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fireya-x · 5 months ago

Text

family dinner

AO3 Link (for the full tag list) || masterlist

John Price x Reader

John asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for one night, to save himself from annoying questions from his family. Turns out, you're actually who he really wants.

[9k+ words]

cw: smut, piv sex, cowgirl, handjobs, come eating

Embossed golden script on cream white card paper - it was an invitation to his grandmothers' birthday party, alright. A subtle attempt at elegance from a woman who thought tea and a tin of biscuits solved most problems. John sighed.

He already knew the drill; his mother, every aunt and uncle, cousins and second cousins twice removed would be there, armed to the teeth with baby pictures and probing questions to make him wish he’d stayed in another country in some godforsaken warzone.

The phone ringing cut through John’s meager dinner of takeout curry, one of his favorites, when he was back in his flat for a short time leave. He picked it up and answered before checking, as he usually did, expecting it to be Laswell – but that voice wasn't Kate.

“Jonathan, my dear boy, did you receive the invitation?” His grandmother’s voice was a robust cackle for her age, a force of nature that kept her so fit at ninety.

“Just held it in my hands seconds ago, Nan.”

“Ninety years young, can you believe it?”

“Never a dull moment,” he answered, picking at the takeaway container lid.

She laughed lightly, then cleared her throat. “Listen, dear. The caterer is extra fussy. Your opinion is special to me, you know that. It’s not like I get to plan this every day”

Here it comes.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m asking you what you want, John. I have everything else planned.” Of course she did.

“It’s your birthday, Nan. I’ll eat anything,” he sighed. “Toffee pudding can’t be missing from any birthday, though.”

“Of course, that’s a must! Especially with you visiting! You’ve always loved it as a little boy. Now tell me, is your girl more a partial to fish or chicken?”

The fork clattered onto the styrofoam. John almost choked.

“You’ll be bringing someone, aren’t you?”

He should have said no. He should have clarified, for the thousandth time, that his occupation left no room for romantic walks on the beach and candlelit dinners. Maintaining relationships wasn’t something John did, especially when his job included more explosions than birthday candles on her birthday cake. And apparently, eliminating terrorists and global threats was not a suitable substitute for great-grandchildren.

But there was something in her voice. Hope? Excitement to finally see her grandson with a woman at his side? It was her 90th birthday, after all. Who knew how long John would have her still? Seeing him happy was the greatest gift he could give her, and he knew that.

John sighed. “Yes, I will bring someone.”

That she didn't squeal was unexpected, but he knew his mother was right there with her, listening to everything.

Fuck.

What was he supposed to do? Try Tinder, maybe? How hard could it be to find a woman who’d go on a date with him? But John hated every single aspect of using his phone for anything other than texting and calling — and he gave up when the app asked him too many questions about himself.

That’s when he heard footsteps outside his apartment. He remembered that beautiful, chatty neighbor of his. You'd watched his flat and watered his plants a few times when he was deployed. You’d only met briefly, but given John’s sparsely decorated way of living, he wasn’t worried you would steal anything. But his grandmother's plants were something holy to him, and you kept them alive, and that made you a trustworthy person in his book.

And he would be lying if he didn't admit he'd stolen a glance at you here and there, always hidden in a hoodie or a way-too-big raincoat that obscured your figure, and something about it intrigued him.

Before his brain could even process what his feet were doing, he stumbled to the front door and opened it, revealing you, arms full of groceries, struggling to get the key into the door.

“Need help with that?” A low, grumbling voice startled you, and you almost dropped the bag full of fruits and veggies.

“Jesus, you scared me.”

John chuckled, then took the bag from you as if it was something he'd casually do all the time. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, putting the key in the lock. You took the bag from him and wanted to escape this awkward situation with your way-too-good-looking neighbor as fast as possible. But before you could close the door, he intervened.

“Hey, uh, I have a question.” John’s hand ran through his hair, a nervous gesture that betrayed his usual confidence.

“Yes?”

“I – I kinda promised my grandma that I’d bring a girlfriend to her 90th birthday party, and, well –”

“You don’t have one?” The question came out sounding more shocked than you intended. You were certain he had women lining up for him.

“Yeah, I mean, no, I don’t.” His gaze dropped to the floor for a fleeting moment, as if suddenly embarrassed by the admission. You tilted your head, looking at him expectantly.

“So, you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend? What’s in it for me?”

“Free fancy food?” He smiled crookedly, and you were done for. How could you say no to that smile? The same smile that had been haunting your thoughts ever since he’d given you his keys to his apartment? Your heart was pounding.

“It’s a date,” you said, the words slipping out before you could overthink it. The relief that flooded his eyes made something inside you flutter.

“Thank you, I owe you one. Six p.m. on Friday, alright?”

“What should I wear?”

John wasn’t prepared for that question. And he didn’t mean to check you out – but he did. His eyes wandered from your boots, over your hips, up to your breasts – where his gaze lingered a second too long— and then to your face.

“It’s a garden dinner. I’m sure you’ll look nice in anything,” he said, the words feeling ridiculously inadequate the moment they left his lips.

“Very helpful, thanks.” He braced himself for a sarcastic retort, but you chuckled, shaking your head. “I’ll figure it out. Have a nice evening.”

You retreated to your apartment, leaning back against the closed door, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your heart was still pounding. Did John, your neighbor, ask you out? The same John who seemed so unapproachable, wrapped in that aura of intensity he always wore, who disappeared for weeks on end to go on “business trips” and returned with a deep shadow under those blue eyes?

What did he even do when he disappeared? You'd never asked. Even when he'd given you his keys so you could look after his flat while he was gone, there was nothing that gave away what exactly he did or where he went.

The small conversations you’d shared had always been just that— small nothings, polite exchanges with your friendly neighbor. Still, those infrequent encounters always sent your stomach into a nervous frenzy.

You rummaged through your closet, trying to find something that screamed “I'm a cool, collected woman who casually dates mysteriously handsome men ” without looking like you’d overdone it. A garden party could literally mean anything, especially since you knew nothing about his family. Were you supposed to pick a nice, flowing dress or stick with casual jeans and a shirt? You had no idea.

You stopped your mind from spiralling further. It wasn’t a real date. It was a fake date .

What were you thinking, agreeing to this? You were doubting your own sanity — but then you remembered the crinkled corners of his eyes when he smiled, the warmth that radiated from him when he’d helped you with your groceries – saying “no” to him wasn’t even an option. There was something about him that drew you in, a gravitational pull you couldn’t resist, even if it meant playing pretend.

The sundress you wore – he couldn’t even pinpoint the colour, something soft and warm, summery, like the sky just before dusk – hugged your curves in all the right ways, the delicate straps showcasing the elegant line of your neck and collarbone. His gaze traced the gentle swell of your breasts beneath the thin fabric, the way the skirt flowed over your hips, his mind already picturing how it would look bunched up around your waist when –

Fuck.

A wave of heat - he knew it so well, yet hadn’t felt it in what seemed like forever - crashed over him, settled deep in his gut, tightening his muscles, making his cock twitch.

He shifted uncomfortably, desperately hoping you hadn’t noticed the way his pants suddenly felt about two sizes too small.

He’d usually never been one for flowery dresses and delicate gold jewellery like the earrings that decorated your ears. They clashed with the brutal reality of his world. But on you, it was devastating. You were an innocent, oblivious creature walking straight into his hardened, cynical world without even knowing it. And somehow, against all logic and years of self-preservation, he wanted to corrupt every part of you.

His gaze snapped to the flesh of your delicate thighs that left little to his imagination, those toned legs wrapped around his waist while he pulled you closer and –

Jesus fucking Christ, get a grip.

He forced himself to look away, clenching his jaw so hard he thought he’d pull a muscle.

This was his neighbour. You , who’d watered his plants, borrowed his toolbox, offered a smile whenever you met in the hallway. The one who’d agreed to this incredibly stupid idea. You were doing him a favour, for God’s sake.

“Ready?” He shoved the word out harsher than he’d intended, the sound completely alien to even his own ears. But before you could answer, he shut his door and ushered you towards the exit. He needed air. He’d preferred an ice bath, preferably yesterday.

You didn’t mind adapting to roles and play pretend at all, but as soon as you arrived at the estate, your confidence got humbled. The house was huge, and the driveway alone was already filled with floral arrangements and all sorts of birthday wishes – an enormous ninety made out of entirely blush pink roses and lavender decorated the front yard.

The garden party was in full swing already when you two arrived. The air buzzed with the sound of laughter and chatter, clinking glasses and the distant beat of a live band. John seemed oddly out of place in between the flowers and the brightly dressed guests, like a lone wolf who had been dragged to a tea party.

But as soon as you stepped further into the event, the warm air surrounding you, the scent of freshly cut grass and citrus, the smiling faces all around you, your anxiety about the whole thing lessened.

“Don’t worry too much," John's arm brushed against yours as you navigated through the clusters of guests. He reached out to grab two drinks from a passing waiter’s tray. “The worst they could do is show you my childhood photos.”

He offered you a drink, and you took it from him, smiling. “Somehow, that’s not as reassuring as you think it is.” You earned yourself a deep chuckle that rumbled through his chest and did decidedly inappropriate things to your equilibrium.

When John took your free hand into his like it was the most normal thing in the world, you felt like this was going to be the easiest task. For a fleeting moment, it was easy to forget you were living a lie.

Until dinner.

The seating arrangements were strategically orchestrated, it seemed, to maximize family bonding - or torture, you hadn’t decided which. You found yourself sitting between John, radiating a mix of polite restraint and his usual natural intensity that set your pulse racing, and a woman with the same kind eyes as him.

“This is my mother, Eleanor,” John had introduced her earlier, her smile so warm and welcoming you’d almost forgotten you were supposed to be playing a role. She seemed almost too impressed when you'd introduced yourself, as if she couldn't quite believe he was telling the truth about having a girlfriend.

You'd prove them wrong, not for their sake, but for your own growing satisfaction at seeing John surprised.

You were no stranger to the barrage of questions about your single status and lack of a partner from your own family, so you knew how tiresome it could get. You braced yourself for a similar interrogation.

Across the table, John's grandma beamed at you with a delight that melted your heart. You understood then what this was all about for him — fulfilling his grandmother's wish to see him happy, settled.

On impulse, you reached out to grab John’s hand beside yours, your fingers threading through his, offering him a reassuring smile, pretending to bring out your best I-am-so-in-love look you could muster.

He seemed taken aback, his entire body stiffening for a split second as if your touch were an electric shock. But then he recovered quickly, his fingers tightening around yours with a gentle pressure that sent goosebumps dancing up your arm. He raised your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against your knuckles that lingered a heartbeat too long.

Your breath caught in your throat, your gaze fixated on the curve of his lips, the way his beard scraped against your skin. Your stomach did a somersault, your senses flooded with a rush of longing that was as unexpected as it was undeniably thrilling.

“So,” John's aunt leaned across the table, her voice a bit too loud, as if intended to break the spell you’d fallen under. “What do you do?”

You blinked, momentarily disoriented, your gaze reluctantly leaving John’s hand and focusing on the plate of food a server had just placed before you. Shepherd's pie. But not just any shepherd’s pie. This looked like a culinary masterpiece compared to the frozen meals you were used to eating all the time.

“I work in healthcare,” you answered, your mouth already watering at the sight of the culinary heaven before you. “I’m an ER nurse.”

“Oh, wow,” his grandma chirped from across the table, her eyes twinkling with genuine interest. Her comment, however, was quickly drowned out by his aunt's next, slightly more probing, question.

“I'm amazed you two met with such busy schedules. To be fair,” she added with a sly smile directed at John, “I'm shocked Jonathan managed to find someone at all with his occupation .”

Your fork, laden with a generous portion of creamy mashed potatoes and perfectly seasoned mince, froze halfway to your mouth. Your earlier questions about the nature of John’s job came rushing back. What exactly did he do? You knew he was often away for extended periods, you even kept his plants from dying a slow death from time to time, but his reasons had always been vague. “Business trips,” he’d called them, with a shrug and that infuriatingly handsome smile.

“Right,” you managed, forcing a light laugh as you carefully set your fork back down, your appetite momentarily forgotten. “We make it work. We talk a lot on the phone."

“You do?” His mother, ever the perceptive one, turned to John, her brows raised in what you could only describe as disbelief. “How come you always tell us you can’t contact us?”

John cleared his throat and his hand reached for his beer, his fingers wrapping around the cold glass. “Kate makes some exceptions,” he explained, his gaze fixed on the drink.

Kate? Your mind scrambled for context, your internal “John’s-Life” file coming up short. “Kate” let him make exceptions? Who was Kate, and more importantly, what kind of job required someone to ask permission to make personal phone calls? And why did you feel jealous - you had absolutely no business to feel this way.

“Who’s Kate?” You asked, reaching for your champagne flute, unable to hide the accusatory edge creeping into your voice.

“My boss . Sort of.” The golden liquid got caught halfway in your throat. First name basis with his boss? His family knew his boss? So many questions came up, and you were slowly starting to panic. You were supposed to be a believable girlfriend, but you were scared the mask was slipping away by the second.

“Oh, right, Kate. Sorry, darling. You know how my weeks have been lately. It's a wonder I can remember my own name half the time.”

“She must be happy for you, too,” his mother commented, delicately spearing a piece of fish with a precision that made you suspect years of etiquette training lay beneath her impeccably polite facade. “Finding someone special, I mean. Might even spare her some of your, shall we say, moods .” She glanced at John, her eyebrows arched as if she was sharing a private joke with the entire table, except you.

Moods? You’d always found John to be quiet, reserved, perhaps a tad intimidating at times, but never moody.

You glanced at John, who was pointedly studying his plate, the faintest hint of a flush creeping up his neck. You wouldn't have thought the man capable of embarrassment. It made him seem unexpectedly human, and somehow even more attractive.

You were about to ask for clarification when Nan seized the conversational reins. “So, darlings,” she asked, her gaze moving back and forth between you and John, her smile widening expectantly, “How long have you two known each other?”

“I think six months?” you blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips.

At the exact same moment, John declared, “Almost a year now,” his voice deep and steady, completely contradicting your rushed estimation.

You froze. The silence that descended upon the table was deafening.

“Has it already been that long?” you exclaimed quickly, forcing a bright smile and injecting as much wonder and mock surprise into your voice as you could muster. You prayed that your sudden rush of amnesia would be enough to distract them from the giant, elephant-sized hole you’d just blown in your story. You reached over to slightly squeeze his hand. “I suppose time flies when you’re in love.”

You snuck a peek at John, expecting to see panic, maybe even annoyance, but what you found in his gaze made your heart skip a beat. He was watching you intensely. And that smile playing at the corner of his lips? It made something dangerous and delicious twist low in your belly.

“I believe that,” John’s grandma chimed in, her voice warm with the wisdom of nine decades lived. “You two are very lovely together.”

Eleanor nodded in agreement. “She’s good for you, Jonathan. Maybe having someone special to come home to will make those long missions away a little easier.”

"Speaking of which, how’s that new posting treating you, lad? Heard it’s a bit of a hot zone, eh?” John's uncle boomed across the table.

“It has its challenges,” John replied, taking a long sip of his beer as if to fortify himself for the inevitable round of inquiries. “But it’s good to be back in the field.”

You frowned. Field? Posting? What kind of job involved working in a “field”? And what exactly made it a “hot zone?” You felt more and more confused by the conversation, it was as if they spoke an entirely different language, a language riddled with code words and shared experiences you weren’t privy to.

“That I believe,” his uncle answered, also reaching for his beer as if to toast to a shared understanding. “Bet your rank will get you far, though.”

You felt John tense beside you, his hand tightening around yours, not letting go. His family's casual acceptance of his frequent — and apparently lengthy — disappearances made you increasingly curious. You knew by now he often travelled for work, but something about the way they spoke, the underlying thread of concern laced with pride, hinted at a world you were only just starting to glimpse.

“I imagine those long stretches apart must be difficult, darling,” John's aunt commented, her gaze fixed on you with a sympathy that only deepened your bewilderment. “But I’m sure you’re used to it by now, working in a hospital and all. Those long shifts must be a challenge, too.”

You smiled, still confused about what was going on—but you also saw an opportunity. It was time to take control of the narrative, to steer this conversation into a territory you could navigate — even if it meant bending the truth further than it had already been twisted.

“Speaking of long stretches,” you interjected, shooting John a look that was equal parts challenge and playful invitation. You’d gone from wanting to bolt to wanting to play this game, see how far you could push him, how convincingly you could both lie. “Remember that road trip we took last fall? The one where we got hopelessly lost in the Scottish Highlands and ended up sleeping in the car?”

As you spoke, you noticed that everyone else at the table had dived into their food, the initial round of introductions and polite inquiries fading into a comfortable murmur of conversation. Nan beamed at you both, her fork hovering over a generous slice of shepherd’s pie, her eyes twinkling with the quiet pleasure of seeing her grandson – even a pretend version of him – happy.

Beside you, John stiffened, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of surprise and what you could only interpret as wary amusement. “Ah, yes,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, like velvet draped over steel. “Scotland. Beautiful, isn’t it, love?”

“Beautiful?” you countered, tilting your head and letting out a soft laugh that you were fairly certain sounded far more genuine than it should have. You couldn’t help but admire his quick thinking, the way he effortlessly picked up on your cue and played along. “Those winding Highland roads. They were more treacherous than romantic, if I’m being honest. I was certain you were going to drive us straight off a cliff at least a dozen times.”

His smile widened, revealing a flash of teeth that made something deep inside you melt a little. “I assure you, love, my driving is impeccable. You were simply distracted.” His gaze lingered on your face for a beat too long.

A delicious warmth flooded your cheeks. “Distracted? I seem to recall you being the one with wandering eyes," you countered, your voice dropping to a low murmur as you met his gaze head-on. You weren’t sure if the heightened awareness you felt buzzing between you was a product of the lies you were weaving or something more.

“That’s because you are quite the sight to behold, love,” he said, his voice husky, the words brushing against your senses like a caress.

You stared at him, your mind scrambling to process his words, their unexpected sincerity throwing you off balance. Had he just complemented you?

“You are—” He paused, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering on your chest. He didn’t even try to hide it. You held your breath, waiting, as the air thrummed with a sudden, unexpected intimacy.

“Breathtaking.”

What was he doing? you thought, your heart pounding. Was he still playing the part, or was there something more simmering beneath the surface? And why did the possibility excite you?

The air thickened, the sound of his family’s conversation fading into the background as the world seemed to shrink, the space between you charged with an energy that was impossible to ignore. You weren't sure if you wanted to laugh or lean across the table and kiss him senseless.

Just as you felt yourself leaning into that dangerous impulse, Eleanor cleared her throat delicately.

You both startled, like students caught whispering in the back of the classroom. John's cheeks, you noticed with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction, were flushed a faint shade of pink. Even a man like John wasn't immune to a mother's watchful gaze.

“Those rolls are delicious, dear,” Eleanor commented, and turned to you, her tone light but her eyes sharp with amusement. “Why don't you have one?”

You reached for a roll, suddenly starving, the earlier tension dissolving into a relieved chuckle as you caught John's eyes. He winked at you, a playful glint in his blue eyes. You winked back, feeling a warmth spread through you caused by the man sitting beside you, a man who, despite your best efforts to resist, was quickly becoming more than just a convenient prop in this game of play pretend.

You'd managed to escape the clutches of the dinner table without completely blowing your cover, even when, at some points, you weren’t so sure how nobody saw right through you. But then came the real challenge — mingling. The party had moved inside the house, and you were separated from John.

You silently cursed yourself for agreeing to this whole fabricated scenario. What if you told completely different stories to his relatives? What if someone asked you about his work, for God’s sake?

Glasses of port in hand, John’s extended family seemed very determined to catch up on months’ worth of news in one evening. You did your best to smile politely at every occasion, your inner monologue continuously reminding you to simply not say anything stupid.

Suddenly, a very chipper and well-dressed woman intruded on your personal space, waving her phone in front of your face. “You must be John’s girl!” she exclaimed, and before you could even answer, she swiped through numerous photos. “Look at her – isn't she adorable!”

You leaned in, attempting to make eye contact with the child in the photos while subtly taking a step back, her perfume a bit overwhelming. “Absolutely adorable,” you agreed, putting on a wide grin, and the woman beamed. “Oh, I can’t wait to see what children you and John will bring into this world. Aren’t they the greatest thing?”

Children? Your smile faltered. You opened your mouth to respond, to stammer out some vague response about “one step at a time”, but before you could even get a word out, the woman had moved on, already excitedly showing off her offspring to the next unsuspecting relative.

Note to self: Avoid eye contact with anyone holding a baby photo, you thought, your internal panic rising. This whole “fake girlfriend” thing was rapidly becoming a high-stakes obstacle course, and you weren’t sure you were agile enough to navigate it without falling flat on your face.

You were trying to reach John, a plate of sticky toffee pudding on your plate, wanting to show off that you were going to try his favorite dessert – when a booming voice cut through the chatter, catching your attention. “There he is!” A tall, older man with curly hair approached John and shook his hand with a force that could crush granite. “That last mission you pulled off? Absolute textbook. A captain leading his own task force? The old man would be bloody proud.”

John’s posture stiffened ever so slightly. “Cheers, uncle,” he responded, raising his glass, his gaze darting towards you for the briefest of moments.

Mission? Captain? Task force?

The people around you, completely oblivious to your internal meltdown, continued chatting, casually dropping words like “deployment,” “classified,” “weapons,” and all other sorts of military jargon as if they were discussing the weather.

Suddenly, everything fell into place.

All those late-night departures, when you heard heavy footsteps echo through your shared hallway; the vague explanations about “work trips” when you met him outside your apartment; those calls he received at odd hours, his voice tight, his tone clipped, echoing through your shared walls; those calls that always seemed to coincide with a breaking news report or some global crisis. John, your sweet, infuriatingly attractive, seemingly normal neighbor – was leading a deadly task force.

Not that it was any of your business what he did. He owed you nothing.

Then why did this feel like such a blow? That he didn’t tell you beforehand, throwing you into the midst of his family who were clearly all about that life, and leaving you in the dark, making a complete idiot of yourself?

You had been looking forward to trying the famous dessert all evening, but suddenly, your appetite completely vanished. The plate that you held suddenly felt as appealing as cold porridge.

“Everything alright, love?” John approached, noticing the shift in your mood.

You forced a smile, hoping it was convincing. “Peachy,” you replied. “Just, fascinating, hearing everyone’s stories.” You stabbed the pudding with your spoon, not sure where the feelings of anger came from.

You shoved the plate into his chest, forcing him to take it from you. “I just need some air.” You turned and made your way towards his Nan’s beautiful rose garden.

He’d lied to you.

Well, maybe not lied, exactly. Maybe it was the sudden awareness of the danger that shadowed his every move, who he really was, who he was compared to you.

You had every right to feel foolish, to even agree to such a stupid idea. But betrayal? You had no idea where it came from, it seemed like an overreach for a situation that had been, from the beginning, just a constructed lie.

Stepping out into the cool of the garden, you breathed a sigh of relief. The scent of flowers seemed to calm your racing mind a little, a welcome contrast to all the voices you just escaped. You found your way to a small bench underneath an old oak tree, sinking onto the cool wood, straightening your dress doing so.

You didn’t hear John approach, but then again, stealth was probably part of his many talents. You didn’t know whether to be impressed or terrified.

“Enjoying the party?” he asked, stopping right next to you, an arm leaning on the backrest of the bench.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, frustrated by all these emotions you were feeling. “Well, the food is excellent, your grandma is adorable, and I haven’t witnessed any international incidents first-hand - yet. So that’s a win, I guess?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, a welcome contrast to the tension that had been knotting your stomach ever since you’d pieced together the things about his life. You’d grown accustomed to that sound, to the way it rumbled deep in his chest, unexpectedly gentle for a man who, apparently, spent his days navigating a world far removed from yours.

He shifted slightly, settling beside you on the bench. You felt the heat radiating off him in the cool air of the evening, an awareness that lingered even though he wasn’t touching you.

“Look,” he began, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, a gesture that was strangely endearing on a man who usually was so confident. “My life –” He gestured vaguely towards the party, the house. The unspoken explanation – “ my life is a full-blown, military-grade soap opera ” – hung in the air between you.

“You know,” you interrupted him, turning to face him. “A little heads-up about what you do would have been nice. Especially that it’s such an important thing in your family.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. It wasn’t fair to throw you into that without a warning. I guess because it’s so normal to me, I just completely forgot about it.”

“I’m a nurse, I don’t really specialize in disarming bombs or whatever it is your uncles like to do for fun.”

He laughed then, a full, hearty laugh, that made your heart flutter faster in your chest.

“It’s not funny.” You said, looking away. “And I know I have absolutely no right to feel – ” you struggled to find the right word.

“To feel –?” he prompted, leaning a little closer.

“Disappointed,” you breathed. “It’s silly, I just felt like I was left out of inside jokes during dinner. I tried so hard to not let this lie slip, but it could have been so much easier if I had known.” You took a deep breath. “So, while I was keeping your plants alive," you added, unable to keep the bitterness out of your voice, "You were out there doing what exactly? Neutralizing threats? Saving the world? I missed that chapter in the ‘Good Neighbor Handbook.’”

You couldn’t help the edge that crept into your voice. At first, it had just been a fun little game, a chance to play dress-up and enjoy delicious food. But now, now it felt different. You were, suddenly, uncomfortably aware of just how much you didn’t know about the man sitting beside you.

The silence stretched between you, punctuated only by the gentle chirping of crickets and the soft rustling of leaves overhead. John stared at you, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

“You probably think I am a complete idiot,” you continued, the words tumbling out in a rush, a jumble of emotions you couldn’t quite decipher. “I'm sorry, I'm being absolutely dramatic –”

The words died on your lips as his hands shot out, cupping your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks with a touch that was both possessive and unexpectedly tender. His gaze held yours captive, those blue eyes burning with a fierce intensity that stole your breath away. And then, without a word, without warning, his mouth crashed down on yours.

His lips were hard, demanding, hungry, devouring yours as if he couldn’t get close enough, his tongue tangling with yours in a desperate, unyielding dance.

It was primal, raw, untamed. It was the kind of kiss that stripped away the pretence, obliterated the boundaries, and left you gasping for air, your mind reeling, your body aching for something you couldn’t name but craved with every fibre of your being.

Time seemed to stand still — the garden, the party, the lie — it all faded away. There was only the feel of his lips on yours, the light scrape of his beard against your skin. The taste of him was intoxicating, the heat of his body radiating off him in waves.

Eventually, he pulled back, his breath mingling with yours in the night air. His hands lingered, resting on your face, slightly tracing the lines of your jawline. His gaze was wild, eyes dark and burning into you with an intensity that made you want to melt into a puddle.

You stared back, your mind racing. This was the moment the lines blurred. There had been something there — you felt it. It was more than pretend, more than just playing a game. Desire. Interest. Even though you felt like you no longer knew this man at all, you wanted to get to know him all over again. Taste him, touch him — you blinked, trying to collect your thoughts.

“Would you prefer to leave?” John's hand, still warm from its possessive grip on your face, gently brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture both intimate and oddly reassuring.

You shook your head. “It’s your grandma's birthday. You can’t just leave because I feel uncomfortable.”

“I think we’ve both had enough of the party for one night,” he murmured, a quick smile flashing across his face. “I’m going to let her know you aren’t feeling too well. Alright?”

He leaned in again, his lips brushing against your cheek, then, with a low rumble, he whispered in your ear, “Wait here.”

In front of both your apartment doors, the silence was an awkwardly long stretch. It felt like you were both trying to understand what had just happened, unsure where to begin.

“So, um,” he started, then stopped, running a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that you found strangely endearing. “Thank you for coming.”

You nodded and smiled, “Of course. It was nice to get the dust off this dress again.”

He leaned towards you slowly, and your breath hitched. For one heart-stopping moment, you thought he might kiss you again – would he? Was what happened in the garden just an impulsive decision?

But he hesitated, the moment frozen, and there was something indecisive happening between you. But you didn’t mean to push, neither did he.

He cleared his throat and finally spoke. “Good night,” he said, his words careful, as if he were holding back from saying something else.

“Good night,” you echoed, your voice barely a whisper. The small hope that you'd taste him one more time evaporated.

You turned, your hand reaching for your door, keys almost to the lock, when strong hands grabbed you, spinning you around in a dizzying motion. Before you could even register what was happening, his lips were on yours again — silencing all those unspoken doubts and hesitations.

This was real. You felt it; your heart screamed it; the way his mouth was devouring yours, displaying a hunger and desire that shouted it from the rooftops.

Your hands tangled in his hair, holding on for dear life, as his tongue traced the seam of your lips with a possessiveness that made your knees weak. You felt the rumble of his groan against your mouth as he backed you against your apartment door, his body moulding against yours as if he was starving for the feel of you. You were breathless, lost in the heat of his touch, the way his hands roamed your back and finally settled on the curve of your ass.

You realized then that you had always dreamed of kissing this man, silently, secretly, whenever his eyes lingered on yours for a beat too long right there in the hallway. You’d always dismissed those fantasies as wishful thinking, but clearly, he’d been wanting the same.

You heard a click as the lock on your door was turned, and you felt as his hand fumbled with the doorknob behind your back – all while his lips were still on yours, occasionally wandering to kiss your jaw and giving you an opportunity to breathe. He cursed under his breath, and before you even processed what was happening, he shouldered the door open and pushed both of you back into the darkness of your apartment.

The familiar space of your home was suddenly transformed, and John's touch was the compass guiding you. He didn't release you, keeping you close to his body as if you might slip away. With a smooth movement, he shoved the door shut, tossing your keys somewhere onto the floor.

His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you up flush against him, the gasp that escaped your lips quickly swallowed by his next kiss. He carried you, your legs wrapped around his waist, until he reached your couch, where he gently laid you down, his body hovering over yours, his eyes devouring you, making you feel incredibly vulnerable.

The sofa dipped as he planted his knees left and right next to your legs, and he leaned to hover over you. You were both breathing hard, the only sound in the silent room. The only light illuminating you was the sliver of moonlight spilling through the window above.

“Is this still pretend?” you managed to whisper, your voice a shaky breath.

His eyes locked onto yours, the slight smirk on his face sending a thrill to your core. His hands moved to your hips, deliberately grinding them against his groin. You gasped as you felt the hardness of his arousal pressed against you, hyperaware of the thin fabric separating your most intimate parts.

“Fuck, no,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. He moved his hips again, his hands slowly but intentionally pushing up your dress.

Your skin felt like it was on fire; your head was spinning.

One of his hands moved up to the line of your dress, and with a rumble in his throat, he pulled the fabric aside, exposing the swell of your breasts to his hungry gaze.

His pupils dilated, his eyes dark and intense, as he stared at you like a starving man presented with a banquet. You'd never been so incredibly turned on, no man had ever made you feel this way— John’s simple gesture of delicately tracing the skin around your nipples made you moan so loudly you immediately threw a hand over your mouth, slightly embarrassed.

“No, let me hear it all. You sing so beautifully, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hand gently moving yours away, his touch a mixture of possessiveness and unexpected tenderness.

"John,” you breathed, your voice a shaky sigh.

“This bloody dress,” he groaned. “Wanted to rip it off you the second I saw you standing at my door.” His voice was raw, unfiltered – gone was the nice, gentle neighbor; this was the Captain coming through, the darker, more commanding side of him that should have scared you, but only served to intensify the desire swirling inside you. You wanted to know all about the man he left behind as soon as he stepped into this building.

“Every fuckin' time I saw you in the hallway, those quick hellos were never enough,” he confessed, one hand tightening on your hip, the other slowly trailing down your skin beneath the hem of your dress. His touch was agonizingly slow, leaving a trail of heat in its wake that made you lose your mind. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His words were so honest, it caught you off guard completely. It must have shown on your face right then, because he smiled in return. “Never thought I’d stand a chance," he admitted. "You always seemed out of reach.”

You frowned. “Out of reach?”

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Figured I’d never stand a chance against the queue of blokes lining up at your door.”

“John, what? A queue, for me?” You laughed, your disbelief genuine, gesturing towards yourself.

He sighed, sitting up, his fingers playing with the lace trim of your panties as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You’re beautiful, and tonight, I learned it’s inside and out. You're you, and that's fuckin’ wonderful."

You shook your head in disbelief. His words made your entire body tremble. He wasn’t just looking at your body; he was seeing you. And it felt extraordinary.

He watched you intently, his eyes filled with a longing that mirrored your own. “I kept thinking about what you were hiding underneath those baggy clothes,” he confessed, his voice a husky whisper, his fingers slowly sliding your panties down your legs. He felt you shy away from him a little, a smirk on his face stole your breath, as he pushed your legs apart with his calloused hands. “Like I said, so beautiful.” He whispered, his voice so rough with what you could only describe as lust. It made you shiver.

“You know,” you whispered, “The funny thing is, I thought exactly the same.”

“What do you mean?” You watched as he slowly ran a hand along your thighs. A ragged breath escaped your lungs, and you struggled to continue speaking.

“You’re incredible – there’s no way you didn’t have someone to –”

“To what?” he asked, suddenly stopping his movements, his gaze intense. “Willing to take a chance on a bloke who doesn’t know a thing about flowers or romantic dinners? Who spends more time on planes than in his own flat? Whose idea of a good time involves dodging bullets and disarming explosives?” He let out a self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head.

He was being so completely honest with you, so vulnerable, it sent a sharp pang through your chest. He was seeing you – the real you, hidden beneath the baggy clothes and carefully constructed walls – and for the first time that night, you were truly seeing him . John, who looked like he could bench-press a small car, who radiated an aura of danger as naturally as he breathed.

He wasn’t some playboy who brought women home every other night, like you’d assumed. He could have any woman he wanted – and yet, here he was, his gaze tracing every inch of your naked body.

He liked you. He’d thought about you.

It felt surreal.

“Best decision I’ve made in a long time,” he murmured, leaning closer. “Asking you, I mean. Thinking I could never have you, and now –”

You held your breath, anticipation coiling in your stomach. “Now what?” you whispered.

“You’re mine.” He growled, and before your brain could even process what happened, his mouth was on your clit, kissing and sucking like he finally got to taste that delicious meal he was promised.

“Oh god–!” you moaned, your hands instinctively gripping his hair, your nails digging into his scalp. He moaned, and the vibration of it against your skin made your legs twitch uncontrollably.

John’s touch was relentless, his tongue swirling against your most sensitive flesh, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you that were unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. You arched against him, your hips bucking involuntarily, craving more of the delicious friction that was driving you to the edge of madness.

He seemed to sense your desperation, the way your body was begging for something more. He pulled back, his gaze meeting yours, his eyes dark with a possessiveness that both thrilled and terrified you. His hand replaced his tongue, fingers gently caressing your sensitive clit. “Look at you,” he murmured. “So fuckin’ hot.”

“John,” you breathed, you were speaking without any control over it.

“What do you need, love?” he asked, his voice thick with lust, his hand never ceasing its tormenting, exquisite torture against your aching core.

“I – I need –” You couldn't form the words. Your mind was blank, and your body was trembling with need that eclipsed all rational thought.

He seemed to understand, his gaze softening, a knowing smile curving his lips. He rose slightly, his hands moving towards the belt buckle, groaning as he released himself from the confines of his trousers.

He stepped out of his pants, the sound of fabric hitting the floor echoing in the sudden silence. His shirt followed shortly after, and you were captivated. His body was hard, sculpted muscle, his arousal straining against the fabric of his boxers, proof of the desire you'd awakened within him.

You watched, mesmerized, as he slowly peeled off his boxers, his gaze never leaving yours. His hand reached down, fisting himself, and your breath hitched at the sight.

“Still think you’re not attractive to me, love? Look what you’re doing to me,” he let his thumb slowly run over the head of his length, spreading the drop of pre-come that formed there, and he must have known it was teasing you, driving you mad. “Tell me what you want,” he commanded.

You opened your mouth to speak, to voice the desire that was burning through you with the force of a supernova, but the words caught in your throat. All you could manage was a whimper as your fingers were digging into the cushions, hips arching upwards, instinctively seeking out friction you craved.

You felt like if you couldn't have him, you might die.

“Uh-uh.” His hand reached forward to grab the soft flesh of your tits, one after the other, and his thumb brushed a teasing circle around your nipples, the pressure increasing just enough to make you gasp. "I said, tell me what you want.”

“You,” you confessed, the words torn from your very soul. “For God's sake, I fucking need you.”

John's gaze intensified, his eyes dark, and the corner of his mouth twitched, a predatory smirk playing on his lips. He loomed over you like a predator about to claim his prey. With a growl, he leaned down, pressing his mouth on yours, and you could feel his erection pressing between your folds.

One of his hands shot out, cupping the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair, holding you captive.

“You’re going to get everything you need, love,” he breathed, and followed by his promise, he entered you in a deliberately slow movement, almost torturous. He moaned, so raw and primal, it made you clench around him, and your entire body ignited as he filled you completely. His size, his heat, the intensity of the sensation – it sent your senses into overdrive, causing you to dig your nails into his back.

“Ohhh fuck,” you moaned, your voice a breathless whisper, lost in a world of sensation he'd created with his touch.

He paused, holding himself perfectly still within you, savoring the feel of your body clenching around him and the soft moans escaping your lips.

You whimpered, arching your hips up instinctively, desperate for more, aching for him to erase every thought, every doubt, every worry, with the overwhelming pleasure that throbbed between you.

He chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent shivers down your spine, and then he moved. Slowly at first, deliberately drawing out the sensation, his hips rocking against yours, each thrust a slow, agonizingly delicious torture that had you clinging to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your nails leaving trails of fire on his skin.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice tight with need as he buried himself deeper. “You're so fucking tight – so fucking wet.”

But even in the haze of pleasure, a primal instinct took over. He needed more. He rolled you both over, shifting his weight so that you were straddling his lap, your legs draped over his thighs, your core aligned perfectly with his arousal. He kept his eyes locked on yours as he reached for the hem of your dress, his fingers working quickly, impatiently, to free you from the loosely hanging fabric.

“Now,” his hands found your hips, guiding you closer, his thumbs stroking the sensitive flesh. “Ride me, love.”

You looked down at him, at the raw, unfiltered hunger in his eyes, the way his chest heaved with each ragged breath, and a surge of confidence, of pure, unadulterated lust, washed over you. You began to move, supporting your weight against him by running your hands through the light fur that dusted his chest.

His hands dug deeper into your skin as you increased the pace, moving faster, harder, riding his cock wildly, completely lost in the pleasure.

Every movement sent jolts of pleasure through you. He watched you, his gaze never leaving your face, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath as if he were hanging onto your every move.

“Fuck, yes,” he growled, his voice thick with approval. “Like that, love. Ride me hard.”

His words were a primal command, a challenge that sent a thrill through you, making you even bolder, even more daring. You leaned forward and kissed him, biting his lip, drawing a groan from him that resonated deep in your core.

He tasted of salt and desire, the scent of his arousal filling your senses, making you wild. His hands were guiding your movements, matching your intensity, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge of release.

With each thrust, you felt the coil of pleasure tighten inside you, building towards a crescendo that threatened to shatter you both. You moved faster, harder, your body driven by an instinct as old as time itself. His touch was a brand, marking you as his, and the possessive hunger in his eyes as you rode him, almost send you over the edge alone.

He was groaning now, his words a jumble of incoherent pleas and praises, his fingers digging into your flesh as he struggled to maintain control. You felt him tense, the muscles in his thighs and arms bunching beneath your touch, and you knew the storm was about to break.

“Don’t stop,” his voice was raw with need, his gaze burning into you as if he wanted to sear this moment into his soul. “Come for me, love. Let me feel you shatter."

And with one final, earth-shattering thrust, you did.

A shudder ripped through you, a wave of pleasure so intense it stole your breath away. Your walls clenched around him, a thousand tiny sparks of sensation exploding behind your eyelids. Your name tumbled from his lips, a breathless groan, as he held you tighter. You cried out, the sound swallowed by his eager mouth as he captured your lips in a desperate kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as wave after wave of pure bliss crashed over you, leaving you trembling, weak, utterly undone.

After you came down from your high, you watched him intently as he was also struggling on the edge of release. Driven by need and desire, you slowly let his cock slip out of you. He made a sound that sounded animalistic, a groan, low and deep in his chest, an expression of frustration. Your hand moved instantly, your fingers finding his length, circling him, stroking him with a deliberate, unhurried rhythm. Your fingertips traced a feather-light path up the underside of his shaft, lingering at the sensitive ridge just below the head before gliding back down to the base, your thumb brushing teasingly against the swollen vein that pulsed with his arousal.

His head fell back against the cushions, his eyes closed, a ragged breath escaping his lips as you continued to tease him, your touch the only cure for his aching need. You watched him, mesmerized by the play of muscle beneath your hand, the raw power he embodied even at that moment of vulnerability.

“I can't –” His fingers dug into the cushions, his body tensing as if fighting against the tide of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him.

You smiled. The power thrumming between you was intoxicating, addictive. “Can’t what, John?” you whispered, leaning in, your lips trailing a teasing path along the hard planes of his stomach. “Can’t hold back anymore?”

His answer was a strangled groan. His body went rigid, and the wave of pleasure that followed was written all over his face. His hand shot out, not to stop you, but to grip your wrist. His fingers tightened around it, his control started slipping, shattering, as his release washed over him.

You whispered small praises, and watched, fascinated, as his release spurted over your hand in hot, pulsing bursts. His hips were stuttering, his cock, hard, thick in your grasp, throbbed, and the remnants of his release felt warm against your skin. He was completely at your mercy.

You’d never felt this bold, this empowered, this reckless. Before you could overthink it, you raised your hand to your mouth and licked his come off of your fingers.

Your wish to taste him, it couldn’t get any more him than this. Salt, sweat, and something so uniquely his. It made your walls clench around nothing, sending a new wave of excitement through you.

John’s gaze snapped to yours, his eyes wide, a flicker of something dark and possessive flaring in their depths as he watched you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and reached out, his hand resting on your neck, his thumb slowly stroking along your pulse. “You’re something else, you know that, love?”

A nervous giggle escaped your lips. The sudden awareness of your actions, the intimacy of the moment, sent a wave of shyness washing over you. “I, uh,” you trailed off, averting your gaze, unable to meet the intensity burning in his eyes. Your cheeks burned, and you wanted to hide.

John’s hand shifted, his fingers tracing the curve of your jawline. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Don't shy away from me now, sweetheart,” he murmured and softly ran his thumbs over your lips. “Not after that.”

“That was –” You struggled to find the words, your thoughts were a mess. “I've never –”

“Never?” He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek, the scent of him filling your senses, making you dizzy.

“Never been that bold,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to his lips, their fullness suddenly a source of endless fascination. “Or wanted someone so intensely.”

A dark smile spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with triumph and something that sent a delicious thrill through you. “Good,” he growled, the word a low rumble that vibrated through you. “Because you're mine now, love. And I'm not about to let you forget it.”

And then, before you could protest – not that you had any intention of doing so – his lips crashed down on yours. It wasn’t gentle. This kiss was a possession, a claiming, a wildfire consuming everything in its path. His hand shot out to grab your neck, holding you close to him.

This really wasn't pretend anymore.

#cod fanfic #ao3 fanfic #captain john price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #call of duty #fanfiction #captain price x reader #john price #captain price #captain john price x oc #x female reader #cod smut #call of duty smut #captain john price smut #18+ mdni

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larrylimericks · 3 months ago

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19Oct24

No matter how mad the word made us, It always held hope — a “hiatus.”

I’m sad for so many reasons — the fundamental sadness of death, and at such a young age; having to process the mortality of someone so extraordinary it seems they should transcend a fate as ordinary as dying; aching for his family and friends; angry that he had to navigate such a cruel world, one that continues to disrespect him in death. Yes, Liam was damaged and in turn damaged others; he had demons to face and amends to make — I like to think he would have, given a chance. His talent was so immense, and there was so much more to come. I believe he would have found a way to redemption, and then had such a beautiful renaissance.

The joy of being a 1D fan has always been policed and mocked. We’ve so frequently been laughed at, dismissed for the intensity of our love for the band. And now, the world wants to do the same with our grief, questioning its legitimacy, trivializing our feelings. But this loss is real. And this grief is valid.

And the grief of losing Liam is compounded by the grief of losing so much else. He wasn’t just a celebrity. They weren’t just a boyband. He was an integral part of an integral part of our formative years — no matter how old we were when we found them. So many of us are the people we are in part because of the people they are. Were. We’ve lost a beloved one, we’ve lost innocence, we’ve lost inspiration, we’ve lost a piece of our foundation.

We’ve lost hope.

It used to frustrate me, in retrospect, that they called it a “hiatus.” It felt dishonest — like a gentle lie to let us down easy. Why couldn’t they just say it was over? That being a boy band has a built-in shelf life, and it was time to explore solo careers. But now I understand the kindness in that word. For hope springs eternal, and it didn’t matter if it never came. All that matters was that it might. And “hiatus” wasn’t just for us; it held their optimism too. Especially Liam’s. It left the door open, even if only a crack, for the possibility of something more.

It’s been a remarkable gift to watch each one find his own path and his own voice. But when they announced a hiatus in 2015, they planted a seed of hope that someday we’d see the unrivaled magic of those boys on stage together again — the greatest team the world has ever seen. Maybe Zayn would join, probably not. Maybe it would’ve been a one-off thing for charity or a special anniversary. Maybe it would be in their 50s when the allure of easy money from a reunion tour was too tempting to resist. But surely, eventually, 1D would reunite in some capacity. I was excited to see how their once frenetic energy and youthful antics would meld with the mature solo artists they’ve become.

That hope sustained us through 18 months and eventually eight years, but now the hiatus is over. I would have happily clowned for every remaining day of my life than know this new certainty brought by the finality of Liam’s death. Maybe, someday, there will be a memorial performance. Maybe we’ll see three or four out of five come together to honor him — and what a poignant testament it will be that Liam was what could bring them together. Or maybe it will never feel right to them to take the stage without him, and that, too, will make all the sense in the world.

I wish I had an uplifting ending for this post. I don’t. I wake up and my first thought is “Liam isn’t here anymore,” and then I go about my day with that relentless realization lurking around the corner of every mundane task I do.

I haven’t been able to listen to their music yet. It’s a cruel trick that the thing that always brought comfort is now a trigger for grief. But I hope that will soon change. That, at some point, I’ll put on WMYB, get choked up at “You’re insecure” and second-guess my readiness. But then jump to History, and find solace in the lyrics that are currently rattling around my brain but aren’t ready to be heard yet: “This is not the end, this is not the end” … “We can live forever.”

❯❯❯❯

#rest in peace liam #liam payne #tw liam's death #trying to process the sad thoughts #don't read if your own sad thoughts are too much atm #i've moved from shock to sorrow and now to denial #none of it feels real #tw death

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slytherinshua · 6 months ago

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SHUT YOUR PRETTY MOUTH

genre. fluff. warnings. eric's yapping abt furry stuff 😟 reader hates on furries. slight make out. not proofread pairing. eric x fem!reader. wc. 951. request. no. a/n. @hursheys i hope this fulfills your eric delusions ☝️ i kinda hate the ending but whatever we're gonna roll with it. net. @deoboyznet

“So then he was like ‘well that’s totally furry behaviour’, and, obviously, I took offense to that. Cause, like, hello that’s absurd! I’m not a furry. I just bark occasionally—”

You were all too familiar with Eric’s chronic insomnia. Much like a toddler, if he didn’t do enough during the day to exhaust his endless energy, he could easily stay up all night with no sense of time or how tired other people (you) were. You closed your eyes, still half-listening to your boyfriend’s rambling, although you had lost the context of it a long time ago. If you were lucky, you might even be able to fall asleep to his yapping…

As if.

“So I was like, ‘dude, I have a girlfriend, why would you even suggest that’!? They went without me— good riddance— and I blocked them too, so there’s no need to worry. Maybe this is what Kevin meant when he warned me to stop hanging out with random people I meet on the streets. But, I met you on the streets too, so I can’t trust anything Kevin says anymore. Imagine if I hadn’t stopped to get your number at the crosswalk? My life would be so boring now!” Eric continued animatedly, drumming his fingers against the pillow that rested in his lap, picking out the rhythm to one of The Boyz’s songs.

“And I might actually be able to get some sleep…” You interjected with a tired whisper, rolling on your side to face your boyfriend. You opened your eyes with a pointed glare, and Eric’s let out a small “oh”.

“Right. Sorry, baby. You should sleep.” He said quickly, plopping down next to you and planting a quick kiss to your forehead. He was quiet for around 3 minutes, before you heard a small whisper close to your face.

“You don’t ever regret taking my number, do you?” You opened one eye to find Eric staring at you, his eyes wide like a puppy’s.

“No, I don’t regret it.” You said truthfully, a yawn coming in at the end of your response. Eric smiled slightly, his brain telling him that he should let you finally sleep, but it seemed his mouth had other ideas.

“What if I was a furry? Would you still date me?” You had to hold back a laugh at the question, assuming that it was a reference to his earlier rambling. Although you couldn’t recall how the full conversation had gone, you were pretty sure that even if you did, it wouldn’t help you understand Eric’s brain.

“Who said you weren’t already?” You asked sarcastically, earning a pout from the boy that was almost impossible to resist kissing.

“What if instead of talking to you I just barked in response?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, silently judging his train of thought that was getting increasingly more unhinged with every minute that went by. You being extremely tired didn’t help with your patience for his incessant questions. You loved your boyfriend, you really did. But sometimes you just wanted him to shut up and let you sleep.

“What if instead of walking—”

Eric thankfully was not able to finish his sentence, which you could only assume had something to do with crawling on all fours or galloping around like a pony, because you had finally given in to your thoughts and shut up his rambling with your lips. He was shocked at first, frozen in place from your sudden movement. But kissing you was as natural as breathing to him, so he quickly found his rhythm, pulling you closer by your waist and kissing you deeply.

“Was that a yes?” Came Eric’s first words when you broke off for air.

“If you mean breaking up if you became a furry, then definitely yes. Now shut your pretty mouth.” You stated clearly before crashing your lips onto his again, giving him no opportunity to protest.

It was surprising how easy it was to get lost in the kiss even when you were exhausted. With Eric eagerly leading, it was simple enough to just let him do most of the work. You tangled your fingers in his blonde hair as he squeezed your waist, letting his tongue slip past your lips gently.

It seemed your kissing idea worked wonders to exhaust your boyfriend’s energy, as when he broke it off and fell back onto the pillow, he wrapped you up in his arms and let his eyes fall close. You could feel his heart racing, your ear resting over his chest. His cheeks were flushed a pretty pink colour and his lips slightly swollen from the prolonged kiss. As his heartbeat slowed to a regular speed, you naturally matched your breathing with it, and the repetition lulled you to sleep quickly.

Eric held you tightly in his arms, listening to your steady breathing. He was tired, but his mind still raced with thoughts. Rather than meaningless questions he loved to throw at you, they all shifted to thoughts of you. He didn’t deserve your patience at the best of times, and was forever thankful that you truly loved him for himself.

He knew he could be overbearing and exhausting at times, but he tried his best to balance it with the soft romantic moments that you and him both loved. You were quite similar to each other, the more Eric thought about. Although you were definitely more subdued, which balanced his exuberant energy quite well.

He sniffed, not having realized until now that his eyes had welled up with tears from his thoughts. He sheepishly blinked them away and held you a little closer in his arms, falling into his dreamland with you.

↳ the boyz taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @blossominghunnie,, @cosmicwintr,, @weird-bookworm,, @haecien,,

@lecheugo,, @seunghancore,, @heavenfilm,, @recordsfilm,, @bananabubble,,

@talking-saxy,, @cupidslovearrows,, @hursheys,, @gong-fourz

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chrisevansonly · 1 year ago

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𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐜

ʚ charles leclerc x female reader

ʚ charles gets the one call he never wanted to get, and despite your worries about his precious pista, he doesn’t care about the car. just you.

ʚ angst, description of injuries (minor), mentions of blood, panic attacks, violence (minor), tears and lots of soft charles

ʚ okay idk why i thought of this idea, but i have and here we are, i know people have been asking for angst, this idk if it qualifies as the angst you’re all looking for but I will work on some other ideas too:)

Time was frozen as you sat in the driver’s seat of what once looked like a Ferrari 488 Pista. Only now you could make out the back of the car, the front of it might as well be in a what not to do when you drive a luxury vehicle catalogue. Your head was ringing and your chest pounding as adrenaline and anxiety pumped through your veins, as much as you’d started to feel pain in a multitude of places, your brain was thinking of only one thing;

Charles is going to be so mad.

To make matters worse, the man who had hit you was now cursing through the tinted window, claiming the accident to be all your fault. Deciding to think about Charles’s potential anger later you picked your phone up and called his number.

Thankfully it didn’t take long,

“Hi baby, are you on your way back”

A pause

“Um…I-I got in an accident Char…”

The line was silent before he spoke up, panic laced in his voice.

“Qu'entendez-vous par ‘accident?’ Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé? Où es-tu, es-tu gravement blesse.”

“Charles, english please my head hurts so bad.”

Normally you’d be able to hold an entire conversation with him in French, but right now it was just too much.

“I’m sorry, where are you baby? Are you hurt bad?”

Sniffling softly, you hummed

“I am down by the marina; my head really hurts. The man who hit me…he-he is yelling loudly at me…can you-oh Charles your poor car….”

“No, don’t even worry about my car baby, you matter more to me, I can’t replace you, but I can replace the car. I’ll be there in ten minutes, keep the doors locked, don’t get out.”

You nodded, only then realizing he couldn’t see you.

“Yes, okay, I’ll wait here…please hurry”

“I will chérie, I promise.”

Just like he’d said, a familiar black Alfa Romeo pulled up next to the crash site, Charles quick to get out and come towards the driver’s side door, only to see the man banging at the window.

“Hey, can you step away from my car?”

The man turned to look at Charles

“Cette stupide salope a détruit ma voiture!”

“Je vous le redemande, éloignez-vous de ma voiture”

It was getting harder for Charles to reign in his anger, quickly pushing the man back, giving him a look that at this point in the evening, had him backing away, finally allowing Charles to open the door and see you

“Hey..hey.. I’m here, its okay?”

Charles swore his heart broke as you looked at him with teary eyes, a bruise above your eyebrow, but thankfully you appeared alright otherwise.

“I-I’m so sorry about your car Charlie, he just-he came out of nowhere, and I-I couldn’t-I am so so sorry!”

Holding back the sobs was almost impossible at this point, but Charles was quick to undo your seatbelt, helping you turn towards the door and put your feet on the ground. Once he had you turned toward him, he brought his hands up to hold your face, his thumbs swiping your cheeks.

“My love, listen to me, you are my main priority, you are the love of my life, and this car is just mental and parts, all which can be fixed, but you cannot, and I cannot have another one of you, ever okay?”

Sniffling you nodded

“Okay…”

In the distance you could heard the sirens coming your way, knowing you’d be going to the hospital, it was a given but for now you really just needed Charles, and he wasn’t going anywhere, that was for sure.

“Are you hurting badly baby?”

“No, just my head…can you help me up?”

Your boyfriend nodded, holding onto your arms gently as he helped you stand up, before bringing you into his chest, your arms wrapping around him, as he did the same to you.

“I am so glad you’re okay, you have no idea how worried I was…we’ll get you to the hospital and then i’m not leaving your side”

“Promise you won’t?”

Charles smiled as he saw your pinky finger come up, quickly linking his in a pink promise, a tradition you’d both been doing since your third date.

“I promise, i’m not going anywhere”

As the sirens got closer, you leaned further into Charles, knowing no matter what happened, he’d be by your side for as long as you needed him, he’d be there. It didn’t matter if he had a race, media or social events to attend, for you he’d drop them in a heart beat over and over again.

Because he never wanted to get that kind of phone call again.

translations:

-Qu'entendez-vous par ‘accident?’ Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé? Où es-tu, es-tu gravement blesse : What do you mean by 'accident?' What happened? Where are you, are you seriously injured?

-Cette stupide salope a détruit ma voiture!: This stupid bitch destroyed my car!

-Je vous le redemande, éloignez-vous de ma voiture: I'm asking you again, get away from my car

2K notes · View notes

justmeinadaze · 10 months ago

Text

Secret Underneath Part 3 (Steddie X Plus Size Reader)

A/N: A lot of this came from the rough week I had and desperately needing Daddy <3

Warnings: Warnings: Sugar Daddies Steve and Eddie/ Baby Fem Plus Size Reader, SMUT, toys (triple stimulation ;) ), dirty talk, nothing too rough just passionate. ANGST, reader has a bad day and needs help feeling better, mentions of her ex (brief mentions of him hurting her and being verbally abusive during their relationship; comments on her weight but its brief), boys mention their fathers as well as touching on their own ex.

Word Count: 5367

You were having a terrible fucking day.

One of the other teachers you weren’t fond of danced all over your last nerve as if it was her mission. You forgot your lunch because you had rushed out of your apartment late due to not hearing your alarm because you tossed and turned all night. Your AC broke around midnight and by 2am you were covered in sweat. Every time you called your landlord, you were either placed on hold or the line disconnected.

All you wanted to do when you got home was curl up in bed but as soon as you walked through the door you were immediately met with blistering heat.

Usually you could handle all this, all be it with a bit more snark than normal but you didn’t want to. All of your energy was drained and the only thing your mind could muster was the need to throw things against the wall like a toddler.

Daddy.

You debated on calling them. So far the guys had just given you money willingly after every meeting but you had yet to ask them for anything. Oddly with them, you didn’t want them to feel used. Maybe because of what they told you about previous relationships doing just that or maybe it was because you genuinely enjoyed their company.

Finally giving in to your brain, you reached for your phone and dialed the number they give you.

“Hey, honey.”, Steve practically sings as his voice floats through. “How was your day? I was just about to call you.”

“D-D-Daddy…”, you cry, unable to stop the tears as they flow.

“What’s wrong, baby?”, he asked, his tone changing to that authoritative one that made you feel safe. You told him what happened and how your day had progressively got worse. You could hear him moving around on the other line before the sound of a ding from an elevator caught your attention.

“Are y-you at work? Fuck, I’m so sorry—”

“No, hey, don’t be sorry. I was going to leave early anyway. I just got ahold of Eddie and he’s going to meet me at your place. Do you feel comfortable sending us your address?” His heart breaks as he listens to you cry harder, his protective, dominate side now fully in the driver’s seat. “Baby girl, everything’s ok. I promise we’re going to get everything taken care of.”

After texting him your address, you wait by the open window as you fan your face and as soon as you hear the knock you run to let them in. The rockstar doesn’t even hesitate as he takes you in his arms.

“Jesus, sweetheart, you are covered in sweat. Are you okay?” Your gaze kept shifting between him and the mogul as his fingers rapidly moved against the screen on his phone. “Hey, look at me, Y/N. How are you feeling? You’re not dizzy or dehydrated right?”

“No, Daddy. I’m sorry if I bothered you both. I didn’t know who else to call and I’m so exhausted—”

“Baby. Baby, breathe. It’s ok. Don’t ever be afraid to call us or ask for help, alright?”

Someone new knocks on your door, startling you but not them as Steve heads that way.

“Ed, why don’t you get a bath going for her? Nothing too hot though.”

“Yes, sir.”, he salutes making you smile. “Boy talkin’ to me like he’s my Daddy. Come on, pretty girl, let’s let Stevie do his thing.”

***

In the middle of your bath, the AC abruptly clicked on and you sighed in relief. By the time Eddie had you in a long, oversized shirt and brushing your hair, you were completely at ease.

“Ok, honey, I hired some of the best people to come fix your unit so it won’t break again for a long while. I also called your landlord and threatened to sue him into oblivion…so your next couple of months are free.”, Steve grins as a he takes a seat on the edge of the bed in front of you. “At some point, doesn’t have to be now or even this month, I would like to talk with you about getting you a new place. You shouldn’t have to argue before someone fucking comes to fix your necessities. I mean YOU pay THEM—”

“Steven, you’re doing that thing again.”, the metalhead chuckles as he places the brush on your nightstand.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Y/N. I just hate the idea of you struggling. You deserve all the good things.”

“Speaking of good things, what would you like to eat, babe? Harrington here said you had forgotten your lunch today. We want to make sure you’re fed and full.”

Your head hung as you silently stared into the mattress.

“Y/N, sweetie.”, Steve coos as he lifts your chin. “It’s ok that you called. You weren’t bothering us and we’re happy to help.”

“I know you said people in the past used you for your money. I don’t want you to think that’s all I want. I DO like you.”

Eddie lightly tugs your hair, tilting your head back so he could kiss your lips.

“We like you to.”

“This apartment really isn’t that bad, you know.”

“Baby, I just gave you a bath in that closet you call a bathroom and that’s coming from a man who grew up in a trailer.”

“I didn’t know that.”

As you lean back into his bare chest, a pleasant sigh leaves his lips and you rest your forehead on his cheek.

“I don’t talk about that side of my life. I mean of course people find out but…”

“We grew up in a small town so people gossip.”

“That’s how you two met? Growing up?”

Both men grow silent and you promptly hang your head before crawling out of Eddie’s embrace to head for the kitchen. They follow and as soon as they enter the room, you throw a menu onto the counter.

“I like their pizza and beer special. Don’t worry, Steve, we can get you like a Voss water or something.”, you grin as he tilts his head and you stick out your tongue.

“I feel challenged. Why do you think I can’t keep up with you and rockstar here?”

“I think you just answered your own question.”, Eddie joked as he leaned over the counter to look over the food options with you.

***

“Ok…3, 2, 1, GO!”

As soon as the metalhead gives the go ahead, you and Steve puncture the beer can with a knife and hastily chug back it’s contents. You were the first to finish, throwing your hands in the air as the other man trails behind.

“Jesus, I’m rusty.”

“Yeah, sure pretty boy. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”, you sass as you lean forward to grab another slice of pizza.

“So this is like your go to stress reliever? Sitting on the floor eating cheap pizza and beer while listening to crap music?”

“First off, rude. My music isn’t crap. Secondly, yeah. During the colder months I’ll put up Christmas lights and just lay here watching the snow fall. I love this city. It’s so beautiful.”

“Were you born here?”

“No, I’m from the south. I moved here because my boyfriend got a job and I wanted to be near him. Obviously, that didn’t end well.”, you chuckle as you take a sip of your drink.

“The asshole that hurt you?”, Eddie growls, his own protective nature slowly creeping in when you nod. “Was he always like that?”

“Verbally he could be a dick but he never got physical like that before. After we moved here it just got progressively worse. He’d say things under his breath or give me back handed compliments. Fucker could dish it out but never take it.

‘You know for how much weight you’ve gained, that dress actually looks pretty good on you.’

‘Aw, gee, thanks. You know, not many men can pull of jeans that tight but with a penis as small as yours I guess you don’t have to worry.’”

Both men laughed making you smile before it tapers off and they glance towards each other.

“My father was a fucker to. He got in trouble with the law a lot and ended up in prison back home in Indiana. I grew up with my uncle in that trailer I mentioned.”

“What about your mom?”

Eddie sighed as he propped himself up on his elbow.

“She died when I was really little. She, um, she was a good woman.”

Nodding, you decide not to pry further as you lean back against Steve’s stomach who was also on his side on his elbow.

“MY dad could verbally be a dick like your ex. He made comments like that all the time especially when I was in high school. I was surprised he let me take over his company. My mother isn’t a bad person, she just…I don’t know…her priorities are all out of whack.”

“I’m so sorry you guys experienced that. I actually get along with my parents and I hate being so far away from them.”

“Why didn’t you move back after you two broke up?”, the metalhead asked.

“My job. I love teaching here and I love those kids. They are all so smart and sassy, I love it.”, you giggle.

Your eyes shift towards the window as you pleasantly exhale, closing your eyes as Steve’s fingers absently began playing with your hair.

“When did you two decide to do this whole Daddy/Baby thing?”

“We’ve always enjoyed everything that comes along with being a Daddy and not just sexually. Perfect example, seeing your face light up when I told you I took care of everything with the apartment. I like seeing you happy.”

“I mean the same applies in bed to.”, Eddie chuckles. “We like seeing you unravel and tremble because of us. Why did you decide to do this?”

“I’ve always preferred more dominate men who could take control. I didn’t realize they would be so hard to find.”, you smile. “Maybe I was looking in the wrong age bracket. I needed two OLD MEN.”, you tease as the rockstar bites his lip across from you to stifle a laugh. “I’ve never cared about the money aspect that comes along with it.”

As they nod, you take both men in as they continue to relax. Because of the heat Eddie had removed his shirt so you could see how low his jeans really were as his blue boxers peaked out above the waistband. His hair was perfectly fluffed out, just barely resting on the top part of his smooth back. Any time you tried to run your fingers through it, he always made a joke about how tangled it was but you didn’t care especially when his eyes would close and he would hum lightly in pleasure when you did.

Steve had showed up in his suit and you had yet to see him in anything else but at least in this moment he seemed relaxed. The first time you were with them, he appeared agitated which Eddie had explained it was because the mogul didn’t want you to feel used after your ordeal. The couple of times after, he constantly displayed an air of confidence which wasn’t abnormal with Daddies you met but in this moment when he put that wall down…he was adorable. Even his hair relaxed as the product began to fade, allowing it to move every which way.

“You both are handsome.”

They had been in the middle of conversation you didn’t realize they were having until you blurted your statement making them pause as they turned to grin your way.

“Thank you.”, Eddie laughed, air hissing through his teeth. “I think it’s time to take away the booze, Stevie.”

“Pfft I’m not that drunk.”, you giggle. “Trust me, you’ll know when I am. I can be mean.” Both men chuckle and make mocking facial expressions as you playfully glare. “I know you don’t want to tell me what happened with your last Baby but… she’s a fucking idiot for not keeping you two around.”

You don’t see but their features falter for a moment before Steve finally collects himself.

“You’re technically our first Baby.” Your eyes widen in shock and amusement as he nods before popping open another can of beer. “I know. Plot twist, huh?”

“Obviously we talked to other ones on that site but you were the only one that intrigued us and the first we’ve ever met with. Like Harrington said, we like the aspects of being a Daddy which includes taking care of the girl we care about. Individually and together…it just got exhausting after a while jumping from one date to the next trying to figure out their motives. At least this way…there’s some order to it. Another reason we like you is because you ARE up front.”

“So… your last girlfriend must have really hurt you then…if you decided to give up that scene to this.” They glance your way at your comment as a sad sounding sigh escapes you and you pull your knees under your chin. “I’m sorry.”

“Y/N, can we ask for one more favor?”, Steve asks in a serious tone that makes you face him.

“Yeah, Daddy, of course.”

“Have you googled us yet? Or did any kind of snooping?” Both men exhale in relief when you say no. “You wouldn’t lie to us right, baby girl?”

“No, I wouldn’t lie. I wanted to but you wanted privacy. I respect that. Plus, I’d rather you tell me things than for me to read it.”

“Good…good girl.” Eddie praises as you blush. “Can we keep it that way?”

“Yes, Daddy, I promise.”

“What’s going on over there, pretty girl? Why are you all shy all of the sudden?”, he teases eliciting a small squeal as you duck your head into your arms.

“I’m just glad you two came over. I really needed this.”

“Yeah, honey? Is there anything else we can do for you?”

“Actually…”, you sing. “I got a new toy the other day. Would you like to see it?” After they nod, both men watch you rise to your feet and excitedly run towards your bedroom. When you return, you hastily open the box it came in and produce a pink vibrator for them to see. “I figured since I have two Daddies now I can use this if you both are away. This part is like the normal vibrators you see everywhere but this end here goes into my behind and this little part up here plays with my clit.”

“Have you tried it out yet?”

“No, Daddy.”, you answer Eddie’s question shaking your head.

“Well, why don’t you, baby? Give it whirl and tell us how it feels.”, Steve instructs in a husky tone that has you biting your bottom lip.

Tossing aside your comfy clothes, you sit naked before them as your eyes suddenly fleet between each man.

“May I lean against one of you?”

You can’t help but laugh when both men turn to each other and without any hesitation or prior conversation begin to play rock, paper, scissors. The metalhead wins, throwing his hands victoriously in the air as his friend rolls his eyes before lifting his body and crawling towards you to place himself behind you. Melting into his touch, you lean your head back onto his shoulder and kiss his cheek as he tilts down to kiss your neck.

His beautiful large hands softly run up the back of your thighs and hooks them behind your knees making you giggle like a little kid as he pries your legs open. They watch with eager eyes as you squeeze a small amount of lube into your palm and your breath hitches slightly as you lather it between your cheeks.

Eddie army crawls forward till he’s a few inches in front of your cunt, sighing as he lays his head on his forearm.

“Fuck, you smell so good.”

Smirking, you glance down to make sure the toy is positioned properly before focusing as you insert all the pieces in their respective places. Your body tenses a bit as you lean your head back and close your eyes.

“Everything ok, honey?”, Steve whispers.

“Y-Yeah. Fuck… just feels a bit…different.”

“For something about the size of a regular vibrator, it really blocks my view.”, the rockstar whines making you pout. “No, shit, hey. I didn’t mean that as a bad thing.” Quickly pushing up onto his palms, his fingers grip your chin, and tilt you so he can kiss your lips. “As long as I can see your face and hear those pretty sounds coming out of your mouth that’s all I care about.”

As he starts to pull away from you to lay back down, your free hand shoots out to grab his shoulder.

“Wait…Can you…stay this close to me to. Please, Daddy.”

A shaky breath escapes Eddie at your needy tone before hastily collecting himself and clearing his throat as he tilts back to sit his heels.

“Yeah, baby, yeah. Of course, I can do that for you.”

After pressing the little button, the toy comes to life and your groan instantly hits their ears.

“Jesus.”

“How does it feel, pretty girl?”

You barely register Steve’s question as your body lights up with every kind of sensation, your mouth falling open as a soft uh falls through.

“He asked you something, sweetheart.”

“F-Feels…feels…good.”

“Hey. Can you open your eyes and look at me?”, Eddie asks as the other man’s lips gently peck between your shoulder and neck. “Y/N, open your eyes.”

At his firmer tone you do what he commands, mewling loudly when you notice his hand had slid down his pants so he could ease the ache of his cock pressing almost painfully against the denim.

“Good, good girl. Don’t…fuck, you’re so fucking sexy…don’t take them off me.”

Steve’s mouth grazed your ear and his low, husky whispers had you trembling against him.

“There you go, baby girl. Make yourself cum. You deserve it after the long day you had. After you make yourself cum, your Daddies are going to take care of you, honey. We’ll fuck you till that little brain goes quiet. Fuck, I can hear how wet you are. Makes me so fucking hard.”

Your eyes rolled back as the coil snapped and you pushed back against him as you came.

“No, hey, no, baby. Don’t run from it.”, Eddie lightly scolded as he grabbed the end of the toy and continued pumping inside of you at a rigorous pace.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Daddy, please.”, you begged as you pushed at his hand.

After delicately removing the toy, he tossed it out of the way, collecting you in his arms, and positioning you so you were straddling his waist.

“You have to take off your pants.”, you breathily giggle when you feel the cold metal of the button on his jeans against your puffy lips. The rockstar’s eyelids flutter as he grunts in frustration and his arm grips your body to him as he uses his free hand to sloppily push them down his thighs. “Baby, you can let me go to take them off. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Damn right you’re not. You’re ours, princess. Fuck.” As you clung to his neck hovering over his lips, his eyes remained on your face as you slowly sunk down onto his cock. “Can you say that for me? Tell me who you belong to?”

“Mmm—I belong to Daddy. Oh my…so deep.”

“I know, baby, I know. There you go, that’s it. Just ride my dick just like that.”

His palms held the meat of your behind as he guided your movements while you bounced on top of him. Eddie’s gaze never faltered as he continued to take in every little movement that twitched along your features. Every time your bodies connected; your eyebrows scrunched in pleasure. When his length would roughly hit that sensitive spot inside you; your mouth fell open as you panted against his lips.

His favorite part was when either of you moved at a faster pace, you pulled him as close to you as you could. He loved feeling your needy hands pushing against his back to bring him to your chest or when your head fell against his shoulder as your fingers ran through his tangled mess of hair.

If he could be this close to you all the time he would.

“Fuck, Y/N.”, he practically growled as he lifted you up and placed you on your back underneath him. His lips roughly kissed yours as he rolled his lower half into your own. “You feel so fucking good. I need you to cum, pretty girl. Please.”

Your eyes opened at the word as his closed in focus, that little crease in his forehead as he thrust at a quicker pace had you swooning as you reached up to cup his cheek. A small smirk flickered across his mouth as he did the same; his thumb absently caressing your cheek.

“Just like that, Daddy. I’m gonna cum. W-Will you cum with me?”

After nodding, the sound of skin hitting skin filled the room till it was replaced with your whimpers and his grunts as the coil snapped and you both came.

Steve had been patiently waiting as he watched you both together, stroking his cock as your beautiful moans filled his ears. He desperately needed you but he knew how to wait; you’d be his soon enough.

After removing all of his clothes, he tossed them to the side, wanting to feel every part of your skin against him this time. As Eddie backed away, the mogul beamed down at you as he took his place.

“Are you ok, honey?”

He chuckled softly at your lopsided grin as you reached up for him to bring his lips to yours.

“Yeah, I’m ok. I want you.”

“I like hearing you say that. Can you say it again?”

“I want you, Daddy. I need you.”

Falling onto his side next to you, he guided you to do the same with your chest against his and one of his arms under your head.

“I just want to be really close to you, Y/N.”, he murmured as his large palm slid down your spine, over your ass, and along your thigh as he lifted it over his hip. Steve only released you long enough to guide his cock inside of you before placing it against your back near the base of your neck. “Fuck, baby, still so wet. Did Daddy make you feel good?”

“So good—mmm—I’ve never…”

“Never what? Tell me.”, he instructions as he continues doing little but deep thrusts into your core.

“No one’s ever fucked me like this…at this angle…”

He can’t help but lightly laugh making you sigh as you smile and lean your forehead onto his.

“We told you, baby girl. You’re with men now. We know how to take care of a beautiful woman like you.”

As he finds a steady, firm rhythm, you feel like you’re going to melt into a million tiny pieces as he stretched you open. Steve’s palm continued to roam your skin as his other remains firmly positioned behind your head, keeping your face as close to his as possible feeling your pussy clench every time he moans into your mouth.

“That’s it—fuck—just hold on to me, Y/N. Don’t let go.”

“Never.”

You didn’t even realize you said it but they both heard as it fell from your lips. Feeling his pace falter, he pounds into you hard and fast trying to get you over the edge before he cums. Tears streak your face as you tremble against him and while your cunt quivers around his cock he warms your insides as he spills inside of you.

“Fuck…fuck, fuck, fuck…”, Steve pants as he lifts your head and pushes back the hair sticking to your face. “Are you alright?”

A wide toothy smile greets him as you tilt back and giggle.

“Yeah, baby. That was perfect.”

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you into a quick shower.”

“Nooooooo, Daddy.”, you whine making Eddie laugh as he jumps to his feet in only his boxers.

“Come on, ya big baby.”

He starts to tug on your arm like he’ll drag you if he has to causing your smile to grow as you rise to your feet and let him lead you to your bathroom. After putting on his own boxers, Steve trailed behind taking in the things around him.

Even though the majority of people had music on their phones, you had a small shelf filled with records and a record player. Along your walls were pictures of you with different people he assumed to be your family and friends. As he entered your bedroom, there was a bookshelf filled with reading material and he couldn’t help but smile when he notices a book hanging out that pertained to his business.

You were trying to learn and understand; he appreciated that.

What he didn’t like was when he placed the book back down a picture that was nestled in the back binding tumbled out.

It was you with another man’s arm wrapped around your shoulders.

Steve heard your laugh as you and his friend exited the bathroom and he held it up in your direction.

“Where did you get that?”, you asked as your face fell.

“It fell out of this book here.”

Your eyes closed as you sighed, taking the book from his hand and placing it on your dresser.

“I didn’t know it was in there.”, you mumbled.

“So you could hide it?”, Eddie asked with a tone filled of accusation. “Who the fuck is this?”

You try to control your anger as you watch the rockstar snatch it from the mogul’s hand as the other man stares at you waiting for an answer.

“My ex.”

“Yeah, that’s going to require some more explaining.”

“He let me borrow the book. Look, it’s not what you think! I asked a friend to ask him for it. I didn’t even think the asshole would put his fucking picture in there. I don’t even know why he’d do that.”

“To manipulate you and make you miss him.”, Steve growled. “Why are you taking anything from him at all?”

“Can we talk about this later, please? I’m so tired.”

“No, we can’t, Y/N. This is the second time this man is popping up suddenly and after what happened the first time I don’t like it.”

“What part? The part where I still went on a date with him or the part where he assaulted me?”

“Does it matter?!”, Eddie yelled. “Both were fucking awful. Nobody should be putting their hands on you and you are ours. We’ve made that very fucking clear!”

“And it’s crystal clear to me, Eddie. I don’t want to have anything to do with him!”, you scream, grabbing the image and tearing it up. “I try to avoid him as much I can but it’s hard! Fuck, this day sucks so much.”

“Why is it hard, Y/N?”

Folding your arms, you feel your heart start to break as you prepare for the worst.

“Because we work together! That’s how we met. We went to school together back home and when he got a job here in New York I followed him. He suggested I apply to and to my surprise I was hired to!” You shrug as you wipe the tears that began to fall. “I thought we were going to be together forever. I was a fucking idiot.”

Taking a seat on your bed, your head hangs but after a few seconds the mattress dips on either side of you as Eddie pushes your hair behind your ear so he can see your face.

“Usually, he just ignores me until he wants something…like last time… Since I started seeing you, now I ignore him and according to idle gossip it bothers him.”, you explain as you roll your eyes at the end.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”, Steve inquires.

“Why don’t you about your last girl?”, you snap.

As he exhales in frustration, Eddie rises angerly off the bed and stomps into your living before coming back with his phone in his hand. Falling to his knees in front of you, he flashes you the screen but when you try to take it from him he pulls it back.

“Read.”

“Gina Frost, daughter of 90s film star, suing guitarist and business tycoon for palimony.”

Your gaze shifts up to meet his with confusion.

“H-How have I never…”

“Our lawyer managed to put a lock on our information and we don’t actually go into a court or anything. Not yet anyway…”, he sighs.

“Can she…I mean…palimony is for a couple not a—”

“Yeah we know.”, Steve cuts you off a bit harshly. “Add that twist into the knife she stabbed into our backs.”

“I’m so sorry. I really am… I didn’t tell you about my ex because I felt stupid and I thought…maybe you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore if I told you. I swear, Steve, Eddie, I don’t have feelings for him. I like you two. I mean I know this is just a…I don’t know…a thing right now but I do enjoy talking to you. I feel safe with you and even though we can’t put a specific label on it I at least consider you my friends. You know…my old man friends that fuck me from time to time.”

They both laugh at your joke causing you to smile as you relish the sound.

“We felt the same.”, Eddie responds first, guiding you against your pillows as he follows and climbs in beside you. “She took advantage of us and it took us forever to even catch on. We like you to...”

“Very much.”, Steve added as he curled up beside you as well. “We’re not that old, ya brat.”

You giggle as they pull you closer to their sides.

“Are you safe? From him, I mean?”

“Yeah, he won’t do anything while we’re at work and if he did I would knock him out. That’s what happened last time. He yanked on my blouse and I turned around to punch him. He told people in the school he got in a bar fight defending a girl.”

“Jesus Christ. What a dick.”, the rockstar chuckles.

“Thank you both for coming over. I really need this…needed you.”

That makes them softly smile as you slowly begin to drift off to sleep. Eddie’s eyes scan his friend’s demeanor as he absently plays with your hair.

“Steve Harrington, whatever you’re thinking about doing, you can’t.”

“I don’t like him being in the same building with her. What if he hurts her again?”

“She said he won’t. Ah, ah.”, he tuts as the mogul starts to argue. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t like it either but… that’s not part of our deal. We have to trust her. Unless she asks us to deal with him, we shouldn’t bringing that kind of attention our way.”

“Eddie, I don’t care about that kind of attention. Fuck Gina and fucking popular opinion.”, he growls. “What if…what if we can’t get to her or what if he does something worse… She said he changed after they moved. It just makes me nervous especially with us going out of town soon. I want to know she’s ok.”

“She’s a strong girl and if she needs anything she’ll tell us. We can’t control her like that. We aren’t those kind of men… we aren’t our dads.”

Steve glances his way, exhaling as he reaches over to pat his best friend’s arm.

“You’re a good dude, Munson.”

“Aw.”, Eddie coos. “Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself, Harrington.”

#################

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bokettochild · 2 months ago

Text

Little Soldier Boy, Come Marching Home

I apparently had some Uncle Aflon brainrot (could y'all tell?) and it spawned this monster!

Not sure if I'm actually going to make a story about this, I mean a proper one, but this refused to let my brain rest until I wrote at least this much, so I figured I'd share it for the folks who kept sending me Aflon asks :)

(Yes I am very aware that the title is from a song, I'd recommend listening to the Reinaeiry cover on YouTube, because it's also rotted my brain since I listened to it and I think it suits Aflon and Legend quite well T-T)

The first time he held Link, it was standing on the edge of the wood, away from the eyes of all the kingdom and under a veil of darkness. The forest chattered and whispered behind him, bringing to mind whispers of thieving Kolkiri and fae, and it had made him hold the babe in his arms all the tighter.

His sister-in-law was watching him closely, hands hovering, wary, like she didn’t trust him to hold the child quite right, ready every second to take the positively tiny bundle back from him and tuck that red and fitful face back against her own breast, hushing and cooing softly herself as she’d been when he’d arrived there. She didn’t though, although whether that was due to his own skill or some sort of restraint from the woman, he wasn’t certain.

“What’s the little ‘us name then?” He’d asked, pushing down the swaddling of rough fabric, far too rough for so small a thing, but lined carefully with far finer where no eyes could see. The child within trembled, cold air drawing a wavering wail from a tiny mouth. There wasn’t much to see anyways, he was a baby, same as anyone had ever had. Far smaller than Aflon had ever seen before though; so small he almost could hold him in one hand alone, but by all other means the tiny creature wasn’t much to look at.

Despite that though, Loretta’s dark gaze hadn’t lifted once from the infant, usually stern features awash with pure adoration as one trailing hand lifted the blanket back up to shield the babe once more. “Link.”

“Like the hero?” The dead one?

“Like the star,” her hands lingered so close to the face of her child, and in answer, the tiny one stilled, quieting as though some spell was laid over him. “Like the boy who brought hope to dark countries when Hyrule was at her worst.”

“Sir Raven’s squire.”

She’d nodded. “The same.”

And the child was just, well, a child; a tiny wee thing that felt so fragile to hands accustomed to the sword, and Aflon had shaken his head with a sigh, turning to Loretta with the question that had plagued him since he’d been given his riding orders this morning with the command to meet her here. “Why me?”

Those had been the words to make her draw back, pain welling up behind dark violet eyes that avoided his own. “There’s no one else I can ask.”

“He’s your son.”

“Which is the same as a sentence of death,” she’d hissed, tone harsh as her blade, “you know as well as I how Hyrule sees its crown. You took a vow the same as any other knight.”

He had.

“That child,” her child, “stands no chance, no matter what I do, if I keep him with me.”

Aflon had shifted, sparing the bundle in his arms a glance one more before murmuring, “his chances are pretty slim regardless, ‘Etta. Babes this small-”

“I know,” She’d run a finger along a tiny cheek, face pinching into something bordering on gentle, on sweet, something no one would describe the woman as save with her steads, “But it’s the best I can give him.”

He’d felt the weight of those words, the weight of their expectation, and all the more so when the Queen of all Hyrule had lifted violet eyes to hold his own and given him her final command. “Protect him, Aflon. He’s not just your prince, he’s your nephew, and I swear on hell’s ashes if you fail him, I will flay you.” Typically, he’d have assumed her words to be in jest, but the fire behind her eyes, a furious and dangerous love the likes of which he’s only heard tell of a mother for her babe, had made him take the words to heart.

“I won’t fail you, your grace.”

“No,” she’d stepped closer, pulled his arms down just a bit further so she could duck her head and press a kiss to a tiny cheek, “don’t fail him. All else doesn’t matter-”

“The princess-”

“I will mind the princess,” Loretta’s eyes had darkened, “and failing that, the Impa sent is a good one. Your priority is him,” and both of them had turned to the child, a child so tiny he almost weighed nothing, but yet lay so heavy in his arms with duty set beside him. “He needs you.”

And he did. He hadn’t seen it then, hadn’t felt it, but even a man made in blood and battle knows the worth of life. And so, somehow, he’d managed.

He’d carried his little charge back to the closest village and taken a room, managing to ignore the curious and lingering gazes of the locals at a young knight in full armor with a tiny baby in his arms.

In truth, he hadn’t been sure where to go from there. Loretta had entrusted him with her child, which meant all other missions, whatever they might be, were out of the question. His duty as a knight, as a soldier, was now changed, which, all considered, wasn’t the worst fate in the world. Still, he’d mused, staring at the tiny creature that slept more than he stirred, it’s not exactly the life he’d imagined for himself.

They’d always been knights, or so his own father had taught himself and his brother. The men in their family take up the sword and the women the plow and reigns of a rancher. Their older sister already is married with her own farm, and goodness knows Banzetta himself, though king consort, still carries his blade as the second in command to their warrior queen. For himself, Aflon has never imagined anything else than to serve as his forefathers, perhaps to marry, although there’s no woman who’s caught his eye as of yet, or at least none he’d be keen to stay beside for all his life. He can’t continue traveling Hyrule though, not with a tiny child in his care, not when the world out there is still so dangerous and dark.

For days, he’d stayed at the inn. He’d had no direction or clue, but he’d done his best to mind the tiny princeling in his care, although his attempts must have been very poorly indeed because it wasn’t long at all before two of the local village women had been knocking down his door and scolding him left right and sideways.

Without the women of Kakariko, Aflon could say for a certainty that neither he nor Link would have made it through that winter. They had though. The ladies of Kakariko nursed his precious nephew alongside their own children, taught himself how to change and clean a child, how to swaddle them up tight against the cold, how to burp and soothe them. He’d listened with care, listened like they were marching orders from a commanding officer, and he’d taken them all to heart, employing every bit of skill imparted to best fulfill his duty to the child in his care.

Thankful as he was for those women, the many mothers of Kakariko, young and old both, there was still, despite their care, a fear that gripped him each time one of them took up Link in their arms. The babe was a prince of Hyrule, and were that known it would be easy to stage some incident to see that the bad omen that was a royal son was no more. The women of the village would laugh, saying that anxiety for a child was normal, but they had no conception how deeply his fear ran each time one of them held the boy, each time he had to turn his back on his helpless charge for even the smallest of moments.

Come spring, he’d settled, bought a piece of land with the money he’d saved over the years and made a home for himself. As it happened, an old orchard had been up for sale, just close enough to the village to keep in touch with those who’d shown them kindness, but with enough distance that he no longer felt the need to be on the defense at all times against neighbors who might seek to harm the boy in his care.

They’d asked, some of the village folk, if the baby was his. For lack of a better response, he’d said Link was his brother’s. No one questioned it. Why would they? He was a stranger to them, and though chatter would sound on street corners wondering what had happened to lead him, ‘a clueless young man who hasn’t the faintest on how to mind a babe’ to have care of Link, but they’d never asked him anything more, just gone on offering advice.

That was fine though. That was better than them all assuming he was the father, because it felt wrong to allow such a misconception. He couldn’t say why, but when a parent still lives and wants their child, there’s no right for another to claim them as their own. Besides, he couldn’t be a father.

As it was, some days he felt he was doing a terrible job of being an uncle.

And he hadn’t thought of himself as such at first, but somewhere amid long nights sitting up, just watching labored breaths from a body almost too frail to take them, somewhere amid whispered words with doctors who’d told him to let go already, with midwives who’d urged him to keep fighting as long as his little one did, somewhere along the line of spending every day forever in the presence of the child, there’d come a day when he’d stopped worrying about his charge, and where he’d started fretting about his nephew.

Maybe it was those moments of clarity and wakefulness when big bright eyes would stay up at him, so curious. When floppy little ears would follow the sounds of his voice, or tiny hands would cling fast to an offered finger, toothless jaws working at its tip with little coos and warbles. He couldn’t say. But somewhere in that first winter he’d gone from a knight with a charge to an uncle with a nephew, and he’d never wanted to go back.

Sure, it was hard some days. Link was a sickly baby from the start, and he grew slowly. He was bright though, so very bright, like a star as his mother had said, and with every passing day those eyes so like the queen’s own had filled up with their own constellations of joy and smiles, tiny hands clapping, little feet stumbling.

Despite all concerns and doubts, his little Link beat the odds.

The child was his sunshine. He’d never been a very social man, so the company of a single boy wasn’t bad at all in his opinion. Granted, with just the two of them it had raised concerns when Link hadn’t learned to speak when he should, and for a time he’d wondered if perhaps it was for a lack of him having used words enough for the little one to know them, but in time he’d accepted that words weren’t to be had, and while some village folk would murmur that a changeling might have been traded for his precious bundle, stolen by jealous kolkiri in vengeance for their own lost little one, he’d never minded too much. He’d learned to speak with his hands from the village elder, and so Link had as well, and by that means they’d gotten along quite well until the wee one had made up his mind to try for actual sounds.

His old friends from the army were company at times, stopping in between missions and runs, catching a drink or a place to stay. He used to worry about exposing Link to the life he’d known among them, but in front of the child they’d all minded well, many even offering help and kindness he’d never dare to ask for. Some had children of their own, they said, others younger siblings. Regardless of the reason though, not a man would enter his home as didn’t have a kind word for his nephew, and while worry still brewed up within to see Loretta’s child among men sworn to prevent his existence, not a one had ever guessed at the truth.

And then everything had changed when Link turned eight.

He’d been talking by then. Belated though it was, words would come to him at times, although he’d prefer his hands over his tongue. Despite the murmurs of locals though, the boy was bright, sitting up more often than not with whatever book Aflon could find for him and positively devouring anything inside of them, big violet eyes near glittering in delight at the world painted for his eager mind, at the discoveries and worlds and words and stories- heavens did his little star love the stories! He had ever so much to say about what he read, and a smile brighter than the sun itself, and small though he still was, weak though he’d likely always be, Aflon adored the boy that ran to his arms at every day’s end and shared home and heart with him.

He’d had doubts, in the beginning, that he could settle to a quiet life, but it never felt quiet with Link so eagerly learning about it beside him, indeed, it felt like he’d only just learned what it was to be alive for himself!

And every day was a new adventure, teaching his nephew something new or finding himself taught some lesson or fact. Every night was settling down before the fire and holding firm against the plea of “one more page!” before smothering his precious Link in mustachioed kisses and tucking him in tight against the chill of the night. Sometimes they were disturbed with guests and his efforts would be in vain, but nine times out of ten when that did happen, Captain Bertram or Major Wilkins would take the lad back to bed and recount enough stories to finally have him dozing off against them, ready to be tucked back in again upon their departure.

He wouldn’t have changed that life for the world though.

Yet, the world seemed to have other plans.

Link had startled awake in the middle of a storm one night, tearfully insisting that something was wrong, that there was danger, that Zelda, the sister he didn’t know was his even then, was in danger and that she’d told him so herself.

To another man, it might have been nothing, just a bad dream, but Aflon had himself woken before to the sound of startled cries sounding through an army camp. He could remember when the queen would awake from a vision while traveling with himself and his brother, and many a time, Banzetta had recounted to him when it happened that he hadn’t seen. It was in their blood, the people of Hyrule would say, that those of the royal line would sometimes be given visions, often of future events and or trouble brewing beyond even the eyes of the Sheikah. That was how all the prophecies surrounding his own family had come about, how the reappearance of a hero had been foretold.

So, upon hearing such strange words from the mouth of his nephew, rather than beg him return to bed or otherwise ignore it, Aflon had taken it to heart. After all, he’d been reminded, looking down at the tear-stained face at his bedside, Link may be his nephew, but he was also still Loretta’s son; still born with the blood of the crown, a prince of Hyrule.

So, although Loretta had told him to leave Zelda’s care to herself long ago, back when she and Banzetta were still alive and before some mission had gone awry and the both were lost forever- despite the fact that the Impa chosen by the sheikah had, indeed, never once failed in her duties, he’d still chosen to attend to the fears of his nephew and brave the storm, just in case. He’d chosen to risk it, even if it did mean he’d strayed from his orders.

He wishes every day that he hadn’t.

If only he’d done as Loretta said and minded Link first and foremost, maybe nothing would have changed. If only he’d promised that in the morning they would go together- although, looking back, he knows the princess would have been dead by that time if he had.

He’s long come to grips with the fact that whatever he had done, there would have been no happy ending, but even so, he still hates himself that he had allowed what happened next.

Rather than tell him to go home, rather than protect him, shield him from the world his mother never wanted him to know, Aflon had looked into the terrified eyes of his nephew, down in the depths of the castle sewers where the boy had followed him against his orders, he’d used his final breaths to push a sword and shield into hands too small to hold them, bidding the child go to save Zelda. He’d known he was dying, he’d known Link was scared, but at that little obedient nod, he’d also known something more:

His death would leave Link the last of their bloodline, and a prophecy given to a queen long ago had once said that it would be the last of them that would face Ganon when next he emerged. Looking at eyes the same as Loretta’s own, albeit far kinder, he’d found himself reminded of those words, and sickeningly certain that he was witnessing the birth of that hero. His little Link who wanted to be a farmer, who didn’t know how to fight and who was still so tiny, so young, was going to become the Hero of Hyrule.

Though he’d been bleeding out as they spoke, he’s rather certain it was heartbreak that had been his undoing, not the wound in his side, and he’d drawn his final breath to the sound of sniffled tears.

Yet, it seemed his eyes had only just closed before they were opening again, pain gone and so too his young charge. At first, he’d thought perhaps he’d struck his head somehow and dreamed the whole thing, but both sword and shield were gone as well, although when he reached the end of the sewer system the prison was quiet, empty of any princess, and when he’d turned back and returned to the outside world, not only was it daylight, but it was spring.

It had been a late autumn storm that he’d traveled through to reach the castle.

He’d thought, hoped, that it was some trick, but when he’d hurried along back towards town, to the house, everyone he passed seemed to think nothing at all of the fact that they were plowing fields and making ready for a planting. They were preparing for a new year of work, as though the winter itself wasn’t supposed to be coming, as though it had already happened! And there were still bits of snow lying about. There was a dampness to the ground of a fresh fallen rain. The world itself seemed insistent it tell him that he was wrong. But if he was, then where had the time gone, and what had happened? Where was Link and why was his side unmarred as though never an ax had plowed through it?

His feet had all but flown down the paths, paying little or no mind to those he passed or the startled shouts they sent his way. His goal had been set; his destination desperately darted towards.

The house looked entirely normal when he’d finally reached it. The orchard was beginning to brighten, not yet blooming, still expecting another snap of cold before the season truly sprung, but they were well along to blossoming. The path was clear, nothing and no one on it, and when he’d come to the door, he’d found it locked up tight. As it should be, as he’d left it, as he’d taught Link to leave it. He still had his key with him even though his sword was missing, and though his hands trembled he’d still managed to fish it out and, with some struggle, had gotten it into the lock.

The house looked the same as it had when he left. Clean as a whistle because a soldier’s training still lingered with him even after eight years and that expectation was one that he’d taught Link to hold himself to as well. Their beds were made sloppily, as though the boy had tried to do it for him after he’d left and maybe given up after, or else simply been unable to see, from his height, how crookedly the blankets had been lain. Most notably though, Aflon had noted, there wasn’t much in the way of dust. There wasn’t much in the way of dirt. The only difference that he found was that the pot, which he kept by the door for spare rupees, was empty.

His breath had evened some at that. A clean house meant someone had minded it, and missing rupees were nothing if it meant Link hadn’t been left to starve in the unidentified period of time where Aflon had been absent.

Or so he had thought.

It was two days later, two days he’d spent searching the whole neighborhood, quite at the end of his rope in fear as Link hadn’t been seen at all in that time, when at last he’d laid eyes on his nephew.

Or rather, when he’d met the hero.

Because the wary creature that entered the cottage door and froze, hand on a sword and dark eyes so large in a thin face, was not his nephew. Because his nephew would have run to him with maybe a few tears or a cheer, jumping into his arms with a hug rather than start and draw a blade the moment Aflon made a motion towards him.

Link didn’t fear him.

The boy who came to him in Link’s stead did.

When he voiced his worries to the women who’d helped to mind the lad over the years, some would say perhaps he’d been taken, changed for a changeling by the forest children, at last getting their hands on a hero to replace their own. Others just shook their heads and sighed, unwilling to explain why.

He’d known though that the child in his home wasn’t a changeling though. No, because that child had eyes every bit as much like the late queen. Eyes that knew war, and battle, that bore the burden of a kingdom which dragged on too small shoulders, eyes that Knew, that Looked, and eyes that Saw people for what they were, not simply what they’d claim to be. There was no doubt, looking at that boy, that he was Loretta’s son.

But he wasn’t Aflon’s nephew.

Link was bright and bubbly, quieter by nature but prone to prattling when the mood took him. The silent little thing that lived in his house, wary like a rabbit hunted and hidden, was a stark contrast. Link liked to travel with him, going to town for any errands and skip-tripping along the path at his side, getting distracted by small creatures and ever full of questions.

Not only did the hero avoid going out of the house when he could, preferring instead to stay inside behind a locked-up door and shuttered windows, but when he did go out, the lad was ever scanning the world, ever watching the sky and the path as though expecting an attack from one or the other. He didn’t stray off towards sudden changes, curious ears cocked, he put a hand to his shoulder and looked for a blade.

The child that came back to him held the manner and look of an old knight, not a child too young to even be a page, and it disturbed him. He tried though. This was Loretta’s son, the prince of Hyrule, and as he’d later learned, the boy had indeed become the country’s hero. Not that the boy had told him that himself. No, the child in his home didn’t speak, tongue faltering and sounds stuttering before hands would lift to answer questions in as few words as possible.

Two of his fingers were crooked, Aflon realized, watching him, heart aching. Two fingers and, in those first days, he’d favor one leg over the other.

He wanted to help, but the boy was wary of touch, starting and panicking as a first reaction if he didn’t see it coming and wincing even when he could. He kept a wide space between himself and anyone, a swords-distance, Aflon realized after a spell, although as for the blade he carried, well, that had disappeared after the first few weeks. It wasn’t the sword he’d handed to his nephew though. The sword that the hero held was unfamiliar to him; radiant, beautiful, masterfully forged so that his own blade paled in comparison. His was absent, and the one time he had asked what happened to it, he’d just watched violet eyes fall and shoulders hunch, and immediately changed the subject.

It was hard. His nephew looked the same as Loretta’s child, same face, same form, same stature, although time had made her changes too. The boy was scrawny, and though he had hoped his lost rupees meant his charge was still fed even with him gone, he’d come to doubt that.

He wasn’t sure what to make of it when, at learning of his own return, one of the neighbors down the road had invited them both for dinner, and the hero child had only stared at his own plate, stirring the food around but not eating. He’d dismissed it at first, but soon it became abundantly clear that the hero would not eat food he couldn’t watch being prepared, not unless it was a meal offered by Aflon himself, and, to his own surprise, Dolly, the village elder’s wife.

Somehow, both she, Dolly, and Sahasralah, the elder, were the only ones who seemed unaffected by how his charge had changed. In fact, more than once, Aflon would find himself watching, wistful, as the two would speak with or even handle the hero with not a thing done to show fear in response. Simple acceptance met their motions, their words, and at times he’d almost been tempted to ask if maybe the boy that wore Link’s face wanted to stay with them instead, as he seemed so much more at peace in their home.

He didn’t though. He’d sworn a vow, a vow to do his duty to his prince, to his queen, and though he wasn’t certain if Loretta’s spirit would haunt him if he failed that, he wasn’t exactly keen to find out.

He couldn’t leave her son with strangers, with people she didn’t know or trust. Still, as the days passed, house silent as a crypt and the boy inside nearly the corpse it housed, he’d found the temptation growing daily.

At night as he’d blow out the lamps, now knowing full well not to approach his charge in the dark and sometimes fearing to even look at him (because what looked back was a slip of a shade with eyes glinting red like a rabbit’s in the low light of the hearth and by all means hardly human) he’d fight his own mind on the matter. Stay or leave, linger with what wasn’t any longer what he’d sword to protect, the child that wasn’t his nephew but was a hero.

Loretta said to protect him, he’d remind himself as he lay beneath the blankets. Yet, small hands knew the touch of blood, and the boy who’d wandered in at his door knew a blade like knights four times his age still hadn’t learned. Lying there at night, he’d wonder to himself, what was there left to protect the boy from? Loretta’s child already had seen everything she wanted to shield him from, so what was even the point, when there was no more innocence to shield?

It was that thinking, after weeks, months, that had led to him gathering up clothing and books, toys left behind because the person who would leave with him wasn’t a child but a young soldier, so what did they matter? He’d packed things up, watched the hero slip to his side to help, dutifully but silently gathering Link’s clothes and folding them up with the same careful effort Link always did, ending with the same misshapen result, and tucking them away like they would do every summer for the trip back to his own childhood home.

He’d locked the door tight that summer. Shut up the shutters and minded that nothing was left untended, no mess within or without. Long ears had cocked sideways, big eyes watching, curious, but nothing was said with scarred hands holding their bags while he prepared the house for their departure.

Most summers, he’d take Link down to Lon-Lon so the boy could stay with his grandparents and Aflon could attend to the heavier tasks of their orchard without worrying over minding the lad or leaving him feeling alone. This year though, after Mother had ushered the boy within the ranch house, shooting him a startled stare over his shoulder, he’d not gone back to the cottage.

Aflon Lon had, instead, taken to the road.

Guilt ate at him, but he’d known there was no going back.

He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he couldn’t return to the house. It wasn’t home without the laughter of his nephew, without bright eyes and brighter smiles. It wasn’t home without a presence at his side working away at the trees, muttering and talking at times to the birds who’d stop to watch them in their labor. It wasn’t home without Link, and Link- or at least the boy he knew, was gone.

So, he’d wandered Hyrule. He hadn’t traveled in a long while, but it was easy to take up again, to wander the roads by day and make camp at night. He stopped in old haunts he used to visit as a knight to see how they had changed, and he’d thought nothing of his wanderings. After all, it was summer; the summers were always free for him to do what he wanted. It was when autumn had begun to show her colors that guilt had well and truly began to build up inside of him.

Link would be waiting at the gates of Lon-Lon, watching the road for his uncle to come and bring him home. He knew it wouldn’t be the same eager stare, ears crooked and head rested on folded arms as the boy would perch on the rungs of the fence, leaning his whole weight against it and keeping eyes and ears on the road. The hero child would likely sit with more wariness, but despite all changes there was no doubt in Aflon’s mind that he’d wait all the same.

The difference though, the real one, was that this time, Aflon couldn’t come back. He couldn’t.

He couldn’t go back to that house, that child, he couldn’t live like that forever, with the shade of what should have been.

Mother and Father though, they could handle a soldier boy. They’d handled Banzetta after his first battles, they’d know how to work with Loretta, and if they could manage the parents of his own charge, he was sure theft were the best suited to handling a young hero. Not only that, but they were safe, they were good, and they’d never hurt Link for the circumstances of his birth. They would be better to him than Aflon could be, and given time, he was sure the hero would settle there again, into a life with a knight, a lady, a history of heroes all around him on the walls and swords ready for his hands; the life he’d taken on, but one Aflon couldn’t watch lived.

As for himself, he’d wander. He’d travel, he’d embrace the world he’d had to forsake for a small bundle. By winter, he’d gone further south than he’d ever strayed, gone where word of the hero didn’t reach, where peace and simplicity beckoned. He’d meant to resist, but an evening in a bar with a pretty woman at his side had changed that.

“Here alone, stranger?” She’d asked, voice thick with a drawl and gaze bold as she’d settled beside him.

He’d never been a bold man, quiet by nature, so he’d nodded.

She hadn’t been dissuaded, motioning to the barkeep for a round for them both before striking up chatter, asking where he was from? What brought him here? Where was he going? And his answer of course had been that he was from central Hyrule, seeking his fate and unsure where he’d find it.

“D’ya have a family?” She’d asked, honest and friendly. “Can’t be easy for them not knowing where you are.”

And he’d hesitated, just a moment, before offering a stilted smile and answering “just my parents and a sister.”

A sister who’d left, he told her, to marry a man from across the border, who visited at times but was busy with a farm and a family of her own, much like his own parents were even in their older age. He’d said nothing of a nephew, just the same as he’d left out the dead older brother and sister-in-law.

He’d lingered in that town for a few more days, and she’d been at the pub each night, coming to join him when he entered and striking up chatter until they were both looking forwards to the evening when they’d happen upon each other. Somehow though, that had turned to arranged meetings, to wandering, to talking, to a kiss that left him speechless and a courtship that left him stumbling and eager like he hadn’t been since he was just a boy.

He’d wondered how she hadn’t had a fella before he’d come, but he’d thanked the heavens for it too, especially when he’d proposed, when they’d taken a home together, when they’d made the choice to live life together.

It was easy to forget, for a while, in that early bliss, in the whirlwind of emotions, what he’d left behind to find it. He was reminded though when their own little one was born, when a little boy had been laid in his arms and he’d started when blue shone back at him rather than violet.

Liza would laugh and tease him, calling him a worrywart when he fussed. She’d say it was like he’d never held a child before; he was so cautious. She’d remind him to relax, when she found him sitting up and watching the wee one slumber, because he was healthy, he was fine, they needn’t worry so much because while babies need care, they won’t break if you breathed wrong.

Aflon couldn’t help himself though.

He was used to looking for signs of trouble, for any hint of illness. He’d started when their boy had started babbling, started talking, at only two years old. Liza had said that was normal, that they wouldn’t stay babies forever, that it was part of growing up. Still, he’d found himself signing more than speaking with the boy, and more times than he could count, the wrong name had slipped to his lips.

Their son had dark hair like his mother, blue eyes like Aflon himself, but it always startled him to see them. It was supposed to be strawberry blonde, with starlit skies veiled beneath. He expected a slip of a child who was quiet but eager, not a loud little thing that ran and darted and climbed and made him panic because Link was fragile! …except this wasn’t Link, and his son was strong, like him, like Liza. His son was bold, loud, like a little boy was supposed to be, not timid and wary like the boy he’d left behind.

It never stopped catching him off guard though. Their little Rusl didn’t care anything for books, or reading, or sitting still. He was always off with other children of the village; he was always climbing trees and ‘sword fighting’ other young ones with twigs they’d find on the roadside.

He was a normal boy, all told, but somehow that was more jarring, in so many ways, than if he hadn’t been. Because Aflon had never dealt with a normal boy, he realized. Even Before, his Link hadn’t been normal, he just hadn’t known to see it.

It was strange, how often Rusl would stare, watching people without those hesitant little falters that Link always had when someone met his eyes. He didn’t pay attention to the little details, didn’t care to watch the sky or the sun. He didn’t care about stars or tiny creatures or pouring over books the same size as himself for hours.

The one thing that the two boys did have in common though, was a love for stories of heroes.

Link used to bury his little button nose in the volumes of history that told of the Hero of the Four Sword, the Hero of the Skies: the chosen hero. Rusl didn’t read much, but one day he’d come back to their home with Liza after errands, and he’d had nothing on his mind except some story he’d heard about the Hero of Legends.

Aflon had paused in making dinner, frowning because he’d never heard of that hero before, because Link never spoke of that title.

“Who is the Hero of Legend?” He’d asked, turning to the dirt streaked four-year-old at the door.

“He’s who killed Ganon and saved Princess Zelda!” Had been his answer. “He’s so cool, I wish he’d come to our village so I could meet him!”

He hadn’t realized, until Liza had darted across the kitchen and scooped up the pot, that their meal had boiled over, or that it’d burned his hand when it did.

Rusl and his friends would talk about Link, pretend to be Link, say they wanted to be heroes like him, be knights, be brave. He’d be in the village and stories would sound, gossip between neighbors recounting the latest exploits of the Hero of Legend. He’d killed Ganon twice, he’d traveled the world, he’d saved Labrynna from a witch, he’d fought some tyrant down in Holodrum. Everyone had a different rumor that they’d heard, everyone a different thought on what the hero might be like. Despite all they’d chatter about though, all he could see in his own mind was a boy with heavy eyes and crooked fingers that trembled when he used them to talk.

Aflon had gone home that day, after hearing all the chatter, all the stories, all the news that had come down to them from some merchant who’d strayed to town, and he’d told Liza he was taking a trip.

“Just for a few days,” he’d said, wrapping arms around her and trying to smile, even though he’d known she’d see past it. “Just to see how my parents are doing.” He’d left out the part about his old house, about the child he’d raised inside it. He knew it was wrong, felt guilt eat away each time his mind turned there, but he’d never let slip about the boy he’d raised before meeting her, the child he’d left behind.

Link, as he’d known him, was gone, why speak of what wasn’t there any longer? Why drag everything he’d tried to leave behind into the perfection he’d stumbled himself into?

Still, he needed to know, needed to see, and maybe, just maybe, he’d wanted to see Loretta’s boy again, just to assure himself that he was alright, because try as he might, much as he wished, worry still plagued his heart for the little soldier boy he’d left at Lon-Lon.

He’d stopped by the house first, if only out of curiosity for what had become of it. It had been years, had the village elders sold it? Left it be? He didn’t know, so he’d taken the road around Kakariko, hood up as he passed old neighbors, boots stumbling some on a path he knew better than that back to his own wife and child.

The cottage hadn’t changed a bit. Standing on the path, apple trees shivering in a slight breeze, he’d almost felt a decade younger, almost tricked himself into thinking he’d need only open the old wood door, the door whose key still sat heavy in his pocket, and a bright little face would whip around to meet him, gap-toothed grin his welcome home as feet would pit-patter across the worn-out floors. Maybe it was that image that tricked his feet into walking, following a path altered only by shade of trees grown taller in his absence, their fruit hanging heavy but not yet ready to be plucked.

It’d be cider making season soon, he’d mused to himself, hand digging through his pocket for a key he couldn’t name why he still carried. Absently, he wondered if the old press was still down in the basement, if Link- because it must be Link- had minded to keep it oiled and tended, or if he’d left off using it. After all, the former knight chuckled, the boy couldn’t even turn the handle fully on his own, now could he?

His mind had been so caught in his thoughts he hadn’t been minding his surroundings, pushing the door open after a moment’s struggle (the key stuck more than it once used to) and moving to enter his old home. He hadn’t expected to be immediately whacked over the head, nor, when he’d picked himself up again, to find himself face to… face(?) with a masked figure.

“We aren’t open!” The purple clad individual had declared, mallet in hand, and a small creature with wings- which could in no ways be considered a bird- fluttering about at his shoulders, squawking and hissing something terrible. “And if you thought you could break in, you’re dead wrong!”

Aflon had blinked, slowly, and then started, gaze flying about the house briefly.

It wasn’t changed, not really. Pictures were all taken down and boxes were tucked against the walls, but the couch, the rocking chair, the china-cabinet, it was all still there, still in the same places, now with new stains and scuffs, but he could recognize them all the same. Really, the only major difference was the desk near the door scattered over with glittering items and objects, little price tags set before them in poor mimicry of a shop.

He wasn’t sure if the purple clad figure was meant to be here or not, but given that the house still technically belonged to him, he’d been more than slightly caught off guard.

“I’m not here for a shop, I- who are you?”

“Who are you?” The apparent merchant had demanded in answer, face shielded behind a hood that looked like it was meant to resemble a very, very odd face. “And why are you here?” Their voice was trembling slightly, but they stood firm despite.

“I live- or, well…” he’d paused, picking himself up and dusting himself off, “I used to live here. This was my house- still is actually, I’ve just been away.”

Despite not being able to see the merchant’s eyes, he could feel the apprehension in their gaze, weighty as it was as they looked up at him, one hand on their hip and the other holding fast to their oversized mallet. “You must have the wrong house; this one belongs to Mister Hero.”

Oh.

“You mean Link?”

“You know him?” Their head cocked on one side, hood following with a flap of long ear-like attachments.

Aflon had nodded briefly. “Do you?”

“Of course!” And suddenly the mallet was gone, the figure gesturing about with a cheery chirp now entering their tone. “He’s my housemate! Lets me stay here, keep up the shop while he’s gone and all that lovely sort of thing. Didn’t realize he had a landlord himself though! So terribly sorry if he’s been stiffing you on rent, he’s been out of town for forever now, you see.”

He’d nodded. He hadn’t known what better to do.

The stranger had introduced themselves as Ravio, offered to show him their wares, but when asked about Link had firmly insisted that he knew nothing more than that the hero was off on some mission for the crown or something and that he was just keeping the house in order for him.

It had been all Aflon needed to hear though. Link was still alive, apparently having embraced his role as the hero, and it seemed he wasn’t alone. He must have left the farm at some time, but seeing as he was approaching fifteen it made sense. He’d been rather eager for his freedom at that age too.

The kid would be fine, he’d told himself, walking back to Liza and Rusl. Link didn’t need him; he was getting along fine.

Somehow, even with the whole trip home to convince himself of that, it hadn’t worked. In fact, now he couldn’t stop thinking about it, slipping more with Rusl, drifting off at home. Liza wouldn’t let him in the kitchen anymore, insisting that he was too prone to forgetting what he’d been doing, too likely to hurt himself because he wasn’t paying attention. She’d begged him to see a doctor, or talk to her, but he’d waved it off, saying he was just tired, just thinking, he was fine; he just needed to rest. He knew she didn’t believe him, but she’d stopped asking at least.

If only he could stop himself thinking as easily.

But as the months and seasons passed, more worry had grown, more thoughts.

Link is turning sixteen this winter. Sixteen years since he’d stood on the edge of the wood with the queen of Hyrule and taken her child in his arms, promising to guard him. Only eight of those years were spent keeping that promise, only half, and he’d startled when he’d realized it. Even now, he’s left wondering, as he braves a storm so like that night that robbed him of his precious nephew, has Link changed? What is he like now? Did he ever grow into those too-big ears of his? Did he learn to look men in the eyes when he spoke to them, to steady his voice and hold himself with surety and not simply just skill?

His boy will be becoming a man, and he doesn’t know what that man looks like.

Or rather, he didn’t.

Because when he comes home, drenched to the bone but with a fresh kill in hand, ready for dinner, ready for him to show Rusl how to skin and prepare it, he finds his house full of strangers, his wide smiling and telling him that they’re travelers, more boys than men, and they need a place to stay but the inn is so far. Of course he greets them, of course he looks at men in armor and offers a smile like he would to his old brothers in arms, welcomes them to his home.

He didn’t realize, until just now, how much he missed hosting people fresh off the path he once used to follow, how much he missed their stories or sharing a smoke or a drink with men like himself once in a while, not just farming folk (nice as they are).

He’s midway to offering the a warm welcome when his eyes stray to the fire and he finds himself freezing.

Great violet eyes, shaded heavy under strawberry blonde, plastered down by dampness and the storm that howls just outside the door, stare up at him.

His breath catches.

It’s Loretta’s face, freckled and fine, fae-like features and faint traces of scars, upturned nose and steady jaw, but the galaxies that gaze out from violet pools aren’t the queen, even if everything else about the figure at his fire is. No, those stars are all Link, all his nephew, and the weight of that stare, not sure and stern like his sister-in-law but yet also not startled and wide like that day eight years back when he’d first met the hero.

In the same breath, it’s the dead queen and the young hero that sits before him. It’s Loretta with accusing eyes, fire burning in their depths as his own words ring in his head, sounding a promise, a vow to do as she’d said, to guard and guide her son, to protect him, no matter what. Yet it’s Link, it’s that little boy with eyes that know a demon’s smile and remember him bathed in his own blood.

If his heart had failed him when he’d first put a sword in the hands of his nephew, it’s ache is a thousand times worse as he stares at the result of that action, even as it refuses to cease in an endless flutter inside him as shock touches the face of the little soldier boy he’d left behind eight years ago, but who’s somehow, some way, found his way back before Aflon’s fire, staring up at him with the same startled gaze that shook and broke his world so long ago.

His knees hit the floor even as Liza cries out in concern, hands fluttering about him, but he can’t lift his eyes to look at her. Instead, he’s trapped in an endless expanse of dying stars.

“Link.”

Long ears, still too big for his nephew, turn his way at the sound of his voice, the answer coming out breathless and disbelieving. “Uncle?”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu legend #uncle aflon #Ketto writes #don't come for me I just had a bunch of headcannons #and brainrot #blame the asks #I needed to get it out of my system

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distantdarlings · 1 year ago

Text

BIRTHDAY ANXIETY // m. riddle

RATING: R / 3.3K WORDS

Mattheo Riddle x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* After a particularly difficult day dealing with the constant attention that comes with your birthday, Mattheo helps you to slow down a bit. (Smut, Fluff)

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Oral - f!receiving, praise, Dom!Mattheo, mentions of anxiety, language, fem reader, not proofread (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

HER - Chase Atlantic

- - -

“Yes, thank you again—you really are too sweet,” you laughed, your throat starting to burn beneath the constant thanking. Your fingers nervously tightened around the small bag in your hands. You wished they would just let you disappear into the common room.

“Have a good rest of your birthday, friend!”

“Thank you,” you smiled, “I’m going to head back to my dorms, okay?” And with a few more waves and some nervous smiles, you found yourself through the common room door. You took a deep inhale, letting it fill every corner of your lungs before letting it out slowly. The intent of it was to calm you, but you reckoned it just made you more nervous.

You felt guilty for thinking it, but sometimes you just wished you didn’t have a birthday. The constant bombardment of attention you hadn’t even asked for in the first place, coupled with the existential panic, knowing that you only got one shot at life and your time was dwindling, made you really upset. Birthdays freaked you out—you couldn’t lie.

You were grateful for the people in your life who cared enough to take a bit of time out of their day to wish you a happy birthday or to grab you a small gift, but you often wished they wouldn’t. That sounded shitty, but you couldn’t help it. If you truly wanted anything on your birthday, it was to be left completely and utterly alone with your spooky, aging thoughts.

The present in your hands had been given to you by Pansy during second period. As soon as she had given it to you, everyone else had to wish you a happy birthday, and thus, all of the attention was brought on to you. It was miserable—like you were suffocating. Consistent self-imposed guilt trips led you to believe you were a terrible person for thinking these things, but you always came back to one thought. That you couldn’t help the way your brain was, the way it functioned. Sometimes, it felt as though your brain was powered by anxiety. It was exhausting.

You power-walked back to the girls’ dormitories and nearly escaped into your room with no more wishes of happy birthday. Thankfully, there was no one else in the dorm room. The peace and quiet bade you welcome to collapse onto your bed, thankful that the day was over. Curiosity led you to finally open the gift from Pansy. It was concealed in a shiny green gift bag with a sparkly, translucent ribbon tied over the handles. It was quite…Pansy, if you’d ever seen something so like her. You smiled a bit at the sweet girl who—despite your constant hopes that she would—never forgot any kind of gift.

You set it between your outstretched legs and pulled the ribbon loose, letting the handles fall open. Inside was a neatly folded knit sweater with a lovely design over the sleeves. Upon further inspection, you noticed that a winding silver snake was added to the sleeves. You supposed it was meant to represent your house. Your stomach flipped in elation. Oh, it was just perfect. What a beautiful, thoughtful gift. You instantly felt ashamed of being so dismissive earlier when she had given you the bag. Hopefully, she knew that you weren’t being rude on purpose; you just hated the attention. Ugh. You felt awful.

You set the sweater at the edge of the bed with the intention of washing it and wearing it the next day. For now, though, you just wanted to rest and maybe pity yourself a bit. Fuck, you were pathetic. You groaned and tossed yourself back against your bed, hoping to fall asleep and just forget all of the events of the day.

A rhythmic knock came upon the door suddenly. Your eyes popped back open. Suppressing a groan, you invited the person in. You hoped it was just a roommate wanting to pass through, but your luck suggested it was another birthday wisher. Be grateful, be grateful, be grateful.

The door pushed open and in walked your boyfriend. A wave of relief washed over you at the sight. His dark curls fell over his eyes as he quirked his eyebrows, a slight smirk popping over his lips. You swore you’d never tire of his smiles.

“Hey, birthday girl,” he said. You groaned and rolled your eyes, your head falling back in disappointment.

“Well, that didn’t seem very exciting,” he chuckled, crossing the floor.

“I swear that’s all I’ve heard today,” you sighed, scootching over so he could take the space next to you. He slid in beside you, one leg crossing over the other. “I just wish I could skip my birthday.”

“I know, darling,” he smiled. “They mean well, though. Don’t you wish people a happy birthday when it’s theirs?”

“That’s a good point,” you shrug, eyes fixated on your hands. You didn’t want to seem ungrateful, it just seemed hard to be totally comfortable with the spotlight on you all day long. Mattheo understood that aspect of you; he always had. That was one of the many reasons you adored him.

“I’m sorry you’ve had a rough day,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Can I help you relax?”

You give a small nod and allow him to gently roll you over onto your stomach. With steady breaths and slow movements, Mattheo slips his uniform jacket off, loosens his tie, and removes his shoes. He settled himself over top of the backs of your thighs, applying a small amount of pressure but never bearing his full weight. Ever the gentleman. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted him rolling the sleeves of his uniform shirt up to his elbows. Merlin, you always loved it when he did that. It always showed off his muscular, darkened forearms so perfectly. It just made him look so authoritative and perfect. It placed a small blush in your stomach.

“Let me take your shirt off, darling,” he whispered, his mouth suddenly against your ear. You jumped slightly at the sudden close proximity before nodding at his request. He backed up for a moment to allow you to lean up onto your knees. You begin to pull each button out of its sleeve before his arms wrap around your body. His fingers replace yours in separating the halves of your shirt. His breath is warm and heavy against your bare skin. It elicits shocking chills down the lengths of your arms.

At the sight of the chills lacing your arms, he presses two slow kisses to the side of your neck where it meets your shoulder. You fight the urge to lean your head to one side to allow him more access to you, but you don’t want to seem too needy. He would give you a massage; let him give you one. It didn’t have to be about sex, you scolded yourself.

Once he was done with the buttons, he ever so slowly slid the material off your shoulders and down your arms, being sure to trace his fingertips along your flesh. Whether that was by mistake or not, it twisted a knot in your stomach. Any slight touch would have you begging on your knees, and he knew it. He smirked to himself, hearing your pulse increase. If there was anything that would do him in, it was hearing and seeing the effect he had on you.

“Lay down,” he commanded quietly. You immediately laid back down, your head turning to rest against your pillow. You always listened so well, it made him want you even more. Gradually, he could feel himself becoming more and more needy for you. But he had implied a massage, and he would give one.

Once you were comfortable, he pressed his hands into your back. With expert fingers, he kneaded every knot he could find out of your back. Every time he hit an especially sore area, your lips would part, and a pitiful whine would slip between them. And every time, his pants would continue to get tighter and tighter. The last few times he’d pressed his fingers into your muscles, he’d had to suppress a groan at the sounds coming from you. He wanted nothing more than to be the one making you make those sounds, but for a different reason.

His fingers moved their way down to your lower spine, working each area of tightness loose, ensuring that every ounce of stress was pulled from your body. He wanted to make you feel better in any way he could. His one duty at the moment was to heal you.

“That feels good, baby?” he whispered.

“Yes, Matty,” you groaned. He imagined what this interaction might sound like to any passersby outside, and the thought nearly tipped him over. He was so intent on giving you a massage and nothing else that he’d hardly noticed his hands finally reaching the waistband of your skirt. He rolled his fingers just above it, watching as your spine continued to arch against his hands. His core was painfully hard, the pressure nearly too much to handle. His eyes clenched shut as he bit his lip, trying to gain control over himself. The things you did to him were fucking sinful. And you hadn’t even done anything. You were dangerous.

“I’m going to move down to your legs, sweetheart,” he spoke, waiting for the little nod you did each time. You were perfect.

He moved his hands up and over your ass before hitting the backs of your thickened thighs. As he began to massage his hands over them, he glanced up against the hem of your skirt as the curve of your ass drew it up over itself. The fabric was not long enough to completely stretch over you and stopped just above the start of your thighs. He could just barely make out a pair of laced black bottoms placed taut over your core. Your increasingly wettened core. Shining slick spread over the tiny gap where your thighs met. The fabric of your bottoms was soaked. A devilish smirk slipped over his lips as he realized you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.

With this newfound knowledge, he intended to tease you a little bit. He wanted to let you know how much he truly cared for you, and he wanted to take his time about it.

Slowly, he worked his fingers ever closer to the tops of your thighs where they met together. With each shift forward, he could see your shoulder clench slightly. Your want was growing darker and darker, and he knew it well. Once he was just an inch away from your core, he lingered there, making sure to get every possible bit of stress out. A quick glance up bore him the visual of your lips parted, your eyebrows furrowed, your fingers tightly gripping the sheets.

“Darling?”

“Mm-hmm?” you whined, your voice cracking a bit. You didn’t change your position in the slightest.

“Get on your knees,” he commanded darkly. You whimpered at the change in his tone, quickly propping your body up. You pushed your ass into the air, keeping your elbows and face planted firmly into the pillows. Finally, he’d taken a bit of initiative to do something for you. You were beginning to worry he genuinely only wanted to give you a massage. Perhaps you should have been a bit clearer in your signals.

Once in position, he wasted no time in flipping your skirt over your hips, letting it fall against your back. You shivered at the sensation, feeling the cool air meet your drenched core with an icy kiss. His warm breath expanded across your flesh, combatting the chill.

“So obedient,” he whispered, a small groan coming from his lips as he massaged the sides of your hips. You sighed at his words, clenching the pillowcases as tightly as you could. You were a few moments away from begging for him.

His thumbs finally curved over your ass, slowly caressing the exposed flesh and eventually coming to trace the line of your bottoms as he curved down to your core. You could barely contain any of the noises seeping from your lips as his fingers drew closer to you. You needed him to touch you so badly.

“Matty, please,” you moaned.

“Please, what?” he teased. A single thumb came down to swipe over your core, his flesh dragging against the wet material covering you. An audible shudder went through your body at the sensation.

“More.”

“Of what, darling? I need you to use your words. Can you do that for me?” he asked, his voice teasing and mean.

“Please touch me,” you whined, arching your back toward him. A small chuckle left his lips before he pressed his thumb to you through your bottoms. The sensation pushed a jolt through your body, causing you to buck your hips against him shamelessly. Despite your desperate movements, his stayed exactly the same. Even pressure, moving in tight circles over you, had you panting. Your consistent begging was not lost on his ears as he began to move his fingers faster, never weakening. He’d do this for the rest of eternity if he could continue to hear your beautiful sounds.

“Please, baby, more,” you groaned into the pillows.

“So greedy…,” he drew the words out as he pulled his fingers away from you, much to your dismay, and began to press slow, open-mouthed kisses down your bare back. As his lips curved over the clasp of your bra, his fingers matched their position. He unclipped the material, letting it fall to either side of you.

Once removed, he replaced your bra with his own hands, massaging your breasts slowly, letting the sensation sink in. You gasped as his remarkably hard core brushed against yours. Surely, that had to be frustrating. Why didn’t he just get on with it already? Why must he always tease?

He released your breasts and traced his fingers down your sides, learning every curve and dip. He watched pridefully as you shuddered against his touch, your body so painfully reactive to him.

Once his fingers reached your hips, he hooked them beneath the waistband of your bottoms and slowly, agonizingly, pulled them down to your knees. Then you were completely bare and exposed to him, every part of you catching the cool air. You moaned slightly at the feeling.

There was but a moment of nothing before he clasped his lips around your core, inducing a strong moan from you. He couldn’t help it; he could barely hold himself back as it was, let alone refuse a taste of you. A taste that he had become so accustomed to in the last while. He was sure that the smell and taste of you would revive him from the dead.

He licked and sucked and kissed, spelling out every bit of his passion, fucking his tongue into you. What he did to your body was sinful. Even the slightest of skims of his flesh on yours had you clutching the sheets. It was pathetic, really. You half-cringed at yourself each time a loud moan poured from you, but Mattheo drew closer and closer to his orgasm each time he heard the beautiful noises. The two of you could not have more different opinions on them.

His hands gripped you tightly in place while his mouth showed no mercy—per usual. With each second, you were growing closer to your end. It felt as though Mattheo wanted you to finish all over his face, the way he was feasting on you like a starved man. The sounds that came from his lips and throat as he pleasured himself against your soaked cunt had you clenching around nothing. Surely, he didn’t mean for you to come this way, did he?

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned against you, the vibrations rattling against you. “Cum on my tongue. I want to taste you.”

Fuck, maybe he did want you to come this way. The thought of him purposefully working you toward your end specifically to taste your arousal was nearly enough to send you over the edge.

“Don’t stop, baby,” you whined, your fingers tightening into his hair, scraping his scalp. “Matty, please!”

“Keep saying my name, sweetheart,” he groaned.

With each second you drew closer to your finish, your thighs tightened around his head and your core gushed more and more against his lips. His flesh was raw and painted with you, but he couldn’t care less. All he wanted was for you to come against his face with your fingers in his hair and his name on your tongue. He wanted the whole of Slytherin house to know who you belonged to.

“Baby,” you breathed, your voice becoming high-pitched and pitiful. “M-Matty, I’m gonna c—”

“Cum,” he commanded, his mouth placing one last languorous suck against your core. Your back arched off of the mattress, Mattheo’s name printed on your lips, and passing from every exit. The product of your arousal spilled from you and onto his tongue, which he accepted graciously.

Once you’d finally relaxed and come down off of your high, Mattheo leaned forward and, with complete eye contact, brushed the remnants of your finish off of his chin and licked it off of his fingers.

“Precious material,” he whispered. A tired giggle erupted from you at his words. When he collapsed down next to you and wrapped his arms around you, you thought you’d found the last comfortable place on earth.

In Mattheo’s arms, nobody could get to you, not even the purest of well-wishers. After the entirety of your evening was spent with Mattheo fucking you like only he could, you still found yourself slipping back into a guilty mindset. A sigh left you.

“Still upset?” he whispered against your hair, lips brushing your forehead.

“I just feel guilty,” you said, “I don't want any of these people thinking I’m not grateful. I love gifts, it’s just…”

“Well,” he started. “It’s a good thing you like gifts.”

He leant himself up and reached down over the side of the bed. You pushed yourself to a sitting position to watch as he dug through the pockets of his jacket. In a few seconds, he’d produced a small box, wrapped in green paper, much like Pansy’s. A flush grew on your cheeks.

“Mattheo,” you breathed. You took the gift into your hands. “What on Earth is this?”

“Darling, despite how much you hate the attention, it’s still your birthday,” he chuckled, urging you to open it.

With a small breath, you slipped the top of the gift box up and noticed a small tag on the inside with your name written in Mattheo’s quick scrawl. Beneath the tag, was a small bundle of tissue paper. You felt your pulse increasing by the minute.

With shaking fingers, you unraveled the small amount of tissue paper to reveal an almost complete replica of Mattheo’s ring with a slight feminine touch to it. You gasped, tears pooling.

“Merlin, how much was this?” you asked without thinking. Panic set in at the thought of him spending any amount of money on you. Then you realized it was rude to ask about cost. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Baby, it’s okay,” he laughed. “No material costs could ever outweigh you.” You watched as he pulled it from your hands and gently slid it on your finger.

“There, now everyone will properly know that you’re mine,” he said, smirking.

“I thought you liked to mark me up for that,” you teased. A streak of pride pooled in your stomach as his eyes darkened significantly at your words. You knew that, without a doubt, there was no way you were getting out of this with just one round.

*Tag List: @lilymurphy03 @mypolicemanharryyy @angelfrombeneth @clairesjointshurt @bunbunbl0gs @acornacreacure @niktwazny303 (if you would like to be added to the tag list, please comment on this post, send me a dm, or message in my inbox. Thanks!)

#fanfiction #creative writing #fanfic #writing #reader insert #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #oneshot #slytherin #harry potter smut #mattheo riddle #mattheo x reader #mattheo x you #fem reader #request

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noellefan101 · 1 year ago

Text

Your First Date-Genshin pt 3

Characters: Lyney, Freminet, Wriothesley, Neuvillette, Alhaitham x gn reader

Summary: Your first date with them,

Warnings: lyney flirting, tea

Note: omg im finally done, i really liked writing these tho, ye thats all i have to say school literally destroyed my brain, love you

Lyney

he would definitely preform a TON of magic tricks during your first date, both romantic, some are just pretty to look at and then there´s the brother-you're-just-embarrassing-yourself magic tricks

: said ever so kindly by Lynette

wouldn't make your date as public as his shows, since he wants to share the moments and magic tricks with you only

(+ Lynette, Fremi and "father" if she asked him so, but yk, they're only made for you)

after he had given you more rainbow roses than you could ever count to, he set out some homemade goods, like cookies, a cake, cupcakes(whatever you lik)

(in which he definitely didn´t spend a few days learning to make)

overall 10/10 (if you dont ask lynette, she had to leave bc of the amount of secondhand embarrassment(she was there at the start)) and it was enjoyable for u.

Freminet

yes, you would be underwater for your first date, but if you really don´t like it(yet)he can just take you some other time

^^but he would prefer to show take you on your first

[and yes, Lyney and Lynette (+his other siblings at home)did bet on when he would finally confesses and take you on a date]

he would let you wear his diving helmet if you really wanted to, but he would also just wear it if he felt embarrassed, or wanted to tell you a story (most likely abt pers)

he aslo ended up showing you a few of his mechanics(robots?)

and showed you some works in progresses other people haven´t seen, other than him and pers ofc

Wriothesley

he would drink tea with you in his office

^^maybe Sigewinne baked you something too,

but you mainly drank tea and just talked the whole time

(bro likes tea so much, someone pls make him shut up abt it)

well other than showing you and talking about his (absolutely massive) tea collection (and cake/bakery(sry))

if he´ll ever let you talk, ofc he will(its a very unfunny joke), he´ll listen to you for as long as you´d want to talk

you also laughed a little when he told about how melusines and stickers dont work well

and he liked seeing and hearing your laugh, so he might go for a date number two

Neuvillette

he would take you out to a fancy restaurant or he would just sit and talk with you somewhere more private

but maybe include a Melusine passing by here and there, checking on you both or for some work-related reasons (that they then put off, just a little, when seeing you both together)

i imagine that you would try some different types of water with him, by his request, and tried your dam best to find a difference.

but he would also get you any kind of drink, dessert or food you´d like

all in all its pretty easy bonding with him, and he just likes being beside you and spending time with you

Alhaitham

he would take you to a quiet cafe where you could sit in peace, since he doesn´t like loud places and want you two to be alone for the most part

he would pay 100% he doesn't even give you a chance to try and pay for anything (he´s nice when he wants to be)

he definitely brought a book with him to read(+ one for you) and would either let you talk while he reads a "little", or he would just read out loud so you know what kind of books he likes

he´s not good at doing any kind of romantic things, but he did try and do something

that including:

taking you out on the date later in the evening so he later could show you the stars, and point out some constellations

asking your friends (and maybe family) what you like food-wise, so he knows what kind of place he should have in mind when picking the place of your date

thank you for reading i don´t think i´ll make any more of these, but if you want it i´ll do it, luv ya-Masterlist

You are welcome to reblog and like any of my posts, but you CAN NOT translate, copy or hate on anybody for liking my posts

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measlyfurball13 · 3 months ago

Text

I'm Still Here

Summary: Curly is rescued. He is given a voice. Supposedly.

---

It’s all a blur. Men in suits with helmets. Men in suits without. Any memories Curly might have of the rescue and its aftermath are blurred around the edges. He’s sure he drooled and screamed all through the process.

Funny. He doesn’t remember the pain. It’s as if his mind has painted over it in an easier color on the eyes.

(He remembers her saying the same thing happens after childbirth-)

It’s only a few hours after the IV is jammed into his arm that reality crisps up again. He’s staring into the face of a nurse. The nurse is a he, and a different skin tone (than him) and utterly unrecognizable. That’s the first clue.

The second is the woman in the crisp suit. A lawyer, supposedly. Civil servant. Looking over him and sighing. Another woman enters and they discuss conservatorship. Curly doesn’t know what this means. He’s never had to worry about it. He grunts, even tries to form his lips into the shape of something, but nothing makes them turn to him and clue him in on anything.

Next comes someone dressed in a slouched sweater pulling a cart. They’re setting up some sort of device around him. It takes several days though, and in the moments between the lawyer comes back, mutters a few things about an accident investigation, then disappears again.

The nurse usually doesn’t talk when he visits but one time he sits down in the chair across the room and solemnly says that both of Curly’s parents died in the time it took for the rescue team to find him and that his next of kin is a cousin. Cousin Sue, Curly guesses. She lived all the way in New York.

The machine is completed. A screen hangs above his hospital bed. The person in the slouched sweater instructs him to look at the twenty-six letters on the screen, focus on the one he wants, and blink to select it.

It takes him three hours to first produce the word “HELLO.”

“Practice and you’ll get the hang of it.” Slouched sweater says.

Slouched sweater leaves. The nurse comes in. Moves the screen. Changes his bandages. Sets up the screen again. Leaves just before Curly can type “HELLO” to him.

(A single word. A single word. He would have given anything for just a single word to her.)

Now the lawyer drags the chair beside his bed and sits down. She’s holding a notepad and a pen.

“Tell me,” she says, slowly, “what happened aboard the Tulpar.”

He forgets to breathe.

“What,” she says, “caused,” she says, “the accident?”

Words pierce his brain like knives, his eye darts around the keyboard and his eyelid can’t keep up and it blinks without his command. Letters spill across the screen and he’s having to backspace them and-

The lawyer has put down the notepad and has opened her phone. She’s texting someone else. Then she takes a call. Then she answers some emails.

-Curly finally blinks ‘send’ on the console, and a tinny voice reads out “JIMMY.”

“Hmm?” The lawyer looks up from her phone. “Jimmy? As in, your co-pilot?”

“Y” Curly sends, hoping that the lawyer can at least wrap her head around something as simple as that.

“Go on.” The lawyer urges.

Curly exhales against his bandages, and types “E” and “S”.

“What about him?”

“K”. Then “I”. “L” and “L”, the lawyer is pulling out her phone again. His eye hurts, it’s refusing to move at all now and this dumb bitch isn’t-

He flinches. God, he’s so sorry. He’s so sorry and she deserved none of this and maybe if he’d been a better man and not a goddamned coward and taken some responsibility then maybe she’d be listening to him right now instead.

The lawyer glances up from her phone. “Yes, Jimmy was found deceased. Your cryo pod was the only one functioning. It seems he gave up his spot for you. My condolences for your loss.”

Something more burning than the fire rips through his stomach and he forces his eye back onto the screen. “E” and “D”, then space, then “E”, then “V”, “E” and “R”, “Y”, his vision is wavering, “O”, “N”, he can practically feel his non-existent hand tapping on the screen to finish the job, “E”. . .

His eyelid slams shut. He can tell, vaguely, that his cheek bandages are damp but whether that’s normal or from anything spilling out of his eye is beyond him. His neck twitches from the strain.

He coughs. Forces his eye open. The lawyer looks at the screen. Looks back down at her phone. Looks at the screen again. Her eyebrows raise.

“Are you sure?” She asks.

Of course I’m fucking sure! he could shout and shake her shoulders.

“This was not the fault of Pony Express or its parent corporation?”

“N”, then “O”, and now she’s actually paying attention. Something hungry lights up in her eyes, and she takes a picture of the screen and then starts furiously scribbling on her notepad.

—

“-in this room right here, ma’am.” The nurse opens the door.

Curly looks over. Following the nurse is Cousin Sue, her blond locks he remembers now turned more platinum. She stops in the doorway and covers her mouth with her hands.

“Were you not warned?” The nurse asks her.

She ignores him, running over by the bedside. “Oh you poor thing!”

Curly tries to flick his eyes towards the screen, only for liquid lightning to pour into all his senses when she grabs the stump of his left arm. He chokes on air. The burning sensation lingers even as she jerks her hand away.

“Take it easy, ma’am.” The nurse says.

“Why was it wet?” She mutters and shakes out her hand.

“Some leakage from blisters beneath the bandages. He’s okay. Try to be gentle.”

“God. It’s horrific. I can hardly. . .”

The nurse drags her over a chair as if she might collapse any minute. Curly’s nerve endings are still on fire. She still hasn’t made eye contact with him.

“H”, he types. “I”. Blinks to send. “HI.”

“Hi.” She echoes. “He said hi.”

“The law firm hooked him up. That’s how we know the full story.”

It wasn’t the full story. It was the story told in simple enough words that the lawyer would stay awake while he typed.

“God. What happened was. . . so terrible.” Sue covers her mouth. “I’m sure he did everything he could.”

“I’ll leave you two alone now.” The nurse steps back.

The door clicks shut. Sue’s watery eyes rake up and down his frame.

“It’s all that bastard’s fault, isn’t it? And to think you even invited him to a family reunion or two. I remember that.”

Curly looks to the “N”. Blinks. Looks to the “O”. Blinks. Erases both. Blinks an “M”. Then a “Y”. Space. “F”. “A-”

“Disgusting man. Letting you get like this. I’m sorry about the rest of the crew as well, of course. At least they got the easy way out of things. . .”

Curly stares at the wall behind the screen. Something inside his throat trembles.

“What’s going on? Do you need something? Water? Water perhaps?”

Sue looks around her before spotting the sink across the room. She grabs a cup from the nearby dispenser and fills it. Then she returns to his bedside, standing over him and then there’s his fingers on his chin opening his mouth and-

He gags. He sobs. Something wet splashes against the inside of his mouth (it’s blood it’s blood it’s blood) and nausea plays a soaring note above the chorus.

He becomes nothing but a shivering pile of meat for a little. It’s more comfortable that way rather than trying to think. And when he opens his eyes again, Sue is gone.

—

Curly knows there isn’t much time left. When Sue came back she talked about a private care home, and if there’s even a chance of the screen not coming with then he can’t risk it. He’s started typing only when there’s no one around to read it. It’s easier that way.

Sue and the nurse come in. They’re discussing something but Curly can hardly hear them until the nurse puts his hand on the swivel holding up the screen. Curly’s pulse lights up, and before anyone else can even breathe he blinks “send” on the console.

The tinny voice reads each syllable as if it were reporting the weather.

“I’M SORRY SWANSEA.”

“I’M SORRY DAISUKE.”

“ANYA. I’M SORRY. MY FAULT.”

“I SHOULD HAVE LISTENED. DEAD PIXEL. INSTEAD OF THE BIG PICTURE.”

Curly lets his eye droop down from the screen.

“. . . what was all that?” Sue asks.

The nurse comes over to his bedside. “Are you feeling alright?”

Curly doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t need to.

All the words he could possibly offer are jammed. Like logs against the rocks beneath the water of the river he grew up by as a kid. Or traffic in the big city he moved to after moving out. Or a key in the wrong keyhole. (Or pills in his throat.)

All of these pictures he could paint. The only people who would find it worth the wait are all dead. Somehow Jimmy is among them.

Damn it all. Curly stares at the ceiling. The nurse takes down the screen and then manhandles him into a wheelchair.

#mouthwashing spoilers #mouthwashing #mouthwashing curly #captain curly #cw ableism #cw ableist language #alllllllll the ableism #aac communication #Pony Express offers only the finest aac system for its employees!#and somehow that's only a quarter of the actual problem!#in this house we humanize curly again please

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littlelordfuckler0y · 9 months ago

Text

Felix catton x reader Instagram au [part2] [part1]

yourusername proofreading my essay (he’s about to descend into madness)

fe1ix_catt0n There were some rough patches I’d say…

yourusername uh huh

yourfriend Exploiting English major friend perks 🙄

yourusername he offered alr

annabel_ he doesn’t even proofread his own essays lol

Felix sat in the library with legs crossed across y/n, these days he just happened to be in the library when y/n was. Just happened to be there to finish his reading assignment whilst she studied. He saw the frown on her face as she seemed to be stuck on something against the white light of her computer. They couldn’t group study as in help each other with assignments given their majors were entirely different but they had study sessions, finish their respective work together. “What’s wrong?” He asked, by now he was used to her patterns of difficulties, it was generally ‘thermodynamics’ and even though he didn’t understand it listening to her rant about it was somewhat cherished by him.

“This fuckass essay” she said with a sigh and deadpanned herself.

“Oh you’ve to write essays now?” Felix asked leaning forward in his seat given this was something he could help with.

“Not really, it’s just for the robotics seminar remember? There are supposed extra points if we submit an essay on how excited and emotional we are about partaking in it…” she trailed off as she stared at her screen “As if the model isn’t enough.”

“But you have been excited about this for months?” Felix mentioned tilting his head, “what’s the problem?”

“This essay, this is my third final rough draft and it’s so exhausting” she replied and slouched back on her seat crossing her arms.

“Let me help” Felix offered as she turned the computer to his side as he sat across her. Just going through the first paragraph his eyebrows knitted together trying to make coherent sense of it. Stem majors write the worst essay stereotype was now more than a stereotype to felix. “So” he paused going through it “You’ve just left gaps here with ‘something’ in the middle-what? What’s that for?”

“Oh yeah I’m supposed to put a fancy word there so it looks pretty.” She mentioned with a shrug.

“Just a fancy word? As in randomly?” He asked puzzled as he scrolled through her essay thoroughly and found she’d actually done that. Halfway through a sentence she’d added big words with some context.

“Not randomly no, just, put one in those places.”

“Oh-alright see the second body of the essay is well done, you’re talking about the system of your model and the workings of it, it sounds smart but isn’t the essay supposed to be about how you feel? I mean the assigned title is literally on it.” He explained “It doesn’t align with the main objective.”

“So what? I’ve written about my model which I’m entering IN the seminar.” She reasoned leaning back up on her seat as he shook his head and motioned his with his chin for her to come around the table and next to him.

“Yes but it barely covers the feelings aspect, which is what you have to write the essay on. It literally says that here” He said pointing to the middle portion of the screen where her essay was displayed as she stood beside him.

“I don’t read the small print” She said. Felix paused to look at her a are-you-serious look on his face and waited for her to catch on his disappointment “What?” She asked.

“Okay let’s see, you’ve just kept ‘something’ in quotes at places, which is fine for your first draft-”

“Draft?” She interrupted him with an obvious scoff “Oh no this is the final one. I don’t do drafts.”

“What? What do you mean you don’t do drafts?” He asked somewhat confused.

“I write then I proofread and cut, honestly I don’t know why you’re wasting so much time it’s just for extra” she shrugged so casually, felix felt like stem majors had an entirely different set of brain cells when it came to anything literary.

“This is going to take it a while.”

fel1x_catt0n Congratulations to Y/n and team! Great work guys ❤️

yourusername aweee thanks felix 🕺

fel1x_catt0n much deserved, angel

katie_ congrats

annabel_ did felix attend the nerd convention today? 😂

fel1x_catt0n it was very interesting despite your generalisation

farleigh_start Congrats girl!!

The whole science seminar was initially optional, even with such there was a lot of competition and a crowd. The crowd was mainly the college professors and seminar conductors and some juniors who had to volunteer for extra credits. However the crowd seemed huge from the stage minimising everyone into a small dot given the auditorium space was gigantic. After the prize distribution y/n and her team had gotten first place for their model. A big deal amongst a handful of people because not a lot of stem majors themselves cared about extra irrelevant to their portfolio projects. But well there were some. Y/n was very giddy, laughing amongst her team of three people as they walked down from the stage and through the auditorium amongst the crowd. They were then approached by the only student dressed in a full on tuxedo, not even a stem one. Felix.

“Felix?” Y/n blinked as she stopped in her tracks as she saw him approaching her direction with a giant bouquet of flowers and hugged her. She was confused and amused at the same time, she recalled telling him that the project was a big deal to her but she didn’t think he’d show up actually. “Woah you showed up?!” She asked giggling as he wrapped his arms around her even tighter and kissed the top of her head.

“Of course I did silly” he scoffed as he pulled away and handed her the flowers, “congrats smarty pants, all of you.” He spoke to her group as well with a victorious smile as he kept his arm around her shoulder.

“Thanks!” They said one after another, assuming Felix and y/n were perhaps a thinking. However the way Felix was dressed was rather funnier to them. They made their smell talk and went on about their way still snickering amongst themselves.

“Strange what was so funny…” he trailed off looking back at y/n as the rest of her team left.

“Your tuxedo” she replied with a small chuckle.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“The only set of people who’re wearing a tuxedo at this function are our professors, it’s just blazers I guess you’ve done out-dressed everyone” she jokes as she fixed the bow tie of his shirt and he playfully rolled his eyes at her.

“The invite seemed fancy, fancy attire for fancy invites isn’t that how it’s supposed to be?” He reasoned for himself.

“What invite?” Y/n questioned.

“The one on the function website” Felix replied.

Initially y/n had just forwarded the message she got from her group about the timings and venue as a vague invitation because zero art majors are interested in these events “what? We have a website?”

“Yeah. I looked it up” he answered with a shrug, he wanted to look just perfectly suitable for her event because it seemed to be a big deal for her, so he did his research despite failing miserably at fitting y/n found it to be a very heartwarming gesture.

“Wow? Such dedication…”

“Of course my love” he said with an obvious huff, hoping his hints would pass through her.

yourusername the one and only. tuxedo at da science centre.

yourfriend he was out there outshining professor john’s Maxwell theorem themed necktie🤗

yourusername LITERALLY?

teammate1 bow tie AND cufflinks…

fel1x_catt0n I see I’ve gained a reputation

teammate2 jokes apart you two are such a cute couple 💖

annabel_ LOL they’re not dating!!!!

yourusername yeah haha ^^

“are you serious?!” Y/n friend exclaimed as they spun around the flowers felix have in their hands. “He gave these? They’re bigger than our torsos man”

“Yeah…yeah…” y/n trailed off with a shrug trying to downplay it somewhat.

“AND he came in a tuxedo, AND he posted you…do you have zero situational awareness or what?” Her friend scoffed as they gently whacked the flowers on y/n’s forehead.

“Look, felix is a friend’s friend. He’s the most friendliest of them all. Stop trying to induce romanticism in me, he’s a great friend. Very outgoing, giving, sweet…that’s how he is.” She explained.

“You are most definitely blind are you not seeing these!” They pointed to the ever so gigantic bouquet of flowers, “helping you with your essay, bringing you snacks, wanting to hang out with you all the time-”

“That’s what we do too.” Y/n reasoned.

“Girl.” They took a deep breath. “I hate you and I never want to hang out with you.”

Y/n snickered falling back to her bed, “Yeah sure. I hate you too.”

“That’s not the point-we’re us and Felix is a completely new person in your life who’s doing all this for YOU.”

“Yada yada” Y/n said rolling her eyes at her friend as they once again whacked her with the flowers.

“You pull shit like this and that Annabelle will steal him from you. Dig your own grave.”

Y/n burst into a hearty laugh at that, “Steal felix? What are you on about we’re not a thing to begin with and Annabelle is his friend just like me.”

“YOURE NOT EVEN LISTENING TO ME” Her friend said with a sigh as they crossed their arms.

“BECAUSE YOURE NOT MAKING SENSE.” y/n said back with a high pitched tone, this was their normal between the best friends when one couldn’t get a point across, not just normal, civil even.

“OF COURSE IM NOT BECAUSE YOU ARE FUCKING BRAIN DEAD.” They said as they forcefully throw the flowers in her direction.

“YOU WANNA HAVE A GO AT ME OKAY.” she seethed and threw back a pillow, “Fucking come here” she said as the set of, almost grown ups, fought with one another in the most figurative sense with a pair of pillows aiming for most harm.

“Not my hair-not my hair you gangly uncoordinated bitc-” the wrestling match was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Followed by the familiar voice “everything alright in there?”

Felix.

“PAUSE.”

“-Pause.”

“What the fuck’s he doing here?” Y/n whisper yelled as her friend pushed her to go open the door, straightening her hair out hurriedly as she walked up there.

“GO.”

“Felix…Hi” y/n said as she caught her breath and smiled at him, despite of the disheveled state of her room.

“Hey…I was just passing by and I thought you were fighting-?” Felix asked with a soft smile as he leant on the doorframe of her dorm. It was as if he never needed an invitation.

“No we were just, er what is it we-we were” y/n looked back at her friend to jump in with an answer.

“Roomie wars.” Her friend shrugged off. “Ya know…where’s my candle, where’s my ramen from yesterday”

“Oh…” Felix trailed off with an understanding nods. “Yeah I get it.”

“Funny you were just passing by, through dorm hallways, when yours is—three buildings down isn’t it?” Her friend intervened with an accusatory chuckle receiving a disapproving look from y/n.

“Yes I was actually here for y/n.” Felix said, he would never be put in a situation where he’d get awkward, blatantly open and confident he didn’t truly care for implications if they were correct. “Do you have any lectures this evening.”

“No.” Her friend answered quickly before she could.

“Yeah no I don’t.” Y/n replied with a tight smile at her friend.

“Great then I’ll pick you up at 5 yeah?” Felix said.

“Wait-for what?”

“Anything.”

yourusername this man is drowning in pussy

fel1x_catt0n this is so foul

yourusername the cats wuv you

fel1x_catt0n yet your caption is that of a comedic genius

yourfriend I have no words

farleigh_start just not yours…

HIII I am sorry I don’t update regularly I promise I will now, I am going through a very difficult and traumatic time in my life it’s so so so hard to cope at the moment.

Any comments on this or opinions would help me a lot more than you think either ways if you’re here and read this thank you so much <3

#felix catton x reader #felix catton x you #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x reader fanfic #felix catton x fem! reader #felix catton #felix catton x reader fluff #instagram au #jacob elordi x reader instagram au #jacob elordi x y/n #jacob elordi x reader #jacob elordi x you

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