#he has always put us first above his own wishes and happiness

[callalillywrites]

His Scarred Omega Part 7 (Final)

Part 6 / Series Masterlist

Relationship: Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader

Word Count: ~1850

Summary: It's been a few months since Bucky, Omega, and his daughter have moved in together. Omega makes a few revelations and wants Bucky to hear them.

Warnings: Bucky Barnes (he's a warning), some angst due to revelations (nothing too bad though), confessions, fluff, happy ending

A/N: I wrote this story really fast as I mentioned above. It’s proofread but all mistakes are my own.

I also do not give permission for my work to be copied or posted on other sites or fed into an AI machine.

*****

Omega finds herself realizing that she’s really in love with Bucky about three months after they move into their new home together.

She still wants to take things slow for Gracie’s sake, but she also knows that she wants to show Bucky that his hopes aren’t unfounded.

All the doubts she had about him and his desire to be a father to Gracie are unfounded.

While she’ll always wonder why Dot lied about Bucky, she’s seen enough of his actions to know Bucky’s a good man. The same good man she recalls meeting so many years ago and really liking. The one she wanted to make feel like a part of their family as he courted Dot.

If she needs any further proof, she finds it one day in their shared office. One of the documents Bucky’s been working so hard on has his signature in the corner. She knows it’s his because she saw him sign it personally. Though, it’s the first time she’s actually seeing his signature up close.

She’s long since memorized the letter Dot showed her so many years ago. She’d certainly read it often enough those first few weeks and found it among Dot’s possessions when Dot died. The signature on that paper doesn’t match the signature Bucky put on the document a few days ago.

Sure, it’s possible his signature has changed over the years, but the differences are too much to not know that the one on Dot’s letter is a forgery.

Omega also realizes that while Bucky doesn’t mind electronics (even loves all the new tech out there and geeking out about some of them), he prefers writing anything personal by hand. It’s just a quirk of his, one she really admires.

The typed letter Dot showed her didn’t match what she knows about Bucky.

Determined to get to the bottom of this, she digs through the box of Dot’s old paperwork until she finds the letter. Reading over it erases even the last vestiges of doubts now. There is nothing in it that even hints at the way Bucky expresses himself. Not the demeaning language used in the letter nor the way the sentences flow without regard to what’s said in the previous one. Bucky’s much more detailed oriented than that and far more careful with expressing himself through the written word.

“Why, Dot? What did he ever do to you? What did I do?”

There are no answers to her questions, but she’s able to put the matter finally to bed after all this time.

She rips the letter into the smallest shreds she can manage and stuffs them into the wastebasket to take out later.

Needing to find him and confess her feelings after these revelations, Omega pushes out of her chair and heads towards the kitchen where she finds Bucky cleaning up after Gracie’s after-school snack.

“Hey, Gracie-girl, you should get ready. Angel should be collecting you soon,” Omega says as she comes into the room though she doesn’t stop until she’s near where Bucky is working.

“Yeah, yeah, you two are going to do grownup stuff. I already know.” Gracie’s huff holds no malice but rather happiness as her two favorite people slowly come together. She’s been sending up daily wishes that they get together. It’s all she wants.

Bucky chuckles softly beside Omega as Gracie leaves. “I love that girl.”

“I know you do. She’s easy to love.”

He turns to face her. His hands come up to cup her cheeks as he says, “So are you, Precious.”

It’s the closest he’s ever admitted to loving her, but Omega wants (nay, needs) to hear him say the words to her. She doesn’t know if she can admit to her own feelings if he doesn’t take that step first.

Yet, a part of her knows he won’t. He’s been clear in letting her lead this relationship between them, and he won’t change that now even if he dearly wants to.

She knows he wants more from her. Their connection has given her plenty of insights into how much he wants more. His actions say the same every day, but he never says the words out loud for fear of spooking her.

Angel shows up on time to collect Gracie, shooting Omega a wink before they leave the porch. “Have fun tonight, girl. You deserve it, and so does Bucky.”

Omega returns to the kitchen a few minutes later, a little shell-shocked that her new friend has figured out in mere seconds what it’s taken Omega months to realize.

The pure delight on Angel’s face gave Omega the courage she needs to say, “I know we want to see that new movie tonight, but I was hoping maybe you wouldn’t mind doing something around here instead.”

That has his attention.

“Yeah, that’s fine if it’s what you want. You okay, love?”

She nods, fighting the smile that threatens to break out at his sweet concern.

“Any place special you want me to order from?”

She shakes her head. “I’m happy with our usual from that place down the road if you’re okay with it.”

“Okay. Let me put these things away, and I’ll order.”

Omega smiles at him. “I’m going to change into something a bit more comfortable. Meet you in the living room in, say, twenty minutes?”

“It’s a date.”

Bucky’s not sure what’s changed exactly, but he senses something’s still up with Omega. He doesn’t think it’s anything bad, but then, he can never be truly sure. That doesn’t stop the hope that bubbles to the surface and has warmth spreading through his chest.

The last of their dishes are put away, and food’s ordered by the time Omega appears.

A low whistle of appreciation passes his lips as he takes in the frilly top and shorter than normal shorts she’s donning. She’s wearing her locket and the small diamond earrings he bought her last month. What makeup she had on for the day has been washed away, but then she’s never needed makeup to turn Bucky’s head. Her natural beauty is enough to have him ready to follow her anywhere.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he says, earning him a shy smile in return. “Food will be here soon. Is there anything you want or need until it gets here?”

Omega shakes her head, then seems to think better of it as she approaches him slowly. Her arms come up until her hands clasp around his neck. “Just need you, handsome.”

Before he can quip back, she presses a soft kiss to his lips.

Bucky tries so hard not to melt under her sweet assault, but he’s finding it hard not to. He’s not even sure he wants to fight the way she’s making him feel for reasons yet unknown to him.

When she pulls back, he doesn’t let her get too far, pressing another kiss to her lips. He does resist the urge to nip at her bottom lip though it does tempt him something fierce when she nibbles on it as she meets his gaze.

“What’s that for?”

“Just because you’re you.”

“Hm, maybe I should be me more often.”

That earns him one of her giggles that has his heart soaring with pride. He lives for the moments he can pull one out of her.

Without really thinking too hard, he sets his hands at her waist and begins to sway back and forth. It’s been too long since he’s danced with her (less than a week ago but that’s still too long) and he’s got to make up for that.

“There’s no music,” she says though she leans into him with her hands tightening around his neck. Her feet follow his as though she’s been following him for years.

“Don’t need it.”

Another giggle escapes her.

“This is one of the many reasons I love you,” she murmurs, her cheek pressed to his chest and swaying with him.

His feet falter, but he quickly rebounds. His hands tighten at her hips and tug her closer. His lips press against her hair as he asks, “You love me?”

“Yeah, I do.”

She yelps when he lifts her up so they’re face to face.

“Say it again,” he commands.

Omega smiles as she wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, helping him to better keep her up. She closes the distance between them until their lips are a breath apart.

“Bucky Barnes, I love you,” she presses a kiss to his lips, “so,” another kiss, “so very much.”

He groans before he claims her lips in a kiss that melts her against him until she’s glad he’s holding her up.

The earlier desire to nip at her bottom lip comes back, and he doesn’t fight it this time. He wants her to remember this kiss for days, so he’s not about to stop.

When he finally pulls back for some air, he keeps his forehead against hers. His voice is rough as he manages to say, “I love you, too, Precious. You’ll never know how much, but I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you.”

She initiates the kiss this time, only pulling back when the doorbell rings.

A deep growl leaves Bucky at the interruption, but he reluctantly sets her down.

“We’re continuing this important discussion the moment I’m back.”

She grins. “Looking forward to it.”

Bucky does his best to play nice with their delivery person, but his eagerness to return to Omega has him grabbing their food while shoving a generous cash tip at the person. The door practically slams in their face as they shout their gratitude back at him.

Omega’s giggle at his antics pulls another low growl out of him. Oh, she’s well aware of her effect on him, and she’s reveling in it. He knows it.

They soon have their meal spread out across the coffee table with pillows under them to cushion the floor and the sofa at their back. Between bites of food, they continue to share kisses when they aren’t discussing the next steps they want out of their relationship.

Bucky agrees with continuing the slow pace for Omega’s comfort, but she agrees to consider moving into the main bedroom before the year is out.

When the topic of claiming each other comes up, Omega surprises Bucky by saying, “Maybe we can take a weekend trip soon. Somewhere fun and romantic. Just you and me. We can see how things play out and go from there.”

Bucky pulls out his phone and taps at the screen until he has his favorite travel app open.

“Type in anywhere you want to go, love, and I’ll make it happen.”

“Such an eager alpha, you are,” she teases.

“Yeah, but I’m your eager alpha, Precious. Good luck getting rid of me now that you’ve said you love me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of getting rid of you, my sweet Bucky.” Her hand comes up to wipe away some sauce from the corner of his mouth. “My true mate, you’re it for me.”

She seals her words with a kiss.

*****

This might be the end of the main story, but we're not done with this pack or this universe by a long shot.

Main Masterlist

[eddis-not-eeddis]

.

[januaryembrs]

YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted. 

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck. 

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin. 

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again. 

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest. 

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him. 

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene. 

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been. 

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men. 

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to. 

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions. 

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,” 

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently. 

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face. 

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet. 

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry. 

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.” 

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage. 

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,” 

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him. 

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them. 

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob. 

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand. 

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter. 

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights. 

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible. 

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was. 

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed. 

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him. 

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands. 

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,” 

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip. 

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. 

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in. 

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years. 

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe. 

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe. 

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second. 

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing. 

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late. 

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them. 

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed. 

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new. 

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them. 

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them. 

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently. 

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands. 

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt. 

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building. 

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him. 

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use. 

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard. 

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign. 

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?” 

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,” 

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes. 

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested. 

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again. 

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible. 

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything). 

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright. 

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet. 

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance. 

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock. 

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,” 

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,” 

 “I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing. 

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin. 

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down. 

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?” 

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised. 

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point. 

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

 “Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,” 

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion. 

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise. 

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off. 

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him. 

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,” 

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again. 

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his. 

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,” 

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all. 

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him. 

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though. 

[hello-eden]

Unexpected Hope

Damian has been disoriented all week. When he was told that stopping the ritual would have repercussions, he did not expect this. He had been dealing with the memories on his own but unfortunately he could not postpone this gala. 

He had been stopping a ritual that would end up summoning the being he now knows as Undergrowth. Damien does not regret that choice especially now that he has the context. Unfortunately it brought back his memories of Phantom.

He didn't quite understand they were memories for quite a while honestly he was a little bit concerned he got possessed. Thankfully after some compartmentalizing and a little bit of isolation, he figured out what was wrong. It did not help the confusion that comes with being a Midwestern teen and an assassin child put into one body but he has gotten the hang of it. 

Unfortunately Damian did not get long before he was forced back into the presence of his family. he had put off many public family events in the last few months so he was not able to get out of this event. he probably could have faked being sick but he'd much prefer to be able to pass off any of his symptoms from the memories as uncomfortableness being around strangers then be alone with his family. 

He's honestly very happy with his choice after he sees her. He doesn't recognize her at first with the dark auburn braided hair and the dress being something other than black but something made him turn around when he heard her rant.

She was giving a humanitarian speech to one of the investors. At first he got closer just to hear about it. It's always funny to see the faces of the imbeciles when people don't bow to their wishes.

Damien thought he finally found someone who was not a gold digger or a social climber. What made him really stop in his tracks was her body language. It was like a neon flashing sign opened up and said ‘hey this is Sam Mason’. 

Damien walked over with hope in his chest that he was not alone. she eventually seemed to get tired of the man or maybe he was able to scramble an excuse and walk away. he couldn't quite hear but by the time he walked over there it was only her.

 “you seem to be quite passionate,” Damian says, trying to start a conversation and figuring out how to ask the hard question.

 What is he exactly supposed to say? ‘Hey, are you my best friend for my last life or hey do you remember being on my ghost hero vigilante team that ended up with all of us being Undead royalty.’

The girl looks him over, probably trying to figure out what he wants. 

“Are you here to argue?” She says angrily, obviously ready for another fight.

“Your speech reminds me of someone, have you ever heard of Samantha Mason” Damien says trying to be nonchalant.

Her eyes seem to widen and look him over again.

“Where'd you hear that name.” She ordered.

“I've heard enough of her rants to be able to pick it out from a crowd.”

 “Danny,”  She said softly her grabbing his hands and squeezing as she looked around to make sure no one saw. “what how I thought it was the only one” Hope seemed to be filling her eyes. 

“Hi Sam” Damien Whispers just as softly just as glad he is not alone. 

Without another word Sam drags them to the stairway rushing up to the floor upstairs and trying to find a room that isn't being used. She eventually finds one two floors above the room they were using for the gala and pushes him into what looks like a break room.

 “How the hell did you get your memories” Sam demands 

“Why are you yelling at me? You have your memories too obviously if you are recognizing your name” Damian says shouting back at her. 

Sam always has a way of catching him off guard. She was happy just a minute ago. 

“yeah well I did something stupid which means I know you did something stupid” Sam said pointing her finger at him.

“ Well I may have accidentally stumbled upon a ritual for summoning an ancient and when I stopped it the backlash gave me my memories back. ” Damien stumbled over their words trying to justify themselves. "What stupid thing did you do?”

“The girls in my stupid Prep School in my grade went through a very witchy phase. there was a slumber party and they were stupid enough to actually find real magic. I had a cut on my hand earlier in the day and try to freak them out by adding a little bit of my blood. apparently my protection spell is literally stuck into my soul, so things went down” Sam says just as hesitantly as Damien

 “you have zero leg to stand on okay fine we were both stupid” 

They both sat there in silence for a while, mostly just basking in each other's presents realizing they weren't alone anymore.

“it's good to have you back," Damian says, giving her a weak smile and running his hands through his hair.

He'd been trained out of all of his nervous ticks but it probably makes her more comfortable to see him just as nervous as she is.

“it's good to see you too da- do you have the same name?” both of them don't seem to realize at the same time that they didn't get each other's names. 

“Damien” he says as he pulls his hand out of his hair and puts his hand out for a handshake. 

“Sarah” she says, grabbing his hand and giving it a shake.

the two of them shake their hand for a moment before they look at each other's eyes and burst out giggling. 

Damien's really glad he decided to not pretend to be sick.

[mothandpidgeon]

Unrequited (bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

pairing: bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: E 18+MDNI

summary: You arrive in Jackson 22 years after the outbreak only to be reunited with your best friend’s dad, the man that stole your heart and broke it when you were fourteen– Joel Miller.

contents: best friend's dad, age gap, outbreak night (nothing that isnt in ep 1), big angst, abandonment issues, brief suicidal ideation, daddy issues, grief, Joel guilt, unprotected p in v sex, reader doesn't know where Jakarta is, reader is not described physically but Joel picks (adult) reader up, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 9k

a/n: This has been a bitch to finish but I'm quite proud of where it ended up. It's the longest os I've written which makes me nervous nobody will want to read it but I hope you do.

Thank you a million times to @ezrasbirdie for making me finish this and betaing. Also thank you @lowlights for listening to me ramble on this! Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Old man, take a look at your life. I’m a lot like you. Neil Young

You’re waiting for Sarah on the front steps when she gets home. School ended nearly two hours ago and you’ve been sitting here a ball of nerves. The whole world seems to be uneasy this afternoon. You notice sirens, a team of fighter jets scrambling above. It's like your anxiety has spilled out of your chest and it’s taken life all around you. 

You finger the corner of your notebook. On the inside are doodles— hearts and bubble letters. Juvenile daydreams put to paper. Your first name and after it his last, testing out the sound of who you would be if only you’d been born in a different decade. Mrs. Miller. 

Sarah doesn’t look very happy to see you. It’s been two weeks since you’ve talked to her and you’ve never felt more lonely. 

Her words still ring in your ears. 

“It’s like you’re in love with my dad.”

“No I'm not!” you said, your whole body tingling with the heat of embarrassment. You’d never felt so exposed in your life. 

“Sometimes I think that’s the only reason you’re even friends with me,” she said. 

You've been ruminating on that accusation ever since. You pine for Mr. Miller the way only a fourteen year old can. It’s the kind of infatuation that makes you understand how Romeo and Juliet ended in tragedy. All-consuming, unrequited, so in love it hurts.

So maybe Sarah’s right. Your heart flutters every time Mr Miller appears in the kitchen, wearing a dark t-shirt that hugs his biceps. You try not to stare at his aquiline nose when he drives you home from Sarah’s soccer games. Sleep overs at the Miller’s house mean more opportunities to be around him, learn the little details that make him him. And there were plenty of sleep overs because your parents are always so busy fighting, they never bother to keep track of you. 

But you’ve been in agony without your friend. It’s a pain sharper and more present than the yearning you’ve felt for Mr. Miller. You’ve talked to her every day since you moved to Austin in fourth grade and since this fight, there’s been an empty space in your heart. 

“Hi.” You stand up, hoisting your backpack awkwardly over your shoulder. 

“I’m supposed to go next door,” Sarah says. 

“Can I just talk to you for a minute?” you ask. 

She sighs but opens the front door with her key and lets you follow her into the living room. 

“I’m sorry,” you say before you lose your nerve. “You’re right. I like your dad.”

It’s probably the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever owned up to. You wish you could explain to her that you know how silly it is to be in love with a full grown man, your best friend’s dad. It’s not like he’ll ever see you as anything other than a kid. 

You can’t put into words how he makes you feel. It’s not just his broad shoulders or chocolate eyes, though it’s undeniable that he’s gorgeous. He asks about school and comes to see you in the musical. Joel is an adult that actually gives a crap about you. 

You want to tell Sarah that one of the reasons you love her father so much is because of her. Because he’s such a good dad, because he raised such a cool, funny, smart daughter. That Sarah makes him better. 

It’ll take years for you to find words for all of that. So you just do your best right now. 

“I can’t help it. I wish I could,” you say. 

That’s true. And not just because your crush has made you lose your only friend. It’s exhausting to feel such a powerful longing, to want something you know you’ll never have. It’s torture. 

“But you’re my best friend. And that’s not why. I promise,” you say. 

Sarah sighs heavily, her pretty hazel eyes full of remorse. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just get jealous sometimes.”

“I promise I won’t make you feel that way ever again. I could never like him more than you,” you tell her, sitting beside her on the couch and looking her in the eye so she knows you mean it. “He’s…old.”

You both laugh. 

“He’s so lame. This morning he said that Jakarta is in the Middle East,” she giggles. 

You don’t know where the hell Jakarta is but of course Sarah does. You throw your arms around her. You’ve missed her so damn much. The past two weeks have felt like two decades. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell her. 

“Me too.” She returns your embrace. “Do you have to go home? You can sleep over if you want. It’s my dad’s birthday but I don’t think he’s going to be home until late.”

Your heart twinges at the offer and not because it means you might see Mr. Miller at breakfast. You won’t even look at him again. Tonight is about your friend.

You end up watching some corny action movies and gorging yourselves on microwave popcorn. Everything feels right again. You don’t think about Mr. Miller. In fact, you’re grateful that his double has gone over into a late night so you don’t have to be in the same room. You’ve sworn to yourself that you’ll act normal around him but you’re not sure that sheer willpower can stop you from getting butterflies when he’s right there. 

At some point, you pass out in front of the tv, happier than you’ve been in a long time. 

Sarah nudges you awake sometime after midnight, concern all over her face. 

“Was I snoring?” you ask, groggy. 

She’s looking out the window. Helicopters fly so low overhead, the whole house rattles. It’s a wonder you slept through all of this noise— the choppers are joined by the wail of a car alarm, pops like fireworks. The TV is playing a high-pitched tone and when you peer at it, you see a test pattern on the screen. 

Dread settles in the pit of your stomach. 

“Something’s going on,” Sarah says almost to herself. 

A sudden thud against the back door makes you both jump. You swear, shaken out of your sleepy haze. 

“Mercy?” Sarah asks. 

You’ve spent enough time with Sarah to become acquainted with their neighbors The Adlers and their border collie Mercy. Mr Adler used to pay you each a dollar to walk him. Mercy’s frantically pawing at the glass. 

Sarah goes to the door and steps into the yard. You follow, unsure you want to leave the familiar safety of the house but unwilling to be alone with such an eerie feeling in the air. 

“What’re you doing out here, boy?” Sarah says, crouching down to pet the whimpering animal.  

“Where’s your dad?” you ask her. 

You hope the question doesn’t make Sarah think you’ve already forgotten your promise. Everything’s just so wrong. You’d feel a lot better with an adult around. 

“Don’t think he came home yet,” she says. You can hear the concern in her voice. “Let’s take Mercy back. The Alder’s will be home.” 

Mercy puts up a fight as Sarah pulls him across the lawn. It’s late and dark save the street lamp and a few porch lights that have been left on. You shiver despite the fact that it’s a warm southern night. 

The front door to the Adler’s house stands open and inside is black. No. Bad. You want to run back to the Miller’s house and lock the door behind you but the promise of Mr. And Mrs. Adler inside keeps you moving towards the darkened entrance. Maybe Mrs. Adler will give you some cookies while you wait for Mr. Miller. 

Sarah steps in first. The dog bucks and strains against her grip on his collar. Sarah fights to keep hold of him but Mercy’s thrashing makes him hard to pin down. He pulls free from Sarah’s grasp and darts away. 

You have half a mind to do the same but Sarah keeps going forward. She’s scared, too, her breaths shallow as she tip toes down the hall.  

“Mrs. Adler?” Sarah asks, her voice barely above a whisper. 

You reach for each other without even realizing it and you enter the kitchen holding hands. 

What you see there is beyond your wildest imaginings. There’s blood, a lot of it. Sarah’s shoe slides in the stuff and you grab her before she loses her balance. The room is cast in shadows but a street light streams through the window in the side door. Its beam falls over the form of Mr. Adler, limp on the floor. His back is against the door and a gush of dark blood sparkles in the sodium vapor. 

You’ve never seen so much blood, never seen anyone injured so brutally. It looks like he’s been attacked by some wild animal. Mercy was acting strange but the dog couldn’t do that.

“Help me,” he rasps. 

He’s speaking to you. You’re actually here. This is happening and you need to do something. 

But before you can form a coherent thought, your eyes travel deeper into the kitchen. Beside the island is more blood…and more bodies. 

As if seeing Sarah’s neighbor with his neck ripped open wasn’t enough of a horror, you’re now watching Nana hunched over Mrs. Adler’s corpse, her face buried in the younger woman’s neck. The scene before you makes no sense. Most of the time the old woman is barely conscious, hasn’t left her wheelchair in years and yet she’s on all fours before you looking feral. 

Sarah squeezes your hand so tight you’re afraid your knuckles will break. 

Nana slowly raises her face to you. Her eyes are pitch black and her mouth teems with twitching tendrils. You are staring at a living, breathing monster. 

When she leaps at you, you and Sarah bolt for the door. Your heart hammers against your ribs. Sarah makes it out first and races towards the sidewalk. 

Once you’ve gotten onto the front step, you slam the storm door shut behind you to trap whatever that thing is inside. SLAM. Nana collides with the door and it rattles violently. You hold it closed with every ounce of strength in you, listening to the creature behind it scratch and wail and willing yourself not to look through the glass to see its horrible face. Terror holds your muscles taught. You’re not sure how long you can stay like this, your sneakers skidding across the ground. 

With a roar, Uncle Tommy’s truck pulls up at that very moment and Mr. Miller hops out of the passenger seat before its even come to a full stop. He’s a fearsome sight, broad and rippling with untamed energy, his muscular arms outlined by the headlights of the car. You’ve never been more grateful for his presence. 

This nightmare is almost over. Joel’s come to save you. 

“Girls get in the car!” he bellows. His voice is raw and ragged. 

Just as you’re ready to make a run for it, The door flings out towards you, and you’re thrown aside as if you weigh nothing. You hit the driveway hard, your head connecting with concrete. 

For a moment, you can’t hear anything but the gush of blood pumping in your ears. You’re dizzy. Suffocating. There’s a warm trickle at your temple. Sarah calls your name. Your vision is blurred but you can make out the ghoulish form of the creature barreling towards her. 

“What’re we doing, Joel?” you hear Tommy ask.

There’s a thud and then quiet. 

You gasp again and again but your lungs won’t fill. 

Are you dying? Help. You need help. The monster lays lifeless at Joel’s feet and you pray that he’ll scoop you up and take you away from this. Your eyes finally come into focus to see Mr. Miller comforting Sarah, holding her face in his big palms, so fixated on her that he doesn’t notice that Mr. Adler has appeared in the doorway. 

Mr. Adler is still covered in so much blood and his gait has become twitchy as if his legs are on backwards. He moves towards them and you want to call out a warning but you’re still choking for air. Luckily he hasn’t noticed you but he soon stands between you and the Millers. 

“We’ve got to move,” Tommy says. 

“Get in the car,” Mr. Miller says to Sarah, throwing a protective arm in front of her. 

“But she’s hurt!”

She steps towards you. You’d cry her name but you’ve still got the wind knocked out of you and you’re too terrified to make a noise. Mr. Adler makes an inhuman sound as he advances, a croaking, growling gurgle. 

Mr. Miller pushes Sarah towards the truck. 

“Leave her!” he barks. “Get in the car!”

You sputter and choke as you watch Sarah, Joel, and Tommy drive away. 

You wait for a long time. 

As the truck pulls off of the curb, Mr. Adler is joined by his wife in the street, making chase. You’re finally able to draw breath and rouse your body off of the ground. You scramble back across the lawn to the Miller’s house and lock yourself inside. There’s enough adrenaline coursing through you that you’re able to push the sofa to barricade the front door. You draw all of the curtains and grab the biggest knife you can find in the kitchen. It’s ridiculous, something you’ve seen in scary movies, but you’re living in one right now. 

You hide yourself away. Sarah’s bedroom seems like the obvious place to do it. Familiar and safe. You curl yourself into a ball in the corner, clutching your knife and staring at the closed door with wild eyes. 

Sirens go through the night. Gunshots. At one point even the roar of a jet engine. 

For hours your body quivers as you try to make sense of what you’ve just witnessed. Flesh-eating mutants. Gore. Death. You keep waiting to wake up from a bad dream but you don’t. They left you. They abandoned you in a nightmare. 

No. That’s impossible. You can accept that a comatose elderly woman made supper out of her son in law but you refuse to believe that Joel would desert you. 

He’ll come back for you. Sarah will convince him. There’s always been room for you in their family. 

But as the sun begins to peek through the blinds and the noises outside fade away, you begin to lose hope. 

The muscles in your body go slack, exhausted from hours of uncontrollable shaking. Your instinct for survival and your need for sleep war with each other. Exhaustion is winning. 

You cautiously open the door to Sarah’s room. The house is still, more quiet than you’ve ever experienced. You creep into the room at the end of the hall. The olive green sheets on Joel’s bed are still messy from when he woke up here the day before. A normal morning. His birthday. 

You rest the knife on the night stand amongst the things he emptied from his pockets— coins, receipts, a stray nail. You slip into the bed and wrap yourself up. It smells like him— spicy deodorant and sweat, fresh cut lumber like the hardware store. The scent reminds you of all those times he was close, when your heart leapt. 

They’ll come back. Mr. Miller wouldn’t leave you. 

He left you to die but you just go on living.  

It takes some time before you’re brave enough to leave the Miller’s house and see what’s left of the world. Your parents are nowhere to be found. It’s safe to assume they were infected that first night. 

You’re on your own. 

A QZ is set up outside of San Antonio. They assign you to housing for separated minors. An orphanage. You never make friends, not really. Trust is too fickle.

At night you lay in your bunk and wonder what life would be like if anybody gave a shit about you. Maybe you would have been with your parents when it all went down. You’d be a snarling monster but at least you wouldn’t be alone. 

On the worst nights, when you like yourself the least, Mr. Miller’s words echo around your skull. “Leave her.” She's not worth it. Forget her. 

You don’t imagine yourself in his arms anymore. Instead you picture him and Sarah and Uncle Tommy, all happy and safe hiding out somewhere idyllic. A sweet little cabin with a stream nearby, surrounded by peaceful woods. You’ve heard some people live like that.

Some days you wish you were with them. Others you wish they were all dead. 

When you turn 18, you age out of your living situation. It couldn’t come soon enough. Things are changing and it seems like all the kids that stay in FEDRA school are being groomed to go straight into uniform. You dodged that bullet but life’s not easy. Now you’re well and truly alone, scraping by to keep food in your mouth and a roof over your head. 

It only lasts a few years, though. By the time you’re 21, there’s an emergency evacuation. Outbreaks are happening within the walls and with so many people living on top of each other, it’s only a matter of time before shit hits the fan. They send swaths of people to Dallas but word is, there’s no room for such numbers and they consider everyone from San Antonio an infection risk. 

You’ve heard enough stories to know what that means. There won’t be a warm welcome when you reach the next QZ. So you ditch the convoy and head north. 

You bounce around for years, sometimes with others, a lot of time solo. Doing what you have to. It’s not a life, just survival. 

By the time you reach the wilds of Wyoming, you’ve had enough. You break off from the group you’re traveling with. You leave them this time, just decide to walk into the forest and let the earth swallow you up. You’re exhausted, sick of hanging on by a thread. Too much of a coward to kill yourself, you wander around waiting for the cold or your hunger or a bear to do it for you. 

They find you. Some scouts that look mean and tough take pity on you and offer you a place with them in a commune where things are half normal. 

It’s the first time being alone has worked to your advantage.  

Jackson is a strange place. It has walls like the QZ but it’s quaint. There’s laughter and evergreen wreaths, happy children that build snowmen in the center of town. Some of these kids have no idea how fucked up the world has become. All they know is this charming little haven. 

You spend the first few days in the infirmary, getting patched up, regaining your strength. You feel like an animal compared to the people in your new community. It’s hard to accept that they’re willing to help you, no strings attached. 

Eventually you’re well enough to have your own place. They set you up with a little apartment over one of the stores in town. You’re invited to take your meals in the dining hall. 

It takes you back to those first days at your new middle school after you came to Austin. Unfortunately, this time Sarah’s not there to offer you a seat at her lunch table. 

You keep to yourself, overwhelmed by all of the strange new faces. Head down, you eat your breakfast. It’s the best food you’ve had in years. As your belly fills, you start to relax and try to get used to the idea of this being home. 

Then you hear a familiar voice say your name. You wonder if you’re hallucinating when you see him standing in front of you. 

He’s gained a few decades but he looks good. His hair is nearly shoulder length and there’s a mustache on his upper lip but that’s him alright. 

“Uncle Tommy?” you manage. 

“That really you?” he asks. 

Tommy puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. His smile wrinkles the corners of his eyes. You nod and you’re smiling too.  

You expect to be upset. Tommy was there when you were abandoned after all. But you’re flooded with relief and a small flame of hope. 

“Shit. What’re the chances?” he asks, studying your face. “C’mere.”

He pulls you through the lines of tables. Your head spins with questions. How did he end up in Wyoming of all places? How long has he been here? Did you actually die out there only to be sent to this strange afterlife? 

“You remember this old son of a bitch?” Tommy asks with a chuckle when he stops at the table in a far corner. 

And suddenly you’re face to face with Mr. Miller. 

He’s old. Grey hairs run through his stubble and curl from his temple. There are deep lines in his face. He’s still good looking despite how weathered his features have become, still broad, still with that wonderful silhouette.

It’s funny. In your mind’s eye, you’ve never imagined Joel aging. He stayed the same while you grew up. 

He looks at you for a long moment and then his thick bottom lip falls agape. His eyes glitter and his dimple appears as he recognizes the woman that you’ve become. 

“Kiddo,” he whispers as he stands up. 

He pulls you into a hug and his wide palm smooths down your back. He still smells just how you remember and without warning you’re sobbing into the front of his flannel. 

You spent hours upon hours imagining what you might say if you ever saw him again. Sometimes it was a speech biting with venom, others a confession, a question. Now, though, your mind is blank, overwhelmed that fate has brought you back together. A testament to your survival. 

“It’s alright, babygirl. You’re okay,” he says into your hair. Words you needed to hear all those years ago. 

You stay like this for a long time, surrounded by him. He holds you the way you wished he had as you cried into his pillow in that empty house. Eventually you pull yourself together with a shaking breath. 

“Where’s Sarah?” you ask, casting your eyes around the crowd in the mess hall. 

There’s a girl sitting beside Joel, her curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, watching this scene unfold. Everyone else is polite enough to pretend you’re not bawling in the middle of lunch. Can’t be the first time it’s happened. 

At your question, Tommy goes stone faced. The muscle in Joel’s jaw ticks. 

You shake your head in disbelief. “Infected?” you squeak out. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Joel chokes. 

“She didn’t make it through that first night,” Tommy says. 

It’s a punch in the gut, the air’s knocked out of your chest all over again. While it had crushed you to be abandoned, part of you understood. Joel had to choose and he picked his daughter. Even if he’d been in love with you the way you used to dream about, he always would have chosen Sarah. You couldn’t hold that against him, no matter how much it hurt. There just wasn’t anyone in the world that would have saved you. 

But knowing that he failed her, that he failed you both, makes you sick. All those years of bitterness come flooding back to you and your tears turn hot and furious. 

“You let her die?” you demand. “You told her to leave me behind and you didn’t even save her?” You push Joel, your hands against the wet spots you left on his shirt. It’s ineffectual. He barely moves against your pathetic shove but his face crumples. You know he hates himself as much as you do in that moment but that’s not enough. You hit him as hard as you can and he does nothing to defend himself. 

“Hey, hey,” Tommy says, trying a hand on your shoulder. 

“You should’ve saved her,” you bark. 

Heads have turned now as Tommy holds you back. 

“I hoped you were dead every day since you left me,” you say. 

You can see on his face that Joel’s definitely wished the same thing. 

You go on berating him, your tears mixing with spit as you snarl and shout, until Tommy’s able to wrestle you out of the dining hall. 

The summer comes. After a long, cold winter, everyone in Jackson welcomes the change of seasons with open arms. Everyone but Joel. 

Ellie was a salve for the deep wounds on his heart. They’ll never fully heal but at least they stopped overwhelming him for some time. Since your dramatic reunion, though, those scars have been torn open once more. Especially today. 

It’s warm and there’s barely a cloud in the sky. The July weather is mild compared to summers in Texas. Fresh air blows in through the open windows of the house, beckoning Joel outside but he has no desire to be in the sunshine. 

“You okay?” Ellie asks. 

She’s just come down the stairs. It’s early and Joel’s already at the kitchen table. Didn’t sleep much. 

He and Ellie have been together long enough that she understands the wordless shifts in his moods. They’ve gotten worse since you arrived in Jackson. He does his work and patrols, sometimes he nurses a whiskey alone at the bar. The rest of the time he keeps to himself. He’s sliding back towards the man she met back in Boston. Joel’s rebuilt the walls that surrounded him, brick by brick since that afternoon in the dining hall. 

“I was going to meet Dina at the mess. Want to come? Or I could stick around?” she offers. 

It’s going to be one of those dark days, the kind that makes him question why he’s been hanging on for so long, and Ellie knows it. She’s giving him a lifeline, offering to be with him so he doesn’t have to ask. He should accept it, but he doesn’t want to waste his energy putting on a brave face for her when he feels so broken. 

“That’s alright, Ellie. Go on,” he says. 

She doesn’t push him. She never does. She just gives a sympathetic smile before she slips out. 

Once seems gone, his heart begins to ache. 

Sometime later, there’s a knock at the door. The last person he expects to see on the porch is you. You look a little nervous, like if he’d taken longer to come to the door you might’ve bolted. 

He hasn’t spoken to you since that day that you came back into his life but the words you said play relentlessly on loop in his mind. He should have made amends by now. You were his daughter’s best friend and of all the places at the end of the world, you’ve ended up in the same town. He passes by the old pharmacy you live above just about every day, thinks about seeing if you’re in so you can have a conversation. He even knows what he’d say, but he can’t work up the courage. There aren’t any words that can make right what he did to you. 

The guilt metastasized deep in his gut. His failure compounded. 

So he doesn’t blame you for keeping your distance, avoiding him when your paths cross. He lets you be angry with him, as he deserves. 

“Want some company?” you ask. 

He recognizes the look on your face and it dawns on him that he might not be the only person struggling today. He steps aside to let you in. 

Joel sets a cup of tea down in front of you. It’s not the real thing. Dried herbs from the garden Maria keeps. You’ve taken a seat across from him at the table, glancing around the kitchen so you don’t have to look at him. 

“Surprised you remember,” he says. 

“My best friend’s birthday?”

He shrugs as he pulls up a chair across from you. “Was a long time ago.”

“I think you underestimate the power of female friendships.” 

You wear a soft smile that makes Joel’s heart ache a little harder. He takes a good look at you, seeing you up close for the first time. There are hints of the girl he knew back in Austin but she’s buried under years of hard living. 

You’re the same age Sarah would have been today. The same age he was when he lost everything. 

You sigh and scratch awkwardly at your neck. 

“Listen, I’m sorry about…all that shit I said. It’s…” you trail off and he’s sure you’re still mad at him, deep down. 

“I reckon I’m the one that owes an apology. I shouldn’t’ve left you back there. Sarah begged me not to,” he admits. “I was trying to keep her safe. But I fucked that up, too.” 

“That’s not true. I was just angry,” you tell him. 

“I was always so pissed at your parents for not caring enough about you. Turns out I was just as bad,” he says. 

He hadn’t given any thought to the choice he made all those years ago. His priority was his family and he had no room for the rest of humanity. Joel didn’t realize until he saw your face again just how selfish that had made him. The past months he’s been haunted by the thought of it, a young thing all alone in the chaos. If Sarah’s watching over him, which sometimes he hopes she is, she’d be ashamed. 

“I’ve had a lot of time to think since I got here and…I don’t blame you. I’m not your kid. It just—“ You laugh without humor. “God, it’s so stupid but I had a huge crush on you.”

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up. You fiddle with the chipped handle on your mug.

“I know. I was just a kid but I was head over heels for you,” you say.

Joel can feel himself blushing. It’s a sweet thought. He’s honored in a strange way. He remembers the gravity of Sarah’s crushes– Leonardo DiCaprio, Usher, some guy with a lip ring from one of those punk bands she listened to.

“So when you left me…I was a little heart broken.”

“Shit,” Joel says. 

“I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I just wanted you to know why I was so hurt,” you tell him, leaning forward in your seat. “You didn’t know any of that. And it’s not fair to hang that over your head. It wasn’t your job to rescue me.”

“Course it was,” Joel responds. “You were just a kid. I let you down.”

You look at him gratefully and a tear slips down your cheek. It takes a minute for you to fully take that in and it seems like something you’ve needed to hear. 

“Joel. I forgive you,” you tell him. 

A thick knot forms in his throat. 

There’s a litany of names in his mind, so many people he’s failed. Henry and Sam. Tess. Sarah. He’s never expected to be absolved of any of his sins, he doesn't deserve to be forgiven. But those three words make him feel lighter, like he can stop beating himself up. At least for a moment. 

He tucks his chin into his chest trying to keep his own tears from spilling over. Your hand slips over his, a gentle, reassuring touch. 

The two of you stay like that for a little while, crying together, then becoming reacquainted. You talk for a long time. There’s a lot of catching up to do but the conversation keeps coming back to Sarah. It’s a gift to share memories of her, to hear stories that he’s never heard. You knew Sarah better than anyone in the world— her favorite store in the mall, what she wanted for her birthday. Her hopes, her dreams, her fears. No fourteen year old goes to her daddy with her problems. You were there for her, though. Right up until the end. 

“I, um, you should have this,” you say. “Well, it’s yours.”

You and Joel have migrated to the couch in the living room as the afternoon has crept on. You reach into your back pocket, a little reluctant, and pull something out. 

It’s a photograph, dog eared and creased from years of being carried with you. Joel recognizes the picture— you and him and Sarah, all three of you donning life jackets, smiling as you float on a calm river. He and Tommy took Sarah kayaking and she asked if you could tag along. It was a wonderful day. Blue, cloudless sky. 

The last time he saw the photo it was hanging under a magnet on the refrigerator in the kitchen. 

“How’d…”

“I stayed in your house for a while. After. Just kind of hoping you might come back. I took that when I left. And I ate all your food,” you say with a little chuckle. You wipe some snot from your nose. “I guess…well, you probably don’t have a lot of pictures of her.”

You’re right. There was an outdated school photograph in his wallet when they left that night and it had been too painful to look at for years. It still stings a little but it feels easier to share with someone, someone that knew her so well. 

“You sure?” he asks. 

You nod. “I know where to find it.”

He props the picture up on the coffee table so you can both look at it and meditate on that day when everything felt so perfect. 

“Remember we made you play “Crazy in Love” on on repeat the whole way there?” you ask. 

“I still get that goddamn song stuck in my head,” he complains. 

You laugh and rest your head on his shoulder. The familiar gesture cracks something open inside of him. He’s taken back to his favorite nights when he’d watch a movie with Sarah and she’d cuddle against him. Somehow the memory doesn’t hurt as much as he anticipates. 

You sit like that, looking at the picture, both quiet, your smiles fading as you remember what’s happened since. 

“Sometimes I think I see her,” he chokes. 

He’s never told anyone that. But it seems like you might understand, He trusts you won’t meet his admission with a pitying smile. 

“How’s she look?” you ask. 

He can’t help but chuckle. He nods. 

You don’t say anything, you just burrow your head a little deeper into him. Joel puts a gentle kiss in your hair. 

You’re a fixture in the Miller house once again, part of the family. You babysit for Maria and tell her embarrassing stories about Tommy. You and Ellie tease Joel relentlessly. You sit with him in the evenings, sometimes singing along when he pulls out his guitar, other nights neither of you speak at all.

Slowly, you find yourself falling in love with him all over again. It’s not the same infatuation you harbored when you were young. You’re both different people. And you hardly knew him back then. Not really. What did a fourteen year old know about grown men?

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm. After being alone for such a long time, it’s magical to have a companion. Joel seems grateful for the company, too. He’s there whenever you turn around, like a promise. He’s not leaving you behind even if you’re just going from the stables to the library. 

Neither of you acknowledge it, this easy rapport. A light squeeze on your shoulder, holding your hand when you get misty eyed. He probably doesn’t mean anything by it but you’re pretty sure you can’t live without it. You bask in the sweetness of these exchanges, trying not to think too hard about the fact that you used to spend Saturday nights giggling on his daughter’s bedroom floor. 

He’s still Mr. Miller, after all. 

Autumn comes and you’re inseparable. You realize just how much when you convince him to attend the children’s choir performance in town. You expect him to demure. Watching kids being kids must be painful. But he’s by your side in the dining hall as the little ones sing “Clementine” and “Oh Susanna”. 

He puts his arm around your shoulder so you can lean into him. It might just be a paternal gesture, maybe you’re still a little girl in his eyes. That’s ok with you if he keeps absentmindedly massaging your upper arm. You can’t remember the last time you felt so safe, so loved. 

Afterwards, he walks you home and you’re in such a good mood, you start singing to yourself.

“Johnny Cash,” he says approvingly. 

You laugh to yourself. “You know, I started listening to him ‘cause of you. You had his CD in your truck,” you admit.  

You wanted to like all of the things Joel liked. He would think you were so interesting and grown up because you knew all the words to “Riders in the Sky.”

“Least I was a good influence,” Joel says, shaking his head, his cheeks turning pink. 

He’s so handsome when he blushes, you feel a little giddy when you come to stop in front of the old pharmacy. 

“G’night, darlin’,” he says, giving your hand one last squeeze. 

He waits. He’ll stand here and watch you get inside like he always does. He doesn’t need to— it’s not like people even lock their doors in Jackson— but he’s insisted on it so fervently that you stopped arguing. 

You shouldn’t do it. It’s so silly. But there’s a softness in his eyes and his gentle touch still tingles on your arm. His salt and pepper hair is caught in the string lights that line the empty street. You can’t help yourself.  

You kiss him, smoothing your palms up the front of his flannel until you sink your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck. The tip of his nose is cold from the chill in the evening air but his lips are warm and sweet. 

You haven’t had a whole lot of experience kissing. You’d just started doing it when the outbreak happened and things haven’t been very romantic since. This is one of the better ones. Relatively chaste but unbearably tender. Certainly better than you could have imagined all those years ago. 

It lasts longer than you expect. Joel kisses you back. He rests his hand on your waist and the way it covers so much of your back makes you swoon. Soon, though, he’s pulling away, cradling your cheek. 

“We shouldn’t do that,” he says.

“I know,” you sigh. You’re reluctant to break away, savoring the brush of his nose against yours. 

It’s all wrong but you’re not ashamed for trying it. 

“Just once. I’ve always wanted to,” you say. 

He presses his lips into your forehead. It feels bittersweet. A kiss you longed for for twenty years came and went. 

You wave to him from the door before you go in for the night. 

That kiss confirms Joel’s fears.

He’s spent months convincing himself that this is completely platonic. He would never have feelings for his daughter’s best friend. Even if he always wants to be around you.   

He’s looking after you, comforting you, protecting you. He’s making up for those years that he made you suffer through. You forgave him but he’ll never stop atoning. 

And then you kissed him. 

Suddenly, he’s buried in an avalanche of thoughts he’s been disavowing. 

You’re pretty and soft. You're strong and you ease the pain of his memories. You make him feel a little less alone. 

The warmth of your lips, your body pressed to his. He was ready to lose himself in you. 

That’s when he heard it. 

It was Sarah’s voice chiding him with all the reasons why this is wrong. 

She’s been in his head, his inner critic since the day she died, pointing out every failure and weakness in him. He could picture her looking down on him with disgust. She’s the same age as your daughter. She was just a kid when you met her. She deserves better than you. 

He’s making the same mistake as before, letting his instinct get the better of him. The responsible part of him takes control. He can’t give you any more reasons to try and kiss him again. 

If Joel is good at one thing it’s denying himself. 

He backs off and you can sense it, he knows you do. Sometimes he catches you looking at him and there’s a longing in your eye. It fucking kills him but it’s just another reason why he’s no good for you. 

Despite whatever it does to you, you haven’t got anybody else in Jackson so you stick around. He can only imagine how much it hurts you. 

“Why did I go north?” you complain when Joel opens the front door. You’re holding a scarf tight around your neck, shivering against the cold. The sky is a dismal shade of gray, snowfall on the horizon. 

Joel gets you in the house with a chuckle. He starts a fire, a luxury you little apartment doesn’t afford. You shiver in front of the hearth. 

“Traded for this,” you say, pulling a thick book out of your coat and tossing it onto the coffee table. 

“Oh good. I was looking for some light reading material,” Ellie quips from her spot on the couch.  

“It’s a dictionary,” you explain, “so you’ll quit cheating at Boggle.”

“You're in trouble now,” Joel laughs. 

“I don’t cheat. I just know more words than you guys,” she says. 

“Dentment is not a word,” you reply. 

“Neither is thoard,” Joel says. 

“Sure it is. I’m about to thoard the two of you in this game,” she says.

This should be enough. A winter day by the fire. The simple joy of a board game. Laughter. This is practically a normal life. 

But each time Joel’s eyes fall on you, there’s a pang in his chest. You’re just close enough that he could reach out and touch you but he won’t. He can’t.  

When the sun sets, Ellie retreats to her room. Eventually, you fall asleep on the couch, wrapped up in a quilt as the fire dies down. You look even younger, curled up serenely. There’s no worry on your brow. Usually your face is in a perpetual frown even when you’re not in a mood.   

The snow is already knee deep with no signs of slowing. There’s no sense in sending you back out there. 

Joel scoops you up as gently as he can. He feels his age, back straining, but he doesn’t mind. He enjoys how you nestle your face into his chest as he mounts the stairs, warm and snug in his arms. A smile pulls at his lips. 

He sets you down carefully on his bed and you whimper groggily at the loss of his touch. Your eyes crack open. 

“Snowing pretty bad. Sleep here. I’ll be on the couch,” he whispers. 

“Stay,” you murmur. 

He hesitates. Carrying you to bed was already crossing a line. He’s not worried about keeping his hands to himself. He’s been able to control himself for this long. If he lays down next to you, feeling you warming his sheets, smelling the peppermint soap on your skin, he’ll be so far gone for you, there’ll be no coming back. 

But denying you this simple request feels cruel. He imagines you waking up here all alone. You’re half asleep but what if you remember asking him to remain only to be abandoned again?  

He gets into bed, still fully clothed and careful to stay on his side. His jaw is clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. You give a satisfied hum and sink back into sleep, your body melting into the mattress. 

Joel watches you for a moment, fights the urge to put a kiss on your forehead. He crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling, beginning to tangle with the web of emotions that accompany you. Once it gets too confusing, he drifts off as well. 

When you reach out for him in your sleep, he can’t deny you. Joel tries his hardest to pretend it doesn’t feel good, that this isn’t something he’s wanted to do. So he imagines the nightmares that come to you. Reminds himself that you wouldn’t have seen any of that shit if he hadn’t left you for dead. Now that you're in his arms, he’ll make sure nothing touches you ever again. The least he can do is hold you and make sure it goes no further. 

You both find reasons that you should stay the night. Neither of you acknowledge it. Joel just hands you one of his t-shirts and busies himself as you slip out of your clothes and get under the covers. It’s all rather innocent, Joel does more than rub your back even though you sometimes feel his morning wood through his sweatpants. If he wants you, he doesn’t let himself have you. And he could. 

It’s fine with you if cuddling is all this is. You don’t try to do anything more than that, unwilling to upset the unspoken agreement between you. You can be satisfied with a broad, firm chest to rest your back against. Sleep is better beside him, his heart beats guiding your own. The weight of his arm draped across you makes your body feel deliciously heavy.  

After a while, though, it happens. 

Joel’s having a nightmare. His murmurs and restless movements wake you. His mouth twitches and his brow is creased. You smooth circles into his shoulder until his eyes open. Even in the darkness you can see the despair in them. 

He blinks, coming back to reality, remembering he’s not wherever his dreams took him. You brush your fingers through his hair, gazing at one another as his breaths even out. Normally, his age is obvious– the lines in his forehead, the sun spots on his cheek– yet right now he looks young. Like a boy that needs to sleep with a night light. 

You’re not sure who initiates but you find each other in the dark. At first he’s not kissing you at all, his lips are just brushing your cheek or your nose. It’s sweet and gentle. You try to hold in a moan, worried that any noise might shatter this moment. 

The kisses are timid as if you’re both waiting for someone to stop this. Joel lets out a shuddering breath against you. This is a bad idea, you’re both thinking it. After you kissed him the last time, he held you at arms length. When this blows up, you’ll lose him entirely. But you need to be closer to him. 

You open your mouth to him, tangle your legs between his. His hand slides under your shirt, roaming your bare skin. You thought that snuggling under the blanket was enough but now you realize just how hungry you’ve been to be touched. Really touched. He needs it too. Joel leans into your hand on his jaw with a whimper. 

You don’t open your eyes. You might be the one dreaming and you don’t want to wake up. 

It’s quiet, just the sound of hot breaths and desperate kisses, the swish of the sheets as you shift your hips to meet his. You keep yourself from rocking against him, try to enjoy the feeling of him without crossing yet another line, but you’re aching. His shirt has ridden up so you feel the softness of his middle, the light hairs on his chest. Your fingers intertwine with his as his mouth trails down the column of your neck and. Joel buries his face there. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. 

You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for. This? Then? The years in between? None of it matters because you want to live in this moment forever. 

You shush him, pull him back to your mouth. You’re ready to lose yourself, to forget, to ignore the storm of thoughts constantly plaguing your mind. This is all you want. 

You peel off your clothing, helping him slide out of his sweatpants until there’s nothing between you. Joel’s skin is warm and soft against you and you realize you’ve never been this close to another soul. 

When Joel settles over you and you feel him throbbing between his legs, you shiver with nervous anticipation. You expect him to say something, to warn you that this is a bad idea, to promise this won’t change anything. But his brown eyes look as confused with need as you feel. There’s no room for thinking or it will crush this fragile moment like glass. 

You tilt your hips to allow him in, already slick from being so close to him. 

Slowly, he enters you, kissing you all the while. He makes a choked sound, wincing as his body stills. The noise makes you clench around him. 

Together you take a moment to get your bearings and you adjust to the fullness of him. Joel’s eyes are pressed shut, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. 

Before he begins to move, his thumb finds your clit, grazing it lightly. After years of solitude and now months being just out of reach of him, the sensation makes you gasp sharply. 

You’ve had sex a handful of times. They had been more about fulfilling a self destructive urge than a desire for pleasure. It’s never been like this. 

You start to lose sense of everything but the feelings of your body. Your core tenses and your breaths go short and you start to forget that it’s Joel whose hips are stuttering into you. It’s as if this euphoria can erase some of those awful memories. 

Soon you’re shattering beneath him, a crescendo that has you tugging on his hair and gasping for air. Joel grunts into your ear. He follows after you, hissing as he pulls out of you. He pulses into his hand, his release dripping from his fist onto your sweat damp skin. Then he collapses onto you. You run your fingers through his long curls and he kisses your forehead. There might be tears in your eyes– maybe his too. It’s too dark to be sure– but when his breath evens out, it still sounds ragged against you.

Eventually he gets out of bed and leaves the room and, in that moment, you can feel everything hanging over your head again– what you’ve just done, the horrors of the world. Perhaps even more intense than before. 

But Joel returns quickly. He flicks on the light on his bed side table and cleans you with a damp rag. His touch is gentle, reverent, and his dark eyes travel over your naked skin to yours. There’s a question in them, guilt, but you have no regrets. You smooth your hand out on the sheets beside you and he lays back on his pillow. He surrounds you with his massive arms and you fall asleep grateful that you don’t feel abandoned anymore.

You worry that it was just a one time thing, try to accept that it might never happen again. But the next time you share Joel’s bed, he’s pulling you into him, pressing kisses into your shoulder, nuzzling at the spot behind your ear. His hard length prods at the small of your back. 

It starts like that every time. Intimate, sensual, quiet. It’s never tearing his clothes off or pushing you up against a wall. You just stay close, breath each other in, trail fingertips across skin. Neither of you ever speak above a whisper.  

Joel barely talks at all except to ask, “That too much?” and “Feel good?” 

You live for the moments when his hand skates over your hip, his dark eyes soft. 

“Pretty,” he says almost to himself. 

He’s such a beautiful man. Your fingers trace the smooth plane of his chest, dusted lightly with hair and a few stray freckles. Age has only improved him. The greys in his stubble catch the glow from the lamp on the nightstand. You study him with the same attention to detail you used in your youth. The cleft in his bottom lip, the dimples on his lower back, the scar on his temple. You’ve memorized it all. 

Joel breaks open for you. He lets you see him vulnerable. He’ll fuck you with thrusts that shake loose deep emotions. Just as quickly, he’ll hold you together when it feels like you’re falling apart. 

You lay with him after, sticky with the shared heat of your bodies but reluctant to roll away and break the connection. 

Whatever this is, you don’t speak its name. There are too many questions and conflicts that it might not withstand. It exists only for you and him. A safe haven in the chaos, a bit of respite at the end of long years. 

In his arms, you’re not his dead daughter’s best friend. He’s not the man that left you when you needed him most. You’re just two people that need to not be alone. Each time, it’s the same. The overwhelming bliss of Joel making love to you is second only to the understanding that he’s finally come back for you. 

Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you. Comments and reblogs always appreciated.

[spacebarbarianweird]

Widower Astarion Headcanons

Ok, we wanted pain - I bring you pain. @astarionsbeloved @wickedwitchofthewilds @sleepykitty21 @starlight-ipomoea

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion isn't an idiot; he knows you are mortal, a topic you've discussed before.

Jokingly, he suggested you find a vampire lord, but even if one were found, Astarion would never allow you to turn into a vampire.

"It hurts, it's painful. The existence of a vampire is miserable. I will never do this to you."

The price of mortality is death.

You made him promise not to step into the sunlight and to keep living, carrying memories of you into the future.

You die as you always wanted: in a glorious battle, or safe and comfy in your bed, or brought home by Astarion to a place you grew up in.

You die with no regrets, sorrows, or complaints.

Astarion is numb; all the feelings he learned how to express are gone with your last breath.

He dissociates; it's not him, not now, not real—he is somewhere else.

He hides in the shadows, safe in the darkness and lonely.

Unfortunately, Astarion has never learned how to be alone; you never left him on his own for a long time.

He realizes he can't meditate; there is a mental block preventing him from doing so in your absence.

It's even worse since he can't give himself a break.

Eventually, some friends of yours give him a Potion of Angelic Slumber. He sleeps for a few days in a row, without dreams and nightmares.

When he wakes up, the first thing he does is look for you, and then he realizes you're gone.

In this moment, Astarion breaks down, crying and cursing in Elven and Common.

His back hurts as if there are flesh wounds; the cold grip of darkness holds his undead heart. The tears burn the crimson eyes.

He mourns, grieves, wishes to be dead, but the given promise and the innate desire to survive prevent him from going into the sun.

For the first few years, he lives as a hermit in your shared house, starving himself by not hunting and spending months on your side of the bed without moving at all.

It's not life; it's an existence, miserable and hopeless when he imagines you alive.

A wake-up call is sudden but almost divine.

Deep in his thoughts, he finds himself in his own grave in Baldur's Gate, seeing you six feet above him as young as you were back during the tadpole adventure.

"I didn't get you out of this grave to let you bury yourself. Come on, you promised to me to live! Then, live! This is my last gift."

He wakes up, starving and cold, goes up and leaves for hunting. He hunts for a few days, satiating himself with animal and sentient beings' blood.

As his mind returns to him, Astarion washes and repairs his clothes, brushes his hair, makes himself look decent.

He ravages through your things, collecting them carefully in one place. You wouldn't want a shrine, so he sells the things he won't be able to use anymore.

He puts on your wedding ring (now he has two identical rings) and also a necklace you always liked.

He re-sews one of your gowns into a shirt; now, it feels like you are still with him.

Astarion leaves his first forever home and starts his own journey, taking the role of a sole adventurer - a monster hunter, a protector of the weak. He has always had this heroic side in him, just never admitted.

The most difficult thing is to stay alone; people praise him for saving someone from a monster, but they fear mingling with a vampire.

Sometimes, Astarion cries in his tent, cursing the evil gods for taking the only good thing he ever had.

He constantly talks to himself, imagining you standing beside him.

He actually enjoys these one-sided monologues because he can pretend you are still here.

Years pass, memories of the happy life fade. Astarion joins groups of adventurers here and there but always feels off.

Eventually, he finds the strength to live up to his promise, to enjoy what he has.

He explores places he has never been to, does things he has never done, and hears stories he has never heard.

He makes friends, mostly among long-living creatures. "Oh, my young vampire friend! It's been a while!" A wizard elf greets him with open arms. "I am 400 years older than you, idiot," Astarion chuckles and returns a hug.

Most importantly, he preserves the memory about you, paying bards and storytellers, talking about you at campfires, and putting you as an example of kindness and bravery.

Once, Astarion hears a song, "The One Who Saved Baldur's Gate." The motive and words are nice, but the more he listens to it, the more in shock he is.

This song known to every decent bard in Swords Coast is about you, a distant memory, a long-forgotten story.

He has fulfilled your promise, made sure you live in people's hearts. This day is bittersweet; he cries his eyes out, listening to that song over and over again.

But he feels happy, the first time in years.

With decades to pass, Astarion creates the Blood Guild - a union of vampires and dhampirs who prefer to hunt monsters rather than be ones. They also keep an eye on other vampires who are a danger to mortals, especially those who make spawns and thralls out of innocent victims.

Having immortal undead friends feels nice; having friends who understand his issues, too.

He finds himself in the position of a mentor; vampires come to him for advice and emotional support.

Then he meets a person, a runaway spawn, angry with what happened to them, determined to do whatever it takes to break their chains. Astarion agrees to help; they constantly bicker about every single thing—views on life, personal experiences, shared interests.

This new person is annoying, obnoxious, brave, and lovable. Suddenly Astarion realizes he doesn't want to stay in his tent alone; he doesn't want to speak to himself anymore.

The long-forgotten feeling of loving someone aches in his undead heart, but now it's not his turn to confess.

"You know, I've been manipulating you into helping me. I am sorry. if you want, I will go away."

"You are a good person, Astarion. No one is like you. But you deserve honesty and something real."

Astarion smiles back and hugs this person.

This relationship is different; the runaway spawn is nothing like you, different in every way possible—personality, appearance, behavior, views on life, everything.

At first, there is profound guilt, as if he betrays your memory by having another romantic relationship.

They talk, sharing the darkest and saddest parts of their immortal lives—crimes they had to commit, lives they lost.

Eventually, Astarion tells them about you—how wonderful you were, how kind, how brave, how much you meant to him. His new love smiles and takes away a strand curl from his face.

"So, this is the person I must thank for you?".

He helps his new love to break the chains by killing the vampire lord.

Returning back, Astarion starts talking about the future.

Adventures? Of course! His partner is also a spawn, they need healing and freedom the same way he needed many years ago.

And then - who knows? Life is full of cruel wonders. Especially, for immortals.

--

Tag list

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession @ashrio20 @not-so-lost-after-all @vixstarria @wintersire @marcynomercy

[simp-plague]

I haven't written in actual years and finally decided to try and pick it up again. So here is the first story I've ever posted and I hope ya'll like it!

Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Summary: Confident reader works at a beauty supply store and lives an average life but one day two men walk in and things start to heat up (modern au and aged up)

WC: 4,730

MDNI

Warnings: f reader, cock warming, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up in real life ya'll lol), creampie (let me know if I missed anything)

You work at a beauty supply store and you expect it to be another normal day of customers, some who genuinely need help, some who have been doing their own hair for years, and some older women who like to argue with you until you start fuming. Until a red haired man and a blonde man walk into your store. The blonde looks like he doesn’t wanna be there while the red head looks happy and energetic. You ask them if they need any help finding something and the red head immediately responds “I’m looking for red hair dye”

“Well all our hair dye is down this aisle” you say as you walk towards all the hair dye “have you ever used professional hair dye before?” 

“I didn’t really know there was a difference” he said while rubbing the back of his neck

Then the blonde chimes in “his girlfriend always does his hair” as he chuckles to himself 

“Yeah she always does my hair and she told me to come here since she is out of town, I’ve never actually done my own hair” 

“Oh does she come here often because if so I probably know her” you say a little excited

“Yeah she does!” He says excited “she has pink hair and the most beautiful yellow eyes” he’s like a love sick puppy and it makes your heart warm 

“Oh so you’re Mina’s boyfriend, Kirishima right?” With a wide smile on your face 

“Yeah I am” a small chuckles comes out of him

“And you must be the grumpy friend, Bakugou” you say trying to hold in a laugh

The blonde turns to you with a scowl on his face while Kirishima laughs and says “yeah that’s him” 

“Well I’m happy to finally put names to faces”

You start to show him the red hair dye his girlfriend Mina always buys and all the things he is going to need. You notice another customer walks in the store, you excuse yourself from the two men for a moment to help the other customer.

“Hi welcome in, is there anything I can help you with” you say in your customer service voice to the older lady who just walked in

“Yes” she said obviously already angry “I purchased this electric razor from this store a week ago and I don’t like it! I need a refund!”

You calmly explain that she can’t return the item and point out the sign above the register that electric razors are final sales only and there will be no refunds. She is obviously not happy and starts to raise her voice “that sign wasn’t there a week ago! So I’m allowed a refund” her rant continues to the point she is yelling at you.

You start to get extremely angry as you try to continue to explain why the refund isn’t going to happen.

Bakugou and Kirishima hear the women now yelling at you and look over to see the confrontation. They start walking over to the register with all the items they wish to purchase and to see if you are okay but before they get the chance to confront the women yelling at you, you snap.

The anger you were suppressing as the woman berated you finally boiled over and you’ve had enough. You raise your voice at the women, not quite yelling but you are no longer speaking in your customer service voice. “Ma’am. You have no right to yell at me for doing my job. Instead of being a self obsessed person, how about you think how your words and actions affect other people?”

The woman is dumb founded at how you just spoke to her as she tries to collect herself you say “if you have a problem with our policies feel free to call our customer service line and if you feel the need to complain about me, my name is Y/N L/N, but I can assure you I will not lose my job and you will end up looking like the fool”

The woman had shock all over her face and she tried to say things but no words came out, she angrily huffed and stomped out the store.

You turn around and take a second to calm yourself down, if you could have you would have punched her across the face but you know if you did that you would most definitely lose your job. When you finally turned back around you are met with the shocked faces of Bakugou and Kirishima.

Embarrassment swept over your face “holy shit I’m so sorry about that!”

Kirishima still slightly in shock tries to say something but is interrupted by Bakugou “damn that was impressive” he said with a smirk on his face

You look at Bakugou with pink slightly dusting your cheeks “thanks, some people just don't understand common sense" you say as you push some hair behind your ear. Bakugou nods in agreement

You notice Kirishima holding the items you showed them “oh are you ready to check out?”

“Yeah” said Kirishima as he starts to set the items on the counter

You make some small talk while scanning their items and placing them in the bag, he then pays and starts to walk out the door before turning around to see his friend Bakugou “Yo Bakubro, you coming?”

Bakugou snaps out of whatever he was looking at and starts walking towards his friends and then leaves the store. 

The rest of your day was fairly normal after that but your head was off thinking of other things. 

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

In the parking lot after they left

Kirishima looks over at his friend while walking towards the car “You were starting at her ya know?”

Bakugou looks at his friend “shut up shitty hair, I was not” a slight blush forming across his face

“Come on man you totally were and looks like she wasn’t upset about it” he chuckles “I bet I can get Mina to give her your number”

“I’m gonna hurt you unless you shut the hell up” 

Their whole ride home was Kirishima teasing Bakugou while the blush on his face got a little darker 

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

Two days later

You are getting ready for your work day and you can’t stop thinking about Bakugou ‘why am I even thinking about him? I don’t know anything about him except the fact he is extremely hot’ your face starts to warm up just thinking about it. You shake the thoughts while heading out of your apartment to go to work. 

Most of your day just flew by and next thing you know you only have an hour left until you gotta close the store. Then a familiar girl with pink hair walks in.

“Oh hey Mina! It’s great to see you!”

She has the biggest smile on her face while she walks up to you “hey girly!”

“I finally got to meet Kirishima last week, he’s so sweet and definitely obsessed with you” you wink at her and she chuckles “Did he forget something? it’s not like his roots grow that fast to need a touch up already” you laugh

“Nope” Mina’s smile didn’t falter which makes you slightly confused “I have something for you”

“Oh? What is it” curiosity gets the best of you 

“Someone I know is interested in you” she shoots you a wink

Your cheeks start to warm up and you start thinking of who you know that Mina also knows. It then dawns on you that it could only be one person.

“By the look on your face right now it looks like you know who I’m talking about” she smirks 

“Ummm… is it Bakugou?” You say at almost a whisper

“Ding ding ding! You win the prize” she holds out her hand and she is holding a piece of paper

You slowly reach out and grab the paper from her and unfold it. Your eyes get wide looking at the ten numbers written on it. “Is this…”

“Yup it’s Bakugou’s phone number, he wanted me to give it to you”

“Wait really?!” Shock is written all over your face

“Yeah you should give him a call when you get off work” 

“Okay… I will but wait, why is he even interested in me? He only met me once and barely spoke” you say

“He saw the way you stood up for yourself when that lady was screaming at you and didn't give two shits about getting in trouble, he likes a girl who can stand her ground and you definitely showed that” 

“Wow umm okay I guess that makes sense” you say while rubbing the back of your neck “I’ll give him a call once I close the store”

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

40 minutes later

You just finished closing the store and as you walk to your car you are fiddling with the paper Mina had given you with Bakugou’s phone number on it. Once in your car you let out a sigh and dialed his number. The phone started ringing and ringing, the anxiety swirling in your stomach had you holding your breath ‘maybe he won’t answer. Am I really doing this? Shit I’m just gonna hang up and try later’ but before you can hang up the call and voice from the other end says “hello?”

“Umm hi… Bakugou?”

“Yeah, who is this?”

‘Shit did Mina not tell him I was gonna call?’

“It’s Y/N the girl from the beauty store” your nervousness makes your voice a little shaky and you hope he can’t tell

“Oh yeah the girl who wasn’t scared to stand up for herself” you can almost hear his smirk through the phone

Your nerves start to dissipate and your confidence comes through “so I hear you are interested in me” you smile to yourself

“Yeah I may be interested” he slightly chuckles

“So you gonna ask me out or do I have to ask you out?” 

He laughs on the other end of the call “how ‘bout I pick you up tomorrow at 6pm?”

“I close the store tomorrow but I’ll be free by 8pm”

“8pm it is then”

“I’ll send you my address and I’ll see you tomorrow”

“It’s a date”

The phone call ends and you giggle to yourself. It’s been awhile since you’ve been this excited about a date

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

The next day

You wake up and start your day like every other, styling your hair, doing your makeup, picking out an outfit, and making breakfast. Throughout your whole day you are giddy with excitement about your date tonight.

The day went by fast and you finally got home after work, you practically sprinted to your apartment door to start getting ready. You are halfway ready when you hear a knock on the door. You quickly grab your phone to see the time “shit it’s already 8!”

You quickly make your way to the door completely oblivious to what you were wearing. You open the door and are greeted by a tall handsome blonde named Bakugou. He is wearing black slacks that hug his legs perfectly, a black button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a gold chain around his neck. “Damn you look good” you say with a smile on your face. He looks you up and down and stifles a chuckle “you also look good but I don’t think you can wear that out” he smirks. You quickly realize you are still wrapped up in a towel from your shower and your face gets warm as a blush starts to appear on your face but that doesn’t waver your confidence. 

“If you like what you see now just wait till I’m actually ready” you give him a wink “just give me 5 minutes and then I’ll be ready”

You motion for him to come in and then you walk away to your room to finish getting ready

Just as you said it took you only 5 minutes to get dressed. You walk into your living room wearing a tight dark green dress that shows all your curves with a thigh slit that stops just before your hip and a simple pair of matte black stiletto heels. 

“Fuck you were worth the wait” he says with shallow breaths

You laugh and it just emphasizes how your breasts jiggle in a dress that leaves little to the imagination of your shape. He is just staring at you and it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. “Should we get going?” You ask while walking towards him

You can see how his adam apple moves when he swallows before responding “yeah” he extends an arm for you to hold onto and you gladly accept and walk to his car.

The whole car ride he has his hand gripping your thigh and you can feel yourself getting wet, you push the thought out of your head then you finally arrive at the restaurant. He parks the car and gets out, he walks around to the other side and opens the door for you with his hand extended for you to take, you happily accept. 

He stops in his tracks when you reach the door of the restaurant. “What’s wrong?” you look up at him with doe eyes.

You scan the area and see what he is looking at, it’s Mina and Kirishima. “Holy shit! What are you guys doing here?” You say while walking towards them

“Bakugou was telling us about your date tonight and how nervous he was so we thought we’d surprise y’all” Mina said with a smile stretched on her face

Bakugou sent a glare her way. You elbow Bakugou on the side “is that true? Mister tall and handsome was nervous?” A smirk on your face

He stammers over his words after you so openly called him handsome. “That’s okay, I was nervous too” you say while giving him a genuine smile. 

“Wouldn’t have guessed your were nervous” he chuckles and you elbow him in the side again

“Oh look they look like a couple already and the date hasn’t even started yet” Mina says looking at her boyfriend. “Yeah like a match made in heaven” Kirishima adds

You and Bakugou send them both a look this time before Bakugou says “well should we head inside?”

Everyone nods and walks into the restaurant. The whole night was amazing and filled with smiles and laughter. Sadly the night had to come to an end and you said your goodbyes to Mina and Kirishima before making your way back to Bakugou’s car.

“Can’t believe they crashed our first date” Bakugou said while running his hand through his hair

“How ‘bout I make it up to you?” You say while getting into his car

“What do you have in mind?” He takes your hand in his

“When you take me home, come in for some wine”

He smirks and pulls your hand to his mouth and kisses it gently “I’d love to”

You both arrive to your apartment and walk inside. You go to the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine and two glasses then join him on the couch.

For hours you both talk about likes, dislikes, your pasts, and just about life while sipping wine. Next thing you know it’s 4am, you spent almost the whole night just talking.

“Fuck it’s 4am” you say while looking at the clock

“I guess I should head home” 

He starts to stand up but you grab his hand and stand up with him. “Tonight was a lot of fun”

“Yeah it was, I’ll call you tomorrow”

You walk with him to the door and he starts to walk out your apartment. You quickly grab him by the wrist before he walks away and pull him into a kiss, a deep kiss that has him pushing you up against the wall with your hands gripping his shirt and his hands in your hair. 

You both pull away breathing heavily. “I couldn’t let you go with out at least one kiss” you say 

A smirk appears on his lips “can’t wait to kiss you again” he says before walking out your apartment 

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

A month goes by and you and Bakugou have officially started dating. It’s been amazing and it’s more amazing you both have been able to keep your hands to yourself this long other than passionate make outs. But that’s soon to change and you are going to make sure of that because it’s driving you crazy for how much you want him to touch you and have him inside you.

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

You’re sitting at home in bed tossing and turning unable to fall asleep. Your head is swarming with thoughts of your boyfriend Bakugou. You let out a large sigh while sitting up abruptly and whipping the blankets off your body. You lean over and grab your phone off the night stand and hit the call button next to Bakugou’s name.

Ring ring

Ring ring

“Hey baby, what’s up?”

"What are you doing right now?" You sound a little frustrated

"Just hangin' with some of the guys, why?" Concern slightly laced in his voice

You let out a huff before saying "I need you"

"What do you mean baby? You already have me" he said confused

"Fuckin' hell, no! I need you here now, kissing me and touching me"

He is silent on the other end of the call

"Kats? You still there?"

"Yeah... just had to step outside so the guys can't listen in"

"Well how 'bout you just go ahead and ditch them and come over here" you say seductively

"Fuck, baby" his breathing gets slightly heavy

"Come on Kats~ and let me make you cum"

"I'm on the way"

He ends the call and walks back into Denki's apartment. "I'm leaving" he says while grabbing his keys from the kitchen counter

Denki looks up from his phone "Wait? Why?"

"Isn't it obvious" Sero laughs

"What do you mean?" Denki says confused

"He's got pussy waiting for him" Sero smirks

"Oh shit!" Denki says with shock on his face

Bakugou glares at his friends before heading out the door ignoring Sero and Denki's laughter

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

Back at your apartment

You put your phone back down on your night stand sitting in bed wearing just a t-shirt and a pair of lacy panties. Almost 20 minutes pass and you're about to text Bakugou until you hear a knock on the door. You excitedly jump off your bed and walk to the door, opening it you find a sweaty Bakugou.

"Damn babe, did you run here?" you laugh

"I may have" He looks you up and down and his breath hitches for a moment

You notice how he looks at you and you grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him in and shut the door behind him

"I promised I'd make you cum" you say while pulling him against your body

The hunger in his eyes grows and he pushes you up against the wall. "I promise I'll make you cum first" He smashes his lips against yours as his hands wander down to your hips and lifts you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck deepening the kiss even further.

You feel the bulge in his pants grow and start to grind into you, you moan into his mouth and follow his rhythm. You break the kiss first, when you pull your head back a string of saliva still connects the two of you. "Bedroom, first door on the left" is all you said before pushing yourself back to his soft plush lips.

Bakugou moans into your mouth as a response and then he starts to make his way to your bedroom with you still in his strong arms. It's like you weighted nothing to him as he made his way to the room, not a falter in his steps.

Bakugou throws you onto the bed and you let out a small gasp while landing on your back. He starts to crawl his way onto the bed until he is right above you with both hands on either side of your head supporting his weight. "I'm gonna make you feel good, princess~"

Bakugou leans down and places a kiss to your lips, you reach up and wrap both arms around his neck to pull him further into the kiss. You slowly raise one leg to wrap it around his waist to pull his whole body closer to yours and with your new leverage you are able to roll Bakugou over onto his back with you now straddling his lap.

To say his face looked shocked from what had just happened would be an understatement. You look Bakugou in the eyes with a smirk on your face "you seem confused, has no one ever taken control of you before~"

A slight blush starts to rise on his face as he looks at you, you don't break eye contact as you slowly start to slowly take off your own shirt leaving you just in your lace panties. The hunger in Bakugou's eyes grows even deeper when you strip yourself of your shirt and exposing your tits to him. (since you weren't wearing a bra)

"damn" Bakugou huffs out "you're stunning"

A confident smile appears on your lips as you lean down pressing your chest against his. "doesn't seem fair that you still have your shirt on now." You whisper into his ear as your hands glide down his sides until you reach the hem of his shirt and gently pulling it up.

Bakugou takes your hint and sits up and pulls his shirt over his head as you lean back to admire his beautifully sculpted body. After quickly throwing his shirt somewhere in the room his arms quickly wrap around your waist and pulls you in for a kiss. Moving in unison and his tounge swipes across your bottom lip as if asking permission for entrance and you happily let him. Tounges swirling together and moaning into each others mouths as you slowly grind on the hard bulge in his pants.

Bakugou's lips started to drift away from your mouth and down your neck, leaving hickeys in his wake. Your hands find their way into his blonde locks as his lips made their way further down you body until they reach you perky nipples. He slowly licks one small bud ,then takes the bud into his mouth to suck and nibble on it. You back arches into his body as you let out a moan and grip his hair tighter in your hands. A smirk forms on his lips as he detaches himself from your small bud and makes his way to the other to give it the same affection as the first one. That coaxed another moan out of you and you grind even harder on his clothed cock, in desperate need for some type of friction.

You sit up so you are standing on your knees and you run you fingers on the inside of Bakugou's waist band, you lean down to whisper in his ear "take them off." That sent a shiver down his spine but he follows your command and takes off his pants, "these to" you say while rubbing his hard cock through his boxers and he lets out a low moan.

Bakugou's hard cock springs out and lands on his stomach, leeking pre down his length. You take a few seconds to admire his cock before you take your hand to wrap it around his girth. He leans his head back and inhales a sharp breath threw his teeth. As you slowly stroke his length, you use your other hand to slip out of your lace panties and slowly rub circles onto your aching clit.

"fuck" he huffs and then opens his eyes to look at you and his eyes go slightly wide at the sight of you rubbing your own cunt. "shit princess, you're so... nngh... damn hot"

You start to slowly lower your self closer to his aching cock that's still in your hand, lining his member to your entrance. You look him in the eyes, his red eyes swirl with hunger and lust. "do we need a-" his words are cut short when you push yourself down on his cock, taking him all at once. Your walls flutter around him and your head leans back and you let out a loud moan. You look back down at him and while trying to steady yourself you say "no, want to feel all of you"

Leaning down and enveloping him in a deep kiss as you grind and ride him. You sit back up and your speed increases, your moans get louder as your hands grab your breasts. Bakugou is staring at you loving the view of you using him but he is becoming impatient with the slow speed. His hands grab your hips to help you ride him faster "fuck, Kats" you moan.

Bakugou's impatience officially got the best of him and he is now lifting you up and flipping you onto your back without leaving your tight cunt. "I'm done with this slow shit" he huffs "I'm gonna ruin you"

His speed picks up and all you can hear is the lewd sound of skin smacking skin and your crying moans. Bakugou's hand finds its way to you swollen clit and starts to rub slow circles. "fuck, your gonna make me cum" you moan

Your walls flutter around his member, squeezing him so tight with your climax quickly approaching. "shit baby, if you keep squeezing me like that I'm not gonna last"

His thrust start to get sloppy, losing his rhythm as his hand speeds up on your aching clit. "I-I'm gonna-" you scream out in ecstasy and your back arches off the bed, your cunt squeezes him even harder which makes Bakugou let out a deep moan.

"where do-"

"inside" you say in between gasps and your response made him groan "fuck, princess" It doesn't take long for him to paint your walls white with his spend.

He leans down enveloping you in a deep passionate kiss before putting his full weight on top of you and keeping his cock inside you. Both of your breathing starts to steady and Bakugou nuzzles his head into your neck kissing it gently. "I love you Y/N" he whispers extremely quiet almost hoping you didn't hear him because he thinks it's to soon to say. You lean back slightly to look at his face and place a hand on his cheek, rubbing it gently "really?"

"yeah, I knew I'd fall in love with you the moment I saw you stand up for yourself to that bitch"

You stifle your laughter "I love you to Kats" You smile at him warmly and pull his face to yours to softly kiss him. You two lay in bad a little while longer just absorbing the warmth you share.

"okay, I'm feeling sticky, get up" you giggle. Bakugou sarcastically groans and gets up, pulling himself out of you. You sigh at the sudden emptiness but then notice Bakugou walking out of the room "where are you going?"

"getting a wet cloth, you said you were sticky"

You look at him with so much adoration and love. When he comes back into the room, he sits on the bed and wipes you down. After cleaning you up he lays back down on the bed and extends his arm to you, his silent way of telling you he wants you close. You slide into his hold and lay your head on his chest and all you can think before sleep takes ahold of you is 'how did I get so damn lucky?'

[tsukii0002]

Mc: *clinking a glass to make a toast* Today we are here to say goodbye to the year in human style. Thank you for lending the castlr, Diavolo.

Diavolo: *smiling* No problem Mc.

Mc: We say goodbye to this year full of stories, anecdotes, laughter, full of good moments but also of bad ones, some of them very bad.

Mammon: *beginning to tear up*

Luke: *on the verge of tears too* You're a crybaby.

Mc: All of us have grown up, we have learned to accept ourselves, to understand that we don't have to be what everyone expects but what we are, and above all to love ourselves, it is not a finished job but it is something.

Lucifer: *putting his arm in Satan's shoulder*

Satan: *smiling a little*...

Mc: There have been times when we needed help and times when we have given help because life is about giving and receiving, not just one thing. Our happiness does not have to be ours alone.

Levi: *recording while smiling* You should note that Mc...

Asmo: Say it sweetheart!!!!

Mc: It has been a year of changes, even though we did not want them, even though we preferred everything to remain the same. We have felt that we have been taken away from what we lived for, that we no longer belonged to the place we could call our own… changes are not always good but we must continue.

Mephistopheles: This human...

Raphael: ...

Mc: We have faced difficult things that we did not like and, therefore we have learned that sometimes, no matter how much we want to, we have to let go and go on with our lives, because clinging to the past is useless, we cannot change it, but we can change the present and the future.

Beel: I think there is something in my eye

Simeon: He, he *wiping a tear* me too.

Mc: There have been times when we have felt alone, and there will be circumstances in which we will have to face certain things alone, but that does not mean that there are no people by our side.

Thirteen: I believe that was meant for you, butler.

Barbatos: My, I think it was also addressed to you, reaper.

Diavolo: I thinks it is addressed to everybody...

Mc: We have had to say goodbye to people in our lives, we have not been able to tell them how much they made us feel… but, we have met new ones, and thanks to them our day to day life is a little brighter.

Solomon: Aaaah, this apprentice of mine.

Belphie: Is brighter thanks to you Mc...

Mc: Despite all this, we have survived…. And we are still together, my year has been a roller coaster but I have had you guys by my side, and I only ask for the new year that you continue by my side, that we face our sorrows and joys together. Thanks for everything guys, I love you.

Applause, cries and laughter fill the palace hall, Mc climbs onto the table and with a radiant smile raises their glass, looking first at everyone around them and then at the translucent angelic figure smiling broadly at them from the other end of the room.

Mc: Happy New Year!!!!

.

.

I just want to wish all of you reading this a very happy new year!! 🥂 (A little later). I hope you start this 2024 on the right foot and that you can achieve what you set out to do and above all I hope you will be happy. As for me, I will keep on trying to survive the day to day, and I hope I can write more, draw more and spend more time with my loved ones.

.

.

[northern-loner]

If anyone wishes for something light for the night after the meltdown that was today, here's an extensive hc list on different character's fighting styles. :))

q!Bad: Despite what most think, he’s very much a throw-caution-to-the-wind type deal. Yet he’s also the closest thing the island has to a tank; stalking slowly and brutishly and taking you down with one or two bloody hits.

q!Fit: To put it simply, old school. Also the controlled vibe of military training. When he fights, he seems to drop into a sort of rhythm more than anything. You can’t really tell if he’s even thinking or just on autopilot. Slower movement, and more raw attacks.

q!Foolish: Despite his overall physique, he tends to play a more evasive angle. Constant bobbing and weaving until you start losing your composure and get sloppy; that’s when he finally strikes.

q!Philza: A silent and swift approach, always searching for a good opening for sneak attacks. Before you’d see him flying overhead and firing with ranged weapons, but now he goes for a trident as the next best thing to launch himself up and fling himself at you from above. He also looks for ways to end the fight as quickly as possible; easy opportunities to one-shot you.

q!Charlie: Strangely enough, he likes to prioritize splash potions and other projectiles more than anything. He’s also annoyingly slippery, using his slime capabilities to slide around his opponent and keep them on their toes for him.

q!Roier: Insanely acrobatic and uses precise strikes, while also knowing practicality with his opponent. One thing to remember about him is that he simply won’t hesitate, so keep your eyes open.

q!Cellbit: Playing dirty is just about second nature to him; grabbing at your hair, trying to knock your legs from under you when he’s lower. He’s also oddly calculated for someone of his caliber, takes all the time he wants just analyzing the situation before making a move. Although his way also involves getting as close to you as possible so he can get you in your weakest spot. It’s gotten much more messy since his murder spree began.

q!Pac: He tends to play dirty like Cellbit, but not to the same degree. It’s more akin to street fighting than anything. Much more insecure and unstable back in the day, but ever since the first Purgatory he’s grown into something that works for him.

q!Mike: While he may not be the strongest between him and Pac, he’s definitely the most aggressive. He always tries to nab the offensive first no matter what.

q!Etoiles: He prioritizes honor above all else in a good match. None of the dirtier tricks, just straight swords and shields and as much of his body as possible. Although you’d be a fool to mistake this as him being predictable.

q!Baghera: Real showy and dramatic, she always tries for the biggest weapons and armor she can get her hands on. Tries to make herself look bigger, and lots of heavy footwork.

q!Tubbo: Incredibly trigger happy, only being rivaled by Etoiles’ hunger for battle. He likes finding random out-of-the-box ways to do combat and even customize things with his own machinery. He’s also oddly nimble, and he knows how to use his size when close to opponents.

q!Bagi: Beautifully fast and agile, incredibly abrasive and unafraid, normally trying to opt for offense first but knowing when to stick with defense. Her size leads to her prioritizing sneak attacks and coming off as a nagging thorn in the side for her opponents, always being there when you don’t want her to be. She also knows how to improvise when at her lowest.

Feel free to add on as you see fit! <3

[lady-of-endless]

Ramattra headcanons

(x reader)

Author's Note: I hope that those hcs will put you in a delightful mood. I love writing for Ramattra, it's so calming and lovely. Thank you all for the support and feedback the other fics got, it makes me so happy. I'll always be grateful ❤️ (gorgeous gif is not mine)

***

At first, he thinks that there is only strategic usefulness in this "alliance" and that is all. In time, your stubborn and vengeful omnic will realize that it is more than that. How will he realize? He starts to feel at ease in your presence and somehow craves that feeling when he shouldn't.

His orb seems to have a mind of its own. During the first encounters, if you happened to touch it accidentally or not, you would get pushed away physically by its energy. After some time, after getting closer to Ramattra, the orb would finally accept you too. It would even float above both of you when meditating.

If you follow him on a mission that involves a lot of walking, don't expect Ramattra to pick you up in his arms if you're just tired, not injured. What he would do though is to slow his walking pace to sync with yours, not forcing you, not commenting about human fragility.

No one can guess that you two form a pair, in public. No one can guess that he sometimes glances longingly at you and no one would expect him to react so violently if you were in peril.

If he is injured, he will usually hide it from you. Ramattra got used to hiding any type of suffering from others so that no one will perceive him as weak. Even if you earned his trust, he will still do that. It will take time for him to let you see him in that state and even more time to let you help.

Once he learns about the human body in a non-tactical way, he would be especially attentive to yours. Getting paler and shivering? "You're feeling cold." he would state. Goosebumps? "Is there something bothering you?" Goosebumps, dilated pupils, and heavy breathing? "Am I doing this to you?" He would ask in an intimate whisper.

Hickeys or other amorous markings are out of the question. But expect to have a smudge of dark mechanical grease here and there on your skin after spending time close to him, closer than usual. If Ramattra accidentally catches a glimpse of it, you will be surprised to hear a low satisfied hum. He will not tell you why. That is a subtle reminder on your skin that he did not want to erase.

He has an unsaid wish. No matter what happens, he will still cherish his found brother so he'll wish for a form of blessing from Zenyatta.

Any nicknames for you once his rejection turns into adornment? Absolutely not. However, he starts to call your name like a prayer or a mantra, with the same profoundness. His tone is deep, slower than usual.

Will take you stargazing the way he did with his brother. It's an extremely meaningful ritual for him.

Has a habit of lifting your chin when you're talking to him, and in private, to get his face closer to yours.

Believe it or not, his hugs are amazing but not because of what you would think (not because of his size). He memorized how you like to be held, how much pressure is comfortable, and for how long to hold you.

Let's say that you would enjoy wearing his scarf from time to time. Even if Ramattra gives you an exasperated sigh when you return the cloth, he secretly enjoys your scent being captured by it.

[sketchquill]

YOOOOOOOOO! FIRST YOU GOTTA BE ONE IF THE MOST TALENTED ARTIST I HAVE EVER SEEN!! SECOND YOUR GHOST OF CHRISTMAS FUTURE IS GIVING ME BRAIN ROT! And it got me thinking!

This being inspired by art that I just literally saw a minute ago by alice angel12x! With their idea of ghost of Christmas present yn!

The scene

Frank could only look at the ghost with fear as he watched them grow older by the minute. The once bright and cheerful spirit that stood tall among the crowd now appeared centuries older, their wooden skin was chipping and rotting away like an ancient oak that had been left to grow on dying soil their labored breaths showed how tired they had became but their hood hid their face from the puppet leaving his blind to their appearance but he was certain that it had changed as well. His heart ached for the spirits well being, it was thanks to them that he was able to see the warmth of the town surrounding him for so many years, a warmth that soaked deep into his bones that he never wished to forget.

He knelt down by the spirits slumped formed worry and fear filling his eyes " spirit? Please say something! Is there anything I can do?" He asked, he begged, for as much as he knew the truth, he wanted to remain naive for a little longer.

" I'm afraid cough! There isn't much you can do for a spirit dear frank, my being is far beyond your control. Its my own fault really, I saw hiw happy you were seeing everyone that I had forgotten my own limits and now I fear my time has come"

You spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world as tears slowly stared to fill franks eyes. "N-no please please this cant be! There must be something I can do!" For the first time in years frank is willing to put someone else's well being above his, the idea made you smiled weakly underneath your hood.

"Theres a heart underneath that all that doom and gloom after all huh? Thank you dear frank but im afraid im already gone" you glance up at the swirling snow that surround the both of you. While frank paid no mind to it, you watched as the wind grew more aggressive causing the most beautiful sight before you mixing with the cruel glow of a blue haunting light.

" My darling, you're already here? Im afraid im worst for wear" you spoke to the air it seemed as you forced yourself to stand up. Frank tried to get a hold on your arm to held you steady yourself only for your arm to shattered into dying splinters that blew away with the wind.

Frank finally noticed the blue glow when it suddenly became like a large bonefire at the destruction of your arm but you could inky laugh as you walked on shaking legs, knocking your hollow knees together with each step.

"No there's no need for that! You cant blame a boy for not knowing, there is so much for him to learn and it is best that you take me place dont you?"

You spoke with confidence as you pulled down your hood causeing frank to lose his breath. Your once beautiful hair made of leaves had disappeared and wilted into brown dying vines that left you into a balding state, cracking lines spread across your face their source was from the now empty socket that once held one of your bright warmth filled eyes.

You look up at the hooded figure without any source of fear or worry in your entire body, something that frank was envy about as he felt fear shake his entire soul at the towering figure.

Your remaining arm reached up to the figures face, reaching into the inky blackness of the hood with some effort revealed the soft gaze of a yellow felt face that looked down at the spirit of christmas present with warmth and sadness within his eyes.

" what-what is this?" Frank asked in a shaking voice but you only could chuckle.

"No one can help who they love frank, be they a puppet or a spirit such as us. There will always be something that will block then from one another" it was almost like you were speaking with the wind, your voice rising and falling with each sound.

You slowly turned your body more fragile than a porcelain doll would as your body slowly splintered and cracked more but a smile filled with warmth still remained on your face, as if he wasnt the cause for your breaking state.

"My last kindness and his warning frank frankly, this could be your last Christmas."

You shattered, bits of wood and cloth blew through the raging wind turning into small sparks of light that were swallowed by the darkness of the winter night. Frank could only stare in awe at the sight of your dissapearing form unaware of the tears that slowly left the hooded figures eyes.

I GOT REALLY INTO THIS AND I DONT CARE MY BRAIN JUICE WAS FLOWING! I HOPE YOU LIKE IT AND I HOPE YOU DONT MIND THE SMALL ROMANCE I GAVE TO GHOST WALLY AND YN! THANK YOU AND GOOD NIGHT!

IM GOING FERAL OVER THIS HOLY JESUS THIS IS AWESOME I LOVED EVERY SECOND OF READING THIS LIKE- AAAAA AND THE LIL’ MOMENT BETWEN GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENT! Y/N AND GHOST OF YET TO COME! WALLY BEFORE Y/N SHATTERS IS SO UNDENIABLY SWEET BUT OH MY GOD IT PULLED AT MY HEART STRINGS 😭💕💖

@alice-angel12x ALICE GET OVER HERE YOU GOTTA GET OVER HERE AND READ THIS BRO 👏

[satureja13]

First Witch: "When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?" Second witch: "When the hurlyburly’s done, When the battle’s lost and won." Third Witch: "That will be ere the set of sun." (Lines above are the opening of Shakespeare's MacBeth)

Noxee arrived at Hummelshain Castle ere the sun fully rose up over the ocean. She left Moonwood Mill before Greg woke up or otherwise he wouldn't have let her go. They just had a few hours together after he returned from training the Boys beyond the Veil. Since Noxee is co owner of Strawberry Cake Fashion, she picked some clothes from the new pack and this outfit was one of the very few pieces she liked. (There are so many talened creators out there, why do we get such ugly clothes? for a romance pack at that. And if there's something nice, the colors are so ugly.)

The girls are still busy. Noxee decided to wait in the kitchen and make some Churros for their meeting. She will need all the good vibes she can get ö.Ö' Noxee knows how much Ms Coombes hates Jack...

Churros are the only meal Noxee can cook and she hopes they will meet the taste of the girls. Noxee loves her kitchen at the Bunker, but this one is just amazing. It makes her almost wish she could really cook ^^'

The girls are done with their seance. First Witch Ms Coombes: "Ach, these Boys!" Oh oh, Ms Coombes doesn't seem to be in a good mood... I wonder what she saw in her crystal ball ö.ö And poor Noxee has to try to convince her and the others that Jack and Kiyoshi can be mates, just mates...

At least Francine greeted her cordially. Since Francine is Jeb's grandmother and Saiwa is Noxee's 'Baby', they are quasi family :3 (They are utterly convinced that Sai and Jeb will find their way back together again - and if they are, who am I to question it ^^') Dtui is Kiyoshi's mentor. And she's also Ms Coombes fated mate. They even have the same hairstyle today... So she will be on Ms Coombes side as it seems ö.ö

Ms Coombes looked at the Churros: "As sparkly and glittering as the cook who made them." Is this meant as a cut-up or intended to be funny - or as a compliment? Noxee, always on the bright side of life, goes for a diplomatic: "Thank you, I'm glad you like them."

Ms Coombes: "I know you want the Boys to be happy. But we have to think of the future of the Resistance. We never had a diety within our rows. And Kiyoshi hasn't even reached his full potential yet. All the good he can do for all of us. We can't let Callahan drag him down. He will keep his distance to Kiyoshi." Noxee: "Kiyoshi worked himself sick at the Temple and as a mole for the Resistance. He even had to leave the Temple. He already did a lot of good for all of us - until he broke." Ms Coombes: "It was Callahan's fault Kiyoshi had to leave the Temple! He asked to much of Kiyoshi, wanted him all for himself with his groundless jealousy and paranoia. He almost killed Kiyoshi! And himself! Noxee, you've seen yourself how broken Jack was. These two are not meant for each other. Fate must have made a terrible mistake." Spoken this, thunder roared over the castle. Dtui: "Rita, you know that's not true. Jack is Kiyoshi's fated mate and Kiyoshi failed him because he believed he had to make it up - for all the wrongs his family did." Ms Coombes: "We never asked anything of Kiyoshi, all he did for the Resistance was of his own free will." Noxee: "I think we all agreed to not overly mess with their lives. They are all grown up and they should be allowed to make their own decisions. It's not on us to tell them with whom they should hang out and with whom not. They don't have to listen to us anyway." Ms Coombes proofed Noxee wrong and showed her the contract: "Oh, they have to when it interferes with the guidelines of the Resistance. They all agreed to this, see? Kiyoshi is an important member of the Resistance and Callahan puts his powers in jeopardy."

Francine: "Let's all calm down, hm? Kiyoshi did so much better with Jack around. And the sad truth is that Kiyoshi wasn't of any help for us for months. He might never fully return to this realm and only drift further away." Dtui: "And Kojin likes Jack." Well, that's a knockout argument. Kojin is Dtui and Kiyoshi's diety, the one who saved their lives at their execution. Without Kojin, there would be no Kiyoshi - and no Dtui either. They owe him. Dtui: "And I know of a certain couple *she looked at Ms Coombes* who also dated against the will of the Resistance back in their days. They stated, a roughneck like you, Rita, would drag me, the Resistance's Golden Child, down. And look how strong and powerful we became together, hm?" Ms Coombes stopped Dtui before she spills more of their tea: "Ach, fine! Let them be mates, just mates or whatever!" Phew - Ms Coombes drives a hard bargain. But in the end, she agreed that Kiyoshi and Jack can be mates, just mates (or whatever). Francine chuckled. Just like herself, Rita and Dtui are also loyal receivers of the spicy monthly subscription boxes of Ye Olde Magick Shoppe.

After these exhausting negotiations, and to reward herself, Noxee so needed to go shopping. She went to Moda Capoliveri. Her favourite shop at Tartosa. Here she gets inspired by the latest fashion trends for Sai and her online store Strawberry Cake Fashion. And she also hopes to find some hot dessous - to reward Greg.

Noxee stays at the castle over night and just returned from the bathroom, where she took a long, hot shower and tried her new, hot outfit on. Back in her room, she found Greg waiting for her! Noxee: "Greg! What are you doing here?"

Greg: "Gods, you look gorgeous!"

Greg: "I missed you. Didn't want another night without you." And then he kissed her.

Greg: "This outfit is so, so hot. Do you think the gems will stay in place when we..." Noxee: "There is only one way to find out."

They did stay in place.

Greg seems to sense that Noxee has something on her mind. But she had promised Jack not to tell Greg about his condition after the bolt hit him in his chest. Greg: "I won't push you." Noxee: "I love you."

Greg: "This glue is just like magic. If the gems survive another round, I'll order it for my shop." Noxee: "Another round, hm?"

Spoiler: After thorough testing, Greg ordered the glue for his shop ;) (So Greg seems to have a jewelry shop in the real world too, not just ingame. Tiny Can being very accurate again ^^)

'See, don't ever set me free I always wanna be by your side Girl, you really got me now You got me so I can't sleep at night

Yeah, you really got me now You got me so I don't know what I'm doing, now Oh, yeah, you really got me now You got me so I can't sleep at night' You really got me - The Kinks

Outtakes

Now I know where Jeb has it from ^^'

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Who killed Jack?' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-28

[ninyard]

whenever you have a moment for some oc yappery i'd love to hear more abt Paris

you asked for it here's paris (ilovehimilovehimilovehim)

-- paris antonis

-- 25

-- backliner on the same team as lilya, also hoping to get signed for the us court but keeps getting that disappointing phone call that says not this year

— transferred from edgar allan to usc after his first year

Paris. 6'2, he's got big arms and a bigger heart. his hair is buzzed, he has more tattoos than he can count, and always has something in his anxious hands. he’s a seriously empathetic person - if you’re upset, there’s a good chance he’ll end up crying with you. he’s sensitive, a little bit paranoid, and he probably doesn’t trust you.

Paris was scouted for the Ravens from his high school team - he played exy from pretty much the time he could walk. star player, captain of the team, with his recognisable smile and even more recognisable laugh, he was offered a position on the raven lineup, and of COURSE he was going to take it. his wardrobe got darker, more and more people clapping hands on his back saying congratulations, man. they’re the best of the best. you’ll fit right in.

he remembers clearly the last time he saw most people from his hometown - his best friend clare, who pulled at the collar of his black tshirt and asked if this was the new normal. his coach, who shook his hand and wished him luck, not after showing him the picture of him they were printing out to put in the halls of his high school. his little brother jonas, who made him promise to call. who made him promise to send letters and postcards. his older sister sasha, who promised him she’d watch every game. his mom who cried as she watched him leave. his dad who finally told him he was proud of him.

the last time paris smiled in edgar allan was in the minutes where he waited to be escorted to the nest by a raven. paris stood up to shake the girls hand, who only looked at his outstretched palm and told him to follow her.

the next few months were the worst months of his life. he met lilya, who seemed to fit in already, even though she arrived the day before he did. they were partners from the beginning. paris learned the rules of the nest very quickly, and very painfully.

he cried for his mom at the end of his first week. he stopped crying after a month.

there was not a part of him that didn’t change. he became a robot, a shell of himself, a machine that only cared about exy, that lived and breathed edgar allan. happy, smiley paris became this shadow of himself. he forgets what his own voice sounds like when he’s not scared, or tired. he wakes up afraid most of the time.

paris has a scar on his bicep that stretches from just below his arm pit to just above his elbow from some hazing ritual in his second month in EAU. he’s really self conscious about it, because it healed in a messy jagged line - every time he thought it had healed he’d be back on the court and it’d just split back open again. it was the first thing he covered up when he started getting tattoos the summer that he left the nest.

his story goes a little like this then, afterwards; he called his mom the night that he left. while he took a cab as far away as he could, she bought him a plane ticket home.

he didn’t last long back in his hometown.

he couldn’t speak to his family, their pleas for him to talk to them quietly ignored with a shake of his head. his dad noticed the scar across his cheek first, from Paris’ first fight, and his sister was the first to see the awful scar on the back of his calf from where a helmet had been thrown at him and broken skin so badly it needed stitches. his little brother touched the scar on his arm and asked what happened. Paris bought his ticket to California that night, when he’d only been home for a week.

he realised something about himself had well and truly fundamentally changed when he smiled a couple of months into training and adjusting to life at usc; he was having lunch with his teammates, and a joke was said, and he smiled. unintentional, but newly unnatural. a first year goalkeeper nudged him and said, “i think that’s the first time i’ve seen a real smile on your face you since you got here.”

popular, happy, sportsmanship awarding winning Paris, Paris with the pretty smile, Paris with the laugh that you’d recognise from a mile away. Paris who graduated high school as the most likely to become a comedian, most likely to make you laugh, his peers parents’ favourite friend. clare used to tell him off for making her smile when she was down - now? now his own smile no longer reached his eyes, the impulse to laugh buried beneath a single year worth of beatings and suppression. now his teammates were only noticing his first smile, three months into his time at USC.

Paris is paranoid, Paris has to read over documents a hundred times to make sure the terms are okay, Paris doesn’t trust people anymore. he used to be known for being that guy who would tell his friends to give someone the benefit of the doubt, to give someone a chance, to not judge a book by its cover. now he feels like he's skeptical of everyone he meets.

he’s afraid of someone knowing his secrets, he’s afraid of spilling secrets. he never got back into contact with his family once he left for california, except for the odd “im alive” text he sends to his sister once every couple of months. maybe sometime in the future, when he feels like himself again, he'd reach out and make amends, but he can’t let them see him like this. he can’t bear to have his mother look at him the way she did when he first came home. like she doesn’t recognise her own son anymore, like she’s raised this sweet boy and he’s turned himself into a soulless monster.

Paris doesn’t really label his sexuality, but he feels like queer fits him best.

things change for him eventually. he starts to feel like himself again. he smiles more, letting people in, and sometime by the end of his third year he’s heard his true laugh again. it takes him a long time to heal from that year in Edgar Allan, but it’s a slow and painful process, and a very lonely one. but he gets there eventually, with people by his side pushing him forward every step of the way.

there's some more stuff about paris here and here and under my ocs tag but if i dont stop i'll just keep talking about him forever <3

[lovejosephquinn]

submissive!joe tied up having you kiss him all over his body, teasing and edging until he’s begging

i beg 🫶🏻

The longest smut I think I've ever done. SUB JOE HAS A SPECIAL PLACE IN MY HEART AS OF TODAY.

Under 18's DNI - This is feral all the way through.

Word count: 3.2k

It wasn't a common occurrence for you to be on the opposite end of things, in fact Joe was almost always the dominant one and that's the way it had always been. Sat on the sofa one night watching aimless television before bed, Joe brought up the idea for you to switch roles, the mention of it coming from no where as he sipped at the last of his glass of wine. A secret fantasy alluded from no where in which you never knew existed. Turns out that he'd always dreamed of letting someone have their way with him without him having a say in the matter. You were of course, more than happy to oblige in his darkest of wishes.

It was also part of Joe's wishes to be tied up, hands and feet both separated so he was tied to each side of the headboard and at the bottom, enabling you to have better access to where you wanted to be at different moments. You'd even planned it for the next night just so that you got enough hours in the evening to have your fun; it was all you'd thought about for 24 hours.

He'd bought new items home on the day of said event, a full set including cuffs to fit his wrists and ankles, a blindfold if necessary, a cock ring with added vibrator for if you wanted to get really intense and out of everything, the thing that stood out to you most was the giant feather that brought the box to life. You knew you'd be using each product on him tonight and it was allowing you to get riled up just thinking about over stimulating him the way you wanted to.

You both took a soft non sexual shower together, washing down one another, laughing and giggling like nothing of the sort was about to happen, the splash of the warm water blasting from above you was able to relax you for the time being, yet in reality every fibre in your being was fired up and ready to dominate your man; you were just hoping it would live up to his expectations. As confident as you were, you were also quite nerved that you wouldn't serve the part as well as he usually did.

You made no attempt in conversation as you concentrated on moving around the bed to put Joe into his restraints, a smile which creeped onto your face when you'd completed the first full task alerted you to Joe's face which which was in the midst of gulping his saliva loudly down his throat.

Joe whimpered as you stood at the edge of the bed before him, chained and trapped for you to use his body as you pleased. He was the one that had asked for this, begged to be touched and exploited. You couldn’t help but feel the excitement of being able to do whatever you wanted, a claim him as your own type of situation. There was nothing off limits according to him and you'd understood the assignment from what he'd brought home with him especially for you to use, there was no doubt remaining, you were ready to pull out all the stops.

His eyes were still trained on you, glazed with a slight anxiety but overwhelmed with excitement as you bit down on your lip; analysing his strained movements.

You started off from his face, moving down to his chest which was lifting heavily from his difficulty in breathing, down to his stomach where his erection stood proud, slapped against his happy trail which almost made you salivate, your fantasies getting the better of you almost immediately. His thighs were almost shaking in anticipation, you were keeping him waiting and it was agonising to him; oh how the tables have turned.

You laid out the contents of the rest of the objects beside Joe before removing your towel that you still had around you, letting him take a view of one of his most favourite sights in the world before you took a hold of the blindfold. Joe immediately lifted his head up slight so that you could move the elastic with more ease for it to sit comfortably, before you completely shut his vision into darkness, you leaned back to reach full eye contact with one another.

"I hope you're going to be a good boy for me." You whisper, your lips inches away from his. Joe moves up in attempt to kiss you, but you move away making him flinch at the reaction he wasn't expecting. Puffing his lips out like a child you make a sudden giggle towards him which echoes into his ear drums, a sound so erotic his cock twitches from the very sound.

"Tell me that you will and who for and maybe I'll let you kiss me before this blindfold covers your eyes." Joe stayed silent and you slowly went to push it down over his lids, a startled grunt leapt from his lungs when he realised you were serious.

"Wait. I'll be a good boy, your good boy. I promise." You gave an acceptive nod towards Joe, taking in each word as it sprung from his lips, earning him a soft, subtle kiss which you could tell he wished would last longer from the way you heard the chains of the cuffs rattle from the sides of the headboard.

"You're not going anywhere." You hum a slightly more challenging noise of a high pitched chuckle when he pulls again for good measure to make sure the cuffs are definitely intact and that he well and truly won't be moving out of the place he's been situated. You kiss him once more before settling the blindfold over his eyes, his head tilts from side to side, trying to listen out for which side you're going to. Of course it's the side where the objects lay brand new, ready to be utilized for their purpose.

Resume back to Joe's lips parted, heavy breathing commencing. You climb on top of him, kneeling between his thighs, you move your hands forward to drag your finger tips from his shoulders, down his chest, tracing his happy trail and one sharp stroke of his length. He chokes out a over dramatic moan from not quite anticipating where you were going to go.

You move yourself upward so that you're looking at him square in the face, his lips look delectable, soft and highly kissable. Your hairs tied back so he doesn't get a hint of where you are, only the shallow breath you're trying to hide as you push your mouth down onto his again, the chains rattle from above your heads as he attempts another sudden move, jolting in desperation to try to touch you. As your tongue slides in it's like a motion that sets off Joe bucking up his hips to find exactly where your crotch is, he needs the friction and it's like you can already tell he's beginning to struggle playing the submissive one.

"It's really dark under here, can I get a peak baby?"

"No that's not what bad boys get." You tapped your hand against his cheek, earning a short smirk before his lips pressed into a line again. Rolling his tongue over his lips after being denied, he was quick to over step the mark with his response.

"I'm not bad, I'm a good boy. Good for you."

"So why did you try to grind yourself up against me?" You tapped the other side of his cheek, leaning your lips down to the right side of his ear, taking a nibble, hearing him huff a sigh of your refusal and his irritation of his attempted coping mechanism had failed.

"I slipped."

You bring your lips to his neck, grinding your teeth against the vein that presented itself to you in the way his body began to strain, a moan slightly followed from the way you use the bottom and top to clench his skin lightly between your pearly whites.

"Ugh, shit. Please mark m-me." You'd barely even touched him and he was a mess, it's a possibility that leaving this thought to go to each other's head was in fact a bad idea as he was already stuttering his words and you were already ready to just be fucked and be done with it, but you'd made a promise and you were going through with it no matter how long it took. Teasing him was your number one priority, edging him and denying his orgasm several times before you allowed him to finally.

You dug in to his neck further at his request, your teeth now fully sinking into his skin, your mouth sucking against him, tasting your way through his scent which engulfed both your senses of taste and smell. The way you sucked as if you were dying to gain an appetite for blood, you had his body squirming from just adhering to the wish of fully marking the skin you could sink into.

Your lips left soft pecks up around his jawline, back down his neck and onto his shoulders, pinning sloppy slurping sounds during every kiss you left on each cell of his body. Just as you reach his breast bone, your hand smoothly slides down his torso, taking a fist full of his length and writhing your hand in a steady movement, pulling his foreskin back and then up again several times repeated, causing Joe to make a sudden gasp at another unpredicted gesture. His hips suddenly bucking again makes you stop and he whines out loud. You feel a sense of power wash over you and you can't help but congratulate yourself in your own head, a mental high five that you've already got him in this state.

"I need it, touch m-me please, please."

"Stay still and you'll get more." You said it with such a stern tone yet there was a hint of sincerity if you listened hard enough.

You continued your journey downward, kissing between his chest, around his nipples, taking your time to move further, when you reached his stomach you made a mark just above where the happy trail begun, your hooded eyes watching out as his teeth bite down on his bottom lip from a wince of pain from the hard bite you unleashed upon him.

"Fucking hell." He moaned out an usually large exhale of air, trying to regain it back in his lungs as quickly as he let it out.

"You like that?" Not that you needed to ask such a rhetorical question.

"So. Fucking. Much."

You could tell, he was leaking so much, you weren't about to back down and let him cum anytime soon, this moment was yours and you were not ready to waste another second. Your tongue slides it's way down the happy trail, brushing against the side of his cock, making his body tingle, you hear the clatter of the cuffs from his ankles, he's trying to close the gap but his restraints won't let him.

You lean up and hover over him, making sure your breath hit just where he needed it, elating the ultimate tension between the two of you, especially himself. You'd like to think he has an idea of where this is going, your mouth almost pressed to his length, that's when you move away. Grabbing a hold of the feather that's laid waiting next to him, making contact on his sides, up and down, moans mixed with bursts of laughter arise. Chains are rattling in all four corners, he's trying his best to break loose to stop you from tickling him any further, but they won't give.

"Stay fucking still and then you'll get your reward."

"Please I can't take it." Joe pleaded with sharp breaths attached to it.

You fluttered it up around his neck, a wicked grin upon your features. Removing it, you replaced it with your fingers. Seeing him relax a little, you take it upon yourself to trick him and bring the feather back in it's place to torture him further.

"Baby- I- Fuck. Stop. Please!"

You tossed it to the side, edging yourself further along the bed and without warning, took a hold of his cock and began jerking hard. Joe was emitting large groans deep from the pit of his stomach, the top of your grip sodden with pre-cum.

"Yes, yes right there baby. Shit, don't stop." You did the opposite to his plea. Dropping the erection which was now as solid as a rock back to his stomach.

"Wait, no I-"

You sat upon him and immediately Joe felt the slick you'd created from such excitement as his cock wedged between your slit, you rocked your hips back and fourth, moaning yourself as the closer you got, the more his tip elevated slightly touching your clit, you massaged your own nipples, moaning out his name from the friction of the movement, the wait had never felt this good. As much as you were teasing Joe, you were also exasperating yourself.

Whilst you continued your grind, you leaned over to grab the last object you'd not yet used. Lifting yourself off, you manoeuvred into an easier position at kneeling point where you'd first started between his thighs. Joe knew at once what you were doing when you placed it where it needed to be.

"Oh shit, this is where it all ends for me darling."

"You won't cum until I say so, got it?"

Not that he didn't understand your question, it very much sounded like he was against the idea. You left switching on the vibrator for the time being, watching him nod his head briefly, staying silent from the inevitable.

You settle forward, lifting his cock up once more and lick a stripe from the base to the tip.

"Yes, you know I love it when you suck-"

"Shut the fuck up." You warn him, trying to remain the dominant one at all costs, it's just so out of nature for it being the other way around that he's losing all control of subbing for that split second.

"Shit I- I- I forgot my place, I'm sorry baby."

With that, you took his tip in through your lips, heavily moving against it, making sure your lips clenched around it to really make him feel what you're giving out. Moving down and taking a couple of inches in, pushing the tip into your cheek, you felt him begin to rut his hips up against you, not giving in, you gathered your hands to his thighs and pushed all your weight down to stop him from continuing.

"I need to cum, please."

With your mouth full you ignored him, he knew the drill and understood that even though he needed to, he wasn't to do so. You pushed your thumb against the vibrator, turning it on and moving your head even further down. Your lips felt the tremors against the vibrations and Joe's sounds were borderline pornographic, his knuckles were turning white from the way he squeezed his own hands, his toes curling from the intensity of the notion.

"Oh fuckkkk, oh my fucking god, yes, fuck."

You take all you can in, his tip now touching your tonsils and through the juddering you can physically feel the way that every muscle Joe has is shaking with over stimulation. You cup at his balls, massaging and squeezing. You're so surprised at his determination and concentration in not releasing before you let him, he's straining and tears are seeping out, wetting his eye lashes.

Removing him from your mouth, you sound out clear as day for him to hear. "You've got two options, either I ride your face or I ride your cock." Joe's lips are parted and only etches of breath are forced out, no words, no sounds just huffing and puffing.

"Well?"

"Both."

Both is good. You climb over him and slam your cunt straight down onto his mouth, his muscle instantly getting to work, tasting what he'd been craving this whole time. Joe's already admitted to you before that he's addicted to your pussy, the way it looks and the very flavour of it. You begin to crumble instantly, rubbing around him, dampening the lower half of his face with your slick.

You feel the moment his tongue pushes it's way into your hole and you begin to mount over him, clutching at the headboard to try to gain more, impossible as you're already practically suffocating him from pressing yourself down all you can. He fucks your hole like a professional, dipping in and out of you at a rapid pace, he's savouring every second he gets to gain that tiny bit of control; after all you're only using him for the orgasm.

You quickly reach breaking point when the knot in your stomach gives way, you release straight into his mouth and quickly jump off, your thighs palpitating from the ferocity. As much as you wanted to ride it out and feel the full effects, this was about Joe and you quickly clambered down to the still vibrating cock ring, edging him over and over, little buzzes which shocked the solidity of his erection.

"You've been such a good boy for me Joey."

"I- n-need t-to c-cum s-so bad." He sobbed out, literal tears forming now, staining his cheeks.

"Soon." You bite down on your lip, getting into position and sink downward, his cock stretching your tight little hole just the way you like it.

"Your fucking pussy will be the death of me baby." He cries out. The way the cock ring vibrates in unison to your bouncing movements have every bone in his body aching, including the one inside of you which is ready to explode.

"Not a bad way to go." You lean forward, moving the blindfold away from his eyes, letting him see exactly what he's been missing. Joe squints when the light hits his eyes but they move straight to watching how his cock fills you with every thrust.

"Cum, you've done so good for me."

"I-I can cum?! Yes, yes. Fuck, please. Fuck. Yes." He lets go the second he screeches out the last word, exploding inside of you, heaps of his seed filling you and leaking out everywhere, making a chaotically pleasing mess between you both.

"Holy fucking shit baby." It's like his soul has completely left his body and he's just lifeless, all weight lifted as he relaxes himself completely against the bed, his hands and feet falling limp against the cuffs.

After riding out his orgasm and bringing him back down to reality, you climb off him, not worried about the mess that's currently dripping out of you. Leaning over to give him the sweetest and most gentle kiss as you put the dominant goddess trait to the side, becoming the all important darling girlfriend he loves and cherishes.

"You. Are. Amazing." Joe was still in the midst of getting the oxygen back into his lungs. As you undid the cuffs and removed him from his confinement, he grabs a hold of you bringing you down to lay on his chest, giving you a gentle squeeze in a silent thank you for bringing his fantasy to life, not just the fact he probably needed to stretch from being in that position for so long.

"So the role reversal will happen again?" You giggled.

"Maybe. But I'll be definitely using these cuffs to get you back."

[nocanonhere]

Happy Wyll's Week! Day 6/7

-Say Yes (NSFW, finally) Set the night of his proposal, and what happens after. (centered around my Tav, Aiya. Elf-Dragon Sorceress)

“Here?” She huffs, on top of him but still being cautious about lowering onto him.

“Right here,” he answers confidently, then his eyes widen. “Or rather, over there, where I put the blankets.”

She laughs, leans back down to kiss him. “And the pillows. And the candles. And the wine.”

“I wanted us to be comfortable,” he answers in between kisses.

The slide of their lips against each other is drawing something down Wyll’s chest, through his core and lower still.

“Comfortable for what?” she asks innocently, as if her hands hadn’t already started unbuttoning his shirt. As if he isn’t already straining against his pants. As if he hadn’t just told her a moment ago, before they started this tumbling, to get down here so they could start their happily ever after.

She had seemed pleased with his surprise throw, letting him revel in the success for just a moment before locking her thighs around him and flipping them both.

He’s going to get her on her back again, because he has things to do to her that require it. But for now, he is enjoying this view of her on top of him; he is enjoying the tease of her hovering over him instead of sitting.

And he recognizes her goading for what it is. He’s eager to play along. What good is him being long-winded if he couldn’t utilize it where it really counted.

“Would you like me to tell you, or show you?” he asks, stopping their kissing for a moment.

She smirks at him then; its slow, sure, and coupled with the glint in her eyes, predatory.

She leans back in, hovering above his lips before moving to the side of his neck instead.

“Both,” she answers, pressing her lips against his skin. He groans, shifting a bit, hips raising up minutely, searching for the contact he wants there.

“In that order,” she continues, moving her kisses across his throat to the other side. He likes her on top, wants to get her back there later. But as she darts her tongue out and licks the shell of his ear, he curses, moves his own legs around hers, and flips them again.

He’s careful about keeping a hand on the back of her head as he does so. And they still aren’t on the blankets, but they are getting close. He presses himself to her finally, letting her feel just where his intentions lie.

She licks her lips, and it is a gesture he has noticed she always does. When she’s lost in thought, particularly.

It’s not just a quick slip of the appendage over her mouth. It’s a slow, circling trail from her top lip to her bottom lip. And he has always found it distracting, silently chiding himself for thinking too hard about the action. It’s even more disarming now, with that look in her eyes again.

She likes being thrown around a bit.

He notes that for later as he leans down, mimicking her from a moment ago, and moving to the side of her neck. He decides to do worse than her, and lets his tongue make the first contact, followed by his lips.

The sound it brings out of her is a stifled moan, held back by her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. He wants more of that, unbound and louder.

He groans at the knowledge of what he’s about to do; what he has refrained from doing every time they steal away to run their lips over each other.

He moves up, and trails his tongue over the high point of her ear. He had always wondered if they were sensitive, and if they were, how sensitive. But he never asked.

He’ll never have to, now.

He got his wish from just a moment ago. She moans for him, open and needy. He does it again, and he can very well tell that an addiction to her noises is going to form.

He keeps doing it, dipping down to tease the middle of her ear instead of the shell, and she bucks against him.

He switches to the other side, hands clenching the grass around her as she begins to undulate against him.

“First,” he begins, moving to trail light kisses over her neck. “I’m going to lay you out on those blankets.”

She exhales a laugh.

“I’m going to get you out of your clothes, and anything underneath.”

He pulls back to look her in the eyes, bringing their noses together. He grabs one of her hands with his, lacing their fingers.

“I’m going to kiss you, everywhere. Your wrists, up your arms, over your chest. And then down.”

He shifts again, lining the hard ridge of him up with her core.

“And?” she asks.

“I’m going to kiss your beautiful legs, then grab them behind the knee and push them back.”

She moves against him faster, a little frantic, compared to his expectations. He wonders how long it has been for her.

He is going to give this first round his best try. Because it’s been a while for him too, and coupling like this was an infrequent thing as well.

Contrary to their group’s jokes, yes, he had done this before.

“And you’re going to hold them, so I can have some room.”

“Oh,” she says.

“And I am going to spell out the rest right between your legs.”

She exhales sharply. “Wyll, come on.”

He adores her impatience, reveling in how it contrasts to her usual demeanor. She’s not a mess, not yet. But this is already so different from how she is with everyone else. She’s always focused, quiet, and collected.

He doesn’t want any of that tonight, not in this setting.

He gets off her, and they both move over to the blanketed area he set up earlier under the tree.

If she ended up not wanting to go that far tonight, that was fine. He had brought the wine, and a few snacks in a backpack hidden behind the tree.

She decides to start on herself first, unlacing her sandals and flinging them off her feet.

“You too,” she orders, moving her hands to unlace her pants.

“Not yet,” he answers, to both. He grabs her hands and moves them back to her sides. “Allow me.”

He slowly trails his hands up her stomach to her neck. He lets them linger there, lighting grasping the sides of her face.

She is jittery. Maybe he doesn’t need to draw this first one out.

He brings his hands back to her stomach again, but this time it’s to ease her shirt up, revealing skin where he doesn’t normally see it.

He sighs, and she sits up to help him take her shirt off easier.

What’s underneath catches him by surprise.

“Oh,” he says, staring at her chest. “That’s…where did that set come from?”

“Figaro’s,” she answers, smug. Glad to have caught him off guard.

“Noted,” he says, leaning down to kiss her again.

It’s a flattering, sage colored bralette. The material is no mere cotton. Rather, shimmering with what is supposed to resemble snake skin. It looks gorgeous on her skin. He wasn’t aware Figaro’s was making wares such as these. But he knows where to shop in the future for her, if he wants to see more of their work.

He moves down, kissing over her neck, and stopping at the top of her chest, reaching for one of her arms instead and starting there.

“Wyll,” she says. “Don’t tease.”

“So impatient,” he whispers, trailing kisses up her inner arm. “You told me to tell you, then show you.”

“Then can you tell me more?”

He smirks, reaching her inner elbow and planting a kiss there before mirroring his actions on the opposite arm. He kisses up this one slower, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

“I want you quivering on my tongue.”

“Oh my-

“I want you moaning for me.”

She nods, lip drawn back between her teeth, thighs pressed together.

“I want to taste you, especially when you peak.”

“Wyll,” she moans.

“And I want to see it. Because I have to know how you do it.”

“Wyll,” she says more urgently.

He puts her arm down then leans back to finish unfastening her pants.

“Have to know if you go silent or if you scream.”

“Oh hells.”

“If it rushes out of you, drowning me in your essence. Or if it trickles out of you.”

She exhales again, a high pitched whine in her voice.

He has her pants undone, and reaches for her waist to start sliding them down.

“If you’ll let me keep going, even though you just came. And if I can slide a finger inside you and feel where I know you’re going to devastate me the most.”

She moans, long and needy. “Wyll, please. Please.”

He’s done teasing her for now, because he’s messed himself up in the process of trying to mess her up as well. He reaches for his own pants, undoing the laces and giving himself a little more room. He finishes sliding the fabric off her legs, smiling at the matching set of underwear covering her.

She looks so pretty in them. But she’s going to look better with them off.

He hooks a finger under the line of fabric on her hip, and teases.

“Wyll, for the love.”

He laughs at her insistence. Likes that he’s got her bossy here. He hopes his love for her will grant him enough stamina to stroke that tone out of her.

If not the first time, then later on. They really have all night.

“Take that off” he points to her bra, and starts to undo the lacings at her hip.

He undoes both sides, using a hand to grab them off her at the middle and tossing those to the side.

“Fuck,” he says lowly. “No, keep them spread,” he adds on, once he sees her closing her thighs out of sheer reaction.

She whines, doing as he said, and opening her legs.

For now, he’s done teasing. He grabs one of the pillows from the side and plants it under her lower back. He grabs another and asks her to sit up so he can set it under her head.

He grabs her legs and folds them back, and she remembers what he said and grabs the backs of her knees, fully baring her lower half to him.

He places a palm over himself and presses down as he stares at her. He stares at the hair there, getting a little light headed at how shiny she already is.

He looks further, daring to stare at something else he’s been wondering about, but isn’t ready to confess just yet.

He look at her face, sees the slight nervousness there, mixed in with her attraction.

“So beautiful,” he assures her, leaning down to kiss her stomach. “May I kiss you?”

“Please do.”

He kisses above her lower lips first, sighing at the touch of her curls against his mouth. When he goes lower, she jolts hard, already losing her grip on one of her legs.

“You alright, my love?” he looks up to ask.

“Yes,” she says. “You can keep going.”

He nods, maintaining that eye contact as he leans back down, pressing a kiss to her again.

He continues to do it, holding her gaze and watching her chest heave the more intense he goes with it. He slips his tongue out, adding it to his kisses, filling the air around them with the sounds. She is whining gently, but she is keeping her legs supported still.

He wants to make her buck again.

He opens his mouth and latches it onto the nub he was slowly coaxing from between her lips.

She hisses. “Oh. Oh, Wyll.”

He hums into her, closing his eyes for a moment and indulging in her taste. She’s already so aroused, it is strong on his tongue.

He wants to know specifically what she likes. Every body is different, and he wants to learn which actions were going to get her mewling for him the fastest.

So he tries a few things; he continues to suck at her, which causes her to grunt behind her bitten lips. He licks her; long, deep laps from the flat of his tongue. She likes it, and it causes more of her arousal to slip out of her.

He takes one more lap before curling his tongue and flicking it over her gently.

“Fuck,” she yells. “Yes. Yes, like that.”

He continues, alternating with flicking his tongue, sucking her into his mouth, and pulling back to breathe.

He chooses to move the time clock up a bit. He wants to slip a finger into her now. He shifts a bit from where he’s laying, bringing his right hand up to rub over her.

“Is this okay?” he asks, mesmerized by the motion of his own hand over her.

“Yes.”

He brings his hand down, flipping it palm up, and teasing his pointer finger against her opening. He gently eases it in and out, sinking more into her every few strokes. He’s panting, because she feels so silken and wet and-

“I cant wait to be inside you,” he says, continuing to move his finger in and out.

He goes back to her nub, continuing the pattern of flicking and sucking, along with moving his finger in and out of her.

“Can I put another one in?” he leans up to ask. “Huh?”

“Yes,” she whines. “Just…be gentle.”

“Of course, my love,” he whispers, bringing his middle finger up and teasing its entry as well. “I’ll be very kind to her.”

He slides it in along his first finger, and already feels that this is a tight fit for just two of his fingers for now. He gets lightheaded just thinking about pushing his cock in.

“Hmm,” she says. “It’s okay if you’re a little mean to her sometimes.”

He laughs, dark and suggestive. “Is that so? My love likes to be roughed up a bit?”

“More than a bit.”

“You’ll have to teach me how,” he reminds her.

“I will,” she assures, throwing her head back and letting herself get lost to the sensations.

He isn’t sure how long he’s at it, but he switches from staring at her glistening, heaving chest to his own fingers pumping in and out of her. He experiments with the speed, finding that a moderate pace with intermittent flicks of his tongue is what keeps her mewling. It takes him a moment to notice, but his own hips are thrusting into the ground.

She manages to keep her legs balanced while reaching her hands down to grab his horns. And though he had hoped she would, though he had thought about this, and picked this position specifically for that reason, it throws him.

He pulls back and hisses, feeling himself get a bit more untamed, opening his mouth slightly and letting drool slip down onto her.

She says something in praise, but it’s slurred and unintelligible. He thinks it was something in astonishment at his boldness. And he will be smug about that later when he can focus; he’s too lost in her right now to make sense of it.

It has been a while since he’s done this. A long while. But even when things went no further than this, he was always happy to engage in this activity. There was something so thrilling about having someone supplicate to him for something he could provide. Power of the tongue, and all that.

“Move,” she orders.

He takes his mouth off her and looks up. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m…I’m close.”

He grins, looking back at his current obsession, languidly thrusting his fingers in her. “Aiya, I didn’t know you were hard of hearing,” he accuses her.

She starts to curse him, head glued back to her pillow, and he laughs.

“You told me to tell you, and I did. I want to see how you do it.”

“You fucking-

“Are you going to soak me? Did you get shy about flooding my tongue?”

“Wyll,” she cries out. “I just…wanted to warn you.”

He thrusts harder. He might, unfortunately, finish in his trousers due to this. It’s fine. He has time with her tonight. Time he is going to spend stopping the clock.

“And I’ll heed your warning,” he says, before he sucks her once more. “But I’m ready.”

She exhales, and starts panting.

He discovers that when she’s finishing, at least from this, she goes relatively quiet. It’s just her breath, no bass to it. No true use of her vocal cords. Just her heaving chest, dry throat, trembling legs, and seeping cunt.

The tell-tale sign of her climax is the forceful stream that hits his mouth, rushing over his lips and down his chin. Some of it rushing up to his nose.

This is a prepossessing form of torture. He can’t breathe, and he doesn’t care because he is taken by the rush of her covering his face. The uncontrolled rise of her hips to his mouth is enough to melt his mind, and he stays there, letting her thrust against his face and push out that onus that’s been locked in her walls.

He notices he’s been separated from her because she is pushing him back by the horns. He stops resisting when he hears her whines, knowing she needs a break. But his brain-to-mouth grapevine is still telling him to use his tongue, and he latches onto one of her inner thighs and makes out with her there.

She is coming down, whole body trembling. It’s only when she sobs his name that he is broken from his reverie, lifting up to look at her face. And it is better than what he even imagined. Because she didn’t scream, and she wasn’t exactly silent either.

When she comes, she cries.

The tears flowing down her face are in pleasure, but he still swallows and moves over her, coming up to wipe them.

“Aiya,” he breathes.

“Fuck…you,” she responds, no real threat in her voice at all. Only the horrible realization of what he’s done to her; what he can do to her, when given the chance.

He leans down, letting his lips linger above hers before she demands a kiss, and meets her with tongue. Her taste is on him, in him. And he shares it with her freely.

It’s nothing else, for a bit. Nothing but their lips, tongue, and spit; swapping back and forth while she settles. He is bristling, but he can hold out a bit longer for her.

“Soon,” she says, disconnecting her lips and gazing up at him. “I’m going to shove your cock down my throat and keep you there.”

“Hells,”

“But right now, I need you inside me. I need you to stretch me more.”

He thrusts against her without thinking, letting her soak through the seat of his pants. “Are you sure?” he breathes. “I can let you take a moment.”

She sits up, pushing him further back while rising to perch on her elbows.

“The only thing I want to take is you,” she says confidently. “But I would prefer to be on top. It’s easier for me, that way.”

He nods, kissing her deeply once more before pulling away completely so they can switch their positions.

He adjusts the pillow supporting his head the way he needs it for his horns. Since his pants were already unlaced, he starts removing them without her assistance.

He pulls them down, and sighs in annoyance that he didn’t grab his underwear along with it too. Once his pants are off, he reaches for the top of them, but she stops him.

“Allow me,” she says, on her knees between the spread of his legs.

He moves his hands and lets them fall to his sides, fingers already sporadically curling into the blanket underneath them.

He suddenly feels a slap of bashfulness as her hands are pulling his underwear off, because while everyone has seen these horns, they haven’t seen-

“Fucking hells,” she says.

And he knows it’s a compliment, but his face still gets warm.

“You weren’t joking,” she continues.

And he knows he’s talking about the comment he made about himself the night of the Tiefling party. The ridges and prongs in unmentionable places. He is surprised she remembers.

She pulls the garments the rest of the way, sliding her thighs on either side of his waist while looking down at him.

“How are you going to explain this to the others, hmm?” she asks, lowering herself to grind against his pubis. “How are you going to tell them how I died out here?”

He is so swept by the movement of her hips right above the head of his cock, but he burst out in laughter anyhow.

“You are dramatic,” he says, shaking his head.

“And you,” she combats, sliding down further to nudge herself against him, “are going to kill me.”

He moans, low and long because gods above and below she is drenched. She is wetting his cock with herself and he is now fearful that this will last exactly however long it took for him to realize he found her pretty. Which was no time at all. He realized it as soon as they had dispatched that small troupe of goblins outside the grove; noticed it while she was panting and sweaty and somewhat covered in blood.

And it’s not as though he’s had much alone time lately. With their new and temporary sleeping arrangements, he has less privacy than he had before. The luxury of a bed and four walls around him, but no luxury of a tent, perched a certain distance from others.

He hasn’t been indulging himself that much. But he certainly had, once or twice, slipped his hand underneath his bedroll and thought about her while he pleasured himself.

The contented attitude he had about taking her apart with his mouth has evaporated under the weight of her gaze and the thrust of her hips.

She sits up, lifting her hips up with it, and he still moans because he knows what’s coming.

“Let me know,” she says, grabbing him by the base, stroking her fingers around the ridge there, “if you need to stop.”

“Don’t let me finish inside you,” he responds. And it’s not because he doesn’t want it; it’s because it isn’t smart. And because he just knows once she sinks down, all higher thinking for him will cease.

Her smirk at him then is just fiendish, and perhaps he made a mistake, thinking that he had this force of a person bested.

“Is the Blade of Frontiers feeling beside himself?” she asks, letting her head loll back for a moment while she enjoys the heat of his tip teasing her opening.

He exhales, clenching his fists tighter. “I’ve never faced a threat like you.”

She doesn’t smile. In fact, her face falls. It settles into a gaze so serious and all-encompassing that he has to hold his breath.

When she attempts to make him sink into her, it’s only by a bit, and it’s enough to make him groan openly and loudly.

“Is that so?” she asks lowly. She leans over his torso more, keeping her hand where it is on his cock, and continuing to move herself up and down on his tip.

The wet squelch of her already has him undone. He wants to ask her to not talk while she does this, at least not now. Because it will be over embarrassingly quick.

But he can’t say anything right now. He is trying to even his breathing while feeling the best he has in his life, in a setting like this.

She does this for a few more moments, eyes closed and biting her lip while she concentrates. Despite his attention on her earlier, she isn’t quite opening up how both of them want her to.

Power of the tongue, truly. A maxim that extends to all kinds of settings.

He moans and speaks to her. “Let me in.”

Her jaw drops and her eyes widen, and she presses down onto him harder and lets the tip of him stretch her.

They both groan. The feeling is like coming home after a long, arduous day. It feels like he was supposed to know this all along. It feels like he’s supposed to be here.

She moans and moves her hand, letting both of them support her on his damp chest while she slowly moves back and forth, letting him breach her bit by bit.

When she reaches the first ridge, she squeals. She compliments him and sinks lower, more of her arousal covering his cock.

“Aiya,” he breathes, already feeling dangerously close, and she hasn’t even reached the root of him.

She doesn’t respond, just continues to undulate her hips so that more and more of him can fill her. When she sinks to the root, his lidded eyes are still open enough to see a tear slip out of one of hers.

He reaches a shaky hand up to her face.

“Are you alright?”

She shakes her head no, closing her eyes and letting her neck fall back again. “You’re perfect.”

It’s not exactly an answer, but he understands it well when she starts lifting and sinking herself on his member, slowly and steadily.

He keeps his hand there, despite his arm trembling. And the other takes place on her stomach, pressing there while she moves.

“I love you,” she whispers, eyes still closed. “I fucking love you.”

He should warn her now, he thinks. Go ahead and tell her that she maybe, at best, has a few minutes before he erupts. But he doesn’t; there is something more pressing he has to tell her.

“I love you too,” he responds, feeling the joy of the statement wash over him. “Now, show me.”

She makes him eat those words.

Despite his impending loss, he knows that as long as he gets to have her like this, he’ll never stop challenging her. He wants to continue winding her up with his words as much as he can, making her take it out on his tongue and throbbing cock. He wants this woman to end him, over and over and-

“Aiya,” he says, urgently. “I’m-

She answers by leaning back down, causing his hands to move and plant elsewhere instead. They support themselves on her ass as she continues moving on him.

“It’s okay, Wyll,” she whispers, leaning down to kiss one side of his neck. “Do it.”

“I am,” he groans, gripping harder. “But you need to move.”

She continues laving at his neck, moving up to his ear to entice him. “No.”

He loses it then, lifting his legs up at the knees and beginning to thrust into her instead.

“That’s it,” she encourages softly. “Take it.”

He doesn’t register the sounds leaving him that much. He knows they are open and needy and flowing through a staccato beat. But he keeps moving.

“It’s okay,” she continues, licking over his ear. “We’re okay. Magic has all sorts of uses.”

He growls, thrusting into her harder. Trembling with the implications.

“Yeah?” he asks, eyes closing.

“Yes,” she answers. “Inside, Wyll. Let it out inside me.”

He gasps, thrusting once more before feeling his entire body quake as he finishes inside her. His eyes are closed, yet he’s still dizzy. There’s no one out here but them, yet he’s sure he’s too loud. He should pull out still, but after the third rope, he’s locked to her.

Even as he comes down, he fears he’s too loud. But he will excuse it, this time. He hasn’t finished like that in…ever. Not even his first time, with the one he had known longer than Aiya.

She kisses him for a long time, moaning in annoyance when he slips out of her. But he can feel a drop of the mix of them fall back on his member, and knows it won’t be long before he’s ready to fill her again.

-

“So have you done this a lot, or…” she asks, trailing off to take a sip of her wine instead.

He huffs, caressing a hand over her stomach. “Define a lot?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I’m not sure how to measure this by human lifespan standards. And honestly, it doesn’t need a measurement at all. I suppose what I’m asking is have you done this with more than one person?”

“Yes.”

“And,” she continues, setting her wine goblet back down on the flat stone by her head, “were they all partners of yours?”

He hesitates.

She turns to him then, long hair flowing over her pillow, and stares with something in her eyes. He asked her to get comfortable and take her hair down while he re-arranged the bed set he brought out here so they can rest for a bit.

“I see,” she whispers. “I know about your first one. Nasina, who I would like to meet, by the way.”

His brows show up. “You want to meet her?”

She shrugs. “You are the next Duke of Baldur’s Gate, if you choose. Gortash will cease to exist and your father will step down eventually. I assume all of those who were one your friends will want to come back. Especially your real friends.”

“I feel so stupid,” he begins, “asking you this now. After all this time, but Aiya…how old are you?”

She laughs; cackles. Loud enough to cut the air. “Oh my gods, I thought I had told you already. I’m one-hundred-forty years.”

He lets it sink it for a moment, not able to stop himself from making the very expected joke. “You are old.”

She’s gasping, trying to gather her bearings. “Wyll, I swore I told you.”

He is educated enough to know that is not that far above the age of maturity of Elves. He is unsure about Dragonborns.

“You certainly did not,” he says, bringing his caressing hand up to her face. “But it’s no matter.”

She smiles at him, bare body hidden underneath the sheet. “The last time you did this, when was it?”

“You insist on bringing up the past,” he laughs.

“For a reason.”

He studies her face, only finding intrigue there. He thinks he knows where this is going, but the only way to know is to jump over the edge.

“I was in Plainwater.”

She hums. “Nothing plain about that place. Anyway, go on.”

He swallows, turning to look up at the swaying tree branches above. “They do not use the standard terms of monarchy there, but by all definitions, this person a monarch.”

“I’m already hooked.”

“It was a deluge,” he says, setting the scene. “And it had ruined half their house’s crops, which were the most plentiful in the town. Without those, the support it provided the community was smashed.”

“Ah, so not a monster.”

“No,” he sighs. “Just the forces of nature, but it gave me the opportunity to help their house, and sharpen my diplomacy skills. The town had a meeting regarding their status. Their name was Ainsel, by the way.”

“Go on,” she encouraged.

“Somehow, I was involved in mediation. And somehow, I convinced the prominent townspeople to continue to respect their house as an authority. They were kind, and good. Had I not thought so, I wouldn’t have gone out of my way to defend them.”

He looks at her, and notices her eyes are closed, taking in the story. “I am unsure what I said that turned the tides, no pun intended, but it worked.”

“Congratulations.”

“And Ainsel was so…gentle about suggesting they thank me in a more…intimate way than gold. They still paid me in gold, by the way. But yes. It became physical.”

She opens her eyes then, gold staring back at him.

“Go on.”

“You are terrible,” he says. “What about this is enticing for you?”

“If you don’t want to continue, you don’t have to.”

“I…okay. Well, they insisted on thanking me in the most based way you could think of. And I tried to resist, truly. I didn’t believe doing good was a cause for any compensation like that.”

She turned toward him, supporting herself on her right shoulder. “So, what happened?”

“You want to know the details?” he asked with incredulity in his tone.

“I’ve only been asking.”

“Okay. Well, they cornered me behind their library door and insisted on using their mouth on me.”

“Now we’re getting to it.”

“It was…lovely. I truly was not going around the Coast looking for that kind of entertainment. But that time, I agreed to it.”

“That is so sexy.”

“What about that do you find sexy?” he asks, reaching a hand up to run through her loosened locks.

“I’m a bit too old to deny how gorgeous the image of one pleasing another is” she answers, a serious note in her voice. “You are handsome, and kind, and conscientious. To gift those qualities to another…I don’t know; it’s nice to think of.”

He loves the compliment, even if he has difficulty understanding the appeal of it.

“I gained an appreciation for the art of the tongue, after that.”

“As if you didn’t already have one.”

“Yes, but in an intimate way.”

“Yes, and I just bore witness to that.”

He runs his thumb over her bottom lip. “And what about you? Do you have an admiration for the same?”

“Oh, Wyll,” she answers. “You have no idea. And if you want an idea, I’m glad to show you. Only if you’re ready.”

And he is ready, except he…isn’t.

“Actually,” he says. “I need to…relieve myself first.”

He turns away, expecting her to laugh, but when she doesn’t make a sound, he looks back at her, only finding curiosity in her expression.

“You don’t have to go too far,” she suggests.

He is shocked; speechless.

She sees the look on his face. “Too soon? Another time, perhaps.”

“Please, have mercy,” he says, rolling over to go find a distant bush.

-

The wine is half empty, but it’s a good thing he packed water to keep them hydrated.

He’s on top of her, kissing her again. It is slower this time, lacking the desperation from earlier. But it still builds heat in his core.

He’s going to let her make good on her earlier comment, about what she wanted to do with her mouth. This time, instead of lying on his back, he props himself up against the tree trunk; a couple pillows supporting his back.

She’s lying down between his legs, already reaching for him. He’s already erect for her, but when she pauses her mouth right over his tip and looks up at him, he hardens even further.

He closes his eyes and tilts his head back a bit, wincing at his sensitivity, then moaning at the soft acceptance of her mouth.

Without thinking, he ends up propping up his legs at the knee, reaching his hands down and placing them on her head. He’s not moving her, but he just wants to feel her move.

She translates the action a different way.

She inhales through her nose and moves further down, taking him to the hilt. He groans and asks her to keep going, keep moving. But she doesn’t.

He looks down at her, and sees her looking up at him expectantly. He tests the waters by rolling his hips up first, languidly. She moans around him, and it causes his grip to tighten in her hair.

The next few moments are bliss for him. He’s gently thrusting his hips up, reveling in the soft sounds of him pressing against the back of her throat. She’s focused on being an opening, so she’s not focused on the mess that drools out of her mouth and onto his pelvis.

He pulls her off, keeping one hand buried in her hair while the other fists his cock.

“Will you, shit…Can I?”

She smiles at him, and that’s all the answer that he needs before he is releasing on her waiting tongue, holding her in place so she can take all of it.

He’s not as loud this time, groaning tenderly while he comes down. He welcomes her body coming up to press against his; enjoys the taste of himself in her mouth.

“You’re so handsome,” she whispers, kissing his cheek. “So beautiful.”

He gets her to lay back down and finds his face between her thighs again. She is less sensitive this time, as in she’s not shaking at every movement of his tongue, but she is responsive.

He wants to be on top his time, and he makes sure that’s okay before moving back up her body. He grabs one of her hands and laces their fingers, placing them by her head. His free hand is what he uses to tease himself and her; rubbing his cock over her.

“Get inside me,” she says, moving her hips up.

He presses against her opening, and slips inside, bit by bit. She hasn’t been opposed to the size of him at all, and she seems to adore the features this form has given him. But he is still cautious about moving in and out of her until he feels her open up and accept the rest.

He raises his other hand and links their fingers there too, leaning down to kiss her and thrust lazily into her.

It’s quieter this time. It’s just them, the wind, their sounds of love, and the slide of the sheets against the grass. Neither of them are thinking about anything outside of this moment; not what came before, and not the near future. He’s just a person loving another person in an archaic way.

He moves faster when he hears her gasping; he’s determined to get her to finish around him in the way he didn’t have stamina for earlier. It requires a steady, sure thrusting of his hips, and one of his hands slipping between them.

This thumb is pressed to her nub, and his fingers are splayed against her pelvis and the bottom of her belly. He presses down and she whines.

“Keep going, just like that,” she begs.

He does. The rock of his hips is only difficult to hold because he wants to move harder. But he is barely letting the fronts of his thighs kiss the back of hers. This is less about force and more about aim.

Her eyes are watery again, and he sighs, tells her he loves how she looks when she cries for him like that. When she asks for more, that’s when he thrusts harder, adding more sound to the air.

“Wyll,” she says, voice cracking. “I…

“It’s okay, love,” he says, biting his lip momentarily. “I have you.”

She locks eyes with him, letting the shine of them coupled with her whimpers tell him her end is near. He feels a prick behind his eyes as well, although it’s not from his oncoming climax.

He just loves her, and he loves this moment. He would never forget it for the rest of his life. And he hopes she understands that he meant what he said earlier before they started this physical dance. He wants her forever.

“Aiya,” he breathes, wavering. “I love you.”

She whines, whole body tensing. “I love you too, Wyll….Wyll, can I-

“Yes, love.”

Her face scrunches, and her high pitched keen falls to a low, broken moan as she releases around him. He thinks he might enjoy this feeling more than tasting her while she does this. He couldn’t pull out if he wanted to.

The fitful pulse of her orgasm does bring him closer than he thought he was. When she loosens, when her shaking stops, he lets force overtake aim, just for a few more thrusts, before pulling out and releasing her on stomach.

They are panting, covered in sweat, and so, so in love.

-

“Is there something you really enjoy doing in bed that we haven’t done yet?”

She hums, content in her position of lying on his bare chest. “Quite a few things, actually. But I did not assume we were completing the entire itinerary tonight.”

He smiles and keeps his eyes closed, running a hand over her back. “To narrow it down, then. Is there a position you prefer that we haven’t already done?”

“You’re asking me what my favorite position is.”

“Well, yes.”

She sits up, gazing at his relaxed expression. He cracks his eyes open slowly when he feels her fingertip trailing over his nose.

“We haven’t done it, yet,” she answers. “I’m tempted to let you guess.”

And Wyll knows there are so many angles they can do this from. So many ways they just can’t get done before the sun splits the horizon.

So he’d rather her just tell him, or show him, what angle truly ignites her so he can learn it, thoroughly.

He moves her searching fingertips, and kisses them.

They make out for a bit, more weight in their kisses this time. She seems primed and ready to go with the knowledge that he will be taking her in the way she favors.

She moves, asks him to move, and takes the space where he was, with her back toward him.

“Is that so?” he groans, one of his hands already wrapped around himself and stroking weakly. She is on her hands and knees, and she answers him.

“No,” she says, her tone leading elsewhere. Then, her body sinks onto the ground, front pressed against sheets. “This is so.”

He feels sweat prick the back of his neck. He may not be able to see her face, but he will still be close to her this way.

He leans over her, letting his length thrust between her cheeks and kissing the back of her neck when she sighs.

“Are you ready?” he asks. He prays she is.

“Fuck me,” she answers, pushing her hips up.

The angle allows him to slowly thrust into her, moving in and out until he gets the signal to start pounding her back to the ground.

This round feels a bit more primal. She’s loud and encouraging, and he’s propped up on his hands while dripping sweat onto her back.

His own sounds are high pitched and breathy. He does what she asks, and moves against her harder, disturbing the air around them.

It’s still the dead of night, but he has a brief wonder of what would happen if someone walked by. They are secluded, he made sure of that. But what if…what if-

He’s sure her cries would attract any potential passerby. They would clearly know what was happening just by the sound of it, but would they follow her siren call?

She makes him think of things that he hadn’t seriously considered, previously. He doesn’t want anyone else to see her like this, per se. But he doesn’t not want them to see him pleasing her like this.

It’s strange, yet the unfamiliarity of it entices him to fuck her harder, loving the whip-crack of her sounds.

“This is it?” he asks. And obviously. Obviously. She put them in this position. But questioning her seems to turn her on, in this environment. She mewls an affirmative, and turns her head to kiss one of his inner arms, right by this wrist.

“Together this time,” she whispers against his skin, resuming her peppering affections.

The soft press of her lips against his arm while he is doing nothing short of knocking her into her next orgasm makes him growl. And she doesn’t seem to want to raise her hips, so he cant really get a hand underneath her. But the wet sounds from between her legs makes him wonder if she’s already as close as he is. He can’t really tell this time around, because she’s been pulsing nonstop.

He learns down, licking one of her ear tips. “Are you close?”

She groans. “Yes. Yes, Wyll. Can you…just a little bit more?”

“As long as you need,” he lies. He doesn’t know why he says it, when everything about him right now is telling of his approaching climax. But something about the statement seems to kick her into high gear, and she nearly yells.

“Oh. I’m…oh. Wyll, love. Wyll!”

“Now?” he asks, burying his face in the side of her neck.

“Yes,” she hisses.

“Yeah?”

“Yes!”

“Inside you?”

“Please.”

“Deep?”

“Wyll-

“Say it.”

She’s already crying, and nearly out of breath. “Come inside me, please. Please, love. You feel so good; I want it.”

“Yeah? I make you feel good?”

She can’t answer him anymore. Any remaining breath she has is expended on her panting and moaning. And that’s answer enough for him.

It’s not quite synchronous. She is wailing, and she was already clenching, so the staple sign of it is the forceful rush flowing out of her and soaking him.

“Holy-

He can’t finish that statement. He grunts hard, keeping his hips locked to hers, filling her over and over. There’s nothing holy happening here, not in a pure way. Perhaps in a divine way.

 Exhaustion finally seeps in. He slides out of her to flop on his back, cringing when his horns remind him they are there. But he reaches for her and pulls her in, letting her pant into his neck.

“I love you,” she whispers. “I love you so much. I-

He grabs the back of her neck and gently moves her away so he can lean up and kiss her. “I love you, too. My time-stopper.”

-

The sun is barely up by the time they return to the Elfsong. They are quiet as they enter, hoping no one was already awake.

He swats her ass right as they get to the hall door, making her gasp and laugh before to leans back to kiss him over her shoulder.

She opens the door as quietly as she can, steps silent as they creep in. No sunlight has breached the room yet, but they do both stare at the companion sitting by the unlit fireplace.

Jaheira is sitting in a chair, book in hand. Yenna and Grub are a few feet away from her, still asleep.

She gives them a knowing look, smirking and whispering into the air. “Really, you two? All night?”

Aiya shakes her head and tries not to laugh. Wyll smiles and places a finger over his lips, warning her not to wake the others.

It is very much back to business once the sun is present and everyone is awake, but Karlach cannot read a room, and asks what time they got back in last night.

“Last night?” Astarion responds. “They crept in with the sunrays this morning.”

A few of their companions praise them for finally breaking the mold. Aiya is so clearly embarrassed, and Wyll pities her. But they are not too cruel, and he doesn’t care too much.

He loves her. And he wants everyone to know it.

[eidolonshiva]

We love a disaster mess three-wheeled squad... May I ask for more of the siblings and Fumiko? It can be sincere character building or silly playtime, but I crave them.

I am always happy to supply headcannons for this disastrous trio!

Popping under a cut for length.

When the siblings have a disagreement, they will try to manipulate Fumiko to take their side in a show of dominance and prove who she is most obedient to. Fumiko will almost always take Daki’s side as she spoils her like she would a younger sister. This causes Gyutaro to seethe as he views her taking his sister’s side as a form of betrayal.

In the same vein, Daki will pit Gyutaro and Fumiko against one another to get her own way. If the oiran can turn her brother’s ire towards another target, it provides a distraction for her own scheming.

The few occasions that Fumiko does manage to escape, Gyutaro will hunt her down and drag her back into the safety of the brothel. If the lesser demon acts out after her capture, Daki will imprison her in the obi until she’s compliant once again.

Gyutaro and Fumiko both take pride in Daki’s talents as a courtesan and like hearing her perform or tell stories to entertain clients.

The trio is intelligent in different ways that balances out: Gyutaro is a cunning, calculated, quick-thinker who excels on the battlefield. Daki is gifted in the arts and social graces, which makes her a master manipulator. Fumiko, having been brought up as a medic, is knowledgeable in physiology, herbal medicine, and is emotionally intelligent.

When it comes to Gyutaro and Fumiko’s relationship, Daki played the role of matchmaker. Daki would notice Fumiko hiding in the back alleyways and peeking into the brothel, trying to catch a glimpse of Gyutaro. She would approach this newcomer to gather some intel on her and try to find out her intentions. When Daki discovered that the reason Fumiko was sneaking around was not for nefarious reasons, but rather that the woman was infatuated with Gyutaro, she was shocked. She was used to people reacting to her brother with either fear or revulsion.  She decided to encourage Fumiko’s efforts both in an effort to do something nice for her brother and also out of selfishly wanting someone else to dote upon her and be her caretaker (plus if he has a distraction she can have a bit of freedom.)

Gyutaro will always put his sister above everyone else in his life. If he takes a romantic partner, they would have to accept that they will never come first. Fumiko readily accepts this, and in fact would be disgusted with him if he didn’t put his little sister first.

Fumiko likes to tell ghost stories and in a modern setting would be a fan of gothic novels or horror movies (a hobby I think she and Gyutaro would share.) Daki/Ume is not a fan of scary stories and wishes they would both engage in more light-hearted media.

In any AU’s I have in which Gyutaro and Fumiko have children, Daki/Ume, while being staunchly childfree herself, is a doting Auntie. She would completely fit into the stereotype of the “Wine Aunt,” showering her niblings with gifts and letting them get away with things their parents wouldn’t allow.

For a silly headcannon: In a modern setting, such as the Academy AU, I think Ume would be a fan of pop music. I can see her enjoying Chappel Roan or groups like Blackpink. Gyutaro would probably gravitate towards metal or alt; I think Dir En Grey would be up his alley. Fumiko would listen to “sad girl” music along the lines of Meg Myers, Flower Face or Ethel Cain.

Another silly headcannon: As a Final Fantasy fangirl, I always like to think about what class each character would be. Daki would be a Dancer, Gyutaro would be Reaper, and Fumiko would be a Blue Mage.

If I were to assign a pokemon partner to each of them, I would give Daki a tsareena, Gyutaro a scyther, and Fumiko a mawile.

Gyutaro is the kind of person who puts no effort into his appearance. Daki and Fumiko will take delight in picking out outfits for him.

Bonus silly doodles: