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satinestales · 10 months ago

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❝programmed for pleasure❞ | qimir x fem!reader

pairing: qimir x fem!reader

summary: Your best friend Qimir always had your back, and that didn't change when the Jedi accused you of treachery. Without hesitation, Qimir helps you hide. After days of close quarters and constant danger, things get heated and secrets flow to the surface.

warnings: this is just filth, english is not my native language, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (who needs it with him right), fingering, hints of mind control, reader finds out qimir's identity during the act, choking, cockwarming, degradating, praising, 5k+ words, not proofread

a/n: in ep2 when osha was pretending to be mae and qimir's mask dropped- so did my panties and i wish we could see what would happen if the jedi didnt barge in

also i apologise if this is not my best work my brain's rotting

now playing, fill the void by the weekend and lily rose depp

The sun blazed overhead, casting long shadows across the bustling market square. The air shimmered with heat, and the scent of exotic spices mixed with the dust kicked up by the steady flow of people. The cacophony of merchants hawking their wares and customers bartering for goods filled the air, creating a lively yet chaotic atmosphere. That's when you jumped in, covered in a heavy cloak, weaving through the crowd, moving with desperate urgency that contrasted sharply with the slow pace of the marketgoers.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, and sweat trickled down your temples, but you didn’t dare slow down. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing the fear that suffocated you.

You glanced over your shoulder, scanning for signs of your pursuers. There, in the distance, the unmistakable silhouettes of Jedi Knights moved with an unerring determination, their robes flowing like liquid shadows. Panic surged within you, propelling you forward even faster.

You stumbled into a fruit vendor, nearly toppling the cart, and barely registering the vulgar complaint thrown at you, only focused on your desired destination.

Ahead, through the throng of people, you spotted the familiar sign of your friend’s shop. It was a small, unassuming place, nestled between two larger establishments, almost easy to miss if you didn't know what to look for. You aimed yourself toward it like a ship setting course for a distant star, your legs burning from the exertion.

Another quick glance back showed the Jedi gaining ground, their calm, composed faces a stark contrast to your own panic. You had to reach the shop; you had to get to safety. With a final burst of energy, you pushed through a group of curious onlookers, thrusting them to the ground, and practically threw yourself against the door of the shop.

It swung open with a jingle of bells as you tumbled inside, the cool air a welcome relief against the overheating streets. You slammed the door shut behind you, the noise causing your friend, Qimir, to look up from behind the counter, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Hey, what are you—"

"Shush," you panted, leaning heavily against the door, trying to catch your breath, scanning any sign of the Jedi through the glass door. "I need to hide."

“What is going on?” Qimir appeared right behind you, his face a mix of concern and curiosity. He motioned for you to follow him. This wasn’t the first time you had begged Qimir to help you, and many times you had promised to pay him back, but you never did. You tried to calm yourself as you followed him to the back of the shop where the infamous hidden trapdoor was placed.

“I owe you,” you breathed out, looking up at Qimir before you kneeled down to get in, climbing your way into a narrow space, the darkness of the room slowly enveloping you.

“You always do,” he murmured to himself before he closed the door, leaving you alone in the pitch-black darkness. You’d been here many times, so it wasn’t difficult finding a certain switch, turning on the lights that partially blinded you. As you quickly got used to them, your other senses heightened, hearing Qimir making his way back to the front of the shop above your head.

You pressed yourself against the cool earth, willing your racing heart to calm. Above, you could hear the faint murmur of voices, the unmistakable timbre of the Jedi questioning. You held your breath, every muscle in your body tense, praying that your hiding place would remain undiscovered.

You calmed yourself, putting your hand on your chest where your heart would be, carefully listening to the conversation above you.

“Have you seen a cloaked figure running by this shop? We saw them run this way; do not bother us with lies,” came Yord’s unmistakable voice. You had never liked him, even as a youngling or a Padawan. He finished his trials sooner than you and felt the need to remind you every second. Today was the last day you decided to respect it.

“I think I saw someone pass by, but I didn’t see their face or where they were going,” you heard Qimir lie to the Jedi, protecting you again. You never grasped how he could lie to the Jedi and not get caught. You always suspected he was Force-sensitive and accidentally blocked everyone out of his mind, but that theory vanished quickly when he once face-planted on the ground after you woke him from his peaceful sleep. Maybe he was just a good liar.

Minutes felt like hours, but eventually, you heard the Jedi grow quiet, leaving the shop. You allowed yourself a tentative sigh of relief, knowing that you had narrowly escaped capture. For now, you were safe, as long as you stayed with Qimir.

It didn’t take long for Qimir to come back for you, opening the trapdoor to get you out. You climbed fast, jumping at him, almost crushing him with your suffocating hug.

“I’d like an elaboration on this one,” he declared into your ear, waiting for you to let go of the hug but returning it with slight pressure. “Weren’t you supposed to be in the Outer Rim? That’s where your Master sent you.” You let him go, running your fingers through his hair, making a big mess on his head. He let out an annoyed scuff, furrowing his eyebrows, but his smile betrayed him.

“Hmm,” you whispered, turning back to him to walk to the door and shut down the blinds. The Jedi might have been gone, but you weren’t sure. “I was already there. Mission accomplished.” You replied with excitement as you threw away your cloak on the counter, turning in a circle back to Qimir. His expression was to die for.

“Wait,” he picked up his hand as if to stop you from coming closer to him. You stopped your movements, a cheerful smile playing on your lips. “You killed Kelnacca, without a weapon, and managed to come back and do whatever you did for the Jedi to hunt you down?” He didn’t trust you at all, and it was painfully obvious. He circled around you to block your way, even if you had no intention of going outside and leaned against the counter.

“I killed Kelnacca without a weapon, came back here, and killed Torbin.” You smiled, hoping for Qimir to cheer up too, for he was the one always believing in you and your Master’s missions for you. “That’s why they chased me; they found out. But it’s done. I did it.” You couldn’t help but jump towards him, looking up at him as he stared you down.

“You killed them both without a weapon?” he repeated his question, scanning your figure up and down, like he was trying to figure out if you’re joking or serious. Your smile dropped, as you realized he was more of a puppet to your master than your friend. You liked Qimir, but there were times when you didn’t know what he was thinking or where he was going on random days.

You scuffed to yourself, annoyed but understanding in some way. You weren’t always the best apprentice, but you earned it. You earned your place as his pupil and hoped, one day, your master would show his face to you.

“Is this what you want?” you asked, irritated, throwing a tied bag on the counter, right next to Qimir’s hands. He was hesitant but opened the sack, revealing two Jedi lightsabers: Kelnacca’s and Torbin’s. “I could have brought their heads, but that would defeat the purpose.” You added, frustration obvious in your tone. You were so excited to tell Qimir, your friend, about the great news and were immediately let down by his reaction. You hoped he’d be happy for you, finally safe from your Master as you satisfied him with your work.

"Sorry, just shocked," he let out a small chuckle before closing the bag again and leaving it on the counter. "He'll be so pleased with you," he turned to you, a wide smile on his lips. The drastic changes in his mood always scared you, but now you were simply happy you could share the happy news with him.

“Of course I’m proud of you too,” Qimir added, coming towards you to pull you into another hug, this one warmer and more reassuring. You hesitatingly wrapped your arms around him, melting in his embrace. However small and skinny he looked behind his untidy clothes, whenever he hugged you, you almost disappeared between his arms.

“Now who’s gonna tell him?” you muttered into his shoulder before he let go of you, his hands leaving your back seconds later. You were so happy about your success that you never thought of informing your master. Even though you passed his test, you were still nervous about talking to him. His mask was scary enough for you, and his quiet mannerisms were even worse. You could never read what he was thinking, what he was planning next, or what he might be contemplating doing to you. If Qimir volunteered to inform him, you wouldn’t protest.

“Well, you should,” he stated to your bad luck. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” He smiled before going behind the counter to search for something on the lower shelf. You had to snort at his choice of words.

“Please,” you chuckled. “My Master? Thrilled?” You came behind Qimir, observing as his long fingers grasped a small glass of orange drink and set it on the table. “I don’t think he’s ever shown any emotions besides boredom and anger.”

“That’s because he’s wearing a mask,” Qimir pointed out, pouring the orange fluid into two separate small glasses. “Maybe he’s smiling behind it.” You admired Qimir’s delusion.

“I bet,” you started, waiting impatiently for Qimir to finish pouring the drinks, “he’s actually planning my demise behind that mask.”

Qimir handed you a glass, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Or he’s planning your next big test, which he’ll pretend doesn’t impress him but secretly makes him proud.”

You raised your glass to his, a smirk forming on your lips. “To surviving another day and confusing my Master,” you toasted.

Qimir clinked his glass against yours. “To more victories and shared secrets.”

As you took a sip, the cool, sweet liquid refreshing your parched throat, you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you. Despite the looming threat of your master’s reaction, Qimir’s unwavering support made you feel like you could handle anything. With a deep breath, you set your glass down and looked at him, determination shining in your eyes.

“Alright,” you said, your voice steady. “I’ll tell him. But if he decides to execute me, I’m holding you responsible.”

Qimir laughed, a sound that felt like a balm to your frayed nerves. “Deal. But I have a feeling you’ll come out of this stronger than ever.”

“Let’s hope,” you sighed, leaning against the counter on your elbows, letting Qimir’s eyes wash over you. “Also, he has to be hiding something.”

“What do you mean?” Qimir asked, a confused expression on his face as he put his already empty glass down.

“What if he’s deformed under the mask?” you let out, your face scrunching at the thought. “Or what if he’s just ugly?” You stared at nothing, not paying any attention to the words you were saying.

Qimir’s eyebrows twitched with amusement as he scanned you carefully. “You haven’t seen his face yet?” he asked, noticing how you played with your ring between your fingers as you stared down at the ground.

“You know I haven’t,” you replied with an annoyed sigh. “Look, I made peace with it, but I’m still curious about what he looks like. I want to know who’s teaching me all these things.” You complained, pushing yourself away from the counter, your eyes glancing at the black curtains over the window.

Qimir leaned back, crossing his arms with a thoughtful look. “I get it. It’s human nature to want to see the face behind the mask. But maybe it’s more about what he’s teaching you than what he looks like.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, shaking your head. “Leave it to you to find the deeper meaning. I just want to make sure I’m not taking orders from someone who might be scarier without the mask.”

Qimir chuckled, stepping closer. “You’ve faced Jedi Knights, completed impossible missions, and survived under his training. Whatever he looks like under that mask, you’ve proven you’re stronger than any fear or curiosity.”

His words settled over you like a comforting blanket, and you felt a bit of the tension ease from your shoulders. “You always know what to say, don’t you?” you turned back to face him, a genuine smile on your lips. Lately, you had noticed the way he looked at you. How his eyes darkened when he thought you weren’t watching. How his arms twitched your way when you walked past him and his intense gaze during your conversations. Like now.

Qimir was your friend, supplier, and occasional therapist. You could always vent to him about your Master, and he listened carefully. Many times, you slept over in his shop, passing out on the floor, exhausted from your tests and missions. You couldn’t count how many times you bled out in front of him and woke up the next day with your wounds bound and healed. You knew Qimir had his own secrets that he wasn’t confident in sharing with you, but some things kept you awake at night, wondering.

Despite his poor hygiene and greasy hair that framed his face in an unflattering way, you found him magnetic and charismatic. Something about him pulled you closer, and you didn’t know what. Between the nightmares and horrors, you were a victim to in your dreams, Qimir showed up to comfort you many times. You were embarrassed every time you woke from them, but the images never left your mind. And whenever you saw him after, you deep down wished they would become true.

Two days have passed since then, yet his intense gaze still lingered in your mind. He let you use his shop as your personal sanctuary, a hidden refuge from the Jedi that didn’t stop searching for you. Each day, you watched them through the window. Three times they've marched past, and twice they've entered, repeating the same questions, their eyes scanning for any sign of you.

Qimir once suggested you could leave the planet, but you quickly dismissed the idea. The Jedi now controlled who could leave or enter the exosphere. You regretted not hiding Torbin’s body, leaving him there to rot. Anger had taken over. You wanted the Jedi to find him. You wanted to shove it in their faces.

The days began to stretch into what felt like weeks, with only the tension between you and Qimir keeping you alert, even though it made time drag. The first night when you jumped out of the shower and had to borrow his clothes, you didn’t miss the way his eyes flew to your legs that the towel didn’t fully cover. Or when you tied your hair into a braid, his gaze never wavered. You didn't mind being observed, but with Qimir, it was different. His gaze made your stomach flip, and you couldn’t decide if in a good or bad way. His touch made you shiver, his presence alone made your skin burn. The only relief was that he wasn’t sensitive to the Force. If he knew what you thought every time you saw his hands or brushed against him, you’d want to drown yourself.

A few hours after you hid in his shop and got drunk together, you both decided it would be fun to practice some moves and fighting techniques, without lightsabers. Minutes later, you found yourself straddling Qimir’s lap, pinning his hands above his head. You knew he could easily turn the tables and have his way with you, but he didn't move a muscle. Instead, he laid there, letting you crush his lap as he circled your face. You remembered it vividly: how his breath tickled you, how his lips were so close that moving an inch would ruin your carefully built friendship. You were grateful for the self-control classes your Master put you through.

Now you were seated on the floor, leaning against the cold surface of the counter, staring out the window. The black curtains were no obstacle to you. You heard Qimir coming out of the shower; he didn’t want to smell like the gasoline you accidentally spilled on him. You held a glass of some beverage Qimir had prepared, both of you slowly getting dizzy from boredom and drinks. Resting your head against the table, you closed your eyes and saw Qimir through the Force. He was still in his small, cozy bathroom, drying himself with a towel. His hair was wet but looked better than it had a few days ago. His back muscles flexed as he raised his arms to dry his hair. You hadn't realized he was so fit under his clothes, and it made you squirm in your seat.

You knew you shouldn’t be spying on him like this, but the only time you had seen him like this was in your dreams, and reality was far more enticing. Your thoughts grew louder with each passing second, one screaming over another.

He was your friend and also worked for your Master. It would be wrong. You knew the consequences it could have on your relationship with Qimir, and you didn’t want to risk it. But the way he looked at you, the way his proximity made you feel, and the thought of his body against yours drove you crazy.

Your Master wasn’t against you having lovers and fulfilling your desires, as long as you stayed loyal to him. But you weren’t sure how he would feel if his two subjects started something together.

“You alright?” Qimir’s voice woke you from your thoughts as he stood in front of you. Only in his pants. You looked up at him, trying to contain your craving as you checked him up. Droplets still falling down his chest as he leaned against the other shelf, looking down at you from dangerous vicinity.

You almost choked on air, forcing yourself to look away.

“Yeah,” you choked on your words, lifting the glass to take a sip of your untouched brew. “Why you ask?” you forced a smile, missing his still wet, glossy chest to get to his face. Your heart dropped as you met with his prolonged stare. Half-lidded dark eyes staring right at you, his silhouette towering over you as he took a step closer, throwing the towel he was holding on the table.

“You staring into distance kind of scared me.” He chuckled, tilting his head as he leaned against the counter, you almost broke your neck looking up at him. He was right above you.

His hand was placed right above his pants that got to caress his thighs first. His skin was clean and wet, scars decorating his abs. His muscular chest was uncovered, free for you to admire. When he spoke to you his voice was low and raspy, different from the one he usually used. Your heart fluttered as you noticed his eyes wondering around you as he awaited your response.

You had to move, you thought to yourself. Pushing yourself against the floor you lifted yourself to your legs, the drink in your hand spilling as your hand twitched from almost falling into Qimir’s arms. You could feel the warmth radiating of off him and smell the shower gel he used. His hair was dripping wet, droplets adoring his sharp collarbones. His nipples were hard from the chilly temperature in the shop, his forearm big and large, holding his body above the table.

“Just, concentrating.” You coughed, putting the glass on the counter. “So,” you woke yourself from your dreaming, turning away from him, trying hard not to stumble. The drinking wasn’t as bad as Qimir’s half naked figure centimeters away from you. You felt faint and your thoughts only got worse, like somebody was putting them in. You felt a pressure, but you were convinced you were doing it to yourself subconsciously.

“Is everything okay?” You heard Qimir asked again behind you, feeling him walk towards you. You could feel his hands lifting, so when you turned back to face him, they brushed against your stomach. You had to fight back a moan.

“Just, the Jedi thing.” You smiled, hoping you were convincing enough, and he wouldn’t suspect even the theme of your thoughts. Resting your hip against the table and crossing your arms against your chest, you put a leisure expression on your face, as your mind raced with images. “It’s stressing me out.” You unnecessary added, trying to stare anywhere but his face or his arms or his exposed chest. He had to be cold.

“It’ll pass in a few days.” He smirked, lifting his arm to rest it against your shoulder. The cold skin made you gasp but not as much as his dark eyes.

“I just don’t want to bother you here for days.” You tried to convince yourself. “You surely have things to do, and my Master will be waiting for the news. I’ll go after sundown.” You didn’t wanna go but you had to inform your Master and the air between you and Qimir started to be intoxicating if you didn’t do anything.

“I’m sure he already knows.” He cocked his head, pulling his arm away but leaving his fingers to tickle your skin.

“You told him?” you wondered, pushing your thighs together as a small smirk appeared on his smile.

Fuck.

“No,” he denied, his eyes leaving yours, to trace them down your body. “But I’m sure he knows. Maybe he wants you to relax for a while.” He implied. You dropped your gaze from his eyes to his lips, your core slowly heating up.

“I would rather still be sure,” you swallowed your saliva, your voice breaking, his body dangerously close to yours. “Aren’t you cold?” you let out, embarrassment washing over you. He let out a chuckle when he saw your hand awkwardly pointing at his bare chest.

“Not really,” he replied, scanning your expression. He knew you were nervous; he knew your legs were about to give up and how you struggled to pretend to breathe normally. He enjoyed every second of it.

“Good, good.” You uttered, nodding along. “As long as you’re comfortable.” You wanted to fall into some deep hole and never come out.

“Are you comfortable?” he purred, closing the space between you two, his hand lifting to your face but not actually touching you. Just hanging there, below your jaw, right next to your neck.

“Why, why wouldn’t I be.” You stumbled over your words, his eyes burning your skin open. You felt his breath against your face, his curtain bangs brushing over your forehead. His feet met with yours, his chest in front of your face.

“You don’t look the best.” He whispered, leaning in, his lips now touching your ears, sending shivers down your spine. You moved your hand to the counter next to you, praying and holding yourself for dear life. “I think you need to relax.” He teased against your ear, slowly moving to your neck.

“I think I should get ready to go.” You panted, but not moving a muscle. His one hand moved right next to yours on the table, fingertips touching yours. You were so frozen by his lips tickling your neck, you inhaled sharply when you felt his hand sneak behind your waist to pull you against him. Your hands automatically pressed against his chest, closing your eyes.

“If you want,” he rasped, lifting himself to face you. You couldn’t recognize him. His eyes were pitch-black dark, animalistic look set in them. His lips were full and pink, not a sign of the Qimir that you talked to few minutes ago. You were breathless, your heart pounding heart against your ribs.

“Do you want to go?” he whispered, carnal lust in his gaze staring right back at you. You felt the wetness between your legs growing stronger with every passing second. “Do you want me to let you go?”

“No.” you answered so fast you felt ashamed. But what followed fulfilled all your dreams and more.

All the useless items and glasses on table thrown on the floor without any of you touching them, to make a room for you as Qimir lifted you up on the counter. You shakily brought your hands into his hair as he dived into your lips, imitating sex. His hands groped your breasts, fondling them and pinching your nipples through the thin fabric of your borrowed blouse.

You felt his hand abandon your face, making its way between your legs, feeling your wetness through the pants. You were soaked. You didn’t miss the smile on his lips when his fingers pushed against your core, feeling how wet and useless you were for him.

You whimpered against his mouth when he pulled away, resting against your forehead as you breathed each other air.

“For how long you were this wet?” he smirked against your lips, his fingers putting pressure against your pants making you gasp. He knew the answer, he knew exactly what you liked and where you liked it. But he wanted to hear it coming from your mouth.

“Since I first saw you,” you muttered, rolling your hips against his fingers for more friction. As soon as you made that movement, he pulled his fingers away to shoved them inside your mouth. You didn’t protest and without hesitation started to circle your tongue around them. His fingers were thick and long, making you choke when he moved them deeper.

“Such a fucking slut.” He growled, his legs spreading yours apart. Your heart fluttered at his words and confirming its statement when you let out a moan, from his fingers sneaking its way under your pants and panties to find your burning clit. You threw your head back, as your back arched, wanting to feel more of his touch.

Qimir watched you with satisfaction spread on his face as he felt you getting wetter and wetter, your body responding to his digits. He continued teasing your clit, rubbing it in circles as his other hand squeezed your breast roughly.

“You want it that bad?” he murmured, his voice raspy and electrifying. He chuckled at your failed attempt to respond, inserting his finger into your soaked hole. He pumped it slow and deep, reveling in your reaction. “No worries now.” He taunted.

Qimir couldn’t keep the smirk off his face as he watched you squirm and moan. He relished the power he had over you, keeping you in the dark and letting you believe you weren't being humiliated in front of your Master. He added another finger, scissoring them to stretch you for his cock.

“Let me hear you beg for it,” His eyes gleamed with lust as he towered over you, plunging his fingers deeper inside of your cunt. He curled his fingers inside you, rubbing your g-spot as he pumped them faster. “I want to hear you plead for my cock.”

You had no idea Qimir had this in him, but you were so dizzy because of his fingers fucking you hard, you had no strength to focus on anything else.

“Please Qim-“you shivered, eyes rolling back in your head. “Please I need you inside me.” Your breath hitched, his fingers curling and spreading your cunt.

“Atta girl.” He whispered to himself before pulling his fingers out of you, receiving a vulgar insult thrown at him. He relished in seeing you like this. He dreamed of this every day, wanting you, his pupil, spread open in front of him, letting him take you however he wanted. You were his and he was gonna make sure you understood what exactly that meant.

He smirked mischievously before leaning forward to kiss you deeply, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “Once I start, complain all you want, I’m not gonna stop.” He whispered against your lips before breaking away and looking deep into your eyes. He was a totally different man and it made you shiver throughout all your body. Even his energy changed, letting it wrap around you in the Force.

Qimir startled you when his hands landed on your chest, pushing you back so you’d lay open on the counter, legs spread open for him to take. Smiling excitedly, he grabbed your hips and move you closer to the edge of the table, before slowly unbuckling his pants.

“You ready?” he asked, licking his lips before pulling his cock out, already covered in pre-cum. He looked so beautiful above you, his hips so close to yours, his hair falling into his face and his chest raising as fast as yours. You looked a mess, but you were his mess and he wanted to devour you.

Nodding, you made yourself comfortable on the table, its cold surface making you shiver.

Smirking, he positioned his dick at your entrance and slowly thrust himself inside, making sure to stretch you nice and slow, taking his time to make the moment last. He bit back a moan, looking down at you lovingly as you struggled to keep your eyes open and not pass out at his thick cock filling you up.

“You’re doing great so far for me.” He grinned, before pulling out and slamming back in, his movements becoming faster and rougher. You forced yourself to grab the ends of the table to hold yourself in place, Qimir’s grip on your hips being nothing compared to the way he was treating your pussy.

His thrusts became harder, loving the way your walls wrapped around his cock, squeezing him tightly with each thrust.

“You’re finally getting what you dreamed of,” he groaned, lifting your hips to drive his cock deeper before pounding away. “Getting fucked by your Master.”

You cried out when his cock brushed against your sweet spot, not realizing the meaning of his words until seconds later.

“What,” you tried to lift your head up, but the way his grip tightened on your waist to fuck you harder had you failing to catch your breath. Your heart started to pound faster as the realization hits.

He saw your expression change but your body kept replying to his merciless thrusts. His hand moved from your waist to reach for your head, lifting you up, face to face. His forehead was covered in sweat, his long hair curling around his ears.

“You did so well on your last mission, I had to reward you.” He panted, not stopping his assault on your cunt. He read the conflict in your mind, letting you come to your own conclusion.

“You’re,” you trembled, his cock spreading your walls so good you had trouble to even consider the words he was saying, denying yourself.

“You’re such a good apprentice but such a slut now,” he mocked you, his hand moving from your hair to your neck, putting in pressure. “I wished you realized sooner tho. We could’ve had this every little visit of yours.” You cried out as his hand fully wrapped around your neck, his cock never stopping filling your cunt.

“Master, I don’t understand,” you managed to breathe out, feeling his cock start twitching inside your walls. You heard him groan, right next to your ear, at the feeling of your tight hole gripping him. He started to thrust harder, feeling the friction build up.

Resting your foreheads against each other and swallowing each other’s moans, had the both of you sweat, the room picking up your scents.

Qimir reached down, rubbing your clit as he continued to fuck you hard. He could feel the tension building inside of you and knew you were close.

“Cum for me, love.” He growled, his hand never leaving your neck and pulling you closer to him. “Cum for your Master.” He hitched, picking up the pace, slamming into you as hard as he could. He could feel his own orgasm approaching.

His grip on your throat tightened as he fucked you harder and faster, slowly losing control of his strength. He could see the look of pure ecstasy on your face as he pounded into you and squeezed your throat harder. Your hand automatically few to his hand that held you, struggling to breathe but not enough to make you pass out.

“You belong to me,” his voice broke, letting you know he was getting closer and closer to losing it. “You’re mine.” He whimpered into your ear, his hips bucking wildly, driving his cock deep inside of you as he came, filling you up, marking you as his. His paced slowed down to match yours, wanting to feel you cum around him, your walls almost crushing him.

Qimir didn’t move and kept his cock inside you, letting himself and you calm down and try to catch your breath. As you regain your composure, your head against Qimir’s chest, your mind almost exploded with the overwhelming thoughts.

I fucked Qimir.

I fucked my Master.

Qimir was my Master all along.

You wanted to run away, hide yourself and never come out, but Qimir’s, your Master’s arms wrapped around you and your pussy still keeping his cock warm, had you melting, not wanting to move an inch. You were confused, terrified, and thrilled all at the same time. All the times when Qimir disappeared without explanation, all the time he lied to the Jedi or did things only Force sensitive beings could achieve. It all made sense now and clicked together like a puzzle.

But you also realized he had the power to read your thought all along. He could see the impure images, the ideas, and pictures you had in your mind. Your complains and desires. Your fear. But that didn’t matter anymore. You let your Master used you, like the good apprentice you were. You had no idea what would happen now, your heart wanting to jump out of your chest, your skin covered in goosebumps. You were scared but the desire was stronger. And if Qimir ever taught you something was to transform those emotions into power. And you had enough desire to annihilate the entire Jedi order, with Qimir by your side.

#star wars #osha x qimir #qimir #qimir the acolyte #qimir smut #qimir x reader #star wars qimir #star wars smut #starwars #the acolyte #qimir fic #smut

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thoughtfulfiction · 4 months ago

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Operation: Den Prep

Author’s note: I feel like Joe is very dramatic about things he can’t control and impending parenthood is definitely chaotic. Hope you enjoy this fluffy piece!

All you wanted to do was take a nap. You weren't asking for much. Just an hour, maybe an hour and a half of uninterrupted sleep.

But no. That would be too easy.

The cars that lined the driveway couldn't be a sign of anything good. Joe wasn't really one to throw parties, and with exactly four weeks before the baby's due date he wasn't exactly the most chill or relaxed man in America. If anything, the cars were a sign that you wouldn't be getting that nap in any time soon.

A gigantic sigh leaves your body when you walk in the door. There are people—strangers— in your home, scrubbing every square inch of the place.

"Joe?" You call out, attempting to scoot past the people dusting the vents.

"He's upstairs in his office," a woman responds kindly, in the midst of scrubbing baseboards. Your friend Nikki, who was with you all day, stares at everyone in shock before helping you up the stairs.

You caught your breath a little while running your hand over your baby bump, feeling like you climbed Everest. Nikki knocks on the door and waits for Joe's voice, telling you two to come in. Your husband was seated at his desk, highlighting sections of The Expectant Father: The Ultimate Guide for Dads-to-Be, surrounded by several other parenting books.

"Joseph..." Nikki begins since you still can't breathe. “What the hell is going on here?"

"Language," Joe says without looking up from his book, "he can hear you."

Nikki turns to look at you and you shake your head, not wanting to get in the middle of it right now. Your eyes were telling her to just focus on one problem at a time, the biggest issue at hand being the cleaning crew taking over the house. She seems to agree. "Okay, let me try that again," he nods, finally looking up, a disinterested look on his face. “Don't know if you know this but, there are people downstairs treating your home like it's a warzone on germs."

"I know. I hired them to do exactly that. Because it is." He says in a matter of fact tone. “I want everything to be perfect when the baby comes home. The house needs to be as clean as possible so he has a safe environment.”

“Joe, this isn’t prepping for the end of days. You realize babies don’t come out demanding hospital-grade cleanliness, right?” Nikki jokes, leaning against the doorframe.

Joe doesn't find it funny. “Do you even know how many germs are in the average house? I read it’s millions. Millions, Nicole. I’m not risking it.”

You sigh, walking over to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. He was adorable when he got like this—focused, determined, and completely over the top. It was endearing, but you could already tell you'd have to reel him in before he booked a hazmat team to inspect the nursery. “Joe, I appreciate what you’re doing. I really do. But we’re supposed to be relaxing these last few weeks, not running ourselves into the ground.”

“You’re the one who should be relaxing,” Joe said, standing and gently guiding you to sit in his chair. “You’re growing a human being. That’s a full-time job. I can handle everything else.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Joe, I don’t need you to handle everything. We’re a team, remember? And besides, I don’t want you burning yourself out before he even gets here.”

“I’m fine,” Joe insisted, his tone firm but caring. "I promise. I just...want everything to be right for him. He’s going to depend on us for everything, you know?”

Nikki sat down on the couch in the corner of the office, still grinning. “I’m not gonna lie, this is kind of impressive. Most dads just install the car seat and call it a day. But you? You’re basically turning this place into a baby-friendly, germ-free utopia."

Joe shot her a look but didn’t argue as you let out a yawn. "Are you tired?" He rushes out, "they should be done in our room, you can go take a nap if you need it. I was serious about you getting some rest."

"And so was I about you getting some rest. We won't be sleeping as much when he gets here so getting a head start on sleepless nights isn't the wisest business decision."

"Okay," Joe folds the corner of the page that he's on and stands up, kissing you on the side of the head. "What if...we kick Nikki and the cleaners out and we go take a nap?"

"Um hello?" Nikki waves her hand in the air, "still here, in the room, with both of you. I can hear everything you're saying."

Joe doesn’t bother acknowledging her, his eyes focused on you as you nod with a laugh. “I love you, Nik, but he’s right. I need to lie down before I collapse.”

Nikki smirks, standing and brushing imaginary dust off her jeans. “You’re so lucky you’re carrying my baby, Y/N. Go take your little nap, I’ll see myself out.” She pokes Joe in the chest as she passes. “Joe, co-parenting with you is going to suck, but I gotta admit—you’re going to be a killer dad. You just don’t need to stress yourself into a heart attack to prove it.”

Joe rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. "For the last time, it's OUR baby. Not yours. There is no co-parenting."

"Sure," Nikki smiles, patting him on the back, "sure buddy. Whatever helps you sleep at night. By the way, good luck kicking out the cleaners. I'm pretty sure one of them is power-washing your oven.”

She’s gone before Joe can reply, leaving you shaking with laughter as he mutters, “I’m changing the locks tomorrow.”

When you woke up from your nap, Joe was gone. You found him downstairs, scrolling through the notes on his iPad, intense focus that you'd really only seen when he was going over film. It was heartwarming to see that he was taking impending fatherhood as seriously as he took his job. In a way, being a dad was like taking on another job. With endless hours, no days off and no pay. But the rewards? They were going to be worth everything.

Sinking into the spot next to him, you leaned your head against his shoulder. “What are you up to?”

"Going over the checklist," he replied, his hand automatically resting on your belly, absentmindedly tracing small circles with his thumb. "We've got a bunch of deliveries coming tomorrow to get the nursery done which will probably take a couple days. Then we need to start getting the fridge stocked and pack our hospital bags. I was also thinking we do a trial run to the birth center."

"A trial run? Why?"

“I need to time it,” he said, his fingers still drumming softly against your bump. “Traffic could be bad, you’ll be in pain, and I’d rather not have to deliver a baby in the car. I mean, I can learn how to, but I’d rather not.”

You couldn’t help but smile as his focus shifted momentarily, his hand now lightly tapping your belly like he was sending a secret code. “Joe, we’ll be fine. We’ll get there when we get there. Not everything is gonna go to plan so let’s not waste time but trying to plan out every detail.”

“I hear you and I get what you’re saying but I’d rather be overprepared than caught off guard,” he muttered, flipping to a new note with his free hand. His other stayed firmly planted on your stomach, as though he could steady the world by keeping a connection to the little life inside. “Oh, and dinner with our parents tomorrow…that’s going to be something.”

"Be nice. They mean well," you reminded him, nudging his arm.

“Sure, but last week my dad said something about bourbon on baby gums helping with teething. I had to pretend to choke so I wouldn’t laugh in his face,” Joe said with a soft laugh of his own. Then, without thinking, he leaned down and whispered against your belly, “Just ignore your grandpa, buddy. We’ll do teething the right way.”

Your heart swelled at the gesture, and you reached out to thread your fingers through his hair. “Joe, you’re already such a good dad, you know that?”

His eyes softened as he looked up at you, his hand still cradling your bump. “I just want to get it right, for him… and for you.”

"You will. And you know how I know?" He shakes his head, his eyes locked in on you, searching for your answer. "Because once you put your mind to something, you don't let anything or anyone stop you."

For a moment, he’s quiet, his gaze softening before he speaks. “You’re gonna be a great mom, you know that?” He reiterates your words, his voice is barely above a whisper as he leans in, sneaking a kiss.

Your laugh is light, but your heart swells as he places his lips on yours one more time. “Kid’s pretty lucky,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours as he pulls back. “And he doesn’t even know it yet.”

The rest of the evening is spent ironing out some minor details of Joe's fool proof baby plans.

Your husband is not the handiest person in the world. He's more of a "I'll hire someone who's more qualified" kind of guy. Exhibit A? Full time chef so he doesn't have to cook. Exhibit B? Full time cleaning staff. To be honest, he probably doesn't know how to change a tire. But he also probably has access to triple A and one phone call from Joe Burrow might actually have everyone working that day rushing out to answer the call. With all that being said, you assumed that putting together furniture would not be something he'd be inclined to do. And then a few weeks ago he, Jimmy and your dad spent three hours building a custom Bellini crib. Now that he had a taste of satisfaction in knowing that he put it together with his own hands, he wanted to build everything in the baby's nursery.

Today's project consisted of your dad, Jimmy and Joe putting together a bunch of things that were delivered while you, your mom and Robin sorted through baby clothes and collected freshly washed laundry to place in his closet. Every tiny sock and little hat sent butterflies in your stomach at the thought of your own tiny person wearing these clothes in just a few short weeks. It was both daunting and exciting.

Throughout the day, more people were walking into the house, Ja'Marr came in first since he pretty much lived next door. Sam showed up 30 minutes later, a tool-kit in hand. A few high school friends even drove from Athens to help.

"Guess Joe called in the calvary." Robin says with a laugh, putting the onesies she just pulled out of the dryer in neat stacks to count and fold.

A few hours later, the three of you took a look at the inventory laid out before you. Your son probably had enough clothes to last him through four outfit changes a day for the next few months. You mentally reminded yourself to cut everyone off from buying any more articles of clothing until further notice.

The doorbell rang and Joe magically appeared downstairs to answer it, his Jeff Ruby's catering order had arrived. A few staff members carried in all the food and Joe thanked them on their way out. Before you could even ask, he said "you don't think they're all working for free do you? Had to give them a few incentives." You simply shook your head, a smile forming on your lips as he disappeared upstairs again.

When the guys were finally done, everyone gathered downstairs to eat dinner, casually chatting about life, Ja'Marr giving a recap of his offseason so far and what trips he had planned. Everything was actually normal until your mom spoke up.

"So, who are you guys gonna have in the delivery room with you?"

Joe nudged you under the table with his knee, giving you a look like "here we go."

"Um...we're still finalizing details of the birth plan. I was just thinking me and Joe for now, the less people seeing me at my worst, the better," you joke, trying to keep it light.

"Well what about visitors?" Robin chimes in. “How soon after are we going to be able to meet the little one?"

"We were thinking the next day. Gives us time to settle in, get some sleep and then have you guys meet him," Joe says casually. That seems to satisfy all parties, your parents nod in understanding and you breathe out a sigh of relief that the conversation doesn't go any further.

Pretty soon after dinner, most of the guests are gone and Joe asks if you want to see the nursery. You immediately hold out your arms and let him lift you to your feet, keeping a hand on the small of your back until you reach the room. Before he opens the door he covers your eyes with his other hand. "You ready?"

"Yes," you let out a small laugh, the anticipation eating away at you, "you've been hyping up these packages for weeks let's see what you’ve done."

"Alright," you hear him open the door and he guides you inside by the hand, still keeping your eyes covered. "3...2...1."

Some of the big things had already been put together. The walls had been painted, the closet space was set up, Joe had brought an LED starry-night ceiling projector (on top of the chandelier that was already in the room) and a sleek, modern changing table with a with several gadgets you weren’t ready to mess with. Yes it was too much. No, he wasn't going to return any of it.

Your eyes scanned the room: a plush, white rug that looked too soft to step on without socks, a glider that seemed to have more tech features than your car, and a Dyson purifier glowing faintly in the corner. You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of all the hands that had come together to make it perfect. “He’s not even here yet, and he’s already so loved,” you said, your voice catching slightly.

"He definitely is," Joe says happily, knowing he and his team nailed it. "Come on, I'll give you a tour." He gestures toward the window, "blackout curtains. I read that they can help babies and toddlers sleep better. They can also help regulate the temperature and reduce noise. For temperature though, I got a Dyson obviously, it's supposed to be the best.” He walks you over to the next spot. “Over here we have the changing table."

"Does this...have a built in warming pad for wipes?"

"Yeah isn't it great?” He beams, “so his little butt is warm when we change him in the middle of the night."

You let out a soft laugh at how much of a softie he already is for someone he hasn’t met yet. "He's gonna be mad we're changing him either way, warm wipes or not. But I know you’ll be using it so it’s fine.”

He opens the top drawer of the changing table, "I put some miscellaneous stuff in here. All organic. Silk-blend crib sheets, swaddles, and burp cloths that I washed yesterday so they're ready to use. Over here is the feeding station and the mini fridge, which I'm really excited about."

"Why do we need a mini fridge in the nursery?"

"Think about this. I'm on overnight baby duty and you're catching up on sleep. Our baby is sobbing because he's hungry. Instead of making him wait while I go downstairs and grab a bottle, we just have the bottles in here. And then this little compartment on this side is a freezer so we can have milk storage bags in here too since the bottle warmer is right there. And watch this,” Joe said, pressing a button on the bottle warmer. “It’s like a Formula 1 pit stop but for babies. Two minutes tops, and he’s good to go.” You raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh at his comparison.

"You know what? I'm not mad at it. Keep going."

"Right next to the fridge is the actual feeding station so we've got a couple pillows here next to the chair, burp clothes and then a little table in case whoever is in here needs water or to set something down. White noise machine is over here. You gotta play with the setting there's like 100 sound options and custom settings. The baby monitor is cool too, it has HD video, two-way audio, sleep analytics, the whole nine.” Joe pick up the expensive contraption. “Here, let me show you some of the noise machine settings."

He was too excited for you to decline, so you motioned for him to go ahead. "This one is ocean waves," he said, hitting a button. A soft crash of waves echoed through the room. "And this is rainforest sounds. Oh, and this one—"

"OW!" you yelped, clutching your belly and bending forward slightly.

Joe froze mid-button press, the sound of chirping birds now filling the nursery. "What? What happened? Is it happening?" His voice rose an octave as he practically leapt across the room to you.

You couldn’t help but laugh through the sharp jolt of pain, waving him off with one hand. "Relax, Joe. It’s not labor. It’s uh...lightning crotch."

"Lightning what?" His panicked expression turned to utter confusion, and he blinked at you like you’d just spoken a foreign language.

"It’s this sharp, sudden pain down there," you explained, gesturing vaguely toward your lower half. "Totally normal. Just your kid punching my nerves like one of those UFC fighters you're obsessed with."

Joe stared at you, wide-eyed. "That’s a thing? That’s allowed? Why does no one tell dads about this stuff?"

You shrugged, still giggling as you slowly straightened up. "Welcome to pregnancy. Every day’s a surprise," you reassure him, patting him on the back.

Joe ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely rattled. "Okay, so let me get this straight. So far, there’s morning sickness, swollen ankles, back pain, weird cravings, and now lightning crotch? What’s next? Spontaneous combustion?"

"Would you calm down?" you teased, reaching for his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. "It’s not that bad. Just part of the process."

Joe let out a dramatic sigh, muttering, "You’re making a whole person, and I can’t even keep up with the symptoms."

"You’re doing great, babe," you said with a smirk. "Now, are you gonna show me what’s in the next drawer, or should I add 'Joe having a meltdown' to my list of pregnancy side effects?"

That earned a laugh from him, and he shook his head, pulling himself together. "Fine. But I’m looking this lightning crotch thing up later," he said, giving you a playful glare before opening the next drawer.

Joe is going through the various assortment of baby blankets but what catches your eye is the bookcase. You step closer to it, running your fingers over the leather-bound spines. "Are these…first editions of Goodnight Moon and Oh the Places You’ll Go?"

"Collector's editions," Joe corrected with a sheepish shrug. "My mom used to read these to me,” Joe explained, his voice soft. “I figured…maybe I could do the same for him. Only with the fanciest versions, of course.”

"Of course,” you affirm. “You're adorable. This place is...a lot. But it's genuinely perfect Joe, you guys did an amazing job, thank you."

"You don't have to thank me, I should be thanking you. You're making us parents soon."

"I know. Being in here and seeing it finished makes it feel more real. There's gonna be an actual person using this stuff. That's insane."

He grabs your hand and leads you out of the room, "it is insane. And I can't wait. I wonder what he's gonna look like."

"I hope he looks like you, that would be so adorable. Having a tiny version of you would be a dream."

Joe chuckled, a soft, boyish sound that made your heart flutter. "You’re setting the bar pretty high for this kid," he teased, then paused, his expression turning serious for a moment. "But really, no matter what he looks like I know he'll be perfect."

The two of you stood there in the quiet of the hallway, the soft hum of the mini fridge in the nursery the only sound. For a moment, everything felt perfectly still—just the two of you, on the edge of an adventure that would change your lives forever.

You said goodbye to the last of your visitors and you turned around to Joe standing in the middle of the living room holding a notepad and a pen. "Where did you even get that, weren’t you just hugging your mom?"

"I had it on the coffee table. We’re supposed to watch the video for our prenatal class, remember?"

"Right now?" You ask, looking at your phone. It was only 9pm but it felt like at least one in the morning. You felt like Joe with his strict bedtime during the season.

He nods, already reaching for the remote. "I have big plans for us tomorrow so yeah, now is the perfect time."

"Alright, put it on." You relax into him, grabbing your blanket. "You're really gonna take notes?"

"Yeah. This is for educational purposes, I need any helpful tips I can get."

"You're sure you're gonna be able to watch and write things down? I don't want to scare you but, it might be intense."

"Babe, I get chased by grown men who want to take my head off for a living. Intense is my middle name," he places the notebook on the table and ditches the writing utensil, lazily placing his arm around you before starting the video. "You know what? I might not even take notes this time, I'll probably watch it again in my office in a few weeks when we get closer to the due date and take notes then."

You shrug, letting him do his thing. "Whatever you say, babe."

Joe's relaxed posture slowly turned a bit more tense as the video went on, the graphic image of the baby crowning was unfortunately going to be engrained in his memory for a long time. You had to stifle a laugh as his usual cool, calm, and collected demeanor cracked like a fine china plate dropped onto tile.

"Is...is that what we're gonna go through? What you're gonna go through?" His voice was shaky, as though he’d seen a ghost.

"Yup," you emphasized the ‘p’ sound. "That right there is the beauty of childbirth Joseph." You could practically feel his discomfort radiating off him.

"Oh my god." Joe muttered, his eyes wide in disbelief as he tried to mentally recover.

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder. "You know, it’s not all that bad. It's just...well, it’s a lot. And it’s very messy.”

He blinked at the screen, still not sure how to process what he’d just witnessed. "Right, sure, a lot. Just—" He exhaled dramatically, trying to find words. "I need a drink. I don't even like alcohol. Or we should maybe just call it a night and go to sleep. I need maybe a small...break from the miracle of life."

You chuckled, wrapping yourself up in the blanket and snuggling into his side. "Welcome to parenthood, Joe. Just wait until you're actually in the room. This was just the trailer."

Joe leaned back, a hand on his forehead as he processed the visual overload. "Little man needs to stay in there a little longer. I'm not ready to watch that horror film."

After declaring that the two of you needed a break from baby stuff, you and Joe took it easy the next day, diving into a true crime marathon after he came home from his morning workout. It was the perfect distraction from all the overwhelming baby prep. But today, he was back at it—better than ever.

"Did you know that newborns don’t have kneecaps? They have cartilage where they should be. They don’t get kneecaps until later."

"Wait what?" you ask, clearly confused.

"Yeah, I read it this morning, it's crazy. He isn't gonna have knees for weeks. I could've used that trick in 2020," Joe adds nonchalantly, his tone as casual as ever as he brushes off his knee injury from years ago. The way he brings it up so easily makes you laugh.

"What else did you learn?" you ask, your curiosity piqued.

Joe glances over at you, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "I read that dads who are involved early on in caregiving—like diaper changes and feedings—bond with their babies faster and more strongly. So I’m all in on that."

"Baby?" you ask, tilting your head to the side as you look over at him.

Joe pipes up, looking away from his hospital bag, still gathering his things. "Yeah?"

"You didn't have a choice on that one. You were gonna feed him and change his diapers whether you liked it or not," you laugh and easily catch the t-shirt he tosses at you. It just happened to be your favorite one you liked to steal and it smelled just like him. That was definitely coming with you to the hospital.

You stand up from your spot on the floor, checking everything off your list. You had comfy clothes, fuzzy socks, four outfits (just in case), a phone charger, a portable charger, a water bottle and a robe which you'd never worn before but Joe insisted you bring it because what if this was the one time that you actually needed it. "What's in your bag?"

Joe opened the Nike duffel and let you take a look. "Why do you have your backup iPad in here?" you ask, a little puzzled.

"OTAs start two weeks after he's born. I need to glance through stuff and make sure I'm ready," he explains, glancing at you with a shrug.

You roll your eyes playfully. "Fine, but what are these doing in here?" You pull out his Bose noise-canceling headphones. "Are you gonna tune me out while I'm in labor?"

Joe looks at you with wide eyes, practically dropping the headphones in surprise. "What? No!" He quickly pulls out another pair, a sheepish smile on his face. "I brought some for you too, just in case you want to listen to music and, you know, maybe tune me out a little."

"You're really thinking ahead, huh?" you tease, a grin tugging at your lips.

Joe shrugs, his smile growing. "I try."

You nod, crossing your arms. "I mean, I guess we’ll see if those headphones get a workout during the labor part."

Joe gives you a playful look, his tone still light-hearted but his eyes full of genuine excitement. "I’m just saying, if you need a little escape from my endless rambling during contractions, at least you have options."

"Oh Joey, I love you."

“I love you,” he sighs, pulling you into a tight hug, feeling steady kicks against his stomach. "And I love you too, baby boy. Kid can't stand not having the attention on him," he smiles, his voice soft but filled with affection.

"Taking after his dad already?" you tease, the corners of your mouth lifting into a grin.

Joe pulls back slightly, raising an eyebrow with a mock-serious expression. "Now you know that’s just not true."

You chuckle softly, resting your head against his chest. "I guess we’ll see, huh?"

He lets you go and the two of you go through all three bags one more time before Joe announces the next task. "Are you ready for our hospital trial run?"

"I still think it's ridiculous but if it'll make you feel more comfortable then I'm in."

Joe carries all the bags down the stairs, tossing them by the door and has the stopwatch open on his phone. "Okay, here we go." He presses 'start' and grabs the keys and the bags while you stand in the kitchen, taking a sip of water as you waddle to the car.

"Babe, why are you going so slow? We're on a time crunch here."

"Well if you must know, your son is crushing all of my internal organs and grinding my hip bones together. If I walk too fast I’ll pee. And then you'll have to get me new clothes and I'll have to change. That'd be really bad for your time crunch."

He drops it immediately. "Okay you're right, take your time."

Once he helps you in the car he rushes around to the driver's side and buckles in, opening the garage door and pulling out of the driveway. You're holding the phone, watching his time as he drives carefully but efficiently, weaving through the streets like a man on a mission. "What if there's traffic that day?" You ask.

"Then I'll figure it out. I just need ballpark range how long it'll take us to get there." He checks the stopwatch again, the third time in the last five minutes.

"Joe, you don't have to treat this like you’re at the two-minute warning during the Super Bowl when you’re down one score."

His grip tightens on the steering wheel despite your words, his jaw clenching as he glances at you, "better to be safe than sorry."

You shrug, reclining in your seat to take some pressure off your back.

"You good?" He asks gently, his hand finding its way to your leg. "How’s the baby doing?" Joe asks, glancing at you between turns, a hint of concern in his voice. "Should we pull over so you can stretch?"

"No, I'm fine," you sigh, a smile tugging at your lips as you settle in more comfortably. "I could really go for some ice cream right now though."

"We'll get some on the way home," he laughs, a relieved chuckle escaping him. "Call it a reward for a successful trial run."

He pulls into the parking lot of the birth center with a sigh of relief, glancing at his phone in your hand. "13 minutes, not bad at all," he says with a sense of accomplishment.

"Yeah, that's great," you smile, a playful glint in your eyes. "I want a scoop of rocky road and a scoop of raspberry sorbet. In a bowl."

"Together?" he asks, his eyebrows raised in mock disbelief.

"Yes," you reply, grinning.

Joe pulls out of the parking lot, a proud smile on his face as if he just completed an Olympic event. "Mission accomplished. Ice cream in five minutes."

A week later, Joe was going over a food list with his chef Morgan. "For quick snacks, I was thinking Greek yogurt with granola and fruit, hard-boiled eggs—she'll need the protein. Maybe some string cheese or cheese cubes, nut butter with apples or bananas. We’ll definitely need to stock up on protein bars," he lists off items, looking through the fridge and cabinets.

"What‘a going on in here?" You walk into the kitchen and spot Morgan jotting down every word Joe is saying.

Joe looks up and smiles at you but then pauses for a moment, his eyes tracking your every movement as you waddle over to the counter. He raises an eyebrow. "You alright? You're walking like you just got off a horse."

You roll your eyes playfully but feel a grin spread across your face. "Nice to see you’re paying attention."

"Seriously," Joe says, now focused on you with concern. He steps closer, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders as he watches you shuffle around. "That’s a pretty pronounced waddle. You okay?"

"Yup, just one of the perks of carrying a tiny human in there." You shrug, trying to act casual about it, but it's hard to ignore how much effort it takes to move these days.

Morgan, glancing between the two of you, stifles a laugh. "It’s the baby," he explains with a knowing look. "The weight shifts, and her body’s getting ready for the big day."

Joe doesn’t look entirely convinced. "I don’t know, babe," he says, lightly tapping your belly. "Maybe we need to get you some support or something. You shouldn’t have to waddle all over the place. Like one of those belly belt things to help take the weight off your hips.”

You smirk. "Trust me, I’ve got it covered. But thanks for noticing."

Joe looks at you, giving you a soft smile that says he’s both amused and a little concerned. "Yeah, no problem. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable."

"Thanks, Joe," you tease, giving him a playful nudge before you turn to Morgan, who’s still scribbling on his notepad as Joe turns his away again. "So, what do you have so far?"

Morgan lists off everything he’s written, "Trail mix, chia pudding, pumpkin or sunflower seeds—"

"We never have those in the house," you note, crossing your arms. "Why now?"

"They're high in zinc and other nutrients that support lactation," Joe says simply, not looking up from the fridge.

"That's helpful but I really will probably need fruit, veggie sticks and hummus since you're interesting in me increasing my protein intake, maybe some avocado toast and smoothies too? Keep it simple, Morgan. I’ll also need the lactation cookies I sent you."

"Noted." Morgan says, catching Joe’s shake of his head as you laugh.

"Just get her whatever she wants," Joe sighs, exasperated, but with a fond smile. "I’m actually glad you brought up the cookies, Y/N, because I wanted to run something by you. Both of you, actually."

You sigh, already dreading the conversation, and the chef looks up from his list. "What’s up?"

Joe pulls out a folder from one of the kitchen drawers, showing Morgan the list of the “best” lactation cookie and energy bite recipes he could find.

"Babe," you groan, "I told you that you're overthinking the cookies. They’re just cookies."

“Lactation cookies,” he corrected, already flipping to another recipe. “These are important. They’re, like, your fuel.”

"My apologies your honor," you laugh again, "carry on."

Morgan laughs too and Joe playfully glares at him. "Yeah—yeah, laugh it up guys." He gestures toward the folder, "I highlighted the key ingredients on each recipe.”

The chef raised an eyebrow at the sheer number of recipes. “You want me to make all of these?”

You stand up and take a peak at the extensive list, "you don't have to do that Morgan, just make a few batches of chocolate chip and call it a day," you sense Joe tensing next to you and you rub his back a little, "you're doing that thing again. Where you're freaking out instead of relaxing. You need to relax," you say with a small smile, guiding him back to calm.

You take your eyes off of Joe and focus your attention back on Morgan. "Thank you for never flinching at his insane requests, but if these cookies don’t work out, you can just order some. As long as they have oats, flaxseed, and brewer’s yeast to support milk production, then I should be fine."

Morgan nods, jotting a few more things down before he leaves to head to the grocery store. Joe looks at you, his expression softening. You nod at him, offering a reassuring smile.

"Yeah, you’re not the only one who’s done their research,” you say, nodding your head as his lips twitch into a smile.

"I’m impressed.” He gives you tiny claps, the playful gesture breaking the moment of seriousness. “Speaking of research...I may have one more surprise for you."

"I don't think I can handle anymore surprises," you groan, "can you just tell me what it is?"

"I don't think you know what a surprise is," he laughs rubbing your back, "let me just show you and then I'll leave you alone for the rest of the day."

"That's a lie,” you reply flatly, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Okay, fine. It’s definitely a lie," he admits with a sheepish grin, shrugging like he’s caught red-handed.

Joe takes you to the most unlikely place to reveal a surprise. "Joe...why are we in the bathroom?"

"This is the surprise. Do you see anything different?"

You look around, not sensing anything extremely out of place. Until you see it and tears start pooling in your eyes. "How did you—when did you do this?"

"It's just a little something I put together to make things easier for you when we're home. There's another one in the closet downstairs. I'll move it out so you have easy access when it's time." He pauses, taking a second to collect his thoughts. "I just want to make sure you’re as comfortable as you can be. I know this is going to be tough on you, and I...I want to feel like I’m helping, even if it’s in a small way."

A postpartum station, not the most glamorous gift in the world, but it was one of the most meaningful things he'd ever done for you. Imagining him sitting in his office or sitting up in bed at night doing all this research to ensure you were comfortable made you want to cry. You never thought the sight of adult diapers, nipple cream, and a portable stool could bring you to tears, but here you were, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness behind it all.

Joe gently wipes at a tear that slips down your cheek, his expression softening as he says, ‘hey, don’t cry. I want you to have everything you need. You deserve it."

You blink back the new tears threatening to spill over, shaking your head in disbelief. ‘I can’t believe you thought of all this. Thank you, Joe.

"Pretty much," he shrugs, giving you kiss on the side of the head. "Just one more thing to check off the list."

"And what's that?"

"Bringing him home and having him here, physically with us."

You laugh, resting a hand on your lower belly, on top of Joe's hand. "Oh yeah...that one minor detail."

“Minor detail?!” Joe grins, his eyes bright with amusement. “I think that’s the main event, babe. Let’s hope I don’t need a stopwatch for that one.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, grounding you in the moment, “Thank you, Joe. For this…for thinking of everything. If you’re this amazing now, I can’t wait to see you as a dad.”

His expression softens, his gaze dropping to your belly as if imagining the tiny life inside. “I just want to make sure you both have everything you need,” he says quietly. He spoke with such quiet certainty that it left no room for doubt—this wasn’t just a job to him; it was everything.

The lump in your throat returns, but this time you let it linger, because this—his quiet devotion, his unwavering effort—is why you fell in love with him. “You’re already doing it,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “And you’re doing it perfectly.”

Joe smiles, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Good. Now let’s get through the rest of this list before he gets here and turns everything upside down.”

Your laugh echoes through the bathroom, the two of you standing there in the glow of anticipation, knowing your lives were about to change in the most beautiful way.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fic

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choas232 · 6 months ago

Text

Canine Vastaya! G/N! reader x Steb ⊹ ˖ 𓃡⊹ ˖

Summary: Progress day has you and your fellow enforcers relaxing. Slacking, even. Posted deep in the bowels of the festivities, you decide (against your will) that you might join them along with your coworker, Steb.

Reader is a canine Vastaya, and an enforcer. NO MORE SILLY READER. We are serious people now. No use of Y/N, neutral terms and they/them are used to refer to reader.

CWs: Emetophobia, just one line and not described in depth. Suggestive themes. Most of all, SLACKING ON THE JOB.

Word count: 3.3k

⊹ ˖ 𓃡⊹ ˖

Gold. So much gold. Glimmering and crowding, the city fighting itself so violently that even you, you with your dulled Vastaya vision, can see the gory speculate of the festivities laid bare for all to see. The squawks of children, vendors, golden ticking butterflies, machinery, force your ears flush to your head. The scent of cheap carnival treats masquerading as delicacies assaults your sensitive nose, and try as you might you can’t push down the fur dusting your neck, standing on end.

Overstimulating. Cruel. Beautiful. You lean back on the chair, pressing your coiled tail against the hard surface to hide how it curls close to you.

“Can I leave now?” The man sat in the medical tent behind you slurs out. You do not give him the courtesy of replying, but you turn, catching Steb tucking the equipment back into its rightful places. The man’s not on any of the horrid drugs you see slipping out of Zaun these days, and although his remaining brain cells might be worse for wear, he just needs to sleep it off.

Maddie finishes chewing out his drunkard friends for leaving him passed out, and hastily trots back to the tent, wiping the thin gleam of sweat off of her forehead and quickly adjusting her hat. It’s only a brief lapse before she’s back to Junior officer Nolan, sternly helping him to his feet and carting him out to his waiting, hooting friends.

“Having fun?” She teases, returning back to the tent and slumping down on the chair beside you. You scoff, and turn back to watching the crowds, still spotting out of the corner of your eye how Steb moves to join you.

You try not to look at him, instead focusing on the ginger beside you. This turns out the be almost as much as a mistake as allowing yourself to dwell on your affections for him, because she’s already looking at you.

You see her grey-blue eyes flick to your tail, pressed tightly down between your legs now that your audience is gone, and then back to your ears. “Or maybe, disappointed to be missing out on the fun?” she gestures to the drunkards, stumbling away and your lips pull back in a semi-amused scoff.

“I’m working. This is important.”

“I think our law-mandated breaks are pretty important too.” You give her a scrutinizing look, and she shrugs, still smiling. “You two take a break. I’ll man the station.”

Two. Alone with him? No. You can’t.

“Your hypocrisy is almost as amusing as the fact you’d think I’d even consider taking a break.” You hastily push out, grasping like a drowning cat for a footing.

“Ahhhh. There’s where you’re wrong. I don’t think. I know.” She tilts her head, pointing a freckled finger towards your face.

Dammit. Your ears, perking up of their own accord, press against the hard surface of your enforcer helmet and traitorously peeking out. You move to tuck them away, scowling as you do, and you swear you watch her swallow a snicker.

Telling her was a mistake. Why did you think telling his closest friend you held… affection for him was a good idea? That your helmet is so tight it makes your skull ache in an attempt to hide your perking ears? That you stayed up teaching yourself sign language for him, even though you knew you could never let him know? That you think of him, constantly, each 24 hours, 1440 minutes and 86400 seconds of your days?

Possibly the alcohol in your system and the choking feeling of having pressed the fondness low in your gut, hoping it would rot. It didn’t

Steb watches the exchange without interjectural, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. Calmy, he reaches a hand to brush at his scaled cheek before beginning work on unrolling the sleeves still tucked up from his medical misadventure.

You feel like a teenager, rabid and nervy as you try not to look, but also try not to look like you’re trying not to look.

“Steb? Thoughts?” Maddie, noticing your gaze, crosses her legs, looking up at him from her place on the chair and folding her arms.

His eyes widen slightly at addressal, and he shallowly nods, tilting his head towards you followed with a questioning look. Do you want to?

Misinterpreting his communication on purpose, she gleefully spins back around to meet your glare. “A yes than. Don’t worry friends. I’ll be just fine all on my lonesome.” She turns to meet the sea of wide brimmed hats, parasols (all the rage, lately,) and bold, bright colours, and you know the conversation is done. She can be frighteningly persistent when she puts her mind to a task, and you know better than to argue and further her teasing.

With a sigh and a quick prayer to the heavens, you turn to make the maker of your troubles, who politely offers you a hand. You take it, and he hauls you off of the chair.

You curse the makers of the leather gloves that adorn his hands.

Great heavens. Where did that come from? Certainly not you.

Trying to accept defeat with grace, you say, “I could use a walk, anyways,” stretching as you do, popping your back and pushing out your arms until your claws scrape the roof of the tent. Steb’s eyes follow, and then snap away as you peer at him. “Any sightseeing you want to get done?” You try to evenly ask him.

He pauses, and then, with a tilt of his head, splays a hand out to instead gesture to you. He’s doting. You’re not to used to it. You didn’t get to where you are with hands holding on to yours, anyways.

“Well. I… I could do with some food.” There’s this stall, far from the main, noisy festivities and food-poisoning littered stalls that sells the sweet fried fruits of your childhood. Crunchy, thick and rolled in flour on the outside, and slick with blue, sweet juices that burst on your tongue when you take a bite. Nice to gnaw on for your teething child’s self, blue staining your lips and splattering across the pressed shirts your parents draped you in for Progress Day.

He nods, and then concernedly taps his helmet with a flicker of his ears. For a moment you don’t understand.

Then you do.

Of course he remembers how you complained about how the enforcers uniform’s headpiece hurts your ears, not built to suit Vastaya. A throw away comment. Of course, he looks at you with those big, gleaming blue eyes, stupidly kind-hearted, and of course your traitorous tail kicks up behind you.

You clamp it between your legs, meeting his eyes defensively and ignoring how they glance down to observe it. From her place, Maddie is grinning. You don’t need to look at her to tell.

You unclasp your helmet, dropping it onto a nearby table, flickering out your strained ears out not unlike your limbs minutes prior.

“Ready to go?” You inquire, and his ears affirmative flicker, nodding goodbye to Maddie as you leave. You do too, but with a different picture painted in your features. She laughs, and then the crowd swallows you whole.

The adults parts around you, one bonus to being in uniform. The children, however, do not follow this courtesy, instead slamming past you after miniature flying ships and bright, pink bubbles that chime when they pop. You have half a mind to reach out and feel the oil and soap slick surface yourself, your glimmering reflections blinking back at you.

Steb observes each passerby, each float and display with keen interest, every now and then glancing back at you. You try to pre-emptively look away when he does. He’s perceptive, you’ve noticed. Alert. Always the first to act, always to first to spot the danger.

You just hope he doesn’t notice how without meaning to you drift closer to him, how now your ears press against your skull with a different emotion than overstimulation.

You have half a mind to mimic his attention, anyways. The arcane, and technology, has been kind to you this year. The exploits of the people of Piltover has been many. You pass a humanoid golden robot, speaking animatedly and advertising the goods of a nearby vendor, and then a functioning, beating silver heart, water pumping through its long metal cords. A man yells over at you, trying to sell you golden jewellery fit for adorning your fangs, stopping when he sees the uniforms.

All the metal, the fabrics, and the ridiculous uniform, the heat cages you in. You push down the urge to stick out your tongue, pant, instead reaching up to massage sweat out of your nape and furred ears.

With a tap on your shoulder that makes you startle, he cuts through the crowd towards a nearby vendor, gesturing for you to wait. You do, and moments later he returns with water.

He makes it so hard not to love him.

Gratefully, you take it, unbottling the cap and taking a great gulp, water dribbling down the sides of your mouth. His sip of his own bottle, cool and elegant, makes you feel slightly ashamed, but he doesn’t seem to care. After refusing to let you pay him back, you continue on your way.

Finally, after what feels like simultaneously too long and too short of a trip, you duck under a banner-stricken archway, and step into the courtyard. Less adorned than the other sections of the festival, but in your humble opinion, kinder on the eyes. Copper, oxidized and gleaming blue, is crafted into flowers. They paste themselves over every inch of the courtyard, forming archways up to a great canopy, light filtering through to softly illuminate your path, along with a cool breeze.

Small tents, strung with buzzing lights dot the area. Families sit beneath them, enjoying modified ice-cream that never melts, young couples tenderly brush their hands together on benches, and vendors chat.

You approach the stall, the store vendor barely looking up. The little embroidered rhinestones on their face flash as they lazily push a hand towards a sign, reading out the golden font. “30% discount for couples,” before turning back to the puzzle, some kind of contraption with a prize inside, no doubt.

You’re halfway through an awkward, no, that’s not, we’re not— when the scent of the fruits plasters to your nostrils. Delicious, dripping in memories of childhood, of stained fabric and high-pitched giggles.

Dammit.

Steb glances at your wagging tail, crushing any hope of retaining your dignity. He doesn’t look away quickly this time, trailing up slowly to meet your eyes, lips slightly parted. Your body betrays you, as it always does. You just hope he assumes the fruits are the cause.

“We’ll have six, please.” You defeatedly ask, abruptly looking away. Three for you, three for him.

Do you look like a couple? With your matching posture, neat uniforms, completely and utterly in step… you need to be, to do the work you do, and you talk without talking, but it’s largely because he’s mute. So why did they…

He reaches down into his pockets to tug out his wallet. You beat him to it, slamming yours down with a dull thump against the counter. He would scoff, you think, had he been more animation in his features, but the narrow of his eyes makes you well aware of his displeasure. You smile back at him, enjoying the childish feud. Your fangs flash.

Your damned tail is still wagging.

The vendor passes you the long, wooden sticks, three of the delicious treats impaled on them. You take yours and repress the urge to devour it immediately.

“Where to sit…” You mumble, only to spot the tents, shaded from the light and cooled by the breeze. Steb follows you as you fall with a thump into the tangle of blankets. He carefully sits as not to drop the treat, removing his hat and carefully placing it in the mouth of the tent.

You dig in. It’s exactly as what was remembered, filling, the thick fried flour coating contrasting with the blue juices inside. At first, you try to eat neatly, like you see your fellow Enforcer doing, but that falls to pieces the moments you get your fangs on the fruits. You wolf it down, (a pun, from you? More likely than one would think.) with a gusto that scares you, and place the wooden stick down on the mat below you.

You watch as he tilts his head, holding one hand under his mouth to catch stray crumbs and the other holding the stick at an angle so he can sink his pearly whites into the treats. It’s a careful process, one that doesn’t leave any of the mess splattered across his face, nor his shirt.

Conversation isn’t your strong suit. You aren’t literate in waxing poetic, nor charming the teeth off your fellows. The silence you keep with him is comfortable. It houses you in it’s embrace not unlike the breeze gently nipping at your skin.

You hate to say it, but Maddie was right. You’re enjoying this. Perhaps too much. You can hear your disobedient tail gently thumping against the fabric.

God, you’re parched after devouring the treat. Already having finished your own bottle, you eye Steb’s. Would it be weird to ask him to take a sip? Would you wrap your lips around the rim? No, no, but pouring it into your mouth without contact might look childish and ridiculous… perhaps you shouldn’t…

He notices you looking and slides you the bottle. Without thinking, your mind still screaming, you unclasp the top and take a swig. Saliva— his saliva is on the lips of the bottle… lips?

God, are you fifteen? You need to get a hold on yourself.

“You’ve been quiet.” You mutter, without really thinking. His eyes narrow, his head cocking coyly to the left. “I— you know what I mean… you haven’t been saying as much… showing as much?” He humours your attempts at communication with his full attention, turning to meet you as he places the blue-stained wooden stick away.

“…are you nervous?”

He shakes his head.

“Tired?”

Again. A quick shake.

“I’m out of guesses.”

He leans back, a quiet hum coming deep from his throat as he does. “Calm?” you don’t know why you sound as disbelieving as you do. A shallow nod, with a wave of his hand this time, towards your loose posture, relaxed, perked up ears and gently wagging tail. You’re calm too, you suppose.

Then, with a pause, he reaches up to brush his fingers to his cheek. “Hmm?” You mirror him, pressing yours to your own face. Your fingers come off blue.

He dips his fingers into his breast pocket, pulling out that neat, unstained handkerchief. Does he buy them in bulk? Does he clean them? A mystery you don’t want to uncover. He hands it to you, and you thank him quietly. He watches you as you dab the corners of your face, for a moment, before he repoints, gesturing for you to move to the left. You miss it again, before he reaches out, not bothering to take the handkerchief from you.

With the rest of his hand braced across your jaw, he stretches out a thumb to push, hard, down, wiping the fleck off juice off.

When he pulls away, you see blue on his finger.

Nonchalantly, he pops his thumb in his mouth, gently tugging the juice off with more teeth than tongue, before his hand moves to rest beside him once again.

You gape. You gape some more. Does he know what he does to you? Reduces you, you, studious and hardworking, you, into a mess. A stuttering, tail-wagging, blushing mess. You want to strangle him. You want to kiss him. He glances back at you, and you try to casually resume what you were doing before— what was that again?— your senses kicking into overdrive.

“Did you enjoy the uhm, snack?”

He nods, relaxedly. You feel, and retain, the horrible feeling you are being teased.

“…Yeah. Me too.” You swallow, and than talk, maybe to fill the once comfortable silence, wrangle it into submission. “I used to come here with my parents. When I was younger. They used to dress me up— in shirts they knew would be ruined by the grime I would acquire playing carnival games. I…” You don’t know where you’re going with this. Ceasing your rambling, you knead fabric in your hands. “Any happy memories of Progress Day?”

He nods. For a lapse too long to be natural, he pauses, almost in thought, and then with his thumb and pinkie fingers extended and his three middle fingers curled into his hands, he hurriedly brings his arms down. ‘Now.’ ‘Today.’

Sign language.

“I’m glad.” You quickly mutter, before your running mind can outpace your voice. Your face is treacherously flushing.

You realize too late he doesn’t know you’ve been teaching yourself sign language.

That him using it makes little sense— and frozen in the headlights, you watch as his face changes. He peers at you. He peers at you some more, and then his hands are moving, quickly. You catch pieces, something— M-A— something—I-E —Tell — something—

Oh. Oh no.

“Maddie? Maddie told you what, exactly?”

This is the situation of your nightmares. Telling her was a mistake. A drunk mistake you’ll regret for the rest of your life, your pitiful life. Scared to watch his face but fearful looking away will make you look guilty— can you deny this? Laugh it off?— you hover somewhere between letting your racing thoughts overwhelm you and trying to breathe, dammit.

Slowly now, he pats his fingers to his outspread palm, before tapping his forehead.

‘Learn.’

He points to his moving hands

Learn… sign language….

Oh. Thank the lords.

She told him you learnt sign language for him.

Like that’s any less of a confession of love.

He’s still looking at you. Waiting for an explanation, maybe. God, you hate feeling like this— completely at his mercy.

“I. Ah.” Is it just you, or is he moving closer? It’s messing with your head, anyways, how close he suddenly feels to be. Your heart rattles around your ribcage. “I wanted to. For you.”

For you? You’re an idiot—

He kisses you.

You taste sweetness, sugary and blue on his lips. They’re softer than you thought they would be. He kisses as earnestly as expected, though. Just once, very chaste, pulling back to gingerly watch your expression.

That doesn’t last long before you go in for seconds. Or maybe he kisses you again. The details are lost in the hand you thread into his hair— his hair gel slick hair.

His hands blindly clutch for the curtains of the tent, yanking them shut with force. Your tail thumps so loudly against the ground you barely hear the little noises you make, barely feel his hands, steadying themselves on your sides. You kiss him again. And again. You gorge yourself on it— like the hungry wolf you are. He is so soft, and you are starving.

Piltover’s finest. Piltover’s finest. You’re Piltover’s finest. Handpicked, educated and dressed in taxpayer funded uniforms. You’re golden, machine-made butterflies, you’re store vendors, you can’t think, you’re ripe and plump for the picking, and you’re hating these stupid uniforms, these wretched uniforms, so tough to unbutton as they are.

It’s just when he threads his tongue over your pointed teeth, only when you move your fingers to his shoulders, and then down, when somebody staggers over drunkenly, throwing up loudly in a nearby bush.

With a sigh, he detaches (you do not miss the string of blue-stained saliva that connects you for a brief moment), rising to his feet and feeling for his helmet.

No rest for the wicked, you suppose.

He gives you a long look as he tugs the tent door open, tapping his finger against his palm and then twisting his hand down.

‘Later?’

Your tail thumps louder than you thought it could.

⊹ ˖ 𓃡⊹ ˖

Notes: Thank you to @spac3-shark for suggesting this sihiwnsowd. If i ever revisit this idea, I might try feline reader. Cat x fish? You get what I’m putting down? We’ve done yapping, silly reader, and stoic reader…. What next. If you have any ideas, please message me, drop an ask, anything!!! :)

As a side note, You curse the makers of the leather gloves that adorn his hands.

Great heavens. Where did that come from? Certainly not you.

Reader: he should take off his gloves…

Reader: WHO SAID THAT.

SIDE SIDE NOTE: I swear there will be more kissing and less yearning next time!! you have my word.

#steb arcane #arcane #arcane season 2 #steb #steb x reader #uhm #sorry if there's any grammatical issues!!!#gahhh it's always nerve racking posting these kind of things

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lucid-loves · 11 months ago

Note

simon slowly falling in love with reader after hating her for a long time⁉️

Sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy it! ❤

Nuclear Date Night

Pairing: Ghost x 141!reader (fem!reader, weaponsengineer!reader, codename: Byte)

Word Count: 12.8k, One-Shot

CW: strong language, mention of violence, hate to love relationship, rivals, competitive, competence, realized feelings, smut, body praise, deep kissing, licking, fingering, biting, p in v

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: Ghost hates your guts. Even since you joined the team as their new weapons engineer two years ago, he’s hated you with his whole chest. With your high and mighty attitude, bewildering intellect, and unwavering confidence, he can’t stand you. You hate him too with his unreadable face, demeaning protection, and lack of grace. When an undercover mission requires the two of you to get closer, though, the both of you realize your hate for one another has turned into something else entirely.

You ignored the icy cold glare the lieutenant kept on your figure as you explained how the new sniper-focus worked. Your comrades stared at your invention in wonderment, once again reminded just why you were part of the team. Thanks to your countless all-nighters and delicate hands, you managed to invent a focus that can attach to any sniper, calculate notches and wind speed, recommend the gun-adjust accordingly, and hit a target perfectly with over 98% accuracy. No matter the distance, no matter the weather, your focus powered with A.I. calculated assistance can kill any target.

Everyone was impressed. Save for Ghost.

“Aim at the target, give it a second to calculate, and then listen to the adjustment with the earpiece. After that, just adjust the aim and fire. Pretty simple stuff, really.” You demonstrated, large sniper in hand.

The wind blew through your hair, dust coating your strands like moth to a flame. From a distance, a whipping dust devil was forming across the golden sands of the desert. It was dry, it was hot, and it was windy as hell. It was the perfect place to demonstrate your brilliance.

When you joined the team two years ago, you knew that you had to put your heart and soul into this job in order to be taken seriously. You weren’t especially muscular or tall. As a soldier, you did train for instances of defense in case it was needed, but your true power relied on your smarts. A rather overlooked sign of an excellent soldier that often invited ridicule from the more traditional soldier.

That’s exactly what Ghost did when he first met you.

“You sure this shrimp can handle herself? Be one of us? She looks like she can barely lift a spoon without straining her wrist.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at the memory, muscles tensing as if you were in that moment once again. The memory of your response quickly took over.

“Are you sure this meat-head can handle my science? He looks like he can barely use a blender without getting confused by all the buttons.”

You both left a bitter taste in each other’s mouths that day. The taste has lingered ever since, tainting nearly every interaction you had. It was a wonder how you haven’t killed each other yet.

Setting up the sniper, you prepped for the real demonstration. While you did final adjustments to the focus, you called over your rival. “Ghost, test this for us.”

“Why do I have to be the guinea pig? I don’t need a fucking robot to focus my aim anyway.” He protested, every cold tone in his words deliberate.

The team shifted uncomfortably, even after all this time still not used to the spats the two of you got into. Attempts to resolve the bad blood have always failed. It was easier to just let the two of you spit your fire until you ran out of fuel.

“Alright then, tough guy, you can aim without it. Go ahead, hit the target.” You nonchalantly agreed, confident that things were going to go your way this round. Ghost noticed that easy acceptance you gave, his eyes narrowing at you as he tried to figure you out. What was your game this time?

Not one to back down, he approached the sniper and aimed it normally, your focus set to default. No robots, no artificial intelligence. Just plain-Jane markers for distance. Looking through the scope, Ghost looked for the little red flag that indicates the location of the fake target used for practice. After a while of looking at nothing but sand, he spotted the target just past the dust devil.

He would have to account for that. You planned for this. No wonder you insisted on dragging them all out to this dry wasteland. He clenched his teeth, blood simmering as you tried to make him look like a fool in front of his team. Backing away, though, would make him lose this game. Shooting and missing would also give you the victory point. Either way, both scenarios made him look incompetent.

God, he fucking hated you.

Suppressing a malicious smile, you antagonize him. The feeling of beating him made your heart race in excitement. “Any day now, Ghost.”

He hated the way you drew his name out like that. The way you so easily said it like it was nothing but air to you. Like bubblegum being blown and popped at your will. His name should’ve struck fear and intimidation. Instead, you chewed on it. Popped bubbles with it.

Aiming the scope, he lined up his shot, and fired. Watching the bullet carefully, he saw it shoot forth with speed right on the dead center of the target, whip back from the dust devil, and hit sand with an explosion of grain.

It took everything in him not to fucking leave right then and there.

“Good shot if you planned on missing. Now, use my focus.” You continued to tease, twisting the knife further into his already wounded pride. There was little snickering coming from his men, Gaz and Soap not being able to contain themselves. They would admit that sometimes your fights were funny. It was a way to cope with the discomfort it brought.

Silently, Ghost switched on your focus. Out of the side, a small earpiece ejected out. He took it and fitted it into his ear under the mask. Of course, you programmed the artificial instruction with your own voice. Serious, stoic, and purposeful. “Awaiting aim to calculate.”

He aimed once more at the metal target using the scope, the dust devil blowing the sand around violently to protect it at all costs. The scope projected its calculations as if he was staring at a screen. Within a few seconds, it completed its estimations. A green dot appeared way over to the left and bottom of the notches, marking the shooting point. Your voice rang in his ears. “Target confirmed. Aim and fire.”

This seemed way off. There was no way this could be right. Was he really meant to aim so far off? The green dot stayed perfectly in place as he adjusted the aim, his center notch in line with your tech’s mark. He hoped that it would miss.

He fired and watched the bullet sail through the air, ride with the dust devil like a wave, and hit the target with perfection. He became slack-jawed bewildered at the precision. The fact that it could calculate aim with even an extreme factor such as swirling winds was undoubtedly impressive.

This was your clear victory. And he hated it.

You relished in his fiery disdain of your genius. A small smirk played at your lips as you saw just how the rage froze his muscles. He looked like he wanted to punch something.

“God damn, Byte! That was phenomenal!” Soap loudly praised, his eyes wide in true marvel. The others agreed, all wanted a turn to use that focus of yours like it was a new toy. Every invention that you gave them has felt like a new toy. It made those days feel like Christmas morning. You were great at your job and they couldn’t be happier to have you on the team.

Of course, except for Ghost. Even if your engineering prowess was the best in the world.

“Really great work, Byte! Are the blueprints all ready to copy?” Kate smiled appreciatively while tapping on her smartpad.

“All ready for production.” You simply answered, proud of the work that you had accomplished. Another one for the books.

While the boys played with their new toy, Ghost stepped back and crossed his arms angrily.

He hated everything about you. Your unmatched intellect, your confident plays, your arrogant personality. He hated that his team was wasting money on technology for weapons when a true soldier shouldn’t need the handicap. Real skill was earned by yourself. Not with the assistance of technology. It should be a tool, not a crutch.

Ghost believed that people who couldn’t aim a sniper on their own and hit a target didn’t deserve to be snipers. And you just made him unworthy of being a sniper when against your tech.

You looked up at him, taking note of how hard he threw daggers at you. You made him look stupid, and that was your goal. It felt like you had the world in your palm when you did. Someone as respectable as Ghost being bested by a brainiac was always the best. You proved that you didn’t need muscles or height or even intimidation to be better. You just needed your smarts.

A huff of a laugh escaped you as you turned away from him, knowing that that would just make him even more angry at you. Good.

You hated everything about him too.

“What you do really is modern magic. Seriously, Byte, how does your brain come up with such things?” Gaz inquired, raising a bottle of beer to his lips. The team decided to celebrate your new invention at the usual bar. Of course, your drinks were on them as a reward. They knew that you put a lot of work into what you did. The least they could do was pay for your rum and cokes.

You raised the cold glass to your lips, the sweet and spicy cocktail hitting your tastebuds. “The pros of being a genius. Thank you for the praise. It feels nice to be appreciated for my work around here.”

That last past was said a little louder, loud enough to make sure that Ghost could hear it on the other side of the bar. He bit his tongue and rolled his eyes at you, not willing to open himself to any more of your antagonizing today.

The victory was as sweet as the drink you were nursing. Addictive too. You couldn’t get enough of the feeling of success. When you finished an invention, when you helped your team complete a mission, or when you bested Ghost, they all gave you that sweet sense of accomplishment.

Soap slung his arm around your shoulder, nearly causing you to spill. He was already a couple drinks in. “Yeah yeah yeah, good work! But all we ever talk about is work. Been two years, Byte. Tell us what that genius does outside of work, huh?”

You shifted in your seat, becoming a little uncomfortable with the sudden questions about your personal life. They knew tidbits here and there about you. Some failed relationships, favorite songs, distaste for certain foods. But your answer to all of that was usually straight-forward. “We broke up.” “I like this song.” “I’m not going to eat that.”

Something that the team noticed early on was that you were a workaholic. You hung out with them on rare occasions, you were usually confined working in your lab while they had offices, and you usually departed events early to be in said lab. Besides minor details, they really didn’t know much about you outside of your work personality. They have been trying to pull you more out of your shell over time, but it was a slow process.

Gaz frowned at Soap’s bluntness. “Come on, Johnny, leave her alone tonight.”

“It’s fine, Gaz.” You put your glass down roughly, the clink of the glass on polished wood sobering Soap up pretty quick. It made Gaz look away in shame. That was at least one thing they knew about you most intimately. You hated being treated like you can’t take care of yourself. When they stepped in on your behalf, answering a question that was meant for you, it made you want to hit them. You knew they only did it to protect you. That you were one of them and this is how they treated one of them, but you could never let it be.

You didn’t need anybody to stand up for you. You will make that a point for forever if you had to.

The air grew thick with tension as you silently scolded them for hitting one of your pet peeves. With a sigh, you caved in, wanting to restore some of that fun from before. “What do you wanna know? Anything is on the table.”

Soap’s face lit up like a match to a gas station. “Seriously?! Anything?”

You gave a little nod and braced yourself for the worse. Soap’s lack of personal boundaries was quite well known. It was coming from a place of genuine curiosity and ease, never ill-intent. It was just one of the quirks of Soap that you were still coming to terms with even after all this time.

“Well. . . what’s your sex life like?”

Gaz began to choke, coughing on beer stuck in his throat. Price tapped his back to help him out, his sharp gaze falling on Soap for such a personal question. Yet, he didn’t say anything. He knew that if he did, you would get angry at him. He has been pretty good about avoiding your pet peeve and he didn’t want to break his streak.

Clearing your throat, you composed yourself. You weren’t expecting such a blatant question either, despite inviting this kind of open question. It didn’t mean that you weren’t going to be honest, though. That just wasn’t the kind of person you were. You never stepped away from a challenge. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Soap grinned widely, happy to talk with you finally like you were just like one of the guys. “Body count? Preferences? All of it. I wanna know what a genius views sex as.”

Slowly, you drank the rest of your rum and coke before signaling for another one. While you hailed the bartender, you noticed that Ghost was staring intensely at you. He hated you, but even he was curious on how anyone could tolerate you enough to sleep with you.

Once you were halfway through your second drink for some liquid courage, you began to talk about one of the most personal details of your life. “Body count of five. All men. Most were one-night stands or sex-friends.”

You liked sex. There was no question about it. At least, you were interested in it. Despite the amount of people you’ve been with, they always left you wanting more. It was always a little unsatisfying when they were finished. It always felt like there was a black hole inside of you that needed the right meal to be satisfied.

The exact reason why was no mystery either. Unless you were masturbating alone, you never came. No matter how much time and effort went into foreplay, none of your partners have ever made you orgasm.

Just because your sex life was active didn’t mean it was great.

“Wow, that’s a little surprising.” Gaz admitted, finally over his coughing fit. Price shook his head, a little embarrassed to hear about his men talking about sex so freely with you. As a captain to a group of mostly boys, he has shared details with them to bring the group together. It felt a little strange to have you participate in this. Even Kate wasn’t pressured into sharing such details.

“Our little genius gets some then! How is it? Any experience noteworthy?” Soap persisted as he ordered another round.

“Not especially? Average, I suppose.” You shrugged, answering the questions becoming much easier the more you poured rum and coke into your system. Warmth crept along your cheeks, blossomed in your ribs. You felt yourself opening up like a dormant flower.

You ordered another drink. Soap continued to pry. “Average? What does that even mean?”

“I never came before.” You suddenly blurted out, the blending of your naturally blunt personality and alcohol turning into a pretty dangerous combination. It seemed like the rum in you was getting to your brain faster than you thought.

This time, it was Soap’s turn to choke. Gaz was torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to comfort your plight. Ghost just stared as if he was watching the news. However, his mind was thinking all sorts of things. He wanted to mock you. Say that that was what you deserved for being so arrogant about your intelligence. He felt the instinct to trash talk you to recover some of the pride he lost today.

Yet, he couldn’t. In fact, he began to feel a foreign pity for you. If you knew that he was pitying you over something like this, you would absolutely rip him a new one. That didn’t stop his eyes from softening for just a moment, though. A moment that you noticed with those sharp eyes of yours.

Finishing your drink, you slammed the glass on the counter, nearly shattering it. How dare Ghost look at you like some tragic whore! So what you never orgasmed from sex! You were doing just fine when it came to solo-sex escapades. You didn’t need anyone to satisfy you. You only needed yourself. “I do perfectly fine when I masturbate. Don’t get it twisted. Other people just don’t satisfy me. It’s whatever.”

In a simmering fire, you got up from your chair and left the bar for the night, leaving your teammates wondering what the hell got you so worked up all of a sudden.

Only Ghost knew the answer to that.

Arriving back on base on your motorcycle, you headed straight to your lab. It was quiet. The dead of night. Everyone else was either back home, sleeping in the barracks, or partying it up downtown. You had an apartment to go back to, but you always found yourself coming here instead.

Settling your helmet and jacket on the coat-rack, you made yourself at home. Dim-emergency lights softly illuminated unfinished projects on tables. Pieces of wires, circuits, and bolts littered every corner of the room. The place looked small and cramped during the day, scientists and engineers squished together in a lab that was second priority compared to the more athletic-based facilities. In the night when no one was here, the place looked like a tech graveyard. Vast, dark, and cold.

You headed towards your usual workstation, a large workshop desk that was overflowing with unfinished blueprints of inventions that haven’t panned out just yet. A lot of the struggle came from lack of funding. Some of it came from unrealistic expectations. Science was an investment, something that most military dogs failed to realize. It’s why you always pushed yourself to work constantly and prove what the proper time and resources could bring.

You were essentially killing yourself in order to make them see the worth of your department.

Looking through the blueprints, you settled on one that was worth revisiting. A Russian Doll bullet that would save ammunition and materials to build said ammunition. The idea was to invent a bullet that would be compatible with most firearms, shoot an outer layer of bullet without shooting out the inner layer, and repeat until the last of the bullet is gone only to be replaced by another Russian Doll bullet.

It would effectively turn a six-shooter into a twenty-four. It would save so much ammo and save many soldiers the reload time.

The only problem you haven’t solved yet was the instability of gunpowder.

That’s what you decided to work on tonight. Taking a seat in your worn out swivel chair, you opened your drawers and pulled out your materials. Bringing a magnifying glass close to you, you began to disassemble a few bullets. It was always a good idea to build things by first taking things apart.

As you worked, you heard the sound of the lab door open. It was still much too early for the morning crew to come in, so you wondered who it could’ve been. Maybe Price had come to lecture you about how you left things at the bar. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to talk to you about your temper.

Turning around, you were surprised to meet your rival, peering over all of the electronic corpses on the tables. He didn’t come here very often. You were always here after all. He knew you were always here. He shivered, noticing just how chilly it was inside the lab. The air conditioning was running on full blast. “Feels like a meat-locker in here. How can you work like this?”

“What do you want?” You sharply retorted, nerves already on edge at his presence. The lab was supposed to be your refuge. Your paradise. And here came the snake.

“Relax. I’m not here to fight. I just wanted to talk to you about the focus.” He treaded carefully, his own instincts waiting to fire off like they were used to when he was with you. A lightbulb in his head just went off just then. He realized just how bad the relationship between the two of you was since his first real instinct was to yell at you. Ghost knew you felt it too.

He was supposed to be the 141’s Lieutenant. He was supposed to bring the team together for his captain. And here he has been for two years, trying to push you out.

Ghost has never even approached you without the intention to fight or yell or demand since the first day he met you.

Christ, was there any recovery from this? Ghost took a deep breath, trying to choose his words carefully for once. “The focus is great. You did a good job.”

“Don’t fucking pity me.” You snapped, turning back to your desk and igniting sparks as you bonded metal with heat. A hurricane brewed in your chest. Did he seriously come all this way to pity you? The gaze in his eyes should have been enough. It made you leave the bar!

Ghost felt that fire rising in his throat, wanting to say something back that would hurt you. Old habits die hard. It was a tough pill to swallow. “I’m not trying to pity you. The focus is going to help a lot of soldiers. It’s going to save a lot of people.”

You paused, unsure if his words were genuine or misleading. You’ve fallen into that trap before, hearing what seemed like a compliment only for it to be backhanded. It was unfortunate that you didn’t trust a word that came out of his mouth. “Why did you look at me like that at the bar?”

He knew exactly what you were talking about, but he wished he didn’t. He didn’t really want to talk about your sex life when it was just the two of you. Especially not when the two of you haven’t even had one decent interaction with each other. Goosebumps prickled all of his skin, his teeth nearly chattering. How could you keep it so fucking cold in here?

“I felt sorry for you.” He admitted, finding himself unable to lie to you or change topics. At least from the beginning, he has always been honest with you.

As you heard the words you loathed to hear, you put down your tools, hands becoming too shaky to handle them with all the rage storming inside you. “I-”

“I felt sorry that no one has liked you enough to satisfy you.”

Well, that didn’t exactly sound right.

Your mouth opened in shock at his dig. His eyes widened as he heard the words coming out of his mouth, realizing that it sounded completely fucking wrong. He held his hands up in defense, scrambling to explain himself before it was too late.

The hurricane was in full swing, though. But instead of bringing thunder, it only brought rain. The corners of your eyes prickled with tears before streaming down your flushed cheeks. A lump choked in your throat choked the air out of you. You thought you could say something hurtful back. You always did before. But this time, his words cut a little too deep.

None of your relationships have lasted long. Not even with people you agreed to just be sex-friends with. They always ended up leaving. Whenever you asked what went wrong, they always blamed it on your demeanor. Your personality was too particular. Your interests were too complex. Your high expectations were too much.

It was one of the reasons you kept a distance from the 141. They loved your company as far as you knew. But only in small doses. Who knew what would happen if they really spent time with you? They would probably get sick of you over time too. Ghost hated you since day one after all.

No one liked you. You thought that you were fine with that at this point, but clearly you weren’t.

Ghost stood frozen in time, completely taken aback by your sudden tears. He expected screaming. He expected hitting. He expected icy retorts. That’s all he has ever known you as. He never in a million years expected tears.

It made him feel like he was the biggest piece of shit on the planet. And the worst part was that he didn’t even know what to do about it.

All of his years of hatred for you melted away as he watched you crumble, your distrust for him putting up more walls between the two of you. Jesus, how does he fix this now?!

“Byte, I-”

“Don’t you think I already know that no one likes me? You think you’re the first person to hate my guts?!” You spat, some of the lightning finally coming out. The tears kept coming, but it was somehow better for Ghost. He felt more used to that dangerous spark you had. It made you easier to approach now.

“I didn’t mean it like that. Poor choice of words. Honest. I just meant that. . . I . . . Everyone deserves to be loved enough to the point of satisfaction. You work hard and give us countless advancements to use. You deserved to be satisfied. You deserve to have someone that will put the work into you too.” He finally managed to find the right words, nearly running out of breath with all the effort he had to find them. He was never really good at heart-to-hearts.

You looked at him in shock once more as he attempted to salvage the hurt he caused you. This was beyond confusing for you. Your brain that worked so hard everyday, that could think up a million things at any given time, was at a loss for words.

In your uncertainty, you followed your instincts. And that was to turn back around to your desk, wipe your eyes, and get back to work. It was the only constant in your life that you could rely on. The best way to think.

Ghost didn’t blame you for returning to work. He probably wouldn’t know what to say either if it was him. Instead of pushing it any further, he decided that it was probably best to leave. Before he headed out of the lab, he turned back and looked at you.

You did the same, the moment of work gracing your senses. In the end, he did try to pay you a genuine compliment. You were always the type to reciprocate fairly. “Thanks, Ghost.”

There was a certain way you said your thanks that made Ghost’s heart skip a beat. A sense of gentleness that he’s never heard from you before. The way your eyes shone bright from leftover tears had him stunned. Were your eyes always that pretty?

He turned quickly and left, the back of his neck heating from the intrusive thought he just had. As he walked back to the barracks, he sighed. The air outside was much warmer than the environment of your lab. So much easier to breathe. It felt suffocating being in there. Out here, he could let his mind relax.

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking of you.

The two of you didn’t fight as much anymore. Sharp words slipped out every now and then, but neither of you kept feeding the fire once they were said. Most of the time, you two were just back to avoiding each other. Though, the both of you had your own reasons.

You found yourself just at a loss of words when he was civil. It was that distrust that still lingered that made it hard for you to interact with him. It was especially difficult to be around him when he was actively being polite. Praises for your work, helping you carry heavy boxes across base, or prioritizing processing your submitted paperwork was always done either curtly or in silence. It was foreign to you.

And the energy you saved now that it wasn’t spent on fighting was now put to use by noticing him a little more. You always couldn’t help but stop and stare as he helped carry equipment with you from the lab to the armory. The way his biceps flexed with ease at the heavier load. The way his eyes remained stoic even as he embraced your inventions. Ghost was now more on your mind than ever, and you didn’t know how to feel about it.

Ghost, on the other hand, was now always thinking about you. He felt the urge to get closer to you. To get to know you better. To help you out in a way that didn’t look down on you like he’s always done. He couldn’t stop thinking about your eyes too. How bright they were under the sun or moon. How they watched him under such careful supervision, trying to decipher if his good will was real or not.

Even in moments where he didn’t want to think about you, he found his mind wandering anyway. Ever since that night in the lab, he felt his feelings change. Two years of anger and resentment for you have nearly melted all away only to be replaced by something else. And he didn’t know how to explain it.

All he could do was try to keep cool. Remain civil. Avoid too close of interactions with you.

It was working for the both of you for months until you were assigned to a mission together.

The team had noticed that the both of you were getting along in the loosest sense of the term. They wondered what caused such a shift, but they never asked out of fear of resetting the apparent progress. Instead, Price tried to push more progress by assigning the both of you to work an undercover mission.

A wealthy investor of nuclear weaponry was suddenly pouring a lot more money than usual into a country with a rising dictator. The investments coincided with less threatening ideas such as climate change prevention and DNA study in order to balance out interest. The goal was to detain this investor, question him about his relationship with this dictator, and then hopefully stop a dangerous man from getting his hands on advanced nuclear power.

The way in was at a formal event promoted by the science community. Conservationists, biologists, engineers, and more were going to be present to try to win over some other wealthy investors that would be there including celebrities, CEOs, and politicians. It was a high brow event which made the need for scientific knowledge apparent.

And who knew more about such science than you?

Intimidation invitations in hand, Ghost waited in a hotel lobby, a crisp, black tuxedo hugging his form as if tailored to him. The skull balaclava was swapped with a simple black face mask, covering enough of his identity which made him feel better about all of this. Looking at a nearby mirror, he checked his blonde hair. He’s never dressed so formally in his life.

He suddenly wondered if you would like it.

You still need a moment to get ready, always one to check twice to make sure you had everything you need. Your heart raced in your chest, your nerves tingling with adrenaline as you prepared to see this mission through. You’ve been on the field a couple of times. Never under-cover. The fact that you would probably have to do most of the talking made you nervous.

People didn’t like you. That weakness of yours was clouding your confidence. Being a woman in science was already a tough world. Would you be able to keep your personality in check if you faced such a conflict?

Nervously, you headed down to the lobby, adjusting every dress each step of the way down. When you spotted Ghost from a distance, you froze. You have never seen him so cleaned up before. When you were coming down, you half expected him to appear like he always has. Military uniform, skull mask, strapped with obvious weapons.

You didn’t know that his hair was so. . .

Finding yourself at a loss for words again, you steeled yourself. As you got closer, you realized that your heart was racing for an entirely new reason. Your lieutenant was much more attractive than you thought.

And he was technically your date for tonight.

Ghost caught your figuring in the corner of the mirror, making him turn around. Time stood still for you once again as you appeared before him looking like someone straight out of a romance movie. Your dress hugged your curves in all the right places, every strand of hair was styled beautifully to frame your face, makeup only highlighted just how beautiful you naturally were.

How could he never see just how beautiful you were before?

You walked closer and cleared your throat, that voice he thought was so annoying before now sounding like the sweetest violin. “Lieutenant, you look good this evening.”

This was the first compliment he’s ever received from you. It made his stomach do flips. What was happening to him? Pull it together!

“Thanks. You look great tonight. Ready?” He offered his arm, waiting for you to take it.

Your heart could barely take it as you looped your arm around his, touching him so intimately for the first time. Heat radiated from his body. The biceps you found yourself staring at before felt solid under your touch. You looked up into his eyes, the glacier blues melting into a deep ocean. Looking away suddenly, you attempted to hide your blush. He was looking at you so intensely that it startled you.

“Do you have to stare?” You questioned a little too sharply than you intended. You braced yourself for him to say something equally sharp, something Ghost felt in your arm that was hooked around his.

He averted his gaze, now conscious of the way his eyes naturally followed you. His mind searched for an explanation for his lack of discretion. The unexplainable pull that you had on him. Jesus, it was like he was. . .

Oh. Oh no.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, trying to keep his feelings in check. How could he spend two years praying for your downfall to all of a sudden being-

He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t even want to entertain the likely possibility. Even if he wanted to act on his feelings, did he really deserve to after all the fighting for two years? You would probably never truly accept him after all the things he’s said and done. You weren’t completely innocent either, but Ghost had to face the fact that he was the one that started it all. Before even knowing your name, he insulted you, unable to keep his opinion on tech in weapons in check. A matter that wasn’t even your fault to begin with.

What the hell was wrong with him back then? What the hell is even wrong with him now?

“Hey, Earth to Ghost. You okay?” You asked, noticing how he seemed to be just staring into space as they waited for the car to pick them up. There was a brightness in the night, a rain having just finished its pour. Puddles on the ground reflected the city’s lampposts, cars flashed their lights, and much to Ghost’s dismay and pleasure, your eyes shined replaced the stars.

His voice was deep and agitated, more so upset with himself than with you. “I’m fine. Just nerves.”

At that you smirked that devilish smile that he hasn’t seen in a while. It pissed him off to no end before, but now it made his heart flutter. “Wow. The great Lieutenant Ghost has nerves. Never thought I’d hear that. Makes me feel a lot better, though.”

“And why is that?” He inquired carefully, almost afraid to hear the answer.

You shrugged, actually starting to feel at ease for the first time in his presence. The butterflies were still there. They were just much more manageable now. “I am nervous as well.”

Before he could question you further, the designated car pulled up in front of the hotel. Gaz, parading as the chauffeur for tonight, got out of the car and held open the passenger door for the both of you to get in. Soap wanted to do this job, but Price refused. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to shut his mouth if he saw the two of you together like this. Gaz at least had a filter.

He played the role to a tee, onlookers staring as he took off his hat and bowed. “Good evening. You both look dashing tonight. Especially our lady.”

The cover was working smoothly. Together, they really looked like A-list people. The civilians would have never guessed that they were all just soldiers. Drinking in their looks, you let it replenish your confidence. You got into the car followed by Ghost, Gaz shutting the door once everyone was settled. As he drove to the venue, he went over the mission details.

“We’ll be keeping an eye on you the entire time. We have access to all the venue’s cameras and we have mics hidden throughout the building. Some security is our own too to keep an eye on things. This place will be packed full of civilians, so violence must be kept to a minimum. Non-existent preferably. If anything does go wrong that we don’t notice, use the codeword.”

You nodded at all of the information that will keep you safe, reading the mission file to brush up on before the big show started. Ghost looked over your shoulder, also reading the file once again. Mostly though, he noticed how intensely you studied. You didn’t want to be the reason why this mission failed. You couldn’t afford that.

When the car slowed in front of the venue, you looked out. At least a hundred people were outside, dressed to the nines, ready to spend their money or ask for money. Your blood suddenly became cold as you looked at all the people. There must have been hundreds more inside.

Gaz parked the car and stepped out, getting ready to open the door for you. However, you were a statue. Unmoving. There was panic in your eyes. You looked the part for this. Could you talk the part too?

A warm, large hand landed on your shoulder, gaining your attention. Ghost looked at you with steady eyes, his tone slow and soft as honey. “You got this, Byte. You’re probably smarter than everyone here. I’m right by your side too.”

It was relieving hearing those words come from him. He was encouraging you like he was your lieutenant. Like you were part of his team. Your heart swelled as you looked into the eyes you’ve been trying to avoid. It looked like he was finally seeing you after all this time.

With a deep breath and a new steely expression, you nodded to Gaz through the window. He opened the door and Ghost stepped out first. You took the hand he offered you and came out, the buzz of intellectual conversation in the air.

Gaz drove off, leaving the mission to the two of you. Ghost led the way up, your arm in his like it was always meant to be there. Miraculously, the two of you looked like the ideal date. It made getting into the venue easy as Ghost handed over the invitations to the guard at the entrance. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Riley. Have a fun night!”

The both of you couldn’t help but blush at the shared name. To be referred to as Mrs. Riley gave you ideas that you never thought you would think about. It strangely had a nice ring to it that made your senses prick up.

Ghost thought the same thing as he guided you in. Tonight, you were Mrs. Riley, his beautiful and intelligent wife.

The two years of hating each other seemed to feel farther away as the night stretched on.

The marble floors were packed with esteemed guests. Large, crystal chandeliers reflected off gold jewelry and champagne glasses. A live orchestra played with precise rhythm. Everyone mingled, trying to see where the best place to put their money was. Likewise, scientists tried to advocate for their foundations. All of the talk made Ghost’s head swirl. He was used to undercover missions, however, this was truly out of his realm.

You were better at picking up the jargon. They spoke a language you understood. The language that only the people in the lab on base understood. It was like hearing your native tongue after years of speaking foreignly. Military culture and science culture was so different, that you often missed this.

A couple approached the two of you, led by a middle-aged woman with a large, diamond necklace and fake lilies in her hair. “Aren’t you two the most adorable couple! I must compliment you on your gown too!”

This was it. This was their test to look like a real couple out as each other’s dates. You put on a fake smile and held out your hand. “Thank you for the compliment. I’m Mrs. (Y/n) Riley. This is my husband.”

The name slid easily off your tongue, yet it sent electricity through you. There was no way you were going to get used to that name tonight. It made you feel lightheaded when you said it. How could you get so embarrassed by a fake name?

Ghost was having trouble getting used to it too, a part of him wishing that the name was real against his will. Clenching his jaw, he looked out at the crowd, trying to spot the target. His large height helped, but there were too many people around. They all crowded around each other. Talking, laughing, flaunting. A slight tug on his arm brought his attention back to you. You were just sending the lady on her way after a simple, pleasant conversation. Through that, you were able to figure out if the target has shown up yet.

“Let’s go to the main ballroom. According to the recent intel, our target would be there if he’s shown up. Something about him not being able to resist a shrimp cocktail.” You directed, your confidence becoming stronger as you weaved through the crowd. Ghost couldn’t help but take in your courage, finding it hard to believe that you were once nervous. Then again, this was your crowd.

The ballroom floor was also filled with people, but also now with clear advertisements from scientists. Small signs indicated programs with their representatives, helping investors find the right place to put their money in. You read the signs carefully, recognizing a few of them along with who was supposed to be running it. At some of the names, you grimaced.

“You alright?” Ghost asked, trying to keep his own expression solid as if he was playing poker. He found himself worrying about you now that you looked so pained.

You shook your head, trying to clear unpleasant memories as best as you can. “I’m fine. I just. . . I hope I don’t run into any ex-colleagues.”

As if the devil was listening himself, you heard your name being called from afar, a surprised tone countering the determined piano filling the room. “Y/n? Is that really you?!”

Putting on your game face, you smiled and turned towards your former colleague and, unfortunately, ex-lover. Of course, this was going to happen. Almost always one thing goes wrong during a mission. A part of you wished you didn’t accept this mission now that you were face-to-face with someone you tried to leave in the past.

“Dr. Emmanuel. It has been a long time.” You greeted politely, taking extra time to keep your tone in check. The last time you spoke to him was during the breakup. He dumped you after a quarrel about a missing blueprint. You were working on a project together when you were both interns at a scientific space-engineering facility. The blueprint was supposed to help the both of you land permanent positions, but it was made clear that there was only room for one.

When you heard the news, you both agreed that neither of you would take credit until you talked to the head of the facility. That was, until the blueprint went missing. From there, you fought and accused him of taking the blueprint for himself to get the job. Your hunch was right when you saw the new employee ID card he hid in his wallet.

You called him a traitor. He called you deplorable. You claimed that most of the blueprint was your design. He reasoned that if you had the job, you would neglect him anyways with your workaholic nature. He then dropped the bomb that he hated working with you, that you made him feel insecure in bed with your inability to orgasm with him, and that you were just becoming into someone he loathed with your particular personality. He accused you of not loving him enough.

So he took the credit and ran, leaving you to figure out what the hell you were going to do about a job. That’s when you decided to join the military as a weapons engineer. Some time after, you joined the 141.

“It has been some time, hasn’t it? I’m surprised to see you here? Are you here as a scientist or an investor?” Your ex inquired, sizing you up as someone to take advantage of or as competition for investors. You knew his game and you knew it well. You only had to learn the hard way once before you learned your lesson. You never made the same mistake twice.

Ghost noticed how your expression hardened, yet you maintained that fake, pearly smile. What was this man to you? How did you know each other?

Why did he care so much?

“He is the investor and I am the scientist. This is my husband, Mr. Riley.” You announced, now saying the word “husband” with your full chest. Your ex’s eyes widened briefly before twisting into a smile that showed hints of disgust.

Nonetheless, he held out his hand for a handshake. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Riley. It is an honor meeting a man that could tame such a work-driven woman.”

Before you could shoot back some venomous words that were bubbling up on your tongue, Ghost took his hand and gripped it tight with that soldier strength of his. Your ex seemed distraught as pain shot through his hand that was being crushed. Ghost didn’t let up. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t look down at my wife, doctor. I love her just the way she is. I’m sure she has accomplished much more than you as well.”

“Now, if you will excuse us, we have better things to talk about with other people.” Ghost finally let go, bruises already starting to form on the crushed hand of your ex. While you normally would pop off at him for standing up for you when you could’ve done so yourself, you were too busy thinking about his words. The L-bomb he dropped seemed to flow so naturally from him. It made you feel flustered.

As Ghost led you away, he leaned down to whisper in your ear. He took your flustered expression as you being upset. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were upset with him or your ex-colleague. He knew he triggered your pet-peeve and he wanted to apologize. For now, though, he had to settle with a raincheck. “We’ll talk about that later. Do you see our target yet?”

You snapped back into action, being reminded that you have a mission to accomplish above all else. Looking around, you tried to spot the target. As predicted, there he was, gorging himself on shrimp and champagne. “10 o’clock.”

He looked over and confirmed. “Target spotted. Good eye. Ready?”

Taking a few deep breaths to reset your brain, you nodded. Swiftly, the both of you approach the target just as he was taking another flute from a silver tray. You changed your serious demeanor into a more graceful one. Someone worth giving money to. Someone that the target will like. “Mr. Marston. I was hoping to finally meet you tonight. I am Y/n Riley. This is my husband. You are such an inspiration to both scientists and investors.”

“Ha! A couple of fans with good taste! A pleasure to meet such a handsome couple! I’ve been in the business for a long time though, so I know you must want something. Can’t pull the wool over these eyes, even if they are old.” He laughed cheerfully as he raised more alcohol to his lips.

It seemed that this would be easier than you thought. People like Mr. Marston made you sick. People with way too much time and money on their hands to shape the world as they saw fit, regardless of the good of the people. Nuclear war would be a disaster. And yet, this man treated it as lightly as the glass in his hand. Careless. Spilling over with each movement. Such a fragile thing away from one wrong move before shattering into a hundred pieces.

“With age comes experience and wisdom. I am a scientist looking for an investor. Though my studies tend to be a little. . . unconventional.” You buttered him up before casting your line. All he had to do was take the bait.

And that he did. His eyebrows rose with interest at your choice of words. He felt his wallet burning a hole in his pocket. “Unconventional, you say? Well, I am all for out-of-the-box solutions to our world’s problems. Care to elaborate on your odd studies?”

You looked up at Ghost, awaiting some sort of signal that you may proceed with luring the target to where you needed him to be. He gave a single nod, disguising it as full support for his lovely wife. You were handling this much better than he expected. Or perhaps, this is how you always were under pressure. His judgment was always just too clouded with contempt to see it.

“We would love to talk about our project, but such a thing is rather sensitive in nature. I would hate to upset some over-hearers. Perhaps we shall meet later once the formal is over?” You played cautiously, not yet reeling in such a loose bite.

“Oh my, now you really have my interest! There are a few study spaces at this venue reserved for investors and scientist contract negotiations. I haven’t committed to any facility yet, so why don’t I start with reviewing you? What do you say?”

Hook, line, and sinker. “That would be most ideal, Mr. Marston. Just lead the way.”

Grabbing a few shrimps to go, the target led the way to a more private area of the venue. Everything was smooth, all according to plan. The crowd parted away for the richest investor here, making the exit quite swift. Once the three of you separated from the main event down to a much quieter room, Ghost detained him with cuffs. A button on his watch was pressed, signaling to the team that the target was in custody.

“Wh-What?! What is all this now?!” Mr. Marston protested, hoping that someone would come to his rescue.

“Lieutenant Ghost and Sargent Byte. You are being taken into military custody for involvement with nuclear investments. We just need to ask you some questions.” You explained carefully, trying to keep the target calm so you didn’t attract unwanted attention. Cool, calm, and collected. Ghost thought it was a good look on you. You weren’t normally involved like this, so he couldn’t help but think so.

He had it worse than he thought. Seriously, what was with him?

While Ghost took his hands off the target for a moment to reach for his phone, feeling an incoming message, the target swirled around and tried to bolt. Not in the direction of an exit, though. Instead, he was running straight to you, binded fists raised to strike you. Thanks to your self-defense classes through the military, you acted on pure instinct. You dodged his fists and struck his jugular with a sharp strike of the side of your hand. He gasped for air and collapsed, tears streaming down his face as if he would die from the loss of oxygen.

Ghost’s attraction to you increased tenfold as you nonchalantly fixed your dress like a meager wind just caused only slight agitation. He forgot just how capable you could be physically, not just intellectually.

Right on time, Price waltzed in wearing his common military uniform. He didn’t even bat an eye at the struggling target. “Transportation is outside. Well done, you two! It was about time you worked together on something. I hope to see more of this in the future!”

You made some distance between you and Ghost, not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea. For some reason, it pained Ghost to see you put up that wall again so soon after the mission. Was this the first and last time you would get along so well with him?

No, he decided. He told you that he would speak to you later about the interaction with Emmanuel. Then, he would knock your walls down. Finally get to know the real you.

From there, we can really determine if his feelings were just a fluke or not.

You were back at the hotel, wiping your makeup off and stripping yourself out of the formal dress. Your muscles ache at the new freedom, having been fed up with such a fitted dress and heels. After showering and putting on some pajamas, you got into bed and began to read. You were rewarded for your work with a one-night’s stay at the luxury hotel, and you were taking full advantage of it.

After reading, you were going to order hotel service and then go to bed. The life of luxury that was more than enough for you. As you began reading the next chapter of your book, you heard a knock at the door. Sighing, you bookmarked your page, and answered it. You were surprised to see Ghost standing there, smelling like fresh maplewood and citrus soap. A plain shirt clung to his torso and pajama pants made him look like a new man altogether. He had his black facemask on still, but once he let himself in, he took it off.

This was the first time you have ever seen his full face uncovered. You noticed the small scar on his upper lip that matched the one on his right brow. His jaw was strong as if chiseled from marble. You couldn’t deny it. Ghost was a very attractive man.

“Sorry to barge in like this. I said we were going to talk, so here I am.” He explained, taking a seat on the edge of your king bed. He was drinking you in too. The pajama shorts that showed off your thighs, the cami that exposed your delicate shoulders. Your hair was still damp and scented with lavender and vanilla. His heart picked up speed as he felt a pull of attraction to you.

How could he have ever hated a beautiful thing like you?

You found it a little rude that he just barged in, but you let it slide for once. From his tone, he didn’t seem like he wanted to fight. Besides, those deep blues were starting to melt your icy heart little by little. Just for tonight.

You took a seat on the bed next to him and looked up. “What is there to talk about? He’s just a man from my past.”

At that, he felt his muscles tense. He knew that there was more to the story. Ghost detected your evasion of the subject as clear as day. It was something he experienced nearly every day before this. He knew your tell. “I know it wasn’t just that. What he said, how you looked. What happened?”

Out of all people, you least expected Ghost to hound you about this. He has never been interested in your personal life before. Then again, your relationship has changed dramatically since the night in the lab. Before you knew it, you started to feel yourself open up to him a little.

You stared down into your lap. “He’s an ex. We were interns together, he took all the credit for a project we did, he got a job, and I didn’t. He insulted me, dumped me, and then left. I left to work in the military. That’s really all there is to it.”

While your tone tried to keep it casual, Ghost knew it was really a tragedy. No wonder you didn’t trust easily. Now he wished he broke that guy’s hand when he had the chance.

Did he really have room to talk though? He made you distrust people even more easily when he first met you. It was about time he apologized for it all. “Listen, Y/n. I’m sorry. About everything. For the two years of fighting. All the insults, all the exclusion. Everything. I should have been a better teammate, lieutenant, and even friend to you. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know what to say, a new trick of his that seemed to have worked time and time again. The tick of a classic clock filled the silence as you thought about his apology. The sound of him using your real name echoed in your ears. You blamed him for everything that transpired. And now he was sorry about it. Yet, the way he looked at you didn’t indicate the need for forgiveness. He wasn’t entitled to it, and he knew that. Instead, his gaze was filled with certainty. The certainty to do much better by you from now on.

Two years to lead up to this moment. You never thought you would live to see the day. Just like him, you slowly found your rage for him melt down to almost nothing, instead to be replaced by something soft, warm, and electric.

You gave an awkward laugh. “I’m sorry too. I know I can be pretty unlikable.”

“You’re not unlikable.” He reassured, his hand naturally taking your cheek like he’s been doing it all his life. Ghost didn’t even realize that he did it at first. And before he knew it, he was going in for a kiss, unable to resist those pretty lips of yours for a moment longer.

Your cheeks began to burn as he kissed you so suddenly, yet you didn’t fight it. You couldn’t. Something was pulling you deeper into him. A passion that was always there from the beginning. Hate or love, you have always been passionate about Ghost. Maybe that was why you truly hated him in the first place.

Ghost couldn’t stop himself, deepening the kiss with each second that passed, reveling in how sweet you tasted on his lips. He’s been obsessed with you since the beginning. A fire within him had always burned for you. He just wished he realized that it was actually love much sooner. Perhaps if he did, you really would’ve been Mrs. Riley tonight.

All the things he hated about you before were things he loved about you now. Your soft lips, your silky hair, your amazing intellect. All of the things that he could never match. You were better than him. However, he didn’t care anymore. He actually appreciated it now.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I really am.” He whispered as he pulled you closer, wrapping you in his embrace. You felt his firm muscles against you so much better now than before, the shirt he was wearing leaving little to the imagination with how fitted it was.

It honestly turned you on.

You took the initiative to reconnect your lips, your mouth opening to invite his tongue. Nerves fired off in every inch of your skin as his slick tongue met yours. Your toes curled as he felt you up, groping your thighs and waist like they would disappear any moment. His hands felt so good on you that you shivered, yearning for more.

Things were getting out of control, but Ghost didn’t care. Tonight, he wanted you more than he has ever wanted anything from you. To appreciate all the things he was too stupid to notice before. You were sexy beyond belief. Always have been. When you were working over your desk with such a focused look, when you were gloating about your new invention, when you demonstrated a new gun so naturally in perfect stance.

His pants tightened as his erection grew strong with each taste of your tongue. His hands roamed into your hair, gripping slightly to pull you closer. The both of you moaned when you ended up grinding against his hard cock. Once you got a taste for that, you couldn’t stop. Your hips grinded into his, sending earthquakes of pleasure through you. You could feel your panties get damper each minute as the makeout became even hotter and heavier. It wasn’t helping that it has been a while since the last time you had sex. It made you feel more sensitive than usual.

Finally, Ghost flipped you around and settled you back on the bed. He has never been so turned on in his life and you were the one doing this to him.

There was something he needed to make clear first, though.

“I’m going to make you cum.” He promised, flashing you a determined look that had you weak.

You blushed and averted your gaze, your voice low. “You shouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“I’ll do it. No matter how long it takes. I’m going to be the first man to make you cum tonight.” He reassured, gladly ignoring your warnings as he leaned down to kiss your lips again. As he took control of your tongue, his hands began to explore your skin under the shirt. You were unbelievably soft under his fingertips, delicate from your lack of experience on a battlefield. He now loved that about you. You didn’t need to be in the throws of battle to be part of the team.

“You’re so soft, you know that?” He praised, deep rumbles of his voice making your brain turn into mush as it entered your ears. His kisses traveled to them, making you shiver uncontrollably as he softly bit down.

He chuckled, a sound that was once always reserved for his male teammates unless he was making fun of you. Now, they teased you so pleasantly that your breath hitched. “Someone’s ears are sensitive. You like having them played with?”

Just as you were about to answer, he slid his hand up to touch your breasts, pinching your nipples and making you jump. “Ahh~! Ghost!”

“Call me Simon.” He demanded, yearning for the sound of his real name coming from you. It would be the first time you would call him by his real name.

You played with it in your head, noting how foreign it felt just sitting on your tongue. Nonetheless, you gave him what he wanted. “S-Simon. . .”

“Again.” He encouraged, suppressing a shiver that traveled down his spine. It was like getting a dose of the sweetest drug. Fireworks exploding in his chest. He loved how his name sounded on your lips.

“Simon. . .” You sighed as he peppered kisses all over your neck. Your cami was now raised up to reveal your chest, kisses traveling further and further down to taste all of you. As much as Simon wanted to fuck you already right then and there, he had a promise to keep. He had to take it slow and let it build up. He had to make you cum first.

He took a stiff nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around before taking it between his teeth in a gentle bite. His other hand twisted your other nub between his fingers. The way he tweaked them hard sent waves of pleasure through you, all the way down to your cunt that was still soaking your panties. It felt so good to have him touch you like this. You wanted more.

Arching your back, you took your top off completely. Simon followed suit, stripping off his shirt and trailing his kisses down your stomach. As he felt your stomach on his lips, he buried his face deep into it. To think that he could’ve had this so much sooner if he was just nice to you from the beginning. “So soft. . .”

You squirmed a little under his slow, deep kisses to your body. No one has ever taken this much time on you before. All foreplay was pretty exclusive to your breasts or cunt with your previous partners. Simon was taking the time to appreciate your whole body. It felt so intimate. “Simon. . ?”

God, he loved it when you said his name. “Y/n?”

You were starting to like the sound of your name coming from him too. A blush swept across your cheeks. “You can be a little rougher.”

He smirked, this time making you tremble in excitement rather than rage. “Is that what you like? You like it a little rough?”

“I like the firmer sensation. Nothing too crazy.” You elaborated, always one to speak your mind even in a moment like this. If you were going to have sex with Simon Riley, if he wanted to make you cum, information like this was important.

Simon hummed against your skin, his hands working to pull off your pants. The vibrations made you sigh. Once your shorts and panties were off, he settled himself between your legs. Your dripping cunt was such a pretty sight. Pink, wet, and sweet. He bit the inside of your thigh, making you gasp in pleasure. “Like that? Is this what your previous partners did to you?”

“N-No. . .” You admitted. Your previous partners never really listened to what you liked even if you told them straight-forwardly. At least not enough to get you to tremble like Simon did. It seemed like the man you hated before was really the best so far in bed.

“Good. Their loss.” He murmured, biting down on your thighs soon after and leaving a deep love-bite. You bit your lower lip and whimpered, the sensation sending shockwaves. Simon kept going further and further down on you, relishing each time you moaned and quivered. He wanted more. He wanted to make you scream.

His lips latched onto your swollen clit, biting it between his teeth and flicking it with his tongue. He tasted your nectar on his tongue, a taste that instantly made him addicted to it. You arched your back and grabbed his hair suddenly, silky soft strands feeling nice between your fingers.

Just like he wanted, you moaned his name over and over again. His tongue kept lathering your clit firmly and with even strokes. Fingers prodded at your opening, spreading your wetness all over you until he was able to put two of his fingers inside. God, you were tight.

“Ahh~! Right there, Simon!” You encouraged, your ability to speak your mind unwavering. Simone found that insanely attractive as he pushed his fingers in further and curled right at that spongy spot that was driving you crazy. His teeth pulled at your folds before being soothed with his tongue. Your clit twitched as he pressed his tongue up against it once more, all the while pumping his fingers into your soaked pussy.

Your grip on his hair got tighter as he kept pushing you to the edge. The sensation made his own cock twitch under his clothes, making him press it up against the mattress to grind into. He wished it was your pussy he was grinding into already, but you were so close. He could feel it. You could feel it.

He didn’t stop his pace. Strong, even, and slow. You tightened around his fingers each second, feeling the wave approach closer and closer. You could already tell that this was going to be a big one. Your first orgasm with a partner ever.

Tilting your head back, you moaned louder and louder. You begged for more and more, praying to a god that Simon wasn’t just going to leave you hanging. Now that would be pure evil. The worst thing he could ever do to you. But he didn’t. He just kept nipping, sucking, biting, and licking to the point that your head was spinning.

Before you could warn him, your vision saw white and you screamed. Simon could feel you suck in his fingers so tight that he smiled as he still landed kisses on your clit. Your legs trembled, aching to close or kick out the electricity that coarse through you. Your cum was spilling everywhere. All over his fingers down to his wrist, coating your thighs in a sweet glaze.

While you tried to catch your breath, Simon licked up every drop. “How was that? Everything you thought it would be?

You looked down to see his eyes ablaze with victory and a sexy smirk on his lips. You sighed and nodded. “Credit where credit is due. That was really good.”

“Good. Because you’re not done yet.” He decided, already stripping off his pajama pants to reveal his rock hard erection. He was bigger than you expected, all that shit talk for two years making you believe that he was making up for something. But he was blessed with the girth, the length, and the look that you knew would be amazing.

He positioned himself between your legs, coating his length with your slick. Shivers started again as the tip rubbed against your clit. The both of you sighed, enjoying each other’s bodies to the fullest extent.

Suddenly, Simon pushed all of his cock into you, bottoming out within a second. You gripped the sheets tight in your fist as you cried out. He stretched you out so pleasurably, so fully. You’ve never felt so full in your sex life.

Simon hissed as you clenched around him. “Fucking hell, you’re so tight. . .”

Slowly, he began to move. Long even strokes that rubbed every inch of you and him. As he looked down at you, face twisting into such a pleasurable expression, eyes only on him, he heard his heart beat in his ears. God damn, you were gorgeous.

Your eyes widened as he came down for a kiss, his tongue taking full control while his hips remained steady. The sudden rush of the kiss and his cock reaching deeper made you scratch at his shoulders. He was eating up all of your moans like candy.

“F-Fuck~! Simon, wait!” You begged, the sensation getting overwhelming with each deep thrust. He could feel you getting tighter. Wetter. He knew that you were getting close to another orgasm, and he wasn’t going to stop for a second.

He sat up and pushed your legs down by your thighs, spreading you wide open and making you take all of him as deep as you can. You clawed his hands as your climax approached even faster, Simon ignoring all of your cries for him to wait. The sounds of your wet sex echoed in the room along with your sensual moans, causing you to get even more aroused. Christ, his cock was so good!

You were plunged into an orgasm, your whole body quaking as you arched and screamed it out. Simon felt your pussy wrap tightly around him, trying to take everything from him before he was ready. It was dizzying how good your insides felt coiling around him. He loved how you soaked his dick and crotch full with your hot cum.

Simon grabbed your thighs tight, squeezing hard and clenching his teeth while he tried to stop himself from climaxing too soon. He wanted to stretch this night out for as long as he could.

While you settled down from your second orgasm, you gazed up at Simon who was struggling to keep himself together. You lifted your arms and touched his strong, muscular chest that was shimmering in sweat. You could feel how hard his heart was beating under your fingertips. You could feel him twitch hard inside you, aching to fuck you again. Your body was weak, though. You didn’t know if you could last for much longer. Every nerve in your body felt like it was melting. “Si-”

“I know. Your body won’t stop shaking. Just until I cum, yeah?” He observed, fingers tracing your trembling curves.

At the idea of Simon cumming, your body regained new energy that you didn’t know you had. You wanted to see it. Feel it. You wanted to see your lieutenant crumble from the power of your body. “Fuck me then, Simon.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. His hips went into overdrive, thrusting in and out of you with ease from all of your slick. You felt him hit that wonderful spot of yours that made you see stars over and over again, your body already on the edge once again.

Simon picked you up off the bed and turned, settling you on his lap while he laid back. He didn’t relinquish any control, however. He just wanted to grope your delicious ass while he thrusted up inside you, hitting nice and deep. With the new view and new places to touch, he was losing his mind.

You weren’t expecting this new position, but you didn’t reject it either. In fact, it felt heavenly. He hit that g-spot at just the right angle and you loved how he manhandled your butt so roughly. You liked how his eyes never looked away from your body, drinking it all in like the finest wine. From this position, you could feel his solid cock twitch inside of you.

Struggling yourself up, limbs feeling like jelly, you fell onto his chest, your tits pressing firmly into him. That sent him over the edge, his grip on your ass making his nails dig into your skin. Once you felt that first rope of cum enter you, you came for the last time.

Hot cum mixed together, making a mess out of the both of you. His chest fell and rose with heavy breaths, groans coming out with each rope he couldn’t hold back. Your tightening pussy wasn’t helping, milking him of everything to the point where he even felt tingles travel through him. Once he was finally done, he felt exhausted.

You were exhausted too, your lungs struggling to regulate air flow. Your heart was beating so loud that it drained all other noises. Your body felt slightly numb from it all, your head getting fuzzy with each second. Simon wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to his chest as you both calmed yourselves.

“That was. . .” He began, losing the right words to describe just how amazing that was. He’s had his fair share of sexual encounters, but never like this. No one could quite compare to you.

“Yeah. . .” You agreed, your eyes closing as you felt the afterglow take over. You felt the covers pull up over you, Simon still holding you on top of him, not willing to let go just yet.

He could never imagine letting you go now.

#ghost x y/n #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost x female reader #simon ghost riley fanfic #ghost x f!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #cod fanfic #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost x you #simon ghost smut

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plasticflowersinahistorycemetery · 16 days ago

Text

“you’re not falling—you’re being pulled”

part IV

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Angel!Reader

Summary: The fall of an angel is far more satisfying than anything Ben's ever experienced.

Warnings: 18+!, Soldier Boy is a warning, language, corruption, religious reference, BLASPHEMY (rosary being used in a questionable way), manipulation, innocence, smut (dirty talk, clitoral stimulation, cunnilingus/oral, corruption kink, praise kink), I may have missed some.

Word Count: 6,601

It hadn't been his proudest night.

After you slipped out of his lap—all soft and whimpery, like you were about to burst into goddamn tears—Ben had let you go. Had let you tuck yourself away, whisper some excuse about being tired, about needing to rest.

He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly where you were going. Not to bed. Not to hide. But to pray. Begging your Father for forgiveness with the phantom heat of Ben's cock still leaking in your hand. Glowing with sin while you muttered your pretty little confessions to a God that wasn't listening anymore.

He should've felt victorious.

Instead? He spent the whole fucking night jerking off like a sixteen-year-old who'd just discovered what his dick was for.

Six times.

Six goddamn times before the throbbing finally stopped enough for him to sleep. And even then—he woke up half-hard, palm sliding over himself in the dark like he could still feel the imprint of your hand wrapped around him, tentative and sweet and so fucking willing.

Ben scowled at the memory as he wandered the safehouse, shirtless, loose sweats slung low on his hips, the morning sun cutting dust-speckled light through the grimy windows. He needed to find you. Needed to see you. Just to remind himself it was real—that it hadn't been some fever dream cooked up in the back of his rotten skull.

He found you in the living room. And fuck if you didn't make it worse.

You were sitting cross-legged on the floor again, right beside Kimiko, who was perched on the couch. Frenchie sprawled on the arm of it, cigarette dangling from his lips, signing back and forth to her in that fast, fluid way that always looked like a goddamn magic trick.

You? You were just watching.

Sitting there barefoot, another oversized shirt swallowing your frame. A soft, thoughtful smile tugged at your lips as you watched Kimiko and Frenchie's hands move through the air, like they were speaking in tongues only they could understand.

Ben stopped in the doorway.

Watched you. Watched the way your head tilted a little, the way your lashes fluttered when Kimiko smiled at you. The way your glow—soft and muted in the sunlight—hugged the edges of your body like it didn't know how to leave you.

And he wondered if you even understood what they were saying. Or if you were just sitting there, sweet and patient, indulging them to be polite—being a fucking angel in a den of sinners.

Ben's mouth went dry. His cock twitched.

Jesus Christ.

You didn't even have to touch him anymore. All you had to do was exist. He shoved a hand through his hair, dragging his palm down his face with a growl low in his throat.

"Jesus," he muttered, loud enough to catch Frenchie's attention. "What's the plan here, teachin' the glowstick how to flap her hands around too?"

Frenchie smirked around his cigarette, signed something lazy, then added out loud:

"She is learning, monsieur Soldier Boy. Slowly."

Kimiko grinned at you.

You looked up at Ben—bright, a little shy, still smiling.

Ben stared.

Because fuck if you didn't look proud of yourself. Like you thought you were doing something important. Like you belonged here, sitting on the floor, barefoot and glowing and good. And he wanted you. Right there. In front of all of them. Bent over the couch with your halo flickering wild while he fucked that sweetness right outta you.

He clenched his fists. Bit down a groan. And stalked into the room, dropping onto the other arm of the sofa like he didn't want to tear you open with his hands.

"Cute," he muttered, voice rough. "Real fuckin' cute."

You just smiled wider. Like you had no idea you were killing him.

He realised it the same way a man catches a glimpse of a blade glinting in the grass—accidental, devastating.

The shirt. Not Frenchie's. Not Hughie's. Not MM's. Not even Butcher's. His. You were wearing his goddamn t-shirt. Plain. Worn soft by a thousand washes. Collar loose, sleeves too big, the hem swallowing the tops of your bare thighs like you were a fucking gift wrapped just for him.

Ben leaned back against the couch, barely breathing, heart thudding slow and heavy under his ribs.

You sat there cross-legged, barefoot on the grimy wood floor, oblivious to the fire you were stoking with every shift of your hips, every bright flicker of your halo as you smiled up at Kimiko and Frenchie.

And that wasn't the worst of it.

The worst of it was the little glimpse he kept catching every time you shifted your weight—pink cotton, soft and innocent, with a tiny satin bow perched like a kiss right at the centre of your waistband.

New panties. Pink.

Fucking pink.

Ben ground his molars together so hard his jaw ached.

You giggled—quiet and delighted—watching Kimiko's hands move through the air in a fast, graceful rhythm of signing. Frenchie answered, sharp and sly, cigarette bobbing between his lips.

You watched them like you were watching stars fall from the sky. And for the first time, Ben realised—you weren't just observing anymore. You were happy. Actually happy to be learning something human, something messy, something small and imperfect. And you were doing it wearing him.

He shifted on the couch, jaw tight, heat pooling low and heavy in his gut, pressing hard against the inside of his sweats.

It should've been illegal.

You, like this. You, smiling for someone else. You, glowing for something that wasn't his hands. You, fucking pink and soft and ready without even knowing it.

He dropped his gaze lower, watched your fingers flutter awkwardly through the air—mimicking Kimiko's sign—your movements clumsy but so fucking earnest.

His chest burned. His cock twitched. He shoved a hand through his hair, rough and frustrated.

"Christ on a cross," he muttered under his breath, voice scraping low enough to pull Frenchie's gaze.

Frenchie grinned around his cigarette.

Ben didn't give a fuck.

He leaned forward, elbows braced on his thighs, eyes locked on you as you tried to sign something simple—maybe "thank you" or "happy"—your brow furrowed in concentration, pink tongue peeking out just slightly between your lips.

Fuck.

He could've come from the sight alone.

"Careful, sweetheart," Ben rasped, loud enough for you to hear, voice dipped low and mocking-sweet. "Keep squirmin' like that and you're gonna give the whole room a fuckin' show."

You blinked up at him. Smiled. Bright. Unbothered. Oblivious. You didn't even flinch. Didn't even blush. Just tilted your head in that soft, curious way you had, like you were trying to figure out if he was complimenting you.

Ben felt something splinter inside him.

Frenchie caught it too—laughed, low and sly, flicking ash into a cracked tray.

"She is very innocent, non?" Frenchie said around his grin. "Like a little lamb."

Ben shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

Frenchie only laughed harder and Kimiko hid her smile behind her hand. You looked between them, confused but pleased, still perched cross-legged on the floor, fingers playing idly with the hem of his shirt where it pooled around your thighs.

Ben groaned low under his breath, half in agony, half in worship. He shoved up off the couch, muttering as he passed Frenchie:

"Gonna fuckin' die hard as a diamond over here."

Frenchie laughed harder. Ben didn't stop. Didn't dare look at you again. If he did, he'd fucking lose it. Right there. In front of everybody. Dragging you into his lap, tearing those stupid little panties in half, making you show them how angels fall.

He stalked into the kitchen, fists clenched, heart pounding like a war drum behind his ribs.

You didn't follow. Not yet. You just sat there, still glowing, still smiling, still playing with the edge of his goddamn t-shirt like you didn't even realise you were his.

He was burning alive. Leaning against the kitchen counter, fists braced to the edge, jaw tight, cock straining against his sweats so hard it bordered on actual pain.

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't get the image out of his head—you sitting there, knees tucked up, wearing his shirt, pink panties peeking out, smiling like he hadn't been jacking off to the memory of you crying in his lap just the night before.

He gritted his teeth. Closed his eyes. His heart was beating hard now—too hard. A deep, echoing thud in his chest, each beat chasing the next like it wanted to burst right through his ribs and onto the fucking floor.

He barely noticed your footsteps. Light. Rushing, but careful. Soft and purposeful, like you didn't want to scare whatever you were chasing. Then you were there. Voice soft. Concerned.

"Ben?"

He looked up. You were standing in the doorway now—barefoot, cheeks flushed, eyes shining with worry. Your hands were clasped in front of you, the hem of his t-shirt brushing the tops of your thighs.

"I heard your heart," you whispered, as if it was something dangerous. "It's too loud."

He should've shoved you away. Should've told you to back off, to leave him the fuck alone before he did something he couldn't take back. But when you rushed into the room, glowing, worry crinkling your brow, mouth parted like you were afraid he was dying—

Ben couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything but stare. You came right up to him—fast but careful—and looked up at him with those wide, earnest eyes.

"Is it hurting?" You whispered, soft and shaken. "Do you want me to help?"

He said nothing. Just let you step closer. You laid your hand against his chest. Right over his heart. And he was lost. The second your palm pressed to his skin, he grabbed you—needed to grab you—dragged you flush against him until the soft curve of your lower stomach pressed up against his cock, hard and aching through his sweats.

You didn't even flinch. Didn't even realise what you were doing. You just tilted your head slightly, hand glowing against his chest, your grace spilling slow and warm through his ribs like you were trying to heal something that didn't want to be healed.

Ben groaned. Low and rough and desperate. And then he rocked his hips forward. Dragged his cock against your belly in a slow, grinding roll.

You gasped—soft and broken—but didn't pull away. Just blinked up at him, cheeks blooming with colour, glow fluttering like a candle caught in a draft.

"Ben...?" You asked, voice cracking slightly. "Are you okay now?"

He could've fucking cried. Could've dropped to his knees and worshipped you for asking—or dragged you down with him and taught you how pretty your mouth would look moaning his name.

He huffed a breath, cock grinding harder into the soft curve of your stomach, the friction singing through his nerves like white-hot wire.

"Not even fuckin' close, angel," he rasped.

Another slow rut. Your fingers twitched against his chest. Your thighs pressed closer together. And Ben saw it—the way your halo sputtered and flared, the way your breath hitched, the way your lips parted wider like you were about to say something, confess something.

He rocked against you again—lazier this time, heavier—and murmured, voice thick and rough and coaxing:

"Y'feel that?"

You nodded. Small and shaky.

"Feel that little flutter in your belly again?" He breathed, dragging his hips forward again, grinding slow against your soft warmth. "The ache?"

You swallowed hard. Pressed closer without meaning to.

Ben's hands slid down your back, heavy and sure, splaying over your hips to hold you in place as he rocked against you again. You whimpered. And he smiled. Slow. Dangerous. Tender in the way a blade's edge kisses a throat.

"That's me, sweetheart," he murmured. "That's what I do to you."

You gasped—tiny, helpless—and your glow flared harder, spilling gold light up across his bare chest.

He groaned deep in his throat, teeth grinding. Fucking holy. Fucking his.

You shifted again. Rubbed against him—clumsy, innocent, chasing the friction without even knowing you were doing it.

Ben barely held himself back. Watched your mouth fall open. Watched your eyes flutter shut. Watched you pant against him, forehead pressing to his chest like you couldn't stand up under your own heat anymore.

And then—

You whispered it. Small. Broken. Glowing.

"Ben... it's happening again..."

His cock jerked against your stomach. And this time? He didn't stop you. He didn't stop anything. Ben tightened his hands on your hips, ground into you harder, dragging a low, wrecked sound from deep in his chest as he felt you start to tremble—felt you start to glow—felt your thighs twitch and your breath stutter against his skin.

You were panting against him now. Small, broken little breaths warming his skin, your cheek pressed to his chest, your halo fluttering low and weak like a flame running out of air.

Ben barely breathed. Not when you looked up at him like that—wide-eyed and trembling, cheeks flushed a sweet, damning pink, mouth parted like you were still tasting the last time he kissed you.

Trust.

Fuck.

You looked at him like he was something holy. You pressed closer. Pressed your soft, shaking body harder into him like you didn't even know what you were chasing—just knew you needed more.

And then—small, cracked, sweeter than any goddamn prayer Ben had ever heard—you whispered:

"Can we kiss again?"

He lost it.

Grabbed you. Hands rough but reverent, hauling you up like you weighed nothing, spinning you until you were perched on the edge of the cracked counter, legs falling open instinctively to wrap around his hips.

Ben stepped in close.

Real close. Close enough that the hard heat of his cock, still trapped in his sweats, dragged against the soft, damp cotton of your panties—right over that swollen, aching little clit he hadn't even touched properly yet.

You gasped. Soft. Shaky. So fucking sweet.

Ben dropped his forehead to yours. Breathing hard. Gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. He didn't move yet. Didn't kiss you. Just breathed against your mouth—close enough you could taste the smoke and sin and hunger radiating off him.

"You want it?" He rasped.

You nodded. Pressed your thighs tighter around him, trembling, desperate for something you didn't know how to name.

Ben smiled. Lazy. Dangerous. Voice rough with the weight of everything he wanted to do to you.

"Come get it, angel," he whispered. "Come take it from me."

You whimpered. Low and helpless. Your fingers clutched at his shirt, trying to pull him closer, trying to close that last terrible millimetre between your mouths.

Ben didn't move. Held still. Made you choose. Made you fall.

You shifted. Leaning in. Mouth brushing his. Halo flickering wild behind your head like it didn't know whether to save you or surrender you. And when your lips finally pressed to his—soft and trembling and so goddamn sweet—Ben crushed you closer. Groaned low in his throat. Rolled his hips hard against you, dragging his cock over that soaked little scrap of pink cotton covering your cunt.

You gasped into his mouth. And this time? You didn't pull away. You clung. You kissed him back—messy, desperate, glowing—grinding against him without even knowing you were doing it.

Ben swallowed your soft, broken sounds like they were sacraments.

And he knew. You were his now, because you were panting into his mouth, clinging to him like you didn't even know where you ended and he began. Your legs wrapped around his hips. Your soft thighs squeezing. Your damp little panties grinding against the thick heat of his cock through his sweats every time you moved.

Ben didn't rush. Didn't shove. Just let it happen. Let you ruin yourself slow—kissing him messy, grinding against him needy, glowing for him like the heavens were falling apart inside you.

You whimpered. Shifted closer.

He groaned low against your mouth, grinding up harder, dragging your cunt over the thick ridge of his cock. You cried out—quiet and helpless—and that halo flickered wild and broken behind your head. And Ben grinned against your lips. Lazy. Dangerous.

Mine, he thought. Mine now.

But then something shifted. You pulled back suddenly, blinking up at him wide-eyed, breathing fast, pink mouth trembling open like you were about to cry.

Ben froze. Watched it all crack open across your face—the fear, the guilt, the ache you didn't know how to hold.

"I— I have to go," you whispered, voice wrecked.

Before he could stop you, you slid off the counter—bare feet slapping the floor—swallowed up by the halo of your panic. Ben let you run, watched you stumble away, still barefoot, still glowing, still wearing his shirt. Smirked slow. Shoved a hand through his hair and exhaled rough through his nose.

"Yeah," he muttered. "That's right, baby. Run."

He waited a beat. Long enough for you to think you were safe. Long enough for the guilt to start eating you alive. Then he pushed off the counter and followed. Didn't hurry. Didn't have to. You always made it so easy.

He found you in your room, on your knees at the foot of the bed. Pastel-pink rosary clutched between trembling hands, tears clinging stubborn to your lashes, head bowed low like you were waiting for the lightning to strike.

Ben leaned against the doorframe. Crossed his arms over his chest. Watched you. Silent. Dark. Almost smiling.

You were whispering. Soft. Broken. Begging.

"For forgiveness." "For strength." "For the ache to go away."

Ben cocked his head as he listened. Felt the way the words hit the air—sharp, desperate, so fucking sweet. But he knew. He knew you weren't praying to the right god. He pushed off the frame slow, boots heavy on the floor.

You didn't hear him at first—too caught up in your own pleading, your own trembling sorrow. It wasn't until he crouched right in front of you—close enough that you could smell the smoke on his skin, the sweat, the heat—that you realised he was there.

You gasped, head snapping up, halo sputtering behind you, with tears shining in your wide, broken eyes.

Ben smiled. Slow. Dangerous. Gentle, in the way a wolf's teeth could be gentle right before the kill.

"What're you prayin' for, angel?" He rasped, voice rough and low.

You blinked at him. Swallowed. Clutched your rosary tighter like it could save you.

Ben chuckled. A low, wrecked sound. "You think He's listenin'?" He asked, tilting his head. "You think He gives a shit what you want?"

You shuddered. Silent. Tears slipping down your cheeks.

Ben reached out. Hooked a finger under your chin—rough and calloused—lifting your face until you had no choice but to look at him.

"You're on your knees for the wrong man," he whispered.

You whimpered. A tiny, broken sound that shot straight to his cock.

Ben leaned closer. Voice dropping to a sinful, tender rasp:

"You wanna be forgiven, baby? You wanna be clean again?"

You nodded—small, desperate, trembling.

He smiled. Soft. Cruel. "Then you come to me," he said. "You pray to me."

Your lip quivered.

"Ben—"

"Shhh."

He brushed his thumb over your mouth, slow and reverent.

"You already glow for me, angel," he murmured. "You already ache for me."

Another tear slid down your cheek. Ben caught it with his thumb, and smeared it slow across your skin like he was painting you in your own sorrow.

"Let go," he whispered. "Let it happen."

He leaned closer. So close his breath fanned your lips, so close you could feel the heat of him radiating off his skin.

"You want absolution, baby?" He rasped, voice cracking. He tilted your chin higher, looked you dead in the eye. "Say you're mine."

You made a sound that didn't belong in this world. A broken, gasping, wrecked little sob that tore straight through the air between you and him like a blade. Ben froze. Watched your shoulders shake. Watched your halo sputter wild and frantic behind your head like a dying star.

"I've been fine—" you gasped out, voice cracking around the weight of your own sorrow. "I've been fine my whole life—"

You looked up at him, eyes red and shining, breath hitching, chest heaving under the hang of his old t-shirt.

"And then you—" you choked, shaking your head, tears slipping free faster than you could wipe them away. "You came along and you—"

You swallowed, sobbed, pressed your fist—rosary and all—tight against your chest like it could hold you together.

"You made this ache grow inside me," you whispered, broken. "Made me its host."

Ben didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stared down at you—kneeled, glowing, sobbing like you were falling apart at the seams—and let the dark, molten pride rise slow and heavy through his gut.

You pressed your palms flat against your thighs, shaking.

"You—" your voice shattered again. "My body—" You looked up at him, devastated. "It doesn't feel like mine anymore."

Ben smiled. Slow. Gentle. Wrecked. "That's 'cause it ain't, baby," he rasped, voice low and rough with the weight of his need. "It's mine now."

You blinked at him—shocked, trembling, glowing so bright it hurt to look at you. And Ben crouched lower, closer. His breath brushed your cheek when he spoke:

"Always was," he murmured. "Always fuckin' will be."

You gasped. Shuddered. Hands twitching, shaking, and then—then you did the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

You sobbed—loud and cracked—and cupped yourself. Both hands pressed tight between your thighs over your damp, ruined panties, clutching your pussy through the thin cotton like you were trying to stop the ache from eating you alive.

Your rosary—still wrapped around your wrist—pressed into the soaked pink cotton, tiny beads catching against the curve of your cunt.

Ben groaned. Deep and guttural. Almost fucking came on the spot, because you didn't even know what you were doing. Didn't even realise you were grinding your palms down, chasing the friction instinctively, whimpering soft and broken while you cried up at him.

You sniffled. Wiped your nose with the back of your trembling hand. Sobbed again: "I'm not—" you gasped. "I'm not made to want."

Your hips jerked, grinding harder into your own hands.

"I'm made to help," you whimpered. "I'm made to heal—and you—you make me feel things—"

You pressed your palms harder against your cunt, rosary and all. Choked on your sobs.

"Things down here," you wept, voice high and wrecked and holy, "that feel wrong—feel dirty—"

Ben exhaled hard through his nose. Fought the surge—the white-hot snap of need threatening to rip him open. He reached out, caught your hands, and held them still over your cunt, your rosary trapped between his rough fingers and your trembling heat.

"You ain't dirty, baby," he rasped, voice low and wrecked and almost tender.

He squeezed your wrists lightly, felt the heat of you pulsing desperate and frantic through the soaked cotton.

"You're perfect."

You whimpered. Shivered. Tried to press closer without meaning to.

Ben leaned in. So close his forehead almost touched yours. Voice dropping to a low, filthy rasp:

"I can make it better, angel," he whispered. "I can take it all away."

You blinked up at him—dazed, tear-streaked, shining.

"You just gotta let me."

You were breaking yourself apart. Bent on your knees, thighs trembling, grinding your soaked little panties against your own palms—hands he was only pretending to restrain, letting you ruin yourself, letting you squirm and whimper and cry against him while your halo guttered wild and frantic above your head.

The beads of your pastel-pink rosary bit into the cotton between your thighs with every desperate little roll of your hips, a slow, helpless blasphemy that made Ben's cock ache so hard he saw stars.

You were panting, gasping, soft broken little sobs caught in your throat, lips red and bitten, your glow trembling like a wounded thing. Every part of you shook, but you kept grinding down, seeking relief, chasing something you didn't know how to find, didn't know how to beg for yet.

Ben didn't stop you. He held your wrists loose in his rough hands, let you move, let you fucking suffer.

God, you were so fucking pretty when you suffered.

He leaned in close, breathing you in—sweat and salt and holy fire—and let his voice scrape low against your ear, hot and deliberate:

"You're grindin' down on your fuckin' rosary, angel," he murmured, voice rough with the weight of it. "Like it's gonna take that ache away."

You let out a wrecked whimper, pressing your forehead to his chest like you could disappear into him, and still your hips kept moving, your thighs squeezing tighter around your own hands.

He smiled against your hair. Dark. Gentle. Damned.

"You don't have to suffer like this," he rasped. "You don't have to cry 'n hurt 'n beg."

You shivered, breathing ragged, the pink cotton of your panties darkening with the wet heat that clung to you, that marked you, that made you glow all the brighter for your fall.

Ben pressed his forehead to yours, let his breath fan hot and heavy across your lips.

"I could kiss it away," he whispered, so soft it almost hurt. "You like kissin', don't you?"

You gasped—high and helpless—and nodded, a frantic little jerk of your chin, your halo sputtering wild behind you.

Ben's mouth twisted in something between a smile and a grimace. Because you did love kissing. You loved being kissed, loved being claimed and lit up and ruined sweet right down to the marrow of your little holy bones.

And he was gonna give you so much more than that. He was gonna take everything you had left.

"I could kiss you all over," he crooned against your cheek, grinding the words slow into your skin. "Kiss that ache away. Make you feel good. Make you feel mine."

You whimpered again, desperate, hiccupping on your own breath, rubbing harder now, grinding the soft cotton and sacred beads against your cunt like you couldn't stop even if you tried.

Ben let his hands slide lower, dragging slow over your wrists, your hips, guiding you, coaxing you, breaking you.

"I could lick it away," he rasped, voice cracking under the strain of his own need. "Get down there, spread you open, taste every sweet little drop you're cryin' for me."

You sobbed. Loud and broken and beautiful. Pressed harder, rubbed faster, begged without words.

Ben groaned low in his throat, the sound ripped straight from his chest, every muscle in his body strung tight, straining against the need to just take you.

He didn't. Not yet. He wanted you to ask. He wanted you to fall.

"Or I could fuck it away," he whispered, humming the words slow against your ear, hips rocking forward just enough for you to feel how hard he was, how ready. "Stuff you full'a cock 'til you forget what hurt even feels like."

You whimpered. Pressed your mouth to his chest to muffle the soft, wrecked noise. Rubbed harder. Ground your trembling palms against your cunt like you were trying to tear yourself apart.

Ben slid his hands back up your arms, rough and slow, then caught your face between his palms, lifted your chin so you had to look at him, had to meet his burning gaze.

Your cheeks were wet. Your lashes stuck together with tears. Your mouth quivered open and closed, open and closed, like you were trying to say something but the words wouldn't come. Ben leaned in, close enough that his breath was your breath, close enough that you could taste the smoke and hunger bleeding off him.

"You want me to make it better, angel?" He whispered, voice molten with reverence and ruin.

You nodded. Desperate. Trembling. Glowing.

Ben smiled. Soft. Cruel. Inevitable.

"You gotta ask," he said. Low. Final. His thumbs brushed your soaked cheeks. "You gotta tell me what you want."

And then he waited. Let the silence stretch thick between you, let you suffer on the cusp of surrender. Because he knew you would. He knew. You were already halfway fallen. All you had to do was fall the rest of the way.

It was a whisper at first. Small, broken, torn from the wreckage of your own throat.

"Please..." A cracked sob, wet and trembling.

Your hands clutched useless at the front of his sweats, fingers tightening, the glint of the rosary beads around your wrist flashing like a warning, like a prayer.

Ben didn't breathe. Just watched you shake and whimper and choose. You tipped your face up to him—glowing, trembling, ruined—and let out a broken little gasp that shattered something deep and hungry inside him.

"Please help me, Ben," you whispered.

You didn't even know what you were begging for. Didn't have the words. Didn't need them.

Ben had waited long enough.

He moved in a flash—couldn't fucking help himself—grabbing you under your thighs, lifting you up like you weighed nothing, hauling you against his chest with a snarl low and wrecked in his throat. Your legs wrapped around him instinctively, clinging tight, the heat of your cunt grinding desperate and hot against his ribs.

Ben crushed you against him. Buried his face in your neck, breathing you in deep, voice low and ragged and reverent:

"Good fuckin' girl," he rasped. "Good girl—fuck, you're such a good girl for me—"

He spun you, shoved you against the nearest wall hard enough to rattle the drywall, let you cling to him with all that desperate little strength, let you cry against his shoulder while he praised you like a dying man finding God.

"You're mine now," he growled into your skin, his hands greedy and rough and shaking with restraint. "Fuckin' mine."

You whimpered, and pressed closer. Arms wound tight around his neck, nails digging into his skin, the cold hard edge of your rosary pressing into the nape of his neck with every desperate little clutch of your fingers.

Ben almost lost it right there.

Almost came just from the feel of it—the fucking rosary digging into his flesh while you sobbed and writhed against him, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you from falling all the way into hell.

He crushed his mouth to yours—messy, savage, brutal—dragging a low, desperate moan from deep inside you. You kissed him back without thinking. Without hesitation. Soft and broken and glowing.

Ben groaned against your lips, rutting helplessly against the hot little seam of your thighs, feeling the heat of you through the damp cotton barrier still clinging to your ruined cunt.

"Fuck, angel," he panted, kissing you again, sloppier, filthier. "You taste like fuckin' heaven. Sweet little thing. Don't even know what you're doin' to me."

You whimpered into his mouth, ground down against him without meaning to. Tighter. Closer. Every little noise you made—every soft, gasping whimper, every broken sob—sent a fresh pulse of blood straight to his cock, made it ache harder, made his control splinter.

He kissed you harder.

Gripped your ass in both hands, dragging your soaked panties against the heavy ridge of his cock, grinding you slow and filthy against him while you clung to him with desperate little hands, the beads of your rosary still digging into his neck like a brand.

He pulled back just enough to speak, forehead pressed to yours, breath heaving rough and hot between you:

"You want me to take it away, baby?" He rasped. "You want me to kiss that ache right outta you?"

You nodded, frantic, lips parted, halo sparking and sputtering wild and broken behind your head.

Ben grinned against your mouth. Dark. Triumphant. Tender in the way a knife is tender when it carves something open.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, you do. 'N you're gonna let me, ain't you, angel?"

You whimpered again. Soft and helpless.

Ben kissed the sound right out of you, deep and hungry and filthy, grinding slow against your trembling body like he could drink your ruin straight from your mouth. His hands slid lower. Rough and sure. Hooked under the backs of your thighs and lifted you higher, shifting his grip so he could carry you, so he could take you wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

And you—

You didn't fight. You clung to him with everything you had.

Arms locked around his neck. Legs tight around his waist. Halo sputtering low behind your head, flickering every time you gasped against him, every time the rosary wrapped around your trembling wrist dug into the back of his neck.

He turned towards your bed.

It hit him like a punch to the gut—the sweet, clean smell of it. The pale sheets. The soft white blanket folded at the foot of the bed. The delicate little lamp casting a soft, warm halo over the space.

Pure. Pristine. Ready to be ruined.

Ben grinned against your hair. Soft and slow and wrecked. He laid you down careful—like you were something sacred he was about to defile. You were.

Your body curled into the sheets instinctively, thighs pressing tight together, shirt riding up just high enough to expose the soft curve of your hips, the sweet flash of your pink panties stretched damp and trembling across your cunt.

Ben knelt over you. Breathed you in.

You blinked up at him—eyes glassy, wet, shining with tears and something worse, something better—and he felt the last shreds of his restraint tear clean down the middle.

He bent low. Pressed a kiss to your forehead. Soft. Almost tender. Then he started moving down. Kissing a trail slow and filthy across your body—the slope of your temple, the hollow of your throat, the frantic thudding of your pulse under your skin.

All the while, his voice never stopped. Low. Rough. Filthy with reverence.

"Look at you, angel," he murmured against your collarbone, dragging his teeth lightly over the thin cotton of his shirt stretched over your body. "Fuckin' glowin' for me. Shakin' for me."

You whimpered. Squirmed. Ben smiled against your sternum.

"You know what else I noticed, baby?" He rasped, kissing lower, mouthing at the hem of the shirt where it rode up against your trembling thighs.

You gasped. Shook your head helplessly.

Ben chuckled. Dark and low.

"You chose to wear my shirt today."

You shivered. Tried to look away. Ben caught your hip in one rough hand—held you still. Pressed a kiss slow and filthy to the wet cotton covering your cunt.

You sobbed. Loud and wrecked. Back arched off the bed like you couldn't take it, like you were trying to escape—but there was nowhere left to run.

He kissed you again. Right over the soaked pink cotton. Open-mouthed and shameless. Tasting the sweetness of your ruin even through the cloth. And then—without warning—he opened his mouth wider, and sucked. Loud and obscene. Wet. Fucking gluttonous.

You cried out—loud and desperate—hands flying to the sheets, clutching so hard your knuckles went white.

Ben groaned against you. Ground his hips hard against the mattress, rutting slow and helpless, cock throbbing like it might tear free of his skin. He couldn't stop. Couldn't think. Couldn't fucking breathe.

You tasted like heaven and hell tied together. You smelled like sin and surrender. You sounded like prayers ripped straight from the throat of a dying star.

He sucked harder, let the slick sound of it fill the room, obscene and sweet and devastating.

You sobbed. Begged without words. Your hips jerked helplessly under his mouth, grinding against the wet heat of his tongue through the soaked cotton, chasing something you didn't even know you needed yet.

Ben didn't stop. He devoured you. Held you down with rough hands and filthy promises whispered against the trembling heat of your cunt.

"Good girl," he rasped against you. "Good fuckin' girl. Gonna taste you proper soon, baby. Gonna teach you how sweet you are. Gonna make you fuckin' glow for me."

You writhed, broke apart piece by piece beneath his mouth. And Ben ground against the mattress, desperate and helpless and ruined right alongside you.

Because this—this moment—was everything he had wanted. You. Glowing. Crying. Grinding your perfect cunt against his mouth, his shirt, your own fucking rosary. Ruined. Holy. His.

You tasted like the death of heaven.

Ben licked you through the soaked pink cotton, mouth open and filthy, dragging his tongue slow and rough over the trembling heat of you while you writhed helplessly beneath him, sobbing soft, broken sounds into the clean white sheets.

Your hands clutched at the mattress, clutching the rosary still wrapped around your fingers, clutching anything you could as if it might save you from what he was doing to you.

Nothing could save you now. Nothing should.

Ben pulled back slightly, panting against the damp cloth, his chest heaving, the wet noise of your ruin still clinging to his mouth, his beard, his fucking soul. He pressed his forehead to your thigh for a moment, grounding himself against the smooth tremble of your skin, the scent of your slick staining the air sweet and heavy and yours.

He wanted to tear you apart. He wanted to kneel for you. He wanted to ruin and worship and keep you.

He dragged his mouth up your inner thigh slow, leaving kisses sticky and reverent against your skin, his palms sliding rough along your trembling legs, holding you open for him, keeping you spread even when you whimpered and tried to close yourself off in some tiny, broken instinct toward modesty.

"No, baby," he murmured, low and rough, voice scraping across your nerves like velvet dragged over broken glass. "Let me see you. Let me taste you proper."

You sobbed, high and cracked, glowing so hard the air between you flickered.

Ben kissed the soft crease where your thigh met your hip, bit down just hard enough to make you whimper, then soothed it with a slow, dragging lick. His hands gripped the waistband of your panties, the little pink bow trembling under his thumbs.

He looked up at you once—wanted to see you. Wanted to feel you watching him.

You were staring down at him, dazed and weeping, cheeks wet and glowing, rosary clutched so tight in your shaking hand it cut cruel red lines into your wrist.

Ben smiled. "You wore my shirt," he rasped, voice a low growl of hunger and pride. "Wore your sweet little panties. Got on your knees for me. Prayed to the wrong fuckin' god."

You whimpered. Rolled your hips without meaning to.

Ben leaned in, pressed a filthy kiss right over that little pink bow, right over your ruined cunt, breathing you in deep, savouring the heat and slick staining the air between you.

"Good girl," he whispered against you. "Such a good fuckin' girl."

And then—finally—he hooked his thumbs under the damp waistband and peeled your panties down. Slow. Dragging the soaked cotton down your thighs like a man unwrapping something sacred.

You gasped—soft and broken—hips twitching as the cool air kissed your slick, trembling cunt.

Ben groaned deep in his chest. Almost collapsed.

You were so wet. So swollen. So fucking perfect it hurt to look at you.

He dropped your panties somewhere behind him without a second thought, spread your thighs wider with rough, reverent hands, and settled between them like a man taking his place at the altar.

You tried to close your legs again—nervous, shaking—but Ben just murmured soft against your inner thigh:

"Uh-uh, baby. Open up for me. Let me take care of you."

You whimpered and fell back into the sheets.

Ben dragged his tongue slow—obscenely slow—up the slick seam of your cunt, from the desperate little drip at your entrance all the way up to the tender, swollen pearl of your clit.

You screamed. High and helpless. Your hips jerked clean off the bed, your thighs trembling hard against his palms. And Ben groaned into you. Ground his cock against the mattress, again, fucking the bed slow and rough while he devoured you.

You tasted like salvation. Like surrender. Like something holy and forbidden and his. He licked you again. Long and filthy. Letting the wet, sloppy sound of it fill the room, letting you hear exactly how much he wanted you, how much he was losing himself in you.

You sobbed, clutched the sheets, clutched the rosary. Pressed it tight against your chest like it could stop the flood pouring through your body.

Ben wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked—hard, wet, relentless.

You screamed again, voice cracking, hips grinding helplessly against his mouth, chasing the friction, chasing the salvation he offered with every filthy, reverent lick.

He pulled back just enough to murmur against you, voice wrecked and shaking:

"That's it, baby. That's my good fuckin' angel."

He licked you again, slow and devastating, tongue thick and broad, dragging through every desperate, sweet part of you.

"You taste like heaven, angel," he rasped. "You taste like you're beggin' to be mine."

You sobbed harder, clutched his hair, pulled him closer. And Ben let you. Let you grind against his mouth, let you cry and writhe and fall, let you lose yourself against his tongue like you were praying in a language older than sin.

He drank you down. Greedy. Gluttonous. Glowing. Because you were his altar now. His prayer. His fucking religion. And he would never stop worshipping you.

Never.

a/n: OKAY. Please do not judge me too harshly for the rosary... believe me when I tell you I edited that part because I had worse stuff in here. If y'all want it, I'll add it back into part five because you already know what this whole series has been leading towards. Heh. I'm aware, I'm wrong and disgusting and too horny for my own good. BUT Y'ALLS HERE TOO, BITCHES. So you're slaves to the filth monster too. Again, class, can we all just say thank you to @tinas111 because this whole story is because of her. I love you, wifey. <3 Let me know what you think please, bbys. All the fuckin' goddamn love.

Soldier Boy/Ben taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @bejeweledinterludes @soldiersgirl @angelicjackles @lunaleah. @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @bittersweetfig @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @ohgodimgoungtodie @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l @kaz-2y5-spn @agoodgirlsguidetomakingmencry @bohoooitsme @lanasgirlfr @justatinybud @bitchykittenconnoisseur <3

#pfiahc writes #my writing #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy smut #soldier boy fic #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #the boys smut #the boys fanfiction #the boys fanfic #the boys x female reader #the boys x you #the boys x reader #x you #x reader #x female reader

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llamagoddessofficial · 7 months ago

Note

Has anyone requested Fae Dust’s datemate HCs yet? If not, can we have some?

I also saw @owl-bones' Dust art, anon. And I very much agree its sexy

Don't think I need to tell you that he's hard to read

Get used to having no clue how he really feels.

Some wonder why he doesn't speak, when tricksy words are what the fae are known for. But in a world where every word is a trap, there's great power in not speaking at all.

... Also means it feels like there's never any pressure with Dust. You can relax around him. Blurt whatever you like, because he says barely anything in return.

When he likes you, you won't know how you know, but you'll just... know. You'll get a feeling you're being quietly appreciated. You'll get a feeling you're the only person in the room he can stand. He keeps looking at you like you and him are in on a joke no one else understands.

He'll be silent for hours, only to stun everyone in the room by chuckling at something you said.

He frequently looks your way, even if you can't see his eyelights you can tell you're being watched, and when you can see his eyelights they get visibly wider and softer.

Normally, during the rare occasions when Nightmare hosts balls or parties, Dust immediately finds some way to escape. But if you're present, he'll stay. Might even ask you to dance.

(By 'ask', I mean just gently take your hand and wordlessly lead you into it, the other skeletons too gobsmacked at his boldness to intervene)

There's a few clearer signs he likes you. He'll perform random acts of politeness for you, like holding doors and passing you things you can't reach, a big fucking deal considering you didn't ask first. He'll sit by your side, he'll stand close to you even if you're not facing one another. If you're having a conversation with another fae he looms nearby... you might mistake it for jealousy, but really, he's making it 100% clear to whoever you're talking to that if they trick you or take something of yours he's going to ensure it's returned.

..... A little jealousy too, though.

He disappears for several days at a time, seemingly out of nowhere. No one's sure what he does - rumours swirl that he goes out to do Nightmare's dirty work. The first thing he always does when he comes back is give you a small affectionate touch.

He spends a lot of time in Nightmare's library. You might find him there, if you wander that way. You can tell he appreciates the company because he doesn't leave when you show up.

You find him smoking outside, you ask for a puff of his cigarette. He takes a slow drag, then leans in and kisses you.

He'll take his hood down around you.

When he does eventually speak, you'll find that the whole time he's known you, he's been quietly making a dedicated effort to learn about the things important to you. He's very perceptive. He'll learn all about your interests, your hobbies, the things you could talk about forever... if you know another language he'll familiarise himself with the basics, if you like art he'll pick up a pencil, if you like history his satchel will be heavy with scrolls and books he's snatched from Nightmare's library for you.

It's funny how so few words can make you feel so appreciated.

He's quite the charmer, when he wants to be.

#llamagines #fae au #bad sanses

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millersfinest · 6 months ago

Text

the thing in your chest that beats ³ | e.w

santa barbara!ellie williams & ex-firefly!reader

wc: 5.3k

mini-series: california | oregon | idaho (you’re here) | wyoming

blurb: you put up a good fight with those rattlers, but it wasn’t good enough—all it got you was strung up near a beach where the sun scorched you dry. abruptly, their set-up gets fucked by their own prisoners, saving your life by only a thread. but the wrath that lingered under your skin was immense, and you’re not the only one to experience that phenomenon. when another damaged soul encounters your brittle state; the dreams that put you in a tough position manifest into reality. along with a few extra miscellaneous things…

cw: angry!r, slow-burn romance, proximity trope, both reader and ellie on a path of redemption, afab body parts mentioned, vulgar language, some joel references, inner guilt, use of ‘y/n’ and ‘woman’, ellie has a panic attack, shambler appearance (ew), and for the fun part… SMUT, switch!reader, oral sex, fingering ( :P ), barely any dirty talk because this is a loving experience y’all (and i don’t really know how to write that lmao), ellie might be a little ooc but i just perceive her to be this way idk.

note: to start… if anyone needs anyone to talk to after hearing the results of the election, please don’t be afraid to direct message me. especially my fellow american queer/trans friends. we are truly in some tough times right now. i hope this chapter can serve as some sort of distraction for what’s going on. as always, enjoyy!

Idaho

Welcome to the Gem State, the sign read when you passed the state line into Idaho a few days ago. The place you’ve been dreaming of was getting closer and closer—that feeling of relief was near! You could feel it bubbling in your stomach, enriching the nerves that ran under your sore muscles.

Since Oregon, you and Ellie had barely shared a full conversation. It’s only been small directions, or helpful interjections with infected, or even, guidance in getting around potentially dangerous people.

This time around, you harbored most of the frustration and anger. Wrath wrapped itself around you once more, forbidding you from wondering what her inquiries meant—what bringing up Honey meant. Ellie tried to service you the best she could, trying to make up physically for what she couldn’t vocally. Resuming her position as your caretaker, but that only made things worse.

The wounds and weaknesses of Santa Barbara were healing but were being replaced by new ones. Surface cuts, sprained ankles, and scorned hearts. Ellie could ask you nothing without the pitch of your voice raising an octave. It wasn’t anything like the character she knew you to be.

Or the months you spent together thus far meant nothing—she never actually knew anything about you.

The annotated map relied in your hands as you approached an administrative building. You had spent the previous night planning the route, instead of engaging in small talk with your partner. You were, somehow, still trying to prove to Ellie that you didn’t need her. Indulging in an individual competition of: who does it better? It was a drastic understatement to call you a competitive person. And her incessant need to make up for the misfortune of her curiosity wasn’t helping.

“Here’s the firm…” You mutter, immediately trotting to the front doors. American Falls Firm. Pulling at the handle, you realized it was locked and barricaded from the inside. Huffing, you folded up the map, sliding it into your backpack. “Looks like we gotta find another way in.” Dusting your hands, you began to survey different sides of the building. She followed behind you, keeping an eye out for lingering infected and any other inhibitors.

Humming to yourself, you squinted at the broken window above you. Turning your head, you peered at the auburn-haired woman who’s back faced you. Your Beretta resided in her hands as she kept a keen eye on the surroundings. Ellie didn’t mind doing that job because it kept her mind from wanting appeal to you. It kept her from wanting to beg for your forgiveness. After all, this was just her doing you a debtless favor. She shouldn’t have been so attached to you anyway.

“Hey,” You waved her over. “I need a boost.”

She met your eyes, nodding with firm lips. “Sure,” Slinging the shotgun around her body, she bent at the knee and cupped her hands low. Placing your hands on her shoulders, your irises danced over her features, briefly. Dirt attempted to blend in with the freckles over her nose, but they didn’t stand a chance—you knew the difference. Her olive eyes did well to avoid yours, feigning a look of impatience. “Up you go.”

Ellie boosted you up toward the window with all the strength she could muster. Fingers catching onto the edge of where the floor and window meant. Using your own strength, you pulled yourself into a room illuminated by daylight. Groaning under your breath from the stretch of your muscles. Crouching, you leaned back down to pull Ellie up.

Her hand attached to your forearm, crawling up the stone wall and into the room. Ellie hissed as she crawled inside, holding her wrapped ankle to alleviate some of the pain. Standing to your feet, you looked down at her with flickers of concern in your eyes.

The other day, she tripped over a thick fallen tree branch from the morning dew—spraining or straining her ankle, you couldn’t remember the difference. All you knew was that she hurt her ankle badly, but it wasn’t broken. Ellie wrapped it herself with athletic tape from your bag; with her back facing you in embarrassment.

“Can we keep going, or do you need a second?” You inquire, avoiding your eyes, dismissively. Like you didn’t care what her response was, even though you did.

“I’m fine…” She stood to her feet, wringing out her foot.

“You sure?”

“I said I’m fine…” Ellie grumbled, walking off to another side of the room.

It was a barren office that the both of you meandered through. Picking at the miscellaneous items that could serve you in any way. There were two desks that occupied the office; decorated with familial picture frames and old-world gadgets that made no sense to either of you.

Slowly, pushing open the door, the entire building appeared silent. Light peaking through broken and foggy windows, greenery growing inside and through the deteriorating structure. You found it rather beautiful that the earth was taking back what was hers—negating the infected, of course. Your fingers traced the vines that grew through the cement. Those plants were living despite opposition; everyone could learn something from that.

Breaking through barriers and walls, despite their resilience.

You glanced at the auburn-haired woman, keeping a safe distance from you, scoping out the place. “What’s the route out of here?” She asks, dragging her sneakers against the cracked floors. There was a slight limp to her gait, but made sure to walk as normal as possible when your eyes were set on her.

Blowing air from your lips, you respond. “The ground floor. There should be a stairwell around here somewhere.”

Usually, lower floors of abandoned buildings worried you. Infected find themselves huddled in their own corrosion. In darker, moister, places they intensified. Some merging to the walls, other growing boils of acid.

When your eyes set on a metal door that led to the floor you needed to get to, your heart pumped blood into your veins. Pounding in your ears as an alarm. Through the window, white flurries fluttered by, confirming the one thing you were concerned about: over-developed infected.

“Mask up. Spores.” You swing your bag around to dig for your mask.

Ellie did the same, with slight hesitation. “Is the this only way through?”

You nodded, tightening the strap around your head. “Yeah, if we still wanna knock off some time.” Opening the door, you armed yourself with the pistol that sat snuggly in the waistband of your jeans. The walls were adorned in the crusty corrosion of the sick, bubbling in corners. You frowned under your mask, stepping slowly down the stairs. Ellie following behind you with the same caution, shotgun drawn.

Errk!

Both of you stopped moving in the stairwell at the sound of a clicker. You swear under your breath, glancing at your partner. “We’ve got company.” She muttered, nodding at you to go forward.

Moments like this was when you relied on her the most, but you’d never admit it. It was nice to not have to endure circumventing infected alone. Ellie was your backup, and you were hers. Even if you were still upset with her—underground that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was staying alive.

Navigating through the dark, with your lights flickered on, the both of you managed to stealthily kill the clickers wandering around. But when a pair of crusted hands leaped from the wall, pushing you onto the ground… Another beast was alerted.

With the sound of Ellie’s shotgun, a loud monstrous grumble rumbled from down the hall. You pushed the stalker to the side, scrambling to your feet. “Ellie, how many bullets do we have?” You asked her, adrenaline pumping through your body.

She checked the chamber, cursing. “Fuck! Three rounds.”

Picking up the pistol from the ground, you checked the magazine. Only a few bullets. The shambler began to stomp, approaching the two of you, increasing into a run. “We gotta go!” You grab her hand, tugging her a tight hole in the wall; tall enough for you to slip through.

Running into the room, you realized there wasn’t an exit. There was only a door, but it led back out into the hallway. The quick call you made to evade the boiling beast, was a mistake. Before you could even regret the decision, the shambler bursted through the wall.

Without command, Ellie began firing the shotgun. First bullet. Second bullet. Third bullet—she was out. It roared, releasing puffs of acid. You both dodged by the skin of your teeth, running around the room like frightened mice. Now, it was your turn to unleash pointless blows to the creature. Emptying the rest of your magazine into the bulbous creature did nothing but anger it. Somehow, it found a way to creep up behind you and Ellie, taking her by the throat.

“Ellie!” You exclaimed, voice trembling in horror. Her hands scratched at its arms, pounding to be set free.

A pipe leaned out of a wall as an escape route, a message from God—fate, prying at you. Using the strength of a scared shitless person, you yanked the pipe free, falling back onto your butt. Quickly, you stood up and began hacking at the thing. Sounds of effort and defensive fear leaving your lips. Dropping Ellie onto the ground, he turned to you, roaring. However, your hacking at his body didn’t stop until he was on his knees. Gurgles left his corroded and bubbled mouth, but you used it as bait to make your final blow.

Heaving over its corpse, your back hunched, the pipe slipping from your sweaty grip. She coughed, reminding you of her presence, slumped against the wall. Her breath began to grow heavy, hand on her chest.

“Oh, my God— Ellie!” You crouched beside her, unsure where to place your shaking hands. She attempted to crack a smile, to pretend she was fine, but she wasn’t. The imperative organ in her chest beat faster than it should have, knocking the wind out of her. She couldn’t breathe—at least it felt like she couldn’t.

Ellie was panicking.

“Hey,” You tried, deepening your eyebrows, sliding your hands from her shoulders to her neck, to her trembling jaw. “Ellie,” Her hand shot up to grip your wrist with vigor, looking into your eyes, intensely. “Ellie, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Your free hand pushed strangling hair from sticking to the plastic of her mask.

The grip on your wrist moved to the entrapment on her face. She began to claw at it, whining. “No…” You attempt to stop her fast, strong movements, but she shoved you away. “Ellie— no! What the fuck are you doing?!”

She peeled the mask off her face, taking the deepest breaths you’ve ever seen. Leaning back, your eyes watered, watching her gasp for toxic air. Ellie pushed the strands of her hair off her face, leaning her head against the cement of the wall. Her heart was settling, but then she looked to you. Olive eyes meeting your teary ones. “What the- what d-did you just do?” You stammered. “Ellie…”

You enunciated her name with such weariness that it made her feel guilty. Still, getting herself together from her panic attack, she felt the need to console you. But she didn’t have the energy.

Breathing heavily under your mask, you watch as nothing happened to her. She doesn’t convulse, choking on the toxic elements in the air. There was nothing different about her. Absolutely nothing.

“I can…” Ellie breathed. “I can explain later. Let’s just get outta here first, all right?”

Having no choice but to believe her, you stood to your feet. Reaching down for her hand. When you pulled her up, her ankle gave out on her. “Shit,” Ellie cursed, furrowing her eyebrows. “The harder they fall, huh?” She dryly chuckled.

You frowned, wrapping her arm around your shoulders.

Unamused, you found a way out of the ground floor. Unmasking at the first sight of daylight. You didn’t have to travel far with Ellie’s arm wrapped around your shoulders. The only place that was able to receive your weak bodies was a little bookstore around the corner.

It was clustered inside. Book aisles placed close together, where only a single body could shimmy through. A pair of metal stairs spiraled up the back of the store, leading to another floor of books. Dropping all of your things, including Ellie’s arm, you stalked up those rusty steps with hot tears welling into your eyes.

Ellie leaned against a bookshelf, pressing her lips into a line. Watching every harsh step you took, ascending up the stairs. Her own eyes began to fill with tears, glancing down at her shaking hands. Before they could fall, she harshly wiped her face and decided to busy herself. It wasn’t a bad time to take inventory.

Upstairs, you found yourself huddled in a corner. Hot tears streaming down your cheeks, weeping as low as you could. The tears falling down your face was a release of fright. You realized something on that ground floor that you wish you hadn’t. That freckled stranger you had come upon, or who had come upon you, in Santa Barbara was becoming a meaningful person in your life. Unbeknownst to you! Ellie had snuck up on you like a rodent in disguise.

That distant figure that once hovered in dim lighting who you didn’t trust has become so much more. You trusted her with your fucking life. And it only took a few months on the road.

Having barely recovered from the threat of that shambler, she snatched her mask off like it was nothing. In those few second, your heart beat so loud it stalled time. You thought she was going to die right in front of you, willingly.

It took you back to a moment in your past—the death of your mother. Before you reached Catalina Island, your mother sacrificed herself to ensure that you made it there. She gave you her mask to take the spores head-on. Promising that she’d hold her breath; at fifteen, you were silly to believe her.

Just then, Ellie’s gasps proved your immediate worries and fears wrong. She wasn’t going to die in front of you like your mother did. The viral spores on that floor didn’t kill her. Making you wonder: who the fuck were you traveling with?

Wiping your face, messily, you wander back down the rusted steps of the bookstore. You spot her with both of your bags opened, going through the supplies you had. Counting under her breath. When her strained eyes caught yours, she ceased all movement.

“You know,” She began, looking at the hand that was missing her pinky and ring finger, massaging her palm. “I think, that was the most you’ve ever said my name.”

You frowned, walking through the aisles, cheeks stained with tears. “What the fuck was that back there?” The sound of your voice was weak and frail.

“A panic attack…”

“I’m talking about the mask, Ellie. You breathed spores…?”

She licked her lips, averting her olive eyes. “I’m immune…”

A beat passed between the two of you, roping around your still bodies.

Ellie watched how your lips quivered, like you wanted to cry. The redness in your eyes made her frown. “I just— in the moment… I couldn’t breathe. I needed to take it off—“

“How do you know?” You abruptly ask. “How do you know that you’re immune? What if it just… I don’t know… Takes longer to develop in your system?”

“y/n…” She remorsefully spoke. “I was bitten when I was fourteen.” Ellie rolls up the sleeve of her jacket, pushing her tattooed arm toward you.

Pressing your lips together, you walk forward, taking her arm in your hands. Her forearm was covered in evergreen ink. Taking your hand, she guided your fingers over the eruptions in her skin. Abrasions. Hidden beneath the adoration of the tattoo. You never noticed this before. “I had a lot of time to know if this was real…” Ellie muttered, peering at you. Insecurity leaking from her pores.

You met her eyes, opening and closing your lips, trying figure out the words you wanted to say. “Who are you?” You examined the features you’ve come to know. “And don’t walk away this time— you have no choice but to tell me.” A chortle falls from your lips, causing her stiffness in her shoulders to loosen.

And so, Ellie told you as much as she could. She told you about how she got bitten. She told you about Riley. She told you about Joel and Tommy—about the fireflies—and about Joel, again. She told you about Dina and Jesse. And then, she told you about Abby. The familiarity of her name caused you to perk up. You knew of her from the resort; it was her and a little boy. However, the version she told you about aligned nothing with the version that you knew of.

“I went to Santa Barbara because I wanted to put an end to my suffering and Tommy’s— I wanted to kill her.” Ellie confessed, leaning her head back against the books pushed into the shelves. The two of you sat opposite of each other in a book aisle, knees grazing every so often. “I thought that would fix everything… But, when I saw her on that pillar…” She shook her head, running her hand through her hair. “For a second, I wasn’t going to do it. She led me to that beach, holding that kid, and I was gonna leave.”

Ellie blinked, remembering that empty feeling she felt on that day. Guilt crawling through her for something that was never in her control. You watched her speak, intently, with deepened eyebrows. “Then, I remembered. I remembered what she did— what she took from me, and I couldn’t let her go. I threatened that little boy, and I made her fight me. She didn’t want to, but I made her.”

“Did you kill her…?” You asked, slowly.

She chortled, wiping her teary eyes. “No. She took my fucking fingers, and I let her go.” The laugh she released was dry, and without humor. “It was like… Everything that I’ve done, leading up to that day, was all for nothing. All the people that I hurt— that I killed just to get to her… It was all for nothing.” Her voice cracked, tears rolling down her cheeks. Ellie couldn’t stop them this time.

You reached for her knee, caressing your thumb over the fabric of her jeans. She peered up at you, through her thick, wet eyelashes with a sort of surprise. Ellie didn’t think you’d stick around after hearing about her truth. You, a victim of the rattlers, empathizing with a murderer.

Before that, though, you were a firefly. You more than just a victim.

“How could I ever think of you as a bad person after what I’ve done?” She pressed her plump lips into a line, shaking her head. “That wasn’t what I meant at all… I was just trying to figure you out. I worded it all wrong— I’m sorry.” Ellie apologized with such frailty, you had no choice but to accept.

“Don’t be sorry, Ellie…”

“I’m beginning to realize I’m not really good with people.”

You squeeze her knee. “That’s not true. I think we get along great.” You shrug, attempting to lighten up the mood. Her lips curled at the corners, reaching for the hand on her knee, placing hers over yours. A silence bounced between you—eyes boring into each other’s, looking through each other. “I also think… You did what you thought was best…” You voiced, nodding affirmatively. “I probably would’ve, somehow, done worse.”

She scoffed, drawing circles on the back of your hand, absentmindedly. “Worse? You couldn’t have done worse.”

“You’d be surprised.” You lifted your eyebrows. “Not to beat a dead horse or anything, but as a firefly… When you’re told to do something, you do it.” Shrugging, you remove your hand from hers, crossing your arms. “I’m not a saint, Ellie. I’ve done loads of shit that I’m not proud of.” You looked down at your knees, frowning. “If some girl killed someone I cared about right in front of me… It would have been the last thing she ever did. Shit, I’ve killed people for less.”

You paused, eyebrows twitching. The image of a guardian angel came into your mind—Honey. “It should’ve been me in that house… In Santa Barbara.” Squeezing your eyes shut, tears began to fall down your cheeks once more. Angry, mourning tears. “It’s like… The Lord gave me second chance to do better— or was it fate? I don’t fucking know…”

Ellie blinked, having a severe déjà vu moment. Somehow the words spoken in her past, have managed to resurface. If somehow the Lord gave me a second chance at that moment, I would do it all over again. Spoken by your pretty mouth, instead of someone else’s. “I’d probably be just like Honey if it weren’t for you— dead. And I still don’t know what makes me worth saving, but I’m grateful. I’m grateful for you.” You sniffed, lips quivering while looking at the auburn-haired woman.

She swallowed, moving from her spot across from you to sit beside you. If only she had the courage to say those words to Joel. If only her resentment didn’t run so deep—perhaps, her guilt for his death wouldn’t be so strong. “Everything about you is worth saving… You’re like a lucky charm.”

You leaned your head back against the books, looking at her. “A lucky charm, huh?”

“Hell yeah! I mean, you totally whooped that shambler’s ass. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Hitting her arm, you giggle, keeping your eyes on the bookshelf in front of you. “Seriously, y/n…” Her humored tone faded as she trained her eyes on the side of your face, urging you to just look at her. To meet her eyes as passionately as she wanted to meet yours. It could’ve been the vulnerability that pulsed around the room, but she needed to see you. Her body ached for touch—perhaps, your touch. Ellie needed consolation for her confession.

Finally, your eyes drift toward hers. Not realizing how close her body was to yours. Shoulders, arms, hips, knees touching as if you were conjoined by the hip. Her eyes were prettier close up. They were greener than the evergreen that grew up desolate buildings. The freckles on her damaged skin could be connected like constellations—how come you never noticed this before? You wanted to trace the scar over her top lip and the one in her eyebrow with your finger, not just with your eyes.

The only thing that could be heard was your uneven, nervous breaths. Ellie moved her face closer to yours, just enough to tease, to ask for your permission without using her words. Her olive eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes. Weakly, you nodded, chewing on the corner of your bottom lip.

Her hands settled on your face, pulling you to hers. Meeting her lips with your lips, softly and patiently. Placing your hands on her wrists, you pull away, analyzing her features. Full lips were parted, wantonly. Pushing forward, you resumed the kiss with more intensity.

Whining against her lips, you got onto your knees, kicking your leg over her legs. Settling on her lap, her hands moved to your hips, kneading them. Her lips beginning to trail down your jaw; they were wet and hot kisses, causing your hips to roll on their own. Pleasured sighs fled from your swollen parted lips, holding onto her shoulders. “Ellie— Ellie, are you sure about this?” You question, with your eyes fluttered shut.

Against the sensitive skin of your neck, she spoke. “Beyond sure…” She muttered, littering your neck with love bites. Then, she pauses, pulling back to look up at you. Her hands still on your hips, pulling them to a stop to get your attention. “Are you sure about this?” Her pupils were blown out, adoringly.

You massaged her tense shoulders, licking your lips. The sight of her made your skin warm and tingly. “I’m fucking sure.” You smiled, playing with ends of her auburn strands. Leaning down, you pressed your lips against hers again, with fervor.

The both of you needed this—human connection. Even if it was short-lived, or temporary.

Ellie pushed at the flannel over your arms, tossing it to the side. Then, it was your knit shirt. She rolled it up from your abdomen, you lift your arms so she could remove it. Lastly, was your sports bra. She pulled it over your head, eyes marveling at the sight before her. Her calloused hands ran down the bare sides of your back, lips trailing down your sternum.

Running your hands over her hair, she latched her lips around one of your nipples. Sucking and nibbling at the sensitive nerves. A moan escapes your throat, arching your back into her. Your hips buck on top of her lap, begging for her touch elsewhere. “My lucky charm…” She mutters against your skin, kneading your other breast.

You end up with your back on the hard floor of the bookstore. Your hands pulling off her clothes like your life depended on it. She pulled your pants off, leaving you both only in your underwear.

Ellie kissed you, again, pressing her chest against yours. Her knee slotted between your legs, pushing her thigh against your clothed core. You could feel her grinding against your propped up leg, moaning into your mouth. Calloused hand gripping the back of your thigh. Sloppily, your lips trail to the side of her face, airy moans releasing beside her ear. “Ellie, please, touch me…” Wantonly, you pleaded, clenching the roots of her hair.

With her hot lips against your jaw, nibbling at your ear, she obliged. Drifting her hand down the center of your bodies, rubbing you over your underwear. Propping herself up on her other arm, she peered down at you. A pout resting on your wet lips, narrowing your eyes at her. One-handed, she slides your underwear to the side, running her middle finger up your center. Spreading your slick over that sensitive bud awaiting her focus. Ellie chews on her bottom lip, watching you shudder under her touch. “Right there?”

You respond with the tremble of your thighs and the heaving of your chest. She cracked a charming smile, eyes hazing at the sight of you.

Slipping two fingers into your cunt, she moans with you, curling her fingers slowly. Your hands roam her toned stomach, squeezing at her breasts, but you were losing focus. “S— So fucking good— ah!” Pulling her fingers out of you, she lowered herself. Kissing the scars and bruises that littered your abdomen. Her movements briefly confused you, until you felt her mouth on the inner parts of your thighs.

She pulled your underwear down your legs, tossing them aside. Then, she was on you, mouth hot over your cunt. Suckling on your clit, thrusting her tongue into you—eating you like she was starving. Your mouth fell ajar, grasping at her hair for something to hold onto. “Fuck, Ellie!” You whine, bucking your hips toward her face.

Her olive irises looked up at you between your legs, glimmering with lust. Arching your back, feeling that tightness coiling under your muscles, a lewd sound comes from your throat. Something between a moan and a yelp.

Sooner than later, your release comes crashing over you. Like a breath of fresh air. Legs clamping around her head, pushing her closer to your heat. Her lips making out with your pussy, bringing you down from your high. “Oh, my God…” You mutter, massaging her scalp with your fingers.

She crawls up your body like a lustrous lioness, letting your taste yourself on her lips. Your hands gripped at the fat of her ass, biting her bottom lip with your teeth. Ellie gasped, angling your face with her hand, groaning against your lips.

Sliding your index finger under the hem of her boxer-short underwear, you yank them down. “Damn…” Ellie mutters, kicking off her underwear the rest of the way. “You’re quick.” She chuckles, as you flip her onto her back. Running your lips down her neck, biting her skin.

“I want you… Can you blame me?”

You gripped at her hips, but when she winced you stopped. Peering down at her hip bone, a stitching remained there. Red and a little irritated. “It’s fine. Keep goin’, please.” Ellie tried, reaching for your hand.

Lowering your body, you kissed around the irritated wound, gently. Ellie watched you, chewing on her lip. Holding onto her hand, you kissed lower and lower. Through the hairs over her mound, the inner parts of her thigh—lightly over her cunt. She twitched, bashfully trying to shut her legs. But your hands braced her thighs.

Breathing her in, you licked a line up her center, making eye contact with her. An airy sound left her parted lips, free hand tweaking her nipples. “Yeah… Yeah…” She chanted, rocking herself against your face. You lick at her clit before sucking it into your mouth, her hips jolting at the feeling. Fluttering your eyes shut, you spend time on her sensitive bud, messily. Your non-dominant hand still holding onto Ellie’s, her grip tightening every second.

Taking your other hand, you insert your middle and ring finger into her core. Looking up at her reaction, while you made love to her clit. “Fuck, yes!” She enunciated her words lustily, drawing them out. Popping her bud from your lips, you begin to curl your fingers. Her wanton moans bouncing off the bookshelves around you.

“You’re so pretty like this.” You whisper, mainly to yourself, as you gaze at her in awe. Ellie was always so rough around the edges, but under you she was different. Her scarred body shook under you, in pleasure. She was in her element.

She moaned your name, riding your fingers. The muscles in her abdomen clenching, the grip on your hand getting harder. Taking that as your cue, you began to make out with her pussy. Only bringing her closer and closer to that breaking coil.

When the sparks in her stomach bursted into flames, a string of curse words fell from her lips. Her back arching off the hardwood floor, fingers pinching her tits. Her slick was all over your mouth, as you crawled back up her body.

Hungrily, she found your lips. Pushing your bare bodies together, you lazily made out—winding yourselves down.

Orange hues of the sun setting peaked through the windows, and the empty parts of the shelves. A burnt orange cast, glazing over your bodies like a blanket. Your legs intertwined, arms draped over shoulders, wrapped around waists; you were comfortable like this. Ellie was comfortable like this.

Parting your lips, she peppered small kisses along your jaw, before laying her head on your chest. “There’s a couch upstairs…” You breathe, playing in her hair.

“You say this now…?” She looked up at you, fingers rubbing circles on your bare hips.

A chuckle fell from your lips, your thumb caressing her flushed cheeks. “Heat of the moment!”

She sucked her teeth, nuzzling her head into your neck. “Whatever, you filthy woman.”

“Hey! You’re the one who took my clothes off.”

“You let me take your clothes off.” She nibbled at the skin of your throat, squeezing the fat of your hip.

You pressed your lips together, amused, running your fingers down her freckled back. “We could go up to the couch now.” You offered.

Ellie shook her head, hooking her leg around yours to pull herself closer to you. “No, just wanna lay here for a while…”

And you did just that. Laid with each other until your backs ached enough to move to the couch upstairs. Only to resume the position on the itchy cushions until the sun came back around to drag you both back onto the road.

#🪅#millersfinest #ellie tlou #ellie williams #lesbian #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fluff #mini series

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imsojules · 8 days ago

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Imagine surviving a zombie apocalypse with JJ

Hey y’all! So I had a dream a few weeks ago after binging The Walking Dead and The Last of Us, and it inspired me to get back to writing after a long time! While I’m working on the actual fic (I would like to make it into a series), I’d like to share with you some headcanon teaser-imagine-type thing. 1.2k

Any feedback is really appreciated!! ♥

TW for typical zombie apocalypse violence, established relationship, mentioned extreme violence/death, hurt/comfort, Pogue fem!reader, English is not my first language!

• The day they announced it as a pandemic, JJ rushed home and waited for his dad to come home; he never did.

• When everything went to hell, JJ was already running on instinct. He heard the news, saw the panic, and didn’t even stop to think. He found you in your driveway, confused and holding your phone like it still mattered. He didn’t even say hello, just grabbed your wrist and said, “We need to go. Now.”

• His voice was shaking. JJ Maybank does not scare easy — so when he looked at you like the world was ending, you believed him.

• John B hotwired a truck. Pope showed up with a first aid kit and four cans of soup. Kie had a machete and murder in her eyes. Sarah was already screaming at rich people to get off their yachts. And just like that, the Pogues became your apocalypse family.

• You’ve all got roles. Pope’s the tactician. John B’s the scout. Kiara’s the fixer. Sarah’s the backup. JJ’s the shield. You? You’re the glue. You’re the reason they haven’t splintered. You remind them there’s still something worth fighting for. Even if it’s just each other.

• JJ's survival strategy? Vibes and violence. He’s got no long-term plan, no route on the map, just a baseball bat, a stolen switchblade, and the promise he made to you: “I’m not leaving without you.”

• You’re in charge of rations, because JJ is not to be trusted around the food, and he’s not too proud to admit it.

• He deadass wants to go live in the mountains until all this has passed, and you’re like ?? “I’m not starving to death, Jay, forget it.”

• You constantly have to remind him he’s not Bear Grylls.

• He names his weapons. It’s dumb, but you let him have it. The bat is "Lucille 2," and the knife is “Karma.” You once caught him talking to them like they were teammates. “Nice work today, Karma. You really showed that corpse who’s boss.”

• You once found an abandoned community center with an old projector. Pope rigged it to work off a car battery. You all watched The Goonies while eating expired popcorn. It was the first time you saw JJ cry. He blamed it on “zombie dust.” No one called him out.

• Every new safehouse, he carves a tiny mark into the wall. A tally of the days survived. He never talks about it. You only saw it once—his name, yours, and a little plus sign between them.

• He taught you how to throw knives using an old road sign as a target. You beat him once. JJ claimed the wind was emotionally targeting him. “That was sabotage. Atmospheric betrayal.”

• Kiara taught you how to use a crossbow. JJ said it was hot. John B agreed. Sarah threatened to throw both of them into a walker pit if they kept being annoying. They shut up. (But JJ kept sneaking glances.)

• You kept a Polaroid JJ found—two strangers, smiling in some sunny-before-time. You call them "the ghosts." It’s silly, but sometimes you imagine they made it somewhere safe. That you will too.

• If there’s a tree in your path, you bet JJ’s going to fucking climb it. Passing an abandoned playground? Before you can blink, he’s on the jungle gym like “Look at me!!”

• He will insist he’s “scouting.”

• And it’s the little things that keep you sane.

• You both use humor to cope with the world.

• He can joke about the end of the world all day, but when you’re laughing, you’re reminding him that there’s still some piece of it left.

• You joked once about who’d be the first to die in a horror movie. “Definitely me,” he said without hesitation. “I’d trip saving you and get eaten with zero regrets. Classic heroic dumbass move. Five stars.”

• You started calling yourselves Team Cockroach—because no matter what came at you, you were still standing. JJ said it made you sound invincible. “Sexy little apocalypse cockroach power couple.”

• He made up a game called “Guess That Gunfire!” where you both guess what kind of weapon is being fired in the distance. Winner gets a protein bar. Loser has to cuddle him during night watch. You always lose. Mysteriously.

• You keep a small, battered notebook filled with sketches of places you’ve passed and letters you’ll never send.

• When things are quiet, the Pogues talk about what they miss most. Kie misses her garden. Pope misses his dad’s pancakes. Sarah misses showers. John B misses his freedom. JJ says he misses peace. You know he means it. He means you’re the closest he’s come to finding it again.

• At night watch, JJ exercises to stay awake. Like, you wake up in the middle of the night because you think you heard a zombie groan, but it’s just JJ doing sit-ups next to you.

• He senses you stirring and starts muttering, “Hundred and six, hundred and seven, hundred and—” but let’s be real, he only did like twelve.

• And you’re like, “How? Why? You’ve only had a can of tuna to eat in two days, where do you even get the energy??”

• “Gotta stay in shape if I’m gonna keep saving your clumsy ass.”

• JJ is the king of petty, spite-fueled motivation. “I’m not dying before I get to punch Rafe one more time.” “I didn’t live through the end of the world to starve to death. Not happening.” “I got bit by a duck, babe. A duck. I’m surviving out of spite.”

• He is terrified of losing you. Every time you two are apart, JJ is borderline homicidal.

• “I need to know you’re breathing. That you’re right there.” If he loses sight of you for more than ten seconds, it’s search mode activated. No one’s allowed to joke about it.

• There’s a comfort in knowing he’ll always fight for you. When the others doubt, when they hesitate, JJ’s always the one who steps up first, his fists clenched in a promise he’ll do whatever it takes to keep both of you alive.

• When you get to shower for the first time in a while, you suggest you just shower together and make the best of what little water you have.

• Imagine cuddling for comfort and warmth.

• Or patching him up after another close call.

• You once told him he was your home. He didn’t say anything, just looked at you like it physically hurt to love someone that much. That night, he held you like the world was ending all over again.

• You forget what day it is. Once, after spotting wildflowers sprouting through asphalt, you decided it was your anniversary. You didn’t know the real date, but you both agreed it felt like love.

• You have to be the responsible one, the decisive one, but in return, JJ will be your rock, your protector, steadfast and strong. Not even the weight of the world ending can faze him when he has you to worry about.

• When he says “I got you,” it’s never just words. It’s a promise. It’s a prayer. It’s a desperate, messy vow he’s never going to break—even if it kills him.

• After almost losing you once, he confesses that without you, he doesn’t have a reason to keep going. He survives to protect you.

• Never whines that he’s hungry or tired because he knows you are too, so whenever you ask if he’s alright, the answer is always going to be that he’s “okay if you are.”

• You once asked him what he’s fighting so hard for. He didn’t even blink. “You.” Then added, with a grin, “…and, like, definitely revenge on the duck.”

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qu1cks1lversb1tch · 9 months ago

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☆ Silver's Sinful Sunday ☆

Week One: Alastor

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Smut essentially, Fem Reader, Alastor has a massive breeding kink for some reason, mainly mindless rambles of a tired woman who's down bad, tentacles 👀, no use of y/n

Word Count: 466

“Fuck!” You groaned into your sheets, eyes rolling into the back of your head as Alastor pounded into you from behind.

It wasn't like him to be so careless — so needy. . . But when he saw you in that pretty little dress about to leave with Angel Dust, he almost couldn't resist the urge to rip it off of you and have you right there in the lobby.

With the way your hips naturally swayed when you walked, something within him snapped and he couldn't let you leave — not when someone else would get to see how fucking perfect you looked.

But only he would get to see the way you looked so beautiful — so perfect — constantly coming undone beneath him as he rammed into you, whether it be in missionary or thunderous backshots that have the head of his angry cock bumping up against your cervix in a way that should be painful, but somehow it floods your body with pleasure every time.

“Such foul language, Mon chéri.” The static voice growled in your ear, his breath growing ragged as he bit into your shoulder, his sharp teeth drawing blood that elicited a whiny moan from you, muffled by the mattress.

He was getting close once again — you'd lost count of how many times he filled you up in just one session. You stopped being able to count after the third time.

One tentacle slid between your open legs, rubbing against your clit while two others held your hands behind your back.

You clenched around him so beautifully — he could only imagine your fucked out face while you milked his cock during yet another one of your orgasms.

His thrusts grew sloppy, a tell-tale sign that he was even closer than before. . . You knew you weren't going anywhere. . . You knew the dress was not only torn to shreds, but had a sinful mix of your cum, slick, and his cum in a puddle beneath you.

His cock twitched inside of you and you felt him cum again — it was hard not to feel it with him so deep inside you. He thrusted again, just to feel your pretty little cunt around him before he pulled out and flipped you over gently.

“Who gets to see you like this? Hmm?” He hummed, rubbing the head of his cock against your sensitive clit.

You were sure your brain was gonna melt if he tried to lure one more orgasm out of you.

“You, Alastor. . . Only you!” You slurred as he towered above you, his radio dial eyes flickering with lust and compassion as he stared down at you.

His girl.

The only soul in the universe he could be himself around. . . The only one he would want to fuck over and over again.

“Right you are, Mon chéri!”

#hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor #alastor x reader smut #fem reader #alastor x fem reader smut

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bellfilmz · 16 days ago

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Don’t Leave Me Like This

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: season1!Rafe x reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Reader finds Rafe unconscious from a cocaine overdose, forcing a heartbreaking confrontation about his addiction and how close she came to losing him.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Drug use, overdose, language, angst, emotional distress, mentions of blood, light violence (slamming doors), implied past trauma, kinda victim blaming.

⸻

The door wasn’t locked.

That was the first sign something was wrong.

Rafe always locked it. Always. Whether he was home or not, asleep or just in a bad mood. he locked the goddamn door. You used to joke that he was more paranoid than Ward about privacy.

So when your fingers curled around the brass handle and it gave without resistance, your heart sank.

You stepped inside, the air still and eerie. Silence stretched out before you, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioning. Your voice came out too soft. Too hopeful.

“Rafe?”

Nothing.

No answer.

The living room was trashed—pillows on the floor, a shattered glass near the couch, a couple of bloodstains trailing toward the hallway. You froze.

Blood.

“Rafe!” you tried again, louder this time, panic lacing your voice. You kicked off your shoes and sprinted down the hallway, your heartbeat roaring in your ears.

His room.

His door was open just a crack.

The second you pushed it open, your world tilted.

Rafe was on the floor half on his back, head slumped to the side, mouth parted, and a thin stream of blood leaking from his nose. There was powder—white, unmistakable—dusting the corner of his nightstand, smeared across a small mirror. A rolled-up bill was still clenched loosely in his hand.

“No, no, no, no, no, Rafe!”

You dropped to your knees beside him, hands fumbling to check if he was breathing. His chest moved but barely. Shallow, labored breaths. His skin was clammy, pale. His pupils were blown wide, and he wasn’t responding.

“Wake up, baby, come on, wake the fuck up!”

You slapped his cheek gently. Then harder.

Still nothing.

Tears blurred your vision as your trembling hands reached for your phone. You couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t breathe. You dialed 911 with shaky fingers and told the operator your location, your voice a frantic mess of sobs and words.

“He’s not waking up—he did coke—I think he overdosed—please, just hurry!”

You threw the phone down and turned back to him, fingers brushing through his damp hair.

“Goddammit, Rafe,” you whispered, tears falling onto his chest. “Why would you do this?”

His lips parted slightly, a strangled, broken noise escaping him. You leaned in, heart catching.

“Rafe?”

His eyes fluttered—barely.

You cradled his face in your hands, your forehead pressed to his.

“You promised,” you whispered. “You promised you were done.”

⸻

The ambulance lights painted the room red and blue.

You sat on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, watching them work on him. One of the EMTs kept you updated. Heart rate weak. Breathing unstable. They administered Narcan. Twice. He still wasn’t fully responsive.

“Is he gonna be okay?” you asked.

“We got to him just in time,” one of them said, expression grim. “But it was close.”

You nodded, but it didn’t make you feel better.

Because close didn’t cut it.

⸻

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and heartbreak.

You sat beside his bed, fingers interlocked with his. He hadn’t woken up yet. Machines beeped quietly around him, the only sign he was still here.

Your free hand brushed the bruises on his forearm—faint, old, but familiar. Signs of a battle he never told anyone about.

You didn’t even know he was using again.

You were supposed to know him better than anyone.

You were supposed to save him from this.

But maybe you were wrong. Maybe you couldn’t.

⸻

An hour passed.

Then another.

You felt his fingers twitch against yours. Once. Then again.

“Rafe?”

His lashes fluttered, and this time, his eyes opened.

Barely.

“Hey,” you whispered, voice cracking. “You’re okay. You’re in the hospital.”

He blinked slowly, confusion setting in.

“You overdosed, Rafe,” you said, anger and fear knotting in your chest. “You almost died.”

He groaned softly, eyes closing again.

“I didn’t mean to—” he whispered, voice raspy. “I just… I wasn’t thinking.”

Your jaw clenched.

“You never fucking think, Rafe.”

Silence fell between you. Sharp. Unforgiving.

He turned his head to face you, guilt etched into every line of his face. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” you said. “You’re sorry you got caught. You’re sorry you didn’t die, maybe.”

He flinched.

Good.

“Do you even realize what you put me through?” your voice cracked. “Walking in and finding you like that? I thought I lost you. I thought you were gone.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he whispered. “It’s like… when it gets bad, it’s the only thing that shuts it up.”

Your eyes filled again.

“And what about me, huh? Am I not enough to shut it up?”

He looked at you then. Really looked at you. “You’re the only thing that ever helped.”

“Then why?” you asked, voice breaking. “Why would you do this to me?”

He closed his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks.

“Because I don’t think I deserve you,” he whispered. “And I was scared you’d figure that out.”

You stared at him, everything inside you crumbling.

“I already knew,” you said. “But I stayed anyway.”

⸻

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐝.

𝐀/𝐍: I’ll just leave this here.

#obx fanfiction #obx x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe blurb #rafe cameron #obx fic #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #angst #rafe angst

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omelettewise · 1 month ago

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Can you do a twisted wonderland x blind or mute male reader?

Characters:

Mallues, Idia + ortho and the rest is up to you. I don't mind 😼

Sorry if anything is spelled wrong. Also I wonder if Mallues and Idia can be platonic with ortho (obviously) ?

The book is collecting dust waiting for it's reader , why not give it a try ? .. another one for the pile of books by your side !

hiii ... its me again ... back umh ive decided to do it with a mute reader ! maybe ill post a blind one later (in 20 years) , i was rewriting the wattpad book .. after many misspells n cringe its back !! i love the choice of characters !! btwww the new malleus card made me go wildd THE BACK WINDOW ??? ❤️

btww (again) there might be some mischaracterization on my part since its been a while since ive actually writen not sure what the last part meant but i tried my best (i might have a favorite) (no proofread!!!!)

pronouns : you / yours

reader can be read as yuu or not (implied yuu on malleus)

– Idia barely leaves his room , so getting to know him was already hard . you two might have meet during book 6 , yet he might have seen you before because of the school cameras . He took notice of the fact that you barely talked , or talked at all .

–Idia secretly admires how you handle your muteness with grace and confidence. He wishes he had your ability to communicate without words, especially since he often struggles to find the right ones himself.

– because of him watching the cameras , now aware of the fact that you are mute due to observing your sign language as you seemed to scold grim .. in his defense the quality of the cameras is complete ass.

– Ortho was the first one to reach out for you , whether it was before or after book 6 , using himself as a translator of sign language in case any ignorant students would just ignore you.

– you warmed up to Ortho and that led you into the situation of right now .

Idia wasn't completely sure of what to do , or what to say in that matter , neither could you .. so he decided to play for a while as you sat on whatever surface you could in his bed (Ortho started to clean the room even more after that). He could feel your eyes on him , choosing to pause the game and look at you unsure of what to do but inviting you to watch him more closely .

“ I'm aware I might not be the best company right now .. but i hope you don't mind .” Idia stuttered between teeths as you took another chair and sat next to him , getting as close as physical possible with the huge gaming chair , Ortho on your right side , keeping an eye for potential sign language . A happy smile could be seen by how bright his eyes were . “ Yeah Yeah ! We adore having you here. I'm really glad Idy can have at least one Irl friend ! “ , Ortho giggled and you smiled brightly at the older Shroud , leaning in as you signed , Ortho immediately working on translation.

“ It's okay . I'm having fun just by being here ! . “

–Ortho is a curious one by nature , (look at his big ass and tell me he is not) he caught on immediately on the fact that you were mute , as i said before whether it was before or after book 6 , he was ready to lend a ‘hand’ for you to be able to communicate with people who didn't understand sign language , making your a life a lot easier , you make sure to thank him every time .

–Sometimes you and Ortho spend the rest of the day together in peace , communication between the two of you very few people can understand , as time went on Ortho may have become a very important pillar in your social life .

–He might even ask Idia to create a special accessory that can translate via detecting the movement of your hands at the moment of your signing . Ortho brings you a comforting peace whenever he is around , you can't help but love the younger brother energy he has.

Yuu and Ortho are sitting together in the Ignihyde dorm, surrounded by the soft hum of machines and glowing monitors. Ortho beams as he hands you a sleek, wrist-mounted device he and Idia have been working on.

“I call it the ‘Voice Companion!’ It translates your sign language into speech instantly, and you can customize the voice, too!” Ortho explains, his excitement palpable as he demonstrates its features.

You can't help but smile warmly and sign a heartfelt "Thank you." As the device speaks the words aloud in a gentle tone, Ortho’s eyes light up even more.

"I’ve also added a setting that lets me understand you directly through my sensors," he continues, leaning closer with genuine curiosity. "That way, even if the device isn’t working, I can still communicate with you—no tech hiccups allowed!"

Your laughter fills the room, not as sound, but in the way your eyes crinkle and your shoulders shake—a joy that Ortho immediately mirrors with his own gleeful giggles.

"Do you want to try it out during the next board game night with Idia?" Ortho asks, his enthusiasm unwavering. He’s already imagining how much easier it’ll be for you to join the conversation with his introverted brother.

You nod , your hands moving fluidly to sign, “Only if you’re on my team!” The device translates your words, but Ortho doesn’t need it to understand the teasing sparkle in your eyes. He grins and claps his hands together.

“You’ve got it! Let’s crush him together!” Ortho declares, buzzing with determination. In that moment, the bond between the two feels like its own kind of magic—a connection built on trust, creativity, and unspoken understanding.

–Malleus was curious about two things , you didn't seem to fear him, but neither did you talk to him. It was when you communicated your name to him in sign language when he understood why.

–You being mute doesn't bother him , he probably has an uncanny ability to read your emotions through their expressions and body language. His fae senses help him pick up on even the subtlest cues, making your communication feel effortless.

–Malleus as someone who has faced isolation and misunderstanding, he is fiercely protective of you . He ensures that you are treated with respect and steps in gracefully yet firmly if anyone ever dismisses or mistreats you .

– Both you and him appreciate moments of solitude, and your relationship is built on mutual respect for each other’s need for space. This creates a tranquil world of your own where words are unnecessary.

The moonlight filters through the ancient trees of the Ramshackle yard where Malleus and you are . Fireflies dance in the gentle breeze, casting tiny glimmers across the serene pond. It’s a spot Malleus rarely shares with anyone, but tonight feels special.

Malleus crossed his arms as you leaned on the twisted trunk of an old oak, his gaze fixed on you as you signed with your hands to describe the beauty of the night. He watches your movements intently, his sharp eyes catching every flick of your fingers and every subtle change in their expression.

“I see,” he says, his voice low and warm. “You find the moon particularly enchanting tonight.”

You smile, nodding as you continue signing. Malleus moved toward the fireflies next, his hands weaving imaginary patterns in the air. You watch, your lips curving into a small, amused smile.

“You’ve captured them beautifully,” he remarks, holding his hand out to summon a small wisp of green magic. The glowing orb hovers between them, then bursts into dozens of sparkling points of light, mimicking the fireflies around you two. Your face lights up with delight as you gesture to say, Amazing.

Ortho might be my favorite ... might

#twisted wonderland x reader #twistedwonderland #twisted wonderland x gender neutral reader #twst x male reader #malleus draconia #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #ortho shroud

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mikimakiboo · 14 days ago

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Time Travelers AU - Well, well, well...

I know I said I was gonna get back on track but I failed an exam and my grandpa's sick again so I'm really trying my best here :') I think I have ideas for two chapters after this one ? I'll try to write them faster than one month each lol :'D

I really want to get over Cross's time, I love this boy but I don't have much to say about his time sadly :')

Also everyone go check out @ancha-aus 's drabble because it is amazing !!! It takes place later in the story so I will link it again when we get there but still !! Go read !!

I swear I spend more time looking at dictionaries than actually writing the chapters, why did I gave them all dead languages

First

The first night in Cross's house had been fairly calm, Horror and him had managed to make a bed for everyone, though Nightmare preferred sleeping on the bench on the kitchen side of the house, Cross couldn't blame him honestly, straw wasn't what someone would call a fancy beding, compared to it anything would be better, even a bench. Killer was very happy with the straws and kept making little braids with it, five in total, and he gave one to everyone afterward. Horror was fine too, Cross never heard the viking complain about anything anyway, so either he was really fine with it or he was just very polite. Dust was strangely excited, Cross didn't think it was possible to be excited about straw beds after having used the amazing couch in his house but here he was, mumbling things to himself as he sat on the bed.

It luckily hadn't rained, so the humidity didn't come in and they were able to keep a certain warmth inside of the small house. Usually peasant houses shared the space with the cattle and the warmth of the animals would heat up the house, but Cross was a knight, he didn't have animals, so he had to rely on fire, but as he didn't have infinite wood he would most of the time keep it to cook and use this heat to warm himself up.

Cross had been the first to wake up and had rapidly been followed by Horror. He saluted him with a smile.

- Dieus vos doinst boinjor.

- Kveðja, ér sofa vel ? Horror answered.

"Vel" meant "well", that Cross was sure, and he remembered Horror using "sofa" to say "sleep", with these two words he guessed he must have either asked if Cross slept well or informed him that he slept well. Cross nodded, both answering the question if it was aimed at him and showing satisfaction if it wasn't.

- Volez avoc moy aler a jart ? Cross asked if Horror wanted to go to the garden with him, pointing at the door.

He needed to pick some vegetables for dinner and the others were still asleep, so he might as well grab them now and not bother his friends later. Horror looked at the door, frowning slightly.

- Ek þurfa vitja úti ? He asked, confused.

Cross was confused too, what did Horror understand ? He looked around for a second before grabbing a basket and showing it to Horror, then going to the door and signing for him to come along as he went outside and around the house towards the small garden. Horror followed, curious, and watched as Cross pointed at the different plants than at the basket. Did Cross want him to pick those plants and put them in the basket ? He slowly picked a carrot and looked at Cross as he put it down, seeing him nod, he smiled, and both of them started picking the vegetables, teaching each other their names. It was nice, and when they went back inside, everybody was up.

Cross put the basket on the table, letting Dust inspect it, he seemed rather curious about the vegetables, surely comparing them to those he had at home. He glanced at his countertop, he had just enough bread for today and maybe tomorrow morning, he would need to go in town tomorrow in the afternoon and buy some more. He could bake some, sure, but it was time consuming so he preferred buying already prepared ones. He also checked his water supply, he needed to go to the well.

- Eo dei a puit aler. Dust, volez moy sivir ? Cross gathered all his courage, asking Dust to follow him.

Dust looked up at him, thinking, his sockets always squinted a bit when he was thinking, and he ended up looking at Nightmare who was staring at the bench, well, not the bench, but the little straw braid Killer made him and that he had put on the bench for the night.

- Nightmare ? What d-

Nightmare flinched and sharply turned to look at him.

- Oop, sorry, didn't mean to startle you, Dust apologized, what does "sivir" mean ?

Nightmare hesitated, his gaze diverting for a second, before he talked, for the first time since the forest, though his voice was low, not as self assured as when he would talk in Dust's time.

- S.. suivre.. ? He stuttered.

Everybody caught that, but nobody commented.

- Suivre ? Dust repeated, like uhh... I know this word, I've seen it on social media... oh ! Follow ! Yeah ! He turned to Cross, smiling, yeah I'll follow you ! I'll uhh.. sivir vos.. ?

Cross smiled, feeling a rush of warmth in his chest, he just invited Dust to the well, he did that, oh god. He quickly nodded and grabbed two empty jars before heading to the door that Dust opened for him.

- Nos anteruns viste !

They will be back soon, he said as he went out with the hoodied skeleton, leaving the three others together.

- So... what's a "puit" ? Dust asked as they walked.

- Por panre l'aigue, li n'en estat gueres à maise.

He explained as simply as he could, telling him it's to take water as he didn't have any at home. Dust just frowned.

- Huh-huh. Well you know what ? "Aigue" sounds like "agua" in Spanish and since you've got jars I'm gonna say it's for water. That or wine. I don't know what people usually drink in the Middle Ages.

He finally answered. Did he understand ? Cross had no doubt he did, Dust was smart, he always figured out stuff.

- Now if we're going to grab some water I guess it's either a river or a well ?

Cross liked hearing Dust talk, he had such a sweet voice, so confident and yet always sounding unsure at the end of his sentences, as if he was expecting to be wrong about every supposition he made when really he was probably the most smart of them all.

- ... Did I say something stupid ? Dust frowned, sounding a bit nervous.

Why would he feel nervous ? Cross didn't see any reason to feel- oh god he had been staring. He quickly shook his head and looked forward, a purple blush on his cheekbones.

- P-pardon. He apologized.

- Okay.. ?

The walk to the well was... awkward, Cross didn't dare look at him, he didn't want to stare again, at least with his arms holding the jars he wasn't tempted to grab Dust's hand.

Once they arrived Dust looked at the stone well with wonder. Was it the first time he saw a well ? He did have water directly in his house, so maybe wells weren't a thing anymore in the future ?

Cross put the jars down, grabbing the bucket attached to the log above the well to make it fall in until it hit the water and slowly filled itself. Dust was watching carefully, bent over the hole, his eyelights were almost sparkling with curiosity and Cross could see the water reflecting on his bones... he would give anything to be allowed to hold him close and-

- It's full, Dust announced, straightening.

- O-oh uh, oil.. ! Cross was brutally shaken out of his thoughts.

The bucket was full, so Cross pulled on the lever until it came back all the way up to grab it and pour the water in the first jar, when he straightened up Dust was looking at him. He made a grabby motion towards the bucket.

- Can I try ? He asked, badly masking his excitement.

Cross couldn't help but blush as he handed him the bucket and watched as he put it back in the well to wait patiently for it to fill. He didn't think such a simple activity would interest Dust so much, and yet here he was, happily filling the jars with water. There was something childish and yet so attractive to it, Cross wanted to protect that, he wanted to protect that amazement for everything that surrounded him.

- Estrez tanz jolif... Cross said without thinking.

He instantly blushed, he really didn't mean to call Dust pretty. Well, Dust was pretty, but he didn't mean to say it to his face !

- Huh ? Dust answered, not having heard as he was putting the bucket back on the edge of the well.

- E-Eo diseie nos devrïens antrer !

He corrected, saying they needed to go back home as he grabbed the two full jars.

- Oh, we're going ? Don't you want me to hold one ? They look heavy, Dust asked him, going to grab a jar but Cross stopped him.

- Eo puys porter, mercit ! He thanked, telling him he could hold them.

- If you say so, Dust didn't insist.

Cross smiled at him, and lead the way back home with two full jars and a soul racing like never before.

He really needed to get his thoughts under control.

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mistydeyes · 2 years ago

Note

Sorry to bother and I completely understand if you dont have time or if you're busy but I saw this tiktok and was like worth a shot to ask, if you could write something kinda angst with it.

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT82P5PHR/

OKAY when i saw this tiktok it literally made my jaw drop like this idea is so good and also so angsty. this my first time ever writing something like this ahh but thank you so so much for requesting!!

behind closed doors

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: When all signs lead to you as the mole, the 141 demands answers and they will get it whatever way necessary.

read part ii here! and part iii!

pairing: Taskforce 141 x gn!reader (but like not even a pairing at this point lol)

okay real talk here please do not read if you are not comfortable with ANY OF THIS! it is upsetting in all aspects

warnings: torture/violence, mentions of blood, bruises, and cuts, swearing, abusive language, ANGST WITH NO HAPPY ENDING

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

"No, no, no," Ghost whispered in a sickly soft tone, "Keep your eyes open, Eclipse." He held a gloved hand to your face and sharply pulled your leaning head upright. "Please," you hoarsely coughed out, "I don't know anything." Your eyes stung with salty tears as he coldly looked back into your eyes. "We all know that's bullshit," he spat before turning from you and looking at a variety of tools at his disposal. You gritted your teeth and shut your eyes in preparation. Each member had their own method of "questioning" from Gaz's psychological mind games and sensory deprivation to the degradation and waterboarding methods from Price, you were thrown into hysterics after each session. You had long forgotten the comfort of a warm meal by now as you were fed the bare minimum and received the smallest of water droplets. While your limbs were sore from the restraints and the small burns from the cigarettes and cigars from your former team, you always feared when Ghost was in the room. The cruelty you had endured these last few days specifically from your lieutenant made you feel like you had gone to hell.

You heard a variety of tools clatter around as you tried to think of a paradise far from the one you were in. A week ago, your team was compromised on a mission with an assassination initiative. After the dust settled, the internal hard drives, records of communications, and hidden listening devices lead to you as the mole. Despite your protests, you were dragged into an all too familiar area. "Open your eyes, Eclipse," Ghost demanded but you shook your head violently. Your insolence was met with a hard punch to the nose and as blood dripped slowly onto your bruised face, you saw in your clouded vision the violent sparks of a taser. You couldn't help but sob upon seeing him tease you with the device, activating it close to your face and mocking you with it. "Just tell us where Makarov is and we'll let you go," he comforted. You shook violently in protest before you were sent teeth gritting and toes gripping into a violent shock sent to your abdomen. "I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING." you protested but the assault continued with your screams becoming enveloped into the soundproof walls. Despite being a trained soldier, there was nothing that could prepare you for this. Every time you fell out of consciousness, you would wake to his cold eyes staring back at you. "I'm getting Soap," he said with the same nauseating tone, "I think it's time you get some rest."

You shuttered and tried to hold in the tears that burned into the various cuts on your face and chest. When Soap entered the room with a bitter demeanor, you tried to scream in a fruitless attempt at ceasing this ordeal. "No one can hear you," he joked before he violently pushed your chair backward and you fell in a painful thud on the floor. "What are you going to do with me?" you whispered in fear before you felt him turn the chair back over with your face hitting the cold concrete. Before he could do anything more, there was a knock at the door. Ghost and Soap looked at one another before Ghost opened the door to reveal Price and Gaz with horrified expressions. "Yes, Captain?" Ghost asked impatiently before Price gestured for Soap to come closer to the group. While your ears rang in pain from the sudden movements, you knew you heard what your captain said. "It's not them," he uttered and you could see everyone's stained boots turn to your beaten, bruised, and broken form. Price and Gaz rushed to undo your binds, screaming apologies and promises for treatment. You couldn't help but have a tired smile on your bleeding lip as you looked at Ghost. Despite your gaze on his, he couldn't bring himself to look back at you. He only knew that the hands covered in blood, your blood, were irreversible.

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hellvcifer · 1 year ago

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CARING FOR YOU WHEN YOU'RE SICK— ଘ drabbles┆part 2

ft. pairings :: charlie, lucifer, adam, angel dust, vox // gn!reader wc :: 3k note :: i am sick (◞‸◟;) so i wanted to bring a little comfort to others in the meantime. enjoy !! warnings :: canon typical language, pet names used instead of y/n (darling, sweetie, love, babe, sweetheart)

꒰ CHARLIE ꒱

The door to your bedroom slammed open, “Okay!” hurried shuffling and fumbled footsteps accompanied a strained voice. “Oh, no! Wait, wait, wait! Ugh.” Charlie was able to grab the glass of water before it fell off her tray. “Got it!” Her arms were filled with extra blankets, a thermometer, a tray topped with a bowl of hot soup and water, about three bottles of pills, and one with liquid medicine. “Phew! Okay!” She scrambled over to the bed you laid in.

You groaned, the throbbing in your head getting worse every time there was a loud noise. The bed dipped with new weight. You slowly turned over, shifting the blankets around you to do so, feeling them drenched in sweat. “Charlie?” You rasped, seeing her blonde hair swish as she turned to look at you. Her eyes creased in a nervous worry.

“Hi! Okay, look.” She turned back to her things. “I cooked up some soup, I read that the clear broth is supposed to be really good for you! Oh! Also.” She grabbed a few of the pill bottles, held them up. “One of these helps with headaches and muscles aches! And the other will help with your stomach… I think.” She pouted while reading. “Or! I can give you this,” She held up the liquid medicine. “And it should help with… Everything?”

“Charlie…” You tried sitting up, feeling the aching throughout your muscles. You groaned but fully sat up.

“Oh! And we can take your temperature. I’m not sure how that will work though… Hellborne temps are way higher than Sinners but Sinners temps change when they get here and run higher. Do you think there’s a conversion?”

“Charlie!” You sputtered, sending yourself into a long coughing fit feeling a sharp pain throughout your head with each one.

Her brows furrowed, “Here, drink!” She held up the glass of water to your lips, her hand rubbing your back as you did. A few drops of water leaked past the brim before she pulled it away. She moved her palm up your shoulder, then your neck, before coming to your chin. Her thumb brushed away the trail of water that was left.

You looked up at her, bleary-eyed and clammy. Her features brought a weak smile to your face. “Don’t worry, this happened to us before we got here. We get through it… Eventually.” You explained through your raspy voice.

“I just wish I could make you feel better.” Charlie spoke, head tilting to look at you softly.

“Having you here is enough.” You giggled. “You’re lucky you can’t get sick or I’d be kicking your worried butt out.” She laughed in response. You turned to look at the liquid medicine and pointed. “That one will work.”

“Hey.” Charlie spoke, both her hands squishing your cheeks. “Anything you need, and I am right here. Okay?” Her glistening eyes were accompanied with a caring smile.

You melted. “Thanks Char.”

꒰ LUCIFER ꒱

It may not have been the best idea to try and hide the fact that you were sick from everyone at the hotel. After the battle with Heaven, and rebuilding the hotel, you really didn’t want to be the one caught slacking off. The grand re-opening was soon and everything needed to be perfect.

Which brought you to the present, standing atop of a ladder as you helped hang the very sign that stated what you were prepping for. Lucifer stood at the base to make sure it didn’t tip in the process.

“Okay, a little to the left!” Vaggie called out, standing some feet away and eyeing the placement. “Up a little!” You stood on your toes to make the adjustment, legs straightened to their max as you did so. You began feeling your head fill with pressure, vision slowly overcoming with weird splotches of black and purples. “A little higher on the right.” Vaggie was addressing you, but it seemed muffled the more you tried to shake the increasing feeling of dizziness.

“Hey, you alright, darling?” Lucifer called up to you, seeing you sway ever so slightly, hand dropping the banner before your body completely leaned backwards and fell off the ladder. He was quick to catch you, calling out your name as you landed in his arms. He cradled your figure, worried eyes staring down at you before being directed to take you to a room by Charlie.

“Dad, don’t worry!” She tried to reason with him, seeing how he watched you with concern. “Angel Dust said that Sinners get sick like this all the time! Some rest and things will be back to normal!” Her dad didn’t budge, brows still creased with worry as he held your hand, seeing your chest rise and sink with raspy breaths. His daughter sighed, “I’ll go get some water.” She took her leave.

Lucifer had no idea Sinners dealt with things like this, even after their deaths. He wished he could take away any discomfort you were feeling. If only he had the power to do so, he would in a heartbeat.

A groan from your lips brought his focus back to you, he watched your chapped lips become slick with your saliva as you licked them. “Luci?” You felt his hand squeeze, your eyes sliding to see your partner. His hat was missing, hair tousled and wrung as if he couldn’t keep himself from threading his fingers through it, troubled at the thought of somehow losing you.

“Hey, Sweetie.” He did his best to smile but nothing could prevent the worry from leaking through. “You uh, you gave me quite a scare! Ha-Ha!” He tried to push a smile though it was obviously strained. “H-How are you feeling?”

You glanced around, seeing that you were in one of the newly refurbished hotel rooms. Your eyes squinted, trying to recall the events that led you to waking up here. You had been feeling all but ill for the past few days and did nothing but try and push through it. “I, uh… I’m fine.” You tried to sit up but Lucifer pushed you to lay back down gently.

“You’re anything but fine.” You met eyes with him once more. “If I hadn’t been there to catch you, it could have been worse.” His voice was shaky as he spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me that you weren’t feeling well?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I fell.” You tried to scoff out a laugh but seeing his expression you quickly stopped. You sighed, reaching for his hand again, searching for any comfort. He met you with his own, fingers intertwining tightly. “I just… Wanted to help out as much as possible.” You felt his thumb begin to rub along the edge of yours. “I wasn’t feeling well but… I didn’t want to let anyone down.” You saw him melt, now understanding. He felt his heart swell with even more adoration for you.

“Oh, my love.” His other hand caressed your cheek. “There is no way you’d ever let anyone down. Especially with me.” You leaned into his hand a bit more at his words. “If anything is wrong, please promise you’ll come talk with me?”

You smiled softly before nodding your head. “I guess I should thank you for being there to catch me.” You yanked him towards you, arms wrapping around him tightly into your chest. “My gaurdian angel.” That nearly made his wings pop.

꒰ ADAM ꒱

“Hey Babe!” The door to your bedroom opened, a familiar voice announcing his entrance. “Saw you weren’t at the high council meeting and Danger Tits said you’d be here.” He strutted closer, seeing that the only thing on your bed was a weird lump of blankets. “Uh…” He poked it, “The fuck is this?” He did it a few more times.

“Sto~op.” You groaned out, muffled through the layers of fabric.

“Uh, ew.” He took a step back, the disgust was ever present in his response. “Sounding a little gross there, babes.”

“Oh screw you.” You threw the blankets off you, narrowed eyes squinting at the intruder. “Why am I sick in Heaven! I thought Angels couldn’t get sick.”

Adam stared for a moment before he bursted into an obnoxious laughter, “Ain’t no way you caught the Angel Allergies!” His cackle continued, clutching his stomach.

“The what?” You spoke flatley, watching him walk around the bedroom and into the on-suite bathroom.

“Every Angel gets them after being in Heaven for a while. It's a side-effect for human angels.” He explained shuffling in the cabinet. “Can’t believe you actually caught them, that’s so lame!”

“Oh, like you’ve never been sick before!” You tried to challenge but your stuffed sinuses made you sound like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

It only caused Adam to laugh even more. “Fuck no. The first man doesn’t get sick.” The water ran for a second before he walked back out, throwing a white bottle that rattled familiar to pills. “You’re welcome.”

You caught them, all but ungraciously. “What are these?” You glanced at them before having a glass of water shoved into your other hand.

“I can’t have my arm candy looking like a wreck, okay?” He sat down next to you on his side of the bed. Arms crossed behind his head. “Take two of those and you’ll be fine.” Your tired gaze slid over to see him resting, his mask now gone and eyes closed. “You’re stuck in bed until they go away.”

You huffed before quickly taking the pills with a few gulps of water. You drank the liquid entirely and set the empty glass on the bedside table. You immediately turned towards your man and tackled him. Your body cushioned by his and the impact was followed by a breathless grunt from him. “What the–”

“Thanks, babe.” You hummed, and squished your face into his chest. His hand hovered your form before settling around you, pulling you closer into him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He glanced down at you, seeing your eyes close with a peaceful sigh. “Just get better, okay?”

꒰ ANGEL DUST ꒱

“See ya whores later!” Angel threw his right hands into the air as he walked through the lobby. “This body doesn't get paid the big bucks for nothing.” He pushed his fluff up, eyes catching a peek at your hunched over form at the bar. He immediately stopped walking.

“What’s the matter with you?” He took a few steps closer. “Hey,” He poked your arm, causing you to finally sit up straight and wearily turn your head towards him. “Oh, you look like shit.” His lip curled at the sight. Dark eye bags, bleary eyes, dull complexion.

“Thanks, Ange.” Your tone had no inflection of appreciation as you rolled your eyes. “You’re a real confidence booster, you know that?”

“No seriously, what’s going on?” His voice deepened, brows creasing as he sat down on the bar stool next to you, scooting closer.

You waved a hand in the air, shooing him away. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

“More like anything but fine.” Husk spoke as he walked behind the bar. “Spends most nights sitting here rather than sleeping.”

“Shut. up. Husk.” You snapped at the bartender.

“Insomnia, huh?” Angel sighed, hand hovering your shoulder. He hesitated. “Listen, I gotta go but… Take care of yourself, okay?” You glanced at him before holding your hand out. He grabbed yours and felt you squeeze.

“Don’t worry about me.” You tilted your head and smiled, though unconvincingly. “I’m okay… You should go before you’re late.” Your brows creased knowingly.

“Right…” He stood, nervously looking over your figure before letting go and turning to leave. As much as he wanted to stay, to take care of you, he couldn’t do anything to upset Val when he was needed at the studio.

The next time he saw you was when he had finished shooting. Finally making his way back to the hotel and seeing you in the same spot where he had left you. Except now, you were passed out.

“The fuck, Husk?” He stomped over, “You can’t just pour out the drinks without regard to someone’s health!” He angrily glared at the bartender.

“I didn’t pour anything.” He huffed, tone blunt as ever. “Started snoozing the minute you left. Figured I’d let them catch some sleep for once.” He shrugged.

“You– but– Ugh! Nevermind!” Angel came closer, arms wrapping around you softly before lifting you up. He made his way to your hotel room, kicking the door shut with his foot and walking in to lay you on your bed. The jumble finally brought you out of your sleep with a hummed groan.

“Ange?” You asked, eyes squinting to see his dual colored eyes, a sense of relief flooding your body. You sighed. “You’re back.” You reached out for his hand, searching for his. He returned quickly, though confused. “I’m glad.” The comfy bed now felt like a warm cloud, pulling you back to your slumber once more.

“Wait a minute,” His eyes widened, falling to his knees next to your bed. “Is that why you’ve been staying up?” He whispered in shock.

“Well someone’s gotta make sure you get back safely.” You mumbled into your pillow, feeling your eyelids becoming heavy. He let out a long sigh, overwhelmingly filled with a sense of warmth, hand coming to your head and resting there.

“Thank you.” He laid his head in his other set of arms next to you. “For everything.”

꒰ VOX ꒱

The man released an exasperated sigh after reading his most recent text from Val. He had to do everything around here, didn’t he? All to keep up appearances with the public and uphold their reputation. Because if it wasn’t his dear Val running up a storm, then it was Velvette.

Vel’s on a rampage~ ♡

He pushed open the doors to said woman’s studio, seeing her shouting at her workers and her assistant cowering behind one of the trash cans. Taking cover from the throne spools of fabric and occasional scissors.

“Velvette.” Vox cascaded in a calming tone, walking closer to her and dodging an incoming hairbrush.

“The fuck do you want, flat face?” She snarled through heavy breaths, “Can’t you see, I’m busy!”

“Yes, of course, so busy.” He rolled his eyes. “And why are you destroying your department this time?” He leaned forward, eyes intent for an answer.

“My star pupil decided to show up late today!” She shouted, “Do you know how much money was spent for this show! And out of nowhere, cough cough, the bitch is sick!” She swiped at her phone, dialing a number. “If that dumbshit doesn’t show, I will kill every last one of you!”

Vox’s brow raised instantly, knowing exactly who she was talking about. “I’m sure someone as smart as you will figure things out.”

“You don’t think I know that!?” She turned towards him. “Go get me my lead!” He huffed and with a zap, he disappeared through one of the many security cameras and into your apartment within the building.

He took a few steps, searching for any sign of you. It was eerily quiet until a symphony of coughs could be heard from the kitchen. They became louder the closer he got, seeing you hunched over the sink. “Oh, No…” He walked over, placing a hand on your back and rubbing to ease your discomfort.

You finished out your fit, “Don’t mind me.” You sniffled, grabbing a tissue and wiping your mouth clean. “Just hacking up a lung.” You stood up, turning to fully see Vox. “Let me guess… Vel told you.” You spoke flatly, knowing his appearance wasn’t a coincidence.

“You should have called me.” He frowned.

You rolled your eyes, walking over to the hot tea you were brewing until you were rudely interrupted by your weak immune system. “I knew your schedule was busy…” You poured in some more honey. “Not to mention, Vel went off before I could even finish telling her I couldn’t make it today.” You raised the mug to your lips, letting the warm liquid relieve your scratchy throat.

“Velvette’s show is the least of your problems.” He spoke and watched your turn to him. “She can find a new lead. You need to rest.”

“Yeah, but you’re all about saving face.” You poked the corner of his screen, flashing a small smile before walking past him. “Faking it on that runway for an hour won’t be hard.” His steel claws grabbed your wrist and stopped you.

“You’re not doing her show.” His eyes glared down at you. Screen flashing a few times before revealing his face once more. “I’ve canceled my appointments for the day.”

“What?” your eyes widened. He grabbed your mug, hand falling to your back and guiding you towards your bedroom. “And you expect Vel to just be okay with that?”

“Let me handle it.” He brought you to your bed, setting your tea on your bedside table before pulling back your blankets. “You’re on bedrest until this thing has flushed itself out of your system.”

You propped your hand on your hip, “If I didn’t know any better, Vox. I'd think you cared about me.” You watched his face glitch, blue-screening for a moment.

“sħᵾⱦ ᵾp ⱥnđ lie down!” His filtered static appeared for a moment with his flustered order.

“Oh, kinky! I love when you get all dominant on me.” You smirked, seeing his face continue to malfunction. “Cool your hard drives.” A soft giggle escaped your lungs before you started coughing again. You slid under the comforter, getting situated as he flicked the blankets over. He passed you your tea and watched you take a sip to relieve your coughing.

“Stay.” He pointed and glared down at you before turning away. Your fingers swiftly caught the tail of his suit, stopping him. He swiveled his head, brows raised.

You turned away, “Thank you.”

A gentle smile graced his mouth. He stepped closer, hand on your head to lean you towards him ever so slightly. His warm screen grazed your forehead as he softly kissed it. “Anything for you, my love.”

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