#faint echos of an old relief | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

d1stalker · 1 month

Text

The Feeling's Mutual | Part Three

Summary: At last, you're about to face whatever—or whoever—is behind all this chaos, but what you uncover will haunt you, and Logan's connection to it makes you realize that you’re only a piece in someone else’s game

PART ONE | PART TWO | FINAL PART

Warnings: canon-level violence, manipulation, soft moments, plot-twist WC: 7.9k - MASTERLIST

----

Well, this is it.

The day you and Logan have decided on to investigate the location has come. Standing side-by-side, you both peer down at the old rusted metal grate beneath your feet. It creaks ominously under your combined weight, the sound echoing through the empty lot.

You can’t help the grimace that crosses your face as you take a step closer to the edge. "Please tell me this isn’t a sewer," you mutter, the disgust in your voice impossible to hide.

Logan shoots you a sideways glance, his expression a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Not a sewer," he grumbles. "And even if it was, we got a job to do. Now shut up and focus."

"Just saying," you mumble under your breath, rolling your eyes. "If we're about to wade through god-knows-what, I might need a minute to mentally prepare."

Your remark is ignored as he crouches down to grip the edge of the grate. With a grunt of effort, he lifts it up, revealing a gaping hole that descends into darkness. A musty, stale smell wafts up from below, and you can’t help but wrinkle your nose in distaste. Already securing the grate to the side so it won’t fall back into place, he straightens up and gives you a pointed look. "You ready?".

"Yeah," you reply, bracing yourself, and trying to sound more confident than you feel. "Let’s get this over with."

Logan gives a short nod before pulling out a flashlight from his belt, clicking it on. The beam of light cuts through the darkness below, revealing a rusty ladder bolted to the side of the tunnel. The metal rungs look old and worn, covered in grime and dust, but they seem sturdy enough. Without hesitation, hesteps forward, testing the ladder with one hand before starting his descent.

You watch as he climbs down. The tunnel seems to swallow him whole, and soon all you can see is the faint glow of his flashlight moving deeper into the darkness.

"Come on," his voice echoes up from below, gruff but encouraging.

You take one last look at the dim, overcast sky above before gripping the cold metal of the ladder and starting down after him. The further you descend, the colder and damper the air becomes, clinging to your skin like a shroud. The sound of your own breathing is unnervingly loud in the confined space, and the occasional drip of water from above only adds to the uncanny atmosphere.

As your feet finally touch solid ground, you let out a small breath of relief, but the oppressive darkness around you quickly snuffs out any sense of comfort. The tunnel is narrow, the walls slick with moisture, and the air smells of damp earth and rusted metal.

Logan’s flashlight beam cuts through the abyss, revealing a long, empty passageway stretching out before you. The walls are lined with old pipes and cables, some of which look like they haven’t been used in decades. The faint hum of electricity buzzes in the background, the only sign that this place might still be connected to the world above.

"Isn’t this just cozy," you say sarcastically, as you click on your own flashlight, adding a second beam of light to murky gloom.

He shoots you a look, like he’s trying to keep you calm. "Ain’t nobody enjoyin’ this," he says. "But we’ve got to check it out. Could be nothin’, or it could be somethin’ we need to deal with."

You hum, forcing yourself to focus. The truth is, you have no idea what’s down there—whether it’s just an abandoned tunnel or something more sinister. That uncertainty gnaws at you, making each step feel heavier than the last. You remind yourself that Logan wouldn’t be here if he didn’t think it was important. He’s got a sense for these things, a gut feeling that’s saved both your asses more than once.

"Stay sharp," he says, his voice a low rumble. "There could be traps set up, or worse—mutants under control waitin' for us."

The tunnel seems to go on forever, each step echoing back to you like a warning. The beam of your flashlight dances across the uneven floor, picking out old, broken pipes, patches of moss, and the occasional rat scurrying away into the darkness. The air gets cooler the further you go, the damp chill seeping into your bones.

"How far do you think this goes?" you whisper.

"Hard to say," he replies, his eyes fixed straight ahead. "But we’ll know when we’re gettin’ close. Trust me."

Even though you can’t see in the dark,you nod. The two of you move cautiously down the tunnel, the only light coming from your flashlights. Every creak, every drip, every distant clank of metal sets your nerves on edge. It’s all so oppressive, as if the walls themselves are closing in on you, the weight of the earth pressing down from above.

"Ever get the feeling you’re being watched?" you ask, trying to keep your tone light, but you feel genuine fear.

Logan doesn’t miss a beat. "All the damn time," he grunts, his eyes flicking to every shadow, every dark corner. "Keep your head in the game, Knifey. We ain’t alone down here."

His steps slow ahead as you approach a corner where the tunnel bends sharply to the left. He holds up a hand, signaling you to stop as he slowly walks forward, checking to see if there is anything hiding. You freeze in place, your heart pounding in your ears as you listen. For a moment, the only sounds are the steady drip of water and the faint rustling of something—probably a rat—somewhere in the dark.

When you round the bend, the passage suddenly opens up into a larger chamber, the walls lined with more old, rusted equipment. The floor is uneven, slick with dampness, and the space feels almost too large, as if it’s swallowing the sound of your footsteps entirely.

"Feels like a setup," you whisper, your eyes darting around the chamber.

He hums grimly, his senses on high alert. "We’ll move fast, hit hard if we need to."

You both move cautiously into the center of the chamber, your flashlights sweeping the room. The emptiness is unsettling, the silence even more so. There’s no sign of life, no indication that anyone—or anything—has been here recently.

Then, in the far corner of the room, your flashlight catches something—a small metal door, half hidden behind a stack of old crates. It’s slightly ajar, just enough to let a sliver of darkness leak through.

"That’s gotta be it," you say.

"Stay behind me," he orders.

Nodding, you follow close as he approaches the door. The tension is palpable, every nerve in your body hyper-aware. The closer you get, the more you can feel it—the oppressive presence that seems to emanate from behind that door, like a thick, invisible fog.

He reaches out, pushing the door open with a creak that echoes through the chamber. The darkness inside is absolute, swallowing the beam of your flashlights like a black hole. You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, your instincts screaming at you that something isn’t right.

The room beyond is large and dimly lit, the walls lined with screens displaying endless streams of data, numbers, and images flashing by in rapid succession. In the center of the room, a figure stands with their back to you, seemingly engrossed in their work.

As Logan steps forward, you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves, a stiffness that mirrors your own. His body is coiled tight, muscles flexing beneath his skin, ready to spring into action at any moment. His claws slide out slowly, gleaming dangerously in the low light. With a menacing growl, he commands, "Turn around."

The figure doesn’t react immediately, their movements unhurried, almost casual. Then, slowly, they turn to face you, and the shadows reveal a woman with sharp, severe features. Her eyes are frosty, cunning, but there’s a glint of satisfaction in them that sends a shiver down your spine. When her eyes settle on the man next to you, a cruel smile spreads across her lips.

"Hello, Wolverine," she purrs, her voice dripping with venom. There’s a twisted pleasure in the way she speaks his name, as if savouring every syllable.

Logan’s eyes narrow, and something something haunting and painful crosses his face. "Shadowmind," he spits, full of contempt and hatred. The name rolls off his tongue like a curse, heavy with the weight of what must be their shared history.

Your gaze snaps to him, practically breaking your neck as you turn your head. Your heart pounding in your chest, and you can feel the tension in the room thickening, almost suffocating. "You know her?" you whisper, desperate for understanding.

He nods, though his eyes never leave the woman, the intensity of his gaze enough to burn through steel. "Yeah," he mutters. "She was one of the experiments in Weapon X. Thought I killed her."

Shadowmind’s smile widens, her features gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "You almost did," she replies bitterly, her tone laced with fury and twisted pride. "But you didn’t quite finish the job, did you, Wolvie? You left me broken, traumatized… but not dead. And now, I’m going to make sure you regret that."

His claws twitch, his hands flexing with the barely contained fury boiling just beneath the surface. "So all of this—sending those mutants after humans, after us—it was all to get to me?"

She nods slowly, the smile never fading from her lips as her gaze shifts to you, her eyes raking over you like a predatory its prey. "At first, yes," she confesses, almost conversationally, as if they’re discussing the weather. "I wanted to draw you out, make you suffer. I thought having mutants wreak havoc on people would get your attention. But then…" She trails off, her eyes lighting up with a twisted joy as a manic cackle bursts from her throat, bouncing off the walls of the chamber. "Then she fought back and killed them! Your little friend here is a mutant—and a powerful one. She made my job so much easier.”

You felt like you had just been bitch-slapped by the biggest bitch of all time. All of the attacks, all of the deaths—they weren’t just random acts of violence. Yes, you acted in self defence, but you didn’t know they were being controlled. You didn’t know that you were a mutant. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have killed them. Guilt starts crawling up your throat—you might throw up.

"You twisted them," Logan seethes dangerously, like the rumble of thunder before a storm. His eyes burn with a rage that’s barely held in check, the kind of anger that promises violence. "You twisted those mutants’ minds just to get at me. Made them your fucking pawns.”

Shadowmind shrugs, the gesture so nonchalant it scares you. "I did what I had to," she says cooly, while bringing her hand up to her face as she looks at her nails. "You took everything from me, Wolvie. My life, my sanity… now it’s time for you to lose something."

Then, you scream.

It’s a raw, painful sound that scratches your throat as it crawls up and out of your mouth. Your mind feels like it is being split in two, the agony so intense that you can’t even think. Your hands fly to your head, clutching it as if you can physically hold yourself together. The flashlight slips from your fingers, clattering to the ground with a hollow, clanking sound that echoes in the room. Your vision blurs, the world around you spinning as you struggle to stay upright.

Logan’s head whips toward yours, and for a moment, you catch a glimpse of something in his eyes you’ve never seen before—terror. Pure, unfiltered terror etched into his features, cutting through the usual stoic mask he wears. "Fight it!" he shouts, his voice sharp, urgent, but it feels distant, like he’s speaking from the end of a long tunnel. "Don’t let her take control!"

You try to obey, to resist the overwhelming force pressing down on your mind, but it’s like trying to swim against a riptide. Your limbs betray you, moving without your consent, and you can only feel horror wash over you as your hand reaches for the blade hidden in the side of your boot. Your fingers close around the hilt, the metal cold and familiar, but the ease with which you lift it feels wrong—alien.

"Logan, I—" You choke out, desperately trying to warn him, but the words come out strangled, distorted by the crushing weight of Shadowmind’s influence. The connection between your mind and body is fraying, slipping away.

Then it happens. Her grip tightens around your consciousness, squeezing until everything goes black. The world around you dissolves into a dark, endless void where the only sound is the incessant whispering of voices, all chanting the same sinister command: Kill him. Destroy him. Hurt him.

You can’t think. You can’t see. It’s like you’re drowning in a sea of dark, suffocating orders, your own thoughts buried beneath the onslaught of the woman’s will. The weapon in your hand feels heavy, but it’s not your hand anymore—it’s hers. Your body is no longer your own.

"Fight it!" A voice tries to cut through the fog, but it’s distant, muffled, like he’s shouting at you from underwater. It’s too far away, too weak compared to the relentless chorus in your head. Kill. Hurt. Destroy.

Without conscious thought, your body moves. The lava-like energy surges through your veins, your hands glowing an intense, fiery orange, the heat building until it feels like you just stuck your hand in a volcano. You lunge at Logan, the blade slashing through the air with a ferocity that isn’t yours.

He barely dodges the strike, his claws moving as he counters your attack. "Push back, don’t let her in!" he yells desperately as he blocks another of your strikes, the force behind it sending him staggering back a few metrs. But you can’t hear him—not really.

Your powers flare uncontrollably, the heat in your hands intensifying until it feels like your skin is about to burst into flames. A scream that’s more Shadowmind’s than your own tears from your throat, and you swing your fist. The molten energy collides with his claws, heating through the adamantium like it’s nothing. He grunts in pain but doesn’t back down. Instead, he grabs your wrist, trying to pull you out of the mental prison you’re trapped in.

"Come on, Knifey! I know you’re in there!" His voice is fervent, pleading.

"Poor little Wolverine. Can’t even protect your little friend?” Shadowmind’s tyrannical laughter echoes through your thoughts. “She’s mine now. You can’t save her. Just like you couldn’t kill me.”

He grits his teeth, his muscles straining, hands melting, as he tries to hold back the power surging through you. But the voices won’t let you stop. They won’t let you think. You’re just a puppet on strings, forced to do this woman’s bidding. You lash out with your other hand, the blade slicing across Logan’s side, drawing blood. He hisses in pain but refuses to let go, his grip on your wrist tightening as he tries to bring you back to yourself.

"I know you can break free!" Logan shouts, his voice cracking with emotion. "You’re stronger than her!"

Shadowmind’s grip is ironclad, her control absolute. The whispering in your head grow louder, more frantic. Kill him. Hurt him. Finish him. You wrench your arm free from Logan’s grasp and drive your fist into his stomach, pushing him back against the wall.

He stumbles but doesn’t fall. He fights back with everything he has, his claws slashing through the air as he tries to subdue you without killing you. It’s no use—neither of you can die, and she knows it. She’s watching the two of you tear each other apart, a smile on her lips like she’s enjoying a show.

"You can’t stop it, Logan," She taunts. “You’re just delaying the inevitable."

His eyes flash in desperation as he roars in frustration, dodging another one of your attacks before grabbing you by the shoulders. "Fight it, damn it! " he shouts, shaking you. "Don’t let her win!"

But you just can’t. It’s impossible. The sounds—the whispers—block out everything, leaving you with nothing but the burning need to obey. You slam your fist into the clawed mutant’s side again.

"Come back to me!" he yells. "Come back to me!"

To shut him up, your hands grab him by the back of the neck and, with all your strength, you slam his head against the concrete wall. The impact is sickening, the sound of bone hitting stone reverberating through the chamber.

Logan’s body goes limp, his grip on your shoulders loosening as he crumples to the ground, unconscious. The voices suddenly go silent, the mental chains around your mind shattering as Shadowmind’s control slips away.

You blink, disoriented, the world around you coming back into focus. Your hands are still glowing with that flowing energy, your heart racing as the realization of what you’ve done sinks in. You look down at your friend’s motionless form, horror flooding your veins.

"What… what did you make me do?" you whisper, your voice trembling as you take a step back, staring at your hands as if they belong to someone else.

Shadowmind laughs, the sound cold and mocking. "You did exactly what I wanted you to do," she says sweetly, sickeningly sweet. "You proved that no matter how strong you think you are, I can break you. Both of you."

You shake your head. "This isn’t over," you say, anger and fear dowsing you. "We’ll come for you. We’ll end this."

Her smile widens, a dark, knowing look in her eyes. "Oh, I’m counting on it," she says softly, almost affectionately in its cruelty. "But for now, I think I’ll let you live with what you’ve done. After all, the real torture comes from the inside, doesn’t it?"

She waves a hand dismissively, and the remnants of the mental pressure that had been suffocating you vanishes completely. The sudden release makes you lurch forward, your knees nearly buckling as the full weight of your actions crashes down on you. The chamber feels like it's closing in, it’s hard to breathe as you watch Shadowmind step back toward the console, her gaze lingering on Logan’s unconscious form with a sense of triumph

"I’ll be waiting, Wolverine," she says. "And next time, I’ll make sure you both suffer."

With that, she melts into the shadows, disappearing like a phantom, leaving you alone in the silent chamber with Logan’s still form. The only sound that breaks the quiet is your ragged breathing, the pounding of your heart a deafening roar in your ears.

You drop to your knees beside him, your hands trembling violently as you reach out to touch him, your fingers hesitating, afraid of what you’ll find. Relief floods through you when you feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, his breaths shallow but present. But the sight of the blood trickling down from where wound would have been on his head—where you slammed him against the wall—makes your stomach churn with guilt.

"I’m sorry," you whisper, your voice cracking as tears blur your vision. "I’m so sorry, Logan…"

He doesn’t respond, his face pale and still. For what feels like an eternity, you just sit there, cradling his head in your lap, your fingers brushing through his hair, now matted with blood.

----

After a few more minutes, and with trembling hands, you manage to lift Logan’s unconscious form, his body limp in your arms, and haul him onto your back. Thanks to your mutant strength, he’s not heavy—physically, you can carry him with ease—but the emotional weight of it, the burden of what you’ve done, makes him feel like he weighs a thousand pounds.

The Wolverine, silent and motionless—it’s something you’ve never seen before, and it’s terrifying.

The tunnel is dark and seemingly endless as you make your way back, every step feeling like a battle against the overwhelming tide of despair threatening to pull you under. Tears stream down your face, silent and unchecked, as you hold onto him, his head resting against your shoulder.

Eventually, you reach the van, the sight of it a small beacon in the abyss. With great care, you lower his body into the back, laying him down as gently as you can. His face is still so pale, his breaths too shallow, and the sight makes you feel worse.

You climb into the van beside him, your hands trembling as you search for something to wipe away the blood. Once you find a cloth, you gently stroke his face. The only response is the rhythmic sound of his breathing, and the silence that fills the van is suffocating. You lean over him, your forehead resting against his as tears continue to spill from your eyes. "I’ll fix this," you vow. "I’ll find a way to fix this… I promise."

----

The drive back to the warehouse is a blur. Logan doesn’t stir, not even when the van hits a rough patch of road. Not even when you make a shitty turn. You keep glancing back at him, hoping to see those familiar eyes staring back at you, but there’s nothing. Just the steady rise and fall of his chest.

When you finally arrive at the warehouse, you just sit there, gripping the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turn white. Then you move.

You slowly slide Logan out of the van, his weight heavy against you as you half-drag, half-carry him toward the bed—his bed. The place where you’ve slept for the past few nights while he took the couch. Laying him down, your hands shake vigorously as you arrange him as comfortably as you can.

He’s still unresponsive, and all you can do is sit beside him, your heart hammering in your chest as you wait, watching him closely for any sign that he’s waking up. The minutes drag on, each one feeling like an eternity. Your mind races, replaying every second of the fight, the way Shadowmind twisted your thoughts, the way your body had moved against your will.

You’re lost in those dark thoughts when you finally see it—a faint twitch of his fingers, a slight furrow in his brow. Your breath catches in your throat as his eyes flutter open, slowly focusing on the ceiling above him. For a split second, he looks disoriented, then those steel eyes shift toward you.

Before you can stop yourself, you practically launch yourself at him, covering his body with yours, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. The suddenness of it makes him stiffen for a moment, his body tensing under your touch. But then, slowly, you feel him relax, his arms wrapping around your waist in return, holding you close.

His broad chest is warm and solid beneath yours, the strength in his arms grounding you in a way that makes you think nothing else can. You can feel the beat of his heart, steady and strong, and it calms the storm inside you just a little. Letting yourself melt into the embrace, the overwhelming relief of feeling him alive and whole washes over you.

But then your thoughts catch up to you, and you pull back slightly, your heart racing for an entirely different reason. What the hell am I doing? You force yourself to push away the thoughts of how good it felt to be in his arms, how comforting his strength was. Not the time or place.

When you make eye contact, you realize how close you still are. Your faces are just inches apart, and for a mere moment, neither of you move. His eyes, intense and unreadable, lock onto yours, and you feel a jolt of something electric shoot through you.

"Logan, I’m—" you start to apologize, but the words catch in your throat.

He shakes his head slightly, silencing you with a look. "It wasn’t you," he says softly, tightening his hold. "I know it wasn’t you."

The sincerity in his eyes almost breaks you, but you manage to hold it together. The two of you sit there in silence, the weight of what just happened hanging in the air. And yet, there’s something else too—something that lingers in the way your gazes stay locked a moment too long, in the way his hands still rest on your hips, the warmth of his touch seeping through your skin.

You pull back completely, breaking the moment. Standing up, you take a deep breath to steady yourself, trying to ignore the way your heart is still racing.

"I was really worried that I actually hurt you," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper as you look anywhere but at him.

Logan sits up slowly, his movements a little stiff, but he’s already recovering. "I’m tough to get rid of," he says, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes are serious. "But thanks."

You nod, swallowing hard as you try to shake off the residual tension. "You should rest," you say, gesturing to the bed.

He studies you for a moment, as if he’s trying to read something in your expression. Then he yields, lying back down, but not before he gives you one last look. "You need rest too, Knifey.”

"Yeah," you agree. "I will."

But as you walk away, you can still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin, the memory of his arms around you, and you can’t help but wonder what the hell just happened between you.

----

The warehouse falls into an uneasy silence after you step away from the bedside. The faint light filters through the cracks in the windows, casting shadows across the cluttered space. You move to a nearby chair, sinking into it with a heavy sigh, your mind still spinning from everything that’s happened. The weight of what you did under Shadowmind’s control sits heavily on your chest, the guilt plaguing you even as you try to focus on the immediate future.

You can hear Logan’s breathing slow and even out as he drifts back to sleep, his body needing time to recover from the ordeal. You know he’s right—both of you need rest—but you can’t bring yourself to close your eyes just yet. The memory of the fight, of your body acting against your will, is too fresh, too raw. You keep replaying the moment you slammed his head against the wall, the sickening sound of the impact still reverberating in your ears.

Time passes slowly. The warehouse is quiet, save for the occasional creak of old metal and the distant hum of the city outside. You sit there, watching over the mutant, your body refusing to relax. Eventually, exhaustion starts to creep in, and your eyelids grow heavy, but every time you start to drift off, you’re jolted awake by the memories.

After what feels like hours, the first rays of dawn begin to pierce the darkness. There isn’t much light, but it brings a sliver of comfort, a reminder that the night is over. You glance over at Logan, who is still asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily. Despite the bruises and the cuts that have healed, he looks peaceful—something you don’t often see.

Unable to sit still any longer, you get up and start pacing the warehouse, trying to work off the restless energy that’s been building up inside you. The physical movement helps clear your mind a little, but it doesn’t do much to ease the knot of emotions tangled up in your chest.

As you walk, your thoughts keep circling back to Shadowmind. The way she taunted you, the way she manipulated your mind so effortlessly—it’s infuriating. And then there’s the way Logan looked at you afterward, the way he didn’t want your apology. When you remember the way his strong arms around you, the way you felt so small but safe in his embrace… It sends a chill throughout your body, and you quickly shake off the thought.

Focus, you tell yourself. There’s no time for this. You have a job to do.

Yet even as you try to push those thoughts away, they keep creeping back, resurfacing whenever you’re not paying attention. The connection you felt in that brief moment of vulnerability lingers, and it’s unsettling. Your friendship with him has improved tremendously within the last week, building on trust and mutual respect, but this…this feels different, and you’re not sure how to deal with it.

By the time the sun is fully up, you’re mentally and physically exhausted. You decide to make some coffee, hoping the routine task will help ground you. The familiar sounds of the coffee maker, the scent of fresh brew filling the air, offer a small comfort. You pour yourself a cup, savoring the warmth as it spreads through your body, chasing away the last remnants of the night’s chill.

Sitting back down, cradling the mug in your hands, you hear movement behind you. You turn to see Logan stirring, his eyes blinking open as he slowly pushes himself up into a sitting position. He looks around, taking in the light streaming through the windows before his gaze settles on you.

"Morning," he mutters, his voice rough with sleep.

"Morning," you whisper. "How’re you feeling?"

Logan stretches, wincing slightly as he does, his muscles protesting the movement. "Feels like I got hit by a truck," he mutters with a half-smirk, trying to lighten the mood. But then, his expression softens, the humor fading from his eyes as he looks at you with genuine concern. "But I’ll be fine. You?"

You hesitate for a moment, unsure how to answer. "I’m… okay," you finally say, though you’re not sure if that’s entirely true. After a moment, you add, "I just… I’m sorry, Logan. For what happened. For what I did."

He shakes his head, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes it clear he doesn’t want you to carry this burden. "I told you, it wasn’t you. Shadowmind’s the one to blame, not you. You fought her as hard as you could."

"But I still—" you start, but he cuts you off with a look.

"You didn’t have a choice," he says firmly, leaving no room for argument. "And we’re going to make sure she pays for what she did. Together."

The mention of her name—Shadowmind—casts a shadow over Logan’s face. It’s the same haunted look you saw down in the tunnels, when he saw her again. There’s clearly more to the story, more to the pain that’s etched into his expression. You hesitate, unsure if you should press further, but curiosity and concern for him win out. "Logan," you ask quietly, "who is she? What’s the history between you two?"

He leans back against the wall, the tension in his body not easing but shifting as he gathers his thoughts. Sucking in a harsh breath, you can tell that whatever he’s about to say is something he rarely, if ever, shares.

"Her real name is Lorna Mallory," he begins, his voice carrying the weight of memories long buried but never forgotten. "We crossed paths years ago, back when I was with Weapon X."

"She was one of the many mutants that Weapon X experimented on," Logan continues bitterly. "She had powerful telepathic and telekinetic abilities, but the scientists wanted to push her beyond her limits, see just how much they could get out of her. They messed with her mind, twisted it, just like they did with me. But Lorna… she wasn’t like the others. She fought back, hard. She wouldn’t let them break her."

He pauses, his eyes distant, as if he’s seeing the past play out in front of him. You can almost picture it too—the cold, sterile labs, the cruel, calculating scientists, and the unending pain they inflicted on those they deemed as nothing more than tools. "I was different back then. More… feral, more under their control. They used me as their weapon, their enforcer. And when Lorna started resisting, they sent me after her."

Your heart sinks as you begin to piece together the story, the tragic and brutal connection between Logan and Shadowmind. "What did they make you do?" you ask, though part of you dreads hearing the answer.

His jaw clenches, his muscles tightening so much so it’s like he’s physically bracing himself for the confession. He looks away, unable to meet your eyes, the shame and regret palpable in the air between you. "They sent me to stop her. To… subdue her," he gets out. "I didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t in control of myself any more than you were back there."

Finally, he looks at you. "I attacked her. Hurt her badly. But she survived. Barely. The damage I did wasn’t just physical—it shattered her mind. Turned her into the monster she is now."

The room is laden with the weight of Logan’s confession.

"And now she wants revenge," you say quietly, understanding the gravity of the situation.

He nods grimly. "She’s been waiting for this chance. I think in some twisted way, she blames me for everything that happened to her. And she’s right. I was the one who pushed her over the edge."

"But it wasn’t your fault," you insist, repeating the words he had said to you earlier. You can see the parallels between your situation and his, both of you victims of forces beyond your control. "They used you, just like she used me."

He doesn’t seem convinced. "Doesn’t change what I did. And now, she’s come back to finish what she started. She wanted to lure me out, make me suffer, and when she found you, she saw a way to do it."

You can see the pain in his eyes, the guilt that he’s been carrying for so long. It’s clear that this fight with Shadowmind isn’t just about survival for him—it’s personal.

Reaching forward, you grab his hands in yours, holding them tightly. "We’ll stop her," you say. "We’ll find her and put an end to this."

Logan looks at you, a flicker of something softer passing through his gaze. "Yeah," he agrees quietly. "We will."

----

The two of you decide to spend the next week doing nothing. There isn’t much to do anyway, you know your goal, you just have to act on it. But you don’t want to—not now. You want to savour these moments with Logan where it feels like you hadn’t tried to kill him. Where, for a little while, you can forget about the darkness that still persists in the corners of your mind.

So much has changed, you think, since the encounter with Shadowmind. From the point that he shared more about his past, it’s like the floodgates have opened. Logan no longer hides behind his rough exterior, letting you in to see who he is when his guard isn’t up.

The small moments of bickering have turned into playful banter, the non-committal grunts have evolved into full-fledged conversations, and the sidelong glances have turned into lingering looks. What was once tension between you now feels like a quiet comfort, a connection that’s deepened with each passing day. You’ve gone from being reluctant allies to something more—something you’re not sure either of you are ready to name, but it’s there, undeniable in the way he stands a little closer, in the way his touch lasts just a little longer, in the way your heart skips a beat every time your eyes meet.

That’s why after a particularly quiet start to the day, you decide to cook something—a way repay Logan for letting you seek shelter with him, and lending his shoulder for you to lean on when you need to. But cooking has never been your strong suit, and as you stand in the kitchen, surrounded by half-chopped vegetables and a sauce that’s beginning to smell suspiciously burnt, you realize you might be in over your head.

Logan appears beside you as if summoned by the smell of impending disaster, his arms crossed over his chest, a bemused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You tryin’ to burn the place down, or what?"

Placing your hand on your hip in mock defiance, you huff, turning to face him. "I’m making dinner, obviously. Do you have eyes?”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "That what you call it? Smells like you’re tryin’ to poison us both."

You roll your eyes, but there’s a playful glint in them. "Ha ha, very funny. I’m just… experimenting."

Snorting, his amusement is evident as he steps into the kitchen, surveying the scene of culinary carnage. "Experimentin’? Well, let’s see what you’ve got so far." He peers into the pan, his expression growing even more dubious. "You know, maybe I should take over before you really do burn the place down."

You make a face, reluctantly stepping aside as he moves to the stove with the confidence of someone who’s rescued more than a few meals in his time. "Fine, but only because I don’t want you to complain about my cooking for the next week."

He chuckles, shaking his head as he starts to salvage the meal, adding a few more ingredients with practiced ease, adjusting the heat, and stirring with impressive skill–and you didn’t even know that stirring required skill!

You hover nearby, more a spectator than a helper at this point, and you go to reach for something on a high shelf—maybe the salt or some spices, you’re not entirely sure—but as you stretch, you lose your balance. Before you can grab the counter to stabilize yourself, Logan’s hands are suddenly on your hips, steadying you with a gentle grip. For a moment, you just stand there, your back pressed against his chest, the world narrowing down to the steady rhythm of his breath, the solid warmth of his body anchoring you.

"You okay?" he asks lowly, close to your ear.

A bit breathless, and feeling the solid warmth of him behind you, all you can do is nod and try your best to string together a sentence. "Yeah, just… clumsy."

He doesn’t let go immediately, his hands resting on your hips for a second longer, as if to make sure you’re really steady. When he finally does, you turn to face him, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Thanks."

"Anytime,” he hums.

You both fall into a comfortable rhythm after that, working side by side in the kitchen. There’s a bit of bickering—mostly about your questionable cooking methods and his insistence on doing things his way—but it’s light, teasing, and you realize how much you love this. The ease, the banter, the way he seems to know exactly what you need without you having to say a word.

And when you sit down to eat later, the meal actually turning out better than you expected, there’s a sense of calm that settles between you. He catches your eye, and there’s something in his gaze—something warm, reassuring. "See? Told ya I’d make sure we didn’t get poisoned," he says with a small smirk.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too cocky."

An unexpected banging on the warehouse’s metal doors shatters the quiet moment. You and Logan freeze, both of you instinctively tensing as your eyes meet in confusion and alarm.

“Does anyone know you live here?” you ask tightly, eyebrows furrowed.

His expression darkens, his brows knitting together in a deep, foreboding frown. “Fuck no,” he growls.

The pounding on the door continues, relentless and ominous, each thud vibrating through the metal like a warning. Wordlessly, Logan moves toward the door, his steps slow and cautious, every muscle in his body taut and ready for whatever might be on the other side. You follow him closely, your senses on high alert, every nerve in your body tingling with anticipation.

He reaches the door and hesitates for a fraction of a second, his hand hovering over the latch. His eyes flick to you, a silent communication passing between you—be ready. Then, with a swift motion, he unlatches the door and yanks it open.

In an instant, a mutant leaps at him with insane intensity, teeth bared and claws outstretched. Logan barely has time to react before they’re both locked in a brutal struggle, his claws flashing out as he fends off the attack. The sheer force of the mutant’s assault drives them both back a few steps.

“Logan!” you shout with urgency as you watch them grapple with each other.

But before you can even think to help, a wave of mutants surges toward the open doorway, their movements are eerily synchronized, as if driven by a single, malevolent will. Panic surges through you, your instincts screaming at you to act. You lunge forward, grabbing the nearest mutant and hurling them back with all your strength. The mutant crashes into the others, causing a brief moment of chaos among them.

“Get the door!” Logan shouts over his shoulder, his voice rough with exertion as he continues to fend off the mutant still trying to tear him apart.

You rush to the door, throwing your weight against it as you struggle to push it closed. The mutants on the other side slam into the door with relentless force, their growls and snarls mingling with the metallic screeching of the hinges, turning the warehouse into a scene of barely controlled chaos. The metal groans under the strain, the door trembling against your efforts to hold it shut.

“Logan, help me!” you cry out, your voice strained as you use every ounce of your strength to keep the door from giving way. You might have super strength, but against a hoard of mutants? Impossible.

He finishes off the mutant he was grappling with, leaving the attacker a bloody mess on the floor, then he’s at your side in an instant, hands bracing against the door as he leans his full weight into it. The mutant who attacked him now lying on the floor, a bloody mess. Together, you manage to push the door closed, the sound of the latch clicking into place reaching your ears. But the pounding on the other side continues, the door shaking under the persistant assault of the mutants.

“They’re being mind-controlled,” you gasp, your breath coming in ragged gulps as the whole situation hits you. The fear it causes seeps into your bones. The thought of these mutants being puppeted, forced to attack against their will, is horrifying enough—but the idea that Shadowmind has found you and Logan, that she’s orchestrating this, petrifies you. “But how did they find us?”

Logan grunts, his face twisted in concentration as he braces his shoulder against the door. “No clue.”

A sudden, horrifying thought strikes you, and you feel your blood run cold. “The van,” you whisper, more to yourself than anything.

Realizing the same thing your thinking, his eyes widen. “Shit… the GPS tracker.” His voice thick with anger and frustration. “They must have used it to track us down.”

You curse under your breath. “How didn’t we think of that?”

But there was no time to think of that now. The door shakes violently as the mutants on the other side continue to slam into it, their growls and snarls growing louder, more frenzied. You can feel the door beginning to buckle under the pressure. You press harder, using every ounce of strength you have, but it’s clear the door won’t hold much longer.

“Fuck,” Logan mutters, understanding washing over him as his knuckles whiten against the door. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he’s staring down a ghost. “They’re here for me.”

“What?” you snap, turning to him with wide eyes, confused and afraid. “What do you mean they’re here for you?”

“This is Lorna’s doing, for sure,” he growls. “She wants me.”

The implication behind his words isn’t lost on you. Your heart drops into the pit of your stomach, a cold dread settling in. “No, no, no, don’t do this,” you plead, the desperation clear in your voice as your mind races to stop the train of thought you know is forming in Logan’s mind.

Your hands tighten on the door, as if you can physically hold him back from whatever reckless plan he’s considering. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Let me go,” he says firmly. “Let me see what she wants.”

“Are you out of your mind?” you exclaim. The thought of Logan walking out there alone, straight into Shadowmind’s trap, sends a new wave of terror crashing over you. “She’s going to kill you!”

He sends you a grim smirk. “I can’t die, remember?”

But the attempt at reassurance does nothing to quell the fear that’s twisting in your gut.

“Please, no,” you beg, voice breaking as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. The thought of losing him, of watching him walk into danger alone, is unbearable. “Why can’t we do this together? We’ve been through everything else side by side—don’t make me sit this one out.”

His expression softens for a split second, something tender and conflicted passing through his eyes. He reaches out as if to touch you, but stops himself short. “I can’t drag you into this any further than I already have,” he says lowly.

“Logan, please…” you start to say, but before you can finish, he pushes you back with a shove, the suddenness of it sending you stumbling as you try to regain your balance. The door creaks under the pressure from outside, but Logan doesn’t hesitate. He yanks it open, and with one last look at you, he steps through with a determined stride.

“NO!” you scream, but the door slams shut behind him before you can reach him. You’re left standing alone in the dim light of the warehouse, your heart pounding with fear, anger, and helplessness.

Rushing to the door, you press your ear against, trying to catch any sound, any sign of what’s happening outside. The muffled sounds of the struggle reach your ears—grunts of pain, the clash of claws and flesh, the heavy thuds of bodies hitting the ground. You can hear Logan’s grunts and snarls, his feral side taking over as he fights off the attackers, but there’s something else too—a sinister laughter, one that you heard once before, that sends chills down your spine.

“Logan!” you shout, banging on the door, your fists pounding against the cold metal. “Logan, don’t do this! Don’t you dare leave me alone in here!”

But the only response is the sound of the battle raging outside, growing more distant as if being carried away by the wind. Knowing that that Logan is out there alone, on his way to face whatever horrors Shadowmind has prepared, destroys you. You sink to your knees, the cold of the warehouse floor bleeding into your skin as everything crashes down on you.

----

A/N: so….how we feeling??? some Logan POV next chapter!!

----

TFM Taglist:

@wildefire @aliisa-jones @maximumchilddreamland @peony-always

@newromantics98 @ayamenimthiriel @fandomsunited @britttzy267

@mainly-me @icantevendood @i-left-my-cat-on-the-stove @d3kstar

@im-a-wh0r3 @lunaticgurly @xlocalxpunkx @yjck121 @paradisedixon

@writingthroughmyass @that-one-little-soybean @whxtewolf

comment to be added!

414 notes · View notes

r3starttt · 2 months

Note

okay okay!! how about reader gets back late from patrol (so tlou au) and ellie was all worried and it’s super cute and fluffy?? (change it to your preferences if you like :)

THESE WALLS

PAIRING: Jackson! Ellie x reader

CW: fluff. outbreak|tlou universe. brief-non detailed mention of overwhelming thoughts such as fear of loosing loved ones and stress.

DON'T BUY TLOU | PALESTINE MP PALESTINE LINKS | DAILY CLICK

TAGLIST

The night lay thick with a stillness so profound that even the faintest sound seemed to echo with unsettling clarity. Ellie, trapped in the small sanctuary she had carefully curated, paced restlessly. Her gaze was perpetually drawn to the door, its unyielding silence a stark contrast to the usual rhythm of your return. Each passing moment stretched infinitely, laden with a tension that seemed to deepen with every tick of the clock.

The dim glow of a solitary lamp cast a soft, golden haze over the room. Walls adorned with wooden murals and comic book covers. Delicate strands of Christmas lights wove their way across the space, their faint twinkle casting a gentle, warm light. Yet, despite the serene ambiance, Ellie’s heart was a storm of unease.

She attempted to distract herself, but the mundane details of her surroundings blurred into an indistinguishable haze. Every action seemed to drift by in slow motion, her frustration mounting with each fruitless effort to quell her growing anxiety. She knew in her rational mind that the patrol was fraught with danger, but her deep-seated fear of losing those she loved clung stubbornly to her thoughts.

The creak of the door shattered the quiet, sending Ellie’s heart leaping to her throat. She dashed to the entrance, the door swinging open to reveal you, looking slightly disheveled but otherwise unharmed. Relief surged through her, though it was quickly overwhelmed by a tidal wave of emotions.

As you stepped into the room, the scene before you was both touching and a little comical. Ellie’s usual dorky charm had been replaced by a palpable anxiety. The carefully decorated room, filled with her beloved nerdy trinkets, faded into the background as your focus honed in on her distressed face.

“Hey, sorry,” you said, offering a weary smile. The concern in her eyes was evident, and you could tell she had been struggling.

“We ran into a few more infected than we expected. It took longer to clear them out,” you explained, trying to reassure her.

Ellie’s response was sharp, but it was laced with an undertone of deep-seated worry. “I was starting to think… I don’t know, shit had happened.” Her eyes, usually so full of mischief and laughter, were now wide and brimming with concern.

You stepped closer, the old floorboards creaking softly beneath your feet. Her fingers drummed impatiently against her thighs, her gaze darting over you in a frantic search for any signs of injury.

Ellie let out a deep sigh, rubbing her temples as though trying to ward off a headache. “It’s not just about being late. It’s about you being safe.” Her voice faltered, and she turned away momentarily, struggling to regain her composure.

You reached for her hand, gently enveloping it in your own. “I’m here, Ellie. Safe and sound. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

Her eyes met yours once more, shimmering with a blend of relief and lingering anxiety. “I know, but it doesn’t make it any easier—never mind,” she murmured, her words softening as the harsh edge gave way to a tender vulnerability. Her usual playful demeanor was momentarily eclipsed by her raw, heartfelt fear.

Drawing her into a tight embrace, you felt her tense muscles slowly unwind against you. “I’m here,” you whispered into her ear, your voice a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You gently cupped her face in your hands, pressing a soft, loving kiss to her lips. When you finally pulled away, a small, contented smile graced her face, her eyes reflecting the warmth of your affection.

“Hey…” you murmured, leaning in closer. “How bad do I smell?” You playfully nuzzled against her, inhaling her comforting scent, the familiar fragrance and the fabric of her hoodie enveloping you in warmth.

Ellie chuckled, a soft hum escaping her as she considered your question. “Baby diapers," your quiet laughs mingling.

Your lips beushed over hers, one last tender kiss on her lips, savoring the moment. “I love you."

“I love you too,” you replied, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “And I’ll always come back to you.”

#( 𓍼𓈀A𝕽𝐂𝐇𝖎V𝕰 ⨟ 𓍯 ellie )#( 𝕽EQ'S﹕⠀ ❪ Ellie ❫#ellie x reader fluff #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie x you #ellie fluff #ellie tlou

427 notes · View notes

bunnysbrainrot · 6 months

Text

Too Sweet

A series inspired by Hozier’s ‘Too Sweet’.

Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Content: No sexually explicit content, at least not yet. Some slight fluff? Slow burn vibes? Joel is kind of a dick (for once in my writings), but a protective dick.

Summary: You’re one of the newest arrivals in Jackson after a long trip to seek refuge. Now that you’re settling in, one of Jackson’s most integral men is the head of your first patrol. Will Joel be able to set aside that gruff demeanor for the sake of meeting someone new?

A/N: I’m so sorry about my recent hiatus, everyone. I’ve thought of this series for a while, to get me inspired again and to work towards something bigger. I’ve also thought about having some sections/chapters be from Joel’s perspective. Thoughts on that? Sorry it’s nothing spicy yet, but we’ll work up to it. Tensionnnn

The sound of birds echoed outside your bedroom window. By some miracle, you’d found a community, after so many months wandering either alone, or with the occasional group, but never for long. The mattress beneath you squeaks as you shift in your bed. Normally an irksome noise, but it reminded you that you were finally safe.

A faint light of dawn trickles through the gaps in the curtains, streaking around the room in a periwinkle hue. Your sluggish grog was slowly wearing off, while you processed your plans for that day. It was a Thursday, according to your new watch. God, you hadn’t realized how much you missed being able to tell the time. Who knows truly how long you’d been out there. Days blurring together, the minutes excruciatingly drawn out without company.

It was nice to be a part of something again.

Finally, you sat up in bed, rolling your head to stretch your neck. How long had it been since you had a proper pillow?

A smile crept onto your face. You’re better rested than ever, but an anxiety still ate away at you. Today was your first patrol outside of Jackson. You weren’t alone, of course, but the expectations you held for yourself could be your downfall.

“Okay, let’s do this,” you whispered to yourself.

Walking over to your dresser, you eyed yourself in a dusty mirror above the chest of drawers. A kind woman named Maria had provided you with a few new outfits when you’d first arrived a week ago. In the meantime until today, she’d given you those days to process and settle, and you were grateful for her patience.

When Maria had asked you what role you’d like in the community, she could see the steely glint in your eyes. Well seasoned from years of fighting and running, yet still a kernel of a protective rage.

You had expressed to her of your journey before finding Jackson. On that day she asked you how many of the dead you had taken out thus far.

“In total, by myself, well over three hundred, I would say. I don’t know, I think I lost track at some point.”

Her expression shifted to one of assurance, like they’d just gotten a worthy addition to their town. Someone who could protect what they’d all built.

She explained the basics of patrols, the routes laid out on an old map, with hand drawn trails and indicators of the area. You made an attempt to remember as much as you could, but surely you’d get good practice being out there, actually doing it.

————

You check yourself before heading out the front door. This time of year, the weather has started to warm up, so your opted for a t-shirt, jeans, a light jacket, and a ‘new’ pair of hand-me-down boots.

The air outside was cleaner than you’d imagined. The scent of early morning breakfasts wafted through the breeze, bringing a pang to your stomach. Maria hadn’t mentioned how long patrols would take; you debated if you had time to grab something from a stall in the heart of town. Other residents had been given spaces to cook for the community, giving out easy meals for these hardworking people.

Turns out you did have time, to your relief. In a matter of minutes, you held a piping hot breakfast sandwich in your hands, its heat seeping into your chilled fingers.

A few folks wave a friendly ‘hello’ as you trek to the Southern side of Jackson, to its border wall to meet up with your patrol group. There was a huddle of both peiple and horses, you noticed, as you got closer. One of the people turned to you, giving a wave in recognition.

“Hi, am I late? I thought I’d have time to get breakfast,” you explained.

There was a woman with kind eyes who spoke next, “Not at all, these bastards just insist on getting up at 5:30.”

“That sure is an early start.”

“It gets them cranky like you wouldn’t believe,” she replied, quickly cut off by a new voice.

It was a gentleman who called to the group, “We all here?”

His voice wasn’t commanding, but it did put people into gear to check themselves. Clearly he was the one in charge of this patrol. The look in his eyes told you all you needed to know.

He might be someone to watch.

You turn to the woman, “I’m sorry to ask, but I don’t know anyone here yet. Is there any way you could give me a run-down of who everyone is?”

With a smile, she listed off the names of your group members, pointing them out. Some of them noticed and waved, others gave a slight smile, and others asked for your name. All were introduced until it was down to the man who’d rounded the group.

“And, that’s Joel. He’s head of the patrol.”

Your eyes shot to Joel now that you could put a name to the face. There was a moment of pause when you met his gaze, a moment frozen in time from his stare. He scanned over your face, down to your shoddy boots, and back to your eyes.

His expression doesn’t soften as he says, “Glad to have ya with us. Should be a horse on the way for you.”

Joel turns to face the gate as he rummages through his pockets for a folded map. He unfolds the paper until it spans across his horse’s shoulders.

The rhythmic clonk of a horse’s hooves came from behind. A familiar face approached with a stunning mare, it’s Maria.

“Mornin’ everyone, that should be it,” Maria traded off with you, handing you the mare’s lead. She spoke louder, announcing to the group. “Y’all stay safe out there. Shouldn’t be too bad, but it is getting warmer. Keep an eye out for groups.”

Members of your party nodded before Maria walked off, giving greetings to other folks who’d just begun to bustle around.

Your attention shifted back, specifically to Joel. It seemed that whatever he says, goes, so that’s what you’d follow.

Two men at the top of the wall made their way to the edges of the gate, hauling it open. Golden sunlight peeked above the mountains ahead, casting the world in a yellow glow.

Joel nodded, then a gruff, “Be smart. Stay close.”

————

The sun was overhead now. You’d been out here for hours, keeping an eye out for any infected that roamed too close to camp. A while ago, you spotted one trapped in an abandoned cabin. Which was quickly dispatched by one of the men in your party.

That cycle repeated almost wordlessly amongst you all. Hardly a single word had been uttered aside from Joel’s occasional command or redirection.

For the most part, things were going smoothly. And after a few minutes of some peace and quiet, you realized you’d strayed away from your spot in the formation. Your horse had fallen in pace with a beautiful brown stallion, riding on top, was none other than the leader.

Joel.

You’d turned to see who it was, but were quickly met with another intense stare. Your gaze darts to the side as you issue an apology, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to get so ahead of everyone.”

For the first time his expression does soften. A slight hint or kindness in his eyes. The corners of his eyes crinkle with his slight smile.

“It happens. Just… keep a lil’ distance. You’re new, can’t have you rushing ahead without someone else with you.”

The words would form a lecture if it weren’t for his tone. It wasn’t scrutinizing, but rather soft and protective.

His advice brings a smile out of you. A genuine one, for the first time in a while. Perhaps he wasn’t as much of a hard-ass as you’d assumed. You tug your horse’s reins to slow her pace, creating a few feet of space between you and Joel.

Yet even still, that smile he gave you kept your heart racing.

It would be a horrible idea, to fawn after him.

Right?

That thought had no effect on the tightness in your chest, or the fluttering in your stomach. Perhaps it was simply happiness that someone so hardened could be so easily friendly. A hard exhale later, you told yourself that it was the camaraderie that flustered you.

—

The group had made their journey back to town. Aside from the occasional runner, there wasn’t much defense needed this morning. Once your group returned, you’d have lunch and trade off with the next group, and share your findings before they venture out.

You had let your mind wander as you rode with the group.

In a split second, your mare bucks in fright. There was no time to assess what scared her before you were shooting ahead, flying past your patrol group.

“Nonononono- NO! It’s alright, it’s alright-“ you cry, but it falls on deaf ears of a scared animal. Tugging on the reins made no difference. You still shot ahead of the others, directionless without someone to guide you.

“It’s alright, baby, you’re safe! You’re okay. It’s gone!” You plead to the horse to slow down. The reassurances don’t seem to be enough.

A thundering set of footsteps is heard behind you. In a swift move, Joel jabbed his horse with his heel, pushing himself to race ahead of you.

With the rush of the air and galloping hooves, you could hardly make out his instructions.

“What?!” You shouted.

“Pull the reins! And I mean pull!”

You gripped the leather of the reins, drawing them to your chest, tugging your horse’s head back and away. Her pace slowed, but she kept running, now to the left. You could make out a curse from Joel as he redirected.

In a stroke of luck, he made some headway. Joel’s horse zoomed forward, and merged directly in front of yours, and the interruption slowed the mare’s pace just enough.

Another tug of the reins helps her into a steady beat. Joel was directly ahead, now turned to the side to block more of the path. Your horse huffed and threw her head frustratedly. In that short time you had no clue just how far you’d strayed away - looking backwards told you that it was at least a few hundred meters.

Embarrassment showed in your flushed cheeks and wild expression, looking to Joel for some sort of scolding.

“I think something scared her. I.. I didn’t get a chance to see, it all happened so fast-“

Joel raised a hand to stop you mid-sentence. He didn’t wear a smile like before, but his expression wasn’t angry. If anything, he had that protective look once again.

“I know. They’re skittish, ‘specially her. She needs a little more control than the others.”

It’s a reassurance, truthfully. You breathed a sigh of relief knowing you weren’t on the shit list on the first day. Your breathing had slowed down now, though your heart still raced wildly in your chest.

He scanned your face thoroughly before he asked, “You alright?”

A nod is what you could muster. It’s enough for Joel to give a nod back before waving to the folks behind you, the rest of the group, to call them over.

“Maybe next time I’ll have a more confident horse. No offense….” you paused, “what’s her name?”

Joel’s lips tugged into a smile, “That’s Belle you’re ridin’. Poor girl hasn’t been out in a while, so she’s not as warmed up to this. But you did good with her, all things considered. Handled it well.”

You reached down to pat Belle on the side of her cheek, caressing her carefully.

“It’s okay, Belle. We’re with you. You’re alright now.”

A smile vanished from Joel’s face when you look back up at him. He cleared his throat, his eyes skirting away until your party began to join up with you two.

“It’s all good. Belle got the jitters. Let’s head home.”

With that explanation out of the way, the team could finally resume their return home. Along the way, Joel didn’t have much else to say, much to anyone actually. His silence was solemn - definitely not any invitation to strike up conversation.

Perhaps that’s how he’d always be - resigned, reserved, and off limits to everyone. A part of you ached at the thought of it.

For Joel, that loneliness could be his downfall.

Hi guys! Thanks for reading, I’m sorry if it seems a little boring, but it’s for the sake of the story building. TRUST it will get nasty soon. 🥰

#fanfiction #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #tlou #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou2 #bunny writes #smut #smut writing #the last of us fanfiction

844 notes · View notes

springtyme · 1 year

Text

𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 ♡

Simon Riley x afab!reader || Masterlist || Ghost playlist

summary: After spending months on deployment, Simon surprises you by coming home in the middle of the night to meet his daughter for the first time.

word count: 1.6k

warning/tag: Mostly just dad!Simon fluff with a little hint of angst. No gendering terms are directly used for the reader, but they are pretty fem coded. It's mentioned that they were pregnant. No use of y/n.

"Home where my thought's escapin' Home where my music's playin' Home where my love lies waitin' silently for me"

You wake up to the sound of rain tapping against the windowpane, the darkness of the night wrapping around you like a thick blanket. Groggy and disoriented, you rub your eyes and glance at the clock on your bedside table. It reads 3:00 am. Confused as to why you’re awake at such an ungodly hour and it not being from your three week old daughters cry, you sit up in bed, your mind still clouded with sleep trying to decipher the source of the disturbance.

As you try to gather your thoughts, a faint sound catches your attention, your heart pounding in your chest as you sit up and strain your ears. It's a muffled thud, followed by the creaking of the front door. Your heart skips a beat, and a surge of adrenaline courses through your veins. Your mind races, frantically searching for an explanation. Could it be an intruder? Or perhaps just your imagination playing tricks on you? Panic starts to set in, but you quickly remind yourself to stay calm. You need to protect your baby.

With bated breath, you slip out of bed and tiptoe towards the bedroom door. The rain continues to patter against the window, the sound growing louder with each passing moment.

Slowly, you make your way down the dimly lit hallway, your senses heightened and on high alert. Your heart pounds harder with each step down the creaking staircase, the sound of your own breath echoing in the silence. As you reach the bottom, you pause, listening intently.

And then, you hear it. A soft sigh, unmistakably familiar. Your stomach makes a flip, recognition dawns on you, and a mix of emotions flood your body. Relief, joy, confusion – all swirling together in a whirlwind of anticipation.

As you approach the living room, the soft glow of the lamp on the side table reveals a figure standing in the doorway. Your breath catches in your throat, and your heart pounds in your chest.

Standing in the doorway, with a mix of excitement and nervousness painted across his face, is Simon, who has been on deployment for the last four months, who is still supposed to be deployed for another.

You almost don't believe your own eyes, contemplating if you’re actually still sleeping and that Simon’s presence is nothing more than a wishful dream, but no, there he stands, tall, strong and real, still dressed in his uniform, a tired but radiant smile on his face.

“Simon?” you whisper, your voice trembling with disbelief.

“Hi, lovie,” his eyes wide with adoration as he takes in the sight of you. You, who are still a little dishevelled from sleep, your beautiful eyes wide with surprise and emotions from his unexpected homecoming and still glowing with the radiance of new motherhood, “I came home.” He says, almost a little sheepishly.

Emotions surge through you like a tidal wave. Joy, relief, and disbelief blend together, leaving you momentarily speechless. You rush towards him, throwing your arms around his neck, holding him tightly as if afraid he might vanish into thin air. But no, you're feeling the solidity of his presence, the familiar scent of his aftershave. You bury your face in his broad chest, unable to find the words to express the overwhelming rush of emotions coursing through you.

As the rain drums against the windows, you both stand there in the darkness, wrapped in a long-awaited reunion. The sound of his steady heartbeat against your ear fills you with a sense of comfort and security while tears stream down your face, a mixture of happiness and the immense weight of the past months without him by your side.

“I can't believe you're home,” you murmur, your voice trembling with emotion. "I missed you so much. We missed you."

Simon holds you tighter, his grip steady and strong. "I missed you too and I'm so sorry I missed the birth," he says, his voice tinged with guilt. "I wanted to be there for you, for both of you."

You lift your head from his chest and look into his eyes. "Simon, don't you dare blame yourself, I’m not gonna lie, it would have been nice to have you there, but that that just couldn’t be and that’s okay," you say firmly. "Besides you’re here now."

A mixture of relief and gratitude washes over Simon's face. "I was worried," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "Worried that I wouldn't be a good dad, that I missed out on too much… Shit, I’m still worried."

You gently cup his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. "Simon, you are going to be an amazing father," you say, your voice filled with certainty. "Yes, you missed the birth, but you're here now. And you have a lifetime ahead of you to be the best dad our little girl could ever ask for."

Simon's eyes well up with tears, and a mixture of emotions dances across his face. With a shaky voice, he says, “Thank you, love. I promise you I’ll do everything in my power to be the father she deserves. ”

You smile and press a soft kiss against his lips. "I know you will, Simon," you say. "You already are.”

"Can I see her?" he asks, his voice filled with a mix of anticipation and nervousness.

You nod, a radiant smile spreading across your face. "Of course, Simon. Let's go say hi to your daughter."

Together, you make your way up the stairs, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the silence of the night. The door to the nursery creaks open, revealing a dimly lit space adorned with soft toys and a crib. As you enter, Simon's eyes are immediately drawn to the tiny figure nestled in the crib, her eyes fluttering in sleep.

Simon's gaze shifts from you to the sleeping baby, his breath catching in his throat.

His eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions. He reaches out, his hand hovering above her delicate cheek, as if unsure of how to proceed. You place your hand over his, guiding him gently to make contact with the soft, warm skin of your daughter, his fingers lightly brushing against the delicate skin of her cheek. A smile spreads across his face, a mixture of awe and wonder.

"She's perfect," he whispers, his voice filled with awe. "Absolutely perfect."

You watch as Simon's eyes well up with tears, his hand trembling ever so slightly as he continues to stroke her cheek. The connection between father and daughter is palpable, an unspoken bond forming in that very moment.

You can't help but smile at his words, feeling your heart swell with love for both Simon and your daughter. It's a moment of pure magic, witnessing Simon's transformation into a father, his worries and doubts fading away.

"She has your eyes," You say, your voice filled with a mixture of pride and adoration. "And your smile."

This comment makes Simon let out a choked sound.

“Do you want to hold her?” You ask, bewitched by the view of your daughter and her father meeting for the first time.

He nods, his eyes never leaving the little girl, but you catch the glimps of insecuritie that flickers over his face as he does so. “I’m scared of doing something wrong though, I’ve never hold a baby before…” He confesses, his voice low to not wake your daughter.

“You won’t do anything wrong, Simon I promise,” you asure him. Leaning closer, you gently place your hand on Simon’s, guiding it to cradle your daughter's tiny body. His touch is gentle, his fingers instinctively supporting her fragile frame. The look of awe on his face intensifies as he holds her for the first time.

"She's so tiny," he whispers, his voice filled with a mix of amazement and awe. "I can't believe she's ours." Simon's gaze never wavers from the baby girl in his arms, his touch becoming more confident as he cradles her against his chest. The room is filled with a sense of wonder, the air thick with love and newfound responsibility.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you watch the profound connection between father and daughter deepen. In this moment, you know that Simon's fears were unfounded. He is already a natural, a loving and devoted father.

"You're going to be an incredible dad, Simon," you say, your voice filled with conviction. "You already are."

Simon looks up at you, his eyes shining with gratitude and love. "Thank you," he says, his voice filled with emotion. "Thank you for bringing her into our lives, for supporting me, for everything."

You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss against Simon's jaw. "We're a family now," you whisper, your words filled with love. "We’re in this together.”

As you stand there, Simon cradling your daughter in his arms, you know that this moment is just the beginning of a lifetime of love, laughter, and cherished moments. And with Simon by your side, you are filled with a sense of gratitude and excitement for the beautiful family you have created together.

"She's so lucky to have you." you say, your voice filled with conviction.

Simon looks at you, his eyes shining with a mixture of gratitude and determination. "I'll do everything in my power to be the father she deserves," he promises, his voice filled with a newfound sense of purpose.

You smile at him, feeling how your heart flutters from happiness. “You already are, Si.”

You stand beside him, watching the scene unfold before you. The sight of Simon, tall, broad, strong, Simon, reduced to a gentle giant by the presence of his daughter, warms your heart in ways you never thought possible.

As you observe the encounter between father and daughter, you can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Gratitude for Simon's safe return, for the love that fills your home, and for the future that lies ahead – a future where your family is complete once again.

2K notes · View notes

monarchberrysblog · 7 months

Note

Giving miguel backscratches. Idk saw requests open and i just had to. Theres a spot he just cant reach. Also miguel giving backscratches sounds awesome, dudes got killer nails. Tho maybe his nails would hurt idk

𝔰𝔠𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔰

Miguel O’Hara x GN! Reader

Summary: Your man loves some good back scratches.

Content Warning ⚠️: none lmao

Word Count: 837 words 😋

Author’s Note: Yes. I would DIE to give this man back stretched and for his talons to tear at my flesh and—

This isn't proofread, and mostly wrote this having the reader no pronouns and gender-neutral terms (if there are any)

To my readers who love their baby girls (men who have emotional trauma and baggage), this is for you 💌

The gentle pitter-patter of the cool rainwater created a soft, soothing melody that danced against the glass window. Its rhythmic beat was reminiscent of the delicate tapping of fingertips on a hollow, wooden desk, providing a sense of calm that embraced anyone in its embrace—a three-wick candle flickers from nearby, creating a cozy ambiance. The cozy smell of clean linen immediately filled the space while in a queen-sized bed, someone squirmed underneath the soft blankets and shoved some throw pillows away from them.

Slowly emerging from the sherpa blankets surrounding you, a big yawn escaped before you rubbed your eyes and looked around your room. It was the same old, same old—the cozy blankets and pillows, with a couple of plushies accompanying your bed.

Sighing in defeat, you tucked yourself back into the blankets and looked at the flickering candle. “When is he coming home…?”

The colorful hues of tangy orange, yellow, and red filled the space immediately.

As you lay in bed, lost in your thoughts, a deep sigh echoes through the silent room, drawing your attention. Slowly raising your head from under the covers, you glimpse Miguel's entrance. His tired yet friendly eyes meet yours, and a faint smile spreads across his lips, revealing a sense of relief upon seeing you awake.

“Hola…” He sighed, slowly making his way to your dresser, and dug around for his sweats that he always left behind. You let out another yawn before nodding your head.

The tangy colors that filled the room vanished as you looked over to see Miguel in his Spiderman suit still and slipped into his sweatpants. “Lyla, turn off the suit.” The unbodied AI responded quickly as his suit was deactivated immediately.

Miguel flopped onto your bed with a suddenness that startled you. The impact of his body caused a few of the plushies and decorative pillows to tumble to the floor while you bounced slightly from the force of his literal collapse onto the bed. “Hey,” You cooed to him before you placed your hand on his back, feeling his taut muscles underneath the pads of your fingers. A simple grunt from your partner was a good indicator that the man had a long day and wanted nothing to do but sleep and relax.

“Can you move your hand upwards?” Miguel grumbles to you, face-planted onto your pillows. Slowly, you moved your hand up and massaged the taut muscle. “No, cariño. Don't massage it. Can you scratch that spot?” You hummed to him in response and lightly scratched at the irritated spot. “How is that?” You whispered to him. He only grumbled in response, causing you to chuckle.

If Miguel wanted to, he could sleep through a tornado if he wanted to. The inconsistent sleep schedules were always a concern; however, the man managed to get seven hours of sleep per day, surprisingly. It was at an unhealthy consistency, but this was the first time in two weeks you had seen him on your bed, collapsed on top of plushies and pillows.

Miguel let out a contented sigh as your fingernails scratched his muscles, leaving an invigorating sensation in their wake. "Yes, thank you, cariño," he murmured, his voice low and sultry. He could feel his body responding to your touch, the muscles twitching beneath your fingertips. "Add a bit more force," he groaned, his voice muffled by the fox plushie he held tightly in his embrace.

You complied with his request, scratching a bit more aggressively, your fingernails kneading his flesh expertly. He let out a deep moan of pleasure, lost in the sensation. "There...move to the left, please," he pleaded, his voice thick with desire. You hummed in response, your fingers working their magic, as you inched to the left.

"A little bit more," he urged, his voice growing more urgent. You complied, your fingers dancing across his skin, sending shivers down his spine. He closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath, completely lost in the moment.

"Alright, that's enough," he breathed out heavily. You instinctively hummed in acknowledgment before gently massaging the reddened and irritated area, which offered him a sense of relief. "How are we doing?" You turned to face Miguel, draping the soft and cozy blanket over him to provide some much-needed warmth.

As his hand moved towards your thigh, you could feel your heart racing with anticipation. You felt a firm grip on the soft muscle of your thigh, his nails digging into your supple and warm flesh. You couldn't help but let out a chuckle as you placed your hand on top of his, letting him know that he should be careful. The tips of his talons lightly punctured your thighs, with the talon in his thumb lightly drawing a puncture wound, drawing a trickle of blood. “Easy there…” You cooed to him, rubbing your thumb against his knuckles. The talons on the pads of his thumb retracted like a cat, and immediately felt his calloused touch.

“Everything is great now that I'm here…”

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #across the spiderverse #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #miguel fanfic #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel fluff

579 notes · View notes

raplinesmoon · 15 days

Text

Breaking The Ice (KNJ x F!Reader) - teaser

pairing: hockeyplayer!namjoon x f. reader

genre/au: ice hockey au, college au, roommates au / smut, fluff, slow burn

rating: explicit/18+

summary: after last season, namjoon knows he can’t afford anymore mishaps. when you show up on namjoon’s doorstep looking to share his apartment, he thinks it couldn’t be more perfect. medical school has you even busier than he is, but what happens when what used to be the perfect arrangement turns into a bigger distraction than either of you bargained for?

word count: 911 for this teaser

warnings: clumsy Joon, injuries, lots of swearing, Joon gets a boner, OC is pretty and way too nice

a/n: *taps mic* is this thing on? happy Joon day! (i hope i made the deadline). I remembered I had this sitting on the bench (get it lol) as a scene from my wip for the 🏒on ice: for the boys collab that was announced a long time ago! I decided to spruce up this little scene and publish it, even though the final fic is nowhere near complete. This can probably even be read as a standalone (a cute moment between roomies)! I hope you enjoy this piece and happy bday again to Joonie! credits for the banner go to @joheunsaram!

You okay, Namjoon-ah?

Namjoon wants to deck Kim Seokjin and his stupid pretty boy smile into the boards just for asking, when that motherfucker knows he’s at fault for Namjoon’s current state. He feels a painful twinge in his side, sucking in a sharp breath. Practice had barely ended before Namjoon was hobbling out of the arena, the rough-housing that normally accompanied Bangtan’s practice going a little too far today.

When he sees the steps of his building come into view, he nearly wants to sob with relief. Cursing, he stumbles up them, skipping two at a time in the hopes that it’ll get him up and able to faceplant into the couch faster. Knowing his luck though, he’d probably eat his words and end up with his face straight into the ugly grey shag carpet instead.

As he limps down the hallway, he’s struck by dueling aromas – the earthy, nutty mellowness of freshly brewed coffee, and the warm, spicy cinnamon scent of cinnamon. Both coming from his door, propped open slightly, where he can hear the faint lilt of classical music escape.

Anatomy must have been whooping your ass again.

Namjoon takes special care to slip inside quietly, wincing when he puts weight on his knee. He glances down to see that it’s swelled to an alarming size. Fucking Seokjin.

He knew he should have probably gotten it checked out by the team medic. Yoongi’s nagging is already echoing in the back of his mind, reminding Namjoon that if he wanted to be clumsy, he had to stay on top of his injuries. For the sake of his team.

But somehow getting his limbs checked by a crusty old guy who was past the retirement age didn’t seem nearly as exciting when there was you.

You who always wore the comfiest sweats, ones he was half-tempted to steal from your closet. You and your penchant for always looking for a pen, when you always had one tucked behind your ear or in your hoodie pocket. You and your stress baking, winning the adoration of his teammates (Stupid Seokjin and his flirting), but most of all him. Your damn cinammon rolls were worth every extra minute he had to spend in the weight room keeping them off.

“Hey Joon, I was just finishing up the cinnamon rolls, they’re on the cooling rack— what happened?” Your smile falls when you take him in, knee as red as his jersey, and a nasty cut under his eyebrow, skin turning purplish underneath.

Namjoon thinks he might pass out, either from the pain or from the way your face falls in disappointment, and the plush cushions of the couch seem like a great place to bury his head into right now.

He’s given a few quiet moments to stew before he feels a soft tap on his shoulder. Lifting his head up, he swears when your face nearly collides with his, noses bumping with such force that you have to take a step back, rubbing gingerly at the bridge.

Great fucking impression you’re making on your pretty roommate, Namjoon. She’s totally into getting clocked in the face. The little devil on his shoulder must be having a ball right now.

“Fuck, ___, I’m so sorry, fuck–”

“It’s okay, Joon, I know you didn’t mean to. But we only have the resources for one injured party in this apartment, yeah?”

Namjoon feels his face heat, not sure if he’s just embarrassed or you’re too close close to him. His eyes nearly bulge out of his head when you pick up his knee, studying it with a furrow in your brow.

What a day to decide to wear grey sweatpants. His dick-print was so happy with him right now, and he silently prays that your eyes remain downwards.

“We need to wrap this up. Give me a sec and I’ll help you.”

Is he dreaming, or does your face look a little flushed? If you notice his boner, he’s happy you don’t say anything, humming softly s you disappear into the hallway, rummaging around in the closet for the first-aid kit.

You re-appear moments later, a roll full of medical tape in your hand, and you’re back to prodding at his knee again. Namjoon sinks into the couch, body relaxing at your gentle touch.

Only to jolt a few seconds later when he feels something cold hit his aching joints, nearly whacking you a second time. God, he had to be more careful.

“Shhh,” you put a finger to his lips, and Namjoon’s breath catches in his throat. “Gotta put some ice on it.”

“You should really increase your fees, doc. I’m pretty sure at-home care isn’t included in the job description.”

Is he flirting? Fuck, okay he’s flirting. He’s doing this.

“Maybe I like knowing I’ll always have a patient who keeps me in business,” you wink, fingers lingering longer than necessary on his knee when you finish wrapping it. Your hands move next to the cut underneath his brow.

“Now what are we gonna do with you?”

Oh fuck, abort, abort mission! Namjoon shoots straight up, grimacing at your shocked gasp.

“YouknowIjustrememberedIhaveanassignmentdueatmidnighttoday! I should really go work on that!”

You say nothing as he limps into his room, smiling widely at him the whole time. Namjoon collapses on his bed, groaning into the pillows.

Maybe getting banged up wasn’t so bad after all. Not when he always had you around to patch him up.

a/n pt. 2: As always, any comments or feedback are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi <3

224 notes · View notes

fruitjoos · 21 days

Text

i choose you

Part I | Part II

babydaddy!art x boyfriend!patrick x reader

summary: you and art had a baby right after college, but you were both so young and had different goals, so you split. despite the separation, you co-parented well and moved on. then you met patrick, who brought a new light into your life and made you feel like yourself again. time moved quickly, and patrick wants to meet your daughter. When art and patrick finally come face to face, it stirs up old feelings and challenges. now, you’re left questioning whether you’re as strong as you believed.

warnings pregnancy talk

It was one of those warm summer nights that should have felt serene, yet the air thrummed with a tension you couldn't shake. You stood at the edge of the driveway, arms crossed, watching as Art pulled up, your daughter in the backseat. Your pulse faltered the moment he stepped out of the car. He looked exactly the same as he always had—composed, familiar, and infuriatingly steady.

This wasn’t where you thought you’d be at 25. Pregnant before you were ready, tied to a man you still loved but couldn’t seem to build a future with. You and Art had tried. When your daughter was born, you both clung to the dream of a family, thinking love would somehow mend the cracks. But love wasn’t enough. The breakup wasn’t explosive; it was the kind that left loose ends—unanswered questions and words left unsaid.

A year after the split, you met Patrick. He was different, uncomplicated. He brought laughter back into your life when you’d forgotten how to even smile. With him, life felt lighter, easier. After a year of dating, it seemed to be getting serious. He asked to meet your daughter, and for once, it didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt like the natural next step.

But Art lingered, a shadow over everything.

As you walked the pavement, Patrick trailing behind you, you hadn’t expected the world to tilt. Art was helping your daughter out of the car when he turned toward the house, his eyes instantly locking onto Patrick. For a moment, time stalled.

Patrick froze, his easygoing smile flickering into something softer, uncertain. His lips parted in surprise, a flicker of relief crossing his face, as if seeing Art was a dreaded confrontation he was somehow relieved to face. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and in that brief exchange, a faint echo of the friendship they once shared surfaced, a time before everything went wrong.

"Art?" Patrick’s voice was low, tentative, as if he were testing the weight of the name in the air. No anger, just surprise, perhaps even a hint of warmth.

Art’s reaction, though, was colder. His expression hardened, eyes narrowing as he glanced between you and Patrick. The sight of Patrick standing there, next to you, stirred something deep and bitter inside him. The last time they’d seen each other, their friendship had crumbled, leaving only unresolved tension in its wake. And now Patrick was here, comfortable, a part of the life Art had once imagined for himself.

“Patrick,” Art muttered, his voice as cool as his gaze. He couldn’t hide the jealousy that bubbled beneath the surface. His hand tightened slightly on your daughter’s shoulder as his eyes flicked over the scene before him. Patrick, beside you, looking like he belonged. Art’s jaw clenched. Patrick wasn’t supposed to be in the picture, but there he stood, like a ghost from the past Art hadn’t wanted to face.

You stood between them, feeling the tension thickening. You glanced between Patrick’s softened expression and Art’s tightened jaw, confusion swirling inside you.

"Oh, you two know each other?" Your voice broke the silence, a strained attempt to defuse the mounting tension.

Patrick gave a small, uneasy smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, you could say that."

Art’s eyes flicked to you, sharp, unreadable. "We used to." His tone was cool, laced with an unmistakable edge.

You walked toward him, your nerves fluttering. "Be nice," you whispered, locking eyes with him, the intensity between you a little too familiar. "Patrick’s a good guy. I really like him."

Art raised an eyebrow, smirking in that cynical way you knew too well. "I’m always nice."

You shot him a look, exasperated. "I’m serious. Please, don’t do this."

But there was something in his gaze that told you it was already too late.

Dinner began smoothly enough, or so you thought. Patrick was his usual charming self, effortlessly making your daughter giggle. But Art was watching, his eyes narrowing at every laugh, his mouth tightening when your daughter leaned into Patrick, laughing at his impressions.

Then it started—slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. Art casually questioned Patrick’s job, poking at his easygoing attitude. The comments grew sharper, until finally, Art set his fork down and said, "You don’t seem like the marrying type. Too... temporary."

Patrick tried to brush it off with a chuckle, but you noticed the tension in his jaw, the way his grip on his wine glass tightened.

Art didn’t stop. "Let’s be real. This isn’t going anywhere long-term. We have a child together, that’s forever. You and me? We’re family. Things always come full circle."

Your stomach dropped. The room fell into an awkward silence as Patrick’s smile disappeared. You glared at Art, but he just leaned back, clearly satisfied with himself.

The rest of the evening dragged on, the atmosphere thick with silent resentment. By the time Art left, your daughter tucked away in bed, Patrick had gone quiet. He stood in the kitchen doorway, his hands shoved into his pockets, staring at the floor.

"Are you okay?" you asked gently, placing a hand on his arm.

"Do you want to marry me?" His voice was tight, catching you off guard. His eyes searched yours, filled with a doubt you hadn’t seen before. "You talked about marriage with Art... but you’ve never even mentioned it with me."

You opened your mouth to respond, but he continued.

"And kids... Do you want more? With me? Or is that off the table because Art’s already in the picture?"

"Patrick, no..." You sighed, running a hand over your hair. "It’s not like that."

"Then what is it?" His voice cracked, the frustration spilling over. "Because right now, it feels like I’m competing with him. Like no matter what I do, he’ll always be part of your life. Your real life."

Your heart clenched at his words, guilt gnawing at you. "This isn’t about you," you said softly. "It’s not about choosing him over you, or whatever contest you think he’s trying to win. I just... I can’t pretend Art doesn’t exist. He’s my daughter’s father, and that’s never going to change."

Patrick’s face softened, but the hurt lingered in his eyes. "I just don’t know if I can keep feeling like the second choice."

Your chest tightened. "Patrick, you’re not the second choice. You’ve brought light back into my life. Something I didn’t even realize I needed." You took his hand, but he hesitated. "I’m still figuring this out, and I can’t rush into anything. Not after everything that’s happened. Not when I’m still trying to be the best mother I can be."

Patrick exhaled slowly, his shoulders loosening as he pulled you into his arms. "Okay," he whispered, his voice warm against your hair. "No rush. Just us."

But the unease lingered in the days that followed. It seemed as though the tension had lifted, but beneath Patrick’s lighthearted demeanor, something deeper simmered.

One evening, as you sat on the couch after your daughter had gone to nap, Patrick’s voice broke the quiet.

"I know you need time," he said softly, his eyes serious, "but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m still competing with him." He looked down at his hands. "Hearing Art talk about how you two are a family... it got to me. Maybe I shouldn’t let it bother me, but it does. I see the way he looks at you, and I just—" He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I don’t know if I’ll ever be enough."

Your heart twisted at his words. "Patrick, you are enough," you insisted, your voice strong. "What Art said…that was him trying to get to you. He knows how to push buttons, but it doesn’t mean anything. What matters is us."

Patrick sighed, his voice small. "But what if he’s right? What if, in the end, you and Art end up back together? You have a child with him. That’s a bond I’ll never have."

You reached out, cupping his face in your hands. "Art and I are over. Yes, we have a child together, and that will always connect us. But that’s all it is. I’m with you now. I chose you."

Patrick’s eyes softened as he exhaled shakily. "I just needed to hear that."

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly. "Let’s move on together. No more worrying about Art. No more doubts. Just us."

And for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope. Despite the history with Art, you were choosing a future with Patrick. And for now, that was enough.

It was well past midnight when your phone lit up beside your bed, casting a soft glow over the room. You squinted at the screen, heart sinking slightly when you saw the name: Art.

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the message. Patrick was fast asleep beside you, his breath steady and calm and oblivious.

Are you up? Can we talk?

Your pulse quickened. It wasn’t like him to text this late. You thought about ignoring it, but something in the pit of your stomach told you that if you didn’t respond, he’d show up at your door. And besides, you were already awake, thoughts of Patrick’s earlier words still gnawing at you.

Yeah, I’m up. What’s going on?

The reply was instant.

I need to see you.

Slipping out of bed quietly, you tiptoed into the living room, sitting down on the edge of the couch. You didn’t know what to expect, but there was an uneasy feeling in your chest. After a few minutes, your phone buzzed again.

I’m outside.

You stood and crossed the room, pulling the curtain aside just enough to see his car parked out front. A sigh escaped your lips as you opened the door, stepping into the cool night air. Art was leaning against his car, hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets. His eyes found yours immediately, a mixture of desperation and some other odd, unreadable emotion flickering in their depths.

“What’s going on?” you asked softly, wrapping your arms around yourself to ward off the chill, though you knew the cold had nothing to do with the sudden shiver running through you.

He exhaled heavily, pushing off the car and stepping closer. “I just... I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About us. About our daughter.” His voice was low, rough, like he hadn’t slept in days. “This isn’t how things are supposed to be.”

You swallowed, unsure of where he was going with this, but the unease in your chest only grew. “Art, it’s late. If this is about something with our daughter—”

“It’s not just about her,” he interrupted, running a hand through his hair, his movements agitated. “It’s about us. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. How we were. What we had.”

A pit formed in your stomach. “Art...”

He took a step closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made you feel like the ground beneath you was shifting. “We’re supposed to be together. A family. I don’t care what happened between us in the past. I still love you. I never stopped.”

Your heart stuttered, confusion swirling in your mind. “You can’t just say things like that. We’ve both moved on. You know that.”

“Have we?” he shot back, voice sharp. “You can sit there and tell me you don’t feel anything when you see me? When we’re around each other?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words got caught in your throat because the truth was more complicated than you wanted to admit. There was always a pull with Art, always a part of you that couldn’t forget what you had shared. What you had lost.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” you whispered, shaking your head.

“Well, I do,” he said, stepping closer still, his voice urgent. “You and I have a daughter together. We are bound for life, whether we like it or not. And that means something. We’re a family. We should be together. Not... not split up. Not dragging other people into our mess.”

You froze, your mind immediately jumping to Patrick. “What are you trying to say, Art?”

He sighed, frustration coloring his features. “Patrick isn’t part of this. He’s an outsider. I don’t care how much fun he is or how good he makes you feel. He doesn’t belong in this, with our family.”

Anger flared inside you, but you bit it back, refusing to raise your voice in the middle of the night. “Art, you don’t get to make that call. Patrick has been there for me in ways you haven’t.”

His jaw clenched. “Because you never gave me the chance. You shut me out. We broke up, and suddenly, you’re with him. What about us? What about trying to make this work for the sake of our daughter?”

“We tried,” you reminded him, your voice wavering. “We tried to make it work, and it didn’t. We hurt each other, Art. You know that.”

His hand reached out, gently brushing your arm, the touch so familiar it sent a shiver down your spine. “But we can try again. We should try again. For her. Don’t you see? A family is supposed to be together. Not fractured. Not pulled in different directions.” His eyes searched yours, the desperation there making your heart twist. “We owe it to her to give this another shot. To be a real family.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on you. A part of you wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that it could be as simple as that. Trying again, picking up the pieces, and finding a way back to each other. But the other part of you, the part that had spent months rebuilding your life, knew it wasn’t that simple.

“And what about Patrick?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “He’s been good to me. To her. I can’t just throw him away because you suddenly decide you want us back.”

Art’s expression darkened slightly, his voice dropping. “He’s not part of this equation. You and I are the only ones who matter here. We have history. A family. He’ll never understand that the way I do. He’ll always be on the outside looking in. Can you really see a future with him, knowing that I’m always going to be there? Always going to be a part of your life?”

You bit your lip, your mind spinning. He was right about one thing. Art would always be there. He wasn’t someone you could just forget, or leave in the past. And that had always been the hardest part of trying to move on.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” you whispered.

“And I don’t want to hurt you,” Art said softly, stepping even closer, his voice low and persuasive. “I just want us to be a family. A real family, without anyone else getting in the way.”

His hand cupped your cheek, his touch warm, and for a moment, you felt yourself falter. You thought of your daughter, of the life you had once imagined with Art, the life that had slipped through your fingers. Could you really just let that go? Could you really keep pretending that Patrick was enough when this was the man you had once built your world around?

“We can do this,” Art murmured, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “We can make this work, I know we can. Just give me another chance. Give us another chance.”

Your heart ached, torn between the weight of your past and the uncertainty of your future. And in that moment, standing in the stillness of the night with Art’s hand on your cheek, you didn’t know what to believe anymore.

#challengers fanfic #challengers #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson #patrick zweig #challengers x reader #patrick zweig x you #art donaldson x you #artrick #x reader

250 notes · View notes

sexsylexi · 1 month

Text

Reunion with the past

Jason Todd x Reader

The wind howled through the narrow alleyways of Gotham, sending a shiver down your spine as you clutched the crumpled letter in your hand. The edges were frayed from the number of times you’d folded and unfolded it, tracing the sharp, angry handwriting that you could have sworn was a ghost’s. It had to be some kind of sick joke—a cruel prank by some heartless soul who knew just how deeply Jason’s death had scarred you. But as much as your mind screamed for you to dismiss it, something in your heart couldn’t let go.

“Meet me at the old warehouse, midnight.”

There was no signature, just those words scrawled in the same script that had filled countless notes and letters from the boy you once loved—the boy who was supposed to be dead. It felt impossible, but after everything you had seen in Gotham, was it really so unbelievable? Batman had told you Jason was gone. The city had mourned him, and you had spent years trying to heal from the void he left behind. Yet, here you were, standing outside a dilapidated warehouse on the outskirts of the city, the clock inching closer to midnight.

The air was thick with tension, the shadows seeming to stretch out toward you, as if the darkness itself wanted to swallow you whole. You almost turned back, more than once. Your mind raced with thoughts of what this could mean—if it wasn’t Jason, then who was it? And if it was Jason… how? Why?

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the heavy metal door open. The creak echoed through the empty space, amplifying the silence that followed. The interior was dimly lit, only a few sparse bulbs flickering overhead, casting long, ominous shadows across the concrete floor. You scanned the room, your eyes searching for any sign of life, but the warehouse seemed deserted.

For a moment, you felt foolish for even considering this was real. You started to turn back, when a figure stepped out of the shadows.

Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized the silhouette—a tall, broad-shouldered man, clad in black armor with a helmet obscuring his face. It was the Arkham Knight, the villain who had terrorized Gotham. But something about the way he moved, the way he stood… it was familiar in a way that made your heart ache.

“Y/N…” The voice was distorted through the helmet, but you would recognize it anywhere. A voice you had thought you would never hear again. It was deeper now, rougher, but still unmistakably Jason.

“Jason?” Your voice trembled as you took a tentative step forward, every part of you screaming that this couldn’t be real, that it had to be some cruel trick of the mind. “Is it really you?”

He hesitated before lifting his hands to the sides of his helmet. With a mechanical hiss, the helmet unlatched, revealing the face beneath it. The face of the boy you had loved. Only, he wasn’t a boy anymore. His features were sharper, harder, his once-bright blue eyes now clouded with pain and anger. His skin was paler, a faint scar running down his left cheek—a mark of the horrors he had endured.

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was low, almost emotionless, as if he was holding everything back. His eyes flickered over you, taking in every detail, and you saw the way his jaw clenched, like he was bracing himself for something.

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. For years, you had imagined what it would be like if you could see him again, if you could just have one more moment with him. But now that he was standing right in front of you, you didn’t know what to say. Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions—relief, disbelief, anger, sadness.

“I thought you were dead,” you finally managed to whisper, your voice barely audible. “We all thought you were dead.”

His expression hardened at your words, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I was,” he said flatly. “At least, the Jason Todd you knew was.”

“What happened to you?” you asked, your voice breaking as you took another step closer, your eyes searching his face for any trace of the boy you once knew.

He looked away, his gaze drifting to the ground. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, the cold edge to his voice making your heart sink. “I’m not that person anymore.”

“You’re still Jason,” you insisted, your voice trembling. “You’re still the person I… I cared about.”

Jason flinched at your words, a flicker of emotion flashing in his eyes before he quickly masked it. “You don’t know what I’ve become,” he said, his tone laced with bitterness. “I’m not the same person, Y/N. I’ve done things… things you can’t even imagine.”

You reached out to him, your hand trembling as you gently touched his cheek. He stiffened at the contact, but didn’t pull away. His skin was cold under your fingertips, and you could feel the tension in his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

“I don’t care,” you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes. “I don’t care what you’ve done, Jason. I’m just… I’m just glad you’re alive.”

His eyes finally met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flash of vulnerability in them—an echo of the boy you once knew. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a steely resolve.

“You shouldn’t be,” he said, his voice harsh. “I’m not the person you remember, Y/N. I’m not… I’m not good for you. I’m dangerous. You should stay away from me.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I can’t,” you whispered. “I can’t just walk away, Jason. Not after everything we’ve been through. Not after losing you once. I won’t lose you again.”

Jason’s expression twisted with pain, and he closed his eyes, as if trying to block out your words. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice strained. “You don’t know what I’ve done. The things I’ve seen… the things I’ve been through… they changed me. I’m not the same person anymore. I can’t be that person for you.”

“But I still love you,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Jason’s eyes snapped open, and for a moment, he just stared at you, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His expression was a mixture of shock, disbelief, and something else—something deeper, more painful.

“You… you still love me?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

You nodded, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “I never stopped,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “Even after everything… even when I thought you were gone… I never stopped loving you, Jason.”

He looked at you as if he was seeing you for the first time, his eyes searching yours for any sign of deceit. But all he found was the truth—the raw, unfiltered truth of your feelings.

“I don’t deserve that,” he muttered, his voice choked with emotion. “I don’t deserve your love. Not after everything I’ve done.”

“You do,” you insisted, your voice firm despite the tears. “You deserve to be loved, Jason. You deserve to have someone who cares about you… who sees you for who you are, not what you’ve done. And that someone is me.”

Jason shook his head, his eyes filled with pain. “I’m not the same person,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “I’m not the boy you loved. I’m colder, harder… I’m not sure I even know how to feel anymore.”

“You’re still Jason,” you whispered, your hand still resting on his cheek. “You’re still the person I fell in love with. And I’m not going to walk away from you. Not now, not ever.”

For a long moment, he just stared at you, as if he was trying to process your words. Then, slowly, his hand came up to cover yours, his touch hesitant, as if he was afraid he might break you.

“You’re too good for me, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of awe and sorrow. “You always were.”

You shook your head, a soft smile breaking through your tears. “And you were always worth it,” you replied.

Jason’s expression softened, and for the first time since you’d seen him again, you saw a hint of the old Jason—the boy who had made you laugh, who had been your best friend and so much more. It was fleeting, but it was enough to give you hope.

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t know if I can be that person again,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“You don’t have to be,” you assured him. “I just want you to be you—whoever that is now. I want to be with you, Jason. We can figure it out together.”

Jason closed his eyes, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. You could see the conflict in his expression, the war he was waging within himself. But after a long moment, he opened his eyes again, and there was something different in them—a resolve, a tentative acceptance.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he said quietly. “But… I want to try. For you.”

A sob caught in your throat as you threw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

For a moment, Jason hesitated, his body stiff and unyielding against yours. It was as if he was afraid to let go, afraid to allow himself to feel anything beyond the cold anger and bitterness that had kept him alive all these years. But then, slowly, almost reluctantly, you felt his arms wrap around you, holding you close. It was tentative at first, like he wasn’t sure how to touch you, how to be close to someone in this way again. But then his grip tightened, and you could feel the raw, unspoken emotions in the way he held you—a desperate need, a longing he had buried so deep within himself that he’d almost forgotten it was there.

You buried your face against his chest, feeling the hard armor beneath his clothes, but also the steady beat of his heart. It was real. He was real. The boy you had lost, the boy you had mourned, was back in your arms, and despite everything, despite the coldness and the pain, you knew he needed you as much as you needed him.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest. The words were heavy with years of grief, of longing, of nights spent staring at the empty side of your bed, wondering what could have been.

Jason didn’t say anything, but you felt him press his face against your hair, his breath warm against your scalp. For a long time, neither of you moved, simply holding on to each other as if afraid that letting go would shatter the fragile moment. You could feel the weight of his pain, the burden he carried, and it broke your heart all over again. But you also felt something else—a flicker of the boy he once was, hidden beneath the layers of anger and hurt. It wasn’t gone, just buried, and you knew that as long as you were with him, you could help him find that part of himself again.

Eventually, Jason pulled back, though his hands remained on your shoulders as if he was afraid you might disappear if he let go completely. He looked down at you, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and something that looked almost like hope.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice quiet and raw. “I’ve been alone for so long… I don’t even know how to be with someone anymore.”

“We’ll figure it out together,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears that still threatened to fall. “You don’t have to do this alone, Jason. You never did.”

He nodded slightly, his eyes filled with a sadness that made your heart ache. “I wish I’d known that before,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “I pushed everyone away… I thought that was the only way to survive.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that anymore,” you said gently, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. “You don’t have to push me away, Jason. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if he was savoring the simple, human connection. For a moment, he looked so vulnerable, so lost, that you wanted to take all his pain away, to somehow erase all the terrible things he had been through. But you knew that wasn’t possible. All you could do was be there for him, to help him find his way back, one step at a time.

When he opened his eyes again, there was a determination in them that hadn’t been there before. “I don’t know if I deserve this,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “But I want to try… for you, Y/N. I want to be someone you can love.”

“You already are,” you whispered, your heart swelling with emotion. “You’ve always been that person to me, Jason. No matter what’s happened, no matter how much you’ve changed… you’re still the person I fell in love with. And I’ll love you no matter what.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours, and for the first time, you saw the walls he had built around himself begin to crack. It was just a small fissure, but it was enough. Enough to give you hope, enough to make you believe that you could help him heal.

“I don’t know where to start,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Everything feels so… broken.”

“Then we’ll start with the pieces,” you said softly, taking his hand in yours. “We’ll pick them up, one by one, and we’ll put them back together. We’ll make something new, something strong. Together.”

He stared at your joined hands for a long moment, as if he couldn’t quite believe what you were offering him. Then, slowly, he squeezed your hand, his grip firm and reassuring.

“Together,” he repeated, the word a promise, a vow.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you that you hadn’t felt in years. It wasn’t going to be easy—you knew that. The road ahead would be long, and there would be setbacks, challenges, moments of doubt. But you were ready for it. You were ready to fight for him, for the love you shared. Because no matter how much he had changed, no matter how dark his path had become, you knew that the Jason you loved was still there, beneath it all. And you would do whatever it took to bring him back.

As you stood there, in the cold, empty warehouse, holding onto each other as if the world outside didn’t exist, you felt something shift. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there—a change in the air, in the way Jason held you, in the way he looked at you. It was as if, for the first time in a long time, he was beginning to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a way back from the darkness.

And as you looked into his eyes, you knew that you would be there, every step of the way. You would walk with him through the shadows, through the pain, through whatever lay ahead. Because you had found him again, and you weren’t going to lose him. Not now, not ever.

“Let’s go home,” you whispered, your voice filled with a quiet determination. “Together.”

Jason nodded, a small, almost tentative smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was a start—a fragile, precious beginning. And as you led him out of the warehouse, into the cold night, you knew that no matter what the future held, you would face it together.

Because some things, some loves, were worth fighting for. And Jason Todd was worth every battle, every tear, every moment. You would rebuild, you would heal, and one day, you would both find peace.

Together.

#imagine #x reader #dc #dc comics #dc universe #fluff #x you fluff #jason todd #red hood #arkham knight #arkhamverse #the outlaws #jason todd x reader

185 notes · View notes

wonderlanddreamer · 2 months

Note

I was wondering if you could write something on Alfie? Alfie seeking comfort in the reader after a bad day? Or soft seduction after a long day, either works

His Serenity.

[Alfie Solomons x Reader]

Summary: After a bad day, Alfie just wants to be alone, or so he thinks. But then there's you, with your own sensual way to bring him serenity.

Warnings: Explicit content. Oral sex [m receiving]. 18+MDNI.

Word Count: 3086

The faint, musty scent of old books and aged wood fills every corner of Alfie Solomons' office as you meticulously sort through the stacks of paperwork on his cluttered desk. The hum of the bustling distillery outside seeps through the walls, a comforting backdrop that provides a steady rhythm you've grown accustomed to over the months. Golden sunlight filters through the small, grimy windows, casting long shadows that stretch across the room, signalling the end of another arduous day. Just as you finish organising the last stack, the door slams open with a force that sends a shiver down your spine and rattles the windows.

Alfie strides in, his presence like a storm brewing in the confined space. His face is a mask of fury; his eyes are wild, and his teeth are gritted as if he's biting back a torrent of words. Papers cascade off his desk in a chaotic flurry as he sweeps an arm across it, sending documents flying. The sound of glass shattering pierces the air as he hurls a bottle against the wall, the remnants glittering on the floor like jagged stars.

"Get out!" His voice is a thunderclap, reverberating through your bones and echoing in the small room.

You freeze, your instincts screaming at you to obey, but something deeper holds you rooted to the spot. Leaving him like this feels wrong, unbearable, as if abandoning a ship in the midst of a storm. Despite the danger radiating from him, you step closer, your heart pounding so loudly you fear he might hear it.

Alfie's eyes narrow on you, his breath coming in heavy, ragged bursts that speak of barely contained rage. He snatches a bottle of whiskey from a nearby shelf, the motion abrupt and aggressive, and slumps into his worn leather chair. The fury in his movements still simmers just beneath the surface as he takes a long, hard swig, the tension in his frame almost palpable, like a coiled spring.

Ignoring the voice in your head that begs you to leave, you move behind him, your steps careful and deliberate. Your hands rest gently on his broad, tense shoulders, and you start to knead the tight knots of muscle with a practised touch. He tenses beneath your fingers, a low growl escaping his lips, a sound that mixes frustration with reluctant relief.

"I said, get out," he mutters, but the command lacks its former bite, sounding more like a plea than an order.

His protests grow weaker as your fingers work their way into the tension, soothing the rage bit by bit. The knots of stress begin to unravel under your touch, and you remain gentle, your hands a source of comfort to him and a balm to your own worry. Gradually, you can feel the tightness leaving his muscles, his breaths becoming more even and less ragged, as though the storm within him is slowly abating.

Feeling the tension slowly ebb from his body, you continue to massage Alfie's shoulders with a gentle, reassuring touch. His breathing steadies, the furious edge softening as the anger drains away. You can sense him becoming more receptive to your presence, his body relaxing under your ministrations as the tempest within him begins to calm.

After a long, silent moment, Alfie leans back slightly, his eyes closed as he savours the relief your hands have brought him. His rough exterior seems to crumble ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of the vulnerable man beneath the tough facade. Without warning, his hand reaches up to cover yours, holding it in place as if to anchor himself in the newfound calm.

He lets out a low, rumbling sigh, and before you can react, he gently pulls you around to the front of his chair. The look in his eyes is different now, softened by exhaustion and perhaps something more profound. He guides you into his lap with surprising tenderness, his strong arms encircling you protectively.

For a moment, you hesitate, unsure of this sudden shift in his mood. But the warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear offer a strange, unexpected comfort. Alfie's rough hand strokes your back in slow, soothing motions, his touch seeking out the solace you provide.

"Stay," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly whisper that carries the weight of unspoken emotions. "Just for a while."

You nod, relaxing into his hold, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest.

As you settle into Alfie's lap, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, your hands continue their gentle caress. The heat from his skin radiates through the fabric of his shirt, mingling with your own warmth and creating a cocoon of intimacy. You can feel the tension leaving him in waves, replaced by something softer, more intimate. Your fingers trace along his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your touch, a soothing cadence that matches your own.

In the quiet of the office, the only sounds are the distant hum of the distillery and the soft, steady breaths you both take. You become acutely aware of the subtle shift in Alfie's breathing, the way his chest rises and falls more deliberately. His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly, and you feel the undeniable evidence of his arousal pressing against you. A flush of heat rises to your cheeks, your skin tingling with the electricity of the moment, but you don't pull away. Instead, you let your hands explore more deliberately, your touch both soothing and inviting, each stroke a silent promise.

Alfie's eyes meet yours, dark and intense, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. But you hold his gaze steadily, your own eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity, acceptance, and something deeper, an unspoken understanding. The corner of his mouth twitches into a small, almost vulnerable smile, as if seeking your permission, a rare glimpse of the man behind the hardened exterior.

In response, you lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear with a feather-light touch as you whisper, "I'm here, Alfie. I'm not going anywhere." The words hang in the air, a vow as much to yourself as to him.

He closes his eyes, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as he pulls you even closer, your bodies fitting together as if they were meant to. His arms encircle you with a protective strength, and the tension melts away, replaced by a profound sense of connection. Your hands slide down to the small of his back, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the heat of his desire and the depth of his need, a silent communication that passes between you.

Feeling the palpable tension and desire between you and Alfie, you decide to take things further. Your hands slowly slide down his chest, tracing the contours of his muscles with deliberate, tender movements. You shift your position with care, easing yourself off his lap and sinking to your knees between his legs, your eyes never leaving his. The intimacy of the moment deepens as you look up at him, your touch a blend of reassurance and invitation.

Alfie's eyes follow your every movement, dark and intense, filled with a mixture of surprise and anticipation. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, a silent communication that speaks volumes. The atmosphere in the room seems to thicken with every passing second, the air charged with a palpable tension. Your hands, now trembling slightly with the gravity of the moment, fumble with the buttons of his trousers.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you work to free him from the confines of the fabric. The sound of your breathing mingles with his, creating a symphony of shared anticipation. Alfie’s hand reaches down, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a surprisingly tender gesture.

"Are you sure?" Alfie's voice is a low, gravelly whisper, laced with both desire and a hint of uncertainty. The question hangs in the air, a delicate balance of vulnerability and need.

Looking up into his eyes, you nod, your own voice soft but firm. "I've never been more sure about anything." The conviction in your words seems to resonate with him, his eyes darkening further.

His hand gently cups your face, his thumb tracing a slow, path along your cheekbone. With a sense of newfound determination, you finally manage to undo his trousers, your hands moving with more confidence as you begin to explore the warmth and hardness beneath. The fabric parts easily under your touch, revealing the intense heat and the throbbing evidence of his desire.

With Alfie's trousers undone, the anticipation between you grows thicker, almost tangible. You take a steadying breath, your lips trailing soft, exploratory kisses along his shaft. Each touch is a silent promise of what's to come. The warmth of his skin against your lips sends a shiver down your spine, your senses heightened by the intimacy of the moment.

Alfie's breath hitches, his fingers tightening in your hair as you continue your tender assault. The sensation of his touch, the way his breath catches, fuels your confidence. You take your time, savouring the moment, allowing the tension to build like a slow-burning fire.

As your kisses reach the tip, you feel a surge of electricity pass between you both. Your tongue flicks out, tasting him, eliciting a low, guttural moan from Alfie. The sound spurs you on, your movements becoming more confident, more purposeful, your touch a blend of reverence and hunger.

Your tongue begins to work along his length, tracing patterns, exploring every inch of him with desire. Alfie's hands, once tense, now cradle your head, guiding you gently, his breath coming in ragged gasps that speak of the pleasure you're giving him.

"Christ," he mutters, his voice a strained whisper filled with awe and desire. "You're fuckin' magic, sweetheart." The words, spoken with such raw emotion, sparked your ignition, your movements becoming even more deliberate, more intense, as you seek to bring him the pleasure he so clearly craves. You look up at him, your eyes locking onto his, and you see the raw need and admiration there. The intensity in his gaze seems to fuel your determination to pleasure him, to bring him relief from the storm that had consumed him earlier.

With each stroke of your tongue, each gentle suck, you feel him responding, his body tightening, his hips subtly moving in rhythm with your ministrations. The room feels charged with an almost electric energy, the air thick with the scent of his arousal and the sound of your shared breaths.

Alfie's grip on your hair tightens, his breaths turning into soft, broken moans. The sounds he makes, the way his body reacts to your touch, is a symphony of pleasure that echoes in the quiet room.

With Alfie’s moans echoing in your ears and the palpable tension between you, you decide to take the next step. You pause for a moment, looking up at him, ensuring that this is what he truly wants. His eyes, dark and intense, meet yours, and the gentle pressure of his hand in your hair is all the confirmation you need.

Slowly, you part your lips and take him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip before gradually taking him deeper. The warmth and taste of him fill your senses, and you feel his whole body shudder in response. Alfie’s hand tightens in your hair, not forcefully, but in a way that guides and encourages you, his fingers threading through your strands with a tenderness that belies the raw desire between you.

You start with slow, deliberate movements, your mouth creating a rhythm that matches the rising and falling of his chest. Each time you take him deeper, you feel his body tense and hear the soft, husky sounds escaping his lips. The way he responds to you, the way his body reacts, pushes you to give him everything you have.

"Fuck," Alfie groans, his voice rough with pleasure. "You're fuckin' incredible. Don't stop." His words are a command and a plea, filled with a desperate need that resonates with your own.

Your hands find their place on his thighs, gripping them for support as you continue. The muscles beneath your fingers are tense, coiled with the anticipation of release. You hollow your cheeks, increasing the suction, and you can feel him responding to every move you make. The taste of him, the feel of his hardness against your tongue, and the sounds of his pleasure create a heady mix that drives you to go further, to push him closer to the edge.

Alfie’s hips begin to move in time with your motions, his breathing becoming more erratic. You can feel the tension building within him, his body on the edge of release. Your mouth works him with a determined rhythm, each movement designed to bring him closer to the brink, to draw out his pleasure.

As Alfie’s moans grow louder, you look up at him, your eyes meeting his. The connection between you is electric, charged with a shared intensity that transcends words. In this moment, you are his anchor, his solace, and his desire, all wrapped into one.

His grip on your hair tightens one last time as a deep, shuddering moan escapes his lips, signalling his impending climax. You brace yourself, ready to take all of him, determined to bring him to the release he so desperately needs. The anticipation builds within you as you feel him teetering on the edge.

Alfie’s body tenses, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. With a final, deep moan, he climaxes, his release filling your mouth. The taste of him is a heady blend of salt and musk, a testament to the intensity of his desire. You do your best to take all of him, savouring the moment and the intimacy it brings.

As the waves of his pleasure subside, Alfie gently but firmly pulls you up to his lap. His eyes have softened, now a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, more profound. He cradles your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing tenderly over your cheeks as he helps you clean up. The intimacy of the moment lingers, a quiet testament to the bond you've just deepened.

"Come ‘ere," he murmurs, his voice still rough from the intensity of his release. He reaches for a handkerchief from the desk, carefully wiping away any remnants with a gentleness that contrasts with his earlier ferocity. His touch is tender, each stroke of the cloth against your skin filled with a reverence that takes your breath away.

You sit straddling his lap, your arms resting around his neck, allowing him to care for you. There's a vulnerability in the way he tends to you, a silent acknowledgment of the connection between you. The room feels smaller, cosier, as if it has been transformed from the earlier chaos.

"Thank you," he whispers, his forehead resting against yours. The words are simple, yet they carry a weight of sincerity that resonates deeply within you. "You have no idea how much I fuckin’ needed that."

You smile softly, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I’m here for you, Alfie. Always." The promise in your words is solid.

His eyes meet yours, filled with a complex mix of emotions—relief, gratitude, and a burgeoning affection. He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a protective embrace. The world outside may be chaotic, but in this moment, you both find a rare, fragile peace in each other’s arms.

Nestled in Alfie's lap, you find a comforting rhythm in the gentle sway of your bodies. His fingers trail up and down your back, leaving a path of warmth and tenderness in their wake. The roughness of his hands contrasts beautifully with the softness of his touch, each stroke sending shivers down your spine. The feeling is intoxicating, grounding you in the moment.

You lean in closer, resting your head against his shoulder, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your touch is a soothing lullaby. Alfie presses a soft kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin, a silent promise of his presence and devotion.

"You're somethin’ else, you know that?" he murmurs, his voice a quiet rumble that vibrates through your entire being.

You lift your head to meet his gaze, a smile tugging at your lips. "I could say the same about you, Alfie."

He chuckles softly, the sound deep and rich, filling the small space with a rare sense of contentment. His eyes soften as he looks at you, the hard edges of his usual demeanour melting away to reveal a man capable of profound tenderness. The transformation is striking, and it fills you with a sense of awe and affection.

You shift slightly, one hand coming up to cup his cheek. "It's nice to see you like this," you admit softly, your thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw. "At peace." The admission is vulnerable, but it feels right, a reflection of the honesty that defines your relationship.

Alfie leans into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if to savour the moment. "You bring out the best in me, darlin’," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "I dunno how, but you do." The admission is raw, honest, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Alfie's hands continue their gentle exploration of your back, each touch a silent promise of safety and affection.

With a tender smile, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips, feeling the way he melts into the kiss. It's not urgent or passionate, but slow and lingering. The sensation is intoxicating, a perfect blend of tenderness and desire.

When you finally pull back, Alfie's eyes are half-lidded, a serene expression on his face. "Stay with me," he says quietly, his voice carrying a vulnerability that tugs at your heartstrings. "Just like this."

You nod, your fingers threading through his hair as you lean in closer. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," you whisper, your voice filled with a quiet certainty.

The two of you share a lingering kiss, a reaffirmation of your promises and the unbreakable bond between you. As you sit there, wrapped in each other's arms, you know that this—right here, right now—is where you both truly belong.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinder fanfic #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons smut #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons

187 notes · View notes

mechaknight-98 · 4 months

Text

Do you dream of armageddon (NSFW) FT Eunha

Authors note: shoutout to @coldfanbou for introducing me to her he has excellent taste. Featuring “cameos” from other writers as well. Story spoilers ahead for The raid: salvation’s edge and the last story mission Excision!!!!!!!!

“Come on, Crash! We’re going to miss the movie!” Eunha exclaimed, tugging the massive Awoken Titan along with her. The two Guardians were basking in a rare moment of peace after the Witness had been defeated. The cost of their victory hung in the air, but the sheer joy of living another day more than made up for it. As they approached the theater, they saw the Warlocks, Libra-5, and Aeri, already there. The Exo and Human smiled brightly, noticing the bandages that still adorned Crash—a proud testament to his recent battles. The usually stoic Titan radiated warmth today, his sense of relief contagious among the group. Together, they walked into the theater where the last of their raid team, Sayo-8, and Hasuel, waited.

“Perfect! You made it!” Sayo-8, the Awoken Warlock, exclaimed happily. She had worried that “the problem child” Crash wouldn’t show up, but ever since the Witness’s defeat, he had been more lively and engaging. He had even gotten a few tattoos to commemorate their victories, which had surprised everyone. The group reminisced about when Eunha first brought him in—tirelessly raiding legendary lost sectors and perfecting exotics to confront the Witness and Savathûn. When he first joined them, he helped defeat Rhulk, then Nezarec, and finally all three aspects of the Witness. Eunha was proud and grateful for all he had done, as was the rest of the group.

The movie was a celebration in itself—a Golden Age film starring a familiar face, Aeri’s Titan friend Yu, who played a girl with a rocket-powered fist. Laughter and cheer filled the theater, a stark contrast to the recent hardships they had endured. The Guardians relished in the escapism, their laughter echoing through the room as they enjoyed the light-hearted adventure on screen. It was a perfect moment, a reminder of what they had fought so hard to preserve.

After the movie, Eunha and Crash headed back to his place. As usual, he smiled and hugged her. As usual, she kissed his cheek during the hug and said, “Stay safe while saving the world, big guy!” But then something unusual happened.

“I know you live far away, but you're free to stay the night,” Crash offered, his voice carrying a rare warmth and vulnerability.

Eunha turned to Crash, thinking she misheard him. “What was that, Crasilior? It sounded like you said I could spend the night?”

Crash repeated his invitation, his eyes steady and sincere.

She was stunned when he let her inside his home. As long as Eunha had known him, he had never let anyone into his place. She expected a minimalistic haven for meditation but was surprised to see a cozy, retro space filled with Golden Age amenities and art. The room was adorned with vintage posters, comfortable furniture, and warm lighting that created an inviting atmosphere.

In the comfort of his home, Eunha felt a rush of emotions. She wandered through the room, taking in the details. A collection of antique books lined one shelf, and a vintage record player sat in the corner, softly playing an old jazz tune. The scent of aged wood and faint traces of cologne filled the air. She noticed four mini barrels scattered around the room. Curiosity got the better of her.

“Hey, Crash, what are the barrels for?” she asked, her voice filled with intrigue.

Crash, now lounging on his couch, replied, “They are distilling barrels for whisky, whiskey, and bourbon.”

Eunha looked at the Awoken, confused. “You said whisky twice.”

She was shocked when Crash laughed. He rarely vocalized anything outside of orders, questions, random noises, and confirmation sounds. Hearing his laugh, so relaxed and genuine, was a pleasant surprise.

“Whiskey is American, and whisky is Scottish. They have slightly different methods of creation,” he explained, a playful glint in his eye. Eunha smiled, feeling a newfound warmth in their interaction. She gazed into his pale, glowing ivory eyes, truly noticing their beauty for the first time.

“I never realized how pretty your eyes are,” she said, which would have made the teal-colored man blush if possible. Crash smiled at Eunha, who smiled back. She felt the same ease with him as she did during a raid or a strike. It made her wonder why he was opening up now.

“Crash, why now?” Eunha asked softly, her curiosity piqued.

The Awoken instantly understood what she meant. Though he struggled to put his feelings into words, he tried to explain. “When my Ghost cracked and almost died, I realized I had no one. I have acquaintances, but no one to go to. I was guarded but alone, and my heart couldn't bear the loneliness anymore… despite all the alacrity and solo operative mods I could grab. Not to mention when we were running through Salvation’s edge and the witness separated us into our worlds and I couldn't hear your voice. A rage I have felt rose within me as I tore through his little pocket dimension. That moment changed me because the only person I could think about was you. I wanted to get back to you more than anything. I didn't care about the witness anymore or the stakes. I cared about making sure you were safe and we’d meet again”

Hearing Crash’s explanation made Eunha realize that Crash was in love with her. She smiled, understanding that all those small gestures on the battlefield—the finger hearts, the humming, and his prioritizing her safety—meant Crash had loved her for a long time but was shy. Well, tonight she was going to change that. she decided that she was going to fuck the shyness and a confession out of him.

Eunha moved closer to Crash, sitting beside him on the couch. “You don’t have to be alone anymore,” she said softly, placing a hand on his. “We’ve been through so much together, and I’ve always felt something special between us. I’m glad you opened up to me.”

Crash looked into her eyes, his usual stoic expression softened by emotion. “I’ve always admired your strength, Eunha. You’ve been my anchor in so many battles. I just… never knew how to express it.”

Eunha leaned in, her heart pounding. “You’re expressing it perfectly now,” she whispered, closing the distance between them.

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of Crash’s home and their memories, they shared a tender kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of triumph, of overcoming impossible odds, and of a future filled with hope and love. The burdens of their past battles seemed to lift, replaced by the promise of new beginnings.

As she felt Crash submit to her Eunha couldn't contain herself. She began to explore the awoken’s mouth. He tasted like the soda he had at post-movie dinner at the ramen shop.

Overwhelmed by resurging emotions that had been suppressed for ages Crash fully gave himself over to Eunha. Eunha devoured him as she continued to kiss and feel up “her titan” It drove him mad with lust as she got on top of his lap and deepened their kiss while grinding on his crotch. The Bashfull bunny was gone in its place a rapacious rabbit, who needed her bear. When she broke this kiss the air between burned with a heat niether of them could extinguish. She clawed into him as she went in for another kiss.

“I need you inside me Crash. Fuck me! say I'm. Yours!” Eunha demanded. She felt Crash’s surging erection under her and ripped her underwear open as she fished for his cock. When she found it she slammed her bare pussy onto his rod. As much as Eunha wanted a pleasant and welcoming first time with her it was anything but,

“Oh Fuck you're too big you're gonna break me,” Eunha moaned as she slowly revived Crash’s cock. The tightness of her folds was an erotic bliss for Crash. Having all of his feelings returned with Eunha he fell further into love and lust with her.

When Eunha finally took all his cock she smiled at Crash before riding him like he was a sparrow with low handling. Instinctively Crash’s hand found their way to Eunha’s sexy ass. Crash gripped tight as he began finding his own pace as their hips tried to find peace. At first in their fervor, their body rhythms competed with each other. A violent smashing of flesh together, but eventually their bodies found a perfect sync as they tumbled closer to their releases. Eunha was the closet as she had set the pace all night but she needed to hear Crash say he was hers alone,

“Come on Crash tell me whose pussy your cock belongs to?” she demands

Resolutely Crash responded, “My body, my heart, and my cock are yours alone.” hearing that pushed Eunha over the edge as she gushed all over Crash’s cock. Her father's tightness milked his orgasm out of him as he followed her into bliss.

In the aftermath of their copulation, Eunha said, “I won't leave you alone anymore,”

Crash smiled and hugged his new partner tightly

They spent the night fucking, talking, laughing, and sharing stories. Crash opened up more about his, fears, and his dreams.

Eunha listened, her heart swelling with love and admiration for the man who had been her steadfast protector. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, the quiet hum of the city outside a comforting backdrop to their newfound connection.

The next morning, as the first light of dawn filtered through the windows, Eunha woke up to find Crash watching her, a gentle smile on his face. “Good morning,” he said softly.

“Good morning,” she replied, feeling a warmth she hadn’t felt in a long time. “Thank you for letting me in, Crash. I mean it.”

Crash nodded, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and joy. “Thank you for being here, Eunha. I don’t feel so alone anymore.”

As they prepared to face the new day, they knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together. Their bond, forged in the heat of battle and tempered by love, would guide them through whatever the future held.

And in that moment, in the quiet aftermath of their greatest triumph, they found something even more precious than victory—they found each other.

Postscript: Destiny 2 probably means as much to me as Magic does and it took a climatic battle several years in the making to see it. So their may be more this may become a series but as of now enjoy the one-shot.

#kpop fanfic #fanfic #male reader #destiny 2 #destiny 2 smut #destiny 2 fanfic #eunha #viviz eunha #eunha smut #gfriend smut #gfriend eunha

308 notes · View notes

thesunloveschips · 7 months

Text

Eye of the Storm - Chapter 7: Awake

Summary: In the wake of Rhysand’s ascension as High Lord, the Bone Carver gifts a prophecy. More than five hundred years later, Azriel continues to wait for the one who is finally reborn as his High Lady’s sister. All it takes a dip in the Cauldron for things to start falling into place.

Chapter Summary: Relief washes over Azriel. Nyra wakes up.

Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm

****

Azriel woke up in the healer’s quarters. The first thing he saw was the ceiling illuminated by daylight streaming into the room from the floor to ceiling windows. Upon sensing his discomfort, the shadows clouded his vision and slowly spread apart, giving him time to adjust to the light. They informed him that he had been unconscious for eight days.

He turned his head to the side and saw an unconscious Cassian. He saw how his brother’s wings were still being healed by the healers on surrounding him. One of those healers had seen him wake and rushed off, probably to alert Madja. There were bandages on his chest. And his shadows, half of them were not even there with him.

“How are you feeling?” The old lady asked just as she met his gaze.

“Mild pain in the chest. Weak limbs from lack of physical activity.” Azriel’s response sounded more like a healer’s diagnosis. He had found it easier to tell them what he thought whenever the healers asked him how he felt. A rarity when you counted his brothers who would try to lie and get out as soon as possible.

“Restrict your physical activity till the pain subsides and let the wounds heal. Your wings are fine but keep flapping them every now and then so that they don't feel unused once your body heals.”

A shadowy snake slithered through the air, startling one of Madja’s assistants. His shriek attracted everyone’s attention in the form of a glare. The shadow approached him and curled next to his ear and shoulder. Mate. And all sense had been lost when the shadow whispered that word and the rest of them echoed after it. He discovered that half of his shadows were with her.

Rhysand appeared by the door, looking at him with wide eyes. The moment Azriel registered him, Rhys was already walking towards him. This was not the High Lord but a brother. And he breathed in relief once he saw Azriel awake and healing. He strode over and hugged the shadowsinger tightly. Azriel did his best to conceal his painful groans. Rhys needed this assurance that he was there and Az would give it.

After taking an update on Cassian, Rhys took him and winnowed to the sky above the House of Wind. The two of them landed at the House of Wind. Cassian was still confined to the healer’s quarters and had yet to wake up.

"Where's she?" Azriel walked inside, still shirtless and chest covered in bandages and reeking of whatever medicine that had been used on him for his recovery.

“Fifth floor. She has yet to wake up. Madja says that everything is fine but she’s in a magical sleep of sorts. She’ll wake up only when things stabilise within her. And that’ll take time.” Rhys was pacing after Azriel and he knew the shadowsinger would not stop.

Azriel had heard Rhysand but he walked quicker. The worry and the anxiety, it seemed, were killing him. Mor was already there near the hall which led to her sisters’ rooms, waiting for them. The shadows told him which room was hers and he did not stop.

He passed by Mor who had just exited Nesta’s room. Completely ignored her greeting and moved forward. He halted right in front of her door. For someone who marched forward to Nyra’s room like he’d march into battle, Azriel suddenly lost all confidence. The shadows by Nyra’s side were whispering to the ones crawling on him.

Mate. Sleeping. Soft. Strong.

Azriel’s knees gave up on him and tears flowed down his cheeks. He felt relief, happy, comfort and most of all, safe. Even with him outside the room, he felt safe with the warmth of the mating bond. It was like a faint pulse. Thrumming slowly and nearly silent. He had to focus to feel it. It was a familiar beat. His own heartbeat had changed to match this the night he met Nyra for the first time. When more shadows were born. He felt her on the other side, a quiet presence slumbering peacefully.

Azriel's hand barely touched the door and curled into a fist. The shadowsinger barely registered as the High Lord helped him up his feet and opened the door. They walked into the room with Rhys supporting him lest he fall to his knees again.

Healthy. Strong. The shadows by his side fluttered over to her, ready to care for her and do anything she desired. If only she would wake up. He did not understand what he was feeling. Relief, maybe, because she was alive. He had yet to figure himself out.

The shadows seemed to be reassuring him that she was here. That she would be here. That she was connected to him. And a part of him immediately submitted to this female. The longing to be loved by her started growing. It was a small sprout with a baby leaf, barely there. Next to it was another sprout. The longing to love her with all that he was.

And then he saw it. The magic coursing through her. Felt it in his own bones and blood as if it was his own. What power was that? There seemed to be no limit to it. Azriel watched all of his shadows watch over her carefully. Very few tendrils escaped and caressed her cheek, played with a few hairs. A bunch of them tried to hold her hand but he was quick to rein them in forcefully. He heard Rhysand's footsteps retreat to the outside.

Azriel watched her for mere minutes before he gathered himself and exited the room. Rhysand and Nesta stood outside. They were sizing each other up when the shadowsinger walker out and gently closed the room. They heard the door and not his footsteps. Nesta was openly glaring at him.

“What authority permitted you to enter her room ?” Nesta could care less about Azriel’s freshly dried tears and tired eyes. About the healing he had to still continue.

“I’m sorry. I just…” Azriel did not have the energy to right anyone anymore. “I’m just so glad.”

“Glad that we were dragged into this mess? Made fae by that disgusting cauldron you worship?”

“She’s healthier than when she was mortal.” Azriel did not comprehend Nesta's anger even when he was looking at her face shaped by wrath. Tears pooled in his eyes. "She's healthy." His voice was a whisper that the wind picked up.

Nesta opened her mouth to speak but she did not have anything to say. Could not think of anything to say. “Then why hasn’t she woken up?”

“She hasn’t woken up?” Nesta’s question had Azriel looking to Rhys for answers. Azriel sounded so small, so hopeless at that moment that Nesta was inclined to feel the slightest pity for him. She shoved that feeling down whatever hole it crawled out from.

“She hasn’t.” Rhysand confirmed.

“How long?”

“Eight days.” Rhys turned to Nesta, feeling responsible for what happened to the sisters in Hybern. “We’re trying our best. I have scholars and healers looking into the matter.”

Nesta looked away, pained by the thoughts taking over her. “Will she wake up?” A tear escaped her.

“You woke up. Elain woke up. She will also wake up.” Rhysand sounded determined. He had dragged the sisters into this mess. The sisters after being Made turned out to be his brothers’ mate. One had a mating bond trying her to a Vanserra but that was of little importance right now. Nesta would go mad any day now. Elain was not even in her senses. Nyra was still in a deep slumber. And Feyre was away.

"And what is that?" Nesta pointed towards Azriel's chest.

"Bandages?" Rhysand answered but it sounded more like a question due to his confusion.

"Not the bandages. That thread." Nesta's hand moved forward and grabbed at a string the males could not see. She pulled it and Azriel felt his heart shoot up to his throat. She let go of the string quickly after seeing how Azriel had jolted but the shadowsinger had immediately reentered the room. Nyra's sleeping position had changed. As if someone had tried to shake her to wake up.

"That was probably the mating bond." Azriel answered Nesta, still looking at the sleeping female.

"You're her mate?" Nesta was also now looking at her twin. Azriel hummed. "Is that a problem?"

For a while, she did not answer. She kept thinking about the bond that had led Rhysand to set foot into the mortal lands. At that thought, she looked at Rhysand who looked at her questioningly. Then she looked at Azriel and then back to Nyra. "I don't know."

****

Two more weeks had passed. Nyra was still in some sort of magical sleep. Nesta was getting angrier. It was almost a surprise that she did not claw into Rhysand these recent days. Elain had spoken a few words but that was just answers to questions related to food and water. She could be heard mumbling something inconsequential. Nesta spent her days between their rooms and the library.

Feyre had finally returned home from the Spring Court albeit with a guest who was not exactly welcome or unwelcome. It was evident that Lucien Vanserra was here for his mate, the Archeron who had been mumbling everything under the sun that did not make sense to anyone. Feyre had bathed, made love to her mate and now moved to visit each of her sisters.

Nesta was anger personified. She ignored her as though she’d been a mere servant than the High Lady of the Night Court. Even after being informed of Feyre destroying the Spring Court. “Elain is not fine. She’s been saying things which do not make sense and Nyra has yet to wake up.”

“We will soon figure out-“ Rhysand’s attempt at a diplomatic answer was interrupted by the raging sister.

“My sister was full of life before we were dragged into this mess. And my twin, despite being ill, was at least awake to talk to me. And now, even with an immortal body, she has yet to wake up.” Nesta took a deep breath. “So don’t give me this nonsense. Give me the truth, pure and straight.”

Rhysand inhaled. He knew the moment Nesta was pushed into the Cauldron that she would not let what happened to her sisters slide. That she would refrain from controlling whatever deathly power from the Cauldron that rested within if it meant she could go and break the King’s neck. And Rhysand did not want to stop her or be her target.

“Our healers say that there’s nothing physically wrong with them. Everything is fine. Organs are functioning well. Even the flow of magic is completely fine.”

“Bring in someone better.” Nesta was one more moment away from slitting his throat. Rhysand nodded and took a few steps back. And even then, he did not understand why Nesta treated Feyre differently from Elain and Nyra. Feyre did not know the answer to that herself.

Feyre stepped forward and dared to ask. “What happened inside the Cauldron?” Nesta glared at her. “Nyra and you were thrown in together. Maybe if you could tell us something about that, it could help us figure out a solution faster.”

Nesta stared at Feyre and exhaled. She closed her eyes and the memories flooded in. The Cauldron, cold and mocking. It had been an infuriating thing. It was absolutely unacceptable. Even remembering it was painful. How Nyra’s body was just floating without no movement of its own. Not even a single breath. She pressed her hand to her temple. She had to remember. For Nyra. Her sister. Her twin. They had shared everything from a womb to clothes and secrets and lives and lies.

And then it came to her. That string she saw. It emerged from Nyra’s heart and twirled down her left arm and floated away from her to a male. The string had wrapped around him just like it had Nyra. The winged man with blue gems.

“Azriel. He needs to hear what I’m going to say.” Nesta was looking straight at Rhysand who nodded. Azriel walked in a few minutes later, his face calm.

“You asked for me?” Azriel spoke, his voice not giving away a single hint of the worry he held for Nyra.

“Nyra died in the Cauldron.” Nesta did not mince words. She did not do anything to beat around the bush. But the only thing she knew about the winged male in front of her was that he could understand. That he would understand. Two weeks ago, she did not know whether their mating bond was a problem or not. Now, it was their only chance.

“I know.” It took every bit of control Azriel had forged in the last five hundred years to let the pain be revealed.

“And then she came to life.” Azriel nodded. “There was a thread connecting her to you. You’re connected to her the same way Rhysand and Feyre are connected, aren’t you?” Azriel nodded again. “Use that to call out to her.”

She would not use that word—mate. Not in her life would she ever acknowledge such a thing. It sounded too romantic to be real. And with Rhysand and Feyre and their mating bond on display, it sounded like an excuse to be shackled. More so when she remembered Elain and Lucien.

“Did you see anything that explained how?” Nesta shook her head. And the sadness in her eyes resulted in Azriel saying something before he could even control himself. “We’ll figure it out.” Shock graced Nesta’s features for a mere second before she wore her mask of composure and nodded. Azriel pivoted, nodded at his High Lady and High Lord and exited the room wordlessly.

“How?” Nesta almost lost her balance and Feyre darted forward to help support her, looking at her worriedly. “How does this connection work?”

Outside the room, Cassian perked up at that question. Azriel, who had not really left the area, laid a hand on his shoulder in a silent request to retain control.

Cassian looked at his brother and they knew each other. They knew how much Rhys and Feyre loved each other. How beautiful the mating bond had been for their brother. And if a chance at something so beautiful and with such purpose would appear for them then why wouldn’t they try? Why wouldn’t they try to know the females connected to them?

They knew the Archeron sisters were fierce in their own way with their love. Nesta was ferocious. She would claw her way out of hell for Nyra and Elain. Nyra was calm and cool. She loved with loyalty and all her life. Elain was kind and hopeful. Feyre had actually fought for her love and had died for that even if that was for the wrong male but there was no doubt that she’d go beyond for Rhys.

Cassian and Azriel had already been loved by Feyre for being family. And that was a very powerful love they shared with Feyre. She was Iike a younger sister to them.

Deep in his heart, the General knew that Nesta’s feelings would be an impact. It would not be gentle like a breeze. It would strike him in the chest like a spear. And it would change everything even he did not understand. And he knew Nesta was not just any other female he'd fancy. She was it. Everything—the beginning and the end. But she had been hurt in the worst way possible by being witness to her sister’s sufferings. She’d been thrown into the Cauldron with her twin and had been the only one to see her die.

Cassian was familiar with that sort of feeling. They felt it when Rhys had been trapped for fifty years. With Rhys, they knew he was out there and alive but he was also being subject to something worse than death. And here, Nesta had seen Nyra fall ill, her condition worsen and finally die.

And heavens knew what Azriel was feeling. Maybe Rhys did. The High Lord had witnessed his mate die to free the male she loved back then. Had felt the bond almost rip before Feyre clawed her way back to the world of the living. She described the feeling as returning home. And that was it. Home was Rhysand. Home was her mate, ready to rip into the minds of the High Lords to get her another chance to live. Home was her mate ready to die after her despite the short time they had.

But what about Az?

The shadowsinger had felt the bond rip apart from his chest when Maia died five centuries ago. There was the huge hole in his soul that their family only partially managed to fill. And then he’d met Nyra. Sick and frail and still so lovely as the first blush of dawn. And then he felt her die. And the bond remained. Cassian did not know what that felt like and he selfishly hoped to never know.

Whatever Azriel felt when Nyra came back to life as a fae, Cassian did not know. What he did know was how Azriel was now worried for her and would watch over her. His shadows were already liking her. Cassian knew of Azriel’s fierce loyalty when it came to love. He’d known and loved and lost Maia and now his mate had reincarnated. And now, Nyra was here, in a deep sleep no one seemed to be able to wake her up from.

“What did you feel?” Cassian suddenly asked. Azriel looked his way. “When Nyra was in the Cauldron.”

Azriel looked at the wall in front of him. The worry of his mate and her never waking up removed all restraints he placed on his emotions leaking out of him. And this was Cassian. His brother who had taught him how to fly. Who’d stuck by him ever since he met him. The first person to whom he’d confined about his hands. And suddenly. The river began flowing.

“I’ve felt her ever since I met her.” That was new information. But then again nothing about Azriel was normal. Maybe that extended to the female who was his mate. This was a shadowsinger and his mate who had reincarnated. Her birth was the Bone Carver's prophecy come true.

“I had left behind my shadows here when we visited them for the first time.” Another exhale. “But new shadows were born. They were excited, ready to go to her. They told me everything about her. When a strand of her hair moved to her cheek. When she adjusted her clothes. They’d analyse the colour of her dress and rave about it and how it suited her for hours. It was irritating at first.” Azriel leaned on the wall next to Cassian. “New shadows are like babies. They usually keep babbling until I calm them down. But these new ones never calmed down because I never allowed them to go to her. I'm going to leave the older shadows with her because they behave better than the newborns.”

“I have felt her through the newborns when she was mortal and now I feel her through…” Azriel trailed away, not daring to say the word. As though saying it would result in him losing it. The mating bond was a blessing, he was sure of it. But to say it out loud would be to doom it. “I feel her. And I felt her die and come back. And I was already dying. It wouldn’t have been too difficult to follow her.” To death.

Oh, Cassian was starting to understand Azriel. Or maybe he did not. Maybe he did not want to understand. He did not want to know that feeling.

“Call out to her, Azriel.” Rhys spoke from the entrance of Nesta’s room. Azriel looked at him once, knowing completely that he had been listening to his rant. The shadowsinger would never begin a rant without his barriers if he didn’t know how many people could hear. “Call out to her before it’s too late.”

And the burning feeling in his chest rose till it was a flame, leaving behind smoke and ash for him to suffocate on. And in his panic, he did not realise it until he and his shadows caught the bond together and tugged once. He reigned them back, hoping that the tug did not harm her in any way. And by the time he was breathing heavily with Cassian and Rhys holding him up, the air thrummed around them.

He knew it.

He would always know it.

Nyra Archeron was awake.

****

Nyra felt tired. She felt like she had a very satisfying sleep but maybe it was for too long. Her eyes opened once and then it closed, hoping that there was still more time to sleep. The rays of the evening sun crept through the translucent curtains. She turned and closed her eyes and opened them. Someone was watching her. She looked at the person watching her straight in the eye.

A female emerged from the walls as though she was travelling through them. It was a picture of an angel of death. Nyra remained confused but then she felt something. The absence of something. There was no more pain in her chest. And the presence of something. Whatever that was, she had yet to identify.

“Lady Nyra.” The wraith began. “My name is Nuala. I am-“ but Nyra did not let her continue.

“Am I dead?”

Nuala was startled for a second before she answered. “No, you’re not.”

Nyra sat up and looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. “What is this place, if not the afterlife?”

“We’re at Velaris, the Court of Dreams.” Nuala smiled warmly. As warmly as woman with a cool presence did. “It is a city in the Night Court.”

She closed her eyes and racked her brains. Velaris. It sounded familiar. Where has she heard it before?

“Feyre Archeron is the High Lady of the Night Court. She rules alongside her mate, Rhysand, the High Lord.”

Nyra blinked once and twice and thrice. “Are you talking about some other Feyre Archeron or my youngest sister?”

“I am referring to your youngest sister.” Nuala watched Nyra in her inner turmoil. The tea she wanted was prepared by now. “This is chamomile tea. It’ll help with your headache.” The Archeron looked at her and then at the cup.

“May I?” Nuala gestured at the bed, asking permission to sit. Nyra nodded. The female sat next to her on the bed and handed her the mug. Nyra took a slow sip before continuing.

This lady was beautiful. With dark skin and darker hair, she truly looked like an angel of death and that prompted a question. “Are you sure I’m not dead?” Nuala looked surprised before she shook her head.

Nobody talked for a while. Nyra continued to drink her tea, feeling a little better with every sip. Once the tea was finished, she handed the mug to Nuala. By then night had fallen, and a blanket of stars had graced the skies of Velaris. Nyra looked at it and did not look away.

“May I ask you something?” Nuala’s voice made her look away from the starry skies. Nyra nodded.

“Why do you keep asking me if you’re dead? Is there some discomfort you feel?”

Nyra placed a hand on her chest and looked down as though she could see her insides and whatever that had once plagued her. She clutched the white nightgown and closed her eyes. “Because it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

In fact, she felt nice. Like a warm blanket wrapped around her in an embrace. She relished it. Closed her eyes and hummed faintly.

****

Outside the room, Azriel clenched his hands in his pathetic attempt to stop crying. She was alive. Safe. Healthy. He had been waiting so long for her. And now that she was here, he did not know which deity to thank, which power to bow before. He did not know much about Nyra but the relief he kept feeling was infinite. And he when he saw Nesta, he let his tears flow.

"She's awake." Nesta looked at him, wide-eyed but she did not enter the room like he had expected. She gave him the first smile and raised her arms. In an act of surprise, Azriel hugged her as he cried into her arms. "She's safe."

****

A/N: Hello. I think Nesta and Azriel share one of the most beautiful friendships I've ever read about.

****

TAGLIST:

@waytoomanyteenagefeels@impossibelle@esposadomd@starswholistenanddreamsanswered@judig92@bunnyredgirl@sh4nn@a-frog-with-a-laptop@kattzillaa@ronnieglennn@wallacewillow0773638@forgiveliv@justdreamstars@donttellthecats@cat-or-kitten@jojodojo02@wandas-dream@evylynny@weasleyreidstyles@stqrgirlies-blog@why4anne@acourtofdreamsandshadows @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe@macimads@footyandformula @noelli-smv @mqlfoyelf @thehighlordishere @slytherintaco @spideytingley @deeshag

258 notes · View notes

kaidabakugou · 1 year

Text

JUST A PEEK

KENTO NANAMI X F! READER X SATORU GOJO

warnings: office sex | voyeurism | oral sex | masterbation

word count: 1.3k

a/n: dreamt this last night after crying myself to sleep over both of them and i thought i'd share it after the eventful week we've all had :( also sorry this is a little rushed, this was a warm up to just get the dream out before i forget it lol, hope you enjoy!♡

Gulping down the last of his soda he tosses the can into the nearest trash bin, footsteps echoing through the vacant halls as he makes his way towards Nanami’s office where he figured you two were. It was rare for any of you to be at the school this late at night, but Kento and you were out on a mission earlier to clear a potential first grade responsible for multiple disappearances in an old abandoned building just out of the district and although the task was an easy one for the both of you, the few small curses within the vicinity paired with the unstable foundation of the building proved to be somewhat troublesome which resulted in some minor injuries.

And when Satoru got word of it, he figured he'd stop by just to check in on the two of you even if he knew it was nothing serious, you were strong after all and only one of you was needed for the mission, but you happened to be together when you received the call.

The light from Nanami’s office shines through the cracked door and Satoru can't help the smile that tugs at his features when he hears the faint sound of your giggles, but his steps falter when they're followed by your moans echoing from within. Eyes widening briefly behind his blindfold as he steps closer to lean against the side of the door to peer through the small opening into the office where he gets a clear view of your naked figure propped up on his desk, pretty tits glistening under the light as he fixates on the way they move with each rise and fall of your heaving chest before letting his eyes trail down your abdomen, noticing the bandages curving along your rib cage where you'd gotten injured earlier in the mission. His eyes roam further until they settle between your legs where Kento is kneeling, his face concealed behind your thigh where his hand is gripping and kneading at your plush skin whilst his other hand is urging you closer to your release.

Long digits deep in your velvety heat as he thrusts them back and forth while his tongue laps at your clit, the wet sounds of his mouth working messily against you mixed with the increasingly squelch of your arousal echoing all the way out into the hall where Satoru remains frozen in place. The throbbing in his pants catches him by surprise as he unconsciously reaches for the zipper of his pants in search of some relief from the painful erection straining against them. He knows he should turn around and leave, but he can't bring himself to do so, too enthralled by the sight before him as his head presses against the wall behind him when he hears you reach your high.

Your moans affect him like a siren's melody as he forces himself to swallow his own moans that build in his throat when his thumb circles his tip - red and swollen and leaking with milky beads of precum that he smears along his length before wrapping his fist around his cock. The feel of his index finger pressing against the pulsing veins that fork under it causes a shiver to run from his spine to his feet and he fears his knees might buckle beneath him.

When he peers through the opening again, Kento is rising from his position, glistening with your fluids from nose to chin as he leans over your naked form to pull you into a kiss causing Satoru to pull his bottom lip between his teeth at the thought of what you must taste like on his friend’s lips. Suppressing another moan when he sees him gather your release on his digits, sticky bands of arousal webbing between them before pressing them against your awaiting tongue as your lips wrap around them. Sucking on them while you taste yourself on his fingers before he slowly pulls them out of your mouth where you press a small kiss upon the pads of his digits as you stare up into pools of chestnut that hungrily peer down at you before capturing your lips again.

Hands roaming your bodies while lips lace messily against each other as you reach down to undo his belt, expertly working on loosening the leather while your feet circles around his waist to aid you in pulling his bottoms down as they curve around the band of the soft fabric and Satoru can't help but think how this shouldn't be the first time you've done this to manage that so effortlessly.

Pressing himself against the wall when Kento suddenly pulls away from the kiss to step out of his bottoms that now rested around his ankles before finding your lips again as your hands return to his figure. Trailing up his sides towards his center to start unbuttoning his shirt but he rushes to finish taking it off himself, lips never leaving yours as drool clings to your chins and Satoru has to force down his own drool that gathers in his mouth. Feeling himself get closer to his release when Kento rubs his cock through your messy pussy, gathering your slick while teasing you as you reach down to press your palm against the top of his dick, the veins branching along his length pulsing under your touch before your slowly guide him down to your dripping heat.

The two of you gasping at the feel and Satoru doesn't register gasping along as well until it's already vibrating past his lips, his hand shooting up to cover his mouth as he presses himself against the wall again in the hopes that you two are too submerged in each other to notice. And when he hears your whimpers melding with Kento’s grunts he figures it's safe to peek over again and he internally curses himself for the moans threatening to spill from deep in his chest when he sees your bodies wrapped together, grinding in unison as he focuses on how your pussy swallows his length so eagerly - so wet with the light gusher that splatters against both of your thighs and Satoru finds himself matching the rhythm of his fist with Kento’s thrusts.

Picturing himself behind you and buried deep in your wet heat grinding alongside Kento’s as he bites his other fist when you reach your highs, making a mess of his fist and the floor as long and creamy spurts of cum coat his knuckles but he doesn't stop his fist from tightening around his girth until your whimpers die down, imagining your walls clenching around him milking every last drop of his release into your pussy before he rests tiredly against the wood behind him. Heavy pants echoing through the hall, too spent to care if it overlaps with yours as he thinks he's never cummed this hard before.

“You're as shameless as ever”, he freezes when the words reach his ears, unsure if they are directed at him or at you but when he only hears your giggles echo from inside, he peeks inside only to find your eyes already on him while Kento trails gentle kisses along the side of your neck. Pushing himself off the wall completely as he slowly walks in, cock messy and on full display as he scratches his snow kissed locks with a small chuckle while his other hand rests awkwardly at his side - strands of sticky release webbing between his digits and clinging to his skin. Grinning when he finds your eyes already trailing down his twitching cock before they meet his again, the hand scratching as his scalp circling to lift his blindfold to reveal celeste irises fixated on your own.

“Wanna join?”, your voice coated with honey along with Kento’s eyes also landing on him expectantly only riling him more as his grin widens.

#nanami kento #kento nanami #gojo saturo #saturo gojo #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #gojo satoru x reader #saturo gojo x reader #nanami kento x reader smut #kento nanami x reader smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #satoru gojo x reader smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #nanami x reader x gojo

648 notes · View notes

satorulovebot · 1 month

Text

CIGARETTES AND WHISKY | WELCOME TO LONE STAR RANCH. (1)

↳ satoru gojou x suguru getou x reader

genre. angst, fluff, modern au, cowboys, 18+

tags/warnings. drug use (smoking), profanity

notes. 6.8k wc. please enjoy this mini-series my brain cooked up while I was thinking about this choices story I read and horseland, yes the show from 20 years ago. highly recommend. yes, this is stereotypical and takes place in texas (unfortunately). don't smoke kiddos. geto is here too btw.

series masterlist -> chapter two

The Texas sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the sprawling landscape that seemed to stretch on for miles. The drive had been long, winding through open country and passing tall grass swaying in the light breeze.

A sense of relief washed over you as the GPS announced your arrival. The place you were going to was around two and a half hours from Houston, in the middle of nowhere, with a small town thirty minutes away. As your car rolled to a stop at the entrance, you could hear the gravel crunch beneath the tires. In front of you stood a large archway made of weathered wood. The old archway had the words "Lone Star Ranch," painted in a dark blue that had faded over time. Beneath the arch, a long driveway stretched out before you that led to the heart of the ranch.

You rested your hands on the steering wheel and sat for a moment, deciding to take in the sight before you. The ranch was beautiful. Beyond the driveway you could see there were rolling hills dotted with cattle and trees that stretched into the distance. You thought the air here felt different—cleaner, somehow.

Taking a deep breath, you turned off the engine, allowing the sounds of the countryside to embrace you. The only sounds you could hear were the distant mooing of cattle and the faint chirping of birds. It was a far cry from the noisy city you had left behind not long ago. Truth be told, you were looking for a place to start over, and you thought this was the solution.

As you stepped out of the car, a realization dawned upon you: you had never lived on a ranch before, worked with animals, or dealt with the physical labor that ranch life demanded. You had briefly ridden horses when you were younger but that was… how many years ago? Over eighteen years ago? You were a city person through and through, and you were going to have to learn to live in the countryside.

The sun was warm against your skin as you stretched, trying to shake off the stiffness from the long drive. You walked around to the back of the car, popping the trunk and pulling out your bags. The sound of your shoes crunching against the gravel was the only noise that filled the air. You were truly out in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but the ranch and its inhabitants for miles.

You slung a bag over your shoulder and turned around to take in the ranch. To your left was a large, two-story ranch house that overlooked the property. You could tell it was older, similar to the sign out front. The house had a wide front porch that wrapped around the entire house, supported by thick wooden beams. Further down the driveway, you could see several barns and stables; the red paint was faded and chipped, but it was well-maintained.

Just as you were about to close the trunk, a sound from off in the distance caught your attention. It was faint at first, but it grew louder with each passing second—a steady, rhythmic beat that seemed to echo across the open land. Curious, you turned toward the sound, squinting against the sun that hung low on the horizon.

That’s when you saw him.

A man on horseback was riding toward you. The horse's powerful legs were kicking up small clouds of dust with each stride. The man atop the horse sat tall in the saddle, his posture relaxed. As he drew closer, you could make out more details—his broad shoulders, his tanned skin that seemed to gleam in the sunlight, his unruly white hair, and the cowboy hat that shielded his eyes from the sun's glare.

He was shirtless, his torso exposed to the sun, revealing a well-defined physique. It was the kind of body that came from years of hard work and physical labor. A pair of worn jeans hung low on his hips, held up by a thick leather belt with a silver buckle that gleamed in the sunlight.

There was something magnetic about him as if there was something that demanded attention and respect. He oozed confidence, the kind that came from knowing exactly who you were and who you had the potential to be. As he approached where you were standing, he slowed the horse to a stop, his head tilted slightly as he judged you from beneath his hat.

“Well, well,” he drawled, his voice was smooth and carried a hint of amusement. “What do we have here?”

For a moment, you were at a loss for words, caught off guard by the almost lazy way he spoke. Though his voice was warm, like honey on a hot summer day.

“I’m here for the job,” you managed to say. “Is this Lone Star Ranch?”

A slow smile spread across his lips, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearm on the saddle horn as he looked you up and down. “Sure is,” he replied. “And you must be our new guest.”

The way he said “guest” made you feel like there was more to it than just a simple word. His voice was familiar, as if he already knew more about you than you were comfortable with. But before you could dwell on it, he continued, his smile widening.

“Name’s Satoru Gojo,” he said, swinging a leg over the horse and dismounting effortlessly. He landed lightly on his feet, standing a good head taller than you. “Owner of this fine establishment.”

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding in your chest. “Nice to meet you. I’m—”

“Hold that thought,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “No need for introductions just yet. We’ll have plenty of time for that later.”

He took a step closer to you, and you took a step back. You could see the details you had missed before: the way his muscles moved with each step, the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and how he seemed to enjoy your discomfort.

“Don’t look so tense,” he said, his tone light and teasing as he reached out and gave your shoulder a gentle pat. “I don’t bite. Not unless you ask nicely.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his words, and felt embarrassment creeping up your neck. This wasn’t exactly how you’d imagined your first meeting would go. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words seemed to get stuck in your throat.

Gojou seemed to sense your discomfort because he took a step back, giving you some space. “Relax, I’m just messing with you,” he said as his smile softened. “Welcome to Lone Star Ranch. You’re gonna love it here, I promise.”

“Thanks,” you managed to say. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Good to hear,” he said, turning to gesture toward the ranch house in the distance. “Why don’t you grab your stuff, and I’ll show you to your room? We’ll get you settled in, and then I’ll introduce you to the rest of the crew.”

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded, moving to the trunk of your car and pulling out your bags. As you did, you couldn’t help but steal another glance at Gojou, who had turned his attention back to his horse, murmuring something to the animal as he stroked its mane.

There was no denying that he was attractive in a rugged sort of way.

As you slung your bags over your shoulder, you turned back to Gojou, who was now waiting for you. “Ready?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Ready,” you replied, following him as he led the way toward the ranch house, your heart still pounding in your chest.

The walk to the ranch house was longer than you expected, giving you time to take in the surroundings. The ranch was even larger up close, with open spaces that seemed to go on forever. Gojou walked a few paces ahead of you, his long strides making it hard for you to keep up with him.

As the two of you got closer to the ranch, you could see the details that had been too far away to notice before. The wood on the house was old but well cared for, the front porch had rows of flowers along the trim of the railing, and a few rocking chairs that looked very inviting.

Gojou reached the front steps and turned to look at you. “So,” he said, resting a hand on the railing as he waited for you to catch up, “what brings you out here? Most people don’t come to Lone Star Ranch unless they’ve got a good reason.”

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal to the man you had just met not even ten minutes ago. Your past was something you’d hoped to leave behind, but it seemed that even out here, in the middle of nowhere, you couldn’t escape it. You forced a smile, hoping to deflect the question. “Just needed a change of scenery,” you said, your tone casual. “Figured this was as good a place as any.”

Gojou raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced by your answer, but he didn’t press you about it. Instead, he gave a small nod, as if accepting your response for now. “Well, you’ve definitely found a change of scenery,” he said, pushing open the front door and holding it open for you. “Come on in. I’ll show you around.”

When you stepped inside, you were immediately hit by the cool air and the smell of wood and leather. The interior of the house was just as rustic as the exterior, with hardwood floors, ceiling beams, and walls filled with old photographs. The furniture was a mix of older pieces that looked like they’d been there for years and newer additions that added a touch of modern comfort. It was the kind of place that felt lived in, like a home that had been passed down through generations.

Gojou led you through the house, pointing out the various rooms as you went. The kitchen was spacious, with a large wooden table in the center and windows that overlooked the back of the ranch. The living room was cozy, with a stone fireplace and shelves lined with books and trinkets. You passed by several other rooms—an office, a dining room, and what looked like a mudroom near the back door—before finally reaching a staircase that led to the second floor.

“Your room’s upstairs,” Gojou said, gesturing for you to follow him. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’s comfortable enough. You’ll have plenty of privacy up there.”

You nodded, following him up the stairs, the wooden steps creaking softly under your weight. The second floor was just as charming as the first, with a long hallway that led to several bedrooms. Gojou stopped in front of one of the doors, pushing it open to reveal a small but cozy room. The bed was made up with a simple quilt, and a large window let in plenty of natural light. A dresser and a small desk completed the space, and there was a door on the far side that you assumed led to a closet.

“This is you,” Gojou said, stepping aside to let you enter. “Like I said, it’s not much, but it should suit your needs. There’s an attached bathroom too, so you won’t have to worry about sharing.”

“Thank you, it’s perfect.”

He gave you that easy smile again, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you. “Glad you think so. I’ll let you get settled in, and then we can go over the details of your job. There’s a lot to do around here, but I’m sure you’ll catch on quickly.”

As Gojou turned to leave, he paused in the doorway, glancing back at you. “Oh, and one more thing,” his tone more serious now. “This place… it’s special. The people, the land, everything about it. We take care of our own here, but that means we expect you to do the same. Understand?”

You met his gaze, understanding the weight of his words. This wasn’t just a job—it was a community, a way of life that you were being invited into. You nodded, “I understand.”

He studied you for a moment longer, then nodded, satisfied with your answer. “Good. I’ll see you downstairs when you’re ready.”

With that, he left, closing the door behind him and leaving you alone in your new room. You stood there for a moment, taking in the silence, the sense of stillness that seemed to permeate the air. This was it—the start of your new life, far away from everything you’d known before.

You walked over to the window, looking out at the view of the ranch below. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden light over the land, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. The sight was breathtaking, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of peace.

The night passed fairly quickly, though your sleep was interrupted by the sounds of the night—the creak of the old house settling, the distant howls of coyotes, and the occasional rustle of the wind against the windows. Despite the disturbances, you woke up bright and early, got dressed, and headed downstairs.

As you made your way to the kitchen, the smell of freshly brewed coffee greeted you like a warm hug. As you sipped your coffee, you couldn’t help but glance around the kitchen. It was spacious, with wooden cabinets, a large farmhouse sink, and a sturdy wooden table in the center. The walls were full of old photographs of the ranch in its earlier days, groups of cowboys standing proudly next to their horses. It was clear that the ranch had a history deeply intertwined with the land and the people who had worked it.

You were halfway through drinking your coffee when the back door creaked open, and a figure stepped into the kitchen. You turned to see a man about your age, tall and lean with dark hair that was pulled back into a bun. He was dressed in work clothes—a faded denim shirt and worn jeans, with a pair of sturdy boots that had seen better days. His expression was calm as he glanced at you with dark eyes.

“You must be the new hire,” he said, his voice low and even, with a slight drawl that was less pronounced than Gojou’s. “I’m Suguru Getou, the ranch hand. Gojou probably mentioned me.”

You nodded, feeling a little awkward under his gaze. “He did. It’s nice to meet you.”

Getou gave you a small nod and moved past you to pour himself a cup of coffee. He didn’t say anything else, and you took the opportunity to study him. You noticed the way he moved, his mannerisms, and his calloused hands from years of labor. There was something about him, a seriousness that contrasted with Gojou’s easygoing nature.

“You up for a tour?” Getou asked, breaking the silence as he turned to lean against the counter. “Might as well show you the ropes before Gojou starts piling on the work.”

You nodded, and without another word, he led you out of the kitchen and into the cool morning air. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting long shadows across the ranch. You followed Getou down the porch steps and onto the gravel path that led toward the barns, the sound of your footsteps mingling with the distant lowing of cattle and the soft noise of horses.

As you walked, Getou pointed out the various buildings and areas of the ranch, his explanations brief but informative. He showed you the stables, where the horses were kept, the barns where the cattle feed and equipment were stored, and the paddocks where the horses were turned out to graze.

“This here’s the main barn,” he said, stopping in front of a large structure. “You’ll spend a lot of time here, mucking stalls, feeding the horses, and helping with whatever else needs doing. It’s hard work, but it’s honest, and you’ll learn a lot if you’re willing to put in the effort.”

You nodded, looking around the barn. Its large wooden doors were open to reveal rows of stalls, each one occupied by a horse. Getou turned to you and gestured for you to follow him. He led you inside, and as you walked down the aisle, you couldn’t help but admire their sleek coats in the morning sunlight. They were beautiful creatures, each one unique in color and stature, their eyes calm and intelligent as they watched you pass. You could tell they were well cared for, their stalls clean and their coats brushed to a shine.

“Over here’s the tack room,” Getou continued, opening a door to reveal a small room lined with saddles, bridles, and other riding gear. “Everything you need for riding and working with the horses is in here. Make sure you put things back where you found them—Satoru’s pretty particular about that.”

You smiled at the thought of Gojou being particular about anything, but you nodded, committing the layout to memory. Getou didn’t seem to notice your amusement.

As Getou walked you through the basics, you noticed how he handled the horses with care and precision. He showed you how to properly secure a saddle, making sure it was snug but not too tight. He showed you how to brush down a horse after a ride, explaining that it was just as important as the ride itself—“Keeps ’em happy and healthy,” he said with a small smile.

He led you back out into the barn, where a few of the other ranch hands had already started their morning chores. They greeted Getou with nods and brief exchanges and you couldn’t help but feel a little out of place because you were a newcomer in a tightly-knit community.

"By the way," he added with a casual wave of his hand, "the blonde one is Nanami, the guy with the pink hair is Sukuna, and the one with the black hair is Toji. You'll see a woman with brown hair—her name is Shoko." He paused, then continued, "We've also got some youngsters around the farm. You'll run into them—Ino, Nobara, Megumi, Yuuji, Yuuta, Maki, and Mai. They're a lively fuckin' bunch."

As the morning went on, Getou continued to walk you through the basics of ranch work—mucking out stalls, feeding the horses, and preparing saddles for the day’s rides. The work was hard, the kind that left you sweaty and sore, but there was a sense of accomplishment that came from seeing the results of your effort.

Getou was a patient man, while he didn’t coddle you, he wasn’t harsh either, simply showing you what needed to be done and trusting you to do it. You appreciated his straightforward approach, and by the time the sun was high in the sky, you felt like you were beginning to get the hang of things.

It was late morning when Gojou finally made his appearance, strolling into the barn with his usual carefree attitude. He was dressed more appropriately today, though his shirt was unbuttoned halfway, exposing the tanned skin of his chest. He greeted Getou with a grin and a slap on the back.

“Well, look at you, already hard at work,” Gojou said, his tone light and teasing as he approached you. “I was half expecting you to be scared shitless, hiding in the house, hoping no one would notice.”

You rolled your eyes, wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not afraid of a little hard work.”

Gojou laughed, clearly pleased by your response. “That’s what I like to hear. Keep that attitude, and you’ll do just fine around here.”

“How’s the newbie doing?” Gojou asked, leaning against the stall door.

“Not bad,” Getou replied. “She’s picking things up pretty quick.”

“Good, good,” Gojou said with a nod, turning back to you. “You keep up the good work, and we might just make a ranch hand out of you yet.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur, with Gojou and Getou both showing you the ropes and making sure you were settling in. By the time the sun began to set, you were exhausted, every muscle in your body aching from the day.

As you sat on the porch steps that evening and watched the sun dip below the horizon, you couldn’t help but feel that the ranch was starting to feel like home. For the first time in a long while, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

Later that evening, after dinner—a simple but hearty meal prepared by one of the other ranch hands, Sukuna—you found yourself alone in the barn, finishing up some of the chores that had been left for the end of the day. The barn was quiet now, the horses settled in their stalls, the air cool and tinged with the scent of hay and leather.

You were brushing down one of the horses, a gentle mare with a soft brown coat, when you heard footsteps coming from behind you. You turned to see Getou standing in the doorway.

“Didn’t expect to find you here this late,” he said, walking over to the stall where you were working. “Most folks would’ve called it a day by now.”

You shrugged, focusing on your work. “Just wanted to make sure everything was done. Didn’t want to leave anything unfinished.”

Getou watched you for a moment. “You don’t have to prove anything, you know,” he said quietly. “No one’s expecting you to do more than your share.”

You paused, looking up at him. There was something in his tone that made you feel like he understood more than he was letting on, like he knew what it was like to have something to prove.

“I know,” you said softly. “But I want to.”

Getou nodded, seeming to accept your answer. He leaned against the stall door, watching as you finished brushing down the mare. The silence between you was comfortable this time, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words.

When you finally put the brush away and closed the stall door, Getou straightened up. “Come on,” he said, gesturing toward the barn entrance. “It’s getting late. You’ll need your rest if you want to keep up tomorrow.”

You followed him out of the barn, the cool night air wrapped around you like a blanket. The stars were just beginning to appear in the sky, their light faint but steady.

As the two of you walked back toward the house, you felt as if there was a silent understanding between you both. He might not be the most talkative person, but you found yourself drawn to him.

By the time you reached the house, you were both silent, each lost in your thoughts. Getou paused at the bottom of the porch steps, turning to look at you.

“Good work today,” he said simply.

“Thanks,” you replied, feeling a warmth in your chest at his words. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He nodded, and with that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the night. You watched him go, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

The next morning, you were up before dawn, the quiet stillness of the ranch interrupted only by the distant crowing of a rooster and the soft chirping of early birds. The house was still shrouded in darkness as you moved through the hallway, careful not to wake anyone. You found yourself in the kitchen once again, savoring the quiet before the day began.

The previous day had been overwhelming, but you were eager to prove that you could handle the challenges of ranch life. The soreness in your muscles was a reminder of the hard work ahead, but it was also a testament to your determination to make this new life work.

You were just finishing your coffee when you heard the sound of boots on the porch. You turned, half-expecting to see Getou or one of the other ranch hands, but instead, the door swung open to reveal Gojou, his signature smirk already in place. He was dressed casually, a worn-out pair of jeans slung low on his hips and a white shirt.

“Mornin’,” he drawled, his blue eyes sparkling as he made his way into the kitchen. “You’re up early. Couldn’t sleep, or just eager to start another day of hard labor?”

“A little of both,” you admitted, setting your empty mug in the sink. “I wanted to get a head start.”

Gojou chuckled. “That’s the spirit! We like a bit of enthusiasm around here.” He leaned casually against the counter, crossing his arms as he studied you. “Though I gotta say, you might want to pace yourself. Ranch work isn’t a sprint; it’s a marathon. You'll burn out too quickly, and then you’ll be no good to anyone.”

You nodded, appreciating the advice. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Gojou pushed himself off the counter and stretched, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal his toned abs and a light trail of hair. “Good. Now, how about we get out there and see what kind of trouble we can stir up?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his infectious energy, even if you knew it would likely lead to him teasing you all day. Together, you left the kitchen and stepped out into the cool morning air, the sun still on the horizon.

As you walked down the porch steps and headed toward the barn, Gojou kept up a steady stream of conversation. He asked you about your first day, your impressions of the ranch, and how you were adjusting. It was clear that, beneath his carefree exterior, he genuinely cared about how you were settling in.

“I have to admit,” Gojou said as you reached the barn, “I wasn’t sure how you’d handle all this. Not everyone’s cut out for ranch life, especially not city folk. But you’ve got grit, I’ll give you that.”

“Thanks, I’m not afraid of a little hard work.”

“Good thing, too,” he said with a wink. “Because today, we’re going to see what you’re really made of.”

Inside the barn, the familiar scent of hay and horses greeted you, along with the soft sounds of animals moving around in their stalls. A few of the ranch hands, Nanami and Toji, were already at work, moving like people who had done this countless times before. They greeted you and Gojou with nods and brief smiles before returning to their tasks.

Gojou led you to the tack room, where he grabbed a saddle and a bridle, handing them to you with a grin. “Today, we’re going to get you up on a horse and see how you do. Ever ridden before?”

“A little,” you admitted, recalling the few times you’d been on a horse as a kid. “But it’s been a while.”

“No worries,” Gojou said, clapping you on the back. “I’ll make sure you’re in good hands. Or hooves, as it were.”

You followed him out to the paddock, where a few horses were grazing in the early morning light. The sight of them, their sleek coats glistening in the sun, was breathtaking. You could feel a sense of awe and respect for these powerful creatures, their size and strength a reminder of just how different ranch life was from anything you’d known before.

Gojou led one of the horses over to you. She was a chestnut mare with a white line down her face.

“This is Maple,” Gojou said, patting the mare’s neck affectionately. “She’s one of the gentlest horses we’ve got, perfect for someone who’s still finding their feet. She’ll take good care of you.”

You reached out to stroke Maple’s nose, feeling the soft warmth of her breath against your hand. The horse nickered softly, her large, intelligent eyes watching you with a calm curiosity.

“Go ahead and saddle her up,” Gojou instructed, stepping back to give you space. “I’ll be right here if you need any help.”

You took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. The saddle felt heavier than you remembered, the leather creaking as you lifted it onto Maple’s back. You fumbled a bit with the cinch, your fingers clumsy as you tried to remember the steps, but Gojou was patient, offering guidance without stepping in unless you needed it.

Once Maple was saddled, you took a moment to adjust the stirrups and make sure everything was secure. It was a small accomplishment, but it was significant to you, and you couldn’t help but smile as you led Maple out into the open paddock.

“Not bad,” Gojou remarked. “You’re a quick learner.”

“Thanks,” you replied, trying to hide the flush that crept up your cheeks.

“Now, let’s see you get up there,” Gojou said, gesturing toward the horse.

You took another deep breath, then placed your foot in the stirrup and swung yourself up into the saddle. The motion was a bit awkward, but you managed it without too much trouble. Once you were seated, you adjusted your position, gripping the reins loosely as you tried to find your balance.

Maple stood patiently beneath you, her ears flicking back as if she could sense your nervousness. But her calm demeanor helped to steady your nerves, and you took a moment to relax into the saddle, letting the rhythm of her breathing guide you.

“Remember, don’t pull too hard on the reins,” Gojou advised, leaning against the fence as he watched you. “Just gentle pressure—she’ll respond to even the slightest touch.”

You nodded, taking his advice to heart as you gave Maple a light nudge with your heels. The mare started forward with a smooth, easy gait, her movements fluid and controlled. You could feel the power in her legs as she moved.

Gojou walked alongside you as you guided Maple around the paddock. His presence was reassuring. He offered tips as you went, his voice calm and steady. You learned you really liked it. It wasn’t long before you began to feel more comfortable in the saddle, the initial awkwardness fading as you found your rhythm.

“See? You’ve got this,” Gojou said with a grin, watching as you guided Maple through a series of gentle turns. “It’s all about finding that connection with the horse, trusting each other. Once you’ve got that, the rest is easy.”

But just as you were starting to relax, Maple’s ears suddenly flicked up, her head lifting as she sensed something. You followed her gaze and saw a figure standing by the fence—a man with a rugged appearance and a steely gaze that sent a shiver down your spine.

It was the same man you’d seen the day before, watching you with a look that was hard to decipher. His presence was unsettling, a stark contrast to the easy camaraderie you’d shared with Gojou. There was something about him that put you on edge, a coldness in his eyes that seemed to pierce right through you.

Gojou noticed your reaction and followed your gaze, his expression darkening slightly as he saw the man. “Don’t mind him,” He said dismissively. “That’s just one of the neighbors. He’s always hanging around, looking for something to complain about.”

Eventually, the man turned and walked away, disappearing into the distance. You breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease as you continued your ride.

After your riding lesson, Gojou led you through more of the daily tasks—mucking stalls, feeding the horses, and helping maintain the ranch.

The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the Lone Star Ranch in hues of amber and gold. The warmth of the day lingered in the air, wrapping everything in a soft, golden light. As you walked alongside Gojou back to the house, you felt a deep sense of contentment.

The silence between you was comfortable only interrupted by the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze and the distant sounds of ranch animals preparing for the night. It was a moment that felt suspended in time.

When you reached the porch, Gojou paused and turned to you, a playful glint in his eyes. “How about we enjoy the sunset?” he suggested, gesturing to a pair of weathered leather chairs positioned perfectly to face the horizon.

You nodded as you settled into one of the chairs, you felt the worn leather conform to your body. The view from the porch was breathtaking—the sky was full of oranges, pinks, and purples, with the setting sun casting long, soft shadows across the ranch.

Gojou took the seat beside you, leaning back into the soft leather. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tin, the metallic surface catching the last rays of sunlight. With a flick of his wrist, he opened it, revealing a pack of cigarettes nestled inside.

He glanced over at you. “Do you mind?” he asked, though his tone suggested he was more interested in your reaction than in seeking actual permission.

You shook your head, watching curiously as he took a cigarette from the pack and brought it to his lips. He then pulled out a decorated lighter, the flame illuminating his face for a moment before he lit the cigarette, and inhaled deeply.

The first plumes of smoke curled upward, drifting lazily into the evening air. Gojou exhaled slowly, the smoke forming delicate spirals before dissipating into the breeze. There was something almost hypnotic about the way he smoked, each motion was as if he were savoring not just the cigarette but the moment itself.

It was kind of hot.

Gojou took another drag, his eyes half-closed as he exhaled slowly, the smoke blending with the soft colors of the sunset.

“You know,” he began, “there’s something about this time of day that makes everything feel... clearer. Like all the noise from the day just fades away.”

You nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. “It’s peaceful,” you replied, your voice soft. “It’s like the world slows down for a while.”

Gojou glanced at you, his eyes catching the light in a way that made them appear even more blue, more intense. “Exactly. It’s a good time to just... be. No expectations, no pressure.”

He took another slow drag from the cigarette, the end glowing a bright orange before he exhaled again, this time blowing the smoke out in a thin, steady stream. The smoke seemed to hang in the air between you, creating a veil that blurred the lines between the two of you, making the moment feel even more intimate.

“You ever smoke?” Gojou asked, breaking the silence.

“Not really,” you admitted, your gaze still fixed on the way the smoke curled in the air. “Never saw the appeal.”

“Shit, you’re missing out, sweetheart,” Gojou said with a playful grin. “You’re finally getting a taste of what ranch life is all about."

Gojou chuckled softly, “But yeah, it’s not for everyone. But sometimes it’s more about the ritual than anything else. It’s a way to take a step back, to slow down and just... breathe.”

There was something soothing about the way he described it, and you found yourself nodding in agreement. “I can see that.”

Gojou turned to face you. “Wanna try?”

You hesitated for a moment, but the curiosity got the better of you. “Sure,” you said, accepting the cigarette he offered with a reluctant smile.

The last thing you thought he would do was pull the cigarette he was smoking out of his mouth and hand it to you. But you took it anyway.

As your fingers brushed against his, you felt a spark of warmth that sent a shiver up your spine. Gojou’s gaze lingered on you as you brought the cigarette to your lips, his eyes were filled with something that you couldn’t quite place.

You took a small drag, the smoke was harsh on your throat at first, but you quickly adjusted, mimicking the way Gojou had exhaled. The smoke tasted bitter, but there was something oddly intimate about sharing a cigarette. It was something grounding in the way it forced you to focus on each breath.

“Not bad,” He remarked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re a natural.”

You laughed softly, the sound blending with the rustling of the leaves in the breeze. “I wouldn’t go that far, but thanks.”

Gojou leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours as he took another drag. The air between you seemed to thicken with every passing second.

As you passed the cigarette back to him, your fingers brushed against his again, and this time the two of you lingered. Gojou didn’t pull away, his touch firm yet gentle, as if he were testing the boundaries between you. The moment stretched out, filled with an unspoken question, one that neither of you seemed ready to answer just yet.

The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting the last rays of golden light over the ranch. The sky had deepened to a rich indigo, with stars beginning to twinkle faintly above. The temperature dropped slightly, the coolness of the evening air brushing against your skin.

Gojou took another long drag from the cigarette, his eyes half-lidded as he exhaled slowly, watching the smoke drift into the night. His gaze turned back to you, “You’re different from what I expected,” he said, his voice low. “Stronger.”

His words took you by surprise, and you felt a flush of warmth spread through you. “Thanks,” you replied softly, not entirely sure how to respond.

Gojou’s smile was faint but genuine as he took one last drag from the cigarette before extinguishing it in the ashtray beside him. “Most people don’t last long out here. They get scared off by the work, and the isolation... But you? You’re tougher than you look.”

You’d spent so much of your life running from your past, trying to prove to yourself that you could handle whatever came your way, and hearing those words from Gojou, of all people, felt like a validation you hadn’t realized you needed.

“You’re not what I expected either,” you admitted, meeting his gaze. “You’re... different.”

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and rich in the cool evening air. “Good different, I hope.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. Good different.”

“You know, Gojou, you’re not as bad as I thought you would be.”

He arched an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shook your head, a faint smile playing at your lips. “I mean, I had this whole idea of you being a bit of a troublemaker. Turns out, you’re just a guy who knows how to unwind.”

Gojou chuckled, “And here I was thinking you’d have too much of a stick up your ass to appreciate a good smoke.”

“Guess I’m full of surprises,” you replied, your tone light.

“By the way, you can call me Satoru.”

"Satoru..." You tested his name on your tongue, “Well, Satoru, thanks for sharing your cigarette with me. It’s nice to have a moment like this, away from all the chaos.”

Satoru’s smile softened, his eyes meeting yours. “Anytime. And if you ever need a break or just someone to talk to, you know where to find me.”

As the last light faded from the sky, Satoru stood up and stretched. “It’s getting late,” he said, his voice a little softer now. “We should head inside.”

You nodded, though part of you wasn’t quite ready for the evening to end. The house, with its inviting atmosphere, felt like a refuge from the outside world, out here, in the open air, with the stars overhead and the smell of tobacco lingering.

Satoru extended a hand, his calloused fingers warm against yours. Together, you walked back toward the house, the evening’s cool breeze brushing against your skin.

Inside, the warmth of the house enveloped you, and the scent of wood and earth filled your senses. The memories of the day—Satoru teaching you how to ride a horse, the two of you sharing a cigarette and watching the sun setting over the ranch played through your mind.

Satoru paused at the foot of the stairs, turning to you with a soft smile. “Goodnight Y/N,” he said, his voice low.

“Goodnight,” you replied his gaze linger on you as you made your way upstairs.

You settled into bed with the comforting sounds of the ranch lulling you to sleep, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

And just before you drifted off, the image of Satoru—cigarette in hand and eyes full of mischief—lingered in your mind.

Maybe this was where you were meant to be.

series masterlist -> chapter 2

#series: cigarettes and whisky #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojou satoru #gojou satoru x y/n #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo #getou suguru #getou suguru x reader #geto suguru #geto x reader #jjk geto #suguru geto

76 notes · View notes

loomiskemp · 10 months

Text

Retired Avengers Bucky and Steve embrace a quieter life, running their own bookstore. When a sorrowful woman seeking solace from an abusive past enters their shop on a rainy fall day, their mystical cat, Alpine, takes an unexpected interest in her. Bucky, with his ability to read auras, senses her hidden pain. Determined to bring her joy, he persuades Steve to join him in uplifting her spirits, leading to the blossoming of a healing connection that transcends the pages of their own love story.

Rated Mature: sexual themes: double penetration (anal/vaginal) dirty talk/lactation kink) fingering, oral, tit fucking. Mentions of abusive ex/stalker

Rain falls from above. The heavy drops hit roughly against your yellow raincoat, the cold starts to seep in, the concrete wet underneath your black boots. You seek shelter but you can barely see what’s around you. Your mind swirls, it feels clouded with unsaid emotions. You feel lonely, sad, happy, angry– You feel everything all at once. It tires you, makes you not want to leave bed for days. The only moments you have relief is when you pinch the inside of your elbow, the pain providing moments of bliss before blood starts to gush from the sensitive skin.

A year. It’s been a year since you’ve gathered the strength to leave your abusive boyfriend. His name was James. He called you names, got drunk, hit you when he felt like it. You never had a say. He didn’t take the break up well, his obsession with you growing into something evil and sinister. You could always feel his eyes. Even now when the rain hides you, you feel him. You appealed for a restraining order but the court hearing was taking longer than you expected. He was always there, when you left the house, when you were in the supermarket. James didn’t say anything. He just stared, sending an unsettling feeling to the pits of your stomach. You started to go outside less and less, and when you looked out the window you could see him.

Surprisingly enough you weren’t there this morning when you peered down your window. Maybe he didn’t want to get wet, maybe he was bored and gave up. Whatever it was you were happy, you couldn’t run outside fast enough.

The rain continues to pour, looking up you allow the cold drops to hit your face. You giggle as they slide down your neck, going all the way down to your breasts and wetting your bra. The fog clears a bit, allowing you to be drawn away from your thoughts thanks to a faint orange light. It’s warm so you decide to walk towards it, a cozy looking bookshop comes into view, the books in the display are a bit dusty, but you think that it adds to the vibe of the small shop.

When you enter you hear the sound of a small bell right above you.

~~~

It wasn’t a hard decision to make when Bucky asked Steve if he wanted to open up a bookshop. Steve didn’t have it in him to keep the battle going and it sounded like the perfect retirement. Finding the book hadn’t been hard, they knew a bunch of people who were happy to donate and soon the bookstore was open for business. Steve and Bucky found themselves spending more time here than there home. They enjoyed the ambiance, the chocolatey smell of old books, the coziness of the dim lighting of their bookstore.

They were behind the counter when they heard the bell ring. Neither of them looked up, finding that most customers enjoyed being alone during their hunt for the perfect book that called out to them. Soft, wet steps echoed.

With a soft sigh, Steve pushes up his thick framed glasses up the bridge of his nose and hugs Bucky tighter. Sitting behind the counter, Bucky shifts further up Steve’s lap,

his pencil sketching thoughtfully onto the paper. Steve’s lips find the curve of Bucky’s cheek, his mouth moving gently as he watches what his partner was drawing. Right now it seems to be a drawing of the bookshelves that stands across from them.

“You’re running out of inspiration,” Steve mutters into Bucky’s skin. “Book are my inspiration,”

“I’m hurt,”

Steve smiles lazily, Bucky scoffs at his faux offense.

“And what would you prefer my inspiration to be?”

“Me, obviously,”

“You are my inspiration but I can’t exactly have you in the nude in the middle of out bookstore,”

“What do I always have to be in the nude for you to find inspiration?” Steve adds. “Don’t you think I look cute in my sweater?”

“You do. But what can I say, I enjoy studying your naked form,”

The two giggle, Steve nuzzling Bucky’s cheek as the other adds shading to one of the books. Bucky realizes quickly that their laughter attracts the curious look of their customer, you smile and look back to the book you’re holding. Bucky recognizes the book; Conversations with Friends by Sally Rooney. He decides to leave you alone and continues to focus on his sketch despite Steve's distracting words. This goes on for about five minutes, their white cat Alpine jumps on top of the counter, pulling them both away from their conversation.

She meows and jumps down, walking towards the customer. Their eyes follow Alpine, her tail curling playfully as she follows you further into the bookstore. The two exchange brief glances, both of them confused about their pet’s behavior. Bucky stands up and decides to go after the feline.

Bucky walks between the narrow bookcases, he sees you sitting with Alpine purring on your lap. You have a book open in front of you, open to your watchful gaze. Just as he’s about to walk closer he stops. You’re still unaware of his presence and he takes this opportunity to study you. Despite your smiling face, he sees your aura, broken and fearful. Bucky isn’t a fan of this ability of his, it feels invasive. Frowning, he walks up to you, pointing to Alpine.

“If she’s bothering you I can take her?”

For a moment you look up to him confused, then you look down to Alpine and smile, effectionaly petting the white cat’s head.

“No, not all. She seems to enjoy the picture of the animals on the pages,”

Raising an eyebrow, Bucky looks down to see what she’s reading. A soft, reminiscing, chuckle falls from his lips when he sees that it’s Winnie the Pooh.

“My mom used to read that to me and my sister all the time,” he explains. “It’s one of my favorites,”

“Yeah? I’m enjoying it so far. It's the perfect children’s book isn’t it? It’s a bit foolish but reading stuff like this always leaves me feeling happy,”

“That’s not silly at all,” he answers, his smile soft as he thoughtfully observes her aura. “I re-read it whenever I can. It makes me happy too,”

“Glad that I’m not alone,”

Alpine purrs and stretches across your lap, you giggle, your fingers finding that special spot right below her chin.

“I guess I’ll leave you to it, sorry for bothering you,”

“Please, you didn’t bother me at all,”

He nods and heads back to where Steve is. Steve lifts a brow at him, his eyes silently asking what happened. Bucky isn’t sure how to answer him, he’s felt something, and

After leaving you he felt emotional. Steve reaches out and holds his hand, gently squeezing. When he looks back at his partner, Bucky sees that Steve might already know what’s on his mind, even before he does.

“She’s soaked from the rain,” Bucky says.

Steve answers with a smile.

“Then let’s dry her up.”

~~~

You found it odd at first, the way the two book owners circled around you like affectionate hawks. You learned that the first man who approached you was Bucky, and the other man, with glasses with a few grays scattered in his hair, was Steve. For some reason they were acting rather affectionately towards you. Steve sat next to you and petted Alpine’s head while Bucky brought you all some tea. He also sat down soon after. Despite their older age, you noted that they were quite handsome.

Heat licks the bottom of your spine when Steve’s fingers accidentally touch your thigh while petting Alpine, the cat purrs happily.

“So anything specific you’re looking for?” Steve asks.

You name a couple of books, some of your favorite authors for reference, they briefly exchange glances, which prompts you to raise an eyebrow.

“Something wrong?”

“No no,” Bucky chuckles, playfully raising both hands in mock surrender. “We’re just surprised, not many people know of those titles and names. We have the same tastes in books as you it seems,”

“We can show you similar books to those you just listed,” Steve offers, placing his mug back on the coffee table. The sound of soothing rain fills the bookstore. “If you want to,”

“Sure that sounds delightful,” before you pick up Alpine, the white cat jumps and disappears between the bookshelves, you giggle. “I guess she wants to join us too,”

The three of you get up, following the wise cat. Bucky’s knuckles brush against yours and your breath stutters.

“Usually she’s not so fond of customers,” he says, his voice low. Steve’s presence is strong and tall, walking right in front of you two. “You must be special,”

You snort, it’s an unattractive sound so you quickly cover your mouth. “I doubt I’m anything special,” you say from beneath your hand. “In fact I think I might be bad luck,”

“We don’t believe in bad luck,” Steve chimes in, his voice melodic. The air is stifling, it’s darker around you now, the light not reaching this far back. Deep down you want to reach out and touch Steve’s back, feel the warmth of his body to find comfort in it. “But even if we did believe in it, we would never call such a pretty thing like yourself as bad luck,”

A shuddered breath escapes your lips, prompting Bucky to hold your hand. Surprised, you turn to him and he only smiles, squeezing gently.

“You don’t need to be afraid, this part is always dark but the most amazing books are hidden here like gems in a cave,”

Finally Alpine comes into view, she’s standing at the end of a dark brown bookshelf. The three of you walk towards it, Steve’s finger immediately finding what he was looking for. He shows you the book, explaining briefly what it's about and hands it to you. Then Bucky brings you his favorite book, it’s the first of a series. They keep piling book after book onto your arms, the weight gradually getting heavier and heavier. The dust makes you sneeze, and Alpine keeps on walking between Steve and Bucky’s legs. She stands at the end of your feet and meows at you, you’re not sure what the adorable feline is trying to say. You wish you could understand her.

“I think that’s all for now,” Bucky says, almost triumphantly, with his hands on his hips.

Steve looks at you amused, both his eyebrows raised, “You need help with those, sweetheart?”

“Uhh…maybe?”

Bucky mumbles an oh shit as he walks to you with long strides and scoops the pile off of your hands. You feel much lighter. The three of you walk back to the front of the shop with Alpine following. She jumps on top of the counter as Steve carefully places the books into a tote bag. Bucky stands right next to you, your shoulders brushing against one another. You feel warm and fuzzy, a smile tugs at your lips.

“What do I owe you?” you ask, pulling out your wallet.

“Don’t be silly,” Bucky clicks his tongue, pacing a hand on top of your wallet and making you lower it back down. “We’re lending you these. We want you to read them,”

“Well, if the young lady wants to pay…”

Bucky warns, “Steve…”

“Maybe perhaps she can let us take her out for dinner,”

You blink hazily at that, slightly dazed, slightly confused. Bucky smiles from ear to ear, nodding eagerly.

“A date?” you ask, mouth feeling like it belongs to a stranger. “With both of you?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers, his blue eyes moving across your body. “Unless that’s a problem?”

“Nope not at all,” you grin, taking the tote bag. The rain had stopped. “How about at seven?”

“It’s a date,” Bucky says, waving you off.

You feel happy for the first time in months, sadly, when you arrive home you feel the familiar hateful silhouette of James. Fear replacing the positive emotion, you quickly move inside your apartment and hug the books that had been given to you.

Tears wet your cheeks.

~~~

You still don’t know how you ended up with two dazzling men in your bedroom. Well, you did know how but it still was surprising. Your bedroom, you still can’t believe it. The connection between the three of you had been instant, and after both of them taking you out for dinner, well, you couldn’t help but invite them to your place. Deep down you hoped that if James was out there, stalking you as always, he sees you with both of them. You want him to know that you’ve moved on, and in the best way possible.

The two were quick to strip you and lay you upon the bed. Bucky took his place between your quivering thighs, burying his tongue deep in your cunt while Steve occupied himself by kissing you silly. He sucked your tongue into his mouth, teeth gently nibbling on your flesh as he licked the inside of your mouth. Everything was happening so fast. Pleasure rushing up and down your body. Bucky groans as he tastes you, the curve of his nose moving along your clit, making you slicker than you can ever remember. Steve moves away from your lips momentarily, his cock in his fist as he looks down to Bucky. You can briefly see the fire in his eyes.

“Make her nice and wet for us,” he groans, capturing the bead of leaking precum with the swipe of his fingers. “She is going to need it all if she is going to take us both, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Bucky hums as a response, fingers suddenly making their way through your folds and sliding inside of you. Steve chuckles when your lips part with a gasp, his gaze falls back to you, thumb pulling down your bottom lip as his smile shifts into something darker. Your pulse quickens at the look. He comes closer to you, stroking himself languidly, he lays the tip of his cock between your lips.

“Care for a taste?”

Your tongue swipes at the slit, his salty taste coating your tongue, your eyes flutter closed, back arching and pushing more of yourself into Bucky’s sinful mouth. You nod, a moan rattling your throat.

“Good girl,” he rasps, pushing his cock between your wet lips. “You need to get me wet too if you are going to take it all,”

Fuck. The thought of them both filling you up made you gush around Bucky’s fingers. He chuckles, scissoring his fingers, he draws your aching clit into his mouth and sucks hard. The feeling is like electricity, surging through you and making you immobile. His tongue swirls around the sensitive nub and before you can relish more into the feeling, his tongue leaves you, forcing a whine out of your chest. Steve’s fingers squeeze your chin, the sting of it urging you to look up at him.

“Don’t forget about me,”

Your eyes go wide as he pushes the rest of himself into your throat. The head touches the back of your throat, you want to gag, your nostrils flare and your throat tightens around him. Steve’s head falls back, the veins curling around his neck popping. His jaw tense and in that moment he looks so powerful, so strong, your head spins, pussy clenching tight around Bucky’s thick fingers.

“I think she likes the taste of you,” he mutters, head dipping lower between your legs. “And I can’t really blame her, however, she tastes even better,”

“I bet she does,” Steve murmurs, he slowly rolls his hips, balls laying heavy on your chin. But, his eyes are glued to Bucky. “Give me a taste,”

Your eyes roll back, goosebumps bursting across your skin. The amount of filth these two men possess will be the death of you. Bucky grins into your skin, teeth grazing against your inner thigh, you clench around him, a shudder clawing up your spine.

“She liked that too,” he drawls. Bucky curls his fingers on more time before pulling out and offering your taste to Steve, who in return licks eagerly around the other man’s fingers. He closes his eyes, moaning at the taste, then his eyes flicker down to you. “Delicious.”

You want to say ‘oh god’ but end up moaning around his cock instead. Bucky grins, gripping the other’s chin, he yanks his head towards him and captures his lips in a heated kiss. Steve’s eyes flutters closed, licking into Bucky’s mouth, he chases the taste of you. His cock throbs on your tongue, precum leaking from the tip. You swallow eagerly, in return he parts from Bucky with a groan, mouthing the underside of the other man’s chin as he pushes him back between your quivering thighs.

“Don’t stop,” he commands Bucky, but his eyes are locked on you. “I want to fuck her as soon as possible,”

Before Bucky goes back down, a brief worry clouds over his face, his gaze meets yours. “You have lube, sweet thing?”

Steve stops and you look up at him confused, blinking heavily as your mind clears up for a brief moment. When realization hits, Steve pulls out, however, he lays his cock on top of your lips; it feels heavy, wet and warm.

“I do,” you speak, voice hoarse as your lips graze against his cock. “It’s in my drawer,”

You think you raise your hand to point, but instead your arm still lays on the bed, only your finger gesturing towards the forgotten bag. Bucky follows, and after a second, he’s right back between your legs, mouth ghosting over your core and tongue swirling around your other hole.

You yelp at the feeling, involuntarily pulling away. Bucky’s strong arms snakes around your thighs, nails digging into your flesh, his tongue moves back to your clit and gives it a tentative lick.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, voice stern. Meanwhile Steve begins to stroke himself while observing you, the slick sounds echoing in your ears. You feel so bare before them, and it isn’t just because you’re naked. These two truly see you for who you are.

You shake your head, “No, I want to continue…just– I never–”

“It is alright, baby girl,” Steve says, hovering above you. His thumb plays with your lip. “You tell us when you want to stop and we will. Understood?”

When you are in the midst of nodding, he clicks his tongue with annoyance. “Words,”

“I understand,”

This time when Bucky licks you, you don’t flinch away. Instead you let out a wanton moan, hands cupping your own tits as he spreads your legs wider. You peer down, seeing the way he crowns between your legs. Noticing your gaze, he purses his lips and spits. Making a show of it. You let out a soft hiss, head falling back, you look up to Steve. A whine parts his own lips, his strokes becoming faster, harder as he watches Bucky. You had your suspicions that something more was going on between these two, but now you were certain of it, which in return makes you feel blessed that they are allowing you to be a part of it.

Bucky, completely unaware of you both ogling him, pushes his tongue into the tight muscle. You melt at the feeling, thumb swirling around your pebbled nipples. Soon, his fingers replace his tongue, you’re tighter down there. He groans at the way you clench around him, and while he pumps his fingers in and out of you, his mouth returns to your dripping cunt, cleaning the remains with his tongue.

“Fuck,” Steve gasps, “You look good down there, baby boy,”

Bucky moans into you, the vibrations sensing tingles up your body. With a moment of desperation, you grab Steve’s wrist, stilling his movements. He looks down at you, worried, but that emotion soon fades when he sees the lust swirling in your eyes.

“Want you,” you choke out. “Want you both, now– Please–”

You sound so desperate, so needy, but you’re too far gone to actually give a crap. Steve and Bucky exchange glances. You feel them having a wordless conversation, something only the closest of people can do.

You hate the way jealousy flares in your gut.

Steve lays down, pulling you on top of him, your chests flush against one another as Bucky gets behind you. His heavy cock rests between your cheeks, he ruts against you like an animal in heat, rubbing the precum into your already sweaty skin. Steve nibbles your chin, smiling.

“You ready for us, beautiful?”

“Yes,” you breathe out and whimper when you feel Bucky’s nails raking across your back. They’re teasing you.

“You sure you can take us both darling? We aren’t exactly…small, if you know what I mean,”

You’re on the verge of tears, your cunt throbbing painfully. Your heart sinks into your chest.

“Please– Please give me your cocks,” you beg, figuring this is what they want. “I need you both to fuck me or else I’m going to go insane,”

“Shit,” Steve gasps, cock nudging your entrance. “Such a filthy mouth for such a pretty thing,”

“She’s something, indeed,” Bucky continues, he lays a soft kiss between your shoulder blades. “Since you asked so kindly, we might as well give you what you want. Or we wouldn’t really be gentlemen now, would we?”

You want to say that nothing they’re currently doing would be considered “gentlemanly” but you swallow your pride and bury your face into the crook of Steve’s neck, inhaling his musky scent.

“Please,” you say again, whispering into his skin.

His fingers painfully digs into your hips, you imagine that he probably meant for this gesture to be soothing, but instead it screams nothing other than the need to possess you, which you’re happy for him to do.

It starts off slow. Steve slides into you easily, and it sounds like the air is being knocked out of his lungs.

“So wet for us,” he murmurs, peeling you out of his neck and pressing his lips against yours. He continues to speak between breaths. “How are you this wet already? Did his tongue feel that good, baby?”

“It did,”

Bucky growls at that, his own cock throbbing painfully as pours a generous amount of lube both on you and himself. He begins to fill you inch by inch. You can feel every curve, every vein of his cock. Parting away from Steve, you nuzzle the side of his face, sucking in a deep breath while Bucky goes in deeper and deeper.

When he has fully buried himself into you, his pelvis flushed against the curve of your ass, Steve’s eyes roll back, cock twitching deep inside your cunt. The three of you pant heavily, you feel so full, so satisfied. You can stay like this forever and have no idea how you’ll part from the two men later on.

“Can you feel me?” Bucky asks Steve, slightly pulling back his hips and pushing forward again. “She’s so tight,”

“I can,” Steve hisses, his chest trembling.

“Are you alright, little one? Does it hurt?”

“A-A bit but I’m okay,” you lick the salt off of his neck. “You guys can move now,”

For a moment you swear that you’re burning from the inside out. You have no idea how they manage it, but the way they thrust is like a tortuous dance. You’re brought to the edge on multiple occasions, and pulled away from it again and again. The two men play with each other through you, both of them a slave for another and you’re in the middle of it all, being pulled to one edge from another. Bucky’s movements are calculated, his pacing slow, yet hard. With each grind of his hips, he makes sure that both you and Steve feel his fat cock piercing through you. Meanwhile Steve is more feral, much like an animal, he fucks into you nice and hard, not really caring anything other then yours and Bucky’s pleasure. It’s freeing. You know no matter how they play with you, you’re going to be taken care of.

Bucky’s lips trail down your back, squeezing your ass while Steve pushes you up and devours your tits. He draws a stiff nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling and teeth nipping at the sensitive nip. You scream out both of their names, your eyes squeezed shut as they use you. Your world is spinning, the pleasure mind-numbing and putting pressure on your neck.

“Where do you want us to cum, baby?”

Bucky groans, cock throbbing. “I-Inside–” you say without thinking. “Please– I wanna feel you both,”

Steve’s hand sneaks in between your sweaty, writhing bodies. His fingers rub at your clit, his thrusts becoming even more uncoordinated and desperate from before.

“You first,” he chokes out. “Cum for us,”

You have no idea when you became so eager to comply with his commands, but you do. You bite into his shoulder, a bright white light flashing behind your eyelids as you gush around them. Bucky stops completely while Steve continues to rams his hips up into yours. The man behind you makes an almost painful sound.

“Steve,” this is the first time you’ve heard Bucky whimpering out his name. “I need to cum, I want to cum– she’s squeezing me so tight– Fuck, tell me,”

Before you can understand what’s happening, Steve pushes both himself and you up from the bed. He crashes his lips into Bucky’s, the other moans into his mouth, between kisses you hear Steve muttering out a “cum” but you’re not sure. Hips staggering and stuttering as he spills into you. You feel it. Your head falls back onto Bucky’s shoulder, a moan ripping from your throat as the sensation of his cum pushes you into the brink of another orgasm.

Steve’s eyes roll back at the way you squeeze him, his balls and stomach tight from holding himself back. He can feel Bucky spilling into you. The way you squeeze around him is intoxicating, you moan his name, begging him for more. He’s not one to deny his lovers.

It takes him two more thrusts– After that he’s cumming in thick ropes. Filling your pretty pussy up as you cum a second time. He hears Bucky muttering a string of curse words, his cock still buried deep in your ass. As he pulls out, cum dribbles out from the corners of his softening cock. It takes him everything not to flip you back down onto the mattress and clean you up with his tongue, but he knows by the way you look at him that you might be dancing too close to the edge. Bucky follows suit, slowly pulling out and gently slapping your ass before heading to the bathroom.

“Fuck, Steve,” you say, voice laced with sleep as you both fall back down to the mattress. “That was amazing, I–”

“Shhh,” he says, rubbing your nape. “Don’t think about anything now, Bucky’s gonna clean you up now, then we can sleep,”

You nod, eyes fluttering closed.

“And we can talk in the morning,” Steve continues, smiling up to Bucky when he sees him returning with towels. Bucky smiles back, as he gets back on the bed. “You sleep now, sweetheart,”

“Okay,” you murmur.

If this is a dream, you don’t ever want to wake up from it.

~~~

It’s been a month since the three of you had found each other. You’re stacking books while your gaze peers outside, it’s a foggy day with not many people outside, except for the familiar shadow of your stalker. Placing the book down, you don’t realize your fingers are in the middle of two books, when you slam it down it hurts and you bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood.

“Hey, are you alright? What’s happening?”

It’s Bucky, it’s always him. He’d told you about his odd ability to read aura’s, you were becoming quite good in hiding your emotions even from him but it seemed like today wasn’t the day. Bucky reaches where you are, softly picking up your hand, he brings your fingers to his lips and kisses them.

“Sorry just got distracted,”

Steve follows, he looks outside, which makes you sweat.

“Who is it?” Bucky asks.

“No sure,” Steve mutters, sliding his glasses up, his gaze flickering to meet yours. “You’re not telling us something. I noticed it you know, how you nervously look around whenever we’re out, or when we’re at your apartment, or even here,”

Bucky protectively pulls you closer to him, his eyebrows are raised with surprise. Apparently Steve had kept that observation to himself.

“Is that true?” Bucky breathes. “Is there someone following you?”

“It’s nothing serious,” you try to ease them both, but by the way they’re looking at you, you know it would be impossible to distract them. You sigh, nostrils flaring. “It’s my ex…James. He hasn’t left me alone since we broke up,”

“Have you told the cops?” Steve steps between you and the display glass.

“I have, there’s a court hearing in place, I asked for a restraining order. It’s likely that I’ll get it but it seems to be taking longer than I initially anticipated,”

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” you feel Bucky’s lips tracing the column of your neck, you press into him.

“I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t want to mess this up,”

“You could never mess this up and you should better to hide such a big thing away from us,”

The next thing you feel is Steve’s lips pressing against yours; It’s rough, possessive, angry. A feeling you’ve never felt from him before. Bucky’s a rock behind you, his own hands traveling across your body, squeezing and pinching every patch of skin. Steve licks the inside of your mouth and you let out a moan. Your body burns for them. The fog is thick outside, no one to enter the cozy shop, the two men pull you towards the back, where there’s a small rug and lay you down.

When Steve’s inside you it’s a beautiful feeling. It’s warm, safe and pleasurable. He fucks himself into you with long, languid thrusts while Bucky devours the rest of your body with his mouth. You feel his tongue on your breasts, neck, mouth, even ears. He takes the opportunity to play with you as Steve takes out his frustration of not knowing the dire situation you were in. He’s angry at himself. It’s not enough that he makes you come once, he needs to feel your cunt pulsing around him again and again. Bucky helps, his fingers moving around your clit with expertise. Slick runs down your thighs and soaks the carpet. The scent of books mixes with the musk of your many orgasms.

Steve comes soon after, his seed warm deep inside you. Pulling out, he replaces his cock with tongue. He pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you, you feel yourself crying, throat hoarse from crying out both of their names. Bucky licks the tear streaks, and moves to push Steve away. The flames of feeling powerless still raking across his skin, Steve comes up to kiss you. His lips are tender, tasting of you and himself.

Bucky, hard and aching, doesn’t say a word as he cleans the both of you up. The three of you hold each other, it’s impossible to understand which limb belongs to who.

You’ve never felt emotion like this before. In that moment you understand that you belong to them.

And they belong to you.

~~~

“Fuck, what happened to you two?”

It’s late. It’s so late that Bucky shouldn’t even be up. Especially since he has to open up the shop first thing in the morning, but of course sleep eludes him entirely and he ends up scrolling through a magazine about greek sculpture “the archaic period”. He has no idea when he got it. He probably brought it in from the bookstore for further inspection. Supposedly you and Steve were supposed to be back hours ago, only leaving for a brief grocery shopping. Sleep slowly comes crawling back at about the fifth page of his magazine, that is until the apartment door busts open. He jumps, then relaxes when he sees that it’s only you and Steve– But panic comes rushing back with full force when he notices your heavy breathing and Steve’s blood soaked white button-up shirt, his glasses fogged up with the heat inside.

Bucky throws the magazine onto the coffee table, making a straight line to you and Steve. Before he can wrap an arm around you to help you up, he’s stopped by you raising a hand. He raises an eyebrow to that, eyes flickering to Steve who looks exhausted.

“It’s nothing serious,” Steve says, his lips slightly curling up which makes Bucky believe him. “We just ran into her ex and I had a little…chat with him,”

“Ran into her ex? Wait, you mean James?” Bucky shakes his head, eyes scrunching close while he tries to understand. “Can one of you speak clearly, what happened?”

“He was stalking me as always…” you swallow, clearly still shaken up from the experience. “I wanted to leave but Steve…He got angry,”

You voice out finally, Bucky notes the way you sound defeated. Worry coils around him, squeezing him tight and emptying his lungs of air. He ushers them both to the couch, still not touching you since it seemed like you didn’t want that. From your aura he has a mild understanding of what you’re feeling, you seem scared, worried, but also happy. Bucky disappears into the kitchen figuring that both of you needed water.

When he comes back with two fresh glasses of H2O, your head is pressed snugly on top of Steve’s shoulder. Skin glistening with a sheer coat of sweat. The way you’re still breathing heavily worries him. Your brows knit together, you almost look like you’re in pain. Steve’s staring at the coffee table, his lips moving slightly as he reads the title of the magazine, then he hears Bucky making his way towards them and his eyes flicker to meet his.

“How’s the magazine?”

“I don’t think that’s where your focus should be,” he grumbles sitting next to you. Bucky places one glass in front of Steve and presses the rim of the other to your lips. You shiver and shake your head. “Come on, you need to drink something– What happened to her?”

The question is directed at Steve.

“We got into a fight. I think she was expecting me to get hurt because I’m old and gray,” he chuckles, slightly shaking you. “But I proved her wrong, didn’t I honey?”

“Yeah,” you finally crack a smile. “I guess James won’t be following me for a while. Finally…”

Bucky can’t help but still feel worried. He’s glad that Steve thought that moron a lesson, but still, he could’ve gotten hurt. His gaze drops to Steve’s lap, who infuriatingly notices his sudden emotional withdrawal. Steve swiftly leans over and touches Bucky’s chin lightly with his knuckles, pulling his gaze up.

“I’m okay, don’t worry. You know it takes a lot more to knock me out,”

Bucky feels his cheeks heating up, a dust of pink coloring his skin. Your hand finds its way to his thigh, squeezing gently.

“I’m sorry, It’s all my fault,” you whisper.

Suddenly your chest heaves, Bucky can’t help but watch the movement like a hawk. Your shirt is dirty, the hem of it ripped and tattered, but he also notices two small wet patches right above where your nipples are supposed to be. His eyebrows raise, disappearing under his curls. Steve’s thumb moves across Bucky’s jawline, drawing his attention back to him.

“Is she lactating?” Bucky asks and Steve follows his gaze, seeing the wet patches for the first time. “How’s that even possible?”

“What?” you look down your shirt, cheeks warm as you see that he was right. “I’m not pregnant, I don’t think at least, maybe it’s because of the meds I’m taking?”

Bucky blinks before answering, he’s deadpanned, mouth dry as a desert.

“Medicine can do that?”

Steve blinks, “Should we take her to the hospital?”

“No, no it’s probably fine.” you shake your head. “Let’s just rest for a bit,”

Bucky’s lips round up into an okay. His eyes flicker back to the stains, they’re bigger now. It feels like puzzle pieces coming together as he realizes what those wet spots are. He hears the blood rush in his ears, cock twitching with interest. For a brief moment he feels guilt for being turned by something so odd. You huff out an embarrassed sigh, looking at Steve before turning your gaze back to Bucky, your eyes softening immediately.

“Don’t worry I’m fine. It’s just– It kinda…hurts,” your teeth gnaw your bottom lip raw, it takes him everything not to lean and give it a soothing lick. “It’s like the week before my period. My nipples get all stiff and sore, but this is like… ten times worse,”

“Maybe we should…massage them?” Steve offers, that usually did help during your pms. “But it’s up to you, baby,”

Seeing how flustered you are, Bucky reaches out, thumbing your bottom lip away from your sharp teeth and lovingly stroking the soft muscle. Your eyelids flutter for him beautifully, a blissful sigh escaping your lips.

“W-We should,” you inhale a shaky breath, Bucky smiles. “Sucking m-might help and well, massaging,”

“Alright then,” Steve mutters. He leans into your personal space, lips tracing the column of your neck as he continues to speak. “We should do what makes you feel best,”

Bucky’s ashamed of how quickly he becomes hard. Uncomfortable, he shifts in his seat. He’s wearing sweatpants, so there isn’t much he can do to hide it. Mind racing, he covers his mouth with his hand, scratching his cheek, an unconscious thing he did just because. Steve’s eyes sparkle at his reaction, his blue eyes a shade darker when his gaze rakes across Bucky’s broad frame, seeing the bulge hiding underneath the thin layer of fabric.

“We don’t have to do it,” you say, oblivious to Bucky’s situation. “I don’t want to cause you guys any trouble,”

“You’re not causing trouble, on the contrary, we would love to help,”

Bucky closes his eyes. He feels strained by the purr of Steve’s voice, his neck clenching and unclenching as he tries to not focus on your leaking nipples. Without thinking he licks the inside of his palm, imagining it was your sweet tasting milk instead– He still can’t believe it.

He’s rudely brought back from his day dreaming when Steve cups Bucky’s aching erection, gently squeezing his cock from above his sweatpants. Bucky makes a choked out sound, hand falling as his eyes flutter open.

“Let’s help our little lady out,” Steve smiles.

“Let’s,”

“Guys, please…”

The desperation in your voice causes both men to turn to you, both of them looking at you worried. Your head falls back and you lift your shirt up with trembling hands.

Bucky’s mouth waters at the sight; your breasts are swollen, nipples erect and leaking. He knows that your breasts tend to get bigger about a week before your period but never this much. Your lips part with a groan, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. You’re looking down at your nips, something between pain and arousal written across your face.

“Just do it– Please,”

It takes only a second. A second for them to pick up their jaws from the floor and attach themselves to your aching nips. Bucky feels Steve’s cheekbones against his cheek while darting his tongue out to draw a nipple into his mouth. A moan mixed with a sigh leaves your lips. His nose is completely buried into the soft flesh, sucking with fervor. Bucky’s eyes flutter closed, a groan trembling within his chest as the sweet milk coats his tongue. The taste tingles his taste buds awake. It tastes like cantaloupe juice. His cock painfully hard in the confinements of his sweats. He feels your fingers scratching against his scalp, tugging him closer. Without even thinking he thrusts his hips, a spike of pleasure ringing up his spine with the almost to-non friction.

“Fuck–” Steve’s voice comes from right next to Bucky’s ear. He sounds very similar to when Bucky fucks into him, a slurp follows. “You taste so good?”

“Really?” you breathe out.

Bucky looks up with his lips still wrapped around your pebbled nipple, he gives it a hard suck, purposefully moaning loud around the flesh. He notices the way your back curves, pushing more of yourself into their mouths. You close your eyes, chest heaving as the two of them sucks on your tits.

“Yes, baby– Tastes amazing,” Bucky slurs. “Does it feel better?”

You nod shakily, nails scratching both his and Steve’s scalp. “More,” you choke out. “Squeeze them,”

Bucky’s eyes flicker to Steve. The other man pulls his mouth back, lips parting from you momentarily and Bucky sees your nipple glistening with spit. Steve massages your breast, beads of milk show up at the tip, leaking down the curve of the plump flesh. Bucky feels something feral awakening inside of him as Steve leans and catches the drop with the tip of his pink tongue, licking a stripe up to your nipple, he sucks again.

Eyes nearly rolling back, Bucky cups himself from over the fabric. He’s pretty sure if he looks down he’ll see a wet patch of his own. He rounds his mouth, licking your nipple back between his lips. His hand comes around the roundness of your tit and starts to massage it as well, his heart hammering in his chest as more milk squirts into his mouth.

Your whimpers and moans and pleas are driving him mad. He can’t help the way his hand sneaks under the waistband of his sweatpants, can’t help it when he begins to fist himself, sucking you harder and pressing the flat of his tongue against your leaking nipple.

He’s minutes to making a mess in his sweat before Steve stops him, curling his thick fingers around his wrist.

Bucky whines, hips stuttering forward, he doesn’t stop licking you, the taste of you soothing his nerves. You tug on his soft curls, another whine escapes his throat but he obliges, letting go of your swollen nip and looking up to you with a shameful gaze.

“Sorry,” he rasps. “Didn’t mean to get carried away,”

His heart flutters when you smile down at him, you seem better now, your breathing even and tits looking smaller.

“You misunderstand, baby boy,” Steve’s soft voice urges him to look at him instead, confusion written in his eyes. “I just thought of something even better,”

You cut in before he can finish.

“Bucky,” you say softly, his gaze snapping up to meet yours. For a moment he forgot all about his fingers wrapped around his cock. “Would you like to fuck my tits?”

“God– Yes baby girl, I would fucking love that,”

Normally, being the voice of reason, Bucky would urge everyone to head to the bedroom where there’s a perfectly comfortable bed to lay in– but not now, not today. All clothing is cast aside. All his reason is swallowed deep down by his lust. He straddles your chest as Steve acts as a pillow underneath your head, which sprinkles Bucky with a bit of relief. At least you won’t be entirely uncomfortable. He swallows thick as his pulsing cock rests between your swollen breasts, you’re still leaking, wet streaks glistening all the way to your lower abdomen. Steve slowly curls his fingers around your throat, slightly tilting your head up so you would face him. Bucky wets his lips when you part your lips, tongue out, Steve leans in to kiss you. A drop of precum heavily falls to your chest, his cock twitching.

You moan into the kiss, eyes dropping to meet Bucky’s. Steve’s fingers dance across the frame of your jaw, hooking his thumb into the side of your mouth.

“What are you waiting for?” Steve smiles, despite what his tone might suggest, he’s smiling. “Don’t keep her waiting, Buck,”

“Yeah yeah–” As if waking up from a trance Bucky blinks. “This…won’t hurt will it?”

“No Bucky– Please–”

He can’t deny you for long.

Bucky pushes your tits together, the width of his cock disappearing between the pillowy mounds. He experimentally thrusts forward– The pleasure he feels is sudden, like needles sticking into his skin and awakening him. He hisses between clenched teeth, he’s somewhat aware that Steve’s fucking your mouth with his fingers, eliciting sweet muffled groans from you but he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from your bosom. He pushes his thumbs into your nipples, more fluid bursting from the sensitive nubs as he rolls his hips a second time, then a third, then a forth–

He knows he’s not going to last. His balls are already tight, the tip of his cock crowning between your tits and touching your chin, a string of precum stretching each time he pulls back his hips. Whining, you pull away from Steve’s fingers and tilt your head down. He feels light headed as you poke out your tongue, sucking on the tip of his cock every time he slams his hips forward.

“You two look so good,” Steve groans, reaching out and squeezing your tits. “Fuck– you ‘bout to cum Bucky?”

“Y-Yeah,” his chest heaves, hips stuttering. “Wanna cum all over her perfect tits–”

You moan when the head of his cock touches your tongue, eyes rolling back. A smug smirk stretching cat-like across his face, Bucky speeds up. His cock is throbbing constantly now, the pressure of sliding between your breasts starting to get the better of it. However, he doesn’t expect Steve to reach forward, pushing his hand between your bodies and cupping his balls. He rolls them between his fingers, grinning as Bucky’s lips part wide with a wanton moan. Beads of sweat slid down his tail bone, his breath choked out. His balls tighten within Steve’s grip and thick ropes of cum shoots from the tip, making a mess of your chest and face. Bucky’s head falls back, whimpering and moaning while continuing to rock his hips. It doesn’t stop. He feels like a teenager at the way he cums endlessly, cock twitching and throbbing.

When he’s finally done he looks down at you, chest rattling with hitched breaths. You look completely dazed, moaning around Steve’s fingers once again as he feeds you his cum. Bucky nearly gets hard again, his gut swirling with arousal. He leans down, cupping both your breasts and kneading them as he presses his lips against yours. His tongue swirls around Steve’s fingers, licks the inside of your mouth, groaning into it when he tastes himself. Bucky breaks the kiss when he feels the wetness growing between his palms, sliding down your body he closes his lips around your nipple again, drinking as if he hasn’t had water for five thousand years. His cock slowly hardening again with your moans gradually becoming louder.

Steve sighs, fingers pushing back Bukcy’s hair, “We should probably talk about what might have caused this tomorrow morning,”

The morning you’re feeling a bit off, your PMS in full force as you stir uncomfortably on top of the bed. Steve pulls you close, the warmth of his hands right above your stomach, stroking lovingly.

“Good morning,” he slurs. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” you groan, Bucky kisses your clavicle and you shudder. “I think I’m going to get my period soon,”

“Care package time,” Bucky says, lips moving against your skin.

“It’s your turn Buck,”

“I know, I know,” he yawns, stretching before getting out of bed. “See you guys in a bit,”

It doesn’t take Steve long for him to start touching you after Bucky leaves, the door closing with a gentle thud. His hands travel down your warm body. Steve hums as he swirls his fingers around your clit before dipping inside you, feeling the last of his release from last night still coating you.

“Still wet,” he murmurs, crooking his finger forward, dragging a sigh from you. You can already feel a familiar tug pulling in your core, his touch firm as he slips a second finger in, scissoring you open with care. His lips find your cheek, a messy kiss pressed to it, barely a distraction from the rhythmic movement of his fingers.

“Steve,” you mewl, trying and failing to keep your voice below a whisper.

Patient as always, he shushes you sweetly, his other arm shifting beneath you until his large hand is cupping your jaw, tilting your face back and allowing him to kiss you fully on the lips. It’s the perfection distraction, the whine you release when his fingers pull out of you stolen by the heavy sweep of his tongue in your mouth.

The taste of stale morning breath has never been better as you continue to kiss, a lazy press of lips and tongues, low groans traded back and forth as Steve pulls your top leg back and over his hip, giving him room to slip his hard length inside you. It’s not a perfect fit from this angle, but it’s enough to have you arching into him, arousal dripping out and around his thick cock.

His movements are small, barely there thrusts of his hips that still send stars bursting behind your eyelids. It’s more than slow, legs tangled and hands grasping, sheets kicked away, allowing the sunlight to find your bare skin.

Normally, he takes his time with you, ensuring you feel every snap of his hips, each dig of his fingers, pounding into you with a ferocious stamina. He tugs and twists and wrings every ounce of pleasure from you, until the only word left inside your heart is his name. He lets his mouth run away from him, drunk off the feeling of fucking you, every dirty thought he’s ever had groaned into your ear.

But in the morning, he moves gingerly, the sunrise tempering his thrusts and stealing his voice. He pulls you close, and moves inside you, a gentle grind of his hips that fan the flames of your pleasure, but somehow keeping you on the very edge of languid.

You move together softly, little gasps and hushed moans breathed into each other as you cling helplessly to the moment. The end is looming close, both of you still feeling the effects of last night tingling at the edge of your arousal. And before you know it, your release is blooming, liquid heat seeping down your spine and pulling your muscles taut. Steve isn’t far behind, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, his cock twitching inside you as he fills you up with his cum.

You do not, cannot move, your heart ragged and stuttering inside your chest. Steve eases you through it, hands tracing the curves of your breasts, lips soothing at the mark his teeth surely left behind. It’s minutes later when he finally speaks, voice still low, though not with sleep.

“I leave you alone for two second–”

Bucky might sound like he's scolding you two but he’s smiling. Steve affectionately kisses the back of your shoulder, his cock softening inside of you. His fingers draw slow circles around your stomach.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Bucky sits back down on the bed, but instead of handing you your usual period care package, he hands you a pregnancy test.

“Just a feeling,” he mumbles softly.

You smile and take it, knowing that whatever happens, they have you. Now and forever.

#chris evans x reader #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes x you #steve rogers x reader #stucky x reader

293 notes · View notes

cyberneticfallout · 5 months

Text

Chapter Three: The Gulper

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9 - Ch 10 - More Coming Soon

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader Summary: As you continue your journey, you encounter the vault dweller and chaos ensues. Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, eventual smut, language, canon-typical violence, more tags will be added Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul Word Count: 1.8k

Emerging from your slumber, a thin layer of mist clings to your skin, casting a damp chill upon the early morning air. Your back protests from the uncomfortable night's rest on the flat, hard ground, but you shake off the discomfort with a determined grimace. After all, you've endured far worse over the years through the wasteland.

Shaking off the grogginess, you cast a quick glance around the campsite. The ghoul remains peacefully asleep, barely distinguishable in the dim light of the approaching dawn. With the sky gradually brightening, you determine that it's time to start your preparations for the day.

You rise from your makeshift bedroll, stretching your tired muscles and seeking relief from the stiffness that plagues your body. The calmness of the early morning wraps around you, broken only by distant echoes of the wasteland stirring to life.

As you collect your belongings, a soft chittering echoes in the air, instantly grabbing the dog's attention as her ears perk up. The dim light of dawn shrouds the surroundings, making it challenging to discern the source of the sound. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of a radroach creeping ever closer to the slumbering ghoul.

Without hesitation, you instinctively grab hold of the pistol within your reach, taking aim at the approaching bug. The air shudders as two resounding shots tear through it, bringing a swift death to the radroach. The ghoul jolts awake, his head snapping towards you with a look of surprise… and annoyance?

"Can't you see I'm sleepin'?" he calls out, his voice twinged with irritation.

You respond, feigning a gasp and mockingly clutching your chest. "Oh, I do apologize, mister! How thoughtless of me not to realize you had scheduled to be a feast for a radroach!"

He grumbles, rising to his feet. "Shut up. You think I didn't see it comin'?"

"You looked dead asleep," you remark.

"I always look dead," he mutters.

"Oh I don't know about that," you retort, a mischievous smirk gracing your face. "Sometimes you look like a sun-dried tato."

"You're damn lucky you have what I need..."

"Well, lucky for you, I happen to have a soft spot for sun-dried tatos," you quip, trying to lighten the mood. He raises an eyebrow, a faint hint of amusement breaking through his facade of annoyance. He grunts, a sound that could be mistaken for a chuckle if you weren't aware of his generally sour disposition.

“You're a strange one, you know that?" he rasps, scratching the back of his head. With a chuckle, you start packing up the rest of your belongings, the early morning sun casting long shadows around you.

“Come on, let’s go find the rest of him.”

As you venture further into the wasteland, the sun climbs higher in the sky, casting harsh shadows and intensifying the heat around you. The landscape is a mix of desolate terrain and remnants of the old world, twisted and broken by time and neglect.

The ghoul trudges alongside you, his footsteps heavy but determined. Meanwhile, the dog is trotting ahead, sniffing the air and occasionally darting off to investigate something in the distance. The wasteland is eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of debris or distant howl of a mutated creature. You remain vigilant, scanning the horizon for any signs of danger.

Hours pass by and you notice a subtle change in the landscape. It slowly turns greener and the air feels a bit cooler. With each step you take, the transformation becomes more noticeable. The harsh, barren landscape is gradually replaced by patches of greenery. Sparse vegetation starts to spring up, providing some relief from the relentless heat. The dog, too, seems to appreciate the change, wagging her tail more often and darting around with renewed energy. Even the ghoul seems less weary, his heavy steps lightening a bit.

Rustling in the foliage caught your attention, followed by a swift blur of a vault jumpsuit sprinting past. It seems the ghoul was right about her not getting far. The ghoul glances at you and nods toward the direction she had fled. The three of you quicken your pace and find her sitting on the ground, a look of panic etched on her face.

"Hello again," he drawls as he lifts his gun and cocks it. "Where is it? The head."

The vault dweller turns slowly to the gun pointed at her, her appearance striking. With dark hair, a flawlessly sculpted face, and the largest eyes you've ever seen in your life, she exudes an air of innocence and vulnerability. "I-I don't know where it is, okay? I lost it. I lost it," she stammers, her voice trembling with fear and desperation.

She watches you rummage through her bag, a look of disbelief crossing her face at your audacity. Finding only provisions, you stand up and survey the flooded ruins around you. With a grim tone, you mutter, "A gulper got it."

"A gulper got it, huh?" The ghoul chuckles darkly before swiftly knocking out the vault dweller with the butt of his gun. You raise an eyebrow at him as he hoists her over his shoulder and carries her to a nearby dock. There, he starts securing her with a contraption that appears to be for waterboarding.

"So, uh... what's the plan here?" you ask.

"Gonna use her as bait," the ghoul replies matter-of-factly.

"Bait? For the gulper?" you muse, considering the plan. "That's actually a pretty solid plan."

You watch with a mix of curiosity and unease as the vault dweller slowly regains consciousness. With a quick tug on a rope, he sends her plummeting into the water below. After nearly thirty seconds, he decides to pull her back up via a makeshift pulley system.

"Please stop!" she cries out, spitting out water. "My dad is an overseer. He got taken by raiders and I need that head to save him. If you help me find him, he'll do anything you ask."

Ignoring her pleas, the ghoul sends her back into the water and whistles for the gulper as the dog barks in protest. It's clear he doesn't care about her father's position. As he hoists her out of the water again, she pleads, "Stop. Stop! Torture is wrong."

"You know, they used to do these things called ‘studies’. You couldn’t open a newspaper without reading about one study or another," the ghoul begins, the geiger counter on her Pip-Boy clicking. "Anyway, this one particular study came out, and it said that torturing a person don’t do shit."

He submerges her once more, turning to you, "It made sense. I mean, a man hurts me, I wouldn’t want to do him any favors. And yet the practice of torture failed to vanish from this earth. In fact, as time marched on, I’ve personally noticed a decided uptick in the amount of torture being doled out across the board."

The vault dweller coughs and gasps for air as she’s brought back up. "Sir, please, I need the head. It’s the only way I can get my father back."

"Still so polite... calling you sir," you quietly chuckle to yourself as you approach her, her drenched body shivering in protest. Leaning in close, you whisper, "You're a long way from home, Vaultie. You shouldn't be out here. Daddy's probably already dead, if I'm being honest.”

"My point is...” He interrupts and you step back, “If you ask me, them studies, they was right. Torturin’ a person don’t do shit.”

"Then why are you doing this to me?!” she screams.

"Well, I ain’t torturin’ you, sweetheart. I’m using you as bait,” he explains before plunging her into the water once again. You can't help but feel a slight hint of annoyance at him calling her "sweetheart".

You shake your head, trying to push aside the unreasonable jealousy that bubbles within you. The ghoul's actions can be seen as despicable, the vault dweller's plight heart-wrenching, and yet here you are, fixating on such a trivial detail. You chide yourself for feeling envious over a term of endearment. It’s a bizarre reaction, one that you begin to struggle to understand.

You snap out of your thoughts as the ghoul attempts to retrieve her from the water. A tense moment begins to unfold. The rope gets tangled, and the water starts churning as the gulper draws near. Frantically, he twists the wheel connected to the pulley system but it seems stuck. In a panic, you spot a hook stick nearby and throw it to him. He yanks her back up and she falls back onto the dock. The gulper lunges forward, its jaws snapping shut mere inches away from her, narrowly missing her.

The excess rope attached to the vault dweller becomes entangled in the gulper's mouth, causing it to thrash about wildly. In the chaos, the rope slips from under you and winds around your leg. As she fights back against the creature with the ghoul's satchel, she manages to free herself. But now, the gulper redirects its focus towards you and launches itself at your foot. With a terrifyingly close view, you see its mouth lined with tendrils resembling human fingers as it starts to pull you closer, inching towards the horrifying prospect of being devoured by this thing.

The ghoul rushes towards you and clasps onto your hand, desperately trying to pull you out of its mouth. For a brief moment, you're touched by his attempt to help, but suspicion creeps in as you realize he may be more concerned about the vials in your bag.

However, the sheer power of the large gulper proves too overwhelming as it begins to engulf you. The hundreds of finger-like tendrils, slick and slimy, slither and coil around you in a grotesque dance of entrapment. Each sinewy appendage seems to have a mind of its own, probing and grasping with an unsettling precision.

As the tendrils press against your skin, a wave of revulsion washes over you, causing your stomach to churn and bile to rise in your throat. The repulsive touch is warm and clammy, sending shivers down your spine as you struggle against the suffocating grip of the gulper's mouth.

You unleash a torrent of obscenities, every curse and profanity in your arsenal spewing forth in a raw display of frustration and panic as the ghoul continues to fight against the gulper's grasp. In a final, desperate struggle, the ghoul's grip falters. His strength wanes as he stumbles backward, his body crashing to the ground with a resounding thud.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" you shout in frustration as the creature envelops you, swallowing you whole. The last image being etched in your mind is that of the ghoul's contorted face, twisting in anger as he yells furiously at the vault dweller and then…

Darkness.

Tag List: @fallout-girl219 @ellabellabunny123 @sunnexaltation

#hope you enjoy my gulper description lmao #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout #smoothie and the ghoul

97 notes · View notes