#enjoy the gratuitous fluff | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mikodaiyo · 2 years ago

Text

[skfw] The Inn Encounter

Summary: Sesshomaru is looking for Kagome.

Day 1: Courting

Word prompt: Love Letter

Scenario Prompt: Character A has been acting strange so character B confronts them.

Sesskag Fluff Week Prompts ♥️

“Kagome isn’t here.”

Sango smiled apologetically to Sesshomaru while Rin abandoned training to hug her hogosha.

That morning, with the children all stuffed into her hut for their warm ups again, Sango had decided it had been raining for long enough and ushered them out onto the dewy lawn.

From above, Shippou worked out his magic by providing them the coverage of a large canopy, though it looked like a large towel struggling to stay stretched out in the breeze. Sango had relieved him of his duty several times just for him to refuse, saying a village hero such as he could at least do this much.

Sesshomaru noticed the sweat that beaded down the child’s form as soon as it ran down his sleeves, interrupting his reunion. Sighing, he released his moko into the air and it swirled and swirled, startling the large towel with a bushy fox tail as it became a large cloud all its own, shading them all from the rain.

“Enough, Shippou.” He said, and it was.

Shippou released himself and fell to the earth unsteadily, his little paws holding him up still.

“Well done, Shippou!” Rin applauded him, walking over and patting his panting back. He looked at her and then at Sesshomaru, grinning shyly when even he nodded.

“Rin. Jaken is making your favorite dish.”

“Break-time!” Rin translated. She grabbed Shippo's hand but froze mid stride, now looking to her Master Sango.

Sango nodded, “You heard Lord Sesshomaru. Jaken is making everyone’s favorite dishes!” She smiled at her children standing at attention behind her, “You better hurry.”

The relief of children’s laughter filled the wet air, the sound of Slayer uniforms slapped the earth and Mokomoko followed the children to keep them dry. The rain fell on the adults again but they didn’t mind it. The rain was a refreshing blessing as well as natural conversation cover.

Rain, Rain, Go Away

Come again another day

Inside the Inn we will decay

And though the keeper will let us stay

It's been – and we want to play

Rain, Rain, Go Away

It was just something to pass the time, Kagome insisted to them. A phonetic rhyme that would help them keep track of time, if nothing else. But to the children it was a blessed chant from Priestess Kagome, a chant that if they sang loud enough it would make the rain go away. They sang it so much recently that Sango didn’t even notice the number of rainy days, she just knew the children were blessedly occupied with a suitable answer instead of asking her to teach them how to beat it up.

Sango stretched her arms and they both heard her bones popping graciously, “You hurry too. What if you catch a cold?” She walked toward the entrance of her home and kept the door open by invitation.

“This one does not get colds.” Sesshomaru followed after her calmly.

“You never know. Stranger things have happened.”

“Such as?”

“You, looking for Kagome.”

“This One is always looking for Kagome.”

“You’ve become such a romantic, Lord Sesshomaru! That nearly made my old heart skip a beat.”

“Old?” Sesshomaru raised his brow. He rested his swords against her door frame and took a seat at her low table, “even demons in my court would question your slow aging.”

“My Lord,” Sango guffawed, moving to another room with a screen dividing the view, “You are making me blush. May I remind you I am a married woman.”

After removing the armored guards of her uniform, she worked on the wet leather itself. Sesshomaru closed his eyes and listened to the rain, listened to all the patterns in the mud, the grass, the farmers footsteps. He sifted through the noises, searching for a particular Priestess’ heavy footfalls.

Reemerging refreshed, Sango set fire to her hearth and began preparing her favorite tea set, an adorable white and purple accented gift from The Lord of the West with his red, hexagonal crest glazed into plates and the handles built like gold clouds were whipped against the porcelain cups. The set had instantly become the main reason Sango entertained guests.

“Speaking of being the only married woman-”

“You did not speak of that.”

“Did you know I am the only married woman in the whole village?” Sango fixed, “Speaking of which-”

“This one is looking for Kagome.” Sesshomaru emphasized, as if to say it wasn’t his fault that she was the only one. Sango placed the tea set down and then sat herself with a mortar and pestle, grinding sweet smells into the air.

“She’s been so busy lately.” Sango sighed, “Everyone has been; Demon sightings are picking up in neighboring villages, Kaedae can only be in one place at a time, Kagome goes everywhere else. Miroku wrote that he and Inuyasha have been making more progress rebuilding east.” Sango stretched then, as though talking about everything worked out the knots, “More children want to be taught to be Slayers so I get to see Kohaku only briefly while he and Kirara drop off more to me and take the ones I’ve trained to study further in the mountains.”

The kettle whistled and Sesshomaru got up, to which Sango sighed in appreciation.

She lightly brushed her mixture into their cups and Sesshomaru poured in the hot water. Hers first and then his own.

“You are all busy.” Sango breathed in the steam, her eyes closed but one peeking open. “ Yet, I seem to always find you.”

She worked with children all day. She had three of her own.

So, Sango could tell when a little pout was forming and it was such a shame Kagome was missing it.

“Well, I mean, it’s not like Kagome to not want to be found, is it?” Sango mused. Sesshomaru, who had been lifting his own cup, paused. He hadn’t considered that.

Just because he could not locate her, didn’t mean she didn’t want to be located.

In fact, when did she ever stay away from Sesshomaru? Kagome didn’t even hide from him when she had good reason to.

“When was the last time you spoke?”

“Hmm… what the…” Sango squinted, staring hard into the empty space above to try and form the image of the last time she had seen Kagome. “Actually, It’s been weeks… has it been weeks?”

Sesshomaru knew she wasn’t asking him and the irritability of the unknown began to tense his form. So no one had answers, for this long?

“This one last saw her before the rain fell.” He supplied.

“Rain, rain go away…” Sango mumbled, her hand coming to rest on her chin in deep thought. If she concentrated, she could hear the children singing just that morning. Sesshomaru didn’t dare break her concentration.

“Come again another day, inside the inn I’d rather not stay, and the keeper would let me stay, but it's been… it's been 12 days and we want to play…”

They shared a look.

According to the children who sang songs and chants that Kagome taught them when they were bored, it had been raining for two weeks.

For the past week, Kagome had been staying at an Inn. It wasn’t the largest or most lavish like Miroku preferred, nor as sparse as Inuyasha preferred. There were five rooms, an outdoor pool and an old Innkeeper who liked chatting in the mornings while they drank their tea and didn’t charge Kagome on account of her status. Graciously, Kagome offered to clean the rooms for the Innkeeper and bless it regularly, just in case her presence brought misfortune.

There was plenty of room for her goal; According to the Village Leader, women had been disappearing. Kagome had asked the Leader to keep him informed, but upon receiving no reply, Kagome let her gut instinct kick in. She only told Kaedae she’d be gone and hopped on the last cart of that night, napping amongst the hay and waking to an Ox licking her cheek, she and the farmer arriving at the inn.

Kagome huffed, the cool night air materializing puffs that lifted her bangs. While she was stuck, waiting, how many girls were being taken in by that orange, malicious energy that filled the sky? The one she noticed sipping tea with the Innkeeper while they chatted? The dawn that pooled across the sky like blood and tricked regular people into thinking it was a normal sunset?

They sat there in the evening, after Kagome finished cleaning the floors and the Innkeeper made sure the snack portion was doubled. They sat and Kagome smiled and traded pleasantries and hid her unease behind her teacup when the Innkeeper remarked they’d never seen such a beautiful sunset. Kagome lost sleep these past few nights just watching the Innkeeper, making sure it wasn’t the beginnings of hypnotism. But so far no change. Just she and the Innkeeper and the orange blood hiding a perfectly good sunset.

Again, she wished she had time to learn how to work with shinigami. Or time to train a messenger bird. What kind of Priestess didn’t travel with a companion? Even her bike would have sufficed.

Had she known it would take so long for another lead but she didn’t know because she always worked in groups, and in a good group like hers, everyone did their fair share. It never seemed like there was a moment's rest because someone or someone else was always gathering information.

But now, Kagome was all alone and there was all at once too much to do and nothing to do. Too much information to work with and none at all. The perfect time to take Intel but, Intel on what?

“Perfect time to invent e-mail.” She muttered into her cup.

“You’ve been grumbling since your arrival yesterday, dear.” said the Innkeeper. “Have I become such a poor companion?”

“Yesterday...? Oh! No! Not at all.” The truth sounded so unconvincing. Kagome cleared her throat, “It’s my fault really. I’m not working hard enough.”

So lax in fact that what felt like a week to her had only been a full day at the Inn.

“You’ve done nothing but work since you’ve been here, dear. This tea is the only way I’ve gotten you to take a breather.” The Innkeeper tapped their brass kettle and laughed, “You’ve left me no choice but to break out the good stuff in fact!”

The Innkeeper closed one eye and leaned into Kagome, peering into her personal space, “Are you sure you’re not a swindler? How old are these robes?”

Kagome jumped, her body moving almost against her will away from the Innkeeper’s hands and eyes and questions. Setting the tea aside, Kagome tucked her knees, turned to her host and bent at the waist.

“I’m sorry!”

Her youthful energy nearly knocked the Innkeeper backwards, “I promise I’m not swindling you and if you have been swindled before, specifically by a Monk wearing purple robes, I’m sorry for that as well!”

The Innkeeper blinked, “Ah-well, thank you. I haven’t been swindled by a purple robed Monk yet, Priestess, but I’ll be on the lookout from now on. Thank you.”

Kagome was so happy her face was shielded from view. Her embarrassment should only been seen by the nicely polished floorboards after all. Why did she react so strongly?

“Do you perhaps have any parchment and ink?”

The Innkeeper smiled, wide and perfect, “Ah, so that’s it. You’re missin’ your lover!”

Kagome sat ramrod straight with a blush that could match the sky and the Innkeeper guffawed, rising slowly and steadily and a little shakily from their seating cushion. Kagome could hear them behind her saying things about youth and young love. Kagome swore right then to take her shinigami training much more seriously.

Night fell and Kagome was left alone with her bone white incense burner, parchment, ink, a slop of orange stars in the night sky and a freshly brewed pot of tea.

Would Sesshomaru know anything about this? He had become her encyclopedia on demonic tactics, trickery and horrors that befell sleepy villages that women disappeared from. Or would he be just as blind because he didn’t even know she was here? Was he waiting for her at home or had he come and gone to tend to more important matters?

She could write Sango, Sango slayed thousands of demons and had even begun record keeping but could Sango afford to leave? When Kagome left, it had just been them and Kaedae. Five days changed many things but not the distance it would take the boys to get back home to take up guard duty.

She wished Inuyasha were here.

She could send it to Jaken…

“Maybe I should ask Rin.” Kagome mused, figuring if she was going to think ridiculous things she may as well say ridiculous things. Then, only smart things would be left.

She put pen to paper and decided whichever name she wrote down would be the person she asked.

Dear Sesshomaru,

She blushed again. She never called him dear. Focus

I don’t know why I’m writing. It’s only been three nights but I miss you a lot so, maybe that’s it? Do I miss you?

Sighing, Kagome crossed that out and tried again.

Dearest Sesshomaru,

I miss you.

Sleep isn’t as restful and tea isn’t as sweet and, have you ever seen an orange sky? Not like the afternoon, we’ve had some of our best afternoons up there. Not like persimmons either. It's a strange, runny, bloody orange. I figured I’d ask you, being the blood expert. Let me know if I should’ve written Myoga instead.

I’m not very good at writing letters. I need your help.

Kagome held the parchment up to her red face, pursed her lips and inhaled. Then she placed the page face down, turned her face upwards and exhaled.

She hoped her words reached him.

-----------------------------------

When Kagome woke up the next morning, it was groggily facing the window. She had only come to this inn yesterday, but she was so tired. No matter, the Innkeeper said she could have free lodgings if she helped prepare the rooms and Kagome was eager to get to work.

She cleaned all four rooms quietly to not disturb the Innkeeper, she blessed the grounds and then, a bath sounded nice.

When Kagome woke up the next morning, it was groggily facing the window. She had only come to this inn yesterday, but she was so tired.

No matter. The Innkeeper said she could have free lodgings if she helped prepare the rooms and Kagome was eager to get to work.

She cleaned all three rooms quietly to not disturb the Innkeeper, she blessed the grounds and then, a bath sounded nice.

When Kagome woke up the next morning, it was groggily facing the window. She had only come to this inn yesterday, but she was so tired.

No matter.

The Innkeeper said she could have free lodgings if she helped prepare the rooms and Kagome was eager to get to work.

She cleaned three rooms quietly to not disturb the Innkeeper, she blessed the grounds and then…

She cleaned her room and the guest room quietly to not disturb the Innkeeper, she blessed the grounds and then…

Huh?

Kagome stopped cleaning the floorboards.

Why was she still at the Inn? The village was still up ahead.

Far off in the distance where she could see it touching the blood orange sky she definitely saw a village.

She definitely saw it.

If she just turned around and looked it would be there still and she could put one foot in front of the other without bidding a proper farewell to the Innkeeper and continue on her mission.

But, her head wouldn’t move.

Her body wouldn’t move.

“Thank Heavens,” said the Innkeeper from far away, from above, from below, “You know girlie, you used up all my water.”

“Lord Sesshomaru!” Rin’s voice rang out and Sesshomaru heeded her immediately with Sango in tow, Hiraikotsu firmly in her grasp.

“Mama! The rain is clearing up!” Sango children crowded around her hips gleeful and fed and Sango leaned down to them.

“And how long was it raining?”

“14 days!” Her eldest daughter piped up, her siblings agreeing.

“What is it, Rin?” He watched the girl and Jaken attempt to gather all of the fur into their arms to avoid getting dirty as they made their way to him but the mud hardly mattered. Why was Mokomoko leaning at all?

“A message appeared, My Lord!” Jaken squealed from behind, his stubby form holding up the latter pelt while Rin stood on tip-toe to reveal its underside. Sesshomaru’s frown deepened and he reached for the soggy thing and it dried immediately before affixing itself around his shoulders. It was heavy with holy magic and would remain sluggish until the holy magic was removed and Sesshomaru only knew of one Priestess who could place such intent upon him at such close proximity.

It was even in her handwriting. And as the weather cleared, her scent came at him with a force it hadn’t had in fourteen days. His hand gripped the pelt tighter when Sango came over to survey the message.

“Dearest Sesshomaru, I miss you?” She read aloud.

With his free hand Sesshomaru waved his palm over the words and captured the false letters in his hand then placed his palm up. The letters evaporated like steam and he caught whiffs of tea and polished floors and blood not her own.

Sango could say she’d never seen steam with feelings until her eyes caught those last glimpses of Sesshomaru’s stoic face crack in anger before clouds of billowing smoke swallowed him up until he vanished.

…Was that snow?

“What trickery is this, witch?”

Kagome squinted.

No, not snow, though the consistency was similar. Small, white petals fell from a large, white cloud that descended from above the grounds, creating a flurry that threw the Innkeeper off kilter as it clumped into their ears and nose and sucked into the Innkeeper’s indignant maw.

A larger shadow fell over Kagome and she felt instantly relieved.

Sesshomaru made time for the brief caress of her cheek and Kagome swooned a tad before Sesshomaru caught one of the falling petals on his fingers and pressed it to Kagome’s lips.

“Sesshomaru,” Tension easing from body, Kagome nuzzled her cheek into his palm, “I did miss you.”

He brought their faces closer, “You were expecting Myoga.” He accused her.

“Obviously.” She giggled, “But you’ll do.”

While Kagome waited for the feeling to return to her legs, Sesshomaru surveyed the area for irregularities.

… There. The strange, orange liquid attempting to bubble itself back into a brass teapot sitting on the veranda. That was irregular.

Sesshomaru shot out his hand and produced his poison whip, snapping it across the liquid surface and causing it to bubble. The Innkeeper retook a human form from the reaction, their yowl agonizing and arms blistering.

“Guess that means my letter worked?”

”Well enough.” He lifted the side of mokomoko that her words ink-stained into the underside.

“I can get that out.”

Sesshomaru rolled his eyes. The Innkeeper was struggling so he tightened his grip.

“I just need to get–”

He turned and shook his hair to the side, revealing her weapons attached at his hip. Even with his back turned, Sesshomaru could feel Kagome’s grateful expression while she removed the bow and quiver.

He harshly flicked his wrist and sent the demon skyward to screech and snarl into the blood orange sky. Above all else, Sesshomaru could not stand much more of the noise that was drowning out their conversation. At least this way he could admire the way Kagome adjusted her aim.

“This One had already been looking for you.”

Kagome could barely concentrate on charging her arrow when he was being such a sweet-talker, “Thank you for finding me, my Lord.”

Her arrow struck the teapot and Sesshomaru’s acid did quick work of the false form.

As the demon puddled to the ground, Kagome placed her sleeve over her mouth as she approached. She waved two fingers in a uniform pattern across the puddle and it purified. Then she raised her fingers and chanted, and the sky began to resemble the sky, the sun was setting, the horizon was empty and her mission was complete.

Sesshomaru stepped next to her when it was done and offered her his hand to take. She obliged, then laced their fingers together.

“What of the Inn?”

“I’ve been purifying it for the last few days. The spirits left easily enough because they didn’t want to be there in the first place. They wanted to keep walking toward the horizon.”

Sesshomaru looked to the horizon, but all he saw was the sunset, “Was there something there?”

“Something for anyone who's looking.” Kagome answered in her strange way. Sesshomaru was certain she didn’t even notice when she spoke nonsensically.

“Hungry?” Kagome questioned perkily, “Only the tea was cursed. The snacks weren’t bad. And we have the whole place to ourselves.”

Kagome led Sesshomaru back to the Inn.

“Pardon the intrusi–Ah!” She stumbled backwards, caught by Sesshomaru’s big frame. When had he removed his armor?

“This One had been looking for you prior to your ‘invitation’.” His hand tightened in hers and Kagome gulped. Something was rubbing salaciously between the pleats of her hakama.

“O-oh? Well, you found me. Did I thank you for that yet?”

“You are about to.” Sesshomaru bent over her and her body followed slightly until they were both on their knees at the door.

Kagome could always see things behind her but it was a different thrill entirely to somehow feel the grin slipping over Sesshomaru’s lips.

“Pardon the intrusion.” He whispered.

#sesskag #sesskag fluff week #SKFW23 #sesskag fanfiction #ok I haven't written anything since maybe 2016? idk its been a long time and I didn't know what to edit out and what to keep ugh #hopefully there is enough fluff? I feel like there's not enough fluff lol I got to excited about writing I forgot to make it more fluff #demiko #fic tag: demiko #I didn't know where to fit the dialogue prompt so I just didn't lol if I did this would've been a gratuitously fluffy fiction #I hope you enjoy!#I want to do more art + fiction I find this really satisfying ugh I love some illustration with a story #the original idea for this was going to be Sesshomaru just missing Kagome a lot like literally he keeps trying to go on dates #but she's too busy and they keep narrowly missing her and it was going to have hurt puppy sesshomaru lol #but I ended up exploring Kagome's trip more dangit. More Sess emotion to come then!#yoart

30 notes · View notes

gilverrwrites · 5 months ago

Text

Summer Loving

Ft. Bruce, Dick, Jason, Roy, & Tim.

AN: Have a lot of lengthy and/or smutty wips on the go atm and I can feel them bogging me down a bit, so I decided to take a break and work on some short summer themed slice of life/domestic fluff to cleanse my palate. I feel I must apologise for my gratuitous and obvious Roy Harper thirst but I wont, enjoy!

CWs: Some are more suggestive than others, reader discretion advised. Minor swearing and minors swearing, mentions of alcohol. GN! Reader

Bruce: Tan Lines

It’s moments like these where you wish Bruce didn’t have to spend his nights on the endless pursuit of justice. You knew what you’d signed up for, but you’d missed him all day and god, the feel of his strong fingers massaging after sun into your skin was euphoric. Would you be such a bad guy for trying to convince him to stay home?

“I like this.” His hum pulls you from your train of thought, and you look down to see his fingers trailing against the tan line your shorts had caused. He spares you a quick suggestive glance, the look a wolf might give a rabbit it’s particularly fond of before dipping down to replace his hands with his mouth.

“Ohhh, stay home tonight Brucie?” The look he gives you this time maintains its warmth but there’s an air of warning to it. Despite his simmering combativeness, you add a charming “Please?”

To that he lifts his head, just far enough to deny you of his lips, but close enough that his low voice still seems to reverberate through your body as he speaks. “Crime doesn’t take the night off, neither can I.”

“I know.” You sigh, admitting defeat before the battle has even begun, and he rewards you by assuming his barrage of kisses to your lower body.

“Just don’t go out too early.” You advise, trailing the tip of your finger from ear to ear, estimating the line where his Batman cowl ends. “Don’t want to get any tan lines of your own.”

“Trust me.” There’s humour in his tone now as he works his way upwards, ghosting his 5 o'clock shadow along the skin of your stomach as he prowls closer. “The evening is young, and I have plans for you yet.”

Dick: A/C

The A/C is broken. Again. To combat the heat the whole household has resorted to wearing nothing but their underwear, except of course for Haley who is always naked. Lucky dog.

Additionally, all the windows are open in an attempt to let the cool night air circulate the humid apartment but all it’s really doing is letting in the ambient sound of Blüdhavens boisterous nightlife and countless flies.

“Want one?” Dick asks from the kitchen spaces as he digs into his second ice pop since dinner, you joke about envying his metabolism despite knowing damn well that’s not the real reason for his physique. Although between the food and the heat-induced skipped workout, he’s bloating, just a little bit; the tiniest, most delicious bit of plumpness and you can’t take your eyes off of it. “Are you checking me out?”

“Always.” You reply with a brazen smile, continuing your laser-focused stare even as he begins approaching your spot on the couch.

“How about you stop looking and start touching, huh baby?”

“No.” You finally cease your objectification of his stomach to look him in the eyes. The intended sternness in your tone is stifled by the way his icy confection has turned his lips blue. “I already told you, no sex in this heat until the air con is fixed.”

Despite your posturing, you don’t fight his closing proximity, nor do you stop him from dragging his cool-raspberry-stained tongue along the length of your throat, it’s still cold from the half-eaten lolly and the sensation sends a welcome chill through your body. As inefficient as it may be, you much prefer this method of cooling down to an A/C.

Jason: Sunrise

The metal grate of your fire escape is surprisingly cool against your bare feet. It’s early, pre-sunrise early but the air is still thick, a combination of the arid summer heat and steam of the cities underground. Despite the unpleasant temperature, you settle onto the grill, with nothing but a pillow for comfort and two ice-cold glasses of lemonade.

When 15 minutes pass, and you start to notice a growing tinge of orangeness in the sky, you start to worry you’re being stood up, or worse; something awful has happened. Something that would prevent him from coming home, but then you hear it; The heavy steps of Jason’s steel-toed boots approaching from your apartment’s rooftop.

You glance up just in time to see him dropping down. A loud clang rings out as he hits the floor, causing the whole structure to vibrate and you wonder if he does that every night, surely not, there’s no way you could sleep through it or that your neighbours wouldn’t complain.

“Aren’t you sweating balls?” You ask, taking in his gear as he sits down beside you. The boots, the cargo pants, turtleneck, jacket, gloves, and the full-face mask.

“Nah.” His voice is muffled by the headpiece until he takes it off, shaking his head to support his answer. “It’s weird but I’ve kinda run cold ever since I died, you know?”

Obviously you don’t know, in fact having felt his searing, naked skin pressed to yours on multiple occasions, you highly doubt him, but you nod regardless and hand him his drink. Unlike a man on the chilly side, he chugs half of the icy drink in one go and you wonder if he’ll ever stop jumping from buildings and telling white lies to impress you.

“Want some help warming up?” Before he can respond you lean up, brushing your nose against his and watching as his lids flutter closed in anticipation, his breath is cool on your lips and when you finally press into them you can taste nothing but the tartness of the lemonade. Regardless, it’s heavenly; soft and tender. Every kiss with Jason makes your heart flutter in the same way it had the first time.

When he pulls away you chase after him, eyes only opening to meet his heterochromatic irises when your pursuit for more becomes an abundant failure.

He’s grinning as he tells you; “We’re missing the sunrise.”

“I don’t care.” You answer, trying again, and this time succeeding in drawing him in for another kiss.

Roy: Paddling Pool

If ever anybody asked you to describe a moment of pure domestic bliss, this moment would be a strong contender. Your lower body is submerged in a paddling pool as you bask in the sun, enjoying the occasional splash of water caused by Lian’s uncoordinated but enthusiastic dancing beside you. She too is basking, but hers is under an endless stream of hose water being directed by her father; Roy, who is watching the two of you from a sun lounger, hosepipe in one hand and a non-alcoholic beer in the other.

He's quite the vision, no shoes, no shirt, just tastefully tacky swim trunks and his iconically worn-out grey baseball cap that may be protecting his head, but is doing little to tame his mop of fiery hair. From this angle, you’ve got a great shot of some of his lesser-seen tattoos, but every time you look over at him you find yourself far more smitten with the countless freckles that adorn his chest and shoulders, made darker and more noticeable by the recent heatwave.

“How’s the Heineken?” You ask, genuinely curious how he’s enjoying his first taste of alcohol-free booze.

“Crap.” He replies, lips briefly curving into a self-amused smirk before dropping to woefully panicked as you both turn to look at Lian. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to have been listening in, content in her own toddler babblings. Relieved, he turns his attention back to you and corrects himself. “Um, not good babe.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry.” You offer your condolences, but he seems completely unbothered.

Instead, he turns the glass bottle around in his hands a few times before chucking it over his shoulder. It sails through the air before seamlessly landing in the open bin by your backdoor. Your concern about it leaking into the rest of the recycling is seconded by how impressed you are. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times his trick-shot hit, you’re always at least a little bit captivated by his impeccable aim.

“It’s cool, hon.” He shrugs and leans back into the lounger. His eyes flicker back and forth between you and his child, a slow, contented smile spreading across his face. “Got everything I need right here.”

Bonus:

Hours later, you’re sorting through the soggy contents of the recycling as Roy scoops Lian up in his arms and takes her sleepy frame inside. The sun is still high and bright, but it’s past her bedtime, and it’s been a long, exciting day for her. He dries her with the softest towel he can find, careful to pat down every pruned finger and toe before putting her to bed.

“How was your day, sweetie?” He asks, strong fingers petting her soft hair to help soothe her to sleep.

“Crap!”

Tim: Ice Cream

Tim is still sleeping off a rough, muggy night of crime fighting as you circumnavigate the boat's sad excuse for a kitchen. The bags under his eyes had been growing darker each day under the stress of hunting down a mysterious new bank robber. You’d hoped to lift his spirits by surprising him with a tub of homemade ice cream, but so far all you’d managed to make is a mess.

After having a falling out with the thrifted ice cream maker you’d stuffed in the back of a cupboard months ago, you settled for hand mixing. By the time you put the concoction in the freezer to set, your wrists are aching, and Tim has begun to stir. You’re just finishing up the dishes you’d created when he finally emerges from the bedroom in shorts, flip-flops, and a not-so-summer-appropriate hoodie.

Before you can offer a ‘good morning, Timmybear’ his arms are around your waist, pulling you close from behind and settling the weight of his sleepy head on your shoulder.

“What’s this?” He asks and then he’s licking what you can only assume is a stray splash of the mixture from your cheek with the bravery only a man raised by Batman could possess. It could have been literally anything. “Banana?”

“Chunky monkey actually.” Goddamn. Surprise ruined in less than a minute. Oh well, at least you can give him something to look forward to. “Don’t worry, I didn’t get ice cream without you, I made it for you.”

“I figured.” He hums, sounding so very drowsy despite the ease with which he manoeuvres your body against the kitchen counter so he can keep you close while brewing his morning tea, occasionally planting soft kisses to the side of your neck as his hands move absentmindedly. “You’re the best, you know that? Can’t wait to try it.”

“You figured? How did you figure?” You skip right past the justified praise; he’d been practically comatose since 4 AM, how could he have figured?

“It’s on the ceiling.” He’s right, you look up to see a cream-soaked walnut lodged above you and let out a dramatic sigh as you fall deeper into Tim's arms.

Taglist: @wandalfnation

595 notes · View notes

daycourtofficial · 1 year ago

Text

The Shadows Want You to be Happy

Summary: Azriel’s shadows overhear a conversation where you doubt Azriel’s true intentions, and they urge him to rectify the situation.

Author’s note: this is just pure fluff baby! Pure unadulterated fluff. Go to the dentist! Also I didn’t proofread this, so enjoy at your own caution!

His shadows didn’t mean to spy on you, they promise. They just liked keeping an eye on you at all times.

Azriel had no idea why his shadows seemed to adore you so much - well, he could understand it, because he adored you just as much as his shadows did. But he can’t figure out why - they don’t like being around Elain, but most of the others the shadows just watch.

Not you, though. Whenever you two are in the same room his shadows roam over you, greeting an old friend. If he’s been away for a days on a mission, they spend several minutes swirling around you, seemingly doting on you, like they’re asking “are you okay? Did you eat while we were gone? Did you sleep?”

A few shadows have taken it upon themselves to stay stationed with you at all times. He thinks they have a schedule, out of jealousy and need to share their time with you, but they don’t really tell him too much about what they see. The most they’ll tell him is if you haven’t eaten in a while or that time they told him about you having a cold and not wanting anyone to find out. He spent three days in your apartment with you, feeding you soup and taking care of you.

His shadows absolutely do not tell him the things you say or how you’re feeling, or so he thought. Both of the shadows that were asking as your bodyguards came to him, like little kids with a story to tell.

You were laying on the couch in the library with Feyre, engrossed in your independent books. The two of you do this weekly, enjoying each other’s presence without much social obligation. Sometimes the two of you will talk, but it’s often followed by long, comfortable silences. Just when you thought the silence was going to stay for a while, Feyre spoke up.

“so, sweetie, how are things with you and Azriel?” She asks, closing her book to turn to you.

Your cheeks heat immediately. “Um,” you say, closing your book to turn to her, knowing that she won’t relent until she gets what she wants out of this conversation.

You had kept your feelings for him mostly to yourself, except one drunken night a few weeks ago you had told Feyre about how pretty he was. You thought she might have forgotten about it, but this conversation is telling you she wants more. Thank the mother it wasn’t Rhys or Cas you had told that to - they would have mocked your word choice of “devastatingly pretty” for years.

“Well, we have plans to go out tonight,” you reply, very nervous about opening up to Feyre. She looked at you, her face asking for you to continue. “We’re trying all of the bakeries in Velaris to see who has the best pastries and hot chocolate, so once a week we try a new one and gorge ourselves on baked goods and chocolate.”

Feyre smiled at how absolutely adorable that was. “Are these… dates?” she asks, smiling at how absolutely oblivious the two of you were.

“We call them dates,” you reply.

“Do you two do anything physical? You don’t have to be gratuitous with details, I’m not Mor.” Feyre says, shuddering thinking of Mor grilling you for details on if the two of you have had sex yet.

“Um well the bakeries are usually cozy so we usually are tucked away in a corner, pressed up together. In one of them we had to wait for a table, so he just wrapped his wings around me while we waited.” You told her, grinning at the memory of his body heat.

“Do you two ever kiss?”

You sink a little further into the couch, your cheeks blazing with heat now, your hands covering your face as you say, “yes”.

“Has there been more than kissing?”

Feyre watches the head hiding behind youe hands nod ever so slightly and squeals. She actually squeals.

The people of Velaris love to gossip with her, and when she heard rumors of two of her friends being spotted around town looking very coupley, she decided to investigate. It also doesn’t help that the Inner Circle has a betting pool on when you ans Azriel will get together. Her bet was this week, so she’s doing what she can to win. And because she wants the two of you to be happy. And because Cassian bet that you two would be together next week, and she can’t lose to him, his gloating is atrocious.

“So, you two are together?” She asks, practically bouncing in her seat.

“I’m not sure,” you say, “honestly I’m a little worried that this means more to me than it does to him.” You look down at your hands, “I don’t really do casual dating, and I’m a little worried that this is just a fling to him. It’s really incredible and hot and sweet and all but.” You look around to see if anyone is listening before you whisper, “honestly, it would break my heart if this was just casual for him.”

Feyre was shocked at how sad you looked at the idea of being something casual to Az. She knew the two of you were head over heels for each other, they all knew that, but you looked devastated.

“Sweetie,” she says, trying her best to console you, “there is no way that that male views you or anything to do with you as ‘casual’.“

“Are you sure?” You ask, hesitation lacing your every word.

“Absolutely. He lights up whenever you’re around and I’ve never seen him miss a function you’re at.”

You thank your friend for the reassurances and settle back into your respective books. You knew that Azriel’s shadows often followed you around, even without him being anywhere nearby. He once told you that they find you adorable. However, you didn’t realize that the two who were stationed with you left very quickly after your discussion with Feyre.

The shadows relayed the whole story to him, in part because they, like the inner circle, want the two of you together. But also because they understand that you were upset and Azriel could fix it.

Azriel was more shocked at the insistence from them to make you less upset - usually they are just uninvolved observers, simply passing along information to him, allowing him to draw his own conclusions. The way those shadows spoke to him you’d think that they were in charge of him.

He met you outside of your apartment later that night, dressed in an all black casual outfit. “Ready?” He asks, extending his arm out for you to take. You lock the door behind him, straightening your coat before taking his arm.

The two of you start these dates off by walking through Velaris. Winter has just begun and there’s a light falling of snow covering the two of you.

“What’d you get up to today? I haven’t seen you since breakfast,” he asks you, not-so-subtly reminding you that you were, in fact, his breakfast, before he left your apartment this morning.

“I spent most of the day in the library with Feyre, reading a few books, doing some research. I had to get out of there, the words were all starting to blend together,” you reply, nuzzling into his arm to retain some of his heat, despite his jacket covering his arms.

“Mm, well then I guess you could consider me you’re handsome knight, off to whisk you away for an evening of delicacies in your time of need,” he retorts.

You chuckle and begin to speak, not stopping yourself before blurting, “why are you only like this with me? Don’t get me wrong, I love this side of you, but you only show it to me. Why’s that?”

Azriel stops your walk to stand in front of you, “ignoring your recent declaration of love,” you huff, “I just.. feel different around you.”

The look he’s giving you makes your knees go weak. He’s looking into your eyes with deep, raw honesty, like he wants you to see inside his soul.

“I love my family, despite their best efforts to annoy me into murdering them,” he says. You giggle. “But you’re.. different. The way I feel about you is different. I thought I loved Mor, but I didn’t. I loved the idea of saving her, of being her knight.” He sighs, unbelieving that he’s spilling all of this to you out in public. Luckily the other pedestrians just ignore the two of you, out of kindness or fear of him, he’s not sure. He pulls you into a quiet little alley, in the hopes to retain some privacy.

“It was stupid, but I thought I could save the girl and we’d live happily ever after. Then I met you. When I was a kid, I always wanted someone to come rescue me, and I thought that that was how you fall in love. But it’s not. I didn’t need to save you to love you. After this big revelation about myself, I took some time to really think about what I want. It’s why a few weeks back everyone thought I went to check on the war camps. Well, I did check on them, but I spent most of the time thinking. And I want you, no rescuing required. Though if you’d have me, I’d rescue you from anything. A bad day, my annoying family, the flu, anything. I’m not sure how clear my intentions have been, I figured showing you off around Velaris was enough, but I guess not.”

He paused, a mixture of nerves and intense determination radiating off of him.

“I haven’t thought about another person since I met you. I haven’t even considered looking at anyone else. Rhys has started calling me a puppy, because I follow you around everywhere, and I don’t care. I’ve never been so public with anyone, not giving a damn who sees or what they think, because I want them to know that you’re with me. I want everything you’ll give me.”

You’re stunned. It’s so quiet, you can hear the snow falling. It’s as if the world has gone silent to hear what you’ll say.

“Anything I’ll give you?” You say, a smirk crossing your face, wanting to draw out his confession a bit more.

“Anything.”

“Even if I snore?” You ask.

He laughs, “you don’t snore. You’re actually quite adorable when you’re asleep, hate to break it to you.”

“Hmm,” you say, stroking your finger on your chin, looking quizzical. “Guess you’ll just have to get used to my adorable sleeping, because if you’re accepting it, I’m giving you everything.”

He leans down, capturing your laugh with his lips, his shadows dancing around the two of you in excitement.

He pulls away after several minutes, laughing at the groan coming from your lips, “did you know that the idiots have a bet about us?”

He begins again after seeing your confused face, “If we’re together this week, Feyre wins the betting pool. Next week is Cassian.”

“Oh!” You exclaim, “that’s why she wanted us to be together so badly! Hm, maybe we should let Feyre win, because Cassian would be-

“Unbearable.” You both say in unison.

“When should we tell them? And how?” You ask.

“Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow we can just have sex on the dining room table, that’ll send the message loud and clear.” He says, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

You swat his arm, “no, we’re better than Cassian and Nesta. Maybe we should have a banner made. It’ll say “we had sex!” And point down to us.”

He chuckles, grabbing your arm again and steering you towards the bakery, as the two of you contemplate how to tell your family the news that will make them all so incredibly happy.

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #acotar fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

tieronecrush · 10 months ago

Text

BNBG (brand new baby girl)

frankie morales x curvy OF/cam girl f!reader

summary: frankie has been needing distractions from a hurdle in his sobriety, so he ventures to his frequented subscription service platform to take his mind off things. he sees the title of your page, intrigued immediately, and dives deep into your content. catching your attention on a livestream with his confident commands, frankie becomes infatuated with you and an avid viewer before he decides to DM you one day...and then ends up with a brand new baby girl.

wc: 11k

rating: E (very)

warnings: daddy kink!! **cover does not depict anything about the reader, simply vibes of softness**, vague descriptions of reader's body (plush, thick, curves, soft, etc. no definite descriptors used otherwise. picture her as you want but she is mid to plus size in my head 🫶), no age specified (only that reader started out of college, no specifications of when she went to school), discussions of addiction & drug use, childless frankie au, sex work, sex livestream, consumption of porn, unestablished relationship, online relationship, pet names (conejita, baby, babygirl, pequeña, bunny, etc.), gratuitous descriptions of frankie's dick, SMUT, male masturbation, female masterbation, sex toys, both frankie & reader have thoughts about the other (unprotected piv, fingering, oral, etc.), major dirty talk, d/s dynamics, some fluff sprinkled in <3, this might be lowkey problematic that frankie uses porn to cope (esp reader's porn) buuuuut hopefully it's hot

a/n: cover design & dividers by me 💋 this is an unhinged daydream of mine, hope y'all enjoy! huge thank you to my besties @kiwisbell and @northernbluess for beta-reading 💓

The time on Frankie’s phone screen turns over to well past midnight. Bedroom pitched black save for the blue light illuminating his face as he scrolls on Instagram, unable to fall asleep from thoughts stirring. He wants to scratch the itch — to pick at the scab that’s been growing in his brain for over a year. Temptation runs hot in his veins. A craving, deep in his gut. A strong inhale or the rub of his fingertip against his gums. It would be fast. And it would only last less than half an hour — he could manage it one more time, he was sober enough for that, wasn’t he? He indulges himself in other aspects now: drinking, food, lax with his once regimented workout routine.

Frankie can hear the voice of his sponsor, the one he listens to speak at his weekly meetings in the musty church hall. Sure, his sponsor’s got valuable advice for him, having been sober for decades now, but he can’t relate to Frankie. Not really. He doesn’t know the level of temptation he’s consistently faced with, doesn’t know the fucked up shit he’s seen that got him into the substance in the first place.

His sponsor tells him to get into meditation. That it helps him turn his brain off when he has a craving, redirecting the energy into himself and crushing the aching want for it. Or some spiritual bullshit that Frankie doesn’t understand.

And besides, he’s found his own means of meditation.

Exiting the social media app, he opens his browser and types in the website. The light of the phone illuminates his face enough for his saved login to work, bringing him into his plane of piety. Where he escapes at least three times a week, late nights like now and the occasional mid-afternoon or morning on his desperate days off. When the urge is too strong. When he’s formulating a plan of how to get his hands on a tiny baggie, he loses himself — distracts his brain here.

Scrolling through his usual subscriptions, nothing seems to be hitting the spot. One hand grips his phone, thumb gliding along the screen, while the other cups his hard-on through his boxers, palming himself as he searches for something to get off to.

That’s when he sees it — the perfect combination of words that draws him in by the title. Clicking the page, he’s quick to pledge his monthly amount, eager to get access to all that lies beyond the paywall. And what he’s greeted with, pulls a sigh from his lips in the quiet room, his large hand squeezing his cock through the thin fabric elasticated around his waist.

“Fuck…” he mumbles to himself when he sees that there’s a live stream happening. A cosmic intervention for him, he thinks, a sign that he’s meant to satiate his vices with this.

With you.

The screen changes to a vertical view of you in front of the camera, iPhone seemingly propped up against something while you sit on your mattress. It’s so…delicate and soft. Those are the words he can think of to describe the backdrop that he takes in quickly. Billowing white comforter on your bed, pillows surrounding you. The first thought he has is that it looks like a bed he could easily sleep in — much more inviting than his. There are touches of blush pink, sky blue, and more. A complete rainbow of desaturated colors.

It all compliments you. Centered in the frame, the next sound you make drags his eyes back to your form as you move around. Another squeeze to his cock draws a longer sigh from his lips as he combs across the view of your body, scantily clad in a thong and a bra covered in cherries. The cups of the bra push up the weight of your breasts, spilling over the edge. His tongue runs across his lips to wet them, a new craving ravaging his mouth as he wonders what you would taste like with the skin of your tits dampened by his saliva.

The rest of your body is as softly lined and curving as your chest, waist swooping into your hips as you sit on your knees in front of the camera. Thick thighs spread with the press of your calves into the back of them, the inside of them meeting at the apex and providing cover for what he so badly wants to be shown. There’s a line of your stomach above the waist of your panties, supple skin glistening. Delicious, is all he can think to himself. You look so fucking delicious that it floods his mouth with saliva, enough that he feels the overwhelming need to push his boxers down, freeing his hard cock to rest against his stomach until he’s spitting into his palm and starting a slow, languid pace.

The grain of his palm drags against the length of his cock as he keeps a steady flick of his wrist. Not too fast, but not achingly slow. Enough to start stoking the burning coals in the pit of his stomach as he watches you on the small rectangular screen. Puffs of hot air leave his mouth, his jaw hanging open while he watches you shift to reach for something out of frame, the first look at your ass gifted to him. Rounded swell of curves with the fabric of your thong dipping between them. The slight jiggle of your cheeks makes Frankie moan quietly, taking the briefest moment to picture that same ripple in your skin from him fucking you from behind.

“Shit…” he grumbles under his breath, minorly increasing the pressure of his grip to squeeze his cock as his hand moves, desperate to mimic the feeling of someone — apparently you, despite not knowing anything close to your name.

Skin on skin catches on the base of his dick and he exhales sharply with his teeth bared, opening his palm to spit once again. It’s not enough, but he continues the slide of his wrist as he sets his phone down on the mattress briefly, reaching over to his nightstand, pausing once again to dispense a pump of lotion into the palm of his right hand. Wrapping the moistened hand around his cock again, he starts a faster pace before slowing down to drag out his pleasure longer.

Returning into the frame fully, he sees your face for the first time and coughs as his open-mouthed inhale seizes in his throat. His fingers circle the base of his cock, squeezing hard as he takes in your face. Perfectly primped with a layer of makeup, but he can tell you’ve got the kind of beauty that wouldn’t ever need changing or enhancing — effortless. Velvety skin, as silky as the rest of your body but with an added glow. Bright eyes that are shining with mischief and want, and a smirk that’s as playful; he finds himself shutting his eyes again, for a few lazy strokes as he pictures that face, and your plush, pliable body, on your knees in front of him. Eagerly awaiting his cock to fill your mouth.

Fuck, you’re really doing a number on him tonight. He needed this. His desperation for a high of any kind coats his open mouth with each labored breath.

Focused back on his phone, you show off the treasure that you dug for off-camera. A lilac vibrator, one that fits the length of your hand, with a swell of size rounded off at the tip and tapered in at the end. Leaning closer to your camera, Frankie groans when your tits bounce, spilling out of your bra with a tiny nip slip that he catches immediately. And it only makes him want to see more.

“Mm, c’mon, pretty girl, show me something here. M’fuckin’ dying…Necesito la distracción (I need the distraction),” Frankie speaks toward the screen, feeling pathetic as he barters with you in the one-way system.

As if you heard his pleas, you adjust your position, laying back on the mountain of pillows to prop yourself up and letting one leg fall open. Even in the lowered lighting of the room you’re in, presumably your bedroom, he can make out the wet patch covering your folds. He finds himself wondering if the act of getting off in front of a camera, in front of people watching live, is what gets you wet. Or if you have a fluffer like he’s heard they do in porn.

He’d wanna be your fluffer.

Or maybe he’d want to be the one to fuck you in the porno. At least both of you’d get to finish then.

“Think I need someone who knows better than me to tell me what they wanna see.” Your voice is saccharine, the slight fry in your voice jolts his hips into his hand, mumbles of curses slipping from his lips. “Anybody have any suggestions for me, chat?”

A low hum starts when you press the button of the vibrator in your hand, spreading your knees further to open your core to the view of the camera completely. Your opposite hand to the toy hooks into the crotch of your thong, pulling the small bit of fabric, practically a string with the amount it’s covering.

Frankie’s mouth waters as the speed of his hand picks up, the grip of his fingers not nearly as satisfying as the clench of a pussy, but he’ll make do. He has been for a year; you know what they say, no relationships for the first year sober. That, and he couldn’t find anyone that could take his mind off of coke long enough for him to get it up. So eventually he just let it be.

Now, though, he’s painfully hard. The quick movements of his hand send a shock of pleasure up to his brain, veins contracting with the extra effort to keep the blood supply to his cock. Thumb brushes over his tip, mixing in his precum with the other lubrication, a hiss from behind his teeth shot out from the stimulation. His gaze is glued onto his rectangular screen, huffing out deep breaths while you press the vibrator against your clit. There’s a quiver in your thighs that he notices, as if this is your first touch after teasing yourself, or someone else teasing you. Sensitive already.

Biting your lip, your eyes scan the screen as you read aloud, “FiveFingersAtFreddys said ‘Take your bra off please.’ Well, actually he said ‘Take your tits out’ but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, dude, and say that you actually do have good manners.”

He laughs, and it’s a first for him. Laughing at someone’s jokes as he jerks off, alone.

You comply with the request, taking the vibrator away from your clit to reach around and unclasp your bra. Tossing the material aside, you lean back into the pillows again and the next sight nearly makes Frankie come right then and there until he takes his hand away completely. Laid out, legs open and fingers pulling your panties aside, vibrator pushing into your clit and driving a high-pitched moan from your lips. All while you're bare from the waist up, cushioned torso melting into your heavy tits, pert nipples bringing them to a point. The form of a Greek classics statue, one with fleshy outlines carved impeccably from marble.

“La obra maestra (A masterpiece)…” Frankie whispers to himself, the squelch of his lotioned hand working his hard length bringing him back into his body, a moan slipping from his mouth.

“I think I need someone else to tell me how I should play with myself. M’so wet, jus’ wanna touch myself but I don’t know where to start. All seems like—like it’s going to feel so good,” you stutter out when your hips buck against the vibrator, a whimper echoing from your chest as you turn your attention to the chat again, awaiting intriguing instructions.

Maybe it’s sexual frustration, maybe it’s pathetic. Maybe it’s the intense fucking craving to replace his need for coke high with a need for an orgasm, but for whatever reason chosen, Frankie finds himself clicking on the comment box with his thumb, typing wildly with one finger. He takes a second to read it for spelling errors before he presses send. Too lost in it all now to care.

Your eyes perk up, smirk growing on your face when you read the influx of chat replies. One must have caught your eye because the vibrator is being left to the side again. Fingers hook into the waist of your panties, slowly pulling them off as you read aloud the comment that caught your attention.

“There’s a new name I see here…Maybe we should do what you want, Mr. FlyingFish. Consider it a welcome gift from me to you.” His heart is pounding in his chest, hand gripping tighter and twisting around his dick as he fucks his fist, mumbles of curses spilling out as he listens to you repeat what he desperately typed not a minute prior. It sounds dirtier coming from you, despite his best efforts at politeness, “You said ‘Please show off how many of your little fingers fit into your pretty pussy. Think a pretty girl like you deserves to fuck her fingers…’ Alright, FlyingFish, you’ve got me blushin’ from that request and that is difficult to do, sir. Thank you for calling me a pretty girl. I promise I’m smart, too. I’ll be sure to count ‘em for you.”

One finger slips into your dripping entrance easily, the other hand reaching for the vibrator and replacing it at your clit while your finger starts to fuck shallowly, “One finger…”

Whines of frustration crack over his small speakers before a bigger moan falls from your lips, a second finger slid into you alongside the first, “Oh, fuck…That’s two. Mm, how am I doin’? FlyingFish, d’you think I can get another?”

Frankie’s wrist flicks rapidly now, the direct address to him driving him mad as the sounds of his arm slapping against his stomach and thigh clap in his room and cut into the sounds your pussy is making as you get yourself off. He types as quickly as he can, strings of curses flowing from his mouth as the heat of his desire burns red hot inside of him. He’s so fucking close but he wants to watch you fall apart at the same time. Wants to be the reason you come.

“Oh, shit—you’ve got a mouth, FlyingFish. ‘I’d hope you can take another, otherwise, you couldn’t take my cock.’ Is that a promise, Fish? You saying you got a big dick for me to take?”

You whimper and he’s edging himself, squeezing hard to stay together when you inadvertently use his call sign. The closest thing you have to his name, and all he can think about is you screaming it while he’s fucking you. He wants to tell you it’s a promise only if you follow through, indulging in the fantasy of actually getting to touch you only for a moment. But instead, his attention is completely drawn to a third finger stretching your cunt in full view of the camera, your wanton moans popping in his speakers and driving his forearm to burn with the strain of muscle as he attempts to fist his cock even harder.

“Fuckfuckfuck…Come for me, baby, please fucking come on those fingers,” he begs no one but himself, a blinding white heat licking the entire inside of his body as he balances on the edge. Waiting for you to fall first.

“Oh my god, fuck…” The last word is drawn out, pitching up at the end as your fingers fuck faster, squelching sounds of your wetness flooding his mouth as his brain pleads for a taste of your cunt. “I don’t think—I don’t think I can get a fourth. M’gonna fucking come—ah! Oh, fuck me, Fish…”

You barely whisper his name, or at least what is his name to you, but it’s singlehandedly what punches out his guttural moan, ropes of warm, sticking spend coating his hand as he keeps moving and spilling onto his stomach. It’s prolonged, the tension in his calves relaxing after he spills the most come he has in a while.

Airy, light, a rush of blood back to his head has his whole body tingling with a high. Satiating his cravings from earlier, dissolving the want, the need, for anything of the sort. Instead, it’s replaced with thoughts of you — the image of you laying fucked out on his phone, adding his own touch of imagination when he closes his eyes to see you as you are but covered with his come the same way he is. Normally, this is when the smallest bit of shame crawls up his spine and sits at the nape of his neck, but instead, he melts into warmth. Faced with your smile as you sit up and lean over toward the camera again, laughing to yourself as you end the live.

“Um, if you’re still here, thanks for that FlyingFish. Felt fucking good…And to everyone else, I’ll stream again on Monday night, same time as always. Night, everyone. Have a good weekend.” All he hears before the sound cuts out is your excited giggles, the brightness of your post-orgasm joy stretching a smile across your face. He’s faced with a black screen, staring back at himself in the reflection with the shit-eating, smug grin he has on his face.

Now he’s got plans for Monday night.

Frankie hasn’t been able to get you out of his head. He’s hooked. Images of your sloping curves flash behind his eyes on the days when you’re not available to watch, his hips fucking his fist in bed, the shower, even on his couch with the blinds all open because he was that needy. Thoughts of you replaced his thoughts of the white powder, chasing after the different high he’s gifted by your voice, your body — all through a screen.

He’s caught himself rasping affections as he pictures you, hissed compliments as he comes and imagining what he’d say if you were in front of him. Letting him use your mouth or your cunt. He’s even gotten into a habit of imagining his head between your legs; the hardest he came is the one time he pictured you sitting on his face and all of the pretty sounds you’d make for him. Fuck, cariño, that’s so good. Mm, bonita, you’re such a good girl. Love doin’ what you’re told, don’t you, baby?

The fact that he doesn’t even know your name but is this infatuated isn’t lost on him. He knows he has an addictive personality, but this feels different. Like he was meant to find you for some reason. His sponsor would tell him it’s a call from the universe that this is all part of his ‘journey to sobriety’, but really, he just thinks that you’re fucking hot. And the tiniest part of him thinks you might like him watching too, even though you have no idea who he is.

Each time he watches you live, his thumb taps across the keyboard, responding to your requests and even adding in some encouragement. Virtually having conversations with you, he quickly became a frequent flyer (your joke, not his). You listen to him. Like the sweet girl that you are. Taking his suggestions — his demands when you beg — and showing off for him, a whimpering mess when he’s done with you.

At times, it feels like he’s the only one watching, or at least the only one that matters to you. With the amount of times his username falls from your lips, it’s easy to fall into a bubble of you and him. You’ve picked up the habit of referring to him as ‘Fish’ and it’s driven him mad, the closest thing to his name that he’ll hear you say. You give him material to think back about for days after. I love a man that knows what he wants, Fish. You can boss me around, Fishie. I always know what you tell me to do is gonna feel so fucking good.

All of this over the last few weeks has built up his courage, which is why he finds himself sitting on his couch with your profile open, the sun barely set outside. A random baseball game plays on his TV, but his focus is completely on his phone, writing and deleting a DM to you about ten times.

It has to be right. Friendly, but not stalker-ish. Flirty, but not creepy. Commanding enough to get your attention among what he imagines are countless messages in your inbox.

After another good ten minutes drafting a message, his thumb hovers over the ‘Send’ button for a few seconds. Squeezing his eyes closed, he lowers his finger and hits the button, anxiety washing over him as he opens his eyes to stare at the blue bubble.

No going back now.

Standing at the stove, water boils over the side of the pot while you pour in the uncooked pasta noodles. A few drops hit your skin, mumbles of curses leaving your lips, “Fucking shit!”

You stir the pasta before reaching for the nearest kitchen towel to wipe the once-scalding water off of your hand. A deep sigh exhales, relaxing your shoulders as the ding of a notification draws your attention to your phone lying on the marble countertop next to you.

What you find on your lock screen sends a shock of excitement down your spine, the warmth of anticipation radiating around your body to tingle your fingers and toes.

[Direct Message:] FlyingFish

Quick to swipe up, the device unlocks with a scan of your face and opens a new notification when you click on it with your thumb. Subconsciously, your opposite thumb has ended up between your teeth, biting down on the skin as you hold back an eager grin while you wait for his message to load.

You’ve never had this reaction to a message before, actually, it was usually the opposite. Rolling your eyes, ignoring the men until the last moment. Only responding to keep them enticed and subscribed — all of which keeps more money in your pocket. That’s really why you started this whole thing anyway.

FlyingFish:

Hey

A puff of air exhales through your nose, a chuckle cutting the otherwise silent kitchen. Shaking your head to yourself, you can’t help but smile at your screen. Heartbeat fluttering, you internally kick yourself for having such a reaction to such a simple message. Not even knowing who this person is, you find yourself typing back a response.

Hey there Fish

Guess I never actually asked if I could call you that

You turn back to your task at hand, continuing to cook your dinner and attempting to put out of your mind all of your assumptions about this person messaging you. You’d guess it’s a guy, an educated inference based on the demographics of your audience, but everything else is a complete mystery. The one time he insinuated he had a big dick stuck in your mind, and based on his behavior, you’d like to assume he isn’t lying. An image of a man sticks out to you each time you whimper his nickname, on camera and that handful of times off camera and alone: tall, solid, and strong. Brunette, only because that’s your type. Rough hands and commanding touches. Someone to bend your stubborn will into submission. He’s confident, at least through the chat, and he seems to know what he’s talking about. Each time you see his username pop up, you can feel yourself start to get wetter. Since you started this whole gig, there hasn’t been anyone quite like him. It’s always people asking for more for them — Show us your tits. Say my name. Turn around so we can see your ass.

But with him, it’s the opposite. He asks for more for you, which you guess is what he gets off to, not that you mind. Bet one more finger would feel even better for you, baby. Curl your fingers, cariño. You reaching that special spot? Gotta get deeper for me, baby. Rub slower, drag it out. Promise it’ll be even sweeter at the end.

Always polite but stern in his demands. Never too much, mostly not enough for your taste. He’s built up an appetite in you that you haven’t had before, a desire to please and to be good for him. All of it doesn’t feel like performing when he’s telling you what to do, it feels like he’s there, deep rasp in your ears as you picture thick fingers in place of yours and tight grips on your plush curves. Fingerprint-shaped bruises left behind and sore muscles in your thighs from holding yourself up as he asks you to come for him over and over and over.

A vibration against the hard surface of the countertop refocuses your gaze from a thousand yards away. Turning to grab your cell, you rub your thighs together in hopes of relenting the ache between them from your daydreams. Wet panties get caught in your folds, discomfort only momentary before you lean over the counter and open your legs, reading the mystery man’s response.

You can call me anything you want bonita

But I will tell you that Fish is pretty close to my name

Fish is close to your name?

What is it? Bass? Salmon? Trout?

Funny

Fish is short for Catfish which was my call sign with my Special Ops team

Ahhh a military man. You know I like a man in uniform

Oh really? :)

Don’t wear it anymore but does it still count if I was once a man in uniform?

Hmm

:( please?

I wanna be liked by you

Showing your cards there Fishie

Not trying to play it cool?

Once you get to know me baby you’ll come to find out that me and cool don’t really go together.

I doubt that’s true

So Catfish is your call sign? Who came up with that?

My buddies on my team

Said I couldn’t grow a beard for shit and that it looked like I had whiskers

So Catfish

Well I don’t wanna call you Fish if it’s mean like that :(

What’s your real name? If you wanna tell me

Are you gonna sell my identity and let someone tank my credit score?

Never

It wouldn’t benefit me much if your card gets declined every month

I appreciate the honesty baby haha

My name’s Frankie

I like your name Frankie :)

It’s nearly an hour of messaging back and forth, flirting intermingled with genuine curiosity about the other’s life, history and background. Frankie learns that you were struggling to find a job straight out of university and needed to make rent, so you figured it couldn’t hurt to try out selling content. You detailed briefly the time that you grew your following, telling him about your Instagram too, which he follows in that instant. The notification makes you laugh and you follow him back despite the profile being completely empty of any information besides his name. Not even a profile picture. He learns that you don’t speak much to your parents anymore, that your siblings live across the country so you don’t get to see them much.

He tells you about his family — no siblings, parents that live in another part of the state and refuse to visit him in the city — and his chosen family, the Special Ops guys. Laughter hiccups from your chest when he recalls a few of the better stories from them, telling you about each other them as if he was preparing you to actually meet them. He has that thought, briefly, about all of you out for drinks. How they would probably like you as much as he does; your charm and sincerity would hook them all just as it has for him. Frankie tells you all about his current hobby, fixing up an old, cherry red 1978 Jeep Cherokee. How the only other time he spends online is searching for car parts, watching Youtube as he works on the vehicle in his garage.

You make a cheeky comment that he must be good with his hands before sending another message immediately:

Would you wanna actually talk? Like on Facetime maybe

Frankie stares at the message, blinking slowly as if it will disappear. You’re asking to talk to him? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I mean, if he knew that was an option he would have asked himself…

He wouldn’t and he knows he wouldn’t based on the way his stomach has dropped to his feet, his hands have gone clammy and his throat tightened. Swallowing hard, he whispers a small pep talk to himself to work up the nerve to say yes. He wants to see you, he always wants to see more of you, but the fact that you’d see him as well…he can’t cope.

Heat trickles across the back of his neck and up his cheeks, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as his brain completely wipes any thought to respond. Dropping his phone into his lap, both of his hands reach up, one grabbing the brim of his cap and lifting it from his head while the other runs through his hair to push it back away from his face. In the corner of his eye, he catches his left knee bouncing. Lips press together in a thin line, rolling the flesh between his teeth before he picks up his phone again and sends a message back to you with just his phone number.

Not even a minute later, his screen lights up with a list of digits strung together in an unfamiliar order. As if it were possible, he felt his stomach drop lower than his feet, deep into the ground below and burrowing away along with his confidence.

Shit, this was a stupid idea. He’s going to make a fool of himself and you’ll lose interest and he’ll have to think about you every day for the rest of his life and wonder what you’re doing, how you’re doing, even what your name is—

Fuck, he’s gonna miss the call.

Frankie decides that it is much more embarrassing to miss the call he just sent his phone number for than to potentially come off as uncool, so his finger swipes to the right to answer. Quickly, he turns off his camera before you notice, opting for the level of anonymity to remain.

“Hi, Frankie…” Your candied voice drips with sweetness around his name. He’s been imagining you saying it, trying to get it right in his mind over the past few weeks, but hearing it now he relishes in the fact that none of them were right. None of them sounded like spun sugar, like it did just now.

You fill the frame from your shoulders up, the same bright smile on your face that he’s seen at the end of each live, after he’s had his fun with you, but looking completely different out of that context. It’s a bit shy, demure in the way you're resting in your bed against your pillows, t-shirt on and fresh-faced. You look beautiful. And it makes him feel a bit silly that you can’t see his reaction.

“Hey, bonita. M’sorry I don’t have my camera on, jus’ nervous. Didn’t want you to hang up right away gettin’ a look at this mug,” he says with self-deprecating laughter at the end, watching as your brows knit together with a pout on your lips.

“You don’t have to apologize, Frankie. M’happy to do whatever you’re comfortable with. Besides, if your voice gives me any indication of your looks, you’d probably be making me way more nervous.” Teeth bite into your bottom lip as you hold in a grin, a hand coming into view to nudge at your nose. He’s seen you do it a few times on live, whenever you’re waiting in anticipation. For him, he’d like to think.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” he teases, the smirk playing at his face evident in his flirty tone.

“You jus’ sound…nice.”

“Nice? That’s all? Why would that make you nervous, baby?”

A sigh slips from your lips, rolling your head back as he hears the smallest whine from you. His cock jumps in his sweats, already half hard from the flirty back and forth in your messages.

“God, you’re going to be a problem with all those pet names,” you say exasperated. Frankie laughs at his screen, feeling like an idiot sitting here alone and smiling like a fool. You’re cute when you’re mad.

“You can tell me your name and I can use that instead?” he propositions, licking his lips as he awaits the piece of information he’s been chomping at the bit to have.

“No! I mean, I’ll tell you my name, but…I like the nicknames. Keep them. Please.” Your words scramble out and it makes him grin wider, witnessing you as nervous as he’s feeling. When you give him your name, he repeats it a few times, rolling it around in his mouth, tasting the syllables on his tongue. Delicate, floral, sweet but a slight tang. Smooth as it rolls across his vocal cords, soothing the rising heat he’s feeling with a refreshing chill. Like peaches and cream.

The two of you chat back and forth for a while, pride swelling in his chest when you laugh at his stupid jokes or give him a compliment, despite being none-the-wiser to his looks. He’s quick to make you blush with his comments, telling you how beautiful he thinks you are. And Frankie’s thanking himself for keeping his camera off, because at times during the call, his eyes drift to your chest, blatantly staring at your perked up nipples through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. It grows his hard on, the softness of your breasts bouncing around as you restlessly squirm during the call enticing him to picture getting his mouth on them. He’d guess you’d taste the same as your name.

The next time you move, he watches your chest again before a sight in the background catches his eye, drawing a chuckle from his mouth. A stuffed bunny lays next to you in your bed, messy with age and love. A soft pink color with a red ribbon tied around its neck, he finds the need to ask about it prodding in his mind.

“Is that who films everything for you?” he jokes, watching your face twist with confusion before looking to your side and bursting out in a laugh. Returning your eyes to the camera, you shake your head timidly.

“No, unfortunately he’s pretty limited to cuddling.”

“He? Didn’t know you had a man in your life, baby. Feels like we shouldn’t be talking like this in front of him.” The sound of your laughter quickens his pulse, the melody trilling in his ears with comfort.

“Well, I guess if you could offer me more than cuddling, he could be demoted.”

“I think I can offer more, Conejita.” Frankie watches as something akin to excitement, but burning brighter, flashes in your eyes. You sit up more, one eyebrow raising in challenge.

“What could you offer me, Frankie?” It’s a loaded question. He could be polite, steer the conversation away from where he so desperately wants it to go, to be a gentleman. It would be easy to make a joke, to get you both to move on.

But he always wants to see where this could go. You’re the one who wanted to talk on the phone in the first place. And he would never suggest anything to make you uncomfortable, and he thinks that you know that. It’s like what the two of you do in your lives — a conversation, a back and forth that may end up benefitting both of you.

“Depends on what you’re lookin’ for, Conejita. I’m a man of many talents.” The words are slick on his tongue, silvery with enticement.

“Hm…” you ponder out loud, tapping your index finger against your bottom lip before turning back to the camera, “Can you cook?”

“Decently. Can’t claim I’m a chef, but I feed myself. And m’pretty good at a grill and makin’ some of my mamá’s recipes. Insisted on teaching them to me so they didn’t end with her.”

Grinning warmly, he feels his heartbeat kick up against his chest, thumping hard at the sight of you giving him that look. “That’s so sweet that she taught you. You can teach me, then someone else in the world will know her recipes too.”

Christ, you’re so fucking adorable. He doesn’t know what he wants more in the moment: to keep talking and simply listen to your voice, or to flirt his way into something more.

“She might be a better teacher than me, baby. Would probably be over the moon if you asked to learn since she had to force me a bit,” he laughs along with your quiet giggle, taking a deep breath when you bite down on your bottom lip.

“Are you a good teacher of other things?”

“I’d like to think so. Haven’t I taught you new things already, Conejita?”

There goes his heartbeat when you look away from the camera, smirk lifting your cheekbones as your demeanor goes shy, shrugging your shoulders as you lay back again, shifting to get comfortable.

“You have…And now I’ve learned how sexy your voice is, too. I’ll be picturing everything you type now to be said in your voice.”

Frankie breathes out a chuckle, a heat burning the nap of his neck, trickling down his back. He feels the effects of his blood rushing below his belt, ever-so-slightly lightheaded as he quietly palms his bulge in his sweatpants.

“My voice is sexy?”

“Um, duh. Are you kidding me? You sound all…rugged and raspy and deep. Like you could manhandle me easily,” you admit your thoughts easily, and he sighs quietly at the thought of having you in front of him to throw around his bed and mold you into the positions he dreams of getting you into.

“No tienes ni idea de lo que haría contigo (You've got no idea what I would do with you)...” he mumbles under his breath, hearing a soft whimper from you. One of your arms is slung across your front, pressing your breast into the other and he can take a guess as to what your hand is up to. “You want some help, baby? I bet you’re jus’ feeling so needy, aren’t you? Listening to my voice got you that worked up?”

“Mhmm…I need it, Frankie…” Your voice has the edge of a whine and he exhales slowly as he hears you beg for him. Not his call sign or a username. His name. Him. There’s no one else who’s making you feel this way, no one else striving for attention.

He pushes his pants down, pulling his hard cock out to start slowly stroking. You’ve left him aching, dripping precum that his fingers smear around his length to lubricate as he moves up and down in a teasing pace.

“Use your manners, Conejita. What d’you say?”

“Please. Please, Frankie. I wanna hear your voice, I want you to tell me what to do.” He hisses from behind his teeth as he squeezes his cock at the base, leaning his head back against his headboard before his focus zeroes in on you on his screen, asking for his guidance, his control to get you off. No one else privy to the sights he’s seeing.

“Good girl. Such a good girl for me, baby. Why don’t you take off your shirt for me? Let me see you, bonita.” Wetting his lips with his tongue when you move to prop your phone up on your mattress, an expert at framing yourself perfectly. The thin, worn fabric of your sleep shirt slips over your head, leaving you on full display for him — already pantyless. Whether you started the call with any on is a mystery to him, but now, he settles back to tell you exactly what he wants from you…what he knows will feel good for his conejita.

“Okay, bunny, lean back for me…That’s it, get comfortable. Good girl.” Looking into your camera to your side, a nervous smile plays at your lips, shyness overcoming you as you wait with bated breath for Frankie, who’s still a mystery to you, to instruct you. It’s driving him mad, how trusting you are of him without ever seeing his face. Such a sweet girl. His sweet girl.

“Show me how you like to play when no one’s watching.”

When his phone dings one evening a few weeks later, Frankie pulls himself out from under the hood of his project car. A familiar fizz bubbles over his body, a Pavlovian response that’s been built over the last few weeks he’s been talking to you. There have been text chains, full of flirty sincerity, and more phone calls, all with his camera off but not all ending like that first one. There have been times when the two of you have had long conversations, full of laughter and learning about the other. A few calls have ended with you falling asleep, stuffed bunny tucked under your chin and pillowy lips parted slightly with deep, even breaths.

Admittedly, he’s grown attached. Maybe a bit much for…whatever this relationship or friendship is, but he can’t help the teenage giddiness he’s felt with every text chime, ringtone, or dial that he’s found you on the other end of.

He’s got a crush.

So immediately at the peal of his cell, he’s reaching for the rag on his workbench, wiping his hands clean of grease before reading over your message.

Conejita:

Hiii 😚

Are you busy?

Grinning like a fool at the gray bubble, Frankie begins to type out a response before abandoning the message and clicking the phone button at the top of your name instead. Pressing the speaker to his ear, he runs a thumb across his bottom lip while he listens to the trill of the dial tone. Steps pace him across the garage, counting them in his head as he waits for an answer.

“Hey, stranger.” The line clicks on and your voice immediately draws a smile across Frankie’s face, hearing one of yours in your upbeat tone.

“Hey, Conejita. What’s up with you?” Even your presence over the phone calms his nerves, sparking kindling low in his gut that spreads down to his toes and up to the back of his neck. Frankie tucks his phone between his ear and shoulder as he wanders back over to the carhood, shutting it carefully. He retreats inside, washing his hands as he listens to you recount your day.

“...So then I got pissed off and left ‘cause she was being so unreasonable. And then I wanted to talk to you ‘cause, I dunno.” The intensity in your cadence slows down toward the tailend of your story of an argument with a friend of yours; Frankie chuckles, biting his tongue while you sigh deeply and he dries his hands off on a kitchen towel.

“You don’t know why you wanted to talk to me? Don’t get all shy on me now, cariño,” he teases you, receiving a frustrated huff on the other end. “Well, for what it’s worth, I agree with you. She sounds like she has a stick up her ass. And m’glad you wanted to call me, Conejita.”

“D’you wanna switch to Facetime?”

“‘Course, I do. Always wanna see your face, jus’ one sec…” Frankie climbs his stairs two at a time, reaching the landing as his screen lights up with the Facetime request from you. He answers it, camera off, while he changes out of dirty clothes and listens to you chatting about plans for the weekend. He mentions going out with the guys tomorrow night, and you make a jest that gets him laughing, both of you bantering back and forth before he settles back on his bed.

“Y’know, I am content to chat with you like this, Frankie. But I keep wondering what you look like…” In the small rectangle of his screen, you lean forward to fill more of it, cleavage exposed in your bralette. He’s been waiting for this to be brought up again, and feeling so much more comfortable with you, he can’t admit he hasn’t thought about it. But with that stronger connection comes the anxieties. What if he isn’t what you pictured? What if he isn’t your type? What if you don’t like him anymore?

Frankie thinks he’s decent looking enough — he hasn’t had much trouble pulling girls since he was a teenager, but not being the most commanding or charismatic in the room, he has had his bouts of struggle in the relationship department.

“Please, Frankie. S’not fair I get to hear your sexy voice and not know what you look like. Pretty please, I’ll give you something special if you do,” you bargain with a pout on your face, bottom lip protruding and puffy. He wants to kiss it away, bite down on the glossy flesh, work away your frowning moue with his own mouth. Wonderings of what you taste like.

Coming back into himself, he wears a proud, intrigued smirk that you’re blind to except for the way his words curl around his slick, silvery tongue, “Oh, is that right, bunny? What if I wanna know what the something special is to decide?”

“Not how it works, silly. Either you want something special or you don’t.” A stern shake of the head, sitting up straight as you raise an eyebrow at him.

He sits with it for a moment, thoughts warring on the inside. In the end, his realistic side barters that either way could end badly: he doesn’t turn the camera on and you get frustrated, ending it, or he does turn the camera on and you don’t like the look of him, ending it. A phantom whisper of your voice, bubbly and bright, reminds him that it could make everything even better, and that ultimately is what convinces him.

“Alright, alright. You make a convincing argument, Conejita.”

A beaming smile stretches across your face as you draw a leg up to your chest, resting your head on your kneecap while you hold back your excitement and anticipation. Frankie takes in the sight of you, astir on tenterhooks.

“Here goes nothing,” he mumbles to himself before his thumb is pressing the camera button, illuminating himself on your screen. He sees himself in the smaller rectangle in the corner, grimacing before he laughs softly and grins, awaiting your reaction with waves of solicitude raging inside.

You see him, your Frankie. Filling your phone screen. Finally.

A nearly inaudible gasp leaves your lips, blocked from the mic by your knee. Studying his face, you witness the lines next to his eyes deepening as he laughs, his shy smile growing on his face. Big brown eyes strike your chest, their sincere softness making you want to fall into their warmth and stay there forever. Like the comforting heat of a mug of coffee on a chilly morning. You note that your visualizations were correct, mostly. Brown hair, curling out from under the cap branded with Standard Oil that sits on his head. Wide set shoulders that extend out of frame, a build to him that screams he most definitely can manhandle you around in bed. His call sign makes a bit more sense to you, seeing patches in his short beard, admiring the one on his left cheek that is shaped like a heart. Simply endearing. The image of him in front of you sends a shock to your core, wet spot in your panties growing as you begin to imagine what the rest of him looks like.

Hot is all you can think. Frankie is fucking hot.

His voice cuts through your trails of admiration, joking around to break the silent tension, “So are you gonna ask me to keep my camera off now?”

As you swallow to recover some of your composure, shaking your head back and forth quickly before a genuinely eager smile paints your expression. Leaning closer to see more of his details, freckles across his neck and where his shirt exposes a sliver of his chest, the peak of his cupid’s bow shaded by his mustache, long eyelashes that reach toward his eyebrows. You drop your knee from in front of you, leaning an elbow on the surface of your desk and resting your shin in your palm.

“Frankie, respectfully, what the fuck? You’re so hot.”

A boisterous laugh rolls from his chest, the same shy smile returning with a blush across his cheeks, “Conejita, you’re the hot one between us.”

“No, no, I’m being serious. You’re like — Damn. Your smile. And you have pretty eyes, Frankie. And you’re just like…really fucking hot. I can’t even think of another word. You should be the one doing what I’m doing.”

“Oh, c’mon, you’re only seeing my face, baby.”

“Yeah, and? It’s a pretty face…Wanna sit on it.” Your giggle cuts through his speakers, and Frankie groans at the comment. Saliva coats your mouth as you watch the muscles in his neck tense, licking your chops like a prowling lion. If only he was in front of you right now…

“Diablita…eres una problema. (Little devil…you’re a problem.) Do I get my special something now?”

Another giggle and a mischievous smirk make Frankie’s brows stitch together in frustration, your shoulders shrugging as you toy with the strap of your bra, hooked under your index finger, “Actually, I think I wanna move the goalpost. Will you show me what I’m missin’, Frankie? I wanna see more.”

Desire burns bright and wild inside of you, ache building between your legs as your arousal drips from your panties and onto your thighs. You’d been picturing him — all of him — for weeks. Ever since that first message. But now, seeing him on your phone screen, your imagination is running wild with newfound information and attempting to fill in the blanks. He has to be big, thickness would be just right. He’s the quiet type, unassuming in his own looks, which means he has to have a virtually perfect dick. It's the rules of the universe. Undecided if he’s cut or not, but regardless, picturing your manicured fingers wrapped around it and tongue licking at his tip. Watching him come undone from you. Stomach tensing, those long fingers that you sneak a peek of when he adjusts his hat wrapped up in your hair. Rasping moans. What would he taste like?

Frankie shakes his head, a quick tsking drawing your attention back to the moment as he looks on with a teasing expression, “Conejita, I don’t think it works like that.”

“Okay, then no special something for you. Your choice, Francisco.”

He watches as you move the strap back up your shoulder, the soft snap of the elastic against your skin. Huffing out a frustrated breath, he mumbles, “No serías tan valiente si estuvieras aquí conmigo, mocosa. (You wouldn’t be so brave if you were here with me, brat.)”

Uncaring in whatever annoyances he was airing with you, you watch him sit up further in the frame, knocking off his cap and reaching for the hem of his shirt. Despite his words, he lifts his shirt over his head, looking back at the camera, bare shoulders and chest on display, “This is what you get for now, bunny.”

Satisfaction glows from your smile, biting hard into your bottom lip while Frankie watches your eyes search everywhere on your screen besides his own. A stern clearing of his throat breaks your trance, a commanding expression on Frankie’s face.

“You promised me something, Conejita.”

A deep pout replaces your grin, huffing in defiance as you slip your bra straps from your shoulders, “Can’t you please take the rest off? Show me what I wanna see, Frankie. Please.”

“Nah uh. Quit demanding, baby. Y’know that’s my job. Now tell me, what are you gonna do for me to get what you want?” His unwavering voice surprises you, despite hearing it for weeks. With the added heat factor of his looks, you crumble a bit quicker, clenching your thighs as you sigh and nod obediently.

“I’ll do anything, Frankie. Jus’ tell me what to do, I wanna make you happy.”

He grins on the screen, sincere softness peeking out, “Oh, baby, y’know it’s easy to make me happy. Jus’ gotta be a good little bunny, yeah?” He hums, licking his lips as he ponders what he wants from you tonight, a night he wants to fill with another milestone for the two of you. He’s only seen you use a small vibrator or your fingers on the phone with you, but he knows what else you have. He’s watched the video of you using it on your profile only about ten times.

“Get your pretty pink toy for me, Conejita. Y’know the one. And then get on the floor and you’re going to show me exactly how you use it.”

There’s rustling as you follow his instructions, stripping bare and suctioning the toy to your hardwood floors, propping the phone up for him to see it all. The hot pink dildo bobbles from you moving around it, glistening with lube that you applied — even though with one glance at your cunt, both you and Frankie know you wouldn’t need it. Straddling over the silicone, you slowly tease your entrance with it, whining before you make one more attempt to Frankie watching you with a smugness in his smirk.

“Please, Frankie, can’t you please show me your cock? I wanna picture it while I fuck myself. Wanna know if it’s how I imagined…Dream about it a lot.” He can read right through your tactics, but his dick can’t. It strains against his zippered jeans, throbbing under the fabric for some sort of relief. He squeezes his palm over it once, exhaling as he shakes his head, strong in his convictions.

“Be a good girl, and I’ll show you what you wanna see.” No more room for negotiations.

“Yes’sir.”

Frankie’s mouth hangs ajar while his focus trains on the apex of your thighs. Watching you slowly sink down, the bright pink rubbery toy disappears inside of you. Whimpers slip from your lips as you brace your hands on your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin. Need burns brightly in his chest and below his belt, clenching his jaw while he imagines biting the meaty part of you, leaving teeth marks in his wake before settling his mouth at your entrance.

Your hips set a quick pace, desperate for the high you’ve been dripping for since getting on the phone with Frankie. A low growl followed with a disapproving tut clicks over the speakers of your phone.

“Slow down, baby girl. Not a race…” Frankie corrects, and the only response you have is a frantic nod, turning your movements to a drag. The toy fills you up, stretches you the most that you have ever been. Pain heats your feelings of pleasure, intensifying it all in the lightness of your limbs and head. The ridges of the faux veins of the fake cock impress into your walls, the tip of it notching at the spot inside of you that Frankie taught you to reach. It only skates by it, whines accompanying your frustrations.

Frankie, on the other end, listens to the squelch of your pussy around the silicone. The sound drives him to fully cup his erection through his pants, palming himself with heady breaths as your own moans for him drive the iron hot brand of need deeper into his skin. He can see your need for a change, your need to be given permission to chase that feeling that’s within reach.

“Lean back, little bunny. Sit back on your hands and use your hips…Show me more of that pretty pussy,” he instructs, cool and confident while his hips buck up into his hand. Being his perfect girl, you do as he says and change positions, gasping when you sink down onto the toy. Your cunt clenches around it, a satisfied smirk painting Frankie’s face. He knows he’s gotten you to hit that special spot. With the grip your entrance has around the base of the dildo, he wonders if you’ll pop it off of the floor on your next thrust.

“Oh, fuck…Frankie, wish you were here. Tell me—tell me what you’d do to me if you were here,” you beg, your hips still dragging at the new angle.

A groan escapes Frankie at your request, biting down hard on his lip and taking his hand away from his lap to deny himself the temptation.

“You love hearing me say all the dirty things to you, huh Conejita?” Without waiting for an answer, he continues, “If I were there with you, I’d would be—shit—I’d be devouring you right now. Fucking you with my tongue and my fingers, making you squeeze me and getting your come all over my face. Gotta get you ready for me, bunny. After, I’d flip you over. Get your pretty ass up for me, and I’d fuck you senseless. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Turn it all off up there and just let me take care of you…”

Nodding, your hips start to move faster as Frankie speaks to you. He doesn’t have the heart to tease you anymore, letting you start to take what you want for a bit. Your moans pitch up, tits bouncing with your nipples pebbled and the rest of your soft curves twisting as you rock back and forth on the toy.

“Yes, please. I want that,” you mewl, heavy breaths erratic.

“That’s right. My baby deserves it all,” he says with a sigh, his large palm squeezing his hard cock again, slowly unzipping his jeans and slipping his hand into his boxers to grip himself at the base. “I’d fuck you until that pretty little brain of yours was filled up only with thoughts of how good I make you feel. How good you are for me, pretty girl…Look at you go, bouncing on that toy. Rub your clit, Conejita. Slow, at least for right now.”

You follow his orders, supporting yourself on one arm. Slow circles against your clit have you shuddering with pleasure, a twitch of your tummy as you moan. Your eyes flutter shut, face twisting with overwhelming need. Frankie drinks in the sight, indulging himself in a few long strokes of his cock before he hears it.

“Daddy…” you breathe, near a whisper, but it’s audible to him. Lost in yourself, you don’t even notice you’ve let it slip until it comes again, “Oh my god, Daddy.”

The surprise of it shocks your eyes open, stuttering your hips as you narrow in on your screen. Frankie’s eyes grow dark, licking his lips as he holds in a loud moan. His fingers grip the base of his aching cock, holding off at the edge. So close to coming when he heard that word drip from your mouth like melted sugar.

He can tell you’re attempting to gauge his reaction, nervous settling in as you attempt to move on from it and continue fucking yourself closer to finishing. Frankie’s eager to take it in stride, clearing his throat before he gives it right back to you, opening that door that he knows won’t be shut any time soon. At least not by him.

“Yeah, that’s right, baby. Let Daddy tell you what you need, yeah?” He chuckles darkly, satisfaction thumping in his veins while you nod and whimper yes yes yes back to him, “Y’know, if you like that lil’ toy, baby, Daddy’s cock will feel even better. S’bigger than that fucking thing.”

“Oh, fuck, I need to—I need you, Daddy, please!”

“I know, Conejita, I know. Poor little thing jus’ needs Daddy to be filling her up, huh? You wanna know what my cock feels like inside of you, don’t you, pequeña?” He hisses with a buck of his hips into his fist, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief second.

“Yes, yes, please, Daddy! Please,” you choke on a breath and Frankie can see you twitch at your inner thighs from the full-on view of your pussy, your tell-tale sign that you’re about to come.

“Y’know the rules, Conejita. Better ask before you come.”

“Please, please may I come?” you moan, rubbing faster circles against your clit and grinding down on your toy.

“Oh, bunny, you can ask nicer than that. May I come…?” he leads, smirking devilishly when you nearly squeal from the way he’s holding you out on the edge. Teetering on the verge of that high that he knows well, he can see your legs faltering with a cramp.

“Please may I come, Daddy?” Your eyes open, heavy-lidded and lips parted with shallow breathing. Frankie gets lost in the sight, wrecked from his direction, his words, a sheen of sweat over your skin and the arousal coating your thighs. A fucking dream.

“Mm, come for Daddy, baby girl—” he’s interrupt as you erupt in a high-pitched moan, mouth wide open as you string together mumblings Oh fuck, Daddy, feels so good. Need you so bad…

“Good girl.”

Frankie hums contently, chuckling as a dopey grin finds your face, blinking through the orgasmic haze. Laying back, you slip the toy out of your pussy, leaving it to wobble in place and spreading your legs around it. One arm comes to rest against your forehead, breasts rising and falling with deep, recovering breaths. He’s blocked of the view that would make this moment even sweeter, licking his lips before he speaks up.

“Lemme see that fucked cunt of yours, bunny. Let Daddy see what belongs to him.” You sit up again, popping the toy off of the floor and laying it to the side to be cleaned later. Frankie hums as you part your legs more, the glittering of your come dripping on your thighs and across your swollen pussy. “Eres un buen oyente, pequeña. (You’re a good listener, little one.)”

“What’s that mean?” you ask, a long exhale punctuating the question.

“You’re a good listener, little one.” Frankie grins when you grow shy, inching your legs together before he tsks again, one hand coming into frame to motion for your lower limbs to part again.

“Y’know, it would look even prettier with my come dripping out of ya, baby.”

“Please.”

“What, Conejita?”

“Don’t tease me anymore…Can’t take it, Daddy.” You lips push out in a pout, subtle but he can catch the change in expression.

“Nah uh, no pouting, bunny. Who said that I was teasing? I’m going to make it happen.”

Sweetness slips from your lips in a giggle, leaning over to pick up your phone and hold him closer to your face.

“So, if I was a good girl, doesn’t that mean I get to see what I asked for before?” Wiggling in eagerness, Frankie feigns ignorance, scratching at his beard as he shrugs, acting as if he didn’t nearly come in his pants multiple times in the last few minutes.

“I dunno, Conejita. What did you ask me for? Gonna have to remind me.”

“Your cock. I wanna see it.” Your pout sneaks back, biting your lip. “May I please see your cock, Daddy?”

“I think I could do that for you, baby. Asking so nicely. Such a good girl for Daddy, yeah?”

“Always.” A giggle bubbles up from your tummy, biting down on your lip as Frankie takes you in, shaking his head in subtle disbelief. How the hell did clicking for one subscription get him here, having Facetime sex with you?

He obliges your original requests, moving to prop his phone up in front of him, stripping down his jeans first. The sight of his bulge waters your mouth, pupils widening in want at the outline of his cock. No tricks of the light, no chance of manipulation like some men in your DMs do. All natural.

And Frankie wasn’t lying. He’s big.

The reveal comes when he tugs his boxers down to his ankles, settling in front of the camera again. His heavy length rests against his lower stomach, precum dripping into his dark happy trail. Your eyes drag over the veins ribbing him, leading down to show off that he’s tastefully groomed. Swallowing saliva, you lick your lips as his large hand wraps around, slow strokes that gently shift the foreskin away from his tip. The end of his cock glistens with pebbles of precum, red and aching. Frankie hisses at the contact, the veins in his neck straining against his skin while he starts to fuck his fist.

“You look so pretty, Daddy,” you compliment sweetly, grinning at him as he laughs quietly back at you.

“Such a sweet little bunny. You think you can take me in your tight little cunt?” A long exhales concaves his chest, quiet moans as his hand picks up pace.

You return his regular favor of talking him through it, detailing how good of a girl you’d be for him, telling him all that he would be allowed to do to you. The sounds Frankie makes has you dripping again, getting his permission to fuck your fingers, both of you driving each other to a peak, your second one taking the breath from your lungs as Frankie comes at the same time. Whimpers escape your mouth as you envy his hand and stomach being covered in his release, biting your tongue and crowding the screen as he shows off how much you made him come.

“Wish I was there to clean you up, Daddy.”

“Right back at you, Conejita.”

A few days later, Frankie calls you after one of your livestreams, grinning like a schoolboy when you answer in only your underwear. You laugh as you set your phone down on the surface of your dressing, his childish smirk turning to a pout as he stares at your white painted ceiling. Calling out to him, you ask for one second while you tug a sweatshirt over your head, shuffling around before grabbing the device and relaxing back on your bed, bunny in your lap.

“Hi, baby,” Frankie coos, one side of his mouth lifting in a smile as he drinks in your cozy, drowsy demeanor. Cuddling with the toy against your chest, you grin back at him, curling up onto your side like a cat.

“Hi, Frankie,” you mumble back, exhaustion heavy in your eyes.

“You sleepy, little bunny?” A slow nod answers his question. “Alright, I won’t keep you up for long then. Just had a question for you.”

The vague proposition piques your interest, your eyes shooting open and the camera being brought closer to your face, “What’s your question?”

Frankie works his lips between his teeth, nerves crackling over his entire body. Realistically, he knows you’ll say yes, but there’s still that chance for rejection in the moment. His left leg bounces against his couch, hand running over his face as he takes a deep breath in, “I was wondering if you’d wanna come visit me here in Florida? If you don’t have time—”

“I would love to come visit, Frankie,” you agree immediately, a sincere smile growing on your face. Frankie mirrors your excitement with a goofy grin, the creases next to his eyes deepening and his dimple cratoring his cheek. “I’ll even book my flight right now, that’s how eager I am.”

Shaking his head furiously, he clicks his tongue in a tut, scolding you playfully, “Hey, hey. No, none of that. I’m not letting my baby pay, I’m the one who asked you to come.”

“But—”

“Nope, no buts. Except yours getting onto a plane and coming to see me,” Frankie laughs at his own joke, earning a playful eye roll as you hold back your own chuckle. “Oh, c’mon, that was funny, Conejita. I can tell you want to laugh.”

The two of you go back and forth while he books your flight on his laptop, showing off the confirmation number once it’s all gone through. Both of you wear shit-eating grins on your faces, sitting in disbelief.

Frankie can’t help the rush of anxiety, unable to tell if it’s solely from his excitement. All he can think about is having you in front of him, in the flesh, in person. No screens between the two of you, no broken signals or shitty wifi interruptions. Hearing your voice without the strain of speakers, getting to touch you, taste you, hear you, feel you all over him. There’s the flash of a vision of you laid out underneath him, making your little sounds that drive him crazy and digging your nails into his back…

“Gonna let Daddy spoil you while you’re down here, baby girl?” Frankie smirks as you stretch sleepily, biting down on your lip.

“You’re flying me out, isn’t that spoiling me enough? Shouldn’t it be my turn to spoil you then?”

“Think you know the answer to that, baby. Having you in front of me is spoiling me enough, I jus’ wanna take care of you.”

The simple statement brings a smile to your face, shyly tucking your face into your pillow. The rest of the call relaxes you back to near sleep, listening as Frankie tells you all about what he’ll take you to do. Your drowsiness catches up with you, drifting off on the phone. Frankie chuckles quietly to himself, sitting with you for a moment silently before he goes to hang up.

“Night, Conejita. Can’t wait to see you.”

taglist: @northernbluess @swiftispunk @joelsversion @mrsmando @ilovepedro @lovers-liability @deathwife @undrthelights @atticrissfinch @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @fishingforpike @msjarvis @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @yazsos @peppesgirl @pastawench @addictedtotlou @brittmb115 @anoverwhelmingdin @spishsstuff @wolfbook87 @mswarriorbabe80 @harriedandharassed @decemberdolly @laiisleitte @fierce-bab @vickie5446 @pertinentpostmortem @livingdeadmaria @sullyosully @bitchwitch1981 @its-nebuleuse @marini03 @piercethevic03 @joeandpedrosimp @kiwisbell @planet-marz1 @txtattoostark @jrosie25 @vee-bees-blog @joelsflannel @k-k0129 @cartoon-garbage04 @nostalxgic @ravenpoe67

#frankie #writing #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #tw daddy kink #cw daddy kink

604 notes · View notes

anika-ann · 3 months ago

Text

Caught (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, fluff, they were roommates and idiots trope

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 8,2k

Summary: You hadn’t exactly planned to get caught in the rain. Then again, people rarely do. But you did.

You hadn’t plan to get caught in the soft spiderweb of feelings for Steve Rogers when your friend had set you up as roommates. Then again, people rarely do. But you did. It was impossible not to.

Arriving at your shared apartment soaking wet sees Steve springing into action to warm you up… and send you falling deeper in love with him with every passing second. But hey – what else was new, right?

Warnings: tooth-rottng FLUFF, idiots-in-love trope, they were ROOMMATES trope, brief mention of PTSD and its symptoms, one gratuitous 'fuck' and French

A/N: cross-written for the Winds of Autumn challenge hosted by @the-slumberparty and for @elixirfromthestars ' writing challenge. Thank you ALL for hosting and breathing live into the community 💕 for WoA I chose 'caught in the cold rain' for the WChallenge I chose “ Why don’t you tell me what I can do to make your day better?”

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @steviebbboi ;enjoy y'all 🥰

This was all your fault; it really was.

There was no one else to blame for your current state.

Soaking wet, hair and clothes dripping alike, shaking so hard you nearly dropped your keys when trying to fit it into the keyhole.

A few minutes was all it took.

And yes; it was all on you.

You had practically been praying for a sweater weather. You had been so fed up with the unbearable summer heat still gripping the reigns even mid-September that you prayed and begged and swore you might be able to kill a man for a single breath of autumn.

So clearly, you had called this upon yourself.

In all fairness, you had wished for Indian summer; the normal late September weather. The light sweater weather. You certainly hadn’t been hoping to be thrown into the weather of seasonal depression, the temperature drop equalling a time machine bringing the end of November to the air and people’s hearts alike. Unforgiving icy wind, endless downpours, poking umbrellas all around, ever-present grumbling as one’s coat brushed against another, the dampness and cold seeping into yours and everyone else’s bones.

Nothing nice and prayers-worthy about that.

The thing was, this had been a daily reality for about a week now – and so one would think you were well-equipped to deal with the weather at least.

Except like the fool you were, you left your waterproof jacket at home, because you had believed today’s weather forecast, confident that the desired sweet and slightly crispy autumn was coming at last.

You and the meteorologists had been wrong.

But that wasn’t the worst part, no – the worst part would be your giddy optimism in the face a sudden NY underground failure.

Taking the ride home from work, you had nearly slammed into people surrounding you in the train at the sudden slam of breaks. A system failure, apparently. Caused by the damage to the network due to previous intense rains. A mishap stopping the trains in their stations, forcing people out.

And like the optimistic half-wit, trying to find a bright side and making the most of a miserable situation, you had thought, hey, it’s only a few blocks from here! No rain on the horizon for a change. What an opportunity to soak in the lovely autumn weather! The buses and taxis will be packed, and walking is good for health anyway.

And sure it was. And you ended up soaking indeed.

The brutal downpour and icy wind caught you in about ten minutes after you had taken off to your brisk walk.

You seriously doubted there was any benefit to your health at all, safe for maybe points to your mental resilience and an excuse to stay in bed with a book and a cup of hot chocolate next week, because you were about to catch a grade-A case of cold.

By the time you got to your apartment door, you were ready to flop on the floor the moment you’d stumble inside, uncaring for the wet smack you’d make against the hardwood or the carpet should you make it further into the apartment.

Except you knew the floor would be unforgivingly hard either way, and cold and you first had to get out of your dripping shoes and then the drenched clothes sticking to your body like a second skin and it would take you forever to strip with how shaky and numb your fingers had turned, the only sensation being cold and stiffness bordering on pain and for god’s sake could you at least stick the damn key into the goddamn keyhole-

You finally opened the door with a gratuitous ‘fuck’ on your lips, practically throwing the door open.

And were met with a surprised sleepy supersoldier blinking at your owlishly, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his white sleepshirt crumbled, the perfect case of bed hair and confused expression completing the most telling startled-from-his-sleep-but-not-Avenger-level-alarmed look.

Even in your state you had to admit he was adorable in a way men built like mountains shouldn’t.

You stared at each other mutely for several seconds, as if both surprised by each other’s presence – or at least state – processing.

You, drenched from rain and puddles, cold-dried by the wind, shivering all over and barely keeping your teeth from clattering as to hold onto the last shreds of your dignity and sanity.

Steve, still slightly disoriented, having just been woken up. Woken up by you, most likely, you thought regretfully, cursing your life-choices again. He was a light sleeper – a mere jiggle of keys would have interrupted his slumber, let alone your endless fumbling around the lock.

You spoke at the same time.

“I’m sorry for wak-” “What happened to you?”

Your voice trailed off, a chuckle of irony echoing in the back of your head.

What happened to you?

That was a question a lot more loaded that it might seem.

What had happened to lead you to this place, facing a sleepy Greek-godlike figure with a concerned look on his face?

A whole lot of coincidences; a whole lot of fate, maybe.

Sam Wilson, a friend from childhood, with whom you had only reconnected a few years ago.

You, having been looking for an apartment ever since your landlord had announced he planned to sell the building to a huge corporation which would, from then on, only rent the apartments to its employees.

Sam again, looking to move in with his girlfriend, claiming he was leaving a roommate behind, who would appreciate a kind, trustworthy and reliable replacement.

Your ‘Gee, thanks’.

‘Wait, no, he didn’t word it exactly like that,’ Sam had assured you. ‘I promise, he’s a real stand-up guy. Sure, a guy, but a respectful one and a neat one, with a sprinkle of a neat freak on top. He’s a great roommate and one of my best friends – I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t believe it could work.’

That was what your friend had said. And you believed him.

One thing led to another.

What Sam had conveniently failed to mention was that his real stand-up guy was a hulking drop-dead gorgeous supersoldier with the sweetest soul on the damn planet. Or maybe in the universe – what did you know? The universe had got a lot bigger ever since you found out it was perfectly possible for aliens to rain down from the sky through some kind of a hole in spacetime.

What Sam had conveniently failed to mention was that your future roommate was one of the heroes from the superhero band that had stopped these very aliens from taking over planet Earth.

After processing – even though you weren’t sure you’d ever finish processing – that you would share an apartment with Captain America, you accepted.

After all, you certainly weren’t one to look a gifted horse in the mouth; experience told you that could have done a lot worse than landing a person vetted by Sam Wilson and by a potentially world-ending event for a roommate.

In fact, you soon learned you couldn’t have done any better.

Steve was all the things Sam had promised.

And besides being the perfect person to share an apartment with, besides being the paragon of justice itself with a sprinkle of neat freak on top, he was also shockingly human.

Steve was a guy who had a routine until he didn’t, his schedule a little funny. He split housework with you in a way that left both of you content even as you felt he was doing a little bit more than his part whenever he could. He enjoyed cooking and baking and drawing and generally working with his hands, fixing any household issues before they could develop into a problem. Sometimes, nights found him in the living room with a book in his hand and quiet movie for a background when he couldn’t sleep. Sometimes, he left dirty dishes in the sink and a toothbrush on the basin instead of putting it into the holder and sometimes he forgot to put the toilet seat down. He was painfully respectful of your privacy and of your sleep alike whenever he was coming back at strange times, almost absurdly so for a man who seemed to barely fit in a doorway.

He had a sharp mind and a subtle but deadly sense of humour on a good day and a quiet demeanour on a bad day, usually after a sleepless or nightmare-filled nights, which were always followed by him walking around the apartment with his sweats tucked into his socks because the draught and the cold on his ankles clearly bothered him. The list could go on and on and it was rather embarrassing for you, the idea for just how long you could keep listing things you observed about Steve and his habits and him; but the point was that he was a guy who was absurdly ordinary guy and extraordinary in about everything at once.

He had introduced as Steve the very day you had met, clearly not standing for any of your Captain, Sir, Captain Rogers nonsense.

He became Steve to you soon after.

He turned dear to you just as fast.

You weren’t sure when it happened; when your relationship shifted from sharing an apartment to sharing a life. It happened gradually, through dinners and breakfasts and films watched together; through nights he found you on the couch, barely awake or already sleeping after having been waiting for him even as he had told you not to; through late-night talks, about both things you were passionate about and things you wished you could forget.

You weren’t sure when this man, larger than life in both frame and heart, became your close friend.

You weren’t sure when the small butterflies that appeared in your stomach every time he smiled turned so all-consuming, spreading their wings through your whole body, circling around your heart.

It must have happened somewhere between his first smile and the sparkle in his warm blue eyes, between the tear-streaked cheeks when you found his shaking breathless body curled on the floor, between a hug and holding your hand when he drove you back from your wisdom teeth removal surgery because no one else was available, between every single minute you had the fortune to spend in his company and those you couldn’t, longing for him instead.

Somewhere in between, you must have fallen in love, the urgent feeling in your chest slowly turning unbearable and heavy. It burned, to stifle it inside, the one secret you wouldn’t share for the fear of breaking something as precious to you as your peaceful life with Steve the friend.

You weren’t sure when exactly it happened, but it got you there.

It got you here; into this very moment, just like many others, facing him and rendered speechless for a breath or two, because god, was he handsome and lovely and sweetly worried and an image of domesticity at once and you were hit with a sharp tug of a feeling whispering of coming home.

What happened to you, Steve had asked, his gaze turning more concerned by the second as you remained silent safe for the rustle of your soaked jacket you had started to strip at some point and the one clatter of your teeth you failed to stifle.

What did happen again?

“Got caught in a rain,” you rasped, stating the painfully obvious. “Underground broke down. Thought I’d walk…”

Steve frowned, sleepiness wiped off his face to give way to compassion and sternness at once, a sigh leaving his lips as he slowly neared you.

“Seemed like a smart idea at the time…” you continued when he didn’t say a word, just gently – always so gently dammit – pushed at the door to get it closed at last, his arms quietly coming around you, engulfing you in his embrace. Your heart startled at the gesture. “Steve, no, I’ll get you all we---wow okay, this is nice, you’re really warm-“

He chuckled sweetly above your head as you babbled, protests dying on your lips with a sound resembling a whine and moan as his warmth enveloped you, so relieving and inviting, prompting you to melt against his firm and yet painfully soft body.

His voice carried an admonishing note as you trembled against him, his warmth and pleasant scent of comfort seeping into your body while the cold and smell of rain soaked him in return. You did not care for the scolding; it was a kind one. And Steve still was still holding you – that was the important part.

And the most painful one.

"You could have called,” he said, like a sweet, even if already lost bargain. “I’d come get you.”

You pressed closer to him, clearly having a glutton for punishment.

Those few innocent words burned through you like the most tender wildfire. An inflection and tone that couldn’t have been good for your heart and yet you revelled in them; a statement that felt like an oath:

I‘d come get you.

I’d always come get you.

I’d do anything for you.

Something so close to love, in your reach and yet untouchable, because he didn’t mean it – he couldn’t mean it, because Steve Rogers had a large heart, but surely would have told you if you had occupied space in it that way.

And yet he held your own heart in his palms and he didn’t even know. Was it wrong you let the gentle words wash over you and let them warm you just as much as Steve’s arms, even if they meant something different than you’d wish?

You gulped, a shiver that had nothing to do with cold running down your spine.

“You only got in like three hours earlier,” you reasoned, forcing yourself to focus on the practical matters as not to slip into whispering a true confession; and perhaps doing so anyway along the way. It was true, however; as per habit and your request, Steve had texted you he was home safe and sound barely few hours ago. Knowing that led you to immediately weed out the mere idea of calling him to pick you up as it appeared in your mind the moment the downpour started. You were aware, however bittersweet the knowledge was, that he would come – that was why you hadn’t called. For his benefit. “You needed to sleep.”

Steve sighed again. And you needed to be picked up, you heard in the weary and yet somehow fond sound.

He didn’t argue, however; his hold grew tighter, appreciative, his broad hand, oh so warm, running up and down your back, pressing a little stronger than he normally would in a hug; allowing the heat of his body sink deeper, into your very bones, sending you sinking deeper into the warmth blooming in your chest as well.

Pressed against his front, you couldn’t but breathe in, allowing everything that was Steve overwhelm over your senses. The woodsy notes and musk of his cologne, the soft material of his sleepshirt burning almost too hot as it clung to his body, the smooth movements of his rough hands, his warm breath brushing your scalp, the image of his minute smile behind your closed eyelids, his voice humming in his ribcage and filling your ears like honey.

“Why don’t you tell me what I can do to make your day better?”

His question was so genuine – and a little wavery in a way that made your belly tingle in response. Tell me what I can do and I will do it. Just say the word, it seemed to whisper in your head, your heart protesting and fluttering in your chest.

You already are, you almost replied as the shudders subdued slowly despite both of you now soaking. You’re back home. You’re safe. You’re with me. And you’re warm. And big. And strong. And you smell good. And you’re holding me oh so tight and gentle and it feels so profoundly nice and you really are warm and maybe this new shiver running down my back isn’t just that I’m cold, maybe it’s that naïve hope of which I should have let go of so long ago-

He noticed the fresh wave of tremble of whose origin you yourself weren’t entirely sure of – your weather escapades or the escapades of your poor heart – and the caress up and down your back grew faster, more of a rubbing to create warmth than a soothing gesture.

“Okay, doll, you’re getting into the bathtub right away. What can I do in the meantime?”

In spite of his words, a benevolent order one might say, he didn’t let go.

Despite his question sounding urgent, you took your time responding; because it took a huge portion of your willpower not to tell him to just keep holding you.

“…hot chocolate?” you suggested meekly, a shy but slightly mischievous smile tugging at your lips when Steve released you at last, those big warm paws of his settling on your shoulders for a moment. “And you should probably change.”

He glanced at his wet clothes self-deprecatingly, as if it was his fault – and in a way, you supposed it was. But you weren’t complaining. The wet fabric clung to his body in the most delicious way, no matter the scepticism he observed it with.

When his gaze met yours again, his smile was the sun itself; but you still missed the heat of his body against your skin.

“You got it, doll. Come on.”

Much to your regret and salvation, he released you completely. You still graced him with a grateful and once again shaky smile which you could and should blame on the loss of his body heat.

“Thanks, Steve. You’re the best.”

And he was.

And if that wasn’t becoming a bigger problem by the minute.

With some of Steve’s warmth lingering – mainly the one his actions and demeanour awoke deep within your body – you managed to get rid of your clothes with enough ease and patience to have the bathtub fill with steaming hot water before climbing in. Sinking into the water then felt about as pleasant as sinking into Steve’s embrace had been – except this time, it was the rest of your body which appreciated the heat, warming you from the outside, tension leaving your muscles, your brain relaxing and slipping into a mindless haze, an absent smile forming on your lips.

You soaked in the tub for long enough to almost fall asleep and slide under the water; the only thing convincing you to fight the slumber off – perhaps besides, well, drowning – was the premise of a delicious cup of hot chocolate made with utmost care and Steve’s company, all the more appreciated since you knew he’d stay for at least five minutes even as he was no doubt falling asleep on his feet himself.

Not wanting to keep him waiting any longer, your climbed from the tub, rushed through your routine and emerged from the bathroom with steam following you, no doubt making for an image of cosiness with your blissfully dry comfortable clothes, complete with fuzzy socks.

Steve must have agreed with your assessment, because he greeted you with a grin.

He had left the two mugs of top tier hot chocolate with actual melted pieces of the treat and whipped cream on top on the kitchen counter, having brought two blankets for the couch, now fumbling with the tv remote. A quick glance around the apartment told you that while you were nearly nodding off in the bathroom, he had made a quick work of cleaning the mess you had left behind; electric shoe dryers already placed in your boots, your drenched jacket near the heating with plastic film spread on the floor as not to do any damage.

You could kiss the lop-sided smile he gave you when you thanked him, your heart hammering in your chest with excitement and longing when he nodded towards the couch. To an outsider, the scene could easily appear as a quiet night in of a couple; a thoughtful beautiful man setting everything up for a date night full of seeking joy in simple domesticity and quiet intimacy.

One day, Steve Rogers was about to make someone incredibly happy.

The idea strung a sharp but brief note of jealousy in your chest, a lump growing in your throat as the rational part of you mocked you that the person wasn’t you. You would have known by now if you were; even though spending time with him did make you all kinds of happy.

You forced a smile through the light sting of tears, trying to stop your mind from racing and spiralling about the thought of having to move out to make space for the vaguely gorgeous and brilliant woman; or maybe sooner, just to put your heart at ease, because with every beat of it you felt yourself falling deeper into the trap of loving this man. It was beginning to hurt; and still, you approached him, smiling.

“Looking cosy. Feeling better?”

You nodded, unable to resist and placing your hand over Steve’s arm, his soft blues finding your gaze.

“Thank you, Steve. Really.”

The lopsided smile returned, his fingers brushing your shoulder. God, he was so close and all you’d have to do was to stand on your tiptoes. You’d kiss his cheek, a purely innocent display of gratitude of course, just to feel his smooth skin against your lips once-

You needed to get a grip. The brief hypothermia you had suffered was messing with your brain and was lowering your inhibitions and that was not good.

“Anytime,” he assured you, nodding towards the screen. “We don’t have to, but I was wondering if you maybe wanted to watch a movie? I feel like we could both use that. But if you’d rather be alone-“

You shook your head quickly, your smile coming easier now because of the absurdity and thoughtfulness of his question at once. To be alone when he was there? No thank you. Who cared that the rational part of your brain huffed again, telling you that maybe that would be a better idea unless you wanted to torture yourself with false hopes.

Saying no was not an option.

You really must have had a glutton for punishment; but in some ways, you learned Steve suffered from the same condition. So maybe that was just his persona rubbing on off you… And thank you, brain, for the worst possible choice of words.

You cleared your throat.

“A movie sounds great,” you said, the mental image of you throwing its hands in the air, grumbling something about your poor old heart. Steve was still very softly holding onto your shoulder though, facing you, mere foot apart; who expected you to think rationally in these conditions? “Fair warning though, I almost fell asleep in the tub. Might fall asleep half-way through this.”

Steve grinned, stepping back to get the mugs and beckoning towards the couch again as to tell you to get settled. You obeyed without protest; you knew him well enough to be aware there was no point in trying to get your mug yourself.

He was the nurturing kind of friend.

“Does that mean I get to choose the movie so you can blame your social and cultural ignorance on my choices?” he teased.

He was also the loveable little shit kind of friend.

“Rude… and I would never,” you protested, accepting the offering of the hot chocolate, now indeed all cosy, tucked in a blanket, sitting comfortably and wrapping your hands around the mug to warm your palms further. “…but deal.”

Steve’s laugh was perhaps warmer than the mug and sweeter than its content, but you stomped at the thought as soon as it popped up in your head. You had no time nor capacity for nonsense. You had a nice evening ahead.

Better not to ruin it.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected, but this was not it.

You had warned Steve about the possibility of you nodding off; after all, beyond having exhausted your body with the less-than-pleasant walk, nearly falling asleep in a bathtub and getting all comfortable on the couch, you had expected the large amount of sugar you’d consume to take its toll eventually and push you over the edge, the infamous sugar crash being the last straw.

You had expected to be out as a light in a matter of minutes, to be honest.

You had not expected the effect of all the warmth and sugars to evaporate much faster than that.

You were maybe twenty minutes into the movie and the anticipated sleep barely scratched the door of your consciousness; instead, the first reluctant shivers arrived. Blatantly ignoring Steve’s subtle side-eye and entirely obvious worry, you sank deeper into the couch, pulling the second blanket over yourself, tucking it all the way up to your chin, curling into yourself to preserve the warmth.

Thirty minutes in, you were shaking so hard Steve paused the movie, a crease forming between his eyebrows as he turned his upper body to you, right hand reaching out before pausing a few inches from your forehead.

“Can I?”

You hummed noncommittally, wondering yourself if maybe your grade-A case of cold was arriving sooner than expected and a fever already hit.

You were feeling just fine though; it was just the damn shivers which you couldn’t seem to stop.

Steve’s hand gently settled against your forehead, his frown deepening almost as if he could feel your heart speed up at the contact and didn’t approve. Which you knew was nonsense, because his whole mind was probably already consumed by the mission of assessing whether his inner Nurse Rogers should come out, but it worked well for cooling off your train of thought.

“It doesn’t feel like you have a fever, but we should probably check,” he hummed thoughtfully, shifting, prepared to rise his feet in search of the thermometer.

Your hand shot up from its safe warm haven, missing the target of his forearm but sending clear enough message to stop him.

He settled back down with a sigh, his hand sliding from your forehead over your cheek to the side of your neck, a delightful source of warmth spreading through your whole body and your suddenly deadly heartrate; a flicker of an image in which he’d place his hand exactly there and leaned forward, his lips brushing yours, nudged insistently at your brain.

You battled it with violent effort, refusing to even consider the soft look in Steve’s eyes was anything but concern for a good friend.

Because that was all it was: concern. What if you turned into an icicle, right? He had seen weirder things than that and he had spent whole seventy years frozen. He was naturally very worried about you having to endure the same.

“I’m fine,” you assured him with a smile that was shaky due to everything but cold. “Just my thermoregulation going haywire after all the excitement today--- Jesus how are you always so warm…”

Steve ignored your question, his hand still firmly set on your neck, the most delicious source of heat, his eyes roaming your embarrassingly shaking form.

“I’ve had a lot of practice with cold,” he said absently.

You could practically hear the wheels in his head turning, even as you were quite busy keeping your teeth from clattering. His eyes were so startingly blue, with the lightest speckle of green standing out for some reason, mesmerizing and warm as if to wreck the theory of these two colours normally belonging to the cold scale and you heart was positively about to beat your way out of your chest, because it appeared as if he was leaning forward a bit and maybe you were entering some kind of delirium, so it really was the time to move.

Move to kiss him, maybe, you bet his lips were warm too and yours were cold-

Okay, that was it.

“Okay, I think I’m gonna go for another soak-“

“Come here,” he muttered at the same time, effectively rendering you speechless when he released you only to scoot back a bit, his fingers beckoning lightly to himself, expression entirely serious.

What.

“I do run pretty hot and frankly I’d rather have you under supervision,” he said matter-of-factly, slipping into the Captain mode – managing to shoot your naïve hopes sky-high and shooting them dead in one sentence.

He was mission-oriented; that was all. He was worried, because frankly, your body was acting out and he was a good friend.

A good friend. A captain, responsible for his own.

There was nothing romantic about sharing body heat; he had probably done it dozen times on a mission.

He was simply concerned. And you should be and were grateful for that and for the practical and grounded approach to the matter at hand; you certainly preferred it to him rushing you to the doctor, because you were still pretty certain it was nothing to be worried about, nothing a good night’s sleep with loads of blankets on top of you wouldn’t fix.

So why the pang in your heart?

Why the regret and disappointment at him simply doing it to assure you’d feel better?

Because you were an idiot and you should have been so much more radical about forbidding yourself from catching feelings while living with Steve. But how could anyone blame you? He was just stupidly attractive and profoundly good and adorably ordinary in his extraordinariness, and you just wanted one touch, one taste, one moment of basking in his light and warmth and actual love.

Was that really so wrong of you?

You swallowed, voice set perhaps a little harsher than needed, the idea of him holding you out of pity making you a little sick to your stomach.

“Steve, you really don’t have to-“

“I want to,” he argued, voice so much softer in contrast to yours, and your body, that traitorous body acted, nearing to his despite your achy heart and hurting brain screaming at you to get to your feet instead, get to the bathroom or your room and lock the door and your heart and throw away the key to keep it safe.

“Steve-“

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he saw you wavering despite your verbal protest.

“Plus, I’m just doing my civic duty of protecting the innocent. You shake any harder, you’ll cause an earthquake.”

Deadpanning, you managed to stop your progress; in turn, your heart fluttered at the sparkle of mischief in Steve’s eye, that stupid muscle in your chest humming with fondness.

Godddamn him.

He knew exactly how to disarm you completely, to have you do his bidding, and he must have known of this power of his, blatantly abusing it for your wellbeing.

What a criminal behaviour.

With a sigh, you lifted your blanket a bit, scooting over to his open arms, carefully laying to his side as his arm slid under the blanket around your shoulders and pulled you closer; his warmth enveloped you in an instant, his hand rubbing gently at your arm, while his other busied itself with tucking the blanket around you to create a safe cocoon.

You felt yourself relax despite your better judgement, cheek laying on his chest, a steady thump-thump of his heart bargaining with yours:

How could you be short with him? Mad at him? He was just being the nicest person in the world, taking care of his friend, radiating warmth and smelling of comfort, selfless and without seeking anything but a simple thank you in return, if even that. And the charming bastard he was, he even tried to make you laugh.

It wasn’t his fault you had gone and fallen in love with him; it wasn’t fair to hold it against him that he was the best person you knew and your feelings were hurt just because he couldn’t think the same about you. Your mind understood that; it was your heart that was foolish.

You chased the thoughts away, only an echo of the ugly empty feeling remaining, giving way to a much more tender and insistent emotion; but mostly to sensation of your shivers subduing, almost as if they had been the trembles of an addict seeking their fix – Steve’s touch – rather than those of someone with messed up thermoregulation.

Maybe they were. But that wasn’t for Steve to worry about.

“Har har… how about your civil duty of being a sassybag…” you muttered in appreciation of his attempt, his chest shaking lightly with a chuckle.

“Oh, I’m taking that one most serious of them all.”

That he was.

The grin in his voice was infectious, however; you smiled against your will, poking his side lightly with your index finger.

“I noticed… but I forgive you.”

Because you’re really warm and sweet and for a moment, I guess I can indulge in the unhealthy delusion of you doing this because you like me close, postponing the ache of sobering up to reality for later.

“I’m glad. How’s that feel?”

Like I want to stay like this forever.

Like I want you to want to stay like this forever.

You shushed the traitorous voice.

“Warm… comfy,” you added after a while, rewarded by a rub to your shoulder, being pulled impossibly closer. And it felt so good.

“Good.”

Simply holding you and sharing his heat indeed for a moment, he let you soak in the comfort. Seconds passed, maybe minutes; you didn’t count the beats of his heart, but heard every single one of them, soothing, whispering the little lie that maybe some of them were for you.

You didn’t argue; you didn’t quite give in.

When Steve lowly asked you if you wanted to continue the movie, you just nodded, grateful for the distraction of how incredibly right you felt in the little fantasy of yours that this, you being here in Steve’s arms, was exactly where you belonged.

As he reached for the remote, you whispered a soundless ‘thank you’.

His ‘you’re welcome’ was softer and warmer than the blankets.

It was a herculean task to accomplish, fending off sleep, but having being in Steve’s company had rubbed off of you; you were anything but determined. Not knowing what the movie was about and what had happened on the screen in the past minutes – since the movie started, really – you still tried not to doze off at least.

You had a creeping suspicion Steve knew, deducting so from your silence or from the way your body was completely pliant against his, but he didn’t call you out, like the gentleman he was. Instead, he had simply stopped moving, safe from the periodical rise and fall of his chest, serving you as the most comfortable pillow you had ever had a chance of laying your head to, soft and warm and solid all at once.

And he seemed perfectly content to serve as one.

Just for that, you had stopped caring a while ago about his motivations. Had this been just a mission to keep a fellow human warm, so be it. He seemed pleased enough to do so and in your hazy sleepy mind, you knew one thing with absolute certainty – and that was that you did find this all kinds of pleasant too. Should the contentedness of yours come from a different place than his, well, you could deal with that later.

Or never.

You were just… happy and at peace.

You weren’t sure when exactly you had closed your eyes, but you had; your voice was slurring a bit too, your determination to fight your exhaustion clearly not enough to win over sleep.

“Thank ya’ for takin’ care of me, Steve.”

At that, the soft statue under you shifted the tinniest bit, Steve’s thumb brushing your arm gently as his arm had remained around your shoulders. His heart was beating a little fast, you thought absently, lulled back into obliviousness by the vibration of his voice.

“You already said that…” he reminded you, humour and something else, sweeter, laced into his voice. “Anytime.”

You hummed in response, sinking deeper into the softness enveloping you.

“Hey… I mean it, okay?”

“Uh huh,” you muttered again, the dreamland already calling you, insistent and so inviting. “Same… arenchya sleepy? ‘m sleepy.”

Silence only sweetened by his still rapidly beating heart settled, another slow caress to your arm, Steve’s voice reaching you from tender proximity and endless distance all at once.

“Then sleep, doll.”

Mmm.

The dreams wrapped around your wrists like tender ribbons, coaxing you to follow them, pulling gently.

You could give in so easily. Letting the dreamland take you felt as simple as breathing; comfortable and warm, and feeling so damn safe that your heart, while peaceful, was aching a little.

And maybe it was the tone Steve had spoken with earlier – so much emotion weaved into a few simple words, so much meaning – maybe it was the subconsciousness forming your dreams, but the memory of one of your favourites book which you had read multiple times flickered through your mind, making you smile. Or maybe it didn’t – you weren’t sure if you moved a single muscle, your body already floating.

Le sommeil partagé était le corps du délit de l'amour, the line read. A pondering of a man to whom sleeping with women meant nothing but entertainment, no feelings attached; not until he held a woman truly dear to him through the night, having fallen asleep peacefully, at last realizing that what he was feeling was love.

Sleeping with someoneor sleeping with someone, that was at the centre of his dilemma; the sharp contrast, one much more meaningful than the other. One a display of desire; the other, display of trust and love. A corpus delicti of love.

It was never like that for you – to you, the physical only came along with emotional, deep trust necessary to both. Having been learning about who Steve was, your mind argued lazily, there was no doubt in your mind Steve felt the same way about his relationships.

But the fact you could fall asleep right there, in his arms, and it felt like the safest place in the world…

It brought along a different memory; a memory of Steve’s large body curled into itself next to you on the couch, three blankets on top of him, your hands holding his, the contact seemingly somehow chasing away the demons of his past that had come to haunt his dreams. You had found him, lost in his own home, trapped in his own mind. He had agreed on a movie even as it had taken a long time to convince him that you weren’t going to back to sleep in your room while he’d try to fight off the invisible enemies his mind had created alone; so you had settled on a movie marathon instead. He had relaxed eventually, the dreamland taking him again, soft snores a lullaby to you – and you had never spoken about it again besides his quiet, ashamed and painfully genuine thank you the next morning. He had trusted you then, maybe feeling just as safe as you were now, despite you being nothing but an ordinary unenhanced human protecting him from evil.

It was a mirror image to how you were at this moment, you mused sleepily; you made him your pillow and a space heater and the source of comfort, while you tiptoed the line of reality and dreams.

His heartbeat thundered softly in your ear, calming but so vigorous and fast; and it slowly dawned to you that his body had stiffened under yours, the sensation nudging your consciousness and pulling you back, away from sleep.

Before you could voice your concern and confusion, his chest vibrated softly under you; his voice caressed you, tender with a hint of a rasp.

“…oui, c’est toujours vrai,” he whispered slowly, the words not making any sense.

Yes, that is always – still – true, you understood despite not being able to grasp at what he was saying truly or why, even as you knew French nearly perfectly, could probably speak it even in your sleep-

Your eyes snapped open, your heart jumping in your chest so fiercely it hurt.

Yes, that is always true.

It is true-

You had spoken out loud.

You had quoted one of your favourite books to him, out loud, speaking of shared sleep and love, and he had read that book too, you knew as much because you had talked about it before, he knew what that line meant, what it meant to you.

But it couldn’t be. He couldn’t be saying what you meant he was saying-

Except that tone. That soft, soft inflection to his voice, his thumb brushing over your arm again, reluctant but firm, his breath having hitched, awaiting your reaction to this… revelation?

And he got it; all sleep evaporating from your body, realizing you were basically lying on top of him – gods, you had no inhibitions in your semi-sleep state – your heart pounded so wildly your ribcage just might set it free. You gulped, shifting so you could look at him, the world slowly coming back to focus as your mind kept echoing the same words, over and over.

Corpus delicti of love. Corpus delicti of LOVE, c’est vrai-

You found Steve with his head bowed, observing you with patient and nervous anticipation, still holding you close to his body, something softly hopeful shimmering in his irises. Shadows of the evening had fallen over the living room but you could still see his perfect face so clearly, the depth of his blue eyes, the two beauty marks on his cheek, the pink lips looking so soft even as they were lightly pressed in a line – expectant of your response.

Your response to him indirectly confessing to---

Was he in love in you too?

The flicker of something you’d never dare to truly believe was real, because it appeared dangerously like adoration, lit up his eyes at your barely audible ‘really?’, a shadow of anxiety building behind the brilliant speckles of green in his irises when he nodded and waited.

As you processed, Steve never took his gaze off you in a display of bravery you were sure you would never have been capable of.

He had nodded. He had nodded.

Unless you were reading it completely wrong, unless--- unless this was just your fever actually taking over, Steve loved you, or at least was on his way to do so.

The overwhelming euphoric feeling rushed through ever nerve ending like a livewire, lighting your body up, your breathing hitching and expanding in your chest, something prickling in your eyes.

Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbed, gaze flickering over your face, appearing almost desperate to read your reaction since you couldn’t seem to verbalize how you felt.

But how could you let out a single word? He had romantic feelings for you too.

“We… we can talk later, if you’d like. You need your rest too…” he argued in a reluctant whisper.

There was no universe in which you were going to fall asleep, ever again and frankly you admired his self-restraint and willingness to wait after having just confessed he was interested in more than friendship and roommate-ship.

Steve Rogers, your Steve, was holding you in his arms, your bodies aligned, and he had feelings for you.

The soft expression – and the nervous energy radiation off him – whispered urgently of you not having read too much into his gestures, of your naïve hopes not being all that naïve, of all of this being true even as it left like a dream.

Maybe it was. But if it was, you’d cling to it and never let go.

And if it was by some miracle true, you sure as hell would never ever let sleep take you, because then… well.

The corners of your lips twitched minutely in an incredulous self-deprecating smile.

You were thoroughly warmed up, all shivers having subdued a long time ago, but something inside you trembled more than your voice.

“I can’t sleep now... I’ll think I’d dreamed all this up. That it wasn’t real,” you whispered hastily, “I… I want it to be real.”

Tension melted from Steve’s body at last, muscles having been tight as a bowstring easing into their mere usual firmness. His lips, those inviting lips, curled up in a smile, an echo of his eyes twinkling with something soft and exciting.

“Sounds like a dream to me too, yeah,” he admitted, your pulse nearing the speed that would sooner or later surely lead to cardiac arrest, your mind screaming with dozen of swirling thoughts.

He liked you. Steve like-liked you, perhaps maybe, just a little, on his way to love you, shared sleep, trust and love, he had dreamed of this too, he-

“How about…” he hummed, hand slowly cupping your cheek, tilting your head up and guiding you to lift it off his chest, causing your head to spin sweetly.

You could have easily escaped the tender touch; but you didn’t want to, not in a million years. You leaned into it instead, a pleasant twist deep within your belly, a shaky exhale leaving your parted lips, air swiftly drawn back as Steve leaned down, eyes roaming your face for any sign of protest. Finding none, his eyes earned a new kind of glow that warmed you up like no blanket or shower could, his lips neared dangerously, a silent wishful sigh as your fingertips stroked lightly over his chest.

“…we share a moment so real there’s no doubt left?”

There was no doubt left; and not a second of hesitation.

It occurred to you how absurd the reasoning was, to have a real moment, what a feeble excuse; as if you hadn’t dreamed of this before, as if the images of kissing Steve hadn’t haunted your nights, so vivid and so tangible morning had felt like razor tearing the masterpiece of a canvas apart; but that thought was but a silent voice in the very back of your mind and you did not care for it in the slightest.

On the other hand, Steve was right here and you’d do just about anything he’d suggest.

“Yes.”

The second the breathless sound left you, Steve’s lips were pressed to yours, soft and warm and real, an electrifying sensation of right rushing through your very being, proving Steve’s damn point; your dreams could have never done justice to this.

Not to the way his lips moulded against yours, the tentative touch turning eager the very moment you pressed against him.

Not to the way he felt so perfectly solid and soft under your palm, against your side, against your thigh.

Not to the way his hand on your arm curled around your bicep and squeezed when your lips parted for him with a choked whimper.

Not to the way his fingertips caressed along your jaw to your chin, tipping your head back further to truly kiss you.

Not to the way you couldn’t get enough of it, of his touch, of his taste, chocolate and sugar and home, of his scent, invading your senses in the most wonderful attack you’d yield to with delight.

When your lips parted with a gasp, your name like the sweetest endearment on his lips, his forehead rested against yours, sharing your breath, your space, the wild beats of your hearts.

It seemed that some of those beats of his heart truly might be for you; just like quite a few of yours were for him.

And it was beautiful.

An unwitting chuckle spilled from your lips, the euphoria coursing your veins spilling over, rewarded by a soft stroke of Steve’s thumb over your cheek, a deep inhale, your eyes fluttering open to his soft but blinding smile you couldn’t but mirror.

God, he was the most stunning man you had ever seen in your life.

Had you not been rendered speechless by the kiss, his beauty would have done the job.

And if that hadn’t been enough, the way he was looking at you, as if you had hung the moon and the stars and he would have hung them for you if you had just asked – how had you never noticed it before? – now that would have done you for.

You had no words; but it seemed that for the moment, neither did he.

And so your gaze flickered down to his lips, now more tempting than ever, and you let action speak louder than words.

Cupping his face in return, you kissed him again, and let the coincidence or perhaps fate, that had led you to spill your secrets at the precipice of sleep, take reigns again, not at all protesting when Steve’s hands roamed to your waist, a silent invitation for you to move closer in any way you wished.

You let the moment take you wherever it would lead, quite happy if the half-wit you had called yourself earlier that day lost all her wits to Steve’s softly demanding mouth.

Maybe next time you’d get caught in the rain, he’d be there soaking with you; and maybe just like he hadn’t cared for getting his clothes wet earlier either, you’d both stand there in the downpour in an embrace of lovers, caring little for the water dripping all over you.

As long as he’d keep kissing you.

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Happy autumn, everyone 💕 I know I should be working on my longfic but my brain seems distracted by various short-fic ideas, often fullfilling writing challenges...

I really enjoyed this one 🥰 and I hope that so did you!

Have a lovely autumn!🍂

P.S. - For those interested, the quote comes from Milan Kundera's novel Unbearable Lightness of Being (L'insoutenable légèreté de l'être or Nesnesitelná lehkost bytí).

#elixirscafe #navy and roo's sleepover #sleepover challenge #winds of autumn challenge #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #caught #anika ann

249 notes · View notes

nebulousbrainsoup · 1 year ago

Text

quiet

🌙 SUMMARY: sometimes, your boyfriend has a little trouble expressing himself. he gets stuck in that pretty head of his, thoughts swirling like a storm. thankfully, you know just how to help him out of it. 🌙 PAIRING: kang yeosang x gn!reader 🌙 GENRE: fluff, smut 🌙 AU/TROPE INFO: established relationship, comfort after hurt 🌙 WORD COUNT: 1.8k 🌙 TAGS/WARNINGS: non-sexual dom/sub dynamics, stressed yeosang, stress/anxiety reactions, non-verbal yeosang for some of this, explicit discussion/negotiation of d/s dynamics & safety measures, pet names/nicknames (my Sangie, baby, angel, the rest happen in the smut lol), nonverbal cues as communication, subspace, brief mentions of food and eating, cuddling, not proofread 🌙RATING: mature 🌙 A/N: this is... a new venture for me, as far as released fics go. i have about a million blurbs like this that will never see the light of day, but after what happened yesterday... i had to give my boy some comfort. i hope you enjoy <3 🌙 smut tags under the cut ; divs from @cafekitsune 🌙 masterlist | join my taglist | buy me a coffee?

🌙 SMUT TAGS/WARNINGS: clothed sex, dom/sub dynamics, dry humping, cumming in pants, emotional release crying, traffic light check-in system, pet names ([my] Sangie, baby, angel, baby boy, sweetheart, good boy), reader is possessive, gratuitous praise, humiliation if you squint, sub!yeosang, dom!reader

The moment your apartment door swung open, you knew something was wrong. It wasn’t the act itself that threw you; unannounced visits weren’t Yeosang’s style and, as you had come to expect, he had texted you before coming over. There was nothing telling about the way it opened either, the quiet creak of the hinges a welcome familiarity over top of the tension you felt radiate through the space. No version of the sing-song greeting you were accustomed to met your ears as you heard it click shut, and you frowned. The crease between your brows only deepened as you heard his bag hit the floor of the entryway, your jaw tightening.

This wouldn’t do.

Quiet footsteps shuffled toward the kitchen but you paid them no mind, focusing entirely on the pot of soup in front of you. A small, pleased noise sounded from the doorway, and within moments, strong arms were wrapped around your waist and Yeosang was burying his nose into your hair. You basked in the touch for a moment, letting yourself indulge despite your boyfriend’s disregard for your rules. With a steadying breath, you clicked your tongue in disapproval, moving to step out of his grasp as you reached for a cabinet above you. He only coiled tighter around you as you shifted, a broken little whimper leaving him and three gentle taps landing on your hip.

Your heart broke as you settled back onto your feet, recalling a months-old conversation for the hundredth time.

“So, I’m okay with all of that. It’s really stuff I already do anyway,” Yeosang affirmed, a pretty blush coloring his cheeks and ears as he looked over the tablet in front of him. “I mean, I don’t want you to think I’m like… breaking in or something when I walk in.”

You both giggled at that. “So greeting me should be easy, then. We’re starting out simple, Sangie, that’s kind of the point of this.”

He nodded in understanding, fingers tapping against the table. “So, one thing I already do and one new thing.”

It was your turn to nod, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. It’s kind of selfish too, honestly… I know I don’t have a lot of space, but even just giving your bag a more permanent home than by the door just… feels nice. It feels like you’re not going to run out on me over the little things.”

The look he directed back up at you was one of sheer adoration, and you felt your stomach flip. “Of course I wouldn’t.”

It was your turn to blush. You had to pause, gathering your wits before opening your mouth to speak but, to your surprise, your boyfriend beat you to it. “There’s just one thing. I… Sometimes, if I have a particularly overwhelming day, I don’t always… have words. And I don’t want to keep myself away from you or get in trouble with you on my worst days just because I’m too in my head to speak.”

Something gripped at your heart, squeezing it tight. “We can do nonverbal cues, like we do during regular scenes. You could tap me three times to let me know you’re out of words, if that works? That way you can still use your double tap to safeword, even outside of the bedroom, but you don’t have to push yourself to provide an explanation.”

His eyes lit up, a soft little smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “That’s perfect.”

You had known it would happen at some point, but that didn’t keep your heart from hurting. “Oh, my Sangie,” you murmured, reaching back to card a hand into his hair. Another pitiful whimper left him and some of the tension drained from his shoulders at the attention. “I need to finish dinner, baby.” Again, a whine of protest, and his grip around you tightened. “Angel,” you prodded, and sighed internally when the pet name had him melting against you. “You can have all the attention you want in ten minutes after I finish dinner. Why don’t you go put your bag where it’s supposed to be and curl up on the couch in the meantime, hm? Pick out a show for us to watch while we eat.”

He huffed a sigh but you felt him nod against your neck and squeeze you tight once more, pressing a kiss to your head before heading off back into your apartment. You turned, watching him go with a pained expression.

No, this wouldn’t do at all.

The moment the last drop of soup was gone from both of your bowls, your dishes were swept away, deposited in the sink by your boyfriend, who quickly bundled himself up into your lap upon his return. You chuckled quietly, carding a hand into his hair as you sprawled out on the couch, his ear pressed against your steady heartbeat. Between the dull roar of the drama on the screen, the soothing rhythm of your fingers in his hair, and the warmth of the blanket across his legs, Yeosang quickly found the worries of his day fading away. His mind went hazy as he melted against you, eyes slipping shut as comfort and safety overtook him, lulling him into a familiar, floaty headspace. He felt more than heard your chuckle as you took note of the change, scratching fondly at his scalp.

The drag of your nails sparked the pleasant warmth in his gut to something stronger, a low groan leaving him that seemed to startle both of you. He jolted in your lap, eyes blinking back open, and you chuckled quietly as a flush painted his cheeks and ears. You grinned at him and he whined, burying his face back into your chest. The squirming only brought another fond laugh to your lips, this one cut short in a gasp as Yeosang froze, another whimper leaving his lips.

He was hard beneath his sweats, his length now pressed into your thigh from his shifting. The tips of his ears were tinted bright red, and you smiled fondly as you cupped his chin. He turned his chin up to you willingly, eyes wide and glassy.

“Needy, baby?” You teased, and he nodded immediately in response. “Do you have your words back? You know I don’t like playing if my angel can’t talk to me.”

His eyes left yours for a moment as his brow furrowed in thought, but when he met your gaze again, he nodded resolutely. “‘M green,” he murmured, voice gravelly from disuse.

You beamed at him, shifting to grind your thigh against his arousal and delighting in the weak little noise you pulled from him. “My good boy,” you purred, carding a hand back into his hair.

Yeosang groaned as he shifted up and braced himself on his forearms, burying his face into your neck to press soft kisses to your skin. Slowly, you let one hand drop to his hip, guiding him to grind against your thigh. His breath caught in his throat for a moment, another broken sound leaving him as he quickly settled into a steady rhythm.

“Is this what you want, angel? To grind yourself on my thigh and cum in your pants like a teenager?” He whined, burying his nose against your neck. You sighed as the combined sensations lit a shudder down your spine, holding your boyfriend close to you. “Want me to get you off just like this?” His hips stuttered, and you felt him nod against your neck. “Words, baby.”

“Y-Yes,” he gasped, and you bit your lip to bite back a groan. God, he sounded so wrecked already. Had floating in subspace for you really affected him this much? “If… Wanna take care of you, too, but it feels so good, ngh…”

He trailed off, hips rolling faster against your leg, and this time you couldn’t bite back a quiet, pleased moan. “Don’t worry about me, angel. Tonight’s all about you, okay? My baby boy had a long day,” he buried his face into your shoulder at this, another whine leaving him, and you felt your chest tighten again, “so he gets to choose how he cums tonight.”

Once more, his hips stuttered and his breath caught at once. “Wanna… like this. Then,” he gasped, teeth nipping at your throat as he rutted harder against you, “then…” He trailed off with a high whine, his movement against you becoming more desperate.

“Don’t worry about what comes after, sweetheart. Just worry about now. You’re here, with me, doing so well and looking so pretty for me, and that’s all that matters, okay angel?”

He tensed in your arms, a half-choked sob escaping his lips, and when you felt the first warm, wet tears drop against your skin, your heart dropped. The hand still resting against his scalp dug in and you tugged, trying to pull him away from you. A sound slipped from his lips that was positively wrecked, and one hand snapped up from the couch to bunch your shirt up in his fist. The desperation he clung to you with as he chased his high had you hesitating, but the tension in your shoulders remained.

It seemed Yeosang noticed, his lips pressing urgently over your neck to soothe you, words spilling from his lips unfiltered as you remained rigid. “I’m good, I’m okay, I’m s–so, oh, green, please, it just f–feels s’good and I… need this, need you—”

His reassurance had you relaxing, nails scraping against his scalp once more and pulling another pretty noise from him. “Just feels too good, doesn’t it, angel?” He nodded furiously into your neck and you breathed a laugh, shifting where you sat. There was no denying the effect this—your boyfriend, trembling and sobbing in your lap, overwhelmed with pleasure—was having on you.

Gently, you coaxed his chin up as you had before, meeting his teary eyes with a warm smile. “You look so pretty like this, Sangie. You can cum whenever you want, okay? You have my permission.”

He let out another broken sob, hips rolling against you once, twice more before they stuttered into aborted little jerks. You watched, enthralled, as his jaw dropped open and his eyes blinked shut, the pooling warmth of his release evident even through the layers separating you.

“There you go, baby,” you sighed, leaning in to catch his lips in a deep kiss. You were both breathless when you parted, resting your foreheads against each other. “Feel better?” Yeosang nodded, humming affirmation. “Good. Now, let’s go clean you up, and you can tell me all about those plans you have for later, hm?”

The groan he muffled into your neck had you giggling once more, pressing a reassuring kiss into his hair. This was better.

TAGLISTS: [open, apply here.]

permanent: @justhere4kpop @thatonenoona @tastymintchocolate @bahng-chrizz @elllisaaa ateez: @pyeonghongrie-main @tattywood

strikethrough means i am unable to tag you. please check your privacy settings.

#cromernet #cultofdionysusnet #k-vanity #wonderlandnet #yeosang x reader #yeosang imagines #yeosang scenarios #yeosang fluff #yeosang smut #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #ateez x gender neutral reader #neb.atz #neb.quiet #nebulous writes

580 notes · View notes

fanaticsnail · 8 months ago

Text

Grand Line Playgroup

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,200+

Synopsis: Adoptive parents have all taken the initiative to join together with their children to form: Grand Line Playgroup. This is the way it usually goes at playgroup: filled with shenanigans, support, and most importantly love for their children.

Themes: the adoptive parents of one piece, all children are all relatively aged 3 to 7, but Robin is 10, au they all live, modern au, platonic, not an “x reader” fic, parenting drabble, fluff, nonsense.

Parents: Mihawk, Rosinante (Corazon), Bellemere, Dadan, Zeff, Uncle Beckman, Shanks, Garp, and Smoker.

Children: Perona, Zoro, Law(rence), Nojiko, Nami, Uta, Ace, Sabo, Luffy, Sanji, Uta, Koby, Helmeppo, Robin, and Tashigi.

Notes: A small drabble about what it would be like if the one-piece characters were adoptive parents to an assortment of their toddler counterparts. This silly brain-worm was brought to you by several conversations with @feral-artistry & @writingmysanity, and the bestest aunties @since-im-already-here & @sordidmusings. This worm got to me and I needed to get it out. Links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff, @gingernut1314, @vespidphoenix, @i-am-vita

Dracule Mihawk arrives at Grand Line Playgroup ten minutes early every single Tuesday. He has a personalized gothic embroidered bag for both of his children filled with snacks, changes of clothes, water bottles, first aid kits, and a book for him to read while his two children play.

He wears matching nail polish with his daughter, Perona: today, she chose pink with black accents. He has parenting down to a fine art, everything always perfectly planned for any circumstances. Zoro takes out a collection of sporting equipment and begins kicking around a soccer ball as he waits for his friends to join him.

The next to arrive is Donquixote Rosinante. He always attempts to get there early: set up his variety of bags to ensure his son, Lawrence, has everything he needs to enjoy his time at playgroup. His hair is a blonde, fluffy mess of mopped curls, his clothes disheveled and askew, but his smile is always cheerful despite his constant exhausted exasperated state.

Law is a quiet child, not really engaging with Perona as she sets up a mock tea-party, nor Zoro as he kicks the ball against the wall. He, instead, opts to sit quietly alone and read a picture book in comfortable silence.

Mihawk offers Rosinante a moist towelette, gesturing wordlessly to his lips, cheeks and right eye where Law graffitied art with permanent marker on his face as he slept. Rosinante gives him a gratuitous smile, huffing his laughter as he scrubs at his face with the towelette.

The next to arrive is Rosinante’s old work colleague, Bellemere, with her two daughters in tow. Nami and Nojiko were walking arm in arm before rushing off to join Perona in her tea party. Bellemere gives Rosinante a clap on his shoulder, nodding her acknowledgement to Mihawk before taking her elected seat.

As the clock ticks over to 10am: a small bundle of nervous, chaotic energy bounces inside the door and over the walls. This flash of black hair was followed immediately by a small blonde child that stares, unblinkingly, at Law. Dadan is exasperated as she carries an older and asleep Ace in her arms, attempting to catch up with Luffy to rein him in and set up.

Rosinante springs into action, offering to ferry Luffy towards his regular playmate, Zoro. As Luffy nearly joins Zoro, he is instead drawn to the sticker book Law is holding containing bugs, beetles and arachnids. Luffy becomes entranced by the stickers: and he and Law begin cataloging them by shape, size and type over pages of lined paper.

Dadan sighs, already exhausted although her day has barely begun. Rosinante smiles and fawns over the two dark-haired boys before resuming his seat beside Bellemere, talking about the latest gossip at his old workplace and the shenanigans his colleagues' love lives.

As if on queue, Ace wakes up and immediately springs out of Dadan’s arms, hurrying over to Zoro and joining him by kicking the ball against the wall. Sabo backs into the corner of the room and glares with his pale, blue eyes at Perona’s tea-party with intrigue.

After Dadan, in comes Benn Beckman with his niece, Uta. Uta bounces on her heels as she runs over to Sabo, doing all in her power to make the small blonde smile instead of glare. She has a cheery disposition, guaranteed to always get a smile out of the quiet boy the longer she sings and pulls faces at him.

Zeff is the next, his young son, Sanji, sprinting towards the soccer ball and easily stealing it away from Zoro. They immediately get into a heated fistfight: legs and limbs flying as they butt heads as to who's turn it is to kick the ball next. Mihawk sighs, immediately rising to his feet to play referee to the match as Beckman places Uta's bag beside Perona's.

Arriving late, and with his two adoptive sons Koby and Helmeppo, strolls Garp. Dadan glares at him, up turning her lip in a snarl as Garp shepherds his boys into the room. The tension is thick between these two due to Garp's history of dropping off children at Dadan's and not returning to raise them himself. She refuses to help with the latest two additions to his family, although she cares for them greatly. Sabo nods at Koby, Helmeppo scoffs at Uta.

Another late arrival is a larger gentleman with his quiet and older daughter, Robin. Sir Crocodile is dripping in luxury brands, gold rings and smells of expensive colognes. Robin immediately humors Perona, Nami and Nojiko by playing mother in their tea party adventure.

“Mihawk,” the larger man gruffy nods in acknowledgement.

“Crocodile,” Mihawk mirrors his tone, gesturing with his chin to take a seat beside him. Sir Crocodile takes his seat before unrolling the newspaper tucked beneath his arm and beginning to read.

As the children interact together, the more talkative parents swap parenting advice amongst one another.

Rosinante asks for support with Law's current food aversion. How does he get this child to eat grained carbohydrates without him gagging about the fact it's bread? Dadan is a seasoned expert in parenting at this stage, still ignoring Garp as Garp speaks to Mihawk about his blonde son’s latest interest in kendo.

Bellemere joins in the conversation, Mihawk leaving as the topic changes to work and joining beside Beckman who is silently brooding on the chair beside Crocodile.

“No Shanks today?” Mihawk quips at the larger man.

“No Shanks today,” Beckman parrotted in return with a disgruntled and gruff growl.

As if the mere mention of his name summoned his presence, in comes the red-haired Shanks in a lazy and cheerful stupor. His socks are raised to his knees, tucked into some comfortable sandals on his feet. His cargo shorts are tied loosely on his hips by a brown belt, and his patterned shirt is open to expose his bare chest.

Glasses are lying lazily on his head as he extends an enthusiastic smile at the children before acknowledging the adults. An enthusiastic chorus of “Uncle Shanks!” echoes throughout the playspace, a flash of small bodies immediately moving to tackle and engulf the redhead in a warm embrace.

Shanks falls on his ass, holding high his coffee cup as he laughs at Luffy, Uta, Ace and Sabo as they enthusiastically clutch at him with grabby hands. Their faces all shine with the utmost adoration at the redhead, who shoots Beckman and Dadan a wink while mouthing: “I'm still the favorite.”

Beckman sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as Dadan rolls her eyes at him.

The adults are finally all gathered for their children’s weekly playgroup, the kids settle into playing amongst themselves once again. Shanks offers Beckman a smile before offering him the half-drunk coffee cup. The taller man takes a sip, choking on the liquid as the surprising burn of warmed alcohol scorches his throat so early in the morning.

As their meeting draws to a soft close, a knock at the door interrupts their close knit conversation.

“I heard there was a playgroup in here?” a gruff voice rumbled at the door. White hair and the scent of tobacco immediately sprung through the hallway. In arrived a large gentleman, another common associate of Garp, Bellemere and Rosinante who immediately sprung up to greet him.

Smoker presented ushered a quiet child into the room, her uncertainty was one the children knew well. Immediately, Luffy sprang up from his arachnid archiving with Law and went to introduce himself to the girl. Smoker smiled at the interaction, nodding to Tashigi as an indicator for her to go ahead and play, before joining Bellemere and Rosinante.

“Finally decided to foster, Smoker?” Bellemere smiled, embracing him into her warm and welcoming arms. Smoker returns her gesture, tapping her on the shoulder and releasing her from the embrace.

“Foster? Not a chance,” he smirked, pulling away and smiling at the purple-haired woman, “Adopting.”

250 notes · View notes

questforgalas · 14 days ago

Text

Storm Blue Eyes and A Scottish Brogue: Reasons Simon Riley Came Back to Life

For @daredaredoodles!! Happy Ghoapmas!!! Here is some very oblivious and very yearny Ghost for you!! Oh, did I mention lots of fluff? :) I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!!!

Thank you @forsaire for hosting!!!!

Ao3 link

Summary: It was supposed to be a holiday season like all of the others - nights filled with reports, and a base haunted by a Ghost while everyone wandered home. Three knocks on Simon's door change those plans entirely.

Words: 5K

No CWs, just tooth-rotting fluff and Gaz so done with these two

It was supposed to be quiet tonight. An intimate date between Simon, the desk in his room, and the pile of reports that magically remain the same height regardless of how many hours are put towards them (a detail Captain Price never misses). Does Simon happen to write a little slower to aid that magical spell so that he has a proper excuse when Price inevitably comes knocking on his door and asks why he hasn’t filed for leave again this December? Possibly, but that little detail belongs between Simon and the twenty minutes during which he contemplates which words to use instead of “infiltrate” and “detonation”.

He should have known nothing ever goes according to plan. Three familiar knocks rapping against the door certainly proved that right.

Cut to Soap MacTavish standing on the other side, a smile curling his lips and azure eyes all the brighter against the navy jumper wrapping across his broad chest. Words were said, something about a night out which made sense since Soap wore dark jeans that seemed made specifically to torture Simon, and there was a glint in Soap’s eye not dissimilar to a child’s on Christmas morning.

Ah, so, Price was picking up the tab.

As Soap stands in the hall, punctuating his pitch to coach the lieutenant out of his room with perfectly placed smiles and a wink or two anyone else would find gratuitous but Simon found infuriatingly endearing, Simon swaps his hoodie for a black jumper, grabs his jacket, and has the door locked just as Soap says, “‘nd it’s not tha team without ma favorite lieutenant.”

The calendars say “December”, but the unseasonably warm air makes the jacket hanging over Simon’s arm feel like overkill, making him contemplate turning around and throwing it through the door, but instead he rolls up the sleeves of his jumper. In the corner of his eye, he sees Soap watch as the fabric folds back and reveals Simon’s forearms - corded with muscle, covered in scars, one completely inked over.

Simon wanted to tell himself that the way Soap ogled at the skin didn’t make his own feel a size too small. He wanted to tell himself the way Soap’s Adam's apple bobbed and the dusting of pink at the tip of his ears didn’t match his own. He wanted to tell himself he wouldn’t tuck this moment away safely in the gilded chest labeled “Moments He Can Pretend” that he stored in the safe recesses of his heart.

He wanted to tell himself all of that, but unfortunately, that would make Simon a liar.

Soap rambles on about some combination of some chemicals that Simon doesn’t understand a lick of - he’s just happy he remembers to nod at points that seem right for it - and they walk side by side through Hereford.

“What fresh hell is this,” Simon mutters, the revelry from the pub greeting their ears when they’re still a block away.

“Don’t fret, Lt.” Soap nudges him with his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s just ol’ Gerry with tha music up because he finally accepted he cannae hear for shit.”

It was, in fact, not Gerry with the music up.

The Green Pony quite literally glows on the corner. Green garland lit with soft, white lights frames every window, and electric candles flicker at the streets. Two wreaths adorned with a red ribbon bow hang on the dark wood doors, and through the windows, matching garland and lights line the entirety of the bar. A large tree pulls it all together, lighting up the far corner much to the chagrin of some patrons looking for a secluded corner away from the crowd.

They shoulder their way through the entry and are immediately sucked into the chaos that is the Green Pony operating over capacity. Behind the bar, Gerry, the owner, a man who Simon is convinced was born in this pub, slings pints and jabs faster than any of the youngsters helping alongside him, and when he catches sight of the two men, he throws a lazy salute and points in the direction of their usual table. They break through the crowd, and the sight of Captain Price and Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick greets them at their usual booth.

“Well fuck me,” Gaz says as they approach. “Good to see ya Ghost, but you just lost me 20 quid.”

“Pay up,” Soap holds out his hand as he scoots in besides the other sergeant. Gaz grumbles something about “unfair advantages” as he fishes out his wallet, and hidden under a black medical mask, a smile pulls at the corner of Ghost’s lips. A terrible bet by Gaz, really. Might as well be the title of Simon’s memoir:

Storm Blue Eyes and A Scottish Brogue: Reasons Simon Riley Could Never Say No.

Gaz of all people should know this, and Simon’s pretty sure Soap does do.

Simon settles in next to Price who silently nods in a way of greeting, but Simon doesn’t miss the way his mouth curls up in a smile around the lip of his glass. “Never become predictable, Sergeant. Easier to kill that way,” Simon offers. Two pints sit unclaimed on the table. Simon grabs one while nudging the other towards Soap. “‘nd have some respect. I’m worth at least 40 quid.”

“Sound advice, sir.” Gaz tips his glass to Simon then takes a strong swig.

The rounds disappear and reappear over and over. The older patrons begin to make their way home, thinning the crowd some but not enough to avoid Simon’s shoulder - large enough to breach the end of the booth - becoming a human bumper now and again. Someone’s hijacked the jukebox, and Mariah Carey’s been serenading them about Christmas for the past twenty minutes. Price said his goodbyes a round ago, but not before assuring “Yes, sergeants, the tab will still be open,” and he threw that look to Simon that said “They’re your circus now”.

Now, Gaz sits at the table, chocolate eyes glassy under the lights, and a finger absentmindedly circles his pint. A dopey smile sits on his lips, and every few minutes he mumbles along to Mariah before she drowns in the din of the crowd. A word hasn’t been spoken between them since Price left - an understood respect by Gaz who knows Simon’s need for silence as much as Soap’s need to fill the air - and Simon wishes he could enjoy it. He wishes he could give Gaz that much. Instead, a dainty hand attached to a brunette he faintly recognizes from base is demanding all of his attention.

Moments ago, Soap delivered their newest round with a thunk, earning a curse or two from Gaz who saved his pint just in time, but instead of sliding into the space next to Simon - a space he occupied as soon as Price said his goodbyes - he grabbed his pint and beelined to the bar. There, a brunette waited. They were familiar, that Simon was sure of, and Soap kept flashing that smile that Simon was desperate to be turned on him.

And then the hand. The hand gripped Soap’s bicep, gave it a squeeze, and a laugh, airy and bright followed. The hand remained. That smile flashed brighter.

Simon hated that hand.

She was pretty enough. Glossy hair, high cheekbones, an ass Simon assumed would be appreciated by the right eyes. Eyes that weren’t azure blue and rivaled the bays of Islay. Any eyes except those.

The hand slides from Soap’s bicep and cups his elbow. Simon’s knuckles have gone white. He really hated that hand.

“Ghost, mate,” Simon hears from across the table. “Bruv, that glass is about to lose whatever battle ya’ve picked against it.” Simon tears his gaze away from that hand and sets it on Garrick who, bless him, doesn’t flinch. “Mind tellin’ me what that poor glass has done to you?”

“Don’t know what you’re on ‘bout,” Simon answers and sets his eyes back on that hand that’s smartly retreated back to its owner. Lucky her, she gets to keep it.

For now.

Soap’s pint is forgotten on the bartop, he says something to the brunette, and the cute crease that appears when the Scot is trying to puzzle out an equation is between his brows. Simon adores that crease. His hands itch to smooth it out and fight whatever has caused it.

He misses the questioning look on Gaz’s face and when he follows Simon’s gaze. He misses when the sergeant puts two and two together, but what he doesn’t miss is the sigh that’s pulled from Gaz’s chest and the thunk of the sergeant’s forehead against the thick, wooden table.

“Ya’ve got to be bloody kiddin’ me.” Stunned, Simon watches as Gaz thunks his head one, two, three more times, then snaps back up. His face is nothing but anguish. “Talk to him.”

“What?” Simon smartly replies.

“Talk. To. Him.” Gaz accompanies each word with a thump of his pint as if hammering them into the wood would hammer them into Simon’s confused brain.

“Talk to who?”

“Bloody ‘ell!” Simon thinks Gaz is being a bit overdramatic, what with throwing his hands in the air and acting as if Simon is the densest person in this pub. Problem is, Simon has no idea what he’s supposed to be grasping. The sergeant rubs a hand down his face, and once he’s collected himself, the stare he throws at Simon pins him to the booth. “Talk to Soap. I’m beggin’ you, Ghost. Talk to him, and save us all from havin’ to keep watching you two dance around each other like a bunch of school boys who don’t know what a crush is.”

The words make sense. Well, they make sense that they’re words, and they’re going in one ear. But not all of them are processing and some of them are going right out the other ear leaving a jumbled tangle of words like “Soap” and “you two” and “crush” that are rattling around in the empty space of Simon’s mind. Yes, it makes sense that Garrick just said something, but the implications are mad enough that he has half a mind to order him to a psych evaluation at once.

“Might’ve finally lost it, Garrick. Imaginin’ things now.” It’s really all he can muster past his lead laden tongue.

Crushing on Soap, well, that was as easy as breathing. But crushing is too trivial a word, wasn’t it? Crushing was what you did on the schoolyard when the brain hadn’t learned the words that threatened to burst from your heart. Crushing was soft glances across a room and sheepish smiles dripping with honeyed words. Crushing wasn’t a deep seeded trust that you’d make it home alive as long as that one person was beside you. Crushing wasn’t intimate knowledge of a body learned in the lowlight of safehouses while rough hands guided needles through skin. Crushing wasn’t hushed confessions in the dark as you accepted your mortality.

No, Simon did not have a crush on Soap MacTavish, because a crush was too simple. A tapestry of moments woven from a tarmac to now - the bar lights catching the hidden caramel strands of Soap’s mohawk - blanketed along Simon’s very being, and no longer could he ignore that his British heart had a Scottish flag planted firmly in place.

And because life loves to remind Simon that he is not a man destined for gentle touches and even gentler words, he watches as the brunette grasps Soap around the forearm and leads him out of the pub. “Told ya,” the words taste more bitter than he intended. “Imaginin’ things.”

Gaz tracks the pair through the crowd. “I’m the best interrogator on the team,” he says. Simon’s brow shoots up, and he’s about to question what the hell that has anything to do with this when Gaz holds up his hand and continues. “I’m the best interrogator on this team. I can read body language at a level that, often, I wish I couldn’t. The amount of people’s secrets that they don’t even know but I know is a burden I’m cursed to carry.” Pint abandoned and a finger getting closer and closer to Simon’s chest, Gaz continues. “I don’t know what the hell ‘appened in Las Almas…well I do, I read the report, but I mean between you two. I noticed it the moment we stepped into Ale’s safehouse, and it’s only gotten worse since. We, the 141, are a team. Price and I are teammates. You and I are teammates. Johnny an-”

“He doesn’t want anyone callin’ ‘im Johnny.” Amusement dances across Gaz’s eyes, and Simon knows he fell into his trap.

“Exactly. Anyone except?” Gaz takes Simon’s glare as confirmation. “All I’m sayin’ is, Soap and you? You’re more than teammates, Ghost. You’re the best in the world - as much as I ‘ate to admit it - not because of hours of training together or years of missions. It’s like you two are one soul, it’s absolutely mad to watch. And it’s not just on missions either. Ya both have a starin’ problem, that’s for sure. Though neither of you would know because it’s always when the other isn’t lookin’.”

“We - what?” Simon can’t fit Gaz’s words into his understanding of his relationship with Soap.

“The heart eyes? At each other?” Gaz flutters his lashes, and Christ, it actually gets a chuckle out of Ghost, as annoyed as he is. “Ya’d think for someone whose eyes are the only part of his body he shows, you’d be better at schooling them, but I swear I’ve seen those lines at the corners actually melt whenever Soap walks into the room.”

Oh, Gaz is proper teasing now, and Simon wants to smack the smirk right off of his face. He wants to tell him he’s delusional and that he can’t accept the image Gaz is spinning because it means taking the feelings he keeps packed away in that gilded chest in the safe corner of his heart and laying them all out there. Yet, the denial never comes, and instead, he feels his traitorous mouth curl up.

Is that…relief easing his chest?

Gaz’s face softens. “Remember the first thing ya told me when I joined the team?”

“Our job doesn’t guarantee tomorrow,” Simon says automatically. “Take the good moments while ya can. Don’t know ‘ow many ya’ll have.”

“Maybe time to start takin’ your own advice, huh?”

“Who’s advice we takin’?”

Gaz and Simon jump at the new voice, both reflexes fast enough to keep the pints from spilling over. Simon peers up, and his heart stutters. There stands Soap with cheeks rosy from the cold, and Simon has well and truly lost it because he desperately wants to loop his arm around Soap’s waist and tuck him into his side to keep him warm.

“Just Ghost’s words of wisdom,” Gaz supplies easily.

“Ah, only an eejit wouldn’t listen to the Ghost.” Soap stares down at the table, and he clears his throat before he continues. “Actually, Lt. I - I was hopin’ I could pull ye away?” He rubs the back of his neck, and the red on his cheeks spreads to the tips of his ears. “Unless ye don’t want to! Dinnae me - mean to interrupt, probably discussin’ something - never mind I…”

“Relax, Sergeant.” At the sound of Simon’s voice, Soap’s shoulders drop and his breaths come easier. He meets Simon’s gaze, and Simon has never seen this look in those storm blue eyes. Timid. Unsure. Bashful? “Was just finishin’ up. Garrick, ya good?”

Gaz waves him off. “Out of ‘ere. Your dark cloud is bringin’ down the festive mood.” He throws them a wink and stands from the table, smoothing out his jumper as he eyes six feet of muscles and a jawline that could break glass leaning on the bartop. Instead of walking around them, Gaz cuts right between Simon and Soap, and just before he steps away, he leans into Simon’s ear. “Talk to him.”

The hour hasn’t cooled the air so Simon and Soap opt to wander through Hereford instead of hailing a cab. Simon blames the beer and Gaz’s words buzzing in his ears, but he feels attuned to every one of Soap’s footfalls and every sway of his arms. The street is empty, plenty of room to stroll, yet the two of them walk with barely a hair between them. A tug Simon will always follow, and maybe Gaz hasn’t completely lost it, because Soap does too.

But because Simon can never make things easy for himself, he says “Where’s the brunette?”

Soap looks at him, face scrunched and that crease is between his brows. It would be so simple to reach out and gently smooth his thumb along it. “Wha’ brunette?” Soap asks because he can never make it easy for Simon, either.

“The brunette at the pub. Seemed…cozy.” If a sniper took him out, Simon wouldn’t complain.

“Cozy?” An incredulous laugh circles around the word. He’s really going to make Simon spell it out.

“Ya. Cozy. Thought, well, -” Simon picks at the nonexistent lint on his sweater. “Thought she was makin’ good company.”

Soap is silent, and it’s making Simon’s skin crawl. He focuses on his steps, one in front of the other. He creates a new mission right then: get back to base, say goodnight to Soap, and not emerge from his room until everyone has left for the holidays. He has rations hidden in his desk, he can make it until then.

“Oh, Simon,” Soap says softly between them.

They don’t speak for the rest of the walk, but there’s a spring in Soap’s step, and whatever millimeter of space that had existed between them is eaten up entirely by the Scot. When they arrive on base, Simon prepares his goodbye, ready to go down his hall while Soap goes down his, but when he turns to depart, Soap grabs his wrist and guides Simon with him.

They arrive at Soap’s private room. The Scot jumbles his keys, nearly dropping them on the ground, and struggles to get them into the keyhole. Simon thinks to point out that the process would probably be easier if Soap just let go of his wrist, but call him weak because that touch is more intimate than any stitch Soap has put in his body.

Finally, the lock turns, Soap pushes open the door, swiftly kicks it closed, and the two of them stand in the soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table.

He’s been in Soap’s room plenty of times before, but this, this moment is different. A delicate thing Simon could almost hold in his hand, and he hopes that door never opens again. Hopes that they can stand here away from the responsibilities and the enemy bullets and bask in the warmth of this thing between them. This thing that Simon prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that he’s no longer imagining and is ready to stop ignoring. Since the pub he’s felt exposed, as if every emotion he’s tried to hide away for the better part of a year is now written across his skin for a pair of azure eyes to read. As he spies the rapid rise and fall of Soap’s chest, he thinks he’s not the only one.

Words sit on his tongue, but just before they tumble from his lips, he pulls them back. He’s pictured this moment 1000 different times and 100 different ways. None of it practiced. He has to get this right. He takes a breath. He has to figure out a way to tell Soap that if he wants to take the plunge, Simon is on the ledge with him, but he also wants to leave the door open so that if he’s misread everything, nothing needs to change between the two of them. The jumper is beginning to cling to his back.

But it’s Soap who speaks first. “I got ye somethin.”

“Ya got me somethin’?” Simon repeats back.

“Aye. It’s - one second.” Soap steps around him and rifles through his jacket. When he straightens, a dark rectangle is in his hands. He holds it out to Simon who has lost all function of his arms and stares at the object.

“What is it?”

“A present.”

“A present?”

“Holy ‘ell, Simon. Yes! A present! Ye know what a present is, aye?”

Simon is only more confused by the answer. Soap shoves the rectangle into his chest, and Simon’s brain catches up fast enough to wrap his hands around the object that he now realizes is a thick, wooden box.

“For me?” Seems his brain hasn’t moved past two word sentences though.

Soap rolls his eyes and his hands plant his hips. “Yes, it’s for you. It’s what I was talkin’ to Heather about.”

“Heather?” Christ, Simon needs his brain to wake up.

“Aye, Heather. The lass at the pub. She helped me get this.”

“So, ya weren’t -” Simon feels his ears burn. “Ya weren’t…flirting?”

Soap’s eyes widen for half a second, and then he tries to hide a startled chuckle with a cough as he looks down. Simon’s pretty sure he hears “Fuckin bampot” mixed in there. When Soap looks back up, he seems shy, almost embarrassed, cheeks back to that pink that’s starting to drive Simon wild. “No, Lt. Heather gets handsy after some pints, but I wasn’t flirtin’ with her.” Azure blue locks him in place. “I had someone else in mind for that.”

Bloody hell. Simon’s first instinct is to retreat. Flirting wasn’t wholly a new thing between them. They’d lost comms privileges on more than a few missions with Price - Gaz never had the power to pull the plug though he always made his grievances known - but it was all coy, innocent, dangling off the edge of friendly banter. None of it was ever so brazen, so laid out in the open. But here was Soap, taking the first step, leaving a small part of himself bare, waiting to see what Simon would do with it.

“You didn’t have to,” Simon says, holding up the box.

“I wanted to.” It sounds so simple coming from those lips.

Simon’s jacket joins Soap’s, and he holds the box in both hands. What he mistook for black is actually a deep, rich mahogany polished by an expert hand. The box easily lays in his palms, and he’s acutely aware of Soap watching him as he lifts the lid. Simon’s breath catches.

The inside is lined by a black silk, and nestled in the middle lies the most beautiful knife he has ever seen. He can tell that the blade is of the best steel, a straight spine across the top meets a point sharp enough to tear through his toughest gloves. He runs his thumb along the edge to the heel and revels at the ease with which it knicks his skin.

Where the blade is all wicked grace, the handle is a work of art. Stunning black onyx catches the light as Simon delicately lifts it from the box. At first glance, it’s smooth, but when he rubs the stone with his thumb, he catches other carvings. He moves to the bedside table, and when he holds it under the lamplight, Simon nearly drops the knife.

Sapphire blue and rich hazel streak through the black stone, tangling together perfectly. Simon turns the handle. On one side is a blue bar of soap. It matches a doodle Simon has seen on scraps of paper left in briefing rooms and napkins in the mess and on the corners of his reports when a certain sergeant comes to visit. He flips it, and on the other side is a hazel ghost. Another doodle Simon has spied on the pages of a journal kept close to that same sergeant’s heart.

“Do ye like it?” Soap shifts on his feet. He’s rubbing the back of his neck again, and Simon fights back a laugh.

The absurdity of it all, that Soap could be nervous right now.

No. Not Soap. Not anymore.

Johnny. His Johnny. He’s always been his, from the tarmac to now as Simon stares, gobsmacked, at this immortalization of them in stone. At this declaration of every intention and feeling and dream Simon’s been too afraid of. Johnny’s blue streaking through the darkness, dancing perfectly with Simon’s hazel. Ghost and Soap always side by side. He decides right then that he’s done tucking the feelings away in that gilded chest. He’s done with moments that live only in his fantasies. He’s done pretending he’s ok with it being just Ghost and Soap forever and that he hasn’t craved Simon and Johnny.

So yes, it is absolutely absurd that Johnny could be nervous right now.

“Heather’s da used tae be in tha service ‘nd makes these custom now. I ken you’re picky about the blades. Think I drove ‘er up the wall goin’ back ‘nd forth makin’ sure it was the best -” Johnny is rambling, and he’s looking everywhere except at Simon. If he was, he would have seen Simon reverently place the knife back in the box. He would’ve seen Simon rip the medical mask off of his face, and he would’ve seen Simon eat the space between them in two strides. If he was, he would’ve been ready when Simon cupped his face, and crashed their lips together.

Simon has no idea what he’s doing. He doesn’t know how to do soft and gentle. He doesn’t know how to exist in a space where there’s acknowledged interest that’s so much heavier than a tumble in a bed. He doesn’t know how Johnny MacTavish, full of joy and thunder and blazing glory, found his way into Simon’s endless darkness. But Johnny kisses him back and grips his jumper, and Simon’s heart is no longer his own.

“Hi,” Johnny says once they catch their breath, and Simon can feel the smile against his lips.

“Johnny,” Simon mumbles, and it sounds like a prayer. He pulls Johnny closer and feels the strong muscles of his arms circle around Simon’s waist. He cradles Johnny’s face, thumb softly rubbing against the stubble on his cheek, and he leans in again. This, Simon thinks, is his own personal version of heaven.

They’re pressed together now, chest to chest, and Simon is certain he’d be fine dying right here.

“How long?” Johnny asks, and he leans into the palm of Simon’s hand.

“Fishin’ for compliments, Sergeant? B’neath you.” There’s a swift slap on his shoulder. Simon nuzzles into the crook of Johnny’s neck to hide his smile.

“Awa’ an bile yer heid.” There’s no bite in the words. “How long?”

“Las Almas,” Simon admits against his skin. “The way you looked at the rig when the missile ‘it. I couldn’t look away from you. Still haven’t been able to.” He pulls back just enough to rest their foreheads together. “And when I saw Graves bullet ‘it…well, not even Price would’ve been able to keep me from huntin’ him down.”

“Hells bells, Simon. That was over a year ago!”

Simon ignores the outburst and kisses a rough, uneven scar barely hidden within the sergeant’s hairline. Johnny’s newest, only a couple weeks old “But then Makarov -” It takes a moment to fight past the lump in his throat. The arms around his waist tighten.

“In the hospital, I promised meself - “ Johnny turns his face into Simon’s neck, “that if I made it out, if I got one more shot, I was done runnin’ from ye.” He pulls back, freeing one hand and brings it up to cup Simon’s cheek. “While I lay in that bloody bed, all I could think was, ‘Ye didn’t get tae tell him. Ye didn’t get tae tell him, and now he’ll never know.’ So let me tell ye now.” Johnny cups beneath Simon’s jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze. “I love ye, Simon Riley. In this life and the next, I will always love ye. God help any sorry soul that ever tries to take ye from me, because I will burn this world tae tha ground until I find ye. I don’t know how long this life is willin’ to give us, but I’ll take whatever it’s generous with as long as it’s with ye.”

And well, Simon isn’t quite sure what to do with that.

There’s a jumble of emotions rattling around in his heart threatening to spill into his gut if he thinks too hard about it. He’s aware that Johnny is staring at him, adoration and patience swimming in stormy blue, and his hand is softly carding through the curls at Simon’s nape. He remembers Johnny back on that tarmac - nearly two years ago now - brash and cocky and willing, and wonders what would have happened if he’d known how his fate was written, how his own heart was on the line. If he had known on that first mission what that annoying sergeant would come to mean to him, what would he have done? Would he have kept Johnny at arm’s length, protecting him from the jagged mess that is Simon’s darkness? Standing there, basking in the glow that is his Johnny, he doesn’t think so. He doesn’t think he could have.

Simon threads a hand in the back of Johnny’s mohawk - it’s beginning to flirt with deregulation - and snakes the other around his waist. “Take the good moments,” he mutters in the space between them.

“Aye,” Soap says, smile bright in the lowlight. “Take the good moments.”

So, they spend the evening trading lazy kisses and honeyed words. At some point, boots are forgotten and jumpers join a pile in the corner. They tumble into bed, legs tangled, and even as sleep takes them, not an inch of space is allowed. Johnny’s breaths fan across Simon’s chest, deep, content. Sleep is pulling at Simon’s lashes, but he fights it a little longer. In his last moment of consciousness, he grazes a finger along Johnny’s hairline, catching on the rough scar, and he thinks the memoir needs a title change:

Storm Blue Eyes and A Scottish Brogue: Reasons Simon Riley Came Back to Life.

And in the morning, there’s a folder waiting on Price’s desk. He sips his coffee, picks it up, and smiles at the familiar weight. When he flips it open, there’s simply a location: Glasgow.

“Merry Christmas, Simon,” Price says and watches a jeep pull out of the base.

Johnny is singing Mariah at the top of his lungs, and Simon doesn’t remember the last time he was this content. The mask is forgotten on the desk in his room, and a new knife is tucked by his side. They turn onto the highway, Glasgow waiting, and Soap lays his hand out between them.

Simon can feel it, the wispy end of a filament stretching between them. The past collisions and the future moments. He can see it, that future laying on the other side. That future full of lazy kisses and even lazier mornings. Of days together, never questioning if the other walks through the door. Of Christmases in Scotland and maybe a cabin one day, too. For now, they have to make due with stitches in safehouses and easy touches in helis. Stolen kisses in private rooms and hidden words between the commands.

For now, he reaches over and takes Johnny’s hand.

#my first ever exchange!!!!#this was so fun ahhh!#ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty #2024 ghoap holiday exchange #tay writes

88 notes · View notes

joelalorian · 8 months ago

Text

Petals of Affection - Part I

A floral mystery in three parts featuring Jackson!Joel x f!reader

Summary: A secret admirer gifts you a different flower and a riddle ten times before you put the clues together and discover that he's been right in front of your face the whole time.

Written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna challenge. Please check out all the wonderful works created in Jett's honor!

I know enough about flowers to fill a thimble. Really, all I know is how to kill them, accidentally or otherwise. Everything to do with the flowers in this story is courtesy of Google, so please suspend disbelief at how some of these could exist in Wyoming, yada yada. I just picked ones that fit the narrative.

Word count: 4,284

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, humor, cursing, gratuitous use of poor floral descriptions, scheming, clueless reader, fluff, eventual smut, alcohol, food, coffee, terms of endearment. POV flops around like a fish outta water. Reader has no physical description aside from having hair that gets frizzy with humidity and often dirt-covered hands, because greenhouses, ya know? No use of y/n, none whatsoever.

Dividers courtesy of the wonderful @saradika-graphics. Gif chosen because of the wonderful floral wallpaper ;)

Hope you enjoy!

Part II | Part III | Masterlist

An oasis in a world rife with death and devastation, you clung to the life the reinforced walls of Jackson offered. After years of struggling to survive each new day, you felt like you could finally take a deep breath. Everyone was no nice and welcoming, some more than others, and you slipped right into the fabric of the small community.

Within a month of your arrival, Maria assigned you to the greenhouses, having picked up on your knowledge and love of plants – particularly flowers. You must have bored her to death one too many times regaling the language of flowers over a bottle or two of aged wine while seated together on her couch. The two of you became fast friends, the kind that felt like you’ve known each other forever. It was exactly what you needed, longed for even, after long bouts of solitude.

Being close to Maria meant you visited their house often. And equally often, you would find Joel Miller there, deep in conversation with his brother about one matter or another. His eyes always flashed when you entered the house, and he’d stop mid-sentence to greet you with an effortless, “Howdy darlin’” as you followed Maria to the kitchen.

Soon enough, the soft greetings turned into more substantial conversation as the four of you dined together or gathered at Maria and Tommy’s for game night, playing whatever new board game the men found while on patrol. Laughter and friendly arguments filled the air on those nights, making it easier than ever to forget about the carnage and desolation beyond the walls.

Tonight, the four of you played Scrabble – it took Tommy finding three sets of the game to get all the letter tiles required to actually play – and your belly hurt from how hard you laughed whenever Maria challenged Joel on a word. He was better at the game than you would have thought – his reserved nature and southern twang not giving away how well-read he was.

“Denied! Fartlek is not a word, Joel. There’s no way!” Maria insisted, not willing to give into Joel’s apparent triple word score on the word that would have him take the lead in total score.

“Is to a word,” Joel returned stubbornly, refusing to remove the letters from the board. “Look it up if ya don’t believe me. It’s in the fuckin’ Oxford dictionary.”

“Oh, it is, is it? Is it in the Cambridge one, too? What does it mean then?” Maria wasn’t backing down, ripping a battered dictionary right out of Tommy’s hands to see for herself.

“Hey! I was looking it up,” Tommy yelped, shooting a wink at you as you both watched the drama unfold.

Ignoring his brother, Joel rattled off something about the word being related to running. At least, that’s what you thought he said, you were too busy fighting back tears from laughing too hard. Sure enough, he was right.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Maria grumbled, flopping back into the couch cushions. “It’s a training technique for running. Screw you, Miller.”

Unsurprisingly, the game ended shortly thereafter with Joel the victor by a healthy margin. After helping to clean up, you offered appreciation and hugs to Maria and Tommy for a delightful evening. “Next time, let’s play something less…”

“Cerebral?” Maria supplied with a frown.

“Annoying?” Tommy interjected with a grin.

Joel stayed quiet, a half-smile gracing his lips as he waited for you to finish your sentence.

“Just something that doesn’t require a dictionary or cause so much arguing,” you laughed. Waving between Joel and Maria, you added, “You two can never agree on anything! See you all tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk you home, darlin’,” Joel said, rushing to put his jacket and boots on and catch up with you. When you opened your mouth to let him know you’d be fine on your own, he added, “Gotta check in on Ellie anyway.”

Maria and Tommy shared a look as Joel opened the door to usher you through. You caught them and frowned, feeling like you weren’t in on a joke or something.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the last remnants of winter’s snowy wrath crunching beneath your boots the only sound. You looked up at the night sky as you walked, gasping at the flash of colors in the otherwise darkened sky. Joel stopped, following your gaze upwards as you both stood mouths agape.

“That’s the northern lights, right? I’ve never seen it before.”

“Mmhmm. Aurora borealis. Pretty amazin’.”

“Beautiful,” you sighed, breath a cloud billowing in the crisp air, eyes soaking in every bit of the cosmic phenomenon.

You didn’t realize it staring up at the sky as you were, but Joel’s umber eyes were fixed on you when he replied, “Sure is.”

You stayed like, shoulders gently bumping as you both enjoyed nature’s show, until the temperature dropped further and you shivered. An awed smile remained plastered on your face the rest of the walk to your house, one Joel would never forget.

The dichotomy of the humid, warm air within the greenhouses and the chilled breeze outside confused your body, but you loved it. Sure, the humidity did nothing good for your hair, leaving it a frizzy mass around your head sometimes, but the dewy feeling on your skin always reminded you of childhood summers spent at the beach.

Tending to the various fruit and vegetable plants all morning, in what you deemed Greenhouse 1, you saved your favorite duties – the ones associated with flowers – for the afternoon. While you enjoyed caring for all the plants, you loved tending to the flowers, humming as you pruned and replanted clippings, expanding your every growing collection. If the patrol teams kept bringing you seeds and specimen back, you’d need yet another greenhouse. The council would just love that.

The creak of the door to Greenhouse Two drew your attention shortly after you switched gears and you stood, brushing the dirt from your jeans before glancing up. Your face shifted into a soft smile at the sight of Joel standing hesitantly just inside the door.

“Hey Joel, what did you bring me today?” You knew he had patrol duty and likely found some interesting plant during his travels. “Better not be western baneberry again. You know how poisonous those berries are!”

Stepping forward, Joel chuckled as you teased him. “I know now! It was one time and you’ll never let me live it down, will ya?” Thrusting his hand toward you, he dropped a small pile of seeds onto your dirt-covered palm. “Not sure what these are, but we found down by the ol’ mill. Might be something cool.”

“Might be,” you hummed, poking the seeds a little. Hopefully the cold didn’t get to them. You grabbed the nearest pot, quickly filled it with soil and sprinkled the seeds in as you tilled the top few inches. “We’ll find out soon enough what kind of treasure these are.”

Leaning back against a messy tabletop, hands on hips, Joel watched you tend to the new addition before finding the perfect place for the pot, nestled on a table amongst other seedlings. “Do you –”

Joel’s mouth snapped shut as the greenhouse door banged open next to him, a boisterous voice carrying into the warm space before its body did.

“Tangerine! Check out what I found today,” Alex, another member of the patrol team, called as he strolled right past Joel without acknowledgement. Younger and not as broad as Joel, the man held a growing affection for you, which irked the older man.

“Alex,” you sighed playfully. He was cute in a youthful, untrained puppy kind of way and had an annoying habit of calling you nicknames that made no sense. “I told you to stop calling me that. We don’t even have tangerines here.”

Snickering under his breath, Joel observed the younger man falling all over himself to impress you. Why you indulged the idiot, he would never understand.

Alex waved you off. “You love it, and you know it. Lookit here,” he said, thrusting his hand toward you. Slight though he was, Alex had large hands, and in his right one were three clusters of small, bell-shaped blooms with a purple hue.

“Prairie bluebell! Where did you find these?” Your face lit up as you took the blooms in a gentle grasp, admiring them for a moment before setting to work on replanting.

Alex prattled on boastfully about finding them just off a rocky path down near the river while Joel focused on watching you work. When Alex finally paused for breath, you chimed in with some flower lore.

“Did you know that bluebells are often called fairy flowers? It is said that the bluebells are rung to summon fairies to a meeting. But, since fairies aren’t always good, the flowers could be enchanted leaving anyone who wanders into a ring of bluebells lost in fairy woods.”

Joel snorted at the idea of Alex becoming lost in fairy woods, never to be found again. If only they could be so lucky, he thought. He knew there was more you could share about the symbolism of the delicate flowers, but it would be lost on someone like Alex.

Rolling his eyes, Joel was about to take his leave when Alex blurted, “Would you join me for dinner tonight? I heard they just got in some fresh venison.”

Absorbed in your work, you hardly heard him, and Alex repeated himself, a hint of annoyance in his tone. Joel froze, holding his breath in anticipation of your answer. Please say no, he thought. You could do so much better than this moron.

Brow furrowed, you stared at Alex, considering your response. “Like a date?”

The younger man nodded eagerly, a broad smile spreading across his lips. You glanced at Joel, not certain what you were hoping to see, and found him staring back, stone faced, arms crossed in front of his chest tightly. Giving you nothing to work with, your shoulders slumped, resigned. “Sure, I guess.”

Not the most enthusiastic answer, but you couldn’t remember the last time you went on a date and Alex was the only one asking.

You didn’t even realize Joel moved until the door closed heavily behind his retreating form.

The breeze carried a sense of change as you strolled home from your shift in the greenhouse. The weather was finally warming, ever so slightly, as Mother Nature loosened her grip on winter, letting spring slowly creep in.

Mixed emotions tumbled through your mind as your feet carried you through the streets of Jackson by muscle memory alone. Alex asking you to dinner caught you off guard – you had a feeling he was interested, but he never made any sort of bold move. The fact he finally did while Joel was standing right there threw you off balance.

Did you even like this guy?

Sure, Alex was attractive, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and tanned skin. But his personality made him seem more like a golden retriever, goofy and too eager to impress, than someone you could fall for. It made you wonder if there was any substance lurking under the surface.

In the absence of any other offers, did it even matter?

No, you guessed it really didn’t.

These thoughts carried you right to your front steps and you stopped, taken by the presence of something unusual waiting in front of your door.

A solitary stalk with a gorgeous jasmine bloom, a slip of paper wrapped around the stem held in place by nondescript string.

Picking it up, you held the flower to your nose, breathing in the rich, sensual aroma. The scent brightened your mood, and you slipped the scrap of paper from beneath the string. You whispered the words printed in a block scrawl you didn’t recognize.

Joyful moments shared; the answer lies in the air.

What did it mean?

Glancing around, you searched the street and neighboring homes for a sign of who might have left the flower and note for you. The only people in sight were your elderly neighbors, married couples, and the kids from a few houses down. None of them would have left you such a gift.

Who in the world left this for you?

Would Alex do something romantic like this? You doubted it, but what else did you have to go on?

Once inside, you trimmed the stem and put the flower in a container on the counter, placing the scrap of paper in front of it.

You gazed at the flower, mulling over the riddle before you. The note indicated that you’ve shared moments with whomever left the flower. Jasmine itself symbolized love and romance. You made friends with a lot of people since you came to town – too many shared experiences and moments to choose from.

Twenty minutes and too much thinking in circles, you were no closer to understanding the clues and teetering on the verge of being late for your date. You needed more data before hazarding any reasonable guesses.

“Why do you torture yourself like this?” Tommy questioned. Sitting at the bar watching his brother pining over you was not his idea of a fun Friday night. “You should just bite the bullet and ask her out already.”

Joel shook his head. He had no explanation for why he hadn’t made a move yet. For months now, he knew he liked you as more than friends, pined over you in silence, yet he never took the next step. Joel Miller was not a coward, but his fear of losing one of the few friends he had left in the world had him frozen in place, afraid to make any moves. He couldn’t take that chance. Finally putting words to the feelings roiling inside him, he told his brother as much.

“I get it, brother. I do,” Tommy replied, thumping Joel on the back in commiseration. “But can you really say you’re ok watchin’ her go on dates with asshats like Alex? ‘Cause that’s gonna keep happenin’ unless you do something about it. And I don’t mean killin’ the dude.”

Joel shook his head. Hunched over the bar, shooting surreptitious glances your way, he had to admit Tommy was right. He could think of few things worse than watching you go on a date with someone other than him, especially with dipshits like that guy.

“I ain’t killin’ anyone, but I do have a plan. Already put it in motion, in fact.” Picking at a scratch in the bar, Joel shifted his gaze from you to Tommy. “I might need your help with some of it. Maria’s too.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me all about this grand plan then.”

Unsurprisingly, the date was a dud.

Alex had the personality of a goldfish rather than a golden retriever, and the two of you had nothing in common. He also interrupted you mid-sentence no less than three times – once could be considered a mistake, but three times was an unforgiveable offense as far as you were concerned. You stopped making an effort about halfway through dinner and wished for a hole to open up beneath your seat and swallow you whole.

Worst of all, he acted like an entitled dickhead when you refused dessert, thanked him for the date, and let him know there wouldn’t be a second one. He’s lucky you didn’t knee him in the nuts before walking away from the table.

How unfortunate that dating sucked nearly as much now as it did before the fucking apocalypse. It was unfair, really. At what point did being a woman stop sucking?

Lamenting your lack of success in the relationship department, you trudged home. You wondered what Joel was up to – you caught a glimpse of him at the bar with Tommy earlier and he didn’t look happy, but you didn’t see him when you left. Part of you longed to visit him, maybe have a drink and sit on his porch gazing at the stars together like you’ve done before. But it was already late, and you didn’t want to bother him. Hell, he could have a woman over already, which would be mortifying if you interrupted. The thought sank unpleasantly in your mind until you got to your house and pushed it away.

A little gift waited for you on the porch, just like earlier. An orchid this time. Symbol of love, thoughtfulness, and charm. Your index finger traced the delicate petals with the gentlest touch as a smile slowly crept its way across your lips.

Another note was attached, and you plucked it from beneath the same kind of string, eyes devouring the words.

Overwhelmed by your grace, the answer hides in this place.

The flower wasn’t completely cold, so it had to have been left recently. Brow furrowed; you glanced around but there was no one in sight. You wracked your brain trying to figure out the identity of your secret admirer, but you were at a loss. Prior to dinner, you briefly thought Alex was the culprit, but now it was obvious he didn’t have a romantic bone in his lanky body.

You heart knew who it longed for it to be, but you refused to consider it. He didn’t want you that way, of that you were certain.

Giving the orchid the same treatment as the jasmine earlier, you tucked the stem into the same container and placed it on the coffee table so you could admire the blossoms while you fell asleep on the couch. After all, why bother with a big bed without someone to share it with?

Saturdays were your day off, but the sun shining through the curtains you forgot to close the night before ruined your plans of sleeping in. Grumbling at the unnecessary brightness, you stumbled into the kitchen desperate for coffee. The coffee tin felt light in your hand when you reached for it and, sure enough, you saw nothing but a tiny amount of powdery remains of coffee beans at the bottom.

God dammit. Barely eight o’clock in the morning and this day already had two strikes against it. It wasn’t looking good so far.

Not caring that you still wore the clothes from your date the night before, you quickly brushed your teeth and finger-combed your hair into submission before leaving the house. Pausing at the door for a moment, you debated whose house to go to. Joel always had coffee – it was his drug of choice – but Maria and Tommy were closer.

Not awake enough for decision-making, you let your feet carry you in whichever direction they wanted… which was exactly three feet onto the porch before they stopped. Another flower with a note sat waiting for you.

Your mood brightened considerably at the sight of the double-flowered, funnel-shaped Eustoma, petals a pale purple. The rose-like flowers weren’t native to Wyoming, but you got lucky months ago when someone found a seed packet. You were shocked the seeds were still viable. Did someone pluck it from the greenhouse? You gave away a few cuttings not that long ago, but unless they were replanted, there’s no way they’d last this long. It had to be from the greenhouse. Where the hell else would they get one?

The addiction-like need for coffee temporarily forgotten, you rubbed the Eustoma gently against your nose, confirming the lack of scent when you breathed in and wondered what the little note would say this time.

Endless thoughts of you, the answer is in the view.

Stepping back into the house, you added the flower with the others, mulling over the symbolism of the Eustoma. Whoever left it must be trying to tell you that they appreciate and admire you. But when you add it with the others, what did it all mean?

As good as you were with flowers, you were awful at solving mysteries. A detective you were not. Besides, it was still too early for this kind of puzzle.

The desire for coffee returned and you left the flower quandary behind as you made your way to Joel’s.

Joel didn’t expect to see you today, his day looking up when he opened the door to find you on his doorstep. His heart immediately sank when he noticed you wearing the same clothes from the night before, hair mussed.

“Your date must have gone well,” he said, eyes roving over your clothing, knowing his tone was less friendly than you were used to from him. “What are you doin’ here this early?”

You were clearly thrown off kilter by his remark, frowning as he stepped back to let you in.

“Wha—” you started to question him but shook your head. “I just came to see if you had any spare coffee. I ran out without realizing it.”

“Didn’t have any to offer Alex this morning? That’s a damn shame.” Joel felt the heat of your confused gaze on his back as you followed him into the kitchen.

“What are you talking about?” You sighed, staring at him with furrowed brows.

Avoiding your searching gaze, Joel poured a cup of coffee, adding the perfect amount of sugar you liked, and glowered at the cup as he handed it over. “You’re wearing the same clothes as last night. I assume you did the walk of shame this morning only to find you didn’t have any coffee.”

“It’s too early for your judgmental shit, Joel. You can be a real ass sometimes, you know that?” You turned to leave, mind trying to wrap itself around why this day was turning out so oddly. Mercury was in retrograde again, it had to be. You and Joel never spoke to each other like this. As you reached the door, not caring that you basically stole his coffee cup, you called over your shoulder, “And the date wasn’t even like that, for the record.”

“You’re welcome for the coffee,” Joel muttered as you let yourself out of his house.

“You didn’t have to be such a dick, you know.” Ellie appeared around the corner; arms crossed over her chest.

“I know. I couldn’t help it. The thought of her with that jackass just…” he sighed. “I got a little carried away, but it’s fine. The plan is still in play. Did you take care of what I asked you to?”

“You come up with some strange plans, old man. Yeah, I got it done.”

Fed up with the day and everyone in town before noon, you hid away in your house for the rest of the day. The interaction with Joel weighed on you the entire afternoon and well into the night. What was up with him? Were you being too sensitive, taking his comments personally?

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was jealous you went on a date with Alex.

Unsurprisingly, you slept poorly and woke up groggy and unfocused Sunday morning. It was going to be a long day in the greenhouse if you didn’t find some coffee to power you up. Getting ready earlier than normal, you planned to stop at Maria and Tommy’s to see if they had coffee – there was no way you were going back to Joel’s after yesterday.

Opening the door to another brisk, early spring morning, the glint of sunlight on the porch drew your eyes to yet another flower waiting for you. Four in a row now, how long would this carry on for?

One of your favorites, you picked up the stalk with six lavender blossoms, violet in hue, and breathed in the fresh, light scent, savoring the sweet undertones. Fingers caressed the downy leaves, making you feel calmer, mellower, which was exactly what you needed.

You kept sniffing the floral scent as you read the accompanying note, finding it fitting.

Lost in your scent, the answer is present.

“Tell me you have a secret admirer!”

Startled, you gasped, gaze shooting to Maria as she approached your house, two mugs of coffee in hand. You face shifted into a smile at the sight.

“I’m… um, I guess. I’m not sure?” You shrugged accepting the mug Maria held out toward you. “Thanks for this, I ran out.”

“I heard,” she replied. “Joel’s on the hunt for more, don’t worry.”

“Of course he is,” you rolled your eyes.

“Soooo…” Maria gestured to the flowers and note in your hand, seeking an explanation. “I feel like there’s a story here.”

“There is, I just don’t know what it is yet,” you admitted. Inhaling the calming scent of the lavender once again, you added, “This is the fourth one I’ve received. Each one has its own riddle. Let me show you.”

Leading the way into your house – you still had an hour before your shift started – you showed Maria the flowers and each note that accompanied them. In small print, you added what each flower symbolized to the corresponding note and numbered them in the order you received them, hoping every little detail would help you sort out the puzzle.

Maria looked over everything, smiling softly at each note. “Whoever this mystery man is, he’s quite romantic.”

“Right?”

“What do today’s flowers mean?”

“In the context of the rest of the flowers so far, love and devotion,” you replied, heat warming your cheeks.

Maria whistled softly. “Someone is down bad for you, girl. Any ideas who it could be?”

Shrugging defeatedly, you admitted, “Not a clue. The one person I’d want it to be would never do something like this.”

Maria hid a smile behind her mug as she sipped her coffee. “How can you be sure?”

tbc

#jettsflora&faunachallenge #writing challenge #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel x female reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedrostories

303 notes · View notes

crushedbyhyperbole · 10 months ago

Text

Cherry Pie Kiss

Slice Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Summary: Out on the hunt, out of state and out of options; with your life on the line, Dean makes a call you're not happy with. Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he brings a peace offering.

Haven't read Part One? - Catch up here.

Words: ~3.5k

A/N: This is part 2 of 3 of what started as a short one shot, but someone asked for another slice of pie so I'm here to deliver. There isn't any smut in this part (its all going to be in part 3 😂) but there are graphic depictions of gore, violence and death which is why I ask minors not to read or interact. Reader is female but generic, and obviously has feelings but is kind of stuck in this hate to love him type thing which carries on from part 1. I hope you enjoy the read and are ready for the goonfest and gratuitous smut coming in part 3.

Warnings: gore, death and gruesome depictions of canon-type violence, profanity as standard for my work, bit of angst, bit of fluff right at the end.

***Minor do not read or interact***

Dean Winchester. You hate him. His saviour complex, his unwavering strength, the way he’s so damn selfish though not in the ways that count… But boy, can he wear a pair of jeans. Phew-ee!

You hate that you can’t stop looking at him, leaning on the jukebox of the bar you’re in, feeding it quarters in exchange for some feel-good tunes. Ugh! Asshole!

Tonight had been a tough night. Even Sam was feeling the burn. Out on the hunt, out of state and out of options, the three of you had played a Hail Mary and it had paid off. Those damn vamps had just kept on coming. Sam was down and you were in a bad way with what felt like a hoard of those fuckers piling into the abandoned factory to make a meal out of you all. Starting out, you had all been so sure that you had this little group in the bag but, as per usual with these goddamn things, the plan didn’t pan out.

Dean had dragged you and a semi-conscious Sam into a tight space between the machines. One way in, one way out. You were both toast if you were found and of course you would be found; the vamps had your scent.

Groggily, you watched dean uncoil something from his pocket and string it across the opening at about neck height.

“Guitar string.” He winked at you as if this idea was the best idea he had ever had and should have been plan A from the start.

“We’re fucking bait?” You hissed furiously. No, surely not? Dean would never use his brother as bait. Would he? “Goddamn asshole!” You snarled with as much vitriol you could muster between your gasping breaths and painful ribs.

He just gave you that weary look he had been wearing for the past hour and shrugged his shoulders before pulling out his machete and hiding himself out of sight. “Get ready.”

You brandished your blade and hauled yourself to your feet, ready to fight. There was no point wasting any more breath insulting him. If you got out of this alive, you would have plenty of opportunity to call him all the names under the sun. IF you got out alive.

The first vamps that found you came rushing in, right down the tight alley framed by the large machinery and with a sharp twang, Dean’s trap garrotted them straight through, taking their heads clean off. Of the next three, the wire took the first two but the third approached cautiously despite you calling him to come get you.

Dean ran out from his hiding place and attacked the vamp from behind, slashing at the guy’s thick neck twice in order to cut all the way through. As the body fell you saw why the vamp had stopped – the trap had remnants of flesh and blood along it from its previous victims making it easier to see. You wiped your sleeve along it to clean the bits of hanging flesh off making it almost invisible again. Dean gave you an impressed nod.

Another two vamps fell to the wire but the last one got snagged as she fell, snapping it and making it useless. Well, it was a good idea while it lasted, you thought.

It took you two a little while longer to attract the remaining few vamps who obviously knew something was up. Sam was in no fit state, still groaning on the ground. You were weak and in a lot of pain but you kept swinging your blade, struggling to breathe let alone stand.

The fight had been brutal and both you and Dean were covered in blood by the time it was over. You were on your knees, slumped over a vamp you had had to hack into to remove the head, your blade surely blunt by now. You were ready to close your eyes and give up when Dean pulled you to your feet.

“C’mon,” he said gruffly, “up and at’em.” Helping you out over the pile of decapitated bodies, he hauled a now mostly conscious Sam through the mess.

You had made it to the Impala and, for once, Dean hadn’t grumbled about getting blood on Baby’s seats but throwing a couple blankets down instead. Sam slumped in the front while you crawled in the back, weary and sore. Your eyes met Dean’s in the rearview mirror but yours flicked away immediately, unable to look at him without getting angry. When you looked back so did he, like he knew you’d be looking, and held on, asking if you were okay without actually asking. If he really cared he wouldn’t have used you as bait.

You let your head fall back onto the seat and closed your eyes frustrated by his dichotomy.

After a while on the road, Dean turned the radio on, breaking the silence which opened the door for you to say what was on your mind. Sam hadn’t been bothered one bit by the fact that Dean had used you both as bait, but you were furious.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Dean snapped, frustrated by your anger.

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you and a whole long list of other people. Aint nothin’ new.”

Around five miles out of Crocker, Missouri, Dean pulled into a truck stop complex which had a convenience store, gas station, diner, a small motel and a dive bar. The dawn was still hours away and the need for a couple of hours sleep in a comfortable bed was showing on all three of you. Sam was the cleanest so he made the arrangements; two rooms because there was no way you were sharing a room with that asshole after what he did. You were just as likely to fuck him out of anger as fight him at that point.

You used the showers in the truck stop to clean off all the blood and get into some clean clothes, relishing in the feel of the warm water and decent water pressure. You felt a slight pang of guilt that someone would likely be picking vamp chunks out of the drain in the next couple of days but it passed quickly, it probably wasn’t the worst thing these truck stop attendants had seen over the years.

Refreshed by the shower and a take-out burger from the diner, you decided you needed a drink or five, which sounded good to Sam and Dean – you all deserved it.

So, here you are, several drinks in, pounding another tequila shot, trying not to stare at Dean Winchester’s ass while Sam bids you goodnight and takes himself off to one of the two rooms you had paid for at the run-down motel on site.

It seems as if you’re not the only one with an eye for a firm ass in tight Wranglers; a scantily clad barfly sidles up to Dean and strokes her hand down his back as he plugs his final song into the jukebox. When her hand reaches that ass of his, he straightens and turns, grinning at her with that look you know means he’s going to ride her all the way to dawn.

You can’t watch this. You don’t have the stomach for it, not tonight. You pound your remaining two shots and eat the lime slice, peel and all. Then you’re up off your stool and pushing past Dean and his lady friend, and out into the night where the air cools your heated skin but not your confusing emotions.

In the second of the two rooms, you look at your bruised face and neck in the mirror. No wonder he didn’t look twice at you, you’re a mess. It shouldn’t pain you like it does to think of him with another woman. He asked once and you said no, so that is the end of that. Plus, you hate him, can’t forget that. Still, it gives you some small satisfaction that he now has no empty room to take his new friend to so he’ll have to bang her in Baby, on the bloody blankets. With a spiteful smirk you flop on the bed and fall into a light disturbed sleep.

A loud knock on the door wakes you up with a start. At first you don’t know where you are. So used to your room in the bunker, you had almost forgotten what it feels like to sleep that first night in a new place, never truly resting for fear of attack. It’s only an hour or so since you left the bar and you’re groggy from the tequila and from the waking.

You don’t turn on the lights when you go to the peephole, looking out with your pistol muzzle pushed up against the flimsy wood door. Dean sways on the other side, his head turned as though he’s listening.

“Sam’s in the other room,” you call, clicking the safety back onto your pistol.

“I know,” he grumbles, “open up. I got something.”

“It can wait until the morning.”

“Can’t wait,” it sounds muffled, “owwww!” he hisses.

“What the hell,” you sigh, sliding the chain and turning the handle.

Dean stumbles in with his mouth shaped like an “O” as he slides two bowls onto the unit next to the TV, shaking his hands afterwards as if burned. You close the door and engage the chain out of habit.

“Got you something.” He grins goofily, obviously much more drunk than you had left him in the bar, and you wonder what happened to the barfly. Surely the womanizing Dean Winchester hadn’t banged and dropped her in that short a time?

“It’s two in the morning, Dean.” You wipe a hand down your tired face, lifting your eyes again to see him handing you one of the bowls from the diner.

“Peace offering.” He says with a smile as he pushes the hot ceramic into your hands, his eyes glistening with mirth and the effects of all the whiskey he shot back earlier.

You look at what he brought you and your heart almost stops. It’s a steaming hot piece of cherry pie, drizzled in a large puddle of vanilla custard just the way you like it. You look at his, with his tiny dollop of cream just the way he likes it, and you can’t help but smile.

“Why?” You ask as you sit on the edge of the bed with him in the chair by the TV, the bowl in your hand, spoon loaded with goodness.

He finishes chewing a piece of the hot pie, sucking in air to cool it in his mouth before he replies. “I know you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you admit too quickly but the words are out now whether he believes them or not.

“And I know it’s my fault,” he looks at you with those eyes, “I shouldn’t have made things awkward from day one. So, I’m sorry about that.”

“Thank you.” You never thought you would ever hear Dean Winchester apologise, or what you would say in return.

“I didn’t know how to take the rejection,” he sighed heavily, “especially not from someone I have this amazing chemistry with, y’know? But that’s on me.”

What great chemistry did Dean think he had with you? All the years you had known him, you’d harboured a bit of a crush on him but he always acted like you were one of the guys. When you two crossed paths it had felt effortless to slip into the old camaraderie but he treated you like a sister, a fellow hunter, until you had shown up on his radar this time covered in blood and all kinds of messed up and he’d gotten all pissed and… ohhhh.

“You were right all those years ago when you said hunters shouldn’t get close,” he continues, “I should’ve listened and never asked that question.”

You remember the conversation clearly. It was something you had said because you thought it was what he wanted to hear from you. Younger and more naïve, you had thought that what he wanted was for you to be like one of the guys so you had said the words and hoped that you could remain where you were with him, always close but never at risk of blowing everything. Over time you had begun to regret that decision, and as soon as he started acting like an asshole it had been easy to trade the feelings you had for ones of resentment.

“I wish I never said it. I didn’t realise what I would be losing when I asked.” He looks at you again, beseechingly. “Do you think we can start again? Be friends like before?”

You think about it for a moment but the more you think the surer you are that you can’t go back. You can’t know these things and have these experiences and go back to the beginning.

“No, Dean, I don’t think we can.” Your words are soft but the devastation in his eyes is sharp and painful.

You stand, placing your untouched bowl on the bedside table, and walk towards him. His bowl is empty now, but there’s a little piece of pie left on his spoon when you take it from him. He’s confused but follows your every movement with a mixture of sadness and reverence.

The pie is sweet on your tongue and the way his eyebrows raise when your lips close around the spoon brings a cheeky glint to your eyes. You sit on his knee, wrapping one arm around his shoulders while the other pulls the now clean spoon past your lips. You swallow with a sigh. His hands go to your hip and thigh to steady you as he looks up at you.

You dip your head slowly and he tilts up to meet you, his eyes flicking between yours and your mouth. He tastes sweet just like you do when you lay your lips on his, a soft kiss that is both the testing of waters and the soothing of sharp emotions. He squeezes your thigh tighter for a brief moment and you pull back to see the questioning look on his face.

“But you said…”

You shush him with a finger laid over his lips. “I know what I said.”

“Then what did you mean?” He swallows hard, licking his lips nervously afterwards as if you’re about to pull the rug out from under him.

“I wish I’d said yes.”

#dean winchester x reader kiss #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester fic #spn #spn fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester hurt/comfort #dean winchester angst #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester fanfiction #cloudy's writing

186 notes · View notes

ceremorph0sis · 3 months ago

Text

We've Made It, My Dear

Pairing: Gale x Drow!Dark Urge (Named)

WC: 1.9k words

Tags+Warnings: Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Post-Canon, Happily Ever After, Hurt+Comfort, Nightmares, Mentions Of Gore, References To Death, Dark Urge Storyline Spoilers, Epilogue Spoilers

Author's Note: First time in a WHILEEEEE I've actually written something, and I'm pretty proud of it! Even while on the Dragon Age: The Veilguard hype train, I'm still enamored with BG3 and the Forgotten Realms haha. Didn't edit this brute, but I did look at it and nod approvingly before finally posting. Please let me know if I missed any tags or warnings. Enjoy!

It wasn’t the weight of the tressym on his chest nor the gentle breeze whispering through the open window that awoke Gale. It was the absence of a warm, familiar body by his side.

The milky moonlight spilling into the bedroom framed his belongings -their belongings- a cool silver hue, sharply contrasting the blots of darkness Gale’s eyes hadn’t yet attuned to. A deep sleeper, Gale wasn’t prone to waking in the night, but when he did, it always amused him to see how Nobody passed her time while waiting for him to stir. Some nights, she would read by his side, her pitch-black gaze flitting across every word with more ease than it would in daylight. Other times, she’d patter about the room as stealthily as a drow could manage, inspecting the manner of trinkets and artefacts he had collected over the years. Tonight, she was nowhere to be seen.

Gale carefully shifted Tara off his front and pushed back his blanket, affording himself a quiet congratulations for managing not to wake his fussy companion. Carefully setting his feet on the cold hardwood floor, he navigated the cluttered pathway from his bed to the door, each footfall as silent as the last. He reached for his housecoat, which typically hung from the doorknob, only to find it missing.

He frowned slightly as he turned the knob and made his quiet exit. Down the hallway and to the right, the glow of a gratuitous amount of candles emanated from downstairs. A somewhat concerning sight, knowing that Nobody was as at home in the darkness as she was in light.

The journey to the first floor was a mite more hurried than his escape from the bedroom had been. As he descended the last few steps of stairs, Gale examined the living room. Fully lit. Not a soul to be seen.

“Straj… Sorry, love. Get back to bed. I won’t be far behind you.”

Gale whipped his head towards the kitchen entrance. His startled heart calmed slightly when he saw that it was only Nobody, her grayish-white hair still mussed from sleep, as his must have been. She leaned against the doorway with a guilty smile and his own housecoat wrapped snugly around her frame, yet her eyes told a different story than what her casual demeanor sought to imply.

Nonetheless, Gale sighed in fond annoyance, crossing his arms. “Well, bully for my students, I suppose. They’ll ask me tomorrow, ‘Professor Dekarios, did you get even a wink of sleep last night? You look positively dreadful!’ And I’ll have no choice but to tell them the truth.”

“Oh?” Nobody purred, amused. “What would that truth be, sweetmeat?”

Wandering carelessly to the sofa before the hearth, Gale sat himself down, leaning back on its arm and lifting his legs onto the cushions, spreading them just enough for a lithe drow to slither between and rest her head on his waiting chest.

“That Mrs. Professor Dekarios cruelly abandoned her husband in the cold,” Gale answered simply, eliciting a snort from Nobody. “Don’t you try and tell me that Tara would gladly be my blanket on your behalf. We both know that she’s only a cuddling type at the most inconvenient of times.”

Just as expected, Nobody quickly caught onto her opportunity. She sauntered over with eagerness and slid into her rightful place, a territory she often playfully bickered with Tara over. Her eyelids fluttered shut as she basked in his warmth, the harried expression she worked to hide beginning to melt.

With one hand, Gale lavished her back with slow, languid strokes, the curves and dips of her body flowing familiarly beneath his touch. His other cradled her head with the tender care of a man who had seen her at her worst; who had seen her slick with the blood of innocents, watched as she writhed and thrashed against the bindings he himself tied to keep her from slaughtering him where he stood and cried wordlessly at her corpse after her last stand against her unholy father, the God of Murder. He held her as if after everything she did in the past, in another life, she still deserved comfort. Care. Love.

To Gale Dekarios, formerly known as Gale of Waterdeep among his peers, she truly did. The Dark Urge and Chosen of Bhaal, in his humble opinion, had died at the hands of Orin the Red years ago, back before their adventure had even brought them together. The woman he had met who lay in his arms was his wife, Nobody Dekarios, who had yet to come up with a proper name for herself, always promising him with a cheeky grin that she’d ‘get to it eventually.’

And he’d be damned to the Nine Hells before he let any matter trouble his incorrigibly mischievous, indescribably wonderful wife, no matter how inconsequential.

Or how early in the morning. Or late in the night. Gale hadn’t a single clue what time it was, and frankly, he was hesitant to find out.

“My love,” he said delicately.

“Mhm?”

“Is something bothering you?”

Nobody’s eyes flicked open, her steady breathing hitching. The slight furrow in her brows from earlier returned to her face. The smile on her lips became that much more strained and her eyes refused to meet his, as far as he could tell.

“I’d rather not keep you from your beauty sleep, sweetmeat,” she chuckled uncomfortably.

“Hm… I see. If it’s something we can’t solve with a fireball, you can tell me,” he chided her, gentle yet clear. Nobody rarely took her own issues seriously. Gale learned early on that she often needed a little time to come to terms with what she faced before talking her emotions out.

The corners of Nobody’s eyes crinkled as she exhaled a little laugh at his joke. “Gods, now that I’m awake, it seems rather stupid.”

“My love, the stupidity of your troubles matters not to me.” Gale gave her hair a gentle tug, prompting her to look at him. “I’m here. You’re here. If it’s something we can solve right here and now, we’ll do it together.”

Nobody went silent for a while. She absentmindedly rested her cheek back to his chest, her brow knitting together in a different manner, thinking on how to word her problems out. All the while, Gale held her close, still stroking her back and toying with her hair as patient as could be. Her breathing grew even and her eyes closed, and Gale had almost thought that she had fallen asleep when she finally spoke.

“I- ugh. I had a nightmare.”

Gale’s hand paused its leisurely stroll down the planes of her back. Nobody seldom fell into true slumber, instead opting to go into reverie. As a drow, however, the sleep of ordinary folk was not unknown to her. It seemed that one of her off nights wasn’t as restful as she needed.

“It was… uncanny,” she continued quietly, looking to him once again. “Remember the first party Withers threw for us? We were there. Everyone was the same as they were at the time, happy and smiling and drinking. Except you.”

Gale tilted his head with curiosity. “Is this where the dream goes south?”

“I was- you were- it was sad,” though she laughed through her words, she was distant, trying to talk without thinking about what she was saying. “We did it- we finished off the Absolute, the Chosen, everything. But the crown… you wanted the crown. You wanted to challenge Mystra, so you did. You failed.”

“Your mirror image told me everything in your place: how you got the Crown of Karsus, how you fought Mystra for her domain and how she obliterated you. You gave me a letter I couldn’t bring myself to read. I tried to kiss you, and… nothing. I guess I forgot that it wasn’t you- just a projection. It told me before it disappeared, ‘I can see why I loved you.’ And then it was gone. You were gone.”

Nobody’s voice cracked on the last of her words. Despite his best efforts, Gale recalled the day that Nobody died. His heart shattered on the floor of that wretched temple when Nobody fell to the ground. He felt as if he was drowning, overwhelmed by everything in that moment. The smell of blood permeating his senses. The blank stares of the surrounding cultists, witness to the fall of two leaders in one day. The thoughts in his head, asking over and over why? Why now? Why, when we’ve finally come this far? Why so soon after I’ve only just found her?

“No Waterdeep, no Mrs. Professor Dekarios, no homemade hundur sauce,” Nobody laughed humorlessly. “And look at me, on the verge of tears because of a bad dream. You’re a patient one, sweets.”

“I love you.”

The words came out of Gale’s mouth without a single thought, as they tended to. Loving her was as easy as breathing and to say it was as natural as any spell. Still, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

With a soothing smile on his lips, he pulled Nobody into a kiss, taking in every facet of her being. From the way her long hair tickled his cheeks to the natural scent of her, all petrichor and night-blooming flowers, and even the small noise of surprise she made at his affection, she was breathtaking. Resilient, but most importantly, she was here. Home, in his arms.

They’d made it. The worst of their days were over. Perhaps not forever, but they could breathe easy and live and love each other while they waited for life to take them on their next adventure, whether it be the next Dekarios family reunion or another cult to battle against for the fate of the world.

Gale Dekarios was nothing if not profusely verbose. Even if his kiss had told her all she needed to hear and feel, he refused to let a single doubt plague Nobody’s mind. When she pulled away, he cupped her cheek, reveling in the sweet smile she spared just for him.

“Whatever the Gale in your dreams said and did, give him a good clip ‘round the ear for me next time you see him,” he said firmly, making her giggle. “If he starts sulking on about ambition and godhood again, let him sulk. If he believes that the mere chance of godhood is worth more than the most wonderful woman in this plane and beyond, then I consider that excellent news- more of that aforementioned woman for me to enjoy, I’d say. If I give you even a fraction of a fraction of the happiness you give me every day, then I can confidently say that we don’t need to worry about either what happened before or what could’ve been. Safe to say, the less you think about that prat, the better.”

“You’re not getting jealous of Dream-Gale, are you, sweets?” Nobody teased.

“Jealous? Hah! Hardly,” Gale sniffed. “Disappointed? Definitely. Furious at him for making you distraught? Absolutely, if you’ll pardon my pun. But I refuse to be jealous of a man who’s already fallen after flying too close to the sun. Who needs the sun, when I’m already able to hold the world in my arms?”

Nobody buried her face in his chest, hiding her expression. His love was always too modest for her own good.

“You… ugh. I love you too, but stop that.”

Gale grinned, kissing the crown of her head.

He didn’t plan to.

~Fin <3~

74 notes · View notes

mermaidgirl30 · 1 year ago

Text

✨Look for the Light Masterlist✨

Outbreak! Joel Miller x OFC

Decided to do a mood board for my fic “Look for the Light” 🩵 It’s on A03 as well and has a playlist. This one is a slow burn, action packed, twisty ride. I hope you enjoy! Their relationship is absolutely canon 😍 This is my very first fic, and I put my entire heart and soul into it and have been working on it for six months. I am so over the moon with how well this story came out and am just so proud of it 🥰 This is forever my baby, and I cannot wait to continue my writing and more Joel fics! I hope you enjoy this beautiful work of art I have put together. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated 😊

Rating: Explicit (18+ only MDNI)

Word Count: 187,394

Summary: Aly finds herself trying to escape the Boston QZ. What Aly doesn’t know is Tess is pairing her up with Joel to go on a dangerous mission to find Tommy. Will Aly survive the brooding, moody Joel or will she find herself falling hard for him? (This fic is in both Aly and Joel’s POV)

Tags: Angst, fluff, smut, slow burn, attempted sexual assault, kidnapping, enemies to lovers, unprotected p in v, gratuitous smut, original character, protective Joel, anxiety, ptsd, sexual tension, mutual pining, eventual smut, younger female/older man, grumpy Joel, death, violence

This is me trying is so Joel coded, and I got a lot of inspiration in this story from this song 🩵

Chapter 1: Introductions

Chapter 2: Escaping

Chapter 3: Knife Practice

Chapter 4: Rock & Roll Hall of Fame

Chapter 5: One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Chapter 6: Panic Attacks and Blue Eyes

Chapter 7: What You Say Goes

Chapter 8: Thunderstorms and Heartbreak

Chapter 9: Safe, In My Arms

Chapter 10: Bow and Arrow Lessons

Chapter 11: Vacancy in a Cabin

Chapter 12: Taken

Chapter 13: David’s Territory

Chapter 14: What Town!

Chapter 15: Held Hostage

Chapter 16: Stay With Me

Chapter 17: Your Hand In Mine

Chapter 18: Slow Dancing In a Burning Room

Chapter 19: Back to the Lodge

Chapter 20: Taking David Down

Chapter 21: Burn It Down, Burn It All Down

Chapter 22: Liars

Chapter 23: Finding Ellie

Chapter 24: Welcome to Jackson

Chapter 25: Slow Hands

Chapter 26: You Are In Love

Chapter 27: Bubble Baths and Sweet Affections

Chapter 28: Guitar Lessons and Heart Strings

Chapter 29: Complications

Chapter 30: Protecting What’s Yours

Chapter 31: This Love

Epilogue : Proposal

Epilogue Pt II: Wedding Day

Soft - Extra little piece I wrote about Joel being in love

Trailer for my series 🥰

228 notes · View notes

infinitefolklore · 8 months ago

Text

Fanfic Master Post

*request a fic through Ask Me Anything*

Elucien

In The Darkness Before the Dawn, Leave a Light On

About: Elain is sent to the Mortal Lands to live with Lucien, Jurian, and Vassa to work on her Seer abilities, find a way to break Vassa's curse, and try to discover information about Koschei. Elain and Lucien are forced to live and work together, and get to know one another along the way.

Status: In Progress

Tropes/Tags: Forced Proximity, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Mutual Pining, Lust, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Canon Compliant

A Little Bit of Light Reading

About: Elain is all alone at the Town House and Lucien makes a surprise appearance. They decide to "explore the mating bond," but for how long can they keep it a secret? And what happens when the Inner Circle starts meddling in their business? Note: This fic became slightly AU towards the end!

Status: Complete; 43 Chapters; 120,896 words

Tropes/Tags: Smut, Dirty Jokes, Secret Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Drama, Banter, Library Sex, Drunken Shenanigans, Family Shenanigans, Sneaking Around, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Fluff without Plot, Drama Llama, Fist Fights, Jealousy, Love Triangles

Little Dove

About: Human!Elain and Fox!Lucien. This is a slight canon divergence deleted scene. After Feyre is taken to Spring Court, Tamlin sends Lucien to go check on the Archeron Estate. Lucien finds Elain all alone and offers her some company. Elain discusses her upcoming betrothal to Graysen, and Lucien tries to convince her to change her mind.

Status: Complete; One Shot; 10,895 words

Tropes/Tags: Alternate Canon, Deleted Scenes, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, One Shot, Fox Mask Lucien, Flirtatious Rake Lucien, Inexperienced Elain, Flirting

Healer in the Night

About: Lucien has been away on the continent on a mission. No one has heard from him in over two months. Elain is worried. On a dark and stromy night, he shows up bloody on her doorstep. Elain nurses him back to health.

Status: Complete; 5 Chapters; 12,750 words

Tropes/Tags: Healing, Injury, Injury Recovery, Angst, Fluff, Elain takes care of Lucien, Lucien is a gentleman, And a flirt, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Mating Bond, Eventual Smut, because everyone convinces me to write smut

Meet Me On The Battlefield

About: Lucien is captured by Koschei and our poor fox boy doesn't think anyone is coming to save him. He's wrong.

Status: Complete; 6 Chapters; 12,022 words

Tropes/Tags: Dungeon, Prison, Torture, Suicidal Thoughts, Angst, Mention of torture, blood and injuries, don't worry this will have a happy ending, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Final Battle, Lucien is hopeless, Then he changes his mind, I don't want to give too much away in the tags, Lucien Vanserra-centric

Four Minutes

About: The Night Court attends a party in Dawn Court. Lucien finds out some information and turns into an absolute flirt. There's ballroom dancing, except hot. Elain can barely contain herself.

Status: Complete; 4 Chapters; 12,425 words

Tropes/Tags: Ballroom Dancing, Forced Proximity, Regency Romance, Lucien is a flirt, hot and bothered, Lust, Longing, Drinking, alcohol use, Gossip, Song Lyrics, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Teasing, Smut Obviously

Solstice Traditions

About: Lucien comes to the River House on Winter Solstice eve with another gift for Elain. He is pleasantly surprised by her reaction.

Status: Complete; 3 Chapters; 16,198 words

Tropes/Tags: Winter Solstice, holiday fluff, Gift Exchange, Cute, Fluff, Mating Bond, Smut, Honestly was not planning smut but you all asked for it, absolute filth, Elain wears lingerie

Gwynriel

Beautiful Can't Begin To Describe You

About: Azriel and Gwyn take a bath together.

Status: Complete; 1 Chapter; 5,590 words

Tropes/Tags: Smut, Fluff, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Bathroom Sex, Bubble Bath

ENJOY <333

92 notes · View notes

honeyhotteoks · 2 years ago

Text

a little more love to give (j.yh + p.sh)

summary: fifth and final installment in the husbands series; it's been years, and you life with them has grown, you just don't expect your second baby to be a surprise. part one: room for three || part two: and if i stay || part three: their gift || part four: hold fast together

note: 18+ content, minors DNI. // i'm back.... with the final installment of the husbands series. it's essentially all fluff and tender smut, definitely less hard than previous chapters but you know, they're parents now lol

warnings: non idol!yunho, non idol!seonghwa, fem!reader, married!yunhwa, established yunhwa x reader relationship, mmf, brief mention of trouble conceiving, pregnancy, discussion of early pregnancy symptoms like nausea, headaches, dizzy/fainting spells, nervous!yunhwa, some physical body descriptions relating to body change with pregnancy including weight/physicality, but on a fun note...... praise, degredation/humilitation, body worship, so much fucking oil, vaginal and anal fingering, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), cumshots, mention of sir kink but not used, lots of verbal instruction, lots of breast and nipple play, nipple clamps, light pain play, gratuitous use of good girl, sweet girl, pretty girl, etc., essentially if you don't want to read pregnant!reader sex, don't read this but honestly they're pretty in love and i thought it was cute - please let me know if i missed any.

pairings: yunho x seonghwa x reader

genre: smut, fluff, domestic / slice of life

word count: 11.4K

my masterlist || read it on AO3

special note - their daughter's name is dasom, which literally translates to love in korean. seonghwa calls her 'nae sarang' which also translates to 'my love'. i think after all the trouble they had getting pregnant, there's nothing else they would want to call her but love. i just thought that additional context might be nice for some readers. please enjoy, and thanks for sticking with this one. x

You’re tucked away in the dim light of your bedroom nursing a headache when you hear the front door of your apartment swing open. Checking your phone for the time, you wince at the bright light and press the lock button again quickly to dim the screen. You have unanswered messages and notifications, but you can’t even think about that with the way your head is aching, you’re just glad it’s not as bad as it was a few hours ago.

With a sigh you stay settled under the covers and opt to listen, your husbands getting home from their respective days downstairs.

“Oh,” You hear Seonghwa say first, “hey, Nari,”

Your best friend’s voice is bright and clear, echoing up the stairs and you know she’s in the entryway to greet them, “Hi, Seonghwa,” and then a beat later, “baby, look who’s home!” Her voice lilts up, playful and fun.

Your daughter makes a joyful, bubbly sound, “Appa!”

“Come here, nae sarang,” He’s hauling her up into a hug, you just know it.

You duck your head up out of the blankets to listen more closely despite the throb behind your temples.

“She’s getting so big,” Nari says.

“Mhm,” Yunho’s low voice murmurs, “a proper little princess now,”

Your daughter giggles, and you smile.

“Where’s y/n?” Seonghwa finally asks.

You had all but begged her to keep your secret, but Nari is a terrible liar and all she can do is stumble over her words, “She’s, well, you know her, she’s,”

“Nari?” Yunho asks, a laugh in his voice still.

“Princess,” Seonghwa coos to your baby girl, “where did your mommy run off to?”

There’s a long pause, and you can almost picture your baby’s teary face, round cheeks pink and wet with fat tears. It took so long to get her to stop crying in the first place. “Eomma,” she wails, and you grit your teeth.

“Oh, aegiya don’t do that,” Nari soothes, “it’s okay,”

“Shh,” Seonghwa croons, and you know he’s rocking her from side to side.

“What’s going on?” Seonghwa sounds confused.

“Ah. I just got her calmed down,” Nari sighs.

“E-Eomma!” She wails again and this time Yunho’s voice isn’t so casual.

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” He maintains a light tone for her, but you can hear the anxiety in it, “Where’s mommy?”

“She,” Nari starts to say. but your daughter’s bubbling wail cuts her off.

“Eomma f-fell down!” Another pointed sob.

“What?” Alarm is laced through Seonghwa’s voice, “Is she alright? Why didn’t someone call us?”

“She’s completely fine,” Nari assures, “she just called me to come watch Dasom after,”

“After what?” Yunho presses.

“Hush, baby, it’s okay,” Seonghwa croons, trying to even out your baby’s cries.

“Where is she?” Yunho asks insistently, trying to keep calm in front of Dasom.

“She’s not hurt, she didn’t even hit her head, she’s just,” Nari back tracks, “sorry, okay, she’s in your room,”

You hear jogging, footsteps hurrying up the steps, and Dasom wails again, Nari’s soothing tone humming as she takes your daughter back in her arms.

The door pushes open wide, Yunho’s eyes searching and nervous, “Hey,”

“Hey,” You murmur, groaning a little at the harsh hallway light, “oh, please shut the door, the light,”

Seonghwa pushes the door shut as Yunho crosses the room, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking you over, “What’s going on?”

“I’m okay, don’t worry,” You reach for his hand and give him a squeeze, “Dasom just got scared because I’m not feeling well, and I asked Nari to come over so I could get some rest,”

Seonghwa eases onto the opposite side of the bed, scooting over until he’s sitting up against the headboard by your side, “she said you fell? Fell how?

You sigh into your pillow, “I was making her lunch, and I got dizzy,”

Yunho’s eyes flick to his husband’s, then back to yours, “Okay,”

You know they’ll panic when you say it but they’ll find out no matter what, “I fainted, which I think just seemed scary to Dasom,”

“Did you hit your head?” Yunho reaches for you, fingertips soft on your jaw, “Should we go to the hospital?”

You shake your head, “No, no, I caught myself fine,”

“I still think a doctor,” Seonghwa sounds nervous, “you fainted out of nowhere? I saw you eat this morning,”

Your mind flicks back to when you threw it all up in the hallway bathroom while Dasom was down for her nap, how you pulled yourself up and rallied to make her a little lunch and then found yourself stumbling in the kitchen, your daughter’s nervous voice in your ear.

“I don’t need a doctor,” You assure him, “I just need a little rest,”

“Come here,” Yunho slides closer and lays his hand across your forehead, “you don’t feel warm,”

“It’s not a fever,” You murmur, taking his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm before letting him pull away.

“If you felt bad enough that you needed to call Nari,” Seonghwa shakes his head, “that you couldn’t keep an eye on Dasom, I think it’s serious enough that we should see a doctor, jagiya,”

You wanted to tell them later, to confirm things with a blood test first, to make sure everything was going well before you announced the news, but you suppose there are enough signs that you’re sure. Little things you had been brushing off for weeks, not to mention the positive test from the pharmacy. The same exact symptoms that you had with Dasom, down to the sudden migraines.

“It’s okay,” You take his hand, “I promise. It was scary for Dasom, but she’s three,”

“Then why did you call Nari?” Yunho presses, “You should have called us, I could have come home early,”

You’re hardly ever sick, and you forgot how fussy they get anytime you so much as sneeze.

Your head throbs again and you sigh. You had wanted to make it special, to make it more romantic than this, but there’s no keeping it from them now. You shake your head, “I called Nari so she could watch Dasom while I rested, and so she could pick me up a pregnancy test on her way,”

Yunho’s face goes slack, “A what?”

“I’ve been getting sick again,” You push yourself up in the bed to sit against the soft headboard, “everyday at lunchtime just like before. I didn’t think anything of it, of any of the signs because we haven’t been trying,”

“You’re kidding,” Yunho leans away, glancing between you and Seonghwa, “you… why didn’t you tell us you were sick?”

You open your mouth to explain, to find something to say, but Seonghwa finally speaks up.

“You’re pregnant?” He stammers, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sick everyday, dizzy, my headaches are back, I’ve been crying at fucking everything,” Your eyes sting at the thought, “I’m so late, I didn’t even realize it, we’ve been busy… but I’m so, so late,”

“Oh my god,” Yunho’s face lights up, and he presses a hand over his mouth.

“There’s a positive test in the trash,” You nod towards the bathroom, “I was going to go to the doctor tomorrow, confirm everything with a blood test and then tell you… so much better than this, but, yeah, yes, I’m pregnant,”

“Jagi,” Seonghwa breathes, and you realize now his eyes are full of unshed tears.

Yunho tugs you into his arms and you start with a squeak. His arms wrap around you, his face ducked into your neck, and he takes a watery breath, “I can’t believe it,”

“I don’t know when it happened,” You lean your cheek on his chest, “but if my symptoms are lining up on the same timeline as Dasom, I’m at least twelve weeks,”

“The lake trip,” Seonghwa says after a moment, and you flip back in your mental calendar to three, almost four months ago when Yunho’s parents had taken care of Dasom for a long weekend and the three of you slipped away for a much needed vacation together.

Yunho nods into your neck, his hand coasting up and down your back.

He’s not letting you go, and Seonghwa hasn’t said anything more, and your stomach flips. “This is good news, isn’t it? I mean, I know we haven’t talked about it recently, but it’s,”

Yunho laughs sharply, pulling away and cupping your cheeks, “Of course it is,” His cheeks are wet, eyes sparkling, and he surges forwards to kiss you, his breath shaky on your lips.

“Oh, thank god,” You mumble against his mouth.

A light knock on the door catches your attention and you hear the door squeak open, “Hey, y/n,”

Yunho pulls away, but he can’t quite pull his eyes away from you as you lean past him, “Yeah?”

“Dasom’s getting a little ancy,” She murmurs, “how about I take her tonight? A little sleepover with her auntie to give you three some time?”

You exhale and nod immediately, “You - Nari, that would be such a help,”

“Did you,” She looks at you pointedly and gestures between the two men on either side of you.

“Yeah,” You can’t stop the grin on your face.

Yunho wipes away the tears threatening to spill over and pushes himself off the edge of the bed, “Let me help you get her things together, is she still crying?”

“No,” Nari shakes her head, “she’s upset, but I got her to calm down for now,”

“I’ll talk to her,” He squeezes your hand and takes a steadying breath, trying to calm down his sudden swell of emotion.

“Don’t tell her yet,” You interject, “please,”

“No,” He agrees, “not yet,”

“Congratulations,” Nari says quietly, “all of you,”

Yunho grins wide, nodding and Seonghwa murmurs a quiet thank you. You’ll have to do something nice for Nari, something special for taking care of Dasom today and giving you time with your husbands tonight.

You had always talked about having more children, but the timing was never quite right. Dasom alone was a handful, plus the demands of all of your jobs growing stronger. It just became something you might do soon, but not now. Always not now.

You watch Yunho take a deep breath before he follows Nari back downstairs to tend to your daughter, and then you’re alone again with Seonghwa.

“Hey,” You murmur, shifting to meet his eyes.

“Hi, darling,” He smiles warmly, eyes still shining.

“How are you?” You gently prod his thigh.

“I can barely believe it,” He admits, “but darling, you know me, I’ve always wanted another baby,”

“You’re happy?”

“So happy,” He reaches for you, shuffling closer on the bed until you’re pressed together, forehead to forehead, “I love you,”

Tears bubble up again in your eyes and you nod against him, “I love you too, Hwa,”

“I love our little life together,” He murmurs softly, “every second,”

Your breath hitches a little, and you let your eyes slip closed, breathing together in time with him in the center of your bed. A light commotion downstairs breaks you both apart and you grin, “We should get up,”

“You should be resting,” He shakes his head, “how’s your headache?” His fingertips smooth along your hairline as he looks you over.

“Better than before, but still,” You sigh, “you remember what they were like,”

“I do,” He gives you a soft, sympathetic smile, “which is why I’m saying go back to bed,”

“I will when Dasom leaves,” You lean forward and kiss him gently, “but I don’t want her to be scared tonight, I should let her see me before she leaves,”

There’s no argument there, so Seonghwa takes a deep breath and climbs out of the bed to offer you a hand, “I’ll go with you.”

“Let me clean up second,” You blink hard when you get to your feet, the equilibrium of the room and the light from the hall a little jarring still, but you are feeling better than before, so you smooth your hair back and turn towards your vanity. You don’t bother to try and look completely normal, Dasom’s smart enough to see right through that, but you still run a brush through your hair and try to perk up just a bit to avoid looking dead on your feet.

Seonghwa stands behind you, watching in the mirror with a smile on his face.

“What?” You smile back at him, the joy in the room infectious now.

“You’re a beautiful mother,” He says softly, “and I love you,”

Pink tinges your cheeks at his words and your eyes flick down, “I love you too,”

“My pretty wife,” He wraps his arms around you again, nuzzling your cheek and peppering soft kisses across your cheek.

“Oh, stop,” You twist to kiss his soft lips, “come on, let’s go down,”

“Mmhm,” He kisses you again before he lets you go and leads the way out of their bedroom and towards the stairs.

As you enter into the light you wince a little, but it’s not so harsh that you can’t manage.

He lays a hand on your lower back and moves to see your face, “Is it too much?”

“Not yet,” You assure him, “I’ll be fine for a few minutes,”

The voices downstairs start to shift, and you realize that Yunho is walking back towards the foyer at the bottom of the steps by the front door.

“People cry for happy things too, baby,” Yunho murmurs, and from the top of the stairs you watch him walking back and forth with Dasom in his arms, her tiny face pressed into his chest.

She says something to him you can’t quite hear, muffled into his shirt.

He smiles, rubbing her back, “I can’t tell you yet,”

Her head pops up, and she rubs at her face with her little hand, “Why not?”

“Mm,” Yunho narrows his eyes at her playfully, “because it’s a surprise,”

Seonghwa wraps his arms around you from behind, listening with you.

“I want a surprise,” She nods and Nari’s laugh echoes from the next room.

“I know,” Yunho shrugs, keeping the energy light so she relaxes more, “but I promise when you come home from Nari’s we’ll have the surprise ready,”

She sighs, and Seonghwa chuckles behind you.

“Are you ready, baby?” Nari holds up Dasom’s coat and little backpack.

“Can we watch Ariel?” Dasom perks up, scrambling to get out of Yunho’s arms.

“Mhm,” Nari drops down to her height to help her put the coat on, “but I don’t remember all the words to the songs, so you’ll have to teach me,”

“I know all the words,” She says and you watch Yunho’s face light up.

Seonghwa squeezes you, “I want to see her before she leaves,”

“Me too,” You brush off your cheeks, and despite your headache you get yourself together enough to go downstairs, “do I look like I’ve been crying?”

“Not too bad,” Seonghwa assures you, “me?”

You shake your head, “Only a little,”

“Yunho’s the crier anyways,” Seonghwa grins, and then starts down the steps.

You follow him, and at the first creak of the stairs, Yunho looks up and Dasom whips right around, “Eomma!”

“Hey,” You smile, “I heard you’re having a sleepover,”

Yunho’s watching you like a hawk, his body tense like you might faint again at any moment but you give him an easy smile and shake your head a little. Seonghwa’s hand presses into the center of your back, and the minute you hit the landing, your daughter collides with your legs.

“Hey, hey,” You smooth back her hair, “what’s this?”

“Are you sick?” She mumbles into your leggings.

You share a quick smile with your husbands, and then reach down for her. When you hoist her up, both of them take a sudden step towards you, Seonghwa’s hands around Dasom’s waist to help lift her and take any weight off, but you settle her on your hip anyways.

“I’m not sick,” You assure her, “you know how mommy gets headaches sometimes?”

She nods.

“Just a headache,” You smile, “I’m sorry I made you worry, baby,”

“It’s okay,” Her words run together, and then she twists in your arms to find Yunho, “Appa has a surprise,”

“Oh, he does, does he?” You smile, her attention back on you, and when you look up Yunho’s holding up his hands and mouthing an apology.

“I want it now,” She kicks her little legs and you smile.

“Mm,” You consider her words, and she watches your face carefully as you pretend to think, “I don’t know, my love, patience is important.”

She frowns, and at the first quiver of her bottom lip you shake your head, she stills.

“The surprise isn’t ready yet,” You tell her honestly, “but when you get home, it will be. So if you can be a big girl, and be very patient, your present will be here when you get home from your sleepover,”

“But,” She starts, but Seonghwa is quick to intervene.

“Dasom,” He says, voice soft but just a little more firm than before, “mommy’s not feeling very well, don’t argue, please.”

Her mouth snaps shut, and she still looks sad, but she nods. Every day you feel her growing up in your arms and learning little by little and your heart clenches. A sudden image of her teaching your new baby flickers through your mind and you feel overwhelmingly tender, soft like you might cry.

Seonghwa picks up on the change immediately, “Come here, nae sarang,”

She’s out of your arms and held in his a moment later. Yunho’s wide palm smooths up and down your back and you take a steadying breath.

“Can you put your jacket on for auntie, please?” Seonghwa asks, turning her away from you and nuzzling her with his nose, pressing a kiss to her soft cheek.

“Yep,” She says as she drops to the floor and stretches her arms up and wide for Nari to slide her arms through the sleeves of the puffy coat.

“God, she’s cute,” You murmur under your breath and Yunho chuckles at your side.

“Let’s go, babe,” Nari zips her up and grabs her backpack from the floor.

Yunho steps forward and snags it, “I’ll walk you down,”

“Thanks,” Nari nods, patting Dasom’s back.

Dasom says goodbye to you over her shoulder, focused on whatever Yunho’s saying to her, the stress of the day forgotten now that she’s seen you up and walking around. Yunho keeps her attention with ease and her little hand locks on Nari’s. You watch her go and despite your headache, your heart aches worse.

“Alright,” Seonghwa murmurs as soon as they’re out of sight, “back to bed,”

“Yes, please,” You admit, sighing and leaning against his chest.

“I’ll come with you,” He kisses your hair.

“It’s early,”

“So, I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” He pushes you gently towards the stairs, “just relax and let me take care of you,”

It’s easy to do, you’ve been letting him care for you for years. He takes you to bed and helps you slip into sleep. By the time Yunho gets back upstairs you’re out like a light and the two of them are left to marvel in the news by themselves.

It’s hours and hours before your headache breaks and you wake to the warm feeling of your husbands bodies pressed close to you. Someone’s arm is wrapped around your middle, someone’s thigh pressed between yours, lips on your shoulder, a hand on your backside, feet tangled together under the comforter. Morning light bleeds into the room, pale yellow and warm, one of the first times you’ve woken up by your own internal clock in what feels like months.

You’re pressed into Seonghwa’s chest, and you kiss his bare skin softly, eliciting a contented sigh from his lips. His hand slips down from its place on the small of your back and under the waistband of your sleep pants, coasting over your skin and squeezing you in all the right places.

“Mm, Hwa,” You pull him closer.

“How’s your head?” He asks softly, checking before he takes his hand any further.

“Better,” You nod, your lips traveling up his throat, “come kiss me,”

Yunho rolls closer behind you, groaning as he wakes, the familiar feeling of his morning hardness connecting with your thigh. “We haven’t slept in,” He sighs, “in so long,”

“It’s seven-thirty,” You laugh against Seonghwa’s lips.

“Exactly,” Yunho tugs you both closer, “our six am human alarm isn’t jumping on us,”

“Oh, you miss her,” Seonghwa laughs, “I know you do,”

“So much,” He smiles against your shoulder.

“Well,” You murmur, pressing your hips back into Yunho’s to feel him just a little closer, “I think our sleep is about to get worse, not better in the next few months,”

“True,” Seonghwa shifts down in the bed to kiss you properly, his fingers tangling with Yunho’s above your head.

“Mm, but I think,” Yunho reaches around and smooths his hand over your stomach, and then stills completely.

“What?” You mumble, shifting back from Seonghwa’s lips and looking over your shoulder to try and find your other husband’s eyes.

“You’re already showing,” His hand moves across you again, this time from top to bottom of your belly to trace the soft swell, “how did we not notice?”

“It’s not that much,” You shake your head, but Seonghwa is already sliding his hand out of your sleep pants to curl around your front and feel for himself.

“Yes, it is,” Seonghwa grins, backing up to look down at you, “oh my god,”

“Come here,” Yunho tugs you back onto your back gently and Seonghwa pushes the comforter down until it’s settled low around all of your hips.

“Look,” Seonghwa slides your sleepshirt up until it’s tucked just under your breasts and he smooths a hand across your belly, “that’s a bump,”

Shifting in the covers you look down at yourself, “You’re right,” you murmur softly, eyes still studying yourself.

It’s still small, not the pronounced curve of a clearly pregnant person’s body, but they know you and every inch of your skin well, and to them it’s plain as day. Your body has been so different since Dasom, softer in so many ways and even to you this little change is easy to miss until you’re really looking. To anyone else the subtle swell would be nothing, but to you it’s everything. To them, it’s your words made real.

“Look, look,” Yunho grins, sliding his hand down your side until he cups under your stomach, his hand clearly folding into the slightest curve at the change in your body, “you really are pregnant,”

“Yeah,” Your voice is small.

Yunho moves low in the sheets suddenly, pressing his lips to your stomach and smiling, “Hi, baby,”

You stroke his hair softly, “You’re so cute,”

“We’ve missed months,” Yunho says without looking back up, stroking your skin again, “we started talking to Dasom when she was the size of a pea, we’ll have to catch up with this little one,”

“God, I really do love you both,” You sigh.

“Mhm,” Yunho kisses your stomach again, “and we love you, and this new bean,”

You could cry, you really could.

“Boy or girl?” Seonghwa murmurs, propping his head up on one hand.

“Sister or brother, is the real question,” You offer, “Dasom would lose her little mind if it’s a girl,”

“Should we find out early?” Yunho asks, pulling his attention away from your stomach and looking up at you both.

With Dasom you did, you were all being too cautious and careful about the pregnancy since it had taken so long to get there that you had every health screening and pregnancy checkup known to man, so the mystery of your baby’s sex wasn’t easy to keep when you went through as many ultrasounds and doctors visits as you did.

“Maybe,” Seonghwa says, “it might be nice to know early to help prepare Dasom, they always say it’s hard for kids to adjust from only child to older sibling. Maybe if she knows sister or brother she can start to think about it early,”

You nod, chewing your lip and absent mindedly running your fingers through Yunho’s dark hair.

“She could help us decorate,” Yunho offers, “it might help keep her involved so it’s an exciting thing, not a scary thing,”

“It’s a good idea,” You agree, “but let me get a check-up first,”

“Sure,” He says, “but it’s still nice to plan for, she’s going to be so excited,”

“I hope so,”

Seonghwa snuggles into your one side, kissing you warmly and wrapping an arm around your middle, “How are you feeling so far today?”

“Normal, I think?” You smile.

“Yeah?” Seonghwa brushes your hair back, “Nausea? Headache?”

You shake your head softly and then take a moment to feel your body, taking stock of all the little things. You stretch against the mattress, arching your back a little to shift out of your sleeping position, and find yourself in a deep yawn.

Yunho’s hand smooths over your stomach as you stretch long, his fingers spread wide and grin across his face, “I really can’t believe it, I thought we’d have to try again,”

“Me too,” You admit, threading your fingers with his.

“Last time was…” Yunho trails off, and he doesn’t have to say it, you all remember.

“Let’s not think about it,” Seonghwa surprises you, reaching across to brush Yunho’s cheek, “let’s just be happy about this little one,”

Yunho swallows and clears his throat, pushing away whatever momentary emotion had flooded up inside him. It was hard for all of you, and when Dasom finally came all of those hard, bad things were easy to forget, at least for a little while.

“There’s a lot to be happy for,” You smile, pushing past those memories and focusing on the present, “for one… we’re alone,”

“That is a very good point,” Seonghwa kisses your head.

“Alone for a while,” You add, “hours, even,”

“Oh, you are feeling better,” Yunho laughs, dropping a kiss to your belly and sighing warmly against your skin.

“We’ve been so busy,” You relax between them, letting your shirt ride up a little, “don’t you miss me?”

“Don’t even joke,” Seonghwa huffs, picking up on your queues with ease and slipping the shirt up and off your head.

Yunho pulls the tie of your sleep pants open with one firm tug and slides them off in a hurry.

They crowd you on either side, lips dropping on your skin and hands smoothing over you until Seonghwa stills, cupping the beginnings of your bump and Yunho falls still beside him.

“What?” You reach for Seonghwa, trying to tug him back down to your mouth.

“Nothing,” He shakes his head, “I just keep remembering that you're pregnant again.” He smooths his hand down further, looking for your thigh.

“Mm,” You stretch, letting Seonghwa shift your leg open wide, “does this mean you’re both going to start fussing over me again?”

“Who’s fussing?” Yunho smirks, easing down the bed and pressing kisses across your belly until he’s settled between your open thighs.

“You,” You smile, “treating me like glass,”

“To be fair,” Seonghwa’s lips travel across your shoulder, teeth nipping at your collarbones, “we were all nervous last time,”

“And now?” You sigh.

“I think we know how to take care of you,” Seonghwa chuckles.

Yunho’s hands coast up and down your thighs, “And there’s nothing wrong with being gentle,”

You start to smile, but your breath catches in your throat as he runs the back of his knuckle down your slit, the fabric of your panties tickling your sensitive nub.

“Taking it slow,” Seonghwa offers, his mouth dancing closer to your nipple but conveniently never touching.

“I like slow,” You breathe, letting your eyes fall closed.

“Mm,” Seonghwa shakes his head, “no,”

Yunho chuckles.

“You like hard,” Seonghwa nips at your breast with his teeth, “and fast,”

Your breath thins as you feel your body start to respond.

“And rough,” Seonghwa adds, the pad of his thumb pressing down over your nipple, “and sometimes mean,”

“Fuck,” You hiss as he flicks your nipple hard before pinching it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Slow,” Seonghwa adds, “just makes you whine and beg for hard and fast,”

“So?” Your hand on his back tightens.

“Sometimes we want just want to take our time darling,” Seonghwa’s tongue finally, finally flicks across your other nipple, “especially when we know how sensitive you must be,”

Yunho presses a kiss to your clit through your panties, sighing through the fabric, “Are you sore, sweetheart? Aching?”

“Does this hurt?” Seonghwa cups your breast, kneading it with a little more pressure than before and you gasp.

“N-no,” You breathe.

“Do you want it to?” Seonghwa squeezes you again.

Your hips buck softly, pressing your cunt harder against Yunho’s face and he smiles, flicking the firm muscle of his tongue over your clit, dragging the cotton fabric across it enough that you rock your hips again.

“This is too slow,” You let your head fall back against the bed, “and you know it,”

Seonghwa lifts his head, kissing your lips before brushing his fingers along your jaw, “Just for now,” he murmurs.

“Okay,” You crane your neck up to kiss him back, “but you remember what things were like with Dasom, you won’t hurt us,”

Seonghwa smiles, and Yunho lifts his mouth away to slip his fingers under the edges of your panties and drag them down your thighs. “Us,” Yunho repeats, his voice content and soft.

“I have an idea,” Seonghwa sighs, “how about you lie back and trust me, jagi,”

“You know I do,” You didn’t mean to upset him, and of course there’s nothing wrong with him taking his time, but you’ve been gifted with time alone and you really, really want to use it.

“Just hush,” He shakes his head, “close your eyes.”

You snap them closed immediately, “Yes, sir,”

“Mm,” Seonghwa makes a soft, negative noise as he shifts off the bed, “not today, okay? Just be with us,”

You nod, feeling Yunho’s hands slide up over your hips to warmly ground you.

The sound of a drawer opening perks you up though and you lift your head to try and hear better.

“Baby,” Seonghwa says to Yunho, “how’s this?”

“Perfect,” Yunho agrees, and you feel him shift on the mattress, his hands leaving your hips, “and get me the - yes, those,”

“What are you two doing?” You finally ask, desperately eager and wanting to open your eyes.

“My darling,” Seonghwa says, “we’re going to show you how much we love you,”

“For as long as you can take,” Yunho adds, “as fast or slow as we want.”

Your body melts into the mattress, you know that tone of voice. You love that tone of voice.

“Tell us if something doesn’t feel good,” Seonghwa’s voice is back at your side.

“I will,” You promise, and you can’t help the smile on your face.

“Alright beautiful,” Seonghwa kneels by your side, “lift up, eyes stay closed.”

Yunho’s hand on your hip clarifies your other husband's words and you press up to lift your hips high. They’re prepping something, communicating silently with each other, and it leaves you wanting. You’re a second away from pleading with them to tell you their plans.

“There we go,” Yunho says, “you can relax,”

When you ease back down the sensation under you is different, a soft towel underneath your hips and you’re about to open your mouth and try to guess their plan, but your husbands push your thighs open wide and something warm and wet and slippery drips over your bare mound.

You sigh out a soft moan as the warming oil slides down between your thighs, and then you feel it again. Warm oil spreads again, this time across your belly and breasts and you suddenly realize what they mean to do to you. It’s not often that you have the time for this kind of foreplay anymore, let alone the patience for it. Seonghwa isn’t necessarily wrong either, you love them when they’re bossy and firm and taunting, so room for this kind of slow worship is narrow. Except something about Yunho’s thumb gliding the oil down over your cunt is making you dizzy, so you let them give you what they want.

“You’re beautiful,” Seonghwa murmurs into your ear as he smooths the oil up your chest and spreads it across your skin, “always, jagiya, but something about this,”

“Mhm,” Yunho hums, his fingers slowly massaging your skin, close to your slit but never parting your folds, “so perfect,”

“Please touch me,” Your voice is breathy, “please,”

“We are touching you,” Yunho says and you can hear the teasing smile in his voice.

“You know what I think?” Seonghwa sighs, sliding his hand over your breast again and massaging.

“Tell me,” You arch into his touch, opening your legs wider for Yunho.

“I think,” He squeezes your nipple a little harder than before, “we clearly haven’t been taking care of our darling properly if we didn’t even notice this.” He massages the oil down your chest over the soft, small swell of your stomach.

You twitch beneath him, breath quickening.

“We need to make it up to you, my love,” Yunho’s voice is low, husky as he stays focused on his task. Every warm rub of his fingers anywhere near your dripping slit has your hips jerking.

“Oh, god,” You sigh.

“Mm,” Seonghwa massages your chest again, “I think these are fuller, we missed that too, love,”

“Oh,” You moan sharply as he pinches your nipples again.

“You’re being so patient, sweetheart,” Yunho murmurs, the tips of his two fingers dipping inside you for just a moment.

“G-God, do that again,” You press your body forward, begging for just a little more.

“Yunho,” Seonghwa says, his voice firm, “hands off,”

Suddenly no one’s touching you, and you’re a breath away from screaming. Your body’s pulsating with need, not just the extended, slow foreplay bringing you up but the sheer amount of hormones coursing through your body that make you want to come so hard you hear colors.

Still, you know better than to open your eyes.

Seonghwa descends over you with ease, his mouth hot at your ear, and his words have you arching in the sheets. With a nip at your soft earlobe he says low, “Can we play with you, baby?”

All you can manage is a stammering yes.

“Let us play with your pretty body, baby,” He kisses your throat and a warm hand fully cups your sex.

“A-anything, anything,” You’re almost embarrassed by how much of a puddle you already are, but it was exactly the same last time you were pregnant and you’re sure they’re loving every second.

“Good, good girl,” Seonghwa murmurs, his voice tender, “I love you so much,”

Blush floods your cheeks and you feel warm pinpricks behind your eyes, “I love you too, Hwa,”

He kisses your cheek, your jaw, your throat, and then pulls back slightly before you feel the bed move, “Would you like clamps, or are you too sensitive?”

Your eyes fly open and you immediately see Seonghwa above you, in his hand a familiar silver chain. You nod immediately, “Yes please,”

“Are you sure?” He smiles, a little teasing as he palms one of your breasts and starts to lovingly tweak your nipple into a hardened peak.

Warm pleasure sparks through you at his ministrations and you whimper, “Yes,”

He preps you easily, making sure you’re ready to take the clamps and your skin there is dry enough that they won’t slide off. Your eyes flick to Yunho who watches with rapt attention, his lips parting as Seonghwa secures one nipple clamp and then the other.

“How’s that?” Seonghwa checks as he sets the second one.

You’ve been sensitive lately, he’s certainly not wrong about that. Your breasts aching with the changes of your body, and you’ve been hyper aware of anything brushing along your nipples at all, let alone the sensation of a clamp, and if you're being honest it hurts. You hiss sharply as he releases the pressure of his hand and lets the clamp close, and he doesn’t rush to remove it but his eyes flick to yours.

The initial pain fades to a kind of numbing warmth and you exhale slow and steady, “I’m okay, it feels good,”

“And this?” He draws the chain tighter in his hand, just enough that the clamp pulls at your nipple.

A shock of pleasure runs through your breast down your back, “Oh fuck, Hwa,”

“Good,” He smiles, dropping the chain on your chest, “sit up a minute, would you?”

“Sure,” You push yourself up and Yunho takes your hand to draw you up into a seated position on the towels. Seonghwa spreads another towel down behind you before shucking off his boxers and sliding behind you. As he situates, you realize what’s on the bed next to you. Next to the bottle of warming oil are two vibrators and a dildo. Yunho smiles as he sees your expression.

“Come here,” Seonghwa says from behind you as he scoots closer, one leg on either side of you now, “lay back,”

Yunho eases you back down onto your husband’s bare chest, “Comfortable?”

“Mhm,” You assure him, “but I know you’re planning something, I know that look,”

Yunho laughs and shakes his head, “If spending the morning making my wife come is planning something, then sure,”

Your muscles clench around nothing at his words and you can’t help but wet your lips.

“Now,” Yunho smiles, “just relax for us,”

You nod, and Seonghwa pushes your hair back as you lay on his chest. His hands settle on your slick skin, massaging the oil into every part of you that he can touch, his hands never quite coming back to touch the clamps or their chain. With a sigh, you let your muscles relax fully and your legs fall open and slack against Seonghwa’s thighs.

Yunho pushes off his knees and settles down next to you, sitting almost hip to hip with you, before uncapping the bottle of oil and pouring a little more out in his hand.

You exhale low and slow, “Should I close my eyes?”

Yunho glances back at you, “Do you want to?”

“Do you want me to?” You clarify.

He shakes his head, “We want what you want,”

You swallow hard, your body lighting up at just the sight of his hands glistening and ready to please you, “I want to watch,”

“Good girl,” Seonghwa chuckles, nipping at your ear and pressing kisses anywhere he can.

“Now, please,” You sigh, widening your legs a little more, “Yunho, please,”

“Shush,” He shakes his head, and you’re about to protest, but then he’s touching you and your mind is singing.

Yunho slides his hand down and parts your slick folds with ease, his middle finger teasing your entrance repeatedly until he sinks it inside. You moan, tilting your hips up a little more.

Seonghwa hums behind you as he watches, his cock stiff and aching behind you, but it hardly matters because right now their attention is laser focused on you and you alone. One of his hands travels up to cup your breast and slowly he starts kneading your soft flesh.

“You’re so wet,” Yunho murmurs, almost to himself as he starts to rock his hand in a slow massaging rhythm, dragging his fingers down and back up your swelling clit before dipping inside you each and every time, “and tighter,”

The feeling of his hand is already too much, applying perfect pressure and speed to knot your body up with need but never push you anywhere close to the edge of anything. He’s taking his sweet time, savoring you and your body, and you’d be embarrassed by the intensity and intimacy if it were anyone in the world but them.

Seonghwa’s plush lips start to work over your throat, sucking at your pulse points and placing tender bites along the column of your neck. Your breath is thinner, thready and you can’t help the little whimper that bubbles out of you.

Your eyes almost flutter shut, but Yunho’s other hand dips under your raised thigh and he glances back at you with warm eyes.

“W-what,” You start to ask what that face is for, what he means to do, why he won’t speed up, but then his fingers press down on the tight ring of muscle between your cheeks and your voice cuts off in a tight moan.

“Does it feel that good, baby?” Yunho presses his fingers inside, pumping them slow and deep.

“Yun,” You moan, “more,”

For the first time all morning, he listens.

Yunho slides one hand to your clit, setting a firm pace of massaging circles while his other steadily pumps two fingers in and out of your ass, curled in just the right way to apply pressure where you need it while the slick pad of his middle finger stimulates your aching bud.

“Oh, baby,” Seonghwa smiles against your throat, “is he making you feel good?”

You nod, your face crinkling up as the edge of your orgasm starts to curl up and over you.

“Tell us how good,” Seonghwa directs, and his hand slides down your sternum and takes the chain.

“I’m,” Your breath catches and you roll your hips, “it feels so, so good,”

“Good enough to come?” Seonghwa pulls the chain and you arch with it, the pull of the clamps against your prone nipples combined with the steady pulse of hands inside you making you keen.

“Yes, fuck,” You choke.

Yunho chuckles and his hand speeds up.

“God, oh god,” You pant.

Seonghwa massages your body with his free hand, deft fingers pressing in all the right ways over the soft, plush curves of your sides, your stomach, your thighs. His opposite hand pulls the chain with the slightest bit more force.

You cry out, voice dying in your throat and your eyes clamp shut, body arching up in their hands.

“Color, darling,” Seonghwa asks quickly, “you alright?”

“Green,” You shake your head, “don’t you dare fucking stop,”

“Come,” Yunho commands, doubling his efforts on your clit, “I know you need it,”

“F-fuck,” Your body flushes with heat, slick wetness everywhere, and you can’t really get purchase on anything, but you try, your oiled hands gripping Yunho’s back and Seonghwa’s thigh.

“Come on,” He bids again, “let go,”

Seonghwa tugs the clamps again and your vision whites, your legs snapping shut and body curling as you crack open, nothing but a stuttering mess of moans and shivering limbs.

“No,” Yunho wrenches your legs back open, “I’m not done with you,”

Your mind doesn’t make sense of it until you feel the silicone nub of the suction vibrator. He works quickly, locating your clit with ease and closing the mouth of the toy over it before clicking it on. The sensation is immediate and it takes both of them holding your legs open wide to keep you from closing down on yourself and riding out the sensation.

“Good, baby, yes,” Seonghwa’s fingers are tight on your skin, “what a fucking mess you are,”

It takes all but thirty seconds of the sucking toy and Yunho’s fingers working your ass open for the familiar tight bubble to build again, only this time the pressure is all encompassing and you only have a second of conscious thought before the sound that leaves your lips is desperate and feral.

“I’m gonna fucking come,” You scramble in Seonghwa’s arms and he tugs the clamps again, “I’m- I’m gonna,”

Yunho rocks the toy, circling with the suction, and you swear you lose time.

You come so impossibly hard you think you just might bring back your migraine, but it would be worth it for this. Clear fluid pulses out of you as you release and Yunho’s saying something encouraging as he coaxes you to come more with his fingers moving fast across your slick folds, but you can’t hear him.

When your body starts to pull away from him and your moans turn to little overstimulated sobs, he pulls back and clicks off the toy, and drops low to press hungry kisses across your skin. He sighs against your inner thighs, nips at your soft belly, and can’t help himself when he takes a long, slow lap of your cunt.

“I need you right now,” He confesses, “H-Hwa move,”

“Slow down,” Seonghwa tries to bring him back down to earth, “take a breath,”

Yunho’s hands tighten on your thighs.

“Seonghwa,” You shake your head, “please,”

“Alright,” He murmurs, dropping the chain, “I got you.”

He slides out from behind you, and then Yunho’s above you, wasting no time at all. He finds your entrance with ease, rocking his hips slowly until his cockhead catches inside you, and then with a slow press forward of his hips he fully seats himself inside.

The stretch is delicious, dizzying and deep, and you moan, biting down on his shoulder.

“Am-am I hurting you?” He asks, breathless.

You shake your head, “No, you feel so perfect,”

He drops his head against yours and sighs into your hair, “God, you’re so tight, I can’t,”

Your muscles clench around him, pulsing wet and warm around his cock and he chokes, his hips dropping lower.

“Jesus, fuck,” He breathes low through his nose, “I’m trying really hard not to fuck the life out of you,”

“Mm,” You rock yourself up against his pelvis, “why don’t you,”

“Because,” He shifts back enough that he can see your face, “I said slow,”

He draws his hips back, dragging his hot length almost all the way out of your channel, before pushing in again just as torturously slowly. You moan, hard and arch in his hands, “Again, please, again,”

He does, just as slowly. He repeats himself, and then his eyes flick over your body, softening at the sight of you below him. Yunho sighs, dropping over you so that your bodies are flush together, still careful to keep the bulk of his weight off you. His mouth closes on yours, tongue dipping into your mouth, sharing one single warm breath between you as he starts to roll his hips. You taste yourself on his skin, the sharpness heady and hot between you.

You moan against his mouth, your skin slick with sweat and oil. He cups your cheek, drags his hand down your side, slipping a little and his head bumps softly against yours. You grin against his mouth and he laughs and suddenly you realize, this is your life. Held beautifully between these two men who love you like no one else has ever loved you, their child inside you, not a single second of it a dream.

Your breath hitches softly and you can’t stop staring up at him grinning.

“What?” He asks softly, studying your face.

You kiss him soft, “I love you,”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” He breathes, “so much, I can’t… I don’t even know how to say how much,”

“Show me then,” You cup his cheek, drawing him closer, “please,”

He slides his hands up the back of your arms, drawing them above you, “Hwa,”

Seonghwa catches your wrists with ease, holding them to the mattress as he moves closer to watch you both and have his hands on you. Yunho turns his head and kisses his shoulder, the closest part of Seonghwa’s skin he can reach, before snaking his way down your chest.

“Use me,” He cups your hip, drawing you tight to his body, “I don’t want to hurt you,”

“You won’t,” You assure him, threading your fingers into his hair.

He shakes his head, “Use me anyways,” he says, bearing down his hips so that your clit is pressed up hard against his pubic bone, “please,”

You draw him close, finding purchase with your heels on the mattress, and slowly you start to rock, grinding your body up into his. You sigh, the pleasant feeling of it spreading through you already, and he smiles against your chest.

Yunho’s kisses grow hotter, little bites across as your skin and his hot breath across your nipples, but you moan when his teeth close over the chain and he draws back his head, pulling it taught.

“Oh,” You shake, your hips stuttering to a stop, “oh, god,”

Yunho nods, tapping your hip with his hand and begging you to start moving again. He holds your gaze as he pulls back, and suddenly you’re straining against the lead, the clamps pulling you perfectly and striking a hot stroke of need through your entire body.

“Don’t stop,” Seonghwa offers, filling in where his husband can’t given his full mouth.

“I can’t,” You whine, almost too tired and raw to work yourself against him like he wants.

“Give her more,” Seonghwa instructs, and with just the slightest adjustment of Yunho’s head, the clamps pull harder.

You’re crumbling. Desperate need strikes in your belly and you roll up into him, your muscles are aching but if you just keep going, just a little more, you’ll give him what he wants and what you know your body needs.

His hips drop a fraction more and he hisses through his teeth, your cunt pulsing and aching as you build up, close to the edge and ready to tip over it.

“Please,” You babble, even though you don’t know what you’re begging for.

Yunho groans as you shift, his cock inside you bumping again and again into a velvet spot.

“Beautiful,” Seonghwa sighs, his hands squeezing your wrists, “look at how well you take Yunho’s cock, hmm?”

Your eyes roll, thighs starting to shake.

“Is he deep in your pretty cunt, sweet girl?” He drops his lips to your ear, pushing you closer and closer, “Do you love it?”

“Y-yes,” You work yourself against him harder, the rolling pressure of his firm body against your sensitive clit bringing you closer and closer to release.

“You do love our cocks, don’t you?” Seonghwa smiles, reaching between you and taking the chain from between Yunho’s teeth.

“God, yes,” Your legs wrap around Yunho’s hips and hold him steady as you jut against him.

“Are you close?” Yunho asks, voice broken and tight.

“L-let me go,” Your wrists jerk against Seonghwa’s hands and he releases you immediately. Your hands fly forwards, bracing on Yunho’s shoulder and side, nails digging in as you hold onto him, “please, Yunho, move, please,”

He sighs heavily, his hips jerking against yours and finally, finally he can’t resist it.

You can feel how much control he’s using, trying his best to not thrust too hard or hold you too tightly, but it doesn’t matter. The rhythmic drag of his cock over your g-spot over and over sends you up, and when Seonghwa pulls down on the chain between your bodies, it all crashes into you again.

Yunho groans at the feeling of your release, pulling back and out of you suddenly and Seonghwa switches focus. The chain drops on your chest as he moves and when your eyes open, you nearly come again just from the sight.

Yunho still has one hand braced on your hip, but leans against Seonghwa, their lips crashed together. Seonghwa’s hand works fast over Yunho’s slick cock, and with a shuddering groan Yunho comes hard, his nails digging into your skin as he paints your body with ropes of hot, white cum.

“Oh my god,” You breathe, your body still trembling.

Yunho’s chest is heaving, bright pink with blush and shining with sweat, and Seonghwa brushes his fingers through his hair, pressing kisses across his face as he releases Yunho’s now softening cock. It takes him a moment to recover, but when he does, Yunho’s eyes find yours immediately, “Okay?”

You nod, emotion flooding you as your mind finally starts to reconnect after the haze of orgasm after orgasm. Now your body is aching. You wince a little at the taut clamps, reaching for them to remove them yourself but Yunho moves more quickly.

“I got it,” He soothes you, “Does it hurt?”

“Not too much,” You ease him, sighing pleasantly as he unclips them.

“Here, love,” Seonghwa uses a towel to clean you off, and it’s no replacement for a shower but it’ll let you relax here for a little bit longer until you can trust your legs.

Yunho drops the clamps onto the side table along with the other toys, any of the ones unused forgotten in a minute. He hadn’t meant to fuck you, that wasn’t in the plan necessarily, but logic and reason left his brain the minute he saw you falling apart on his fingers.

You’re blushing hard and recovering, limbs still a little shaky, when Seonghwa clears away the towels and pulls the sheet up over your body. He tosses the towels in the hamper and clears away the clothes off the floor, and he’s heading for the shower when your brain starts firing on all cylinders.

“Seonghwa,” You call into the bathroom, listening as he starts the water.

“Hmm?” He calls.

You trade a quick smile with Yunho who’s still collapsed at your side before you call back, “Baby, I’m not done with you,”

The look on his face when slips back into the bedroom is priceless, one brow raised and his shaggy black hair a mess of slight curls, “You need more?”

“No,” You sigh, stretching and rolling onto your side, “you do,”

His eyes flick over you, “You really don’t have to,”

Yunho huffs behind you, “Just come back to bed,”

“I know I don’t have to,” You sigh, pushing yourself up to a kneeling position on the bed, “but I want to,”

Since getting up, Seonghwa had thrown a towel around his hips but you can still see the hard line of his cock beneath it, pushing against the thick fabric and begging to be touched. You wonder if he was going to try to quickly take care of things in the shower, try not to bother you with his needs, and that thought makes you want him even more.

“Hwa,” You repeat, “come over here,”

The corner of his mouth tips up in a smile and he makes his way back to the edge of the bed, “Yeah?”

Your hands slide over his chest and find the top knotted corner of the towel, “Yeah,” you breathe, pulling the towel apart and letting it drop to the floor, “Yunho, can you help?”

“What do you need, baby?” Yunho shuffles across the bed to be at your side.

“Do you think Seonghwa would like my mouth? Or yours?” You ask, feigning innocence.

“Yours,” Seonghwa interrupts, cupping your cheek, not waiting for flirty banter.

Yunho laughs softly and nods, “There’s your answer,”

“Sorry,” Seonghwa sighs, “I didn’t mean to answer that fast,”

Yunho shakes his head, “I’d pick her too,” he stands, “but maybe I can still help, hmm?”

You feel Seonghwa’s fingers twitch along your jaw as he waits for what’s next, and you take the moment to reposition. You slide down onto your front, propped up on a pillow and using your leg for leverage, and then when you look back up you’re perfectly eye to eye with his pink, aching cock.

A hand closes around it and Seonghwa moans, and your eyes flick up to see Yunho pressed flush behind Seonghwa and reaching around him. The smile on Yunho’s face is wolfish and hungry, his lips at his husband’s ear, “Do you like when I touch you?”

Seonghwa sighs heavily and melts back into him, “Yes,”

“Do you like when our baby touches you too?” Yunho pumps his hand and meets your eyes, nodding for you to get involved.

You let saliva gather in your mouth, and slowly rake your nails down Seonghwa’s bare thigh, then back up to dance close to the base of his cock, down again so your fingers can slide over his balls.

“y/n,” He chokes, “Jesus,”

“Shh,” You murmur, and with your hands braced on his hips, you let the gathered saliva drip from your tongue over his cockhead.

His cock jumps at the sensation, and Yunho’s hand sweeps up to take your saliva and work it down Seonghwa’s shaft as lubricant. You spit again, and once again Yunho catches it and pumps his hand up and down.

“Baby,” You say softly, almost lazily, pressing a featherlight kiss to his velvet tip, “can I have a taste?”

He fights the urge to jerk his hips and he nods.

You lean forward, and Yunho slides his hand away so you can work your mouth deeply over him. Seonghwa might want to take it slow with you, but you don’t want to take it slow with him. You know they’re just being careful with you, considerate and lovely given the baby, but there’s nothing you want less than to take it slow right now.

You surge forward, taking him down your throat in one move, your tongue dragging along the underside of his shaft until you’re pressed against his pubic bone and steadying your breathing.

Seonghwa’s cock jumps in your mouth and he curses, hand tight in your hair now.

“Oh, she’s hungry,” Yunho teases, “look at her,”

“I’m looking,” Seonghwa’s voice is breathy, “God, darling, warn me next time,”

You make a negative noise, and he groans at the vibration. You don’t warn him, when you draw back and sink forward again and then set a pace, your wet lips tight on his cock, tongue flicking at his length, hollowing out your cheeks to draw that suction you know makes him crumble.

“Fuck,” His hand locks onto your scalp and you moan around him.

“Does that feel good?” Yunho’s voice is husky above you, “I can give you more,”

You suck hard and Seonghwa groans and you know whatever combination of your mouth on his cock and Yunho’s hands doing something has Seonghwa ready to melt.

“Mess,” Yunho groans, “you and your pretty fucking mouth,”

Seonghwa shudders.

You pull back, taking a heaving breath and clearing your throat before you find your voice, “Fuck my face,”

Seonghwa moans and you look up to see the way that Yunho’s teeth are attached to his husband’s throat, fingers expertly tweaking at his nipples and helping make the man a shaky mess. At you words, Yunho lifts up and moves right back to Seonghwa’s ear, “Don’t make her wait,”

There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, and you’re about to tell him that being pregnant does not in fact make you a virginal saint and he can and should come down your throat, but he reaches the same conclusion a second later and tugs you forward by the hand in your hair.

“I didn’t say stop,” He says gruffly, pushing your head back towards him.

You open your mouth wide and accept him with a deeply genuine sigh.

“Your mouth,” Seonghwa thrusts forwards, knocking his hips against your lips and forcing your throat open, “is almost better than your pretty pussy,”

You whine, breathing slow through your nose and opening up the back of your throat more for him.

“Almost as tight,” His hips find a rhythm, “almost as warm,”

“Almost as wet,” You feel another hand in your hair, Yunho brushing the hair from your eyes.

“But I only get to hear you like this when I’m down your throat,” Seonghwa pants, bucking his hips as he holds you perfectly still to accept him, “I’m in love with this sound,”

You choke a whine, trying again to regain your breath, and you’re dizzy but he’s so, so close.

Yunho’s hand finds yours and he gives you a squeeze, an offered lifeline if it gets to be too much, but you don’t need it. You brush your thumb along his knuckles to let him know you’re more than fine, despite the heady, wet noises in the room.

“Oh, fuck,” Seonghwa curses as his pace stammers a moment, and you double down with the suction, “fuck, darling,”

“Fill her pretty mouth,” Yunho urges him, “come,”

It takes two more thrusts before he groans, locking your head to his pelvis and spilling himself deeply down the back of your throat, so far you barely taste him.

You give him a moment, but when you’re sure he’s done and just holding you in the afterglow you squeeze Yunho’s hand.

“Come here,” Yunho must indicate something to Seonghwa, because he pulls out of your mouth slowly and takes a step back. Yunho drops into your eyeline and finds your gaze, “okay?”

You swallow hard, clearing your throat and nodding, “Mhm,”

“That was,” Seonghwa trails off, no words really enough to justify the orgasm he just had but he leans against the side table and exhales heavily.

“Really hot?” You offer.

He chuckles, “Yeah,”

As you steady you see immediately that Yunho is rock hard again and you smile, “Are we ever going to get out of this bed?”

“I have a better idea,” Yunho grins, and he moves forwards and wraps his arms around you.

“What-” You start to ask, but then he’s hauling you up over his shoulder and you’re falling apart into hysterical laughter, “Where are we going? Put me down!”

“Nope,” He says, “I’ve got more plans for you,”

Seonghwa follows you both, and then you realize the shower was never turned off. The bathroom is full of hot steam, enveloping all of you the minute Seonghwa shuts the door.

“We’re multitasking,” Yunho slides you off his shoulder to the floor, kissing your cheek as he does and reaching in to check the temperature.

Seonghwa wraps his arms around you, hand closing over your belly as he nuzzles your head, “Good, because I have plans too,”

They have you again in the shower, Seonghwa on his knees between your thighs, and then once more braced against the glass doors. It’s insatiable, your need for each other, even after all these years. You’ve shared everything with them, every inch of your body and desires. Not a single moment of it worth trading away.

It takes time to come out of your hazy morning, every time you think of pulling away something brings you back. Their lips, hands, tongues, cocks. Every part and piece of them.

But eventually, after what feels like hours, you’re clean and dry and changing the sheets.

You only have a little more time before Dasom comes home and your life changes once again forever, so you slip back into bed with them for just a little while longer.

Seonghwa strokes your stomach slowly, lips on your cheek as he does and kissing the corner of your mouth, “I think it’s a girl,”

“Yeah?” You murmur, Yunho curling closer behind your back so that you’re all tighter together.

“Mhm,” Seonghwa smiles, “I have a feeling.”

“You thought Dasom was a boy,” You point out softly.

“No,” He shakes his head, “I know it this time,”

“Do you want another girl?” You murmur.

“I think so,” He confesses, “it just feels right,”

“You know,” Yunho kisses your shoulder softly, “I think you’re right, I think it’s a girl,”

“I don’t want you to be disappointed if it’s a boy,” You find his hand between you, threading your fingers together.

“Nothing about our baby could disappoint me,” His brows knit together as he shakes his head, “girl, boy, Yunho’s… mine, it… none of it matters, it’s just a feeling,”

“You really mean that,” You smile softly.

“I really do,” He nods, “no matter what, they’ll be so loved,”

Yunho’s breath catches in your ear, and you can’t quite see his face but he reaches past you and cups Seonghwa’s face, his thumb stroking along his husband’s cheek, “Oh, yeobo,” he sighs, “of course they will.”

You duck into Seonghwa’s chest, pressing a kiss to his skin, “You have so much love to give, Hwa,”

His warm hand on your belly is a comforting weight, grounding and sure and he nods against your hair.

“Dasom will be home soon,” Yunho murmurs, and you can hear his voice is tight and shaky, “we probably shouldn’t be crying messes when she gets here,”

“I’m not crying,” You grin against Seonghwa’s chest.

“Me either,”

“Right,” Yunho takes a deep breath, “fine, I can’t be crying when she gets home then.”

“Aw,” You twist in his arms to face him, cupping his cheek, “baby,”

“Don’t,” He scrubs at his eyes, “you know I cry at everything,”

Seonghwa laughs, snuggling closer, “We know,”

“I’m just,” He sighs, “fuck, I’m really happy,”

“Me too,” You kiss him softly.

Seonghwa nods, “Me too,”

“Sometimes I think about the night we met,” Yunho smiles, pushing your hair behind your ear and glancing over your shoulder at Seonghwa who makes a soft humming noise of recognition.

“Yeah?” You cup his cheek.

“We almost left you there,” Yunho confesses, “did I ever tell you that?”

“No,” You study his eyes.

“We were watching you for a little while,” He strokes your neck softly, “and I said we shouldn’t bother you. You looked ready for a date, I was sure whoever the guy was was just running late. You looked… beautiful, I thought there was no way someone would let you just sit there all night.”

“You’ve never told me that,” You shake your head, “are you serious?”

“Mhm,” He nods, and then his eyes travel up to Seonghwa, “but then he said, ‘What’s the worst that happens? We buy a pretty girl a drink and go home?’”

The idea that they would have left, there at the end of the bar one second and gone the next. Interesting strangers and a passing thought in your whole life.

“So you changed your mind?” You manage.

“It would have been the worst mistake of my life,” Yunho says.

“Our lives,” Seonghwa corrects.

“Mine too,” You tug them closer, wrapping them tight around you, “and I wouldn’t have even known it,”

Your phone buzzes on the side table and you smile, it’s probably close to that time. Dasom would be ancy to come home and at the end of Nari’s good graces. You shift to get up, but they tug you right back down.

“Five more minutes,” Yunho shakes his head.

“But,” You start to say.

“Just five,” He repeats.

For a little longer, it’s just the three of you. Tucked between them, you imagine the life you might have had without them. You would have found someone, you might have had children with them. You might have bought a house or moved out of Seoul. You would probably be happy, in that other life in that other place, you might be happy it’s not impossible. But it wouldn’t be this. Full, complete, whole. You might in some other life be a wife, but not their wife. You might in some other life have a child, but not Dasom. Not this new life. You can’t conceive of it. You’re sure you would have figured it out, but you can’t really imagine how without them.

Your phone rings again on the nightstand, and slowly you unfold yourself from their arms to pick it up. Yunho slips his hand under the hem of your shirt while you talk to Nari, Seonghwa presses warm kisses across your neck. Not long now.

The day stretches into itself until the afternoon sun warms your sheets and your skin. The door downstairs opens and you hear your daughter's fast footfalls on the stairs. Your stomach turns with nervous butterflies, but your husbands hold you close and the wing beats calm to a subtle flutter. You think maybe they’re not butterflies, maybe they’re something more. In an excited rush Dasom pushes through the door and throws herself up on the bed. Strong arms catch her and bring her in to cuddle close. She’s home, and now you all are too, together always.

#HI IM BACK #yunhwa husbands #honeyhotteoks fics #yunho x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunhwa x reader #yunho #jeong yunho #seonghwa #park seonghwa #ateez #ateez fic #ateez ff #ateez series #yunho fic #yunho ff #yunho smut #seonghwa fic #seonghwa smut

549 notes · View notes