth.

"Sing some more."

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lizzy019 · 6 months ago

Note

Nikto x Chubby Reader! I don’t really see enough of those 😢 on Tumbler or anywhere else. (And yours truly is a chubby lady here)

Ahh, I've written one already somewhere! I'll write this here as smut because... (as a chubby girl as well) WE NEED RECOGNITION!!! this is HEAVY on insecurities jsyk but ENJOY <3

~~~~~~~~~~ 18+ ~~~~~~~~~~🌿~~~~~~~~~ 18+ ~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh, you were practically curling in on yourself as Nikto tenderly peeled the fabric of your clothes off. You had agreed to this only for the sake of his happiness, even if you weren't entirely comfortable with it.

Fucking gravity, making your breasts fall out to the sides in the ugliest manner. Like they had no interest in what Nikto was willing to give you. You wish they were perkier sometimes, that they were able to stand proud whenever given some freedom.

Nikto was careful with you, you were his doll anyway. Precious skin that glowed in the dim lighting of the room, hair tossed in wild swirls on the pillows. How could he not adore you when you were so effortlessly pretty? A man like him felt such shame for taking you for himself, even when you assured him of his worth.

The callouses on his hands were rough, yes, but they felt oddly soft when they traced your hips. The motion held no malice, only an undying appreciation in its wake. Despite you wanting to hide away, cover yourself up and escape his apartment for the sake of your modesty, you just couldn't sum up the courage when the sharpness of Nikto's eyes pulled you just a bit closer.

"Моя любовь, stop scrunching up your face. You're not old enough for wrinkles." He tried to joke, truly. Nikto didn't like seeing you stressed or nervous about something as lovely as these intimate moments.

And it worked, to his surprise. Your expression went from furrowed brows and an anxious look in your eyes, to a warm smile and puffy cheeks. Under his mask, he could feel his own lips quirking up to match yours, you were infectious in your mannerisms.

Your hands gently came to smooth over his biceps, and your once happy smile soon fell to one of lament and confusion. Why had such a handsome man, muscular and built come into your life? You felt slobbish beside him, like he could have gotten someone who didn't feel ashamed of their own flesh.

Nikto was persistent though. Sure, he wasn't very connected to his emotions, but he was to yours. You could be stubborn at times, especially with your self image. But you being fully nude in front of him, seeing the little plush of your tummy, the little lines along your hips and under your lower belly, how fucking massive your tits were...

He was a starved man, after all.

But he waited, he waited until you gave any signal that you were even remotely close to comfortable so he could lavish you in all the love he could possibly give you. He wasn't very affectionate, but you were different than him. He'd adapt to better fit you any day.

Once you finally seemed to relax knowing Nikto wasn't judging you, he acted quickly. His hands scooped up the round globes at your chest, squeezing them like his personal pair of stress balls. Your own hands were quick to latch onto his mask, hastily finding the clips and undoing them. If you could suffer being insecure, so could he.

And he didn't argue. He stilled so you could undo his mask more easily, letting the metal and fabric mask fall from his face as you aimlessly tossed it to the floor.

Yes, you recognized that face. Misshapen, misaligned, a bit battered and unframed, but pretty. Handsome, per se. The bags under his eyes were nothing new, you could see them even with his mask on. But his pretty pink lips, buzzed hair, uneven stubbly beard, burnt face... you just admired it in silence.

"Нет, I see you looking at me like that. None of that. You cannot love me and not love yourself." He huffed, the soft rumble in his speaking just making you swoon.

But you giggled and used the leverage you had to your advantage. You pulled his head down just enough until you could press your lips perfectly against his. The taste of faint nicotine and vodka was all consuming, and the way he pressed his hips against yours had you muffling the softest crooning noise.

It wasn't long until Nikto separated his lips from yours, moving them to make a trail down your neck, to your chest, your sternum and abdomen until he met right in between your thighs. Those big, squishy thighs that he swore he could live between. Using the strength he had to lift them over his shoulders while his thumb lazily spread open your labia.

Pretty coloured cunt just happily clenching around nothing, but you were simply just a bit uneasy with the way he was staring at it so hard. His thumb just shallowly plunged into the sweet hole of yours. You weren't wet enough, he knew this well. Maybe you were still too nervous to really get wet.

So both his hands went to loop around your thighs, his hands squeezing them in a swift pattern to keep you relaxed before he dove in.

A soft cry was torn from you while he licked and sucked at your pretty cunny. Warm tongue lapping up any juice you let go for him, and your legs were seizing up as your hips tried to buck up into him. The noises tumbling from your mouth left Nikto working twice as hard, pushing himself closer so his nose tapped and rubbed lightly against your clit.

You were practically seeing stars, back arching and curving to the point where you were sure you'd need a chiropractor after this. The bubbling in your lower abdomen was harsh, and you knew you were getting dangerously close.

Your hands pressed his head closer to your aching center, the sounds of your moans heightening the closer you got to sweet release. Nikto didn't stop his assault, no, not when you were practically humping your pussy against his face.

It didn't take long for you to crumble, a loud sobbish whimper escaping you as you came undone from simply his mouth. Nikto just enjoyed his meal like the hungry man he was, licking whatever leftover juice there was and even making sure his lips were clean before he continued.

You really didn't see how pretty you were to him, did you?

He gave you a few seconds of cooldown, watching your expression melt from high off of pleasure to calm in the afterglow. Your eyes fluttered open, and you giggled once you managed to see him. He had a bit of your mess on his nose.

"Nikto, your nose." You smiled, holding in the giggles as he tried to wipe it off.

Moments like these made you realize how lucky you were to be dating someone like Nikto. Sure, he wasn't perfect, no one was. But... he sure could be cute at times regardless of his looks.

The afterglow left you a smiling mess as Nikto cleaned you up and offered you pyjamas. Giddy from how happy you were because Nikto just truly adored you; you never knew the full extent of it.

So once you both were settled in bed, smiles faded to soft curled smirks, you could only pepper kisses to his scarred lips that gave you so much pleasure. Nikto could only let his expression grow fond as you did so.

The blankets were pulled over your shoulders, and your body was pressed up against his. He was warm, scaring off the chill of the room. And with a few kisses and a few soft "Я люблю тебя (i love you)"s, you fell asleep comfortably within his grasp.

Oh, he just adored every part of you.

#elizabethposts #x reader #smut #call of duty #nikto cod #nikto smut #nikto x reader #nikto call of duty #nikto x reader smut #cod nikto #cod x chubby reader #cod x reader smut #x fat reader #x plus size reader #call of duty nikto #nikto x fem reader

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solifloris · 1 year ago

Text

≡;-꒰ 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒔

╰┈➤ ❝ caleb x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, yearning, kissing, make up sex, soft sex that turns rough quite quickly, dom!caleb, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, praise, use of pet names "baby" "pipsqueak", lmk if i missed any tags !!

wc : 4.1k

Perhaps, yearning had a time and a place for everyone. But for the two of you, maybe it had gone on for longer than you could take, the slightest shift in the atmosphere ready to break that fragile little bubble of boundaries.

"If it were that easy to get a license, I wouldn't be here in your bed complaining, you know!" You scoffed, falling upon the soft mattress and dangling your feet off the edge. As Caleb laughed, easing into a spot beside you, you softened.

It had barely been a few days.

You'd get back from your exam, wrestling uncertainty with your results, and he was there—ready to listen, willing to offer a crying shouder if need be. You didn't cry, of course, only complained. But the mere presence of him by your side was enough to lull you out of your negativity, turning your talks into lighthearted moments for you to look back on and smile.

It happened often, with Caleb.

It was so easy to be with him, so easy to relax and just... be yourself, no questions asked, no image to uphold.

Ever since you were children.

It was just the kind of friendship you shared; the mutual trust, the mutual comfort. And you wouldn't have it any other way, except that...

Discreetly, you glanced at the figure beside you, Caleb also having gone silent, the both of you taking to stare outside the window of his room. He looked sentimental like this, almost, and pretty. The steadiness of his broad back... and the way you thought it would be nice, for once, to ruffle his hair instead of the other way around.

All familiar to you, all... cherished, by you.

"So... You'll be leaving again, huh?"

Your voice was casual, or at least—as casual as you could make it be. Yet, a certain apprehension settled into the pit of your stomach, and when he turned his head to face you, violet eyes glowing under the drifting moonlight, you felt yourself swallow thickly.

"Ah, well. You know the drill," he shrugged, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. Yet despite the playfulness in his tone, there was a gentleness in his eyes that made your heart churn. "My vacation ends, and I gotta be on my way first thing in the morning... Y'know. The usual."

You wished he wouldn't say it out loud, but you supposed you brought this upon yourself. You were the one that had asked, after all—yet you looked into his eyes, finding that you couldn't even bring yourself to look away, and there was nothing to stop the pout that slowly formed on your face. It was your turn to look away, almost as if refusing to look at him when you were like this.

"When will you be back again?"

He stayed quiet, for a while. If you looked at him, you would have noticed the little tilt of his head, the little smile on his face. But you could feel his eyes on you, and you wouldn't dare turn your head.

Caleb, after all, never missed an opportunity to poke fun at you.

"Aww, pipsqueak, are you that upset?"

You couldn't believe he would even question it.

Huffing, you glanced to the side, already noting the glint of mischief hidden in his eyes. "What, and you're not?" Your voice was sharp, but your retort lacking. Even Caleb knew that you were often more creative with your responses, and he had the audacity to laugh at your expense, almost delighting in the way you would puff your cheeks, indignance written all over you.

"D'you want me to be?" He grinned, leaning down to your height, searching your eyes. Always, you would think that his irrational penchant for being perceptive would be your downfall, and you knew this was no exception.

"...You're always so telling with your gaze."

Caleb shook his head, straightening himself only to reach out and ruffle your hair. It was just as he'd always done since you were children, and the gentle familiarity of it made you bow your head in resignation. "'Course I'm upset, pipsqueak," he sighed. "It's always hard to leave home, isn't it?"

His voice slowed to a pause, almost as if he could have continued, could have added to his words—but he didn't.

This time, it was your turn to be curious. If Caleb knew your reactions and your habits by heart, then you, too, could say the same about him. And sure enough, the more you studied him, even as he chuckled and turned his head away, the more you took note of something in his eyes that you couldn't quite find a name for.

Still, more than your curiosity, was your growing indignance at his words.

"...Is that it?" You mumbled, hands gripping at the fabric of your nightgown. "It's hard to leave... home. So it's not hard to—"

"Leave you? No, it is, pipsqueak. You are home."

His words caught you off-guard.

He wasn't looking at you when he said it—there was no trace of a blush on his cheeks, on his ears, anywhere—It almost made you doubt the seriousness of it, or why he would say something so... direct. Caleb wasn't usually expressive with you in this way; compliments, yes, but he'd never called you... home, before.

The word lingered weighty in the air.

But in the silence between you, and the more you thought of it, you couldn't help but dwell on the unfairness of it all. "Then—then—!" A frown formed on your face, watching as his eyes turned back to you when you spoke. "Then stay..."

It almost hurt you the way his eyes softened, teasing mirth replaced by a knowing gentleness. His hand edged closer to yours, body leaning ever-so-slightly towards you. "C'mon, pipsqueak... Y'know I can't do that..." he mumbled.

In slow, careful movements, his other hand reached to rest gently on your head, making you suddenly hyperaware of the way his fingernails would graze against the skin of your scalp, running through your hair in a sweet, tender stroke. He'd repeat the same motion, another silence weaving between the two of you, before his hand settled on the side of your face—the ghost of a touch, only barely feeling his palm press against your skin.

You held your breath.

"If I could," he said, "If I could. I'd be back here every week, spend every day with you like back when we were kids."

Feeling yourself slowly melt underneath the tenderness in his gaze, your shoulders relaxed, your grip on your clothing easing slightly. But still, your own eyes drifted to the ground.

Despite all your indignance, despite the terrible, terrible thought of having him go away from you again, you knew what he said was true. Caleb had always cared for you as much as you cared for him—it shouldn't come as a surprise to you that his absence hurt him equally as much, and that he would only put up a front for you, if only to be the solid foundation that he had always been for you, all these years up to this very moment.

Tears brimmed at your eyes, Caleb immediately shifting closer to place both of his hands by the side of your face, wiping them away with little swipes.

"Hey, now. Don't cry on me. You know I'll still be back on my next holidays!"

"But when?" You put in every effort to steady your voice, unwilling for it to waver in front of him, unwilling to let any more tears fall in the most obvious display of desperation for him that you've ever had. "How long will you be gone? Only to stay again for another week or so... Sometimes, you stay even less than a week. I've barely managed to have a proper conversation with you this time, and yet— yet—!"

You sniffled as your bleary eyes settled on his features, leaning into the comforting warmth of his hold. "Ugh," you scolded yourself, though there was no weight in the way that you did. "You... you make me feel like a little kid, Caleb. I'm not even supposed to be this selfish with you."

"Hmm. Aren't you? You've always been a little selfish with me, and if I'm honest, this isn't really too surprising." He chuckled again, and the playfulness in his eyes made a temporary return before he dared to step closer, inching towards your face. "But I don't mind, pipsqueak. 'Cause I miss you just as much, everytime I can't see you."

His words were warm. As warm as the way he looked at you, as warm as the way he held you.

As warm as...

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you, too, dared to step another line into something the two of you had never set foot in—almost closing the distance, almost giving in to the thoughts that probed your mind, almost—

You pressed your forehead against his, the both of you taking a moment to peek into new territory that had been brought out in the open. Your lips, now, were close enough to barely touch. You could see deeply into his eyes like this, too—the way golden flecks of light mixed with saturated, purple hues, and for the first time, you thought, you noticed... Caleb was a lot like the sunsets you would see on your way home.

"What's on your mind, pipsqueak?" He murmured softly, the rasp in his voice revealing to you just how much your actions had caught him off-guard, just how much he was straining not to step a toe out of line from whatever you wanted; whatever this was.

The tension in the air was unmistakable.

You could think; imagine, perhaps, his heartbeat was racing in his chest just as fast as yours was. Perhaps, you would be able to feel it for yourself, if his body was pressed up against yours...

You watched as his gaze drifted down towards your lips, and you flushed at the subtlest indication that he might have the same thoughts as you did.

"Caleb..." you whispered, placing your hand over his, tilting your head slightly to the side and holding him closer against your cheek. "When you're away, do you... Think of me?"

Silence; his eyes never strayed from yours, waiting, observing, attentive and careful to note how you would approach this situation.

"The way that you miss me... What is it like?"

A slow inhale, one hand moving to tuck your hair behind your ears.

"Hmm, well... Maybe it's exactly in the way you're thinking of, right now."

"And... What would that be?"

"...Dunno, pipsqueak. What would it be?"

You smiled, seeing the flicker of a challenge in his eyes, but recognizing there to be equal parts of caution, still watching, waiting, waiting for you to make your move.

"Would you stop me?" You said finally, slowly draping your arm over his shoulder. "If I moved a little closer now, and then we'd..."

It was your turn to glance at his lips, so close to you, yet so far, almost blurry and out of focus with your proximity. You could feel his steady breaths against your face, and he didn't answer you. Instead, he took your words as his own confirmation, breaking the boundary, tilting his head as he captured your lips into a soft, gentle kiss.

He moved his lips slowly against yours, hands trailing down your face, down your back, settling on your waist—and then he pulled away, half-lidded eyes examining you closely. One beat, two—Caleb pushed you gently against the sheets, pressing close and flush against your body, his heartbeat racing in time with yours just as you had hoped it to.

"You... mean this, pipsqueak?" He breathed.

"...Do I lie that often to you? The reason I miss you so much, the reason I so badly want you to stay... Did you think it was because of whatever childish attachment I've had to you from the start?"

He nearly scoffed.

"Oh, what. And you're gonna call me oblivious? Like I don't see the way you look at me? Like I don't see the way you melt?"

This time you gasped, and a smirk played at his lips—his lips, ones that had kissed you just seconds prior. "You—! That's—!"

"I've known aaallll along, pipsqueak. But you've never had plans on acting on your feelings, right? So I'm just asking, 'cause... I don't want you to regret what we're doing."

Though feeling the weight of embarrassment begin to swirl in your stomach, your eyes softened.

Ah, you thought, he's always so considerate.

"What..." You searched his eyes, "What are we doing? What is this, then?"

"...You could think of it as me making it up to you..." Caleb spoke slowly. "Well, whatever this is, I could kiss you here for hours—easy."

You felt the heat rise back up to your cheeks—

"—Oorr..." He smiled, tucking another strand of hair behind your ear. "If you want a more detailed memory to keep you company while I'm gone, I could do even more than that. But your call, of course."

Immediately you understood what he was implying, and the mere thought of it turned you completely red in the face, pushing him away with a gasp.

"Caleb!" You cried out, and beside you, he laughed.

"Guess that's a no, then? Ah, well. No biggie, I could wait another few months or so. C'mere, and I'll—"

"N-no! I... I didn't mean it like that."

You cut him off quickly, chewing on the inside of your lip, and he raised an eyebrow.

"No? So what'd you mean, then?" Caleb reached out his hand for you to take, gently tracing his fingers over the skin of your palm.

"I... I'm up for it," you said, after a moment. "I mean... I don't mind. If you... If you wanna—do—what you were—"

You couldn't complete your sentence, and he squeezed your hand, another chuckle escaping his lips. "You would, huh? Have sex with me?"

His blatant admission had you burning, immediately pulling away once more to cover your face. "God, Caleb! Don't just say it like that!"

"Hey! I gotta be sure, don't I? Who knows if we were thinking different things?"

"But—! If you say it out loud, it sounds...! Embarrassing!"

"What, that I want to have sex with you?"

You could hear the infuriating melody of amusement in his voice, clearly pleased at your flustered reaction, clearly enjoying this mental torture on you like he always did.

"Caleb..." You whined at the sound of his laughter, peeking through your fingers just enough to let him see your pout.

"Alright, alright! I'll stop!" He grinned. "...But seriously, though. It doesn't matter too much that I've been waiting, I can wait a little longer if you're not ready yet. 'Cause honestly? I'm just happy enough like this already."

Like... This?

Your mind drifted to his kiss, his soft, plush lips mingling with your own. It had lasted barely a few seconds, but even the mere thought of it made you weak. The mere thought of holding him—doing more—having him love you, tender as always, in ways that he had never before. You'd fantasized about it, sure. Undeniably. Sometimes you would sit in one of his hoodies, flushing at his scent and the way that you could easily reach down to touch yourself in it—

You never did, out of the mere fear that you would never be able to look him in the eyes if you did.

But now, his own feelings, his own desires, lay just within your reach. No matter how scary it was to dive into such a foreign, indiscernible place of your relationship... You've never had him closer to you, and you didn't want to let go of that feeling.

So with a shy gaze, you closed the gap between the both of you once more, kissing at his neck and feeling each shudder of his body zap straight down to your core. "It's okay," you mumbled, "I think... I'd rather not wait, either."

In a flurry of movements, you were back against his pillows, his body above you and arms and legs tangled in a passionate embrace. Unlike earlier, each kiss upon your lips had you gasping your air—almost starved as he mouthed at you, almost desperate to explore every curve of your skin in a way you didn't know he ever could be.

"Unbelievable," he breathed, panting as he pulled away, fingers slowly gliding beneath your nightgown, tracing circles over your stomach. "I'm actually, actually touching you like this."

"Unbelievable?" You scoffed, turning your head to the side. "I should be the one saying that. Having you touch me like this..."

He smiled. And then slowly, his hands traveled up your skin, bunching the silken fabric of your nightwear up and above your breasts. You saw him draw in a shaky breath, a tremble in the way he stroked your skin—"Oh, fuck," he whispered, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "Seriously, it's like a miracle, shit..."

"...Caleb, are you going to just tease?" You frowned, feeling vulnerable in the way he stared. Your body remained mostly exposed, revealed to him in a way that had him frozen with having never seen you so naked before.

But Caleb licked his lips, feeling them dry at the mere sight of you.

"Oh, baby, I wish."

There was a raspiness in his voice as he moved to yank down his sweatpants, chest heaving in the way he tried so hard to control his breaths.

Baby, he called you, and you could have sworn you let out a whine, the new nickname striking a chord inside of you more than you ever expected it to.

"I— shit. I really wanna take my time with you... Give you a whole experience you can think of 'til I get back, but you—"

A sense of urgency overtook him, and his hands were back on you, tracing your thighs, trailing up to press at your panties and nearly groaning at the patch of wetness he could feel.

You drew in a sharp breath.

"...Damn. It looks like I won't be able to keep my composure, not when I've thought about this moment for as long as I can remember."

His hand was pulling your underwear down within seconds, leaving your lower halves bare and exposed. The tip of his cock was wet with pre-cum, the sheer length of it having you momentarily speechless.

"W-wait, you're not—?!" A hint of panic rose in your voice as you sat up against the headboard, but he gently pushed you back down, towering over you.

"It'll fit," he spoke, matter-of-factly, reaching down to swipe at your cunt before bringing his hand up to your face. That smirk was there again, the tease in his eyes ever-present despite his promise not to leave you feeling unfair for too long. "You're crazy wet, pipsqueak. I think I'll slide in just fine."

His words brought a dangerous sting to your cheeks, feeling yourself clench around nothing, eyeing the slick that coated his fingers from a single swipe.

If, you thought, if he had those fingers inside of me, I wonder how deeply he would reach...

He leaned down to kiss you, almost as if reading your thoughts. "Not now," he murmured. "Maybe later. Maybe next time, when I get back."

You frowned. "Don't... don't talk about leaving when we're like this..."

"Baby—"

"No, Caleb. If I'm going to remember this moment, I am not going to think of it as the night before you go away again!"

Amusement flashed through his eyes, and the tip of his cock brushed lightly against your entrance, coating your clit with your wetness.

"Alright, I digress," he grinned. "But it's not an if, right? You will remember—and then you can busy yourself with the feeling of it whenever you need to. It's the whole point."

"...Busy myself?! What do you think you're—"

Your words were lost into a gaping moan, feeling his cock stretch at your walls, heat and pleasure coarsing through your veins in sharp, quick bursts.

"Fuuuuckkkk." He groaned from the throat, your hazy eyes making out the way he grit his teeth, his own eyes shut tightly as he pushed into you, all the way up to your hilt, gripping the headboard in ragged pants. "So..." he breathed, "So damn tight."

"Y-you're just—ngh—so big—"

It was almost as if he were intent on rendering you utterly speechless, barely giving you time to time to adjust before he was snapping his hips into yours. Every movement had him filling you up, thrusting into you balls deep, hips moving quickly, rhythmically, splitting you open with ease.

"W-Wai—iit— a-aahh—" Your back arched in raw pleasure, submitting to every ounce of desire that poured out of him. "Shit!" You cursed, head thrown back into his pillow. "So fast—Y-you're so fast—"

He only let out a hum of a moan in response, eyes finally opening, hands shifting to grab onto yours and pin them right up above your head.

"Oh, fuck— Caleb—!"

"Good," he rasped. "So wet, so tight, so—haah—so good—"

You clamp down tightly around him, greedily sucking his length in with the steady pulse of your cunt, moans breaking, body squirming under his grasp and the lustful heat of his gaze.

"Oh, god—sorry, baby, I can't—" Caleb's pace seemed to stutter with the way you clenched around him, pounding into you more erratically, cockhead hitting the spot that had you jolting. "You're too perfect, you're exactly how i've imagined—"

Whimpers began to fall from your lips as you struggled to wring your hands free from his grasp, desperate to touch him, desperate to feel him closer. And Caleb remained attentive despite his obvious euphoria, releasing your hands and leaning down close to you, grunts with every pump of his cock, almost needy for your heat.

The feeling was too much.

He was fucking you, and you couldn't think straight—you'd opened your mouth, and before you could stop yourself, you were spilling his name in ways you wouldn't have done otherwise.

"I love you, Caleb, I love you, I love you, I love y—nnh—leb— haah— I love you, Caleb—!"

It didn't take long after that for him to twitch in your cunt, and your walls fluttered around him, locking him in place as he stilled, spilling inside of you enough to have you leaking. It was enough to edge out a release of your own, and you trembled in his embrace, bodies locked in perpetual ecstasy.

And he was right, you would remember it.

Every slide of his cock against your walls, you'd remember it—and, with a pang, you realized... you'd long for it.

"...You're so cruel," you whispered as he leaned down to kiss at your jawline, slowly pulling out of you and collapsing beside you with a sigh.

"Hmm, wow. First, an I love you without warning, and now I'm the cruel one?" He laughed softly beside you. "Was I too hard? Sorry, pipsqueak, you're much too—"

"I love you, Caleb." Your mind much clearer after your high, you repeated your words, albeit shy enough to still turn over and snuggle into his chest. "Just... how am I supposed to miss you like this?"

He reached over to put his arm around you, stroking your hair lovingly. "...Miss me...?" he spoke slowly, almost as if choosing his words with care. "It won't be for too long, pipsqueak, swear."

"But you don't even—"

He clicked his tongue, cutting you off. "I mean, that's partly why we fucked, right? It should keep you busy enough while we wait. Now you have something more accurate to touch yourself to, and, hey—I wouldn't stop you!"

You had indeed come to a similar conclusion, but hearing him say it out loud like that had you looking up with a halfhearted glare.

"...Caleb, you're filthy!" You huffed.

But you both knew well that your words didn't amount to much, and he chuckled, poking your temple.

"Okay, okay. How about... Just to make sure you won't be too sad, we can have another round in the morning?"

"Caleb!"

He smiled. "...I love you, too, pipsqueak."

The warmth of his words, blending in with his familiar, most precious nickname for you, had you easily forgetting whatever trepidations you had in your heart. Maybe, you thought, whatever came with this new door in your relationship was worth it—especially if you could be in his arms the way you were now, listening closely to the lull of his heartbeat.

『 I can't decide if it's a choice getting swept away; I hear the sound of my own voice asking you to stay. 』

⁺₊ / an: ouh this req prompt couldve gone soooooo many ways and it was so hard to decide!! the word count proves i love him almost as much as xavier, but i also owe it to caleb x mc being so "treacherous" by taylor swift coded, and i will die on this hill!!!!!!

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

#love and deepspace #love & deepspace #love and deepspace smut #love & deepspace smut #love and deepspace caleb #love & deepspace caleb #love and deepspace x reader #love & deepspace x reader #caleb x reader #caleb x you #divider by mikeykuns #divider by cafekitsune #lnds garden 🌹

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agxxb · 10 months ago

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I’m Trying .𖥔 ݁ ˖

tony stark x daughter!reader

summary: tony’s daughter voices her worries about his life as iron man.

warnings: terms of endearment (kiddo, sweetheart). soft!tony. slight angst. fluff. [1k]

Tony's heart softened as he looked over at you. You were sat beside him on the couch, a movie playing in front of you both that neither paid attention to. He could still sense something was off.

"You okay, Kiddo?” You hummed in agreement, giving a slight nod. He didn't buy it. You were good at hiding things from him these days. He used to know every thought running through your head, every secret you had. Now everything was locked behind a door he couldn't seem to open no matter how hard he tried.

"Hey," he said gently. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

You let out a quiet sigh, finally looking away from the large screen of the television. “I just miss you.”

Tony paused, taken aback by your confession. It was something he'd felt for awhile now; the distance between the two of you had grown over the months and it hurt more than he thought. Hearing you say it, though? That made it hurt even more.

"I'm right here.”

“Physically, sure… but you’re not here.”

Tony's heart sank a little lower. He'd always been aware that his Iron Man duties had gotten in the way of his time with you. Hearing you say it out loud just made it more real, more like his fault. “I'm trying," he whispered, his voice laced with regret. “Sweetheart, you gotta know I'm trying.”

You sighed once again, this time in defeat. You hated that you had made your dad feel guilty, but you couldn’t help how you felt. “I know… I know, it’s just… recently, it feels like you care more about being Iron Man than anything else.”

Your words were like a hit to the gut. Tony wanted to argue, wanted to defend himself, but he knew you were right. Being Iron Man, being a hero, became more important to him than anything else, including you.

He looked up at you, the guilt and pain evident on his face. "I'm just– trying to make the world safer," he said weakly, knowing it was a poor excuse. "For you," he added, like that made it better.

“But what happens if you don’t come home one day? You can’t predict surprises. You don’t know what’s gonna happen, and I’m gonna have to find out that my dad was killed on the news.”

That thought, of leaving you at the hands of some villain, had kept him up more nights than he cared to admit. It was a constant fear that gnawed at his consciousness every time he suited up. Hearing you verbalise it, though, made it feel even more real. More possible. More likely that it could happen.

"I'll come home." It wasa promise he made to himself a million times, and he tried to make it sound like a promise to you too. "I always come home.”

“I need you, dad. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” Tears began to form in your eyes, the image of your father lying dead, cold, filling your mind.

The look on your face, the tears in your eyes, hit Tony harder than any punch he'd ever taken as Iron Man. He couldn’t bear to see you hurt, especially not over something he was responsible for.

Without hesitation, he moved closer to you, gathering you in his arms and pulling you into his chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, trying to offer the comfort and security you desperately needed.

"Nothing's gonna happen to me," he whispered, though it felt more like a prayer than a promise.

“But you don’t know that.” You sniffled, pushing your face into his chest as an act of comfort, just like you used to do when you were little. “Anything could happen.”

Tony's heart broke as he felt your tears soaking into his shirt. The fear in your voice, the truth in your words — it all hit him hard. He knew the risks, better than anyone.

He buried his face in your hair, holding onto you as tightly as he could. "I'm trying to be careful," he murmured, the words both a promise to you and a plea to the universe. "I'm being careful."

“I know.”

He pulled back a bit so he could look at you, his heart aching at the sight of your tear-streaked face. He gently brushed your hair back from your face, his thumb wiping away a stray tear. "I'm sorry.” The apology was for more than just the fear he put you through. It was an apology for all the times he had lost with you. For all the times he'd chosen Iron Man over you.

“Y’don’t have to apologise.”

Tony's heart swelled with love and guilt at the same time. He cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. The weight of his apology and his love was heavy in his gaze. "I promise I'll be more careful," he said, the words filled with a resolve he'd never felt before. "I'll prioritise you more, okay? You're more important."

“I just want you to be safe. That’s all I care about.”

Tony couldn’t remember the last time he felt the overwhelming mixture of love, fear, and guilt. Hearing you say that all you cared about was his safety was both touching and heartbreaking.

He pulled you back into a hug, holding you tightly. "I'll be as safe as possible," he promised, his voice a little hoarse. "I'll never leave you, okay? That's a promise."

“I love you, Pops,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “So much.”

He held you even tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I love you too, Kiddo. More than anything in this world."

#agxxb #tony stark #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark x reader #tony stark fluff #tony stark angst #tony stark x daughter #tony stark x daughter!reader #iron man #iron man fanfiction #iron man x reader #iron man fluff #iron man angst #iron man x daughter #iron man x daughter!reader #marvel #avengers #avengers fanfiction #the avengers

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jmliebert · 2 years ago

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i shed at least thirty tears, or maybe even sobbed reaidng ur tom riddle works. when ur not busy, any more to spare?

♡TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE IN LOVE♡

it seemed almost impossible to happen, because he didn't believe in love, not truly

he could be fascinated with someone, desiring to possess them, to use them for his own ends... but love?

in his cold, collected world, ruled by ambition and utter control, it was a foreign concept

so when Tom began to feel something more for one of his playthings, it got ugly

love, the very concept he denied, started to claw at the high walls he built throughout the empty years of his childhood

he saw it as a weakness, a vulnerability

something that must stay hidden like a dirty secret

the mere thought of him being like this made him angry, for it meant losing control

in an attempt to regain that control, he tries to sever the ties, harshly

"You disgust me", he said coldly, his voice cutting through the air like a sharpened blade

his angelic face emotionless, eyes distant

it felt like a slap on your cheek though he didn't even touched you

your heart felt heavy, you didn't understand...

and when Tom saw the pain in your eyes, the realisation of control he has over you made him feel both glorious and... miserable

he could hurt you so easily, you were in palm of his hand... but by hurting you he hurt himself

double-edge knife

the overwhelming guilt was an emotion he never felt before because he didn't care for anyone, never

but with you, oh it was different

he longed to comfort you, to touch you, but he knew he couldn't

so he chooses to let you suffer

and his little dark heart suffered too

haunted by the image of your glassy eyes, he became sleepless

almost obsessed, he replayed the scene of his harsh words over and over, his fists clenching painfully each time

avoiding you shattered him, his days changed entirely when you weren't around

he was not as productive or sharp as usual

his mind was often wandering away... to you

to all those moments you shared

the conflict within him raged, tearing him apart piece by piece

his once impenetrable facade, his stoic mask, began to crack whenever you were near him

so lonely and broken, with eyes tired

all of that because of him

"you're delicate", he thought, "too delicate"

he wanted to reach out for you, yet also didn't

months passed until he realised he couldn't take it anymore

he couldn't think, focus, sleep, eat and he knew it was like it for you too

something selfish in him whispered that he needed to return to you, even though he knew he was no good

Tom realised he wanted to protect you

from the world, yet not from him

but he loved you, truly, even if it was a wicked love

he knew you loved him too, long before he dared to acknowledge his own feelings

so in the dark night, in the desolate corridors, he found you

and finally saw you

kneeling before you, a posture that seemed alien on his proud form, he clung to your legs, as if begging for forgiveness

desperation marked his every move, and his eyes once cold and indifferent, now reflected something else

adoration

love

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

you can find more of my works about tom ♡here♡

#tom riddle imagine #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle headcanon #tom marvolo riddle imagine #tom marvolo riddle #lord voldemort #tom riddle in love #tom riddle x you

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mn-light · 1 year ago

Text

Fear

Orter Madl x Reader (Y/N)

Happy ending.

･ﾟﾟ･｡

Orter Madl sighed as he strolled through the bustling streets of the city, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. The sun was shining brightly overhead, casting a warm glow over the colorful buildings and lively crowds. It was a typical day in the magical realm, filled with laughter, chatter, and the occasional burst of magic.

As a Divine Visionary tasked with keeping the peace in the realm, Orter was used to the chaos of city life. He navigated through the crowded streets with ease, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of trouble. Despite his serious demeanor, Orter couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment as he observed the hustle and bustle of the city.

However, beneath his composed exterior, Orter harbored a deep-seated fear. It was a fear that gnawed at him relentlessly, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. It was the fear of not being able to protect those he cared about, especially someone as dear to him as Y/N.

Y/N was a fellow Visionary, a bright and spirited individual who had captured Orter's heart from the moment they met. They shared a deep bond forged through countless adventures and battles fought side by side. Y/N's unwavering courage and determination had earned Orter's respect and admiration, but they had also awakened a sense of protectiveness within him that he couldn't ignore.

Despite his best efforts to shield Y/N from harm, Orter couldn't shake the feeling of dread that gripped him whenever they embarked on a mission together. He was haunted by the thought of failing to keep Y/N safe, of being unable to fulfill his duty as a Visionary and a friend.

As Orter wandered through the streets, lost in his thoughts, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling of unease that gnawed at him. He knew that danger lurked around every corner in the magical realm, and he couldn't afford to let his guard down, especially when it came to protecting Y/N.

Little did he know, their next adventure would put his fears to the ultimate test, forcing him to confront his deepest insecurities and fight for the one he held closest to his heart.

･ﾟﾟ･｡

Orter's heart races as he holds you in his arms, feeling a mix of relief and fear washing over him. He couldn't shake off the image of you falling, of the helplessness he felt as he watched you crumble to the ground. The thought of losing you, even for a moment, sends shivers down his spine.

"You scared the hell out of me," Orter whispers, his voice trembling with emotion as he holds you tighter, as if afraid you might slip away again.

You feel his arms around you, offering both comfort and protection, and you bury your face in his chest, taking solace in his presence. Despite his stoic demeanor, you can sense the worry etched into every line of his body.

"I'm sorry," you mumble against his robes, your voice muffled by the fabric. "I didn't mean to worry you."

Orter pulls back slightly, his hands framing your face as he looks into your eyes with intensity. "I don't care about that," he says firmly. "I care about you. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

You swallow hard, overwhelmed by his sincerity. "I'm okay," you assure him, mustering a small smile. "Thanks to you."

Orter's expression softens, and he leans in to press a gentle kiss on your forehead. "I'll always be here for you," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "No matter what."

For a moment, the weight of his words hangs between you, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, seeking comfort in the warmth of his embrace. In that moment, surrounded by darkness and uncertainty, you find solace in each other's presence, knowing that together, you can face whatever challenges lie ahead.

And as the night stretches on, you find yourselves lost in each other's company, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten as you cling to the hope and light that shines between you.

#Orter Madl #Mashle #Orter x reader #too little fics regarding mashle so need to make one #first post so wohoo

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sweptawayghost · 9 months ago

Text

In Dreams Pt.2

PAIRING: Joel Miller X Reader

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Joel is plagued by images of you when he closes his eyes. The dreams aren't stopping and his feelings for you only grow stronger with everyday. As Winter closes in you go on one last unofficial patrol, close proximity makes Joels brain go all stupid.

Hello!!!

Thank you so much for the support on my first part, it really means the world to me. I’ve got ideas of where I want the story to go but it's gonna be mostly Joel lusting after us for a while. I love when big strong men need to be held and told what a good boy they've been...

If you'd like me to tag you in my next part just let me know. Let me know if I missed any warnings. Thank you so much :) Anything Written like this {Italic} indicated Joel's inner thoughts. Word count 4.1K

CHAPTER WARNING: Mention of male masturbation, mentions of alcohol, Age gap, Mentions of creampie, sharing the same bed, Pet name (we call Joel baby), some fluff, some smut

It wasn't just once. Of course it wouldn't be. It wasn't the only night he dreamt about you either. Too many nights he woke up in full body sweats, which was not new to him but the reason was new.

The reason being you.

He would think about all the times your fingertips would brush his skin, he would think about the way you would grab his arm when walking down the street with him, he would think about the way you grabbed a fist full of his hair when it had started growing out of control “you need a haircut Miller” the act of your touch was innocent but it lit a fire in Joel’s gut.

Every little touch stuck with him and followed him around for the rest of the day like a drop of blood on a white shirt, almost haunting him. It would follow him to bed at night as well. When he settled into the comforting silence of his bedroom he could tune everything out like a radio and focus on your voice in his head.

Some nights he would find himself rutting against the bed for relief, his eyes sealed shut, softly whimpering, wishing you were beneath him, Talking him through it, telling him how good he’s making you feel. He wanted to watch your eyes roll back, mouth agape gasping for air, moaning into his ear. God get a grip of yourself Miller. But he couldn't help himself. Images of you overriding every other thought in his brain almost like he was a puppet and someone else was pulling the strings.

He was afraid of how much he wanted you. He would be consumed by his orgasm, his body stuttering as he held a death grip on the bathroom sink or the sheets benether him, always with the image of you flooding his mind, smiling at him, proud of yourself for how crazy you were making him, how desperate he was to cum and how you would let him do it inside of you because he was being so good for you. Ropes of his spent painting the soft skin of his stomach and the rough skin of his hand. A flash of heat rushed through him as he stifled his moans and let his body vibrate against the bed as he came down from his high.

The lonely empty feeling would chase him around all night. Some nights it would be easy to scare it off and find sleep. Can you call this sleep? Other nights he wasn't as lucky.

He thinks about the time the two of you stumbled home from the Bison, your arm linked around his elbow as you walked side by side down the silent streets of Jackson. You had told him that the silence was sometimes deafening, how it sometimes felt worse than being outside the walls. He agreed. He confessed that he didn't sleep the first week of being here and how much worse he felt now that he had genuine safety. He wanted to let you into his head.

If I hadn't just met you I would tell you everything. I would tell you about Sarah, I'd tell you the truth about Ellie. I would tell you about the ache in my chest when I wake up and I'd tell you how much it’s eased since I’ve met you. I'd tell you about how much I like you being around. You'd probably think I’m insane if you knew how much I think about you.

She trusts you Joel. Dont fuck this up by letting your dick do your thinking for you.

The guilt would start to eat him alive. God she's your friend, she trusts you and you're laying in bed thinking about how good it would be to creampie her. You’re fucked up.

If he couldn't sleep he would find himself sitting up with a book or fiddling with one of his wood carvings.

On nights where that didn't help he would take a walk...

///

“Is your girlfriend coming over as well?” Ellie called out to him from the dining room as she placed cutlery out on the table.

She had invited a friend over for dinner. Something Joel hasn’t expected, especially so soon and especially after the way she spoke about some of the other kids in town. Really he knew it wasn't just a friend. Ellie had been acting differently, humming to herself and smiling all the time, not nearly as quick witted and all day dreamy. She’s in love.

“Ellie” He called out to her from the kitchen averting his gaze from the stove “She aint my girlfriend… and yes she's coming over” He felt the tips of his ears burn, he could blame the tint of red that covered his face on the heat from the stove but he wouldn't have an excuse for the smile that followed.

It had only been a few weeks since your first meeting but you had somehow integrated yourself into Joel's life. On the days that you didn't patrol together he would come visit you at the stables or the greenhouse when he was finished at work. He would come past your house to split wood or mow your yard. He fixed your front door weeks ago, he cleaned out your guttering and was able to fix that window in your bedroom that you were never able to open.

Ellie took to you right away. She would look for any excuse to invite you over, Joel never put up a fight. He wanted you around as much as Ellie did. Many nights he would come home to a basket of fresh produce on his bench or a plate of brownies on the bench. In the long list of gifts you gave him, the friendship you shared with Ellie was the most valuable and irreplaceable. She looked up to you.

When Sarah was alive, Joel worried that she would have questions he couldn't answer. Girly questions. Questions that would be as uncomfortable to ask as they would be the answer. Of course Ellie wasn't like most kids her age but some things never really change. Some things you just don't talk to your dad about.

Sometimes he would just sit there and watch the two of you talking on the porch. He liked watching the way the pair of you would throw your heads back in laughter, slapping each other's arms and shoulders, he could watch it all day. Or the two of you sitting on his couch scribbling into notepads and books occasionally showing each other things you had written down or drawn. The hushed whispers at the dinner table when he wasn't paying attention. Ellie taking full advantage of his deafness. Or some nights you would be walking her back home with an arm linked in hers or thrown over her shoulder. Something Ellie would continue to say she hated but secretly loved. In a lot of ways you treated her like she was your sister. If you and Ellie are sisters that would make me… Yuck.

Ellie jumped when she heard the knock on the door. She was off all afternoon, fidgety and jittery. Ringing her fingers and cracking her knuckles when her hands were idle before wiping her palms on her jeans. Small things you think I don't notice. Dropping the remaining utensils.

“I'll get it!” she shouted as she turned to run towards the sound, joel could hear the soft thump of her socked feet on the worn hardwood of the floor. He heard the door open and felt the cold air sweep through followed by an “oh, it's just you” He let his lips curl into a smile.

You slid into the kitchen like you usually do, your shoes and jacket forgotten in the lounge room. Joel loved it when you wore your hair down. He loved seeing the way your jeans hung around your waist and he fucking loved when you didnt wear a bra. Like tonight. He tried not to notice and he tried not to look but sometimes he thinks you did it on purpose. Stop it Miller.

“Nothing sexier than a man in the kitchen” you blurted out at him from the doorway, he looked over at you, he didn't miss the way your eyes lingered on his form.

“Shut up” He shook his head and averted his attention back to the pot on the stove. He couldn't stop the smile that formed on his lips but he didn't mind that you saw it. He lowered the heat on the stove before turning to lean on the counter.

You placed a bottle on the kitchen island before jumping up to sit on it. A recurring gift of Seth's finest home brewed whisky. The bottle in similar shape to the one you gave him weeks ago.

There have been many nights since then that the two of you would drown in the amber liquid. Each time only strengthened his affection for you.

One night he made a confession to you about the pit in his stomach and the hole in his heart, he told you about the nightmares he had almost every time he closed his eyes and the suffocating feeling he had once he woke from them. He couldn't look at you although he felt you searching for his eyes.

He heard the shuffled movement from where you sat beside him on the couch. He closed his eyes when he felt your hand on the back of his neck, fingertips cold despite the heat coming from the fire, he surrendered when you pulled him into your chest and he let his arms wrap around your middle.

He didn't mind letting you see this part of him. The soft and broken part. He never felt as though he needed to hide from you.

“You're okay, baby” you whispered into his hair. That was all it took for him to crumble into you.

Baby

Did you mean to say that?

Baby

Had it slipped out by accident?

Baby

Did you call everyone that? He searched his brain for the answer to the questions, coming up empty.

Baby

He tried to think about the last time he let himself fall apart. When was the last time you let yourself feel? When was the last time someone just held you?

You would never know what it meant to him. But he would never know what it meant to you.

While the safety inside the walls of Jackson made his stomach churn, the safety he felt being in your arms was inviting and warm.

Joel Miller, for the first time in a long time, was safe. Wow

When the morning came he found himself still in your embrace, slotted between your thighs, his head resting against your stomach with his hands pressed into your back, your hand tangled in his hair as the other rested on his shoulder.

The fire no more than dying embers in the hearth leaving a chill in the air. He would have noticed if it wasn't for the blanket that was draped around him and the heat coming off of your body, particularly right between your legs. He ignored the ache in his back and the cramping in his slumped hip as looked over your sleeping form. You looked so peaceful, almost angelic with the soft light of the morning flooding in through the windows, the peaks of your breasts pushing through your shirt, nipples hardened from the cold air in the room, Your hair falling so lazily over the couch cushion.

You didn't try to ask Joel questions about his confession the next day, for that he was grateful. He already felt bad enough having said it at all. She thinks you're weak Miller. She feels bad for you that's why she's here, not because she cares, do you really think she’d like someone like you? Despite the insecure voice in his head giving him a beating, he wouldn't forget the way you held him, he wouldn't forget the way you looked down at him once you woke up, he wouldn't forget the slow rise and fall of your chest as you slept and he wouldn't forget the heat that seeped into him from between your legs.

Baby

“Hello? Are you even listening to me?” Joel didn't realise you had been talking to him, wrapped up in the memory or your embrace.

“I just missed the last bit” Good lie Miller. You rolled your eyes at him knowing he didn't hear a word. You jumped down from the counter and closed the gap between the two of you before reaching out to grab his chin between your thumb and forefinger.

“If you weren't so handsome i would slap the shit out of you”

Joel tried to pay attention to what you said next which was hard given you didn't let go of his chin and the smell of your soap was intoxicating and the fact that you had called him handsome. The heat from your body and your constant eye contact making it hard for him to focus on anything else besides the pressure building in his jeans. What did she say? Six days? Something about patrol and the snow. Let's go before the snow or something like that? Does it really matter? Just say yes to whatever she asks.

Another knock on the door followed by a shout from Ellie breaking the moment.

///

Joel liked that you never really got small talk. You would ask him strange things like, what colour his first bike was or how old he was when he shaved for the first time. Why would you wanna know? His favourite was when you asked him to tell you about his first girlfriend.

"Hmm, I think her name was Stacy?" He said it like a question "Lacie?" He clicked his finger and pointed at you "no! Macie" He looked over the top of the flames to find your face staring back at him.

Normally a fire is a huge no no for Joel but the cold night air coupled with the pelting rain left him with no choice. The two of you had been out for two days now, taking shelter in whatever somewhat secure structure you came across at nightfall and the rain was welcome, covering any sounds the pair of you would make as well as washing away the build up of sweat and dirt that covered his skin. Soon snow would blanket the ground of jackson, the sightings of infected would lessen and the town would slow for a while.

You had dragged him out for one last trip before it got too cold and too dangerous to be out for an extended period of time.

“Do you think that you loved her?” you asked as you laid down on your side with an elbow propping your head up. He mirrored your posture and paused to think about it.

Joel could count on one hand how many people he actually loved and Lacie. Wait no, Macie definitely wasn't one of them.

“ No” He relaxed into your gaze from across the fire, the cold air pricking the back of his neck. “ I was young and love really wasn't the first thing on my mind. Even if I told her I loved her I probably didn't mean it.” it might have sounded cruel but it was the truth.

He would tell you about the movies they would see together and about the music they would listen to. He would describe the creek they would swim in during summer and how they would ride their bikes around town before Joel finally saved enough money to buy a car.

"What kind of car did you drive?"

He found it cute that you cared, that you would even know what he was talking about if he told you.

"It was a red pickup truck, hunk of shit really but it was mine" He felt his cheeks heat up as you continued your relentless eye contact. He felt like a doddering old man reliving stories of his glory days when you asked him these kinds of questions. But you would watch him with close intent. Hanging on to his every word, mouth slightly agape as you listened to him as if he was the most interesting person telling you the most interesting story.

You turned onto your stomach bringing your elbows up and placing a hand on either side of your face to support the weight of your head, eyes sparkling over at him. I wish she would stop looking at me like that. If she only knew what she did to me.

"I wish I was lucky enough to have a car"

You said this sincerely but Joel remembers the car very well. Ripped up fabric seating, no plastic cover on the dashboard, absolutely no air conditioning and only the driver's side window went down. Not to mention the fuel gauge would stick so he was caught out more than once on the side of the road with an empty tank.

"wasn't a prize" he'd said, looking deeper into the flames, you were still looking at him, studying his expression as he got lost in the memory. You seemed closer than you did before.

"Did you fuck her in the back or what?" You had asked him so bluntly without emotion as if you had asked him how his day was. He stifled a laugh before letting his eyes drift over to you. He could see you weren't really joking although you did have a hint of a grin on your lips and a glint in your eyes that screamed ‘I'm trying to make you uncomfortable.’

He could feel his own grin creeping over his face, you were trying to make him uncomfortable and it was working. Joel would tell you anything you wanted to hear as long as he could keep looking at you like this, head tilted a little bit as if he was telling you the most interesting story you ever heard, eyes blown wide, lazy smile on your lips just slightly showing your teeth. God why do you have to look at me that way.

"Wow" you started "Such a romantic, Miller" Your smile no longer a lazy grin but a real one, the one he loved to see you wear. He blamed the heat of the fire for the flush of his checks when you asked if he was blushing. He blamed the day's hike for his urgency to sleep and his sudden silence. But he blamed you for the swell of his cock. It's just the way she's looking at me, I can't help that. He had his eyes closed but he could hear the rustling of your sleeping bag getting closer and closer to where he was laying.

“Let me sleep next to you, I'm freezing my ass off” It wasn't a question, you were already doing it and you probably wouldn't have stopped even if he had said no. you started to unzip your bag and he followed suit, clipping the zips together before you crawled inside it. It was still a fairly snug fit, not that he was complaining, he would take any opportunity to be this close to you. Just don't get a full blown hard on and you’ll be fine. When you said ‘sleep next to you’ he didn't think this is what you meant.

You settled in beside him, pressing your back to his chest, the swell of your ass pressed up against him and the smell of your hair mixed with your sweat filled his nose. You grabbed his arm and slung it over your hip, silently giving him permission to touch you so he slid his other arm under your neck and pulled you in closer. Joel could be wrong, but you didn't feel particularly cold.

“Can you tell me more” you asked him, turning your head slightly over your shoulder in his direction. “About your life before”

He started talking, he talked about his childhood, he talked about his mama, he talked about his favourite meals and he told you about his ambitions and his dreams. Periodically pulling a giggle from you as you swatted his hand. At some point you had rolled over to face him, draping a leg over his waist, giving him that same look from before, listening like your life depended on it, looking at him like he was the only person on earth, like he was the one who hung the moon in the sky.

He described the neighbourhood he lived in, He mentioned sarahs name in passing a few times, never once did you press for more than what he gave you. One day he would tell you about her, but not tonight. Maybe when I'm drunk. That’ll make it easier.

You brought a hand up to cup his check, gently rubbing the stubbled hair that lived there with your thumb, catching the corner of his lip as you passed back and forth.

“I love when you talk about her.” you told him. He was putty in your hands.

Your soft whispers would stay with him. He knew in the morning you wouldn't say anything and you knew he wouldn't say anything. He didn't know when he fell asleep but he only hopes it was after you did. You would follow him into his dreams that night, as you did so many nights nowadays. Your laugh, your smile, your hand on the apple of his cheek, Sweaty skin sticking to his, how you would look on top of him, tits bouncing in his face as you moaned out his name over and over like a prey, all exposed skin and desperate kisses. He was clinging to every moan, every breath, every whimper he could. Wake up.

The smell of coffee was the first thing that hit him, next was the absence of you next to him, then it was the ache of his swollen member against the zip on his jeans. He turned to look for you, the smell of fire was next, followed by sound of rain against the rotting bored of the shed you had called camp that night. He saw you sitting at the foot of the sleeping bag's knee propped up as you scribbled in your notebook, a sight he’d seen a million times. It was a dark brown leather covered book, not thick enough to weigh you down enough to make itself known. It had clippings, photographs of people you never knew and would never know, stamps and postcards, elastic bands, paper clips and torn weathered notes jammed throughout it, he had even seen you pull flowers and leaves out of it ‘flower pressing’ you had told him.

What he wouldn't give to get his hands on it, to see what made you tick, to rip open your head and dig around. You had given him a lot over the few weeks that you had known him but it still somehow wasn't enough. You had confided in him about mistakes you had made, about the things you had gone through to get here, uncalled for fights and your old patrol partner. Your old patrol partner. You had only ever brought them up once, no descriptor, no he or she, nothing. He had come up blank trying to get information out of Tommy. You had only said it once but that was all he needed.

You had told him about your relationships, the good, the bad and he ugly. The serious ones and the not so serious ones and even the experimental ones ‘ I was drunk okay?’ you had told him ‘but even if i wasn't I still would have done it’. But he always felt like a part of you was hidden away.

The soft slap of pages closing broke him from his thoughts.

“Good morning” your voice came out as a whisper, close and thick with sleep. You extended your hand out to him, holding the metal lid from the thermos, still half full with the coffee you just brewed.

When you packed up to leave that morning you didn't unzip the sleeping bags. You still didn’t unzip it when you set up camp that night.

Whispers. Dreams. Fire. Rain. Coffee. You.

Secrets. Hard on. Fire. Rain. Coffee. Notebook. You.

Mumble. Slumber. Fire. Notebook. Throbbing. You.

“Joel” Your voice broke through the silence of the morning waking him from filthy dreams of you.

“you moan a lot in your sleep”

@orcasoul

@vodkasicecream

#joel miller fluff #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller tlou #joel the last of us #joel x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #smut #soft joel miller #idiots in love #the last of us

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sourbinnie · 2 years ago

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☆ silent ☆

♡ genre ¿? ♡ -> angst ; hurt/comfort ♡ pair ¿? ♡ -> hyung line!ateez x gn!reader ♡ plot ¿? ♡ -> malicious comments weren't gonna go unnoticed by your boyfriend even if he couldn't do anything about it. ♡ warnings ¿? ♡ -> swearing ♡ request ¿? ♡ -> yes!

-> the request | maknae line

a/n: i hope i understood this request correctly ajkshf hope you enjoy it and maknae line will be out whenever i'm free since you asked for ot8.

-> the scenario

you didn't wanna attend at first but something about seeing your old friends made you give in. being there with your boyfriend also brought comfort to you and eased your nerves. anxiety couldn't help but kick in when you thought about seeing some of your old classmates and how they were doing right now. you've seen pictures all over instagram of them living their best lives and you were stuck in your job and trying your best to handle money wisely. your boyfriend didn't mind and your family was happy that you were where you were, so why did you have to doubt yourself?

well it was easy when you were surrounded with rich folks who didn't know anything but money and luxury. even after experiencing some of the stuff your boyfriend was used to, you couldn't get used to it but right now? yeah it was definitely too much and too show off for your liking. speaking of your boyfriend, he was there surrounded by people wanting to take photos with him, asking for autographs and wondering why he was here but nobody would kick him out because idols were sacred to them. you were thankful he would be supporting and cheering you on from a distance.

well if you knew what was coming, you would've never brought him along.

"didn't know this was a reunion for the lowest of low." one of your old classmates said laughing and looked at you up & down. he was scanning you with his stare and it made you feel so small but you tried to think nothing of it yet you knew exactly what was happening.

"yeah same man, i thought this was gonna be an exclusive thing. good to see you though (y/n)!" another one exclaimed as she laughed. what did they expect from a high school reunion? to invite only the privileged old students? well maybe it would've been a better idea.

"yeah good to see you." you said in a small voice, wanting nothing more than to leave with how you were being perceived. there was no doubt that your boyfriend was looking at you right at this moment. you wanted to leave, you were going to leave at any moment.

"hope you get a better job soon sweetie. since that dress/suit ain't looking too good." one added and you excused yourself as you left the scene. the tears threatening to spill at any moment as you tried to make sense of a direction to go to, far away from them.

seonghwa ✉

as he watched the scene unfold, seonghwa felt helpless. he wanted nothing more than to shut these assholes up with a comment but he had to keep his image as professional and civilized as possible. for a moment he just wanted to be your boyfriend, a regular attendee that participated in this event and was able to defend his significant other.

but right now he was an idol who, as discreetly as possible, looked for you everywhere. he couldn't find a single trace of you so he decided to head out for a second, hoping no one would notice him and to take a breath. looks like you were doing the same as you tried covering yourself up with your coat so no one could see what you were wearing. broke his heart to a million pieces with that simple action.

"don't do that." he simply said and you sighed. he didn't know what he was gonna say to make things better but he knew that you knew he was gonna try his hardest. "please don't listen to them. it's not a competition to see who has the best job."

"well even if it was, i would be the loser. it's fine hwa i just need some time and you know we can't be seen together." you said but he just shook his head as he looked at you. he wasn't a good boyfriend for just standing there but he would damn prove your worth.

"we can leave if you want to. it's so unfair that this happened when you were excited to see your friends but i hope you can see them another time." you nodded at his words and took his hand. leaving the place to never look back and hoping you never cross paths with these people again. "they're such idiots for saying that to you but you're better than they will ever be." he muttered and his grip on your hand tightened 'cause he truly did mean it.

hongjoong ✉

he was frozen as he heard the words being said. he sighed to himself as he wanted to see you and be there for you so much but he knew as the leader, he had to keep an image and it hurt him. in another world he would be telling these idiots to back off and to look at themselves before they judge someone else. especially if that someone was the most respectful and attentive person he's ever met because oh god, you did not deserve that at all.

he found you when the whole event ended and took you home. the silence was deafening as you tried your best to act like you were okay but the mask was falling off when you arrived to your shared apartment. he knew he couldn't leave you alone tonight.

"(y/n) talk to me babe. i know i should've said something and i'm regretting everything right now." he said as he looked at you with pleading eyes. you could never lie to hongjoong even if you tried to and right now you felt like breaking down completely so you let go.

"i just wish i was enough sometimes. not only my job but my appearance and just how i am, why couldn't i just defend myself?" you asked and hongjoong couldn't help but feel the worst he's ever felt. just the way you were putting yourself down because of them, it's enough to drive him insanely mad.

"no. you are enough, more than enough and i'm sorry i didn't say anything. if i could go back and change what happened, i would do it in a heartbeat." he said as he hugged you and held you in his arms. "no matter what job you have or what you wear, you'll always be the person with the biggest heart that i know and that's what matters." he muttered and that was enough to bring tears from your eyes.

yunho ✉

he would feel so bad, like it would shatter him to see you fighting back the tears and the humiliation you went through. he would want to stand up for you, not even as a boyfriend but as a human being. yet his feet remained glued to the ground because he couldn't risk putting the boys into trouble and as much as he loved his brothers, he felt so weird putting his significant other last.

a few minutes later, he got out of the shock and walked away from the reunion. he needed to find you and he didn't care about anything else, even if it caused him to be a little careless about it. when he did indeed set your eyes on you as you were outside, he looked around but then decided to stop being a coward and approached you.

"love, are you okay?" he whispered and he almost facepalmed himself for still trying to be undercover. like he was your boyfriend, he hated himself for caring so much about his image and not enough about you. "i'm sorry. i just fucked up didn't i?"

"yunho no, you didn't do anything. i understand that you couldn't really say anything but then again there was nothing to be said." you shrugged as you tried to enter again but he grabbed your wrist before you could walk away.

"i won't fail you again. please don't listen to them okay? none of it is true." he said and you nodded as much as you wanna believe him, it was hard. it just hit you really hard that you were judged that way but you knew your boyfriend was there and that brought some relief. "by the way, you look gorgeous tonight."

yeosang ✉

oh boy he would be so mad. he encouraged you to go but at the same time he was scared because he knew what kind of people your classmates were and looked at what happened. the fact that they felt above you because they wore designer clothes or got to travel the world made him sick. as he stood there, now looking at the people who surrounded him in another way, he tried to look for you.

it pained him that he had to pretend like he didn't know you at all but he put on the image for a little bit longer until you sent him a text. his eyes softened when you said you wanted to leave and he was glad but so fucking disappointed in himself at the same time.

"darling. let's go home yeah?" he said when he saw you and you nodded as you both went separate ways but ended up in the same car later on. "i hope you know that i would've done something if i could."

"i know but it's okay sangie, they weren't exactly wrong." you said and he instantly grabbed your hand as he looked at you.

"they were so wrong and i'll prove it to you. i wasn't the best boyfriend you deserve tonight." he said and you nodded as you got closer to him and he kissed your cheek. sighing to yourself as he drove home, one hand on the wheel and the other holding yours. "i'll prove to you that you're much more than they will ever be." he said and you smiled.

#sourbinnie #ateez reactions #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez drabbles #ateez #ateez imagine #ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez angst #ateez x gn reader #seonghwa x reader #yeosang x reader #yunho x reader #hongjoong x reader

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blueberrypancakesworld · 10 months ago

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Search for love in the void

John Allerdyce (Pyro) x fem!leser

warning : comfort, kissing, emotional

Summary : He was meant to follow Magneto back when he was a teenager, the timestream had it that way and the TVA wouldn't allow it any other way. But then one day he disappeared and left her behind with uncertainties she remained alone for years until she herself acted against the will of the time organization and found herself in the void where she did nothing but continue to search because she had not given up on him.

info : So finally the first promised work for John. From the use of his power to the outfit it was perfect and the short performance was just good. Well have fun reading and have a nice day ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been two decades two decades since the fight with the X-Men and the Brotherhood of Mutants with its leader Magneto. It was a battle that had saved the lives of billions and also wiped out the lives of hundreds and thousands who stood up for a cause and the victims who rode in between.

But the X-Men had won and the world seemed saved but no one could have known at the time that all of this had to happen in such a way that every death, every battle and every life could not have been changed because that was how the timestream and the TVA intended it to be…what was not intended was that the couple that was snatched away would be reunited.

The mismatched pair of fire and water two mutants in a relationship as fragile as their elements when they met but they had to let go what wasn't supposed to happen was John changing his mind after the battle when he read her letters and messages she sent him, not abandoning him because the years together couldn't have been for nothing.

He had wandered the world, running away from the police and the X-Men, but in his heart he had always carried her with him and knew he would return to her one day.

They had spent hours in each other's arms in the training room, testing her limits, ,,That's my flame,” he praised her when she managed to stay in her water form longer than usual. She saw his cheeks blush when she gave him a kiss as he made the fire bigger and hotter. She had given John a true home that he never had and he had helped her not to hide, he had lit her fire and they were hopeful that all could be well.

But then after the battle, after everything, after the last message she got from him with his lighter, he disappeared. Wiped off the face of the earth, even Charles couldn't find him and her tears over the next few days and weeks had not given up hope that no one would disappear from the earth and even if it took decades she swore to herself that she would find him.

His cigarette lighter was always in her pocket, always by her side when she felt the days getting heavier and longer, the images in her room becoming overwhelming, she turned on his lighter and at least it felt like he was here, ,,I promise I'll find you John” she told herself over and over again. The tears she had shed, the memories and the videos they had made together, these carefree teenagers loving each other in a world that was painful but beautiful.

She missed him every day, missed his warmth, his voice, she just wanted to see him again. Even when, twenty years later, the world had changed and was no longer quite the same, she herself became a teacher to the young mutants and her friends continued to empty and protect lives, she found that cases were mounting.

Humans and mutants continued to disappear from the world and her own investigations opened up more and more questions and answers, ,,If it's not a mutant and it's not a human who is it?” she had asked over and over but none of her friends or some of the students had an answer until she came across a recording.

A recording of a man disappearing into some kind of portal but it didn't seem to be a mutant and there was no known technology that could do it, she had found her first start in a network of questions and uncertainties.

Until it led to this day, that very day twenty years ago, she came back to her room and stood in front of the board with information in her hand turning the lighter she knew she only needed a few more clues when she heard a kind of glitch behind her.

,,Don't resist, we don't have to eliminate you, miss,” demanded one of the men in dark armor, staff in hand, and the scales seemed to fall from her eyes, ,,You! You made him disappear” she said and took on her water form not knowing what powers they had or who she was dealing with but it seemed that none of the other mutants seemed to sense the unknown which made her even more uneasy.

But even though she was able to defeat a few of the unknowns, this staff was something she could not protect herself from and with pure fear of death she watched her body disappear as if she had never existed.

And so she found herself here in the void or the desert or the forest or the sea. It was a place full of places without a soul or anyone she knew but it was a place that had a color this something ma sky she had only seen it hide a few times when she saw this something just devour everything it came across and she hoped it hadn't devoured John.

But that was how she had ended up here, she had probably been wandering for days, finding a few berries and fruits here and there in the forest but that was it and again it seemed to be a matter of time before she couldn't make it anymore.

But every second she clutched the lighter, lit the flame and extinguished it again, using her ability to create John from her water as she remembered him, she had no idea what he would look like now, certainly like she did in her thirties, but had he changed much?

She laughed tearfully as she felt like she was going crazy, she didn't even know if she was here at all, if she would ever get out or if she should just give up. The further she walked, the more desert-like it seemed to become and until she came to a few broken metal cones, she could see what looked like an old water tower in the distance.

Maybe there was a better view from there. It took her an eternity to get there, sweaty and tired, the heated metal offered little comfort but she couldn't feel any water in it either, ,,What do I do now?” she muttered, looking around and finally settling down on the ground, leaning her head against the base of the tower and closing her eyes.

Trying to gather strength under the heat to rest her aching feet and not lose her persistent crumbling hope as she continued to turn the fire train in her hand until she heard engines in the distance.

Opening her eyes and straightening up, she looked into the horizon and could actually see vehicles in the distance, seemingly moving towards her - there was someone here, but her initial confidence was clouded with foresight. Who could guarantee that they weren't enemies?

But she quickly realized that it was probably not the friendly kind when she saw the machine parts and unpleasant shapes under leathered dirty clothes, ,,Who are you!” she shouted as the cars gathered around her, clutching the lighter tighter hoping that John had not encountered these shapes.

She heard a few mumbled words being completely ignored instead a mutant hopped off one of the vehicles and those goggles looked familiar, the greenish skin she recognized from somewhere. ,,Toad get her!” ordered one of the men a voice so familiar and yet so long unheard she looked at the man staring in a disheveled appearance with an amused smile on her lips, so familiar and yet unfamiliar but she didn't have much longer as she was grabbed by something slimy moving around her and thrown into the air with a yelp.

It hit her like a hard thud on the ground Toad! Of course the Brotherhood it flashed through her mind remembering the fight, the images flashing as she struggled to her feet but immediately felt the long frog-like tongue on her leg if he was here John just had to be here and with a hard jet of water threw the mutant off her. He crashed hard against the tower and didn't try again, and the others seemed to be waiting for a command.

She saw the amusement disappear in the man's smile as he let out a ,,Wait!” and stepped down from the car towards her, advising any moment to get him off her if he had to twist his insides, she felt the lighter in her hand suddenly turn on and his eyes fixate on the object, ,,Flame?” he dared to ask, glancing at her as she finally let her guard down and looked at him closer.

Tousled brown hair, a tired worn look, blue eyes she had last looked into twenty years ago and a warmth she finally felt again as he took her in his arms and she smelled the familiar fire…it was John after more than two decades she had him again.

She could feel his quick heartbeat as her hand rested on his chest, his hand on her cheek wiping away the tears that ran down her cheeks and she saw his own teary eyes, ,,I-I thought I would never see you again,” she stammered, sniffling as he hugged her tightly, holding her while everything around her seemed not to matter.

She felt his nod and his voice filled with tears, ,,Me too…those fuckers put me here after I wanted to see you…I searched and searched for you but it's been twenty fucking years and I'm sorry,” he sniffled and wiped away his tears before taking her face in his hands and finally kissing her again.

A kiss in which she felt his warmth on her again, felt the fire burning again, and the conscience stopped hurting her that she hadn't done everything, finally she had him again herself here at the end of the world.

When he detached himself from her, took her hands and held them and just looked at her for a moment, there seemed to be worlds between them, she was a teacher at the school that had brought them together, he was a sinner under the control of a psychopath and yet, despite everything, they were together again.

The water had its fire again and the fire had its water again even here in the void. ,,I won't leave you again, I promise,” he said as the other mutants joined them, memories mingling with powers, a group of mutants remembering past times and battles, coming together as a family of sorts, full of shapes and little hope in a world that would kill them any time.

But it was all the same, at least she was in a world where she had John back and she wouldn't lose him again, finally their two different hearts had found each other again because even in the void there was love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@thefandomqueen2882 , @especiallythewomenandthechildren , @threestarsinline , @xsugarbeet

#john allerdyce #john allerdyce x reader #xmen pyro #xmen pyro x reader #aaron stanford #deadpool and wolverine #male x female

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letters-from-cutie · 10 months ago

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THE STARS WILL ALWAYS GUIDE ME (BACK) TO YOU

In which the most unexpected person in the world becomes a poet

Or were you always find your soulmate when he needs you the most

synopsis: levi's skepticism over the soulmate concept didn't stop him from meeting you at three different times - as his soul would always find a way to meet you, his star. -> 5.0k words <-

warning: gn!reader, wrote at 3 am; cringe attempt at poetry; slightly angst; reverse comfort; not intended longfic; childhood crushes; death of major character; levi is bad at feelings; cursing (it's levi c'mon); shallow use of soulmates!au; english is not my first language, so i apologize for any mistakes! author's note: hello dear reader, marie here <3 this is my first fanfic on our captain, so he may sound ooc; i'm trying out past and present on english, SO i tried something different here, hehe; like always images are not mine; also this is more of a prologue for my future works if you wonder. and i wish you have a great time reading ^-^

800's - Titan's Era - The Past

After so many years, Captain Levi barely remembers the first time he saw you, but he knows it was special.

In his childhood, a man named Kenny taught him some survival skills. They went beyond common self-defense; he learned to steal from small stores, run from the military cops, and beat someone, in case he needed to fight. After all, knowing more than just basic skills was required to survive there. Plus, his Ackerman genes helped him endure that filthy environment.

The other kids in the underground found him extremely intimidating. They began avoiding him after hearing rumors that he could beat up grown-ups twice his size and never face any consequences. Some saw him as a legend, while others viewed him as a scary and awful little boy.

With Kenny's departure, Levi was left alone. He had to rely on himself as a young child, without any family or friends to give him support.

Until the day he met you, that is.

Being raised inside your parents' small store, you lacked the street smarts. There was only so much you could do against the older kids who would bully you. And the alley next to your home was the perfect place for them to get you.

Levi found you there, scared for your life. The bigger kids were dragging your face down in the muddy floor and making threats. You knew who they were: robbers, who left your parents' store not satisfied with just some pennies.

Just like these children, Levi was also a thief. However, he was only trying to secure his daily meal, struggling to survive on his own, while the others committed theft for their own pleasure.

Maybe that's why he saved you that day, getting himself into trouble with the other kids. Or it was because he felt like he owned your dad, as he once caught him stealing some bread and let him off the hook. No matter the reasoning he was sure that he could handle the kids

The next day, it was your turn to help him. You found Levi injured near your house. You hurried to him and treated him following your mother's instructions. Since he couldn't afford medicine, he allowed you to treat him.

Levi was impressed by you, who seemed unfazed by the red flow of blood gushing from his knee. (You were repulsed but insisted on helping him back, so you kept it to yourself.) In return, you were also impressed to learn that he was the least hurt in the fight he had with your bullies, handling all of them alone.

It quickly became a routine. Every time you met, it was for a different reason. However, there was this shared, strange proximity whenever you saw each other. A friendship was formed, but you would never use such a word; it didn't seem to fit with the connection you had.

Suddenly, Levi thought he was getting sick. His heart would take leaps whenever you took care of him, with so much dedication written on your face. He would stutter when seeing you after a long time apart, but your caring tone and look would give him the confidence to speak for himself afterward.

One day, your mother teased him and got away with it. He came rushing into the store when another child who resembled you went missing. Not seeing you there made him panic; only your mom was there as you left with your dad for a walk. To lighten the mood at the small store, she made a joke about him liking a certain kid.

He did like you. It was an innocent and pure first love. Yet, kids like him didn't get crushes, so he never put such a label on his feelings. He believed that he would not live long. And since you had a (slightly) better condition, one day you were to be married and carry on your family name. He saw no use in having a crush.

When you saw him later that day, he said your mother was sweet, like his. You asked about her whereabouts, and after knowing of her death, you told him that she must have become a star in the sky. He wished to see it for himself.

So the stars caught both of your interests. Well, you already talked nonstop about nature and the sky — it was your dream to leave the underground.

You'd talk about the birds that sometimes get trapped in the underground. Daydreams about living outside would fuel your imagination. You would imagine feeling the sun's warmth on your skin. How cold was the snow? — you asked yourself. And in some days you'd dream of kissing your love in the rain one day; you longed for a romance like in your stories.

Levi never got your name; he never asked. When he was older, he would call you "poet". Truth be told, you were just a little child, seeking solace in fiction as a form of comfort from the terrible circumstances you lived in.

Even as a child, Levi was skeptical of others' beliefs, religions, and legends. Interestingly enough, his main memory of you was a discussion over a love story. Something about two people meant to find each other, connected through a red string of fate.

"You're such a baby for falling for this soulmate thing. I think you're being stupid!"

He was ignorant and rude as a kid; he knew it.

"Do you really, think that about me, Levi?" No.

You were brilliant — an entire constellation; he noted.

Actually, he was amazed by your appreciation for nature, something you had never encountered before. Levi never said it, but he liked your drawings in the dirt. They illustrated your stories. Since you didn't know the format of the stars, each time you would draw them in a unique pattern.

He was so bad with words, he could never say beautiful things like you did. He wanted to, tell you how much he enjoyed your company. But he wasn't able to.

Soon enough, you started to cough and sneeze a lot, and out of nowhere, you became a star too. A little star, beaming in the sky, hidden from Levi's sight underneath the capital.

Your death was invisible in the underground. Diseases were everywhere, and people died easily there. They did not live long. If they got sick, they would probably die very soon; just like you did when a cold got your family.

In Levi's opinion, you managed to escape from that hell.

His heart ached again; he wanted to cry, he wanted you, then he wanted his mom, but neither could be found. And his thoughts would revolve around the fact that he would never love meet you again. Gone forever, he thought.

A frigid and everlasting winter started inside of him, building up icy walls around his heart.

The images of his first love faded over time, just like the clouds in the sky. In his heart, it was always winter. The sky turned gray, and the air he breathed was freezing cold. The ice kept him closed off from the world around him.

Levi got so used to the cold that he was afraid of his warmer days. The sun would bless him again; not as the large sphere that shone during the day, but more shaped like his friends. Those who brought comfort to his broken heart were like sun rays.

His line of work would bring even more disaster to his life. And these were the coldest days. But there were always some sun rays peeking through the windows of his heart. It was their persistence that encouraged the man to continue moving forward, with no regrets.

When asked what he desired to do if he ever got a life after the military, Levi would scowl - as if that could ever happen - he would respond. In the end, everyone agreed he'd excel at whatever he chose to do.

Just no poetry - his friends commented - not with his awful attitude and scary face. Levi brushed them off. The comments made his friends laugh, and that lightness was needed there. After all the deaths and injuries, the captain couldn't find himself mad at their silly banter after an unsuccessful expedition.

Yet, just as the sun always sets at night, death would soon follow Levi's path. He always got shocked by them, but never surprised, as to him disaster seemed to be as natural as the daily sunset.

Mom, his first love poet kid, Isabel, Furlan, all those fallen soldiers, his squad, Erwin... They all faded in the sky which was Levi's life, leaving him in the darkness of the night. During those evenings, he would gaze at the stars that were once his companions; then he would cry, grieving and trembling with the coldness of his solitude.

One of the few memories Levi had of his childhood was that poet kid, always talking about the overworld. On his first explorations, he was able to see everything that the kid always dreamed about. Although that child would never expect him to lose his family the first time he saw the poetic and romantic rain.

Levi hated rainy days because they reminded him of himself.

Years later, Levi almost lost himself, as the raindrops fell on his severe injuries. He was rescued by a friend, whom he didn't have enough time to thank, as their death followed soon after. With Hanji's death and the war's end, he could finally rest, assured that his days would be calmer. At the same time, he feared he would never find love again.

But he was wrong because he met you (again).

Years younger than him, but old enough to have your own career, you were a witty traveler. Born into a wealthy but absent family, you traveled all over the world, writing about what you saw, getting inspired by the diversion of the world. At least until the rumbling vanished almost everything you cherished.

After surviving the war, you decided to help to record your historical period. You joined a group of writers and journalists, leaving your poetry and romances aside for a while. You were able to interview the allies, as your popularity granted you the prestige enough to do so.

At the right time, your kind heart earned the trust of the allies. They allowed you to write down their stories, and they recounted their side of the story to the rest of the world. One name was common in all of people's stories — Captain Levi. He seemed to be an icon, but you didn't meet him right away; he was injured and opted to stay out of the spotlight.

The first time Levi heard about you, he dismissed it. Thinking that it was a one-time meeting with his friends fellow soldiers, he didn't dwell much on it. Not long after, some comments caught his interest. Jean and Armin kept discussing a topic he hadn't heard of in nearly three decades, much to the captain's surprise.

Apparently, a fictional romance you made was inspired by the 'soulmate' concept. So many survivors were occupying themselves with your flowery words and books.

What even was a soulmate? He couldn't remember the explanation he heard from that poet kid.

Most survivors were now hoping to meet their other halves. It was rather a welcome relief after going through so much. But Levi felt it was ridiculous.

So he decided to confront you. Levi asked to meet with you. He thought about what he would say to this fraud of a cultist. Oh, how he would speak his mind on the fact that you were giving his friends family soldiers, empty hopes.

To his surprise, when the man first met you (again?), he was unable to speak at all.

No, he had never met you before, but at first glance, he thought he had (he did).

His soul knew yours. And yours knew his.

For the first time in years, he struggled to speak, enchanted by your starry eyes, in a trance of your voice. Instead of debating you, he let you ramble by yourself on the matter, as long as you desired.

It made no sense to him. After all the death and suffering he endured, he couldn't accept such a simple, perfect idea. Seeing you as such a firm believer, made him curious as to why you trusted so hard such ideas.

"I may be a writer, but my words on love are nothing but the reality I've seen." You had met so many adorable couples, so it had to be true. Plus, you also wanted to believe that someone was waiting for you in this and other lifetimes. Especially after so much disaster, there has to be something good in the end.

"Not everyone gets to meet love during their life, and many people died. But it doesn't mean that we cannot dream of a better life." You spoke your mind to him, unfazed by his strong presence.

Captain Levi was a legend. First, you were so determined to write and tell his story and to melt down his icy heart too. As you came to interact with him, you realized that he deserved to be loved, and by himself first. You wanted to show him that he deserved his own love and others as well. He deserved happiness.

You couldn't bring back his beloved ones, nor could you take the burden of their deaths off his shoulders. But you could offer him your care, patience, and attention, the things that were once taken from him, and you were happy to oblige in his needs. top of all, you would not go away; He would say that it was annoying how persistent you were. Yet his biggest fear was that you would leave him, like the others.

As a result, working to retell humanity's strongest soldier's story was your biggest act. It took a long time, but you, being the stubborn person you were, managed to get through his clouded heart. And your soul was able to speak to his own, to comfort him, and reassure him.

Not only as a storyteller but also as his lover.

Your care and attention were so comforting. Your company was like a spring breeze, and he became fascinated by you; the feeling was mutual. Each small glance and accidental touch sent shivers down his spine. The sensations he felt with you were as strong as thunder in the summer rain. Watching you work, he imagined autumn leaves falling from a tree. But it was simply you scribing words on paper, slowly but steadily.

Before, he felt that there was only winter in his life, but you showed him that there were other seasons as well.

During a rainy day, when you both had to stay inside, he took you in his arms for the first time. He told you he remembered a friend from his childhood, the poet who first told him about soulmates. He used to make fun of them and never really believed in what they said until he met you. You proved him wrong in his concepts of life.

He didn't look as disgusted when looking in the mirror. His scars were now his trophies, and he took care of himself so he would not get hurt again. Because he knew he didn't deserve to feel pain anymore.

The Titan war ended, and he was finally free to live and to love — you helped him realize that.

So he kissed you for the first time as the raindrops fell on the window, the storm was outside. You were his home, protecting him from the rain and any other type of disaster. He finally had a place where his heart belonged.

That night, while looking at the stars, he vowed to always find you again.

And thus, he became a poet.

2020's - Global Era - The Present

The man's long fingers dance across the books, checking off the level of the dust. He found it bothersome. How could someone keep these valuable gems in such a filthy condition?

"So, what do you think, Professor?" "Is this collection any good?" The owner of the items sounds anxious, and the man detects the desire in their eyes. All for money.

"The eyes are a gateway to someone's true self; poetic words, but a true reality."

The tales presented on the pages told a story from another time. It belonged to the historical record rather than the literary one, so he would not have any use for it. Maybe his friend should have them, he imagines.

The professor didn't see himself as a money seeker. So he wouldn't mind lending the books to someone else. Rather than a money-driven individual, he's someone who attempted to live his best life. Especially now, in the middle of such turbulent times.

"I'll evaluate them later with a colleague; you're dismissed." He didn't even look at the person in his office. His mind was far away, among the empty pages on his desk.

His focus sat on the big windows of his office, where the sky looked way too dark for the middle of the day. A storm was on its way. Shit

He cursed himself for not bringing an umbrella. He should've just listened to his mother's suggestion. That a witchy woman, always knowing when it's going to rain.

"I'm sure you have some expectations for how much we'll get from these relics. Right, Mr. Ackerman?"

In response, he clicks his tongue, annoyed. Taking one of the books in his hand, he double-checks the signature engraved on the leather. The old calligraphy looks to be very legitimate, even having the original author's name signed on the front page.

[Reader] was a big poet from the Titan Era. This means that these could be some original editions of the books they'd written about the war, while they were experiencing with nonfiction. Their most prized book was 'Humanity's Strongest Soldier', which now stands in a museum for ancient eldian relics.

The professor was named after him, it was his duty to know at least a bit of it. His mom liked how the soldier's name sounded, and it's pretty common for modern Eldians to have names of these old personalities. Ackerman's friends are examples of that, most being named after fallen scouts.

Now he definitely would call his history enthusiast friend later, and he would have the time of his life.

Maybe he could do like that poet and try out new writing styles? But for now, he needs to rush home first. But it's going to rain, and his visit is still there, keeping him in his office. The professor just wishes to not get trapped in a storm.

He stands up, going straight to the old wooden door of his office. As he opens it, the visitor starts to get mad at him. What a wrong decision.

"Oi! I said I would speak to Mr. Erwin later, but if you're so urgent for that money, his office is just across campus." Stop pestering me; I have to go before the storm comes.

Professor Ackerman isn't in a position to judge history books with such detail. After all, he's on the creative side of writing.

Plus it's a good excuse to expel him from my office.

"I'm sure you'll earn enough to stop you from coming here again."

The person urges themselves, gathering their stuff and mumbling their goodbyes. Finally, it was just the professor, the cold tea on its holder, and piles of papers on the desk. At first glance, the papers seemed to be organized but were actually a confusion of syllables, in which he was drowning. The confused papers match the ones in his own home and in the garbage.

I need to work on this book myself; Erwin cannot help me this time, he's too busy.

He hopes that this found collection does not bother Erwin much. He already has a lot on his hands. He always does. His friend researches nonstop about the Titan era. It's weird. Maybe Erwin should see a therapist. It would be more useful than rambling to him about a connection to a time when they weren't even alive.

Who in their right mind would feel connected to the years of man-eating beasts? Right, our mutual friend.

Ackerman curses them, remembering he needs to call them soon.

They would go insane when they found out about his last visitor: a minister's son who asked for the university to clean his appointments just to see him. And to make matters worse, they didn't even inform him, until two hours ago, when they saw him trotting to his office.

He picks up his phone and checks the time. It's been an hour since the appointment he arranged with the writer. He felt a bit bad for them, and the copy of their work resting on his desk.

The professor remembers how other young writers he met had to kiss the asses of seniors to get a chance. He was more than happy for his friendship with Erwin; his dad, also a professor and author, made things much easier.

Rushing out of his office, he gets his phone and calls "Four-Eyes." Ackerman only stops for a moment to speak with his assistant. Petra would have to manage the rearranging for another day.

He senses someone nearby in the reception, but his focus is fully on his phone's screen. Come on, pick it up! You owe me this!

As he leaves the old building, phone on hand, his thoughts travel away to that writer's project again... Maybe he should give them a bit more time to try to convince him to help with their project, if he was on a good day, that is.

Plus, he read the draft; their writing was really good. He wondered, did they really share a name with that poet from centuries ago or were they just a poser who took that as their fake name. Whatever reason, the professor would kill to have someone with such skills on his writing team, like this [Reader].

But the concept... soulmates? No one even remembers about that! Why did they choose it?

He almost tossed it in the trash when he first saw the synopsis. That's also why he scheduled them in the final office hour after leaving them as the last ones he would review during the semester.

Could you blame him? They did submit a romance, after all, Professor Ackerman was anything but a lover, being known for his dark stories, complex characters, and drama. He wasn't the best at flowery and sugary stories. Then why did they submit it to him in the first place?

Yet, the concept of the red string sounded so... Poetic?

His line of thought gets stopped by a water drop on his forehead, falling through his face. As he feels more drops of water getting into his meticulously arranged hair, his call is finally answered.

"SHORTY! I was talking to Mike about inviting you to the..."

"I'm not going to this sky-dropping shit. If you guys want to die, fine, but leave me out of it." He sounded harsher than he intended.

Knowing his friends, he would eventually find himself in the air some days later. It was just to help Mike's girlfriend with her project of losing the fear of heights. The problem is that Ackerman doesn't commit to things he may regret, so he needs more time to digest it before confirming.

"Oh well, but then at least try to get through your fears too, like dance in the rain like that old movies!" The friend laughed.

What a coincidence! He is trapped in an incoming storm, while his friend makes fun of his phobia. Is this how therapy works?

"Have you not checked a fucking window? Get my car here, it's raining!" Please.

With that, their friend starts to apologize over and over again, he accepted the apology the first time they muttered "I'm so sorry", but he was to leave them repeating it by themselves, as a punishment. Looking forward, there stood the bus stop, so beat up that its coverage would fail to protect him from the rain.

"Forgive meeee I'm getting into your car right now."

He sits down on the bench and starts thinking to himself... Maybe he can ask the ministry for more funds! They'll eventually come back to him with more ancient relics that he totally cares about. He'll put on his best act again.

Who is he kidding? He prefers to die than interact with a politician again.

"Tch, I have work to do, Four Eyes. I can't go skydiving with so much shit on hold."

"For fucks sake, you're having a creative block! Stop forcing it! Go get some fresh air or look for the help of another writer!" From the phone, he could hear the engine of his car, which made him relax a bit.

"That is my job, Hanji. And you don't get to tell me what to do!" But thanks for caring.

He's the professor, the one meant to be an example for new writers. He cannot let his walls down; he cannot let himself be in a junior's position. And as the raindrops get harder, he feels his suit soak.

"Besides, I'm tired of ass-kissers. Now leave your phone away and fucking drive." And be safe, please.

So he hangs up, making a note to not let Hanji drink so much the next time they go out. They can't hold themselves on alcohol, and he has to babysit them and the rest, but they are always the worst among all the drunks he delivers to home.

This time his car paid the price, and since Professor Ackerman was too much of an elegant man to step into the filthy car, he made Hanji stay clean it for the entire day. He could handle the rain if it meant that a certain someone got to clean up their mess.

A bus passes through swiftly, and someone curses out loud from behind him. Idiot student. His mind goes back to his unfinished work. The sky was now so dark. He would expect a big storm to arrive and drown the earth. Yet the rain that was pouring looked rather ordinary, not as strong as it was supposed to be.

Perhaps it wasn't meant to be.

"Excuse me, sir. Do you wish to share?"

A forest-green umbrella appears in his sight. He quickly turns his head in the direction of the voice and sees a star, a real one. His tired eyes meet your serene ones, which leave him speechless.

Just like every single lifetime.

"Sir? You don't want to catch a cold, do you?" Who are you? Do I know you?

You sit by the men's side. The position is awkward. Half of the large umbrella keeps your left side dry. The other part protects the man's right shoulder from the rain. When he looks at you, he can see your left arm getting wetter. It's a choice you've made by lending your space underneath the umbrella. Your arm stands high on top of the already not-too-tall man.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Why not?" You answer quickly, and an awkward silence followed.

Are they insane?

"Tch. Getting sick is not the worst thing that can happen to me, stop bothering." After all, it's not the Titan era. Why is this getting in his head again? The water may be getting to his brain.

"It's just another shitty day."

"Fair." You followed. "Well, I just missed an important appointment and lost my bus; I'll probably cry myself to sleep if I even get home...." You paused, taking a big breath, that changes your energy completely."But I'll come back later. It's just another bad day."

Why is this person venting to me?

"Don't get into problems with higher-ups," Like I did. "They'll step on you."

"Ah, it wasn't my fault." You told him (and yourself). "It's said around this campus that the guy's awful and scary anyway."

Professor Ackerman found himself awfully empathizing with you. He knew that this part of the capital was full of self-absorbed rich guys. He recognizes the glow in your eyes, innocent but determined. But your voice speaks of bad things and problems, like a supernova, a star that died but still shines.

"So... yeah, not the worst thing that can happen to me, too!"

It's good that you keep smiling yourself determined in this place because no one else can do it for you.

Funny. He struggled so hard with his own writing for the past few days. And suddenly the professor finds himself getting inspired by a stranger. Someone with whom he will never cross paths again.

"Are you a student here?"

Talking about Paradis' main university, the chances are high. But you quickly assure him that you have already graduated. And in another nation's college, which means you're probably not even an eldian.

He is curious now; what more can he get from this stranger's crazy talk?

"Then what is worse? Shitting yourself in public?" He jokes, not expecting a laugh back. And surely you don't laugh. And a familiar car comes down the street.

Waiting for your answer, he looks at you again. And his breath gets caught in his throat for a moment. Your eyes, so beautiful, suddenly matched the stars stamped on your cute bag. And your smile, big and shiny, made him feel butterflies, that soared freely inside his chest.

"Not meeting my soulmate in this life. That is the most cruel fate I could ever be given."

Levi stops in time; that concept was such an old-fashioned saying, that not many young people knew about it. What were the changes of you... No, it can't be.

Seeing his lack of reaction, started mumbling again, seemingly nervous.

"I understand. People can believe in large man-eating creatures destroying this world... But not in true love, right? Leave that for poets, haha."

No, it was not that, I...

"And how will you know that you've found them?" He has so many questions, so many thoughts so many ideas...

You laugh.

"Maybe the stars will tell me, they always know."

So it is you.

"LEVI!" Hanji calls from the street, and you jump in your seat.

As soon as the rider saw Levi with some company, they sensed something rather interesting. So, as the Cupid they are, they decide to act and point out to you, waving to the car next. They were calling you.

"Cutie! You don't want to get a cold, do ya?"

Levi just sighs, annoyed at his friend's behavior. If it wasn't his car, he would go around and leave, thinking Hanji sounded like a perverted.

Getting up from his seat, he pats your head, amused by your cute wide eyes looking at him. You then look at his badge resting on his brown suit. The name 'Professor L. Ackerman' shined in gold and was visible now thanks to the car lights.

He knows he is a stranger, and this offer would sound strange, but it's to thank you for the umbrella and to talk to you more. He may even work together with you soon.

Levi feels like he's not a stranger to you; you feel like he's not a stranger too.

He knows your soul, and you know his.

"Seems like you got yourself lucky, [Reader]; you've got yourself a ride." He points to his car. Levi walks toward it without looking back, letting you decide for yourself.

It's time for Levi to tell a different story; he's aware of that now. But then, would you be the one to help him write it down, reader? Do you accept the ride?

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi aot #snk x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #snk levi #levi x y/n #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi snk #levi fanfiction

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solifloris · 7 months ago

Text

≡;-꒰ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐔 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐔 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝑴𝒚 𝑹𝒆𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅

╰┈➤ ❝ shirabu kenjirou x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni | kinktober '24 day 6

tags : pwp (without plot), post-timeskip, kissing, cockwarming, teasing, praise, slight dirty talk, vaginal sex (unprotected), tbh nothing much to tag bc this is very much soft and cute, use of pet names “baby” “angel”, lmk if i missed any tags!

wc : 1k

an : in which everyone sees the entirety of my second lead syndrome because i really truly love shirabu to death and i wish more people wrote for him too 😭

taglist : @interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network @thoupenguinman @chemiru (SIGN UP HERE)

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST / KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

After a long day of studying, if there is any reward worth waiting for, it's you.

You did this to yourself.

He'd been in another one of those spells of his where he would lock himself in his room and study, and you felt bad…

You were the one who had offered.

And yet here you were, face buried into his chest, voice muffled by his sweatshirt—

You could feel it.

His cock pulsed steadily inside of you, your eyes fluttering at the mere sensation of being so full. Whines fell from your lips, and you would try to move—to shift on his lap, to try to get even the slightest bit of stimulation, doing your very best to hold keep yourself from rocking against him—but it was so difficult.

It was nearly unfair.

How could he act so casual about all of this?

You could hear the familiar sound of his pen scratching against the paper of his notebook, and while you would normally find it comforting, now it was anything but.

“‘Jirooo…”

Again you nuzzled into his chest, feeling his free hand dig its nails into the exposed skin on your waist in warning. A little hum was all else that you got in reply; he kept writing, attention focused on his notes with that same aura of concentration that had always had you so completely and utterly enthralled by him. Just the thought of it made you clench around his cock, and he pressed into your skin once more.

Pen placed gently back on the table, you heard the faint flip of a page—his textbook, you assumed. And you knew that there was nothing you could do in this moment to get him to fuck you.

He had his arm draped over you to keep you in place. Mostly it stayed still, occasionally it would rub up and down your back, a silent and wordless encouragement. You had to be good. You knew that. If there was anything you knew about him—and, arguably, you knew quite a lot—it was that there was always a price to pay for going against his wishes. And Shirabu told you not to move.

So despite the buzzing ache for you to chase your pleasure, despite the heat pooling between your legs and leaking down onto his lap, you waited.

You waited.

Until you could feel him let out a slow breath, his cock twitching in a way that had you gasping, and his hand reached up to cradle you in his arms.

His head, too, rest on your shoulder. His breath fanned over your skin, and much to your delight, he moved.

Just the slightest buck of his hips, his cock pressing even further into you.

“Mmh… You've been so good waiting for me, baby…”

He murnured against your skin, leaning over to place hot, open-mouthed kisses, licking and breathing into you as if the last vestiges of his self control had finally begun to dissipate.

His hands trailed down the side of your body, savoring your whimpers, moving to rest on either side of your hips.

“Are you needy, baby?” he whispered.

The nod of your head wasn't enough for him.

“Hmm… But you're so quiet. Maybe you're not so needy after all, huh?”

You could hear the smirk on his face—you couldn't see it, but you could hear it. The image in your head was clear.

“N-no, ‘Jiro, please…” you whined. “M'needy! Want you so bad…”

“Mhm. And you have me. Right, angel? You're so warm around me, I could stay like this forever…”

He almost laughed; you could tell he wanted to.

But instead of doing so, his hand reached up to play with your hair, a delicate silence permeating the atmosphere before he coaxed your head up to look at him.

And, ah, he was beautiful.

Anytime he would do this, you couldn't help but get lost in his eyes, a brown so beautifully alluring that you could, truly, look at him all day and never quite get tired of it.

“Pretty baby,” he smiled at you. Soft, and gentle, and you could see all the stress in the back of his mind slowly begin to fade. “I love you. You know that, right? Thank you for keeping me company…”

A lock of your hair was pushed aside, as if to get a better look at your face, and then his hands were back at your hips—slowly moving them to rock against him, slow, puffy breaths leaving his lips at the friction the two of you were finally feeling.

“My reward,” he whispered.

He leaned in, and you gladly fell into him, sighing delightfully as your lips met his.

It was a slow, tender kiss. Your hips easily found a ruythm, little jolts of pleasure shooting through your body with every roll of your hips. With gasps and moans swallowed into kisses, he fucked you gently, carefully, equally granting you your reward as much as he was claiming his own.

“Mmnn… mnh—! ‘Ji—’Jiro—”

You fell forward into his embrace once more, frinding down on him, feeling the fat tip of his cock nudge at your sweet spot to make you shudder. Your arms wrapped around him desperately, wanting to feel him as close as possible… and he smiled.

There was a kiss placed on the top of your head before he began to lift you up off his lap ever so slightly, before bringing you down.

Your eyes widened, and you choked back a moan—

“K-Ken—ji—!”

Again.

Never too much, not quite being rough with you, but not quite being gentle. Just enough to push his cock in and out of you the way that you liked, rubbing deliciously against your gummy walls, fully claiming your heat as his own.

“Yeah, baby? You like that?” he murmured.

You could barely answer. He felt too good.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you whimpered against him, and you fisted his sweatshirt—a mix of yes's and broken moans of his name were all that he could hear, along with the muted sound of skin against skin, the all-too-familiar smell of sex filling the air around you.

“All gone already, angel? I've barely started, you know?” he grunted, picking up the pace, the smile in his voice never leaving.

A smile of satisfaction—a smile of pride.

And when all you could do was nod, he gripped your hips tighter, and easily began to slam you down on his cock, any sense of self-control completely gone.

“That's my girl. You take me so well, baby. Gonna fuck you so good.”

#roxie; rtkkinktober24 #kinktober 2024 #kinktober #haikyuu smut #hq smut #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu shirabu #shirabu kenjirou #shirabu smut #shirabu kenjirou smut #shirabu x reader #shirabu x you #shirabu #shirabu kenjiro

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grievedeeply · 1 year ago

Text

the less time the better. pt 9.

PREVIOUS | SERIES TAGLIST

pairing: heimdall x gn!reader

summary: you make a trip to midgard and try to cope with brok's death.

notes: again not a lot of heimdall this chapter but...... y/n needs a moment (or multiple) LOL enjoy everyone and thanks for all of the support! probably 2-3 more chapters depending on how long i make them. decided to add more recent people to the taglists, but if you want to be removed let me know at any time! tws: a VERY dead brok. a lot of angst, probably an ooc sindri but i just wanted a nice scene where reader gets to open up to someone about faye and how hard it was for them to deal with her death. this felt like a good time to do it with a comforting moment between them and sindri.

the silence was deafening.

usually the branches of the yggdrasil felt like nothing. they weren't affected by the weather of the 9 realms, as they were the things literally holding them up. but now, you felt strangely cold as you stood on sindri's doorstep.

10 minutes ago, brok was alive. he was making jokes as he always did, but now... he was gone. he was gone forever, and there was nothing you or anyone else could do to bring him back.

"father," your brother's voice cut you out of your thoughts, "where are we going?" he asked, taking his place by your side. you subconsciously wrapped your arm around his shoulder. you knew atreus far too well and you knew that he would blame himself for brok's death. he was the one who wanted to find tyr, but he wasn't the only one who was fooled by odin's ruse, either.

how didn't you notice it? you had never met the real týr before, but you could only assume that he was a god who put the needs of others before himself. could he still be alive? if he was, could you ever think of him as týr, and not the man odin portrayed him as? he was a god with an incredible reputation and an even better legacy— a god of war who advocated for peace. you could only imagine how he would feel, knowing his image was used for something as cruel as deception.

"home." your father responded. he lifted the key to the mystic gateway, and the door opened. you followed after him wordlessly, and atreus matched your step. he still hadn't moved out of your grip yet and a part of you didn't want him to at all.

your feet touched the branches once again, and your thumb pressed into atreus's shoulder, running circles against his armor. he had gotten so big. where had the time gone?

"father, can we.. i.. i wanna go hunting," he said.

"i will follow."

"we're with you, atreus."

the door to midgard opened, and you stepped through silently. you were met by the cool breeze and light snow hitting you face. the last time you were here was because you were going back to asgard. heimdall wouldn't be with you now if you hadn't went back. you wondered how he was doing back at the house. it was probably just as quiet there. brok was usually the one keeping the place lively.

"which way we headed, lad?" mimir asked.

"in.. the direction of deer." he responded simply. you let go of him, but didn't move to follow him. your father turned to look at you. his eyes were filled with a sadness that you had only seen a few times in your life. when your mother died.. when atreus was ill.. and now, at the death of a friend. "go on," you said. "i'll catch up. there's just.. something i want to do here first." you told him.

"i understand." he murmured in response. you put on a smile, the smallest on you could muster, as a way to reassure him. atreus needed this alone time with him. you would have your moment some other day. he needed this.

"be careful," he said to you. you nodded. he turned, following after atreus. he was probably already visiting with speki and svanna by now. those wolves of his were far too intelligent for their own good. you were sure they knew something was wrong. you doubted he would even notice you were gone right away, and you couldn't blame him for it either.

you looked away from your father's back as he walked away from you and instead turned to look at your house. it was a tiny thing, practically built with sticks and prayers, but it held strong and always did what it was supposed to do. it kept you safe. it kept you safe from baldur all of those years ago, and again with thor and odin. you remembered thor breaking the ceiling as he threw your father and his hammer through it, but even then you knew he would be alright. he always was.

you pushed open the door, and it creaked on it's hinges as it always did. you kicked the snow off of your boots before you stepped inside. it was something your mother did every winter before she died, and you picked up on it at a young age. you closed it behind you and took in a deep breath. in a way, it still smelt like her. your mother's presence was all over the home. no matter how long she was gone, you would always feel her here in midgard.

you ran your fingers across the wood of the walls, and closed your eyes. what would you say to her now, if she were here? what would she say to you?

you thought of the dream you had with her in it, where she told you about the importance of making your own decisions. you could only hope she would be proud. you did exactly what you thought was best, without anyone else's input. if you hadn't gone back to asgard, heimdall wouldn't be on your side. he fought beside your father. he fought for you.

you breathed deep, letting the smell of the wet wood fill your nose. heimdall had changed so much since the first time you met. he was arrogant back then, selfish and cruel. now.. he felt like someone else entirely. was that because of you? if you hadn't shown up— dodged his attacks like they were nothing— would he still be loyal to odin? yes, you supposed. he would be. the thought of changing him made you feel good, like you had finally done something right. going back to asgard was worth it because you helped him see the truth. he hadn't spoken about it, really.. but you hadn't asked about it, either. you figured that he needed the time alone to think, but you would be sure to talk to him whenever you got back to sindri's house.

sindri.. the thought of him filled your heart with sadness. before, he never slipped into the realm between realms in plain sight like that. he always went behind something. you always guessed it was the polite thing to do.. but he had done it directly in front of everyone that time. you had to see him, soon. let him know that you were there for him. you'd been through loss too. losing anyone was hard, but family even harder. you couldn't ever imagine losing atreus. you didn't want to think about it.

you sat down on your old bed— a bed that you haven't slept in in weeks— and sighed. things had changed so much since the day you departed to spread your mother's ashes. you never would've met brok and sindri if it wasn't for that journey. or mimir.. or freya. you met almost everyone you cared about because of her. even heimdall, now. it was weird, saying you cared about him. but you did. you couldn't change that now.

you lied down. your head touched the pillows, and you took in another breath. you had spent so much time here with your mother. this was the place she died, too. at home and warm. at least you could give that to her.

it felt like hours before you got up again, but in reality, it was just a few minutes. everything here reminded of her, and you were glad for it. just thinking of her kept her with you. you never wanted that to change.

you thought back to your dream once again, and pushed yourself to your feet. the river you fished in so many times with her wasn't too far from the house. before she got sick, the two of you would venture out further downstream. in one of those places on the river.. that was where your dream took place. it was the peak of her life with you. but as her illness progressed, she became too tired to fish. she would go out less and less, staying closer to home. you would fish for her, but you were never as good as she was. still, you would come home with a pail full, and she would praise you for it.

you would do anything to hear her voice again.

you opened the door once more and stepped back out into the cold. you had spent so much time in midgard during fimbulwinter, but you swore you would never get used to the weather. you made your way into the woods, and you were met with the river once again. it hadn't changed much over the years, even though it had been some time since you had visited. after her death, you came less and less. the memory of her was too painful, and all fishing did was remind her of her and how she was gone.

you took in a quick breath through your nose and stepped into the water. she had told you once that you would get used to the cool temperatures of the water, and she was right. you didn't shiver or flinch at the cold. instead, you welcomed it like a warm blanket that washed over you.

"i miss you." you whispered. somehow, you knew she was listening. the world was unfair for taking her away so soon. "i love you." you told her. you swallowed the lump in your throat. would she be able to meet brok again? you could only hope so. the thought of it put a smile on your face. at least he wouldn't be alone in the afterlife. he would be with a friend.

you closed your eyes and took in the scenery. the sound of the breeze rushing through the trees, the chirping of birds and cracking of twigs under the weight of an animal somewhere.

it would be okay, you told yourself.

just one more minute.

you hadn't been to týr's temple in a long time.

you hadn't needed to, after all. with all of the towers closed in every realm and no way for travel, you never needed to go back. and now, it was still unable for use. no matter how many times you passed by it while hunting, you never stopped inside until now.

you knew this is where sindri would be though. this is the place where he made up with brok. this is where he would be, and you were sure atreus knew that too. you were sure that he and your father had already paid him a visit themselves, but you wanted to on your own. you needed to let him know you were there for him, even if he pretended he didn't need it.

it was a long walk from home, which meant you had plenty of time to think. plenty of time to blame yourself for brok's death in the first place. how could no one have noticed? you tried not to think about it too much. he wouldn't want blame being passed around. you knew that.

you sighed as you pulled yourself up the stairs. now covered in ice, you remembered when the lake was water. atreus was much younger then— much smaller. once again, you thought of the good young man he was becoming. it hadn't truly been that long since that journey and yet.. it felt like lifetimes ago.

you stared up at the doorway and pushed it open with little struggle, only a grunt escaping your lips as you did so. the inside was much warmer, and you welcomed the feeling. the familiar sound of hammering filled your ears, and as you looked, you were greeted by sindri's back. brok's body lay on the table to his side, and you blinked away your emotions. this wasn't about you.

"go away," he said without even turning to look at you.

you cleared your throat, taking an awkward step closer to him. sindri was different. his clothing was covered in blood and dirt, and so were his arms. he hadn't cleaned since brok died. how much of that was his blood? you bit at the inside of your cheek, trying your best to shove the thought out of your head.

"sindri.." you started. what was there to even say? you didn't know. instead, you stood there. after a few moments of agonizingly long silence, he turned to face you. he sat the hammer down with a thud on the table, and you felt small under his gaze.

"what?" he snapped. now that his face was in the light, you could see how red his eyes were. he had been crying. you wished there was something more you could do, but.. there was nothing you could do to bring brok back, and that was what sindri wanted.

"i just.. wanted to let you know that i'm here." you told him.

you swore you saw his gaze soften.

"i know you probably don't want company right now or.. or anything like that," you swallowed, "but i just.. had to tell you that." you murmured.

sindri remained silent. he looked away from you and towards the ceiling. you only wished you could read his thoughts. he had become someone completely different. yesterday he was happy. despite the fact of ragnarok looming over him, he was happy because he had his brother there.

"i can't imagine.." you whispered out to him, lips pursed together. "i couldn't ever imagine losing atreus. i'm.. so sorry." you told him. by now, you were standing on opposite sides of the table he had spent so much time working at.

"that's what he said." he said. "atreus." he can barely force himself to say his name.

"i figured he would come."

silence fell over the room again and suddenly, sindri shook his head.

"you don't.. you don't get to be sorry." he said. "you still have your brother. because of him and because of you— i will never have mine back." sindri laid his hand on brok's chest. you felt a pang shoot through your chest at his words, but you didn't argue. you couldn't do that to him. you looked down at brok's body. you had to look at him. that was the least you could do.

"i know." you muttered.

"he brought him into my home." he whispered. "and he.."

"i know."

he looked back up at you, gaze narrowed. you could practically see the whirlwind of emotions going through his mind just by looking at is eyes.

"what do you know?" sindri asked quietly.

"i know what loss feels like." you said simply. "when my mother died, i was.. i was inconsolable. i needed her with me to.. to function, to live." you took in a breath, heavy through your lungs.

"my father.. none of us ever told you what happened to her, did we?"

at his silence, you took it as your que to continue.

"she got sick."

his brow furrowed.

"sick? faye?" he asked quietly. you nodded.

"i thought.. how could a woman as strong as her get sick like this? how could she be healthy one day and then in her deathbed a few weeks later? i didn't understand it. i still don't. but i.. i know what it's like to grieve, sindri. i understand."

he only looked at you.

"i know my apologies won't bring brok back." you murmured. "but i.. just need you to know that i'm here for you."

he swallowed. his took a deep, shaky breath. you knew your words meant very little, but if they provided any sort of comfort to him, your trip out here would be worth it. sindri squeezed brok's hand.

"it's all my fault." you heard sindri murmur under his breath. "what?" you asked, head tilted to the side in confusion. "brok.. he died. before." he told you.

"when he.. when he died, i couldn't handle it. i went to the lake of souls and i jumped in. i.. found pieces of his soul. all of them except for one." he whispered, unable to tear his eyes off of his brother. "and now he.. doesn't have them all. he can't go anywhere. he's ceased to exist."

"that's not your fault." you told him without missing a beat. "brok.. what he said before.." you cleared your throat as sindri's gaze finally shifted up to you. "he said he forgave you. this.. that's not on you. he understood." you muttered softly. he blinked a few times, running his thumb across the back of brok's hand. tears filled his eyes, and you forced yourself to give him a comforting smile.

he said nothing in response.

"can i.. say a prayer?" you asked, your gaze shifting from brok's body to sindri's eyes. he could only nod as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

you breathed deeply, in through your nose and out through your mouth. while you didn't have the items you had when you were mourning your mother.. you didn't mind. you doubted brok would've wanted something fancy like that anyway.

"lo, there do i see my mother," you whispered.

"lo, there do i see my father.." you continued, falling onto one knee next to the table. "and my sisters and my brothers. lo, there do i see the line of my people. back to the beginning. lo, there do they call to me. they bid me take my place among them in the halls of valhalla."

"where the brave may live forever."

you finished, pressing your forehead against brok's arm. he was cold. stiff. the last time you did this, it was for your mother. it was the exact prayer you and atreus had said before her funeral. you swallowed, feeling pressure build up in your throat. you stayed there for a moment, and sindri watched you wordlessly.

you knew there was no valhalla for brok. but he was brave. and he would live forever within you, within everyone who loved him.

you pushed yourself to your feet, turning your attention back to sindri. "thank you." you said to him, and he nodded once again. "i'll.. be at the house." you muttered, turning on your heel to leave him to his thoughts. you swore you could feel him watching as you left.

you pushed the heavy doors open and stepped back into the cold of midgard.

lo, there do they call to me. you repeated to yourself.

lo, there do they call to me.

tags: @ic-yourface @alisblackgf @engardeitsme @venfia @dijanur @s1mpss @gorepitt @callalillie15 @bluehorizon987 @vanserrar @trippingoverstars @mysiax @beaniebear152 @rei64bit @neverendingdumptser @a-bunny13 @lei-leigha @candy4bonez @yyourmotherr @blobdrake-theory @zarizee @rainygamingstreamingturtle @kise-kae @aesthetic-of-a-director @unodostrescuatrolove @nixeustheclamity @aiciteaa @multifand0m-gal0re @chibi668 @wonderkive @lentillo @luffysoctopus @elizabeth-hatake @black-star1472 @lacm-ac @sxmirae @maggot-baggage @emc2beans @suzumi-hiddenmistclan @white-lyra @lmorg149 @iamverydreamy @giornos-curls @reinabxitch @ourchampionofthesun @paintmekala @the-eternal-sunflower @alextric-overload @lynn-haitani @prettysurethatsakidney @justsomereaderwholikesanime @emmbny @kukungi @sweetdayme4427 @mimiissia

#god of war x reader #gow x reader #god of war #heimdall x reader #god of war ragnarok #heimdall gow #heimdall god of war #heimdall god of war x reader #god of war heimdall x reader #gowr

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