#east facing house design | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

canthelpit0 · 5 months ago

Text

Hair pulling / spanking

[A Kinktober special] (except it’s canceled)

Pairing: cocky!chris x reader

Wordcount: 3.1k +

Summary: nothing just 5 times Chris pulled your hair or hit your butt

Warnings: smut, fluff, p in v, spanking & hair pulling, assguy!chris, jealous!chris

A/n: back to writing. Well this is an old draft. But I’m not gonna do kinktober so, might as well upload it now..

01.

The first time you ever met Chris was at an influencer party. You were originally from the east coast too, and you bonded over that.

Both of you were sober, Chris because he didn’t drink, and you, because you were the designated driver.

You talked for a while just lounging in the kitchen the music of the party being drowned out.

You’re an influencer too, so you two just talked, until the innocent conversation turned flirty.

And before you knew it you were upstairs at the house party in some random guest bedroom, your ass up in the air while Chris pounds into you.

You press your thighs harshly together. Your arms draped in front of you. You arch your back every time he recoils only to come back and thrust harder.

You feel your cunt ache and all you can think to do is moan Chris’ name into the pillow that your face is buried in.

You hear another loud slap echo through the room, until your brain registers that that wasn’t skin clapping, but rather Chris spanking you. Not even spanking at this point, he was just blatantly hitting it.

Your mouth falls open then the sting starts to register through your extreme arousal.

“You like that?” You hear his gruff low voice speak again. Your brain is having a hard time catching up with his words. Most of his whispered praises and insult were just background noise to you since it was hard to focus.

“Chris- Chris god-“ you babble out his name trying to communicate that you are close but the relentless speed of his hips slapping into yours makes you weak.

“Already close huh?” He huffs his words coming out harsh due to the harsh breaths he takes in.

It’s taking great effort for him to keep up this brutal pace.

“Don’t fucking cum.” Chris says harshly. You feel another slap on your ass again.

The spanking had been fine at first, it wasn’t too hard and he’d soothe the sting, but now he was not even caring.

And at this point you’re sure that if the music from the house party downstairs wasn’t blaring music loudly the slap of his hand on your ass would echo through the entirety of this huge house.

You keep your arm spread out over your head, your face staying in the pillow.

You feel Chris’ hand on your hips tighten even more. And at this point you’re almost sure that he is purposefully tying to leave bruises.

Suddenly right when you’re close, you feel Chris slow down. When he hears my protesting whine he actually chuckles.

You feel Chris’ hands travel up from your ass, to your arched back, to your neck. And suddenly you feel Chris pull your hair into a messy makeshift ponytail.

You’d been heating up from the inside, and the fact that he quite literally, accidentally, edged you, just added into the feeling of the heat in this room. Your body felt like it was on fire.

Some of your hair hand been, slightly, sticking to your skin. He pulls them all away tho. Your mouth is dry from the amount of times you’ve moaned and screamed tonight.

“Careful ‘aight.” He mumbles you feel Chris leans over my back. One of his hands goes around your neck as he pulls you up so you’re cropped up by your arms.

Chris gives you a quick peck on the check as you’re back in doggy.

He starts to thrust again his hand around your neck going back to your hip. Your arms felt like jellos and really the only thing holding you up is Chris pulling you by your hair.

when he starts to pick up pace again, you Immediately feel the knot in your stomach tie again.

“Oh my god-“ you moan out loudly. Now, not having anything to muffle your noises.

You feel Chris tug harder on your hair and speed up. Suddenly you feel a slap again. It’s loud and echos through the room. It tingles , but in this moment it only serves to intensify your pleasure.

“You close hm?” Chris taunts, his voice low and rough.

You only moan in response. But Chris doesn’t like that. You feel another slap to your ass almost sending you over the edge.

“Go on,” he tugs on your hair harder and his grip on your hips becomes incredibly harder as he holds you in place. “Come for me.” He breathes out.

And as soon as you get the green light that’s just what you do.

Though Chris’ harsh movements into your core don’t stop. His thrust become erratic and your body practically shakes.

The only thing holding you from face planting into the pillow, is Chris pulling you up by your hair.

Chris gives you a few last thrusts letting out strings of curses and groans. He fills you up, not bothering to pull out.

02.

After that first time you two hooked up he’d given you his number, wich is something he usually doesn’t do.

And, while yes, you two did hook up, before that you had a conversation, and Chris thought you are pretty funny. He wasn’t trying to get into your pants in the first place, it just kinda happened.

You two started to hang out the week after. Going out on dinner ‘dates’ except it wasn’t a date.

A few weeks later he finally invited you over and you met his brothers. You knew that he is a triplet and you’d seen clips of their YouTube videos before, so you knew their names and how to tell them apart.

Well not perfectly, but good enough.

Chris and you still casually hooked up once in a while, often, but you were quickly becoming friends. Close friends at that, and not just because you two fuck.

You were now on the couch in Chris’ house. Chris had been to your apartment before, but today you were at his place.

You sit there, Chris’ arm wrapped around your shoulder keeping you snuggled into his side.

You’re watching a movie not doing anything. Matt is fumbling around the kitchen searching for a snack, and Nick was nowhere in sight.

His brothers knew that you two were hooking up, but they’d never say anything about it, because that would just be weird.

You stay focused on the movie, until you feel Chris’ arm move. His hand retracts until it comes back. He slides his hand, under your hair, over your neck, and grabs the side of your neck.

You don’t know why but you’ve always had a very sensitive neck. So the slight brush of his fingers sends a shiver down your spine.

You close your eyes briefly before you feel Chris’ hand start to trail up your neck to tangle in your hair.

You lick your lips trying to stay focused on the movie. You halfheartedly watch until you feel Chris harshly pull on your hair.

You let out a low whine at the impact letting him pull your head back. Your eyes close momentarily and you hear Chris’ chuckle from next to yourself.

“Sorry” he mumbles his grip loosening. Chris lets go of your hair and goes to gently rub your scalp.

“Couldn’t resist” he explains his tone light and airy.

You finally turn your head to look over at him. “You’re good” you shrug.

Chris breaks out into a goofy grin. His hand finds its way back to the nape of your neck again. He pulls you into him, crashing his lips on yours. He laughs into the kiss causing you to giggle too.

“How sweet.” You hear Matt’s flat, sarcastic voice.

It wasn’t like Chris was hiding you. Quite contrary Chris didn’t care if his brothers heard you fucking. Sure you weren’t official but it wasn’t like he was going out of his way to never kiss you.

You and Chris pull apart looking over at Matt who is walking back to his room.

You look back at each other and break out into another fit of giggles.

After your laughter dies down he presses your foreheads together. You wordlessly put your hand on his mouth to wipe away the lipgloss that had gotten on his lips.

Chris chuckles. He grabs your wrist and turns your hand over and gives it a sweet kiss. All gentle and cute.

You giggle in response.

Chris always said he isn’t the type to be all sappy and lovey doevey. But with you that seemed to not be true.

03.

Months have passed since the first time you’d met Chris, and the triplets.

You were over at their house frequently, and Chris was over at yours often as well.

You’d been seen around together, and rumors were brewing, people thought you were dating. Tho you hadn’t been seen together officially. You haven’t collabed with them.

You started to befriend Nick more, just hanging out with him sometimes and talking about everything and anything.

While with Matt you were civil. You liked him, he’s a nice guy, but Chris seemed to get really possessive around Matt.

Sure you think Matt is hot, only because Chris is too. But you weren’t attracted to Matt whatsoever.

You were in the kitchen all three of you baking together. Well mainly you because none of the boys really knew what they were doing.

You were having a random conversation with Matt about the cookies you were making. Matt seemed really excited to make them.

Nick who had given up at this point was just standing in the corner with Chris. Him sipping in his Dr Pepper and Chris on his Pepsi.

You lean over, closer to Matt, to point out something while you explain.

Chris is not jealous per se, you’re not his, but he doesn’t like Matt’s excitement. Despite knowing he’s just excited for the cookies

Chris huffs. He goes to place the Pepsi on the counter looking mildly pissed off.

Suddenly you feel Chris’ leave a light slap on your ass. You turn around mildly offended. You don’t even know when he had come up to you.

Before you can complain or say anything really, his hand goes to cup your face. Suddenly you feel Chris crash his lips onto yours in a hungry kiss.

You sigh into the kiss, only mildly surprised by his possessiveness.

You pull away and turn around trying to get back to what you were doing. Tho Chris just wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him.

“Chris?” You ask flatly. At this point you don’t even know what he is on.

“Hm?”

You don’t reply. You feel Chris pull you to the side further and at this point he’s standing between you and Matt.

Matt gives him a raised eyebrow and attitude. As much as you weren’t attracted to Matt, he isn’t attracted to you at all. Him and Chris have drastically different types.

“Dude, chill out” he huffs continuing to stir the cookie dough. “She’s all yours.”

And despite not dating, his brothers understood that he was into you, and neither were going to try to steal you from him.

04.

By this point it was fairly clear that Chris loves your hair. He’d always be touching it, rubbing his fingers through it, watching the way it moves and bounces when you walk. But especially during sex.

When he was hitting it from the back he’d always be pulling at it. And when it was in missionary he’d grab your hair by the roots and pull your upper body up.

What he also loves is your ass, and the way it bounces slightly when you walk. He’d hit it during sex just to watch it move. He’d demand that you work yourself back on him, just so he could see your ass work.

You’d been laying in your bed sideways, trying to fall asleep. Until you felt Chris’ arm wrap around you and pull you closer.

You hum in question waiting Chris to tell you what he is planning to do.

“Can I please fuck you ma?” He says sweetly. Chris’ tone of voice is light, like he wasn’t just asking to fuck.

“Mhm” you hun half sleepily. You sit up slightly to pull your sleep shorts off. You don’t bother with the matching top tho.

Chris pulls his own sweatpants and boxers off, not bothering with the wife beater he has on.

You both lay back down. You had your back facing Chris while he was turned to you. Suddenly you feel Chris’ hand start to trail up your side, reaching your bare hips.

You use his other arm as a pillow. You feel him push your thong aside to tease your wetness. Chris briefly fingers fucks you just to make sure you’d be fine with his size.

You let out light whines and soft moans while he keeps going. You feel his fingers retract and the head of his dick press at your entrance.

Despite having fucked so many times you still feel your mouth water, knowing his size would stretch you so deliciously.

You feel him gently push in. The arm you were using as a pillow stays right where it is while his, now, free arm wraps around your waist pushing down on your lower stomach pulls you further into him.

You whine when he completely bottoms out in you.

Chris doesn’t move for a moment just savoring the feeling of your tight walls clamping down on his aching dick.

“Fuck you’re so-” he sighs loudly. Then you feel Chris thrust into you softly, but lazily.

His cock was achingly hard, and your pussy so tight and warm. It was almost like he wasn’t even trying to get off, but rather be close to you.

You close your eyes when Chris’ thick cock starts to easily glide in and out of you.

“Chris?” You suddenly gain the confidence to ask. You hear him reply with a hum, his face being buried in the crook of your neck from behind.

“I love it when we fuck, you know..” you mumble. You feel too embarrassed to say it any louder, but you really do. He feels your cunt clamp on him harder as you say that.

“I love it too” he mumbles in response. You’re close in every sense of the word. His arm on your stomach keeping you close and only adding to the pleasure.

You feel his slow and sensual thrust. Chris was usually the type to fuck you hard and fast, but in this moment he himself was tired.

You enjoy the slow sensual thrusts as much as you do the fast ones.

“I love you know..” he says slowly. He says it like he wasn’t hearing his own words and just said what came to mind.

Your hearts starts to beat hard and your breath catches in your lungs. You pause. Did he mean that in a friendly way or…

“Not like that-“ Chris quickly backtracks. His own voice sounded shocked at his own words.

You relax more into him. You can’t tell if he’s lying and what he really meant, but you don’t wanna look into it.

Chris lets out a breath just like you had previously. He holds you close while you rock your hips against him.

His hand continues to trail over your side, until finally reaching your hair. He runs his fingers through it gently before pulling it to the side so it’s not in his face.

05.

At first, when you two met, you used to hook up quite frequently. Multiple times a week even.

But the more you got to know him, and especially after meeting his brothers and becoming friends with them too, it was less frequent.

And he got more passionate. Instead of being purely rough and fast, you’d have soft morning sex, or passionate sex in the middle of the night.

You’d kiss all the time, whether it be innocent or not. Whenever he kissed you, his hands would go on your ass.

Chris isn’t ashamed of you. He’d kiss you in front of his brother and his friends. And when you finally did a collab with the triplets he kissed you multiple times through the corse of the video. All things you’d edited out later on.

By now you’ve known them for almost a year, and despite him not being ashamed of you all you wanted was to be able to call Chris yours.

Chris was at your place once again. You were walking a round your room, not really to clean your room or anything.

There was no reason for you to be pacing around your room, it’s just something you did when you had a lot on your mind.

You’d pace your room while talking to yourself to get your thoughts out.

You’d practically forgotten that Chris was even there. He was just quietly lying on your bed. He’d been on his phone, until he gave that up to watch you pace around.

You were staring at yourself in the mirror looking mildly stressed out. You recently had a lot on your mind that you weren’t talking about.

Chris got up ever so quietly. He went over to you, his phone long forgotten on the bed. His arms snake around your waist as he looks at you.

He looks at the way your hands are on your face and your cheeks dramatically puffed up.

“What’s wrong ma? Talk to me.” He whispers lowly. The way his chin is propped up on your shoulder and the way he’s whispering sends shivers down your spine.

“It’s just-“ you huff trying to collect your thoughts but it was like your brain was mush.

“I love you-” You blurt out. it’s sudden. It’s so simple, yet the meaning behind it so heavy. There are so many implications and thoughts behind it.

But all your worries and thoughts, all boil down to the same thing- love.

You hear Chris take in a sharp breath. Your eyes switch from your own face to Chris’ face through the mirror.

“You do?” He asks so softly it’s as if he’s been waiting for this moment. As if he’s praying that this isn’t a cruel joke

You simply lick your lips and slight bite your bottom lip.

“I love you too.” You hear and suddenly you’re breathing again, and breathing fast.

You feel Chris quickly turn you around and press his lips on yours quickly. You close your eyes for a moment trying to pull yourself together.

Chris doesn’t use tongue in the kiss. It’s a sweet kiss, barely any lust behind it just pure love and adoration.

Chris pulls away. His one hand wrapped around your waist the other grabbing your ass.

“Can you be my girlfriend?” You hear him ask. You tilt your head back to stare up at him. You love those pale blue eyes. Your eyes quickly scan all of his features before settling back on his eyes.

“I would love to be.” You breathe out, all the pent up emotion from the months of hooking up rushing over you like a floods.

-Kinktober Masterlist-

Masterlist

(A/N: this was finished and edited on 17th may, I have not re read it since the first time I did all the editing and stuff. I don’t really watch the triplets anymore, so I wanted to get this out of my drafts)

‼️please don’t copy my work/idea‼️

Taglist: @muwapsturniolo , @sturnad , @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 , @evie-sturns , @me09love , @fratbrochrisgf , @spideylovin , @chrissgirlsstuff , @stunza , @whicked-hazlatwhore , @sturniooolos , @ecliphttlunar , @orangeypepsi , @klaus223492 , @char112244 , @sst7niolo , @slut4chriss , @mattsturniololoverr , @th3-3d3n-g4rd3n , @st7rnioioss , @t1llysblogs , @nonat-111 , @blahbel668 , @rockstarchr1s , @sturnsintrouble , @nayveetbhh , @tillies33ssss , @sturncakez , @strnilolo , @somegirlfromasgard , @mattslovelygf , @sturnsmaeve , @sturnstvr , @lucianastrun , @jnkvivi , @jamiesturniolo , @chr1sgirl4life , @h3arts4harry , @whosthislyssbitch , @jamiesturniolo , @sturniololover-09 , @zayyluvz , @sturnzsblog , @jetaimevous , @imwetforyourmom , @yoongslvr69 , @ilovethesturnstriplets

837 notes · View notes

zegrasdrysdale · 9 months ago

Note

Can you write about Nico dating a really famous actress, she is in House of the Dragon and in Dune, and now she is doing the press tour for the movie so she hasn't seen Nico in a while so to surprise him she goes to the stadium series and is at the family skate with him holding hands and being cute the whole time, so Nico is asked about their relationship the press conference after the game and he answered the question being a proud boyfriend, please? I love your writing

[ press pause ] n. hischier

paring : Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary : after being away for a few months filming and doing press for her projects, (Y/N) surprises boyfriend Nico at family skate before the Stadium Series

warning(s) : one suggestive comment but other than that, cute and fluffy

author’s note : this request has been sitting in my drafts bc i wasn’t very proud of it but i decided to let it see the light of day bc i miss the stadium series. pls lmk what y’all think (the entire press conference is completely made up for the sake of the fic btw)

༺═──────────────═༻

She needed a vacation by the time her tour ended in New York City. It’s exhausting doing a multi-month press tour for a show that wasn’t coming out until the summer. She knows she’ll have to go on another one anyway while the season is airing on HBO.

The idea didn’t enter her mind until she saw a billboard on the highway going into New York. It advertises the two NHL Stadium Series games that are happening in a few days.

When the games were announced a few months ago, she was already booked on the press tour for season two of House of the Dragon. Nico wanted her to come to the game against the Flyers but she wasn’t sure if she’d be in the area to go.

Turns out, she is. Since she’s in the area, she decides to surprise her captain boyfriend at family skate.

Cat Toffoli worked closely with a designer to make some jackets for the wives and girlfriends of the players for the Stadium Series. She even made sure to make one with a “13” on it, just in case.

She’s happy that she gets to put the jacket to use since she’s surprising Nico at family skate. Pressing pause on her press tour to support her boyfriend in what’s one of the most important games of his life was the best idea she’s had in a while. It’s been a long time since she has laced up the skates Nico bought her when they first got together during the 2021-2022 season. Tonight seems a good time.

An Uber takes her from her shared apartment with Nico in Hoboken to MetLife Stadium in East Rutherford once she's in something that she can comfortably skate in, which ends up being leggings, a red shirt, and her jacket that Cat had made for her. She grabs one of Nico's beanies out of the endless pile in his closet just in case her head gets cold.

She gets more excited the closer she gets to the football field turned hockey rink. She shakes with excitement when the Uber pulls into the player parking lot.

Cars are parked all over the place. She recognizes most of the cars that are parked. The Devils get the ice tonight for practice and family skate.

With her jacket wrapped tight around her and a duffel bag holding her skates, she heads in the back entrance. She shows her ID to the security guard, who gives her special credentials so everyone knows she’s allowed there and is allowed onto the ice.

She’s already late so she could pull off this surprise. All of the players and their families are out on the ice. With quick feet, she makes her way onto the field. Her duffel bag slung over her shoulder as she rushes to the rink.

As soon as she reaches the bench, someone tells, “Nice of you to join us!” She sits down so she can change into her skates. Jack skates by with a smile on his face. “He’s been hoping that you’d show up.”

Her eyes scan the ice to find her boyfriend. She finally is able to spot him as he skates over to her. Jack skates off and Nico takes his spot.

When her laces are tied, she stands up and Nico helps her over the boards. “You’re here?” he asks as she gains her balance on her skates. “I thought you were traveling today.”

“Decided to press pause so I could be here for you,” she tells him. “Wanted to support my boyfriend after all the supporting you’ve done for me.” Nico flashes his dimpled smile at her.

She takes in his appearance. He’s in full gear with his red practice jersey since they did practice before the families came onto the ice. He has on his Devils beanie with the pompom on top of his head. The eye black he has on his cheeks looks good.

Nico takes her hand and loosely laces their fingers. “I’m glad you came,” he says. “It wouldn’t have been the same if you weren’t here.”

“Your dad and sister came though,” she replies as Nico begins to skate backwards. He pulls her along and she manages to keep her balance by holding his hands. “I’m sure it would’ve been okay if I wasn’t able to come.”

He pulls her closer to him so her chest is pressed against his gear on his chest. Nico’s hands rest on her waist to make sure she doesn’t fall. “You’re the most important person in my life, schatzi,” he tells her. “It wouldn’t have been the same. I promise”

She smiles up at him.

Out of the corner of her eye, he notices all the cameras on the two of them. She’s not even surprised. She’s one of the world’s most known actresses and he’s the captain of the Devils. Reporters are probably getting all the pictures they can get.

Nico doesn't let go of her hand. He makes sure their fingers are locked the entire time she's on the ice.

It's easy to forget the world around her when she skates with Nico. She's so focused on Nico and Nico is so focused on her that it feels like they're the only two people in the world despite multiple pairs of eyes being on them and a bunch of cameras trained on them.

There's only a few minutes left of family skate when Nico decides that it would be a good idea to spin his girlfriend. When she's on the toe pick of her skates, because Nico thought it would be smart to get her figure skating skates, he grabs her hand and spins her around.

"Nico!" she gasps as she spins right into his arms. He wraps his arms around her waist "You can't just do that without warning me. What if I fell?"

He laughs against her ear. "You know I'll always have you," he tells her. "You would think that you'd be able to skate on your own by now."

She shakes her head as Nico kisses the swell of her ear. The smile that forms on her lips is involuntary since she's trying to be mad at Nico. "I don't think you understand that I skate maybe three times a year," she sighs. "My job doesn't involve skating like yours does."

Nico smiles and she looks up at him. "Have I ever told you how good you look on skates?" he asks. "Because this look does it for me. Hope you know that."

With a gentle shove from her, Nico backs away but always makes sure to keep a hand on her so she doesn't fall.

"You are so lucky that I love you," she says to Nico as she carefully turns to face him.

He hums and playfully rolls his eyes before he slides his hands up to cup her cheeks. His fingers are freezing, but she quickly pushes that thought out of her head when Nico pulls her in for a soft kiss. She can't help but smile as she returns the kiss.

It's very rare for Nico to show this type of affection in public let alone at a Devils event. They're both very shy about their relationship when it comes to the public eye, but sometimes a moment overwhelms them and they can't help it.

Like this moment. Center ice on the Stadium Series rink.

She wraps her arms around his waist for a little extra security. The last thing she wants to do right now is fall on her butt. She can hear all the snaps of the cameras the longer their lips are connected.

Nico breaks the kiss and smiles at her. She reaches up and pokes his dimple, which gets a laugh out of Nico.

"Alright, Dimple Lover," he says with a smile. "Let's go. I feel gross and sweaty. I need to shower."

"As long as I can join you if you decide to shower at home."

"We're going home right now."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

From the moment Nico scored on Sam Ersson thirty seconds into the game, she's been on her feet. It set the pace for the rest of the game. The Devils scored two goals every period, and Nico himself scored two goals on the night.

East Rutherford is on fire in the stands. They're cheering. It gets even louder when Nico is being interviewed by Emily Kaplan on a live mic and he says, "Thanks for showing up. It was fucking amazing- sorry."

He has the cutest smile on his face and waves at the crowd around him. The smile she already had on her face grows impossibly bigger.

When Nico heads down the tunnel to get out of his gear, she heads down to stand outside the media room so she can catch Nico before he goes in and does his post-game comments.

She's liking pictures of her and Nico from yesterday on Instagram. She replies to some of her mentions on Twitter. She even posts one of the pictures of her and Nico from yesterday when they were on the ice at family skate. Almost immediately, it begins blowing up on every single social media platform like her posts usually do when she posts Nico.

Minutes after she posts the picture, Nico comes walking down the stairs that lead to the hallway. He's back in Sopranos outfit, sans the jacket. The white tank hugs his body and shows off his arms. The cut he has under his eye completes the look.

Nico spots her before he turns into the media room. He says that he'll be in the room in a second. Then he walks over to his girlfriend.

"Hi, handsome," she says with a smile on her face. "Nice goals. Oh, I like this outfit too."

He leans down and steals a kiss. "Those goals were for you, schatzi," he whispers to her as he tucks her hair behind her ear. "I had to show off for my girl."

She smiles up at him and he mirrors it.

"Nico, we need you in here," someone says. "Nate's ready to go."

Nico nods and looks into the room. "Want to come watch?" he asks. "I'm sure they wouldn't mind."

With a nod, the two of them head into the room.

The reporters buzz as Nico walks up to the table to sit with Nate and she makes her way to an empty seat among the reporters. The woman she sits next to has a moment of panic and realization of who she is as the press conference gets underway.

One of the reporters in the front row asks, "Nate, was that celly after your goal planned?"

Nate laughs and nods. "Yeah, actually," he replies. The reporters in the crowd laugh. "Chris and I sat down and planned out a couple of different cellys just in case either of us scored. I happened to be the one to score, twice."

"Speaking of two goals, Nico," another reporter begins to say. "How do you feel after those goals you scored? Effing amazing?"

Nico smiles. "Yeah, it felt good, without the addition of another word that shouldn't have been said on live television," he replies with a very light laugh. "No, it feels good to score two goals coming off the All Star break. Took some time off, skated and worked on what I needed to, and, uh, I'm ready to have a good second half of the season."

They make eye contact and she smiles at him. One of the reporters notices that Nico's smile has gotten softer. "So, your goals have nothing to do with the fact that your girlfriend was here all weekend?" a third reporter asks.

"The fact that she was able to take time out of her incredibly busy schedule to be here means a lot to me, yeah," Nico says. "Being able to score a couple goals was me telling her that I was happy she was here."

"So it doesn't bother you that her presence this weekend has made multiple headlines and occasionally overshadowed the game?"

Nico scans the crowd and finds the reporter that asked the question. "I have never once thought that her being here this weekend overshadowed the game," he replies. "I am more than happy to have her here. If she makes a view headlines then oh well. She's one of the world's most well known and talented actresses, and I am proud to be her boyfriend. If that means that some of the attention is off of me then okay."

She smiles and bites her bottom lip as she watches Nico while he and Nate finish up the press conference with questions about the game.

One of the things she's always been worried about was completely overshadowing Nico and his career with hers. Now that she knows that he's proud of her accomplishments.

As soon as Nico is done, he makes a beeline right for her. She opens her mouth to say something but Nico quickly cuts her off with his lips. She giggles into the kiss and wraps her arms around his neck.

Cameras click around them but she doesn't care. Neither does Nico if he meant what he said.

"Nico," she laughs as she breaks the kiss. "This is your day. Enough about me. Stop making me a headline by kissing me in front of the cameras."

He smiles. "I don't care," he tells her. "I'll kiss you in front of a million cameras."

She shakes her head and pushes his hair out of his face. "You are insane," she tells him.

"You love it."

"I do."

༺═──────────────═༻

MASTERLIST

have a request ? check out the guidelines !

wanna be added to the taglist ? fill out this form !

taglist : @dasiysthings @ithinkimokeei @equallyshaw @dancerbailey3 @love4lando @stony1386 @mangoluver @prettyinsatiable @ivy-34 @bunbunbl0gs

#hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey oneshot #hockey fluff #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl oneshot #nhl fluff #nico hischier #nico hischer x reader #nico hischier fluff #zegrasdrysdale request

443 notes · View notes

eowynstwin · 4 months ago

Text

Blackbird, Fly - Three

Cowboy Gaz x mail order bride—only, not his. After exchanging letters for half a year with ranching man Hans König, you finally travel out west to marry him. - You wonder if this is how lambs feel, when shorn for the first time. - content warning for marital rape after the second break. - ao3

“Come,” says Hans, tugging on your arm, “let’s get you ready for the ceremony.”

Your husband-to-be leads you up the porch steps and into the house, long legs carrying him ahead so fast you must practically jog to keep up with him. You stumble when you enter the house—the interior is fantastically well-appointed, with papered walls and carved wood furniture, framed photos hanging beside paintings, pressed flowers, hunting trophies, rifles and knives and old farm equipment. The floor beneath your feet is polished and smooth, spread over in places with thick, fringed rugs. You don’t see much more of it after your initial impression; Hans pulls you along at a clip.

Even such a brief glimpse, though, proves your long-held assumptions about Hans and his livelihood; his family has done well for itself, over the years. The kitchen, dining room, and sitting room are all separate from each other, and the manor’s first floor alone is larger than the small farmhouse you grew up in. Your family always made an effort to present a comfortable, clean home, but it seems downright drab in memory now in comparison to this.

There’s a bit of a bustle going on as Hans tugs you along—you hear movement in the kitchen, punctuated by the clang of dishes moving to and fro. A rough voice grinds out something short, and a couple of cowboys emerge with covered dishes that they set on the dining table before they return back into the fray. In the sitting room, an older woman with short, sandy brown hair sits at a desk, spectacles perched on the end of her nose. She glances up at you, betrays no interest, and then ignores you.

“You’ll meet everyone at the ceremony,” Hans says. He directs you up the stairs. “Right now you need something nice to wear.”

“O-oh,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirt as you climb the steps. The fabric, purchased at a discount after you’d saved pennies and nickels for months, suddenly feels thin and insubstantial between your fingers.

Hans brings you into the main bedroom, equally well-designed with molded wood paneling and brass lanterns on the walls, where he goes to a chest at the foot of the massive bed four-poster bed. Everything you’ve seen so far in this house is much finer than what even the most well-to-do farmers back home could display; you used to imagine that wealth like this could only be within the reach of select few businessmen on the east coast. You never imagined you’d have the chance to marry into it.

“I think this should suit you,” says Hans, turning to you with a stack of clothing in one hand.

You take it from him when he proffers it—a skirt, blouse, and jacket, you find. The fabric is silky in your hands, glossy and cool to the touch and very fine. You shake out the skirt; yards of bustled fabric tumble open to reveal pleated gathers, elegant bows, and velvet trim. The paired jacket is much the same, with pearl buttons down the front, and the accompanying blouse is a weave of tight, delicate lace.

Your earlier fears are soundly confirmed; you are in no way dressed for a wedding to Hans König. Gaz had only been trying to be kind; being here, now, seeing the kind of splendor Hans lived with every day, no one could make the mistake that you could measure up on your own.

“Thank you, Hans,” you say, face warming with embarrassment.

“Think nothing of it,” says Hans, looking you up and down expectantly. “Go on.”

You blink. “Ex—excuse me?”

Hans raises his brows as if it should be obvious. “Why, let’s see you in it, dear girl.”

You blanch. Surely he isn’t suggesting…“But—well, Hans, we aren’t—we haven’t—”

��My dear, I’ve already promised to marry you. Why would I go to such expense on a wedding merely to fool you into showing me your underthings?”

You drop your gaze to the floor, cheeks burning. “It’s not proper.”

“Bah,” says Hans. He takes the clothes back from you, tosses them onto the bed, and brings his hands to the buttons down your front. “It’s not like I won’t see this again in a few hours.”

You are rooted to the spot. He unbuttons your dress with an alacrity that startles you; in a few short moments, he makes an opening wide enough to slip over your shoulders, and unceremoniously he pushes the collar open and lets the dress drop to the floor.

You blink several times. You wonder if this is how lambs feel, when shorn for the first time; do they feel suddenly like they’ve been skinned? Does the air suddenly feel much closer, more real than it had before? You remember shearing season on a neighbor’s farm, the angular planes of shortened fleece cropped close to twitching flesh. The sheep had looked unfinished after the deed was done—like wooden figurines only partly whittled.

When you look to Hans’ face, you find him gazing at the tight space where your chemise tucks into the line of your corset. Then, as if in a dream, he reaches out with one huge hand and cups the mound of one breast.

The air vacates your lungs. It’s the first time a man has ever touched you this way.

When young ladies of a certain age gather to socialize, matters of discussion inevitably tend toward the prurient. Your peers delighted in sharing the wealth of erotic experience they’d accrued; trysts in larders, late graveyard meetings, dizzying accounts of hands and mouths in places that sent shame pumping hot and curious through your veins. You lived vicariously through their adventures; opportunities for your own, with three older brothers and a protective father, were nonexistent.

The embarrassing fact is that in matters of your marital duties, you received no practical education.

The one time your mother, a modest woman, saw fit to tutor you, she’d taken you out to the small enclosure in which the family goats were kept. The animals were useful for milk and occasionally meat, so there was always a breeding pair at hand. This occasion, they served the additional use of instruction; the male was rutting.

Your mother had made you watch as the billy mounted the nanny, and shoved its little goat prick into her hindquarters. The billy seemed mindless with want, ferocious, gyrating its hips uncomfortably, which the nanny took with what seemed like resigned patience, if it was paying attention at all. Once the billy finished, it dismounted, chewed its cud a little bit, and walked off. The nanny seemed unperturbed, rather detached from the whole thing, and similarly continued with whatever it had been doing before.

“It’s about like that,” said your mother, unable to look you in the eye.

So you have little knowledge of the matter.

And you have no idea what to do now, as your husband-to-be fondles you and stares down at you with what seems like only idle interest. Hans’ thumb brushes over the space where your nipple would be, hot even through layers of cotton and whalebone. The fine hairs on your arms raise, standing straight up.

What are you supposed to do now? Touch him back? Your stomach turns over at the thought. Even if you wanted to, you have no idea how. Hans is touching you so casually, as if you’ve been his wife for years, but you are as poor in wifely instinct as you are in everything else.

“Lovely,” he says, eyes locked on the place where your chest is rapidly rising and falling.

You inhale shakily. This is fine. He wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t—of course it’s all right, you’re to be married within the hour. It’s only your breast, and only his hand, and it’s over your clothes. It’s fine.

“May—” your voice comes out dry. You clear your throat. “May I dress now, Hans?”

He smiles. You note that he has a thin-lipped smile, and his eyes do not crinkle at the corners. “Of course.”

When the guests have all arrived, when the world around you is bathed in the orange-gold light of the setting sun, and when the mandolin plays the bridal chorus, you join Hans König under an archway of lupine and Indian paintbrush. Evening gives way to night as the last day of your old life comes to a close, ending as you say the words that until now you’ve only whispered in the night at your bedside.

For better—for worse—as long as you both shall live. Over and over again, until your tongue recognized the shape of them like the Lord’s Prayer. As if practicing them enough would speed the hour to you all the sooner in which their vow became real.

Hans kisses you for the second time, and then together, arm in arm, you turn to face the congregation’s applause.

Stars begin peeking white faces through the dimming sky as the band strikes up a tune, and as the reception commences, you must shake hands with the whole county. The priest John MacTavish insists upon introducing himself first—a younger man, with vivid blue eyes and an unusual haircut, gives his congratulations in a husky Scottish brogue entirely inappropriate for a man of the cloth. He’s followed by the sheriff, Simon Riley, who practically chases him off—another tall man, near to your husband’s height, and twice as broad. Curiously, he wears a bandanna across the lower half of his face. His greeting to you is gruff, short—polite in a way that seems unnatural for him.

Next is a slightly older woman, splendidly dressed in lace-trimmed taffeta. She comes over to kiss your cheeks in the French style. Hans ducks his head as she smiles at you; you can’t help but feel similar trepidation. She is terribly striking, with delicate creases on either side of her mouth and a mysterious twinkle in her eye.

“The hotel in town is my establishment,” she tells you. “The bath house, as well.”

“Oh,” you say, “how lovely.”

Her smile quirks at the corners; she looks at Hans, then back to you, and softly chucks your chin. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you, darling?”

“Yes, Madame, thank you,” your husband says quickly as your face sets to blazing. “I believe others would like to speak to us, as well, if you don’t mind.”

She gives you another enigmatic smile, tightens the light chiffon wrap around her shoulders, and leaves you to the banker and his wife, who both eagerly step up to talk your ear off.

Farmers, other ranchers, ramblers and gamblers and trappers; it seems everyone in the state has come to pay you their respects, and they all want to meet you at the exact same time. The rough voice you heard in the kitchen manifests itself in the form of a burly man with mutton chops, who introduces himself as John Price the saloon owner. A young woman with an unsmiling face named Ms. Boucher tells you your first purchase at her dry goods store will be discounted by five percent, as a welcome gift from her to you. She punctuates the statement with a narrow-eyed look at your husband, but you have no time to wonder at it before the next guests capture your attention.

A whole line of Hans’ cowboys, headed by the woman you saw working at the writing desk when you arrived, form up to tell you their names and pledge you their loyalty, still dressed in their wrangling leathers but bathed and combed and polished for the occasion nonetheless. The woman introduces herself as Kate Laswell, the foreman.

“I took care of the accounting after Anna passed,” Laswell says to you. “Tomorrow I’ll go through the books with you. It’ll be your job from now on.”

“Now, Kate, you shouldn’t discuss business at my wedding,” says Hans, politely, but somewhat terse. “And besides, that would be far too much for my new bride.”

“Hans, I told you,” you say earnestly, referencing a summer letter, “I want to be a part of things.”

He smiles genially at you—but the expression seems tight. “Of course, dear.”

“Tomorrow,” Kate says to you. Curiously, she looks you up and down. Then, “You’ll need to see the tailor, as well, I think.”

Her words are not said unkindly, but they shame you anyway, reminding you just how poorly matched as yet you are to this life. When you’d put the dress on earlier, it had been immediately clear to you that it was not made to your measurements, but you hadn’t thought it would be so obvious to anyone else. Only Hans’ cowboys proceeding to introduce themselves saves you from having to respond.

One is conspicuously absent.

Unexpectedly, it hurts. Even though it shouldn’t. Gaz had only driven you here, after all. You’ve known him less than a day. It shouldn’t disappoint you, as you keep your eyes on the moving line, that he does not come forward, but it does.

In between meeting the county folk, you manage to get a few bites of the wedding feast—prime rib, lamb chowder, baked fish, seasoned potatoes, collard greens, fried tomatoes, sourdough biscuits, and three different fruit cobblers still somehow steaming from the oven. You and Hans cut the bride’s cake, an impressive sheet of angel food and ivory buttercream that he must have procured at outrageous cost; you are not embarrassed to wolf it down in front of Hans’ guests. It’s the sweetest, softest thing you’ve ever eaten, more delicate than you ever could have imagined any food could be.

As the sky darkens overhead, the faint cloud of the milky way coalesces in the light of the waxing moon, and the band takes up a lively jig as the wedding party sallies forth to the clearing to dance arm in arm. Your husband whirls you along with them, arm around your waist, and then you’re dancing, too, and the familiar two-step lifts your flagging spirits as the cool night air runs quick, soft fingers across your burning cheeks.

So what if some cowboy hadn’t made it to your wedding? You’re dancing with your husband, after months of longing for him; everything and everyone else is inconsequential laid up against this triumph.

Faces blur in the lamplight the night falls indigo around you, and as the music changes Hans twirls you into a new set of arms in a jaunt that has everyone exchanging partners. They hold you only briefly before the music changes again, and off you bounce to another, the world spinning around you faster and faster, jubilant and surreal, and then another—

Suddenly you are in Kyle Garrick’s arms.

He catches you like lassoing a runaway horse, taking your momentum into the pillar of his body as he winds you in close. One of his hands spreads warm across your back, fingers spanning what feels like the entire breadth of your waist. His other cradles your own in his palm, long fingers folded around it like an envelope. You fit against him easily, perfectly, like a couple illustrated in a storybook.

“Mr. Garrick,” you gasp.

“Mrs. König,” he says.

Suddenly you realize you’re out of breath. You take deep gulps of air, and Gaz’s scent permeates your lungs. Lavender soap and bay rum, polished leather, sweet hay. The soft, dense curls of his hair are combed and parted a little, and the short stubble he’d greeted you with on the train platform is tonsured down flush to his jaw.

He leans in closer to you, hovers his lips near to one ear. “You changed your dress.”

He doesn’t keep pace with the other dancers, or swing you around in time with the music; he lets the world slow around you both, the music falling away as he brings the pace of your heart down with soft line of his mouth and the steady, still look in his dark eyes. His hand on your back radiates so much warmth that it cuts through the evening chill just beginning to set in, as if his palm is directly against your naked skin.

You smile meekly. “It wasn’t appropriate for a wedding.”

His dark brows pull together; his hands tighten their purchase on you. You watch him avert his eyes from you, take a great breath in through flared nostrils.

“Mr. Garrick,” you say, feeling too honest, “do you disapprove of me?”

He snaps his gaze back to you. “Why would you think that?”

You swallow. “You don’t seem very pleased, whenever we talk, is all.”

Suddenly Gaz smiles—lets out a short, sharp laugh that bares his even teeth, shows the points of his canines. “That’s not your fault. I promise you.”

“Then what is it?”

He gazes at you. Lamplight casts the angles of his face in shadow, deepens the darkness of his eyes. His shoulder is solid beneath where your hand rests, shaped hard by a life on the range; you could lay the entirety of your weight against him, you think, and he wouldn’t even sway with holding you up. There’s something very present about Kyle Garrick. Something real. It draws you in like the earth draws the moon into its orbit.

“Do you really want this?” he asks you.

You blink. “Of course I do.”

“You hardly know him.”

“I’ve known him for half a year, Mr. Garrick,” you say, somewhat unsure how much explanation you owe this cowboy. After all, you’d vowed to earn his trust, as his employer’s new wife. “I know you might have some reservations about me. I understand, really.”

“No,” says Gaz immediately, dark brows low and serious over his eyes. “Not about you.”

“Mrs. König!” an accented voice calls.

Immediately the world speeds up around you again, music crashing back into your ears, wedding guests spinning and leaping around you, and you turn to see your husband standing at the edge of the clearing.

The dancing comes to a halt at the sound of his voice; Hans outstretches one hand toward you.

“I believe it is time for us to retire,” he says.

Gaz’s hands tighten on you again. You feel the eyes of the other dancers on the two of you, tight lines of attention between you and them.

You have felt it all evening, really—the undercurrent lining every conversation, the askance looks tossed at you and your husband when no one thought you’d notice. The pervading sense of some drama playing out just outside of your comprehension.

You turn to look back at Gaz. His mouth is pressed into a hard line. The wells of his eyes are ink-dark, opaque, eclipsed by something of a shape beyond your knowing. He says nothing as he holds your gaze, only watches you with an expectation so stoic, so resigned, that you feel almost guilty for releasing him.

He lets you go as if his grasp wasn’t even tight in the first place. You turn away from him, from the stone-hard expression on his face, and go to slide your fingers into your husband’s waiting hand.

Wolf-whistles populate the night air as he smiles approvingly, nods, and leads you away. Short bursts of knowing applause behind you draw your shoulders tight together.

“Ignore them,” says Hans, tucking your hand into the crook of his arm. “They’re just fools.”

You look back over your shoulder. Gaz still stands amid the dancers, a wide berth around him. His eyes have not left you; they pierce you in the night, sharp even as the distance between you grows.

You have only one other point of reference, aside from your mother’s tutelage, for how the end of this evening might go. A topaz glimmering in the folds of your memory.

Years ago, before the shine had worn off as it usually does with older siblings, you’d worshiped your oldest brother like he was Jesus Christ returned. You’d trailed after him like a newborn pup, dogging his every step, hoping your devotion would earn you even the smallest scraps of his affection. You’d watched his comings and goings like you could divine the mysteries of God from the merest angle of his movements.

One night, far past the time when everyone should be asleep, he’d slipped out of the small three-room house your family shared. You knew, because you slept closest to the door, and by then could recognize him by the rhythm of his footsteps. Like any nosy little sibling, you’d followed him out once you were sure he couldn’t hear you behind him.

He’d made his creeping way toward the barn, his path and yours lit only by a waxing moon. You remember, sneaking along after him, noticing a dim glow emanating from the cracks in the hayloft door, and guessed that your brother had realized he’d forgotten to snuff a lantern before going to bed—and now he was going to put it out, rather than leave a hay fire to chance.

He went inside. You were about to follow (no sibling, however divine, was exempt from a good ribbing, and nearly burning down the barn was excellent blackmail fodder)—when you heard another voice.

A female voice. Soft, and sweet, and welcoming.

Very little preamble separated that revelation from the next, and what you heard in the following moments rooted you there in place; movement. Rustling. For the span of a few heartbeats, nothing except for the crickets in the fields—and then, like the moon rising on a cloudless night—a growing chorus, voices high and low, moaning together in staccato.

You’d stood there, frozen absolutely solid, as it went on. The high voice lifted higher, and higher, carried on frantic, rapid breaths, until it cut off with a shriek that muffled so fast you knew your brother had covered the girl’s mouth.

Then—quiet, shared laughter.

So you know a little more than what the goats taught you.

Hans leads you back inside the house, where the lanterns have been turned to low, orange specks of light. You fix your eyes on the nape of his neck ahead of you as the two of you climb the stairs, making your way back to the master bedroom. The cacophony of the wedding celebration is far away; he opens the door, draws you inside, and shuts it behind him.

You stand in the middle of the room, looking at him. This whole evening has felt like a dream, but as you gaze at your husband, you suddenly feel like you’re waking up. You have not been alone with Hans since you met him, not really, and you realize he hasn’t felt quite real to you because of it. You almost feel as if you can see him, for the first time, see the words that have made him up in your memory coalesce into the flesh-and-blood man standing before you.

This is him. This is Hans. This is the man you love.

Softly, you approach him. Reach up with two hands to take his face in them; press your lips, shyly, unpracticed, to his.

“Hans,” you say, more softly than you have ever said anyone’s name in your life, looking into the pale blue of his eyes.

He gazes down at you. “Let’s get undressed,” he says.

It’s the moment you expected, but it daunts you nonetheless. You nod, step away from your husband, and he sets to the task—he shucks his coat, dropping it on the floor, and unhooks his suspenders. Swiftly you turn away from him when he begins unbuttoning his shirt, face blazing—of course, you’ve seen men undress before, you have three brothers, but this—this—

The reality of what you are about to do douses you all at once, soaking you to the bone. When you bring your hands up to the buttons of your bodice, they are trembling; you can barely get the tiny pearls between your fingers to undo them. You hear more clothes land on the floor behind you as you struggle, and then nothing. Stillness.

His eyes are heavy on your back. He is silent as you finally get the jacket off, and the blouse along with it; he is silent as you push the skirt down over your hips, the garment piling on the floor.

Your whole body is shaking by the time you’re down only to your chemise, shivering like a foal on new legs as you bare your shoulders. You close your eyes. There’s no need to be afraid as you shuffle the garment down your back. It’s only your husband behind you, looking at you as you bare your buttocks, as you step out of the split shorts, as the cool night air caresses your naked belly.

“That’s enough,” Hans says behind you when your hands go to the ties on your stockings.

You go still.

“Get on the bed, now.”

You focus on your breathing. Long breaths, in and out, as you crawl belly-first onto the mattress, which sinks luxuriously under your weight, softer than any bed you’ve lain on in your life. Suddenly, before you have time to adjust, the mattress sinks even more under you, and an envelope of heat and weight looms over you, pressing hard onto you, bare skin and the smell of sweat and the sound of another person’s breathing over you invading your senses.

Then there’s something blunt nudging at the entrance of your sex. A hand on your hip, gripping tight. The blunt thing circles briefly, parting your folds, and then is pressing into you. Pressing in somewhere tight, somewhere that doesn’t want to open to let it in. You hold your breath. It presses harder, fighting the resistance, and then finally gets past it, just a half inch or so—and suddenly it hurts.

“Hans,” you whisper.

He hasn’t seem to have heard you. He pushes harder, just a bit further. There’s another wall of resistance, this one needling and far more solid. You gasp sharply at the dryness of it, the way his member seems to want to push your own folds up into you as it tries to get in, shoving, bludgeoning, and then, mercifully, Hans pulls away.

It’s on the tip of your tongue to suggest that maybe the two of you try this later. Clearly there is something about you that’s not ready for it—but then his hand is between your legs, smearing something slippery around, and just briefly he touches something that pulses with interest. You jolt as little sparks of pleasure dance through you but quickly burn out, and then, the blunt head of his cock is back, pushing in, much faster, much smoother, huge and hard—

Suddenly it is sharp inside you, razor sharp, paralyzing. You shriek in pain, tears welling acidic in your eyes, shocked, betrayed, and he keeps coming, an endless length of him forcing inside, making room where there is none, going somewhere it clearly must not belong—and then he groans, loud and guttural, and begins to pull out.

You don’t have enough time to mistake this for the end of it. He pulls out halfway and then rams back in, slamming against your body, punching what must be the very limit of the space he can make for himself in your body. Pain roars to life around his cock, radiating outward, a ripping and shredding that grows as he forces himself into you again, and then again, and then it’s happening for real, he’s begins thrusting so fast it knocks the breath from your lungs, slapping his hips against your backside as he grunts and groans behind you like a dumb animal. He batters some nexus of agony that sends you screaming, shrieking with every jerk of his hips, tears streaming down your face as you grip the blanket in clawed fingers.

“Please, Hans, stop, please!”you wail. “Stop, stop, stop—”

His hand grips back of your head, turning your face downward—pressing it against the bed, muffling your mouth and nose and eyes into the blanket—

He jerks against you as agony writes itself into your bone marrow. Your hands circle in on themselves so tightly you feel your fingernails bite into your palms. Any memory of laughter you ever had abandons you.

Then, suddenly, mercifully, he’s forcing himself into you as deeply as he can, groaning loud, and something warm blooms in you, squelches out warm and sticky as he pulls in and out a few more times. He stills then from his furious rutting, hanging over you, panting.

Then he pulls out. Your husband lets you go and rolls over, breathing hard on the bed. You lay absolutely dead still, shaking violently, every muscle in your body tensed up painfully tight.

“Hans,” you whimper, “Hans.”

“Mm-hm,” he hums.

“Hans.” Every nerve is vibrating with pain. “Hans, that hurt.”

There is a long silence after. So long, you start to believe that he won’t say anything; that perhaps, even, he’s fallen asleep, and your words have dropped like flies from the air between you before they reached him.

But he hasn’t fallen asleep. Your husband shuffles off the bed, lifts the linen, and shuffles back into it. The lantern light is dim in the bedroom, but light enough that you can see the nonplussed expression on his face.

“Anna got used to it,” he says finally, eyes closing. “You will too.”

And he turns on his side and says no more to you.

You lay there aching. When you drag your fingers through the slick mess between your thighs, streaks of red intermingle with the clear and the white.

Suddenly you want this day to be over. You want to close your eyes and dream that it never happened—or maybe, if you go to sleep, you’ll awaken to find that it was all a dream after all, and you’re still home, your mother cooking just outside the bedroom door. Slowly, you inch off the bed, finding the floor with your stockinged feet, and go to douse the lanterns.

The room is cold and silvery without their light. Darkness gathers in the corners, around the weak glow of moonlight failing to fully penetrate the curtains over the window. You gingerly swipe the cloth from a nearby washbasin between your legs, cleaning up the remnants of your husband’s pleasure, and then, with nowhere else to go, you return to the empty side of the bed and crawl stiffly under the covers.

He does not stir as you settle in beside him. You lay your head on the pillow next to his and fold your hands over your stomach.

Outside and far away, you think you can hear the band still merrily playing. The darkness deepens, and deepens, until you can’t tell where it ends and you begin.

#gaz garrick #gaz x reader #gaz x you #gaz x y/n #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz x you #gaz cod #gaz call of duty #cod x reader #cod x you #cod x y/n #cod fanfic #blackbird fly #mwritesgaz #madi writes #sorry this was gnarly #also if this is like. weird. in my defense i wrote most of it while sick with covid #side note when writing that first scene i suddenly viscerally understood what the dark romance girlies (gn) were all about

255 notes · View notes

hometoursandotherstuff · 7 months ago

Text

Thanks to tasmanienerin for sending this dreamhouse of mine, a 1910 mansion in New York City. I'm surprised to see that the 6bd, 5ba home is actually original. (Did you notice the streets carved into the corner of the house?) $7.25M. I HOPE that the millionaire who buys it doesn't give a modern renovation and ruin it.

All the wood, including the floor, is original. It has a large nook with a round stained glass window, and built-in cabinets on each end. Love the gold-on-blue wallpaper.

The grand entrance hall is very large and has a beautiful chandelier. The hall is placed differently than other Victorians- it's sideways, so when you enter, the stairs are built facing "east/west," against the wall.

The owners chose to paint the reception room a sunny yellow and the corner room does get a lot of sun. It has a beautiful fireplace, gorgeous crown molding, wainscoting, and ceiling. It's such a large room, it fits 2 baby grand pianos with space to spare.

I think that this is the 2nd reception room, but they have it set up as a casual dining room. There's a fireplace and wainscoting, but the molding isn't as grand and the ceiling is plain. It does have a great chandelier, though.

This long room is the actual dining room. It has the high wainscoting and a grand fireplace. Look at the design in the ceiling.

I couldn't wait to see the kitchen, and it's basically intact. The stove is placed in the original cooking fireplace, there're no new cabinets except for a sink, but they do have a large commercial fridge. The table is huge. I love it. But, I would bet that someone's going to buy the house and completely gut it.

The home has 6 floors and this is a large landing. Notice the fancy stairs on the right, and across the way, behind a door, are the former staff stairs.

No doubt about it- there's a lot of climbing, b/c an elevator was never installed.

On this upper floor, there may be the staff rooms. It's unusual to see wainscoting on the upper levels.

Well, we can see that this bath is original. I hope someone doesn't come in and put up big tile showers and jetted soaking tubs.

I see that on the 3rd fl. there's a reading room.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1-W-123rd-St-New-York-NY-10027/2126331513_zpid

#victorian mansion nyc #victorian mansions #mansions #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour #submissions

179 notes · View notes

sephsbat · 7 months ago

Text

Altars & Shrines in Hellenism

In Hellenism, the practice of setting up altars and shrines to the gods plays an important role in religious worship and devotion. Altars and shrines serve as physical focal points where offerings, libations, and prayers can be made to the deities.

Altars

Altars in Hellenism can take various forms, but typically consist of a raised platform or table upon which offerings are placed. Altars are often made of stone, wood, or even simply piled earth. The size and design of the altar can vary depending on the space available and the specific needs of the practitioner.

Altars are usually set up in a dedicated religious space, such as a home shrine, a temple, or outdoors in a grove or sacred area. They are oriented to face the east, toward the rising sun, as a symbolic gesture toward the divine.

Common offerings placed on Hellenic altars include incense, candles, flower petals, fruits, grains, and libations of wine, water, or honey. Practitioners may also leave small votive objects, such as statues or figurines, as gifts to the gods.

Shrines

Shrines in Hellenism are small, dedicated spaces set aside for the veneration of a particular deity or group of deities. Shrines can be located both indoors and outdoors, and they often incorporate images, statues, or other representations of the gods.

Household shrines are a common feature in Hellenic practice, allowing practitioners to maintain a personal connection with the divine in their own homes. These shrines may be as simple as a small table or shelf with a statue or symbol of a deity, or they may be more elaborate, with multiple images, offerings, and ritual tools.

Outdoor shrines, known as "sacral landscapes," can be found in natural settings, such as groves, springs, or hilltops. These locations were considered sacred to the ancients and were often the sites of temples, altars, and other religious structures.

Visiting and tending to both altars and shrines is an important part of Hellenic religious practice, allowing practitioners to honor the gods, make offerings, and seek their blessings and guidance.

Sacred Spaces

In addition to altars and shrines, Hellenism also places great importance on the concept of sacred spaces - specific locations that are dedicated to and imbued with the presence of the divine.

Temples

The most well-known sacred spaces in Hellenism are the temples, which were grand structures built to house the physical representations (cult statues) of the gods. Temples were considered the dwelling places of the deities, and they served as the primary sites for public worship and ritual activities.

Temples were often located in prominent positions within a city or in natural settings, such as on hilltops or near bodies of water. The architecture and decoration of a temple were carefully designed to reflect the attributes and domains of the deity it honored.

Natural Sanctuaries

Beyond the constructed temples, Hellenism also recognized certain natural locations as sacred spaces. These included groves, springs, caves, and mountains, which were seen as inherently holy due to their physical features or associations with particular gods and mythological events.

Natural sanctuaries, known as "sacred landscapes," were often the sites of altars, shrines, and other religious structures. They were believed to be places where the veil between the mortal and divine realms was thinner, allowing for more direct communication and interaction with the gods.

Household Shrines

As mentioned earlier, individual households in Hellenism also maintained their own sacred spaces in the form of domestic shrines. These small altars or dedicated areas within the home were important centers of private worship and devotion, allowing practitioners to maintain a personal connection to the divine on a daily basis.

Household shrines were often located in prominent areas of the home, such as near the hearth or the entrance, and they were tended to through the offering of libations, prayers, and other rituals.

Regardless of the specific form, sacred spaces in Hellenism served as conduits for communication with the divine, providing opportunities for both individual and communal religious practice and devotion.

#hellenism #hellenic deities #hellenic polythiest #devotees #deity #deity worship #greek deities #devotional #hellenic worship #hellenic polytheism #hellenic pagan #i might be wrong with everything so don’t take my word for it.

208 notes · View notes

okasuka · 1 month ago

Text

Damian wayne x Reader.

tw: abuse, blood. violence, child abuse, alcohol abuse.

Part 1: The Coffee Shop Encounter

The soft hum of chatter filled the air of the cozy little coffee shop on Gotham’s east side. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans lingered in the atmosphere, mingling with faint notes of cinnamon and vanilla. You sat across from Damian Wayne, his sharp green eyes scanning over a book he brought with him. Despite his stoic exterior, there was something about him that made you feel safe—a sense of quiet understanding you rarely experienced.

“You’ve barely touched your drink,” Damian pointed out, his voice calm yet observant as he placed his book down.

You looked at your untouched latte, the heart-shaped foam design slowly dissolving. “Sorry, I was… lost in thought.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You hesitated. How could you even begin to explain the chaos at home? The constant yelling, the suffocating expectations, the fear that seemed to follow you around like a shadow. Damian, though guarded, had an innate ability to notice when something was wrong.

“It’s nothing,” you finally said, forcing a smile.

His sharp gaze lingered on you, seeing right through the façade. But before he could press further, the ringtone of your phone shattered the peaceful atmosphere.

You froze. You didn’t even need to look at the screen to know who it was. Slowly, you picked up the phone and glanced at the caller ID: Dad.

Damian’s eyes flicked to the phone, his jaw tightening. He knew about your father—at least, the basics. You’d mentioned the tension between you two, though you’d never gone into much detail.

“Are you going to answer it?” he asked quietly, his tone unreadable.

“I have to.” You stood up, the weight of the call already sinking into your chest. “I’ll be right back.”

Damian nodded, though his eyes followed you as you stepped outside.

The cold Gotham air bit at your skin as you swiped to accept the call. “Hi, Dad,” you said cautiously, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Where the hell are you?” his voice boomed on the other end, making you flinch.

“I’m just out with a friend—”

“With that boy, aren’t you?” he interrupted, his tone dripping with disdain.

Your stomach churned. “His name is Damian. We’re just studying, I swear.”

“Studying? Don’t lie to me!” he barked. “You’re wasting your time and my money! I told you to come straight home after school. What’s so important about hanging out with some rich brat anyway?”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “Dad, please, I—”

“Don’t you ‘Dad, please’ me! You have five minutes to get your ass home before I come get you myself, you hear me? Five minutes!”

The line went dead before you could respond.

When you stepped back inside, Damian’s eyes immediately locked onto yours. He didn’t need to ask what happened; your expression said it all.

“Do you need me to come with you?” he asked, standing up.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I… I’ll be fine.”

“Y/N.” His voice softened slightly, and for a brief moment, his hardened demeanor cracked. “You don’t have to face him alone.”

You gave him a small, sad smile. “Thank you, Damian. But it’s better if I do.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he nodded anyway, his hand brushing against yours briefly—a silent promise that he was there if you needed him.

Part 2: The Confrontation at Home

The walk home felt endless, even though it was only a few blocks. Each step dragged as your heart pounded in your chest. The frigid Gotham air was no longer biting; instead, it felt suffocating.

By the time you reached your house, you noticed the front porch light flickering faintly, as if it, too, was worn out by the energy inside. You hesitated on the doorstep, your fingers trembling as you reached for the doorknob.

The moment you stepped inside, the heavy scent of alcohol hit you. It was almost a permanent fixture in the house now, along with the faintly sour smell of sweat and unwashed laundry. You tried to slip into the hallway unnoticed, but the sound of a chair scraping against the kitchen floor froze you in place.

“Y/N!” Your father’s voice roared through the small space.

You turned slowly, already bracing yourself. He stood in the doorway, his frame slouched and disheveled. His bloodshot eyes glared at you, a near-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand.

“You think you can just waltz in here after ignoring me? Huh?” He staggered toward you, his voice thick with anger and liquor.

“I didn’t ignore you,” you said softly, trying to keep your tone even. “I came home as soon as you called.”

“Don’t you dare talk back to me!” he shouted, slamming the bottle onto the counter. The sound echoed, making you flinch. “You were out there with him, weren’t you? That little punk who thinks he’s better than everyone else?”

“He’s just a friend, Dad,” you said, your voice trembling. “We were studying—”

“Studying?” he mocked, his voice dripping with venom. “You think I’m stupid? I see how you look at him. You think he’s going to save you? Fix everything?”

Your chest tightened. “I don’t think that, I just—”

“Just what?” He cut you off, his face inches from yours now. The stench of alcohol on his breath was overwhelming. “You’re nothing without me, you hear me? Nothing! All this…” He gestured wildly around the room. “All this crap I put up with, all the money I spend, and this is how you repay me?”

You stepped back, your heel hitting the edge of the hallway rug. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

His laugh was cold and humorless. “Sorry doesn’t cut it, Y/N. You don’t get it, do you? You don’t have a life outside this house. You don’t get to defy me!”

His hand shot out faster than you could react. The slap echoed through the room, sharp and cruel. Pain radiated across your cheek and eye as you stumbled back, clutching your face.

Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him.

“Go to your room,” he spat, his voice slurring as he turned away and grabbed his bottle again. “And don’t even think about leaving until I say so.”

You didn’t argue. You didn’t even look back. You just bolted up the stairs and into your room, shutting the door behind you and locking it.

Part 3: The Messages

Your room was your only sanctuary, though even here, the sounds of your father’s shouting and stomping reached you. You collapsed onto your bed, clutching your phone like a lifeline. Without thinking, you opened the messages with Damian.

Y/N: I’m home.

Damian: What happened?

Y/N: It’s fine. I just need to cool off.

Damian: Don’t lie to me. What did he do?

You hesitated, staring at the screen. Your hands trembled as you typed.

Y/N: We argued. It’s nothing new.

Damian: Y/N.

Y/N: He hit me.

The moment you sent it, you wanted to take it back. You didn’t want Damian to know, didn’t want him to look at you differently. But his response came almost instantly.

Damian: I’m coming over.

Your heart raced.

Y/N: No! You can’t. He’ll freak out if he sees you.

Damian: He won’t see me.

Part 4: Damian’s Arrival

The hours dragged on as the house fell into a tense silence. From your window, you could see the faint glow of streetlights and hear the distant hum of traffic. Inside, though, the quiet was suffocating. Your father had likely passed out on the couch, the bottle still in his hand. You didn’t dare leave your room to check.

Your phone vibrated in your hand.

Damian: I’m here. Open your window.

Your breath hitched. You scrambled to the window, peeking out into the darkness. Sure enough, there he was—perched on the low-hanging branch of the oak tree just outside. He wore his usual black hoodie and dark jeans, blending into the shadows like the trained assassin he was.

You unlocked the window and pushed it open. “Damian, you shouldn’t—”

“Shh.” He climbed inside with practiced ease, landing silently on your carpet. His piercing green eyes scanned your face, narrowing when he saw the faint bruise forming around your eye.

His expression darkened, a mix of anger and something deeper—something protective. He stepped closer, his hands hovering near your face but not touching. “He did this to you.” It wasn’t a question.

You nodded, unable to meet his gaze.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. His jaw clenched, and you could see the internal battle raging behind his eyes. You knew Damian—he was used to solving problems with action, with force. But this wasn’t a fight he could jump into.

“You shouldn’t have come,” you whispered, breaking the silence.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “I wasn’t going to leave you here alone after that.”

“I didn’t want to drag you into this,” you admitted, sitting down on the edge of your bed. Your hands fidgeted in your lap. “It’s not your problem.”

He crouched in front of you, his eyes leveling with yours. “It is my problem if someone’s hurting you.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, and before you could stop yourself, the tears you’d been holding back all night started to fall.

“I’m so tired, Damian,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “I can’t do this anymore. He’s always yelling, always drinking, always… hitting. And no matter what I do, it’s never enough for him. I just—”

You couldn’t finish. Your sobs took over, and you buried your face in your hands.

Without a word, Damian moved to sit beside you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. You clung to him like a lifeline, your tears soaking into his hoodie.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice steady and soothing. “You don’t have to face this alone anymore.”

His words felt like a balm on your shattered heart. For once, you didn’t feel completely alone.

Part 5: The Quiet Comfort

Damian stayed silent for a long time, letting you cry until your sobs turned into soft sniffles. His hand moved gently along your back, a quiet reassurance that he was there.

“I want you to come with me,” he said finally, breaking the silence.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t want you staying here with him,” he said firmly. “You don’t deserve this. You can stay at the manor.”

You shook your head, the thought overwhelming. “Damian, I can’t just leave. He’s my dad. What if—”

“What if he hurts you worse next time?” Damian interrupted, his voice sharp but not unkind. “You think he’ll stop? You think he’ll change?”

You swallowed hard, unable to answer. Deep down, you knew he was right.

“I’ll talk to Bruce,” Damian continued, his tone softening. “We’ll figure something out. You don’t have to go back to this—not ever.”

The idea was tempting, but the fear of what your father would do if he found out paralyzed you. “What if he comes after me?”

“He won’t,” Damian said simply. There was an edge to his voice now, a quiet promise that sent a chill down your spine. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Part 6: A Night of Peace

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the heater kicking in. Damian’s arms remained around you, solid and reassuring. You leaned into his chest, your body still trembling slightly from the adrenaline and fear. For a moment, the world outside seemed distant, muffled by his steady presence.

“I don’t know if I can leave,” you whispered, breaking the silence.

Damian tilted his head to look at you, his sharp green eyes softened with understanding. “You’re scared. I get that. But staying here won’t help you, Y/N. It’ll only get worse.”

You looked away, your gaze drifting toward the faint crack in the wall above your desk. That crack had been there for years, a silent reminder of one of your father’s drunken outbursts. “What if leaving makes him angrier? What if he… tries to find me? I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

“He won’t get near you,” Damian said, his voice low and resolute. “I’ll make sure of it.”

The certainty in his words made your chest tighten. It wasn’t just empty reassurance—this was Damian Wayne. The son of Batman. Someone who wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever it took to protect you.

“You’re not alone in this,” he continued, his hand resting gently on your arm. “You don’t have to carry this by yourself anymore.”

The weight of his words broke through your defenses. Slowly, you nodded. “Okay. I… I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” he said, his voice softening.

Damian stayed close for the rest of the night. The tension that had gripped you all day began to ease, replaced by the quiet comfort of his presence. You sat together on your bed, talking about anything and everything to distract yourself—the books he’d been reading, the latest Wayne Enterprises scandal, even some of the more bizarre cases he’d helped his father with as Robin.

“You really fought a guy dressed as a giant condiment bottle?” you asked, your eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Damian gave you a rare smile, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Unfortunately, yes. Condiment King. He’s… not exactly the brightest of Gotham’s criminals.”

The laugh that bubbled out of you felt foreign, almost strange after the night you’d had. But Damian seemed to notice, his smile growing slightly.

“There it is,” he said quietly.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Your smile.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked down at your hands. “It’s… been a while.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours. “You deserve to smile more, Y/N. To laugh. To feel safe.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache. You didn’t know what you’d done to deserve someone like Damian in your life, but in that moment, you were endlessly grateful for him.

Part 7: The Plan

As the night stretched on, you leaned against Damian’s shoulder, exhaustion finally catching up to you. His presence was like a shield, keeping the fear and pain at bay.

“Get some rest,” he murmured, his hand lightly brushing against your hair.

You hesitated. “What about you? You can’t stay here all night. If my dad wakes up—”

“He won’t,” Damian said firmly. “And even if he does, he won’t touch you. I promise.”

His confidence was unwavering, but you still worried. “What if he sees you leave?”

“I’ve snuck into far more secure places than this,” he said with a faint smirk. “He won’t see me.”

You nodded, finally giving in. “Okay.”

As you settled into bed, Damian stayed seated on the edge, his watchful eyes scanning the room like a sentry. Even as your eyelids grew heavy, you felt his presence grounding you, keeping the darkness at bay.

The next morning, Damian was gone, but the weight of his words lingered. You stared at your phone, reading over the last text he’d sent before leaving.

. Part 8: Breaking the Cycle

The sunlight creeping through your curtains felt out of place. The house was eerily quiet, the usual sounds of your father stomping around or slamming doors absent. You sat up in bed, clutching your phone like a lifeline. Damian’s words from the night before replayed in your mind:

“You’re not alone, Y/N. Call me when you’re ready.”

But were you ready? The thought of leaving terrified you, even if staying was worse. You hesitated before opening your door, tiptoeing into the hallway. The living room reeked of stale alcohol and cigarettes, but your father was nowhere in sight. The empty bottle on the coffee table told you everything you needed to know—he was likely passed out in his bedroom.

Your fingers itched to text Damian, but doubt crept in. Was leaving really the answer? What if things got worse? What if your father came after you?

Later That Morning

By midday, the silence was broken. Your father’s door slammed open, and his heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. You froze in the kitchen, clutching the counter as he appeared in the doorway, looking worse than usual—his hair unkempt, his face pale and splotchy.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay in your room?” he growled, his voice rough from last night’s whiskey.

“I-I just came down to make breakfast,” you stammered, avoiding his gaze.

He sneered, stumbling closer. “Breakfast? You think I care about breakfast? You think you can do whatever you want now, huh? Just because you’re playing friends with that little rich boy?”

Your stomach churned. “It’s not like that. We were studying—”

“Don’t lie to me!” he snapped, his hand slamming against the counter beside you. You flinched, taking a step back. “You think you’re better than me? You think you can just walk out of here whenever you feel like it?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” you said, your voice cracking.

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he was going to hit you again. But instead, he pointed toward the stairs. “Get out of my sight. Now.”

You practically ran to your room, slamming the door shut and locking it. Your breathing was ragged, tears threatening to spill as you grabbed your phone and opened your messages with Damian.

Y/N: I can’t do this anymore. I want to leave.

His response came almost instantly.

Damian: I’ll be there in 20 minutes. Pack a bag.

Your hands trembled as you read the text. Was this really happening? Could you really leave? You shoved the doubts aside and grabbed a backpack, stuffing it with clothes, your phone charger, and a few essentials. As you zipped it up, the weight of what you were about to do hit you like a freight train.

Part 9: The Escape

Exactly twenty minutes later, there was a soft tap at your window. You turned to see Damian crouched on the branch, his hood pulled low over his face. He motioned for you to open the window.

You slid it up quietly, your heart pounding as he climbed inside. His green eyes immediately scanned the room before landing on you. “Are you ready?”

You nodded, gripping the strap of your backpack tightly. “Yeah.”

Damian’s gaze softened as he stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing.”

“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he said gently. “But you don’t have to be. I’m here, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding again. Damian led you to the window, pausing to glance over his shoulder. “Is he still here?”

“He’s downstairs,” you whispered. “Probably passed out again.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

Climbing out the window was harder than you expected, but Damian guided you, his steady presence giving you the courage to keep going. Once you were both on the ground, he grabbed your hand and led you through the backyard and into the alley behind your house.

A sleek black car was parked at the end of the alley, its engine idling softly. Damian opened the passenger door for you, and you slipped inside. The interior smelled faintly of leather and pine, a stark contrast to the chaos you’d just left behind.

As Damian slid into the driver’s seat and pulled away, a wave of relief washed over you. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a glimmer of hope.

Part 10: The Manor

The drive to Wayne Manor was quiet. Damian kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye, but he didn’t push you to talk. The hum of the car’s engine and the city fading into the distance were the only sounds accompanying your thoughts.

Wayne Manor came into view after a few turns up a winding road. The massive estate loomed against the gray Gotham skyline, a combination of imposing and strangely comforting. Damian pulled into the private driveway, the iron gates closing behind the car automatically.

As he parked, he turned to you. “You’re safe now. No one will hurt you here.”

You nodded, clutching the strap of your bag tightly as you stepped out of the car. The enormity of the mansion made you hesitate, but Damian was already at your side, his hand resting lightly on your back to guide you.

The front doors opened before you reached them, revealing Alfred Pennyworth, the family butler. His calm, discerning gaze immediately fell on you, and a faint smile touched his lips.

“Master Damian, I take it this is our guest?” Alfred asked, his tone warm yet professional.

“Yes,” Damian said, his voice firm but gentle. “Y/N is staying here for a while.”

Alfred nodded, stepping aside to let you in. “Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss Y/N. Please, make yourself at home.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Inside the Manor

The interior of the manor was even more overwhelming than the exterior. High ceilings, ornate chandeliers, and a grand staircase made the space feel almost unreal. You followed Damian silently, your nerves twisting as he led you to a smaller sitting room.

“You should rest,” he said, motioning to the plush couch. “I’ll grab Alfred and get you something to eat.”

You sat down tentatively, the soft cushions swallowing you. “Damian… what if my dad comes looking for me?”

“He won’t find you here,” Damian said confidently. “And even if he does, he’ll regret it.”

There was a hardness in his voice that made you shiver. You believed him, though. If anyone could protect you, it was Damian.

A few minutes later, Alfred returned with a tray of tea and sandwiches. “You must be exhausted,” he said, setting the tray down in front of you. “Master Damian has informed me of your situation. Rest assured, you are quite safe here.”

“Thank you,” you said again, your voice cracking slightly.

As you sipped the tea, Damian sat beside you, his presence a quiet reassurance.

“Bruce will want to meet you,” he said after a moment.

“Your dad?” you asked, suddenly nervous. “I don’t want to cause any trouble…”

“You won’t,” Damian said firmly. “He’ll understand. And he’ll help. Trust me.”

You nodded, though the thought of meeting Bruce Wayne—a man as intimidating as the manor itself—made your stomach twist.

Part 11: Meeting Bruce

An hour later, Damian led you to Bruce’s study. Your heart raced as he knocked once and pushed the door open.

Bruce Wayne sat at his desk, his sharp blue eyes lifting from a stack of papers as you entered. He was every bit as imposing as you’d imagined, his presence commanding the room. But there was something about his expression—a mix of concern and understanding—that made you feel slightly less nervous.

“Y/N,” Bruce said, rising from his chair and extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

You shook his hand tentatively, glancing at Damian for reassurance.

“Damian told me everything,” Bruce said, his voice steady but gentle. “You don’t have to worry. You’re safe here, and we’ll do whatever we can to help you.”

The kindness in his tone caught you off guard, and you felt your eyes welling up again. “Thank you. I… I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You made the right choice,” Bruce said. “No one deserves to live in fear. We’ll make sure your father doesn’t hurt you again.”

His words carried a weight of finality, as if they were a promise etched in stone.

Part 12: A New Beginning

That night, Damian showed you to one of the many guest rooms. It was bigger than your entire bedroom back home, with soft lighting and a bed that looked like it belonged in a five-star hotel.

As you unpacked your bag, Damian leaned against the doorway, watching you quietly.

“You okay?” he asked after a moment.

You turned to him, offering a small smile. “Better. Thank you, Damian. For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, stepping into the room. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but… it feels good to breathe again. To not feel trapped.”

Damian sat beside you, his hand resting lightly on yours. “One step at a time. You’ll get through this. And I’ll be here, no matter what.”

For the first time in a long while, you felt a flicker of hope. You weren’t alone anymore, and for now, that was enough.

Part 13: Settling In

The next few days passed in a blur. You stayed in the guest room, adjusting to the quiet luxury of Wayne Manor. It felt strange—having peace, space, and no yelling. Every time the silence stretched too long, you found yourself holding your breath, waiting for a shout or a crash that never came.

Damian stayed close. He had a way of hovering without being overbearing, his presence a constant reassurance. Alfred brought you meals and always checked in with a kind smile. Even Bruce stopped by once or twice, offering updates about what steps he was taking to ensure your safety.

One Morning in the Manor

Damian knocked softly on your door before stepping inside. “How are you feeling today?”

You looked up from the book you’d been pretending to read, offering a small smile. “Better, I think. Still… weird.”

“Weird?” he echoed, sitting down on the armchair across from you.

“Quiet,” you admitted. “I keep expecting something bad to happen. It’s like my brain doesn’t know how to relax.”

He nodded, understanding in his sharp green eyes. “It’ll take time. You’ve spent years in survival mode. You can’t unlearn that overnight.”

The thought made your chest tighten. “What if I never do? What if I’m always stuck like this?”

“You won’t be,” Damian said firmly. “You’re stronger than you think, Y/N. And you have people who care about you now. You’re not doing this alone.”

His words brought a lump to your throat, but you managed to nod. “Thanks, Damian. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You won’t have to find out,” he said, his voice soft but unwavering.

Part 14: A New Routine

As the days turned into weeks, you started to settle into a new rhythm. Alfred’s calm presence became a source of comfort, and Bruce’s quiet support reassured you that you weren’t a burden.

Damian was your constant, though. He had a way of knowing when you needed space and when you needed him close. He took you on walks around the expansive grounds, introduced you to the family’s collection of exotic pets, and even convinced you to join him in the training room one afternoon.

In the Training Room

“Hold your stance,” Damian instructed, his voice calm but firm.

You adjusted your footing, feeling awkward as you held up your fists. “Like this?”

“Better,” he said, circling around you to adjust your posture. “Remember, it’s about balance. You’re not trying to overpower someone; you’re trying to outmaneuver them.”

You exhaled sharply, trying to focus. “I feel ridiculous.”

“You look fine,” Damian said with a smirk. “Better than most people do on their first try.”

“Are you actually giving me a compliment?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t get used to it,” he said, his smirk widening slightly.

The playful banter lightened the mood, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a spark of confidence.

Part 15: Confronting the Past

One evening, as you sat in the living room scrolling through your phone, Bruce walked in. He carried a folder in his hand, his expression serious but not unkind.

“Y/N,” he said, sitting across from you. “I’ve been looking into your father.”

Your stomach tightened. “What did you find?”

Bruce hesitated, his eyes softening. “He has a record—multiple DUIs, reports of domestic disturbances. Nothing that ever led to serious consequences, unfortunately. But it’s enough to build a case.”

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling slightly. “What does that mean? Will he… go to jail?”

“That depends,” Bruce said carefully. “You’d have to be willing to give a statement. To tell your story.”

The thought made your chest ache. The idea of standing up to your father, of reliving everything in front of strangers, was terrifying.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Bruce added. “But if you want to take legal action, we’ll support you every step of the way.”

You nodded slowly, your mind racing. “I’ll… think about it.”

That night, you sat on the balcony outside your room, staring at the stars. Damian joined you a few minutes later, sitting silently beside you.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he asked.

You nodded. “I just… I don’t know if I can do it. What if it doesn’t work? What if he gets away with it?”

“He won’t,” Damian said firmly. “Not with Bruce involved. And not with me.”

The conviction in his voice made you feel braver than you had in a long time. “I’m scared, Damian.”

“I know,” he said, his hand brushing against yours. “But you’re not alone. Whatever you decide, I’ll be right here.”

You leaned against his shoulder, the warmth of his presence grounding you. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured. “Just let me help you.”

Part 16: Taking the First Step

The decision lingered in your mind for days, every thought leading back to the idea of facing your father and exposing the years of abuse. The idea terrified you, but Damian’s unwavering presence gave you strength.

One morning, as you sat in the sunlit dining room picking at a plate of scrambled eggs Alfred had prepared, Bruce walked in. He gave you a small nod before sitting across from you, placing a phone and a folder on the table.

“I have someone you should talk to,” Bruce said gently.

Your heart skipped. “Who?”

“A social worker. Her name is Ellen Grayson. She specializes in helping people in situations like yours—people ready to take action but unsure where to start.”

Damian, who had been leaning against the wall nearby, stepped forward. “She’s good at what she does,” he added. “And she’s someone we trust.”

You hesitated, your fork hovering above your plate. “What… what would I have to do?”

Bruce’s voice was calm and measured. “Talk to her. Tell her your story. She’ll help you decide what steps to take next. You don’t have to commit to anything right away.”

Your chest felt tight, but you nodded. “Okay. I’ll talk to her.”

Meeting Ellen

That afternoon, Damian sat beside you in one of the manor’s private offices as Bruce called Ellen on speakerphone. Her voice was warm and calm, her tone immediately putting you at ease.

“Y/N, I want you to know that you’re very brave for even considering this,” Ellen said. “I know it’s not easy to talk about what you’ve been through, but if you’re ready, I’d like to hear your story.”

Damian’s hand rested lightly on your knee, a silent reminder that he was there. You took a deep breath and began to speak, your words halting at first but gaining momentum as you recounted the years of fear, the yelling, the drinking, and the blows you’d endured.

By the time you finished, your voice was shaking, and tears blurred your vision. Ellen’s voice came through the speaker, steady and supportive.

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Y/N,” she said. “You’ve been through so much, but I want you to know you’re not alone. We can take this one step at a time, and we’ll make sure you’re safe.”

After the call ended, Damian handed you a glass of water, his green eyes searching your face. “You okay?”

You nodded, though your hands still trembled. “It feels… weird. Like I finally let it out, but now I don’t know what comes next.”

“What comes next is up to you,” Bruce said gently. “But we’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Part 17: Filing the Report

The next step was filing a formal police report. Ellen arranged for a detective she trusted to handle your case, someone who specialized in domestic abuse. Bruce and Damian both insisted on coming with you for support.

At the GCPD

The police station was intimidating, its gray walls and harsh lighting making your stomach churn. Damian walked close beside you, his presence a steadying force.

Detective Renee Montoya greeted you with a kind smile, leading you to a quiet room away from the chaos of the main floor. “Take your time,” she said, sliding a notebook and pen across the table. “There’s no rush.”

You hesitated, staring at the blank page. The idea of putting everything into writing made your chest tighten, but Damian gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“You’ve got this,” he said softly.

With a shaky breath, you began to write.

By the time you finished, hours had passed, and your hand ached from gripping the pen so tightly. Montoya skimmed over the report, nodding as she read.

“This is a solid start,” she said. “We’ll move forward with an investigation, but I want you to know this might take some time. If you feel unsafe at any point, call me immediately.”

You nodded, your exhaustion overwhelming. “Thank you.”

Montoya smiled. “You’re brave, Y/N. Don’t forget that.”

Part 18: A Night of Reflection

That night, back at the manor, you sat on the balcony outside your room, staring at the Gotham skyline. The weight of everything you’d done settled on your shoulders—telling your story, filing the report, taking the first real steps toward freedom.

Damian joined you, a quiet presence at your side. He didn’t say anything at first, letting the silence stretch comfortably between you.

“Do you think I did the right thing?” you asked finally.

He looked at you, his green eyes steady. “I know you did. You’re taking control of your life, Y/N. That’s never the wrong choice.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“You didn’t have to,” he said, his voice soft. “And you never will.”

As the night stretched on, the stars above seeming brighter than usual, you felt a strange sense of peace. For the first time in years, you weren’t just surviving—you were beginning to live.

Part 19: A Moment of Closeness

After the long day, exhaustion weighed on you, but you couldn’t sleep. The quiet of the manor wasn’t threatening, but it gave you too much time to think. Your mind replayed the conversation with Ellen, the time at the police station, and the memories you’d unearthed. The ache in your chest felt unbearable.

Sighing, you grabbed your phone and sent Damian a quick text.

Y/N: Are you awake?

It took less than a minute for his reply to come through.

Damian: I am now. What’s wrong?

You hesitated, not wanting to seem needy, but the thought of being alone with your spiraling thoughts was worse.

Y/N: Can you come to my room?

A soft knock came moments later. When you opened the door, Damian stood there in a loose T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly tousled as if he’d been lying down. His eyes searched yours, and without saying a word, he stepped inside.

“You’re overthinking again,” he said softly, shutting the door behind him.

You shrugged, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “It’s hard not to. Everything feels so… heavy.”

Damian crouched in front of you, resting his hands lightly on your knees. “You don’t have to carry it alone.”

“I know,” you murmured, looking down at where his hands touched you. “But sometimes it feels like I’ll never be free of it.”

“You will,” he said firmly. “It’s going to take time, but I promise you, you’ll get there.”

The conviction in his voice made your throat tighten. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He froze for a split second, then relaxed into the embrace, his arms sliding around your waist.

An Intimate Moment

Damian pulled you closer, his hands warm and steady on your back. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his faint, clean scent. For the first time that day, the weight in your chest seemed to ease.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

“I just… I don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” you admitted, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his green eyes intense but gentle. “Then let me help you.”

His thumb brushed a stray tear from your cheek, the touch so tender it made your heart ache. “You’re safe here, Y/N. With me, with Bruce, with Alfred. No one is going to hurt you again.”

You nodded, though your tears continued to fall. “I just feel so broken sometimes.”

“You’re not broken,” he said quietly, his voice firm but kind. “You’re hurt, but you’re healing. And that takes strength.”

The sincerity in his tone made your breath catch. “How are you always this sure of everything?”

“I’m not,” he admitted, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “But when it comes to you, I am.”

The vulnerability in his words made your heart race. You hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his. His eyes fluttered closed, his breath brushing your lips as the space between you seemed to disappear.

The First Kiss

The moment lingered, the air around you thick with unspoken emotions. You weren’t sure who moved first, but your lips met his in a tentative, gentle kiss. Damian’s hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you close as the kiss deepened, his touch warm and grounding.

When you finally pulled back, your cheeks flushed, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath unsteady.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, your heart pounding. “Me too.”

Part 20: In Each Other’s Arms

Later that night, Damian stayed with you, his presence a comforting weight beside you. You lay curled against him, your head resting on his chest as his fingers traced idle patterns on your arm.

“You should sleep,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

“I’m afraid of the nightmares,” you admitted.

“You’re not alone,” he said, his hand brushing over your hair. “If you wake up, I’ll be here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear slowly lulled you into a sense of calm. For the first time in as long as you could remember, you felt safe—truly, undeniably safe.

And as sleep finally claimed you, Damian’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close as if he could shield you from the rest of the world.

Part 21: Facing the Past Together

The days following your intimate moment with Damian felt different. The bond between you had deepened in a way neither of you had expected, and while the vulnerability that had surfaced between you both still lingered in the air, there was a certain warmth now whenever you were together.

Damian continued to be your rock, always present, always steady. The manor had become more than just a refuge; it was a place where you were slowly rebuilding—reclaiming pieces of yourself that had been lost. Yet, the weight of your past still haunted you.

Late Afternoon in the Manor

It was a quiet afternoon when Bruce came to find you in the library. He had his usual calm demeanor, but there was an edge of urgency in his voice that caught your attention.

“Y/N, we’ve heard back from the investigation team,” he said, standing at the doorway, holding a folder.

Your stomach tightened. “And?”

Bruce looked at you, his expression unreadable. “We have enough evidence now to pursue a restraining order, and we’re beginning to build the case for possible charges against your father. But… there’s more to discuss.”

Your heart raced. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but the weight of Bruce’s words made your mind spin. Damian was right beside you now, his presence like a grounding force.

“What else?” you asked, trying to steady your breathing.

Bruce paused for a moment before continuing. “Your father’s been informed that we’re involved. He might take more aggressive actions in response. We need to be prepared for that.”

Damian’s jaw clenched, his hand subtly brushing yours as he stood closer. “We’re ready for whatever he throws at us,” he said, his voice low but resolute.

Bruce nodded, offering you a comforting look. “We’ll be taking additional measures to keep you safe, Y/N. You won’t have to face him alone anymore.”

You swallowed, the weight of everything hitting you all at once. “Thank you, Bruce. I don’t know what I’d do without you all.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. You’re family now,” Bruce said, his voice steady and reassuring.

Part 22: The Moment of Truth

The next day, the investigation took a more active turn. Detective Montoya contacted you directly, informing you that your father was aware of the charges against him. He was, predictably, furious.

“You need to stay alert,” Montoya told you over the phone. “We’re taking steps to protect you, but it’s crucial that you avoid contact with him for now. If he shows up at the manor or anywhere near you—call me immediately.”

Damian, overhearing the conversation, moved closer to you. “You’ll be okay,” he said softly, though you could see the tension in his features.

You nodded, feeling the deep knot in your stomach tighten. “I know… I just don’t feel okay, though. What if he tries something—what if he comes after me?”

Damian took your hand gently in his, squeezing it. “He won’t get past me.”

That evening, after the conversation with Montoya, Bruce came to see you in your room. His expression was calm, but you could tell he was thinking through the strategy.

“We’re putting in place additional security,” Bruce said. “Damian will stay with you at all times for now. We’ll have someone monitoring your father’s movements, but we’ll also be here to keep an eye on things. You don’t have to carry this burden alone.”

You looked at Damian, his presence both comforting and intense. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

He nodded. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Part 23: A Quiet Evening

Later that night, after dinner, the two of you found yourselves once again on the balcony, the cool night air drifting around you. The stars above felt endless, much like the road ahead.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted, staring at the horizon.

Damian sat next to you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he looked out at the dark sky. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

You turned to him, studying his face, noticing the lines of worry etched on his brow despite his calm demeanor. “I don’t know how to ask for help,” you confessed. “I’ve never really had anyone I could rely on before.”

He met your gaze, his eyes filled with a quiet understanding. “You have me now. And I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re a burden. You’re not.”

Your heart swelled at his words, but it was hard to ignore the emotions that still felt tangled in your chest. “I’m scared, Damian.”

“I know,” he replied, his hand reaching for yours. “But fear doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re still fighting.”

You turned your palm up, your fingers intertwining with his. For a moment, the weight of everything you’d been through—the fear, the pain—seemed to dissipate as his warmth wrapped around you.

Damian leaned in, his forehead touching yours. “You don’t need to carry the world on your shoulders, Y/N. I’m here. You’ll never be alone in this.”

The depth in his eyes, the sincerity in his voice, made the last bit of doubt fade away. You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, letting the steady beat of his heart reassure you.

Part 24: In His Arms

As the night grew darker, you stayed there, together, in each other’s company. Damian’s arms wrapped around you, his presence both a shield and a comfort. You felt his fingers trace slow circles on your back, the rhythm soothing as you closed your eyes and let yourself relax for the first time in days.

“I need you to know something,” Damian said quietly, his voice soft in the night air.

You looked up at him, the words you’d wanted to say in the back of your mind finally finding their way to your lips. “What is it?”

“I care about you, Y/N. More than I can explain.” His gaze softened as he spoke, his hand gently cupping your face. “And I’m not going anywhere. No matter what happens next.”

You swallowed hard, feeling your chest tighten with emotion. “I care about you, too.”

The intensity in his eyes deepened, and without another word, his lips found yours. It was soft at first, tender—an unspoken promise that all the pain, all the fear, would eventually fade. For now, you were here together, and that was enough.

Part 25: A Moment Interrupted

The night had grown deeper, and the soft glow from the stars outside illuminated the quiet balcony. You and Damian had been talking—about everything and nothing. The conversation had drifted from your past to your hopes for the future, from your fears to the small moments of peace you’d found together. It was one of those rare times when the world felt still, and for a brief moment, you could forget about everything else.

Damian’s fingers traced small patterns on your wrist, his touch gentle, thoughtful. There was an unspoken tension between you two, something that had been building over the past few days. Every glance, every word, felt more loaded than the last.

Without realizing it, you found yourself leaning closer to him, your heartbeat quickening with each passing second. Damian’s eyes flickered to your lips, then back up to your eyes, as if silently asking for permission.

You didn’t hesitate. Closing the gap between you, you kissed him softly, your lips brushing against his in a gentle, almost tentative touch.

His hand cupped your face, his thumb lightly grazing your cheek as the kiss deepened. The warmth between you both surged, the tension of the past few days melting away as his lips moved against yours, slow and tender. It was everything you’d wanted, everything you’d needed—a quiet moment where nothing else mattered but the two of you.

His other hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer, your bodies aligning as you lost yourself in the kiss. The night air seemed to disappear, leaving only the sensation of his touch, the soft rhythm of your breathing, the shared warmth that made you feel safe.

But then, just as you were completely lost in the moment, a voice rang out from the door, breaking through the bubble of intimacy.

“Well, well, well…” Bruce’s amused voice echoed in the hallway.

Both you and Damian immediately jumped apart, the suddenness of the interruption making your heart race in embarrassment. You scrambled for words, but none came.

Bruce was standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with a knowing smile on his face. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he surveyed the scene, clearly entertained by your flustered reactions.

Damian’s face was flushed, his usual composure faltering as he shifted uncomfortably. “Bruce, we—uh, we didn’t hear you.”

You couldn’t stop the heat from flooding your face. You had barely kissed him, but the interruption made it feel like you’d done something much more. “Sorry,” you mumbled, not meeting Bruce’s eyes.

Bruce chuckled, stepping further into the room. “Don’t worry, kids. It’s not like I’ve never had this happen before.” He waved a hand dismissively, clearly unbothered. “Just don’t get carried away. And, Damian…”

Damian straightened, his embarrassment quickly turning into a defensive stance. “What?”

“Just make sure she stays safe, alright?” Bruce said with a small, almost affectionate grin. “I trust you both, but I’m sure we can all agree that you two don’t need any more distractions.”

Damian gave a sharp nod. “Of course.”

Bruce’s smile softened. “Good. Now, get some rest. We have a lot to handle tomorrow.” He turned to leave, but then paused and glanced back at the two of you.

“I’m happy for you both,” he added, his voice quieter. “But remember, there’s still work to do.”

With that, Bruce left, the door clicking shut behind him.

For a long moment, neither you nor Damian spoke. The air was thick with the awkwardness of the situation, and both of you avoided looking at each other, the weight of Bruce’s words hanging between you.

Finally, Damian broke the silence, his voice almost shy. “Well, that was… unexpected.”

You let out a small laugh, still feeling your cheeks burning. “I feel like we’ve just been caught doing something we didn’t even do.”

Damian smirked, his hand finding yours again, the tension from earlier quickly dissolving into something more familiar. “We didn’t,” he said simply. “But we’re definitely going to have to be careful around Bruce from now on.”

You chuckled, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I think I’ll avoid making eye contact with him for a while.”

Damian gave you a small, teasing smile, leaning in close again, but this time, he didn’t kiss you. Instead, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

“Are you still nervous?” he asked quietly.

You smiled softly, meeting his gaze. “A little, but not as much as I was before.”

“Good,” he said, his voice low and comforting. “You should be able to relax around me.”

“I do,” you whispered, your heart fluttering in your chest.

And for that moment, everything felt perfectly, blissfully right.

#dc #dc comics #dc fanart #dc robin #damian wayne #dcu #damian wayne x reader #fluff #damian wayne x y/n #angst

80 notes · View notes

housegyan · 2 months ago

Text

#Ground floor house plans #Single-floor house plans #1-story house designs #Single-storey house plans #Ground floor house plans for small plots #Single-storey 2BHK house designs #1-story house plans for large plots #Modern single-floor house plans 2024 #East-facing ground floor house plans #West-facing single-storey house designs #Best ground floor house layouts with dimensions #Affordable single-floor house designs 2024 #North-facing 3BHK ground floor house plans #Customized single-storey house plans for families #housegyan #construction #house plan

0 notes

imagineitdearies · 4 months ago

Text

~ A Flawed Eternity ~

(AKA drabbles set in the Perfect Slaughter universe.) Thanks to my new author discord community for voting on this one! 🩵

In which Tyrus walks in on Astarion's 'alone time.'

Even though they’d cleared the tunnel under the river, secured the fishing hut and passage to sneak into the House of Healing, and had a half-reliable map of the Gauntlet of Shar, the war council had delayed an infiltration for almost a tenday merely arguing over who would go.

With the colder weather creeping in and battles stagnating into standoffs, Tyrus supposed they foolishly thought they had time.

Morfred wanted a larger group to ensure they had enough support. Jaheira said no more than three highly-skilled individuals, to give them better chances at stealth. Ganyl simply wanted to go, even though his entire enclave was against risking their leader, and it took two meetings just to talk him down. Halfred didn’t think the quiet assassination plan of Ketheric Thorm was a good idea in the first place. They all worried that Ketheric’s brother, Malus Thorm, could be too tight-lipped or ignorant of the Gauntlet’s secret entrance to be worth the risk of fighting first.

Astarion had given up on attendance for the last two meetings. But as designated ‘Leader of the Vampires,’ however underqualified Tyrus felt he was for such a role, he felt obligated to attend. Just so he’d have updates to give Astarion and the spawn army below, really. He and Astarion had come up with the idea of a quiet assassination to avoid further bloodshed, so they were already guaranteed a spot in the party if and when it was approved. Halsin was a tentative third in Ganyl’s place, though Jaheira wanted it to be herself who struck Ketheric’s killing blow.

Now Tyrus felt close to giving up himself. He left the meeting before its scheduled end when Jaheira and Halfred started a shouting match about the risks of trying Ketheric's son at the Waning Moon Tavern instead, and Messaged Ganyl to send word if a decision had finally been made. Then he crossed the road past the armory, over the short bridge and around the small, cheery fountain in front of their temporary abode of late, the Last Light Inn.

Tyrus let out a plaintive sigh of relief the moment he was through the doors and could shrug off the sapping weight of the Cloak of Dragomir, avoiding the occasional beam of sunlight until he reached the stairs and could head down to the basement floor. Most of the rooms were used for storage—but at the end, built around the low docks the inn now used to receive war supplies from the east, were a couple of suites that looked directly out over the Chionthar.

He hadn’t expected to find Astarion in their suite, really. His partner liked to socialize a lot more than Tyrus ever did. In their short time here, he’d already been chatting with some soldiers at the inn’s bar, meeting more often with Halsin, and playing enough lanceboard he now could beat Tyrus if he focused hard enough. Astarion was used to crowds, to strangers, while Tyrus still found himself seeking the safety of four walls and a single locked door.

As he reached the door, however, Tyrus thought that safety must have been an illusion as his ears picked up Astarion’s voice, loud and seemingly in distress.

“Ah!—ah, gods—Tyrus!”

Tyrus wrenched the door open in a panic, hurrying inside—

—and was confronted with the sight of Astarion in a bath, pale face flushed, eyes squeezed shut, steamy water sloshing around the fast pace of his wrist under the water as he tugged at his pink, erect cock.

Tyrus stared. Even as Astarion’s eyes wrenched open bleary and wide, his hand freezing in the water, Tyrus couldn’t stop looking. He’d seen Astarion’s cock before so many times—but in his defense, it’d been months. Only feeling the shape of it in Astarion’s trousers when their kissing progressed further, only seeing Astarion’s bare body offhandedly as they dressed. Now Tyrus could also admire how much more lively Astarion’s skin looked despite still being pale, how his half-submerged, muscled middle had softened into looking less malnourished and dehydrated thanks to a healthy diet.

After another second, Astarion relaxed a bit. He waved toward Tyrus with the hand that had a moment before held a death-grip on the wooden tub’s edge, smirking as he huffed, “Could you close that, love?”

Tyrus’s momentary shock at the man’s beauty faded, then, in time for his rational brain to kick in. “I can come back later—?” he started to offer.

“No—no, I . . .” Astarion interjected, only to hesitate. His eyes trailed away for a moment, uncertainty lining his face.

Tyrus retreated back to the door. “I don’t want to interrupt,” he spoke in earnest, and smiled at Astarion when the other vampire tentatively met his gaze again. “Truly—I’d much rather you enjoy yourself, like you’ve been wanting to.”

“Not quite like how I’ve wanted to,” Astarion scoffed, though a moment later the lines on his face faded. “No, stay here, darling. If you’d like to. I’m only imagining you here anyhow.”

“That’s quite different,” Tyrus pointed out, though he went ahead and shut the door, locking it for good measure before turning back to Astarion.

“Is it? I was just thinking of you interrupting me like this,” Astarion smirked, gesturing at himself. The hand in the water wandered back between his legs and began to lightly stroke as he sighed, “Though in my head I skipped the part where a whole conversation would be necessary for you to join. Bring a stool?” he nodded at the floor just next to the tub.

Tyrus didn’t hesitate to obey. He grabbed a small cushioned one in front of the sheet-covered mirror and placed it so he could sit just next to the tub’s head. His stomach swooped at being this close to Astarion—at watching him stroke himself again, bare and exposed save for the flimsy distortion of the sudsy water.

He wanted to touch him. He wanted to help, or at least kiss Astarion. But he wouldn’t dare do a thing without checking, given how impossible it’d been for Astarion to be sexually intimate since Cazador’s death.

And Astarion was such a pretty sight just to watch, with his eyes shutting again and dark lashes on display, pink lips slightly parted. Meanwhile, his small breaths and huffs of pleasure as he built back into a rhythm sounded sweeter to Tyrus’s ears than any melody. Even the smell of him was delightful. That smoky, musky perfume he always had a slight hint of at the palace was now much more refined and strong thanks to their shopping in the city. It was already a feast for the senses, if not all of them.

But when Astarion’s other hand extended just a bit past the tub, palm up, Tyrus was quick to take it and enjoy a sense of touch as well. Astarion hummed and pulled their clasped hands down into the water, flattening Tyrus’s palm to rub against his inner thigh. Tyrus gratefully mimicked the movement, and next let Astarion’s hand overtop his guide him to gently handle Astarion’s ball sack, eventually taking over to stroke his erection in tight, quick motions Tyrus still remembered the rhythm of well.

Astarion’s hand stayed cupped around his throughout it all, continually guiding and keeping control even as he sighed, “Tyrus . . . uh, I’ve missed these hands . . .”

“Would you like it if I did anything else?” Tyrus murmured, after another minute of nothing but stroking and listening to Astarion’s heavy breathing.

Astarion’s eyes shot open, head lifting to regard Tyrus with a furrowed brow. His hand slowed Tyrus’s to a stop. “Such as?”

Tyrus bit back the assertion of Anything, anything at all. Giving actual ideas would probably be more helpful, if Astarion didn’t have his own. “Kiss you. Your lips, your neck,” Tyrus started with. “Or . . . here,” smiling as his thumb idly swiped over the head of Astarion’s cock and his partner visibly shuddered in response. Letting his voice go a bit lower, as he pointed out, “I don’t need to breathe, after all.”

“Fuck,” Astarion swore, then gave a short, barking laugh. “This is what four months of celibacy has done to my sweet, virtuous partner? I didn’t think you even liked that sort of activity, darling.”

“I haven’t ever tried it, technically. At least not of my own accord, so,” Tyrus shrugged.

The air went somber ever-so-slightly at his words.

"Shall I?" Tyrus asked in hopes of dispelling it.

“Not this time, my love,” Astarion sighed, starting to move Tyrus’s hand again around him. “But . . . yes—kiss me, please. I think I just need a little bit more of something—”

Tyrus wasted no further time. They’d kissed goodbye only hours ago when he left for the council meeting, but it’d been more than a tenday since Astarion had kissed him like this. One of their first nights in this inn, in fact, before he’d grabbed one of Tyrus’s wandering hands by the wrist and ended things rather abruptly. But whatever else Tyrus did or did not feel in the mood for otherwise, he never got tired of kisses—Astarion’s free hand cupping his jaw close, lips so passionately pressing and sliding against Tyrus’s, tongue darting out to taste and in return welcoming him in.

His instinct was to bury his free hand in Astarion’s curls, but Tyrus gripped the tub’s edge instead. He didn’t want to risk the wrong touch ending this lovely, easy moment. Not when Astarion was so clearly enjoying his other hand’s touch at the moment, hips bucking up and splashing the water a bit more.

Sometime later, a small moan escaped Tyrus when Astarion slid his hand back to tightly cup the nape of his neck, angling Tyrus’s head for an even deeper, all-consuming kiss. Astarion’s hand tightened a bit further around Tyrus’s in the water, so he sped up his movements even more—and groaned with Astarion as the other elf wrenched free of their kiss and threw his head back, shouting “Tyrus!” shakily, his cock pulsing in Tyrus's grip, his spend streaking in the water as the press of his bent legs made the wooden tub slightly creak in protest.

Tyrus kissed down Astarion’s neck and bobbing adam’s apple, slowing his strokes with the guidance of Astarion’s hand as Astarion breathed harshly through the aftershocks. When at last Astarion released his grip on Tyrus in the water, head resting against the tub again, Tyrus went back to gently stroking his smooth inner thigh. He rested his forehead against the other man’s clavicle, listening to them both breathe for a moment before whispering, “Alright?”

Astarion huffed—and then he began laughing. A soft, lighthearted, warm sound Tyrus couldn’t help but smile at, and hoped never to forget as Astarion’s chest lightly shook underneath him. Then Astarion’s wet arm emerged from the water and wrapped around Tyrus, pulling him in just a bit closer despite the awkwardness of the tub between them.

“Oh, besides a sore wrist of late,” he chortled, laying his cheek against Tyrus’s head when his giggling finally stopped. “I did start to find some enjoyment, even managed an orgasm the last two times, though. And this? Hmm . . . this is nice.”

Tyrus smiled wider against his chest. Of course, after another minute his back twinged and he regretfully had to pull from Astarion’s embrace—but was grateful his partner quickly dried off and joined him on the bed, despite the fact only Tyrus still needed a trance.

Once they'd both changed and his lover was spooning him snugly from behind, Tyrus thought to ask, “Have there been other things you like to imagine? Any specifics that I should take into account?”

The entire line of Astarion’s body froze up behind him. “I . . . I wouldn’t say there’s much I’m sure about acting on, darling,” he said in a slow, careful voice. “It’s been hard enough just to imagine sex without the thought of a customer, or him, intruding. Once that’s less an issue, I—I should be back to normal.”

“Normal,” Tyrus huffed, shaking his head and hugging Astarion’s arm a little closer to his chest. Being around relatively ‘normal’ people of late had taught Tyrus just how far off he and anyone else from the spawn colony were likely ever to be from such an ideal. “But hand jobs with you guiding me, would you say that goes on the safe list?” he stipulated.

Astarion was quiet for a moment. Then he kissed the tip of Tyrus’s ear, repeating, “The safe list, what a sad state of affairs—but yes, I’d call that a success. We’ll have to see about your mouth. And perhaps, if you’re up for it, I think I'd enjoy some unconventional stimulation, just skin-to-skin.” A beat of silence, then Astarion’s voice came out so soft and uncertain, almost afraid, as he admitted, “I . . . I’d still like a break from anything so performative as full intercourse, if that’s alright . . . and, if you can forgive it, I may still just need time, before I can offer attentive service to you, love . . .”

Tyrus twisted under Astarion’s arm so he could face him—but only to wrap his arms tightly around him, tucking his chin into the crook of Astarion’s neck. Declaring, gently but firmly, “There’s nothing to forgive, and no service to worry about. You have always been so giving, love." Even more softly, he coaxed, "Now, let’s take care of you for a while?”

Tyrus felt his partner’s body shudder in his arms. Then, increment by increment, Astarion melted into the embrace.

“Gods, I do love you,” he whispered in answer.

#fic: perfect slaughter #PS: drabbles #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x oc #astarion x male oc #tystar #damn I've been in a writing slump #can always count on tystar to drag me out 🩵#send me prayers for my original story guys #worldbuilding is hard and annoyingly never-ending 💀

65 notes · View notes

makervisual · 2 years ago

Video

20x50 House Plan | West Facing | Nariman City Indore | visual maker

#youtube #houseplan architect architecturedesign art construction interior interiordesign arch 20x50houseplan 20x50 20x50houseplanwestfacing #house Plan #house planning #architecture #architect #architecturedesign #art #interior #interiorarchitecture #interiordecor #20x50 #20x50 house plan #20x50 house plan east facing #20x50 house plan 3 floors #20x50 house design #20x50 house plan west facing

1 note · View note

ijustwannadraw0716 · 2 months ago

Text

Twins separated at birth, with Roman and Remus.

Remus was raised by his dad, Ethan Reyes. A man who is rough around the edges, likes a cold beer at 11 A.M., and works as a mechanic. He tried his best with the kid, and he taught him that the world would give him nothing, and he had to work for everything he got. Never let yourself be the prey, always the predator. (And remember that Dad is the Apex predator, so don't piss him off).

Roman was raised by Catalina Mendoza, She's a fashion designer and much more successful than their father, who owns a local car shop. It makes decent money, but they live in some apartment in a dodgey neighborhood while Roman lives in a two story house on the Upper East side with a swimming pool. He was raised with the softness of his mom, giving him everything but always away for work. She's very loving and spoils him rotten to make up for her absence.

So, as Roman relocates once again so his mom can work in Florida, he attends a public school for a few courses, as the charter schools in the area have waiting lists far too long to bother. Roman didn't mind. It wasn't a bad school by any means, though. His first day is odd. When he arrived, it seemed like people were staring at him...confused.

He didn't understand and concluded that it's because he's the new kid so far into the year. He was used to it, he supposes. Either way, he went about his way, questions peeking up his throat as he walked into the office, and the front desk attendant looked him up and down, that same puzzled look on her face.

"Remus?"

Roman frowns, pinching his eyebrows together. "Uhm...no ma'am, I'm Roman, Roman Mendoza. I transferred-"

"Ah, yes," She interrupts, still eyeing him oddly. "Your papers arrived early this morning. Here's your schedule, I apologize, you have a...striking resemblance to another student."

Roman blinks a little. "Oh, well, that's alright," He says, taking his schedule as it's handed. "Have a wonderful day ma'am."

And as Roman walks through the halls, he hears whispers, the name Remus continuing to spread. He ignores it, heading towards his locker and opening it with ease, emptying a few items of his inside when it's suddenly slammed shut. Roman jumps, staring into a pair of mismatched eyes, a large scar trailing down the left one. He's awfully intimidating, a black turtle neck pulled all the way up over his adams apple with a yellow trenchcoal over it, draping all the way down to the floor. Roman frowns as his lips curl into a smirk.

"Boo." He sings before leaning against his locker, blocking his way. "Why do you look like you just crawled out of some preppy golden gated community? I know people say you're scary but this is a new low."

Roman flushes, his frown deepening as he glances between him and his locker. "I don't know who you are. Could you please get off my locker?" He huffs, rolling his shoulders back, wanting to appear taller and more intimidating against the stranger. While he's quite short in stature, something about him rubbed him the wrong way. The others' eyes flash with confusion, his eyebrows drawing in, and he stands up a bit straighter and looks him over.

"Huh." He murmurs. "You're not Remus."

Roman was beginning to get really sick of being compared to this Remus character. "I could have told you that." He huffs out, moving to open his locker again, snatching his bag out before closing it again. "My name is Roman. Roman Mendoza."

The other teen hums and looks him over once more before turning on his heel without another word. What an odd place.

It continues on all day, people avoid him like the plague. Even teachers seemed to sag in relief once he's proven not to be this "Remus" person. At lunch, to no surprise, no one wants to be near him, and he ends up at a table alone. It was a strange, lonely experience. He can't remember the last time he ate lunch alone. He's used to being popular, always having people around him. And yet, everyone's so caught up in thinking he's this some other guy!

He sulked at his spot, stabbing at his lunch forcefully when someone sat across from him.

"You're not gonna kill it anymore than it is Rem, it's already dead."

The new voice snickers, and Roman groans, tossing his fork down. "For the last time my name is not-" He pauses mid sentence, his heart quickly pulsating far too quickly at how cute the person is sitting across from him is.

He's kinda scrawny, long damaged black hair and deep purple tips that fall over his shoulders a little in a messy, mullet like cut. His eyeshadow is dreadfully dark and far too emo but God, his sharp jaw and dark, cold blue eyes make up for it. Roman felt every ounce of frustration die on his tongue and he choked a little while kid eyed him weirdly, his shoulders having tensed up as he began raising his voice. He looked him over once, twice, and then a third.

"You're not Remus."

Roman scrunched his face up, the frustration quickly bubbling to again. "I'm aware." He complains.

The others cheeks start to tinge Pink and he quickly moves to stand up. "Ugh- uh- fuck sorry," He stumbles out, grabbing his tray but Roman's has had quite enough and stands as well, grabbing his wrist.

"Wait! Ugh please introduce me to this Remus character! I've been compared to him all day and it's driving me insane!"

"Aw, well I am so very popular!" Comes a nasally voice from behind. A rough hand is placed on his shoulder, squeezing hard enough to make Roman hiss. "Now why don't ya let go of my friend there huh?"

Roman immediately let's go of the other, and he tucks his arm away in his hoodie pockets, rolling his shoulders forward to hunch into himself, his eyes darting from Roman to behind him. Roman yips as he's grabbed and turned and oh.

It's like...staring into a fun house mirror.

His doppelganger has the exact same facial structure, same eye color, hair color (though his has some Grey streak in it). Though, his eyes are accompanied by some purple eyeshadow and black eyeliner, a crazed look in his eye and he's slightly paler. Not to mention, he's clearly growing out a mustache and a bit of stubble.

He seemed to realize the same thing as Roman did because his eyebrows furrowed a bit and he let go of him.

He looked him over and raised an eyebrow. "Who the hell are ya?"

Roman swallowed a little and glanced around. The cafeteria grew much more quiet now aside from some chatter and hushed whispers. He caught a few stares and they quickly looked away. He stood tall anyway. "Roman. Roman Mendoza. And you are?" He demands, crossing his arms.

Remus snorts a bit and mirrors the action. "Remus. Remus "none of your fucking business". Now listen here Romane-"

"Roman."

"Whatever," He waves his hand. "Ya ever put a hand on this bitch over there," He points a finger over to the adorable emo who rolled his eyes at Remus' protectiveness, shying away from the attention. "I'll fuckin' kill ya. Got it?"

Roman scowls. "Who do you think-"

"Oh well hello kiddos!" Chirps a new voice, chipper and sweet, a taller fellow right on his tail with a dark blue sweater vest and rectangular glasses on the tip of his nose. He's holding a few different things in his arms, a book, a notebook, a folder, etc. He stands tall behind the chipper one, who's wearing a masculine cheerleader outfit, his curly hair bouncy and his eyes bright behind his circular frames.

"We doing okay over here?" The sweetie chirps, looking between Roman and Remus. Roman opens his mouth to voice that no they were not doing okay, but Remus swoops in before he could.

"Course' we are toots." Remus grins, his teeth a bit yellow and he dips down a little to Pattons Height. "Just a fun discovery ya know? Never knew I had one of those doppelgangers. Can't say we're anything alike though, this ones too prissy."

Roman grits his teeth a little. "Why you-"

"Well," Patron interrupts once again, taking a step away from Remus and one towards Roman. "I'm going to be showing our new student around! Explain a few clubs and whatnot if you're done here?"

Remus smirks, smug as he looks Roman up and down before lazily strolling over to Virgil. "Yeah, we're done here."

#sanders sides #remus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #high school #high school au #ts remus #ts virgil #ts patton #ts roman #ts logan #seperated au #creativity twins #prinxiety

27 notes · View notes

wingedjellyfishflight · 1 year ago

Text

Abandoned

Ghost x König x Reader

CW: Smut, attempted non-con, blood, naked burly men, slight yandere vibes, but darling reader is on board with it

Working on behalf of a charity in the Middle East village you are working with is taken over by Al Qatala. One faction wants to kill you, and the other wants the improvements promised before they kill you. Many months of serious negotiations pass without an agreement being made. A US military squad moves through one day, shooting those who shoot them, seemingly on a random patrol.

You have been working on getting the placement for a new well pinpointed during this time, which was the goal of the charity on this trip, and now is one of the only reasons you still live. All of your possessions have been taken save for the shoes on your feet, soft-soled, so you can not escape, and your niqab which clothes you from head to toe, with a small opening for your eyes. Oh, and a single pair of underwear that has definitely seen better days.

A US soldier in desert camouflage near the edge of the village grabs you when you try to escape, and you think you are saved. Instead, he chuckles and decides he is going to have a little fun with a local woman, dragging you into a nearby empty house. He rips at your niqab, tearing your clothes from you blindly. It is only when your face is uncovered that he realizes that you are not local and not even Arabic, but an American like him.

As he continues to tear at your clothes, there is a noise at the door and a surprisingly warm, Scottish voice says, "Whatcha doin' in ere?" The soldier freezes, then glances next to him where his rifle is just out of easy reach. Before he can even fully make his decision, there is a metallic noise from next to you.

Another voice, cold and British this time, says, "Don't give it a thought." When he turns to face this second man, a set of hands gently clamps down on your arm and shoulder and pulls you backward against his body with a quiet but firm, "Danke." Your head barely reaches his shoulder, despite being tall for a woman at 5'10". In a smooth motion, he passes you over to the man at the door who wraps his arm and most of his body around you as he guides you to the alley between the houses. Just as you cross the threshold, you hear the US soldier say "Kilgore" in the most terrified voice you've ever heard.

There is screaming, yelling and some rather gruesome sounds of what, you don't quite know floating from the house. The man who led you to the alley tries to distract you, introducing himself as Soap. He asks you your name and other questions you struggle to answer, including why you are here in such a dangerous place alone before the other two men join you. You don't hear them walk over so much as you feel their gaze, the hairs on the back of your neck rising up in a primal warning.

When you look up from the much too interesting patch of dirt you have been focusing on, you see two tall men advancing, both wearing face coverings to rival the one you were wearing just minutes ago. The shorter man is wearing a neoprene type mask with a skull design. You snort internally at the idea of a man over six feet tall being considered short, but the sheer size of the mountain of a man next to him dwarfs even a six feet frame. Said mountain of a man has a curtain of fabric covering his face. It is black with two red streaks running down from the eyes. The former is introduced as Ghost by Soap. Ghost gives a brusque nod before turning away to speak into his radio.

The taller man you realize is the one who passed you off to Soap in the house. As you step closer to thank him, you realize that he is covered in blood and bits of...what is that?! You blanch, but with a smile pasted on that is much too toothy for the situation, you say, "Thank you, a-all of you." Soap is clearly weirded out by your deranged grin, and you say through clenched teeth, "Sorry. Tying not to puke." A look of understanding crosses his face. You glance back at the blood and viscera coated man, but he turns away from you. Soap says quietly, "That is König. Now, we need you to stay put so we can finish what we came to do and then you will evac with us." You nod, managing to control your stomach with enough swallowing.

The three men head out, each glancing back when they think the others aren't watching. As they leave, you find a small spot to hide and curl yourself up into the tightest ball you can to not be seen. It feels like hours of listening to guns firing, men yelling and screaming, and worrying if you will finally be able to escape when they finally return.

"Schatzi. Mein Schatzelinchen, where are you?" Surprisingly, it is König calling quietly for you as he and Soap enter the alley.

Soap exclaims, "Schatzi?! What the hell is a Schatzi? She has a name, you know." König shrugs.

"She is Schatzi to me. Ich liebe mein Schatzi," he replies in a possessive voice.

"Leibe? What does that mean? Lo-" Soap jumps in surprise as you wiggle out of the tiny hiding spot you found, and König blocks him from bringing his gun to bear, seemingly having already known you were hiding there and that it would surprise Soap.

"Come on, Schatzi. It is time to go." He holds out a hand, which you hesitantly take. It squelches in your grip, which you try very hard not to react to. The sound and feeling of it distracts you enough that you don't notice the loose sand near the edge of the road and trip into König's side. "Scheiße Schatzelinchen. None of that now. We must hurry to the evac." He picks you up and cradles you to his chest like a fragile bride. Soap eyes him hard, but hurries to keep up when König takes off in a sprint to join Ghost at the evac.

Ghost is waiting impatiently, and you see his eyes widen behind the mask as he sees you being carried, covered in blood. Soap calls out, "She just tripped. Blood is all from the big guy's 'work', and he decided we needed to leave like the hounds were after us wee hares." Ghost's shoulders drop as he lets out the breath he was holding. A chopper drops down just as they reach the evac point. You bury your face into the copper-scented vest of König's gear to keep the sand out of your eyes and try to ignore the sticky feeling it leaves on your forehead.

They throw themselves into the seats, and you end up between König and Ghost. They lean hard against you as the helicopter takes off, and you can feel your shoulders creaking. After a minute of this and the helicopter stabilizing the path it takes back to base, you lean back as far as you can in your seat. Ghost and König lean with you, still pinning you between them. They both yell in surprise when you jerk forward, and they knock heads together behind you. Soap belly laughs as they both sit up and rub their heads, glaring at each other over the top of you. Your quiet giggles go unnoticed by all three men.

Ghost apologizes quietly in your ear, and you immediately sober as a shiver passes through you and your cheeks redden. It seems an eternity later when you finally land at the base they are working out of. Soap takes the lead, and you walk between the two giants through the base until you reach a building off to the side. You freeze in the doorway when you realize it is a large communal locker room and showers full of men in various states of undress.

Ghost pushes you through the doorway and says, "Just follow Soap. We need to clean off this blood and...stuff." You hurry up to Soap and grab his vest, then shut your eyes tightly, trusting him to lead you safely. He brings you to a quiet and empty corner. You glance around carefully, looking for a washcloth or something only to slam your eyes shut and bring your hands to cover them when Soap starts to quickly undress in front of you. The sticky feeling your blood covered hands add to your face is even less pleasant than before.

Soap jokingly says, "What? Never seen a naked man before?" At the shake of your head, he goes quiet, and when you peek up at his face, his mouth is hanging open in surprise.

"No, this is...I've never..."

From behind you, you can hear the quiet shuffle of clothes, boots and gear being pulled off and Ghost drawls "Well, glad we can be your first and ruin you for all other men, but we still need to get the blood off." You glance back at them and get more than an eyeful of both Ghost and König before turning a deep shade of red. You realize that they have kept on their masks and guess that their anonymity must be deeply important to them.

"Fine, I'll just...umm..." You stare down at your torn and disgusting clothes. With a sigh, you shed your clothes quickly, piling your torn niqab, underwear, and shoes on a nearby bench.

"That is all you were wearing, mein Schatzi?" König sounds a bit out of breath behind his mask.

"Yeah, they took everything else months ago," you say shyly.

Soap tosses down a set of sandals for you to put on. "Well then, let's go rub me all over and clean up," Soap jokes, trying to break the tension. The looks of horror and disgust let him know that his joke hit perfectly, and his laugh echos through the room. You stare at your sandals, trying hard not to look at anyone as the three men walk nearly touching you in a bid to keep your nudity hidden behind their large bodies in the tight quarters of the communal shower. Soap finds a quiet corner and gently pushes you into it. "There's the soap, hun. Lather up really good, and then we will all rinse off together so nobody bothers us."

"Thanks." You shoot him a smile and quickly get to work rubbing the lather across your body. As you scrub down facing the wall, you try to get every bit of your body clean after nearly 9 months of bare minimum cleaning due to the village's rationing of water. You jump at the feel of hands on your back. Glancing back, you see König rubbing soap across your back, cautiously. You slowly relax as he gently scrubs the areas you can't reach. When he stops, you shyly gesture for him to turn around so you can scrub his back. The crinkle around his eyes that you can see makes you blush lightly, but you scrub his back anyway, returning the favor.

Ghoat seemingly pouts, at least you think so based on the glares he is sending König. You gesture for him to turn around after you finish with König. He groans as you gently rub the lather across his shoulders and back. You feel his breathy moans in your core, and when you look up, König is watching you like a hawk. You think he is mad, but he just says, "Good girl."

Soap has a baffled look on his face, looking between the three of you. After a minute, he just shrugs as if to say, none of my business and guides you to rinse off nearby, declining your offer to scrub his back. As you wash the soap out of your hair, you hear a man clear their throat nearby and open your eyes to see a stranger has worked his way near you while the men are focused on rinsing off quickly.

"Gonna scrub my back now?" He leers at your body unashamedly. You get your first view of an angry König as he claps a hand down hard on the man's shoulder and drags him backward.

"Leave my Schatzi alone, fotze." König moves to stand just inches from you as he rinses off. When he closes his eyes, you can't help yourself and take a peek down his body. A dark chuckle brings your eyes back up to meet his, and you quickly turn away to wash your hair again. The image of his cock is burned into your brain. You had no idea they could be that big and it was still soft. How big could did that thing get?

Clean but wet, your hair feels lighter than it has in months, and you've never been so happy to have a shower. Ghost turns you to face him, giving you a quick once over with his eyes. He uses his hand to scrub a few spots and splotches of blood off your face that you missed. Finally clean, you follow Soap back to the lockers with your eyes focused on his sandals. König and Ghost glare at anyone who dares to even glance at you.

Ghost hands you an oversized towel to use when you reach the lockers. It smells like manly and you wonder idly if that is what Ghost smells like all the time. Inspecting your clothes, you realize that none of them are fit to wear at this point. They are ripped, worn, and covered in blood, not to mention dirty from near continuous wear for nearly six months. You sigh and slip on your shoes, but just stare at the rest of the pile, trying to convince yourself to climb into them temporarily.

Suddenly, you are awash in a sea of clothing. As you struggle to get your head out, you feel calloused hands tugging it down your body. Your head pops out the top of the dress and you look down to realize it is a shirt. It smells like König, not Ghost, though you don't know how you are able to identify them so quickly. "Thank you, König," you say as you turn toward him, sliding your arms through and tugging a bit at the hem.

"You're welcome, Schatz." Your mouth goes slack as you realize he has literally given you the shirt off his back. His hairy chest and naked abs are on full display, a small trail of hair dipping down into his pants. You see a multitude of scars and a few fresher injuries, maybe even from earlier today. When you finally tear your gaze off his torso, he seems more than pleased to see you wrapped in his clothes from the look in his eyes.

The shirt barely reaches your thighs, but it's better than nothing, you decide. König disdainfully throws your old clothes into a trashcan, and you can't regret the loss at all. Ghost balls up your towel and throws it into the nearby laundry bin as you follow Soap back out, eyes trained studiously on his back. As the door shuts behind you, voices rise as many talk about what they had just witnessed, and one man checks the blossoming bruise on his shoulder, lamenting to his friends. They just shake their heads and tell him he was lucky to have gotten off so easy messing with a woman belonging to The One-Four-One.

Soap leads your group to a set of buildings seemingly on the opposite end of the camp. As you near the entrance, a frowning man in a hat waits. His voice booms out, "About time. (Y/n) with me." He walks off without checking to see if you're following. Ghost and König follow as well, while Soap heads off elsewhere within the building with his gear. Price stops at a door and turns to gesture you inside, stopping when he sees the two tall men flanking you still. "No, just (y/n). You can debrief later."

König grasps your hand with his free hand and staring into your eyes, says, "Goodbye for now, my Schatzi." You blush and croak out a goodbye as he walks away. Ghost shoots a glare at Price before turning to you and saying, "See you soon, Love." Price seems frustrated at how quickly you have charmed two of his best men and slams the door shut before gesturing at the open chair wordlessly. He stomps to the window behind his seat, looking out into the base. After several tense minutes, he turns back to you, gripping the top of the chair.

"Who are you, really?" Then, silence. As though he expects your answer to change now that you are alone. You stutter out your full name and his face changes from frustrated to angry. He slams his hands on the table. "I said, what is your real name?" You whimper and say it again, breaking eye contact in fear. He growls in frustration. "Then why the fuck can't I find you listed as missing?!"

You freeze in shock. "But... but... I've been a hostage in the village for... six months. I swear, I work for Blue Hope. I was here trying to get a well built for the village before they were taken over by those extremists."

"Well, Blue Hope has no record of you working there. Hell, whoever set up your cover must hate you because I can't find much of anything that says you ever existed at all." His glare somehow intensifies as you cower and try to think of a way to prove yourself with no I.D. or really anything connected to your life at all.

"I... I can prove I exist. I have an apartment that Blue Hope leased for me as part of my compensation in New York!" You sniffle a little as you try to keep your emotions in check, but it's difficult with your tendency to cry when you're frustrated.

He drawls, "they leased it, so how does that prove you exist?" He sits carefully in his chair, watching your every move carefully.

"I broke the rules of the lease and installed cameras. Bit of a nervous person, being away from there constantly, so I wanted to be able to check in, ya know."

"I don't, but how will cameras prove you are who you say you are?"

"I have two bachelor degrees on the wall of my office from Bandern University. They have my name and my majors and-and my minor. One is in environmental science with a specialty in water resources. The other is a political science degree with a specialty in international affairs. I'm still working on my Ph.D. in hydrology. That's why I'm working for Blue Hope instead of a private company. Nobody will hire a hydrologist without a Ph.D." Your voice strengthens as you explain your accomplishments; you're very proud of them for good reason. "I can show you on the computer. It's just a login on LinkUs to see the whole place."

"That doesn't seem secure at all for cameras that look into your whole house." He is definitely less angry and more surprised now. Captain Price navigates his computer to the website in question and puts in the login information you share.

"Yeah, I know. I turn them off when I'm home, but I know that isn't much of an excuse. I'm hardly ever there, so I wasn't as worried about it as I probably should be."

He frowns as the videos load on his screen. "Do you normally live... like a pig?" His try at diplomacy fails spectacularly as his shock slipped through. He turns the screen so you can see.

"Uhh... what?! My house isn't always the cleanest, but I don't live like a pig! Let me - oh god! What happened?!" The video feeds show nearly everything overturned and every drawer dumped on the floor. "I... I think I've been robbed! Umm... there. There is my office. If you click."

Price clears his throat and clicks on the office feed. "Ahh, does this? Yes, it does zoom. And there they are with (y/n) on them and the degrees you said. I'm still not 100% convinced, but I will give you the benefit of the doubt for now." He exits back to the main feed. "I need to investigate why you weren't-. Is anyone supposed to be there, a caretaker?"

"No. I should have hired someone." Your voice drops to a whisper as he clicks on the living room feed. "Wait, can you see someone?" Together, you listen to the man talking on the phone.

"Done. We haven't found it yet. I will have the full report once it is clean and empty tonight, but I don't think it is here." The strange man listens to the phone intently. "When will her body be recovered? We may need to intercept it, just in case she had it on her." He pauses. "Hopefully it was lost then because a local with computer access could be just as dangerous as an employee with the recording. Anyway, all traces will be gone..." The voice gets quieter as he walks away and out the front door.

You sit in shock. All traces gone. Does that mean what you think it means? Like, all of your things just gone forever? Price turns toward you with a careful look on his face. "I've never had someone exonerated so clearly and quickly before." His attempt at a joke falls flat.

"When." Your voice wavers, and you clear your throat trying to hold back tears. "When can I go home?"

Price looks decidedly uncomfortable now. "I don't know if you can, to be honest. I don't think it would be safe." The stress of the day seems to be finally catching up to you, and your sniffles turn into full-blown sobs. Price is now so uncomfortable that he can't sit still, jumping up and rushing to the door. "Where did those damn giants go, now? You!" he points at a man walking by.

"Me? Wait, is someone crying? Who's crying? I don't do crying." The soldier is quickly backing away quickly, looking nervous.

"Just go get König or maybe Ghost for fuck's sake, Roach!" Price snaps at him as he withdraws, missing the look of shock on Roach's face. He sidles along the wall toward his desk, watching you sob. The look of relief in his face when the door opens stops Ghost in his tracks. "Fix it, please," he says as he sits heavily in his chair, face in his hands.

Ghost stares at him, uncomprehendingly. "How the fuck did this happen? She was happy when we dropped her off." Despite the frustration in his tone, he moves to comfort you. He wraps his arms around you and picks you up. Ghost sits and settles you in his lap with your head tucked under his chin and shushes you gently. The glare he aims at Price is very short of comforting for him, though.

"Her home was wrecked and it sounds like it was the same company that stranded her here in the Middle East. She can't go home," Captain Price quickly shares.

Ghost perks up a bit, but keeps comforting you. Suddenly the door slams into the wall and König bursts into the room. "Mein Schatzi! Hands off her - she's mine!" He grabs you tightly and yanks you out of Ghost's embrace. Ghost tries to pull you tight to him, but there is truly no contest when König is running on adrenaline, so he lets you go. The giant of a man pulls you tight, tucking you against his chest, much like Ghost had and muttering in German about all the things he is going to do to Price in revenge.

You nestle against him, feeling safe encased in his arms and finally manage to rein in your sobs after a few minutes. König switches to muttering what he wants to do to comfort you, his fingers playing with the hem of the shirt. Your quickly spreading blush stops him in his tracks. "Uhh...sprichst du Deutsch?"

Your shy "ein bisschen" in response makes him groan and you're sure the skin around his eyes is red with embarrassment. When a throat clears behind you, he jumps and his entire body tenses, ready to fight.

"Sorry Schatzi. I shouldn't have wrestled you away from comfort." König gently sets you back in Ghost's lap. You grab his hand when he begins to back away toward the office door and settle yourself so you can keep hold of him. Ghost wraps an arm around your torso and pulls you flush to his chest before focusing on Captain Price again.

"Well, uhh, now that the crying is done. What are they looking for? What did you stumble on?" Price tries to get everyone back to the problem at hand with slim hopes that the other men will forget this.

"I overheard and recorded a confusing conversation working late one night just before I left the country. I guess it was way scarier and more important than I thought. I just remember thinking it was really weird for them to be talking about bribes when we are supposed to be an above the board charity. I only recorded it in case we get audited or something, because I didn't want to go down with them. I didn't want anyone to know what I'd heard, because I knew it would screw everything up for me and the village. I just wanted to get a well put in for them so they always had water."

Price rubbed his temples. "Did you hide it in your apartment or leave it in the village, then?"

"No, neither." He looks up surprised. "I put it in a cloud server...or three. I wanted it in case we got audited or something. It's easiest to listen to on my SoundLight storage because you don't have to download it."

Price's jaw has fully dropped by this point and the quiet "attagirl" growled in your ear makes your eyes glaze over and a shiver pass through you. You lean forward and pull it up on the computer, hitting play before settling back into Ghost's lap. The hard cock pressing against your ass surprises you, but Ghost's only reaction is a shaky exhale in your ear. König takes your hand again, making you glance up with a smile. He squeezes gently and you turn back to Price as he focuses on the recording.

The frown on the Captain's face intensifies as the recording plays and you feel Ghost's erection flag quickly. The tightening grip of König's hand just adds one more layer to the realization that what you overheard is much more serious than you could have ever guessed. When the recording ends, Price looks happier. "This is a serious matter. We will need to take action on this immediately and with this recording, we have some great leads."

You perk up. "Does that mean I can go home soon? Maybe save stuff from getting tossed?" Price shakes his head no.

"It isn't that easy. We have to thoroughly investigate before we commit to direct action or we might risk only getting part of the operation. It could easily be another six months before we have enough to act on. Even then, you might need a whole new identity. I'm truly sorry."

"What am I supposed to do then? I don't have anything to my name... or do I even have my name now? Do I go into Witness Protection somewhere?" The sharp "No" and "Nein" from both Ghost and König surprises you and gives you butterflies in your stomach.

"As your body guards have said, no. Witness Protection isn't safe enough. You'll stay here in our protection. I'll organize a room for you and we'll get some clothes together so you don't have to wear the cast offs of your dubiously generous friends." You're sure that König has a possessive grin under the curtain of his mask as he looks at the shirt you wear again.

"She won't need a room. We have that handled." Ghost slides you off his lap gently and guides you toward König and the door. "The clothes would be appreciated, though. And toiletries. And anything else, Love?" You shake your head, too overwhelmed to think very hard about what you need now that you truly have nothing, not even the niqab you wore for so long.

"I'm grateful for anything right now. I have more questions for later, but-" The yawn is sudden, but not unexpected. Price nods and waves you out without a word, already typing away on his report.

Ghost hangs back for a moment. "Debrief, Captain?"

"Tomorrow. This report can't wait." He pauses, having switched back to the camera feeds. "They found one of the cameras. We will have to keep this as quiet as a church mouse if you want her safe." Ghost nods and jogs to catch up.

König, unsurprisingly, has picked up (y/n) and is carrying her with her head tucked into his shoulder. Ghost sighs, not wanting to fight König verbally, but knows they need to hash out living quarters. "So, my room?" He tries lightly.

"Nein, no. She needs to be safe. That means she needs a room none will enter. That's my room."

"Nobody goes in my room" Ghost immediately protests, only to groan when he sees Soap walk out. Soap spots the three of you and takes off quickly in the opposite direction, having intended to sneak in and back out without being seen.

"See? No one dares to enter my room. She will be safe there when we go on missions. And...I would not mind you being in my rooms. Besides, Colonels get bigger rooms." The last was a bit of an unnecessary jab, but a good point all the same.

"Fine. Your room. Just no throwing fits if Johnny shows up at the door, alright."

"No promises." König's pace falters as your stomach growls. "Verdammt! We must take care of our Schatzi better. First crying alone and now starving." Ghost chuckles as König about faces and hurries to the kitchen. "We will find you a good meal before bed."

Upon entering, Ghost pushes the two of you toward the table and quickly puts together a meal. "Luckily, I just finished eating before Roach screamed at me to get my ass over there. Seems crying women can panic most of the crew." You blush and bite your lip.

"Sorry. It was just too much." König sits you on his knee and starts trying to feed you. "I can do it myself, I promise." You grab the fork from his hand and hunch over your food, eating quickly. The men sit watching you and talking quietly as you struggle not to shove the food into your mouth. The moans you make at the taste of the food have them adjusting their pants. "Oh, this is good! I haven't had anything this good in so long!"

With your plate emptied and your stomach full, you finally sit back. König pulls you close as he stands up. "Let's go to bed, Liebling. You can sleep off your feast." Ghost cleans up quickly and the three of you leave for König's room with a quick stop at the bathroom, which luckily was empty at this late hour. Ghost stops off in his room for a moment to grab some gear and half-jogs to catch the door to König's room before it shuts, locking it behind him.

After tucking you in the giant bed, König quickly strips off all of his clothes, leaving just his mask. "Some warning before you strip down, mate," jokes Ghost. König ignores him and climbs in on the far side of the bed, wrapping an arm around you. Ghost shakes his head before taking off all but his pants, carefully folding his shirt and trousers to sit on a chair near the door. He flips off the light, climbing into bed carefully to not jostle you. "Goodnight, Love...König."

"G'nigh Ghos, Köni," you mutter, falling toward sleep quickly.

"Schöne träume, Schatz, Geist." Arms wrap around you from each side and you curl up happily between them, feeling safer than you've ever felt before in the arms of two killing machines.

You wake up to a hand gently caressing your face. The skull on Ghost's mask is the first thing to come into focus. Even though you know it has inspired fear in the heart of many men, you smile, looking deep into his eyes. He seems surprised to see you smile, but you can tell somehow that he is smiling back. "Good morning, Ghost." Behind you, a hand tightens gently on your hip. "And König."

"Good morning" they say at the same time, making you giggle. You reach out and run a finger along the edge of Ghost's mask, catching the stubble there.

"Can I touch you?"

"Yes," he breathed out as you ghost your fingers down his throat. König's hand on your hip slides up to your ribs under your shirt. Your hand continues to slide down Ghost's body, running through the coarse hair on his chest, then back up and over his arm. Goosebumps rise up in the wake of your fingers and Ghost sighs as you caress each scar and imperfection on his skin.

"C-can I kiss you?"

"Yes, Love." He leans forward and you kiss him through his mask. Ghost gently turns you toward König who also kisses you through his mask. You run your fingers along the hem on it, making him tense.

"May I?" You feel even more nervous at his nod, but steel yourself and gently lift the fabric, sliding your fingers up his neck to his cheek. The column of his neck is revealed, then his chin and finally his lips. Leaning forward, you kiss him hesitantly, melting into it when he passionately kisses you back.

"Mein Schatzi," he groans as you pull away slowly, feeling flushed. "Would you like to touch me, Liebling?" He waggles his eyebrows down at you and smirks.

"Yes, sir," you cheekily answer back, kissing your way down his neck instead of using your fingers. The long, low moan he lets out goes straight to your core, encouraging you. Ghost presses his cock against your ass and runs his hand up to your breast, struggling against your shirt. He palms it gently. In response, you kiss König's nipple, giggling as his grip on your hip tightens, encouraging you.

You kiss every scar on König's chest and arms before he turns you back toward Ghost, again. Together, they tug off your shirt and it's only when they both press against you that you realize that Ghost has taken off his pants, leaving all of you completely naked, but for the masks. Ghost slides his mask up to kiss you deeply and König lifts your thigh up to nestle his cock against your core. The head rubs directly on your clit when he presses your leg back down. He smirks as you gasp into Ghost's mouth with his first thrust between your thighs.

Ghost pulls back and slides down your body, kissing his way to your breasts. "Is this ok, Love? We can stop if it's too much."

"It's so good."

"Good, that's a green light then. If you need us to slow down or pause, that is a yellow light. And -"

"Red means stop?"

"That's right, sugar. Red means stop and we will stop and take care of you, ok?"

"Yea, don't stop. Too good." He chuckled darkly as he went back to sucking and biting at your breasts. König kept thrusting against your channel, driving you closer to an edge you've rarely visited.

"Braves Mädchen," he murmured in your ear. "Good girl." You melted against him and he changed the angle of his thrust to press against your opening, stretching you wide as he gently pushed. He paused at your whimper, gently petting your hip and wrapping his other arm around your shoulders. He pulled you tight against him without choking you.

Ghost was quick with his "Color, sugar. Tell me what your color is."

"G-green. Mehr." Your casual slip into his mother language had König kissing your shoulder as he pushed in a little more at a time. Ghost kissed you again, sliding one hand down to tease your swollen clit and whispering encouragement in your ear. König carefully stretches his way deeper, trying to let you do most of the work as you move your hips back and forth in your excitement.

When König bottoms out deep within your core, you groan. Ghost smiles against your lips. "Did your greedy little cunt take that huge prick? Attagirl. You're goin' t'cum on that cock, aren't ya?"

You nod silently, whimpering as König pulls back then pushes in deep again, his thighs clapping against your ass. "König! Fuck!" You brace against Ghost as König moves faster and harder behind you, driving toward his own orgasm. "I'm gonna cum on you, König!" Your whines and whimpers are driving him on. "I'm cumming!" König bites down on your shoulder as he cums with you. His cock throbs deep inside your core with little thrusts that grind him deeper and deeper. Your squeal and clenching sleeve make him twitch harder inside you.

"Good girl. Good girl cumming all over me," he croons. After a few moments, he pulls out and turns you onto your back to catch your breath. Ghost rubs his hands against you, still worked up. You smile up at him and pull him close. He smirks back, kissing you deeply and spreading your legs to wedge his hips between them.

"Is this ok, Love? Color?"

"Yell-no, green. Green."

He stares at you for a moment, trying to gauge your honesty. You slip your hand down to wrap around his weeping cock and gently tug him toward you. "Want you to cum, too. It feels so good." He chuckles, but abides by your wish, pulling your legs to wrap around his waist as he enters you. König caresses your body and kisses your neck as you take Ghost's cock to the hilt in one sharp thrust. From this position all three of you are able to see the bulge in your stomach when he hilts himself into you. In response, your body clenches down on him to his delight.

"Sugar, not gonna last long with you milking me," he groans. You boldly reach down and push on his cock through your skin and clench at him again. His hips stutter, then he is pounding into you and pinching your clit as punishment. You squeal and König takes advantage of your distraction to gently bite your nipple then lave it with his tongue in revenge for your earlier cheekiness. The mischievous slant of his lips tells you that is just the beginning as they work in tandem to bring you over the edge again.

Ghost suddenly leans down and bites at your earlobe. "Who's fucking you so good the whole base can hear you? Say my name, (y/n). Tell everyone how well Simon is fucking you."

"S-Simon! You're gonna make me cum! Green? Fuck...Simon!" He thrusts harder, his balls slapping against your ass as he tries to make you cum before he does.

"That's it, (y/n). Tell everyone how good it feels."

"Cumming, Simon" you shout as you squirt cum all over his cock and abs. The sudden wetness shocks you and nearly ruins your orgasm, but the look of excitement on Ghost's face when he looks down keeps you cumming.

"Attagirl. Attagirl. Gonna cum in you, Love. Gonna fill you up!" The look of bliss on his face has you more convinced than anything he could have said that he isn't disgusted by what happened in any way. He collapses down onto you, still praising you as he tries to collect himself. You brush a kiss to his temple and shyly glance over at König to see the biggest grin on his face.

"Good girl. You are perfect." You blush and pull him over to kiss you, too. When he pulls back, he pulls his mask back into place and relaxes in a boneless heap with one arm possessively wrapped around your stomach. Ghost slides off of you, half asleep already. Your giggle wakes him back up some, but the best he can do is a cheeky grin as he cuddles into your side.

It feels like just moments later there is a pounding at the door. Both men are immediately on high alert with König pushing you toward Ghost and preparing to leap out of bed. It's only the voice on the other side of the door that makes him pause.

"Simon! Simon! Answer the damn door! I need to talk to you! C'mon Simon! I know you're in there!" Soap's voice has Ghost dropping his head back onto the pillow in frustration. "Come to the door already!"

"No fuckin peace around here. Can't even enjoy the afterglow." He huffs and puffs, debating on ignoring the jackass at the door.

"Answer the door. He's here for you and clearly not going to go away. I will cuddle our Schatzi while you are gone." König sounds almost mocking as he brushes kisses across your shoulder and you gently push Ghost out of bed.

"What in the bloody hell do you want, Johnny?!" Ghost yells as he answers the door dressed in only his mask.

Soap yelps and covers his eyes, "Jesus Ghost! Put on some pants!"

"No, you pulled me out of bed with (y/n). Now you gotta deal with the consequences, ya knob." Ghost stands with his feet planted shoulder-width apart in a mock parade rest. Soap refuses to look at him, choosing to stare at the ceiling instead and thrusts a canvas bag at Ghost.

"I was just bringing by some clothes for her. Price said she needed some that actually fit and that he better not see her bare-assed running around in just König's shirt again." Having passed on the message, Soap abruptly about faces and takes off down the hall.

"Thanks, mate," Ghost calls after him as he closes the door. You blush as he turns back and says, "Well, won't be needing these anytime soon, will we?" He tosses the bag of clothes onto the chair with his clothes and jumps back into bed, his crown jewels flopping about.

König chuckles and slides out of bed. "I need to piss. I'll be back." You sigh and hold his hand loosely, trying to keep hold as he walks over to his clothes without a trace of shame in his bare body.

"I'm losing all of my cuddles," you sigh. Ghost grumbles and tucks you into his side.

"I'm back, Love. We can cuddle all day." You smile and trace a line down his chest, lazily. He growls, "Or maybe skip the cuddles and go right back to making you scream my name."

"Hurry back, Köni. I already miss you," you call as he leaves. You catch a hint of a blush around his eyes as he carefully shuts the door. Turning back to Ghost, you smile lazily.

"You're getting awfully bold for someone who had never seen a cock before yesterday. I like it, Sugar." He kisses your forehead and relaxes against you. "I'm happy to share you with that giant if it means cuddles whenever we are home."

Your sigh catches him off guard. "I don't know how one of the worst days of my life led to this, but I don't think I've ever been happier and more contented than I am right now, Simon." Hearing his name, his real name, sends a shiver down his spine.

"When König comes back, let's get you dressed and have some breakfast... well, probably lunch by now, sugar." You can feel his grin under the mask and nod sleepily.

"Food sounds good. Very... good..." Your voice trails off as you start to drift to sleep. Ghost jostles you gently.

"Nuh uh, sleep after food or you'll wake up feeling sick with hunger. C'mon up ya get. König has a surprisingly too comfortable bed. And I honestly don't think I have ever seen one this big."

From the doorway, there is a deep laugh. "That's what she said. I abuse my body too much on missions to sleep on a shit bed, though. Let's see what Soap brought, hmm?" König dumps the clothes out onto the bed, quickly sorting out a set of clothes for you. "Here, (y/n). Put these on and I'll air out the bed a bit. Can't sleep on sweaty sheets." Ghost practically dragged you onto your feet before going to get his own clothes on.

"I hate these clothes," you mutter to yourself, grimacing as you pull the shirt over your head.

"Why's that, Schatzi? I hate to see you cover yourself up, but why would you hate them?" You blush, having not intended for them to hear your griping.

"They smell like other people. I don't like when my clothes smell weird," your petulant tone belies your deep discomfort with the perfume-scented clothes. "I have no idea where or who Soap got these from, but they smell... gross."

"Easily fixed, my Love." Ghost gently pulls you into a hug and rubs his body all over yours. "Your turn, König," Ghost says as he shuffles you into his arms. König happily rubs you with his hands, then picks you up and squeezing your ass, grinds you against himself.

"Yes, that is an easy fix," he says with a gleam in his eyes. You huff, but can't hide your grin as he sets you back on your feet. "Let's go eat, Liebling. Then, we can eat you later." You duck your head and groan, realizing how much König loves his double-entendres.

"Don't worry, Love. I won't use dirty innuendos to make you blush in front of everyone." Ghost whispering in your ear has you biting back a moan. "I'll just say dirty things in your ear so you blush and fidget over things no one else can hear and hope no one else overhears."

"Kommen, you two. Time to eat before we get called to attention again." You giggle at König's teasing and caught up to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. The smile you flash back to Ghost is full of promise. The sharp look in his eyes in return sends a shiver through you.

#konig x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost x könig x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost cod #könig x reader #size difference

282 notes · View notes