#i didn't know i had a ceiling fan

[aran-morinorea]

I am once again perched on your ceiling fan asking you about Non-Euclidean Nan Elmoth

The stranger returns, with two steaming mugs and some food laid out on a slim metal tray etched with flowers. It's more food than Laurefindelë would have expected him capable of preparing in the time he was gone. He sets the tray down on his desk and gives one of the mugs to Laurefindelë - the beverage is opaque and smells of cinnamon - and takes a long drink from the other.

“So,” he says, sitting down himself, “What were you doing in my woods, traveler?”

[cuntwrap--supreme]

My cat butted up against my hand and it reminded me of when my childhood cat was starting to go senile and my mom suggested we just have her put down because she doesn't really matter once she's lost it and that she never cared about me besides being a hand that provides food (even though I was the only person in the family she was comfortable around after she'd gone totally feral out of age-induced confusion). My mom never liked that cat, even though she was a really good cat. It's not her fault she got old and couldn't remember shit. To me, that's when she needed the most care. To my mom, she deserved to be locked in the basement for the last two years of her life. And, because my mom seldom let her out and I was both in college and working full time and could only release her for a few hours daily, the basement ended up being where she felt safe, and she would only leave if I picked her up and moved her out. Which is so sad. Imagine treating a dying animal that way.

[whimsyfinny]

Sexy F*cking Nerd

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When Dean discovers a little secret of (Y/n)'s during a case research session he can't help but let temptation get the best of him.

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fingering, PinV, Oral (M receiving), slight angst if you squint, Dean having a glasses kink (not really a warning but not everyone wears them hahaha lucky bastards)

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 5688

A/N: It's taken a little while but here is the second competition winner from a few weeks back, the prompt provided by the wonderful @foxyjwls007 - I hope you like it!

The motel room was stuffy to say the least - that usual aroma of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener lingering around us. There was a dripping sound coming from God knows where and the AC hummed in between the concerning clinking from deep within the vents. It was crap. So crap. But it was home for a few nights; just like all the motel rooms that came before. Dean stepped past me and over the threshold, immediately slinging his duffle and jacket onto his chosen bed. He stretched his arms above his head, the grey Henley clutching his muscular abdomen and rising enough to flaunt what lay beneath. I sighed, following him in and slumping onto the bed beside his - the musty stench from the sheets enveloping me.

“Well…” Dean started, pulling Sam's laptop out of his bag and placing it on the small table by the window.

“Well…?” My voice echoed as I focused on the ceiling fan that spun off centre.

“...This is… nice?” His statement was more of a question as he looked around with raised eyebrows. I propped myself up on my elbows, flashing him a look of speculation.

“Seriously?” A moment passed before he huffed a long-held breath and slapped his large palms on his thighs.

“No of course not, this place sucks more dick than a hooker on payday.”

“You got that right,” I flopped back down onto the bed, a small dust cloud erupting under my weight. I closed my eyes and listened as Dean pulled a chair out from under the table, slumping down into it. Then there was the familiar click of the laptop opening followed by the sound of stuttered not-quite-touch-typing, presumably he was starting work on the case that we’d come here to investigate. The tap tap tap of whatever was leaking began to drill into my brain, my patience already wearing thin with the rooms dire ambiance. I pulled myself up to sitting, criss-crossing my legs on the bed and brushing whatever that dust from the bedding was off my sweater sleeves.

“When's Sam back?” I asked, watching as Dean searched the keyboard in front of him for some long lost letter.

“Uuuh, I'm not sure. He said to work this case without him.”

“Ugghhh, I bet he's having way more fun than us right now, it's not fair,” I plopped my chin into my palm and stared past the older Winchester out the window, almost willing Sam to appear and walk in like any other day.

“It's just some dumb wedding, I doubt he's having that much fun.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself, Dean breaking eye contact with the screen to throw me a raised eyebrow.

“Look,” I collected myself, “you didn't know Sam in college. He won't admit it but he was popular. Really popular. Not the total nerd you think he is. He's absolutely having fun with these people.”

“Yeah right. So who's at this wedding anyway? Why was it so important that he just had to be there?”

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well Sam had already told him all the details. Typical Dean.

“It's for a couple of friends who he and Jess were close with back then. Pretty sure the bride was prom queen in highschool or something and the groom was a trust fund jock. Either way, not my crowd,” I sighed slightly, memories from my college days flooding my mind.

Deans eyebrows twitched into a small frown, his thoughts seeming to cloud his vision for a second before he reluctantly dismissed them. I looked down into my lap for a moment, reminiscing how I always kept my distance from Sam whilst at Stanford, but he had always been that boy that would make my heart flutter when he spoke up in class or when I'd see him on the quad with his friends. I remember seeing him with his nose in a book once at my usual desk in the library, my cheeks burning when he caught me staring. Who would've thought several years down the line I'd be sat in a bottom-rung motel room with his obscenely good looking older brother researching monster lore. At least we would be researching monster lore, if it wasn't for the small growl my empty stomach had gurgled out. I couldn't stop the small pulse of embarrassment burning into my cheeks as Dean eyed me with a grin.

“Wanna get some lunch?” He asked, standing up like he already knew my answer.

“Fuck yes. I'm feeling burgers,” I shuffled to the edge of the bed and stood up, watching as Dean shrugged on his leather jacket and headed to the door, holding it open for me.

“Now you're speaking my language.”

*

The diner was almost as sad and withered as the motel room, however the food was nothing short of spectacular. I watched in awe as Dean polished off his second burger, a small glob of sauce sticking to his stubble and threatening to drip off his chin. He must've felt me watching in wonder - or perhaps disgust - as when he looked up from his plate he shot me a questioning glance.

“What?” His tone was a little defensive through the mouthful of fries he'd just shovelled in. I took a second before asking, half-genuine:

“Where do you put all of that?”

“Put what?”

“The food - where does it go? Do you have hollow legs? Two stomachs? Does it just evaporate as soon as you swallow it?”

He grinned, wiping the sauce from his face with a napkin.

“Goes straight to the abs baby. It's muscle fuel,” he leant back in his chair, stretching a little before patting his stomach to punctuate his statement. I simply rolled my eyes.

“Yeah right, you're not that muscly Dean.”

“How would you know? You've never seen me with my shirt off.”

“I know, and I plan to keep it that way.”

He feigned a pout before returning to his fries. We ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, my mind absently going back to all the lore we should be trying to gather. I gripped my milkshake that had so generously been served in a thin paper cup, attempting to suck the practically solid beverage up the equally thin paper straw. Finding the nearest library would be the next task on our to-do list, despite the protesting I know I'll get from Dean.

“Hey, (Y/n)?” My train of thought was derailed at the sound of my name. The slurping of over-thickened milkshake from myself ceased.

“What's up?”

“What were you like in college?”

I eyed him with caution, wondering what part of his brain was in control right now.

“What do you wanna know?”

Catching the wariness to divulge him to such information, he smiled slightly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I'm not asking to be weird, I just-” he paused, choosing his next words tactfully, “the way you described Sam as being a totally different person - some hot-shot with the perfect grades, popular friends and a girlfriend like Jess - it just got me thinking. How would Sam have described you?”

I almost spat my dairy-goop back into the straw, my brain freezing.

“Dean,” I started before planning what I was going to say, placing my cup on the table. “Sam wouldn't be able to describe me.”

My words brought a small smirk to his lips.

“You were that hot, huh?”

“What the fuck- no- I wasn't- he didn't- Sam never- ” I stopped myself before I had an aneurysm and took a deep breath.

“I was in a totally different crowd to Sam. He was always surrounded by people and, well, I barely even had a crowd.”

“Lone wolf?”

“Bingo. But definitely not the cool, collected, stoic type. Think more, invisible to the public eye, always carrying books, and borderline selective mute because of how shy I was.”

“Oh… what changed?,” Deans tone changed entirely, genuine intrigue seeming to take the wheel. I couldn't help but laugh slightly, remembering my method to forcing myself out of my bubble.

“The only job I could get was in a bar. No one else wanted the hours and I desperately needed cash. I didn't really have a choice after that,” I paused, remembering how terrified I was on my first day and grinned slightly, grateful for the extra confidence I had now because I took that leap.

“Hey, what sort of crowd do you think I would've been in?”

I snorted, looking up into his expectant eyes - almost captivated by the glistening greens.

“What am I? A BuzzFeed quiz? I have no idea Dean, you're too much of a wildcard to predict. You probably would've fit in with anyone and everyone.”

“Even you?”

For reasons unbeknownst to even myself, my breath caught in my throat. The sudden soft sincerity of his voice contradicting his usual temperament, my heart starting to flutter in my chest. If the college version of myself had met Dean back then I just know I would have been enthralled at first glance.

“I don't think you would've noticed me. You would've been surrounded by every tall, thin blonde and brunette with perfect tits. Trust me, you would've been distracted,” I smiled an almost sad smile at the thought of him simply being on university grounds and having the time of his life - knowing it was something that he was never going to get the chance to experience in this upside down life of his. Of ours. He tapped his fingers on the table for a second, likely lost in some ludicrous thought I don't think I'd want to be privy to. I attempted another slurp of my milkshake when the paper straw gave out and flopped in half, the need to leave conversation and the diner suddenly looming over me.

“Come on, let's get to the library before it closes,” I stood and pulled my oversized sweater down so it covered my ass before reaching for my backpack. Just as my fingers touched the worn fabric of the strap it was torn away, my head snapping up to Dean who flung it over one shoulder with his signature grin on his face.

“Lead the way nerd.”

I couldn't help but beam at his playfulness. I hated the fact that he made it so easy to adore him. Hated that he completely overlooked how I was his total opposite in almost every way. How when we were talking, his eyes never left mine - how he was genuinely interested in what I was like in the past. And how, when I had his attention, he didn't even notice that the hot waitress had written her number on a napkin and left it next to him.

*

The trip to the library was about as eventful as it sounded. After checking out multiple books on cursed items, local lore and popular antiques from the seventies, we loaded ourselves back into the impala, made an all-important beer run before heading back to the motel.

The small table by the window was now totally smothered by a blanket of books, maps and empty beer bottles. Deans chin rested in his palms as he stared blankly at the screen in front of him, and I must've read the last sentence of the paragraph laid before me a dozen times without it even sinking in. The obnoxious dripping and humming of ancient appliances was starting to make me feel restless.

“It has to be the boots,” Dean groaned, draining the last of his beer.

“Either the boots or the disco ball. But my money is on boots as well,” I sighed, pushing the book away from me and standing slowly, gathering the quickly accumulating litter now scattered around us.

“I'm gonna make some coffee, my brain is fried over how fucking ridiculous this case is,” I ditched the trash in the bin before filling the coffee machine, listening to it whir to life whilst I headed to my bed. I could feel Deans gaze on my back as I rummaged around my bag in search of a specific item.

“What are you looking fo-” he'd started to ask the question but his voice died in his throat when I turned around. I quickly pushed my newly adorned glasses up the bridge of my nose, already feeling the oversized frame start to slip down as I tried not to make a big deal over them.

“What?” My tone was a fraction off aggressive when I realised he was staring. He seemed to snap out of his daze, quickly rubbing the back of his neck and turning back to the laptop screen. He cleared his throat

“I uh, I didn't know you wore glasses,” I could tell from the slight tremble in his voice that his mind was reeling.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No! I mean, no, absolutely not. They look good. The glasses, I mean. The glasses look good. Not on their own, obviously. On your face. They look good on your face. You have a great fa-”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter, filling it to the brim with caffeinated goodness. I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my lips at Deans fumbling, almost finding the whole ordeal a little charming. I sat back down at the table and pulled the books back towards me, also grabbing my pen and tattered notebook.

“The guests at the club mentioned hearing footsteps - so it has to be the boots, right? A disco ball wouldn't make that sound…” my voice trailed off when I realised that, even though Dean was looking at me, he wasn't listening to a word I was saying.

“Earth to Dean?”

He flinched slightly at his name, but felt no shame delving in with a completely off-topic question.

“So how long have you worn glasses?”

“I’ve always worn them,” I slid back into my chair at the table opposite him, not sure whether to laugh at the shocked expression on his face or whether to be concerned about his observation skills.

“What?! No way, I would’ve noticed,” He opened another beer and took a sip before tracing the opening to the bottle over his bottom lip.

“ I only wear them for concentration work, and I have emergency contact lenses if I know I’m going to be around a lot of people as I don’t particularly like how they look.”

Dean made a small disagreeable expression before averting his gaze from mine back to the laptop, taking another swig of his beer. I placed my coffee mug down and settled back into the book I was reading before, and after a few moments I could feel my skin begin to prickle - as though I could feel a pair of eyes on me. I glanced up, my breath immediately catching in my throat. Deans eyes found mine, burning with an intensity that made my heart hammer in my chest. I didn’t want to look away, but under his gaze I felt like I’d been stripped bare, unable to hide my insecurities from an eye that seemed to scorch through to my very core.

“Dean-”

“(Y/n), you should really have more confidence in yourself; I think the glasses look cute as fuck. You should wear them more,” a fierce blush erupted across my face when he spoke, his assured tone leaving no room for disagreement. I tried desperately not to let on that his words held any sort of impact over my decisions so I looked down, away from his scrutiny and simply said:

“Maybe I will.”

He hummed in approval, finally looking elsewhere and I couldn’t stop myself from breathing a sigh of relief when the pressure of his stare was averted.

The evening dragged on and an hour and a half had passed since his loaded comment. I was on the third book we’d checked out of the library, now trying desperately to find the curse that would cause a pair of 1970s glam rock boots to dance for eternity and haunt anyone who tried to wear them. This case was absurd, and I could feel myself growing restless with the small amount of progress we’d made. I huffed out a sigh and leant back in my chair, the faux leather and rusted metal creaking under my weight. Pulling the hair bobble from around my wrist I scooped my hair into a bundle on the top of my head, securing it in place; the sensation of air on my neck seemed to clear some of the fog from my brain. The messy bun was comfortably enough that I could forget it was there, and I allowed myself a stretch before leaning back over the table, grasping my pen. As I began to read the next segment, I absently traced the end of the pen over my bottom lip, running it back and forth a few times before gently nibbling on the end. I heard the shuffling of Dean moving in his seat and a ragged clearing of his throat before the sound of vigorous laptop keys clicking ensued. Without looking up at him I continued reading, the pen still tapping my bottom lip, and when I neared the bottom of the paragraph, I slowly licked the pad of my index finger. My eyes never leaving the words, I turned the page swiftly with my dampened digit, the transition from one page to the next perfectly seamless. Another shuffle from the man opposite followed by a quiet groan filled the silence between us. Pen still between my teeth, I lifted only my eyes to glance at him and noted the dusting of pink across his cheeks and the furrow in his brow. Concluding that he’d had one too many beers I decided to ignore his persistent fidgeting, returning to my previous task on monotonous reading. Several sentences in and I’d almost forgotten Deans restlessness - that was until I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, deep in thought, that I earned myself a throaty groan and an exasperated sigh. I looked up just in time to watch him wipe a large hand down his face, momentarily masking his pained expression.

“Can you not do that? I can’t concentrate when you do that.”

“Do what?” Upon asking my question I absently took the pen between my teeth again, quickly glancing down at the book to place a mental bookmark.

“That.”

“What?”

“That. That thing you do with our mouth, and the pen, and your tongue and your finger. Can you please stop before it kills me.”

The heat beneath my skin was immediate at his admission, knowing my small, absent-minded actions were playing on his mind and making it hard for him to think straight. I instinctively crossed my legs, a fluttering in my lower belly instantly dragging my mind back to the deprived things I’d imagined Dean doing to me in the depths of night. The places I’d imagined his hands travelling, the areas his lips would touch and the sensations his tongue could create. These were deeply, deeply personal fantasies, and right now as Dean looked at me with a restrained hunger, I felt like I was wearing these fantasies for the world to see. For Dean to see.

“It doesn’t help that you’ve been sat over there like a sexy fucking librarian all evening, but every time you do that anything with that mouth - shit, sweetheart you’re driving me insane.” His voice was gravelly as he looked at me with desperate eyes across the table. The overly rational part of my brain had shut down completely, and now the part of my mind that had spent hours conjuring vivid scenes of Dean Winchester ravishing me in my entirety had taken the charge. I stood slowly, taking a moment to reason with myself - unsuccessfully of course - before sinking to my knees in front of my chair. I could see Deans strong thighs were spread wide beneath the table so I crawled forwards, across the cold tiles and placed myself between his legs. Resting my palms softly on his thighs I made him flinch at the unexpected contact. He immediately scooted his chair back, allowing a gap for me to poke my head through - his hand instantly acting as a barrier between the edge of the table and my skull. I got comfortable and allowed myself a moment to gaze up at him, to take in the strained furrow in his brow and the parting of his lips. I observed the way his chest rose and fell in apprehensive breaths, and the way his free hand clenched into a fist on his thigh - like he was so desperate yet so scared to touch me.

“(Y/n)-”

“Dean,” I spoke softly, slowly running my hands up his thighs - delicate palms against rough denim, “you’re a smart boy - you know I wouldn’t do something I didn’t want to do. So please, don’t say I don’t have to do this.”

Dean released a shaky breath the moment my fingers unclasped his jeans. I tugged them down slightly with his help, just enough so I could dip my hand into his boxers and wrap my fingers around his half-hard length. The moment my skin touched his, his head lolled back and his eyes fluttered closed with a breathy moan on his lips.

“Fuck…”

I gently pulled him from his confines, coming face to face with the cock I’d literally dreamt of again and again. I took the scene in, committing to memory the sharp outline of his jaw and the way his long lashes rested on his lightly-freckled cheeks. The way that, every time he breathed in, I could see his defined muscle tone through the thin fabric of his shirt; and with every small caress that my fingers made against his length, it made his fingers twitch and teeth clench. I licked my lips before leaning in and took his tip into my mouth, not giving him a chance to finish sucking in air through his teeth before I plunged his entire length down my throat. 

“Oh FUCK.”

His hands flew to my hair, fingers gripping tight as they loosened strands from the messy bun, causing them to fall around my face. He’d lifted his head to look down at me, pupils blown as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked nothing more than enthralled. Infatuated. Entranced. I moved my head up and down, up and down, again and again to a steady rhythm, pressing my tongue to the underside of his now rock-hard cock to trace every vein and nerve-ending.

“Shit, (Y/n), I didn’t know you could suck cock, like, at all… how’re you s’fuckin’ good…” his voice was breathless as he continued to grip my hair, his head flopping to the side as pleasure started to overcome his senses. I released him with a small ‘pop’, wrapping my fingers around him and smearing the warm mixture of saliva and precum from tip to base.

“Despite everything I told you earlier, Dean, I’m not a virgin - and this certainly isn’t my first rodeo,” my voice came out more sultry than I’d expected and I could feel Dean tremble beneath my palms.

“Fuck, I wish I’d known that sooner,” I chewed on my bottom lip, quickly becoming addicted to the way he writhed at my touch. The way he moaned and gripped my hair tighter when I sucked him back into my mouth was like pure ecstasy, my insides heating up and throbbing with an ache of familiar arousal. Like a thirst that could only be satisfied by him. By tasting him, feeling him on my tongue and drinking in every sound that passed his plush parted lips. The sensation of my glasses slipping down my nose as I sped up my ministrations had me reaching to push them back up, but not before Dean beat me to it. With the rough pad of his thumb he pushed on the plastic bridge, his palm and fingers pressed to my flushed cheek in the most tender, almost heart wrenching caress. I thought my heart might stop when he tilted my face up to his; lustful eyes burning into mine with a vehemence I’d never encountered. I stopped in my tracks, all actions ceased as the spell he’d somehow put me under wouldn’t let me look away. 

“If you keep going like that darlin’ this whole thing is gonna be over before you know it,” his voice was raspy, a rawness to it from the harsh breaths and ragged moans that had been pulled from his throat. He slowly pulled his cock from my spit-slick lips and grasped it loosely, giving himself a few lazy pumps whilst his other hand never left my face. He stared down at me, taking a few moments as though he was committing the sight of me, knelt between his knees with flushed cheeks and swollen lips to memory. Once it seemed that memory was locked away in the depths of his mind, he grasped me by the arm and pulled me effortlessly into his lap, his fingers almost bruising against my skin. Immediately I felt him, in his entirety, press against me with the heat and wetness seeping through my jeans and past my panties. This time when our eyes met, there was a mutual desperation; a need to consume each other and to feel every inch of his heated skin against mine. He pulled me frantically down to him and crashed his lips against mine. 

Some people describe their first kiss with someone like butterflies in their stomach, or fireworks exploding all around them. That wasn’t at all what this was like. Kissing Dean Winchester was different - it was wild and untamed - and describing this experience in such a mundane way would be like adding water to a top-shelf whiskey. Kissing Dean Winchester was like driving the impala at one thirty with the roar of the engine drowning out the rest of the world. It was like trying to ride a wild mustang without a saddle, or daring to stand on the highest peak on Earth with nothing to tie you down. It was exhilarating in the most dangerous way imaginable - and I was now officially a thrill seeker. 

The warm taste of the beer on his tongue and the masculine scent of old leather and cologne was pulling me under. Breathing no longer mattered as long as his mouth was on mine and his fingers were in my hair, now tugging the bobble out and throwing it to the floor. As my hair tumbled free he grabbed under my thighs and stood effortlessly, moving me from his lap to the edge of the table without his lips leaving mine. I winced slightly as the corners and several books and the laptop jabbed into my rear and I fumbled to move everything aside, failing when I refused to unlock our lips. Deans patience was non-existent and with one sweep of his strong arm everything tumbled to the floor - including the laptop. I threw the remaining books from underneath me down to join them, no longer caring for their wellbeing. Before I could pull Dean back in - to allow him to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do to me - he hastily pulled off my boots and tugged down my jeans, throwing every item to the growing pile of chaos beside us. I discarded my sweater and top, but before I let his fingers touch my bra I wanted nothing more than to return the favour. 

“I guess you can forget about that whole ‘never seeing me shirtless’ thing, huh?” he smirked through the sexual fog, not waiting for a reply as his lips hungrily found mine again, his own top falling to the floor. 

“Shut up Winchester. Now are you gonna fuck me or wh- OH FUCK-”

Two thick fingers crept under my panties and plunged into me with zero hesitation, curling up and stroking the sensual cushion deep within my core with skillful precision. 

“Oh yeah? You want me to fuck you?” Even with my face now buried in the crook of his neck, I could hear the smirk in his voice, the tormenting tone going straight to my brain.

“Y-yes- fuck- please,” my knees twitched either side of him, squeezing at his hips with every push of his fingers. I gripped his shoulders tight, nails indenting his skin as I leant back to look at him better. Seeing the beads of sweat on his chest and brow alongside the raw, carnal desire in his eyes could have undone me there and then. He frowned in disapproval when I moved to remove my glasses, the fingers that were just inside me now wrapped forcefully around my wrist.

“What d’ya think you’re doing?” straight away I knew his growling question left no room for negotiation.

“I was just-”

“The glasses stay on.”

“To the end?”

“‘Til I say you can take them off.”

I did as I was told, moving my hand to grip the soft strands on the back of his neck, softly dragging my nails over his scalp and drawing a shiver from his spine and a groan from his lungs. He pulled me against him, crushing his lips against mine one more time. He swiftly pulled away and I leant back on my hands, both of us taking a moment to drink each other in - to bask in lascivious glory. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and looked up at him through my lashes, the lenses of my glasses starting to fog around the edges. Another deep moan rumbled from his chest as his heated gaze stayed locked to mine.

“I can’t wait any longer now that you’ve looked at me like that. Fuck.”

With a large hand gripping the soft flesh of my thigh he pulled my underwear to one side and lined himself up, slowly sinking in. Blissful moans harmonised between us, the rawness of him stretching me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and my quivering thighs wrapped around him, pushing him to the hilt. He secured his large hands on the soft flesh of my hips and held me in place as he slowly withdrew. I could feel him; feel every ridge and vein drag out and then in, out and in, over my most sensitive, intimate, area. The slick sounds of our intimacy  began to echo around the room as he picked up speed, strong thighs working at a feverish pace. With every thrust he pushed against that one spot that made my legs jerk and eyes water, my arms almost giving out underneath me as the table rattled beneath my weight. With the ferocity of his pounding and the heightened sensitivity he’d curated between my legs only moments before, we both knew that neither of us would last long. The sounds of his ragged breaths and throaty moans alone had me clenching around him already, and I know my constricting muscles already had his hips stuttering as I sucked him in with every thrust.

“Fuck (Y/n)- You’re so fuckin’ tight-”

I chewed on my bottom lip as his desperate eyes met mine.

“Oh yeah? Well I feel like you’re cock is in my fucking ribcage- oh fuck-”

He slipped one hand between us, his large palm resting on my lower belly as his thumb drew fast circles around my clit. The immediate contact on my bundle of nerves had my whole body quivering, the knot of an impending climax already starting to twist tighter and tighter in the depths of my core. The way that Dean fucked me into the motel room table was something that I would be able to feel deep in my soul for the rest of my life - my body and entire nervous system having never been worked in such a feral way before. Dean dropped forward and crushed my body into his - one large strong arm wrapped around my trembling body and kept me pressed against him as his head dropped to the crook of my neck. Soft lips pressed hot kisses against my shoulder, teeth gently nibbling the soft flesh as the coil wound and wound, the wave of orgasmic bliss rising higher and higher as my mind emptied, leaving behind only one thought.

Dean.

He was all consuming - all I could see, taste and smell. All I could feel. Oh God could I feel him; driving me to the brink of pure bliss as he frantically sped up - desperate to seek his own undoing as well as my own. One… two… three more fervid thrusts and the peak he’d helped me ascend to shattered around me as I practically screamed his name, the white-hot euphoria scorching my insides as I clamped like a vice around him. 

“Oh shit- (Y/n) I can’t- fuck-”

I grabbed the back of his head and pushed his mouth to mine as he came undone, spilling inside me as he worked through his own white-hot euphoria. 

The kiss we shared evolved from hot and needy to soft and wanting - the sensation of hot cum running down the inside of my thigh and cooling against my skin being the only thing to pull me away. Dean continued to lean over me for a moment, looking down at me with an expression that told me he had so much he wanted to say. Instead, he looked down at his release now starting to pool on the floor beneath us, then to the books and laptop that had been thrown across the floor before turning back to face me with the most devilish grin on his face.

“You know that this mess is all your fault, right?”

I scoffed.

“My fault? How is it my fault?”

“Because, sweetheart…” he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and pushed lightly on the plastic bridge sitting on my nose.

“You put on on those fucking glasses.”

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

Taglist: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @libby99hb @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung

[gloomwitchwrites]

morning after one night stand with 141?

Anon! You have me kicking my feet and giggling over here!! I am cackling so hard omg. I've been waiting for a prompt like this, and I know it has been sitting in my inbox for a while. (Really there are a ton sitting in my inbox and I will get to them all I promise). But after feeling like garbage and having some health issues, this prompt just came to me naturally and I didn't need to force anything. I thought it would be best to tackle this first on my dive back into fulfilling these requests after the 1k follower event.

I went spicy with this one. I won't lie. Because, let's be real, a morning after with any of these four will only end up with you still in that bed. I know I'd fold instantly. No question about it.

Content & Warnings: swearing, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, feelings, oral sex (male & female receiving), sex w/ and w/o condoms, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, aftercare

Word Count: 3.6k

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

John Price

The ceiling fan above you spins slowly. It’s not nearly enough air. Your skin is sticky with sweat, and you’ve hardly slept at all.

The sheets you’re tangled in are thin, but what can you expect from a cheap hotel?

All of this was last second. A moment of tipsy-laced passion. Now you’re reaping the consequences. And the air is too damp, too hot, too—

Fuck.

You glance to your right, at the man softly snoring beside you. All the memories from last night appear before your eyes, replaying like a grainy recording. Images of all the positions this man put you in, and how fucking good his dick felt inside you.

Even now, you still feel the slight sting in your scalp from when he tangled his fingers in your hair while you took him into your mouth.

You need to leave. You need to leave with a thread of your dignity in tact before he wakes up. Before John wakes. You know the name well enough. He had you screaming it nearly all night. Insisted on it, and you happily obliged.

Shifting slightly, you shimmy to the very edge of the bed, trying your hardest to sit up without making too much noise or rocking the bed.  Swinging your legs around, you push up, coming to an upright position, feet planting firmly on the floor. Between your legs is a mess. You don’t have to see it to know.

Most of the night, John used condoms. But when the two of you finally curled up together, John had slid his hand between your thighs and parted you just enough to push right on in. You didn’t protest. You had sighed heavily, and then groaned when he rocked his hips, moving inside you.

In the moment you didn’t care. Not one bit. In a way, you still don’t, but what the fuck were you thinking?

You breathe in deep through your nostrils and then exhale slowly through your mouth. Lingering won’t help. You need to collect your clothes from the floor and leave.

As you open your eyes, and blink, you’re faced with your reflection. The full-length mirror against the wall shows the carnage from the night, but it’s not your appearance that has you pausing.

It’s John.

He’s awake.

And he’s staring right at you.

“You leaving me already?” His voice is husky. Sleep-tinged. The sound of it goes straight to your pussy.

“No,” you reply automatically.

He yawns, muscled chest flexing. “You’re lying, love.”

Your limbs do not cooperate. Move. That’s what you need, but your body isn’t listening. It’s melting instead, wanting to draw back into his arms.

“Am I?”

He nods, and rubs his large hand across his chest. The dark hairs there are tempting. You remember running your hands over those pectorals, and how your fingers dug in as you used him to rock back against his cock.

John pushes up and reaches over, that hand pressing against your back lightly, rubbing soft circles.

Fuck.

“Come here,” he says softly, and yet it isn’t soft at all.

It’s not pleading. It’s not exactly a command. John isn’t demanding anything and yet you are unable to form any will of your own. It’s like John has just taken a shot of whiskey.

Finally, your limbs move, but it is not away from him. Your feet find the bed again, and John is grabbing onto your thighs and waist, drawing you back. The whimper you release when both of his hands grasp the backs of your thighs as he pulls you into his lap is obscene. It’s silly. Downright ridiculous.

But it’s cut off. Cinched.

John’s mouth is on yours and then you’re kissing him. It is open-mouthed. A bit messy. But fuck is it good. His hands slide up your thighs, over the curve of your ass, and meander their way over your back. One arm wraps around your waist while the other comes up to your throat.

He won’t let you leave. He won’t allow you to slip away. John’s hand seems so large against your throat, and yet you don’t care. It’s possessive the way he claims your mouth. When you begin to wiggle, John growls, and you’re flipped onto your back.

John doesn’t cease kissing you, and his hands are everywhere. Your legs effortlessly part from him, and you feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh.

What’s one more? Couldn’t hurt.

You shift your hips, and it’s like John already knows. Drawing your legs up and into a more bent position, there is little effort in the way he buries himself to the hilt. You almost choke on your next breath but that is all you have.

There is nothing lazy or soft about this. John’s hips snap forward and back, skin smacking against skin. He presses his face against the side of your head, lips brushing along the lien of your jaw as he continues to relentlessly fuck you into the bed. Your hands claw at his back, fingers digging for a semblance of steadiness.

“Can’t leave yet,” he huffs against your throat.

Your face shifts toward him and John takes this opportunity to find your lips again, and this kiss is so much different. It is passionate, and speaks to something more desperate than a mere need.

This is only supposed to be a night. A fun, drunken fuck you can latch onto your belt.

But no. That’s not what this is.

Not really.

John "Soap" MacTavish

The air conditioning kicks in, and that is what wakes you. A cool burst of air travels over your skin, making you shiver, pulling you from sleep.

You groan, snuggling against the warmth you’re curled against. It’s a comforting warmth. A bit soft with some hardness too. Not completely comfortable but better than the blast of cold air.

When you sink further against this warmth, it shifts beneath you. Dazedly, you blink, pulling back slightly from this nice heat you don’t wish to leave. Your cheek grazes against something scratchy and then you’re frowning down at chiseled pectorals.

The night before comes rushing forward. It is a battering ram of information, one that sends your already foggy brain into overload.

“Morning, love.” The husky, Scottish voice grounds you, slamming you back to reality.

You twist slightly and are greeted by soft blue eyes and a lazy smile.

“Johnny,” you murmur.

“Remembered my name,” he laughs. He reaches over to grasp the back of your thigh, drawing it over his waist. That large hand of his squeezes gently and you shiver.

“You remember mine?” you ask, teasing back.

He hums softly, and then draws you in, whispering your name against your lips.

This was a one-time thing. A quick hookup. You met Johnny at a pub. He had zeroed in on you instantly, making his way toward you with eagerness like he knew he wanted you out of everyone there that night.

And you had melted. Complied. Fallen for his Scottish accent that only seemed to thicken the more he drank. He cracked jokes, and gave you all of his attention. It was nice to be wanted for once, and when he discreetly asked you if you wanted to go back to his place, you didn’t hesitate.

But the morning is here. It has come calling. And now you’re left with the consequences.

“I need to go,” you murmur, drawing away from him.

Embarrassment is starting to sink in. You have no idea what you might look like at the moment but it can’t be anything other than a mess. Your makeup is likely smeared, hair tangled like a bird’s nest, and you fucking ache everywhere.

Which is fucking understandable because Johnny has stamina. You’ve never been with a man with such quick recovery time. He’d finish, take a couple minutes, and come right back at it like he wasn’t winded at all. He also put you in all sorts of weird positions.

No wonder you’re sore.

Johnny’s face falls slightly, and his arms tighten, keeping you crushed against him. “Don’t want to stay for a bit? Could grab some breakfast.”

He’s offering it to you casually as if your rejection won’t mean anything, but you see the hesitation in his gaze. Johnny wants you to say “yes” and yet you don’t know why. It could just be a show of kindness. An offering of nourishment after the workout he put you through last night. But perhaps it’s something more?

No. That’s silly. Ridiculous.

The two of you met just last night. If anything, the two of you have only known each other for twelve hours. That’s hardly enough to go on.

But breakfast sounds lovely.

When you don’t answer right away, Johnny adjusts his hold on you. His face draws close, gaze lazily scanning your body. Slowly, he moves in, brushing his lips against your shoulder, and then the curve at your neck.

“Or we could stay here for a bit longer.” He presses a kiss to your throat. “Breakfast after?” Johnny’s hand changes position, slipping up to grasp the curve of your ass. His body twists, and you feel his hard cock against the inside of your thigh.

Your pussy immediately clenches, remembering all the things he did to you. You attempt to push the feeling aside but it only grows, flowing outward, zapping your self-control.

“Johnny,” you whimper as his hand ventures further downward, sliding between your legs.

His fingers part your pussy, and the sound of the mess between your legs reaches your ears. The two of you didn’t use condoms last night, but you’re both clean and you went for it. It seems overly loudly in the room, and Johnny’s breathing quickens slightly as he explores.

“Don’t mind me adding to this?” His lips come down on your neck before his teeth lightly sink in.

Your lips part and you cry out as Johnny slips a finger inside your pussy. He takes his time, slowly moving in and out of your pussy. Lazily, his thumb brushes over your clit. He repeats the gesture, and your hips buck against his hold.

“Staying?” he asks, lips brushing over collarbone to descend downward to your breasts.

His actions aren’t fair. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. He’s supposed to kick you out. To tell you to leave either politely or like an asshole. Instead, Johnny is trying everything to get you to stay. And you can’t say you’re all that mad about it because—fuck, this man knows how to use his fingers.

Johnny runs his tongue over your nipple and you nearly come undone right then. Your hips flex forward, pushing your clit against his palm. He inserts a second finger, and Johnny groans against your breasts as your orgasm builds toward its peak.

“Stay,” he says, and you squeeze around those two digits, gasping for air as your fingers dig into his pectorals.

Johnny withdraws and rolls you onto your back. You spread your legs gladly, your orgasm still buzzing under your skin. He boxes you in, the head of his cock pushing in. All that soreness returns but it is fleeting. Once he’s seated entirely inside you, you hardly care.

“I’ll stay,” you gasp as he rocks his hips.

“For breakfast, too?”

“Whatever you want.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

When you awaken, it’s a jolt. A sharp shake.

You blink, not recognizing your surroundings for a moment. Hazy memories bubble up to the surface. There was a man with blonde hair and scars. There was whiskey. Lots of it. A bottle shared between you and him.

His hand kept straying to your thigh, squeezing with intention. You leaned in, asked if he was interested in going elsewhere.

This is elsewhere. And it’s not a hotel.

Simon.

You remember him now. His gruff voice, his large hands on your body, and the way he stripped you down in seconds before his mouth sought supple skin. Your cheeks heat with the memory, and you absently press your palm there, the warmth radiating into your fingers.

Glancing over, you find the bed empty. Reaching out, you test the sheets, finding them cold. Simon has been gone a while, but this is no hotel room. It’s too personal, which means he’s somewhere. This must be his home.

If you’re careful, maybe you can slip out. You sit up, and listen. Quiet. No running water or feet padding softly against the floor. The bathroom door is ajar and the light is off. Simon might be out in the kitchen or living room—or he might be gone.

That’s happened before. You’ve awoken only for the man to be gone, leaving you alone in his home to put yourself together and make an exit at your convenience.

It’s…fine.

Simon was a good fuck. You can’t complain on that front. He knew exactly how to work your body. He found all your spots—all the things that make you melt—and stuck with it.

Sighing heavily, you crawl out of the comfortable bed. Your limbs scream in protest, soreness making itself known in places you’ve never been sore before. It’s a game finding your discarded clothes on the floor. With only a sliver of sunlight from the window, you’re forced to grab and hold the item up in the air to determine if the clothing item is yours or Simon’s.

“Finally,” you mutter, identifying your shirt. It’s halfway over your head when you hear the front door. “Fuck,” you hiss, only tangling yourself further.

You take a step back only to smack your leg against the bed. It sends you backwards, sprawling onto your back. You manage to sit up and wrestle your shirt on when Simon enters the room.

He stands in the doorway holding a plastic bag, and wearing a black tracksuit. Simon’s hair is a bit of a mess like he quickly ran his fingers through it before leaving.

“Hi,” you say weakly, because you can’t stand awkward silence.

“Leaving?” asks Simon, but he doesn’t sound upset.

You shrug, and swallow down the lump in your throat. “What’s in the bag?” you reply, switching tactics.

Simon is quiet a moment before he reaches in and tosses something to you. You manage to catch it without fumbling it.

Glancing down, you look at the box. At the—oh.

“We ran out last night,” he states simply.

It suddenly grows hot in the room.

“We did,” you agree, clutching the box of condoms like it’s a lifejacket.

He bought more. Which means—

“You’re welcome to leave,” he says, crumbling up the bag and setting it on top of the dresser. Simon reaches into his pocket and deposits his keys along with his phone. Unzipping his jacket, Simon reveals bare chest.

When the jacket is gone, Simon is left in only black joggers. He’s on full display. Broad shoulders, muscled arms and chest, large hands that perfectly wrapped around your throat as he bent you over and fucked you from behind.

“Is that what you want?” you ask, but you already know the answer. If Simon really wanted you gone, he wouldn’t have left to purchase another box of condoms.

“It’s what you want,” he replies. Simon is so calm—so casual. He’s not moving away from the door. He stands there, shirtless, gaze intense.

You sigh loudly and glance down at the box of condoms. “You did go out of your way to buy these.”

By the time you glance up, Simon is right there, grasping your throat, easing your head upwards so that you can look at him. With his other hand, he takes the condoms and tosses them onto the bed.

“You’re staying.” It’s not really a question, more of a confirmation.

You nod once and Simon’s thumb brushes over your bottom lip. That soft touch is enough to part your lips, and Simon makes a noise deep in his throat that sounds like a groan.

“Take me in your mouth,” he rasps. “Like you did last night.”

Your hands find the top of his joggers. Sliding beneath the band, you wiggle them down until the base of his cock appears. You pull a bit more, and then it’s free, already hard with a tiny bead of cum blooming in the slit. Your tongue darts out, swiping it up.

Simon shivers, and his hold on your neck adjusts to grasp the back of your head. He doesn’t haul you against him, or force himself down your throat. He is waiting for you, and that action in and of itself is enough to get you to stay a bit longer.

The head of his cock slides over your tongue and you throat him deep. Simon’s eyelids flutter and his groan is sweet. You bottle it up for later with the intention of recreating that sound—to make him moan like that again.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Sunday mornings are lazy mornings.

Some of the alcohol from last night still lingers in your pores, leaving a tightness behind your eyes and at your temples. But it’s not all that relevant.

Right now, you’re floating. There’s a man between your thighs. Well, his head anyway. And his tongue is doing all sorts of things to you.

Kyle’s tongue lazily flicks back and forth over your clit while he pumps two fingers in and out of your pussy. He is in no rush. No hurry. He’s taking his time, and you’re in blissful motion, hips rocking against his tongue, meeting his fingers with each thrust.

He groans softly against your pussy just before he sucks your clit into his mouth. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and your back arches off the bed. Kyle’s name is on your lips. A repetition you cannot cease.

Even with your orgasm blossoming, you feel his smile against your skin. Kyle is smug that he’s done this to you.

What a way to start the day.

Kyle’s fingers slip from your body, and then he’s pushing up, reaching for the box of condoms on the bedside table. He snatches one up, tearing it open quickly.

“How do you want me?” you murmur, not trusting your voice. It’s still hoarse from sleep and the smokes you accepted last night.

Kyle rolls on the condom. His skin is glossy with sweat. The two of you have hardly slept. You thought this would be a quick fuck but it’s something else. Kyle takes his time, and that has drawn this one-night stand out into an all-night fucking marathon.

“You’re good as you are, love,” coos Kyle, settling between your legs again. You both groan aloud when he slides home.

It’s the next day. You should be out of this bed. You should be doing your usual walk-of-shame, and yet you’re still in Kyle’s bed, full of his cock, and completely strung out on orgasms.

“Promise I’ll let you rest after this,” he murmurs, testing with a roll of his hips.

You almost laugh. “You said that the last two times,” you moan as he hits somewhere deep.

“Did I?” he asks, absently.

Kyle is sweet, but he knows how to make you yearn. It’s agony. And it’s fucking beautiful. This isn’t how any of this is supposed to go and yet here you are, getting dicked down by a man who is clearly beyond simple hook-ups.

This man is boyfriend material, and even as your mind starts to drift back into a lustful haze, it’s scheming of ways to keep him.

Shifting slightly, Kyle adjusts your legs, setting a pace that makes each stroke divine. Perhaps it’s the fact that you’re exhausted that it feels so goddamn good. And maybe the two of you will actually rest after this.

The birds are chirping, and traffic is already moving. It’s the morning after, and yet the night seems to have been unending.

Kyle leans forward, and then your lips are connecting. Each kiss is deep. Tender. It’s unfair how nice this is. It shouldn’t be like this, and yet it is, and that makes it all the more painful when you do finally leave. This is not your home. It is his.

This is just an agreement made in a smoky pub. Nothing more.

“Kyle,” you moan, drawing his name out as your orgasm crests.

He smiles against your mouth, his pace stuttering out as the rest of him starts to tense.

“Almost there, love. Promise.” That word, promise, is strained. Kyle’s eyelids flutter, and then he too finds his end.

In the muted dark, the two of you exchange breaths. A car honks outside but it’s a muted thing. You’re hardly paying attention.

“Can we rest now?” you ask. It’s almost a laugh, but it’s also cautious. Maybe rest just means rest for him, and you’re about to be kicked to the curb.

“Yeah,” he smiles, rolling onto his back. Kyle reaches down to remove the condom before pushing himself out of bed and into the bathroom. The light flicks on. Water runs. And then Kyle returns with a damp cloth.

“Open those legs for me.”

You do so obediently, and Kyle patiently cleans you up before returning the cloth to the bathroom.

When he returns, the words tumble out of you unexpectantly. “I just need a couple hours and then I’ll go.”

Kyle frowns as he slides back into the bed. “You don’t need to rush out of here.”

You don’t need to rush out of here.

“I don’t want to bother—” Kyle shakes his head and you cease speaking.

“Come here,” he murmurs, offering himself. You slide up next to him, and Kyle wraps his arms around your body, dragging you into his chest.

Your lips begin to form words but Kyle makes a grunt and you promptly close your mouth. Kyle has you locked in his arms, and it’s comfortable. Normal. This is all too personal, and yet Kyle doesn’t seem to mind.

Maybe you could make this into something else.

Maybe this is him offering more.

Whatever it is, the concept fractures, slipping away as the warmth and comfort of him lulls you to sleep.

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[primalsharkman]

Ce n'est pas censé être.

Kim Minjeong x M Reader | 🔞 Smut

[idol x fan, childhood friends, best friends, falling out, farewells, reconciliation]

Word Count: 2,854

You woke up on a rainy morning, gathering your thoughts as you stare into the ceiling. You start doing your routine, getting up from bed, going to the bathroom to freshen up just enough for your morning jog, and wave at your neighbors along the way.

It was the quiet moment back at home that broke the standard practice that you've cultivated for years ever since you graduated. It was your phone, ringing.

"What could it be?" you thought to yourself as you picked up the phone to check. The message that you read was not something you'd ever expect in a million years. It was your old best friend, Aespa member, Kim "Winter" Minjeong.

Minjeong was someone very near and dear to you. You grew up together, living at the same street from each other, you'd always come to her so you two could walk to school together. She would always greet you with a smile, and even share her biscuits and lunch whenever you would forget to buy some.

It is a distant memory now, but she was the closest person in your life at one point. You shared many moments with her, like falling off an old rusty swing, her just laughing at you while you writhed in pain, the time she got dumped by a boyfriend, and you brought tissues and ice cream to her room to comfort her, you two almost did everything together. Inseparable, as many uncles and aunts would say about the two of you.

You continued reminiscing through your memories, like going to high school together drunk after a karaoke room date the night before, being each others' prom dates because you two were dorks and didn't care about looking for dates, and even the time you shared a kiss in the back of your car after she dared you to do it. It put a smile on your face while thinking about those memories, staring blankly at your phone, seeing her name pop up on the screen.

"Hey, are you in town?" That was what her text read, and you clutched your phone tight, thinking about what to say, since you already had mixed feelings ever the fight you two had, that basically never repaired your once tight-knit friendship.

It was a surprise, the day you told your mom you and Minjeong were no longer speaking, she was beyond devastated to hear it, and even made you cookies to cheer you up. You never told her the reason for it, and mostly kept that to yourself throughout college. You tried dating other girls to keep your mind occupied from thinking about her, but to no use.

"I am." That was the only sentence you could come up with before hitting send, and leaving your phone at the nightstand so you could get a shower in and change clothes.

That day was burned into your memory. It was a weekend, you two were at the park, and she was right there, next to you, looking nervous.

"What did you call me out for? I have exams tomorrow Minjeong." You say as you sit on the swing beside hers.

"It's important that you hear it directly from me." She said, not looking at your direction.

"Go on then?" Staring at her direction, while she still looked away.

"I'm going to leave town. I finally got the letter to become a trainee."

"That's great! I'm proud of you!"

" ... You don't understand, I'm leaving, for good. I can't come back to you, I cannot risk having my image tainted when people know we're very close, they're going to think we dated." She said, tears running down her cheek, but never making eye-contact with you.

"What? That's not going to happen." You try reaching out to her, but she stood up, away from you.

"I know nothing ever really happened between us, but I can't stay. I'm sorry, goodbye." Those were the last words you have heard from her before her debut, when you found out through your old schoolmates that Minjeong had debuted in a girl group under the stage name Winter.

It snapped you back to reality when you suddenly realized how she still remembers your phone number, you never changed it, but you never got another text from her from years ago.

"Okay, can you meet me at that ramen place we used to go to? I need to talk to you." She texted back.

You were unsure, but you replied back anyway, "Alright, what time do you need me there?"

"6pm, please."

"I'll see you there then." You left it at that and put your phone down to go about your day.

It was a weekday, so you were at work. Attempts to concentrate on your tasks were futile as you kept seeing Minjeong in your head, on your screen, and even in the reports you printed. It was staring to get really annoying, but you pushed through it.

You got off at exactly 5pm, and walked through the streets going straight to that ramen place you used to love to go with her to. Sure, it has changed over the years, but the overall flair and feeling of the place never changed, it was just that you grew up.

You got there early, and found a table in the corner of the room for two people, exactly like the spot you and Minjeong used to love to hang out on. Dropping your bag beside you, you took out your phone and waited for her.

As Minjeong went through town, she thankfully wasn't bothered by the locals. She is indeed famous, but she had immense respect from her hometown, and they mostly smiled and waved at her while giving her the space she needed to operate freely.

She was walking slowly, walking around to check the surroundings and admire how everything was better from when she was a kid. She bid hello to her old neighbors, and even the old shopkeepers that she knew from her time there, as she got closer and closer to that ramen shop, her heart starts sinking as she still feels the sting of what she did to you all those years ago.

At this point, you got bored, and asked the owner to make you two bowls of ramen, one for you, and one for Minjeong, customized the way she liked it every single time.

When she arrived, you were there, fiddling on your phone, and the way she looked at you was with both relief, and regret. Her footsteps got heavier the closer she started to get to you, and you didn't even bother to turn to greet her.

She sat down, put her bag down, and put her hands together. "Hello, Y/N. It's been a very long time, huh..."

As soon as she says that, the ramen arrives, and she saw her bowl, made exactly the way she wanted, indicating that you still know her, even after all this time apart. "Oh wow, you still remember."

"I never forgot, Minjeong. You also remembered my phone number." You say nonchalantly as you picked up your chopsticks.

" I never forgot, Y/N." She kept staring at you.

You finally look up to meet her eyes, and immediately, you knew that look. It was of sadness, pain, fear, and regret. The only thing missing was her tears, and it already started flowing. You reached out to her, and wiped it away with your thumb.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..." As you shushing her.

"Don't say that, Minjeong. Don't you dare, say it."

"B-but I really am! I regret... everything..." Tears kept flowing down her cheek.

"Eat your ramen first, okay?" You say as you dig in to yours.

Minjeong just nodded while wiping away her tears as she enjoys a warm meal. The taste still felt the same to her, and she breathed in to feel all of it.

It wasn't long that you two finished your meal in silence, and you finally spoke up, "Is that all you came here for, Minjeong?"

"No, I got you something." She starts fiddling in her bag as she pulls out a tiny box.

"What's that?"

"Think of it as a reminder that, I'm not afraid anymore. I miss my best friend, and damn, am I a big fool for not seeing it earlier." She bows her head and hands it to you on both hands.

You take the small box, and open it to see a bracelet, custom-made with her initials and yours together. "This seems like something for couples Minjeong. What are you trying to say?"

"I want to make up for lost time. I want you to take the one thing you never took from me."

"Which is?" You raised a brow.

"Me. Take my first time. I've always wanted you to take it, and I've never looked for anyone else." She reaches out and holds your wrist.

"How are you sure I haven't lost mine?" You ask.

"It doesn't matter to me. I just... I just want the man who kissed me first, danced with me, sang with me, to fulfill his destiny of making me whole." Minjeong says genuinely.

It all ran by too quickly. You hailed a taxi, told the driver to head to your place, and sat quietly with Minjeong. It was the longest 15 minute drive of your life. The tension was high, you could tell Minjeong was blushing red, you were not showing it, but he is a little excited, and the traffic was excruciatingly slow for your own good.

You held her hand as you took the elevator up to your unit, making sure she had a cap and a mask on to protect her identity, and punched in the code to your place.

As soon as that door opened, you dragged Minjeong inside, closed the door, opened the lights, and tossed her cap and mask across the room.

In that same motion, Minjeong pressed her lips against yours, without hesitation, kissing you passionately. It was a long and sensual kiss, with her yearning for your touches, and grabbing your hair in the process.

You grabbed her ass, earning a small yelp from her, as you got to work undressing her. Starting with her top, which you carelessly removed and tossed across the room, her pants, which she unbuckled and kicked off, and your shirt, removed and tossed as well.

She was absolutely ready, wearing a red lingerie with barely anything to hide. Her panties was absolutely soaked, and you could tell by the darker shade of red where her pussy is waiting.

She bit her lips and unbuckled your pants, kneeling down along with it as she took it down to your ankles. You stared down at her, with her looking back up at you as she slowly admired the growing sensation inside your underwear.

Minjeong doesn't say anything, just grabbing the hem of your boxers and pulling it down, your length hitting her in the cheek.

Blushes formed across her face, but she composed herself and held it in her hand, as she stroked it softly and dry.

Small moans and groans escaped your lips, and you find yourself brushing her hair as she continued working your cock dry.

Her lips came close, and her tongue lashed out, hitting the head of your cock, which was a wonderful sensation, so you asked her to do it again. She nodded and complied, licking the tip of your cock and stroking your length.

"Stop teasing me, suck it." You commanded, and she complied, giving you a nod as she envelops those thick, soft lips around the head of your cock and humming to herself.

It was a wonderful sensation, sure, you are getting a blowjob from Winter of all people, but to you, this was your best friend, someone that you had feelings for, someone that broke your heart, and someone that will always have a place in its debris.

Having her slowly suck your cock is more than just a horny feeling, but a symbol of her apology to you, mending those broken bridges that she once destroyed herself by letting you have a very important aspect of both of your lives.

She slowly started taking in more of your length, getting even deeper as she continued to bob her head slowly up and down your cock, and damn, it felt good.

"Don't forget the balls." You say.

Minjeong deepthroated you, without any problem, and used her free hand to use the dripping saliva from her lips to lubricate your balls and fondle them softly.

It felt heavenly having her play with you like this, and it feels like you're about to bust from just her inexperienced mouth working on you.

"Okay, that's enough." You say sternly as you removed her from your cock and wipe her saliva off her chin.

"Was I good? You didn't cum yet." She says as you guide her towards your bed and helping her lie down.

"Yes, you're good. But I am not going to waste my time on your mouth when I can just have the best part." You say that as you grab her pussy and rub her clit through her panties.

Minjeong moans, " Yes... okay... please..." she pleads as you continue rubbing and stimulating her clit.

You climbed back on top, and slid her panties to the side. The glowing sheen her wet pussy gave is absolutely salivating. Your mind went blank just staring at the beautiful masterpiece that is her wet pussy.

"Hey.. stop staring.. I'll get shy." Minjeong reminded you after you started spacing out.

"Right, sorry." You grabbed the base of your well-lubricated cock and tapped it on her, garnering small whimpers.

She bit her fingers in anticipation of you finally taking her virginity once and for all. You kept rubbing the head of your cock along the slit of her entire pussy and Minjeong just can't stop moaning. She absolutely loves the feeling and it doesn't matter to her how you approach in taking her.

Your cock finally slides in her wet pussy, without any effort, like she's done it before. You know she hasn't, since her reactions say otherwise. She's shaking, blushing, and moaning at the same time.

Her face kept turning side ways as her body starts to adjust to the feeling of having you inside her, and you take her cheek to make her look at you as you slowly kept burying inch after inch deeper and deeper into the caverns of her wet pussy.

She's absolutely ecstatic, not helped by the way you're making her look directly at you, the only boy she ever liked, and the boy she left years ago in fear of her dream being crushed.

The only thing that is being crushed now is her pussy, and you're the number one suspect in making sure it gets used properly.

The feeling throws you off, it was very good, you start to doubt whether you're gonna make it long, but you persevere, and start thrusting deep.

Minjeong couldn't stop herself, moaning louder with each thrust and with each inch she feels withing herself.

"Y-yes! Just like that... Oh yes...!" She is absolutely losing control and she couldn't compose herself.

Minjeong was drowning in pleasure, and so were you. You picked up the pace, and started fucking her faster like your life depended on it.

Your thrusts banged on her again, and again, and again, creating skin to skin sounds that both you and Minjeong loved.

"Minjeong? Promise me something." You say as you're drilling her in balls deep.

"W-what is iT?! Oh! Ah!" Minjeong says with each thrust hitting her spot.

"This pussy is mine. Mine only."

"Yes! only yours! Yes!" She says as she moans and hisses with every strong thrust.

"Good girl."

Those words sent her over the edge, screaming and groaning as she came hard. "Yes! I'm cumming! I'm cumming!"

You slow down and come completely to a stop while rubbing her clit to let her ride out the orgasm, and pull out to let her breathe.

"No... give me that." She reaches and grabs your cock to jerk it off.

"I'm close anyway... I'm going to fucking cum Minjeong."

"On me." She points it at her face while she gives your cock long strokes.

You couldn't hold onto it anymore and release streak after streak of cum on her face.

"Yes... that's warm..." She says with her eyes closed as she catches some of your cum with her mouth.

After cumming, you lied down and gathered a minute or two to compose yourself. She cleaned herself up with a tissue and a towel before wrapping her arms around you.

"Thank you." She said as she slowly closed her eyes.

"You're welcome, Minjeong."

"I'll stay this time. Come with me to Seoul soon?" She asks.

"Okay Minjeong, let's make this work."

"I love you, Y/N. I always have."

"I love you too, my Minjeong. I forgive you."

She smiles as she allows herself to sleep in your arms.

-FIN-

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

A/N: Hey, I know it's been a long time, it's kind of been a rollercoaster year for me. And I've been struggling recently so, I hope whatever I cooked here can help me out. Thanks again for reading and uh, yeah, I hope everyone can get the happiness they need.

[sleepyangelkami]

CLOSE CALL b.blake

☆ WORD COUNT - 4.1K

BELLAMY BLAKE X FEM!READER

☆ SUMMARY - based on the episode, 'the calm', season one, episode eleven. during the hunt for food with clarke and finn, you find yourself faced with death, lincoln saves you before it's too late but it's bellamy who finds you running for your life in the woods.

 ☆ WARNINGS - shy!reader, brief mention of insomnia, blood, gore, fire, grounders, saviour!lincoln, death threat, weapons, violence, assault, panic attack, anxiety, sexism, (3) uses of y/n, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

bellamy loved sharing a tent with you. he loved being able to brush the hair from your face as you slept soundly while he stared at the tent ceiling, wishing sleep would come over him. he loved waking up to you giggling, pushing him to get up as he slept half the day away.

but it was mornings like this, when he was met with the sight of you leaving that he groaned to himself, hands on his eyes. "where are you going, sweetheart?" pasting his softest tone.

you shimmied the wide-legged jeans up your legs, grinning as you swiped his jacket, not your own. "'m gonna go see octavia." she was currently in the smokehouse, cooking. it was some punishment for something devious she'd done with her grounder boyfriend, 'lincoln'.

"princess." his tone was a warning. "she's in the meat tent for a reason, it's not punishment if her best friend goes and visits her."

you weren't too sure why she was being punished, you weren't sure about a lot of things around here. all you knew was that the group weren't too fond of lincoln seeing as he was a grounder but he saved octavia's life once and had done nothing but be kind to her since. that was enough to get him in your good books.

"okay, then i'll be really mean to her." slipping on your shoes and sticking them out to him.

he rolled his eyes, sighing before sitting upwards. he bent down to tie the laces of your shoes, knowing that he should be up by now already. "no you won't."

you ignored him anyway, smiling as you seated yourself on his lap. he wore his black jeans, that you swore up and down about when he wore to sleep and was currently topless.

"i'll be back to you before lunch." pressing a chaste kiss to your lovers cheek, smiling softly.

you left the tent with a pep in your step, hearing bellamy yell the words, "and tell my sister to stop stealing my girlfriend!" but you only grinned, walking quicker.

everyone was out now, bellamy seemed to be the last awake. you smiled at clarke on your way, deeming her a good friend by now and opening the curtain to the meat tent.

"hi, o." octavia whipped around, grinning at you.

"finally." she scoffed. "next time you see my brother, tell him to stop hogging my best friend."

a smile forced its way on your lips at the mere thought. octavia and bellamy were so alike yet they'd never know, both too stubborn to ever admit it. your eyes trailed to the other person in the meat tent. it was john murphy, infamous around the camp right about now. "oh, hi murphy." a friendly smile gracing your lips. he helped you and many others out when you got sick, it was only fair to return the kindness.

"hey, y/n." though he didn't miss the way octavia nudged your side causing you to frown at her. it was safe to say that they weren't the biggest fans of each other right about now.

your eyes trailed across your best friend, seeing her face glisten. "do you want me to take your jacket? you're sweating."

"good idea, thanks." before the girl could shimmy the jacket off and pile it in your hands, the sound of someone else's voice filled the tent, not murphy's either.

"let's get this party smokin'!" del was a member of bellamy's posse, the one you weren't so fond of, tossing firewood into the fire causing you to frown.

octavia must have shared the same expression. "you don't want the fire too big so maybe just try to knock it down with some wet leaves." you were too embarrassed to open your mouth, inching your way closer to octavia. you never found yourself one to speak freely in front of others.

"you get that from your boyfriend?" the boy retaliated. "grounder-pounder."

but as shy as you may have been, your face suddenly contorted to a deeper frown. you looked at octavia who merely kept quiet, turning and fixing the hanging meat. luckily, murphy spoke instead. "she's right. a hot fire isn't gonna preserve the meat as well."

"can't take the heat? get out of the smokehouse." he looked between the two, knowing better than to throw around looks to you. "you should be kissing our asses for being back allowed in this camp."

"leave them alone." your shaky voice still managed to speak, you followed the boy despite octavia grasping your arm. "i'll tell bellamy."

the boy suddenly froze in his tracks. he turned to look at you, biting his lip with a scoff before turning back around, leaving.

you sighed awkwardly, wishing the entire encounter hadn't happened but as soon as you turned around, you felt smoke engulf you. del should have listened when octavia told him to lay it off with the leaves. you found arms engulfing you, octavia's familiar scent filling your nose. she all but dragged you out of the smokehouse.

the tent went up in flames faster than you could blink.

octavia passed you off to bellamy while a cough ripped at your throat. bellamy questioned his sister's wellbeing, she stated that she was fine, dragging a hand across her forehead. "you okay? are you hurt?"

you shook your head, coughing while bellamy wrapped a hand on the back of your head.

"this is all your fault." murphy stood, his hands outstretching as he pushed del backwards. "we told you it was too much wood!"

bellamy only let go of you once del and murphy began throwing swings at one another, as if it would change a thing. he split the two up, yelling at everyone to stop.

silence engulfed the group. you were next to octavia, a gentle hand rubbing on her back, her face covered in smoke. "bell, now what the hell are we gonna do?" she yelled causing everyone to turn. "that was all our food!"

the food was burned to a crisp. even when people managed to stop the fire, the food was already destroyed. clarke and bellamy looked over possibilities but they only had enough nuts and water to last them a week, two if they were lucky. clarke suggested they hunt.

it wasn't everyday that you were left outside the gates. "can i come?" you excitedly tittered, despite the appauled look on bellamy's face.

"i can take care of her." clarke spoke before he even got the chance to refuse. multiple times, you'd left the gates with clarke, talking on about things that she hadn't a notion about, chiming in with a hum every few seconds.

but she always took care of you, bellamy couldn't dispute with that. "with the entire grounder army out there?"

you slumped but clarke only raised her eyebrows. "and how do you expect her to defend herself if she's starving?"

he knew she was right, as much as he would have prefered to believe she wasn't.

he lined people up, splitting them into groups and handing out guns but keeping it so that one person per group had a gun, the last thing they needed was to run out of bullets right before the grounders hit them. truth was, bellamy didn't know if you were safer out there than you were in here.

you were paired with clarke, finn and a boy called myles.

"don't stay after dark, you hear me?" bellamy was zipping the zipper of his jacket around you but it was clarke who he handed the gun to. "you see grounders, you run back, i don't care who you leave behind."

"i'll be fine." you stretched out the last syllable, placing your hands on the man's shoulders as he was currently crouched in front of you. "y'worry too much."

"i have to worry." he assured. "you don't worry enough." he pressed a kiss to your head as you grinned, then leaning in and pressing one against your smile. "i love you."

"i love you too." you couldn't help but giggle, turning on your heel. "see you soon!"

bellamy watched with a twisting gut, feeling helpless but anxious all at once. he would have gone with you, watching your every move but being the leader of the camp made that incredibly hard for him. he sometimes wished he wasn't in charge, maybe then you could be his only priority. but if he didn't, who would?

"you know, i don't think you're actually allowed to say that." myles was a sweet kid, you supposed but he had some pretty out there views. the forest was quiet, too quiet while finn and clarke trailed above you.

you supposed hanging back with myles couldn't be worse than whatever conversation they were having. "why not? is it so bad to want a traditional marriage?"

"not at all." you answered swiftly. "but it's supposed to be a choice." by now, finn had already caught two squirrels. "the woman should be able to decide if that's what she wants and if you want that, then be with a woman who does too. you can't just force someone into being someone they're not."

"well, we wouldn't have this problem if women just stuck to what they were good at." the comment made you frown.

"myles, can you just be quiet for a second?" the words came from clark who shared the same look of distaste on her own face. you watched as she and finn studied the tracks on the ground, apparently belonging to a boar. "what is it?"

you followed where they sat, kneeling down beside finn to see what was wrong while myles hovered over you all. "these tracks..."

once you got a closer look, you could see how close together they were, how stuck in the mud they truly seemed. "they're perfect."

"too perfect." finn added, his eyes casting upwards. "we're the ones being hunted." someone had planted the boar tracks.

instantly, a shiver ran up your spine while myles stood up, pointing his gun as he glanced around the woods. "i don't see anything." as if on command, there was a swooping sound and suddenly, the arrow landed in his leg, the next in his shoulder.

you could have screamed, instead you gasped out the boy's name, looking to clarke for help. your hands instantly sat on the wound, covering it so blood didn't leak out, clarke sat at the other side, doing the same to his shoulder. "guys, come on, we gotta leave him." finn was adamant, rushing the girls forward.

"we can't just―" you didn't get to finish your sentence for something hard hit you over the head and suddenly you were laying flat on the ground, dizziness swirling your vision. you could vaguely make out a grounder coming from behind finn and doing the same, you didn't see what they did to clarke.

then everything became nothing at all.

it turned black.

𝜗𝜚

when you woke, you were being forced onto the ground. your hands were bound in front of you and your knees smashed against the cold gravel, you could feel the flesh break apart, little cuts littering against your skin. finn and clarke were in the same position, sharing glances of worry.

your brows were knit together as your eyes scanned where you were, some kind of cave though it also appeared to be a room. your first thought was bellamy, how worried the boy seemed when you left, you could only imagine the worry when you didn't return. you'd imagine by the lighting that it was well after sunset.

"we walked for about three miles." finn began to whisper. it appeared as though he and clarke hadn't been hit as hard as you had. "after crossing that creek, another two or so before we got to the road."

"i don't think it matters, finn." clarke's voice had a sense of desperation in it. "they didn't blindfold us which means they don't care what we saw. they're gonna kill us."

a cold feeling settled in the base of your stomach, bile rising to your throat. bellamy was right, it wasn't safe out here and you just had to go and get yourself killed.

two grounders pulled you up by your shirt, you let out a whimper as they shoved you forward, others doing the same to clarke and finn. they led you down the cave's hallway and into another room where other grounders were waiting then shoving you right back on the ground.

a woman stood in front of you, wearing a long black coat. she unleashed her sword, suddenly stalking towards clarke. you made a move. "wait." you tried, shoving yourself in front of her but you were quickly hauled back by one of the grounders.

but the woman didn't kill her, on the contrary, she cut the ropes on her wrist, untying her. they shoved clarke to her feet, uncovering a girl who laid across a table, gasping out in pain. "help her. if she dies, they die." you gulped, turning to finn who shared the look of fear. "her name is tris."

"i can't do this." clarke looked at the body, turning her so she could see her face. "i don't have any equipment."

"we'll provide you with what we can."

"why do you think i can save her?"

"lincoln told her." finn chimed in.

"yes." the woman answered. "our healer is gone, there's nothing we can do for her. for their sake, i hope you can."

"clarke." finn's eyes were glued to the blonde's, adoration filling them. "you can do this."

the woman and the rest of the grounders began to clear the room until clarke's voice stopped them. "wait. what happened to her?"

a dark look was in the woman's eyes. "she was on the bridge when your bomb exploded. you did this to her."

𝜗𝜚

alcohol stained your hands, blood too.

"it's as sharp as it's gonna get." grounders now filled the room, watching as clarke did everything she could to save the girl. she was hit in the chest and was loosing blood, she needed more and desperately so.

"okay, thanks." clarke snapped the syringe from finn's hand who'd been sharpening it against the ground.

you were busy holding a cloth to the girl's chest, hoping to stop the loss of blood but it wasn't doing a great job. clarke stained the needle with bleach, hoping to rid it of any bacteria while your eyes scanned the girl's face. she couldn't have been older than fifteen, how could anyone send her to battle in the first place?

she was a child.

"okay." she stood in front of the 'leader' who went by the name of anya. "i'm gonna need your blood."

a grounder placed his hand in front of anya, pulling her away. "no." was his answer.

"you're from the same tribe, it's the best match we're gonna get." clarke was adamant but so was anya, neither of them willing to take the risk.

"clarke, she's gonna die." your hands were shaking desperately, tears floating your eyes. "use mine! just use mine!" clarke took you up on the offer, pulling your hands from the girl's body and sticking the syringe into your arm. you winced as she sucked the blood into the syringe, you instantly felt sort of dazed but shook it from your head.

clarke handed the syringe to finn and she searched the girls arm. "i can't find a vein." frantically searching her. "she's clamping down, she's lost too much blood."

your faint voice could be heard. "clarke..."

"oh, come on." desperately trying to save her.

but you shook your head, icy fear withering you away. "clarke, she's not breathing."

a simple sentence that silenced them all.

clarke backed away, meeting in the middle between you and finn while anya stepped forward with her knife, cutting a braid from the girl's hair and nodding to one of the grounders. he picked the girl up, gently as possible, leading her out of the room.

you couldn't bear to look, chest feeling hot.

anya suddenly turned to the grounders in the room. "take them away." eyeing you who held your tied hands close to your chest. "kill them."

your breath caught in your chest. "wait." tears filled your eyes as one of the grounders grabbed you, hauling you upwards. "wait, wait, wait, no, no, no, please." he harshly pushed you forward, carrying you away.

"no, no, no, no, please!" one grounder held clarke back as she pushed at him, trying to get to you. "no, i did everything i could, please!"

but the sound of her voice suddenly faded out as they carried you away. you pushed at them, thrashing in their arms but it was no use, the grounder hauled you away from the room. he suddenly set you down, holding your tied wrists down as his face came close to yours. "don't move." his gruff voice could be heard as you looked away, tears filling your eyes.

another grounder walked behind you while he walked in front of you, leading you to the front room of the cave. your mind suddenly turned to bellamy, how worried he must be. you could see the darkness from the entrance.

you couldn't help it, you ran.

but you didn't get far. instantly, you were picked up by the grounder from behind. you whimpered, thrashing against him but it was no use, he shoved you inside the room, practically throwing you. your head hit off the stone floor and you brought your hand to the back of your hair, metallic liquid staining it.

you pulled it away, shaky eyes spotting the blood dripping down your fingertips.

"w-wait." tears pooled your eyes, fear lacing your tone. "please, please, i didn't do anything wrong, please don't do this―"

you gasped out as a grounder took a fist of your hair into his hand. "your punishment shall be death by a thousand cuts." and before you could take in what he said, you felt a knife scratch across your face, cutting your cheek.

you cried out, hand coming to grab your bloodied cheek as you dragged your body backwards, crawling into yourself. a fat tear rolled down your cheek as your body caved in, huddling your knees up to yourself.

it was no use to cry out and beg them to stop, the grounders were simple beings, once given an order, all they could do was follow it. but still, your mouth uttered the whisper, "please." at the same time as you felt a slash against your left leg.

suddenly, a sword crashed through the grounders head. this time, you screamed. the sight was horrific, blood spewed outwards and you held a hand over your mouth. the body dropped to reveal lincoln, the man who adored your best friend more than anything.

"natrona." the grounder suddenly whispered, the word meant 'traitor'. he yelled out and charged at lincoln who pushed him backwards, guarding him against the wall.

lincoln stabbed a sword through the grounder's abdomen, who yelled out again. "go!" lincoln yelled to you, staring at your terrified form. "go, now!"

and you had no choice.

a whimper left your lips as you ran forwards, lungs collapsing. you worried for lincoln, not wanting to leave him alone but if you stayed, it'd meant lincoln did it all for nothing.

your feet ran towards the exit, tears swamping you as your legs moved at a super speed, running the fastest you'd ever run in your life. never, had your calves burned like this and never had your lungs ached so horribly. all you could see was the moment you were thrown into the room, the horrifying look on the grounder's face. you'd do anything to escape it.

running as though your life depended on it, and perhaps it did.

you managed to look backwards, worried something or someone was following you but as you looked back, you felt yourself run into something solid.

someone.

your mouth opened to scream at the same time as a hand wrapped around your mouth clamping down on it as he turned you to hide behind a tree.

your eyes opened to reveal bellamy, staring at you with eyes full of concern. "what happened?" he frantically searched you as his hand left your mouth. "why are you bleeding? where are the others?"

"b-bells." your cry shook your voice, eyes turning behind you, you swore you could see people between the trees, though they vanished as soon as they appeared. "we have to go, we have to leave. they're-they're gonna find us."

bellamy had never seen you so shaken, shallow breaths making way to your throat but not seeming to find their way out. "hey, hey, look at me." his hands grabbed at either side of your face. even in the darkness, you could make out his pretty dark curls and his enlarged brown eyes. "you're okay, 's just me, you're okay, sweetheart."

and you couldn't hold yourself back any longer. you threw your arms around him, holding him close as nervous sobs wracked your body, chest heaving out as if it were on fire.

"'s okay, you're fine." his hands smoothed your back, doing his best to reassure you but by no means did your shallow breaths slow. "you're safe, princess."

"can we go?" you pulled away, nervous eyes scanning the forests. "please, bells, i wanna go home."

he couldn't deny your scratchy voice or blotchy cheeks. "okay, okay let's go, angel." he helped you walk though you stumbled better than you walked. his eyes glanced down at the blood seeping through your jeans. "your leg." he didn't bother to inspect it, merely hooking his hands around your legs and lifting you up.

your head lolled against his shoulder, arms around his neck.

you began to feel dizzy but bellamy carrying you seemed much better than trying to run again. still, your eyes danced everywhere they could, searching high and low for a grounder, a surprise attack.

you must have run far for it didn't take long for the clear vision of the camp to fall into line's view. as soon as the gates opened and bellamy carried you inside, you found air falling back into your lungs.

"y/n?" the sound of octavia's voice was the first to fill your ears. you must have looked a wreck, covered in blood, carried limp in bellamy's arm. "oh my god, y/n. what happened?" though her voice was directed at her brother, not you.

"it was lincoln." your scratchy voice suddenly spoke, causing her brows to crease. "lincoln saved me."

her eyes fluttered and questions began rolling in. raven suddenly stepped forward, demanding to know where finn was, others began to question about clarke. suddenly, you couldn't breathe again. "okay, listen up!" bellamy's voice rang through the camp, silence followed. "everyone get back to your tents! we'll continue the search in the morning!"

he didn't wait for them to follow his orders, knowing they would anyway. instead, he carried you towards a tent.

everything was suddenly spinning, nothing seemed to make sense. black dots began to cloud your vision and you couldn't see which tent he had carried you to. you could see a woman, very vaguely and he was speaking to her, at least he looked like he was. his lips were moving but you couldn't register the words coming out of his mouth.

the girl must have been something to do with a medic because you could feel her lifting your head up and inspecting between the strands of your hair. you saw bellamy's face contort, but it was turning to mush, practically a mere squiggle now.

he stepped backwards and your hand suddenly reached him.

he looked back to your face, eyes softening. it was apparent that you weren't really there and how could he blame you? the blood loss was already obvious.

"don't..." it seemed like a chore to get syllables to pass your lips but nonetheless, you willed yourself to move, grasping his large fingers in your hand. "don't leave me."

"'m not going anywhere, princess." and to prove it, he sat against the chair next to you, letting the woman inspect your wounds. "okay? you can rest now, i'm right here."

through the haze, his voice was the only thing your mind could grasp to.

you slowly nodded as your eyes fluttered shut.

"you're safe, sweetheart." being the last thing you heard before everything went black.

main masterlist/bellamy's masterlist

[megalony]

Near Death Experience

Okay, this is my very first imagine for Gladiator II, for Emperor Geta x reader.

Thank you very much @missdreamofendless for the request, I hope you like it and I hope everyone else will like this and want to read more for this fandom/ character. Please let me know what you think.

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Main Masterlist

Summary: Geta's wife is a very reserved, sensitive soul. She doesn't often attend the games, but when she agrees to watch the Gladiators in the colosseum, a bold arrow is aimed at her.

Enjoy.

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Closing her eyes, (Y/n) tilted her head back until she could feel the bright, midday sun beaming down on her skin. Sometimes it felt like the sun was close enough that she could skim her fingers across the hot flames. With her eyes closed and her head aimed up towards the beacon of light, it felt like the sun was reaching out to her, gliding hot flickering flames across her skin that was beginning to burn deliciously.

Being outside was always preferrable to being indoors. At least, in moments like these, it was preferrable.

When her husband was holding meetings with the Senate and the high families of Rome, (Y/n) preferred not to be around.

It was nothing to do with Geta. If anything, (Y/n) found his demanour and the way he controlled the meetings delightful. He had such a calming presence about him, the way Geta sat during those meetings was so relaxed with one leg crossed over the other and his head inclined to one side and a placid yet interested expression on his pale face. And within a second his demanour could change.

He could take charge of the room, he could make a stand or put his foot down and insist on changes or control what way the situation turned. And he could calm his brother down when Caracella went into one of his rants or one of those exciteable or frustrated moods.

Watching Geta in those moments was something (Y/n) enjoyed and she could never stop herself from smiling and melting in awe of her husband.

It was the rest of the people in the room who (Y/n) couldn't cope with.

The hall in which these meetings took place had high ceilings and thick stone walls and pillars of marble. Everything that was needed to create a horrible echo that vibrated through (Y/n)'s skin and had her quivering on the spot.

Raised voices and screeching echoes didn't bode well with (Y/n). Geta always seemed to be intrigued with how sensitive she was to noises, he liked the fact that she could hear conversations happening in the next room if she found herself focusing on them enough. But he hated how loud events and people could be and how it would upset his wife.

Geta saw the distress it caused his wife when people raised their voices or when laughs and shouts would echo off the walls. Loud clatters would make her shudder and cringe. Yells and the clinking of swords would have her cowering into his side and once, during a brawl, he had seen (Y/n) clasp her hands desperately over her ears to ward away the noise.

To stop his wife from becoming distressed, Geta excused (Y/n) from any all all meetings she didn't want to attend, and he would raise his knife to anyone whop dared question why she wasn't present.

It was one of the things that made (Y/n) love him even more. He made sure she wasn't required to answer to anyone but him.

With a tender smile on her face, (Y/n) opened her eyes and glanced down to the companion by her side.

"Come, Arla." Her fingers skimmed across the top of the dog's head, tangling her fingers into the long strands of golden yellow fur that always reminded (Y/n) of Geta, especially when the sun glimmered down on the fur just right.

Arla had been (Y/n)'s pet since before she married Geta; she had been a present from him.

Much like Caracella had Dondus who seemed to be his best friend and confidont, (Y/n) had Arla.

(Y/n) wasn't like her brother in law, she didn't donne Arla with clothes or hats or a leash, she had no need. Arla never strayed from her side whereas Dondus had a tendency to scuttle about the palace if he wasn't watched carefully. But (Y/n) did think of Arla as her friend. Someone she could be herself around.

Someone who didn't roll their eyes or tut whenever (Y/n) would flinch at loud noises or steer away from people in favour of being in her own company. Arla was a comfort to (Y/n).

She didn't have many people she could be comfortable around or confide in. The only people (Y/n) had were Geta and Caracella, and it was hit and miss whether she could confide in her brother in law, with his tempermental moods. At least when she had Arla, (Y/n) never felt like she was truly alone.

Her sandals glided against the gravel and sand, kicking up flecks as she moved towards the fountain in the centre of the small garden. The palace had many gardens, some hidden within the centre, some dotted around the outskirts. This was a secluded, square opening in between some of the chambers, it didn't really count as a garden when there was nothing growing here to be tended to or shown off.

But there was a lovely marble fountain that (Y/n) found soothing. The water was always quiet yet steady, the trickling sound of the water sprinkling down sounded like the faintest beginning of rain and at this time of day, the sun was as bright as ever.

(Y/n) sat down on the smooth edge of the fountain and crossed one leg over the other. She tilted back until the sound of the water was all she could hear and her hands twitched and her fingertips glided against the soft stone beneath her to hold herself up.

She felt Arla take pride of place, sitting beside her right leg with her head gently resting on (Y/n)'s knee. Her companion was always so eager to simply sit in peace like this, never fussing or barking or becoming restless.

(Y/n) preferred Arla's company to that of any maid in the palace. The servants were kind, most of them, but there was always a stilted edge of conversation. Most didn't speak unless spoken to, and (Y/n) always felt like she had to be careful with what she said around them. Gossip spread like fever in a palace like this.

And it hadn't escaped (Y/n)'s notice that many of the female servants liked to get close to both Emperors; especially Geta. They fawned over him in a way that made (Y/n) feel uneasy. But then again, Geta had eyes for her alone and if anyone else got too close, his patience would soon wear thin and he would snap at them to retreat. There was nothing for (Y/n) to fear in that department.

She sat for a while, listening to the sound of the water behind her and trying to let her mind wander off.

It was nice to be able to walk around without any servants or guards following her. At (Y/n)'s timid request, Geta had ordered the guards not to follow her. They could keep a note of where she was, but because (Y/n) didn't leave the palace- certainly not without Geta- she didn't need to be followed around every moment of the day.

"I thought I would find you here."

That quiet yet striking voice brought (Y/n) out of her thoughts and she tilted her head forward, opening her eyes quickly to see her husband advancing towards her.

His pale face was angled to one side, making the vibrant golden crown sat on his equally bright strands glitter in the sunlight. The brightness contrasted to the pale makeup covering his face and the darkness painted around and especially beneath his eyes.

Sometimes (Y/n) wondered if Geta was an embodiment of what the God of Death may look like. Pale, haunting skin, dark-rimmed eyes that could pierce and reach the soul. A calm demanour, a stern expression and an aura that said he wouldn't bargain with anyone, at any cost.

Something seemed to melt in Geta's eyes when they set on his wife and he advanced towards her with a determination in his movements and his expression.

He perched down on the fountain on (Y/n)'s left side, one hand moving to hold her thigh while he leaned in towards her and attached his lips to her exposed shoulder.

(Y/n) pushed off her hands so she was sitting up rather than reclined back towards the water and her head inclined to the left. She found herself smiling when she buried her nose into Geta's hair as his face stayed tucked into the crook of her neck.

"Did your meeting fare well?" (Y/n) curved her arm around Geta's back when he seemed to lean into her more and she heard the small grunt he let out. She imagined if he wasn't burrowed down into her side like this, he may have rolled his eyes or pulled a gaunt expression.

"As expected. How are you?"

(Y/n) found herself smiling softly and nuzzling her cheek into Geta's hair when his hand moved from her thigh to take her other hand. She uncrossed her legs and set to tapping her sandals softly in the gravel while her hand entwined with Geta's and he finally lifted his head from her shoulder to look at her.

The concern in his eyes was overwhelming. (Y/n) knew anything she said was always taken to heart. If she told him she felt unwell he would be calling for the doctor. If she said she felt the happiest she had ever been Geta would have a beaming smile from ear to ear, and he would strive to do even better. If something was bothering her, she could rest assured it would be at the top of Geta's agenda.

"Much better now you're here." She was fine to wander about the palace on her own, but (Y/n) always felt better when Geta was beside her.

Sometimes it was because she felt like no one would look or dare to speak or mess with her when Geta was by her side. Other times, it was simply because she wanted his company and being parted from him made (Y/n) feel at a loss for what to do with herself.

She found herself focusing on the feeling of his thumb stroking along the back of her hand and she watched the way Geta looked down at their hands before he looked up at her.

"There will be another game tomorrow, I've been told the gladiators are training through the night for tomorrow's event. Will you join us to watch?"

It was soothing how Geta asked (Y/n) rather than gave an order or command. They both knew if he ordered for (Y/n) to join, she would always comply. He was her husband and her Emperor, if he asked (Y/n) to do something she never liked to refuse and whatever Geta asked was never anything that would upset or put (Y/n) at risk or make a fool out of her in any way.

He would never do that.

If (Y/n) didn't want to attend some of the games or events that were held at the colosseum, Geta never forced her to go. He was understanding. He knew the games could be rowdy.

The crowds were unruly and their cheering and screaming and throwing of food or flowers was far too loud and unsettling for (Y/n). The royal box was the best view and secluded from the rest of the colosseum, but it did nothing to change the volume of the games. The gladiators weren't much better, their guttural screams, their roars of triumph or deathly defeat were overwhelming.

And Geta knew (Y/n) didn't like witnessing the massacres of animals and fallen men. She would divert her gaze or tuck her face into his arm to avoid witnessing those things.

"Will you accompany me?" The soft tone to Geta's voice had (Y/n)'s heart fluttering in her chest like a wild bird demanding to be released.

And when he brought their entwined hands up so he could press a delicate kiss to her knuckles, she found herself nodding.

"Of course."

These games were different. This was a course of games set up in the honour of Rome and its Emperors. This was the strongest of gladiators fighting undefeatable odds in the name of sport and honour. This was a celebration and Geta wanted to have his wife there by his side.

He wanted to enjoy the day with her, to have her there with him while the celebrations occured. He didn't like to be parted from her company.

It never sat well with Geta when he attended the games but knew (Y/n) was back at the palace. Knowing she had servants and guards around her wasn't comforting because she was still out of Geta's sight. He couldn't be around her to protect her himself.

"Thank you."

His hand left hers in favour of cupping her chin and tilting her head up in his direction so he could steal a kiss from her lips.

His touch was gentle, so much so that (Y/n) felt like she were touching a mirrage, as if Geta wasn't really there in front of her at all. But she could feel her lips tingling from his touch and how he was stroking his thumb along her chin and the way the end of his nose nudged into hers.

With his head inclined towards hers and their foreheads touching, Geta blocked the sun from (Y/n) which now shone down on his hair and illuminated the golden crown woven into his hair like it was now part of his skin.

(Y/n) brought her hand up to cup the side of Geta's face, smoothing her thumb along his sharp yet deathly pale cheek.

She knew it would be best if she attended the games too. Geta was increadibly understanding and relaxed when it came to (Y/n), he didn't force her to join in the meetings or the rest of the games or attending banquets and entertainment held in their honour at counsellor's homes.

The least (Y/n) could do for Geta was turn up to the games and hang onto his arm. She could show support and show that she was more than happy to be by her husband's side and watch the events thrown in his honour. It was (Y/n)'s place to be beside Geta and it was her duty as his wife to honour him and show support.

That thought made her smile against his lips and she leaned in close until both arms were deadlocked around his neck and their chests were pressed together.

If the crowds and the noise got too much, (Y/n) knew she would have Geta there by her side to calm her down and make sure she was okay. He would keep her safe.

And he wanted to have her there by his side, that was an offer she simply couldn't refuse.

***

A shiver tore down (Y/n)'s spine as they approached closer and closer to the viewing box of the colosseum.

She could hear the crowds from the carriage on their way from the palace. She could hear their shouts and applause as they entered the colosseum and made their ascent through the dark corridors. Anxiety bubbled up inside of her and seemed to radiate off of her in waves, for she felt the way Geta stepped closer to her side.

Both her hands were latched around Geta's arm and she was close enough now that they were almost moulded into one being. But the feeling of his lips pressing down against her temple was soothing.

Caracella was the most eager out of the three of them. He walked with a skip in his step and a broad, slightly unhinged smile on his face. He had left Dondus back at the palace for now, he wanted his full attention to be on the blood and gore that would soon be littering the scene ahead of them.

Walking towards the box made (Y/n) feel like they were ascending towards Heaven. The sun was so bright she could scarcely see and relied on Geta to steer them through the doors towards their seats.

As always when (Y/n) joined to view the games, there was another seat set out for her.

Both Emperors ruled together, one was no more in charge than the other. But when Geta married (Y/n), she then gained as much power and status as them. The three of them would sit at the very front of the box which was reserved for the Emperors and the most highest of counsellors and senates.

Three chairs which were almost as elegant as thrones were lined together, painted beautiful shades of berry blue with hints of grey and silver. And the intricately carved backs of the chairs were adoned with carved eagles and painted the most beautiful shade of gold.

They sat as they usually would when they were attending public events like these. (Y/n) in the centre with Geta on her left, and Caracella on her right.

As soon as they were sat down, (Y/n) began smoothing her hands along her crystal white dress that fanned out towards her ankles and hung on her shoulders with thin straps and golden hoops. She picked this dress because she knew it was one of Geta's favourites. It left her shoulders exposed as the sleeves began part way down her arms. Both sleeves were made of a soft see through silk that hung from (Y/n)'s arms like capes.

There were ruffles sewn into the centre of the dress that was low cut, leaving her chest exposed to his adoring eyes. And the golden belt around her middle was a symbol for Geta's golden hair and the crown sat on top of his head.

"Okay?" Geta's voice was hushed and murmured against the shell of (Y/n)'s ear as he leaned over the armrest to lean on her chair. Each chair was pressed so close together that the arm rests were almost overlapping, but it wasn't enough for Geta. He was always so desperate to reach out and drag his wife onto his lap and share one chair with her.

"Hm, I'm okay." (Y/n) nodded and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek which seemed to ignite his smile and send his mood flaring higher than before.

She watched with a tender smile as her husband and brother in law stood up to give their speech and announce that today's games could begin.

Once Geta sat back down, he crossed one leg over the other and rested his left elbow on the arm of the chair. But his head and body inclined to the right towards his wife; he would always gravitate towards her.

He tangled his right hand with (Y/n)'s, bringing her hand close enough so he could press a kiss to her knuckles before he stretched his arm over to rest their hands on her lap. He knew (Y/n) would want to fiddle with the rings that adorned his fingers, a habit that would give her something to focus on and keep her calm when the crowds and the commotion started to get overpowering.

When the crowd roared as the first announcement bellowed out, Geta felt the way (Y/n) shuddered at his side.

Uncertainty cast in his eyes that immediately overlooked his wife. He squeezed her hand and leaned a little closer when (Y/n) turned in his direction. Her free hand clutched at his arm and she laid her cheek on his shoulder, subtly muffling one ear against his shoulder to block out the volume of their subjects.

(Y/n) found herself staring at Geta's robes every now and then. He and Caracella usually adorned golden robes. Gold was the colour of splendor and money and it matched their vibrant hair and contrasted to their naturally pale skin.

She liked the mix of red and gold on his robes, it stood out and made a lot of eyes divert to him.

"The gladiators, led by the barbarian!"

Geta kept his hand deadlocked in (Y/n)'s, but he lowered his leg back down and leaned forward in his seat to lean over the edge of the balcony. He wanted to watch the inferior ship sail out into the centre of the colosseum that had been flooded with salt water and filled with the deadliest of sea animals.

When the second ship entered the water and the game officially began, (Y/n) leaned forward a little to watch the entrance.

She found herself observing the colour of the water more than the ships that were slowly turning to face one another. When she glanced to her right, she found Caracella with a bright smile on his red lips and his hands were twitching as he sat forward and bashed his fists down on the arms of his seat in eagerness.

Blood and gore was something both Emperors delighted in whereas (Y/n) wasn't so fond. A fight, sure, she could witness and take heed in. But a fight to the death was a little extreme, it seemed like such a waste unless the person was a traitor or condemned to death.

The roaring of the crowds made (Y/n) sink back in her seat. She didn't slouch or shuffle down, it wouldn't do her any good to give off an uninterested look or seem rude. She was wife to an Emperor, looks had to be maintained. She kept her posture but took to gliding her free hand up and down Geta's arm beneath his cloak.

Her gaze constantly switched between the scene and her surroundings, trying to find different ways to amuse and occupy herself to distract from the noise. (Y/n) knew when they eventually got back to the palace, her ears would be ringing from all this noise. She didn't know how her family could do it, how her husband and brother could walk back into that quiet domain and not feel their heads spinning or their ears ringing and screaming from the drastic volume change.

Get leaned forward at the same moment the inferior gladiator ship crashed into the opponent; the defenders.

The breaking of wood and the groaning and creaking was enough to shake the walls of the colosseum and the roars of men falling into the clutches of sharks and becoming snagged on barbaric teeth made (Y/n) shiver. She tried to steel her expression and hold herself when she wanted to shake and wince at the crowds cheers.

Every noise was overwhelming. Every sense was flooded. Her body was running on adrenaline already and she didn't know what to do with herself.

It was daunting and strange to know she was being observed. She was being watched by the people sitting directly behind her. Those who dared not comment how she rarely attended these events and was far happier secluded in her own company than surrounded with others. And then the crowds were constantly glancing up as well.

Some happy to see their lady Empress joining the festivities, some just wanting to look at her or bask in her beauty that was forbidden to them. Others staring with strange looks in their eyes and some form of detest on their features.

The only eyes (Y/n) wanted looking at her were her husband's. After a while, the atmosphere became one and the same and (Y/n) did her best to drown it out. She sat further back in her seat with Geta's hand on her lap and her fingers tracing the pale veins in his hand like they were a map she was plotting out.

She noticed every time he sat forward or sank back. She smiled at every laugh he let out and noticed when he crossed one leg over the other. Especially when he leaned into her side and pressed a dozen kisses to her temple.

"Shoot! Shoot!" Caracella's voice rung out along with his outburst of clapping and (Y/n) managed a smile when he reached over to squeeze her wrist before he sat forward.

The gore, guts and blood was second nature to both Emperor's and it was a sight they craved to see. The people loved the sight too, they loved the rage and the massacre that was bestowed upon their eyes. It was thrilling for them to witness without being at any real risk of injury themselves, spectating made them feel like part of the game.

When the ships were merged into one mass of broken wood and water and fighting men blurring together, (Y/n) looked down at her husband's hand and inclined her head to the left, towards him.

Then it happened.

A stray arrow, not aimed at any man down in the centre of the colosseum. The quiver broke through the air like a whip and aimed high towards the royal box without anyone seeing or being able to stop it.

A violent scream tore past (Y/n)'s lips and her hands retracted from Geta so her hands could clutch the arm rests of her seat. Her body jolted down against the chair like she was melting on the spot. Her knees pushed forward, her sandals scraped against the floor and caught the back of her dress and her body shuddered when a searing pain struck her right arm.

Geta's body shuddered back into his own seat and he jerked to the left, unintentionally moving away from his wife out of instinct.

His head whipped to the right, watching in horror as an arrow shot right between his wife and his brother, the two people who Geta swore to protect with his life. The arrowhead imbedded into his wife's chair, level with her head when she shrunk down in her seat with her eyes snapped closed.

Less than a foot higher and that arrow would have been in range of her head. One inch to the side and Geta would have lost her.

He could hear the ruckus of voices and the panicked shouts of "The Empress!" and "She's hurt!" flooded the air from all around the colosseum.

Geta bolted up from his seat, his chest heaving against his gown that suddenly felt restrictive with how harshly he was breathing and his body temperature that was rising to a feverish point. His body turned to the right and he crashed down to his knees in front of his wife, kneeling up straight so his body was a shield for any other arrows that tried to aim their way.

Both hands clutched the arms of her chair and he leaned his abdomen against her knees. His eyes scoured over her body with fever and impatience, desperately trying to see if she was hurt. The arrow being lodged in her chair did nothing to calm Geta down.

It didn't matter that the arrow wasn't lodged in her body, that was a small grace, but she could still have been hurt.

Caracella burst out into a fit of screams and clutched the arm of his chair, leaning close to his sister in law to see if she was hurt.

"Are you hurt? Look at me!"

The urgency and the gritty tone to Geta's voice caused (Y/n) to gasp and her eyes snapped open which unleashed a river of tears pouring down her face. Her body was trembling back and forth and her hands felt like they had melted into the arms of the chair.

She couldn't feel anything but panic. It coursed through her body causing her blood to tingle and had her trembling back and forth like someone was shaking her by the shoulders. All (Y/n) could register was that each breath hurt to try and wheeze to gasp for air and she couldn't see her husband when her vision started to blur from the amount of tears she was shedding.

(Y/n) tried to hold still when she felt her husband's unusually rough hands roaming her skin. He tilted her head back, traced the pads of his fingers down her neck, checked around her chest and abdomen but the way he grabbed her right arm and pulled it closer made (Y/n) gasp.

Blood was gushing down her right arm a few inches below her shoulder. There was a gaping cut horizontally through her skin. And blood was trickling down past her elbow and dripping onto her previously pure white dress and it was beginning to soak into the silk sleeve that was now stuck to her lower arm. When Geta let go of her arm, he left a bloodied hand print in his wake.

Something twisted awfully in his stomach when he remembered that his wife was wearing that dress at his request. Maybe if she wore something different, the wound to her arm would be less substantial. A dress with a cloak or a shawl or proper sleeves made of a thicker material would have saved a layer or two of skin from being shredded.

At least the arrow had cut through her arm rather than imbedding it. He dreaded to think how they would have gotten out of here in a hurry if (Y/n) were pinned to the chair with an arrow straight through her arm. Or her chest. Or her neck.

"Go! Now." Geta roughly grabbed his brother's shoulder and hoisted him to his feet, shoving him in the direction of the door along with their close spectators and useless guards who had done nothing to prevent this.

He couldn't care less that his brother was still screaming and in one of his enraged states, he had to move. They had to get back to the safety of the palace.

He watched in a growing sense of panic as his wife started to tremble. Her hands unlatched from the arm rests of her chair, but when she dared to twist her head to look at her arm, a mewl left her lips and she sobbed. The sound broke Geta's heart and he hated the look of panic in her eyes as she tried to move her right arm but it twinged.

Her loose sleeve was still caught within the arrow, effectively pinning her arm to the chair.

That notion clearly made (Y/n) manic because she tried to move and fling her arm around but it didn't do anything but ignite her state of distress. Until Geta leaned across and harshly ripped the sleeve from her dress. He didn't have time to be careful. The gown was ruined. He wouldn't allow the servants to even attempt to remove the blood stains from this dress, it would be burned. Ripping the sleeve caused no issues.

"Come on."

Both hands then reached down for (Y/n) and he gripped her elbows, being more careful with her than with his brother as he pulled her up onto trembling feet. His arm swooped around her waist, reeling her into his chest as his other hand cupped the back of her neck.

He swiftly walked her backwards, ushering her through the door where the last two guards were waiting for them to hurry out.

"Okay, we're going. You're safe." Those last two words were muttered on repeat against (Y/n)'s temple and made tears pour faster down her cheeks.

Both arms enclosed to her chest but it only made (Y/n) notice the pulsing pain that was coursing through her arm in shockwaves. She could feel the agony starting to spark down her arm and it was causing her fingertips to go numb and her hand was trembling.

She managed to fist both hands around Geta's robes, pulling them closer as she muffled her face into his chest to try and stop herself from screaming, but she couldn't stop crying.

No one had ever shot at her before. She had never been hurt like that before. They were supposed to be safe, that was why they had guards in the box with them. No one was supposed to aim for the Emperor's box and try to hurt them. The gladiators should have been controlled.

Aimed a little better, that arrow could have killed her.

That thought made (Y/n) tremble and she whimpered into Geta's robes that she wouldn't dare open her eyes to look at. She had her wounded arm pinned between their bodies. She would no doubt be bleeding all down his crimson and golden robes; they would have to be burned.

Walking at a sideways angle was strange and (Y/n) kept fumbling over her feet, but it didn't stop Geta's harsh strides.

He had his left arm possessively tight around her waist and his right hand cupping the back of her neck with his lips against her hair. He ushered (Y/n) faster, almost pelting down the tunnel that led out of the colosseum. They had to get back to the palace; their fortress was where they would be safe.

"G- Geta…"

"Almost there, you're safe now, I promise."

It didn't take long to get back to the palace which was in a state of distress itself. Servants rushing left and right, many crowding to ask if the Emperor's were safe, if they were harmed, asking what they should do.

One servant ran off, followed swiftly by a guard when they heard Geta's order to fetch the physician.

With Caracella's deteriorating state, his fits of rage and the illness he had, they had a physician who lived at the palace. Ready and willing to help with any and all emergencies they had. He was needed now. He needed to assess (Y/n).

(Y/n) felt like she couldn't breathe.

The swift change from noise and panic and utter chaos had morphed into a calmer sense of chaos and people ushering about in all directions.

She felt like she had been walking in a trance, guided by Geta until he steered her into the main hall where he finally stopped walking. He turned so they were properly facing one another and his hand deadlocked around the back of (Y/n)'s neck while his other hand reeled her closer. He let her pull on his robes, uncaring about the way she was yanking on them, close to tearing the material. All he cared about was having her safe in his arms.

He took a moment to close his eyes and smother his lips into her intricately woven hair. Breathing in her scent as his fingers glided up and down the centre of her back.

She was here. She was in his arms; and she was safe.

When Geta opened his eyes, he stared ahead of him towards the back of the hall. Caracella had slumped down into one of the thrones and someone had already brought Dondus to him to calm him down. The monkey had perched high on his shoulder and Caracella was fiddling with the leash, tossing it between his hands to give him something to do and a way to calm himself down.

"Let's sit down."

(Y/n) barely heard Geta's words and she let herself go limp, allowing him to steer her to sit down a few feet away from Caracella. She felt like she was about to faint when she flopped into a heap in the chair.

When her head tilted down, her eyes focused on the droplets of blood staining her robes.

Her dress had been the purest shade of white to rival the midnight moon. Now it was tarnished. A large streak of blood was smudged into the side of her waist near her belt, with flecks of blood splattered all down the dress. When she looked at her arm, she found herself shaking once again. The cut was leaking water like one of the palace fountains and the trail had now reached her hand. The feeling of the blood slithering between her fingers made (Y/n) want to be sick.

As soon as the physician came running into the hall, Geta was on his feet. His usually pale features were burnt red, his upper lip was sneering and his eyes were filled with the darkest rage imaginable.

"Fix it." His words held no room for argument and the physician was nodding before he could even see what the problem was.

Geta took to pacing up and down beside the chair, constantly switching from staring at the stone floor where he was scrutinising the droplets of blood to looking over at his wife.

Rag after rag of water and blood were thrown into a growing pile on the floor as her arm got cleaned so the wound was visible to the naked eye.

(Y/n) had her forehead resting on her left hand, with her trembling elbow propped up on the arm rest so she didn't have to look at the wound on her arm that was making her feel sick. She knew her arm was shaking horribly in the elder man's grasp as he tried to prod and assess the wound while simultaneously cleaning the steady stream of blood.

"It requires stitching, sir." The physician seemed to pale and shrink in on himself when he looked over at the Emperor who had previously been pacing so harshly on the stone floor that he was wearing his own path down into the stone.

The way Geta's head snapped to the physician with such fury made the elder man quiver.

It looked like Geta wanted to rebutt, like he was ready to raise Hell to the surface and throw everyone down into the depths. But he took a deep breath, enough to stop himself from shaking and he gave a curt nod of his head and a swift flick of his hand. Whatever had to be done. He wanted the physician to do whatever necessary to make sure his wife was okay and out of harm.

(Y/n) looked down in question when a small blue bottle was placed in her left hand and the physician pushed her hand towards her face.

"Drink, it will help with the pain."

She wasn't sure she was ready for the pain of a needle puncturing through her skin, but (Y/n) knew she didn't have a choice. She nodded and gulped down a generous amount of the rather putrid liquid that burned her throat and made her cough. She wasn't sure what was mixed in with the opium in the bottle, but it had a strange way of making her blood bubble in her veins and send her head spinning.

She didn't want to look at the physician as he dabbed medicine along her wound to prevent infection, but she looked over at Geta when Caracella's words hit her ringing ears.

"You're making me dizzy." Caracella seemed unusually nervous as he shrank down in his throne and reached his right hand up to pet Dondus who was perched on his shoulder.

He didn't like how his twin was pacing the floor of the hall like that, it was having a bad effect on Caracella and making him even more unsettled. Someone had shot an arrow at his dear sister in law. An arrow that could easily have hit Caracella himself. It had been a close call for both of them today.

"Geta…" (Y/n) held her free hand out towards her husband, quietly beckoning him back towards her. She didn't want him to wear himself out pacing the room like that, he was only angering himself by dwelling on the events of today.

His fingers immediately wove into her own and he perched down on the arm of her chair.

The moment the needle slipped through (Y/n)'s skin she shrieked and burrowed her face into Geta's waist to try and muffle her distain. Her hand clenched tightly around his and her right arm trembled in the physician's tight grasp as he pulled the thread tight, causing her to groan.

"Someone tried to harm you." The words were whispered against her hair as Geta leaned his head down to hide his lips in her hair.

That was the only thing going through his head. But those words were enough to strike up fear in (Y/n)'s heart. Her head lifted from his waist until her chin was pressing into his chest, allowing her head to tilt back so she could look up at him. Those watering eyes broke his heart and the tears soaking into her face ignited his blood to the same temperature as the fires of Hell.

"W-were they aiming for me?"

The panic in her voice made Geta wince as he moved his free hand to brush his thumb along her jaw.

He didn't know the answer to that. He wasn't sure anyone could answer that question for them. The arrow had been aimed into the royal box, but anyone could have been the target. They could have aimed for either Emperor, as killing them would have incited chaos throughout Rome. They might have been aiming for (Y/n) because harming or indeed killing her would send Geta into a fit of rage so bad he would burn his lands and people to the ground.

There were others sat in the box with them, sat behind them, but it seemed unlikely that any of them had been the target. Aiming for the most important people, the ones who held all of Rome in the palm of their hands, seemed like the most comprehensive bet.

"I don't know, my love. But I won't stand for it; their fate has been sealed."

He knew that his guards had grabbed all of the gladiators in the colosseum. He knew they had all been taken back to their cells and were being held until the Emperors stated what they wanted to be done with them.

Geta hoped they had the gladiator responsible for this heinous crime. He hoped they knew which man had done this because Geta would unleash his wrath onto them. He would deal with them personally and once he was finished, no one would recognise the once would-be gladiator.

The quiet muttering of "They could have killed you," under his breath was heard by both his wife and his brother.

"They almost shot me." Caracella countered with a quiet voice and a rather timid expression that made him seem childlike and innocent. But his words didn't have much of an effect, for all his brother did was stare him down ad huff.

"You aren't the one requiring stitches, brother." He spoke quietly and tried not to snap his words so his brother knew he wasn't upset with him in any way.

Of course it thought angered Geta, but his brother hadn't been hurt and the point of the matter was that it was his wife tucked up into his embrace who needed stitches and comfort. She had the one who had the near death experience.

He wasn't letting anyone get away with this. The person responsible was going to feel one hundred times worse than the pain (Y/n) was in, Geta would make sure of that. He was going to make an example out of the person who had dared to do this. They couldn't have other gladiators getting bold and stupid, believing they could also try their luck at using their weapons against their Emperors.

Geta would put them all back in their places, he would show them exactly why it was he and his brother who wore the golden crowns.

There will be bloodshed.

[retiredteabag]

soft Toji dog-sitting for a generous!reader

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4 - pt. 5 - pt. 6 - next

cw for this chapter: discussion of assault (reader)

synopsis: Toji was quite accustomed to objectifying himself for a check. And to be frank, far worse actions as well. Now he’s not sure what to do with himself after meeting the kind and generous owner of the dog he pet-sits for.

read along as Toji grows more comfortable around you despite his past.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Try as he might, Toji could not escape the sounds of your frightened voice from the night prior. He slept horribly, tossing from his side to his back only to stare up at your ceiling fan. When he finally got up, he busied himself with cleaning the house before your return.

You had told him not to worry about staying past the afternoon, that you expected to be back in time to feed the dog, but Toji insisted on staying. He wanted to see you. More importantly, he wanted to speak to you. There were several things he would have liked to have spoken about, but the one thing weighing on his mind was what had happened the night prior.

Your desperate apologies, your wavering voice. All of it felt so disconcerting.

So Toji stayed.

He stayed and washed the sheets, stayed and made up the bed, stayed and swept the floors.

He was a decisive man. If he wanted to do something? Consider it done. So why? Why was he second-guessing himself when he heard your car pull up the driveway? Why did his heart pound as if he was in some kind of danger? Why did he find himself pacing, looking for something to occupy himself with? All so he didn't seem like he was waiting for you.

But he was, he was waiting for you.

A pause permeated the foyer and kitchen when he heard you open the door and for a moment his throat felt tight, you hadn't seen him yet. His grip on the rag he was "washing dishes" with tightened. He heard a light gasp and spun around. Finally.

"Toji! I didn't realize you were here, I didn't see your car." You spun around to peek out the window, Toji dropped the towel and moved to the island. Closer to you. To observe you. You looked fine.

"Glad you made it back. He's been waiting for you." Toji pointed to the dog that was currently bounding around you in a show of tender love.

You kneeled down and scratched the dog's neck. "Thank you so much for watching him, I know how much he loved your company, but, Toji, how did you get here?"

He smiles, "Took the bus, needed gas." He didn't, he just wanted an excuse to stay. But by the look on your face, this was clearly the wrong response.

"Oh, my- Toji! Oh! You should have said, I would pay for your gas!" You had shot up at his statement and were looking at him with embarrassed disappointment.

"Oh please" He rolled his eyes, "You're plenty generous enough."

"I don't want you riding the bus at night, I'll give you a ride, or I can order you an Uber, like before."

Toji was thinking fast, why were you so keen on his leaving? Was it because you were uncomfortable? Or did you feel like it was a burden for him to stay? Whatever the answer, he was still caught up on the fact that you didn't want him riding the bus. How silly, to worry about his safety.

"Nah, it's no problem, I was staying here regardless." He shrugged.

"Was everything alright? Did you have everything you needed?" You smile at him and he eases a breath, okay, no more talk of leaving.

"Everything and then some. You've got a real nice place." He took a step closer to scratch the dog's ear. "Good trip?"

He didn't want to push. He wouldn't. But he couldn't help the curiosity. Especially when he watched your face falling at his question.

"Oh... yes, well" You sighed, shrugged, and avoided eye contact. "Work, you know."

"So..... not a good time." Toji tried for a tone of joviality but your eyes did not brighten.

"No. Wish I could've been here." You spoke so quietly that he could barely hear. He was worried that, within a moment, you would call him a cab, or usher him to your BMW. This was it.

Toji had been hungry for information since your text. It was for no reason other than his experience with law enforcement that he stayed up last night. Thinking about what type of situation you were in.

"Can I ask you a question?" Toji began, your head whipping to his face, nodding slightly, "It's about last night."

He noticed instantly- your eyebrows rose, along with your shoulders. You took a breath in as your chin lifted up. Unaware to you, your arms encircled your torso. You were so easy to read.

You didn't speak though. Toji took the silence once again. "Something happened, while you were away." Not a question, he realized as it came out. Damn, what was he saying? You didn't respond and he scrambled for the right words.

"Did-I mean. Did something happen?" So eloquent.

You sighed, looking at your shoes. Right on cue, your dog whimpered at your feet. "Yeah...' You draw it out, there's humor in your tone. "I didn't want to go on the trip anyway." Sighing, you look up at the ceiling, Toji gets the feeling that you were speaking to yourself.

"Didn't realize you saw a lot of crime in your business." How is it he can hold eye contact so steadily? How is it he can look through to your soul?

"Hmm?" You raise a brow, and then your eyes grow, "Oh! No! No! I don't." He laughs from his chest. The prospect of criminal activity leaves you aghast. "It wasn't a crime! Well..." You begin that mumbling "talking-to-yourself" way of speech, "Not a serious one, I've had problems with him for ages now."

Toji stops. You stop. You said too much.

"Him?" Toji's brows are stitched tightly together. Had he misheard?

"Oh!" You begin, catching his eyes that are glued to you. "It's not serious. If it was I would do something. It's not that!" You huff out, “Not like that…”

But Toji hadn't said anything. He remains silent. Waiting for you to continue. The dog begins to pace. You run a hand through your hair and then wave nonsensically as if to ward off the air around you.

"Who are we talking about." Toji's voice has only once sounded like this. It had sounded this way over the phone that night he carried your dog a mile, drove him to the vet, and silently watched you bandage his hands.

It had sounded like this when he was desperate.

"Aagh!" You shook your head. Dispelling some unhappy thought or memory. "I'm not... really supposed to be speaking about all this. It's been handled." You wave your hands dramatically, making a show of finding the time, you start up again, "Oh goodness, look at the clock, Toji let me get you a ride so you can be home for dinner!"

"I'd like to hear about this actually." He doesn't move. He slowly maneuvers his head to follow your gaze. "Having trouble with a co-worker?"

Toji had his fair share of experiences with unsavory characters in his time working in different industries. They were never too difficult to handle, though.

You laugh painfully, "Unfortunately, yeah, but there's really nothing to do..." Your making "shooing" motions with your hands again, motioning between him and the door.

"That why you didn't wanna go on this trip?" He watches your motion - ignores it.

"Gosh, yes. You know how it goes." Toji hums.

"Police involved?" He watches you. Your hands shiver to a stop, you turn to meet his eyes, suddenly still.

"No." You look at him. "No, it was handled before that."

"But he wasn't fired." His head slants to the left.

"No reason to fire him." You're looking at him differently now. You sound different now. Finite. Tired.

"Well, if police could be involved, there has to be some reason." He looks at you, but you're not speaking. You're not smiling. You're not moving.

"He was the one to make you cry that night." He asks, but it's not a question this time either.

"I think you should go get dinner, Toji." You speak softly, but there is really no room for disagreement allowed.

"There's gotta be something, just tell your boss if you don't wanna work with some dickhead." He's trying to help, he is, but it's coming out all wrong. He doesn't know the situation, and he's never had a real job before, he doesn't know - that even though your position is one of power - although you are high up in a huge conglomerate - although you have a million opportunities in front of you that he's never been offered - although you make real, honest money - some of the most evil people are in those positions as well.

And things that, he, a killer, a prostitute, a gambler, a criminal, could never imagine even in his most dark moments, go on, under the veil of the shiny "opulence" so easily desired.

"He's not just a colleague, Toji." Your sentences are chopped as they leave your lips. Toji realized suddenly that the only reason you're speaking now is because he has obviously made you upset. "He's a stakeholder's son. And everyone loves him. Trust me. I've reported him before. But nothing comes of it. It just." You sigh, detached. "It just makes me look bad. He's popular and charismatic, and everyone thinks he's.... he's the best! So there. He can do what he wants. He can touch who he wants. He can make decisions for everyone else. And there's nothing I can do, actually."

Toji is taken aback, and your dog huffs at your legs, "I'm sorry..." You mutter behind your hands. Likely embarrassed at your lengthy diatribe. But Toji takes no notice of your apology.

"He touched you?" There is something new now, something Toji does understand, and this, this will not happen again, he is sure of it.

"Just briefly. And he was drunk. So what does it matter." Your hands remain in front of your face. A grievously aggravated tone in your voice for the first time.

"It matters all the same. It matters- it matters-" Toji is racing for the right thing to say but he’s never been good with words.

He has experienced being touched when he did not like it. He had experienced allowing somethings to happen for a dollar. But he had never been in the position of being attacked. He had never been the weaker of two people. But you, he cannot image such a feeling. Such a feeling being completely uncontrolled.

And suddenly he's remembering your texts, your jittery voice, your apologies and he wants to puke.

"Why not go to the police. Something must be done. Y/n, please."

"I can't." He bends down to see your sunken face, trying to spot any tears. "What if nothing happens? What if I make a fool of myself? What if- Toji, what if I lose my job?"

Seeing now, the darkness within what he believed to be grandeur, he wonders if you are really any better off than he.

"You won't. Y/n- I, I can do it. I can get this... handled." His mind is flooded with memories, a man, someone who worked for his handler, he was good with technology, good with blackmail. His thoughts were interrupted by a chuckle.

"No-Toji, that can't happen. It just... I don't think that's possible. I'm just." You heave a breath, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said a thing. I think I'm just tired. It's okay."

"No." He's shaking his head. Slow. But you don't hear him. You've closed him off. You've resigned yourself and he wonders, sickeningly, how long you have been resigned for.

That night grew dark faster than either of you knew. You had told him not to think about it. You told him to let it go. But that night, reminded of a similar evening he spent in a car that was paid to bring him back to his apartment. He considered the situation.

When he climbed his way into his dark apartment, he did not hesitate. Measured steps brought him to the ventilation above the stove in his kitchen. He reached up, grabbed the flip phone found there, a burner he knew remained.

He didn't even mull it over before he sent the text.

"Need a favor. Call me."

And he didn't sleep that night until he'd been back in contact with the man he thought he was done working with for good.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

@sweetpo1son @scorpiosugar @starmapz @toruswrld @your-mum3000 @meow-satoru @animeblr @utarts @roxyyyyy1xx @lilming36 @scandibabeuh @atanasiaaaa @chouzuko @voronii @transsfish @h3llf4iry @lucrea @straewberrysoda @s4m4nth4wrld @storiesbyparadise @pokiona @neiostrike @breenatalle @uwolivia @gothic-fluffycow @luvvmae @justbelljust @voidshoutsback @chaotic-ish @jamzywiththejam28 @definitely-not-leena @kirawyd @kuro-chi69 @smoments @lukabwrry @esmedelacroix @professionalreblogger @yoongluverz @stainednailpolishremover @nappingmoon @lauretsy @noelssprings @bytgefirewbook @koji-ibitsu @wafflefries786 @bearchermer @p1nkfl0wers @sugojosgf @deafeningherofishcash @yeehawbrothers @wil10wthetree @youcantseem3 @poopooindamouf @miakxn @esggs @makosworld @neeshsoodrippedout @momoewn @mooncleaver @avocadomochi @getoisinnocent @femmefatal @lov3vivian @grima4lurking @lemonlimecrystal-blog @icedemon1314

Tag list is sadly full! If you ever want to be taken off of the tag list please just let me know :] (if your name is here but you didn’t get tagged. I think it’s either bc your blog is new/blank/empty or you need to check your privacy settings)

[shizumi123yuki]

“Tiktok Trend”

Simon “Ghost” Riley as your anonymous husband on social media.

Summary: You as a popular influencer shares the snippets of your life with your “mysterious” husband, Simon Riley, on TikTok.

—————

It started as a harmless hobby. Your TikToks, cute little glimpses of your life, had quickly turned into a whole vibe. Over 500K followers. You were in your element, and your fans loved the behind-the-scenes look at your life with Simon. Of course, Simon didn't know everything you posted. Some moments were just for you—and a bit for your followers, who were obsessed with your mysterious husband.

Simon wasn't the easiest person to get on camera, and you respected that. He worked in a world where anonymity was crucial. He'd warned you multiple times: "Don't post my face, love. You never know who's watching." You'd always agreed, filming around his face, never quite catching the glimpses you so desperately wanted to share. But his back muscles... his strong hands... his easy grace as he moved around the kitchen. Those were the things you had to share.

One of your most popular TikToks was of him cooking dinner, his back flexing with each motion, his strong shoulders shifting as he chopped vegetables. You weren't subtle, your focus clearly on the way the muscles of his back moved under his t-shirt.

"Look at him," you whispered to the camera, "I think i have a crush on my husband." You knew your followers were dying to know more about him, and you kept teasing them with bits and pieces—never too much, always keeping Simon's identity a mystery.

You knew he hated trends. But the “A boy who’s jacked and kind” trend had been all over your feed. It was cheesy, sure, but Simon had that perfect mix of strength and gentleness. His muscles were made for it, and his soft smile, the one he reserved for you, was nothing short of divine.

"Come on, Simon," you begged, sitting on the kitchen counter as he cooked. "Just once. Do it for me? Please?" You pouted, trying to force him.

He was stirring a pot, his eyes narrowing as he glanced over his shoulder at you. "What’s that supposed to be?" He raised an eyebrow.

"It’s a trend. You pick me up and I sit on your shoulder." You grinned, pushing your luck. "It’ll be cute, and your fans will love it."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You’re kidding, right? That’s cringe."

You tried to play it off, but inside you felt a little twinge of disappointment. “It’s not that bad,” you teased, but you could see he wasn’t having it.

He shook his head, muttering something about how ridiculous it all was. “You know what? Never mind.” You hopped off the counter, sulking, your mood deflating like a balloon.

——————

For the rest of the evening, you couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment. It wasn’t just about the trend. It was that Simon, your husband, the man who shared so much of his life with you—his quiet moments, his fierce protectiveness—was so closed off about this one thing. It was the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t understand why these little things mattered to you.

You wanted to show him off. Not in a superficial way, but because to you, he was perfect. The way he moved, the way his presence filled the room, the way he cared for you—it all felt special. You wanted to share it with the world, yes, but more than that, you wanted him to let you. You wanted him to feel comfortable enough with you, with the relationship, to just let go of his guard for a second. But when he shot down your request, it felt like another wall had gone up.

When you climbed into bed that night, you pulled the covers up to your chin, staring at the ceiling. You felt a pang in your chest that had nothing to do with the trend and everything to do with how distant he seemed, even though he was right there next to you. You could feel his warmth beside you, but the space between you felt too wide, too heavy.

Simon didn’t push you. He let you stew in silence for a while. You thought maybe he'd let it go—maybe it wasn’t that big a deal. But as you were drifting off, you felt the familiar pressure of his body against yours, his chest gently nudging your back.

His breath was warm on your neck as he whispered, "You mad at me?"

"Not mad," you mumbled, trying to sound unaffected. "Just... tired."

He didn’t buy it. "You are mad, love."

You tried to ignore the tightness in your throat, swallowing it down. "I’m not sulking."

But he knew better. He always did.

His hand reached for you, pulling you closer, his voice a little softer now. "Come on. Im sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you."

The way he said it made your heart ache. You could hear the frustration in his voice—the way he always wanted to fix things, to make things better. But in that moment, you didn’t need fixing. You needed him to see you, to understand why it stung so much when he brushed off something you’d thought would be fun, something you’d hoped would bring you closer.

"I know im being childish but..i just feel like..you don’t want to do things with me, i just want us to feel closer." you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Simon paused, his hand going still on your waist. You felt his weight shift as he processed your words, and for a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, he sighed, a low sound of frustration mixed with something else—regret?

"Alright, that’s it." His voice was firm, but there was tenderness to it too. Without another word, he pulled you up by your waist, gently but firmly, and before you could even react, you were standing in front of him.

"Hey!" you yelped, your feet barely touching the floor as he took your phone off the nightstand.

"Shh," he said, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Im gonna do this one for you. And I’m not asking you for anything in return." His voice softened, but there was determination behind it. "You’re not gonna give me that attitude anymore, yeah?”

You blinked up at him, confused and surprised as he turned the camera app on, angling it just right. He didn’t give you time to argue as he stood behind you, his big hands slipping to your waist and effortlessly lifting you into the air.

“Simon!” you squealed, your surprise morphing into laughter. But he didn’t even grunt, didn’t show any sign of exertion as he carried you, your legs hooked over his shoulder, his hands firm on your thighs. His arms were like iron, holding you in place without any strain.

“There,” he grumbled, his voice low and steady as he looked into the camera. “Happy now?”

The sight of him, so effortlessly strong, holding you in such an intimate yet playful way, made your heart flutter. But it wasn’t just the physical act—it was the fact that he was doing this for you, even when he thought it was cheesy. He was giving you that small piece of him that you’d wanted all along: his trust, his willingness to indulge you, even when it wasn’t his thing.

You couldn’t help but smile, a genuine smile this time, one that you hadn’t felt all day.

"You look cute when you’re being a softie," you teased, unable to hide the affection in your voice.

Simon didn’t respond with words—he just smiled to himself, a rare, soft smile that made your heart melt. “Yeah, yeah. But only for you.”

(URGHH THIS MADE ME SMILE WHILE WRITING THIS🥹‼️)

[suksatoru]

flawed and flawless 𝜗𝜚₊˚⊹♡ dabi x you

You never thought Dabi could be insecure.

Dabi, who walked over people like they held the same worth as the dirt beneath his boots. He was so confident—in himself and his abilities, so you could've never expected him to be insecure about anything at all.

Dabi knows his scars aren't appealing. He knows the appearance of charred flesh held together by staples isn't attractive, by any means. He never cared about it before, never even bothered to think about what other people thought of his looks.

The first time he kissed you, Dabi wasn't thinking about how you perceived his scars. He was too swept up in the moment to even consider how you might feel kissing him, too enamored by your taste and glossy eyes as he deflowered you with a tenderness inside him he didn't know he had

Dabi's kissed you many times now. So he doesn't know why it's this particular moment where he's suddenly hesitant to

You're tracing the staples on his chest gently, laying on top of him with your legs intertwined since his mattress wasn't big enough for the two of you to lay beside each other. He's listening quietly to your words, playing with the hem of your shirt before he gently pushes the fabric aside, moving his palm under and inside the garment

Your stomach is so soft. He rubs the mounds of plush skin with his rough fingertips, loving the way you felt beneath him.

He thinks about how different your skin is from the texture of his arms and face. The flesh on him was marred and tainted, and yours is so pure. Something untouched by the cruel world, flawless compared to his flawed one.

He suddenly pulls his hand away from you

Did you like the feeling of his sharp and cold staples rubbing against your skin? He imagined it would be an alarming feeling—the metal wasn't warm and inviting in his eyes. He curls his fist and hesitantly rests it against your clothed back instead. You're still telling him something as he does this, but you quickly realize he was distracted after calling his name and being met with no reply.

He peers down when you stop talking. but then he realizes you're moving to kiss his jaw

And he moves out of the way, effectively dodging your kiss.

He winces when he sees the look on your face, the pout that quickly forms as he begins to panic about how he was supposed to explain why he didn't let you kiss him just now

"Dabi? Why're you making that face?" You mumble, gently cradling his face as he stiffens under your touch. You see the shift in his mood, and gently move your hands away to rest on his chest instead as he sighs

"Nothing. What were you saying?" He mumbles tiredly as you squint up at him, entirely unconvinced by his words.

"It's not important. Tell me what's wrong." You frown, not moving your hands to comfort him as you realized he wasn't reciprocating your touch for some reason

Dabi stares at you. You stare back. He thinks he's the luckiest man in the world to have you love him. You just...understand. He didn't think he deserved to know you, let alone love you. But here you were, patiently loving him.

"Do you like touching me? I mean, is it not fucking uncomfortable for these baby fingers?" He chuckles dryly, grabbing hold of you as he feels your palm in his. Carefully, he intertwines his fingers with yours. He almost cringes at the contrast of the feeling of his wrist resting against yours as he sighs, before pulling away.

He's staring at the ceiling, not meeting your eyes as you're quite literally stunned into silence. The fan hums quietly, filling the silence as you stare up at him. You suddenly realize what he was trying to say, and your soft voice snaps Dabi out of his train of unwelcomed thoughts

"Dabi."

He looks down, but he has to physically swallow the lump in his throat when he sees your face. He can't respond because he knows his voice will come out shaky and tremble no matter how hard he tries not to let it

"I love you, okay? I don't...I never thought you were hard to touch. You're perfect. There isn't a single thing I'd change about you."

He doesn't know why he feels like crying. His throat feels like its closed, and his eyes burn as his hand returns back to your stomach. He runs his hands all over your body, desperately trying to pull you infinitely closer to him as he lets out a shuddering breath

"I love you too, sweetheart. So damn much." He croaks, his voice strained with so much raw emotion that you can't help but lean into his touch and swipe at the stray blood that trickles down his cheek from his eye

"You should sleep. I'm right here, kay? And when you wake up, we can make those pancakes...the ones with faces on them." You muse, pressing a gentle kiss onto his lips that he desperately reciprocates

He nods his head before tucking it into the space between your shoulder and neck, murmuring your name before his breathing slowly begins to even out

Dabi falls asleep before you. At least, you thought he had fallen asleep. That's the only reason you started to gently kiss across his jaw, just to try and soothe him as he slept. He once told you he loved when you kissed his jaw, saying something about how the feeling was a nice one

His grip on you tightens just the slightest bit. Normally, his heart beat would increase whenever you kissed him. Sometimes it sped up at the mere thought of you—but these kisses didn't have that effect on him. Mainly because they were slowing his heart, instead. Calming him. Grounding him.

He fell asleep with your skin pressed against his, both of you content. He wanted to feel you closer, so he pressed his cheek against yours without fear that his staples or scars would be uncomfortable for you. He knew they wouldn't—knew they couldn't with how you yourself leaned into him the same way he leaned into you, like a flower dipping towards the sun for warmth.

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Here are some Austrian specific quirks I think König would have <3

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(PSA; I'm German, but I figured I could put down the most general quirks that we have, which I think would also apply to Austrians :) )

♡ he HATES fans and air conditioning. Like I'm talking disdain from the deepest pits of hell kinda hate.

Ceiling fans and AC are not a thing here, and literally every German looks at it with a very disapproving look if there happens to be one somewhere.

König absolutely refuses to sleep with the fan or AC on, just open a window, Liebling!

He's so upset that he can't put the window "auf kipp" :( (pls Google it, it's so hard to explain lol) like he's crushed that he can't keep the windows "auf kipp" all day.

You have a ceiling fan? Nope, not anymore. That thing is getting taken down the minute you move in together. But if you insist on keeping it, he'll secretly cut the cable to the switch.

Everyone knows all they do is whirl around dust and make you sick! He's not having it.

König acts like artificial ventilation is his worst enemy (I agree with him) and he'd rather suffocate than turn on the goddamn AC.

♡ Sundays are strictly lazy/rest days. Nothing's open on Sundays here, so we're forced to relax and not run around like headless chickens trying to get things done.

He's absolutely baffled if you have plans to go somewhere on a Sunday. What do you mean you need to run errands? What do you mean you're going out? And if you want him to come along?? Yeah, no.

His brain stops working. After the many years he's been alive, not once has he gone somewhere on a Sunday that wasn't his Oma's house for Kaffee und Kuchen.

You're not going anywhere. Plans are canceled, and you better spend the day on the couch with him.

♡ König probably misses all the beautiful old architecture Vienna has to offer. You don't quite appreciate it as much when it's just there all the time, but now he wishes he could quietly people watch in the city center :(

In my mind he's a bit of a history nerd, so he probably frequented museums and castles, admiring the delicately sculpted ceilings and wondering how people lived back then.

He'd be most fascinated by the masonry work done on the outside of most buildings. I mean, that's stone, but it's so smooth and carefully crafted.

♡ there are some very weird sayings in German that you just can't translate because they don't make sense. König is sick of having to awkwardly try to explain what they mean after he's been caught muttering one under his breath, only to realize halfway through that he looks like a maniac.

German is a very literal language, and I think he misses speaking it. We have very specific words for some things and he probably struggles to talk in English sometimes purely because the words he wants to use just don't exist.

(I'm very upset they didn't give him an Austrian accent bc it's one of my favorites, but I can also confidently say that I think he wouldn't be taken seriously at all if he had one lmao)

♡ König goes on random ass walks sometimes. Where's he going? On a walk. No, like where is he going? HE'S GOING ON A WALK.

There's no destination, you just walk. No matter the weather. Ya walk until you feel like you've walked enough. (A very German experience and I hate it)

♡ dreams of his Oma's Kaiserschmarn (me too, König, me too.)

It's basically a giant pancake that you tear into little pieces (traditionally, it has raisins too, I think) and you eat with either cinnamon sugar or applesauce (or both) and you will drift up to heaven.

It's warm, it's fluffy, it's sweet;

It's perfect for a gloomy Friday afternoon spent with his Oma and Opa 🥺

(Can you tell that I'm projecting)

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"Auf kipp" is a very specific window position where only the bottom two hinges stay attached so you can tilt the window towards you and a little crack is open so you can always have fresh air!

"Oma und Opa" grandma and grandpa, which he loves so much, undoubtedly.

"Kaffe und Kuchen" basically tea time. You get together and eat cake and have coffee! Mostly on the weekends :)

"Kaiserschmarn" what dreams are made of.

🩷

[arlertwhore]

pairing: paige bueckers x fem! reader

warning(s): nsfw/18+, fighting (verbal/physical), toxic relationship stuff, fingering, thigh riding, pussy eating, squirting,

synopsis: the bitchy, possessive, and temperamental gf who paige thinks she can handle proves her right!

word count: 2.4k

Author Note: got my first lil hate comment the other day 😜 i feel like an actual writer now lmao! here goes draft #6, comin’ in lit 🔥

Fuck knows what you're complaining about this time. She's straight from practice — from a rigorous, exhausting, and intense practice, frustrated with her own performance, only to find you waiting at the door, already irritated about something entirely. Perhaps it was how she didn’t answer you at all today—or how you saw her looking too close for comfort to another 'fan' as she claimed, though you never trusted it—or maybe she even fucking sighed at you the wrong way upon entering through the door because the littlest of things ticked you off—you—her bitchy, demanding, and infuriatingly sexy girlfriend, whom Paige has to constantly remind herself she willingly got involved with, knowing full well she was signing up for the being the figurative property of the brattiest, bossiest, most high-maintenance girl on campus.

"Are you even listening to me?!" you fume as Paige storms past you, stripping a trail of her clothes all the way to the bathroom, letting her hair fall loose from its low bun as she saunters away from your chaos, massaging her temples.

"Seriously, Y/N, now's not the time, I gotta-" - "I don't give a fuck!" you explode, chasing after her and grabbing her arm to spin her back around. "I don't care about your shitty day or your shitty excuses. Why the fuck didn't you text me back, hm?" Paige sighs, avoiding your eyes with an air of exasperation, her gaze shifting to the ceiling in an attempt to not roll them. At her silence, you feel your anger boil over, frustration evident in the clenched fist at your sides and the tense set of your jaw. "You're the fucking worst, Paige!" you snap, "You think just because I'm understanding that means you can take pictures with all these other bitches, post all on your Instagram, but then NOT text me back!"

Paige knew she was the man, the kind of person who could handle any challenge, which is why she thought dating someone like you—a real piece of work—would be a good match. She believed you could keep her on her toes, pushing her to become mentally stronger, more confident, and dominant—qualities she hoped would shine on the court, but on days like this, when you demanded drama and chaos, she wondered if she was truly cut out for it. Her honest, no-bullshitting, no-pretense attitude of: My girlfriend is so sexy opinion? Nah. And she promptly proved that stance when she spat out, “Alright, I’m sorry, baby… Is that what you want me to say? That I’m sorry I have things to do and you act like a bitch about it?” her voice venomous and defensive, stunning you. “Man, get the fuck out of my way right now. I don’t feel like fighting with you, for real,” she demanded, trying to brush past you. You couldn’t believe she actually spoke to you like that—she was usually so considerate of your feelings. In a fit of rage, you squared up to her and pushed her back by her shoulders with a strength you didn’t know you had over the 6ft wall of strength she was. Growling, you commanded, “You’re gonna stand here until WE’RE done talking!”

Paige stands with her hands on her hips, clenching at her sides with such restraint that her basketball shorts ride up, revealing her boxers underneath. She warns, "Stop playin' with me, yo. Step aside." and as she advances again, trying to get to the bathroom door behind you, you block her path, arms crossed and eyes flashing. Sneering, you challenge defiantly, "No. What are you gonna do if I don’t step aside, P? Hm? You gonna hit me?"

She takes a deep breath, drops her head, and shakes it exasperatedly before a light chuckle escapes her, broad shoulders bouncing. “Whatever, ma,” she mutters, turning around and picking up the clothes she’d left scattered on the floor. “I’m gonna go shower at Mikayla’s — forget this.”

You don’t have enough time to be angry about her saying she’s visiting Mikayla’s house—the slut you’d warned her to stay away from. Instead, you sprint to the front door, grab her keys off the rack, and hide them behind your back. Coldly, you say, “You’re mine, Paige. Turn around and get your ass in bed, NOW! You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Paige knows you and your past well enough to recognize that you aren’t joking about this possessiveness. However, she’s far from intimidated at the moment. Instead of backing down or appeasing you like she usually does for her princess, she glares at you with a fiery defiance. Her voice is firm as she refutes, “Give me my keys, Y/N.”

You gaze at her, a smirk forming on your face as you watch her façade of nonchalance crumble. Her face turns a subtle red, veins bulging in her hands as she holds them open, waiting for the keys, her lips curled inward and cheeks hollowed. She stands there expectantly, like a statue, until you bristle as she seizes your wrist, slamming it against the door while reaching for the keys with her other hand. Instinctively, you counter with your free hand, pushing her away. She’s lost her calm and collected demeanor. It’s scarier how she doesn’t run but still chases you with the relentlessness of a predator. Her eyes blaze with determination as she follows your running with a steady, purposeful stride. You taunt, “Come and get it, doggy! Yeah, you little bitch!” luring her toward the bathroom, the only room in the house with a lock, and Paige knows exactly what you’re up doing. Just before you can slam the door in her face, Paige lunges for it and forces it open, stepping inside and backing you against the door. This time, she tries a different approach to get the keys—she clasps your waist, holding you in place with her knees pressed against your smaller legs, effectively immobilizing you. As she tussles with you for the keys, you keep a tight grip on them. The struggle is fierce, and you're both panting in each other’s faces, exchanging only ragged breaths. You finally manage to break free from the bathroom and run for the bedroom with Paige hot on your heels. As you glance over your shoulder to see where she’s at, you realize too late that she’s no longer focused on reclaiming her keys. With a swift tackle, she takes you down onto the bed, pinning you there and forcing you into submission. The keys fall out of your hand, but Paige remains on top of you, her anger unrepairable as she growls, “Wanna bitch at me like that when I’m tired?” Her big hands begin to untie your nightrobe. “Wanna piss me off when I’m trying to be nice about things?”

She moves with an almost animalistic quality, yanking you down the bed by your legs and sending your clothes flying off with the force of her pull, baring your body to her hungry blue eyes. She hisses against your neck, “Little bitch?” and you nod rebelliously, “Yeah..fuck,” you heave, “look at you, so pissed, hm?” Her words are unbearably sexy when she vows, “I’ll show you a little bitch.” Mere moments later, she’s seated on the edge of the bed, with you draped over her lap like a ragdoll. You’re writhing, still trying to resist, biting and clawing at her thighs, but Paige’s grip is unyielding. Under her strength, you’re completely powerless.

Her hands spread your ass open, giving her a clear view of your dripping pussy. She chuckles cockily, the smirk evident in her voice even though you're not looking at her when she drawls, “This is why you’re really bitchin’ out, huh, ma?”

You whine at her words, stuttering and squirming, “Let me go, Paige, f-fuck!”

She tuts dismissively. “Aw, but that’s not what you really want, baby... you just need this pussy fucked, don’t you? To get fucked back to your senses—make you my good girl again, my princess...” she purrs, her fingers sliding through your slick and teasing your asshole. Then you hear the dirtiest, most sinful suck of fingers in her mouth you’ve ever heard.

Hips arched high with her strong arm restraining you from running, pressed firmly into your lower back, punching pressure deep within and outside of you, all aligning on the inside, she works her fingers into your soaking wet cunt with precision. She curls and bruises against your walls, relentlessly hitting that spot that makes you squirm like a torture puppet and cry out, "Ah!" for your dear life.

Her smarmy, taunting response? “I know, baby, I know, fuck… too tight for it, I know,” she bellows, feeding off your whimpers and whines with a sadistic delight. That smirk on her face—the one you wish you hadn't turned back to see—tells you she's savoring this victory a little too much and has no intention of letting you go anytime soon, even if you've clearly accepted that you're the little bitch. “Please,” you plead, sinking your nails into her thigh, but it doesn’t seem to perturb her in the slightest—if anything, it only eggs her on, makes her devilishly speed up. “It won’t happen again—I-I won’t act like a bitch anymore, daddy, I’m sorry,” you submit, hoping for some mercy, but she’s unforgiving. She chuckles darkly, yanking you up by your hair so you’re forced to look her in the eye, even if hers aren’t fully focused on yours, watching how your tits bounce as she fucks you senseless. “One more time,” she stares at them, biting her bottom lip with a smirk before she refocuses and demands it sternly. Without hesitation, you repeat it louder before she even finishes her command: “I won’t act like a bitch anymore, daddy, I’m sorry!” She smirks, her grip tightening. "I know you won't. Not after I'm done with you." She releases your head, and you fall forward hard, your back arching under what feels like tons of weight as she drives into you overwhelmingly, making you cry out in shock. "Shit!" you gasp, involuntarily pushing back against her long fingers to soften the blow and the jam, so forcefully that your ass claps with each thrust as she fucks into you.

“Say my name, baby, who’s fucking you,” Paige demands. You groan, clenching around her thick, long fingers and spilling spurts of slick arousal as you pant, “You, Daddy!” Paige tilts her head, unsatisfied. “Nah.” Her hand, once forcing down your back, quickly wraps around your throat, clasping firmly as she whispers, “Tell me, Ma.” With the blonde holding you tightly, despite your attempts to escape, with no leverage, she easily grips you by the throat like a puppet, forcing you back onto her fingers with insane speed and force. She thrusts into you even faster, your clit now grinding against her thigh. You hike a leg up in a desperate attempt to run or crawl away, but she's got you firmly in place.

“Paige! Paige, Paige, Paige, you’re fucking me!” you cry out.

“And you like it, baby? Like how my fingers feel fucking that tight pussy?” she taunts, flexing her leg muscles and increasing the friction.

“Aww shit,” you moan strainedly, feeling the familiar coil in your stomach emerge. Your body still tries to crawl away, but your brain forces you to stay put, losing all the air inside you.

“Stop fucking running, ma, take it,” she commands. “Take it, baby, just cum for me, kay? Cum for me, give me your cum.”

You listen to the sound of your cunt, feel it pulsing and clenching around her fingers before you give up and stop fighting and allow all the pleasure crash over you, your body convulsing as your orgasm hits. You gasp and cry out, surrendering to the intense sensation as your cunt tightens rhythmically around her fingers, your clit throbbing against her thigh. She fucks you through your orgasm, continuing even after that, giving you no recovery time, no chance to catch your breath before she has you on your back, legs still spread and a wet mess beneath you. Leaning in, she murmurs, “Be good for me, be still, kay? Let me clean you up—jus' lemme taste you, baby.”

Your hand comes up to cover your face, crying out as you feel her tongue glide through your folds. Gripping onto her hair tightly, you sob—a genuine cry from the overstimulation. Through your tears, you manage to gasp, “Fuck, baby, it hurts so good, ugh!”

You shout and clamp your legs shut, burying her with a guttural scream once her fingers scissor your folds and hold them open, her tongue flicking exactly against your clit, making direct contact.

She pries your legs open inhumanly, like an uncaring monster, her voice resounding and vibrating in your cunt, "Hold your ankles in the air." a command.

You obey, and she’s even nice enough to help, her strong arms holding your legs apart as she laps and slurps up all your cum like she’s parched, her swallows audible and incredibly sexy.

You look down at her and watch her head shake around wildly, losing herself in the abyss, entranced. You try to push her away by bucking into her face, hands occupied, but you end up unintentionally pushing her closer instead. You whine out desperately, your toes, nipples, and cunt especially on fire. "Pl-PLEASE!" you gasp, "I c-can't, I’m gonna—" Her fingers replace her tongue on your clit, while her tongue dips inside you as she murmurs, "Mhm," You cover your face, and the last thing you hear before you pass out is the frantic noise of her tongue fighting to slip even deeper inside you. There’s the sound of a leak, then the subsequent opening of your eyes after what feels like days. You look down at your girlfriend to find her face glistening in a pool of arousal, juices smeared everywhere. Her first instinct? To lick around her mouth, trying to savor the taste as she smiles at you smugly, knowing she’s clearly gotten her point across to your fucked-out self.

Needless to say, Paige has proven herself to you as she knew she would always: she is NOT someone to be underestimated.

MASTERLIST

AUTHOR NOTE #2: uhh so i reread this and i just wanna know if anybody else reading this who writes, is it crazy i reread my own work and blush at it like a viewer 😅 am i a freak guys 😅😅😅 do you do that too?? ANYWAY GUYS PLS INTERACT WITH ME ILY ALL MWAH!

[cjlouwho]

Make It Ours

aka the one where Tommy asks Buck to move in

It started a little ridiculously. Buck didn't usually decorate his place for Halloween, but in his excitement over Bobby being back he'd gotten way too much for the firehouse and had a lot left over. So he took some paper bats home and hung them from his ceiling.

That should have been the end of it.

“We've got enough candy for a small army, I'm sure,” Buck said, resting his head on Tommy's chest, a hand softly rubbing over his pec.

“We don't really have any kids that come out to Harbor. A few of the kids whose parents are on shift will stop by, but that's about it.”

“Were you a Halloween fan growing up?” Buck asked, chills running up his spine as Tommy's fingers massaged his scalp.

“Oh yeah. We didn't really have the money to afford costumes, but I'd make stuff from old sheets or clothes that didn't fit me anymore. There was one year where-” Tommy stopped suddenly, and Buck looked up at him to see him staring out over the loft. “Are your bats animatronic?” he asked.

Buck's eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

Tommy nodded his head in their direction. “They're moving.”

“Oh,” Buck glanced back briefly. “Probably the air coming on. Makes them swing sometimes.”

Tommy halfway settled back into the bed, but it didn't last very long, because soon enough one of those “decorations” started flying directly into the bedroom. Then there was another, and another.

“Evan, you have bats!” Tommy exclaimed.

“I- oh my God, I have bats!”

Ironically, Tommy did not love all things that flew. Buck had known this since they went to the zoo two months into their relationship and ventured into the butterfly exhibit. That's when he saw Tommy dripping with sweat, barely taking a breath and clutching Buck's hand until he asked what was wrong.

And now, watching a 6'2 man made mostly out of muscle race to put on a shirt and shorts, foregoing underwear completely, so he could duck out of the loft with a yelp was truly fascinating.

The fact that he only stopped briefly to give Buck a kiss and tell him to grab his things and meet him at his place was the icing on the cake.

That man was inside me twenty minutes ago, Buck thought, a baby bat swooping above him. He felt nothing but pride.

Within an hour, he was bringing a suitcase and work duffel into Tommy's place. Tommy, on his part, had emptied him two extra drawers to go along with the one he already had there. He'd made space for him in the bathroom as well, and cleared a section of the kitchen counter because, “I figured you'd bring some of your cooking stuff with you.”

He wasn't wrong.

It took a few weeks for the bat issue to be resolved, due to the fact that Buck's landlord was out of town and no one else seemed to know what to do.

Once the place had been cleared of the bats, it took extra time for Buck to be able to air out his place and clean the droppings that had been so graciously left behind.

It didn't help that he had a pretty busy schedule, taking extra shifts before he knew he'd have a bat problem.

Eventually, Buck ran out of reasons to keep himself at Tommy's place.

One morning, as he got ready for his 24 and Tommy got ready for his 48, he decided it was time. “I think my place is now free and clear of everything the bats left behind,” he said, pouring coffee into Tommy's travel mug, then swapping it out for his own. “I'll be able to pick up all my stuff after my shift and get out of your hair.”

“Hm," Tommy hummed. "You should just move in here." It was so nonchalant it sounded the same as when he ordered his usual from the taco bar down the street.

Buck froze mid pour. “I- I should what?”

“Move in with me,” he repeated with a shrug, “if you want.” He walked over to Buck and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Think about it, Babe. I gotta go. Love you.”

“Yeah, I- I... I love you too.”

Tommy grabbed his mug off the counter and headed out the door, leaving Buck feeling like a deer in headlights.

Part of him wanted to chase Tommy out the door and ask, “How dare you ask so casually?!” The other part was eternally grateful Tommy exited briskly and gave him time to think it over.

Because, wasn't it too soon? He'd only ever done this moving in together thing one other time, and that wasn't exactly for a good reason.

They'd only said I love you for the last couple months. The words still sounded new, still made his heart swell every time they came out of Tommy's mouth. Still blushed when he said it back.

And did Tommy actually mean it? He did have a dry sense of humor that was sometimes easy to miss. Maybe this was one of those times. It was just a joke and he was meant to brush it off with a laugh.

He wasn't sure how long he actually stood there with a half filled mug of coffee in front of him, but eventually his phone dinged and pulled him out of his thoughts.

Stop panicking. Yes, I meant it. Seriously, just think about it.

Buck rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the smile that rose on his face.

Hate you. Be safe.

He only had to wait a few seconds for a reply.

Love you too. You be safer.

*****

“I'm kind of freaking out,” Buck said as Maddie grabbed her lunch from the fridge.

“Why are you freaking out?”

“Tommy asked me to move in with him.”

She paused briefly, eyebrows going up as she stood at the counter. “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah. Wh- Why really? You think it's too soon, don't you? It's too soon. That's what I thought when he asked, well suggested is more like it. He suggested I move in, and then told me to think about it, and then he left for work and then I left for work. And he told me not to panic and that he actually meant it, but-”

“Buck, I didn't mean anything by my really,” she interrupted, reaching out and squeezing his hand. “Honestly, I figured that was gonna happen once you stayed with him during the whole bat thing.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised. “I- I mean, you did?”

“You already spend more time at his place than your own. The bats were taken care of, what, almost a week ago?”

“Yeah.”

“And how many nights have you stayed at your place since then?”

“Well... Well, I had to work a couple of those days,” he tried to reason, “and then it made more sense to go to his place because we wanted to see each other but we were both tired from work.”

“You don't have to explain yourself, Buck,” she assured him. “I'm only saying it's not actually all that surprising.”

When Buck didn't look any more relieved than when he'd come into the call center, Maddie continued, “Have you made a pro/con list?”

He pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket and laid it on the countertop for Maddie to take. “Of course I did.”

She picked it up and read it over. “Great butt is number three? Did not need to know that.”

“It- It's a very detailed list,” he replied seriously.

“I can see that,” she agreed. “Although I can't help but notice there are no actual cons on this list.” She slid the paper back to him.

“That's why I'm freaking out.”

“Is this a bi crisis?” Josh asked, walking into the break room. “Because, if so, I feel like I should be involved. Also, I've been listening and I have something to say. May I?”

Buck nodded his head, resting his hands on the countertop. “Please. I- I could use all the help I can get.”

“Great. First of all, why are you trying to talk yourself out of it?”

“Because... Because, seven months ago I didn't even know I was bi, and then there was Tommy. And it's been great. He's funny, and kind, and he listens, and he's so hot-"

"Okay," Maddie waved for him to move on.

"Even when we argued, you know, we stuck around and worked it out. It's the healthiest relationship I've ever been in. It's the happiest relationship I've ever been in.”

“God, this sounds awful,” Josh deadpanned.

“Yeah, listen, Buck, if you don't want him I'll take him,” Maddie added with a smile. “I don't think Howie would mind.”

Buck grinned. “I'm just saying, it all seems so fast. I keep trying to think of reasons to say no, or wait a few more months, but I- I can't.”

“Okay, maybe you can't think of a reason to say no, because there's no good reason to say no,” Josh replied. “How's it been staying with him while the bats took over your place?”

“It's... It's been great. I thought there would be a big adjustment, but there really wasn't. He hasn't seemed bothered by my stuff being there, and it's been nice having someone to, ya know, come home to,” he added, a blush rising on his cheeks.

“Have you had any of the big conversations yet?” Maddie asked. “You know, kids, marriage, stuff like that?”

“Mhm. We agree on everything.”

Josh glanced at Maddie before replying. “I really don't see the problem here, Buck.”

“You don't think it's too soon?”

“I think,” Josh sighed. “I think life is really short, which you probably know better than anybody. And if Tommy makes you as happy as it sounds like he does, then you're the only one stopping you from that happiness.”

Buck rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a deep breath. “Sometimes, I still feel like a fraud,” he admitted. “Like it all came too easy. You know, I- I've heard how rough it was for Tommy to come out and all the crap he went through for years. I figure out I like guys and get a boyfriend in the same day, six months later he's asking me to move in and I can picture my entire life with him.”

“I think that's your brain messing with you,” Josh said. “Because to me, it sounds like you've had thirty-three years of searching for something that feels real, and good, and settled. And you've found it with Tommy.”

Maddie nodded. “I agree. He's good to you, Evan. Everyone can see you two love each other. I can honestly say I've never seen you happier or more sure of yourself. You don't need to doubt that. You need to let yourself have a win.”

A smile started to grow on Buck's face. He was pretty sure he'd already made up his mind, but there was still one thing that worried him. “What if it doesn't work out?”

“Then you do the opposite of what you're about to do,” Josh answered simply, “and you move back out.”

*****

Tommy already knew Buck was at his place before he got inside. The giant Jeep in his driveway was always a dead giveaway.

Half of him expected Buck's things to be neatly packed up by the door, ready to move back into his loft until his lease was officially up.

The other half expected him to be sitting on the couch with a downcast look on his face that said I'm not ready to move in with you without having to actually say it.

What he didn't expect was the door to swing back on him due to it slamming into boxes.

Once he managed to hold the door open and scoot inside, he looked around at well over twenty boxes that were littered around the entryway of his place, leading into the living room.

“Evan?” he called out, a smile already on his face.

“Here!” he exclaimed, exiting Tommy's bedroom and hurrying down the hall. “Here, I'm here! So-” Buck paused briefly to give Tommy a peck on the lips, then continued through the maze of boxes as he headed for the kitchen, Tommy following behind. “This isn't everything, obviously, but I don't actually think I'll be bringing all that much from my place. The bats pooped on a lot. Like, a whole lot. Plus, I like your furniture. The kitchen will have to have some new appliances, but I already ordered what the bats, you know, pooped on. You need to let me know what appliances have a family history for you- if that's a thing- before I throw them out. Some of this stuff is, well, it's terrible. Why don't you sharpen your knives, Tommy? Mind blowing. I know the boxes are kinda a mess, but I didn't want to unpack without you because that feels like me just taking over, ya know, and I don't wanna-”

Buck was stopped by Tommy grabbing hold of his hand and pulling him in close. He wrapped his arms around Buck's waist, and Buck's arms rested over Tommy's shoulders.

“I'm guessing this is a yes to moving in?” Tommy asked, nose scrunching up in a smile.

Buck let out a deep breath, grinning back. “Yes. It- It's a yes.”

“You didn't freak out too much?”

“I didn't freak out at all,” Buck protested weakly.

“Evan.”

“Okay, I freaked out a little,” he replied, ducking his head, “but not for the reasons you think.”

Tommy tilted Buck's chin so their eyes met. “What reasons?”

“I... The fact there wasn't a reason to say no. I- I freaked because it felt like it should feel too soon, but it didn't. It doesn't. It feels right.”

That's when Tommy leaned in for a kiss far less chaste than the one Buck had given him when he opened the door.

“Do we have to start unpacking tonight?” Tommy asked when they parted, resting their foreheads against one another.

Buck shook his head. He brought his hands to the nape of Tommy's neck and drew him in again, his tongue parting Tommy's lips. Clumsily, they began making their way toward their bedroom without letting one another go.

“Maybe we could work on christening the place then?” Tommy suggested, his nose brushing up against Buck's cheek. “For good luck or whatever.”

“Mmm,” Buck moaned, grabbing at the hem of Tommy's shirt and pulling it over his head quickly, tossing it on top of a box. “You have the best ideas, roomie.”

Tommy snorted at that, his head tossing back in laughter. “God, I love you.”

Somehow, they managed to make it to the bedroom, and Buck gently pushed Tommy down before crawling over him, leaning down to whisper against his lips, “I love you too.”

[cupidhoons]

                 STUDY DATE       ⎯⎯     ﹙  정원  ﹚

              📖       high achiever   ,    don't you see?

in which  . . .  your boyfriend comes over to help you productively study  —   정원  x  f! reader   ୨୧   highschool! au  /  fluff    wc  761   ・     w   studying (#effstudying) maths (gross) petnames jungwon is a tease lolol   +   from liz.  my jw debut on this account 😍

                 likes and feedback are greatly appreciated ><

YOU SAT HUNCHED OVER YOUR DESK, head on the table as your boyfriend talked away about the importance of mathematics. The open notebook in front of you was a blur, refusing to make any sense. 

The real problem wasn’t the maths—it was Jungwon. Sitting just a breath away, looking effortlessly perfect, he made concentration impossible. You bit your lip, mentally cursing your brain for prioritising his stupidly good looks over your homework. 

“Are you even listening to what I'm saying?” Jungwon says, eyebrows knitting together. He spins the pencil between his fingers, effortlessly moving it around. The pencil probably knew more than you did, you thought, biting back a groan.

“Uh…yes?” you lied, barely convincing even yourself. 

“Y/N,” he said, exasperation laced in his tone.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, averting your gaze. But it was too late—he’d already risen from his chair and made his way to your bed.

You turned in your chair to watch him plop down onto the mattress, his blond hair fanning out across your pillow as he stared at the ceiling, and you had to resist every urge to crawl over and bury your fingers in his hair.

The silence in the room was filled with the faint hum of your fan. He didn't even need to look at you, yet you could feel his presence. 

“Wonnie,” you whined, breaking the silence. “I'm bored.” 

Jungwon didn't move, his gaze fixated on the ceiling. “We've been taking breaks the whole evening I've been here, love.” 

“But I clearly can't focus!” you argued, spinning your chair to face him fully. “Can we please take another-”

“No,” He cut you off, sitting up and locking his gaze onto yours. 

“What-”

“We aren't taking another break, Y/n.” 

“Please?” You tried again, pouting this time. 

He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by your attempt. “You're cute, but no.” 

You sigh at his rejection. He was too stern, too hard to make him give in to you. Studying was the last thing on your mind. 

How could he expect you to focus when everything about him was a distraction? The way he smelled—warm and comforting like vanilla and something distinctly Jungwon. The way his lips curved into a teasing smile. The way his cat-like eyes seemed to see through every excuse you made.

You place your head back on the small stack of notebooks, dramatically sighing as you play around with the pen in your hand. 

“It's your fault y’know…” you whined, spinning slowly in your chair to face him. Your pen clattered to the desk as you leaned forward, chin in hand. “I can't focus because of you.”

“My fault?” Jungwon raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching at the corners. He leaned back on his hands tilting his head. “How?” The faint smirk on his face was nearly enough to drive you over the edge. 

“You're just too…distracting.” You huffed. “How am I supposed to think about numbers when you're sitting there looking like…that?” 

His brow lifted, lips curving into a barely suppressed grin. “Looking like what?” 

“You know what,” you shot back, folding your arms. 

“You mean…in a T-Shirt and some sweats?” 

“Don't play dumb, Won. You're-” you waved your hand at him again, unable to find the words — “you're just unfair.” 

He laughed, clearly amused at your lack of words. “Unfair? You're the one pouting like we’re in some sort of rom-com movie.” He teases. 

You let out another groan, annoyed at his teasing. “Whatever! You're just distracting!” You say, spinning back over to your desk, desperately trying to figure out the equation you haven't even started on. But even then, you felt his gaze on you. Pricking at the back of your head, sending shivers down your spine. 

Jungwon walks over to you, spinning your chair around to face him once more. “What are you-”

He leans in close, lips almost touching yours. You were hypnotised, and he knew that. “Y/n,” he said, his voice soft and almost enticing. Your stomach did a flip. “I think you're just looking for an excuse not to study.” 

Your heart raced, the closeness of him stealing every coherent thought from your mind. “Maybe…,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled then, warm and teasing. “Thought so.”

Before you could protest—or maybe beg for another distraction—he pulled away, leaving you breathless as he returned to your desk.

“Now,” he said, tapping your notebook with the pencil, “back to work.”

You stared at him, utterly flustered and trying to recover your composure. This boy was going to be the death of you.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Leaving V

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: You hate clay courts

It's not often that two people from the same country end up in the finals for the French Open but you and Carlos Alcaraz have taken the Rolland Garros by storm.

You weren't the biggest fan of clay courts. You didn't like the way they felt under your feet and you knew you were a bit hit and miss this entire tournament.

You always managed to win though, by the skin of your teeth sometimes. But a win is a win and both you and Carlos were representing Spain at the finals.

He was against Zverev and you were against Iga.

She was your usual partner in training, the world number one. Her coach was your coach and he had purposely decided to sit this one out because he knew he couldn't coach both of you fairly for this final.

Iga was nice though. She'd always been nice and welcoming and she helped you settle in Poland and even introduced you to the girl that would eventually become your girlfriend.

But all that was off the table as soon as she first served.

Iga was brutal on the court and you'd always known that. She was a great player, a perfect player most of the time but you had a different play style than her.

She had it all planned out. She had a style and she stuck to it.

You were a bit more reckless. You were younger and you hadn't quite worked out the way you preferred to play.

It left you in a few tricky spots throughout the Rolland Garros but you'd pushed through like you're pushing through now, getting a volley going with Iga and trying to work out how to get her to make a mistake.

You're a bit of a wildcard sometimes. You've been known to feign one way and hit the other.

The audience is used to Iga dominating a final, especially this one, but you're holding your own very well. You're battling against her well though, holding your own even as you have to regain your footing a few times on the clay ground.

It's decided, as you stumble forward and just hit the ball over, you hate clay courts with a passion.

But, still, as the minutes go by, you find your rhythm.

A rhythm that lets you try one more reckless manoeuvre that completely catches Iga off guard. She can't return it and you fall to your knees in shock.

You've just won.

You hadn't gone into this final thinking you would win. You'd gone into it hoping you'd win, for sure, but you thought that you didn't actually have a chance.

You get to your feet shakily, stumbling over to the net to shake her hand.

"Next year," She says, bringing you into a hug," Let's go for the doubles together, alright?"

You nod. "Sounds good."

You thank the umpire and you go around shaking the hands of all the ball girls. When you were younger, at one of the professional tournaments, you had been a ball girl. You knew what it was like.

Iga got given her prize, holding it up for the crowd and then you received the cup, smiling brightly in all the pictures.

You were covered in red clay as you made your way through the corridors.

Your family was waiting for you.

You went into Alexia's arms like you always did and her arms wrapped around you, completely familiar and welcome. You lean into her, sagging in relief as someone takes the cup from you so you can hug her properly.

"I'm very proud of you," She whispers," So proud of you."

"I don't like clay courts," You say back and you can feel the little chuckle of amusement from her.

"I know."

"I'm covered in muck."

"I know but you can go and shower and then we'll head back to get some food."

You giggle as you pull away. "I'm so hungry."

Alexia laughs too. "I know."

Dinner is perfect when you've got the trophy sitting next to you and Alba insisting on having dessert for a job well done.

Mama cries, like usual after you've done anything even related to tennis. Alba makes fun of her.

Alexia sneaks into your hotel room.

You both lay on your bed together, looking up at the blank ceiling.

"I don't know anything about tennis," Alexia admits," Nothing. Nothing at all."

You flick your eyes to her. "What?"

"I don't know anything about it apart from you hit the ball back and forth."

"Ale...I've been playing tennis for years."

"I know and I still don't know anything. Isn't that scary?" She's laughing a little bit. "Years taking you back and forth and getting you new rackets and outfits and watching you win. I still couldn't tell you anything about it."

You're laughing as well, almost hysterically laughing. "Well," You say through your giggles," I must be the better sister because I actually understand the rules of football."

She swats at you with an eye roll. "Football's easy to understand. You don't get sister points for that."

"But still," You say," I've got the most amount of points."

"No you don't!"

"Yes I do!"

The thing about growing up with your sisters is that the three of you were hyper-competitive people, to the point that the 'Sister Championships' happened every year complete with a shared spreadsheet to keep track of everyone's points and a strict set of rules on how they could be earnt.

"I do," You say, bringing up the table on your phone to show," I've got ten more than you because I looked after Alba's dog when I was last home."

Alexia swears. "Damn it."

You grin. "I'm going to win this year."

"I've still got time. I'll let Alba have my window seat on the flight back tomorrow."

You shuffle closer until you've got your head resting on her shoulder. "We're not flying home tomorrow."

"Huh? Why not?"

"Because Carlos has won so it means Spain has won the men's and women's singles. There'll be lots of PR stuff for me to do with him."

"And why can't I go home?"

"Because I need someone to keep me sane, Ale."

She thinks for a moment before nodding. "That'll earn me at least fifteen more sister points."

[schrodingerscougar]

Part two for this one. I'm sorry for the cliffhanger in the first part. The illustration is from the amazing @ave661 .

--

Four months. That’s how much time it took Simon to get out of that hazy fugue state. He didn’t really remember what he had gone through during that time, his brain switched to autopilot after the breakup. He often wondered why it affected him this much when he didn’t even love you. You were just someone he spent time with, someone he tried to play house with for a short while to feel normal.

Still, now as he lay on his bed, watching the ceiling fan rotate to stir up the hot air in the room, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He even found himself opening a social media app to search for your name from a fake account he had set up a long time ago, and he was shocked to see the most recent photo of you. It was impossible to miss the unmistakable shape of a baby bump under your shirt, and based on its size, you got pregnant long months ago.

When he was finally allowed to go home for a short while, Simon went to see you. He knew he had hurt you, he knew you were probably still mad at him, but he had to know if it was his child. It only happened one time. One night when he tried to fix things by giving you what you wanted, hoping sex could make him see you in another light. Maybe he would finally want you the way you always wanted him to want you. But it didn’t work, and it was after that night he made the final decision to end things with you.

“What do you want?” you asked him when you opened the door.

Simon nodded as he bit the inside of his cheek. This cold welcome was fair enough, he deserved this kind of treatment. Normally, he would have left you alone. But normally, you would have told him you were pregnant.

So he silently pointed at your belly and waited for you to realize what he wanted. He knew you weren't dumb, the pieces would fall into place in a second. And sure enough, you let out a sigh then opened the door wider to let him in.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked you as he stood in the kitchen next to you with his arms crossed.

You were busy making him a cup of tea, but you took the time to silently shrug. When he let out a heavy sigh, you looked over at him and said, “I didn't think you'd care, Si. Simple as that.”

You were right. He didn't care. Even now that he was looking at you, his eyes occasionally moving to the bump that hid his own blood, his mind was somewhere else. He was a soldier, he knew how to take responsibility for his actions. You getting pregnant was his fault too. He couldn't just ignore the problem.

“I’ll pay child support,” he assured you.

“No need.”

Simon reached out to put a hand on the base of your neck, but you quickly pushed his hand away before he could touch your skin. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

You inhaled through your nose and held your breath in for a few seconds before finally exhaling. “So what? You’re gonna be around and help us? Take her to a doctor’s appointment or for a stroll around the block?” When you saw him looking down at his shoes, you couldn’t help but snort. “Thought so,” you said.

“I’ll better get going. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Months flew by, but Simon barely noticed. He was on a mission again far from home, risking his life as usual. You never called and he didn’t force it. He accepted that he would have to live with the guilt of making this happen. Since you didn’t want to accept child support, he opened a bank account where he stored that money, hoping that one day he could give it to you or his daughter when she became old enough.

One day he checked your social media accounts like he had done a few times before, just to see how you were. This is when he saw the post in which you announced the arrival of your baby girl. He didn’t make a big deal out of it at first. She was born and she would probably ask about her father one day. If he was still alive then, he would gladly give her a toned down explanation. If not… Well, he left everything to her in his will.

Eventually he began to save the photos of his daughter and he often found himself looking at them. She was adorable, some of her features resembling his own. Her big brown eyes were definitely his; the color and the shape were both so familiar to him.

No one from the team knew about this part of his life. He had never told anyone, because why would he? They were close, they were his brothers, but you and your daughter were carefully guarded secrets in his life. Simon knew the real reason why he never talked about you; he was afraid of the judgmental looks and words.

Two months later, when he entered his apartment again after another round of deployment, Simon didn't really know what to do with himself. He ended up looking at his daughter's photos more and more often and eventually he made up his mind to give her a visit. It had absolutely nothing to do with you. He was doing this for the little girl.

You weren't welcoming but, once again, he couldn't blame you. “I just want to see my daughter,” he said softly, hoping the two of you could avoid fighting.

For long moments you were cautiously watching him, as if you were trying to decide if he could be trusted or not. But then your eyes fell on the big teddy bear he was holding with one hand and you let out a sigh of defeat.

On the way to the nursery, you didn't talk at all. The silence didn't bother him, but still he would have appreciated some words about the little girl he was about to meet. Was he allowed to pick her up? Did she like to be held? How was she? Did she have stomach ache often? Were she teething?

“Be quick,” you warned him when you stopped by her crib.

Simon let out a sigh. “Come on, don't be like that.”

You just rolled your eyes at him before taking a step back to lean your shoulder against the doorframe, arms folded over your chest, eyes watching his every move like a hawk. He found it a little too much, he hated that you didn't trust him. Sure, he hadn't given you many reasons to trust him, but for the sake of your daughter you should have tried.

With a sigh, he rested an elbow on the side of the crib and reached out to touch the baby as gently as he could with his other hand. His own flesh and blood. It was amazing, really. Without asking for permission, he picked her up and couldn't help but smile when the baby smiled at him.

Now that he was holding her close to his body, placing soft kisses on her head every so often, Simon couldn't deny that he already loved his daughter. There was an invisible string between them, something that brought her closer to him that anyone has ever been.

The baby giggled suddenly and it brought an even wider smile to Simon’s face. He could only hope you would let him see her as often as he could visit, but something told him it wouldn't be easy to convince you.

“She likes you,” you suddenly noted.

He put down the little girl then turned to you. “The feeling's mutual.” A faint smile appeared on your lips. “Can I see her some other time?” You nodded. “Thank you. If I can help with anything, just give me a call or send a message. I'll get back to you as soon as I can,” he offered.

You been to walk out of the room and he quietly followed you, waiting for you to say something. He didn't really know what he was expecting to hear, but he had a feeling you were holding back something. And sure enough, after a few minutes of silence you began to talk, scolding him for not even bothering to send at least a text to ask about her before suddenly showing up.

“I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd read them.”

“I'm mad at you, that's true,” you agreed.

Simon leaned against the doorframe as he watched you pace in the living room like a caged animal. He remembered those nights he had spent thinking about on deployment, the moment he saw that photo of you, and he realized that maybe he was missing you.

But how could he miss someone he didn't even love? Or had he developed feelings for you, feelings he tried to hide even from himself? It was way too confusing for him, and he didn't like to be confused. It was a weakness on the field and in his civilian life.

“I should go. If you need anything–”

You came to a halt, turned to him and nodded. “I know where to find you. But can I ask you something?” Simon motioned you to go on. “Why now? Why did you become interested in her all of a sudden?”

He let out a thoughtful hum as he put his hand on the back of his neck. “I saw the photos, how much she looks like me, and… I don't know.” You took a few steps closer to him, but you still kept a comfortable distance. “I've been saving money for her. I want to give you access to that bank account.”

“I don't need your money,” you were quick to say.

“It's for her. Please, accept it.”

You became mad at him, accusing him of assuming you couldn't take care of your daughter you'd been raising on your own from day one. He knew there was no point in defending himself, you were too lost in the hate you felt for him. So he just waited there in silence, letting you finish your speech.

Then, the moment you seemingly finished, he closed the gap between the two of you. He didn't know what he was doing, he just followed his instinct when he leaned down and kissed you. This was probably the first time he truly enjoyed kissing you, and it helped a lot that you were quick to return it.

Maybe this was why he wanted to come here today. To fix things. To try to get a family he'd been craving ever since he lost his own.

(part three)